The Claim

by Jennifer L. Holm

  And then he looked away.

  One morning the last week of June found me at my house as usual—only this morning I had awakened there.

  I had moved in at last, with the help of Mr. Frink and Mr. Russell. The house was most beautiful in the early morning, when the warm light washed over it like watercolors. I saw Jehu’s hand in every detail, from the well-laid floors to the gleaming table that stood in the center of the room. I glanced out the window, admiring the view.

  A figure was walking across my claim, and I felt a rush of fear. William?

  Except he wasn’t walking. He was running, which the dignified William would never deign to do. And he was far too small to be William, anyway.

  The front door banged open, and there stood Willard, breathing hard. Brandywine ran into the house in front of him.

  “I been looking everywhere for you!” Willard exclaimed.

  “Is that so?” I asked. “You know very well you are supposed to be at the hotel helping Millie and Spaark.”

  He shook his head. “You gotta come with me.”

  “Willard,” I said. “What have you done now?”

  “I ain’t done nothing.” He gave me an exasperated look. “It’s Katy!”

  My heart fell. “Katy?”

  “Them Dodds, they’re treating her real bad. Making her do the laundry and make the soap. She’s like a slave or something!”

  “How do you know all this, Willard?” I asked.

  He stared at his booted foot. “On account of the fact that I been spying on them.”

  Now, that I could believe.

  “Honest. I ain’t lying, Miss Jane,” Willard pleaded.

  I looked into his eyes, the eyes of a scamp and a pie thief.

  “All right, Willard,” I said, holding out my hand. “Show me.”

  Willard, it turned out, was quite an accomplished spy. No wonder he always knew when a pie was cooling on a windowsill.

  He led me up a little path through the woods that backed onto the Dodds’ small cabin. The strong smell of unwashed clothes wafted through the air.

  “Come on,” Willard whispered. “They’re around the side of the house making soap.”

  Making lye soap was an arduous process. But more than that, it was a dangerous job. It required pouring boiling water over wood ashes, adding fat, and then stirring the whole stinking mixture for hours on end.

  And that was exactly what Mrs. Dodd was making Katy do—stir the boiling pot. She had clearly been at it for some time, for the poor child seemed close to dropping from fatigue. Her small hands had raised red welts on them from where the burning liquid had splashed from the pot.

  Mrs. Dodd came out to inspect.

  “Is it done yet?” Katy asked in a small voice.

  Mrs. Dodd slapped Katy hard on the arm, and beside me Willard flinched as if he had been struck, too.

  “Ow!” Katy said, tears springing to her eyes.

  “What did I tell you about not speaking unless spoken to, girl?” Mrs. Dodd growled.

  Katy whimpered.

  “Get back to your stirring or they’ll be no supper for you again!”

  Willard and I crouched in the bushes and watched as Katy stirred the boiling lye, a long, slow tear crawling down her smudged face.

  * * *

  When I returned to the hotel, I searched out Mrs. Frink. Surely she would be sympathetic, no matter what Sally had said about me.

  She was at her desk, writing a letter.

  “Excuse me, Matilda? May I have a moment of your time?”

  Mrs. Frink rubbed her eyes. “Of course, Jane. What is it now?”

  “Actually, I just came from Mrs. Dodd’s house,” I began. “She’s treating Katy terribly. We must do something.”

  “Jane,” Mrs. Frink said, her tone measured. “I’ll grant you that Mrs. Dodd can be difficult, but I can’t imagine she’d be deliberately cruel.”

  “But she is!” I exclaimed. “I saw it with my own eyes. It’s clear to me that the only reason she took Katy was so she wouldn’t have to pay any more help.”

  Mrs. Frink looked off into the distance. “Perhaps Katy’s just having trouble adjusting to her new life.”

  “She needs to be with her mother. Think of Cocumb! Please, you of all people must understand how awful it is to lose a child.”

  Mrs. Frink’s face whitened at this.

  “Something must be done,” I said. “People respect your opinion. They’ll listen to you.”

  “Jane,” Mrs. Frink said, clearly torn. “It’s an unfortunate situation, I agree, but William’s the judge. He makes the law now.”

