Wilderness Courtship Page 17

  She gently touched her wounded forehead. The place where the bullet had broken the skin was still tender but the surrounding skin felt cool, probably thanks in part to the pine bark Leschi had shown her how to steep and apply, as well as drink. That medicine was gone now, as was everything she owned, including her comb and brush, which meant that there wasn’t a thing she could do to make herself more presentable.

  If she hadn’t been so glad to be alive, she might have fussed more. As it was, she knew there were far more important concerns to address, Naomi among them.

  Thorne looked so peaceful, so dear, she yearned to let him sleep. Perhaps, if she eased open the door, she could make a silent trip to the facility out back and return without disturbing him. Since there didn’t seem to be any other choice, she felt justified in doing so.

  Charity didn’t notice the tin cups balanced above the door until they clattered together.

  Thorne was instantly awake. He jumped up, bracing for attack. When he saw who was standing at the door, he heaved a noisy sigh. “Oh, thank the Lord. How are you this morning?”

  “Much better.” She knew her smile was sheepish but she didn’t care. She was so glad to hear his voice and look into his eyes she wouldn’t have cared if he’d been yelling at her. “I was pretty sick, wasn’t I?”

  He nodded, his expression grave. “Yes.”

  “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

  “I’m just glad my efforts were successful.” Raking his hair back with his fingers he glanced at the floor where the boy slept. “Jacob’s okay, too?”

  “He seems fine. I’m sure my feverishness was due to the injury, not illness. I’ve never been shot before.”

  “And hopefully never will be again,” Thorne said. “We should take whatever we think we’ll need for the rest of our journey and get started as soon as possible, if you think you’re up to it.”

  “I seem to be all right. I’m a little weak but not terribly dizzy the way I was.” Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she withdrew a handful of crumbs. “I was going to offer you and Jacob some hardtack but I seem to have crushed it.”

  “You’re the one who should eat it. You need to build up your strength.”

  Charity began to grin at him. “Are you being solicitous or is that your way of politely saying you don’t want to share my crumbs?”

  Laughing, he mirrored her broad smile. “I’m glad to see your sense of humor hasn’t suffered. Don’t throw that mess away till we get other food somewhere. We may end up eating it as a last resort.”

  Although she made a face she stuck her hand back into her pocket just the same. “All right. If you insist. I suppose it might not be too hard to take if we made it into a gruel. Where did you get all this fresh water?”

  “The Lord sent it,” Thorne said. “Right through the roof.”

  “I must have missed that.”

  “Undoubtedly. You were out of your head for hours.”

  Seeing affection and lingering concern in his eyes she wondered if she had babbled anything revealing during her delirium. She certainly hoped not. It was embarrassing enough to know that he—and Jacob, of course—had cared for her while she lay senseless.

  If she had not trusted Thorne implicitly, she might have worried that he had taken advantage of her helplessness the way Ramsey Tucker once had. But that was not even a mild concern. She knew Thorne would never hurt her, never abuse her in any way.

  That startling realization was so firm, so clear, her jaw dropped. She stared at him. The fear of being touched, at least by the man who was looking back at her so lovingly, was totally gone. What a wonderment!

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, starting to scowl.

  “Oh, mercy yes.” Charity beamed. “I’m fine. Never better.”

  “Good.” His eyes narrowed further. “I think.”

  “In time I will share my private thoughts with you but for now I agree that we’d best get a move on.” She looked away and blushed slightly. “If you will kindly watch for hostile Indians, I would like to use the facility.”

  “Of course.” Thorne picked up one of the rifles, opened the door a crack to check the yard, then threw it open as he said, “All clear. Follow me and stay close. I don’t want you going into that outhouse until I make sure it’s good and empty.”

  Charity knew better than to argue. She would have preferred to take care of necessities without causing such a fuss but she knew Thorne was right to be cautious, especially in light of the Indian attack the day before.

  Without hesitation she followed him into the sunlit glade. Wildflowers, nourished by the rain, were blooming in clusters of blue and yellow at her feet while birds soared in the cloudless sky or busily built nests in the nearby trees. It seemed impossible that there could be danger lurking in such a beautiful place but she knew it was not only possible, it was probable.

  She had no sooner left the cramped facility and rejoined Thorne in the yard than she saw an Indian step boldly into the clearing. Her breath caught. Her heart raced.

  The instant the man raised his hand in greeting she recognized Leschi. Behind him, one of his men was leading the runaway horses. Looking slightly soggy and every bit as confused as ever, Naomi was once again seated atop the black-and-white mare.

  Charity was confused, too. She’d trusted the Nisquallies, as had Thorne. Was it possible that they had been the ones who had fired on the cabin?

  No, she countered. If they had been the attackers, Leschi and his men would be long gone, not smiling and returning their horses and property.

  Tears of gratitude filled her eyes and prayers of thankfulness filled her heart.

  She stood back as Thorne cautiously approached the Indian. She could hear the men talking but couldn’t make out every word. When Thorne lowered his rifle and offered to shake Leschi’s hand, her fears were allayed.

  God had more than answered her prayers for their deliverance, she mused, elated. He had not only given them water when they were in dire need, He had provided native guides again to lead them the rest of the way through the wilderness. Their troubles were over.

