by Regina Scott
“What’s his name?” John asked, venturing closer.
“Peter,” she said, but so begrudgingly he wondered if she thought he’d argue over the matter.
The lad seemed about four months along. That was generally when they discovered their hands, if his nieces and nephews were any indication.
“I suppose Beth knows all about him,” he said.
She blushed, the pink as deep as the sunrise. “Actually, I never wrote Beth about him. When I first answered the ad, I was rather sick, and I thought I might lose the baby. Why explain something that might never come to pass?”
She bounced the little fellow up and down on her hip, wiggling her nose at him and setting him to smiling. John fought a smile himself.
“And then when he was born,” she continued, “I was afraid to tell her for fear you might not want to send for me. I thought, that is I hoped, you would want him, too.”
And he hadn’t given her the chance to find out. He could feel her yearning now, and something inside him rose to meet it. He shouldn’t give in. She needed a better man than him.
“Is that why you didn’t want me to come up?” he asked instead. “Because of Peter?”
She managed a smile. “I was more concerned that I didn’t have a chaperone. I couldn’t leave him alone to come downstairs.”
John glanced back. “If we leave the door open, that ought to satisfy propriety. And you could have told Beth about Peter. She would probably have sent for you sooner. She loves babies.”
“Do you?” She shot him a look equal parts challenge and concern.
He shrugged. “I’m an uncle eight times over. I’m used to babies.”
Her frame relaxed, but she sighed. “What a very great shame you weren’t the man who placed the ad I answered, then.”
Perhaps it was a shame. But he didn’t feel ready to be a husband, much less a father.
Peter reached out a hand, and John offered him a finger to squeeze. Such a strong grip for a little fellow. He seemed like a healthy lad, with round cheeks and sparkling eyes that might yet turn the purple of his mother’s. His dressing gown of linen with its sweater over the top was clean and tidy, at least for the moment, but John knew exactly how many things a baby could do to clothing and anyone nearby. He’d been spit at, wet upon, and had a handful of hair yanked out at one point or another. That fetching black-and-white checkered gown Dottie wore today didn’t stand a chance.
“What did the ad say?” he asked, suddenly curious as to what would have made this woman take a chance on him. “What convinced you to answer it?”
She cocked her head, a smile hovering. “It said, ‘Wanted—sweet-natured wife who will brave the wilderness and make a happy home filled with love.’”
Good thing no one else in his family knew he was supposed to be the author, or he would never live it down. “I’m sorry Beth raised your hopes.”
Her smile faded, and the room seemed to darken. “So am I. I truly have no idea what to do now. I know no one in Seattle but you and Beth and two friends who just left for the Duwamish. You can understand why working could be difficult.”
“You have no family?” John persisted.
Her mouth tightened. “None that will take in Peter. They suggested I put him in an orphanage.”
John cringed. Having been raised in a big, loving family, he could not imagine giving away one of his siblings. Even his youngest brother, Levi, at his worst had been helped, not shunted aside.
“And his father’s family?” he asked.
“Cannot be contacted,” she said.
Why? Were they as heartless? Or had she and her husband married against their wishes? Yet who would refuse a grandchild, especially if their son was gone, as must have been the case with her husband if she was free to marry again?
As if the baby felt the hopelessness of their situation, his face sagged, and he began to whimper. She drew him closer, rocked him from side to side. Her eyes closed as if she longed to block out their reality.
“I suppose,” John heard himself say, “there’s only one thing we can do. You better come out to Wallin Landing to live with me.”
Chapter Four
Live with him? Dottie clutched Peter close. John Wallin had already told her he had no interest in marriage. How could she live with him?
She felt heat gathering in her cheeks. “I cannot like your assumption, Mr. Wallin. I don’t know who gave you the impression that I’m the sort of woman who would put herself under a gentleman’s protection, but I assure you that you are mistaken. I think you’d better leave.”
His cheeks were as red as hers felt. “Please forgive me, Mrs. Tyrrell. I didn’t mean... That is, it wasn’t my intention...” He squared his shoulders and met her gaze straight on. His green eyes pleaded for understanding. “I have a good, solid farmhouse. You and Peter are welcome to live in it until you decide what to do next. My brother’s logging crew has taken over my parents’ cabin. I’m sure I can bunk with them in the meantime.”
Nothing in that open face shouted of dishonesty. He was either the kindest man she’d ever met, or the wiliest.
Dottie cocked her head, watching him. “You’d give up your home, for me?”
He blew out a breath as if grateful he’d made his plan clear. “Yes, gladly. It’s the least I can do for the trouble my family has put you through. I’ve several cows and chickens, so you can be assured of fresh milk and eggs. We still have vegetables and fruit canned from last harvest. My brothers and I hunt and fish during the week, so there’s usually meat as well. All you’d have to do is take care of you and Peter while you consider your options.”
It was too good to be true. “Forgive me, Mr. Wallin, but I find your offer altogether unequal. What do you get out of the bargain?”
He frowned as if puzzled by the question. “Why, the chance to be helpful, ma’am.”