  “He’s horrible and you know it!” I shouted in frustration. “He doesn’t care what happens to Katy. How can you stand by and watch this happen and not do anything?”

  Mrs. Frink said in a helpless voice, “Even if I were to challenge him, I have no doubt that he would prevail. And nothing would be accomplished by that. Perhaps we should just wait awhile and see what happens. Maybe Katy will come to like living with Mrs. Dodd.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this,” I said, and started to walk away before I said something else I would come to regret.

  “Jane,” she called.

  I turned back.

  A look of uneasiness flitted across her face, and then she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  Mr. Swan was even less helpful than Mrs. Frink.

  He removed his spectacles and wiped them on his coat. “Perhaps it’s a good idea, after all, Jane. William has been telling me about Governor Stevens and his plans for the region. We all have to face facts eventually, dear girl. And the fact is that many of the Indians in this territory are destined for reservations.” Mr. Swan stared at me, a little sadly it seemed. “Just as I am destined to leave this place.”

  “Leave?” I gasped. “But how? Why?”

  He pulled a packet of letters out of his coat pocket and handed them to me reluctantly. They were neatly tied with a ribbon. The return address was Boston.

  “My wife,” he explained. “She wants me to come home.”

  I stared at the letters and wondered at the family he had left behind.

  “But what about our oyster beds and all your plans?”

  He waved at Shoalwater Bay.

  “This was only ever destined to be an adventure for me,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “My life awaits me in Boston.”

  “When will you go?” I asked.

  “After the Fourth, I should think.”

  “I’ll miss you, Mr. Swan,” I said quietly.

  He smiled at me, his eyes wet. “And I shall miss you as well, my dear.”

  As I mulled over the news about Mr. Swan’s imminent departure, I decided to go and see if Mr. Russell could help me. After all, the brash mountain man had never cared much for other people’s opinions of him.

  He wasn’t in his usual spot on the porch when I arrived. I peeked into his cabin. It seemed to be in an even greater state of disarray than usual. An immense pile of laundry was stacked in the corner. Scraps of old food, scattered across the table, were being enjoyed by all manner of vermin, and the place was simply bursting with fleas. Even Brandywine wouldn’t go inside and sat on the front porch whining.

  I finally found Mr. Russell in the cowshed, milking Burton.

  “Hello, Mr. Russell,” I said.

  His beard seemed to have gone gray overnight, and his face was thinner than when I’d last seen him. He had taken the death of M’Carty very hard, I knew.

  “Are you well, Mr. Russell?” I asked hesitantly.

  He spit a wad of tobacco. “Why wouldn’t I be, gal?”

  “It’s just that you were—I mean—that M’Carty was—your best friend here on the bay,” I stammered.

  His hands froze and his face went still in a mask of grief.

  “That he was, gal,” he said, his voice hollow. “But I can’t bring him back. Nobody can. It’s just best to keep on going. It�
�s really the only thing to do.”

  “Oh, Mr. Russell,” I said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  He shook it off. “Shouldn’t ya be at the hotel, gal?”

  “Actually,” I said, “I thought I’d tidy up the cabin, if that’s all right with you.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yerself, gal.”

  I spent the rest of the day cleaning Mr. Russell’s cabin and making him a proper meal. He appeared to have been living on some particularly old and rotten-looking venison and onions. After he had cleaned his plate and was sitting in front of the roaring fire, pipe in hand, I broached the subject of Katy with him. His expression didn’t alter as he stared into the fire.

  “So what should we do?” I asked when I was finished.

  Mr. Russell simply stared into the fire, his expression morose.

  “What’s the point, gal?” he muttered, his voice tired.

  “But they’re mistreating her!” I shouted. “It’s intolerable!”

  “I can’t do anything by myself, gal,” Mr. Russell said. “Baldt’s in charge now. His word’s law round here.”

  I knelt in front of him, holding his hands. “Things are changing, yes. But we mustn’t give up hope. Not yet.”

  “I’m an old man, Jane, and I’m tired. I jest want to go and find somewhere quiet to live out the rest of my days. It’s getting a bit too busy around here for my taste. Think I need a change.”

