Rainy Day Dreams: 2

by Lori Copeland

  She fled quickly, closing the door behind her before Miss Everett could refuse.

  Jason hurried up the streets, his stride as long as he could stretch his legs. Over a mug of coffee as strong as wagon grease during the men’s lunch break, Henry had revealed his plans for an expansion of the mill. The concept had merit, and Jason’s enthusiasm ignited as he listened to the ideas. After two and a half days of studying Henry Yesler, Jason’s respect for the man had grown tremendously. A visionary with lofty goals for both the mill and the town, Henry was a man to be admired and followed.

  His skills in execution fell slightly short of the mark, though. His visions were exemplary, but rather lofty. He needed men around him who could translate those visions into work that could actually be accomplished. Jason was just such a man.

  In the case of the proposed mill expansion, Hudson Lumber Mill back in Michigan had undertaken a similar project when Jason worked there. When he told Henry he had brought some sketches with him, the man’s excitement had made him bubble like a boiling soup pot. He’d sent Jason to retrieve the sketches with all speed.

  His boots pounded on the Faulkner House’s porch and echoed off the hotel walls as he bounded up the stairs. In his room, he threw open the lid of his steamer trunk and began rummaging inside. Where had he put that satchel? Ah. There it was.

  The smell struck him at the same time his fingers closed around the leather. He jerked upright. No need to wonder at the odor; he knew it as well as he knew the scent of the rose water Beth used to dab on every morning when she dressed. Invisible fingers squeezed his heart, and he shut his eyes against the tide of memories that pounded like fists against his brain. Oil of turpentine. But where was it coming from? He glanced at the paint supplies he’d arranged in the corner when the spare bed had been removed, intending at some point to wrap them up and store them out of sight where they could no longer taunt him. No, he hadn’t brought oil of turpentine for fear the container would leak and saturate the other items in the trunk. Where then?

  He spied the window, which he had cracked open before leaving. Was the odor seeping in from outside? Moving like a fearful child, he edged close to the window and peered through it. The sun rode high in a clear blue sky, illuminating the landscape behind the hotel in a bright light he had never seen. The mountain, which he had admired often since his arrival, stood sentinel over a forest so deep the inside looked black as night. These things he noted in passing, for he located the source of the odor immediately.

  In a wide stretch of grassy clearing behind the hotel sat Kathryn. In fact, she had positioned herself directly beneath his north-facing window. Before her stood an easel, a flimsy portable one no taller than a child. To accommodate the lack of height, she had laid a blanket on the grass and arranged herself on it facing a small canvas. She wore a knit shawl around her shoulders against the chill. Her skirts spread out around her in an unconsciously graceful fan, and she had removed her bonnet to reveal a tail of dark hair curling down her back. She was absorbed in her work, bending forward and applying her brush with light, sweeping strokes. From here he could easily see her progress. She had completed a rough sketch of the landscape, her focus, of course, being the mountain. Now she was blocking the forest with the primary green.

  His throat constricted to the point that breathing was impossible, but Jason was unable to tear his eyes away. He watched in a sort of self-inflicted torture. When she leaned back and swished her brush in turpentine, he was jerked out of the nightmarish trance. With more force than necessary, he slammed the window shut, not only against the agonizing smell but from the far more disturbing sight of a painter before an easel.

  Below, Kathryn started and turned, scanning the building. Their eyes met through the glass, but only for a second. Then Jason snatched the curtain closed over the window. He grabbed the satchel containing his sketches and strode from the room, his boots vibrating the hotel floor with every step.

  A loud bang jerked Kathryn out of her intense concentration on the painting. Alarm zipped through her. A gunshot? An instant later she recognized the sound and willed her pulse to slow. Not a gunshot, but a window. Turning, she scanned the hotel until her gaze snagged on a figure watching her from the second floor.

  Jason.

  Hope sprang up in her like a blossom to full bloom in an instant. Surely a true master like him could not look upon a piece of art unfolding without wanting to see it become the best it could possibly be. Maybe he would come down and offer a suggestion or two.

