Mercer's Belles

by Heather B. Moore

  The next paragraph brought back the tension tenfold. After the women moved to two hotels the next day, courtships started in earnest. A steady stream of beaus visited the “belles,” as they were referred to. The reporter posed a question about how many would be wooed away from continuing the expedition and convinced to stay in San Francisco. “Nej!” He tossed down the paper in disgust. On his feet, he paced the small confines of the office, cursing in his native tongue. He needed a good number of women to come to Seattle to allow him the best teacher choice. Especially since Mercer hadn’t procured hundreds of women as he promised.

  That evening, Lang sat at his desk and looked at Roald and Staffen, who balanced a few feet away on the rear legs of their chairs. The time of holding back his news had ended. He needed to inform them what to expect, especially since he needed their support. “Mina vanner.”

  Roald snorted and ran a hand over his full, reddish-brown beard. “When Lang starts a discussion with ‘my friends,’ he wants something. What is the favor this time?”

  Do I do that? Lang inhaled deep. “In about a month, give or take a few days, Asa Mercer will return to Seattle with a number of respectable single women from the East Coast.”

  “Ja, the men heard talk in town about these Mercer’s belles.” Staffen linked his hands behind his neck. “Not everyone holds him in high esteem. Some say he’s not thinking of the welfare of the area bachelors, but he made the trip solely to line his own pocket. You know how few he brought the last time. How does his arrival affect Ny Hoppas?”

  Lang straightened. “I signed a contract and paid for an individual’s passage. My goal was to secure one of those women as a teacher to bring to the camp.”

  Chair legs crashed to the plank floor, and the men gaped at each other before turning toward their boss.

  “Why? We’re all bachelors here.” Frowning, Roald crossed a boot over the opposite knee.

  “To teach you and the workers English.” Lang did his best to hold a neutral expression.

  “What?” Staffen shot to his feet and crossed both arms over his chest. “You want to send us to school? I completed my studies long ago back home.”

  Shoving back the chair, Lang mirrored his friend’s confrontational stance. The only way to argue with Staffen was toe to toe. “Can you go to the mercantile or a saloon and know for sure you’re being charged the correct price? Or at the shoemaker shop? What about ordering food at the hotel restaurant?”

  Huffing out a breath, Staffen spun and stared out the window.

  “What about you, Roald?” Lang turned his attention to his friend, who sat slumped with elbows on knees, staring at the floor. “You’re a friendly guy. Don’t you want to learn how to greet someone on the street?”

  The big man shrugged, then after a moment, he looked up and jerked his chin in a quick nod.

  “I’ll expect you two to be the examples your crews will follow. You show an interest, and tell them how important learning to speak and read English is—”

  “We have to read it, too?” Scowling, Staffen jammed hands on his hips.

  “Reading is almost as important as speaking. The two skills go hand in hand.” At the point his friend’s stance relaxed, Lang shifted his gaze between his friends. “Now for the favor.”

  “Becoming a student again isn’t a favor?” Staffen cocked a wheat-colored eyebrow.

  “No. Building a cabin for the teacher is.” Not wanting them to interrupt, he grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk’s top drawer. In addition to a rough sketch of a simple log cabin, he’d drawn the floor plan. “I thought a design like this drawing. Not too big but adequate for the female to feel comfortable in her off hours.” He pointed to the layout of three rooms—parlor, kitchen, and small bathing room—with an upper sleeping loft covering half the lower floor space. “Built-in cupboards on both levels will accommodate clothing and supplies.”

  Both men stepped close, gazes riveted on the drawing.

  “Oskar, from my crew, has a skill with cupboards.” Staffen nodded.

  “Kristar comes from a family of shutter makers.” Roald ran a finger around the squares in the walls indicating windows.

  “Glad to hear you both agree.” Not that they’d done so, but Lang wouldn’t accept opposition. His plan had to work. “I’ll entertain suggestions of where to build the cabin.”

  Several minutes passed as the pros and cons of multiple locations were discussed. Thankfully, they agreed a spot to the far side of the cookhouse, where the only other female in camp lived, made the most sense.

