Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (16 page)

“Well, I’m not,” he snapped.

Anger flashed in her eyes. “What was that about not having a volatile temper? I wouldn’t ask at all, except your painting is so extraordinarily beautiful.”

Yes, it was. Achingly so. Just looking at it brought back the happy days of its creation, the warmth of the sun, the trickle of the water, the breeze brushing his skin as delicately as the paintbrush caressed the canvas. Beth’s laughter, the feel of her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers.

He stood abruptly. From his pocket he pulled out a few coins, tossed them on the table, and then grabbed the biscuits off his plate. “I don’t want to discuss that painting. Ever.”

Without waiting for her answer he stomped out of the restaurant, aware that half a dozen astonished stares were fixed on his back.

“That is the rudest man I have ever met in all my days!”

Kathryn didn’t bother to lower her voice or filter the anger from her tone. When the customers at the nearest table chuckled, she rounded on them, ready to pounce. The three men’s faces cleared of mirth in an instant.

Evie spoke without leaving the stove. “Perhaps he isn’t a morning person. Some people are positively cranky before they’ve had a cup or two of coffee.”

“That’s sure enough true for me,” commented one of the customers as he lifted his mug and drained it.

“That was not simple crankiness.” Kathryn snatched his plate off the table. “That was downright boorishness.”

The man seated nearest the back door scraped his plate with a crust of biscuit. “He’s a hard case for sure. Back in Michigan he had a reputation for keeping to himself.”

The man seated next to him gave him a curious look. “You worked with him before?”

“Not directly. I was jacking and he was down at the mill. Only saw him once or twice when I was working the skids. Word was he knew his way around a sawmill, but kept quiet about his private life. When Yesler told us he’d hired a man named Gates I didn’t put two and two together, not till I saw him yesterday.”

Kathryn eyed him with interest. Someone who knew Jason from before would surely have heard of his talent. “Have you ever seen his paintings?”

The man looked at her with surprise. “Paintings? Nah. Like I said, he mostly kept to himself. Never heard tell of no paintings.”

“Jason paints?” Evie looked after him at the empty door frame. “How interesting.”

Kathryn followed her gaze. “He paints beautifully,” she said with a touch of bitterness. “Only apparently he doesn’t want to share his talent.”

“Like I said.” The man jerked a nod. “Private.”

“He may have reasons for guarding his privacy that we know nothing about.” The restaurant owner’s voice took on a gentle tone. “We should respect that.” With a bright smile that dismissed the subject she turned back to the stove. “I’ve almost got Miss Everett’s tray ready. Kathryn, would you mind filling one of those small jam pots? There’s one on the drying rack right outside the back door.”

With one final grimace toward the empty chair where Jason had sat so briefly, Kathryn did as she was asked. Evie was a kind and gentle woman, quick to forgive and ready to think the best of everyone. Admirable qualities that Kathryn knew she should strive to exhibit. Why, look what she had accomplished here in the hinterlands of Washington Territory. Last night she’d shared a little of her history, how she had left her home in Tennessee and set her sights on starting her own business in the untamed wilds of a frontier settlement that at the time did not even have a name. And she had done so too. Hindered in her goal of hiring men to do the construction work for her, she and a handful of women friends had cleared this very plot of land with axes and saws and then worked alongside friendly natives to erect her restaurant. The first female business owner in Seattle. And this all occurred before she married Noah, proof that a single woman
could
succeed on her own in this progressive time. Evie’s was a story to inspire the likes of Susan Anthony and Elizabeth Stanton, whose efforts to forward women’s causes were gaining notoriety in the East. Evie’s gentleness and kindness were inspirational and worth imitating.

Kathryn selected a jam pot from among the collection of dishes arranged on a drying rack beneath an awning that stretched the length of the restaurant, nearly as deep as the one that covered the Faulkner House’s front porch. As she turned, a splash of color caught her eye. A bushy patch of wild winter grasses had sprouted just beyond the railing and against the odds had produced a few yellow blooms. What a hopeful sight after the dreary rain that had saturated the town since their arrival!

On impulse, she skirted the railing and plucked a handful of the tiny blossoms. Just the thing to brighten Miss Everett’s breakfast tray. Maybe it would bring a smile to her habitually sad countenance.

Rain had fallen in a steady drizzle all day, and heavy, gray clouds cast a gloomy pall over Kathryn’s mood as well as the inside of the Faulkner House. All of the guests were out taking care of whatever business they had in the town and surrounding forest, rendering a tomb-like quality on the place. After a morning of mending, Madame settled in the single comfortable chair in her sitting room and immersed herself in a book. Kathryn sorted her paints and supplies and toyed with the idea of starting a new painting, but the walls of her tiny room flickering in the candlelight pressed in on her. Besides, the fumes from the oil of turpentine would become unbearable as soon as she unstoppered the jar. She made an attempt to join Madame for an afternoon of reading, but even her favorite book of poetry failed to hold her attention. Finally, she laid it aside and wandered over to the café.

