The Claim (7 page)

“And what happened?”

Fat tears began to slip down his cheeks. He wiped at his eyes with a mangy scrap of fur.

“Oh, please, Mr. Hairy,” I beseeched him. “Don’t cry. Here, use my handkerchief,” I said, passing him my own white lace one.

He blew into it and wailed, “When I got there, there was another feller living in my house!”

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“Nothing I could do,” he said with a sad sigh. “You can’t make another person love you. Why, that would be like asking a pig to fly. A person’s gotta come to you on their own.”

I considered Jehu, and our long courtship, and thought of how far we had come. “I suppose you’re right.”

There was a long pause while we both considered his sad tale.

“Jane,” he said.

“What?”

“You know I’m pulling your leg, doncha?”

“What?” I exclaimed.

He guffawed. “Jane, you sure are a sweet girl and all, but you gotta wise up! How’m I gonna walk all the way to Richmond?
I’ve been in Astoria the whole time. Finally ran out of whiskey money.”

“Jehu told me not to believe you!” I said.

“Yep, you’ve got a good man all right. I’d hang on to him if’n I was you.” He yawned widely and heaved himself up, tugging his furry cape around his shoulders. “I reckon I better be moving on now. Thanks for lunch, Miss Jane.”

“Why don’t you stay here for a night or two?” I asked impulsively. Really, thief or not, this man had once saved Jehu’s life, and he had obviously been having a very hard time of it lately.

“I don’t have that kind of money, Miss Peck,” he said.

“You can stay in the storage room. It’s dry and we can fix up a bed for you. Maybe you can lend a hand around here in return.”

“Well that’s mighty kind of you, Miss Jane,” he said.

“Just don’t … 
borrow
anything,” I warned.

“You’ve got my word of honor,” Hairy Bill promised in a sincere voice. “I’m a reformed man.”

I had no sooner settled Hairy Bill than I heard someone ring the bell at the desk. A man was standing with his back turned to me, looking out the curtained parlor window.

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Jane,” said my former betrothed.

He looked much the same as when I had last seen him. If anything, he looked better, even more handsome.

“Happy to see me?” William drawled.

“Not particularly,” I said. “I already knew you were in town.”

“My, but you do keep track of my movements. Could it be that you still have some affection for me?”

“Not likely,” I snapped. “What do you want?”

“I should think that would be apparent enough,” he said. “I’d like a room.”

“A room? Here?”

“This is a hotel, is it not?” William scrutinized my blue dress. “I see you have persisted in spurning my advice.”

Green suits you, Jane. You should always wear green.

“I prefer blue,” I said. “So tell me, Dr. Baldt, what are you doing these days? Planning to round up the local Indians and put them on a reservation?”

“Actually, I’m here on a private matter,” he informed me in an important tone. “Business.”

I felt relief wash over me at the revelation that he was not here to endanger the Chinooks. Still, what was he up to?

“I understand you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Mr. Biddle,” I said. “How interesting. Did you lure him out here with lies as you did me?”

“Jane, Jane,” William said as if I were a tiresome child. “It was certainly fortuitous that we did not marry. You would not have made a suitable wife.”

“And where is your wife?” I shot back.

“I sent her back to her tribe.”

“That’s very romantic,” I said in a sarcastic voice.

“For your information,” he said coolly, “she was homesick. And what would you know about romance anyway?”

I felt a flush burn through me.

“I know quite a bit. In fact, I’ll have you know that I’m engaged to be married.” I immediately bit my lip. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that!

William looked stung even though
he’d
been the one to throw me over. He regained his equilibrium quickly.

“Is that a fact?” he asked. “To whom?”

I swallowed and blustered on. “Mr. Jehu Scudder.”

“Ah, yes. The sailor with the scar.” He contemplated this for a moment. “At least he’s a suitable husband for someone who’s turned out the way you have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Simply that your father would be disappointed in this turn of events.”

“My father would be proud of me! And besides, he never wanted me to marry you in the first place!”

“You’ve never learned not to contradict people who know better.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t be bothered. “I’ll come back when you’ve regained your composure.”

“Go jump in the bay!” I shouted.

