Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (34 page)

Kathryn had barely fallen into an exhausted sleep when she was awakened by her door being thrown open. Madame’s shriek filled her little room like a claxon.

“They’ve attacked! The war is upon us!”

It’s a nightmare. I’m dreaming of last night.

But shouts from the front room pierced the walls like a rain of spears, and with her heart thudding, she threw off her bed linens. Thrusting her feet into the shoes she’d laid in readiness beside the bed, she grabbed her cloak in one hand and her emergency bundle in the other. Thank the Lord she’d taken the time to throw together
a few things, though she’d intended to make a more thorough plan on the morrow. Now she might not have the chance.

The women and children in the front room were slightly less panicked than the previous night, but fear still showed starkly in their eyes. The cries of young ones echoed off the walls as mothers scooped them up and dashed out into the night.

With a quick, sweeping glance Kathryn searched for unattended children. Though chaos reigned, everyone seemed to be under an adult’s charge. She spied Helen hurrying down the stairs, clutching her small valise to her chest with both hands, and she ran to her side.

“Is it another false alarm?” the woman asked as they joined the exodus together.

“I hope so,” Kathryn replied, and then she had no more breath for words. Together they ran as fast as they could.

A crowd had amassed at the door of the fortress as people tried to squeeze themselves inside. Panting from the exertion, Kathryn stepped to one side to wait her turn. Some of the millworkers were stationed on either side of the door, urging the people to hurry. Where were David and Noah? And—she swallowed down a swiftly rising panic—Jason? A tide of townsfolk streamed up the hill, and she scanned them for a familiar face.

“Thank heavens I’ve found you.” Letitia approached her and Helen from behind and looped a hand through each of their arms. “I thought earlier that we should arrange a meeting place so we can be sure of everyone’s safe arrival. Evie and Louisa are already inside. Come with me.”

She started toward the blockhouse with a determined stride, skirts swirling around booted feet. Apparently she had made good on her promise to sleep in her clothing.

“Wait.” Kathryn pulled her to a stop. “I haven’t seen Jason. What if he didn’t hear?”

“He’s a capable man, my dear. I’m certain he can take care of
himself.” Letitia started to continue, but something behind Kathryn caught her eye. Her lips twitched. “Now there’s a sight I never hoped to see.”

On the road below a trio of stragglers raced toward them. In the front ran Madame Garritson clutching a giant bundle, her fleshy figure bouncing with every step. As they watched, a tall man overtook her, white hair flying around his head and the tail of his short nightshirt flapping in the breeze behind him.

“Hillory, wait! Don’t leave me!” The shout came from the third figure, a woman Kathryn recognized as Mrs. Butler.

Her husband either did not hear or chose to ignore her plea. He overtook Madame at the foot of the knoll and passed her, arms and skinny legs pumping with renewed vigor as he dashed upward. Color flashed around his knobby knees.

“What is he wearing?” Kathryn asked, pointing.

Letitia squinted her eyes in his direction, and then burst out with a laugh. “Why, it’s his wife’s petticoat. I sold her the red flannel myself not three months past.”

Despite the tension, or perhaps because of it, Helen and Kathryn shared a chuckle while Letitia stepped in front of the man, ending his flight. “Hillory Butler, I’m surprised you have the nerve to show yourself. You declared more than once that this blockhouse was an effort in futility undertaken by foolish men.”

He drew himself up, gaunt chest heaving. “I have always been an ardent supporter of preparedness in any form.”

Then he darted around her and dove through the crowd and into the fort, leaving his wife to follow at her own pace.

Letitia grabbed Kathryn’s arm then and tugged her forward. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be pulled along, craning her neck to search the area. Where was Jason?

The tension inside was no less than the previous night as the people waited in the dark, straining their ears for sounds of fighting from beyond the safety of the sturdy walls. The crowd seemed
bigger tonight. Maybe more people were becoming convinced of the danger. Kathryn clutched Helen’s arm, and her thoughts formed a constant prayer.

Lord, keep us safe.

Keep Jason safe.

Time ceased to have meaning as anxiety stretched the seconds into agonizing minutes. Finally, when she feared her legs might collapse from the strain, a crack of moonlight appeared and the door was opened. A man’s shape stepped into view.

“Another false alarm,” came David’s familiar voice. “Sorry, folks. We can all go home.”

The frightened people filed into the night at a much more sedate pace, murmuring to their neighbors. Though they might have grumbled about a second interrupted night’s sleep, or even voiced doubts of the necessity for another midnight flight, Kathryn heard only exclamations of relief. Judging by the number of people who had flown to safety, there were none left in Seattle who doubted that an attack was coming, and that it was imminent.

Outside the crowd spread out. She moved to the edge, letting people surge past her. At the far corner of the fort a small group of men stood watching the evacuation. Among them was Jason.

With a cry of relief, she started toward him, but then caught sight of the man standing at his side. Will Townsend, with a sleeping John William draped across one shoulder. She came to a stop.

