The Claim

by Jennifer L. Holm

  Cocumb perched on her husband’s knee, and now M’Carty placed an affectionate hand on her waist.

  “How’s your oyster beds?” M’Carty asked.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t had time to harvest them,” I admitted. “I was thinking I might rent them out for a season.”

  “Reckon I can find you someone who might be interested,” he said. “I’m going to Astoria next week. Anything you want me to bring back?”

  “Maybe you could take me with you?” I said, only half joking.

  “Now, why is that?” M’Carty asked.

  “It’s just that I wouldn’t mind getting away from here for a little while,” I confessed. Away from William and his threats, that is.

  “What’s the matter, gal?” Mr. Russell asked in a sharp voice, but I heard the concern underneath.

  I explained the situation with William and my claim. M’Carty nodded as I spilled out my fears.

  “Can he take my land?” I asked.

  M’Carty’s eyes met Mr. Russell’s for a long moment.

  “And to think I came here to get away from folks like Baldt,” Mr. Russell grumbled.

  “Jehu says I have nothing to worry about,” I said. “Still, I can’t help but think he’s wrong.”

  M’Carty rocked slowly in his chair, puffing on his pipe. “Look, Jane, way I figure it, Baldt’s gonna need some sort of legal writ or something to take that land way from you, and the only person who can give him that is a judge.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of! The elections. William’s running for justice of the peace! What if he wins?”

  “I reckon we should all be worrying about Red Charley winning,” Mr. Russell scoffed. “There sure has been a lot of free whiskey going around lately.”

  “Do you think William has a chance of winning, Jane?” Cocumb asked, and by the look in her eye, I knew that she did not underestimate William. After all, he had tried to put her family on a reservation.

  “I think he could win,” I said. “He’s got Mr. Biddle’s ear. And everyone wants to get on Biddle’s good side, so they might vote for him to get to Biddle. No one’s going to vote for Red Charley, no matter how much whiskey he hands out for free.”

  M’Carty puffed on his pipe. “Is Biddle the fellow with all the money?”

  “I met him,” Mr. Russell growled. “He came sniffin’ round the cabin with Baldt.”

  “Your cabin?” I asked.

  “The man’s speculating. Looking to grab up land. Offered me fifty dollars for my claim.”

  Fifty dollars was quite a lot of money, but even so, everyone who lived on the bay knew that Mr. Russell would rather die than sell his land.

  “I don’t trust Baldt,” Cocumb said.

  “And you got good instincts, nayka klootchman,” M’Carty said, his eyes tender.

  Nayka klootchman. My sweetheart.

  I looked away, at the fire, embarrassed by their show of affection.

  “So what do I do?” I asked.

  There was a long moment as we contemplated the turn of events.

  Finally Mr. Russell blurted out, “Bah! Don’t you worry, gal. Me and M’Carty’ll take care of things if it comes to that.”

  “You got that right, Russell. We got all the law we need right here.” M’Carty looked at the rifle hanging over the fireplace and chuckled.

  When I returned to the hotel it was quite late, and Jehu and Keer-ukso were sitting at the kitchen table with Mr. Frink, papers strewn before them, candles burning brightly.

  “I think you’ll need a few more men,” Mr. Frink was saying as he reviewed what were obviously the plans for the mill.

  “So we have to redo all the figures and start over again?” Jehu took a deep breath.

  “Looks that way,” Mr. Frink said.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “Sally suggested that I make up a real detailed plan for her father,” Jehu said. “Lay out how many men we’ll need, that sort of thing. Way I figure it, it’s no different than organizing a sailing crew, and I’ve done that plenty of times.”

  “Has Mr. Biddle agreed to meet with you?”

  “Sally said that he was very busy right now, but she had no doubt that he would want to meet with us when the time is right,” Jehu said, slapping his hat on his hand triumphantly. “That’s practically a yes!”

  “Jehu is very smart, Boston Jane,” Keer-ukso said.