  Olympia wasn’t a surprise to Thorne because he had sailed close to that portion of the territories often while navigating Puget Sound. Charity, on the other hand, was clearly impressed. He had to smile at her enthusiasm.

  “Look! Real hotels, just like in San Francisco,” she said, beaming. “And see that sign? It even has a newspaper, the Columbian. We must try to get one and see what’s been happening while we were traveling.”

  Thorne laughed. “I doubt the news will be as fresh as we were privy to in San Francisco. It would have either come by the same route we did or been sent overland, probably from New York. Either way, it’s a long trip, even with the new railroad lines that run partway.”

  “I suppose you’re right. How many people do you think live here?”

  “One or two hundred, I imagine. Judging by the piles of spars, shingles and squared timbers stacked down by the docks, the lumber mills are going strong. There are undoubtedly a lot of folks living outside the city, too.”

  “Can we stay the night at one of the hotels?” Charity asked. “Our little man is badly in need of a bath. And so am I, I fear.”

  “You could have gone for a dip in any of the creeks we passed along the trail,” Thorne teased.

  “Brrr. You may be that hardy but the rest of us are not, I assure you. Besides, the sooner we reach Naomi’s parents the happier I will be.”

  “Amen to that,” Thorne said seriously. “Leschi is going across to the west side of the bay to stay with relatives tonight. He said he’d call for us at the Sylvester Hotel at dawn. That’s the big log building at the corner of Main and Second.” He pointed. “Right over there.”

  Leading the way, Thorne rode ahead, trusting Charity to herd Naomi in the right direction. He knew she’d been terribly distressed to have lost track of his sister-in-law, because ever since they’d gotten Naomi back, Cha
rity had hardly taken her eyes off her.

  “I’ll see about rooms and stabling for the horses,” Thorne said. He took special pains to smile as he added, “Can you handle Jacob and Naomi?”

  “Jacob, yes,” Charity said. “As for Naomi, I will give it my best.”

  “As you always have, even when you were so ill you could hardly stand. I want you to know I don’t blame you for her foibles. She is what she is. All any of us can do is our best.”

  Tarrying, Thorne decided to help Charity down after he had dismounted. He held up his arms, took Jacob from her and stood him on a low stump that protruded from the edge of the street in front of the hotel. Then he returned for Charity.

  “I can manage,” she protested.

  “I know you can. However, there is no way you can preserve your modesty if you err in the middle of this bustling settlement so you may as well give in and accept my assistance.”

  It was all he could do to keep from laughing at her expression of consternation. She knew he was right but she was still acting stubborn.

  “Of course, if you want to try getting down by yourself, I can always stand back and watch,” he added.

  “I would rather you be close enough to cover my inelegance if I do show a bit of what’s left of my poor petticoats,” she replied, blushing. “I trust you will be enough of a gentleman to avoid staring.”

  “I shall be the soul of discretion,” he vowed, chuckling as she leaned toward him and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  She had already shed her heavy coat so he was able to grasp her thin waist. He lifted her easily, stepping back and sweeping her to the ground in one graceful swoop.

  An instant later, as he lowered her feet to the dirt, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. He never should have gotten that close to her again. She felt perfect in his arms, as light as a sunbeam and as beautiful as a butterfly. In contrast, he saw himself as clumsy and ill at ease. When he was this close to Charity Beal, he was no longer a shipping magnate or even an able seaman. He was an awkward boy longing for his first kiss from the woman of his dreams.

  Ignoring the fondness he imagined in her lovely blue eyes, he set her away and quickly turned his attentions to helping Naomi.

  From now on he would have to be even more diligent in regard to his actions, let alone his wayward thoughts. Charity was a lady of the highest order and deserved not only courtesy but honorable treatment. The more he grew to care for her, the more prudent he would have to be or he would surely alienate her.

  Judging by the loathing she had demonstrated whenever she’d mentioned her late husband, he would have to be oh, so cautious. If he once stepped over the line and frightened her by making undue advances, no matter how gentle his approach, she might never be able to forgive him. Never be open to becoming a wife again.

  When the right time came, when he was assured she would accept him, he would speak up and ask for her hand. Until then, he would keep his distance, for her sake and for the sake of their future happiness, even if the strain of biding his time was the hardest task he had ever undertaken—and he had little doubt that it would be.

  Chapter Seventeen

  True to his word, Leschi had appeared in the street outside the Sylvester Hotel at daybreak. Charity had already risen and seen to Jacob’s immediate needs, as well as helping Naomi dress, so they were all ready to leave when Thorne called for them.

  More time in the saddle did not particularly appeal to her but the weather was clear again and it felt good to soak up the sun’s warmth as they rode Northeast across the rolling prairie.

  By the time their mounted party reached the bluffs overlooking the place Leschi called Nisqually Flats, Charity understood why Naomi’s parents and their neighbors had settled there.

  The valley was a veritable Eden. Long, lush grasses waved like wheat in the cool breezes from the nearby ocean, and where there were cultivated patches of land she could see plots of healthy, farmed crops.

