Wilderness Courtship (18 page)

Their arrival at Fort Steilacoom was heralded with such excitement Charity had little time to continue to brood. After she had helped Naomi and Jacob from the wagon, she put them both to work carrying Nancy’s baked goods into one of the blockhouses that was being used to store the food the settlers were contributing for the coming feast. Tables inside were loaded with fish, clams, oysters and stews. Besides the usual side dishes of boiled potatoes, onions and bread, there were some strange-looking baked roots one of the soldiers had told her were camas, a wild staple food that the Indians loved.

It was hard for Charity to keep from staring at the other women who were present. Although they were dressed in calico instead of wearing triangular blankets over their shoulders and traditional bark skirts, their hair and skin were much darker than hers, leading her to conclude that these were the Indian wives of settlers and soldiers.

She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, assuming they were content, she simply wondered how hard they had had to work to make the transition from their old way of life to this one. Such changes could not have been easy. In comparison, the challenges of her own life seemed almost simple.

Chatting with the women, Charity learned that some had undertaken more than a day’s journey to get there. Others had rowed across the sound or had taken a steamship from as far away as Whidbey Island, to the north. Their fortitude was certainly commendable, as was their friendliness. When a few of them mentioned being born Nisqually, she was pleased to tell them she had met their chief.

“Leschi is very wise but not chief,” a young woman explained. “His father, Sennatco, is one of our chiefs.”

“Oh, I just assumed…”

The woman smiled. “I understand. Every man trust Leschi, even King George men and Bostons. He is friend to Dr. Tolmie, too.”

“A medical doctor? Here?” Charity asked.

Some of the younger girls giggled. “Not here. At Hudson Bay Company. Dr. Tolmie runs it.”

“Oh, I see. There’s certainly a lot to learn. I’m sorry to say I won’t be staying long enough to figure it all out. We’re leaving very soon.”

“You and husband?” She looked pointedly toward the place where Thorne was helping unhitch the horses.

Charity knew she was blushing because her cheeks felt as if they were aflame. “Mercy, no. We’re not married.”

“You go with him? Stay with him? Reverend White say that wrong. Should marry.” She glanced around at the other Indian women in calico as they all nodded tacit agreement. “We no sin. We marry like Holy Bible teach.”

“I’m not…Oh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand,” Charity said with a shake of her head.

“I will pray for you,” the Indian said with a gentle smile. “You not sin. Yes?”

“Yes, I will not sin,” Charity said, humoring her the way she would have a child.

Yet something in the woman’s words, in her sincerity, kept nagging at the back of Charity’s mind for the rest of the long afternoon and try as she might, she couldn’t seem to shake the conviction.

Chapter Eighteen

T
horne took it upon himself to stick close and keep an eye on the women and Jacob while Rev. White made his way over to the temporary Indian encampment on the banks of the Nisqually River, a stone’s throw from the fort.

The way Thorne understood it, Indian marriage was arranged by barter between the young woman’s father and the intended groom. Acceptance of the proposal was partly dependent upon the offering of suitable, valuable gifts, such as horses and blankets.

Both factions had been dancing to Indian drums and singing, accompanied by a soldier’s fiddle music, the previous night. Come morning, an official exchange of the last of the promised gifts was made between the groom’s side and the bride’s side before everyone gathered in parallel lines bordering an aisle of woven reed matting and awaited the appearance of the bride.

Thorne herded Charity and Jacob into place along the aisle while Nancy White looked after Naomi. Together, they stood quietly, respectfully, and listened to Rev. White speak an opening Christian prayer. Breathtaking, snowcapped peaks of the Cascades and a cloudless sky formed the perfect backdrop.

Thorne had noticed how quiet Charity had become of late and he was worried that she might be ailing again. When he had asked her, however, she had brushed off his concern as if she had never been racked by fever and delirium. Nevertheless, he held Jacob for her and stayed close enough to catch her if she swooned as a result of the hot sun or a return of her illness.

Charity pushed her bonnet off and let it hang at her back by its strings as an Indian maiden appeared and started to walk slowly, laboriously down the aisle. She was being escorted by several elderly Nisqually women. “Can that be the bride?” Charity asked aside.

“I assume so,” Thorne bent closer to whisper.

“What has she got piled all over her?”

He stifled a chuckle before he answered, “Those blankets and shawls and all that finery are like her dowry. They’ll take if off her and give it to the groom’s people. Watch.”

The Indians began to sing as other, younger women stripped away the layers of belongings to reveal a slim, lovely bride dressed in a tunic and leggings made of supple, white, fringed doeskin and trimmed with beads and tiny seashells. Instead of a veil, a closely woven hat of the same material as the mats sat atop her head. Her thick black braids hung below, entwined with thin strips of fur.

“Oh, my,” Charity whispered. “She’s beautiful.”

“Aren’t you glad you’re here?”

