Mercer's Belles

by Heather B. Moore

  Mr. Sutter huffed. “I asked her first.” He wasn’t looking at her, but at Mr. Munns.

  When Mr. Sutter had spoken to her alone, without Mr. Munns present, he’d been a decent sort of man. But it seemed his rival, or enemy, or whatever Mr. Munns was, brought out the worst in him.

  Mr. Munns’ gaze landed on Harriet. “It seems you must choose, Miss Silverton.”

  “Choose?” she echoed. “Choose what?”

  “Between us,” Mr. Sutter said, his voice a low whine. “You either dance with me, or with him, but you can’t dance with us both, because this uneducated fellow is about to blow his top off.”

  Harriet narrowed her eyes. “I have a better idea.” She paused, because she now had their full attention. “How about I don’t dance with either of you?”

  She stepped away from them. Others in the crowd had diverted their attention now that there were no impending fisticuffs. She gave Mr. Sutter a half-smile, then nodded at Mr. Munns, and before any other words could be spoken, she walked away.

  It wasn’t hard to escape from their sight, since there were plenty of people to block the way. Another fellow asked her to dance, but she shook her head and continued on her errand. Straight for the refreshment table.

  She stopped near the lemonade and poured herself a glass. As she sipped at the cool, tart liquid, she scanned the room for Vivian. Spotting her, Harriet smiled. Her friend was dancing with a rather portly gentleman but seemed to be enjoying every moment of it.

  Next, Harriet picked out other belles, also socializing, or dancing. It was gratifying to see the women she’d spent so much time with on the ship enjoying themselves after such a long journey.

  “Would you like another refill?” a male voice said next to her.

  Harriet didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. “I thought I told you I wouldn’t dance with you, Mr. Munns.”

  “That you did,” he said. “But I’m not asking you to dance, am I?”

  “Well, no, but . . .” She turned and looked up at him.

  His dark eyes bored into hers, and the too-small dress she’d borrowed from Vivian seemed to shrink another size.

  She was suddenly very aware of how close he was standing, and how he was looking at her like she was the only person in the room. She exhaled, then took another sip of her lemonade She couldn’t hide her wince at the tartness.

  “Do you want a refill?” he asked. “In case you thought I was joshing earlier.”

  For some reason, she found his unexpected comment funny. When she laughed one of his brows lifted. “I’m sorry,” she said, reigning in control.

  His expression remained stoic, yet she didn’t miss the amusement in his eyes.

  “Here,” she said. “Try it.”

  He took the glass from her fingers, and at the warmth of his brief touch, she felt a longing she hadn’t felt for many years . . . the desire to be courted by a man. For a man to look at her as someone he was interested in. But then she blinked, and the longing fled almost as soon as it had appeared.

  She watched Mr. Munns raise the glass to his lips and take a deep, and rather brave, swallow.

  He went absolutely still.

  Then his face twisted into a grimace, and his eyes began to water.

  Harriet covered her mouth with a hand, because she knew there was no way she could contain her second round of laughter.

  “That was terrible,” Mr. Munns gasped.

  “Do you want a refill?” Harriet tried to ask the question in a calm voice, but she utterly failed. A giggle burst from her.

  Mr. Munns set the glass on the table, half empty. “I think that was the worst lemonade I’ve ever tasted, and I’m no cook by any means.” His eyes flashed to hers, and he wore that amused look again.

  “Oh, if you’re not a cook, then what are you, Mr. Munns?”

  He leaned against the table, his gaze on her. “Guess.”

  “Guess? How in the world would I guess?”

  He shrugged one of those massive shoulders of his, but he seemed content to wait.

  Harriet decided Mr. Munns was interesting, if nothing else. She set her hands on her hips and surveyed him. His longish hair, his brutish strength, his twice-patched suit coat. “Are you a railroad worker?”

  That brow lifted again, but he shook his head.

