Boston Jane (10 page)

Paddling right toward the
Lady Luck
was a long canoe—full of savages!

The canoe was sleek as a bird, cutting through the water as
cleanly as a knife through pie. A stout white man sporting a shaggy white mustache and beard sat in the middle of the canoe and waved madly.

“Ho there!” the man called as the canoe pulled alongside the
Lady Luck
, bobbing in the waves. “Capital day, is it not?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the savages. Their complexions were coppery and they had broad noses. But strangest of all, the front of their foreheads appeared, well, flattened. They seemed to regard me with such ferocious expressions that I backed away from the rail.

“Your name, sir,” Father Joseph called down imperiously.

The white man’s face filled with mirth and he shouted back, “James G. Swan, at your service, Father!”

“And I am Father Joseph Lionnet, lately of Montreal.”

The jolly Mr. Swan turned his attention on me and beamed.

“And you, young lady, must be Miss Peck,” he declared.

I was astonished. How did this strange man know my name?

“I am, sir. How did you know?”

“Young William told me all about you and your lovely red hair. His description did not do you justice, I’m afraid,” Mr. Swan said with a jolly smile.

William! I thought with a rush of excitement. He had spoken of me!

“Welcome, Jane Peck,” Mr. Swan boomed, “to Shoalwater Bay.”

The canoe accompanied us to the shore, where the
Lady Luck
dropped anchor and a small rowboat was lowered.

I peered nervously over the side of the ship. The climb from
the deck to the rowboat waiting below was very high. Father Joseph, Captain Johnson, Jehu, and the other men going ashore were already in the rowboat, waiting for me.

“C’mon, lassie,” Captain Johnson barked. “We’re not waiting all day.”

I straightened my bonnet and set one foot tentatively onto the rope ladder, holding on to the rungs. Think of William, I told myself bravely.

The ladder started to swing wildly before I even got my other foot down.

My bonnet promptly slipped forward in front of my eyes.

“Blast,” I whispered as I clung to the ladder for dear life, trying to decide how to muddle my way out.

I pushed the bonnet back.

“You all right up there?” Jehu called.

“I am very well, thank you,” I replied tersely. Or I would be as soon as the rope ladder stopped swinging and my belly calmed.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself, starting slowly down the next rung, and then the next, concentrating only on the rungs in front of me. It was almost easy if I pretended I was descending a carriage the way Miss Hepplewhite had demonstrated. Except, of course, I was doing it backward and suspended over water! I was almost all the way down when I felt a sudden rush of air on my legs and one of the men in the rowboat below whistled wolfishly.

My skirt had snagged on a rung and my stockinged legs were exposed for all the world to see! I blushed as red as my hair.

“Trying to make a good impression with the locals, eh Jane?” Jehu chuckled. Truly he was the most disagreeable man I’d ever laid eyes on.

“That’s Miss Peck to you,” I said in a cool voice.

Jehu narrowed his eyes. “Of course, Miss Peck,” he said, handing me down into the boat.

I settled onto a bench, and a filthy sailor with a rotten front tooth leered at me. I looked quickly away.

We bounced up and down on the waves as the men rowed to shore. I scanned the group awaiting us on the dark sand. Not one of them had William’s bright blond hair. Was he not there? Where was he?

It was an altogether strange greeting party, and I eyed them with trepidation. Upon closer inspection the savages were dressed like white men and not like the illustrations in the newspapers. Their hair was thick and black, and most wore it long and parted down the middle.

Captain Johnson leaped off the boat and strode through the shallow water to the beach. Jehu put out a hand. I regarded him warily.

He sighed, “Come on, Miss Peck. I’ll not bite, but I can’t speak for the men on shore.”

I reluctantly extended my gloved hand. Imagine my surprise and astonishment when he ignored it—and swung me up into his arms!

“Kindly put me down,” I said stiffly.

He waded through the water, ignoring me. “Can’t be getting
your skirts wet when you’re meeting your betrothed, now can you?”

When we reached the shore, he set me down. Need I say I was heartily glad to be on solid ground after so many months at sea? Even so, the ground seemed to move as if we were still on the ship. I clutched Jehu’s arm for a moment as a wave of nausea washed over me.