  “I’ll go to stay in town during the last week of next month and wait for the ship’s arrival. I want to meet Mercer and arrange for an interview of the most experienced teacher in his group at once.” His words might be confident, but what if the woman didn’t want to leave Seattle? What would he do then?

  Tuesday, May 29, Sorcha stood with Blinne on the deck of the Maria. Today marked the final leg of their long journey. After changing from the oceangoing Huntsville to this ship within Puget Sound, the rocking of the deck eased. All she could hope was that the reception in Seattle was nothing like what they’d experienced in San Francisco. Having to walk from the docks to the nearby hotels amidst crowds of gawking men had been the most uncomfortable experience of her life. Add in the fact that derogatory clippings about the character of women who would travel so far to snag a husband hung in shop windows along their path.

  As the small ship chugged south, she reflected on the trip’s high points—collecting shells at Sandy Point, a week-long stay in the harbor at Lota, Chile, with visits to Doctor Silver of the American consulate and his wife, fresh fruits and vegetables bought in the marketplace, the April 1 lunar eclipse—and knew she’d never experience such events again. They just about negated the low points—several ladies’ brazen refusal to stop consorting with the officers, which had caused the captain to personally escort each young lady to their staterooms one night, the arrest of second mate Lockwood prior to arriving in San Francisco for ignoring his duties to spend time with ladies, Mercer’s attempts at setting curfews and his wish to keep the passengers from playing card games, a plan by Chilean officers to woo women off the ship to become teachers in their country.

  Watching twenty ladies deserting the group in San Francisco was not a sad day. Not only would fewer women arriving in Seattle help her chances at obtaining a position, but some ladies were the reason for the upheaval on board. They treated the journey as an opportunity to flirt with every available male, which became tiresome to observe.

  A gust of wind blew a tendril across her face, pulling Sorcha from her reverie. Straightening, she glanced toward the shore. Only an occasional cabin broke the line of dense pine trees almost to the water’s edge. Trepidation danced along her spine, and she rose onto her toes, hoping for a better look. Where was evidence of civilization? She glanced at Blinne, who gawked at the surroundings, then placed a gloved hand over her cousin’s on the railing. “Remember, I told you Seattle was very much smaller than Lowell.”

  Blinne swallowed and nodded. “I remember, but Sorcha, I don’t see any houses.”

  “Don’t worry. We haven’t reached the town yet.”

  “Can we sit, please?” Blinne stepped away from the railing.

  “Of course.” Sorcha followed her to the benches along the pilot house and sat, nodding to Missus Pearson, who sat nearby with her two children. The poor woman had been separated from her husband since he’d traveled to Seattle with their two daughters on Mercer’s first trip two years earlier. The Pearson family had been residents of Lowell, but in a town of thirty-eight thousand people, the two women hadn’t claimed an acquaintance before sharing the trip. How excited the family must be to be reunited. At the idea of having someone special waiting, Sorcha let out a sigh.

  “What if not enough people want the garments I sew?” Blinne twisted the strings of her reticule. “Oh, why did I agree to come?”

  What a time to have such thoughts. Sorcha plaster
ed on a bright smile. “Look at the long journey we’ve almost finished. Once we get settled in Seattle, we’ll work hard to make our dreams happen. We’ll be fine.” She so wanted to believe the words she’d just said. Now that the ship voyage that had become her everyday life was ending, she’d have to figure out a new routine.

  Hours later, running feet brought Sorcha alert from a light doze.

  “I see houses. Mama, look.” Young Flora Pearson leaned over the stern railing, pointing ahead.

  Missus Pearson rushed by, escorted by her son, D.O., who had a hand on her elbow. “I’m coming, dear.”

  Sorcha followed with Blinne at her side, her excitement building as their destination came into view.

  Other passengers converged on the forward deck, and conversations buzzed.

  The Maria angled to the left and headed toward a pier jutting into the water.