  But no. Her hopes wilted when she caught sight of his expression. Even from this distance and through the glass, anger blazed in his eyes. Then he yanked the curtain closed.

  Seething, she set her teeth. What right had he to glare at her like that? She’d done nothing wrong…this time. Was she not free to pursue her own activities without drawing his wrathful disapproval? How could she ever have thought him nice, his manners courtly, even for a minute?

  Well, she’d show him. She would finish this painting before she left Seattle, and use every skill she possessed to make it her best so far. And then she would give it to Evie as a gift to be hung on the wall at the café where he would see it during every meal.

  With that goal in mind, she picked up her paintbrush.

  Kathryn rapped on Miss Everett’s door, fully expecting the reticent lady not to answer. Or, if she did, to have a list of excuses why she could not make the journey next door for tea. Armed with ready answers and a determination to pull her from the room by force if necessary, Kathryn stiffened her spine and lifted her hand to knock a second time.

  To her surprise, the door opened and Miss Everett stood before her already dressed in her coat and bonnet.

  She dropped her hand. “I’m a few minutes early, but I see you’re ready. Good.”

  “I’d rather meet people one at a time as they arrive than walk into a crowded room.” Deep creases in the woman’s high, pale brow bore witness to the extent of her anxiety. With jerky, nervous gestures she fetched a small reticule from the chair. “Shall we leave?”

  They might have been going to a funeral, judging by her wary tone. Smiling encouragement, Kathryn led her out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the sunshine. She paused a moment on the porch to breathe in the fresh air, scented not with rain for once but with pine and cedar.

  “If this weather is any indication of the springtime and summer, I can see why the townspeople choose to stay here.” With a nod she invited Miss Everett to walk at her side as they left the porch and headed next door. “I could find sufficient inspiration in Mount Rainier alone to keep me here for a few years.”

  “I saw you painting this afternoon.” Miss Everett took small, dragging steps that made Kathryn want to grab her arm and pull her along.

  “Oh?” Some artists guarded their unfinished projects jealously in order to make a grand presentation of the finished piece. She cared not one whit if someone watched her art unfold, and in fact found encouragement along the way motivating. “And what did you think?”

  “Me?” After a quick smile, she averted her eyes. “I couldn’t see very clearly from my window. And besides, I know nothing about painting.”

  Kathryn would have pressed for an opinion had they not at that moment arrived at the restaurant. The door stood open, and they entered to find a handful of ladies already seated around the room. One table was in use as a buffet, the surface covered with platters of tea cakes, pies, small sandwiches on thinly sliced bread, and an assortment of pastries. Since she knew Evie had not made pastries, they must have been the work of one of the other ladies.

  Louisa caught sight of them and interrupted her conversation with a large woman seated next to her. She stood and hurried across the room with the waddling gait employed by expecting women the world over.

  “Kathryn, you brought her!” She pulled Kathryn into a quick hug, and then startled Miss Everett by doing the same to her. “We are so glad to finally meet you. I am Louisa Denny. Welcome t
o Seattle.”

  “I…” Miss Everett cast an anxious glance at Kathryn, swallowed, and then managed to whisper an introduction. “My name is Helen Everett.”

  Helen? In the ten days of their acquaintance Kathryn had never heard her Christian name. And, she was chagrined to realize, she had not thought to ask.

  Louisa tucked Helen’s hand in the crook of her arm and pulled her forward. “Come and meet the others.” She stopped and, turning to Kathryn, extended her other hand. “You too. We’ve become friends so quickly I almost forgot you’re new too.”

  Some people were gifted with the ability to put people immediately at ease, and Louisa had that gift in abundance. Within minutes she had drawn Helen out from behind her wall of reserve and had her sharing details that Kathryn had never heard.

  “I decided to leave Nevada City when my mother died two months ago,” Helen explained in her hushed voice.

  Kathryn felt a rush of sympathy for her reticent friend.

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.” Beside her, the gray-haired woman who had been introduced as Mrs. Moreland laid a comforting hand on Helen’s arm. “I lost my own mother a year ago.”

