Kathryn followed the little girl back to her table, where another child sat playing quietly in a chair drawn closely up to the table. He was so short that at first the only part of him visible was the top of his head, bent over something in his lap. He looked up at her approach, and interest flashed in round eyes the deep green color of the sea on a sunny day. A dimple appeared in one round cheek.
“Are you a lady?” The words were precisely articulated in a high, childish voice.
Surprised at the unexpected question, she laughed. “Why, yes, I am.”
“Miss Weesa is a lady. And Miss Evie.” The news was delivered with a serious countenance. “Inez is a girl, and not a Miss.”
From her position at the worktable, Louisa chuckled. “We’re learning our manners.” To the child she said, “Do you remember how to introduce yourself to a lady?”
Chubby hands deposited a collection of wooden toys on the table, and then he climbed out of his chair and stood formally before Kathryn on sturdy little legs. He stood a few inches shorter than Inez, with chubby cheeks and folds at his wrists that still resembled those of a roly-poly baby. With one arm across his stomach and the other held formally behind his back, he executed a perfect bow.
“I am John William Townsend.” He straightened and added importantly, “I am a boy.”
Charmed, Kathryn dropped into a deep, formal curtsy. “I am Miss Kathryn Bergert, and I am happy to make your acquaintance, Master Townsend.”
Apparently that was the expected response, for a wide smile lit the child’s face.
Inez’s patience for manners had apparently worn thin. She inserted herself between them, took Kathryn’s hand, and tugged her toward an empty chair. “You sit here. You may play with Rebecca, and I will have Rachel.” She thrust a well-loved doll, the paint on its cloth face nearly worn off, toward Kathryn.
With a grin at Louisa and Evie, Kathryn did as instructed. John William returned to his chair but instead of sitting, stood on the seat on sturdy legs and began to arrange the wooden toys he had put down a moment before. Inez picked up a second doll, this one newer and wearing a blue dress that was a miniature replica of hers. She stood the doll’s stuffed legs on the table.
“I’m glad you’ve come to visit, Rebecca. Won’t you stay for tea?”
Holding her doll aloft, Kathryn responded with the expected answer. “Why, yes, Rachel. I would love some tea.”
While Inez served her make-believe tea, John William piled his toys, a handful of wood chips sanded smooth and cut in various sizes, carefully on top of each other. Kathryn stirred invisible sugar into her pretend teacup, declined cream, and declared the apple cake “simply wonderful!” to Inez’s delight.
The boy placed a block of wood on top of his pyramid and the pile toppled. Heaving a sigh, he began again. As he worked the tip of his tongue appeared between his sweet little lips in a gesture that reminded Kathryn of Papa when he was hard at work over his books. The thought made her smile.
“What are you building?”
“A blockhouse.” His gaze flickered briefly to her face. “Just like my grandpa. It’s gonna keep the town safe.”
Evie approached and stood looking down at his handiwork. “Safe from what?”
The child thought a minute. “I don’t know,” he finally said, and shrugged in a gesture so adult that Kathryn couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“Speaking of tea,” Evie said with a smile at Inez, “it’s time for ours. Would you like milk with your apple cake?”
The little girl jumped out of her chair, curls bouncing. “Yes, please!”
“Me too!” shouted John William.
“All right. Put your toys away and I’ll get it.” She grinned at Kathryn. “Would you care to join us at the adult table?”
Against Inez’s protests, Kathryn left the children to clean up their toys and switched tables. Louisa emerged from the storage room with a loaf of sweet bread. The three of them set the table with the lovely ivy cups and saucers and then settled themselves around the cheerfully steaming pot.
“You must be sure to join us tomorrow,” Louisa said as she slid a slice of apple cake onto her plate. “There aren’t many ladies in Seattle, but almost all of them come for tea on Thursdays. It’s one of the highlights of the week.”
“I hope the weather cooperates this week so the children can play outside.” Evie glanced at the other table, where John William and Inez were applying themselves to cake and milk with enthusiasm. “They enjoy the time together almost as much as we do.”
