A Bride in the Bargain (39 page)

Dipping a finger into the jar, she touched behind each ear, each wrist and the shadow between her breasts. She quickly finished buttoning herself up, then attached white collar and cuffs. She didn’t want to be late.

When she made it downstairs, Joe was waiting in his Sunday best. It was the first time she’d seen him in it for anything other than church. He smiled, a series of dimples pleating his face like a parted curtain.

He slid his gaze from her head to her toe, lingering on her skirt. Did he notice the new fullness to her dress? Did he realize she was wearing a petticoat made from the fabric he’d given her?

His eyes met hers, pleasure and heat emanating from his. “You look lovely.” He tucked her hand into his elbow, his voice low, husky. “Something’s different and I like it. I like it very much.”

He knew. Heat flashed through her as he led her outside to the coal-box buggy. His leg brushed her skirt, each step causing the boning in her petticoat to kick out to the side.

Clasping her waist with his huge hands, he paused, giving her the briefest of caresses with his thumbs. “I want to kiss you right now.”

He’d whispered it, then lifted her off the ground and into the carriage. Flustered, she frantically pressed her skirt to keep it from bowing out like a bell.

They rode toward the bay, the buggy top down. Puddles had collected in the deeper potholes, offering the only evidence of earlier rains. Stars covered the now clear night sky as if God had thrown a handful of sparkling jacks while the moon, like a ball, waited to be bounced.

Ordinarily Joe and Anna began talking the moment they saw each other and didn’t stop until he brought her home. But tonight, neither said a word, his whispered declaration echoing in both their minds.

He usually took her to supper at Our House, an expensive hotel run by the Widow Hill, but instead of turning right on Jackson, he continued toward the wharf. Anna didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t really care where they ate, so long as they were together.

The smell of Elliott Bay and the sound of gentle waves bumping against a pier soothed her frazzled nerves. She loved the water. Any kind of water. Lake, river, bay, sea. How could something so beautiful and calming be the cause of her cough?

As they approached the shore, a canoe decorated with Chinese lanterns bobbed next to the dock. The water reflected its lights, making it look as if a pixie had left sparkling dust all about the vessel. An Indian arrayed in citizen’s garb—complete with white shirt and standing collar reaching halfway up to his ears—stood inside the boat.

Before she could comment on it, Joe pulled Shakespeare to a stop. Another Indian, also dressed in
itkahs
, white man’s clothes, rushed forward and took the horse’s reins.

Anna's confusion lasted only a moment before realization struck. Joe had decorated a canoe and planned to take her on a moonlit ride. Her mind grappled with the image of him doing such a frivolous thing while her heart felt Cupid’s arrow strike with loving precision.

Help me tell him, Lord. Help me be strong
.

Jumping from the buggy, he reached up for her. Instead of assisting her to her feet, however, he swooped her legs out from under her and carried her to the dock.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pressing her petticoat down.

“I didn’t want you to soil the hem of your dress.” But even when they reached the pier, he didn’t release her.

Stopping next to the canoe, he lowered her into it.
“Iskêm.”

The Indian took hold of her, guiding her to a plank where she sat down. She noticed his feet were bare beneath his trousers and smiled to herself. The natives went only so far in their adoption of civilized clothing.

Joe loosened the moorings, then dropped into the boat, causing it to sway before he settled across from her. “Anna, this is Clat Scoot. He’ll be piloting the canoe for us tonight.”

She nodded. “Hello, Mr. Scoot.”

“Klahawya.”

The Squamish were a marine-oriented society. More than once she’d admired their finely crafted dugouts as they paddled up and down the coast, trading with the
tkup
, or white man. But Anna had never been in one.

Scoot maneuvered the canoe around and in seconds they were cutting through the bay, the rhythmic
blup, blup
of his paddle filling the silence.

Joe slipped his large booted foot beneath her skirt and toed her hem. The boning in her petticoat lifted.

“What’s this?” he asked.

The lanterns provided enough light for her to see him, but not enough to see the nuances in his expression. She had no trouble recognizing the intimate tenor of his voice, however.

