Читать книгу Mail-Order Marriage Promise - Regina Scott - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Dottie climbed the stairs to her second-floor hotel room, feeling heavy. How could she have let this happen? Why had she believed what Beth Wallin had written to her? Had she learned nothing from her terrible experience with Frank?

Of course, none of the letters Beth had sent her or the conversation with John had been anything like talking with Frank. A salesman for a manufacturing firm in Cincinnati, with clients all over the state, he’d had a way of making people feel important. She’d needed that fifteen months ago when she’d first met him.

Her uncle, who worked for the same firm, had brought Frank home for dinner to meet Dottie. Frank hadn’t been the first fellow foisted upon her that way. Uncle Henry and Aunt Harriot lived in a manner her parents had found worrisome—drinking with friends most nights, holding their own riotous parties at least twice a month, saying vulgar words upon occasion and never attending church.

Though she tried not to complain, she could not bring herself to act the way they did, causing her uncle to dub her “Dottie Do-Gooder.” By word and action, they had made it very clear they wanted her out of the house as soon as possible. Only by doing all the cooking and cleaning had she convinced them to allow her to stay past her sixteenth birthday.

Every other man they had brought home to meet her had been just like them, favoring cheap cigars and alcohol. Frank had seemed different—polished, polite, friendly. Small wonder she’d begun to fancy she had found love. Frank had known just what to say, how to act, to get her to go along with his wishes and feel terribly happy about it as well.

Beth had also said all the right things, promising a kind, considerate husband well able to provide for Dottie’s needs. That part hadn’t been a lie. If anything, John Wallin was an even better man than his sister had described, if the way he had responded to Beth’s interference was any indication. Yet what sort of man needed a sister to fetch him a bride?

John seemed neither stupid nor lazy. He was not crippled, and he appeared to be in good health. If he was intent on building a library, surely he wasn’t the illiterate Dottie had feared. Most women would account him handsome. Even in Seattle, where there were far more men than women, he would likely be considered a catch.

So why did he lack a wife? Had he some flaw she hadn’t noticed on first meeting?

She was still wondering as she let herself into the narrow hotel room with its single window looking down toward Puget Sound. Mrs. Gustafson rose from the chair as Dottie shut the door behind her. A heavy woman with button-brown eyes and a wide mouth, she exuded motherly warmth, even in the somewhat Spartan conditions of the hotel room.

“A little darling he was,” she proclaimed in her thick German accent, looking fondly at the blanket spread on the floor. “Never once did he cry.”

Dottie’s son gurgled at her as she kneeled beside the blanket. He waved pudgy arms and begged to be picked up. She obliged, cuddling him close and feeling the soft tufts of his white-blond hair against her chin.

This was why she must stay strong. This was why she could not give up.

“Thank you for watching him,” she told the older woman.

Mrs. Gustafson waved a beefy hand. “Ach, he is no trouble. And your young man, how did you like him?”

Dottie had confided her purpose in coming to Seattle, though she had let Mrs. Gustafson, like Beth, think she was a widow instead of a woman shamed. Now she considered how to answer. In truth, had she met John Wallin before she’d known Frank, she would likely have been willing to let him court her. Now she needed a man ready to take a chance on a woman and an illegitimate baby, a man willing to fight for family. John Wallin, for all his gentle ways, did not seem likely.

“He decided we will not suit,” she told her friend.

The German lady recoiled. “Vas? Is he touched in the head? Such a lovely lady you are. And who could resist little Peter, eh?” She bent closer and stroked the baby’s cheek. Peter watched her, wide-eyed.

“I’ll simply have to find another way to support Peter,” Dottie said. “Surely someone here needs a worker and wouldn’t mind having a baby along.”

Mrs. Gustafson nodded as she straightened. “You could work on the railroad. I saw pictures all along the street here, asking everyone to come help on May Day.”

Dottie had seen them as well, posters plastered to any bare spot on the wall along the streets of Seattle. Come all ye adults of mankind. Nor let there be none left behind. It seemed Seattle had lost its bid to be the terminus of the Northern Pacific Railway, which would be coming to Tacoma, to the south, instead. Now Seattle was determined to build its own railroad.

“I doubt they are planning to pay the workers much,” she told her friend. “And I don’t know how I’d be much help carrying Peter around. If you hear of anything else, though, please let me know.”

“Oh, yah, of course,” Mrs. Gustafson promised. “But I don’t know of any places that will take a mother with child. And we leave tomorrow for the Duwamish. I would ask you to come, but it is my brother’s place, and he only has room for me and my Dieter.”

It was the same story every place Dottie tried that afternoon. Either the business did not want to take on a woman, or they needed her to work long hours away from Peter. The shops in Seattle, it seemed, were open by five in the morning and did not close until nearly ten at night. One of the owners even suggested that she give up her son, claiming many of the farmers in the area would be interested in adopting a baby that would grow into a strong young man. Clutching Peter close, she had hurried from the store. Peter was hers, not Frank’s, not anyone else’s. He was the one good thing to come from her bad marriage.

“You are a blessing,” she told him as she carried him back to the hotel. A passing gentleman favored her with a gap-toothed grin as if he thought she was addressing him. Peter snuggled closer.

