Wilderness Courtship Read online

  She did the best she could to smooth over the situation by adding, “Forgive me for bothering you with my personal problems, sir. I’m weary and hungry and my head is throbbing.” Giving the landlord a demure smile she asked, “May we sit down and eat?”

  “Be my guest.”

  As they took their places on the narrow benches that bordered the longest sides of each table, Thorne leaned closer to whisper in her ear, “Thank you. I know that took considerable constraint.”

  “About all I could muster,” she told him aside. “I fear I may have lived amongst city dwellers for too long.”

  Thorne shook his head. “Things are no different back in San Francisco.”

  “Of course they are.”

  “Oh, really?” He held the bowl of potatoes and helped her dish some out for herself and Jacob before he asked, “Then tell me. How many Chinese were lodged at the Montgomery House Hotel?”

  Sleeping on the hard, wooden floor of the halfway house would not have been Charity’s first choice of accommodations but under the circumstances she wasn’t going to quibble.

  The night had grown chilly as soon as the sun had sunk behind the surrounding hills and her place next to the hearth not only warmed her achy bones, it also helped keep more bugs away. Outside, the sounds of a forest twilight kept a steady cadence of chirping insects and frogs and the occasional hoot of an owl.

  She curled her body around Jacob and cuddled him close so she could cover him with her heavy coat while he used her arm for a pillow.

  It was easy to relax because she knew Thorne was sitting up, watching over them all. His presence was more than a comfort. It was a true blessing.

  She wanted to thank him, to let him know how much she appreciated his evident concern over her injury and his efforts to care for her, but she didn’t know how to do so without making her praise sound too intimate. If she were to reveal her feelings for him, she was certain he would be either astounded, offended or amused. Perhaps all of those.

  In retrospect, she wondered if her initial decision to make this trip had been made for the wrong reasons. She had held Thorne Blackwell in high regard long before they had left San Francisco. And now? Now, her attachment to him was far stronger than simple friendship or admiration.

  She lay quietly and listened to some of the men talking softly in the background. It was easy to pick out the familiar rumble of Thorne’s voice, to know without peeking that he was vigilantly looking out for her. His concern was beyond any she had ever experienced and she wondered if he was that diligent and devoted to everyone.

  Beginning to drift off to sleep, Charity smiled. It was pleasant to think that Thorne’s allegiance was aimed toward her, as a person, rather than at the family as a whole.

  Family? Yes, she answered, sensing a newfound inner peace. Somehow, she had begun to see herself as a real member of Thorne’s immediate family and that view gave her great contentment.

  She heard the muted clomp of boots approaching and opened her eyes. Thorne towered above her.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” he said quietly.

  “I wasn’t asleep yet,” she answered, drinking in the sight of his dear face. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No. I just wanted to make sure you were feeling all right. No fever?”

  “I don’t think so.” Charity yearned for him to bend down and touch her forehead. Before she could reason away her inappropriate desires she blurted, “Maybe you’d better see for yourself.”

  Thorne hesitated only seconds, then crouched and laid his hand on her brow. She closed her eyes, relishing the caress of his callused hand. All too soon he withdrew and stood.

  “I think you’re cool enough.”

  No thanks to your lovely, warm hand, she thought, blushing. What was wrong with her? She had never, as long as she could remember, felt anything like the longing she felt for this man. Had she drifted so far away from church that she’d become immoral?

  No, Charity answered without hesitation. It wasn’t wrong to dream of the kind of marital bliss her sister had found, nor was it a sin to fall in love.

  That thought was enough to make her catch her breath. Was this what love felt like? Could she have been wrong to plan to lead a celibate life after she was widowed? Such a decision had seemed perfectly sensible at the time. Only now was it coming into question.

  Her eyes searched the depths of Thorne’s dark gaze. Was she imagining it simply because she wanted it to be so, or was there a new tenderness, a growing affinity in the way he was looking at her?

