Boston Jane (17 page)

The two of us went outside into the misty rain, and Mr.
Swan attempted to climb up to the roof. He managed to get one leg up, and the other swung wildly near my head.

“Perhaps if you …,” he called down awkwardly.

I pushed his other leg up and stood anxiously watching. After a few moments I heard bangs and an occasional curse. Mr. Swan did not strike me as a particularly handy man. Mr. Russell had taken care of minor repairs around the cabin.

“Drat!”

“Mr. Swan?” I called up. “Is everything all right?”

He poked his head over the side, his spectacles wobbling on the end of his nose. “Capital, dear girl.”

A moment later there was a tremendous crash. I rushed into the lodge.

Mr. Swan was lying in a pile of planks on the floor, bleeding from a gash on his forearm, and there was now an enormous hole in the roof.

He groaned miserably.

“Why don’t we ask Handsome Jim for help? It is a Chinook lodge, after all,” I suggested gently as I went to retrieve some bandages from his gear.

“What a sensible idea, my dear,” he said, sounding relieved.

Handsome Jim appeared bright and early the next morning.

“Boston Jane come help,” he said, clutching new planks and pointing to the roof.

“I can’t go up there,” I said in dismay. Young ladies didn’t go gallivanting on roofs, and furthermore, I had a terrific fear of heights. “Mr. Swan should still be able to assist you.”

Handsome Jim rolled his eyes. “Swan too fat. He break roof.”

I looked up warily at Handsome Jim. It was drizzling now, but I could tell from the dark horizon that a storm was in the offing. How dearly I wanted to be dry.

“Boston Jane, you not fall,” he promised.

I thought it very likely that I would go tumbling, just as Mr. Swan had. All the same I scrambled up to the roof. I kept my eyes fixed firmly ahead and didn’t look down, for if I had I’m certain I would have fainted.

“You don’t faint at the sight of blood, Janey, so don’t be fainting now,” I heard Papa say.

Handsome Jim took the broken planks down and brought new planks up. I sat on the edge of the roof and slid them carefully into place as he instructed.

We bantered to pass the time. Miss Hepplewhite always said that young men and ladies should not be familiar with each other, but it seemed to me that out in the wilderness with no other ladies, the rules could be bent a little.

“Why you want Boston William for husband?” he asked.

“Well, he’s very handsome,” I began.

“Many men more handsome,” he said with a broad smile, leaving little doubt as to whom he meant.

I could see his point. Mending the roof was hot work, and while I was damp and uncomfortable, Handsome Jim had stripped off his shirt to let the light rain cool him off. I must confess, his chest was a thing of glory.

Handsome Jim caught me looking at him and grinned teasingly. “More rich, too.”

I shook my head at him, and we both laughed.

“Do you have a betrothed?” I asked, curious myself. There always seemed to be a girl trailing after him with moony eyes.

He looked at me quizzically.

“Someone you want for a wife,” I clarified.

He grinned. “Many women want to be wife for me. But I not want to be husband.”

“But you’d make such a good husband. And a modest one, too,” I teased.

“What means modest?”

“Someone who is quiet about his beauty.”

He raised his eyebrows in understanding. “Like Boston Jane.”

“Ladies are supposed to be modest.”

“Suis, she is not modest.”

I thought of Suis’s strange behavior toward me. “Handsome Jim, why doesn’t Suis like me?” I asked.

“
Sick tumtum
,” he said.

I laughed. “What? A bellyache?”

He shook his head and tried to explain. “Suis, she is most beautiful before. All men watch Suis. Now all men watch you.”

“She’s jealous?” I whispered finally, astonished. I didn’t know which was more shocking—that the men thought I was beautiful or that Suis was jealous of me.

He shrugged and said simply, “
Sick tumtum
.”

We worked steadily all afternoon, and by the end of the day the roof was mended.

Handsome Jim and I sat on the edge of the newly patched roof, feet swinging, admiring our work.

