Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (29 page)

A gloomy fog settled over Kathryn when Jason disappeared between the buildings. The haste with which he took his departure told her everything she wanted to know about her painting. No matter what he said, he
did
hate it. And no wonder. She studied it with new eyes, trying to see it as he would. Was it really as terrible as all that?

Someone approached from the café and she glanced up to find Evie striding across the grass, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I saw Jason leave, so I knew your work had already been interrupted. The first of the ladies have begun to arrive for tea.”

Was it really that late? “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” She bent and began gathering her supplies from the blanket.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve almost got everything—oh.”

Kathryn looked up to find Evie staring at her painting with the same horrified fascination she might display upon finding a rat’s nest in her storeroom. She straightened and came to stand beside her friend to inspect her work.

“It’s not very good, is it? Tell the truth.” She couldn’t stop a hopeful tone from creeping in at the end. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as all that.

Evie’s expression became apologetic and she shook her head. “No, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

At least she expressed her honest opinion. The sign of a true friend.

Kathryn’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve studied and practiced as hard as I can, but no matter what I do, my paintings never turn out the way I envision.”

“You’ve mentioned your art teacher in San Francisco. What does he say about your work?”

“That I have a natural talent, and that I’m improving at a remarkable rate.”

Lines appeared between Evie’s brows and she looked again at the painting. “Really?”

“Papa says Monsieur Rousseau’s encouragement has nothing to do with my talent, and everything to do with the high price he charges for my lessons.” A sigh gathered deep in Kathryn’s lungs and she blew it out. “He’s right, isn’t he?”

A compassionate smile crept over her friend’s face. “Perhaps there
is
some truth to your papa’s opinion.”

Curiously, the realization was not as devastating as it might have been. When she’d taken her first lesson three years ago, she’d been hopeful that she had finally found her life’s ambition. She dreamed that her paintings would be admired by renowned critics and sought after by collectors. Galleries would display her work, and students would try to copy her techniques. But if she was honest, she had begun long ago to suspect that she wasn’t nearly as talented as Monsieur insisted. Her determination to paint had found more and more strength in proving Papa wrong than in striving to improve.

Not that she would
ever
admit that to him.

She turned a resigned smile on Evie. “I don’t suppose you want
to hang this in the restaurant. It has the distinction of being the last painting ever created by Kathryn Bergert, an artist who achieved notoriety for her lamentable lack of talent.”

Evie laughed and slipped an arm around her. “I would be honored to hang it in a very special place.” She squeezed Kathryn’s waist. “In my storeroom.”

She helped Kathryn gather the supplies and fold the blanket. When Evie headed for the café, Kathryn took her paints, brushes, palette, and other articles, bundled them in a square of linen, and placed them in the bottom of her trunk. Kneeling on the floor, she covered them with a stack of books. There. Her artistic dreams buried beneath the eloquence of Jane Austen and Alfred Tennyson. Maybe one day she would discover her true talent and dream a new dream.

She sat back on her heels. At least she finally uncovered the reason behind Jason’s coolness toward her. How painful it must have been for him to hear her blathering on about art every time she saw him. He could never fall in love with another painter. The reminder would be too—

She stilled, her hands frozen in the act of shutting the trunk lid. Love? Who said anything about love?

The second ladies’ tea since Kathryn’s arrival was even better attended than the first. With the arrival of Roberta Blaine, the minister’s wife, conversation focused on the news she brought from their visit with her sister in El Dorado. Kathryn listened with half an ear, nodding at the appropriate time and mechanically washing down a slice of nut bread with tea.

When had she fallen in love with Jason Gates? The idea was so astonishing, so surprising, so…well, so entirely unwelcome.
Perhaps she wasn’t really in love with him. The soft, fluttery sensation in her stomach whenever her mind conjured his image hadn’t been there yesterday, had it? No, it had begun this morning, when he looked her in the eye and declared his belief in her innocence. This was gratitude, not love.

But deep inside she knew that was not true. With dawning dismay, she admitted the truth.

I’m in love with Jason Gates.

“What do you think, Kathryn?” Louisa’s voice broke through her musing.

Kathryn jerked upright, tea sloshing into her saucer over the rim of her cup. “What?” The faces of the ladies seated around her snapped into focus, all of them pointed her way. She cast about in her mind for a shred of the conversation that had been going on around her and came up empty.

“Someone’s head is in the clouds today,” Letitia teased in her singsong voice

With a bashful nod, she admitted, “I was thinking about something else. I’m sorry.” She looked at Louisa. “What did you say?”

The answer never came, because at that moment a pair of men appeared in the restaurant’s doorway. The ladies looked up to find two sailors in crisp uniforms staring into the room. Kathryn stiffened in her chair. The two were familiar. They were Barney and another man whose name she did not know. Both had been among the group who’d treated her so roughly two days past. In fact, Barney bore evidence of the fight in the form of an ugly purple bruise beneath his left eye.

