Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (36 page)

Allie and the others passed stone churches with sweeping spires and then the long, low line of the imperial palace with its many windows like eyes gazing back. Dust from the street drifted upward, making it seem as if the very air was sparkling. Gillian walked beside her, clinging to her hand and staring about in wonder.

They found the market easily enough by following the trail of those with baskets, some balanced amazingly on their heads. The stalls hugged the buildings on either side, with barely enough room to walk two abreast between them. Golden bracelets as wide as the white cuff of her blue gown gleamed in the light; chickens clucked from makeshift pens; the scent of onion and garlic spiced the air.

“Come up here, Captain Howard,” Clay called, and Allie led Gillian to him. The stall he stood beside was made of a series of reed cages. In each perched one or more parrots with feathers of emerald, scarlet and sapphire. Allie bent to put her face on a level with her daughter's.

“What do you think?” she said over the raucous cries echoing around them.

Gillian stared at the birds, their beaks stained red or yellow, hooked and long, their feathers iridescent in the sunlight. One of the sellers offered her a pale nut and nodded toward the nearest bird. Gillian held the shell out on her open palm, and the parrot reached out to pluck the nut from her hand. Her eyes widened as he cracked the shell and ate the meat.

“He has very nice manners,” she told the seller. “Thank you for letting me play with him.”

Allie looked up and met Clay's gaze. The smile on his face warmed her more than the sunlight. It was as if he knew how much such moments meant to her and Gillian. She felt tears coming and blinked them back.

They managed to make their way through the market with little loss to their funds. Clay purchased a straw hat and linen shirt at a bargain. Catherine had succumbed to a fan painted with exotic birds and Maddie was cradling a gourd carved to look like a monkey's face. Allie kept tight hold on Gillian's hand as they ventured out onto a square where a stone fountain sprayed water into a massive basin in which dozens of women were doing laundry.

“Fancy that,” Maddie said with a shake of her head. “And I had to lug water up two flights of stairs back home.”

Mr. Reynolds had been quiet the whole trip. Now he tipped his hat to Gillian. “What do you say, Ms. Howard? Would you like a closer look at how they wash clothes in Brazil?” He held out his hand.

Gillian pressed herself close to Allie's skirts. “No.” Her voice came out muffled. “Go away.”

“Gillian!” Allie put her hand on her daughter's head. “I'm sorry, Mr. Reynolds. She knows better than to behave so rudely.”

Gillian glanced out from Allie's skirts, face pale and anguished. “Am I to be punished, Mother?”

Allie's heart twisted. Of those in their little group, only she and Gillian knew how harsh punishment had once been. She bent to cuddle her daughter close. “No, Gillian, but I think you owe Mr. Reynolds an apology.”

Gillian kept her gaze on Allie's. “I don't like him.”

Mr. Reynolds must have heard the exchange, for when Allie glanced up, she saw that his face had darkened.

Clay knelt beside her and Gillian and tipped back his straw hat. “She's just unsure of a new situation,” he murmured to Allie. He took Gillian's hand. “Let's set our sails for the botanical gardens, Captain Howard. You ought to find those to your liking. I bet they're as big as your grandmother's garden in Boston.”

Gillian peered at Allie as if for permission. Allie nodded, rising, and Gillian deigned to go with Clay in search of a hack. Mr. Reynolds tipped his hat and excused himself.

Allie shook her head, watching her daughter walk with ladylike tread beside Clay, who had obviously shortened his stride to allow her to keep up. “I don't know what got into her.”

“She certainly seems to have taken Mr. Reynolds in dislike,” Catherine agreed. She opened her new fan and fluttered it before her face as children began dancing in the spume from the fountain.

“He's not such a bad sort,” Maddie mused, watching as he disappeared among the crowds. “He seems to mean well, so he does.”

“I fear she can tell he has feelings for you,” Catherine said, snapping her fan decisively shut. “She doesn't relish the idea of sharing you.”

Allie frowned. “But she shares me with you two. She shares me with Matt Kelley. She shares me with Clay.”

“A very wise young lady, to be sure,” Maddie said with a smile. “Perhaps you should be asking yourself why she feels more comfortable with Mr. Howard than Mr. Reynolds.”