That night, after she’d settled her son to sleep beside her on the bed, she allowed herself a moment to pray, asking for help finding work, a safe place for her and Peter to live. But still she found no peace.

Her mother and father had always prayed before bed and at mealtimes. They’d attended church services as well, read to her from the Bible. All that had changed when they’d been killed in a train accident. Her uncle had taken her Bible away from her, told her it was just a book of nonsense. She hadn’t seen the inside of a church in years. She shouldn’t be surprised she no longer felt God’s presence. She’d been the one to move away.

All Dottie could hope was that John Wallin had better connections in the frontier town than she ever would, and that he’d find something that would work for her and Peter.

* * *

John returned to Seattle the next day on horseback, leaving his mount at the livery stable while he canvassed the town. But it seemed Dottie had been unwilling to wait for his help, for most of the places he tried reported that she’d already been in.

“Lovely lady,” the tallest Kellogg brother said when John asked at his store about a clerk position, “but we simply could not accommodate the hours she wanted.”

He heard similar stories at other shops he tried. Dottie seemed determined to work as little as possible. He couldn’t understand it. Had she been so tenderly raised that she had no idea what employers expected? Surely if she’d lived on a farm she knew that work went on from before sunrise to after sunset most days.

He wished he knew more about her. He’d asked Beth as they’d ridden back to Wallin Landing yesterday, but his sister had obviously recovered her usual buoyancy and determined that he was the villain in all this.

“Oh, no, John Wallin,” she’d declared with a toss of her head. “You didn’t wish to heed my advice and marry Dottie Tyrrell, so don’t think you can get back into my good graces by appearing interested in her now. If you want to know more about her, I suggest you talk to her directly. I am quite finished playing matchmaker.”

He didn’t believe that for a minute. Beth had taken great delight in helping all their older brothers fall in love. She wouldn’t stop until every last Wallin male was wed.

But John wasn’t about to help her. He would find a better situation for Mrs. Tyrrell than marrying him.

Now he followed each lead to possible positions and talked to everyone with whom his family had built connections over the years. His quest eventually led him to the home of one of Seattle’s founding families, the Maynards. Doc Maynard, who had first hired Drew’s wife, Catherine, as a nurse years ago, had passed on last spring, leaving his wife as one of the area’s most notable widows. An advocate for literacy, she had been one of the women to whom John had presented yesterday. Today she listened more intently and handed him her card to give to Dottie. Feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he hurried to the hotel.

He had to cool his heels awhile as Billy Prentice, the porter, went up to tell the lady she had a caller. John had stayed at Lowe’s a time or two when he was needed in town, but looking around the plain white walls of the lobby, the hard-backed benches and brass spittoons, he wondered now whether it was the best place for a lady. As close as the hotel was to the businesses that catered to the workers at Yesler’s mill, the noise at night could be considerable some days. If only Dottie would take the situation with Mrs. Maynard, all her problems would be solved.

Billy came back down the stairs. “Sorry, Mr. Wallin. Mrs. Tyrrell says she cannot see you at present. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

What was wrong with the woman? She came from a farming background. She had to know he had chores waiting for him, animals to feed, fields to till for spring planting. Wallin Landing was still several hours round trip from Seattle. He couldn’t just make the jaunt when it suited her.

“Tell her I have urgent news,” he insisted. “A position she’ll want to hear about.”

The porter raised a brow, but up the stairs he went again.

John tapped his hat against his thigh. She hadn’t seemed so persnickety yesterday. Indeed, given the magnitude of his sister’s mistake, Dottie Tyrrell had been remarkably calm. Besides, Beth surely would have noticed a high-handed manner in the letters they’d exchanged. Any woman desperate enough to answer an ad for a mail-order bride couldn’t afford to put on airs.

“I’m sorry,” Billy said as he came down the stairs. “But Mrs. Tyrrell cannot see you now.”

John drew in a deep breath. Here he was, known for his patience, and it was about to desert him. “Tell her that if I do not see her now, she will forfeit this opportunity, and I will bear no further responsibility for helping her.”

Billy sighed. “If it wasn’t you, Mr. Wallin, I wouldn’t be going up the stairs again. But I never forgot how you helped me carry that luggage in out of the rain last winter. I’ll try to get you a better answer from the lady.” He turned and trudged up the stairs yet again. John was very glad when he returned with the news that Dottie would see him after all, even if it was in her room.

Odd, when she’d hesitated to be seen in the lobby with him yesterday. What had changed?

He climbed the stairs, then rapped on the door, hat in one hand. Though she had to know he was coming, Dottie took her time answering. When she did open the door, it was the merest crack, as if she expected him to come armed.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Tyrrell,” he said, trying for a smile that he hoped would put her at ease. “I’ve brought the funds as promised and what I hope is good news. One of the greatest ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Maynard, is seeking a companion. She has a fine house right here in Seattle and is well respected by all. I’m sure she’d be thrilled for your company.”

He had hoped for delight at the announcement, but if anything she looked sad, mouth dipping.

“I doubt a companion post will do, Mr. Wallin. I cannot be available the hours that would likely be expected.”