  “All right.” This time she made her perusal of him slower, more obvious. “You’re certainly not a tailor.”

  He chuckled, and the rumble of his laugh sent darts of warmth skittering along her skin. Or maybe it was because the room was so crowded that everything was overwarm.

  “I’m most definitely not a tailor,” he said. “Guess again, Miss Silverton.”

  Had he moved closer to her?

  Reaching out a few inches would nearly make them dancing partners. “Do you build boats?”

  “You’re getting closer,” he murmured.

  They were in a room full of people, with chatter and music surrounding them, yet she could hear his low tones perfectly clearly.

  “Are you a sailor?” she asked. “Is that why you swim so well?”

  “I swim so well because I spent the summers as a boy swimming the lake that edged my parents’ homestead.”

  She immediately pictured a much younger version of Mr. Munns running full speed across a rickety dock and taking a flying leap. She had no idea why she had thought of him in such a manner, but—

  “What are you smiling at?” he asked.

  “You,” she said. “Thinking of you as a child. I imagine you were quite a handful for your mother.”

  He shrugged. “She did used to say I’d be the death of her, but that’s not what killed her.”

  Harriet covered her mouth. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t,” he said. “Turned out that her tuberculosis was worse than any of us thought. I was nearly thirteen. When my dad turned to the bottle, I left for good. Found myself work and have been on my own ever since.”

  Harriet’s eyes stung with all that he’d revealed. His mother was gone, and his father . . . Mr. Munns was a man who’d understand her broken relationship with her brother. Despite his confession, she didn’t want to talk about her family.

  And she was desperate to get their conversation back to the first subject. “So, you’re a homesteader?”

  “Not quite, Miss Silverton,” he said.

  She tapped her finger against her lip. “Well, that leaves only one thing.”

  When she didn’t finish her sentence, he prompted, “And what would that be?”

  “A fisherman.”

  Caleb wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed, but he was waiting to see what her reaction would be. “What gave it away? The chapped knuckles? The unkempt hair? The smell of fish about my person?”

  She sniffed, actually sniffed.

  “I don’t smell fish, Mr. Munns,” she declared, those blue eyes of hers reminding him of the color of the Pacific in the early morning. Deep blue and endless.

  “Then why are you opposed to dancing with me?” He knew he was treading on territory he shouldn’t be treading on. Flirting with this woman. But he seemed to be having trouble staying away from her. Even when she’d turned both him and Bill down, here Caleb was, talking to her again.

  He appreciated the way her lips curved into a smile.

  “Do you think I turned you down because you smell like fish, Mr. Munns?”

  He leaned closer and was gratified when she didn’t shy away. “Yes.”

  “You are a man with a rather large opinion of yourself, it seems,” she said. “Can you think of no other reason a woman would turn down your offer of a dance?”

  This gave him pause. “I suppose if she didn’t like my looks?”

  She raised her brows, as if encouraging him to continue with his list.

  “My manners?”

  Her brows went a bit higher.

  “My poor sewing skills?”

  Her lips quirked.

  Caleb was quite thirsty,
but the lemonade wasn’t an option. “Tell me, Miss Silverton, why did you turn down a dance from me?”

  She didn’t answer right away but seemed to be thinking. Then she was the one to lean closer this time. “I suppose it’s because I don’t want to dance with anyone, now that I really think about it. I didn’t come to Seattle for socializing. I’m here to teach school and to start my life anew. Not go backwards.”

  “Socializing would be going backwards?” Not that Caleb was a master-socializer, but her answer intrigued him.

  “Dancing would be going backwards,” she said. “I’ve no interest in dancing once, then twice, then becoming friends, then courting, or anything thing like it, with anyone. I’m not here to find a husband, no matter what Mr. Mercer has been insinuating to anyone who will listen. That train passed me by years ago.” She straightened but kept her voice low. “In short, Mr. Munns, I don’t plan to marry, so all of the preamble at a dance hall is useless.”

