Читать книгу Mail-Order Marriage Promise - Regina Scott - Страница 13
ОглавлениеLive with him? Dottie clutched Peter close. John Wallin had already told her he had no interest in marriage. How could she live with him?
She felt heat gathering in her cheeks. “I cannot like your assumption, Mr. Wallin. I don’t know who gave you the impression that I’m the sort of woman who would put herself under a gentleman’s protection, but I assure you that you are mistaken. I think you’d better leave.”
His cheeks were as red as hers felt. “Please forgive me, Mrs. Tyrrell. I didn’t mean... That is, it wasn’t my intention...” He squared his shoulders and met her gaze straight on. His green eyes pleaded for understanding. “I have a good, solid farmhouse. You and Peter are welcome to live in it until you decide what to do next. My brother’s logging crew has taken over my parents’ cabin. I’m sure I can bunk with them in the meantime.”
Nothing in that open face shouted of dishonesty. He was either the kindest man she’d ever met, or the wiliest.
Dottie cocked her head, watching him. “You’d give up your home, for me?”
He blew out a breath as if grateful he’d made his plan clear. “Yes, gladly. It’s the least I can do for the trouble my family has put you through. I’ve several cows and chickens, so you can be assured of fresh milk and eggs. We still have vegetables and fruit canned from last harvest. My brothers and I hunt and fish during the week, so there’s usually meat as well. All you’d have to do is take care of you and Peter while you consider your options.”
It was too good to be true. “Forgive me, Mr. Wallin, but I find your offer altogether unequal. What do you get out of the bargain?”
He frowned as if puzzled by the question. “Why, the chance to be helpful, ma’am.”
A laugh popped out of her, and she could hear the bitter ring to it. “In my experience, people are not nearly so helpful.”
He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Then perhaps you know the wrong people, Mrs. Tyrrell.”
She had no question on that score. Her experience with Frank had soured her on a lot of things. Yet, was John Wallin the only man who had ever offered help to someone in need? She recalled her father allowing vagabonds to stay in the barn and feeding traveling families on their way to work on farms in the next county. He’d never asked for more recompense than a good night’s sleep.
“What we do for others, we do for God,” he’d said more than once.
She’d never fretted then. She’d been happy on the farm, secure in the knowledge her parents loved her and would always be there for her. The latter had proved a lie.
Would John Wallin prove a liar?
She must have taken too long to answer, for he sighed, his gaze dropping to the hat in his hands. “If you prefer to stay in Seattle, I’ll pay for the hotel as long as I can. I just thought Lowe’s might not be the best place for a baby.”
Or her. The more she moved about the hotel, going to seek work and returning, the more attention she attracted from the other residents. Several of the men had cast her interested glances, and not in a way she found admiring. And the clerk had told her a guest had complained about Peter’s crying. What if the hotel manager asked her to leave? Where would she go then?
“If I agree to your offer,” she began, setting John to beaming, “I would need assurances that Wallin Landing is a suitable place for a woman and child. Beth told me a great deal about it, but that was before I knew I would not be arriving as your wife.”
He nodded, his hat gripped in his sturdy fingers. “Of course. My claim is the southernmost. It runs from Lake Union west over the top of the hill toward Puget Sound. My brother James and his wife, Rina, are adjacent, but our claims are narrow enough that you can cross them quickly. Just beyond live my oldest brother, Drew, and his wife, Catherine. She’s a trained nurse and runs the dispensary. You’d have experienced medical help should Peter need it.”
That was good to know. In Cincinnati and on the journey west, Peter had proved surprisingly resilient, with few of the fevers and ailments that seemed to trouble other babies. But she knew it was only a matter of time before something made him ill.
“There’s also a school with fifteen students,” he continued, stepping closer as if he sensed her resolve weakening. “Rina is the lead teacher. Beth helps sometimes, when she isn’t working her claim, assisting my brother Simon’s wife, Nora, or trying to boss our brothers or Drew’s crew around. Nora watches the little ones while their mothers are working. The eight of them range from a sweet-natured toddler to a six-year-old who’s convinced she’s queen. I’m certain Nora wouldn’t mind including Peter if you had work to do.”
