Wilderness Courtship Page 12

  Speaking from the heart without censoring her thoughts, she realized belatedly that he was staring at her. She met his compelling gaze.

  “Will you? Truly?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course.”

  “I believe you mean that.”

  Totally absorbed in the tenderness of his expression, she was unable to make herself look away. She had to pause for several heartbeats to gather her wits before she said, “Of course I do.”

  “As I will also worry about you. This has been the easy part of our journey,” Thorne said soberly. “From now on it may be even more hazardous. I wish…”

  Charity could only imagine what he had been going to say. “What?” she asked. “What do you wish?”

  Her slim hand was resting on the railing. Thorne shifted Jacob to the opposite side, then placed his hand over Charity’s as he said, “I wish I had not urged you to come with us.”

  Startled, she stared. “Because you think me incompetent?”

  “No.” His brow furrowed, his dark gaze growing even more enthralling. “Because you have become so important to me, Miss Beal.”

  Before she could form a coherent reply he’d released her hand and stepped back.

  “Forgive me,” he said formally. “I had no right to speak to you that way. It was unseemly.”

  But lovely, she added to herself. So lovely. She would not encourage him by expressing that thought, of course. To do so would be unfair. She was never going to allow herself to remarry and accepting anything less was unthinkable.

  Still, she told herself, turning away to gaze at the entrance to the mighty Columbia River gorge, if she ever were to consider giving another man a special place in her heart, that man would have to be a lot like Thorne Blackwell.

  It had been easy to befriend him, she admitted. And to trust him as an ally. But there was far more to marriage than standing at the railing of a steamboat and having a pleasant conversation. It wasn’t the overt parts of a relationship she feared, it was the hidden parts, the intimacies she knew she could never again bear, no matter how tender her husband’s touch might be.

  The mere thought of being under a man’s control gave her the shivers and made her stomach turn. Four years ago, she had sworn she would never again allow herself to become anyone else’s possession. Anyone’s chattel. There was much in life which confused her but about that, she was adamant.

  “I’ll take Jacob back to your cabin. Will you see to Naomi?” Thorne asked.

  Charity nodded. She wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, because she was certain her anguish and abhorrence would show and he was not deserving of resentment. If anything, knowing him had given her a glimmer of hope that she might someday overcome the reservations which continued to govern her.

  Unshed tears gathered in her eyes and blurred the image of the wooded coastline. What kind of a Christian was she when it was her fondest wish that Ramsey Tucker was presently burning in Hades? God might have removed him from her life but He had not provided the strength to forgive. Without divine help, Charity knew she would always hate her late husband with a vengeance that made her literally ill.

  Did she want to forgive him? she asked herself. Or was she purposely dwelling on the sordid memories of him to reinforce her loathing and keep from having to go on with life in a normal manner?

  She scowled. For the first time in years she was starting to question her motives, her abject hatred. The conviction that that doubt brought with it was hard to accept.

  It was far easier to continue to hate, she realized, than it was to consider putting her sad past behind her. Assuming she actually wanted to, was it possible? Did she want to try? Surely not.

  Charity closed her eyes and thought of parts of the prayer her mother had taught her so long ago. “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” she whispered. That was the key, wasn’t it? And that was exactly what she was not doing.

  “But he hurt me so,” she murmured, her words lost on the sea wind, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks.

  Still standing next to her, Naomi reached out and gently patted Charity’s hand. The gesture was fleeting and without explanation, yet Charity felt as if it were a sign from God, as if He were saying to her, “Now you see. Now you can begin to heal.”

  The sensation of peace and tranquility was so unexpected Charity’s knees nearly buckled. She grabbed the railing and held on tightly. A peek at Naomi showed no change in her blank expression, yet apparently the Lord had used her to convey His support.

  Awed and ashamed, Charity stopped trying to contain her tears and let them flow freely. As they fell, she felt as if they were cleansing her all the way to her soul.

  She was sniffling, regaining control of her raw emotions and preparing to escort Naomi inside when the other woman turned, embraced her tenderly and began to pat her on the back the way a mother would comfort a distressed child.

  “Don’t be sad,” Naomi said. “God loves you. My mama says so.”

  If Charity could have found her voice to answer at that moment she would not have known what else to add.

  The enormous mouth of the Columbia was crowded with ships and boats of all sizes and shapes, including rustic dugout canoes, some large enough to transport dozens of blanket-wrapped Indians all at once.

  Charity had heard of Indian canoes, of course, but had never dreamed any were so large and imposing. To her surprise and relief, the canoe riders seemed more interested in selling or trading fish, fowl and baskets full of fresh oysters than in causing mayhem or injury. Their shouts for attention were mostly in an unfamiliar tongue but judging by the way they were gesturing and displaying their wares, Charity had no doubt of their aims.

  Beside her, Thorne pointed to the shoreline. “There’s Astoria. See it? We’ll change boats and proceed up the Columbia River to the Cowlitz before we start out overland.”

  “I understand your wish for haste,” she said, “but wouldn’t it be easier to continue on this steamer and take the coastal route all the way to Puget Sound?”

