by Regina Scott
Dottie threw up her hands. “Oh, all right. I’ll open it.”
She sat on the bench, lifted Peter onto her lap, took up the letter and slid her finger under the flap. Her gaze darted to the signature at the bottom. Relief surged through her when she saw Martha’s name.
But her relief quickly faded as she read the note aloud.
“‘Dear Dottie,
I hope this finds you and little Peter happy and settled. You had told me you were going to Washington Territory, so I’m sending this to the postmaster in Seattle in hopes it will reach you. We are all in fine health here, and a nice widow lady with a cat has settled into your old apartment.’”
She cast a glance at Brian, who was looking over her arm as if reading the note along with her.
“‘But I wanted you to know that that dastardly Frank Reynolds has left Cincinnati. His wife came by looking for you, begging to know if you’d run away with him. Supposedly he’s headed west. I guess you could come home now if you wanted. Let me know, and I will see if I can find a place for you and Peter. I miss our talks.
Your friend always,
Martha.’”
Dottie’s fingers were shaking once more, and Brian pounced on the paper, knocking it from her hand. She didn’t retrieve it as he pushed it across the bench to Peter’s delight. She cuddled her son close instead.
Frank was headed west. That was a lot of territory, she knew from her travels. He might settle in some state between here and Ohio. He might go all the way to San Francisco.
But please, please, Lord, don’t let him come to Seattle.
What if he did? Beth had said new settlers arrived every day. And Seattle was just the sort of place Frank might like, full of opportunities, strangers easily taken in by his charm.
Perhaps she should leave now. But where would she go? Martha advised her to come home, yet Cincinnati was no longer home. She didn’t want to go back there, even if Frank never returned. She wanted someplace new, someplace clean, someplace all her own. She had a chance for all of that here at Wallin Landing. She couldn’t let a list of maybes and might-haves scare her away.
Apparently disgusted with her lack of movement, Brian jumped down from the bench. He started across the floor, then paused, gaze going to the back of the house. His whole body stiffened.
Had he heard something? Was she in danger? Had Frank found her?
* * *
John carried the pail of milk toward the back door. The night was clear for once, with stars sparkling above the trees. He followed the path from the barn to the house from long practice. But he couldn’t help that his feet dragged.
Beth had told him in excruciating detail all the ways Drew’s crew was trying to impress Dottie. Fresh trout for breakfast, wood for the fire. He should have thought of those things.
But then again, he had said he wasn’t courting her.
So why did he hesitate now to see how happy she was with their attentions? She deserved all that, and more.
He opened the door and backed through it, only to hear a cry behind him. He dropped the pail and whirled. “Dottie?”
She stood in the doorway, hand gripping the handle of a cast-iron skillet she held up and at the ready like a club. “Oh, John.” Her voice was breathless. For all her brave stance, the pan shook in her grip.
He held up his hands. “It’s all right, Dottie. It’s just me. I’m sorry if I startled you.”
With a sharp intake of breath, she set the pan back on the stove with a clatter. “Sorry. I heard a noise.”
And had been scared out of her wits by it. He’d never seen a woman so pale. With a step, he moved forward and put his hand on her arm.
“I didn’t see anything moving outside,” he assured her. He glanced around the kitchen and spotted the ginger tail twitching under the sideboard. “But perhaps your noise came from inside.” He went to bend over and peer under the furniture. “Here now, Brian. What do you mean by scaring Dottie and Peter?”
The cat’s green eyes flickered in the shadows. John straightened. “Just Brian. Maybe he was actually doing his job for once.”
“Perhaps he heard a mouse.” She rubbed a hand along her arm as if she wanted to feel the security of the pan in her grip once more.
John tried for a smile. “There’s nothing to fear here, Dottie.”
Her smile said she didn’t believe him.
“Where’s Peter?” he asked, going to retrieve the pail. The tall can in the corner and the cool night temperatures would keep the milk until morning.
“I put him in his cradle before coming to check on the noise,” she said.
“I imagine he’s sleeping like a baby,” he joked.
Ah, there was the smile he prized. “Perhaps. But he doesn’t know any better.”
And she was sure she did.
“I can’t deny that the wilderness holds dangers,” he told her, pouring the milk into the steel can. “But my family has worked hard for nearly twenty years to tame the wilderness. If you look closer, you may find things to love about the area.” He set the pail on the floor. “Here, let me show you.”
He held out his hand. She looked at it as if the gesture was foreign to her. Then a shudder went through her. He refused to back down. He couldn’t see her going to sleep this worried.
He almost shouted a hallelujah when she slipped her fingers into his grip.
He led her through the house, pausing in the bedroom doorway to check on Peter, who had indeed fallen asleep, then out onto the porch. The velvet black of the night wrapped around them. He pointed up at the semicircle of stars. “See there?”
He could barely make her out in the darkness, but he saw her shadow move as she must have looked up. “The stars?” she asked.