That again. Once more, he felt the temper he hadn’t known he had threatening. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but most places expect a day’s work for a day’s pay.”

“So I am coming to learn, but I’m afraid I must insist on it.” Behind her came a coo, as if a dove had been let loose in the room.

John frowned, but she thrust out her hand. “If I could have the funds you promised?”

At least he could do that much for her. He dug into the pocket of his coat and offered her the money. “I wish you would reconsider,” he told her. “I sincerely doubt you’ll find another situation like this in Seattle. Folks who come here generally aren’t afraid of hard work.”

The coo had become a whine, accompanied by the sound of material rustling. Were there rats in the room? Perhaps he should find her somewhere else to stay.

“I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr. Wallin,” she said, fingers tightening on the door. “I am simply unable to provide it at present. Thank you for your help, and good day.” She started to shut the door, and a howl erupted behind her.

John’s hand caught the door. “Wait. What was that? Are you all right?”

For a moment she hesitated, her gaze on his as if determining how easy it would be to refuse to answer him. Then she released the door and stepped back. “That, Mr. Wallin, is the reason I was willing to become a mail-order bride.”

She turned and headed for the bed, and John stepped into the hotel room. Now he could see two chubby fists waving in the air above the bed. She bent down and swept up the baby.

“There now,” she crooned. “It’s all right. Mommy has her little man.”

She had a child.

He drew in a breath. That explained so much—her reason for seeking a husband so urgently, her need for additional funds, her stringent requirements for a position. But it also meant his job of finding her a situation had just grown exponentially harder.

The baby calmed in her arms, blinking his eyes as he stuffed one fist into his mouth.

“What’s his name?” John asked, venturing closer.

“Peter,” she said, but so begrudgingly he wondered if she thought he’d argue over the matter.

The lad seemed about four months along. That was generally when they discovered their hands, if his nieces and nephews were any indication.

“I suppose Beth knows all about him,” he said.

She blushed, the pink as deep as the sunrise. “Actually, I never wrote Beth about him. When I first answered the ad, I was rather sick, and I thought I might lose the baby. Why explain something that might never come to pass?”

She bounced the little fellow up and down on her hip, wiggling her nose at him and setting him to smiling. John fought a smile himself.

“And then when he was born,” she continued, “I was afraid to tell her for fear you might not want to send for me. I thought, that is I hoped, you would want him, too.”

And he hadn’t given her the chance to find out. He could feel her yearning now, and something inside him rose to meet it. He shouldn’t give in. She needed a better man than him.

“Is that why you didn’t want me to come up?” he asked instead. “Because of Peter?”

She managed a smile. “I was more concerned that I didn’t have a chaperone. I couldn’t leave him alone to come downstairs.”

John glanced back. “If we leave the door open, that ought to satisfy propriety. And you could have told Beth about Peter. She would probably have sent for you sooner. She loves babies.”

“Do you?” She shot him a look equal parts challenge and concern.

He shrugged. “I’m an uncle eight times over. I’m used to babies.”

Her frame relaxed, but she sighed. “What a very great shame you weren’t the man who placed the ad I answered, then.”

Perhaps it was a shame. But he didn’t feel ready to be a husband, much less a father.

Peter reached out a hand, and John offered him a finger to squeeze. Such a strong grip for a little fellow. He seemed like a healthy lad, with round cheeks and sparkling eyes that might yet turn the purple of his mother’s. His dressing gown of linen with its sweater over the top was clean and tidy, at least for the moment, but John knew exactly how many things a baby could do to clothing and anyone nearby. He’d been spit at, wet upon, and had a handful of hair yanked out at one point or another. That fetching black-and-white checkered gown Dottie wore today didn’t stand a chance.

“What did the ad say?” he asked, suddenly curious as to what would have made this woman take a chance on him. “What convinced you to answer it?”

She cocked her head, a smile hovering. “It said, ‘Wanted—sweet-natured wife who will brave the wilderness and make a happy home filled with love.’”

Good thing no one else in his family knew he was supposed to be the author, or he would never live it down. “I’m sorry Beth raised your hopes.”

Her smile faded, and the room seemed to darken. “So am I. I truly have no idea what to do now. I know no one in Seattle but you and Beth and two friends who just left for the Duwamish. You can understand why working could be difficult.”

“You have no family?” John persisted.

Her mouth tightened. “None that will take in Peter. They suggested I put him in an orphanage.”

John cringed. Having been raised in a big, loving family, he could not imagine giving away one of his siblings. Even his youngest brother, Levi, at his worst had been helped, not shunted aside.

“And his father’s family?” he asked.

“Cannot be contacted,” she said.

Why? Were they as heartless? Or had she and her husband married against their wishes? Yet who would refuse a grandchild, especially if their son was gone, as must have been the case with her husband if she was free to marry again?

As if the baby felt the hopelessness of their situation, his face sagged, and he began to whimper. She drew him closer, rocked him from side to side. Her eyes closed as if she longed to block out their reality.

“I suppose,” John heard himself say, “there’s only one thing we can do. You better come out to Wallin Landing to live with me.”