They snatched their sailor caps off their heads and twisted them in their hands. “We’re looking for Miss Kathryn Bergert.”

Every eye turned her way, and at that moment Barney saw her. He nudged his partner with an elbow and nodded toward her.

“Miss Bergert, could we speak to you outside, ma’am?”

“Certainly not.” Evie rose and took up a protective stance beside her.

“We don’t mean no harm,” the other man hurried to say. His gaze fixed on Kathryn’s face. “There’s some of us out here who want to apologize for what happened the other day.”

Though cautious to place herself in their proximity, she hesitated to dismiss them outright. Their manner was far more humble than it had been on Tuesday, almost servile. Rumors that the
Decatur
’s captain had berated them harshly might be true. Perhaps an apology was part of their punishment.

With a quick nod at Evie, she rose and crossed to the door. The sailors backed up and she stopped just inside. No sense putting herself in danger of being manhandled again.

Outside a group of six men congregated around the totem pole. Several sported bruises and one man had a bandage wrapped around his forehead. She hid a smile. This lot had certainly gotten as good as they gave in their skirmish with her millworker friends.

At her appearance, with a group of curious women crowding the doorway behind her to watch, the sailors snapped to attention. Barney seemed to have been given the role of official spokesperson.

“Miss Bergert, we apologize for our behavior. It was not befitting of Navy men. You was asking for our help, and we shoulda treated you like a lady, which you are.” His speech, obviously rehearsed, evoked nods from those standing around him. “Furthermore, we pledge that if you need our help in the future, we will come to your aid.”

One of his buddies added, “That goes for all you ladies, and the whole town too. That’s why we’re here. If there’s an attack, you can count on the
Decatur
’s crew.”

“Well.” Letitia stepped up beside Kathryn. “That’s quite reassuring.”

“Yes, it is,” Kathryn agreed. “And I accept your apology.”

At that moment, a wagon came into view from the direction of the wharf. Carter, the wiry delivery man, walked at the front, guiding his mule. A huge crate dominated the wagon bed. He caught sight of the group by the totem pole and picked up his pace.

“Am I glad to see you boys!” he called out. “I could use some help unloading this here heavy box.”

Letitia aimed a smile down her long nose at the sailors. “You did pledge to answer a call for help.”

With a shrug, the sailors slapped their hats on their heads and fell in beside Carter as he passed the restaurant, headed next door.

Louisa peeked through the doorway. “What in the world does he have in there?”

“Were I to venture a guess,” said Letitia, “I’d say it’s Madame’s piano.”

“A piano?” Helen pushed her way past the ladies to stand in the doorway beside Kathryn. “Madame has a piano?”

“It just arrived on the
Leonesa.
She’s finally going to put some furnishings in that empty front room, though she told me herself she doesn’t play.” Letitia rolled her eyes as she turned away.

The rest of the ladies returned to their teacups, leaving Helen and Kathryn in the doorway.

“I play,” Helen said quietly. “Hymns, mostly, and a few romantic pieces. Mother enjoyed listening to music after dinner.”

Kathryn watched as a pair of sailors hopped up in the back of Carter’s wagon and the rest formed two lines at the rear, ready to catch the heavy crate when it slid out. An idea took root. Perhaps she had no talent for art, but what about music? She’d always admired musicians, but never had an opportunity to try it herself.

“Would you teach me?” she asked Helen.

When the woman replied with a thoughtful nod, she smiled. Perhaps one day she could even hold a recital for her friends in the Faulkner House’s front room. She would save a special seat in the front row for Jason.

Thirteen

Monday, January 21, 1856

J
ason knelt on the pitched roof and positioned a split cedar shake. David placed the nail carefully, lifted his hammer, and after a dramatic pause, pounded it in place.

“There. That’s the last one.” He sat back on his heels and pitched his voice to be heard by everyone in the vicinity. “Gentlemen, we have finished our blockhouse.”

Around the roof and on the ground, the men cheered. Jason scanned the even rows of shakes that covered the roof and satisfaction settled over him like a warm blanket. Look at all they’d accomplished. And not only the fortress construction. On the ground he watched as the men shook hands, congratulating themselves on completing the job. Noah clapped Will on the back and Big Dog lifted a giant fist above his head in communal victory. These men had been strangers two weeks ago. Now he counted them as friends.

“We’ve still got work to do inside.” David stood, feet spaced shoulder-width apart on the steep roof, and looked down over the celebration. “I’d like to shore up that front wall some more, and I’m not sure the platform is secure enough. I wouldn’t want it to collapse while we’re trying to fire our rifles.”

Jason had climbed up on the inside deck earlier today to check the height of the firing holes on the upper level. He’d mimicked resting a rifle in the opening to aim and determined that the position
was perfect for most men—with the possible exception of Big Dog, who would have to stoop no matter what.