A Bride for Noah (3 page)

At the corner of Chestnut she hesitated only a moment before turning toward her former home. The name was not the only thing in this area that had changed. As a girl she had played with a pack of children along this avenue, kicking a ball and chasing each other down the center of the street while their high-pitched laughter bounced off the houses. Now the night was filled with different sounds. Though the train track lay empty at the moment, trade establishments that had sprung up at its completion enjoyed a bustling business. Music and light spilled through the doors of several buildings. The pounding of iron on iron came from the new factory where James hoped to find employment soon. Black smoke, a shade darker than the sky, belched from long, narrow chimneys. Evie gathered her bonnet straps securely beneath her chin and hurried past the ugly building, the hem of her dress sweeping across the charred paving stones.

Her step slowed as she approached her childhood home. Though not a grand house like the Coffingers', her grandfather had built a sturdy, comfortable home for him and his wife to raise their two children in. Large columns stood sentry on the porch, and the heavy front door, scratched and scarred from early memory, stood between two wide, shuttered windows. Both Mama and Uncle Jeremy had been born in this house. And Mama had died here. Evie's gaze flew to a dark window on the upper level. Mama's room. After Grandmother's death of consumption, she and her parents had moved in with Grandfather. A kind old man he had been, though never strong
of constitution. After Mama's passing, Evie had cared for him until he too claimed his place in the grave a few months ago.

She clutched her handbag and shut her eyes against the faces of her loved ones. So much death.

“Evie! What in tarnation are you doing here?”

The shout from a familiar voice jerked her out of her reverie. She turned to see James, her fiancé, striding down the street, flanked by a pair of young men around his age. His expression spoke of his anger, eyebrows drawn together and hovering just above his narrowed eyes.

“I—I merely…” She wet her lips. James had cautioned her against coming here alone, especially after dark. “I wanted to see the house.”

“I've told you and told you, this street is not safe.” He grabbed her upper arm in a grip that, had she not been wearing a thick woolen coat, would no doubt have left a bruise. “There are men along this way who would do you harm.”

In one part of her mind she acknowledged the truth of his warning. Her gaze flickered behind him, past his two friends, to take in the activity on the street. Two men had spilled out of one of the ale houses and were rolling on the dusty ground, fists flying, while a handful of watchers cheered them on.

Anger erupted in the other part of her mind, fed by the iron grip James had on her arm. He had no right to treat her so. They were not married, not yet.

“But this is
my
house.” She stabbed a finger across the tracks. “My family home. If I want to walk past it…”

He gave her arm a shake that rattled her entire body and stirred her anger to greater heights. “Not two nights ago a woman was found not far from here, beaten and bloodied. Are you so ignorant to think you will escape the same fate?”

Had she seen an ounce of real concern in his face she might have softened. And had he not chosen that moment to glance over his shoulder at his two friends, who watched the exchange with matching smirks, she might have attributed his brusque manner to worry
on her behalf. But one of the men crossed his arms and ducked his head toward James as though to encourage him, and James straightened to a domineering height over her diminutive figure. He even swaggered, so much as he could standing still.

Why, he is not concerned for me. He is merely putting on a show for his workmates. Showing them how he handles an errant woman.

She wrenched her arm free of his grip. “Are you saying you think me ignorant?” It was one of the insults Mrs. Coffinger had flung at her husband during their most unpleasant disagreement not an hour past.

James returned his attention to her. “Foolish is as foolish does. Besides, you know it is not your house any longer.”

She jerked as though slapped. That his words were true made no difference. Her gaze flickered sideways to the family home she loved. The one her uncle had taken from her. Her shoulders drooped.

He took her arm again, though not so roughly this time. “Come on. I'll see you safely home.” To his chums he said, “Sorry, boys. You go along without me. I'll join you for that drink after I run this little errand. Duty before pleasure, you know.”

Duty? The word was a cold slap in the face. Was that what she represented to James? A duty? As the men waved a cheery farewell and headed toward the closest ale house, she walked stiffly beside her fiancé, her thoughts churning.

“I am not a child.” She cast him a sideways glance. “I resent being treated like one.”

“I'll treat you the way you deserve.” Now that he was no longer posturing for his chums, he spoke in a softer tone. “It is my responsibility to protect you from the consequences of your own foolish actions. Acting in ignorance could get you seriously hurt, or even killed.”

That word again. “There were people all up and down the street. It's not as though I wandered down a dark alley alone.” Evie's gait
became more of a march as she placed each step with more force than strictly required. “And is that all I am to you, a responsibility?” She glared sideways. “A duty?”

His eyes rolled upward. “Lately it seems you are determined to be a headache as well.”

Her spine stiff as a railroad tie, she planted her feet on the paving stones, forcing him to halt as well. “A headache?”

His jaws bulged as he ground his teeth and he gave an irritated sniff. “When you act unreasonably, as you are now, yes.”

The sound of that sniff shot through her ears to her irritated nerves like a savage's arrow. At that moment a trio of men pushed between them, their steps unsteady. Evie took the opportunity to draw in a few deep breaths. That's why Mrs. Coffinger's arrogant sniffles had grated upon her so. She'd not been aware of it before now, but James had the same annoying habit.

I am not angry with James. The Coffingers' argument has upset me is all.

And yet…was there a basis for her irritation? Of late she had felt James's treatment of her was less caring than earlier in their relationship. He was short with her more often than not, and avoided answering her questions concerning the date of their upcoming marriage.