  She was afraid to ask, afraid he would deny such emotions. Instead, she smiled and said, “Thank you for looking after me.”

  “I—I would like to…”

  “Yes?” Her eyes widened. For the first time since she had known him, the commanding Mr. Blackwell seemed to be struggling to express himself.

  “Nothing,” he said flatly. “Go to sleep. We’ll be rising early tomorrow so we can reach Cowlitz landing in one more day.”

  “Sleep well,” she said tenderly, sweetly, willing him to know her innermost thoughts and sense her growing fondness for him.

  Although he merely nodded, then turned away, Charity was positive she saw telltale moisture glistening in his eyes. In her heart of hearts she took that as an indication that he was becoming aware of her affection. That was a good sign. A very good sign.

  She snaked her fingers out from under the heavy coat and gingerly touched her temple in secret as soon as Thorne had walked away. It smarted. A lot. And the skin beyond her hairline felt unusually warm. Speaking of signs, that one was not good.

  Tomorrow, she would privately ask Leschi to recommend other medicinal plants to help her heal. She was not going to succumb to this wound—or to any other. Not when she was beginning to suspect she had so much to live for.

  Their arrival the following evening at Cowlitz landing created quite a stir. It was only after the canoes had docked that Charity realized the furor was not because of her party, it was due to the presence of Leschi. Clearly, he was not only an important person among his people, he was revered.

  She watched myriad blanket-wrapped Nisqually men and women gather around him as he made his way to a clearing located amidst a collection of square log houses which stood apart from the rest of the town’s buildings. Every cabin in the group where Leschi had gone was exactly the same size and shape, leading her to conclude that this was the way the local Indians constructed their homes.

  That was a surprise. She had listened raptly to Faith’s vivid descriptions of the Arapaho and Cheyenne villages and their buffalo-hide-covered teepees so she had expected to see the same here. Obviously, the Nisqually stayed in one place long enough to build log houses.

  As soon as Thorne had helped her and the others disembark, Charity asked, “Is this Leschi’s home village?”

  “I don’t think so,” he answered, speaking quietly. “But they do seem to respect him here so he’s probably related. The Indians often intermarry to join their tribes in permanent alliances.”

  “Like the royal families of Europe?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it. Exactly like that.”

  Thorne had lifted Jacob into his arms and seemed to be waiting for something so she stood quietly beside him until she ran out of patience. “Why are we just standing here? Can’t we go into town and find a hotel?” She pointed. “I think I see several possibilities.”

  “You do. Our guides tell me a proprietor named Goodell offers excellent food and real beds. We’ll spend one night at his hotel before we head for Olympia. But first I want to buy horses from our Indian friends.”

  “Is this where I’ll be choosing the one Leschi promised me?”

  “I’m not sure. All I know is, one will not be nearly sufficient.” He glanced at her, then at Naomi. “I assume you can ride astride?”

  “Of course. Faith and I used to hop on Father’s favorite old mule, Ben, and trot him around the pasture all the time.” She felt a blush rising to
warm her already-flushed cheeks even more. “Of course, Mother didn’t know we were doing it or she’d have pitched a fit.”

  “I hope Naomi is equally nimble because I’m not sure where I’d find a proper sidesaddle for her in an outpost as remote as this one.”

  “I’ll be glad to teach her how to ride like a man,” Charity said with a shy smile and a giggle. “We may not be graceful or totally modest, considering our long skirts, but we’ll do. I promise.”

  “You are truly a marvel, Miss Beal,” he said, grinning at her.

  “In that case, I think you should begin calling me by my given name.”

  “That’s not proper.”

  “If we were seated in a drawing room in San Francisco and sipping tea out of china cups I might agree with you. Out here in this wilderness, such formality seems a bit stiff and unnecessary, don’t you think?”

  “Will you call me Thorne?” He arched an eyebrow and gazed at her quizzically.

  “If that is your wish.”