  “Not you, too!” I exclaimed.

  “What do ya mean, gal?”

  “Mr. Swan’s leaving!”

  “He’s a smart fellow to get out while the gettin’s good,” Mr. Russell said.

  “Am I speaking to the same man who assured me I had nothing to fear from William?”

  But Mr. Russell didn’t respond. He just stared into the fire.

  Supper at the hotel that evening was unbearable.

  I deliberately did not sit at the head table, preferring the company of a group of scarcely washed oystermen to that of Sally and her parents.

  “Evening, Your Honor,” someone said.

  I looked up to see William stride through the door, circulating around the room like royalty.

  Mr. Russell’s words rang in my ears.

  Baldt’s in charge now. His word’s law round here.

  And I knew that Mr. Russell was right after all.

  The drizzly rain that greeted me the next morning washed away any lingering reservations I had about what I must do.

  As I walked down Front Street and saw Mrs. Woodley’s girls playing happily in the mud of the road, my resolve grew stronger. When I finally reached the Dodds’ cabin, I stood on the porch for a long moment. From inside came the clear sound of Mrs. Dodd berating Katy.

  “You stupid child!” she shouted. “What’d I tell you about not letting the iron rest too long!”

  This was followed by a loud slap. I knocked firmly on the door.

  “Who is it?” Mrs. Dodd demanded.

  “Miss Jane Peck,” I called.

  The door flew open.

  “My man dropped the laundry off yesterday,” Mrs. Dodd said.

  “Actually,” I said, pressing forward, “I believe you forgot to return something to us.”

  She flushed and her face scrunched up. “If it’s that glove you’re talking about, I told you I ain’t got it.”

  But I ignored her and walked straight into the appalling little cabin. Her husband was nowhere in sight. Thank heavens.

  Katy saw me and her eyes lit up. I gave her a quick smile of reassurance.

  Mrs. Dodd blustered, “Now, see here, you can’t just go walking into my house—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, I claimed Katy in an easy swoop. The little girl clung onto me as if for dear life.

  “Hey!” Mrs. Dodd shouted, regaining her anger. “You can’t take her. The judge gave ’er to me!”

  “Not anymore,” I said.

  “You can’t do this!”

  “Watch me.” I paused in the doorway and turned back. Katy’s arms tightened around my neck. “And by the way,” I said, “we shan’t be requiring your services any longer.”

  As I strode down the street, Mrs. Dodd chased after me, shouting, “She’s giving Katy back to her Injun mother! Stop her!”

  I didn’t break my stride but kept moving down the walkway. People opened the doors of their cabins to see what the commotion was all about, and oystermen stopped in the street, setting down their baskets. Red Charley hopped off his barrel and walked toward me.

  Mrs. Dodd flew past me down the muddy street to Star’s, hollering, “Judge! Judge Baldt!”

  The door to Star’s opened and William walked out, followed by a small crowd including Mr. and Mrs. Staroselsky, Mrs. Woodley, and Mrs. Hosmer.

  “What seems to be the problem?” William asked.

  “She’s taking the girl!” Mrs. Dodd shouted at my hack.

  “Miss Peck!” William called in an authoritative voice, and I froze and turned to face him. “Before I have you arrested for kidnapping, may I ask: What exactly are you doing?”

  Katy eyed the gathering crowd fearfully. “Run, Boston Jane!” she whispered.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered back. I looked at William. “I’m taking Katy home!” I said in a defiant voice.

  “See!” Mrs. Dodd shrieked.

  “Miss Peck,” William said. “Why do you insist on defying me at every turn? By now you surely must have learned that you can’t possibly win.”

  Mrs. Dodd pressed her case. “She’s mine, Yer Honor. You gave ’er to me!”

  William shook his head in irritation and snapped to Red Charley, “Constable, give the child back to Mrs. Dodd.”

  Red Charley stepped forward, a little apologetically. “Sorry, Miss Peck, but I am the constable now.”

  I held up a warning hand and he hesitated.

