The Claim, Page 2

  And indeed, Rose was staring up at Sootie’s face with something approaching wonder.

  Mrs. Staroselsky and I smiled over the girls’ heads.

  “Maybe you should keep Rose for a while, Sootie,” Mrs. Staroselsky said with a wink.

  I left Sootie and Katy at Star’s, minding the baby, and continued down Front Street toward the Frink Hotel, passing one of the local taverns, which doubled as a bowling alley.

  The tavern was situated inside an abandoned Chinook lodge, and shouting and revelry could be heard there until all hours of the night. Men seemed to lose all good sense when whiskey was involved, and there was a great deal of whiskey available on Shoalwater Bay, thanks to Red Charley. Red Charley had grown rich in his whiskey dealings and liked to go about town with a woolen sock full of gold coins tied to his belt. The whiskey-dealing devil himself was lolling outside the bowling alley on an empty barrel as I walked by.

  “Lookee there,” Red Charley chortled. “It’s Jane Peck! When’re you gonna get rid of that sailor fella, huh?”

  Red Charley was referring to Jehu, who was a seasoned sailor and captain. He had been first mate on the Lady Luck, the ship that had brought me to Shoalwater Bay.

  Red Charley turned to the filthy prospecting fellow lazing next to him and said, “I keep telling her I’ll marry her! What does Jehu got that I don’t?” He followed his question with a belch. “I sure am a lot more handsome.”

  I raised an eyebrow at this. With his huge belly, red cheeks, and terrible disposition, Red Charley was hardly a young lady’s dream.

  “How’s he going to support you puttering around in that wee boat?” another man shouted.

  “How do ya know he hasn’t got a wife in some other port? Now, an oysterman like me’ll stay put,” a man with a missing tooth assured me with a lopsided smile.

  “He ain’t worth love,” Red Charley cackled. “The only thing worth that kind of hankering is Old Rye!”

  “Good day,” I said firmly, and continued on, dragging my now muddy skirts behind me.

  Farther down the street I arrived at the Frink Hotel. Outside it stood a horse-drawn wagon piled high with trunks, and helping to unload the wagon was the dark-haired sailor Red Charley had been talking about.

  “Jehu!” I called happily.

  He turned to me, his eyes lighting up, his smile tugging at my heart. He was so handsome with his shock of curly black hair, his blue eyes, the scar that ran jaggedly along his cheek.

  “Jane,” he said.

  At that moment the door to the hotel opened and Sally Biddle appeared, wearing a rose silk dress and a smug expression.

  “Why, if it isn’t Jane Peck! What a marvelous coincidence!” Sally trilled, her gold curls shining in the sun.

  Jehu grinned at me, setting down the trunk he was carrying. “It’ll be good to have an old friend out here, won’t it, Jane?”

  I had never spoken to Jehu of Sally Biddle. In truth, I had hoped to forget her completely.

  “Yes, Jane. I was just telling Mr. Scudder what great friends we were in Philadelphia,” Sally said sweetly, the very model of a kind girlfriend, her gaze lingering just a moment too long on Jehu’s handsome features. “We had such wonderful times together, didn’t we?”

  I saw the look in Sally’s eyes daring me to contradict her, and my stomach roiled. Katy was right to have warned me. Sally Biddle was just as dangerous as any memelose—and no one but me could see her true self. I felt my face go cold, my skin prickle with sweat.

  “Jane,” Sally said, her eyes mock-solicitous. “Are you feeling well? You look rather … drawn.”

  “Jane?” Jehu asked, concern in his voice.

  But I couldn’t answer. I turned and fled up the stairs of the hotel to my room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  or,

  The Most Important Lesson

  As I stared at my pale face in the mirror, the past came rushing back.

  At twelve I had worked hard to be accepted into Miss Hepplewhite’s Young Ladies Academy, one of the best finishing schools in all of Philadelphia. Miss Hepplewhite taught her students the finer points of being a proper young lady. Her lessons ranged from such social niceties as Pouring Tea and Coffee, and Deportment at the Dinner Table, to Receiving and Returning Calls, and Being a Good Guest. But by far the most important lesson I had learned was Never Underestimate Sally Biddle.

