Authors: Lori Copeland,Virginia Smith
Tags: #United States, #Christianity, #Religious & Inspirational Fiction, #Fiction, #Romance, #Christian Fiction, #Historical, #Religion & Spirituality, #Christian Books & Bibles, #Literature & Fiction
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
Cover photos © Chris Garborg; Vincent Louis, p.lange / Bigstock
Cover by Garborg Design Works, Savage, Minnesota
Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370,
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
RAINY DAY DREAMS
Copyright © 2014 by Copeland Inc. and Virginia Smith
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Rainy day dreams / Lori Copeland and Virginia Smith.
pages cm.—(Seattle brides ; book 2)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5349-8 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5400-6 (eBook)
1. Brides—Fiction. 2. Seattle (Wash.)—History—19th century—Fiction.
I. Smith, Virginia, 1960- II. Title.
All rights reserved.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the
He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.
Seattle, Washington Territory
Monday, January 7, 1856
n unkempt sailor, scraggly and reeking of fish, pitched the steamer trunk from the ship’s gangway to the pier as though tossing a salmon onto the deck. Instead of flopping wetly on the wood, Kathryn’s trunk landed on the platform with a sickening thud that did not bode well for the contents.
“Here!” She charged down the sloping plank, skirts swishing around her cloth-topped boots, and fixed the man with an outraged glare. “What do you mean, heaving my things about like that? There are breakables inside.”
Footsteps pounded the wooden dock from behind and the captain drew up beside her. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”
She whirled to face him. “The problem is my mother’s fine porcelain basin and pitcher, which are packed inside my trunk and probably in shards due to careless handling.”
The sailor snatched the cap off his head and ducked to reveal a pink, balding scalp. “Sorry, ma’am. That’s a heavy trunk, that is. It slipped plumb out of my hands.” His gaze slid upward toward his skipper, as though to test the reception of his explanation.
“Hmm.” Kathryn didn’t believe him. With her own eyes she’d watched him pitch the trunk rather than carry it the extra ten steps down the gangway. On the other hand, the large number of books
with which she’d lined the bottom no doubt made her portmanteau heavier than most.
“Accidents do happen, ma’am.” The captain offered the explanation with a hopeful smile.
An answering retort rose to her lips, but she bit it back. What benefit would come of arguing? If the washbasin had been broken, the deed was done. She’d have no recourse, regardless of the exorbitant price her father had paid for her passage. Nor would she seek redress and risk offending the captain. She needed to remain in his good graces in order to ensure her place on a return voyage to San Francisco the next time the
put into port in Seattle. Besides, she cared little for the breakable items inside the sturdy chest. Her library and art supplies were of far more import, especially here in this forsaken wilderness. And they could withstand a fair amount of rough handling.
She forced a smile and shone it on both captain and crewman. “I’m sure there has been no harm done.”
Relieved, the sailor planted the cap back on his head and stepped lightly up the plank, presumably to manhandle another passenger’s luggage. Having seen the exchange, a middle-aged woman stood on the gently swaying deck near a pile of trunks, clutching a valise in both hands and watching anxiously as the man headed her way.
The captain returned to his conversation with a handsome young man to whom she had been introduced during the voyage and whose name she had promptly forgotten.
She scanned the shore. The pier where the
was moored extended into the water from a wide wooden dock. From there a muddy street stretched inland, lined with buildings made of rough-cut timber. Signs suspended above doorways identified a variety of businesses including a livery, a laundry, and even a dentist. The thick forest she had seen from the ship’s deck as they glided parallel to the shoreline this afternoon grew right up to the structures, leafy heights towering high above. In fact, trees surrounded the dock area on two
sides, so thick she could barely see a few feet beyond the tall trunks of the first few. The forest ended abruptly to her right in a clearing that laid bare the shoreline all the way to a riverhead and beyond. A building sat on the shore at the mouth of the river, white clouds billowing from a tall smokestack. Ah, the famous steam mill. Before she left San Francisco, Papa had insisted on describing it in enthusiastic detail.
“Imagine, Kathryn! You’ll live near the only steam-powered sawmill in the northwest. That mill was the making of Seattle, you know. Without it, the town would be nothing but a handful of pioneers trying to scratch out a life in the forest. Mr. Yesler is a forward-thinking gentleman, to be sure. And his vision has made him rich.” Admiration had gleamed in Papa’s eyes, and then his gaze turned speculative. “A shame he is married. Perhaps you’ll meet someone like him in Seattle.”
Kathryn had lowered her eyes in what may have been interpreted as meekness. In reality she hoped to mask the scorn that his ill-concealed enthusiasm stirred. Truthfully, Papa cared little for the bankroll of her prospective beaux, so long as they weren’t destitute. Actually, he probably wouldn’t mind a penniless son-in-law either, so long as the young man relieved him of the responsibility of his unmarried daughter. His insistence that she find a husband was downright insulting, as though a grown woman of modern times was incapable of surviving on her own.