  By Jove, Miss Silverton was perhaps the most intriguing woman he’d ever met. “Then you’re in good company, miss. I’ve no plans to marry either.”

  She blinked her eyes slowly. “I thought every man wanted a wife.”

  “Some do, I suppose, but marrying once was enough for me.”

  She definitely looked curious.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not some sad widower, and there were no children . . . that would have been quite impossible, since there was no wedding night.”

  Her cheeks turned a definite shade of pink.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I sense that you are a wise woman who is old enough to understand how the world works.”

  Her blush only deepened.

  “Have you been married before, Miss Silverton?” he continued.

  “No.” Her answer was quick and sharp. “I’ve never been married, not even for one day, as you seem to be implying.”

  “Try less than an hour.” So, he was confiding in her after all. Interesting.

  Instead of looking shocked, she tilted her head, her blue eyes captivated. “Perhaps a dance wouldn’t bring any harm then, since we’re both not interested in any sort of courting or future relationships.”

  Caleb could have been knocked over with a tiny gust of wind.

  “And it will give you the chance to tell me more about your one-hour marriage,” she added.

  There was no hesitation on his part, especially since he didn’t want to risk that she’d change her mind. So he held out his hand, and when she set her smaller hand against his, he felt like he’d stormed onto a battlefield and successfully defeated his opponent in one fell swoop. And it didn’t hurt that as he and Miss Silverton began the steps of the dance, he caught Bill’s hard gaze.

  Caleb gave his former friend a slight nod, then refocused on Miss Silverton. She might not be the most beautiful and flashy woman in the room, but she was the only woman he wanted to dance with.

  The dance was slow, and as the couples moved about them, Miss Silverton didn’t shy away from gazing at him. Her gloved hand in his made his palm warm, and his other hand rested on the curve of her hip. Caleb’s heart did a little flip at their close contact, but he ignored it. He slowly became aware of her every breath, the length of her eyelashes, the curve of her neck. Not to mention that she smelled like fresh flowers. Was it her essence, or did she wear some sort of expensive perfume? It wasn’t something he could very well ask. The question seemed personal, but that didn’t stop him from wondering all the same.

  “So, Mr. Munns,” she said in a voice that tickled his senses. “What could ever possess you to flee your bride of one hour?”

  He cleared his throat to cover up his moment of becoming distracted by the physical qualities of Miss Silverton. “It was the other way around, as a matter-of-fact. She fled my presence. All it took was the promise of hot pancakes.”

  Miss Silverton stared at him in disbelief. Well, that’s how he’d felt at the time too.

  “Those must have been some pancakes.”

  “Oh, they were,” he said. “Possibly the best pancakes known to mankind, although I wasn’t able to taste them, so I can’t entirely vouch for their deliciousness.” He continued to explain in great detail how Lucille’s parents had showed up and spirited away their daughter, who apparently wasn’t all that in love with him in the end.

  He hadn’t expected Miss Silverton to laugh, but that’s what she did.

  “I don’t mean to laugh,” she said. “But if you look at it from my perspective, can you not see the humor? A big, sturdy man like you, left at the altar—or, er, the train station. While your bride is more excited for pancakes than starting her new life with you.”

  “It was pathetic, that’s what,” he said. It was rather funny, now that he saw it from Miss Silverton’s perspective. Hmm.

  “You were fooled, like you said,” Miss Silverton said. “But what I don’t understand is how the justice of the peace could conduct the ceremony without saying anything to you. A warning would have been nice.”

  “I suppose he didn’t want to be the messenger of bad news.”

  Miss Silverton bit her bottom lip, which brought his attention firmly to her mouth. “You might be right. What did you do after Lucille hurried off to her scrumptious breakfast?”

  “I was already packed. So I left town and continued to Seattle,” he said. “And here I am. Now . . . tell me, what brought you on a ship here? What is your tale of woe?”