A tea would serve as a delightful diversion in an otherwise long and boring afternoon. And it would be nice to meet the other women of Seattle.
A thought occurred to her. “I wonder if I could persuade Miss Everett to come. It might cheer her up.”
“Please do.” Evie set her spoon down on her saucer and fixed an eager expression on Kathryn. “Tell us about Miss Everett. We’re all wondering about her.”
Louisa nodded. “Yes, do. Letitia was able to find out almost nothing, only that she wrote to Madame from her home in Nevada City several months ago to inquire about reserving a private room.”
“And that she paid six months in advance,” added Evie.
Kathryn regarded her with surprise. Paid in advance? She must have been absolutely certain that she would stay here. Why, then, would she hide out in her room and refuse to come out and meet the people of the town where she would spend the next six months?
“I don’t know much about her. She seems sad, somehow.” She thought about it a moment, and then shook her head. “She is shy, that much is certain. But when I deliver her supper tray I will try to convince her to come for tea.”
“Speaking of supper, Noah suggested that we do something different tonight.” Evie dribbled a thin stream of cream into her cup with one hand, stirring with the other. “We’re putting together sandwiches and delivering them to the blockhouse.”
“A sound idea. The men won’t lose time coming here for their evening meal. They can make use of every minute of daylight.” Louisa cut a bite of the moist sweet bread and speared it on the tines of her fork. “And you do know how to serve a good supper from the back of a wagon.”
Evie nodded, and then explained to Kathryn, “When I first arrived in Seattle, every man in town was focused on cutting lumber for their first timber order. I worked at the cookhouse for a time, and toward the end when the timing got tight, Cookee used to deliver portable suppers to the cutting sites so the lumberjacks could keep working. That was before we built this place.” A distant smile curved her lips as she swept the room with a fond gaze.
“I’ll help however I can,” Kathryn assured her. “But remember what I told you. I know nothing about cooking.”
“Putting together a sandwich is not exactly cooking.” Louisa sipped from her milky tea. “There’s not a lot of skill involved in placing a slab of meat between two pieces of bread. Everything’s already cooked.”
Sandwiches were not served at the Bergert household, since Papa considered them unsuitable for the dining room. Except the small fancy variety appropriate for tea. But she had eaten one on a picnic once. “I think I can handle that.”
“And then I wondered if you would help me deliver them to the blockhouse.” Evie’s glance slid toward her friend. “Louisa has agreed to take the food to the men while I serve the guests here tonight. I thought maybe if you two do it together the first time, then you’d know the way. Tomorrow perhaps you’ll feel comfortable enough to handle the delivery yourself.”
The idea left her vaguely uneasy. Was it safe for a woman to wander around town alone? Was the blockhouse even in town, or would she be required to travel through the forest to get there? She would not agree to that.
Hesitation must have shown on her face, for Evie said, “Maybe you’d prefer to handle things here while I deliver supper to the men.”
Actually, she would prefer to remain in the safety of the restaurant, but she didn’t want to appear like a frightened chil
d to these two fearless women who had conquered the wild frontier. No doubt they would laugh at her fears. Besides, she trusted that Evie would not send her into an unsafe situation.
She pasted on a brave smile. “No, I’d like to see the blockhouse. And some of the town as well. I’ve been here three days and seen nothing except the wharf and this street.”
“Thank you.” Evie’s expression held a touch of relief. She relaxed against the back of her chair. “How I wish you were staying longer in Seattle. Already I feel like we’ve become friends.”
Kathryn returned the warm smile. “I do too.”
Beside her, Louisa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, one hand pushing against the side of her round belly. “This baby isn’t fond of apple cake, apparently.” Her fingers massaged the area for a minute, and then she settled back and picked up her cup. “Why are you leaving when you’ve only just arrived? Is Madame so very difficult to work for?”
Across the table, Evie chuckled. “I’m surprised you even have to ask that question. Would you want to work for her?”
“Not I.” The answer came quickly, accompanied with a firm shake of her head.
