Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (3 page)

“I meant I would have to resort to another plan,” Adrian
said.

Big John laughed and turned down the gangplank. “Have a good
trip, and happy hunting.”

“I’m not going off on a bear hunt.”

Big John laughed. “You might think differently the first
time some sweet young thing sinks her claws into you.”

Adrian dismissed that with a wave of his hand.

The ship began pulling away from the dock. “You gonna bring
the little lady back with you?” Big John called through cupped hands.

“I might,” Adrian yelled back, apprehension eating at him.
What in the name of hell was he doing? What would he do with a woman way up
here in the middle of a lumber camp, anyway? Come to think of it, what would he
do with a woman, period? He was out of touch when it came to women. He hadn’t
even
been
with a woman in over a year. He wasn’t sure he remembered how
to talk to one who wasn’t a whore.

Adrian Mackinnon was the kind of man who didn’t need women
the way other men needed them. His business was his mistress. It was well known
that he was too much of a perfectionist to ever marry. The men in camp went so
far as to give reasons to back this up. Adrian would never find a woman he
thought good enough, and no woman in her right mind would want to be married to
someone who expected perfection all the time. If a man like Adrian had a
family, they said, he would run it like a sawmill.

Adrian Mackinnon was thirty-one years old. For the past ten
years he had devoted himself to his prospering lumber business, building an
empire, the towering California redwoods making him one of the wealthiest men
in all of California. Two years ago his magnificent home had been finished, and
yet the long loneliness had not lessened. He knew it would take more than
wealth and possessions to ease the ache.

As the ship pulled out into the harbor, Adrian looked at the
cluster of men gathered around the dock. He knew what they were thinking. His
grin grew broader. He was about to prove them wrong. He was going to take a
wife, and she was going to be a woman like no other woman the likes of these
men had ever seen.

As usual, whenever his thoughts went along those lines,
Katherine’s rejection began to creep into his thoughts, and he began to feel
the first tentative sprigs of fear and self-doubt—thoughts that gave way, after
a time, to the feeling that he had to prove himself.

Adrian tried to remember how long it had been since he had
felt this lost and lonely. Not for a long time, probably not since Katherine
left Alex and returned to Texas. Then, as now, he felt lost and lonely and
inadequate.

He looked at the rocky, tree-lined coastline, where the
mountains rose to meet the sky in the distance. That was the place he called
home, and there, he was in control. There, he was not plagued by thoughts of
inadequacy. There, nobody turned his back on him or made him feel unworthy. But
it was also there that he was lonely.

An hour or so out to sea, Adrian’s mood began to grow
darker, matching the cloudy sky. Rain seemed to obliterate the masts of the
ship, and to absorb the skeins of thick, gray smoke. As if he could rebuff the
pelting rain by doing so, he leaned over the ship’s railing and stared down
into the churning, foam-flecked grayness of the water below. Yet it wasn’t the
swirling foam of wind-tossed waves he saw, but the face of Katherine Simon
Mackinnon. The face of his brother’s wife.

He could not remember a time when he had not loved
Katherine, the auburn-haired beauty his brother had married. Even now, almost
ten years later, his recollection of her was as strong and vivid as it had ever
been. Sweet, lovely Katherine, forever young and untouched by age in the
pain-ravaged lair of his mind. Katherine, a standard of beauty no mortal woman could
measure up to. Katherine, the only woman he ever wanted, the only woman he
could ever love. Katherine, the one person in the world who could hurt him, and
who had done so with a vengeance, by marrying his twin brother, Alexander.

There was, of course, a time when he had ceased to hurt; a
time when he realized that his life with Katherine was over, as if it had been
sealed shut. He realized the futility of grieving over a woman he had lost, a
woman he never really had. For a time he had resigned himself to celibacy,
telling himself he would never marry, that he needed nothing, not even sex. In
time, even those feelings had passed, only to be replaced by the hard shell of
the man he now was, a man determined not to let himself be vulnerable again.

The captain walked by and spoke. Adrian nodded, then turned
to brace his arms on the ship’s railing as he stared again at the churning
water. He let his thoughts surface, knowing that afterward they would settle
about him like feathers, ready to swirl in confusion at the slightest stirring.

Old feelings, old needs, the old bitterness, bubbled to the
surface, and he closed his eyes against the memory of it, realizing then that
it was too late. Thoughts of Katherine were always with him.

His thoughts spun backward, to the first time he had seen
her after he and Alex had returned to the old homestead in Texas after the war
with Mexico.

