Boston Jane (23 page)

I was given a small knife to slice slabs of the meat and in no time at all I was as greasy as everyone else. A young man I did not know saw me standing there in my Chinook skirt, slathered in grease and blood, and said something that made Handsome Jim raise an eyebrow.

“What?” I demanded.

Handsome Jim’s expression was serious. “He says you make good wife. He says he give you canoe if you be wife.”

“Oh really? Just one canoe?”

Handsome Jim sniffed me. “But you smell like fish, not wife.” And for the first time in weeks, the ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

“Fish, you say?” I demanded, in a mock-serious voice. I grabbed up a piece of blubber and threw it at him. It landed on his chest with a slimy slap and Handsome Jim went still, a stunned expression on his face. I froze, worried that I had gone too far.

And then he roared in laughter.

As a wave of relief washed over me, I remembered Sally Biddle and the ill-fated apple all those years ago.

At least my aim had improved.

And that was where I was, standing in the rib cage of the whale, when a party of men approached from down the beach. I squinted into the setting sun, the light bouncing off the glistening bay like sparks, and I could make out Mr. Swan, Mr. Russell, Chief Toke, and, farther in the distance, two other figures, one most definitely an Indian.

“Mr. Swan!” I called happily.

Mr. Swan waved enthusiastically. It was so good to see his jolly face.

“Good heavens, girl, you’re in the belly of the beast now!” he laughed as the group drew near.

I wiped a blob of grease off my face.

“I daresay you had a boring time, then, without Mr. Russell and me around to liven things up?” Mr. Swan asked.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Didn’t recognize ya, gal.” Mr. Russell spat a wad of tobacco. It landed, naturally, next to my bare foot.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, too, Mr. Russell,” I said with a sigh.

He snorted.

Mr. Swan passed me a sack. “I think you’ll find these handy.”

Inside was a pair of men’s boots.

He shrugged. “It seems that ladies’ shoes are not a popular item in these parts. Those are for a boy, but I think they will fit.”

I looked down at my bare feet and wiggled my toes.

“You seem well enough, my dear,” Mr. Swan said seriously. “I hear you are a great medicine woman now!”

“Suis died,” I said softly, watching as Chief Toke caught up little Sootie in his arms and hugged her tight.

Mr. Swan looked grave. “I know. One of Toke’s nephews found us and related the sad news. I’m afraid the old boy is quite devastated. She will be very much missed.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry we were so long away. You see, we were waiting for someone.” Suddenly he was all smiles. He waved a man forward.

Yelloh! The young man grinned at me, his nose ring blinking in the sun.

But before I could say anything a figure stepped out from behind Yelloh. I gasped.

I looked considerably different from the last time he’d seen me. I was wearing my Chinook skirt. My legs were bare for all
the world to see. And I was slathered from top to tail in whale blood and guts. Even my red curls were smeared with grease. It’s fair to say that Miss Hepplewhite would not have approved.

“William,” I whispered.

“I’m—I’m—so happy to see you,” I said, hardly believing he was standing here. His blond hair shone like golden wheat in the sunlight but he seemed, well,
smaller
than I remembered. Jehu would tower over him.

“And I you,” he said somewhat stiffly, looking me up and down.

I hastily tugged down the hem of my skirt where it stuck to my bare legs. “My dresses were all eaten by Burton.”

He looked at me blankly.

“Mr. Russell’s cow,” I explained quickly. I didn’t know what to say about the whale guts. It seemed best to say nothing, judging from the expression on his face.

“I see,” he said.

We stood there awkwardly. I was aware of the other men watching us with unabashed curiosity.

“Shall we go speak somewhere private?” I held out my arm.

After a moment that seemed to stretch out forever, he took it and led me down the beach, away from the others.

I hardly knew how to feel. I had dreamed of this moment for months, dreamed of a joyful, romantic reunion, of being swept into his strong arms. But now that he was here, part of me wanted to shout at him. The endless months of frustration poured out in a rush.

“William, what happened? Why didn’t you wait for me? Our departure was delayed and I sent a letter and I know you never received it, but still—”

He pulled a crumpled letter out of his pocket. I recognized it at once! It was the letter I’d written him saying I’d been delayed. I looked at him expectantly. William shook his head.