  He bowed slightly, clearly mindful of the child he was still holding. “It is, Miss Charity. And may I say it will please me greatly to hear my name on your lips.”

  That comment, along with his obvious good humor and the twinkle in his dark eyes, added even more color to her cheeks and she could feel the warmth spreading to her very soul.

  “Then it shall be my pleasure.” She hesitated, wondering how it would feel to actually speak his name aloud rather than merely think it. All she said in addition was, “Thorne,” but she knew her tone bespoke a fondness for him that was unmistakable.

  He sobered, nodded and whispered, “Charity.”

  The timbre of his voice gave her shivers and sent a tingle zinging along her spine. Never, in all her twenty years, had she heard anything that had thrilled and pleased her more.

  “Did you get a look at her?” Cyrus Satterfield asked his Snoqualmie cohort.

  “Ai. She is here. I see her with the man and the boy.”

  “A big man? Dressed in black?”

  “Ai.”

  “All right. That’s all I’ll need you for. I’ll finish this myself.”

  “No. I go with you.”

  Satterfield shook his head and gestured with his lit cigar. “You’ll do nothing of the kind. If you hadn’t shot at that canoe, they wouldn’t even know anybody was after them.”

  “You say kill pale woman. I do.”

  “No,” Satterfield countered with evident rancor. “You didn’t kill her. All you did was graze her with your musket ball or she wouldn’t be walking around town this very minute.”

  “I kill next time,” the brave insisted. “Put poison on ball like we do arrows.”

  That got Satterfield’s attention. “Poison? You have such a thing?”

  “Ai. Kill deer fast.”

  He noted the Snoqualmie brave’s taciturn expression and didn’t doubt that his own life would be in danger if he made an enemy of these Indians. “All right. You can stay with me. But only because I may need some of your poison and instruction on how to handle it. I don’t want to accidentally hurt myself.”

  Nodding, the Indian turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone outside the saloon.

  Satterfield muttered a few choice curses that referred to both the Snoqualmie’s rotten attitude and a questionable parentage, then shrugged off the unspoken threat he’d glimpsed in the brave’s eyes and entered the building. There was more money to be made before morning, before he would have to mount up and give chase once again.

  In the meantime, he intended to enjoy himself to the utmost, even if the only whiskey he could get was rotgut and the only woman he could find to warm his bed was from a local tribe. He would have preferred one of the willowy blondes Blackwell had with him, but the short, squat Indian squaws would have to do. If he could find one that had not had her head bound as a baby, so much the better. Those sloping foreheads and elongated heads might be the Indians’ idea of beauty but they turned his stomach.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The lodging he’d been able to obtain in Cowlitz landing was not as luxurious as Thorne would have liked for Charity and the others but it had sufficed. He had not been able to purchase everything they would need for the final leg of their journey, either, though he had been assured that one of the stores in Olympia would be able to furnish the rest of his gear.

  Thanks to the needs of the lumbering operations nearby and the brisk fur trade, Olympia had sprung up on the banks of the upper Cowlitz between the river and a snaking finger of Puget Sound. All manner of freighting was being carried on there, both by river and via the sound. To his surprise, there was even a newly founded mail service operating by horseback and canoe between the town and the mouth of the Columbia, far to the south.

  Thorne would have preferred to keep to the water as they had so far, but from here on it wasn’t practical. According to information from the men who ran the mercantile, Rev. and Mrs. White had built their mission farm on the part of the prairie called Nisqually Flats, near Fort Steilacoom. Therefore, the fastest, best access to them was on horseback.

  Leschi had wanted to tarry with his kinsmen at Cowlitz landing so Thorne and his party had proceeded without a guide. As they traveled in single file along the well-worn trail north toward Olympia and then Steilacoom, he kept a sharp eye out. He wished Leschi had seen fit to come along but he was thankful that the amiable Indian had at least explained the shortest, best route.

