Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (3 page)

“It appears you have created a stir.”

She glanced down at Mr. Gates. An amused grin curved his lips as he trudged along beside the wagon. A moment ago she had found his smile comforting, but this one rubbed against nerves made touchy by being the unaccustomed object of so much male scrutiny.

“And it seems you are enjoying our discomfiture.”

His eyebrows arched, and the grin twisted enough to become sardonic. “Surely you aren’t surprised by the attention.”

Kathryn’s spine stiffened at his tone. “What are you implying, sir?”

“Only that a woman traveling to a town where men make up an overwhelming majority of the population must realize she is certain
to become an immediate focus.” He cocked his head slightly and narrowed his eyes, as though evaluating her. “In fact, most men would assume such a woman chose the town for that reason.”

Why, the nerve! He practically accused her of being a coquette. She bristled, a sharp denial rising to her tongue. In the next instant the words died unspoken. That was exactly the reason Papa had sent her to Seattle. Against her wishes.

But she certainly wasn’t inclined to reveal her personal trials to a stranger. With a flounce she turned away from him and faced forward, her posture rigidly correct.

What an infuriating man.

Jason regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. As usual, he’d spoken without fully considering what he said. Women always took a man’s words personally. He’d learned that from Beth early on. He didn’t intend to insult Miss Bergert, merely to make an observation that was perfectly obvious to everyone. Seattle was a man’s town, a place where brute strength and ingenuity won the day. Thousands of men agreed with him, proven by the fact that they came in droves to work the forest and the lumber mill that was quickly making a name for the fledgling town. Why else would a single woman journey here, if not to find a husband? That was a perfectly acceptable reason, as far as he was concerned. As long as she left him alone, Miss Bergert could have her pick.

Beside the girl on the bench, the older woman sat with her head lowered, staring at the gloved hands folded in her lap. With a start he realized she’d taken his comment as directed at her as well. During the voyage from San Francisco, Captain Baker had confided that she was looking to start a new life away from the painful memories of the city. Jason had identified with her as a fellow escapee, and took
care to treat her kindly the few times she emerged from her bunk. Cursing himself for a thoughtless idiot, he opened his mouth to apologize, but then snapped it closed. The look on Miss Bergert’s averted face still held a frosty fury. No doubt whatever he said to the older lady would be misinterpreted as another insult to her.

Instead, he lengthened his stride and overtook Carter at the front of the wagon, where he was coaxing his beast forward. He’d feel more comfortable talking to the mule than to the women.

The line of buildings ended abruptly. On the right lay a wide clearing, the ground still littered with knee-high stumps and a pile of felled trees, their sawed-off branches scattered untidily about. A new building site, perhaps? Beyond that the street sloped upward and the surrounding forest pressed in on both sides. The cart tilted as the mule trudged up the hill, and one of the bags in the wagon bed slid backward and slapped into the rear gate. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Ah, good. It was one of the smaller bags. The crate holding his painting was still wedged securely between the side rail and the heaviest of the trunks.

The wagon lurched sideways and Miss Bergert grabbed at the bench to brace herself. He averted his gaze from her startled expression. When her dark green eyes were rounded like that, they held a loveliness he had not noticed at first. Though he certainly had not examined her closely, he’d formed a vague opinion of plain, rather severe looks. But perhaps that was only because of the square-brimmed bonnet and unflattering cloak that hung from her shoulders more like a bag than a fitted garment. And the fact that he had rarely seen a real smile on the lips that were perpetually tightened in an expression of disdain. This young woman was a picture of arrogance, a quality for which he’d never had any patience in men or women.

Beth was the opposite of arrogant. Her sweet temperament had won her many an admirer back home in Michigan.

Thoughts of Beth sent a wave of homesickness washing through
his soul. How he missed her! Sometimes his arms felt so empty they ached.

I can’t dwell on thoughts of Beth, or I’ll go crazy.

With an effort that threatened to exhaust him, he forced himself to focus on the here and now. They were traveling uphill on a wide road that had been carved out of the forest some years past. Mud sucked at his boots with every step and a raindrop splashed onto his head. It was quickly followed by another, and then another. He glanced up. Was the darkening sky due to the setting of the invisible sun or an approaching rainstorm? Impossible to tell. His pocket watch was buried beneath the layers of his heavy overcoat.

They rounded a curve in the road, and once again the forest gave way to a clearing on the right. More buildings stood here, forming another area of town that extended up the hill. Some neat, whitewashed structures were clearly public establishments. Beyond and behind them lay a row of houses both large and small. Here, then, was the proper town, tucked halfway up the mountain, away from the wharf and the mill. Not a bad plan, to keep the two separate. Though judging by the clearing work occurring down by the bay, it wouldn’t be long before that area expanded up the hill and joined this charming little collection of stores and homes.

