Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (15 page)

Cousin Mary Ann is a woman of…

She brushed the tip of the feather against her lips for a moment, considering words descriptive of Madame’s character.

…harsh countenance, and acerbic of tongue. Not an hour past she dropped a crock of lye which shattered on impact, and she proceeded to blister my ears with words that were not even used by the sailors during the voyage here. I confess I was not familiar with most of them, but the vehemence with which she shouted spoke of their shocking and inappropriate intent.

Furthermore, my position here is not what we were led to believe. Not five minutes after my arrival at the Faulkner House, Madame informed me of my duties, which include cleaning guest rooms. Imagine, Papa, your daughter—a hotel maid! You understand that I am not complaining about earning an honest wage, but I am not even to be paid. In exchange for my labors I am given lodging in a closet. Yes, Papa, a
closet
.
Madame outfitted it with a cot, and beyond that not a single stick of furniture will fit in the cramped space. She expects me to purchase my own meals, and you know, Papa, the allowance you so generously provided will be used up quickly.

The words in that last sentence were carefully chosen, and she was satisfied with their veracity. No need to mention her arrangement with Evie.

To make matters worse, some of the guests are quite rude. In particular one gentleman raised his voice and shouted in a most disturbing display of temper. And speaking of gentlemen
,
there are few of those here. Men abound—that much of the reports we had of Seattle, at least, was true—but thus far I have not met a single man of business who is not married. The primary occupation here is lumber, either the cutting or milling of it. Said vocation requires no social graces. Nothing, in fact, beyond brute strength.

Wait. Papa might interpret that last bit as arrogant. She chewed on a fingernail. If only there were a way to strike the words from the page without leaving a telltale smudge.

Not that there is anything wrong with physical labor, of course. I admire the tenacity of those who earn their living through sweat and muscle. But when I choose a husband, I have hopes he will display the manner, intelligence, and business acumen of my dear Papa, who is a model of these admirable qualities.

A smile settled over her lips as she wrote. Papa was not a gullible
man and was never fooled by flattery. Yet he frequently adopted an indulgent smile and acquiesced to her requests when she plied him with the occasional compliment about his intellect. He did love her, and had been known even to dote upon her. He truly wanted her happiness and security, a fact upon which she depended as she prepared to conclude her missive.

Papa, I have saved the most disturbing news for last. Not four hours after our landing in Seattle, we received an alarming report. The Indians attacked a group of men nearby, and one poor soul was killed. The settlers here were most disturbed by this development, which apparently is the most recent of a string of similar assaults. It is said that a savage tribe is assembling in the surrounding forest to prepare for a major attack on the town. The men of Seattle have undertaken to build a fortress to shelter against the impending aggression. I was so distraught upon hearing the news that I fainted. Me! You know, Papa, that I have always enjoyed a sturdy constitution, and am not given to swooning, but the idea of ferocious savages swarming through the streets quite unnerved me.

If her previous pleas failed to move him, certainly the fear for her safety would convince him that this move was foolish and should be rectified with all haste.

That is why I have determined to leave Seattle as soon as I can arrange passage. Captain Baker did not have room for me on this voyage, but I am assured that another ship will arrive next week. I intend to be on that ship when it sets sail. My financial state being what it is, I may not have enough to cover the entire cost of the passage. I trust, dear Papa, that you will settle any debt I am forced to incur in this effort to ensure my safety.

Again, please give my love to Mama and assure her that I am, at least for the moment, in good health.

Your loving daughter,

Kathryn

Six

Wednesday, January 9, 1856

J
ason rose Wednesday morning well before the sun. His muscles protested the previous day’s activity when he rolled off the mattress, and he sat for a moment in the straight chair that had replaced the spare bed sometime during his absence yesterday, massaging the stiffness from his shoulders. Thoughtful of Madame to supply the chair. He wouldn’t have pegged her for the type to perform spontaneous kind gestures. At least, not without expecting some form of compensation in return.

A peaceful darkness occupied the room, and he dressed without lighting the lamp. The painting commanded his attention whenever there was light enough to admire it, and this morning he didn’t have time to sit and brood over the memories it stirred. Work awaited, and he was eager to get his second day at the mill under way. This morning he would arrive in time to see the boiler lit for the day’s labor.

He crept through the dark hotel corridor, stepping lightly so as not to make noise with his boots on the floor. Not that the sound of footsteps would disturb anyone who could sleep through the racket that filled the hotel during the night. A symphony of snores in varied tones and resonance echoed down the hallway and vibrated through the thin wooden doors. The loudest resembled the sound of
a saw chewing its way through a log. Yet another reason he insisted on a private room.

Outside, he halted on the porch to draw fresh air into his lungs. The rich scent of the forest invaded his nostrils, combined with another, more domesticated aroma. Freshly baked biscuits. If he wasn’t mistaken, the odor wafted from the direction of Evangeline’s Café. It stirred up a rumble in his stomach. A biscuit or two with some of Evie’s strawberry preserves and a mug of good, strong coffee would go down well.