  Charity had been balancing Jacob in front of her on the wide tree of the saddle and pointing out squirrels, rabbits and other wildlife along the trail, much to his delight.

  When she reined in next to Thorne to gaze at the valley below, she was in awe. “It’s beautiful. Look at all that grass. If Papa’s old mule, Ben, were here, he’d think he’d died and gone to heaven.”

  “This place is like that to the Nisquallies,” Thorne observed as their Indian guides left them with a parting wave and proceeded down a separate trail toward their own homes, as planned.

  Thorne waited till Leschi and his tribesmen were a little farther away, then explained, “All they need or want comes right from the land. They tell me they harvest clams and oysters from the salt marshes, salmon from the rivers, wild berries and other fruits in summer, besides peas, potatoes and wheat from the tilled land.”

  “They’re farmers? I had no idea. When I saw the crops, I just assumed they belonged to the settlers.”

  “Some of them do. The Nisquallies have worked for the British and Americans for years now and they’ve learned how to raise their own crops, as well as gathering the natural bounty from the sound and the surrounding forest.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  She continued to sit there and drink in the view while Thorne scanned the trail behind them. Finally, he said, “I think we should be going.”

  “Why?” She tensed and looked behind her. “Did you see someone following us?”

  “No. It’s just a worrisome feeling I can’t seem to shake. If there were any hostile Indians in this vicinity, I’m sure Leschi would have sensed it.”

  “Would he have said anything?” she asked, almost ashamed to be entertaining such suspicions.

  “I think so,” Thorne said. “But I understand what you’re asking. I suppose it’s not wise to trust anyone too much. If I were in the Nisquallies’ moccasins I don’t know how hospitable I’d be to hundreds of newcomers.”

  “Surely, there’s enough bounty in this land for all.”

  “At the present time, yes,” Thorne said, “but I was speaking with some travelers at Sylvester’s last night, after you and the others had gone to bed. They tell me there’s talk of the United States’ government drawing up a treaty as early as this coming winter.”

  “What kind of treaty?”

  “It’s apparently going to demand that the Indians west of the Cascades give up their homes and leave. That includes the Nisqually, Puyallup and Steilacoom tribes from right around here. Even if the chiefs refuse to agree to the terms of the treaty, it’s a bad sign of trouble to come.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  “Yes. We can get Naomi and Jacob delivered to the missionaries, as planned, and catch the first available ship bound for San Francisco.”

  With that, he dug in his heels and urged his mount down the trail toward the American settlement.

  Following, yet keeping to the woods to avoid detection, Cyrus Satterfield reined in his horse, yawned and stretched.

  The lone Indian who had remained with him snorted in disgust. “They get away. They go to fort. You see?”

  “All I saw was that there were too many Nisquallies with them for us to chance another attempt. I’m not worried. I’ll get them eventually.”

  “How you know which woman?”

  “Simple. The one with the child has to be his mother. If I’m not sure when the time comes to take action, I’ll kill them both and be done with it. Probably will, anyway.”

  “When? How? You go to fort?”

  “I may, once I’ve scouted it out.” He laughed at his companion’s disconcerted expression. “I take it you’re not coming with me that far?”

  “No. Leschi go home, I go home.”

  “You never did tell me how you two are related.”

  “His mother Yakima. My father Yakima. Her brother.”

  “He knows you? Why didn’t you say so? No wonder you didn’t want to get close enough for him to see your face when we were
chasing the woman and those fractious horses through the woods.”

  “Leschi a fool. He tillicum to King George men and Boston men. Make much peace. Patkanim say make war.”

  “And the rest of your tribe agrees, no doubt.” He patted the leather pouch containing the roots the Indian had found and pounded into a pulp for him. “All right. I have the arrow poison and I’ve paid you every bit you’re going to get from me. I told you long ago I could handle this myself. Go on home. I don’t need you.”

  “You see Leschi, you no tell him,” the wiry Indian warned, “or poison arrow find your heart, too.”

  Cyrus was still chuckling derisively as he watched the other man wheel his horse and disappear into the dense forest.

  In Charity’s opinion, the mission complex looked more like a farm than it did a church. A surprised Mrs. White, who bore a striking, though graying, resemblance to Naomi, greeted her daughter with tears of joy. After brief introductions all around, she graciously ushered the entire party into her modest log home.

  When Naomi didn’t answer her mother’s simple queries, Mrs. White turned her attention to Charity and the child. “I can’t believe our Jacob has grown so big already. Naomi often wrote me about him.”

  “He is a big boy,” Charity said. “Heavy, too.” Reluctant to let him go, she nevertheless presented him to his grandmother. “This is your granny White, Jacob. Remember? I told you all about her.”

  The child hid his face next to Charity’s neck and continued to cling to her.

  His understanding grandmother backed off. “Give him time. You’ve doubtless had a difficult trip.” She nodded soberly toward her daughter. “What’s wrong with my Naomi? Do you know?”

  “I think so,” Charity said, speaking quietly aside. “She was fine until her husband disappeared.”

  “Aaron? Where? When?”

  While Charity remained in the parlor with Naomi and her mother to provide more details of their trials and tribulations, Thorne took Jacob outside into the yard.