As Carter led the mule down the street, a door opened in the building to the right and a figure appeared. A tall woman with a generous figure cloaked inside a merchant’s apron stepped onto the plank walkway beneath a sign that read Coffinger’s Dry Goods
.

“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Carter!” She waggled her fingers in his direction. “Is the ship in, then?”

Carter halted his mule and ducked his head. “Yes’m, Miz Coffinger.”

She turned her head and shouted over her shoulder in a commanding tone that could surely be heard down on the deck of the
Fair Lady.
“Boy, the ship’s finally here. Get down to the pier and see to those supplies.” She turned back to them and fixed a wide smile
on the ladies seated on the wagon bench. “Welcome to Seattle, my dears. When you get settled, I’ll pay you a call and we’ll become acquainted.”

When her gaze switched to Jason, an appreciative smile widened her lips, the only thing that could be described as thin on this woman’s entire body. “You too, dearie.”

Without waiting for an answer, she looked at Carter and barked, “Well, what are you waiting for? Can’t you see it’s about to pour?” And with that dire prediction, she retreated into the store.

Carter stood staring after her, scratching at his chin beneath his scraggly beard. “If you want my advice, watch yourself around that one. That woman’ll have you begging to pay half a month’s wages for a pail of dirt if you let your guard down.” He shook his head and tugged the mule forward, but his grin held a touch of admiration.

With a final glance toward the dry goods store, Jason fell in step beside him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they rolled past the store, Kathryn cast a wary eye skyward. One needn’t be a weather predictor to know the store owner had spoken truthfully. There had been no need to carry her parasol ashore since the sun was nowhere in evidence, but she may have been wise to take it out of her trunk. Though it wouldn’t provide much in the way of shelter, it would be better than nothing if the rain started in earnest before they reached their destination.

Her eyes were drawn to a tall, straight pole situated halfway down the avenue. How odd that the builders would leave a single tree stripped of its branches standing in the middle of town. When she looked again, she realized it was not a tree at all, but a tall post, as though someone had planted a ship’s mast in the ground.

As they neared, she saw that its surface had been carved and
painted. The pole stood in front of a wide building that sat back from the others, fronted by a grassy area. Evangeline’s Café, the sign said. She barely gave the place a glance, intent instead on studying the painted carvings as the wagon rolled past. They were nicely done, though somewhat primitive. Images of a bear and howling wolf were detailed and beautifully proportioned. The wood had been furrowed to look like animal fur. The people, though, were inexpertly carved. Disappointment dampened her momentary enthusiasm. No DaVinci did this. Certainly the work of an amateur, though a talented one. Ah, well. What did she expect in a backwater town like Seattle?

Carter brought the wagon to a halt in front of the building beyond the restaurant. The placard suspended from a post beside the door read F
AULKNER
H
OUSE
, R
OOMS FOR
L
ET
. At last. With approval she inspected the wide porch, chairs placed to one side in an inviting display. Two stories tall, topped with a steeply pitched roof and rows of double windows with frilled curtains visible behind the multipaned glass. The immediate surroundings looked a bit austere, especially compared to the restaurant next door, which had no glass in the single wide window but boasted planters overflowing with colorful winter blooms on each side of the doorway. The paint on the Faulkner House could use refreshing too. In a few places the whitewash had worn thin on the porch posts. Perhaps she could suggest the idea to her cousin.

After she had settled in, that is. She certainly couldn’t go suggesting changes the moment she met her relative for the first time. A rush of nerves invaded her stomach. What if she and Cousin Mary Ann didn’t get along? They may not be compatible. After all, what kind of woman would voluntarily move to a remote and backward town like Seattle? Mr. Gates had rudely pointed out one kind. Papa had known little more than the bare facts about his distant cousin—that she had married an older, ailing man and spent her youth caring for him in a small town in Kansas Territory. With her husband’s
passing she had moved West to manage a boardinghouse for one of her father’s friends, Captain Faulkner, in order to support herself. That sounded like a determined woman, one who knew what she wanted and set out to accomplish her goals. A woman Kathryn could admire.

Carter secured the mule’s lead rope around a post in front of the porch. “This here’s it,” he announced as though they couldn’t read the sign for themselves. “The Faulkner House.”

He rounded the wagon and approached the bench, arms extended to assist Miss Everett in climbing down. Mr. Gates went round the opposite side and lifted his oddly shaped carton from the bed. He shot a worried glance toward the sky and strode quickly to the protection of the covered porch, where he took great care in leaning the crate against the wall beside the lodging house’s entrance.

Fat raindrops fell with increasing speed to splat against her thick black cloak. Kathryn waited while Miss Everett turned to retrieve her valise from the bench and then hurried toward the porch, clutching Carter’s supporting arm. A breeze kicked up and whipped a smattering of rain beneath the brim of Kathryn’s bonnet. She froze, momentarily stunned at the sensation of being slapped in the face with cold water.