  From the day I entered Miss Hepplewhite’s, Sally did her best to isolate me from the other girls, and she generally succeeded. Nevertheless, at the age of fifteen, I received, after years of hoping, a coveted invitation to Cora Fletcher’s exclusive Midsummer Gala. An invitation to the annual Fletcher ball was an open door to acceptance in society. It was proof that, despite Sally Biddle’s efforts to the contrary, I could finally belong.

  Mary, my maid, and Mrs. Parker, the housekeeper who had filled in all my life for the mother I lost the day I was born, spent two weeks helping me prepare what I would wear to the ball. On the eve of the big event, I arrived at the Fletchers’ house in my new gown.

  The drawing room was full of young ladies and gentlemen dressed in their best, and I felt beautiful in my pale green satin dress with its demure bows ringing the hem, and one at each shoulder.

  Sally appeared at my side, offering me a cup of punch. I was pleased, thinking that she wanted to make peace with me.

  I was most mistaken.

  For I had no sooner taken the cup than Sally brushed past me to speak to another guest and shoved me hard with her elbow. The glass tipped, and punch soaked the bosom of my dress and dripped down my skirts, and that was the end of my gala evening.

  But now as I gazed into the mirror in my room at the hotel, I knew I wasn’t looking at the same girl Sally had known in Philadelphia. The girl who had arrived on the Lady Luck hadn’t known how to bake a pie, let alone survive in the wilderness. I had grown and changed and was no longer the kind of person to give up without a fight. I was no longer a child. I was seventeen years old and had in the past few months both survived a bear attack and outwitted a ruthless murderer. Truly, what was Sally Biddle compared to all that? I thought with a rush of confidence.

  I turned away from the mirror, resolved not to be afraid of this old memelose, and headed down the hall only to catch sight of Sally Biddle disappearing around a corner. I wondered for a moment if I would have preferred a grizzly bear after all.

  Grizzly bears at least had the decency to put you out of your misery.

  I passed Mr. Frink on the back stairs, hauling a huge trunk. His forehead was drenched with sweat as he struggled with his heavy burden.

  “Is that the last one?” I asked.

  “Six more to go,” he said with a groan.

  A pretty young woman with rosy cheeks and laughing eyes met me as I stepped into the parlor. Mrs. Frink was the proprietress of the Frink Hotel and my dear friend. I credited the swift construction of the hotel to her. She had a singular talent for charming people into doing any manner of things. Matilda was easily the most competent lady I had ever made acquaintance with in my entire life. I adored her in spite of it.

  “Oh, Jane, I do hope my Mr. Frink doesn’t hurt his back carrying up all those trunks,” Mrs. Frink exclaimed. Her voice lowered to a confiding whisper. “The young lady of the family had ten trunks alone. I daresay Miss Biddle bought out all of Philadelphia before coming here!”

  I wasn’t the least bit surprised that Sally had brought so many clothes. Fine clothes were a necessity for a wealthy young woman hoping to make a good match. Not that anyone had ever doubted for a moment Sally’s ability to make a good match.

  Mr. Frink came trudging down the stairs, looking weary.

  He was a mild-mannered man who rarely had a word to say. But he looked up the stairs and whispered, “You reckon they packed a cookstove in one of those trunks?”

  “They seem like very nice people,” Mrs. Frink said.

  Mr. Frink was scratching his head. “Do you know they brought silver for twenty?
Twenty! Now, who do you reckon they’re gonna serve dinner to with that?”

  “Jane, Miss Biddle was just telling me what great friends you were in Philadelphia,” Mrs. Frink said, a trace of curiosity in her voice.

  “We weren’t exactly friends,” I hedged. “More like acquaintances. We attended the same school. Did she happen to mention what brought them to Shoalwater Bay?”

  “Not a word, my dear. But it must be a comfort to you to see a familiar face. Sometimes when I think of all the friends I left in Ohio …” Mrs. Frink’s expression grew wistful, then changed again as if she’d had a flash of inspiration. “Why don’t you make one of your famous pies this evening? You know, as a special touch to welcome them to the hotel?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “That would be lovely!” Mrs. Frink clapped her hands. “Now, Jane, if you would be so kind as to look in on supper, I shall make sure our new guests are settled!” She bustled off.

