The women and children in the front room were slightly less panicked than the previous night, but fear still showed starkly in their eyes. The cries of young ones echoed off the walls as mothers scooped them up and dashed out into the night.
With a quick, sweeping glance Kathryn searched for unattended children. Though chaos reigned, everyone seemed to be under an adult’s charge. She spied Helen hurrying down the stairs, clutching her small valise to her chest with both hands, and she ran to her side.
“Is it another false alarm?” the woman asked as they joined the exodus together.
“I hope so,” Kathryn replied, and then she had no more breath for words. Together they ran as fast as they could.
A crowd had amassed at the door of the fortress as people tried to squeeze themselves inside. Panting from the exertion, Kathryn stepped to one side to wait her turn. Some of the millworkers were stationed on either side of the door, urging the people to hurry. Where were David and Noah? And—she swallowed down a swiftly rising panic—Jason? A tide of townsfolk streamed up the hill, and she scanned them for a familiar face.
“Thank heavens I’ve found you.” Letitia approached her and Helen from behind and looped a hand through each of their arms. “I thought earlier that we should arrange a meeting place so we can be sure of everyone’s safe arrival. Evie and Louisa are already inside. Come with me.”
She started toward the blockhouse with a determined stride, skirts swirling around booted feet. Apparently she had made good on her promise to sleep in her clothing.
“Wait.” Kathryn pulled her to a stop. “I haven’t seen Jason. What if he didn’t hear?”
“He’s a capable man, my dear. I’m certain he can take care of himself.” Letitia started to continue, but something behind Kathryn caught her eye. Her lips twitched. “Now there’s a sight I never hoped to see.”
On the road below a trio of stragglers raced toward them. In the front ran Madame Garritson clutching a giant bundle, her fleshy figure bouncing with every step. As they watched, a tall man overtook her, white hair flying around his head and the tail of his short nightshirt flapping in the breeze behind him.
“Hillory, wait! Don’t leave me!” The shout came from the third figure, a woman Kathryn recognized as Mrs. Butler.
Her husband either did not hear or chose to ignore her plea. He overtook Madame at the foot of the knoll and passed her, arms and skinny legs pumping with renewed vigor as he dashed upward. Color flashed around his knobby knees.
“What is he wearing?” Kathryn asked, pointing.
Letitia squinted her eyes in his direction, and then burst out with a laugh. “Why, it’s his wife’s petticoat. I sold her the red flannel myself not three months past.”
Despite the tension, or perhaps because of it, Helen and Kathryn shared a chuckle while Letitia stepped in front of the man, ending his flight. “Hillory Butler, I’m surprised you have the nerve to show yourself. You declared more than once that this blockhouse was an effort in futility undertaken by foolish men.”
He drew himself up, gaunt chest heaving. “I have always been an ardent supporter of preparedness in any form.”
Then he darted around her and dove through the crowd and into the fort, leaving his wife to follow at her own pace.
Letitia grabbed Kathryn’s arm then and tugged her forward. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be pulled along, craning her neck to search the area. Where was Jason?
The tension inside was no less than the previous night as the people waited in the dark, straining their ears for sounds of fighting from beyond the safety of the sturdy walls. The crowd seemed bigger tonight. Maybe more people were becoming convinced of the danger. Kathryn clutched Helen’s arm, and her thoughts formed a constant prayer.
Lord, keep us safe.
Keep Jason safe.
Time ceased to have meaning as anxiety stretched the seconds into agonizing minutes. Finally, when she feared her legs might collapse from the strain, a crack of moonlight appeared and the door was opened. A man’s shape stepped into view.
“Another false alarm,” came David’s familiar voice. “Sorry, folks. We can all go home.”
The frightened people filed into the night at a much more sedate pace, murmuring to their neighbors. Though they might have grumbled about a second interrupted night’s sleep, or even voiced doubts of the necessity for another midnight flight, Kathryn heard only exclamations of relief. Judging by the number of people who had flown to safety, there were none left in Seattle who doubted that an attack was coming, and that it was imminent.