She tilted her head and looked him in the eye. “Tell me, James, why you asked for my hand in marriage.”

The abrupt change of subject seemed to startle him. His eyebrows arched. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said slowly, “what reason do you have for wanting me to be your wife? I have nothing besides the hope chest my mother put together for me. No fortune.” She swung a hand back toward her grandfather's house. “No property. So why do you want to marry me?”

“Well…” His gaze searched the darkened sky. “I've no fortune
myself, you know. Not yet, though I hope one day to be a man of”—his gaze slid behind her head, toward the house that was no longer hers—“of property. We will have to work for it now, is all.”

Suspicion niggled its way into Evie's thoughts. James had been quite upset when her uncle came unexpectedly from Boston to claim the family home after Mama's death. Evie herself had been sunk in a fog of grief and shock, especially when her uncle insisted that she find other living arrangements. James had been outraged, she assumed because of his concern for her. Perhaps another reason lay beneath his disappointment.

Did he want to marry me under the expectation that I would inherit Grandfather's house?

“And besides.” James reached toward her, his hand sliding down her arm to take her hand. “I'm quite fond of you, you know.”

Not exactly a profession of undying love from the lips of her intended.

“Fond of me,” she repeated dully.

“Of course. You're attractive enough, and you're a fair hand at cooking when you put your mind to it.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and resumed their walk. “Besides, your job as a housemaid brings a decent wage. I've intended to talk to you about an idea I have. Word is in a few years the railroad is going to build a new station over on Chestnut Street. Property there goes for a song.” He gave a low whistle. “So I thought if we wait a while before the wedding and put our money together, we can buy a place over there.”

Her mind went numb. “Wait to be married? But why?”

“Think about it, Evie. Your room at the boardinghouse doesn't cost much and neither does mine. When we're married we'll have to get a place for the two of us to live together, and we'll pay a lot more. Instead, we could spend our money buying property on Chestnut. When the railroad announces their plans for the station, prices will turn. We'll make a bundle. Then we can get married.” He patted her hand. “Shouldn't be more than a year or two. Three at the most.”

Her feet continued to move, though she was unaware of her surroundings. Three more years at the boardinghouse. Three more years of housework for Mrs. Coffinger, of listening to the woman berate her husband for his “ignorance.” And afterward countless years of being called a fool herself, of James “taking care” of her because of the depth of his “fondness.”

They arrived at the boardinghouse and James pulled her to a stop.

“There. Safely home. You go on inside and think about what I said. I'll come calling on Wednesday, like always.”

He bent to place a chaste kiss on her cheek and then turned without waiting for a response. The sound of his whistle followed after him as, hands in pockets, he sauntered back in the direction they'd come to join his friends at the ale house.

Think about what I said.

Evie watched his retreat until he rounded the corner. Oh, she'd think about what he said, all right. She'd think long and hard.

About that, and a few other things as well.

Two

Elliott Bay, Oregon Territory

H
ughes! Got a minute?”

At Arthur's call, Noah glanced up from trimming branches from a felled tree in preparation to bucking it. The air rang with the chopping of blades and the deep voices of the men calling instructions to each other. At the edge of the clearing, Arthur raised an arm and gestured for him to come. Noah set his ax down on the log and hopped across it. Beside Arthur stood the unmistakable figure of the chief of the Duwamish along with a handful of his tribal clansmen, all of them watching the work of the lumberjacks with the keen interest they displayed in everything the white settlers did. Their village was located several miles from this new settlement, close enough that from some places on the land to which Noah had laid claim he could hear the distant beat of their drums.

Noah nodded a greeting to Chief Seattle as he approached. The man commanded respect, though there was nothing physically impressive about him. He stood at average height, several inches shorter than Noah, and his build leaned toward slender. Even so, he held himself with an ease born of confidence in his position as the chief of nearly four thousand men, women, and children. He
watched Noah's approach through intense black eyes set in a broad face.

Arthur welcomed Noah with obvious relief. “Could you talk to Chief Seattle for me? David's working over at the skids so he's not available.”

David had made a concerted effort to learn the language of the Duwamish. Though nowhere near as proficient as David, Noah had picked up a few words from the almost constant Indian visitors to their camp.

“I'll try,” he told Arthur. “What do you want to say?”

“It's Mary and Louisa. They're all worked up because a pair of braves have been hanging around the cabin, staring at them and the children.”

Noah wrinkled his brow. “Just staring? They haven't tried to hurt them?”

“No,” Arthur was quick to say. “No, they just watch, like they do here. But yesterday the women left the cabin door open to get some fresh air, and these two wandered inside. Apparently they walked around the cabin, touching the beds and the stove, inspecting the cookware, and they even rubbed little Margaret's curls.”

A smile threatened Noah's lips, but he worked hard to control it. Arthur and Mary's second daughter had a head full of wild red curls, no doubt fascinating for the Duwamish. He schooled concern into his expression. “I can see how that would be unsettling for them.”

“So if you can make the chief here understand they shouldn't do those things, perhaps he might speak with his people.”

Chief Seattle watched their exchange with his usual impassive expression. Noah wasn't sure how much English he understood, since the man refused to speak anything but his native tongue. David insisted the man possessed a keen intellect, so he probably understood the gist of Arthur's request already. At least, Noah hoped so. He knew enough Duwamish to barter salmon or hire a guide, but beyond that his vocabulary was limited.