  “She had been ill for a long time.” Helen sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap. “All my life, really. I’ve cared for her ever since I was a child.”

  The tall woman, who Kathryn recognized as Letitia Coffinger, owner of the dry goods store next door, spoke in a voice as big as her large-boned frame. “So now that you’re free from nursing duties, you’ve decided to come to Seattle and find a husband.”

  Helen’s normally pale face burned bright red, and her head drooped forward.

  “Letitia,” scolded Evie, “there are any number of reasons to move to Seattle.”

  The big woman waved that off with a flick of her fingers in the air. “This town has two things in abundance. Men and trees. I assume Helen is not here to try her hand at lumberjacking, so that leaves men.”

  Helen made no reply, either because of her bashful nature or because Letitia’s assumption was correct. Looking at the color riding high on her cheeks, Kathryn thought the reason might be a blend of the two. Certainly there was opportunity, if a husband was what she was after. But somehow Kathryn had a hard time picturing shy Helen in the company of rowdy men like Big Dog or Red. She needed someone more mature, more stable.

  Then Letitia turned in her seat and fixed a sharp gaze on Kathryn. “And what about you? Are you here to find a husband as well?”

  “Certainly not.” Kathryn emphasized her answer with a swift shake of her head. “I came to assist Madame in the management of the Faulkner House.”

  “She told me she hired you to be a maid,” said Letitia. Kathryn was about to protest, but the shrewd eyes narrowed. “But you could do that in San Francisco, where there are a far greater number of hotels. So my question stands. Why did you choose Seattle?”

  Really, the woman was quite pushy! But there was no malice in her questions, only a sincere desire to know the answers. So nosy, but in an almost engaging sort of way.

  Unable to hold that piercing gaze, Kathryn averted her eyes. “Actually, the journey was my father’s idea. I didn’t want to leave California, but he insisted. He wanted me to…” She toyed with the handle of her teacup. There was no reason to lie. She lifted her chin and glanced around the table. “To find a husband,” she admitted.

  The ladies laughed, Letitia loudest of all. Even Helen joined in, and Kathryn found herself relaxing. The ladies of Seattle might not be as progressive in their views as some she knew in San Francisco, but their company was enjoyable.

  The restaurant filled almost at once when a large group arrived. Chatting women entered, many of them carrying a platter of sweet cakes or a loaf of nut bread, and soon the first buffet table overflowed to a second. Children darted in to snatch a treat and then raced through the open back door to rejoin their friends. A handful of girls commandeered their own table and sat with their heads close, whispering and giggling. Talking of boys, no doubt. Kathryn remembered herself at that age, when she and Susan would draw frowns from Papa for whispering in church and stealing glances at Bobby Frye.

  Inez ran in, caught sight of Kathryn, and charged across the room to throw her arms around her for a quick hug. She was gone as quickly as she appeared, leaving Kathryn to smile after her.

  She spoke to Louisa. “I expected to see John William racing behind her. I suppose he’s outside playing with the other children.”

  Louisa shook her head. “Will didn’t bring him to the house today. I saw him carrying John William down the street toward the mill early this morning, but he was already too far away to hear me call. I can’t imagine Henry Yesler encouraging him to bring a three-year-old to the mill, but…” She shrugged. “I’ll ask David when he gets home from the blockhouse tonight.”

  “Oh, that blockhouse.” Mrs. Butler, seated at the next table, turned around in her chair to insert herself into the conversation. “My Hillory speaks of nothing else when visitors come calling. Says it’s a foolish undertaking and a complete waste of effort and good lumber.”

  Because Kathryn was seated across from Louisa, she could watch her expression change. Her lips pursed into a knot and fire flashed in her eyes. Setting her teacup down with extreme care, she turned to face Mrs. Butler.

  “He says so, does he?”

  A lady at yet another table emitted a high-pitched laugh. “My husband says the same. Those men are working themselves to exhaustion, and for what reason?” She asked the question of the women at her table.