“Indeed,” Catherine added. “And why you, my dear Allegra, do not.”

“I'm perfectly comfortable with Clay,” Allie protested. Her face felt hot, but she was certain the warmth was caused by the powerful equatorial sun.

“Oh, aye,” Maddie said with a look to Catherine. “So comfortable you bite the poor fellow's head off when he so much as opens a door for you.” She poked a finger at Allie. “Admit it, my girl. You're sweet on the man.”

“I most certainly am not!” Allie stared at her two friends. They were both nodding, but she knew they were not agreeing with her. “I'm not!”

“So you say,” Catherine replied, moving toward where Clay was waving to them, having procured two of the small wooden carts that were used for transportation in the city. “But if I were you, Allegra, I would ask myself why you feel the need to protest the matter so stridently.”

Chapter Thirteen

C
atherine's question remained much on Allie's mind as the
Continental
weighed anchor and steamed south. What was it about Mr. Reynolds that made Gillian so distrustful? Had her daughter's animosity colored her own view of the man?

She watched him more closely after they set off to sea again and their routine returned to normal. He was always quick to tip his hat to a lady, provided she was pretty, young and modest. If she had some physical flaw such as frizzy hair or an unfortunate nose, was older or spoke her own mind, he was equally quick to give her a set down or ignore her completely.

“I begin to think Gillian is right,” she confessed to Catherine as they promenaded around the ship. “He has a mean spirit.”

“It seems to me,” Catherine replied, studiously avoiding glancing in the fellow's direction, “that our choice to leave home disgusts him. Of course, I wonder sometimes if your friend Mr. Howard doesn't feel the same way.”

Allie glanced to where Clay had Gillian up on his shoulders by the railing, her daughter's rainbow-colored skirts bright against the navy of his jacket. From the intense look on her daughter's face, Allie knew they were playing Gillian's favorite game—hunting for mermaids in the blue ocean waves.

“You're wrong,” she said to Catherine. “He thinks Seattle isn't safe for a civilized lady, but he doesn't belittle us for trying to better our lot.”

“Perhaps it's time the Seattle School started up again,” Catherine mused.

Allie agreed. With Rio behind them, it was easier to turn their sights once more on their destination. She decided to approach Clay that very evening to discuss his next lesson.

“I suppose I should be glad your friends have so many questions, but what more can I tell them?” he asked, rubbing his chin with one hand where they sat in the upper salon listening to one of the ladies play a complicated sonata on the piano while the officers lounged around her and Gillian leaned against the instrument, obviously fascinated.

Allie couldn't help noticing that the stubble had grown back where the molasses had pulled it off Clay's chin. Now the hair lay like a golden haze across his jaw.

“Several have asked about occupations,” she reported, glancing down at the notes she'd taken when she'd asked the other women for input that afternoon. “We had been given to understand that teachers were desperately needed, but you seem to think otherwise. They'd like to know where you see opportunities in Seattle.”

Clay grinned at her. “Besides marrying a miner who's struck it rich?”

Allie shook her head. “How many times must I assure you, sir, that not every woman aboard ship intends to marry? And even if they do marry, they'd like to know how they can contribute to their new community. My friends are no more willing to serve as a decoration for their husband's parlor than I am.”

Clay straightened in his chair. “Is that what you were in Boston? I'd have thought better of Frank.”

Frank had treated her like a porcelain doll, fragile, precious. He hadn't shared his thoughts or his plans. She'd been the one most shocked when he'd declared he'd joined the army to fight in the war.

Except, perhaps, his mother. Mrs. Howard had glared across the table where Allie and Frank had been dining with her the evening Frank had made his announcement. But his mother's glare had never touched her darling son. It had been fixed on Allie.

Mrs. Howard knew, as many of the best Boston ladies had agreed afterward, that it must have been some fault of Allie's that had driven the normally docile Frank Howard to such a decision. After all, Frank had been wealthy enough that he could have paid some man to fight in his place if his conscience tweaked him.

Even thinking about her failed marriage hurt. How could she confess to Clay his brother's shortcomings or her own? Frank may have kept her out of his life, but she refused to be so disloyal as to blacken his memory. And she would never say anything to turn Clay against his own mother the way his mother had tried to come between her and Gillian.