And she’d have a nanny of sorts, it seemed. Still, that voice inside her warned that it was all a trick. Hadn’t she learned by now that anything good in life could be taken from her?
She gazed down into Peter’s dear face. His blue eyes, more gray than hers, gazed back, trusting. He offered her a smile as if to encourage her, and she couldn’t help smiling back.
Whatever happens, Lord, thank You for entrusting me with this precious boy.
And didn’t her son deserve something more than this narrow hotel room, the company of strangers, here today and gone tomorrow? If what John Wallin was offering was even half true, she could provide Peter a safe home and good food, perhaps even friends. Shouldn’t she take the chance, for him?
“I believe Beth said Wallin Landing is about five miles from Seattle,” she told John, who was shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn’t wait to hear her answer. “I’d be willing to move out, see if the area will suit Peter and me.”
His smile showed his relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.”
She couldn’t make herself believe that.
* * *
She was coming with him. John wasn’t sure why Dottie’s decision raised his spirits so high, but he couldn’t help whistling a tune as he went to the livery stable to see about hiring a wagon and stabling his horse overnight. She’d been reticent, but who could blame her? She’d already left everything behind to come to Seattle on a promise that had proved false. Why should she believe anything he said?
He’d simply have to show her he was a man who could be trusted.
He brought the wagon around to the hotel, carried her trunk down the stairs and heaved it into the bed. James still joked about the amount of baggage he had been required to move to bring Rina out to Wallin Landing to teach. Dottie’s belongings seemed to amount to much less, especially when she was carrying clothing not only for herself, but also for a baby.
“Is there more?” he asked as she passed him by the front of the wagon.
She glanced back. She’d covered her gown with a navy wool cape that fell to her hips, and it twitched as she moved, drawing his attention to her slender figure.
“Just my valise with Peter’s things.” She held the case in one hand and cradled her son with the other.
An unencumbered female. That would be a novelty. Rina and Catherine had come to Seattle as part of the Mercer Belles. The women had followed Asa Mercer to Washington Territory from the East Coast to work and marry, bringing fine silk and wool gowns with them. Nora had also been a Mercer Belle, but she’d brought fewer clothes. Still, she was a seamstress. Now she sewed herself something new on a fairly regular basis. And Beth had been known for her obsession with fashion, as depicted in Godey’s Lady’s Book, since she was ten.
He took the valise and stowed it behind the bench, where Dottie could reach it if needed, then turned to hand her up. Instead, she offered him the baby.
“If you’d hold Peter a moment?”
John accepted the soft weight. Peter regarded him solemnly, as if considering his character. Meeting the baby’s gaze, John stood a little straighter. He felt the chuckle bubble up inside Peter’s chest before the baby grinned. For some reason, John felt like celebrating.
“He likes you.” Dottie sounded surprised. She had climbed up into the seat by herself and paused now to gaze down at her son. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.”
Neither did his mother, but John decided not to mention that.
“I’m used to babies,” he said. “I guess they know that.”
Dottie dropped her gaze, rearranging her skirts around her on the bench. Then she held open her arms. “I’ll take him now.”
Peter pouted as John gave him back to his mother. John felt the same way. There was something warm, something real, about holding a baby. The soft skin and sweet breath made him feel protective, strong. He’d felt the same way holding his nieces and nephews. Drew and Catherine had three children now, James and Rina three and Simon and Nora two.
Yet there was something different about Peter, with his too-solemn face. Perhaps he touched John’s heart more than his nieces and nephews did because John knew they had two parents to love them. Dottie clearly cared about her son, but unless she remarried, the lad would grow up without a father. John remembered how it had felt to lose Pa, but Drew had stepped into the role. Who would step up to help raise Peter?
John came around, hopped up on the bench and took up the reins. “You won’t regret this,” he promised Dottie before calling to the horses to set off. Her tight smile showed she disagreed with him.
She cuddled the baby as they rolled through the streets, passing other wagons, men on horseback, ladies with baskets on their arms. Seattle had grown in the last few years. The fancy houses on Third Avenue that had once stood at the edge of town were eclipsed by the buildings on Fourth and Fifth. New streets with names like Cherry and Spring stretched east and west as well. They ran right up to the edge of the forest, which quickly wrapped around John and Dottie, narrowing the road and the world to the single rutted lane leading north.
