Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (17 page)

“I hope the weather cooperates this week so the children can play outside.” Evie glanced at the other table, where John William and Inez were applying themselves to cake and milk with enthusiasm. “They enjoy the time together almost as much as we do.”

A tea would serve as a delightful diversion in an otherwise long and boring afternoon. And it would be nice to meet the other women of Seattle.

A thought occurred to her. “I wonder if I could persuade Miss Everett to come. It might cheer her up.”

“Please do.” Evie set her spoon down on her saucer and fixed an eager expression on Kathryn. “Tell us about Miss Everett. We’re all wondering about her.”

Louisa nodded. “Yes, do. Letitia was able to find out almost nothing, only that she wrote to Madame from her home in Nevada City several months ago to inquire about reserving a private room.”

“And that she paid six months in advance,” added Evie.

Kathryn regarded her with surprise. Paid in advance? She must have been absolutely certain that she would stay here. Why, then, would she hide out in her room and refuse to come out and meet the people of the town where she would spend the next six months?

“I don’t know much about her. She seems sad, somehow.” She
thought about it a moment, and then shook her head. “She is shy, that much is certain. But when I deliver her supper tray I will try to convince her to come for tea.”

“Speaking of supper, Noah suggested that we do something different tonight.” Evie dribbled a thin stream of cream into her cup with one hand, stirring with the other. “We’re putting together sandwiches and delivering them to the blockhouse.”

“A sound idea. The men won’t lose time coming here for their evening meal. They can make use of every minute of daylight.” Louisa cut a bite of the moist sweet bread and speared it on the tines of her fork. “And you
do
know how to serve a good supper from the back of a wagon.”

Evie nodded, and then explained to Kathryn, “When I first arrived in Seattle, every man in town was focused on cutting lumber for their first timber order. I worked at the cookhouse for a time, and toward the end when the timing got tight, Cookee used to deliver portable suppers to the cutting sites so the lumberjacks could keep working. That was before we built this place.” A distant smile curved her lips as she swept the room with a fond gaze.

“I’ll help however I can,” Kathryn assured her. “But remember what I told you. I know nothing about cooking.”

“Putting together a sandwich is not exactly cooking.” Louisa sipped from her milky tea. “There’s not a lot of skill involved in placing a slab of meat between two pieces of bread. Everything’s already cooked.”

Sandwiches were not served at the Bergert household, since Papa considered them unsuitable for the dining room. Except the small fancy variety appropriate for tea. But she had eaten one on a picnic once. “I think I can handle that.”

“And then I wondered if you would help me deliver them to the blockhouse.” Evie’s glance slid toward her friend. “Louisa has agreed to take the food to the men while I serve the guests here tonight. I thought maybe if you two do it together the first time, then you’d
know the way. Tomorrow perhaps you’ll feel comfortable enough to handle the delivery yourself.”

The idea left her vaguely uneasy. Was it safe for a woman to wander around town alone? Was the blockhouse even in town, or would she be required to travel through the forest to get there? She would not agree to that.

Hesitation must have shown on her face, for Evie said, “Maybe you’d prefer to handle things here while I deliver supper to the men.”

Actually, she would prefer to remain in the safety of the restaurant, but she didn’t want to appear like a frightened child to these two fearless women who had conquered the wild frontier. No doubt they would laugh at her fears. Besides, she trusted that Evie would not send her into an unsafe situation.

She pasted on a brave smile. “No, I’d like to see the blockhouse. And some of the town as well. I’ve been here three days and seen nothing except the wharf and this street.”

“Thank you.” Evie’s expression held a touch of relief. She relaxed against the back of her chair. “How I wish you were staying longer in Seattle. Already I feel like we’ve become friends.”

Kathryn returned the warm smile. “I do too.”

Beside her, Louisa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, one hand pushing against the side of her round belly. “This baby isn’t fond of apple cake, apparently.” Her fingers massaged the area for a minute, and then she settled back and picked up her cup. “Why are you leaving when you’ve only just arrived? Is Madame so very difficult to work for?”

Across the table, Evie chuckled. “I’m surprised you even have to ask that question. Would
you
want to work for her?”

“Not I.” The answer came quickly, accompanied with a firm shake of her head.

Kathryn twisted her lips and answered with a wry tone. “Madame is actually quite easy to work
with.
” She emphasized the word, hoping to maintain a distinction. “Of course, it has only been two days,
but I don’t think she has bestirred herself to climb the stairs since I arrived. She stays in her sitting room mostly, or sometimes at the desk, answering correspondence or going over the finances. I’m fairly well on my own upstairs.”

“I’m sure the upstairs are in capable hands, then, and I’m glad to hear she manages the business affairs.” Evie set her fork down beside her plate. “I confess to feeling a bit sentimental about the Faulkner House, and would hate to see it fail due to mismanagement.”

“Oh?”

Louisa aimed a smile at her friend. “Evie and Noah intended to build a boardinghouse next door, but when Captain Faulkner approached them with the idea of a grand hotel, they sold the property to him.”

Grand
was not a word Kathryn would use to describe the Faulkner House.
Plain
was more like it.
Austere
came closer to the mark. “It could be grand,” she said carefully, “with a few nice pieces of furniture, especially in the entry.”

“Exactly,” Evie agreed. “Walking into an empty room doesn’t convey a sense of grandeur, or even of comfort. I’ve told Madame that many times, but of course she is limited in what she can do with Captain Faulkner gone so much of the time on business.”

Judging from the jumbled appearance of Madame’s personal rooms, Kathryn doubted she could achieve the desired effect even given the proper furnishings.