We seem to have a lot in common, you and I
, Katherine
had said.

No, sweet Katherine, we don’t. To have loved but been
rejected is like being sent to bed with no supper; it’s nothing more than a bee
bite to one’s spirit. But to love and be overlooked is to die slowly by
starvation, like soap that wastes away, giving up a little of itself with each
washing.

Oh, Adrian, why must life be so miserable?

I’m not sure, but I don’t think even God goes through
eternity without feeling some pain. Ahhh, Katherine, what a torment you’ve
always been. Life’s a road with one bump after another, but you’re going to
make it. Have no fear about that.

You’ll make it too, Adrian. I know you will.

Of course I will. I’ve never doubted it. One of these
days I’ll be something to see, all right, a real sight for sore eyes, and then
you’ll look at me and say, I wish I had loved him when I had the chance.

Only that day never came, for Katherine had married Alex,
and she was happy. He doubted she ever thought of him anymore.

The frustrating sense of loss came back to haunt him,
stronger, more acute, than ever.
Katherine. Katherine. Katherine.
Would
he never be free of the pain of losing her?

He might never be free of the pain, but he could take away
from it by filling his house with children. Children would be a part of him,
something he could love without losing.

It won’t be long now,
he told himself.
Before long
you’ll have a wife and children, and the ghost of Katherine will be laid to
rest. A wife will erase her from my mind. Children will give me what I need.

Won’t they?

He looked up at the overcast sky. “I’ll get over you,” he
said. “I’ll find a woman more beautiful, more refined, and more educated.
She’ll be everything you aren’t.”

Two days later, the weather was deceptively warm for the
middle of October. His spirits rose with the temperature as he disembarked,
taking a coach to the hotel. He remembered what Molly Polly had said to him
when she came to cook his breakfast the day he left.

“You don’t think much of my plan to go to San Francisco, do
you, Molly?”

“Can’t rightly say that I do, but to each his own.”

“What is it about this trip that’s bothering you? The fact
that I’m going to take a wife? Or the way I’m going about it?” He paused,
looking at her graying hair, with its precious few streaks of that pinkish
orange color he had never gotten used to. “You think I’m wrong to go to San
Francisco?”

“I never said that, but since you asked, I’ll tell you what
I think. I think you’re wasting your time fishing in a herring barrel. That’s a
mighty dumb place to fish when you’re looking for trout.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Molly raised her eyes to Heaven. “‘Woe to them who are wise
in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight’,” she quoted solemnly.

It was so melodramatic, and out of character for Molly
Polly, that Adrian laughed. “I’ve found one more thing to write on that list of
wifely requirements,” he said. “Something to go on the ‘Don’t Want’ side.”

“And what is that?”

“A Bible-quoting woman,” he said.

“I would imagine
she
might have a few
don’t wants
of her own.”

Adrian grinned at her. “Like what?”

“Like that wad of chewing tobacco you’re always chomping on,
spitting it here, spitting it there. It’s enough to drive a woman crazy. She’ll
never be able to keep her floors clean.”

“I don’t spit on the floors, Molly.”

“You don’t always
aim
to spit on the floors,” she
amended. “Lord have mercy! The cookhouse floor looks like a bunch of bugs have
been squashed on it.”

“I’m not the only man who chews,” he said.

“No, but you’re the only one I can’t fuss at about it.”

“You’re fussing now,” he said with a laugh, dodging the
sourdough roll she tossed at him.

One week later, Adrian was sitting in a barber’s chair in
San Francisco, once again thinking about what Molly had said. She was right. He
had been fishing in a herring barrel, looking for trout.

“You say you came all the way from Humboldt country to find
yourself a wife?” the barber asked.

Adrian nodded, then stared at the toes of his boots. He
regretted telling the man anything. He didn’t want to discuss his personal life
with anyone. He watched the barber strop the straightedge, waiting impatiently
for him to lather his face.

“Well, you’ve been here a week now. Got any particular woman
picked out?”

“No.”

“You might try the Silver Dollar. Most folks in these parts
think the Silver Dollar has the best-looking women in San Francisco.”

“I want a wife, not a whore.”

“Lots of men in these parts see no difference. Most of them
think nothing of taking a whore to wife. You got something against whores?”