  The Frink Hotel was one of the establishments that had opened this spring to the delight of residents and arriving settlers. It was by far the grandest building in Shoalwater Bay. Which is to say it was the only structure that was more than one story.

  Guests of the Frink Hotel were generally not as refined as the Biddles. While we had the occasional family who boarded with us while their own cabin was being built, the hotel catered mostly to oystermen. In fact, so many of our guests were oystermen that we accepted oysters in lieu of payment. A dry place to sleep was now in such demand that rooms originally meant for one man had been reconfigured with sleeping bunks so that up to four men shared a single room. Oystermen who could not obtain a bed at the Frink Hotel had been known to sleep in all manner of places: hollowed-out trees, empty barrels, and even—as Mr. Frink discovered one morning—the privy!

  The hotel was a great success, and its mere existence lent prestige to our young community. The Frinks’ generosity was legendary. If a man was down on his luck and unable to pay his bill, he would not be ushered out of the hotel at gunpoint, as was the case in many establishments. Rather, he would find a small bag of coins under his pillow in the morning. If a man became ill, he was not turned out onto the street, but was allowed to remain at the hotel, and was often nursed by Mrs. Frink herself. Because of this, Mrs. Frink and her husband were much admired by all the residents of Shoalwater Bay, and never was an unkind word uttered about either of them.

  As concierge it was my responsibility to order supplies and organize the daily menus, as well as manage the day-to-day business of the hotel. In addition to offering accommodations, the hotel served breakfast and supper. The men, most of them bachelors, were more than happy to have a cooked meal, and so the hotel also was a very popular—in fact, the only—establishment for supper. Due to this great demand, I would also lend a hand in the kitchen on occasion.

  We employed several people to help run the hotel. There was my friend Spaark, who worked in the kitchen; a woman named Millie, who cleaned the rooms and cooked; and a boy named Willard Woodley, who was supposed to help in the kitchen but who more often than not was missing. Mr. Frink was responsible for repairs, and Jehu helped with the luggage and anything else requiring heavy lifting. Mrs. Dodd, a local pioneer woman, took in the laundry. And there was also Brandywine, a dog, whose chief contribution was eating scraps of food dropped on the kitchen floor.

  When I went in to see about the pie, the kitchen was a hot, steamy hive of activity. Spaark and Millie were already hard at work.

  “It looks as if we shall have a full room for supper,” I said. “As usual.”

  “Pretty dress, Boston Jane,” Keer-ukso, one of my Chinook friends, said flirtatiously. He was lounging in a corner of the kitchen. “Maybe I marry you if you wear that dress!”

  Keer-ukso was incredibly handsome, with thick black hair and a finely muscled body. His old name, before he changed it to Keer-ukso, had suited him perfectly: Handsome Jim. Young women had a tendency to trail after him, although he paid them little attention, for the only young lady who mattered to him these days was the one across the kitchen stirring a kettle of oyster stew: Spaark.

  “Boston Jane is too smart to marry you,” Spaark said, rolling her eyes at me.

  She was a young lady from the neighboring Chehalis tribe, and we had grown to be close friends in the past months as we worked together at the hotel. I had met her at a meeting of the local tribes the previous winter, and she and Keer-ukso had taken a liking to each other. The two of them were now courting, and she lived at Chief Toke’s lodge. She had a marvelous sense of humor and kept Keer-ukso on his toes.

  “Boston Jane, you not marry me?” Keer-ukso gave a mock-wounded look, but I saw the sparkle in his eyes.

  “Shouldn’t you be off helping Jehu instead of getting in the way?” I said, batting him toward the door.

  “Jehu is fine by himself,” Keer-ukso said.

  “Well, then you can stay and help with supper,” I suggested. “I see that Willard is missing as usual, and I’m sure that Spaark and Millie would welcome the help, wouldn’t you, ladies?”

  Keer-ukso didn’t look the least bit affronted. “I am better cook than Spaark or you!” Among the Chinook, it was quite common for the men to cook as well as the women.

  “Wonderful!” I said, pointing to a bucket. “Another batch of oysters needs to be shucked.”

