Wilderness Courtship Page 11

  Pausing, he hit the woman in the jaw to stun her more, then released his hold and let her fall to the deck. If he was lucky, maybe she’d slip when she tried to get up and the rolling of the waves would cause her to plummet overboard without his help. If not, he’d simply try again. It wasn’t as if Louis Ashton would ever know he’d failed. Nor would he reveal his inability to locate the boy in the darkened cabin.

  Lightning flashed. He saw shadowy forms racing toward him. Ducking around the port side below the pilothouse, he shed his long, black slicker just as he darted through a narrow doorway leading to a back passage into the saloon.

  “The fools have underestimated me,” he muttered, satisfied that his ruse had worked and pleased that he’d had the foresight to scout out an alternate way to reach the cabin he had chosen to occupy.

  He laughed softly at his wit as he reminded himself that the cabin’s previous owner had been far too dead to object when he had tossed his carcass over the side earlier.

  Straightening his clothing, Cyrus Satterfield brushed off his coat sleeves, then smoothed what was left of his reddish hair over his partially balding head. There were times, like now, when he was glad he didn’t have a thick head of hair to deal with or try to keep dry. As it was, any slickness of his pate would be taken for pomade, not water, and nobody would be the wiser.

  He sidled into the ship’s saloon, intending to merely pass through. Unfortunately, all the ruckus on deck had awakened others. Rather than appear furtive, he decided to simply join the group as if equally concerned.

  Nodding politely, he approached a crewman at the bar. “What’s going on? I thought I heard shouts. We aren’t sinking, are we?”

  “Naw,” the man drawled. “Some fool woman got herself lost and the cap’n was hollerin’ for volunteers.” He guffawed. “You won’t see me riskin’ my neck out on deck in this storm if I don’t have to. No sirree.”

  “I see. Has there been any word of her yet?”

  “Not directly. I suppose they found her ’cause the yellin’s stopped. Stupid woman. Never should allow the likes of them on board if you ask me. I’ll be plumb glad when she gets off at Astoria.”

  Satterfield perked up. “Astoria? I thought they…”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Nothing. Are you sure she’s getting off?” He forced a nonchalant air and a smile. “I mean, the sooner the better if she’s such a poor sailor, right?”

  “Yeah. Cap’n Nash said the folks in her party was headed up the Columbia a ways, so I suppose they’ll go ashore when we dock there. We’re bound for Puget, up north.”

  “I know. I had thought to sail all the way with you. How long does that leg of the journey usually take?”

  “A lot longer than it should, once we leave the mouth of the Columbia River. Lots of rocks and little islands out there, not to mention the bar. Real tricky to navigate. But don’t you worry. We don’t draw much more’n five or six feet of draft fully loaded and our captain’s a wonder with the charts. Never seen him make a mistake.”

  Before Satterfield could comment the door burst open and another crewman entered, bringing news of the rescue.

  Pretending to listen and feigning shock at word of the heinous crime, Cyrus smiled to himself. There would be another day soon. Another chance. As long as he never gave up, he would be successful.

  Thorne had been the first to come upon Naomi. He’d found her lying on the deck and curled into a fetal position.

  He’d lifted her gently and supported her by the shoulders. When she had opened her eyes and taken one look at him, she had fainted dead away.

  Scooping her up in his arms, he had assured the other searchers that she was in good hands and had headed for her cabin. Not able to knock easily, he gave the door a swift kick and shouted, “Miss Beal. Open the door.”

  The instant she did, he shouldered through.

  Charity gasped. “Is she all right?”

  “I think so. She’s swooned but she’s breathing well.”

  “Put her on the bed.” She turned to reassure the worried little boy. “Mama’s fine, honey. She’s just a little woozy right now.”

  Thorne stepped back. If the man who had tried to abduct Naomi had been dressed like one of the packet boat’s crew, did that mean a crewman was also on Louis’s payroll? The possibility was strong.

  “She’s coming around,” Charity said as she vigorously rubbed Naomi’s hands and forearms and patted her cheeks.

  “Good. I’m going to go talk to the captain and see if he can shed any light on who might have access to rain gear besides his men. Will you two be all right alone?”

  “We aren’t alone.” Charity smiled at Jacob. “We have each other and now that his mama is back with us, we’ll be just fine. As soon as you leave I’ll get her wet clothes off her and make sure she’s good and warm.”

  “Lock the door after me,” Thorne ordered.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of telling me that?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

  All he said was, “No.”

  Disgusted with herself for failing to watch Naomi well enough and mad at Thorne for being so brusque about the whole situation, Charity made a droll face at his departing figure.

  To her surprise, Jacob mirrored her comical expression. She couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay to do that this time, honey, but I don’t think you should make funny faces at Uncle Thorne again.”

  “Why?”

  Charity giggled, carrying on the conversation with him while she also undressed his shivering, uncommunicative mother. “Because it’s really not polite. Besides, he might ask you where you learned to do it and you’d have to tell him the truth. I don’t want him to be angry with me for teaching you something bad. Understand?”

  “Uh-huh. Can I go back under the bed and be a bear again?”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Charity said with a tender smile. “And if you see that bad man again, I want you to tell me or your uncle right away. All right?”