“All right?” he asked. “Sometimes when you’ve been seasick it takes time to get your land legs back.”

I nodded, swallowing hard, praying that I would not be sick in front of all these men, who were busy making introductions.

“Johnson,” Captain Johnson said brusquely. “Captain of the
Lady Luck
.”

“I am James Swan, Captain,” the stocky, plump-bellied man declared with a wide smile. Mr. Swan’s ill-fitting wire-rimmed spectacles were patched with twine and balanced precariously on his bulbous nose. “How long was your voyage, my good man?”

“One hundred and eighty days from Philadelphia,” Captain Johnson said with a slow grin.

“Capital time, my dear fellow! Capital! And what brings you to our fair country?”

“Timber.”

“Capital! A man after my own heart.” Mr. Swan turned to the scruffy-looking mountain man next to him. “This is Mr. Russell, longtime resident of Shoalwater Bay.”

The man, with a mangy, gray-flecked beard, was outfitted entirely in buckskins, a rifle slung over his back.

“Mr. Russell runs our humble trading post, such as it is,” Mr. Swan explained.

Mr. Russell narrowed his eyes at me, spat on the ground, and snorted. Whoever he was, he was plainly not a very pleasant man.

An older man stepped forward.

“And this is Toke. He is the
tyee
, chief, of the Chinooks of Shoalwater Bay,” Mr. Swan said with a flourish.

I must admit, I was rather surprised. I had imagined someone younger and fiercer, with a long, sharp nose, war paint, and a necklace of human teeth. Instead, as he fixed me with his appraising, intelligent gaze, I was rather reminded of the dignified judge Papa invited over for supper. Except the judge had been better dressed. All that kept us from seeing Chief Toke in his natural state was the belt holding the blanket wrapped around him.

A leathery-looking thing hung from the side of his belt. I recalled stories from newspapers and shivered, although the chief looked perfectly harmless, and perhaps even kind.

“Is that a scalp?” I whispered to Mr. Swan.

Mr. Swan blinked. “A scalp?”

“Yes, a scalp. From some unfortunate pioneer.”

“It’s the sole of an old shoe,” Mr. Russell grunted.

“I beg your pardon?”

Chief Toke fingered the leather.

“A shoe. He likes to carry it around. Used to be mine.” Mr. Russell spit a wad of tobacco, and it barely missed my toe. It seemed that the loathsome habits of the States had been carried to the frontier.

“I see,” I said, although I clearly did not.

“Mr. Russell is a great friend of Toke’s people,” Mr. Swan said as if this explained everything.

“Right,” Captain Johnson said. “Well. This here is my first mate, Jehu Scudder. This is Father Joseph, and the girl is Jane Peck.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scudder, Father,” Mr. Swan said, shaking the men’s hands firmly. He smiled when he reached me. “It is indeed a surprise to see you, Miss Peck, although I daresay I feel as if I already know you. William spoke often about you!”

“A surprise to see me?” I asked. And where was William?

But Mr. Swan had already turned away and was deep in conversation with the chief.

“King George tillicum,”
Mr. Swan said, pointing to Captain Johnson. Chief Toke nodded gravely.
“Boston tillicum.”
Mr. Swan gestured to me. “Jane Peck.”

“You speak the savage’s language?” Father Joseph asked in an amazed voice.

“I speak the Jargon. Most of the folks around here do.”

“The Jargon?”

“It’s a kind of trading language. Mainly Chinook and some English and French all mixed together. It’s not elegant, but we get by.”

“What did you tell him?” Father Joseph asked.

“I told him that Captain Johnson was English and that Miss Peck was an American,” Mr. Swan said.

“But you pointed to me and said Boston. I’m not from Boston; I’m from Philadelphia,” I said.

“The first ships that came from the States were from Boston, so now the Indians call all Americans
Boston tillicum
, Boston people. They call the British
King George tillicum
, on account of King George.”

“Mr. Swan, what did you mean when you said you were surprised to see me? Where is William?” I asked, my voice rising a notch.

“Well, I believe you were supposed to have arrived over two months ago.” He paused. “And I’m afraid William’s not here.”

“Not here?” I whispered, my heart and belly twisting painfully.

Mr. Swan frowned. “William was called away on an errand for the governor.”