When she didn’t respond, he tapped her skirt again. “Are you, by chance, wearing something new?”

She glanced at Scoot.

“He doesn’t speak English,” Joe said. “That’s why I arranged for him to do the piloting.”

Still, she didn’t answer, trying to decide if she was pleased or mortified that he’d noticed her undergarments.

The forward motion of the canoe brought with it a breeze. The length of hair she’d gathered with a ribbon and draped over her shoulder fluttered. Joe tapped her petticoat in time with the canoe paddle.

She slapped her hands against her shins. “Stop that,” she whispered.

“Answer me.”

“You already know the answer.”

“What else besides the petticoat?”

“Joe.”

“What else?”

“All of it.”

The tapping ceased. “Petticoat, shift, corset, and drawers?”

She gasped, triggering her cough.

Joe offered her his handkerchief. “Did Doc give you something new for that last week? He told me he would.”

When the coughing stopped, she took slow, careful breaths. The breeze seemed to help, despite the moisture it picked up from the bay.

Still, she didn’t rush herself. The last thing she wanted was to have a breathing episode. Joe had only observed that first one when they were at Lake Washington. She had no desire to have him witness another.

“Have you been taking your elecampane and licorice?”

Anna nodded.

“And it hasn’t helped?”

“Not too much.” Her voice came out scratchy and rough.

She should tell him. Now. Before the evening progressed. But before she could, the canoe veered toward the shore. She looked over her shoulder.

In a clearing not far from the water, a half dozen torches surrounded a temporary house like those the Indians summered in. All her good intentions disappeared. He’d clearly gone to a great deal of trouble on her behalf. She wasn’t about to spoil it. Not yet, at least.

Pushing thoughts of her illness to the back of her mind, she committed to simply enjoying the evening. Two squatty youths ran out, splashing into the water to help pull the boat on shore.

Once they reached the sand, Joe stepped out, scooped her up, and carried her toward the house made of woven cattail mats. The smell of food made her mouth water. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

Inside, Joe set her on her feet. Indian women in the adopted skirt and shirtwaist of the Americans bustled around a wide trench that held the cooking fire. All were barefoot.

Smoke from the fire spiraled up through an opening in the roof. A modern table complete with two armchairs, a cloth covering, two place settings, and a small candelabra graced a corner of the hut, looking completely out of place amid the handmade baskets and stools scattered about the dirt floor.

The thing that snagged Anna’s attention and held it, however, was the Indian woman with brass rings on every finger, including her thumbs, brass rings in her ears, and a string of ten-cent pieces hanging about her neck.

It was the same woman Joe had waved and winked at back when Anna had first arrived. She was the only one who wore the traditional Indian wraparound garment of woven cedar bark. She wasn’t undersized like the rest of her tribe, but tall and striking, her dark brown hair falling about her shoulders in long, satiny freedom.

Joe placed his hand at Anna’s waist.
“Ukuk nayka kluchmên.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Anna, this is my friend and our host, Kitlu.”

Anna curtsied. The unfamiliar words and guttural sounds rolling from Joe’s tongue fascinated her. “What did you say?”

“That you were my woman.”

She gave him a sharp glance.

He escorted her to the table and pulled out her chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Looking at the other women in the hut, Kitlu brought her fists to her sides and then pushed them out. Activity amongst them increased threefold.

One girl dropped red-hot stones from the fire into a watertight basket holding soup of some kind. Another peeled back a mat, uncovering a steaming pit.

“Anna? Are you listening?”

She jerked her attention back to Joe. “I’m sorry. I was watching the women. What are they making? It smells wonderful.”

He tucked his napkin into his collar. “Venison.”

Her gaze wandered back to the fire pit, taking stock of all he’d done to prepare for the evening. It had taken no small amount of time, effort, and planning.

“The boat ride was wonderful, Joe. The lanterns were beautiful. And all this.” She waved her hand to encompass the elaborately set table and the food being prepared. “I’m completely charmed.”