  “Exactly,” agreed Mrs. Butler. “They’re building a fortress that will never see a day’s use. Why, it’s ridiculous, that’s what it is.”

  The cords in Louisa’s neck stood out and her fingers pressed so tightly Kathryn feared for the fragility of her delicate teacup. “They scoffed at Noah for building the ark too,” she snapped.

  All around the room, silent ladies stared awkwardly into their cups or busied themselves cutting bites of cake or pie. The girls at the far table stopped giggling to watch with wide eyes and dangling jaws. Mrs. Butler opened her mouth to reply, but the woman next to her placed a restraining hand on her arm.

  When the tension stretched to a nearly unbearable level, Evie stood and spoke in a bright voice. “I believe I’ll have another slice of bread with some of that delicious blackberry jam. Who made that?”

  “I did,” answered Letitia, hefting herself out of her chair and snatching up her plate. “And I believe I’ll join you.”

  Mrs. Butler and Louisa both turned back around and Kathryn released a pent-up breath. She exchanged a glance with Helen, who had watched the near-argument with wide-eyed alarm.

  Louisa lifted her teacup and spoke in a low voice to Kathryn over the rim. “I truly hope they’re right.”

  Kathryn leaned over her plate and whispered an answer. “And if they aren’t, I hope they live long enough for you to point out their mistake.”

  At that Louisa giggled, and the last of the tension fled.

  Nine

  Tuesday, January 15, 1856

  Kathryn! A moment before you leave.”

  Kathryn stopped in the center of the hotel’s empty front room and waited for Madame to appear through the doorway to her private area.

  Madame waddled in carrying a bundle. “I need you to take this laundry down to Princess Angeline.”

  “Princess?” Astonished, Kathryn could only stare at the woman. “Seattle has a princess?”

  In the week since her arrival, no one had mentioned the presence of royalty. Surely someone would have. And would the lady not have come to tea last Thursday night?

  Madame emitted the raucous cackle that had ceased to grate on Kathryn’s nerves and now caused only mild annoyance. “In a way. She’s the old Indian chief’s daughter. Earns money as a laundress.” She thrust the bundle, which Kathryn saw was a bedsheet gathered around a mound of clothing, into her arms. “Tell her to have someone bring it up tomorrow wh
en it’s finished.”

  Kathryn tried to push it back. “But I’m due next door to deliver sandwiches to the men working on the blockhouse.”

  Madame whisked her hands behind her back. “I know that. Princess Angeline’s house is not far from there, down on the waterfront. It won’t take you a minute to drop by after you’re finished serving.”

  “I don’t know the way.” A whine crept into her voice, though she deplored the sound of it. “And Louisa isn’t going with me this evening. I’ll be alone.”

  “So ask someone. Everyone knows Princess Angeline.” The woman turned her physically around and gave her a shove toward the door.

  “But…”

  Further protests would be a waste of breath. Madame had made good her retreat and closed the door to her sitting room behind her. Settling the laundry into a sturdier bundle, Kathryn headed next door. Perhaps in Evie she would find a sympathetic ear, and possibly a companion to show her the way.

  She was mistaken.

  “Oh, Princess Angeline’s cabin is easy to find.” The cheerful restaurant owner didn’t pause in her task of loading a crate of sandwiches onto the back of the wagon, which was hitched and ready. “Just go down the hill and when you get to the pier, turn right. Hers is the first house on the left past the dock.”

  “Is it…safe?”

  Evie gave her a quizzical look, which cleared after a moment. “Perfectly safe. You won’t go anywhere near the forest.” A smile settled on her face, no doubt intended to be reassuring. “Only you may want to leave the wagon by the pier and walk. The ground down by the water tends to be too muddy for a heavy wagon during the rainy season.” Then she bustled back inside the restaurant for another load of sandwiches.

  Still uneasy, Kathryn stowed Madame’s laundry on the front bench. If only Louisa had not felt so tired after the tea. And if only Kathryn had not felt so confident in her ability to deliver the sandwiches on her own that she urged her to go home to put her swollen feet up.