  As I watched Jehu, a feeling of helplessness came over me. He wanted this so badly, yet I knew there was no way he was going to get Mr. Biddle’s support. Sally was doing this to get at me. I recalled how our rivalry had started all those years ago.

  I was eleven years old. On the fateful day, my friend, Jebediah Parker, and I had been challenged to an apple-throwing contest by two neighborhood boys, Horace Fink and Godfrey Hale. When my turn arrived, I chose a particularly rotten apple and threw it at the big tree on Arch Street.

  At that exact moment Sally stepped out of her house.

  My apple missed the tree completely and struck young Sally Biddle right on the bosom of her pale rose dress. From that moment forward, she tried everything in her power to make my life a misery.

  Except we weren’t children anymore, I suddenly realized. Nor were we in Philadelphia. Ladies were different out here. We were strong and hardworking, and we knew what counted. She had to be stopped.

  I walked upstairs and knocked firmly on Sally’s door.

  “Come in,” she called sweetly.

  I must say, it felt very strange to be invited into my own room.

  Sally was admiring herself in the mirror. “Jane! How lovely to see you.”

  “I know what you’re doing, Sally,” I said. “And I want you to leave Jehu alone.”

  Her eyes widened in an innocent expression. “What exactly am I doing?”

  I snapped. “You know as well as I do that your father will never invest in Jehu’s mill. Stop toying with him!”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, well, I’m afraid that is true. Sailors aren’t exactly the sort of gentlemen that Papa goes into business with.”

  “You are deliberately trying to hurt him! Why?” I demanded in exasperation.

  Sally’s face settled into a cold mask. “I should think it would be perfectly apparent why I am doing this.” She paused deliberately. “Because of you.”

  “But this has gone on long enough! I never meant to throw that apple at you! It was a mistake!” I said wildly.

  “What apple?”

  “The apple that started it all. The one I threw at you when we were children.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I looked at her in bewilderment. “If it’s not the apple, then why do you hate me so?”

  Sally regarded my reflection in her mirror with distaste and fanned herself.

  “You owe me an explanation!” I demanded.

  She whirled on me, a look of pure malice on her face. “I don’t owe you anything! You—you and your muddy aprons and uncombed hair. You were like a wild animal, always running around the streets with boys, playing your silly games.”

  Sally stalked over to me, waving her fan like a sword.

  “And your doting father,” she laughed contemptuously. “It was pathetic the way he talked about you all the time, acting as though he were proud of you throwing manure at carriages,” she said, but I heard the jealousy in her voice. “After all that, you had the nerve to attend Miss Hepplewhite’s as if you had a perfect right to be there.” She curled her lips and growled. “I was her favorite student until you came.”

  I took a wary step back.

  “Who do you think you are, anyway, Jane Peck?” she snarled.

  “I—I—”

  “When Father decided to come here, I had assumed that I would remain in Philadelphia. And then Father announced that I was to join him and Mother on the voyage,” she spit out furiously. “I told him Cora Fletcher was quite happy to have me stay with her. But no. He would not
hear of it. And do you know why?”

  “Why?” I whispered.

  “Sally dear, your friend Jane Peck will be there to keep you company!” she said, mimicking her father in a singsong voice.

  “But—”

  “I was supposed to be Horace Fink’s wife!” Sally shouted. “He was planning to ask Father for my hand in marriage. But now, instead of being feted all over Philadelphia, I am stuck here,” she said, her voice scathing. “Where there is nothing but rain and mud and oysters! If I never eat another oyster again it will be too soon.”

  “But it’s not my fault!” I protested.

  “Of course it’s your fault. It’s always been your fault. You’ve always been jealous of me. You’ve always conspired to bring me down to your level.”

  I stared at her in disbelief and confusion, and then she laughed merrily at me.

  “Still, I admit it has been very enjoyable amusing myself with your sailor. For a man of the world, he is very gullible,” she said.

  She grinned at me as I stood there speechless.