“So tell us. What makes you want to leave so quickly?” A grin teased the corners of Evie’s mouth. “Don’t you like our company?”

“Very much,” Kathryn assured her. “It’s only…” She lowered her gaze, her finger circling the rim of her saucer. If she complained about becoming a hotel maid, she would look like a pampered socialite to these hardworking women.

Louisa came to her rescue. “I think Kathryn is used to a bit more culture than our town has to offer.” She raised her eyebrows as though questioning whether that was a correct assumption.

“That is most certainly true,” Kathryn agreed. “I’m an artist,
and enjoy discussions of technique and trends with other artists, of which San Francisco is in good supply. Here the only other artist I’ve met has scorned my every effort at conversation with bad-mannered determination to rebuff me.”

“She means Jason,” Evie told Louisa, then looked at Kathryn. “I’ve thought about his outburst this morning. I wonder if it has something to do with his wife.”

Jason was married? The idea settled on her like a cloud. She’d never considered the possibility.

Louisa straightened, her expression perking with interest. “I didn’t realize he was married. Why didn’t he bring his wife with him?”

“She died.” Evie’s voice held an ocean of compassion. “He told me the other night, and I nearly cried at the sorrow in his eyes. He obviously still misses her very much.”

“How did she die?” Kathryn asked.

Evie shook her head. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t have the heart to ask. Speaking of her seemed to cause him so much pain.”

Kathryn sat back, her tea forgotten. No wonder he was so ill-tempered. No doubt his wife’s death was somehow at the root of his reluctance to discuss his painting. Perhaps she had been his encourager. Certainly she would have to have been, married to a man with such talent. Perhaps he had even given up painting because of his grief. The very idea made her draw in a quick, horrified breath. To have been endowed with such ability and walk away from it, give it up to work in a lumber mill. The thought was inconceivable.

And yet, he had brought his art supplies to Seattle. The expensive tin paint tubes, his palette, his brushes. If he could not bring himself to leave them behind, then the longing to paint must still be there, buried beneath a mountain of grief.

She became aware that both ladies were watching her with curious expressions, and busied herself in picking up her teacup and draining the last of its contents.

“Perhaps that is the reason,” she told Evie. “Grief can certainly
affect a man’s demeanor. Or a woman’s. I will try to remember that the next time Mr. Gates attempts to take my head off with sharp words.” Straightening her shoulders, she changed the subject. “If I’m to learn how to make sandwiches, perhaps we’d better start. If it involves kitchen implements, I’m bound to be a slow pupil.”

For that confession she received an indulgent grin. “I think you’ll master the skill quickly.”

With an answering smile, Kathryn stood and began gathering the dishes. Her time in Seattle may be short, but at least she could put it to good use. Acquiring a few cooking skills would certainly pass the time, and she could enjoy the company of these two ladies. But now she had a more important goal. She must convince Jason to paint again. A gift like his must not be wasted.

Seven

T
he afternoon passed quickly, and Kathryn enjoyed working alongside Evie and Louisa immensely. Making sandwiches was so easy she felt embarrassed to have even joked about her lack of kitchen skills. The hardest part was cutting the ham. She produced many uneven slivers and jagged chunks before she finally got a feel for the knife. Even the children helped, standing side by side on chairs across the table from her. Inez directed John William’s efforts and criticized his placement of meat on bread in an authoritative voice until her mother scolded her for being a tyrant. After that they fell into an easy partnership, with Inez laying out a row of bread, John William applying slices of meat with precise care, and Inez covering them with a second piece of bread.

When the light meal of sandwiches and molasses cakes was loaded in the back of a wagon along with the children, Kathryn and Louisa waved goodbye to Evie and headed down the wide avenue. It was the first time Kathryn had ventured more than a few steps from the Faulkner House. She inspected the buildings they passed with a bit more interest than the evening of her arrival, when she had been overwhelmed by their primitive appearance. Knowing more of the town and its people, today they looked small, rugged, and entirely appropriate to such a young settlement. Most were small, square,
and built of rough cut logs and had low roofs, but they passed a few larger homes, most even made of milled timber.

When their wagon started up an incline and approached a neat two-story building set in the center of a grassy piece of cleared land, she exclaimed to Louisa, “Why, that’s an attractive home. With the window shutters and that beautiful porch railing, it’s nicer than some I’ve seen in San Francisco.”

A grin stole across the woman’s face, and from the back of the wagon came Inez’s piping voice. “That’s
my
house. My papa made it.”

Kathryn looked at Louisa in surprise. “David built that house?”

“He had help, of course. Most of the men in town showed up at one time or another to help with the building.” Her gaze traveled to her home, but a faraway look came over her. “I love it, of course, but it was sad to be forced out of our little cabin in the swag. Nothing so grand as this, but I will always miss our first home, where we lived when we married. Especially since we left out of fear.” They topped the hill, and she pulled the horse to a halt. “Take a look, Kathryn. This is the perfect place to see Seattle.”

She was right. Had the thick layer of clouds not lain low in the sky, Kathryn could have seen for miles in all directions. Even with the low-lying clouds her view of the populated area was perfect. The town circled an inlet of the bay, which had been cordoned off by a series of corrals in the water at the closest end of the lumber mill. From here it looked like the buildings she had passed upon arrival were crowded together with hardly any space between them, but farther away from the wharf they spread out. Clusters of smaller buildings lay here and there with stretches of barren land between them. Crisscrossing paths connected them to each other, the dirt packed and grooved into avenues wide enough to accommodate all but the largest wagons. From this vantage point Kathryn could appreciate the scale of the town and the ambition of those who envisioned it.