Wilderness Courtship (17 page)

She had already shed her heavy coat so he was able to grasp her thin waist. He lifted her easily, stepping back and sweeping her to the ground in one graceful swoop.

An instant later, as he lowered her feet to the dirt, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. He never should have gotten that close to her again. She felt perfect in his arms, as light as a sunbeam and as beautiful as a butterfly. In contrast, he saw himself as clumsy and ill at ease. When he was this close to Charity Beal, he was no longer a shipping magnate or even an able seaman. He was an awkward boy longing for his first kiss from the woman of his dreams.

Ignoring the fondness he imagined in her lovely blue eyes, he set her away and quickly turned his attentions to helping Naomi.

From now on he would have to be even more diligent in regard to his actions, let alone his wayward thoughts. Charity was a lady of the highest order and deserved not only courtesy but honorable treatment. The more he grew to care for her, the more prudent he would have to be or he would surely alienate her.

Judging by the loathing she had demonstrated whenever she’d mentioned her late husband, he would have to be oh, so cautious. If he once stepped over the line and frightened her by making undue advances, no matter how gentle his approach, she might never be able to forgive him. Never be open to becoming a wife again.

When the right time came, when he was assured she would accept him, he would speak up and ask for her hand. Until then, he would keep his distance, for her sake and for the sake of their future happiness, even if the strain of biding his time was the hardest task he had ever undertaken—and he had little doubt that it would be.

Chapter Seventeen

T
rue to his word, Leschi had appeared in the street outside the Sylvester Hotel at daybreak. Charity had already risen and seen to Jacob’s immediate needs, as well as helping Naomi dress, so they were all ready to leave when Thorne called for them.

More time in the saddle did not particularly appeal to her but the weather was clear again and it felt good to soak up the sun’s warmth as they rode Northeast across the rolling prairie.

By the time their mounted party reached the bluffs overlooking the place Leschi called Nisqually Flats, Charity understood why Naomi’s parents and their neighbors had settled there.

The valley was a veritable Eden. Long, lush grasses waved like wheat in the cool breezes from the nearby ocean, and where there were cultivated patches of land she could see plots of healthy, farmed crops.

Charity had been balancing Jacob in front of her on the wide tree of the saddle and pointing out squirrels, rabbits and other wildlife along the trail, much to his delight.

When she reined in next to Thorne to gaze at the valley below, she was in awe. “It’s beautiful. Look at all that grass. If Papa’s old mule, Ben, were here, he’d think he’d died and gone to heaven.”

“This place is like that to the Nisquallies,” Thorne observed as their Indian guides left them with a parting wave and proceeded down a separate trail toward their own homes, as planned.

Thorne waited till Leschi and his tribesmen were a little farther away, then explained, “All they need or want comes right from the land. They tell me they harvest clams and oysters from the salt marshes, salmon from the rivers, wild berries and other fruits in summer, besides peas, potatoes and wheat from the tilled land.”

“They’re farmers? I had no idea. When I saw the crops, I just assumed they belonged to the settlers.”

“Some of them do. The Nisquallies have worked for the British and Americans for years now and they’ve learned how to raise their own crops, as well as gathering the natural bounty from the sound and the surrounding forest.”

“That’s amazing.”

She continued to sit there and drink in the view while Thorne scanned the trail behind them. Finally, he said, “I think we should be going.”

“Why?” She tensed and looked behind her. “Did you see someone following us?”

“No. It’s just a worrisome feeling I can’t seem to shake. If there were any hostile Indians in this vicinity, I’m sure Leschi would have sensed it.”

“Would he have said anything?” she asked, almost ashamed to be entertaining such suspicions.

“I think so,” Thorne said. “But I understand what you’re asking. I suppose it’s not wise to trust anyone too much. If I were in the Nisquallies’ moccasins I don’t know how hospitable I’d be to hundreds of newcomers.”

“Surely, there’s enough bounty in this land for all.”

“At the present time, yes,” Thorne said, “but I was speaking with some travelers at Sylvester’s last night, after you and the others had gone to bed. They tell me there’s talk of the United States’ government drawing up a treaty as early as this coming winter.”

“What kind of treaty?”

“It’s apparently going to demand that the Indians west of the Cascades give up their homes and leave. That includes the Nisqually, Puyallup and Steilacoom tribes from right around here. Even if the chiefs refuse to agree to the terms of the treaty, it’s a bad sign of trouble to come.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?”

“Yes. We can get Naomi and Jacob delivered to the missionaries, as planned, and catch the first available ship bound for San Francisco.”