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was drastically different from that of the hotel next door. As she stepped inside she was greeted with the happy laughter of children, a sound that coaxed a smile to her face.

“Miss Kathryn!” Inez slid out of her chair at the far end of the room and skipped down the center aisle to greet her. “Have you come to play dolls with us?”

“Why, perhaps I shall.” Kathryn smiled down at the girl as she untied the laces of her bonnet. She didn’t have much occasion to be around children beyond the ones she saw at the church meetings she attended with Mama and Papa. “My sister and I used to enjoy dolls when we were little.”

“Oh, good.” She clapped her hands, and then informed her in a disgusted tone, “John William refuses to do as I tell him.”

Standing at the worktable beside Evie, Louisa half-turned and directed a laugh her way. “You’ve let yourself in for it now, Kathryn. She is a tyrant for sure, and will dominate your time if you let her.”

“I have some to spare at the moment.”

Kathryn followed the little girl back to her table, where another child sat playing quietly in a chair drawn closely up to the table. He was so short that at first the only part of him visible was the top of his head, bent over something in his lap. He looked up at her approach, and interest flashed in round eyes the deep green color of the sea on a sunny day. A dimple appeared in one round cheek.

“Are you a lady?” The words were precisely articulated in a high, childish voice.

Surprised at the unexpected question, she laughed. “Why, yes, I am.”

“Miss Weesa is a lady. And Miss Evie.” The news was delivered with a serious countenance. “Inez is a girl, and not a Miss.”

From her position at the worktable, Louisa chuckled. “We’re learning our manners.” To the child she said, “Do you remember how to introduce yourself to a lady?”

Chubby hands deposited a collection of wooden toys on the table, and then he climbed out of his chair and stood formally before Kathryn on sturdy little legs. He stood a few inches shorter than Inez, with chubby cheeks and folds at his wrists that still resembled those of a roly-poly baby. With one arm across his stomach and the other held formally behind his back, he executed a perfect bow.

“I am John William Townsend.” He straightened and added importantly, “I am a boy.”

Charmed, Kathryn dropped into a deep, formal curtsy. “I am Miss Kathryn Bergert, and I am happy to make your acquaintance, Master Townsend.”

Apparently that was the expected response, for a wide smile lit the child’s face.

Inez’s patience for manners had apparently worn thin. She inserted herself between them, took Kathryn’s hand, and tugged her
toward an empty chair. “You sit here. You may play with Rebecca, and I will have Rachel.” She thrust a well-loved doll, the paint on its cloth face nearly worn off, toward Kathryn.

With a grin at Louisa and Evie, Kathryn did as instructed. John William returned to his chair but instead of sitting, stood on the seat on sturdy legs and began to arrange the wooden toys he had put down a moment before. Inez picked up a second doll, this one newer and wearing a blue dress that was a miniature replica of hers. She stood the doll’s stuffed legs on the table.

“I’m glad you’ve come to visit, Rebecca. Won’t you stay for tea?”

Holding her doll aloft, Kathryn responded with the expected answer. “Why, yes, Rachel. I would love some tea.”

While Inez served her make-believe tea, John William piled his toys, a handful of wood chips sanded smooth and cut in various sizes, carefully on top of each other. Kathryn stirred invisible sugar into her pretend teacup, declined cream, and declared the apple cake “simply wonderful!” to Inez’s delight.

The boy placed a block of wood on top of his pyramid and the pile toppled. Heaving a sigh, he began again. As he worked the tip of his tongue appeared between his sweet little lips in a gesture that reminded Kathryn of Papa when he was hard at work over his books. The thought made her smile.

“What are you building?”

“A blockhouse.” His gaze flickered briefly to her face. “Just like my grandpa. It’s gonna keep the town safe.”

Evie approached and stood looking down at his handiwork. “Safe from what?”

The child thought a minute. “I don’t know,” he finally said, and shrugged in a gesture so adult that Kathryn couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Speaking of tea,” Evie said with a smile at Inez, “it’s time for ours. Would you like milk with your apple cake?”

The little girl jumped out of her chair, curls bouncing. “Yes, please!”

“Me too!” shouted John William.

“All right. Put your toys away and I’ll get it.” She grinned at Kathryn. “Would you care to join us at the adult table?”

Against Inez’s protests, Kathryn left the children to clean up their toys and switched tables. Louisa emerged from the storage room with a loaf of sweet bread. The three of them set the table with the lovely ivy cups and saucers and then settled themselves around the cheerfully steaming pot.

“You must be sure to join us tomorrow,” Louisa said as she slid a slice of apple cake onto her plate. “There aren’t many ladies in Seattle, but almost all of them come for tea on Thursdays. It’s one of the highlights of the week.”