Wilderness Courtship Read online

  “I don’t doubt that. Papa never was much of a cook or housekeeper. His miner’s cabin at Beal’s Bar was pretty rustic.”

  Loath to shut the door all the way and bid him goodbye, she tarried a moment longer. When Thorne took a step back she assumed she was keeping him. “I don’t want to delay you. We’ll be down in a jiffy.”

  It pleased her to see that Thorne seemed as reluctant to depart as she was to have him leave.

  Finally, he asked, “Do you want me to wait out here until you’re ready?”

  “Mercy, no. By the time we dress and do our hair up properly you could be through eating breakfast.”

  Still, he hesitated. “I don’t know that I should leave you.”

  “We’ll be fine. This is a respectable hotel and one of our clerks is on duty all night. I warned him to be on the lookout for the man you caught bothering Jacob, so I know there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Thorne nodded. “All right. I’ll stop by the front desk and check with him about it just to be sure. In the meantime, you ladies make ready to travel. And be sure you have your heavy coats. It can get blustery on board those packet boats, even if they do stay closer to shore than my heavier freighters. You’ll doubtless need warm clothing the farther north we sail, too.”

  “Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m afraid I don’t have anything really heavy.”

  “Then bring Aaron’s overcoat for yourself,” Thorne said. “I was planning to leave his suits and things behind for your father, anyway. Emory won’t need that coat nearly as much as you will.”

  “All right. Perhaps I can take my sewing box and make the necessary alterations while we’re traveling.” She wasn’t pleased when Thorne laughed.

  “Do as you wish. Just remember, the less we have to transport, the easier the trip will be,” he said.

  “I know.” Pursing her lips and making a face she nevertheless had to admit he was being sensible. “All right. I’ll wear the coat as it is and roll up the sleeves if need be. Will that satisfy you?” Seeing his continuing amusement, she added, “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I apologize. I was just picturing you floundering around in that big coat.”

  “I never flounder. Besides, if your brother’s coat warms me when I would otherwise be freezing, I certainly won’t let pride keep me from wearing it. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  She eased the door closed and left him standing there in the hallway, grinning like a child with his hand in a penny candy jar at the mercantile. She had been honest when she’d insisted she wasn’t prideful. Now that she thought more about their upcoming situation she decided it was just as well she wouldn’t look very appealing while clad in Aaron’s oversize coat.

  The last thing she wanted was to make herself attractive to a man—any man—and her burgeoning feelings for Thorne Blackwell and his nephew would be far better denied than expressed.

  Yes, he already knew she cared deeply for the boy but that was simply a mother’s instincts. All women had those. It was her undeniable affinity for Jacob’s taciturn yet intriguing uncle that threatened to be her undoing.

  Charity pressed her back against the closed door, looked around and sighed. This was the last time she would see this cozy room for who knew how long, and the thought of leaving San Francisco and all that was familiar tugged at her heart. She knew that sacrifice was necessary. She also knew she was doing the right thing.

  Nevertheless, she wished she could change the current circumstances. The notion of making a journey into a wilderness that lay beyond her current experience was unsettling. The idea of doing so in the company of a forceful man like Thorne Blackwell was doubly so.

  Thick, damp, bone-chilling fog shrouded the city as Thorne led his little party toward the wharf where the Grand Republic awaited. He knew the crew would already have a head of steam built up in preparation for sailing and he was in a hurry to board.

  The docks were bustling with activity in spite of the dreariness of the early morning. Bulging cargo nets swung from overhead hoists mounted on the foredeck while dozens of men pushed heavily laden carts across rickety planks that spanned the short distance between the pier and the boat’s portside. Over the years, many a hapless man had missed his footing and plunged to his death from such planks. It was a hazardous profession but never lacked for willing workers.

  Thorne hired a man to follow with their luggage, then began to escort the adults in his party across the planks one at a time, beginning with Charity so he could safely pass Jacob into her care.