“It doesn't matter,” she started, but Clay reached out to take her hand.

“Of course it matters.” His deep voice was laced with equal parts sympathy and indignation. “A husband and wife should complete each other, support each other. God gave Adam a helpmate, not an object to be put on a shelf or worshipped from afar.”

Her spirits seemed to lift with each word. How could he know exactly what was in her heart? “Oh, Clay, that's it entirely!”

Pink crept into his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “I like to think I've learned something in the years since we last saw each other.”

She wanted to think she had, too. At first, she'd found Frank's diffident manner charming, but it had soon become a barrier that kept them apart. When she'd come to see it as merely another way to control her, she'd begun to realize how many men shared his view of women.

It was no different aboard the
Continental
. At times, she saw the same attitude from Mr. Reynolds and even the charming reporter, Mr. Conant. Certainly Mr. Mercer subscribed to it. How could she know whether Clay meant those beautiful words and would apply them to his own life? She hadn't met a man yet who could.

“I've learned a lot, as well,” she assured him, pulling her hand from his. “And I'm sure your lesson tomorrow will teach us all something.”

* * *

The air remained warm as they headed south, so Allie asked Clay's students to meet again on the hurricane deck. She half expected another foray from Mr. Mercer, though she was more than ready to argue with him on the matter if needed. But their benefactor must have had others to harass, for class started with no sign of him.

“Think of Seattle as a set of rings,” Clay advised them as they perched on chairs or chests around the edges of the deck, the breeze snapping the canvas over their heads. Several of the women had donned more summery gowns of floaty white organza with lace collars and shawls. Allie thought Clay must be thankful for the linen shirt he'd purchased in Rio and the lighter brown sack coat he wore on top.

He seemed particularly determined that day, sketching pictures in the air with his hands as he spoke.

“On the edges of the settlements, you have the Cascade Mountains with plenty of opportunities for trappers and prospectors,” he explained. “Those gentlemen come into town a few times a year.”

“A rather uncivilized existence,” Catherine murmured to Allie.

Allie hitched Gillian closer on her lap. “And a lonely one,” she murmured back to her friend.

“As you head west,” Clay continued, gaze roaming his students as if to make sure everyone was attending, “among the foothills, you'll find coal mines. Good money in mining, but it's dirty work. Those families come into town maybe once a month, after they've been paid.”

“My father worked the mines in Pennsylvania for a time,” Maddie said. “The black soot has a way of worming into your skin and lungs.”

Several of the women shuddered. Allie felt a similar revulsion. Besides, she'd never heard of a woman who trapped animals for their fur, prospected for precious minerals or worked deep in the mines. She certainly didn't have those skills.

“Next come the river valleys,” Clay told them. “The land offers deep, rich soil, and the rivers make getting from place to place much easier than breaking new trails. Some areas still need clearing, but you'll find any number of people interested in buying the timber. Logging camps and farming outposts are cropping up all over, with two or more claims working together. Generally they send someone to town a couple of times a month.”

More of the women brightened at that, but Allie still couldn't see herself in such a role. She'd never felled a tree, and the closest she'd come to farming lately was to arrange roses for the dining room table. Frank's mother hadn't even trusted her to tend to the thick bushes that bloomed along the front of the house, for all Allie had learned how to cultivate roses at her mother's knee. The Howard roses, it seemed, could only be tended by a true Howard.

“What about the city itself?” she asked Clay.

He smiled at her as if he knew her thoughts. “Seattle grew from the inside out. A number of the people have built fine houses along the tops of the hills. If the city prospers as we hope, those folks will soon need housekeepers and gardeners.”

“And bakers and laundresses,” Maddie declared with a grin.

Clay grinned back. “Quite right, Ms. O'Rourke. Perhaps a seamstress, as well.”

A number of women nodded happily. Just as Allie had suspected, she wasn't the only one looking to ply a needle. But surely Seattle couldn't keep so many seamstresses busy. She supposed she might be able to serve as a housekeeper, but would her employer allow her to keep Gillian with her? And how would she care for her daughter if she was busy tending to a large household?

“And what of the town itself?” someone called. “Are there shops, playhouses, churches?”