With that, he dug in his heels and urged his mount down the trail toward the American settlement.

Following, yet keeping to the woods to avoid detection, Cyrus Satterfield reined in his horse, yawned and stretched.

The lone Indian who had remained with him snorted in disgust. “They get away. They go to fort. You see?”

“All I saw was that there were too many Nisquallies with them for us to chance another attempt. I’m not worried. I’ll get them eventually.”

“How you know which woman?”

“Simple. The one with the child has to be his mother. If I’m not sure when the time comes to take action, I’ll kill them both and be done with it. Probably will, anyway.”

“When? How? You go to fort?”

“I may, once I’ve scouted it out.” He laughed at his companion’s disconcerted expression. “I take it you’re not coming with me that far?”

“No. Leschi go home, I go home.”

“You never did tell me how you two are related.”

“His mother Yakima. My father Yakima. Her brother.”

“He knows you? Why didn’t you
say
so? No wonder you didn’t want to get close enough for him to see your face when we were chasing the woman and those fractious horses through the woods.”

“Leschi a fool. He tillicum to King George men and Boston men. Make much peace. Patkanim say make war.”

“And the rest of your tribe agrees, no doubt.” He patted the leather pouch containing the roots the Indian had found and pounded into a pulp for him. “All right. I have the arrow poison and I’ve paid you every bit you’re going to get from me. I told you long ago I could handle this myself. Go on home. I don’t need you.”

“You see Leschi, you no tell him,” the wiry Indian warned, “or poison arrow find your heart, too.”

Cyrus was still chuckling derisively as he watched the other man wheel his horse and disappear into the dense forest.

In Charity’s opinion, the mission complex looked more like a farm than it did a church. A surprised Mrs. White, who bore a striking, though graying, resemblance to Naomi, greeted her daughter with tears of joy. After brief introductions all around, she graciously ushered the entire party into her modest log home.

When Naomi didn’t answer her mother’s simple queries, Mrs. White turned her attention to Charity and the child. “I can’t believe our Jacob has grown so big already. Naomi often wrote me about him.”

“He is a big boy,” Charity said. “Heavy, too.” Reluctant to let him go, she nevertheless presented him to his grandmother. “This is your granny White, Jacob. Remember? I told you all about her.”

The child hid his face next to Charity’s neck and continued to cling to her.

His understanding grandmother backed off. “Give him time. You’ve doubtless had a difficult trip.” She nodded soberly toward her daughter. “What’s wrong with my Naomi? Do you know?”

“I think so,” Charity said, speaking quietly aside. “She was fine until her husband disappeared.”

“Aaron? Where? When?”

While Charity remained in the parlor with Naomi and her mother to provide more details of their trials and tribulations, Thorne took Jacob outside into the yard.

“I want Mama,” the boy whined.

“We’ll go back in a few minutes. Aren’t you anxious to meet your grandfather?”

“No.”

Thorne huffed. “Well, nobody can accuse you of not being truthful, can they?” He saw a group of people hoeing in a nearby potato patch and ambled in that direction.

“Afternoon,” the tallest man called. He removed his straw hat to mop his brow and Thorne could see that behind his thick, gray beard was the lighter but leathered skin of an aging settler.

“Hello. Mr. White?” Thorne asked.

“William White. That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like you to meet your grandson,” Thorne said with a grin. “This is Jacob Ashton.”

“Well, well. God bless you for bringing him this far to see us.” William offered his hand. “You must be Aaron.”

“No. I’m his brother, Thorne. Half brother, to be precise. I’m afraid Aaron has been missing since before we left San Francisco.”

“Is our Naomi all right?” the older man immediately asked.

“She’s here, too, if that’s what you mean.” Thorne was sizing up the other farm workers as he spoke. Most were Indian women but a few were older Nisqually men. None of them were looking at him with nearly as much friendliness as Leschi had demonstrated.

Thorne understood that Rev. White was understandably confused and concerned. “Naomi’s in the house with your wife. I know you want to see her but can we go somewhere private to have a talk first?”

“Of course, but…”

“It will all make sense once I’ve told you the whole story. At least I hope it will,” Thorne said. “We made it this far only by the grace of God.”

The reverend nodded and began to smile as he led Thorne toward the rudimentary barn. “That’s the only reason any of us are here, son. I’m glad to hear you giving proper credit to our Lord.”

Thorne reentered the house accompanied by Naomi’s father. Jacob ran straight to Charity and hopped up into her lap while Mrs. White, who insisted on being called by her given name of Nancy, made the rest of the introductions.