  “Take him and wait right here with our bags while I get Naomi,” he ordered.

  Charity smiled and gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

  He understood that she was merely trying to lighten his mood but he couldn’t bring himself to respond in kind. Maybe it was because of the foggy morning or maybe he was just unduly jumpy, but he couldn’t seem to banish the sense that they were being watched.

  His footsteps echoed hollowly on the springy plank as he returned to shore for his sister-in-law. She wasn’t where he had left her! For an instant he feared that she had wandered off again. Then, he spotted her about fifteen feet away, standing with her back to the Grand Republic.

  It wasn’t until Thorne drew closer that he realized she was in the company of the same portly man who had tried to take her for a walk near the hotel.

  He quickened his approach. “Hey, there. What do you think you’re doing?”

  The man doffed his hat to reveal thinning, reddish hair and smiled instead of retreating. “I was just telling this dear lady that I was certain you would be right back.” He took a step to the side as Thorne grasped Naomi’s arm. “I remembered how upset you were the last time we met so I refrained from allowing her to talk me into escorting her anywhere. I trust that suits your pleasure?”

  “Yes.” Thorne nodded, polite but wary. “Thank you.”

  Starting to guide Naomi away, he scowled at the other man. “What brings you to the docks so early? Did you find the passage you wanted?”

  “I certainly did,” the man said. He raised his lit cigar and blew a smoke ring that disappeared almost instantly in the pea soup air. “I’m sailing aboard this very boat. You?”

  “We’re on the Grand Republic, too.”

  “Excellent.” He extended his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. Cyrus Satterfield, recently of Philadelphia. I believe I had the pleasure of dining with you several times at the Montgomery House Hotel.”

  Although Thorne was hesitant, he responded out of habit and shook the other man’s hand. “Smith,” he said.

  “And you’re from…?”

  “I live at sea,” Thorne told him. “Excuse us.”

  “Of course, of course. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get better acquainted while on board.”

  Thorne had made up his mind long ago that he was going to keep his family from getting acquainted with any other travelers. Now that he knew Cyrus Satterfield was aboard, he was even more determined to sequester them. There was something about the man that bothered Thorne. He recalled that Charity hadn’t had the same misgivings, yet he couldn’t seem to banish his concern.

  Perhaps Satterfield was simply an unctuous fool. Then again, perhaps Thorne’s first impression had been the right one. He’d disliked the man from the moment he’d first laid eyes on him.

  Charity tried to distract herself, and Jacob, by showing him all the interesting cargo that was piled on the open, lower deck of the steamboat. There was extra wood for the boilers, sack goods such as grain and milled flour, barrels of pickles, crackers and hardtack, enormous bales of what looked like fodder for the sheep penned on the foredeck, a few cages filled with hens and all sorts of other miscellaneous freight.

  She smiled as Thorne and Naomi joined them. “Jacob likes these chickens. He wanted to know if he could have one as a pet.”

  “Maybe your grandma White has chickens where she lives,” Thorne replied. He gestured with his free
arm. “We should go on up to the passenger deck so we’re not in the way while the longshoremen finish loading and the crew prepares to cast off.”

  Charity, toting Jacob on one hip, led the way. “Oof,” she told the child, “you’re getting heavy now that you’re almost three years old. What a big boy you are.”

  “His birthday is in June,” Naomi said. Then she flushed and looked astonished. “Mercy me. How do you suppose I knew that?”

  Charity didn’t know what to say in response so she remained silent.

  “It’s the tenth, if I remember right,” Thorne volunteered. “We should be at his grandparents’ by then. We’ll have to have a birthday party.”

  “With cake,” the child added, clearly delighted. “I like chocolate. Mama always makes it for me.”

  It tore at Charity’s heart to see the little boy look at his mother so lovingly. It was evident he now expected her to begin talking to him the way she used to but the woman had resumed her blank stare. Whatever twist of fate had triggered her sudden recall, the occasion had apparently passed.