  Past the pier, a grouping of boxy one- and two-story clapboard buildings came into view. A few blocks back, a statuesque, two-story building with a cupola stood on a knoll. Probably the university, although it looked out of place with the other, less-refined structures.

  Mister Mercer clapped his hands for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, the end of our voyage has arrived.” He swung an arm wide. “Here lies Seattle, your new home. I will guide you to the Occidental Hotel. The ship’s crew will deliver the luggage. I’ve arranged lodging for three nights for those needing it. By June 1, the families offering to house you will make themselves known at the hotel, and then you’ll move to your permanent homes.”

  Sorcha cast Blinne a skeptical look. “I’d forgotten that part.” After living for the past four months without being accountable to elders, she didn’t wish to relinquish the freedom. “Maybe if I sign a teaching contract quickly enough, we can rent a room in a boarding house.” She’d worried about the timing of the arrival coinciding with the end of the school year. But between the two of them, they still had enough money to live frugally until the fall.

  Before disembarking and facing the gathered crowd, Sorcha checked her brooch watch, wanting to include the exact arrival time in her next letter home. Five o’clock in the evening. Disembarking onto the dock didn’t involve combating shaky legs like in San Francisco, because this part of the trip had only been seventeen days.

  At another mooring not far away, men carried stacks of lumber from a wagon pulled by a team of large horses onto a ship named the Scotland.

  As she walked along the dock’s planks, Sorcha spotted a large crowd of people gathered at the end. A knot landed in the pit of her stomach. She steeled herself to withstand shouted innuendoes and jesting proposals like in San Francisco.

  “Do you see them?” Blinne edged closer.

  “I do, but we’ll hold up our heads and ignore any rudeness.” When she was within earshot, she heard only welcoming comments and relaxed her posture.

  The crowd, comprised mostly of men of all ages, didn’t surge forward but instead accompanied the Mercer group to town.

  Sorcha smiled at the closest men, who called a pleasant greeting, but she didn’t speak. She wasn’t here to encourage gentlemen callers. Instead, she studied the location that was her new home. Sufficient sunlight remained to highlight the small settlement. About sixty buildings, a mixture of homes and businesses, filled a clearing surrounded by stands of pine trees. The structures were split among two main streets with sawdust covering muddy roads.

  The Occidental Hotel sat at the corner of Second Avenue and Yesler Way. The white, two-story frame building would have garnered no special notice in her hometown, but Sorcha looked on the hotel as a sanctuary. Here, water wouldn’t be rationed, so she could again immerse herself in a tub, like she had in San Francisco. Clothes could be laundered in fresh water, and undoubtedly the menu contained more variety.

  Mister Mercer bounded up the steps to the hotel porch and spread his arms wide. “I’ve brought you all to the best hotel in town. Come inside to enjoy a wonderful meal, and the staff will get you settled into your rooms.”

  Sorcha scanned the crowd as the others climbed the steps. At the realization she hadn’t seen a single child except for the ones she knew from the voyage, a chill went through her. How could a teaching position exist without children?

  The next morning, Sorcha followed Blinne from their hotel room into the long, narrow hallway dotted with a multitude of doors. “I don’t know what proved more enjoyable—the luxurious soak in the bathtub or the quietness of the room.” She eased the pearl button on her glove into the thread loop.

  “I say the hot bath.” Blinne tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

  “True, but without the creaking wooden decks or the ship’s bells or the clanking engine machinery, I got a really good night’s sleep.” Sorcha rolled her shoulders. “So much time has passed since I felt so refreshed.” She walked in step with her cousin down the plank hall, heading to the dining room for breakfast.

  Around the corner strode a tall man, right into their path.

  Sorcha collided with his muscled body. Strong hands grasped her elbows. A woody citrus scent emanated from the man’s shirt and jacket. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and inhaled.

  “Oh, miss, do you feel faint?” The man dipped his knees to connect with her gaze. “Please accept my apologies.”