“We have a few dry-goods stores,” Clay answered. “There's a good hotel, and Mr. Yesler has a cookhouse at the mill he rents for civic meetings and traveling shows.”

“And you have a university,” Catherine reminded him.

She seemed so enamored of the idea. From Clay's earlier description, it didn't sound nearly as impressive as Allie would have once thought. Still, perhaps there was need for instructors. She might be able to teach history.

“Indeed, Ms. Stanway,” he acknowledged with a nod in her direction. “But if you want more details on it, talk to Mr. Mercer. He helped construct the building, then stayed on as its president and only professor.”

Allie felt as if each bubble of hope was popping around her. Maddie snorted. “Sure'n there's no surprise. The man's an opportunist if there ever was one.”

“You'll find plenty of those in Seattle,” Clay promised her as some of the women nodded agreement on Mr. Mercer's character. “And you may find opportunities that surprise you. Just know that you won't find many jobs fit for a lady once you cross the skid road.”

Allie frowned.

“What's a skid road?” Gillian asked from her lap.

Clay moved closer as if to speak to her alone. “It's the dirt track the loggers use to drag the logs down from the hills to Yesler's Mill, Captain Howard. And it's no place for a lady like yourself.”

“Why?” she asked.

Clay's cheeks were turning pink again. Allie had pity on him. “I'm sure your uncle will explain, Gillian, if we let him talk.”

Gillian settled back against Allie as if waiting. Clay tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Let's just say that the businesses south of the skid road cater to the whims of the working man.”

Allie wasn't sure what he meant, but Maddie shrugged again. “Whiskey establishments need tending and sweeping in any town. Such work pays the rent.”

Immediately gasps echoed on all sides.

“For shame, Ms. O'Rourke,” someone cried. “As if a good Christian woman would be found in such a place!”

Maddie's face turned nearly as red as her hair, and she turned to glare at the woman. “Begging your exalted pardon, to be sure. But I'd rather take some low-thought job than see my brother and sister starve.”

Allie reached out and gripped her hand in support. The other women might not notice, but she could see tears brimming in Maddie's eyes. Her friend didn't like to discuss what she'd left behind. Had she been forced to watch her family starve? Allie knew she'd have been willing to take most any job if it meant food and safe living conditions for Gillian.

As if her daughter thought so, as well, she crawled from Allie's lap into Maddie's and pressed a kiss against her cheek. “You're a nice lady,” she said, her little face pinched as if she felt Maddie's pain.

“Sure'n you and your ma are the nice ones,” Maddie murmured back, giving the little girl a fierce hug.

“A willingness to do what's needed to survive is the hallmark of the Seattle pioneers,” Clay put in, his deep rumble silencing all other voices. “Those of us who call Seattle home now aren't afraid to roll up our sleeves or dirty our hands if it helps our families and friends.” He nodded to Maddie. “I think you'll fit in just fine, Ms. O'Rourke.”

Maddie hugged Gillian close and gave him a nod of thanks.

Allie was surprised when Catherine piped up. “What about me? I'm a nurse. You claim your doctor can't keep his hospital solvent. What am I to do?”

“We're a hardy lot,” Clay agreed. “But every settlement has someone who can be called on to help nurse an injured man, bring a new baby into the world. Unfortunately they aren't generally trained to the task, so the mortality can be high. I expect many of them would be glad to have someone with more credentials available to help, so long as she didn't mind working on all types of people and getting paid with venison and homespun.”

By the pallor on Catherine's face, Allie was certain her friend wasn't enamored of the idea.

Other voices rose, begging Clay to predict their likelihood of success, but Allie didn't dare ask him such a question. Each day it was becoming clearer to her that she would be hard-pressed to pay her way in Seattle. She didn't want to hear Clay agree with her assessment.

* * *

Clay was rather pleased with how the lesson had gone that morning. He'd shared the truth about Seattle, and Maddie's comments had helped him make his point about the attitude needed to succeed. He truly did think the redhead had the gumption to make good on the frontier. Catherine also had something to contribute, if she could let go of her highfalutin ways. And he was beginning to realize there was nothing Allegra couldn't do if she set her mind to it. That determination would make her future.