Outside the crowd spread out. She moved to the edge, letting people surge past her. At the far corner of the fort a small group of men stood watching the evacuation. Among them was Jason.
With a cry of relief, she started toward him, but then caught sight of the man standing at his side. Will Townsend, with a sleeping John William draped across one shoulder. She came to a stop.
Letitia, who had started down the hill with Helen at her side, stopped and turned an inquisitive look her way. “Are you coming, dear?”
“Yes.” With a last look at Jason, she turned away. At least he was safe. “Yes, I’m coming.”
She joined her friends for the journey home.
Thursday, January 24, 1856
Jason trudged up the hill, exhaustion weighing on his legs like there were anchors attached to his boots. Two nights in a row with no sleep, and the feverish pace at the mill to make up for the last two weeks when the men’s attention had been distracted by construction of the blockhouse were finally catching up with him. He dug at burning eyes with his finger and thumb. He was only thirty-five, but tonight he felt like an old man. When he was younger he used to go days on a few hours of sleep.
The light shining through the curtains in the restaurant’s front window created a pleasant picture in the swiftly deepening twilight. The sound of voices in casual conversation drifted through, along with the deep rumble of a man’s laughter. The sounds, along with the scent of roasting meat, combined to create such a homey, comfortable ambience that the tension started to seep out of his muscles. With luck he’d enjoy a good meal, pleasant company, and a solid night’s sleep. The thought cheered him, and with renewed energy he entered the café.
“There you are, Jason.” Noah waved him over to the corner table, where the chair that had become regarded as his sat empty. “We were beginning to wonder if Henry chained you to the desk down there.”
A contented sigh escaped his lungs as he doffed his coat. Something about this place appealed to him. Part of it was the story Noah had told him of its building. It represented tenacity and determination that were a trademark of Seattle’s founders and, indeed, of the town. His coat deposited on a peg, he turned and looked around the room. Men lifted hands to wave or called greetings, which he returned as he made his way to his chair.
His gaze swept toward a familiar pair of green eyes that locked onto his, and his step faltered. Kathryn looked different. In place of the typical severe knot at the back of her head, she had arranged her hair into a pair of braids and fixed them in loops that dangled behind her ears. He’d seen similar styles on ladies back East, but none of them wore the arrangement to such effect. She looked…well, she looked lovely.
“You’ve met Captain Gansevoort, haven’t you, Jason?”
He tore his eyes from her and focused on the uniformed man who had risen from his chair at Noah’s introduction.
“Not formally.” He shook the extended hand. “Jason Gates.”
The captain nodded as he lowered himself into his chair. “You were with Denny the other night outside the fort.”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“Jason’s the mill manager down at Yesler’s, and has been very involved in building the blockhouse.” Noah turned his head toward Jason. “Captain Gansevoort came ashore to assure us of the Decatur’s support.” He lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure no one could overhear. “Even though his superiors t
hink we’re a bunch of alarmists.”
Jason looked at the man with interest. “They don’t believe an attack is imminent?”
“They do not. I’ve received word from the governor informing me that such an attack was virtually impossible, but that I am to do what I can to, ahem, pacify the locals.” With an apologetic glance at Noah, he lowered his gaze to his plate.
An empty mug was plopped down on the table in front of him, and Jason looked up into Kathryn’s smiling face. His heart beat an uneven pattern.
“Would you like coffee?” She held up a pot invitingly. “Seattle’s best.”
“Sure.” He slid the mug forward and watched as she poured dark, steaming liquid from the pot. “You’ve done something new to your hair,” he blurted.
“Yes, I have.” She lifted a hand and fingered one braided loop. Another wide smile, and then she said, “I’ll be right back with your supper.”
The hem of her skirt fluttered when she twisted sideways to slip between two tables. He tore his gaze away and focused on the man across from him.
“The governor said an attack is impossible?” He shook his head. “What is he basing his opinion on?”