Kathryn twisted her lips and answered with a wry tone. “Madame is actually quite easy to work with.” She emphasized the word, hoping to maintain a distinction. “Of course, it has only been two days, but I don’t think she has bestirred herself to climb the stairs since I arrived. She stays in her sitting room mostly, or sometimes at the desk, answering correspondence or going over the finances. I’m fairly well on my own upstairs.”
“I’m sure the upstairs are in capable hands, then, and I’m glad to hear she manages the business affairs.” Evie set her fork down beside her plate. “I confess to feeling a bit sentimental about the Faulkner House, and would hate to see it fail due to mismanagement.”
“Oh?”
Louisa aimed a smile at her friend. “Evie and Noah intended to build a boardinghouse next door, but when Captain Faulkner approached them with the idea of a grand hotel, they sold the property to him.”
Grand was not a word Kathryn would use to describe the Faulkner House. Plain was more like it. Austere came closer to the mark. “It could be grand,” she said carefully, “with a few nice pieces of furniture, especially in the entry.”
“Exactly,” Evie agreed. “Walking into an empty room doesn’t convey a sense of grandeur, or even of comfort. I’ve told Madame that many times, but of course she is limited in what she can do with Captain Faulkner gone so much of the time on business.”
Judging from the jumbled appearance of Madame’s personal rooms, Kathryn doubted she could achieve the desired effect even given the proper furnishings.
“So tell us. What makes you want to leave so quickly?” A grin teased the corners of Evie’s mouth. “Don’t you like our company?”
“Very much,” Kathryn assured her. “It’s only…” She lowered her gaze, her finger circling the rim of her saucer. If she complained about becoming a hotel maid, she would look like a pampered socialite to these hardworking women.
Louisa came to her rescue. “I think Kathryn is used to a bit more culture than our town has to offer.” She raised her eyebrows as though questioning whether that was a correct assumption.
“That is most certainly true,” Kathryn agreed. “I’m an artist, and enjoy discussions of technique and trends with other artists, of which San Francisco is in good supply. Here the only other artist I’ve met has scorned my every effort at conversation with bad-mannered determination to rebuff me.”
“She means Jason,” Evie told Louisa, then looked at Kathryn. “I’ve thought about his outburst this morning. I wonder if it has something to do with his wife.”
Jason was married? The idea settled on her like a cloud. She’d never considered the possibility.
Louisa straightened, her expression perking with interest. “I didn’t realize he was married. Why didn’t he bring his wife with him?”
“She died.” Evie’s voice held an ocean of compassion. “He told me the other night, and I nearly cried at the sorrow in his eyes. He obviously still misses her very much.”
“How did she die?” Kathryn asked.
Evie shook her head. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t have the heart to ask. Speaking of her seemed to cause him so much pain.”
Kathryn sat back, her tea forgotten. No wonder he was so ill-tempered. No doubt his wife’s death was somehow at the root of his reluctance to discuss his painting. Perhaps she had been his encourager. Certainly she would have to have been, married to a man with such talent. Perhaps he had even given up painting because of his grief. The very idea made her draw in a quick, horrified breath. To have been endowed with such ability and walk away from it, give it up to work in a lumber mill. The thought was inconceivable.
And yet, he had brought his art supplies to Seattle. The expensive tin paint tubes, his palette, his brushes. If he could not bring himself to leave them behind, then the longing to paint must still be there, buried beneath a mountain of grief.
She became aware that both ladies were watching her with curious expressions, and busied herself in picking up her teacup and draining the last of its contents.
“Perhaps that is the reason,” she told Evie. “Grief can certainly affect a man’s demeanor. Or a woman’s. I will try to remember that the next time Mr. Gates attempts to take my head off with sharp words.” Straightening her shoulders, she changed the subject. “If I’m to learn how to make sandwiches, perhaps we’d better start. If it involves kitchen implements, I’m bound to be a slow pupil.”
For that confession she received an indulgent grin. “I think you’ll master the skill quickly.”
