“Don’t forget to clean the grinder, gal,” Mr. Russell ordered.
The grinder was already coated a thick black. Clearly cleaning it was not something that was usual to the routine of making coffee. I nodded, but I had no intention of being ordered about any more than necessary by that man.
I poured some beans into the grinder, ground them up well, and then added them to the coffeepot to boil. I set out tin cups and had the milk and sugar at the ready. After the coffee was well boiled, I poured it into the cups, added milk and sugar, and brought everything to the table.
Mr. Swan smiled appreciatively. “It smells lovely, my dear.”
He took a hearty swallow. His eyes bulged in shock and immediately began to water.
Jehu, who had taken a swallow at the same time, started to choke. He knocked over his chair and ran for the door.
Father Joseph spewed his coffee across the table and started coughing violently. He clutched his mouth, shot me a look of horror, and also ran out of the cabin.
Handsome Jim stared at his coffee with trepidation.
“Dang gal, what are ya trying to do? Kill us?” Mr. Russell shouted. He was red in the face from coughing. He threw his tin cup at the cabin wall. It landed with a bang.
“I don’t understand!”
“Thar’s pepper in this here coffee!”
I heard someone retching outside.
“Pepper?” I sniffed at a cup. It did smell slightly of pepper. “But how did it get there?”
“The grinder, gal! Ya got to clean the grinder! How do ya think we get pepper?”
“How was I to know it was pepper?” I asked, throwing my hands up.
He sneezed loudly.
“Everyone knows, gal! Everyone ‘cept you because yar so dang useless!”
“I am not useless!”
“Ya are! Yar plain useless!” he roared, and then let out a tremendous sneeze right in my face.
Can you imagine my humiliation? I stormed out of the wretched cabin and marched down to the beach. I stared miserably out at the bay, at the Lady Luck anchored there, my mind working furiously. It had never been my intention to come west so that I could become maid to a gang of unruly men! They were ungrateful, ungracious louts, every last one of them!
Jehu followed me down to the beach. His eyes were still watering.
“You sure can pour a cup of coffee,” he said dryly.
“He is the most horrible man in the world!” I burst out. “I hate him! And I am not useless. I can do many things. Why, I can embroider and paint watercolors and pour tea and coffee and I know how to manage a household and arrange flowers and send out invitations and—”
Jehu stared at me silently.
“It’s not my fault I don’t know how to cook!” I cried. “That was Mary’s job!”
“Jane,” Jehu said patiently. “This isn’t Philadelphia. I know it’s hard, but Mr. Russell’s right. You have to pitch in.”
“I already do the mending,” I said stubbornly.
“Yes,” he said. “But who do you think chops the wood, and milks the cow, and catches the fish, and cleans the fire, and every other little thing that needs doing? Everyone works. There aren’t any servants here. The least you could do is help with the meals.”
“But I don’t know how to cook!”
He looked me in the eye and said, “Then learn.”
Yelloh appeared at first light. It was not a minute too soon.
It had been a terrible night in Mr. Russell’s cabin. The men had been up coughing and sneezing from the pepper, and Mr. Russell had been the worst. Between coughing fits he had muttered, “Dang useless gal.”
I was sitting on the horrible little porch darning a sock when Yelloh appeared. At the grim look on his face, my heart fell.
“Where’s William?” I demanded, fearing the worst. “Has something happened to William? Why isn’t he with you?”
Yelloh shook his head. He had no idea what I was saying. I looked about for help.
“Handsome Jim!” I waved him over.
Handsome Jim greeted Yelloh, and the two began speaking in Chinook.
“Handsome Jim,” I broke in. “Ask him where William is.”
He nodded and spoke to Yelloh.
“Yelloh says he miss Boston William by two days,” Handsome Jim explained.
“Blast it! But why didn’t he go after William?” I asked wildly.
“Yelloh says Boston Jane tell him twelve days only.”
I looked at Yelloh in frustration. “But William was so close!”
“Yelloh says Boston Jane tell him twelve days only,” Handsome Jim said seriously. “Yelloh, he is very good man. He not cheat you.”
I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it.
“Ask him if he knows where William is now.”
Handsome Jim turned to Yelloh, who said emphatically, “Narwitka!” The ring in his nose swung slightly.
“Certainly,” Handsome Jim beamed.
“Where?”
The two men conferred.
“Well?” I demanded.
“Very far,” Handsome Jim said.
“How far?”
“A month.”
A month! It had cost me four silver dollars to have him travel twelve days. I would never be able to afford a whole month in each direction!
I ran into the cabin and rummaged in my chest. I ran back out and thrust my six silver dollars into Yelloh’s hand.
“This is all the money I have! Will you please find him?” I pleaded.
Yelloh hesitated and looked at Handsome Jim.