  “Easier, perhaps,” Thorne said soberly. “Not necessarily wise. We already know we have at least one enemy on board, maybe more. The sooner we thin the crowd and start to travel alone, the safer we’ll be.”

  “That is a valid point,” Charity said with a nod. “I was talking with one of the other women passengers, a Mrs. Yantis, whose husband owns a sawmill up in Olympia. She told me how much more tedious the journey by sea can be.”

  “You didn’t reveal anything about us or our plans, did you?”

  “Of course not.” Charity gave him her best scowl. “I had to physically drag Naomi away from the conversation because she kept wanting to tell the woman about her missionary parents, though. I assume that’s the kind of careless talk you were referring to?”

  “Among other things. Once we reach land we may as well resume the use of our real names.” A wry smile began to lift one corner of his mouth as he said, “I keep forgetting whether I’m supposed to be a Smith or a Jones, anyway.”

  Charity laughed lightly. “I know what you mean. I haven’t concealed my last name but it is hard to remember how to address you and the rest of your family.”

  She sobered. “I suppose we’re only fooling ourselves, since someone obviously already knows who you, Jacob and Naomi really are.”

  “Or they wouldn’t have tried to harm her? You’re right. Subterfuge seems pretty useless at this point.”

  “You know,” Charity said, pursing her lips and striking the pose of a thinker, “it seems to me that our trouble has followed us from San Francisco. Therefore, I have to also assume that whoever is causing the grief must have come from there, too.”

  “Only if you also assume that our nemesis followed me and Aaron’s family from New York harbor, and that’s impossible. The Gray Feather carried no other passengers and was already fully manned. I would have known immediately if there were strangers on board.”

  �
�Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Thorne nodded slowly, pensively, and drew his thumb and fingers along his jaw to the point of his chin as if smoothing a nonexistent beard. “There is no place on earth that Louis Ashton’s influence and wealth cannot reach to cause harm. No city or territory that’s too far or too remote. That’s the main reason I want to start overland as soon as it’s feasible.”

  “It seems odd that a seaman such as you would be so eager to start walking.”

  Thorne smiled at her. “I have no plans to walk. We’ll ride horses when we have to and employ small boats as much as possible, including hiring Indian canoes, if you and Naomi have no objections.”

  Her eyes widened and her hand went to her throat in a natural gesture of self-protection. “Oh, dear. Are you sure that’s safe?”

  “I won’t do it if I’m not assured so by local people. Captain Nash is convinced these Indians on the Columbia are friendly but I want more than one man’s word on it. I’ll go ashore in Astoria and see about immediate passage up the river as far as Rainier. From there we’ll follow the Cowlitz, as I said.”

  “What about provisions. If I need to start cooking I shall need proper equipment and foodstuffs.” She glanced at the Indian canoes, reluctant to buy from them when there was such a serious language barrier.

  “There’s supposed to be a good merchant at Rainier. We’ll either get what we need from him or from the store up the river at Cowlitz landing. Don’t worry. I told you I have this all planned out.”

  “So, I see.” She had to smile to herself at Thorne’s overconfident attitude. Although he was cautious and thoughtful to a fault, she knew that the slightest change of circumstance could upset his well-laid plans like a bushel of apples in the bed of a runaway wagon. She had been through enough trials, experienced enough surprises, good and bad, to know that man’s plans in the face of nature and providence were often laughable.

  They had already weathered storms at sea and had coped with Naomi’s continuing illness. Whatever was to come was unknown and might easily negate any sensible choices they made at present.

  Charity looked to Thorne, smiled and said, “I am in your hands, sir. Whatever you feel is best for us, I shall endeavor to accept with grace.”

  He laughed. “I’ll be holding you to that vow, Miss Beal. I sincerely hope you don’t come to regret it.”

  Returning his grin she said, “So, do I, Mr. Blackwell. So, do I.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Thorne found, to his relief, that the captains of the steamers plying the Columbia were a close-knit fraternity, prone to good-natured rivalry. Thus, he was able to procure passage for his party at a more than fair rate with immediate departure promised.

  In reality, the Multnomah, another side-wheeler, remained in port at Astoria hours longer than he had been told it would and Thorne was getting more and more testy.

  “This boat is bound for Portland but we’ll disembark long before then,” he told Charity and the others as he paced the small private space they had been assigned.

  “Good.” Charity eyed the pouting child seated on the floor. “Jacob is as restless as you are. I was hoping for a little time ashore. Are you sure we can’t do just a tiny bit of exploring?”

  “I’m afraid not. I was watching the dock area a few minutes ago and I saw Cyrus Satterfield climbing the hill toward Astoria. It’s a very small settlement. I see no reason to tempt fate by joining him. Now that he’s gone, our troubles may be over.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “No. Not at all. Satterfield is not continuing upriver with us so I see no more problems.”

  “Not from him, maybe,” Charity countered. “That’s assuming he was responsible for sneaking into our cabin, as you initially thought. We have no proof of his guilt one way or the other.”