  At his deep tone with the strange lilt, she popped open her eyes. Drawing in a breath, she looked into teal-colored eyes under arched, light eyebrows. “I’m sorry too, sir.” Under his touch, her skin heated, and tingles inched along her arms. She frowned and eased away from his grasp. No man since Tully had incited such feelings.

  “You’re two of the ladies who traveled with Mercer, aren’t you?” He looked between them, then chuckled. “Of course, you must be. I already know the few women who live in this town.”

  “Oh, yes.” Blinne dipped a curtsy and smiled. “We arrived just yesterday evening.”

  Speaking with this man without a proper introduction was highly unusual. Sorcha glanced over her shoulder, hoping for a sighting of Mister Mercer. She wanted to learn the details about her position today. “As soon as I eat, I have business to discuss with Mister Mercer.”

  “Let me start over. My name is Lang Ingemar, and I believe Fate has brought us together.” He grinned, displaying straight white teeth.

  As if we haven’t already met plenty of charmers in San Francisco. Sorcha rolled her eyes. “Look, Mister Ingemar, we know bachelors vastly outnumber women in the West. Believe me, we’ve been subjected to men inventing all sorts of ruses to meet us.” She glanced toward Blinne, who just stared at the man with glassy eyes and a wide smile. No help from that quarter. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we wish to partake of a meal.”

  “Allow me to escort you, Miss . . .” Grinning, he turned to face away, then looked over his shoulder, both elbows crooked.

  A mischievous glint filled his eyes, making ignoring his unspoken question impossible. “Miss Sorcha Geraghty from Massachusetts.” She clasped her hands together at her waist. “But going anywhere with you is not proper.” His speech had a cadence she couldn’t identify.

  “In the West, many social graces are relaxed.” He faced them again and held up his hands, palms outward. “We’ll be in a public restaurant, probably surrounded by many of your shipmates. And I would very much enjoy spending time with two lovely ladies such as yourselves.”

  Blinne giggled and raised a hand to her mouth.

  Refreshing sincerity rang in his tone. So different from Mister Conant or the officers on the ship, who’d constantly schemed ways of spending time with the ladies. Mister Conant even went so far as to call them “virgins” and purport to want interviews for his articles.

  “Oh, say yes, Sorcha.” Blinne bumped her shoulder. “He’s nothing like those men in San Francisco who gawked and leered.” She turned to Mister Ingemar. “You should have seen those crass men waving money in the air to be allowed on board.”

  His brows lowered. “I couldn’t mi
ss the newspaper account of those rude and ungentlemanly actions.” The tall man again turned and crooked his elbows before glancing over a shoulder.

  “Mister Ingemar, I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance.” Blinne scurried forward and linked her arm through his. “I’m Blinne Geraghty, Sorcha’s cousin.”

  Suppressing a sigh, Sorcha matched her cousin’s move, glad she slipped her uninjured hand inside his elbow. She tucked the other hand into the folds of her skirt, her reticule dangling from her wrist.

  “Two Miss Geraghtys? Might I address you with your given names to avoid confusion?”

  Such familiarity so soon? Sorcha ran a response through her mind, but each one sounded much too prim.

  “Of course, sir.” Blinne giggled. “I don’t mind at all.”

  Sorcha ground her teeth and seethed. As the older of the two, she felt a responsibility to watch out for her welfare. Marriage minded or not, Blinne should be more circumspect.

  “Very well, Miss Blinne and Miss Sorcha. Allow me to welcome you to Seattle.” He started forward. “I had every intention of meeting the ship yesterday, but business obligations kept me busy until almost dark.”

  As she walked, she stole quick glances at his profile. His blond hair was straight, and he wore it combed back, the length almost touching his jacket collar. His nose was straight, his face on the longish side, and his jaw had a blunt tip—together the characteristics created a handsome face.

  “Oh, what business are you in?”

  Blinne’s voice trilled with sweetness, and Sorcha cringed inside at how obvious her cousin’s flirting was. In truth, she wished she’d been quicker with a question, so he’d turn his attention on her like he did on Blinne now. The strangeness of the thought unnerved her.