A laugh popped out of her, and she could hear the bitter ring to it. “In my experience, people are not nearly so helpful.”
He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Then perhaps you know the wrong people, Mrs. Tyrrell.”
She had no question on that score. Her experience with Frank had soured her on a lot of things. Yet, was John Wallin the only man who had ever offered help to someone in need? She recalled her father allowing vagabonds to stay in the barn and feeding traveling families on their way to work on farms in the next county. He’d never asked for more recompense than a good night’s sleep.
“What we do for others, we do for God,” he’d said more than once.
She’d never fretted then. She’d been happy on the farm, secure in the knowledge her parents loved her and would always be there for her. The latter had proved a lie.
Would John Wallin prove a liar?
She must have taken too long to answer, for he sighed, his gaze dropping to the hat in his hands. “If you prefer to stay in Seattle, I’ll pay for the hotel as long as I can. I just thought Lowe’s might not be the best place for a baby.”
Or her. The more she moved about the hotel, going to seek work and returning, the more attention she attracted from the other residents. Several of the men had cast her interested glances, and not in a way she found admiring. And the clerk had told her a guest had complained about Peter’s crying. What if the hotel manager asked her to leave? Where would she go then?
“If I agree to your offer,” she began, setting John to beaming, “I would need assurances that Wallin Landing is a suitable place for a woman and child. Beth told me a great deal about it, but that was before I knew I would not be arriving as your wife.”
He nodded, his hat gripped in his sturdy fingers. “Of course. My claim is the southernmost. It runs from Lake Union west over the top of the hill toward Puget Sound. My brother James and his wife, Rina, are adjacent, but our claims are
narrow enough that you can cross them quickly. Just beyond live my oldest brother, Drew, and his wife, Catherine. She’s a trained nurse and runs the dispensary. You’d have experienced medical help should Peter need it.”
That was good to know. In Cincinnati and on the journey west, Peter had proved surprisingly resilient, with few of the fevers and ailments that seemed to trouble other babies. But she knew it was only a matter of time before something made him ill.
“There’s also a school with fifteen students,” he continued, stepping closer as if he sensed her resolve weakening. “Rina is the lead teacher. Beth helps sometimes, when she isn’t working her claim, assisting my brother Simon’s wife, Nora, or trying to boss our brothers or Drew’s crew around. Nora watches the little ones while their mothers are working. The eight of them range from a sweet-natured toddler to a six-year-old who’s convinced she’s queen. I’m certain Nora wouldn’t mind including Peter if you had work to do.”
And she’d have a nanny of sorts, it seemed. Still, that voice inside her warned that it was all a trick. Hadn’t she learned by now that anything good in life could be taken from her?
She gazed down into Peter’s dear face. His blue eyes, more gray than hers, gazed back, trusting. He offered her a smile as if to encourage her, and she couldn’t help smiling back.
Whatever happens, Lord, thank You for entrusting me with this precious boy.
And didn’t her son deserve something more than this narrow hotel room, the company of strangers, here today and gone tomorrow? If what John Wallin was offering was even half true, she could provide Peter a safe home and good food, perhaps even friends. Shouldn’t she take the chance, for him?
“I believe Beth said Wallin Landing is about five miles from Seattle,” she told John, who was shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn’t wait to hear her answer. “I’d be willing to move out, see if the area will suit Peter and me.”
His smile showed his relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.”
She couldn’t make herself believe that.
* * *
She was coming with him. John wasn’t sure why Dottie’s decision raised his spirits so high, but he couldn’t help whistling a tune as he went to the livery stable to see about hiring a wagon and stabling his horse overnight. She’d been reticent, but who could blame her? She’d already left everything behind to come to Seattle on a promise that had proved false. Why should she believe anything he said?
He’d simply have to show her he was a man who could be trusted.
He brought the wagon around to the hotel, carried her trunk down the stairs and heaved it into the bed. James still joked about the amount of baggage he had been required to move to bring Rina out to Wallin Landing to teach. Dottie’s belongings seemed to amount to much less, especially when she was carrying clothing not only for herself, but also for a baby.
“Is there more?” he asked as she passed him by the front of the wagon.
She glanced back. She’d covered her gown with a navy wool cape that fell to her hips, and it twitched as she moved, drawing his attention to her slender figure.
“Just my valise with Peter’s things.” She held the case in one hand and cradled her son with the other.
An unencumbered female. That would be a novelty. Rina and Catherine had come to Seattle as part of the Mercer Belles. The women had followed Asa Mercer to Washington Territory from the East Coast to work and marry, bringing fine silk and wool gowns with them. Nora had also been a Mercer Belle, but she’d brought fewer clothes. Still, she was a seamstress. Now she sewed herself something new on a fairly regular basis. And Beth had been known for her obsession with fashion, as depicted in Godey’s Lady’s Book, since she was ten.
He took the valise and stowed it behind the bench, where Dottie could reach it if needed, then turned to hand her up. Instead, she offered him the baby.
“If you’d hold Peter a moment?”
