Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (27 page)

Who hates me enough to try to turn everyone against me?

The question gnawed at Kathryn after Jason left. Her hands busied themselves in preparing for the breakfast crowd that would arrive shortly while she tried to assemble a list. Could it be one of the sailors from the other day? At supper last night Red told her word leaked out that Captain Gansevoort had been furious when he learned about the brawl. Those involved had been denied liberty for an indefinite period of time. Maybe one of them was bitter enough to sneak ashore for a bit of mischief.

She went into the storage room after another stack of plates. That could be the case, but she doubted it. For one thing, how many of those sailors knew about her painting? None that she was aware of. The townspeople, on the other hand, did. She talked openly of the inspiring view from the hotel’s back porch and her struggles to capture the majesty of Mount Rainier on her canvas. Plenty of the
diners at the café spoke disdainfully of the construction project. Even so, she could not think of a single one who would have any cause to cast aspersions on her. She had done nothing to cause anyone to dislike her.

And yet, there was one who disliked her without cause.

With a handful of forks from the bin resting on the topmost plate, she hefted the stack. Will Townsend had disliked her from her first night in Seattle. Why? She couldn’t imagine. A few discreet questions to Evie and Louisa had produced the fact that he was well respected and highly regarded by everyone in town. He was a good provider for John William, who clearly adored him. He’d answered Louisa’s questions regarding the change in the little boy’s daily care with the assurance that this was a temporary change only, to give her a much-needed break from the active child so she could save her strength for the birth. Louisa protested the need, but had been satisfied that there was no hidden reason behind the change.

Kathryn wasn’t so sure. Was she somehow at fault?

She carried the plates into the dining room and skirted past Evie, who stood in front of her huge frying pan, turning a thick slab of sizzling bacon. The more Kathryn thought about it, the more certain she became. Will Townsend had stolen her oil of turpentine in order to cast suspicion on her. He wanted to make her look bad in front of her friends. No, in front of the entire town.

Well, she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

She set the plates down on the table with force. Evie turned to give her a surprised look.

“I’ve got to check on something,” she mumbled as she snatched her cloak and bonnet off the peg.

“Now?”

“I won’t be long.”

“But what about—”

She didn’t wait to hear the rest of the question, but hurried
through the door. A colorful dawn was still several minutes from breaking, and the eastern sky behind the restaurant showed hints of pink and red streaks. A string of early risers were heading for the café, and she greeted them with a distracted smile as she hurried past. Louisa had pointed out the Townsend home the day she gave Evie a wagon tour of Seattle. It wasn’t far. Hopefully she could catch him before he left for the mill.

She gathered her skirts and increased her pace to as close to a run as decorum allowed.

The glow of lamplight shone in the window. Relieved, she approached the door and then paused to gather her composure. What would she say? Accuse the man of trying to defame her?

No, she would not resort to accusations. Instead she would demand to know the reason behind his instant and intense hatred of her. Forcing her breath to return to normal, she squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.

A scurrying sounded inside and she heard the latch lift. The door cracked open and was then thrown wide.

“Miss Kathryn!” John William, still dressed in a long nightshirt, leaped forward to wrap his arms around her skirt in an enthusiastic hug. “Grandpa, look who came calling.” He lifted his head to beam up at her. “Am I staying with you today while my grandpa is at work?”

Words evaporated from her mind. How could she have forgotten about the child? She couldn’t very well shout at his grandfather in front of him. Maybe this impromptu visit wasn’t such a good idea.

She knelt and returned the child’s embrace. “Not today, sweetheart. I have to work at the hotel. I came to talk to—”

“
John William!
”

The coldness in Will’s voice startled both of them. He had appeared from a back room and stood glaring in their direction, his face full of fury. The boy turned a wide-eyed question on his grandfather while Kathryn’s pulse kicked into a gallop.

The man made a visible effort to control himself as he addressed the boy. “Go get dressed.”

“But Miss Kathryn is here to visit.”

“I said
go
!”

Though he did not shout, his tone held an undeniable command. John William gave her a confused look and then obeyed.

Kathryn straightened and waited for the child to leave the room. She glanced once into Will’s face, but quickly looked away from the fierce anger she saw there. Blood sped through her veins, propelled by a racing heart that pounded like a drum in her ears. When the boy disappeared into the bedroom, Will stomped toward her and she beat a quick retreat to small patch of grass in front of the house. He stopped on the square platform that served as a porch, pulling the door closed behind him.

“What are you doing here?” he spat.

Words momentarily failed her. “I—I wanted to—” A spasm took her throat. “To talk to you about something that happened last night. Or—” She shook her head. “This morning, rather.”

“No.” He chopped off the word. “I mean what are you doing
here
? Why are you in Seattle?”

Taken aback, she stared at him. “I came to help Madame at the Faulkner House.”

“Don’t bother repeating that tale to me. We both know better.”

Was the man mad? She tried again. “My father sent me to work with Madame Garritson, who is a distant cousin.”

A smirk appeared, though anger still snapped in his eyes. “Does your father know what you really are, or have you fooled him along with everyone else?”