Before he could respond, Kitlu served them each a bowl of soup in small handwoven baskets.

“Mersi,”
Joe said, then waited politely for Anna to take the first bite.

“What is it?” Dipping her spoon into the concoction, she tried it.

“Squirrel.”

The liquid trickled down her throat, but the meat stayed in her mouth. Squirrel? Anna looked at the soup. She was eating a rodent?

Trying not to picture the varmint with its beady eyes and bushy tail, she chewed and swallowed.

In true lumberjack form, Joe had already eaten almost half of his. “Do you like it?”

He was trying so hard, she didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. “I’ve never had squirrel before.”

“Never?” His expression registered shock.

“No.”

“Well, what do you think?”

She shrugged. “I’ve only had one bite so far.”

“You better eat up, then. The clams are almost done.”

Sure enough, one of the women was scooping clams from a pit.

“I thought we were having venison.”

“That’s the main course.”

Nodding, she took another bite, doing what her mother had taught her whenever she was eating something unpleasant.

Just put it in your mouth and say, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.” That way you’ll trick yourself into thinking it’s good.

“How’s Sprout?” he asked.

Mmm. Mmm
. “You mean, Roy? He’s coming along quite well. Doc said his young body is still making bone, so his leg will not only heal, but will in all likelihood be stronger than his other one.”

“No limp?”

“No, thank goodness.”
Mmm. Mmm
.

Joe scraped the edges of his bowl. “I need to talk with Doc and find out when I can bring the boy up to camp like I promised.”

“What on earth would he be able to do?”
Mmm. Mmm
.

“I have a little wagon in the barn. When the fellows and I chop an undercut with our axes, Spr—Roy can fill his wagon with the chips that come flying out and take them to Ollie for the stove. Just the walk to and from the house will keep Roy busy for most of the day.”

“Feels strange calling him Roy, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“I still can’t get over him picking my name. Bet that knocked Rountree’s raker out of line.” Chuckling, he nodded at her soup. “You going to finish that?”

“I’m afraid I’ll fill up on it and not be able to enjoy the rest of the meal.”

He extended his hand and she tried not to look too relieved as she passed her basket-bowl to him. They caught up with each other’s news during the subsequent courses.

Finally, the venison was served. It had been rolled in leaves and baked in a pit covered with hot stones.

“Good heavens,” she said, taking her first bite. “This tastes nothing like beef.”

“Do you like it?”

She closed her eyes in concentration. “Yes. It’s different, but very good.”

He asked her to finish telling him about her week. She regaled him with stories from the various surgeries Doc had performed, ending with Henry Yesler’s. He’d almost sawed a finger off at his mill.

“I’d heard that. Is he all right?”

“Yes, but I must say he could stand to read a few books from your library.”

“Why’s that?”

“He has a rather limited vocabulary and uses the same words over and over, even when he’s swearing.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m telling you, the man’s language is a fire hazard.”

Joe threw back his head and laughed. The action involved his entire body—head, neck, shoulders, chest. Land sakes, but he was handsome.

Kitlu took their empty plates and replaced Anna’s with a small box tied in white ribbon. The amusement slowly left his face. He looked from the box to her.

Her stomach tightened. “What’s this?”

“Dessert.”

The evening had been wonderful. She didn’t want it to end. She definitely didn’t want it to end on a poor note. But what could she say? That she was full and wanted to skip dessert?

“Go ahead,” he said, his voice low. “Open it.”

Taking the ends of the bow, she unraveled it and opened the box. “A wonder turner!”

She hadn’t seen a child’s thaumatrope in years. Leon used to have one with a picture of a drum on one side of the cardboard and a boy holding drumsticks on the other. When Leon twisted the strings attached to each end of the cardboard, the pictures spun, merging the images into a drummer playing his drum.

The cardboard in her box was about the size of a silver dollar and had a silhouette of a woman looking up. The opposite side held an image of a lumberjack looking down.

Grasping the strings on each side of the turner, she rapidly twisted them. The figures merged into one of a couple passionately embracing.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered.