The Claim (17 page)

“I sure would,” Mrs. Dodd said, her face set.

With exaggerated importance, Mrs. Dodd walked up to an empty chair at the front of the room.

“It’s one thing to live near the savages, or even work with them,” Mrs. Dodd said, staring at Cocumb. Cocumb stared right back at her. “But it is quite another to allow a white child to be raised by a savage. It ain’t right. She should be raised with her own.”

There were soft murmurs of assent from the assembled audience.

“I should like to add,” William said, “that this concern has been seconded by other members of the community. Now, as this procedure was requested by Mr. Swan, I shall hear his arguments at this time.”

Mr. Swan stared around at the crowd, looking uncomfortable and tugging absently at his collar.

“Mr. Swan,” I hissed. “Go!”

He lumbered up, clearing his throat. “Good neighbors,” he began, “this is a simple matter that concerns a family. Now, many of you knew M’Carty well, and as he is unable to speak for himself in these proceedings regarding his intentions for his only child, Katy, we shall hear testimony from M’Carty’s friends, as well as his wife. Mr. Russell?”

Mr. Russell walked up and took the chair recently vacated by Mrs. Dodd. He spit a wad of tobacco. It landed with a wet slap at Mrs. Dodd’s feet.

“M’Carty loved Cocumb. He loved her people,” he said.

Cocumb smiled at him gratefully.

He stared at Katy. “And he loved that little girl like he was a crazy fool. Thar ain’t no way he woulda wanted her taken away from her mama.”

“But her education is being neglected!” Mrs. Dodd shouted.

“That little girl’s smart as a whip. She speaks English and the Jargon. And jest who are ya anyhow to be talking about educating? I don’t see ya got any children of your own. Seems to me that ya wouldn’t know the first thing about being a mama. How many languages you speak?”

Mrs. Dodd went white.

“And the rest of ya. Mind yer own business, I say.”

Mr. Russell got up and ambled back down into the audience.

“Thank you, Mr. Russell, for your expert testimony,” Mr. Swan said with an approving smile. “As most of you know,
Mr. Russell was M’Carty’s best friend. Now we shall hear from M’Carty’s wife. Cocumb?”

“Indian lover!” someone shouted from the back of the room.

I whirled around in my seat, but found myself staring at a roomful of stone-faced men and women, some of whom I had once counted among my friends.

Cocumb just stiffened her back and walked regally to the witness chair.

“My husband is dead,” Cocumb said in a clear voice. “All I have left is my daughter. My beautiful Katy. She is part Chinook, part white. If it matters to you, I plan to raise her knowing the customs of both peoples.”

“Why should we listen to a savage Indian?” Mrs. Dodd’s husband barked.

“I am her mother,” Cocumb said quietly.

“Thank you, Cocumb,” Mr. Swan said, and helped her back to her seat.

Mr. Swan drew a deep breath and looked out at the room. “It has always been my opinion that mothers are most perfectly equipped to care for their children. I do not think anyone in this room or in society shall disagree with me on this basic point. There is no legal reason to remove Katy from Cocumb’s care. She should remain with her mother, where she belongs.”

A hush fell over the room.

“Very well, Mr. Swan,” William said. “I find that your arguments have no merit in this matter.”

“It is a matter of law, sir,” Mr. Swan blustered.

William raised an unconcerned eyebrow. “Really? Which law? I believe this matter falls under my province as justice of the peace. As M’Carty once said, we make our own laws out here.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I leaped to my feet. “You’re married to an Indian! How can you say such things? What if Katy were your daughter?”

There were stray murmurs of surprise in the room. It seemed that William hadn’t told all his new constituents about his own marriage.

William tensed, and then an icy calm seemed to settle over him. “Miss Peck, my affairs are none of your concern, and you are lucky I am in an agreeable mood or I would have you jailed for contempt.” He inclined his head. “But as you have mentioned them, I would be more than happy to speak to your concerns.”

I held my breath, and to judge from the silence in the makeshift courtroom, so did everyone else.

“In the first place, as you well know, my wife is only half Indian. But let us set that aside. In the event of my untimely death, I would be only too happy to have a suitable member of society raise my offspring, otherwise the child would revert to savagery. Therefore, I hereby declare that Katy shall be removed from her Indian mother and given into the care of a pioneer lady, to be raised as a civilized child.”

He nodded to Red Charley. “Constable.”

“No!” Cocumb cried.

Chief Toke stood up, Keer-ukso behind him.

But Red Charley already had latched his beefy hands around
Katy’s arms and was dragging the struggling child from the room.

“Mama!” Katy called.

“Mr. Swan! Do something!” I shouted over the furor.

Mr. Swan looked at me helplessly as Cocumb sobbed into my shoulder.

The late days of
June brought bright blue skies and cool evenings but no solace. Everyone went about their lives as if the terrible incident with Katy had never occurred. Except it had. I had only to walk over to Toke’s lodge and see Cocumb’s stunned face to know that.

Sally spent her days in the hotel parlor, making endless plans for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. Even Mrs. Biddle got involved. Now, instead of endless complaints, she had endless demands.

Each morning she met me with a list of meticulous requirements, none of which, naturally, I was able to fulfill. There were no orchestras on Shoalwater Bay, nor were there any theater troupes, or hot-air balloons to hire, or any form of entertainment besides drinking, gambling, and bowling.

“Miss Peck,” she said after I informed her that the special coconut macaroons she requested would take months to arrive. “I am most disappointed in you.”

I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t the only one. The ladies of the sewing circle were disappointed in me. Jehu was disappointed in me. Mrs. Frink was disappointed in me. Only Brandywine, the dog, seemed happy in my presence. But he left fleas on my bed.

I took to spending all my spare time in my house, walking the floors and measuring the windows for curtains. It was my refuge from the hotel—and the disturbing sight of Sally Biddle holding court in the parlor. Her gay laughter was a grating reminder of everything I had lost—my friends, my place in this world, and, I feared, Jehu.

Jehu, for his part, seemed determined to prove me wrong about Mr. Biddle. By all accounts he spent every waking moment refining plans for the mill and lobbying Sally. It was as if he and I were living in separate worlds, like ships passing at sea. I often saw him strolling with Sally down the road, head bent in conversation, or outside Star’s with other men. Once, his blue eyes met mine and held.

And then he looked away.

  One morning the last week of June found me at my house as usual—only this morning I had awakened there.

I had moved in at last, with the help of Mr. Frink and Mr. Russell. The house was most beautiful in the early morning, when the warm light washed over it like watercolors. I saw Jehu’s hand in every detail, from the well-laid floors to the gleaming table that stood in the center of the room. I glanced out the window, admiring the view.

A figure was walking across my claim, and I felt a rush of fear. William?

Except he wasn’t walking. He was running, which the dignified William would never deign to do. And he was far too small to be William, anyway.

The front door banged open, and there stood Willard, breathing hard. Brandywine ran into the house in front of him.

“I been looking everywhere for you!” Willard exclaimed.

“Is that so?” I asked. “You know very well you are supposed to be at the hotel helping Millie and Spaark.”

He shook his head. “You gotta come with me.”

“Willard,” I said. “What have you done now?”

“I ain’t done nothing.” He gave me an exasperated look. “It’s Katy!”

My heart fell. “Katy?”

“Them Dodds, they’re treating her real bad. Making her do the laundry and make the soap. She’s like a slave or something!”

“How do you know all this, Willard?” I asked.

He stared at his booted foot. “On account of the fact that I been spying on them.”

Now,
that
I could believe.

“Honest. I ain’t lying, Miss Jane,” Willard pleaded.

I looked into his eyes, the eyes of a scamp and a pie thief.

“All right, Willard,” I said, holding out my hand. “Show me.”

  Willard, it turned out, was quite an accomplished spy. No wonder he always knew when a pie was cooling on a windowsill.

He led me up a little path through the woods that backed onto the Dodds’ small cabin. The strong smell of unwashed clothes wafted through the air.

“Come on,” Willard whispered. “They’re around the side of the house making soap.”

Making lye soap was an arduous process. But more than that, it was a dangerous job. It required pouring boiling water over wood ashes, adding fat, and then stirring the whole stinking mixture for hours on end.