  In spite of occasionally having to wade through swampland as deep as the bellies of their horses, Thorne and his party were making good time. They had encountered a startling number of cabins and small farms along the trail, many of which were occupied by American settlers. If they had stopped to visit with everyone who had invited them in, it could have taken weeks to finish the day-long ride.

  Spotting a ramshackle, apparently abandoned dwelling just off the trail in a grove of trees, Thorne finally suggested they pause to rest and eat some of the food they had brought. If he had been making the journey alone, he would have pressed on but he could tell the women were tiring. Even Charity was starting to look unusually pale. Besides, the sky had darkened as if a storm were imminent and he didn’t want them to be caught in the open if it started to pour.

  “Oh, I’d love to get down,” Charity said with a sigh of relief. “Jacob has been napping for the last hour or so and my arms are so tired they’re tingling.”

  Thorne dismounted first, tied his horse’s reins and the ropes from the pack animals’ halters to nearby saplings, then laid his rifle and ammunition aside before he reached up to relieve her of the child. The weary boy barely stirred in his uncle’s arms.

  “Take him inside and see if you can find a good place for his nap,” Charity said. “I can manage myself and Naomi.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Perfectly. These horses are small but I would still rather you did not watch us climbing down. We may not be as modest as we wish to be.”

  “All right. Just remember what Leschi told us about Indian ponies and get off on the right-hand side instead of the left. I’ll only be a few steps away. As soon as I get Jacob settled I’ll come back and see to the horses so you won’t have to bother with them.”

  The land around the old cabin was overgrown and the place looked deserted. Nevertheless, Thorne knocked before entering.

  The door swung open with a squeak, revealing a broken latch, as well as rusty hinges. Stepping inside, he noted a tinge of green moss on the flat surfaces of the rough-sawn furniture. Only the sagging and frayed ropes remained on the bed frames. Chipped, stained dishes were stacked on shelves against one wall. Pots and pans sat empty atop a small, black, wood-burning stove. The place looked as if its former occupants had simply given up homesteading and had walked away, leaving most of their belongings behind.

  He shrugged out of his coat, spread it on the hard-packed dirt floor, then laid the sleepy child on it before starting back to assist the women and hurry them alon
g. The sooner he got everyone to their final destination, the sooner the knots of nervousness in his stomach would ease.

  Spotting another rifle standing in one corner of the single-room cabin, he delayed a moment longer to have a closer look at it.

  Charity was loath to admit she was feeling worse by the hour. Hoping she could continue to mask her feverishness, she sat astride the brown-and-white-spotted mare Leschi had given her and watched Thorne until he was out of sight in the cabin.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. To her dismay, her mare and the other horses seemed to be becoming unduly nervous. Since she wasn’t familiar with these small, compact, Indian ponies, she assumed it was their nature to be a bit high-strung and the impending storm probably didn’t help their temperament.

  She mustered her remaining resolve, ignored the throbbing of her head and started to dismount. Just as she swung her leg over the saddle, the horse sidestepped, almost causing her to fall. She kicked her right foot free, jumped and landed squarely on the mossy ground. The jarring of the landing made her already-pounding head feel as if it was about to explode.

  “Easy, girl,” she crooned, not letting go of the bridle for fear the mare would bolt. “Easy. It’s just me. I know you’re not used to all these petticoats flapping around but I can’t help that.”

  With the reins looped around her hand, she grasped Naomi’s horse’s bridle and forced a smile. “Time to get down, dear. Do you remember how I taught you to do it?”

  Naomi nodded but Charity could see that the woman was unsure.

  “Just swing your left leg over and…”

  Suddenly, a whooshing, snorting sound emanated from the forest behind them. It reminded her of the noise a startled deer made when it sensed danger.

  Both horses reared back and rolled their eyes, whickering and blowing through flared nostrils. Charity held fast and tried to dig in her heels, but to no avail. She was being dragged along by the wiry animals as if she were as weightless as a feather.