“Capital job, dear girl!” Mr. Swan called up.

I beamed. Who would have thought that I, Jane Peck, would have been able to help mend a Chinook roof? I felt that I could do anything!

By the time we had supper, it was so very late that Handsome Jim decided to spend the night. He refused to stay in the lodge on account of the
memelose tillicums
and bedded down outside under the stars.

The air had been oppressive all day with the threat of a coming storm, and we were tucked into our beds when the first fat drops began to fall. In short order the rain was pounding the roof like a drumbeat.

“It was indeed fortuitous that our Chinook friend mended the roof today,” Mr. Swan said above the din of the rain.

“Yes, it was,” I said, wondering how our Chinook friend was faring in the pouring rain.

Brandywine whined low as if he, too, was concerned. I had not wanted the flea-bitten beast in our new home, but Mr. Swan was very fond of him.

Moments later Handsome Jim appeared, soaking wet. He glared around the inside of the lodge, seeing danger everywhere.

“
Memelose
,” he muttered, but settled down next to Brandywine by Mr. Swan’s grand fireplace.

The wind blew fiercely, and I was reminded of the terrible storm at sea, and of Mary. The world howled and roared all around the lodge. I wondered if William was out in this storm. Or Jehu for that matter.

All grew quiet and still. The firelight glittered, casting eerie shadows.

“I do believe the worst is over,” Mr. Swan said in a hopeful sort of voice, peering around the room, his spectacles glinting oddly in the firelight.

And then all at once, a screeching howl rose and a gust of wind shook the lodge. It blew through the chimney with such force that sparks leaped into the room, and hot burning coals scattered everywhere.

“Handsome Jim! Brandywine!” Mr. Swan hollered in warning.

Both man and beast leaped out of the way, narrowly avoiding being burnt by the flying coals. The dry rush mats lining the floor burst into flames.

It was complete chaos. Handsome Jim and I were trying to stamp out the fires, and Brandywine was running in circles and howling and everything was confusion and then Mr. Swan hollered:

“Everyone be still!”

He shouted out orders: “Handsome Jim, put out those flames. Jane, mind the papers and maps! Brandywine, get out of the way!”

Handsome Jim looked at the chimney and said, “Chimney is no good.”

“It is a fine chimney!” Mr. Swan insisted.

The wind was shaking the lodge, and all around trees crashed and fell with thunderous cracks.

“Chimney is no good!” Handsome Jim stomped his foot.

Mr. Swan glared at Handsome Jim. “The chimney is perfectly fine!”

At that moment the lodge shuddered and shook, as if some great giant was squeezing it like a plaything. Time seemed to stand still as Mr. Swan’s beautiful chimney fell away from the lodge, pulling with it the newly mended roof and one of the walls in a tremendous clatter of stones and dust.

“Watch out!” I cried, pushing Mr. Swan out of the way.

“
Memelose!
” Handsome Jim screamed.

We stood in the middle of the wrecked lodge, the rain pelting our faces. The river roared in the distance.

Mr. Swan stood stunned for a moment, and then a look of pure panic crossed his face.

“The canoe!” he shouted, and tore out of what was left of the lodge. I raced after him into the storm, Handsome Jim right behind me.

We ran through the blinding rain down to the river where his beautiful gleaming canoe had been tied up. It was gone! It had been swept to the middle of the raging river and was caught on a snag. The powerful waters surged around the canoe, and it was plain to see that it would be swept away at any moment.

“My canoe,” Mr. Swan moaned, distraught, crumpling to the ground, his face white.

If I could mend a roof, I could certainly rescue a canoe.

I ran past him and leaped into the raging river.

“Jane!” he cried. “No!”

But it was too late. I was in the middle of the river, the water up to my chest, the current rushing around me. It was frighteningly cold and my nightdress was heavy and sodden, the wet wool threatening to drag me beneath the surface. I looked around, squinting through the chilling rain, and saw the canoe at once. It wasn’t far out, just a few feet really, and I waded out, struggling to move my legs through the mud and muck on the bottom. I grabbed at the slippery rope and pulled the canoe free from the snag.