“Exactly.” He leaned closer, caught that sweet apricot scent. “See that long dip down and across? That’s Ursa Major, the great bear.”
He heard the smile in her voice. “Peter would like that.”
“You might like this one better. See that M shape? That’s Cassiopeia, the queen.”
She must have turned her head to look at him, for he felt her breath brush his ear. “Where did you learn that?”
“I read about it in a book.” He felt a little self-conscious admitting it. Men were supposed to go out and discover things, not sit at home and read about them. “Catherine’s friend Allegra Banks Howard loaned it to me. It had the latest scientific theories about stars and galaxies. Do you know Earth is only one planet among a group of planets, and that group is only one of perhaps millions out there in space?”
“My word.” She sounded as awed as he’d felt when he’d read the book.
“Those stars look like tiny pricks of light to us, but they’re as big, or bigger, than the sun. We’re the ones who are tiny, in the scheme of things.”
“I feel that way sometimes,” she murmured, and he thought she was looking up again.
“But they’re so far away,” John told her. “There’s nothing there to harm us. Now, listen.”
She stilled beside him.
“Do you hear that shush-shush sound? That’s the waves on Lake Union.”
She nodded, and a curl caressed his cheek. “I didn’t know a lake could have waves.”
“I understand larger ones do. Lake Union isn’t that large, but the breeze from the Sound encourages the water to move. Now, take a deep breath.”
She inhaled.
“What do you smell?” he asked.
“Something dry and flowery, and just a touch of brine.”
“The pungent flowery scent is the cedar not far from the house. It’s a massive thing, probably been growing more than a hundred years. I didn’t have the heart to cut it down. I’ll show it to you and Peter. And the touch of brine is Puget Sound, beyond the hill behin
d us. To me, this is the smell of home.”
She drew in another breath as if she wanted to sense it, too.
He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to look down toward the main clearing. “Now, see those lights? That’s Drew and Catherine, James and Rina, Beth, Harry, Tom and Dickie. You shout loud enough, and every one of them will come running to help you.” He turned her back to face him. “And so will I.”
“Will you?” Her voice begged him for the truth.
“Always,” John promised. “You’re safe here at Wallin Landing, Dottie.”
He felt her trembling in his grip. He only wanted to assure her that nothing could hurt her, that he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. It seemed only right to lower his head and kiss her.
As he’d expected, her lips were soft and sweet, and something rose inside him, demanding that he protect her, cherish her, take the risk that she could be the one for him.
He’d meant to comfort her, lessen her fears. Why was he the one who was suddenly afraid?
Chapter Ten
John Wallin was kissing her.
It was a lovely kiss, warm, sweet. Something inside her rose to meet it, begging her not to let it stop. Why couldn’t she feel loved, protected?
Why did the moment have to end?
He drew back, and she was glad for the dark, for she felt the air turning the tears on her cheeks cold.
“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” he asked. “I could sleep in the loft.”
How nice to know help would be only over her head. But she couldn’t accept the offer. It wasn’t proper. “No. Thank you. You’ve helped me so much already, John. Peter and I will be fine. As you said, I only have to shout if I need help.”
“Remember that.” His fingers brushed her cheek, and she heard him suck in a breath. “You’re crying. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”
Dottie caught his hand. “Don’t apologize. I know you meant that kiss for a kindness. I won’t refine on it.”
“That makes one of us.”
Had he meant the kiss as more than she’d thought? A tingle ran through her, but she shook it off. “Good night, John.”
He stepped back from her. “Good night, Dottie. Sweet dreams.”
She rather hoped she didn’t dream at all.
As it was, sleep was a long time coming. Inside the house, she couldn’t see the stars or smell the cedar, but she fancied she could still hear the waves over the sound of Peter’s breathing. More, she felt John’s kiss against her lips, so tender. Was he coming to care for her after all? She’d said she wouldn’t refine on his kiss, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Still, her concerns persisted. Would he be man enough to stop Frank if Peter’s father moved to Seattle? Or was it selfish of her to even think of inflicting her problems on this idyllic place? John had built a nice, safe life for himself. It didn’t seem right to burden him with her troubles.
Not for the first time, she wished she still had her Bible. What comfort to read over the familiar words. A shame she hadn’t been able to spend the funds to purchase a new one.
She sat up in bed, glanced at the ceiling. Why pine for the scriptures when at least two copies lay just overhead? She’d spotted them the other day when John had shown her the beginnings of his library. She’d noticed them again when she’d gone up to add the three novels she’d purchased before she’d discovered Frank’s secret. She lit the lamp and went to fetch one of the Bibles. Brian, who had been sleeping near the foot of the bed, raised his head and followed her.
The loft smelled musty, but she thought it was more because of the furs than the books. It took her only a moment to find a Bible, this one with a crimson cover. Tucking it under one arm, she shooed Brian away from a fur he was sniffing and returned to the warmth of the bed.