“Well I can tell you one thing.” Noah picked up his own mug and grimaced over the rim. “He’s not listening to Arthur Denny. David had a letter from his brother in the last post assuring us that he was doing everything in his power to make sure the threat is taken seriously in Olympia. You’d think the governor would pay attention to the head of the territorial legislature.”
The captain speared a piece of meat on the end of his knife. “No doubt that is why I haven’t received orders to leave.”
“That’s something to be thankful for.” Jason took a long sip from his mug.
Kathryn returned then. The plate she set in front of him held enough food for three men. Flashing another of those sweet smiles around the table, she left.
Gansevoort waited until she’d moved out of earshot. “How many hostiles do we estimate?”
Jason tore his eyes from her and looked at Noah, whose expression grew grim. “We had a report just this morning. Indian man by the name of Yoke-Yakeman, a friend of the Dennys who’s proven to be a trustworthy source of information.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Close to two thousand, according to him, and more arriving from the north every day.”
Jason sat back in his chair, his appetite gone in an instant. Even if every man in Seattle took up arms, the enemy outnumbered them eight to one. How could they possibly withstand an attack by an army of that magnitude?
“How many fighting men can we count on from your ship, Captain?”
The man answered without hesitation. “One hundred fourteen. We’ll be on shore within minutes, and leave only a few on board the Decatur.”
“And don’t forget that howitzer,” Noah reminded Jason. “That cannon nearly scared the stuffing out of me the other day. Let’s hope it has the same effect on the hostiles.”
Evie approached the table and slid into the empty seat on the other side of her husband. “What are you three talking about so seriously?”
Noah’s expression cleared. “Nothing.” He draped an arm casually across the top of her chair. “The restaurant looks extra fine tonight. Those pine boughs add a nice touch, I think.”
For the first time Jason noticed the decorations hanging on the walls. Bundles of multicolored greenery had been artfully arranged and tied with bright-colored gingham. Small bouquets of decorative grasses strewn with tiny white flowers sat in the center of each table. The containers appeared to be jam jars, but each had been decorated with gay bows made from strips of fabric. No wonder the café looked extra homey tonight.
“I can’t take the credit. Kathryn did it.”
Evie beamed across the room, where Kathryn circled a table with her coffeepot, refilling the mugs the men held toward her. Red must have said something funny, because she threw back her head and laughed and gave his arm a playful slap.
Seeing that casual touch, the oddest feeling erupted deep in Jason’s gut. He identified it immediately, and his stomach soured.
He was jealous.
With an abrupt gesture he pushed the plate away from him and stood. “I think I’ll go back to the hotel now.”
Evie eyed his full plate with dismay. “But you haven’t eaten a bite.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious.” He gave her an apologetic glance. “To be honest, I’m too tired to eat. I think I’ll try to get some sleep before tonight’s midnight dash through the streets.”
With an apologetic shrug for the lame attempt at humor, he made a hasty exit. He did not look toward Kathryn as he left the restaurant.
Kathryn pulled her cloak around her shoulders and crossed the short distance between the restaurant and the Faulkner House in the dark. The supper crowd had lingered far longer than usual over their pie and coffee, talking of inconsequential things like the unusually mild winter and the hopes that it portended an early spring. Beneath the surface, tensions ran high. No one mentioned the blockhouse or the looming threat of attack, but she saw it in every face.
Clouds obscured both moon and stars, and she hurried through the grass, eager for the now-familiar confines of her little room where the light of a single candle could chase away every inch of darkness. Hopefully she would enjoy an entire uninterrupted night there.
As she mounted the first step, a dark form emerged from the shadows on the far end of the porch. She drew back, a scream gathering in her throat.
“Kathryn. Do you have a moment?”
Jason’s voice reached her in the second before she screamed, and she swallowed her terror. Wilting against the post, she released a loud breath. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“That’s all right. We’re all jumpy tonight, I think.” A quiet laugh forced its way from her lungs. “Imagine the reaction if I shouted out that I was being attacked.”