“I just picked it up over in Astoria a few days ago.” He looked out at the sparkling bay, the gulls crying and swooping low on the water. “I waited for you, Jane. But when you didn’t arrive as scheduled, I thought you’d changed your mind.”

I swallowed hard. It seemed a sensible explanation.

“But what is this about your negotiating a treaty with the Indians? William, what happened to your dreams of a timber business? What—”

“My, you’ve become very outspoken,” he said, a gentle rebuke.

I swallowed hard, remembering my very first lesson at Miss Hepplewhite’s: Listening Well (Chapter Five).

After a moment he cleared his throat and smiled at me formally. “But I
am
glad you didn’t change your mind after all. It is good to see you.”

I started to smile back.

“But,” he continued, frowning. “This oyster venture of yours and Mr. Swan’s.”

I nodded.

“Now that I am here, of course, I shall assume responsibility of it. Such matters aren’t proper for a respectable young wife to manage on her own, don’t you agree? You have more important
things with which to concern yourself.” He looked pointedly at my Chinook skirt. “A new wardrobe, for instance.”

Papa’s voice suddenly thundered in my ear: “Janey, you’re not going to turn into one of those useless women who care for nothing but dresses!”

I looked at William and swallowed hard.

“Then it’s settled,” William said, as if the discussion was over. “Now, regarding our nuptials.”

The water lapped gently against the shoreline, and I had the strangest sensation of being watched. I looked around, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

“I believe it is best if we are wed at the end of the week,” William said in a decisive voice.

It wasn’t my imagination! Down the beach in the bramble bushes was an Indian girl, and she was watching us. A pretty young girl, shapely as a doe, with skin the color of cream. She saw me catch sight of her and ducked back behind the bush.

“Did you see that girl?” I asked.

“What girl?”

“The one in the bushes.”

“There’s no one there,” he said. “Now, about the wedding—”

All at once I remembered.

“I have no wedding dress!”

“Mr. Swan brought back some fabric from Astoria. I’m sure you can make something up in time. I seem to recall that you are very skilled with a needle.”

“Yes,” I said, “I am.” I looked at the hands resting on my lap.
They were hands that had harvested oysters, shot at a cougar, dug graves, ministered to the sick, and butchered a whale. Could these same hands sew a wedding dress? Would they remember?

“We’ll marry in one week,” William said in a firm voice.

One week felt very near, and my stomach fluttered nervously. Was it fluttering in anticipation or something else? But wasn’t this what I’d wanted? Sally Biddle’s mocking face danced before my eyes, and I forced myself to smile sweetly at William.

“It’s decided then,” William said in a smug voice, leaning over. “A kiss from my future wife?”

His nose loomed large before me. And for no reason I could fathom, I thought of Jehu’s bright blue eyes. I pulled away with a jerk.

“N-no, thank you. We’re not married yet.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “As you wish, Jane.”

In the days following William’s arrival, it seemed as if the strange Indian girl shadowed us everywhere we went.

“She is not Chinook,” Handsome Jim said. “Makah, she is.”

I was convinced the mysterious Makah girl was somehow connected with William. I wanted to ask Yelloh about her, but he had disappeared.

Handsome Jim also took to shadowing William. My friend didn’t care for William and did not hesitate to let me know.

“Boston William, he no good,” he insisted, shaking his head.

“He’ll make a very fine husband,” I said. “He’s smart and handsome and—”

My friend put his hand to his chest. “He have weak
Tomanawos
.”

I sighed.

Handsome Jim said firmly, “
Tomanawos
probably small mouse.” He considered a moment. “Or flea.”

“He doesn’t have a
Tomanawos;
he’s not Chinook,” I said, exasperated.

Handsome Jim regarded me, a grave expression on his face. “You have
Tomanawos
, Boston Jane.”

“If I have a
Tomanawos
, what is it?”

“Wolf.”

“Wolf? That’s not very good.”

“Wolf is good
Tomanawos
,” he countered.

“Why?”

Handsome Jim regarded me with keen eyes. “Most loyal.”