I stared at his departing back, furious at myself for letting him bait me into saying that I was engaged to Jehu. But then again, I thought, why shouldn’t I? Jehu and I were going to spend the future together, weren’t we? Everyone assumed we were getting married, even Hairy Bill. Why, he was building me a house and digging me a privy, for heaven’s sakes! A man would not dig a privy for a woman he did not care for, I knew that much.

But a tiny thought nagged at me. Jehu had never actually
asked
me to marry him. Even horrible William had had the decency to offer me a proper proposal of marriage, and Keer-ukso and Red Charley proposed to me every other day.

Only Jehu, the man who held my heart, had never actually said the simple words I longed to hear, the ones I heard in my head even now.

Jane, will you be my wife?

I had spent the
better part of the next morning making certain that the hotel was in good order, and my duties seemed endless. I checked with Millie the schedule of rooms to be cleaned. I drew up an order for Star’s. I negotiated a payment plan with an oysterman. I managed to find a spare trouser button for one of our male guests, as well as a hat pin for Mrs. Biddle.

Now, as I stole a quiet moment in the kitchen after the rush and clatter of breakfast, the back door banged open. Jehu sauntered in and put a jar on the table.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Molasses.” He was looking pleased with himself.

“Why would I want a jar of molasses?” I burst out.

Jehu’s smile slipped. “So you can make pies, of course.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” I asked wildly. “Baking pies?”

Jehu looked behind him nervously. “I best be going. There’s a ship coming in that I need to help unload.”

And he was gone.

I stood there staring at the door as it banged against the frame like a portent of doom. The door to the kitchen bounced open and I started, expecting to see Jehu standing there.

It was Spaark carrying a basket.

“I just saw Jehu,” she said. “Going that way.”

I took a deep, calming breath. What had come over me?

She looked quizzically at the molasses on the table. “I thought you told me to buy molasses.”

“Jehu brought that.”

Her eyes were shiny with excitement.

“Why are you so happy?” I asked.

“Keer-ukso,” she said. “He said when the mill is up he will be a rich man, and then can trade with my father and I will be his wife!”

“Oh,” I said, feeling unaccountably sorry for myself. “That’s wonderful.”

She looked at me quizzically. “What’s wrong, Boston Jane? You like Keer-ukso, yes?”

I looked down, shamefaced. Who was I to ruin her happiness?

“Boston Jane,” she said, laying a gentle hand on my arm.

“It’s not that,” I said, swallowing hard. “It’s Jehu.”

“Jehu?”

I looked out the kitchen window. “I want to marry him.”

“But your father is dead. He doesn’t need money to trade with your father. You can get married tomorrow if you want. You are lucky!”

“That’s not it,” I said. “It’s not the Boston custom for the man
to trade with a father to get a wife. If anything, it’s the opposite. The woman brings a dowry and—” I stopped myself, shaking my head. “That’s not it at all.”

“What is it, then?”

“Jehu hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

Spaark looked perplexed. “Then why don’t you ask him to marry you?”

I shook my head. “That just isn’t how it’s done.”

She nodded as if considering this problem. Then her eyes brightened. “Maybe you can still do it the Chinook way. It does not have to be your father, it can be someone who is like a father. Like Mr. Swan! You have Jehu pay Mr. Swan!”

“He’d just gamble it away!”

Spaark giggled. “Or spend it on Red Charley’s whiskey!”

We both laughed.

“I see your problem,” she said finally. “You must trust your friends. And your friends tell you not to worry. Jehu will marry you, Boston Jane.”

As I looked into her kind eyes, I couldn’t help thinking:

But I still want him to
ask
me!

  In the end, I used the molasses Jehu had given me to make pies.

As usual we were to have a full house for supper. The evening’s menu included oyster soup, oyster tarts, fried oysters, and mashed potatoes, as well as my molasses pies cooling on the windowsill.

Oysters were a delicacy most places, but here on the bay they were a staple. We served them many different ways to keep them
interesting—stewed, fried, broiled, fricasseed, deviled, curried, steamed, au gratin, pickled, as fritters, in pies, in omelets, in tarts, in soup, and sometimes as a sauce. But by far the most popular method of eating oysters was raw in whiskey, although Mrs. Frink made the men go to the taverns for that.