  “I could roar and scare him away,” the child said, demonstrating by forming his pudgy fingers into claws and giving his best growl.

  “Why don’t we just let Uncle Thorne do that for us? He might feel bad if we took his job.”

  “What job?”

  “Why, the one as our brave protector,” Charity said, realizing that she meant every word. “Uncle Thorne is doing his best to take good care of all of us.”

  “Even you?”

  “Yes, even me.” She tucked the covers around the still-dazed woman and straightened.

  “Good. ’Cause I love you, Miss Charity.”

  She leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of Jacob’s head. “I know you do, dear. And I love you, too.”

  “How ’bout Uncle Thorne?”

  “I’m sure he loves you, too, Jacob.”

  “I mean, you. Does he love you?”

  Blushing, Charity searched her heart for the right words before she spoke. “I just work for him, taking care of you and your mama while we travel. That’s why he wants to keep me safe, too.”

  “I think he likes you,” Jacob said with a grin, before he whirled and skipped back to his pretend cave. He stuck his head out from under the bed to add, “You’re real pretty.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  The child’s innocent praise made her doubly aware of the sorry state of her damp hair and clothing. She had no doubt Thorne Blackwell had been unimpressed by her so-called beauty when she’d raced out into the downpour to fetch him. On the contrary, some of the soggy chickens penned on the cargo deck probably looked far more presentable than she did at the moment.

  That comparison made her chuckle to herself. There was a time, long ago, when her appearance had been all she’d thought about. Her hair had to be curled and arranged just so, her dresses had to be spotless and crisply ironed, and the lace hems on her petticoats had to be as white as a summer cloud. Until her trip across the plains with her older sister, she had never gone out in th
e sun without a hat or a bonnet, either, yet by the time she had reached California she was sporting the freckles that still dusted her nose and rosy cheeks.

  It no longer mattered to her whether or not her complexion was flawless or her hair a silky gold. As long as she was clean and did the best she could with what she had, she didn’t obsess about her looks.

  The state of disorder she was currently displaying was another matter, however. She owed it to her employer, and to his family, to make herself as presentable as possible.

  She sighed. It was difficult to tell the time without a watch but she felt as if dawn must surely be approaching. Assuming that to be so, she would don dry clothing and do what she could with her own hair before trying to rouse Naomi and helping her do the same.

  In the back of Charity’s mind was the niggling doubt that she was not polishing her public image totally because of her job. Like it or not, she wanted to look more than respectable.

  She wanted to look pretty.

  For Thorne Blackwell.

  There were plenty of men still milling around in the saloon by the time Thorne joined them. He immediately noted that Cyrus Satterfield was present. So was the boat’s captain and some of the crew.

  Ignoring the inquiring looks of others, Thorne went straight to the captain. “I’m glad I caught you, Captain Nash. I was on my way to the pilothouse to ask if any of your men was missing a slicker. I just found this one lying on the deck.” He held up the shiny coat and watched water drip off it. “Can you tell whose it is?”

  Nash shook his head. “Standard issue, I’m afraid, sir. Why?”

  “Because my nephew says the man who took his mother was wearing one like it. I thought he’d still have it on but apparently he shed it outside.”

  “I’m sure none of my men was responsible. They’re all totally trustworthy.”

  “I’m sure they are. Would you mind asking if any of them are missing this coat?”

  “I could ask,” the captain said, “but I’m not going to. Your party has been reunited and all is well. I don’t want my crew all riled up for nothing.”

  “For nothing?” Thorne didn’t try to hide his displeasure. He shook the coat for emphasis and more drops scattered. “I hardly consider this nothing.”

  “Nevertheless…” Turning, the captain walked away and left the saloon, ending the discussion.

  Thorne held up the coat again and queried the crowd. “Do any of you know anything about this? There’ll be a reward for information on who was wearing this slicker tonight.”

  To Thorne’s disgust and dismay, the only man who paid attention to his offer was Cyrus Satterfield.

  Edging his way along the bar, Satterfield raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I guess they’re not that interested in earning a reward,” he said. “I, however, might be. What sum did you have in mind?”

  Thorne was hesitant to name a figure so he hedged. “Are you saying you know something about this?”

  “No. But I’m willing to ask around and see what I can come up with if you’ll make it worth my while.”

  “Forget it,” Thorne told him. “I can do that myself.”

  “Have it your way. Well, I guess I’ll be getting back to my cabin since all the excitement is over.”

  That simple declaration raised the hackles on the back of Thorne’s neck. He scowled. “Hold on. How did you get a cabin? I booked passage before you did and I was only able to reserve one.”

  “Perhaps I’m luckier than you are,” the heavyset man said with a snide expression and a wave. “Good night.”

  Watching him leave the saloon, Thorne remained puzzled. He supposed he could query the captain about Satterfield’s cabin. If he disclosed his own background at sea and encouraged camaraderie, he might get better cooperation. Unfortunately, since he didn’t want to reveal his true identity, even to Captain Nash, that wasn’t feasible. Nor was it wise.