When he entered the restaurant, he discovered that he was not the only early riser in Seattle. A handful of men were seated around the restaurant, platters of eggs, ham, and biscuits before them. A few were millworkers, and he nodded a silent greeting to those he recognized. David and Noah were seated at the same table where he met them the night of his arrival, the plates before them empty but for a few crumbs. Noah waved him over.

“And I thought I would be the first customer of the day.” He slid out a chair and dropped into it.

David, elbows planted on the tablecloth and an earthenware mug held before his lips, smiled over the rim. “We’re really old farmers at heart, and used to getting started well before dawn.”

“Farmers?” Jason shook his head. “I thought you were lumberjacks.”

“Farmers. Jacks. Traders. Restaurant owners.” Noah’s frame shook with a laugh. “We’re a little of everything, I guess. Have to be around here.”

“Good morning, Jason.” Standing before the stove and stirring something in a huge pot, Evie turned her head to greet him. “Coffee’s coming right up.”

He was about to reply when someone entered from the storage room in the corner. His mouth snapped shut. Were his eyes deceiving him?

“Good morning,” Kathryn almost sang as she skirted the stove,
snatching up a towel to shield her hand and grabbing the coffeepot in a single smooth movement. She bustled over to the table, taking a mug from a shelf on the way, and set it before him. “I trust you slept well.”

“What are
you
doing here?” The question came out in a rude tone he didn’t intend.

Hers were not the only eyebrows that arched. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and avoided looking at either of the men at his table.

“I mean, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You’ll be seeing a lot of me if you take your breakfasts and suppers here.” She smiled sweetly, though he detected a hint of tartness in the sparkle in her eyes. “I’ve agreed to lend Evie a hand while Noah is occupied in building the blockhouse.”

“You? A waitress?” The idea of an arrogant woman like her waiting tables almost made him laugh.

“I want to help, and I can’t very well wield a hammer or ax, can I?”

She poured coffee into his mug with careful attention and then held up the pot with an inquiring gaze at Noah.

“I’ve had enough.” He set his mug in the center of his empty plate and reached across the table for David’s.

Kathryn leaned forward and snatched it first. “Cleaning up is my job. You two can get going.”

They smiled their thanks and, with a farewell nod to Jason, left the table. Noah detoured to the stove to plant a goodbye kiss on Evie’s cheek before following David out of the restaurant.

Kathryn stacked their plates and then hooked two fingers through the mugs’ handles to carry them away. She awarded him another bright smile as she picked them up. He even heard her hum the snatch of a tune as she turned. He narrowed his eyes and watched her cross the room and deposit the mugs in a dish pail by the back door. The arrogance he’d seen her display seemed to have disappeared this morning, replaced by this cheery disposition. What
happened to bring about this change in attitude? Especially since the last time he saw her he’d accused her of snooping through his things?

She returned by way of the stove, where she collected a plate from Evie to set before him. Two fluffy biscuits, each bigger than his fist, rested atop a thick slice of ham. A boiled egg, sliced in half and speckled with pepper, nestled up against a mound of potatoes that had been fried to golden perfection. Rounding the table, Kathryn reached for the butter plate at the far end and scooted it toward him, then straightened.

“Now. What else can I bring you?”

He cocked his head and eyed her, not bothering to hide his suspicion. By all rights, she should be angry with him, or at least sullen. Why, then, this cheerful demeanor?

She returned his gaze with round eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m wondering about the reason behind your pleasant disposition.”

The smile wavered and annoyance flashed in her eyes. “I assure you, I am quite pleasant much of the time.” With a visible effort, she conquered her annoyance. “I will concede that I haven’t been in the best humor since our arrival, due to some unexpected developments in the arrangements. After all, we artists are known to have volatile tempers, aren’t we?”

Her assumption that they shared a common talent or temperament irritated him. “Who says I have a volatile temper?”

Dainty muscles in her cheeks bulged as she clenched her teeth. Then she expelled a long breath. “I’m afraid we seem to have gotten off to a bad start. I’m…sorry for that.”

The apology did not roll naturally off her tongue. Jason saw the effort it cost her, and his conscience pricked. She was at least making an effort to be genial. Though he wanted nothing to do with her or any woman, except perhaps those safely attached to husbands, neither did he want to be at odds with anyone. It would be churlish of him to refuse the olive branch.

“I accept your apology. And I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

With a quick glance around the room, she pulled out the chair across from him and slid into it. “You may have heard me say that I won’t be staying long in Seattle. Be that as it may, it appears I will be here for another week or ten days. I hate to impose on your time, but…” A hopeful smile settled on her face. “Would you please consider giving me one or two lessons?”

His ire returned with double strength. The painting again. Unbelievable.

“No.” The word blasted forth, clipped and harsh.

Kathryn reared back, eyes going wide. “I know you’re busy. They wouldn’t be long lessons, just a…”

“I said no.” He punctuated his answer with a slap on the table, which drew the attention of everyone in the room. At the stove, Evie turned in surprise.

“You needn’t shout.” Petulant lines creased Kathryn’s forehead. “I’d think you would be flattered that someone admires your talent enough to want to learn from you.”