“Yes. I must admit I am.” Scowling, she glanced back at him a second time. “You knew I didn’t want to come and you still refused to go along with my excuse. Why?”

“Because being here is the right thing to do.”

He could tell she was less than pleased with his honest answer but he knew it was important that Charity be encouraged to share in the joy of matrimony, at least vicariously. It was no secret that her heart was badly scarred by her own marital mistake. He’d hoped that viewing the unusual ceremony would help her see that not all such unions were doomed to failure the way hers had been.

Charity sighed as she watched the elaborate ritual progress. Rev. White had completed his portion and had elicited the requisite “I dos.” Then the Nisqually elders, all men, took turns speaking of the tribe’s history and what they expected of the newly married couple.

The feast which followed featured the bride and groom eating from the same plate and sharing a drinking cup, which Nancy had explained was the Indian way of demonstrating that they were officially married. Besides the food the settlers had brought, there was fire-roasted salmon and trout, skewered bits of venison and elk and thick soups of clams and oysters.

Although Charity had not realized that personal trading among the women was also the custom, Nancy had provided extra ribbons and yard goods for her to offer the Nisquallies in exchange for shell jewelry and handwoven baskets.

By the end of the day Charity was the proud possessor of lovely trinkets and a small, finely woven basket in which to carry them. She showed her prizes to Nancy and saw the other woman’s eyebrows arch.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Nancy said, smiling. “I just think it’s interesting, that’s all. Where did you get the hat?”

Charity peered at her treasures. “Hat? What hat?”

Pointing, Nancy explained, “This isn’t actually a basket. It’s a married woman’s brimless, reed hat like the one the bride had. Any woman who wears one is announcing to everyone that she’s spoken for.”

“Oh, dear.” Charity blushed. “I know who gave it to me and now I know why. It seems that some of the Nisqually women think I’m rather scandalous for planning to travel back to San Francisco with Thorne. I assured them I was not going to sin but they are apparently convinced I’m a terrible person.”

“You sacrificed to care for my daughter and grandson. I don’t think you could do anything that would make me think less of you or of Mr. Blackwell. However, I have seen the way that poor man looks at you and I suspect your standoffishness is hurtful to him.”

“Surely, you must be imagining things.”

“May I speak freely, as a mother would?” Nancy asked, sobering and taking Charity’s hand.

“Of course.”

“My grandson loves you, as does his uncle, that much I know.” She paused and cleared her throat, obviously struggling to continue. “I have seen a miniature of my daughter’s husband. Aaron is fair, like Naomi, and it seems to me that Jacob…” Nancy’s lower lip trembled.

Charity patted her hand to comfort her and waited for her to go on.

“My daughter is not the obedient child her father and I would have wished her to be,” Nancy said. “She wrote to me shortly before she married Aaron Ashton and confessed a sin which I strongly suspect has haunted her ever since.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you did not, but William and I have talked this over and have prayed about it. We have decided that I should tell you what I know and let you form your own conclusions. But before I explain, let me assure you that Naomi was once a very rebellious girl and was fully capable of seducing any man.”

Charity stared, wondering, dreading, that Nancy might say what she, herself, had been thinking. More than once she had noticed the resemblance between Jacob and Thorne, yet she had always set those suspicions aside, unwilling to entertain anything so shockingly unacceptable.

If she could have found her voice, she would have used it to silence the older woman. Unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences, she merely gripped Nancy’s hand more tightly and listened.

“Almost four years ago, when Naomi was engaged to Aaron Ashton, she—she consorted with another man.”

“Thorne?” Charity’s words were a hoarse whisper.

Clearly fighting tears, Nancy nodded. “Yes. And afterward, when she realized she was with child, she confessed it all to me in a letter. I don’t think she ever told Aaron, let alone his brother, but now that I have seen the child, I have no doubts that Mr. Blackwell must be Jacob’s father.”

Thunderstruck, Charity just stood there, mute, and gazed at the distant, rugged mountains without seeing them. All the details, all the consternation, all the sibling rivalry and all of Naomi’s guilty reactions suddenly made sense.

No wonder Thorne had seemed so overly concerned about Jacob’s well-being. He wasn’t his uncle, he was his father! Therefore, what about his feelings for Naomi? That was what hurt Charity the most. How could he have fooled her so completely? He’d seemed emotionally distant from Naomi and had pretended he was only looking after her because of a duty to his brother, while in reality he had fathered her only child.

Charity could not pretend she didn’t care for one second longer. She’d been a fool. A stupid, gullible fool. How many times had she told herself it was insane to fall in love? Yet she had done it. That was the worst part of all this. She had fallen in love with a man who was unworthy of even the friendship and admiration she had bestowed. To
love
him, really love him, was an abomination.