I personally hated oysters. They resembled fat slugs.

Even though the Frink Hotel catered to all manner of men, I worried that the sight of Hairy Bill would ruin the appetites of more than one of our guests. Not to mention, he wasn’t supposed to be on the bay to begin with. So I made a point of delivering a tray to Hairy Bill’s room before supper.

“Don’t worry, Miss Jane,” Hairy Bill said, as he happily dug into the food. “I got everything I want right here. Don’t see no reason to leave.”

That was, of course, what I was starting to fear.

William, I knew, would be attending supper, and despite my good intentions to the contrary, I took great pains with my appearance, selecting my best dress—a dress made of lovely gold silk that I had sewn myself from a pattern I recalled seeing in Philadelphia. It set off my red hair and suited me perfectly. What was it about him that made me want to prove myself again and again? After all this time, why did I care about his opinion?

Once downstairs, I left Mrs. Frink to greet the arriving guests and poked my head into the kitchen to check on the meal. As usual everything was running smoothly thanks to Spaark and Millie.

“Where’s Willard?” I asked, glancing around the kitchen. Willard was supposed to help Millie with the serving and clearing.

Spaark rolled her eyes.

“Haven’t seen him since this morning,” Millie admitted. “He disappeared after I told him to scrub out the milk urn.”

“That boy is useless.” I slipped on my apron and grabbed a tray of biscuits. “Well, it appears that I shall be helping you this evening, Millie.”

The guests were already seated and conversation filled the room. All the tables were jammed elbow to elbow. At one end of the head table sat Mr. and Mrs. Frink, Mr. Swan, the Hosmers, and Father Joseph, and at the other end, where I was to sit, were Mr. and Mrs. Biddle, Sally, and William. William had taken the seat next to Mr. Biddle, and the two men were looking very chummy. It was so strange to see them all together—it was almost as if Philadelphia had been transplanted to Shoalwater Bay!

Sally caught my eye and gave me a knowing look. It was clear who had arranged the seating. She was wearing a beautiful evening gown of icy silver, no doubt another of the very latest styles from
Godey’s Lady’s Book
. I suddenly felt like a scullery maid in my simple silk dress.

Mrs. Biddle sat opposite me, wearing a grand frock made of heavy brocade satin and a rather annoyed expression, as if she still weren’t quite sure how she had found herself there.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Biddle,” I said.

Mrs. Biddle merely fixed a scornful eye on my apron. “Do ladies not dress for supper here?”

William leaned over to Mrs. Biddle and smiled. “I assure you, Mrs. Biddle, that there are many here who are endeavoring to bring civilization to these wild shores.”

Mrs. Biddle gave an approving little nod and said, “I should hope so. Mr. and Mrs. Frink assured me that this was a respectable establishment. I should hate to have to take our business elsewhere!”

Millie, who was serving the soup, met my eyes and we shared a little smirk. Where exactly did she plan to take her business? Mr. Russell’s cabin?

“Oyster soup again?” Mrs. Biddle asked in a disagreeable voice. “I had oysters for supper last night, as well as for lunch today!”

“Oysters are our specialty, Mrs. Biddle,” I explained. “You might even say that they are the blood of this town.”

“Speaking of this town, I have an announcement to make,” William said, brandishing an official-looking letter. “I bring word from the territorial government that there are to be local elections.”

“Elections? What a marvelous idea!” Mrs. Frink said. She looked fetching in her soft brown dress, with her lovely hair pulled back in a simple knot. “For what positions?”

“For constable and justice of the peace, as well as for a representative to the legislature,” William said.

“Why we need such legalities is quite beyond me. We are doing very well managing our own affairs,” Mr. Swan said a little huffily.

Mrs. Frink rolled her eyes at this.

“I think it’s a fine idea to have elections,” I said. “Actually, you’d make a wonderful justice of the peace, Mr. Swan.”

“Me?” Mr. Swan said, brightening. “Hadn’t thought of it myself, but why not?”

“You would be the perfect choice, Mr. Swan,” Mrs. Frink said graciously. “I don’t know how Mr. Frink and I would have been able to build the hotel without your guidance in local matters.” She turned to the table and confided, “He was invaluable.”