But as she leaned against the headboard, covers pulled close, the cat came and curled against her side, staring at the book as if just as eager to read it as she was. She gave him a stroke before opening the cover. Her gaze fell on the name written there.
Hannah Elisabeth Wallin.
Dottie frowned. She knew the names of all the Wallin ladies. Had this belonged to John’s mother? Was John willing to share it beyond the family?
She flipped to the pages at the back, where her father and mother had noted family information. Sure enough, there was the Wallin family in summary. Lars and Hannah, along with their birthdays and wedding anniversary, were followed by Andrew, Simon, James, John and Levi. Then a Mary with a death noted only a few days after her birth, and finally Beth.
Dottie couldn’t help glancing at Peter, sleeping so sweetly. His little lips puckered as if he offered her a kiss. How horrid to lose a child. How could she bear it if Frank took Peter away from her?
She forced herself to focus on the Bible. The date of Lars Wallin’s death was smudged, as if a tear had fallen on the ink. It seemed John’s mother had been a widow for more than fifteen years, raising her youngest children alone. No, not alone. Drew, Simon and James had been old enough to help at first. And though John had been only ten at the time of his father’s death, she could imagine him being a comfort to his mother.
She turned the book in her hands, and it fell open to psalms. She spent a little while reading. It was surprising how often the writer cried out to God, pleading for help with some problem. But surely they had been godly men, not someone like her, who’d made so many mistakes, even in allowing circumstances to distance her from her faith.
But she had taken her life in her hands at last. She could read the Bible as often and as long as she liked. It was quite some time before she set it down.
When Dottie awoke the next morning, she smiled at the well-worn cover as she pinned up her hair. Brian strolled past, then backed up as if inviting her to run her hand over his soft fur. Peter watched her from the cradle, singing a song in which all the words involved “ooh” and “aah.” Over his piping, however, she heard the thud of boots on the porch. Oh, no, she was not going to allow herself to become excited. That sounded like more than one man, so it could not be John.
Or, thankfully, Frank.
She set the last pin in place and picked up Peter, then went to see who had come calling now. As if he didn’t think he’d like her visitors, Brian darted off into the depths of the house.
All three of the loggers stood on the porch, shuffling their feet and casting narrow-eyed glances at each other. Unlike when they had visited her before, they were dressed in dark suits, hair plastered down, faces freshly shaved and scrubbed. Harry was the first to step forward, earning him a glare from Tom and Dickie.
“I’m here to escort you to church services, Mrs. Tyrrell,” he announced.
Tom elbowed him aside. “We’re here to escort you to services.”
“You—you do want to go, don’t you, ma’am?” Dickie asked.
Her spirit rose inside her like a bird set free from a cage. Her aunt and uncle and even Frank had made light of the role of faith in her life, and she’d had no opportunity to attend church since leaving Cincinnati. Now the thought of joining others in worship made her heart beat faster.
“I’d be delighted, gentlemen. Give me a moment to change into a more appropriate gown. Perhaps one of you could watch Peter for me?”
Dickie blanched, Tom took a step back and Harry made a face. Peter clung to her as if he had grave misgivings about the whole matter.
“You know I’m not that good with babies,” Harry told Dottie. Then he straightened. “But here comes the perfect fellow.”
Dottie followed his gaze and saw that John was just coming out of the trees. Like the loggers, he was dressed in a suit, his the color of the firs that grew so abundantly here. She had a feeling Nora had sewn it for him, for it was tailored to his muscular form. The misty morning seemed to brighten as he c
ame up to the porch.
“Tom, Dickie, Harry,” he greeted them. “I’m surprised to see you up so early on your day off.”
Tom shrugged, Dickie looked down at his feet and Harry laughed.
“I might say the same about you,” he told John. “I came—”
“We came,” Tom reminded him.
“We came to take Mrs. Tyrrell to church. She needs help with the baby.”
John glanced around at them all. “So why isn’t one of you helping?”
“He’s such a little feller,” Dickie said, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his nervousness.
“He might puke on my shirt,” Tom explained with a wrinkle of his long nose.
“Holding babies is a woman’s job,” Harry argued.
Dottie knew her brows were up again. Why, these big, strong men made it sound as if her little son was a danger to them!
John must have found their excuses just as ridiculous, for he shook his head before turning to her. “What do you need, Dottie?”
At the use of her first name, the others stilled. Dickie glanced between Dottie and John and heaved a sigh as if resigned to his lonely fate. Tom and Harry stepped closer to Dottie as if prepared to assert their claims.
Which was just as ridiculous as their posturing, because none of them had a claim on her.
“I just need someone to hold Peter while I change into my church clothes,” Dottie said. To be fair, she glanced around at all the men.
Harry stepped forward. “Oh, all right. I’ll hold him.”
She hesitated. He’d just called the act woman’s work, and she thought he saw taking on the task as a noble sacrifice. Besides, he had claimed he wasn’t good with babies. He’d certainly had trouble with Peter the last time he’d called. Or was she being too cautious?