“Boston Jane!” Handsome Jim called in alarm, stepping into the water.

“I do believe I have it!” I yelled over the rain.

Mr. Swan raised his fist jubilantly. “Capital, dear girl!”

Then the river swelled, sweeping the canoe downstream into the black night.

And me with it.

Papa always said you make your own luck, but this had nothing to do with luck. It had to do with foolishness.

Mine.

What had I been thinking to dive into this icy cold river? What madness had made me think that I could rescue a canoe? What would Papa say? What would William say? I didn’t even want to think what Miss Hepplewhite would say.

I clung to the rope for dear life as the world washed by in a
dark, wet blur, the river tugging at me greedily. I could no longer hear the sound of Brandywine’s barking or Mr. Swan or Handsome Jim’s concerned shouts; there was only the hum of water rushing in my ears and the crash of the canoe banging against stray rocks.

The river became rougher as the heavy canoe swept me down with terrible force and I clung desperately to the rope, the image of Mr. Swan’s stricken face wavering before my eyes. I couldn’t give up.

But with every tree I passed the current grew wilder, the rocks became sharper. And I was suddenly struck with a thought: I had never learned to swim. And where exactly did this river end? The ocean? A waterfall? Furthermore, I was a proper young lady. I knew how to pour tea and embroider handkerchiefs and paint watercolors, but I had no idea how to get this canoe back upriver, even if I did manage to survive. What if I died before William returned? These were things, I could see now, that I should have considered before jumping into the river.

I looked at the passing landscape and saw something—no,
someone
—standing on the bank of the river. I squinted through the pelting rain.

The figure seemed to turn to me, as if in recognition.

“Help me!” I shouted hoarsely.

And then I saw who it was.

Mary stood there in the rain, seaweed tangled in her hair, her skin glowing softly in the inky night. She held her hand out wordlessly.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to believe what I was seeing.

When I opened them, she was gone, and the river was carrying me away.

Who was going to save me? I thought wildly. Where were Mr. Swan and Handsome Jim?

Where is William?
a little voice inside me cried.

Up ahead I saw a ledge jutting out from the side of the river and knew the sad truth.

No one was going to save me.

No one but myself.

In that moment I let go of the canoe and struck out for the ledge, reaching with all my might. It was wet and slick, and my fingers scrambled to find a handhold. For a brief moment I feared I would be swept away with the current but I held tight, digging my fingernails into the moss and dirt and pulling myself up with trembling arms.

I lay there on the ledge, gasping for breath, shaking cold and wet, and watched the river roar by.

By the time I made it back to the lodge, the sun was shining high in the clean blue sky and the storm seemed a distant memory.

I was wet, bruised, and extremely cross. I’d spent the night crouched on the ledge waiting for the waters to subside, shivering with cold. I had been so cold that I had resorted to burrowing under fir needles that had fallen from a tree hanging above. Now in addition to wearing a wet nightdress, I was covered with sticky needles. I’d very nearly died, and all for a blasted canoe!

I came up behind them.

Mr. Swan was sitting despondently in front of the demolished
lodge surrounded by Chief Toke’s family. They’d kindled a fire and draped a wool blanket around Mr. Swan’s shoulders. Chief Toke was speaking in low, comforting tones to Mr. Swan, and Father Joseph sat at his other side, his head bowed in prayer.

The lodge was a wreck, the chimney tumbled over like a felled tree.

“My beautiful chimney!” Mr. Swan moaned sadly.

The Indians clucked sympathetically.

What about me? I thought. And sneezed.

“Boston Jane!” Handsome Jim exclaimed.

“Mon Dieu!” Father Joseph whispered.

Mr. Swan raised his head, relief clear on his face. “Oh thank the maker, dear girl! We thought you’d been washed out to sea.”