  “You have ruined my life,” she said with a satisfied smile. “And I have every intention of ruining yours.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  or,

  The Power of Persuasion

  I spent a restless night replaying Sally’s words over and over again in my head. I kept hearing her say, You have ruined my life. And I have every intention of ruining yours.

  But what could I do? Everyone else thought Sally was perfect, especially Jehu. Like a devious spider, she had spun a clever web, and I was an unfortunate fly. As I watched the sun rise outside the window, I knew I had to make Jehu see the truth.

  Immediately after breakfast, I went over to his cabin.

  He yawned widely when he opened the door. “Come on in,” he said, his eyes bloodshot.

  The table was covered in papers and melted candles, and I could hear someone snoring lightly behind a quilt at the other end of the room.

  Jehu jerked his head. “Keer-ukso. We were up half the night working on this thing, and it’s still not done,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “It’s a lot harder than I thought.” He walked over to the stove. “Coffee?”

  I nodded, and he poured two cups and brought them over to the table.

  “See, Mr. Frink had some good ideas,” he said, tapping the papers. “He suggested that we figure out how much money it’ll take to run the mill for one year, and then ask Biddle for that, because what’s the point in just building the thing if we can’t afford to hire on men to run it? Keer-ukso and I are—”

  “Jehu,” I interrupted him. “I need to talk to you about Sally.”

  “Sally?” he asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  “Sally’s not what she seems,” I said.

  He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

  “What are you trying to say, Jane?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m trying to tell you that all this”—I waved at the paper-covered table—“this whole idea of her father financing the mill is—is—” I stammered. “It’s Sally’s idea of a cruel joke.”

  Jehu regarded me for a long moment and nodded thoughtfully.

  “Jane, you don’t need to be jealous,” he said.

  “Me? Jealous?”

  Jehu playfully tapped my nose. “You’re the only girl for me. Sally’s just being, well, helpful.”

  “Helpful? Sally is just trying to get back at me. Don’t you understand?”

  He looked bewildered. “Get back at you? But you’re friends.”

  “We’ve never been friends! She despises me. She’s spent her whole life making mine a misery. Why, she’s the reason I left Philadelphia!”

  “I thought you left Philadelphia to marry William.” He eyed me sympathetically. “Did you two have a spat?”

  I groaned. I couldn’t believe my ears. He didn’t believe me!

  He rubbed his hand through his thick black hair. “I’m doing this for us, Jane. For our future. You needn’t be jealous of her.”

  I stared at him mutely.

  “Now I have to get back to work on these plans,” he said, settling into his chair, already looking down at the papers. “Maybe you can help me draw them up later? Your handwriting’s much neater than mine.”

  How could I tell this man I loved that Mr. Biddle would never invest in a business started by a sailor and an Indian?

  Finally I said, “Just don’t count your gold before you get it. Anything could happen. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  He ruffled my hair good-naturedly. “You worry too much, Jane.”

  I grew increasingly worried that William’s dreams of becoming justice of the peace were not dreams after all. For as the days passed, he acquired the same luster as Mr. Biddle. Everyone wanted to talk to him because he was Mr. Biddle’s chief advisor. I tried to broach the subject with Mr. Swan, but he was not the least bit concerned.

  “Baldt as justice of the peace? Absurd,” Mr. Swan protested. “I am one of the first men who arrived on the bay, one of the original pioneers,” he stressed. “This is a community that values the leadership of a dedicated man, and that is exactly what I am.”

  “Well, it’s becoming a community that values a good coin!” I said, but he just waved me away.

  My suspicions were soon confirmed by Willard, of all people.

  “That Dr. Baldt’s gonna be the new justice of the peace!” the boy announced loudly one afternoon as we prepared supper. He was sitting at the table peeling potatoes.

  “Where did you hear that?” Mrs. Frink asked.

  “At Star’s,” he said. Star’s was his new favorite spot because Mr. Staroselsky gave him a candy every time he swept the floor. From all accounts the floors of Star’s fairly gleamed from Willard’s enthusiasm. “I’ve heard lots of men saying they’re gonna vote for Dr. Baldt. Everyone’s saying he’s the perfect candidate.”