Thrusting the basketry hat at Nancy, Charity broke away and ran, half-blinded by tears. She headed away from the encampment and toward the forest, the only place where she knew she’d find the privacy necessary to cry her heart out. She felt as if her best friend had abandoned her and that she had died as a result. Her hope
had.

In a way, Thorne had died to her, too, she reasoned through her grief. He was a fraud. He had lied to her and led her on when all he’d really wanted was a nursemaid for his illegitimate son.

It didn’t matter that Thorne had been planning to leave Naomi and Jacob behind in the territories and return to the sea. That made his perfidy even worse. Not only had he behaved in a beastly manner once, he was about to do it again by callously abandoning his child.

Cyrus Satterfield watched from the guard post inside the fort, smiled and blew smoke from his cigar. He’d wanted to draw at least one of the blond women away from her companions and it looked as if he was getting his wish, although he would have preferred that she’d taken the brat with her to save him the trouble of seeking it out later.

He sighted on the clump of cedars into which she had fled and lined it up with the Indian encampment so he could be certain of finding the right place once he had descended to ground level. She wouldn’t get away from him this time. He not only had his rifle and pistol, he was also armed with the poison. It would be easy to steal an unattended arrow from one of the reveling Indians, poison its tip and use it to stab the woman to death. If he failed to get close enough for that, he’d simply shoot her, instead. The plan was foolproof.

And then he’d go back and take care of the other woman and the boy.

Thorne frowned as he scanned the assembled crowd. He was certain he’d seen Charity speaking with Nancy White a few minutes ago but at present he couldn’t spot either of them.

Naomi had joined her father and seemed to be getting along all right, considering, so Thorne scooped up Jacob and headed their way.

William nodded and smiled a greeting. “Hello there. I wondered where everyone had gotten to.”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Thorne said. “I’ve lost track of Char…Miss Beal.”

“Ah, I see.” He patted the place next to him, opposite Naomi. “Why don’t you two share our blanket and take a load off. I’m sure the women are fine.”

“I don’t know. It’s not like Miss Beal to wander away alone.” Thorne sat cross-legged on the blanket and held Jacob in his lap to keep him from running to join some older Indian boys who were chasing a playful, agile puppy through the milling throng of celebrants.

William nodded sagely. “I suspect Miss Beal wanted to do some serious thinking and praying.”

“Why is that?” He didn’t like the grave way the older man was looking at him. The perusal made him decidedly uncomfortable. When the reverend finally spoke, however, he understood the man’s mood only too well.

“My dear wife has been telling your Charity a little about my daughter’s past sins.” Holding Naomi’s hand in a show of support he pressed his lips together and nodded slowly, deliberately, as if he knew exactly what Thorne was thinking. “Our Naomi is many things but she has remained her mother’s daughter. That’s why she chose to bare her soul and ask our forgiveness before she went through with her marriage to your brother.”

The older man directed a gentle, loving, knowing smile at Jacob. “We can see now that she was finally being totally truthful with us.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say a thing, son. ‘All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.’”

Thorne hugged the child tighter. “I was not a Christian at the time. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been.”

“You are also a healthy young man. If my wife has the details right, you were not the instigator of the incident, nor were you unmoved by what you had done. She says you begged Naomi to marry you.”

“Yes. I did,” Thorne answered. He had been watching Naomi’s blank expression and noted with relief that she seemed oblivious to what was being said. “My brother and I had a terrible quarrel when he saw her weeping afterward. As far as I know, she never admitted anything to him but Aaron must have known. How could he help but see the evidence in his son’s face?”

“As have we all,” White said. “Which brings me back to the matter of your Charity Beal.”

“What about her?”

“Nancy has taken her aside and told her everything, discreetly I’m sure. If we are to carry out the plan we’ve been considering it was necessary that Charity be made aware of the entire story, first.”

“No!” Thorne passed the child to William and leaped to his feet, scanning the crowd. “You don’t know Charity the way I do. She won’t be able to accept hearing something like that from anyone but me. I have to explain.”

“Perhaps, if your intentions were as serious as I believe they are, you should have already done so.”

“I was going to,” Thorne said. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“Then I suggest you find her. I’ll watch the boy.” He pointed. “Here comes Nancy. She should know where Charity has gone.”

Thorne was beside himself. If Charity had been told all the sordid details of his past, she was probably never going to sit still long enough to listen to his pleas for forgiveness. He had no excuse for his behavior, nor had he ever had. It was just that he felt such news would have hurt less if it had come from him. Now that the damage was done, there was no telling how badly Charity had been hurt. Or what she might do or say as a result.

Running blindly, Charity tore through the mucky, grassy lowlands and straight into the forest. Her shoes were caked with mud, her skirt torn by brambles and her hands and face scratched, yet she pressed on.

The only pain she felt was in her heart and mind. “Oh, Thorne,” she sobbed. “Why did you lie? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

Because you would have hated me for it,
came the unspoken answer.