  “What makes you think I have a tale of woe?” she asked in a light tone.

  He held her gaze. “Don’t you?” When her eyes shifted away from his, he knew he’d guessed right. But the music had come to an end, and he couldn’t very well dance two numbers with her. He’d be pretty much staking his claim, not that he’d be bothered if all the other men steered clear of her, yet . . .

  “Thank you, Mr. Munns,” she said, drawing away from him. “It appears that our time is up. We don’t want people to gossip about us, especially since neither of us is interested in a relationship.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want that,” he said, but he kept a hold of her hand, not leading her off the dance floor. The strains of another dance number began. Still, Caleb didn’t move. “When do I get to hear your story?”

  She gently, but firmly, tugged her hand from his. “I cannot say. Tomorrow morning I’ll have my interview, and I might start my new job as soon as that very afternoon.”

  “So soon?” He didn’t want to reveal his disappointment, but he was quite sure Miss Silverton could see it in his eyes anyway.

  She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

  “I will take my chances, then,” he said. “After my work day, I’ll stop by the hotel. Perhaps if you happen to be in the lobby, we can sit down for tea—or whatever you easterners do—and you can tell me all about yourself.”

  Her blue eyes gleamed with amusement, yet there was something else there as well. Hope? He certainly had hope. For what, he didn’t define. Caleb was curious about this woman, that was all. He could be a good neighbor and answer any of her questions about Seattle. Though she hadn’t asked any so far, perhaps she wanted to.

  “I hope I don’t disappoint you,” she said. “Because from the moment we stopped over in San Francisco, I considered myself a westerner.”

  For some reason, that statement made Caleb seem inordinately pleased. Here was a woman who wouldn’t run back to her family. A woman who wouldn’t abandon her husband. Wait. Where had that idea come from? He needed to dispel that thought immediately.

  And they were still standing in the middle of the dance floor as other couples surrounded them and began to move with the music.

  “Oh,” Miss Silverton said, as if she’d just realized where they were standing. “I must go now. And tomorrow . . . well, I cannot give any guarantee where I will be.”

  “I will still take my chances,” he said.

  Then she was gone. So swiftly that he didn’t know exactly which direction she’d d
isappeared into the crowd. Well, his evening was finished. There was nothing else he wanted to do except continue speaking to Miss Silverton. Since he couldn’t ask her to dance again, he moved toward the doors, avoiding the dancing couples and other members of the crowd.

  He tugged at his collar. The dance hall really had grown too warm.

  And it wasn’t until he was outside, striding through the cool breeze of the night toward his rented room, that he realized he hadn’t eaten one bite of the dinner. Which had been the main reason he’d attended in the first place.

  “Here? As in right here?” Harriet asked, unable to keep the surprise from her tone as she sat across from Mrs. Barton in their morning interview.

  “Why yes,” Mrs. Barton said, her wide smile revealing her gapped teeth. “Mr. Pinker, the owner of this very hotel, has two children. He doesn’t want them mixing in so much with the children from the dock families. He’s afraid his children will pick up bad manners, not to mention their poor language. So he’s asked for someone to teach his children exclusively three days a week. The other two days, you can help in the schoolhouse by the docks. Miss Little could always use an extra hand.”

  Harriet blinked. “Vivian, er, Miss Little, has already accepted her position?”

  “She has,” Mrs. Barton said in a triumphant voice. “And she was eager enough to recommend you. We thought you might be co-teachers, since there are about twenty students of all ages, but then Mr. Pinker made the alternative request only a few moments ago.”

  Harriet exhaled. She’d been hoping for the rural schoolhouse, but with Vivian nearby maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But now . . . was she more happy about this new change, or less happy?

  She took the plunge. “What else is available?”

  Mrs. Barton’s brows arched. “Miss Silverton, either you are a teacher or you aren’t. Picking and choosing is not a teacher’s prerogative. The students’ education is what’s important here, not convenience.”