  Given his working knowledge of shipboard politics and loyalties, Thorne knew who else to ask. There wasn’t a ship’s cook on the high seas who didn’t know everything that went on belowdecks. Hopefully, the same would be true on the smaller packet boat.

  Thorne toted the slicker with him as he headed for the galley. As expected, he found members of the crew already hard at work preparing upcoming meals. The overheated room was heavy with the pleasant aroma of cooking and the less appealing odor of the provisions that had been spilled and wasted during the storm and were now being trod underfoot through the wooden grating. If he had been captain of the Grand Republic he’d have insisted the galley crew clean the place before doing anything else.

  He’d met the chief cook for the first time when he’d picked up the evening meal for Charity and Jacob so he made straight for him.

  “Food’s not ready yet,” the cook said, wiping his brow with his soiled muslin apron. “Be another hour, at least.”

  “I wasn’t looking for something to eat,” Thorne said. “You have lists of all the passengers in the cabins and what meals they’ve requested, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. You wanna make a change?”

  “No, no. I was just wondering if I could take a peek at the list and make sure it’s right.” He forced a grin. “Wouldn’t want the little woman to miss her tea or something and fuss at me for it.”

  “Long as she don’t fuss at me,” the cook said with a huff. He pointed. “Book’s over there in that drawer. Have a look-see. Just make it snappy and be sure you put it back like it was when you’re through.”

  “Certainly.”

  Thorne draped the slicker over his shoulders as if it were his and retrieved the ledger. Large lamps swung from the rafters, just as they had on his ship. He braced his feet on the still-pitching deck and oriented himself to the light to read.

  He scanned the list twice. Nowhere did it mention anyone named Cyrus Satterfield occupying a cabin. Either the man was lying about his accommodations or he’d been lying about his name. Or both.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Grand Republic had hoisted anchor and headed back out to sea that morning as the weather had cleared and the sun had begun to peek over the hills to the east.

  Although the paddle wheeler had continued to skirt the coast as before, she’d occasionally had to pull farther from shore for safety’s sake, or so Thorne had explained.

  Charity didn’t care what the boat did as long as it continued to steam steadily northward. She knew they’d make stops along the way to pick up and deliver more mail and freight but she didn’t want to delay any longer than was absolutely necessary.

  Now that Naomi had recovered from her seasickness during the storm and was acting healthier, the poor woman had resumed her previous state of befuddlement, much to Charity’s dismay.

  Jacob had gotten to the point where he seldom tried to converse with his mother, preferring to bring his needs and interests to Charity’s attention, instead. She understood why. She just wished he could relate better to his own mama.

  Keeping the restless, curious child occupied was far more difficult aboard the steamer than it had been on land. Finally, in desperation, Charity had insisted they take regular turns around the passenger deck as a group, weather permitting.

  To her surprise and delight, Thorne had chosen to join them. It was a true relief to have an extra pair of eyes watching the rambunctious little boy. Jacob seldom met a stranger and he got into more than his share of mischief. He also delighted in finding older adults to talk to and had to be reined in quite often. It seemed as if he never tired, never slowed down except to sleep.

  The farther north the Grand Republic took them, the more rainy and cloudy the weather became. Because Charity was used to the moderate temperatures in San Francisco, this part of the country chilled her to the bone. If she had not had the exuberant child and her other chores to occupy her mind, she feared the dank weather would have seriously dampened her spirits, as well.

  Sitting on deck with Naomi and watching Thorne and Jacob play tag like two childre
n, Charity couldn’t help smiling. In her mind’s eye she could see that Thorne would make a fine father some day. He was firm but patient, never too busy to explain anything the little boy asked about.

  When Jacob dashed up to her, grabbed her hand and tried to tug her to the railing, she laughed. “What’s so important, dear?”

  “The big river! Come look. We’re almost there!”

  Charity stood, wrapped the too-large overcoat more tightly around her and urged Naomi to come along. “It must be the mouth of the Columbia,” she told the other woman. “That means our journey at sea is nearly over. Aren’t you excited? Let’s go see.”

  Although Naomi rose, Charity could tell she wasn’t totally comprehending. What a pity. All Charity could hope for at this point was that the presence of Naomi’s mother and father would help restore her to the whole person she had been before Aaron’s abduction.

  Charity sighed. Even if Naomi didn’t recover, at least dear little Jacob would be with grandparents who would love him. If she had thought otherwise, she would have wept for him constantly.

  Taking a place beside Thorne at the starboard railing, Charity smiled. He had scooped up the child and was pointing to a broad expanse of water in the distance.

  “Over there,” Thorne said. “See how the color is different? That’s where the fresh water and saltwater come together.”

  Charity shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare. “It’s so wide. I never would have imagined anything so large being a river. It looks more like an extension of the ocean.”

  “Parts of it are saltwater, depending on the tide,” he said. “Larger ships have to wait for high tides to sail across the bar or they may go aground on the shifting sand. It can be treacherous.”

  “Once they get across are they safe?”

  “Yes, except for the storms that arise so often up here.”

  “I can see that sailing is a terribly dangerous occupation,” Charity said with concern. “I shall worry about you from now on.”