“Pleased to meet you, Rev. White,” Charity said, smiling at him. “Nancy tells me you have a preaching planned for tomorrow. You must not postpone it on our account.”

“Never have and never will,” he replied. “It’s not exactly our usual camp meeting, though. One of my flock is marrying a Nisqually woman over by Fort Steilacoom and I’ve been asked to conduct a brief Christian ceremony for them in addition to the one the Indians plan.”

Charity was taken aback. “A wedding?”

“Yes. I’ve seen one other like it since we’ve been ministering here and it’s truly fascinating. I know you’ll enjoy seeing all the Indian folderol.”

“Oh, we couldn’t intrude,” she said, hoping the excuse was enough to deter the preacher. The last wedding she had attended, with the exception of her sister’s, was the sham of her own marriage. The notion of celebrating the nuptials of strangers did not sit well with her. It had been hard enough to muster the fortitude to attend Faith and Connell’s ceremony back in California.

“Nonsense,” the missionary said. “The more the merrier is the way these natives feel. I suspect they’ll even invite some of the British from across the sound. I’ve been trying to encourage that whenever the occasion arose. We all need to learn to get along.”

Charity sensed that Thorne was looking at her as if he were waiting for her to make the final decision. Oh, how she wished everyone would simply allow her to abstain from joining in any such festivities.

“We—we were going to leave very soon. Mr. Blackwell has planned for it,” she said, hedging as best she could. The silent plea she sent his way via her gaze was all she could politely accomplish. Unfortunately, Thorne did not seem to comprehend.

“There’s no reason why we can’t spare an extra day or two,” he said. “Now that I see how much trouble Jacob is having settling in, I suspect it would be best to delay for a short while anyway.” He smiled at the Whites. “And there may be questions you have that you’ve not thought to ask us yet. Miss Beal and I would be delighted to join you for the Indian wedding.”

William White rubbed his hands together with delight. “Wonderful, wonderful. Folks will be coming from miles around. And afterward there will be a big, fancy meal. Nancy’s been baking for days so she’ll have something to offer the Nisquallies for their feast.”

Sighing, Charity gave up searching for excuses. It was clear that they were all going to attend the wedding celebration whether she liked it or not. And she could understand why the Whites would want someone familiar to accompany Naomi and help them watch out for her, especially since she was going to be in a large crowd of strangers.

Plus, there was the problem of dear, bewildered little Jacob. Charity reiterated her vow to put his needs first. She would force herself to do whatever it took to help him adjust to becoming a permanent part of his grandparents’ lives.

She blinked back unshed tears. Somehow, she must help the child get over his undue attachment to her and Thorne, so he would be able to accept his new living arrangements happily.

The task sounded daunting but she knew she was up to anything. After all, she had been shot, withstood an Indian attack and lived through a fever that could easily have taken her life.

Given that, how hard could it be to spend a hour or two encouraging the child to be more friendly while they watched some nuptial festivities?

According to Rev. White, Fort Steilacoom had been founded on the site of a failed farm belonging to an English sheep rancher named Joseph Heath. William had explained that the fort’s construction encompassed quite a few of Heath’s original buildings, as well as added blockhouses for the protection of settlers. At strategic places along the solid perimeter fence there were also observation towers from which soldiers with rifles could easily defend their outpost if need be.

The Whites owned a spring wagon and several strong teams of workhorses which were much more like those Charity was used to seeing than the Indian ponies had been. She had assumed it would be more comfortable to ride to the fort in the wagon than on horseback until she’d been bounced over the rough, rutted road from Nisqually Flats for what had seemed like hours.

Poor Nancy had fretted about her cakes and pies most of the way, worried they would be ruined by the buffeting. William had merely laughed and chided her for a lack of trust in the Lord.

When Nancy had snapped back, “It’s not
God
I have a quarrel with. He’s not driving this wagon through every pothole on the prairie,” it had brought laughter all around and had further lightened Charity’s anxiety. After all, she reasoned, she did believe in God. And she could see that she had been rescued by divine providence more than once, especially of late. Therefore, there was no reason why she should not be able to accept whatever Rev. White said or did during the ceremony.

I just hope and pray it doesn’t make me remember my awful wedding too well,
she added to herself. There were some people, some things, she might never be able to forgive or forget no matter how hard she tried. And, in the case of Ramsey Tucker, she had to admit she wasn’t trying.

What she definitely did not want to hear was Bible teaching that might convince her that she was wrong to continue hating a man who was long dead. She wanted to loathe him. It was her right. He had abused her and she wasn’t ever going to get over it.