William wasn’t here!

“As an Indian agent, your future husband is much in demand, I’m afraid. He left for parts north several weeks ago.”

It was too much. I rushed over to the water and retched up my breakfast. This wasn’t happening, I told myself, trying to catch my breath. I remembered every word Papa had said about William. How he was a fool and had no sense. I touched my hand to my belly, trying to compose myself.

“You okay?”

Jehu put a hand on my arm. I shook it off angrily and marched back to where the men were all standing, staring at me as if I had two heads.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Mr. Swan asked.

“Didn’t William receive my letter saying that our departure had been delayed?” I asked, shaking and pale.

“I’m afraid not, my dear.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “The
mail is not very reliable out here. When you didn’t arrive two months ago as you’d written when you accepted his proposal, William thought you’d changed your mind and thought it best to go about his business.”

“Changed my mind? How could he think such a thing? I didn’t!” I said desperately. “It took two months to get my wedding dress made so we were late leaving and, and—”

Mr. Swan shook his head sadly at me.

Miss Hepplewhite’s words rang in my ears:

Young ladies who are not punctual when traveling think up any manner of excuses. The truth is the unpunctual do not allow themselves sufficient time
.

I burst into tears.

“There, there,” Mr. Swan said comfortingly, handing me a square of rough cloth. “There’s nothing to cry about. He’ll turn up eventually.”

I looked up at him through tears and sniffed. “But when?”

Mr. Swan looked perplexed. “I’m sorry, dear girl, but I can’t say for certain.”

“Can’t we send word for him to come back?”

“It’s not that simple out here, my dear Miss Peck. It’s best to just wait for his return.”

“What exactly am I supposed to do until then?” I asked. The difficulty of my situation was just beginning to occur to me. “Who will look after me?”

“I’m sure we’ll sort everything out.” Mr. Swan clapped his hands efficiently. “I suggest we get you and your companions
acquainted with the surroundings,” he said, pushing up his spectacles. He turned and started purposefully down the trail, the men following him into the deep, dark woods.

All I could do was stand there and watch them go, too stunned to move.

Jehu leaned over and said gently, “Come on, Jane.”

What was I going to do? I thought wildly as I fol lowed the men through the dense forest. What would happen to me?

This wilderness bore no resemblance to the familiar woods of Pennsylvania. The very trees were different—so massive that they reached the sky. The ferns grew huge and lush and spidery. Everywhere strange birds cried and fluttered.

“I have never seen trees this tall,” Father Joseph said in awe.

“Yes, Father,” Mr. Swan called back. “They are peculiar to this region. They are most wondrous, are they not?”

“Wondrous to chop down,” Captain Johnson said, a gleam in his eye.

The trail emptied into a wide clearing, at the center of which a solitary, shabby-looking log cabin was situated. A group of savages congregated in front of it.

I froze when I caught sight of the women. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Most of the women were wearing ordinary dresses of calico, but a few were wearing scandalous-looking skirts that ended above the knee. Bare knees, legs, and ankles were in
plain
sight! Furthermore, none of the women were wearing shoes!

The women stared at me boldly.

I hung back, afraid and nervous.

“Here we are,” Mr. Swan said in a satisfied voice.

“Is this where the savages live?” I asked.

Mr. Swan looked confused. “No, this is Mr. Russell’s cabin, and our humble home. It doubles as our trading post as well. Toke’s lodge is a stone’s throw away, just down that stream.” He pointed to a stream that ran alongside the encampment.

But I couldn’t take my eyes from the strange sight in front of me. One of the savage women had tied a baby’s head between a board and a sort of padded cradle and secured it with a length of fabric, squeezing the infant’s forehead! No doubt this was how they acquired their flattened foreheads.

I tugged on Mr. Swan’s hand.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Mr. Swan,” I whispered, “she’s torturing that infant!”

The infant in question was fast asleep.

Mr. Swan winked. “The babe looks well enough to me.”

He started toward the cabin.

I looked about me, but there were no other lodgings to be seen. Perhaps William’s house was farther down the path, or in another area entirely.

“Mr. Swan,” I called politely.

“Yes, Miss Peck?”

“Could you please direct me to William’s house?”