  Millie grinned and held up an enormous sack of potatoes. “And the potatoes peeled.”

  Spaark followed suit. “And the dishes washed!”

  Keer-ukso looked aghast, waving his hands in front of him defensively. He beat a hasty retreat out the back door.

  Spaark shook her head at him affectionately, and we all laughed.

  “Splendid. Now if I can only find Willard,” I said, casting a glance out the back door of the kitchen, “I can set him to work peeling potatoes.”

  Ten-year-old Willard Woodley was the only son of a recently arrived family, and he was a true rascal. His mother had asked me if I would hire him, as he had rather abruptly quit his job assisting the laundress, Mrs. Dodd. There was always a surfeit of work around the hotel, so I was happy to oblige her. Unfortunately, Willard had the uncanny ability to disappear when there was any real work to be done.

  I poked my head out the kitchen door. “Willard?”

  Silence was my answer.

  “Willard,” I called. “I just finished baking a pie and thought you might enjoy a slice.”

  Spaark grinned mischievously at me.

  “It’s still warm from the oven,” I continued in a loud voice. “And it looks just delicious, doesn’t it, Spaark?”

  “Oh yes,” Spaark said, playing along with my little game. “I will have pie, too.”

  Just then, a pair of eyes topped off by a mop of blond hair peered in the doorway.

  “Willard, how lovely to see you!” I exclaimed in delight.

  Willard came creeping into the kitchen, eyes scanning the worktables for pie. Hot on the boy’s heels was a black, potbellied dog. It was Brandywine, longtime resident of Shoalwater Bay. Brandywine and Willard were inseparable nowadays, probably because they could always count on each other to find something tasty.

  “Where’s the pie?” Willard asked suspiciously.

  I crossed my arms in front of me. “Actually, Willard, I am just about to make the pie, but I promise to put aside a nice slice for you.”

  The boy’s face fell.

  “In the meantime, I would very much appreciate it if you’d take this bowl of potatoes and peel them out back,” I said firmly.

  “I s’pose so,” he said reluctantly, shoulders slumped. He took the bowl and slunk from the kitchen, Brandywine trailing behind him, equally disappointed.

  “That’s the last time that little trick works,” I murmured, tying on an apron.

  Across the room Millie was stacking dishes, counting them out carefully. Like me, she lived at the hotel. Originally from New Hampshire, she and her husband had traveled to Oregon, intending to homestead some
land. They had no sooner arrived when her husband got it into his head that he wanted to try his hand at the gold mines in California. By all accounts he left her with little more than a tent to protect her from the elements, promising to return a rich man. That was nearly three years ago.

  Mr. Russell had met her when he was on a buying trip in Astoria, across the Columbia River in Oregon, and told her that Mrs. Frink was looking for help. A week later Millie had appeared at the front door of the hotel—a thin woman with sad eyes.

  “I’m a good worker,” she had said simply.

  She never spoke of her husband. I knew all too well what she had suffered, for I had experienced something like it myself. I had traveled from Philadelphia to Shoalwater Bay to marry Dr. William Baldt, a former apprentice of my father’s. When I had arrived after a sea journey of several months, he was not to be found in the territory and had left no word for me. I had been forced to make my way on my wits, without a man to support or help me.

  Millie seemed to think her husband would one day return. I could see it in her eyes, the way she looked up when a door opened, how she scanned the faces of the men who filed in for supper. She was endlessly kind to the rough-and-tumble men, even mending their filthy socks. It was clear that she missed having a man of her own to look after, and I’ll confess to a little matchmaking.

  “Millie,” I said. “Have you met the gentleman who arrived yesterday? The one staying in the back room upstairs?”

  A jovial-looking oysterman had taken a room in the hotel, and something about the kindness in his eyes made me think he might be good for Millie. “He seems very agreeable,” I continued.

  Millie shook her head, which was what she always did when confronted with these attempts on my part. Spaark met my eyes and gave a slight shrug.

  “I’m a married woman,” Millie said.

  “What if he never comes back?” I asked softly.

  Millie stared down at her plates, and when she glanced back up, there was a hollow look in her eyes.

  “Then I’m still a married woman,” she whispered.