  “Dr. Baldt, you specifically said that Katy was to be given to the care ‘of a lady.’ ”

  William’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a short nod of his head.

  “To a lady,” I said. “And you, Mrs. Dodd, are no kind of lady.”

  Mrs. Dodd became enraged. “How dare you—”

  “I do dare,” I said, advancing on Mrs. Dodd. “A lady would never do this to a child.” And I pushed up one of Katy’s sleeves.

  A collective gasp went through the crowd at the sight of the livid bruise on Katy’s arm. Mrs. Woodley put her hand over her mouth and tugged her daughters close. Mrs. Staroselsky cradled Rose tight to her bosom. Even Mrs. Hosmer went a little pale.

  “The girl wouldn’t mind me,” Mrs. Dodd said quickly. “You can’t let her do this!”

  I stared at William. “You are the judge, Dr. Baldt. If your intention was to give Katy a good home, then I can assure you that I have one. I am quite prepared to raise her.”

  William looked uneasily at the crowd that was now regarding Mrs. Dodd as if she were a bug. I had won!

  Then William cleared his throat. “Miss Peck. You are an unmarried girl. You are not a suitable mother for the child.”

  My heart sank. Katy’s arms clutched me even tighter.

  “But I am,” a voice rang clearly from the back of the crowd.

  Mrs. Frink stood there, a look of calm composure on her face, her husband a step behind.

  “I am a married lady, and I am more than willing to take Katy in. Do you have any objections to me, Dr. Baldt?” she asked with just a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

  William hesitated a moment too long.

  “What you got against Mrs. Frink?” one of the men shouted angrily.

  “Yeah, Baldt,” another one hollered.

  Even Red Charley seemed to eye William suspiciously.

  The crowd began to rumble, and William’s mouth tightened.

  “I would be most delighted if Mrs. Frink took in the child,” William announced.

  “That’s more like it,” Red Charley said.

  Mrs. Frink met my eyes and smiled.

  She was, as I h
ad always known, a true lady.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  or,

  The Claim

  On the third day of July all of Shoalwater Bay was busy with preparations for the next day’s celebration, and the staff of the hotel was in full swing.

  Spaark, Millie, Mrs. Frink, and I gathered early and worked hard all day. Even Willard showed up on time for once and did as he was told. It seemed that I was his hero now that I had stood up to Mrs. Dodd, and it was all he talked about as he peeled his potatoes.

  “You should’ve seen the look on that mean old Dodd’s face when Miss Jane got Katy!” he said, describing the scene in detail again and again.

  Mrs. Frink had given Cocumb a permanent room at the hotel so that mother and daughter could be together until the fuss with Mrs. Dodd died down. Cocumb wasn’t as upset about moving out of the cabin as I had thought she would be.

  “It was getting lonely in that cabin all by myself,” Cocumb admitted.

  The festivities were to be held in the downstairs of the hotel. As promised, Sally had given official invitations to Willard, to be hand-delivered several days before.

  I had not received one.

  As we were short staffed, I lent a hand with the cleaning. I dusted and swept clumps of mud that crisscrossed the carpet in spite of the boot scraper at the entrance. As I straightened up the settee in the parlor, I came upon a small book wedged beneath a pillow. I recognized it at once.

  It was Sally’s copy of The Young Lady’s Confidante, our textbook from the Young Ladies Academy.

  I idly flipped through the chapters: Conversation, Deportment at the Dinner Table, Receiving and Returning Calls, Pouring Tea and Coffee, and lastly, Being a Good Guest. Clearly Sally had never paid much attention to that chapter.

  And then from among the pages of the chapter entitled The Great Mistake, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I picked it up and unfolded it. The penmanship was Sally’s distinctive swirling hand.

  Dear Cora,

  I hope this letter finds you well. As for me, things have not improved in this wretched place. It never stops raining, and my best dress is quite ruined.

  Everyone is excited about this ridiculous Fourth of July party that I have agreed to organize for them. It is very tiresome and hardly worth the trouble, although it should provide some small amusements. Where else shall I see drunkards and fools dressing up like gentlemen? I rather doubt that any of them will be able to read the invitation! The ladies are not much better.