In honor of William’s presence I prepared a pie for supper. Salmonberries were no longer in season, so I used huckleberries.

“Delicious,” William declared. “Better than Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie!”

I blushed with pride.

After supper I sat in a corner and set to work on my wedding dress. Mr. Swan had brought back a bolt of blue fabric from Astoria. It was quite lovely, and I hoped William would not be disappointed that it wasn’t green. In any event the blue was quite becoming.

The men sat around smoking pipes and discussing the Indian treaty. It seemed that William was very involved with
the negotiations all over the territory. When I’d asked him earlier in the day why he was involved, he’d been rather evasive.

“Governor Stevens has been an invaluable source of counsel to me. I could not very well turn down his request,” he said. “And it’s a great honor, isn’t it, Jane?”

“I suppose,” I said. “But what about your plans to make your fortune in timber?”

“Jane, when would I have had time to start a business?” he asked irritably. “I have timber on my land. It will still be there when the negotiations are complete. And we must clear it when you and I begin work on our house.”

“You mean you haven’t even—” I was so upset I stumbled over my words.

“Jane,” he cut me off coldly. “Enough questions.”

Now as I sat and sewed I tried to untangle my feelings. I was very confused by William. Papa’s words seemed to echo in my ears:

There are plenty of eligible young bachelors right here in Philadelphia. There’s no call to follow one out west, especially one with no sense!

William’s voice was getting louder. I looked up from my sewing.

“My point is that the area is crawling with Indians—on land that has been designated for homesteading. That is why the main provision of the treaty is to get all the tribes on a reservation,” William said.

“Dang fool idea if I ever heard one,” Mr. Russell said skeptically, shaking his head.

“Mr. Russell’s right,” Mr. Swan said. “Chief Toke will not be amenable to those terms.”

“It is the policy. Putting the Indians on reservations is the only solution to the Indian Problem,” William said firmly.

“Indian Problem?” Mr. Russell hooted and spat. “We couldn’t manage without ‘em.”

“William,” Mr. Swan said with a sigh. “There is no reason to round up the Indians. They’re perfectly fine where they are. You know very well that we haven’t had any problems with them. Why, you yourself have spent time in Toke’s lodge!”

“Mr. Swan,” William said abruptly. “I was naïve. I have traveled these last few months throughout the whole territory, and my eyes have been opened to the true state of affairs. You cannot trust the Indians. You have been lulled into a false sense of security by your isolation. Believe me, these Indians are unpredictable. Think of the Whitman party.”

“Those missionaries were killed by Cayuse, not Chinooks,” Mr. Swan countered.

“I’ve met men who were there. Women and children were slaughtered!” William said coldly.

Mr. Swan sighed heavily. “That was many years ago, dear boy, and I daresay there is more to that sad story than we shall ever know.” He swiveled in his chair and looked at me for support. “Nonetheless. My dear, will you please tell your betrothed that he has the most incorrect notions about
our
Indians.”

The silence in the small cabin roared in my ears. I looked at
the bunks where I had nursed Handsome Jim and Suis and Sootie and the others.

“William, Mr. Swan is correct. Chief Toke’s people are our neighbors and dear friends. Why, Handsome Jim—”

“This matter is of no concern to a lady,” William interrupted in a stiff voice.

Mr. Russell chortled. “She ain’t no lady. Our gal here has a mind of her own.”

My face went hot. I didn’t know which was worse—being told to shut up or being told I wasn’t a lady.

I ran out of the cabin, humiliation coursing through my veins.

The next morning found me sitting on a log on the beach, sewing the hem of my wedding dress with angry fingers. I had to rip out the stitches three times before I got them right. I had spent a restless night in Chief Toke’s lodge bundled next to Sootie and couldn’t sew straight for Mr. Russell’s words ringing in my ears:

She ain’t no lady
.

Was Mr. Russell right? Was I no longer a lady? And was that what was really bothering me? Or was it something else? Something that had to do with the way William kept dismissing me, as if my opinion were of no account. I thought and thought as my fingers stitched, trying to make sense of the muddle. Miss Hepplewhite’s voice nagged at me:

Girls, you must strive always to please others and do so cheerfully. For this is where your true happiness lies
.