An initial flash of guilt stabbed at her. No, he couldn’t possibly be aware of that shameful incident in San Francisco. He’d been here, in Seattle, at the time. He had obviously confused her with someone else, that was all. She drew herself up. “You’ve made a mistake. My father is—”

“Philip Bergert. I know who he is,
Kathryn.
” He spoke her name with a sneer. “You might fool him and everyone else into thinking you’re a mannered lady, but you and I both know better.”

He stepped forward and came right up to her. Though she tried to hold her ground, she took an involuntary backward step. She was face-to-face with a lunatic. Would he strike her?

Instead, he searched her face as though trying to see her thoughts. Whatever he found there dampened the fire in his eyes. His shoulders slumped, and when he spoke, his whisper held a hint of agony. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but I will not let you ruin everything. We’re happy here. Do you understand that? Leave Seattle. Just leave.”

Before she could gather her thoughts to answer, he turned and stomped back into the house. The door closed with a solid thud, leaving her standing outside.

Was the man insane? A moment before she would have said yes, but that last plea gave her pause. Was she imagining things, or had she detected a touch of fear in his tone? He seemed truly afraid that she would—how had he put it?—
ruin everything
, simply by her presence.

A slow realization stole over her. There was only one explanation for his behavior.

He knew.

Somehow, he knew her secret. And he was threatening to ruin her reputation by exposing her.

This is ridiculous. It’s not like I’m a criminal.

But Papa would certainly think so, if he knew what had happened. And what about her new friends? Evie, and Louisa, and—she swallowed—Jason? She could not bear it if he knew of that shameful night. He would certainly not believe her innocent of vandalism against the blockhouse then. No one would.

Perhaps she should leave, really leave. Start a new life back East among ladies like Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony. Surely she would
find acceptance among them. But since she could barely afford a ticket to San Francisco, certainly she could not pay for passage to New York. She sniffled. Besides, she’d found friends here in Seattle. And what of…of Jason? A painful prickle of tears assaulted her eyes, and she blinked furiously against them as she thrust the traitorous thought to the back of her mind. One more thing
not
to think about.

With a sickening sense of shame, she turned toward the café. It had been a mistake to come to Will’s house. And she had not even confronted him about the oil of turpentine, either. Nor would she. Without a doubt, he had perpetrated the vandalism to implicate her in order to scare her away from Seattle. It wouldn’t work, because even if she wanted to leave, she could not. No, her best course now would be to avoid him as much as possible and hope he held his tongue.

Twelve

H
ow to approach Will without accusing him outright? Jason struggled with the question throughout the day. Word of the near-disaster had spread like a cold wave at high tide, and the men talked of nothing else as they worked. The general consensus was that the vandal had been a sailor from the
Decatur,
trying to avenge his buddies who’d been denied liberty because of Kathryn. If that were the case, Jason hoped the man was never found out. Judging by the vehemence with which the millworkers vowed to defend her honor, he might not survive the encounter.

Paperwork consumed the morning. After the first week of Jason working alongside the men, Henry had opened his files and turned over the office. Jason’s time was more and more devoted to the design of an improved water system for the town, an idea that everyone in Seattle heartily applauded. Jason was nearing his second week of immersing himself in the mill’s accounts. It was long, tedious work that sent cramps through his fingers by the end of the day, but he found the labor consuming and exhausting in a different way from the physical effort of milling timber.

Until today.

He tossed the pencil on an open account book and massaged the stiffness from his fingers while he stared through the office window.
Will and another man were fiddling with a roller that kept jamming. They’d been at it off and on for the past hour. Excuse enough to interrupt his paperwork to check on their progress.

Jason left the office, nodding at the working men as he made his way to the end of the infeed deck. Will looked up at his approach.

“How’s the repair coming?” He pitched his voice loud to be heard over the noise of the engine and the buzz of the main saw as it chewed through lumber.

“It’s not,” Will shouted in answer. “The roller was shot, so we’re replacing it. Don’t have a spare, so we had to take one off the front end.” He pointed toward the outside edge of the roller belt, where Big Dog and a trio of others were about ready to heft a dripping log.

“Can we rig a replacement?”

Will jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where Murphy bent over a worktable intent on a task. “Already working on it.”

“Good man.”

He almost raised an arm to slap Will on the shoulder, but the gesture seemed awkward, almost condescending, for someone with far more experience leading this crew than he. Another reason he struggled with how to approach his question. He couldn’t afford to alienate Will with a false accusation. If it
was
false.

“Have you got a minute?” Jason jerked a thumb toward a deserted place outside the shed. “Want to ask you something.”

When they stepped out from beneath the roof’s wide overhang, the noise dimmed considerably. The sun shone today for the third day in a row, and the temperature was warm enough that he didn’t need his heavy coat. Both were unusual for January, according to the men. Some had espoused the opinion that the break in the weather was a sign from the Good Lord that He wanted the blockhouse finished sooner rather than later and was holding off the rain until the last shingle was in place.

Jason and Will stood side by side watching the loading of the log
on the roller belt. “What’s your take on the incident at the blockhouse this morning?”