Dottie glanced longingly back at the town that was disappearing behind them.
“More remote than you expected?” he asked.
She nodded, facing front again. “A bit. Do you have trouble with wild animals at Wallin Landing?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “The more people move out our way, the more the animals flee. It’s getting harder to find deer or rabbit near the claims. We may get a fox or weasel after the chickens once in a while, but I haven’t seen a cougar up close in years.”
“Well,” she said, “I suppose that’s good.”
She didn’t sound convinced.
“It’s no Cincinnati,” John acknowledged. “But you must have known that much when you agreed to come.”
“Beth’s letters were quite detailed, but I suppose it wouldn’t have taken much for me to want to be elsewhere. I didn’t like living in Cincinnati. I’m sure Wallin Landing will be fine.”
He’d always thought so. “My brothers have done their best by the place. Ma and Pa brought us out before the Indian War here in ’55. They each filed a claim, then each of us siblings, except my brother Levi, who went north, filed a claim when we reached our majority. Pa always wanted his own town.”
John had grown up with the dream, but saying it aloud to Dottie felt odd. After living in a big city like Cincinnati, she could only see their goal of building a community as provincial. Why, Wallin Landing was small compared to Seattle!
She busied herself with her son, tucking the blanket around him, pulling a corner over his head and murmuring assurances. Not for the first time, he felt a stab of loss. Ma had been gone just two years, having met and loved each of her grandchildren, and he still missed her. He thought she’d like Mrs. Tyrrell. Ma had appreciated women who stood up for themselves.
The skies above the firs were heavy with rain, and John could hear it pattering down above them. Under the trees, however, it was drier. The cool air that brushed his cheeks carried the scent of Puget Sound. It might have been a pleasant ride, but he was all too concerned about the lady beside him. She’d come this far and the end of her journey wasn’t in sight. Surely he could find some way to reassure her.
“It’s nearly time to plant,” he remarked. “We’ll have corn and beans aplenty, and each claim has its own garden and orchard for fruit. Our neighbors are good about trading whatever’s extra. You’ll see the farms soon.”
“How many people, all told?” she asked, sitting taller, as if she longed to spot any sign of civilization.
John frowned, considering. “With our claims and the neighbors to the north and south, perhaps sixty people.”
“Sixty.”
She said the word breathlessly, but he was fairly sure the number was far too small for her. He was just glad when they came out of the forest onto farmland, the fields dark as farmers turned the soil for new planting. He spotted neighbors out working as they passed. All raised a hand in greeting, and John waved back. Mrs. Tyrrell regarded him, brows tight over her nose, and he couldn’t tell what was troubling her.
Peter had no such concerns. He closed his eyes and drowsed in her arms.
There had to be something that would please her. Through the trees ahead, he spotted a steeple rising. He pointed toward it. “That’s our church.”
“Beth said you designed it,” Dottie replied, angling her head as if to try to glimpse more of the structure.
He couldn’t quite prevent the pride from leaking into his voice. “I did. But Drew and his men felled the timber, James paid for it to be cut into board at Yesler’s mill and my brothers and I all worked together to construct the building. It still needs paint, inside and out, and there are benches, steps and a pulpit to install.”
“By summer, then,” she said with a nod.
He grimaced. “Realistically, with planting coming, it might be a while before we finish. I’m hoping we’ll start holding services there around harvest time, provided we can find a preacher willing to relocate out this way.”
He spied an opening in the trees and turned the horses west, up the track that led to his house. The forest was thinner here. Drew and his crew had taken out most of the big firs years ago, but John had left a few vine maples and madrone to shield the house from the main road. His home and barn sat on a bench, with fields running down to the road and spreading out on either side, the forest rising at the back. The arrangement had proved both practical and pleasing.
Yet the closer they came, the more he tensed. Why? It was a good, solid house with a sturdy barn, just as he’d told her. He had no reason to feel as if its worth was tied to her approval.
He pulled the wagon up before the wide front porch he’d insisted on having when Simon had sketched out plans for the place.