  A perfectly corrupt candidate, I wanted to say.

  “But that is so odd,” Mrs. Frink said, mulling it over. “Why wouldn’t they vote for Mr. Swan? He’s been here for so long and has helped so many of the pioneers. Dr. Baldt’s been here for only a few weeks.”

  Willard took a vicious swipe at the potato peel. “’Cause Swan’s an Indian lover!”

  Spaark went still.

  “What did you say?” I whispered.

  “He let Keer-ukso go.” He looked at Spaark and shrugged apologetically. “Everyone says Keer-ukso really stole that whiskey and some other feller got the blame. And now folks is saying that Swan ain’t proper judge material!”

  Spaark blinked quickly.

  I looked hard at Willard. “Willard, you listen to me. Those are terrible lies, do you understand?”

  “If you say so, Miss Jane.” A look of shame crossed his face. “I always kind of liked Keer-ukso anyhow,” he mumbled.

  “I do believe I shall take a walk down to Star’s. We seem to be running low on potatoes,” I said, and stood up.

  “But what about all these?” Willard asked, pointing to the huge bag on the floor by his feet.

  My eyes met Spaark’s. “I think we need a few more, don’t you, Spaark?”

  She nodded firmly.

  As I expected, several oystermen were at the back of Star’s sitting around the stove when I stepped through the door, the cheery bell announcing my arrival. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to say to persuade the men to see reason, but I intended to say something—the very future of Shoalwater Bay depended on it.

  “Miss Peck! How are you today? I have those dates you ordered,” Mr. Staroselsky said.

  “How wonderful. And may I have some flour, please? And one of those candies for Willard.”

  “Ahh, Willard. He’s a wonderful boy, isn’t he? So hardworking,” Mr. Staroselsky enthused, moving behind the counter.

  “And how is little Rose?” I asked, as I casually walked the length of the counter as if I were perusing goods.

  He grinned at me. “Sleeping throug
h the night finally.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “I think I’ll browse a bit.”

  “Take your time,” Mr. Staroselsky said.

  I took a long, slow stroll around the store, pausing to feign interest in a bolt of fabric near where the men were drinking whiskey.

  “Way I figure, we need a man who’s looking out for us,” one of the men said.

  “Swan’s a good fella, though,” the other man said, sounding reluctant. “He helped me with my claim when I first came here. Wrote it out for me and everything.”

  “Times change,” the first man said in a hard voice.

  “And Biddle’s got money to burn,” the third man cackled.

  “Man like that will make us all rich. He knows how to get things done. Swan ain’t got a head for money.”

  That was all too true, I thought dismally.

  “Gentlemen,” I said.

  “Howdy, Miss Peck,” one of them said.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. And while I grant you have the right to your own opinions, I must tell you that I think Dr. Baldt is a very poor candidate compared to Mr. Swan,” I said.

  The men stared at me as if I had two heads.

  “What’s so great about Swan?” one of them said. “He let that Injun go free.”

  “I’m tired of hearing this terrible rumor,” I said. “Keer-ukso did not steal that whiskey! And if you want to continue to enjoy your meals at the hotel, you would all be wise to remember that. Understand?”

  They nodded their heads quickly.

  The door to the back room opened, and Sally emerged, laughing. Mrs. Staroselsky followed behind her, juggling Rose. Sally was clutching a pie tin.

  “Now, you must let me have a slice of that pie when it’s finished,” Mrs. Staroselsky said.

  “But of course!” Sally trilled. “And thank you so much for your good advice.”

  Mrs. Staroselsky noticed me standing there. “Oh, hello, Jane.”

  I smiled back, feeling unsettled. What was Sally doing borrowing pie tins?

  Rose squirmed and Mrs. Staroselsky nodded to her husband behind the counter. “Boris will help you with the ingredients, Sally. I have to put this one down for a nap.”