With an answering smile, Kathryn stood and began gathering the dishes. Her time in Seattle may be short, but at least she could put it to good use. Acquiring a few cooking skills would certainly pass the time, and she could enjoy the company of these two ladies. But now she had a more important goal. She must convince Jason to paint again. A gift like his must not be wasted.
Seven
The afternoon passed quickly, and Kathryn enjoyed working alongside Evie and Louisa immensely. Making sandwiches was so easy she felt embarrassed to have even joked about her lack of kitchen skills. The hardest part was cutting the ham. She produced many uneven slivers and jagged chunks before she finally got a feel for the knife. Even the children helped, standing side by side on chairs across the table from her. Inez directed John William’s efforts and criticized his placement of meat on bread in an authoritative voice until her mother scolded her for being a tyrant. After that they fell into an easy partnership, with Inez laying out a row of bread, John William applying slices of meat with precise care, and Inez covering them with a second piece of bread.
When the light meal of sandwiches and molasses cakes was loaded in the back of a wagon along with the children, Kathryn and Louisa waved goodbye to Evie and headed down the wide avenue. It was the first time Kathryn had ventured more than a few steps from the Faulkner House. She inspected the buildings they passed with a bit more interest than the evening of her arrival, when she had been overwhelmed by their primitive appearance. Knowing more of the town and its people, today they looked small, rugged, and entirely appropriate to such a young settlement. Most were small, square, and built of rough cut logs and had low roofs, but they passed a few larger homes, most even made of milled timber.
When their wagon started up an incline and approached a neat two-story building set in the center of a grassy piece of cleared land, she exclaimed to Louisa, “Why, that’s an attractive home. With the window shutters and that beautiful porch railing, it’s nicer than some I’ve seen in San Francisco.”
A grin stole across the woman’s face, and from the back of the wagon came Inez’s piping voice. “That’s my house. My papa made it.”
Kathryn looked at Louisa in surprise. “David built that house?”
“He had help, of course. Most of the men in town showed up at one time o
r another to help with the building.” Her gaze traveled to her home, but a faraway look came over her. “I love it, of course, but it was sad to be forced out of our little cabin in the swag. Nothing so grand as this, but I will always miss our first home, where we lived when we married. Especially since we left out of fear.” They topped the hill, and she pulled the horse to a halt. “Take a look, Kathryn. This is the perfect place to see Seattle.”
She was right. Had the thick layer of clouds not lain low in the sky, Kathryn could have seen for miles in all directions. Even with the lowlying clouds her view of the populated area was perfect. The town circled an inlet of the bay, which had been cordoned off by a series of corrals in the water at the closest end of the lumber mill. From here it looked like the buildings she had passed upon arrival were crowded together with hardly any space between them, but farther away from the wharf they spread out. Clusters of smaller buildings lay here and there with stretches of barren land between them. Crisscrossing paths connected them to each other, the dirt packed and grooved into avenues wide enough to accommodate all but the largest wagons. From this vantage point Kathryn could appreciate the scale of the town and the ambition of those who envisioned it.
Her friend watched her face, clearly expecting a reaction of some kind.
“It’s bigger than I thought. How many people live here?”
“I’m not sure.” Louisa cocked her head as she considered. “Around three hundred white settlers, I’d say, but we have a number of Duwamish friends who live in town as well.”
“Apparently you expect the number to increase, judging by the amount of cleared land over there.” Kathryn gestured toward the wide-open space to the right of the wharf.
“More men arrive with every ship that docks here. It’s been rather astounding to watch Seattle expand. Four years ago there were only a handful of us.” A look of sorrow passed over Louisa’s face. “I mourn the loss of the forest. But I suppose that is the price of progress.” She turned her head and looked to their right. “But we still have plenty left. I hope you can get out into the woods before you leave. You have no idea how beautiful it is when you’re surrounded on all sides by trees taller than the tallest building, the leaves so thick you can barely see the sky between them. It’s”—she inhaled a deep breath—“freeing, somehow.”
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