His chuckle joined hers. “I’m not sure the town can handle another night like the last two. I’ve been sitting here the past hour, enjoying the solitude. Won’t you join me?”
He gestured toward the edge of the porch, and she seated herself with her feet dangling inches above the ground. He slid into place at her side, leaving a few inches between them. His nearness drew her like a warm campfire on a frosty night, and she had to force herself not to lean sideways to feel the touch of his arm against hers.
“You did a good job in the café tonight.”
Did she imagine the quiver in his voice? Did nerves plague him the way they did everyone else in town? He always seemed so calm. “Evie is the cook, not me. And trust me, the entire town should be glad of that.”
“No, I meant on the decorations. The wall hangings and flowers on the table. They gave the place a homey feel.”
“Ah.” She waved a hand vaguely in the air. “That’s nothing but a few scraps of leftover cloth and winter blossoms.”
“No, really.” He drew a foot up on the porch and rested an arm across his knee. Though dark with shadows, his eyes bore into hers. “That’s a talent not everyone has, being able to arrange things in a way that puts people at ease.”
“Imagine that.” She turned away with a self-deprecating shrug. “I finally found my talent. I so hoped I would be an artist or a musician.”
His hand rose, and he gently turned her face back toward his with the feather-light touch of a finger beneath her chin. Warmth spread from the place where he touched her.
“Allaying people’s fears is a gift we desperately need right now, Kathryn. I…appreciate your ability to do that.”
He spoke her name in a low, husky tone that sent a ripple racing across her skin. She answered in a near whisper. “Do you really?”
Unconsciously she leaned toward him, her gaze searching the dark pools of his eyes. The world around her faded, refocused, and narrowed to the few inches that separated her mouth from his. Her heart performed a crazy dance inside
her ribcage. The only thing between her and Jason’s kiss was a puff of frosty breath that seeped between her lips on a warm sigh.
He jerked upright, breaking the moment. “Uh, I wanted to talk to you about the ship due to arrive on Friday.”
Disappointment washed over her, and she sagged back. “Oh?”
“I want you to leave on it, Kathryn.”
That again? “We’ve already discussed this.”
“Yes, but I urge you to reconsider.” His head turned toward the hotel’s window behind them and he lowered his voice. “The situation is far more desperate than I realized.” He paused to wet his lips. “I’m praying for your safety. Every day.”
“You are?” If he were praying for her, surely that meant…
He nodded. “But I’d rest a lot easier if you were safely back in San Francisco when this war breaks out.”
She perked upright, the dance in her chest revived. Did she dare to hope? “Why, Jason? Why is my safety so important to you?”
In the quick pause that followed, she felt his mood shift. He hopped off the porch and took a backward step. Alarm stiffened his posture, and he answered in a loud voice.
“Because you’re a woman. I’d recommend the same for every woman. In fact, I intend to. First thing tomorrow, I will speak to Evie, and to David’s wife, and to Mrs. Coffinger.” His head jerked toward the hotel. “And Helen, and even Madame. Yes, you should all leave.”
Kathryn observed his vehement declarations with blossoming hope. Of course he might be entirely sincere in his concern for the entire female population of Seattle. He probably was, and those fears were not unfounded. But was there, perhaps, one lady whose safety he desired above the others?
“I’m going to my room now,” he announced as he dashed up the porch stairs. “I bid you goodnight.”
Without another word, he snatched at the door handle, jerked it open, and disappeared inside.
Kathryn lingered in the cold, dark night, staring at the place where he’d sat a moment before. What would cause a reserved, solitary man like Jason Gates to babble in that manner? Could it be…love?
A giggle threatened, and she clasped her hands to her mouth to smother it. If Jason was truly praying to the Lord for her safety as he said, that meant at least once every day his thoughts were fixed on her. In the next moment the giddy sensation dimmed, and she wilted back against the porch post. Wouldn’t it be her luck to finally fall in love…just in time for a war that might very well end their lives?
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