  “Meaning, I may have been wrong? I doubt it. My skills for judging people are well-honed. Satterfield was up to no good. I’m certain of it.” He could tell by the dubious look on Charity’s face that she remained unconvinced.

  “I suspect you may have been a tiny bit jealous of his interest in Naomi,” she ventured with a wry smile.

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Although she looked away rather than rebut his declaration of innocence, Thorne remained bothered by her suggestion. Surely, that could not be the case. Yes, he cared what happened to his brother’s family but that was simply because he owed such an emotional debt to Aaron, alive or dead.

  Examining his innermost heart, Thorne found no trace of lingering affection for Naomi. On the contrary. He wasn’t deliberately placing blame for her presently unstable condition, but he did suspect that her own guilt over her prior maltreatment of her husband was at least partially responsible.

  What he wanted most to do was continue the present discussion with Charity and explain exactly how he felt about the other woman. Since all of them were together in the cramped cabin that would be impossible, of course.

  Further considering the constraint, he began to view it as advantageous. There were things—personal things—he was tempted to say to Charity that must remain unvoiced, at least until they had reached their destination in Washington Territory.

  After that, perhaps he would consider speaking of his serious intentions. It had been years since he had entertained such notions toward any woman and he knew he should proceed with caution, especially in Charity’s case. There had been times, when they had inadvertently touched, that he had glimpsed something akin to fear in her eyes and it had cut him to the quick.

  Above all, he would strive to make sure she trusted him fully and was assured he would never cause her harm or pain of any kind. The best way to do that, he reasoned, was by example. He didn’t know where his opportunities might lie but he was certain they would arise as they followed the trail north. And when they did, he would be ready to take advantage of them.

  He just hoped and prayed that Miss Charity Beal would be open to accepting his sincere efforts to win her confidence and then, perhaps, her heart.

  And if he failed? What then?

  Thorne gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders as he pictured having to bid her a final farewell. He didn’t even want to contemplate such an utterly intolerable event.

  Gazing at her as she played with Jacob, he realized that bidding either of them goodbye was going to tear his heart out.

  Cyrus Satterfield had walked slowly away from the dock to make sure his entrance into Astoria was plainly visible. He wasn’t going to try to follow Blackwell and his party too closely from here on out. He’d had his fill of encountering the taciturn seaman and trying to keep from laughing in his face. Besides, it wasn’t brawn that would win the day, it was brains.

  The first order of business was refilling his pockets with enough coin to buy his way through whatever snags he might encounter in the wilderness. Ashton had already supplied him with a generous stake and would have added to it in a heartbeat, he knew, if he’d had access to quick communication. As things stood, however, Cyrus figured he’d be lucky to keep up with his quarry even if he didn’t wait around for more traveling money to arrive.

  He sauntered into the first saloon he came to and bellied up to the bar. “Whiskey. And none of that rotgut you palm off on the Indians. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Purposely paying the bartender more than the drink was worth he gave him a conspiratorial smile and leaned closer to say, “I’m looking for a high-stakes game of chance. Any idea where I might find one?”

  The man cocked his head toward a doorway in the rear. It was covered by a dirty, tattered, gray blanket nailed to the top of the frame rather than having an actual wooden door.

  “In there?” Satterfield asked, incredulous.

  “If you’re up to it. They don’t take no guff off’n strangers. You’d best have the wherewithal to play or they’ll run you out of town. Or worse, if you get my drift.”

  “I fully understand,” Satterfiel
d said, picking up his drink and starting to turn away. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  “Don’t underestimate those fellas,” the bartender warned. “They take their game very serious.”

  “I take everything seriously,” the assassin replied with a snide smile. He paused. “Tell me, how much would it cost for you to get somebody to go down to the docks and delay the departure of a certain riverboat for an hour or two?”

  Charity had managed to keep her small charge busy by sitting on the floor with him and teaching him to tie knots in the fringe on a lap robe she’d found in their new quarters. He was becoming very accomplished at the knots and she was kept well-occupied untying them so he could try again and again.

  Thorne had gone out on deck long ago. She was beginning to wonder what had become of him when he reappeared to announce, “They’re casting off. Finally.”

  “Good. No more sign of that man you were worried about?”

  “No. None. Thank God.” As he spoke he looked heavenward and Charity knew his thanks were being properly delivered.

  “Then we can relax.” She could tell by the look on Thorne’s face that he didn’t agree so she asked, “Well, why not? Surely we’re safe on this little boat.”

  “From my stepfather’s perfidy, perhaps,” Thorne said. “But there are other dangers ahead.”

  “I thought you trusted God to look out for you. You once said you believed He knew our future. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No.” He offered his hand as she attempted to gracefully rise.

  Since the boat was now in motion, Charity accepted his assistance rather than chance tripping on her skirt or voluminous petticoats. There were times, like now, when she envied the ease of men’s movements, unhindered by all the cloth that fashionable women carried about on their persons. Her sister, Faith, still had the buckskin dress a Cheyenne woman had given her and was forever praising its comfort and simplicity.

  “Thank you,” Charity said, using both hands to smooth her skirt as soon as she got her balance. “How long do you expect this leg of our journey to take?”