  “Well, if your grandmother doesn’t know how to bake the kind of cake you like, I do,” Charity said. “I’ll see that somebody makes you one for your birthday. Okay?”

  He nodded so hard his curls bobbed. “Okay!” Wrapping his arms around her neck he added a soft, tender, “I love you.”

  If she hadn’t been in such close proximity to the rest of the family she would have buried her face in his curls and allowed herself to weep.

  As it was, she simply gave him a hug, forced a smile and said, “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

  Thorne could tell that Charity was getting far too attached to the child for her own good. He knew exactly how that could happen. He’d done the same thing on their journey around the horn.

  At his young age, Jacob was open and loving to a fault. He had not yet realized the extent of the disappointments that life had dealt him, nor would he have to bear them alone, if Thorne had his way. He didn’t know how he was going to accomplish that, especially once they delivered Naomi and the boy to the missionaries, but he was certainly going to try. Above all, he was going to keep sending money for their support so they never became a financial liability to anyone.

  Louis Ashton had always complained loudly about the terrible burden Thorne’s presence had caused. One of the most violent outbursts had occurred shortly before Thorne had left home for good.

  “I can do as I please whether you like it or not,” Louis had shouted at his wife. “If I choose to beat the no-good boy within an inch of his life, it’s my right.”

  “You have no rights to him,” Pearl had sobbed as she’d clung to her husband’s sleeve to stay his hand. “No rights!”

  “I’m his father, remember? You should. It’s your fault I was saddled with raising him.”

  “He goes by my first husband’s name already. What more do you want?”

  Louis had laughed maniacally then. “What I want is illegal, my dear, or I would have put him in the ground when he was born.”

  Though the bruises had long ago healed, the memory of that last bout of physical and verbal abuse was still painful. If Thorne could protect Jacob from ever feeling unaccepted or unloved, for whatever reason, he would.

  When Thorne had first learned the truth about his own origins, he had blamed his mother for his troubles. Since Pearl had known she was carrying her late husband’s child, why had she kept that news from Louis until after they were married? It was little wonder Louis had been hurt and angry as a result. That much was understandable. The only thing Thorne could not forgive was the way the man had treated him as he was growing up in the Ashton mansion. He had no doubt, if it hadn’t been for Pearl’s intervention, Louis would have tossed him into the streets at the first opportunity and never thought of him again.

  In retrospect, incurring Louis’s hatred was actually better than enduring his so-called love, Thorne concluded soberly. The old man’s interference had probably caused Aaron’s death. Even if his brother was still alive, Louis had gotten what he’d wanted. Aaron’s little family had been split asunder.

  Thorne clenched his fists. If he ever laid eyes on his stepfather again, he was going to have to struggle to control his temper. He knew what the Good Book said; “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,” but he wasn’t the kind of man to stand back and expect a bolt of lightning to come from heaven and handily eliminate his enemies for him.

  If such a strike was to end Louis’s miserable life, perhaps it was meant to come from the hand of the man he had so often cursed and screamed at in hatred.

  Thorne gritted his teeth. Could he kill in cold blood? He strongly doubted it.

  Then again, he added with silent determination, if brutality was necessary to protect the lives of Jacob and Naomi—or Charity—he would not hesitate to act in their behalf. Of that he was positive.

  He gazed at Jacob through eyes of love. That boy could have been his son. If Naomi had not chosen to wed his brother, her firstborn would have been his child.

  Struck by the significance of that thought, he stared. His heart leaped. Why had he not seen it before? The darker hair, the deep brown eyes, the stockier body…the child looked a lot more like him than he did Aaron. Had it happened to his family again? Had the wrong man been called “Father”?

  He set his jaw, his anger building. If Naomi were in her normal state of mind, she would know. Even if she lied, he felt he’d be able to discern the truth from her words and expression. But now that she was as incapacitated as a babe herself, he might never find out.