John accepted the soft weight. Peter regarded him solemnly, as if considering his character. Meeting the baby’s gaze, John stood a little straighter. He felt the chuckle bubble up inside Peter’s chest before the baby grinned. For some reason, John felt like celebrating.
“He likes you.” Dottie sounded surprised. She had climbed up into the seat by herself and paused now to gaze down at her son. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.”
Neither did his mother, but John decided not to mention that.
“I’m used to babies,” he said. “I guess they know that.”
Dottie dropped her gaze, rearranging her skirts around her on the bench. Then she held open her arms. “I’ll take him now.”
Peter pouted as John gave him back to his mother. John felt the same way. There was something warm, something real, about holding a baby. The soft skin and sweet breath made him feel protective, strong. He’d felt the same way holding his nieces and nephews. Drew and Catherine had three children now, James and Rina three and Simon and Nora two.
Yet there was something different about Peter, with his too-solemn face. Perhaps he touched John’s heart more than his nieces and nephews did because John knew they had two parents to love them. Dottie clearly cared about her son, but unless she remarried, the lad would grow up without a father. John remembered how it had felt to lose Pa, but Drew had stepped into the role. Who would step up to help raise Peter?
John came around, hopped up on the bench and took up the reins. “You won’t regret this,” he promised Dottie before calling to the horses to set off. Her tight smile showed she disagreed with him.
She cuddled the baby as they rolled through the streets, passing other wagons, men on horseback, ladies with baskets on their arms. Seattle had grown in the last few years. The fancy houses on Third Avenue that had once stood at the edge of town were eclipsed by the buildings on Fourth and Fifth. New streets with names like Cherry and Spring stretched east and west as well. They ran right up to the edge of the forest, which quickly wrapped around John and Dottie, narrowing the road and the world to the single rutted lane leading north.
Dottie glanced longingly back at the town that was disappearing behind them.
“More remote than you expected?” he asked.
She nodded, facing front again. “A bit. Do you have trouble with wild animals at Wallin Landing?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “The more people move out our way, the more the animals flee. It’s getting harder to find deer or rabbit near the claims. We may get a fox or weasel after the chickens once in a while, but I haven’t seen a cougar up close in years.”
“Well,” she said, “I suppose that’s good.”
She didn’t sound convinced.
“It’s no Cincinnati,” John acknowledged. “But you must have known that much when you agreed to come.”
“Beth’s letters were quite detailed, but I suppose it wouldn’t have taken much for me to want to be elsewhere. I didn’t like living in Cincinnati. I’m sure Wallin Landing will be fine.”
He’d always thought so. “My brothers have done their best by the place. Ma and Pa brought us out before the Indian War here in ’55. They each filed a claim, then each of us siblings, except my brother Levi, who went north, filed a claim when we reached our majority. Pa always wanted his own town.”
John had grown up with the dream, but saying it aloud to Dottie felt odd. After living in a big city like Cincinnati, she could only see their goal of building a community as provincial. Why, Wallin Landing was small compared to Seattle!
She busied herself with her son, tucking the blanket around him, pulling a corner over his head and murmuring assurances. Not for the first time, he felt a stab of loss. Ma had been gone just two years, having met and loved each of her grandchildren, and he still missed her. He thought she’d like Mrs. Tyrrell. Ma had appreciated women who stood up for themselves
.
The skies above the firs were heavy with rain, and John could hear it pattering down above them. Under the trees, however, it was drier. The cool air that brushed his cheeks carried the scent of Puget Sound. It might have been a pleasant ride, but he was all too concerned about the lady beside him. She’d come this far and the end of her journey wasn’t in sight. Surely he could find some way to reassure her.
“It’s nearly time to plant,” he remarked. “We’ll have corn and beans aplenty, and each claim has its own garden and orchard for fruit. Our neighbors are good about trading whatever’s extra. You’ll see the farms soon.”
“How many people, all told?” she asked, sitting taller, as if she longed to spot any sign of civilization.
John frowned, considering. “With our claims and the neighbors to the north and south, perhaps sixty people.”
“Sixty.”
She said the word breathlessly, but he was fairly sure the number was far too small for her. He was just glad when they came out of the forest onto farmland, the fields dark as farmers turned the soil for new planting. He spotted neighbors out working as they passed. All raised a hand in greeting, and John waved back. Mrs. Tyrrell regarded him, brows tight over her nose, and he couldn’t tell what was troubling her.
Peter had no such concerns. He closed his eyes and drowsed in her arms.
There had to be something that would please her. Through the trees ahead, he spotted a steeple rising. He pointed toward it. “That’s our church.”
“Beth said you designed it,” Dottie replied, angling her head as if to try to glimpse more of the structure.
He couldn’t quite prevent the pride from leaking into his voice. “I did. But Drew and his men felled the timber, James paid for it to be cut into board at Yesler’s mill and my brothers and I all worked together to construct the building. It still needs paint, inside and out, and there are benches, steps and a pulpit to install.”
“By summer, then,” she said with a nod.
He grimaced. “Realistically, with planting coming, it might be a while before we finish. I’m hoping we’ll start holding services there around harvest time, provided we can find a preacher willing to relocate out this way.”