And that was exactly what Mrs. Dodd was making Katy do—stir the boiling pot. She had clearly been at it for some time, for the poor child seemed close to dropping from fatigue. Her small hands had raised red welts on them from where the burning liquid had splashed from the pot.

Mrs. Dodd came out to inspect.

“Is it done yet?” Katy asked in a small voice.

Mrs. Dodd slapped Katy hard on the arm, and beside me Willard flinched as if he had been struck, too.

“Ow!” Katy said, tears springing to her eyes.

“What did I tell you about not speaking unless spoken to, girl?” Mrs. Dodd growled.

Katy whimpered.

“Get back to your stirring or they’ll be no supper for you again!”

Willard and I crouched in the bushes and watched as Katy stirred the boiling lye, a long, slow tear crawling down her smudged face.

*    *    *

When I returned to the hotel, I searched out Mrs. Frink. Surely she would be sympathetic, no matter what Sally had said about me.

She was at her desk, writing a letter.

“Excuse me, Matilda? May I have a moment of your time?”

Mrs. Frink rubbed her eyes. “Of course, Jane. What is it now?”

“Actually, I just came from Mrs. Dodd’s house,” I began. “She’s treating Katy terribly. We must do something.”

“Jane,” Mrs. Frink said, her tone measured. “I’ll grant you that Mrs. Dodd can be difficult, but I can’t imagine she’d be deliberately cruel.”

“But she is!” I exclaimed. “I saw it with my own eyes. It’s clear to me that the only reason she took Katy was so she wouldn’t have to pay any more help.”

Mrs. Frink looked off into the distance. “Perhaps Katy’s just having trouble adjusting to her new life.”

“She needs to be with her mother. Think of Cocumb! Please, you of all people must understand how awful it is to lose a child.”

Mrs. Frink’s face whitened at this.

“Something must be done,” I said. “People respect your opinion. They’ll listen to you.”

“Jane,” Mrs. Frink said, clearly torn. “It’s an unfortunate situation, I agree, but William’s the judge. He makes the law now.”

“He’s horrible and you know it!” I shouted in frustration. “He doesn’t care what happens to Katy. How can you stand by and watch this happen and not do anything?”

Mrs. Frink said in a helpless voice, “Even if I were to
challenge him, I have no doubt that he would prevail. And nothing would be accomplished by that. Perhaps we should just wait awhile and see what happens. Maybe Katy will come to like living with Mrs. Dodd.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” I said, and started to walk away before I said something else I would come to regret.

“Jane,” she called.

I turned back.

A look of uneasiness flitted across her face, and then she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

  Mr. Swan was even less helpful than Mrs. Frink.

He removed his spectacles and wiped them on his coat. “Perhaps it’s a good idea, after all, Jane. William has been telling me about Governor Stevens and his plans for the region. We all have to face facts eventually, dear girl. And the fact is that many of the Indians in this territory are destined for reservations.” Mr. Swan stared at me, a little sadly it seemed. “Just as I am destined to leave this place.”

“Leave?” I gasped. “But how? Why?”

He pulled a packet of letters out of his coat pocket and handed them to me reluctantly. They were neatly tied with a ribbon. The return address was Boston.

“My wife,” he explained. “She wants me to come home.”

I stared at the letters and wondered at the family he had left behind.

“But what about our oyster beds and all your plans?”

He waved at Shoalwater Bay.

“This was only ever destined to be an adventure for me,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “My life awaits me in Boston.”

“When will you go?” I asked.

“After the Fourth, I should think.”

“I’ll miss you, Mr. Swan,” I said quietly.

He smiled at me, his eyes wet. “And I shall miss you as well, my dear.”

  As I mulled over the news about Mr. Swan’s imminent departure, I decided to go and see if Mr. Russell could help me. After all, the brash mountain man had never cared much for other people’s opinions of him.

He wasn’t in his usual spot on the porch when I arrived. I peeked into his cabin. It seemed to be in an even greater state of disarray than usual. An immense pile of laundry was stacked in the corner. Scraps of old food, scattered across the table, were being enjoyed by all manner of vermin, and the place was simply bursting with fleas. Even Brandywine wouldn’t go inside and sat on the front porch whining.

I finally found Mr. Russell in the cowshed, milking Burton.