  Did he really want to know? Oh, yes. If he could prove to all concerned that Jacob was not Aaron’s son, perhaps he could then convince Louis to leave the boy alone and let him and his mother escape.

  Was such a thing possible? Thorne’s remembered guilt was intense. He had not meant to sin. Even though he had not seen it as such at the time, he’d understood that what had happened was morally wrong. That was why he had begged Naomi to break off with Aaron and marry him, instead.

  She had stolen into his room late at night, after he and Aaron had been drinking heavily to celebrate Aaron’s recent betrothal, and had slipped under the covers beside him before he had realized she was even there.

  In the ensuing frenzy, Thorne had lost his self-control. He had rued the mistake almost immediately.

  “We—we can make it right,” Thorne had told her as she had started to leave his bed. “Marry me, Naomi. I can make you happy.”

  “On a smelly old boat? At sea? Not in a million years.” He remembered the scorn in her expression, in her tone. She’d swept her slim, silk-clad arm in an arc that encompassed the lavishly appointed bedroom suite. “I want all this, Thorne. A mansion, money, the prestige of becoming an Ashton of the New York Ashtons.”

  “Then why did you…?”

  “Because you’re a beautiful man and I fancied you,” she’d said with a half smile. “You’re going away tomorrow and I wanted to say a personal goodbye, one I’d never forget.”

  Thorne had arisen, gathered his things and left the house hours before the rest of the family had awakened. Aaron, however, had followed him to the dock and had insisted on an explanation of why Naomi was sobbing inconsolably and why he was leaving New York so abruptly.

  Although Thorne had not gone into detail about their assignation, he had confessed to asking Naomi for her hand in marriage. When Aaron had struck him in response, he had simply stood stoically and accepted the punishment, knowing he deserved much worse.

  Later, when he had nearly drowned at sea and had turned to God for salvation, he had repented and had believed his sin was forgiven.

  He still believed that. Now, however, it looked as if the consequences of that sin had come back to change his life even more than he’d dreamed. The question was, what was he going to do about it?

  Leaning his elbows on the railing of the upper deck, he clasped his hands and stared into the distance at the light
house that marked the deep water entrance to the bay. His thoughts spun and wandered like an oarless rowboat caught in a cyclone.

  If what he now imagined was true, he was partly responsible. Not only had his indiscretion possibly hindered his brother’s marital bliss, it might have created the very reason for Louis’s vendetta. Even if the old man did not suspect what Jacob’s origins might be, the boy’s looks may have reminded him too much of Thorne as a child and therefore predisposed him to feel hatred.

  “So, what do I do now, Father,” he prayed in a whisper. “What do I do?”

  The answer came immediately, not as a spoken word but as a firm assurance. His course was set. He would follow the plan that most benefited his brother’s family. Then, if Aaron returned, he’d be able to tell him he had acted honorably. This time.

  Chapter Eight

  Charity was enough aware of Thorne’s moods to realize that he was tormented by something. What could be bothering him, however, was a puzzlement. If anyone in their party had reason to act sad or upset about leaving San Francisco, it should be her.

  Bidding her father and his intended bride farewell at the hotel had been a heartrending experience. Softhearted Annabelle had gotten teary-eyed and even Emory had sniffled when Charity had hugged the two of them goodbye. Their wedding was only a few weeks off but she’d had to depart with Thorne’s party so she had promised to celebrate with them when she returned. If she returned.

  That recent memory caused her to recall equally reluctant goodbyes when she and her sister had packed all their worldly goods and had left Ohio by wagon train. In the ensuing four years, Charity felt as if she had lived a whole lifetime and was now wise far beyond her true age. Maybe she was. She’d certainly lived through more than enough danger and trauma to last her the remainder of her time on earth.

  And now? she asked herself. It was foolish to worry about the future when she had no control over it, but her active imagination kept suggesting scenarios right out of her worst nightmares. What if they became separated? What if Naomi wandered off and got lost? What if the man who had attempted to steal Jacob tried again—and succeeded?