Letitia, who had started down the hill with Helen at her side, stopped and turned an inquisitive look her way. “Are you coming, dear?”

“Yes.” With a last look at Jason, she turned away. At least he was safe. “Yes, I’m coming.”

She joined her friends for the journey home.

Thursday, January 24, 1856

Jason trudged up the hill, exhaustion weighing on his legs like there were anchors attached to his boots. Two nights in a row with no sleep, and the feverish pace at the mill to make up for the last two weeks when the men’s attention had been distracted by construction of the blockhouse were finally catching up with him. He dug at burning eyes with his finger and thumb. He was only thirty-five, but tonight he felt like an old man. When he was younger he used to go days on a few hours of sleep.

The light shining through the curtains in the restaurant’s front window created a pleasant picture in the swiftly deepening twilight. The sound of voices in casual conversation drifted through, along with the deep rumble of a man’s laughter. The sounds, along with the scent of roasting meat, combined to create such a homey, comfortable ambience that the tension started to seep out of his muscles. With luck he’d enjoy a good meal, pleasant company, and a solid night’s sleep. The thought cheered him, and with renewed energy he entered the café.

“There you are, Jason.” Noah waved him over to the corner table, where the chair that had become regarded as his sat empty. “We were beginning to wonder if Henry chained you to the desk down there.”

A contented sigh escaped his lungs as he doffed his coat. Something about this place appealed to him. Part of it was the story Noah had told him of its building. It represented tenacity and determination that were a trademark of Seattle’s founders and, indeed, of the town. His coat deposited on a peg, he turned and looked around the room. Men lifted hands to wave or called greetings, which he returned as he made his way to his chair.

His gaze swept toward a familiar pair of green eyes that locked onto his, and his step faltered. Kathryn looked different. In place of the typical severe knot at the back of her head, she had arranged her hair into a pair of braids and fixed them in loops that dangled
behind her ears. He’d seen similar styles on ladies back East, but none of them wore the arrangement to such effect. She looked…well, she looked lovely.

“You’ve met Captain Gansevoort, haven’t you, Jason?”

He tore his eyes from her and focused on the uniformed man who had risen from his chair at Noah’s introduction.

“Not formally.” He shook the extended hand. “Jason Gates.”

The captain nodded as he lowered himself into his chair. “You were with Denny the other night outside the fort.”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“Jason’s the mill manager down at Yesler’s, and has been very involved in building the blockhouse.” Noah turned his head toward Jason. “Captain Gansevoort came ashore to assure us of the
Decatur
’s support.” He lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure no one could overhear. “Even though his superiors think we’re a bunch of alarmists.”

Jason looked at the man with interest. “They don’t believe an attack is imminent?”

“They do not. I’ve received word from the governor informing me that such an attack was virtually impossible, but that I am to do what I can to, ahem, pacify the locals.” With an apologetic glance at Noah, he lowered his gaze to his plate.

An empty mug was plopped down on the table in front of him, and Jason looked up into Kathryn’s smiling face. His heart beat an uneven pattern.

“Would you like coffee?” She held up a pot invitingly. “Seattle’s best.”

“Sure.” He slid the mug forward and watched as she poured dark, steaming liquid from the pot. “You’ve done something new to your hair,” he blurted.

“Yes, I have.” She lifted a hand and fingered one braided loop. Another wide smile, and then she said, “I’ll be right back with your supper.”

The hem of her skirt fluttered when she twisted sideways to slip between two tables. He tore his gaze away and focused on the man across from him.

“The governor said an attack is impossible?” He shook his head. “What is he basing his opinion on?”

“Well I can tell you one thing.” Noah picked up his own mug and grimaced over the rim. “He’s not listening to Arthur Denny. David had a letter from his brother in the last post assuring us that he was doing everything in his power to make sure the threat is taken seriously in Olympia. You’d think the governor would pay attention to the head of the territorial legislature.”

The captain speared a piece of meat on the end of his knife. “No doubt that is why I haven’t received orders to leave.”

“That’s something to be thankful for.” Jason took a long sip from his mug.

Kathryn returned then. The plate she set in front of him held enough food for three men. Flashing another of those sweet smiles around the table, she left.

Gansevoort waited until she’d moved out of earshot. “How many hostiles do we estimate?”

Jason tore his eyes from her and looked at Noah, whose expression grew grim. “We had a report just this morning. Indian man by the name of Yoke-Yakeman, a friend of the Dennys who’s proven to be a trustworthy source of information.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Close to two thousand, according to him, and more arriving from the north every day.”

Jason sat back in his chair, his appetite gone in an instant. Even if every man in Seattle took up arms, the enemy outnumbered them eight to one. How could they possibly withstand an attack by an army of that magnitude?

“How many fighting men can we count on from your ship, Captain?”

The man answered without hesitation. “One hundred fourteen.
We’ll be on shore within minutes, and leave only a few on board the
Decatur.
”