“Not as long as they remain in a brothel, where they belong.
I just don’t want to take one for—”

He had been about to say,
for a wife
, but he didn’t
get to finish. At that moment the barber slapped a wide path of lather across
his face, and he closed his mouth, a moment too late. He spit out a mouthful of
soap and settled back in the chair. The barber cleared the two clean-scraped
paths down the side of his face, then stood back. He pointed the razor at
Adrian. “I hear tell a reformed whore makes a fine wife. Now, you take your
whores, why, they don’t have to be stoked like a stack of old, dry wood.
They’re like kindling, ready to burst into flame at the slightest spark.”

“And they don’t particularly care whose spark it is,” Adrian
said. “Now, can we get on with my shave before all of this lather dries on my
face?”

“Well, if you’re dead set against a whore, I hear tell the
Widow Peabody has a couple of daughters…”

“I’ve had the pleasure,” Adrian said, coming to his feet,
the memory of the Widow Peabody and her homely daughters following him. Heaven
help him, but that woman and her daughters were as ugly as forty miles of bad
road.

He removed the cape and wiped the lather from his face,
tossing the cape in the chair he had just vacated. This whole absurd
conversation was pointless. Just as this trip to San Francisco had been
pointless. He reached into his pocket.

“Hey! I’m not finished.”

“Yes, you are,” Adrian said, flipping the man two bits.

An hour later, he stepped out of the Pacific Express
Building on Montgomery Street and paused for a moment at the edge of the
street. It took him only a second or two to search up the street and down,
finding no hack he could hire to take him back to the hotel. Turning the collar
up on his coat, he turned up the street and began walking. It was raining
again. He was sick of San Francisco. He was sick of nosy people. He was even sicker
of this asinine search for a wife.

Perhaps the rain was a godsend. Perhaps it was the cause of
his morose mood, his loneliness, his sense of desolation, and if so, it must
have accounted for his realization that the trip had been a futile one. It was
as clear as glass to him now. No self-respecting woman was going to rush into
marriage with a man she had just met, no matter how rich the man might be.

On top of that, he hadn’t met one woman since coming to San
Francisco whom he would ask to dance, much less take to wife. It was mighty
slim pickings in San Francisco as far as women went. It was time to call it
quits.

Shoving his cold fingers into his pockets, he increased the
tempo of his steps, heading toward Portsmouth Square. He was hatless, and the
rain darkened his brown hair.

He made his way back to the hotel, with his mind made up.
Tomorrow he would head north, back to the country north of Humboldt Bay. He
would forget all about this foolishness of taking a wife.

The clerk behind the desk looked up as he entered the lobby,
his face lighting up as he smiled at Adrian. Adrian felt his cheek twitch.
“I’ll be checking out in the morning, Horace. Have my bill ready.”

“It’ll be ready and waiting for you, Mr. Mackinnon.” Horace
paused, his round, shiny face puckered in thought. “Thought you were going to
be staying on for another week.”

“I wrapped up my business sooner than I expected,” Adrian
said.

“I hope you’ll stay with us again…next time you’re down this
way.” He handed Adrian a few envelopes. “These came for you today.”

Adrian took the envelopes, not bothering to look at them.
“It may be quite a spell before I’m back in these parts again,” he said slowly
as he tucked the envelopes into his coat pocket.

He went upstairs and paused in front of his door, inserting
the key into the lock. Once inside, he removed his coat, tossing the envelopes
on the desk. He remembered he was still half-shaved and debated finishing the
job now. He decided against it, drawing the heavy damask draperies to shut out
the light, feeling a dandy headache in the making. His head throbbed as he
leaned over the desk to light the alabaster lamp, turning it low.

Then his eyes went to the letters. He frowned. He picked
them up and sorted through the stack, opening them one by one. Invitations. All
of them from a few overstuffed and overstarched matrons inviting him to dinner,
trying to interest him in their silly daughters.

It hadn’t taken him long to learn he wanted a mature,
educated, refined woman for a wife, not some young featherbrain who giggled
every time he looked at her. He shook his head, tossing the invitations back on
the desk, then made his way to the bed. He couldn’t help remembering one
pleasant-looking young woman he had been seated beside at dinner two nights
ago. She had actually fluttered her eyes at him and said, “My mama said I would
make a perfect wife. Why, I have my whole future ahead of me.”

Adrian wanted to ask her if there was someplace else she
would rather have her future, but he decided it wasn’t worth the breath to say
it. He didn’t remember much of the evening after that, for he had made a wager
with himself to down a drink every time the young woman said something
similarly stupid.