“I want to be able to sit under the eaves and watch the sun come up,” he’d told his brother.
Simon had frowned at him. “You get up before sunrise and head for work. When do you have time to sit?”
A literal man, his brother. But John had been firm. It was his house. He could do what he liked with it. Especially as it appeared he would never be sharing it with a wife.
“Here we are,” he announced, setting the brake. He jumped down, tied the horses to the porch rail to make sure they didn’t head for the barn and came around to help Dottie.
Her gaze was on the house. Did she wonder why a bachelor needed a second story or three chairs along the porch? Did she approve of the glass windows brought up from San Francisco? Or the blue paint he’d used to show off the door against the white of the house? Why did he care?
“It’s lovely,” she said, and he thought he might stand as tall as Drew for once.
He offered to help her down, but she merely handed him Peter. Now that the wagon had stopped moving, the baby cracked open his eyes. They widened as if Peter was surprised to see John holding him instead of his mother. John readied himself for the wail of protest. Instead, Peter’s face brightened in a grin.
He kept the baby in his arms as he led Dottie into the house.
“Parlor’s to the right,” he explained, nodding through the open door. “Main bedroom’s to the left. Kitchen runs across the back. Stairs lead up to a sleeping loft. Right now it’s full of furs curing from the winter.”
She wandered into the parlor, touched the bench Drew had carved for him, exclaimed over the woven rug his mother had made. John followed her, rocking Peter in his arms. The baby gazed about him, as if everything he saw was wonderful.
Not everyone was so entranced. A hiss told John he was in trouble. Glancing about, he sighted the ginger bullet on the windowsill a moment before it launched itself at him. John stepped back from the malevolent green glare.
“Oh,” Dottie exclaimed, “you have a cat.”
John managed a smile. “Mrs. Tyrrell, may I present Brian de Bois-Guilbert. He patrols for vermin.”
That sounded a lot more manly than the cat’s typical role—stalking John around the house with demands for attention.
Dottie’s face brightened. “Brian de Bois-Guilbert, like in Ivanhoe?”
At the moment, the cat did indeed resemble the villain of the tale. His tail twitched as his eyes narrowed on Peter.
“No,” John told him. “Down, boy.”
Dottie looked at him in obvious amazement. “Does he obey you like a dog?”
He shrugged. “I thought it was worth a try.”
She shook her head, then crouched on the rug and held out a hand to the cat. Brian refused to so much as glance in her direction. He busied himself licking his white mitten paws.
“Where did you get a cat out here?” she asked. “I’d think they’d get eaten by foxes.”
“I found him in my barn,” John told her, edging back from the cat in case Brian did have designs on Peter. “Pitiful thing, more bones than muscle. Some of our neighbors had cats, so Beth and I thought he might have escaped from a litter nearby. She named him after the knight in Ivanhoe, the one who couldn’t decide whether he was a hero or a villain. I think she was hoping to keep him, but he seems to have attached himself to me.”
As if to disprove it, Brian raised his head and let out another hiss, ears going back and eyes narrowing.
Dottie stood and glanced at Peter. The baby had started at the noise. Now he giggled. Dottie drew in a breath.
John wasn’t nearly so pleased. The cat had been good company when he’d lived here alone, but Brian, like many of his kind, tended to do as he pleased. And he seemed to feel John was his personal companion. Would he attack Dottie or the baby? John wouldn’t feel comfortable putting the cat out of the house on a permanent basis, but neither did he feel comfortable leaving Brian alone with Dottie and her son.
Dottie crouched again, ran her fingers along the rug. Brian watched each movement as if fascinated. Once more, John tensed.
“That might not be a good idea,” he murmured.
Dottie didn’t respond. Instead, she held out her hand again.
Brian eyed her a moment more, then his face and ears relaxed and his back came down. He wandered up to Dottie and ran his back under her fingers.
“Sweet kitty,” she crooned. “Darling kitty.”
As Brian turned for another pass, he glanced up at John as if to say See? This is how it’s done.
Dottie gave the feline another pat before rising in a whisper of wool. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
So it seemed. But, for the first time, John wondered just how many things would change in his life with Dottie and Peter at Wallin Landing.