Handsome Jim murmured something softly. I pressed the silver coins into Yelloh’s hand.
“Please,” I begged.
After a moment he nodded, and I felt the breath go out of me in relief.
Handsome Jim looked at Yelloh and back to me. “He find Boston William.”
A month out and a month back.
It was nearly June, and I was going to be stranded here well past July by the looks of things. Two more months of horrid Mr. Russell, who had not forgiven me for the coffee incident. And then there was Suis. The Chinook woman glared at me every time she saw me. I had clearly offended her in some way but knew not how.
It was awful. Time passed so slowly here without Mary. The voyage on the ship had been terrible, but at least Mary and I had had each other for company.
To cheer myself up, I had taken William’s old letters and gone down to the bay to sit under my parasol in the drizzling rain and reread them. I knew William would want me to be brave, but Shoalwater Bay was such a disagreeable place that just thinking about it put me in a grim mood.
Not to mention I had received no letters from Papa. Of course, I knew this was too much to expect, as insufficient time had passed for him to have even received my first letter, let alone respond to it. Assuming, of course, that my missive had not been routed via the China Sea.
I had written Papa upon my arrival saying that we’d landed, and I was well, and the sad news about Mary. But I had been careful to avoid mentioning William. I could not bear the thought of having to inform Papa that William was missing. It would merely serve to confirm his poor opinion of William. I would wait, I decided, until William had returned and we were wed, to send Papa a second letter.
With a sigh I got up and started back to the dreary cabin.
As I walked along the path, something orange-red caught my eye.
Cherries?
No, the strange berry resembled a blackberry except it had an unusual orange-red color.
A sudden image of Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie came to me.
Mr. Swan was sitting at the sawbuck table scribbling in his diary when I returned to the cabin.
“Mr. Swan, do you know what this is?” I asked, holding out the small berry.
“Hello, my dear.” He peered over the rim of his glasses. “That is a salmonberry. I am particularly fond of them myself.”
“Do you think I could make a pie with them?
”
Mr. Swan looked very uncomfortable. “I suppose it is possible to make a pie using salmonberries,” he said hesitantly, as if to say, it’s very possible for someone to make a pie using salmonberries, just not you, my dear.
The look on his face made me more determined than ever.
Now I just needed to figure out how to make a pie. I had vague memories of Mrs. Parker making her cherry pie, but memories would not do. Jehu knew how to cook, I remembered, thinking of the chicken broth he had once made for Mary. Perhaps he could help.
I found him on the beach, supervising the sailors as they cut a piece of timber for the new mainmast on the Lady Luck. He stopped what he was doing when he saw me and walked over.
A sliver of sunshine broke out from behind the clouds, sending light dancing across the smooth bay.
“Do you know how to make a pie?” I asked.
“Why?” He squinted into the sun.
“I found some salmonberries. I thought I’d try to make one, only I don’t know how.”
“Don’t know how to make one myself.”
I stared at him in disappointment. I was so sure he would know.
“Did you say Mary was a cook?” he asked.
“Yes. She wanted to open a boardinghouse here and cook for the men.”
“Maybe she had some receipts in her things. Cooks I know like to write these things down.”
I ran all the way back to the cabin. I had put Mary’s things in my trunk after she died. She’d brought a small sack with her, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to look inside it before, but I did now. Her possessions spilled out on the sawbuck table. An apron, well-used wooden spoons, a rolling pin, a thick piece of cloth that smelled of flour, a pot, a pie plate, and a small diary.
I paged carefully through the diary, which wasn’t really a diary at all. It was a collection of receipts. Biscuits and gravy. Fricasseed chicken. Roasted pork and apples. My mouth watered just reading the words. Sponge cake. Rice custard. Bird’s nest pudding. Lemon drops. Fritters. Doughnuts. Gingerbread. And …
Mrs. Parker’s Cherry Pie!
“Take half a peck of cherries …”
As I read the receipt I could almost hear Papa’s deep laugh, smell Mrs. Parker’s kitchen, feel the warmth of the stove. It was all so very far away. As far away as Mary, at the bottom of the cold, dark ocean. I closed my eyes, clutching the small, dear book to my heart.
I couldn’t bring her back, but I could do one thing.
I could make a pie.
Mr. Russell had most of the ingredients I needed. I took a pail and went into the woods and picked salmonberries.
I followed Mary’s instructions carefully, using her rolling pin and wearing her apron. To my surprise, I found that I enjoyed it. It wasn’t nearly so hard as it looked. But I couldn’t help feeling a pang for Mary. Here I was cooking for men to earn my keep, doing exactly what she had wanted to do. It made me feel unsettled in a way that was hard to define.
Mr. Russell was very cool to me all during supper that evening.
“I have a surprise, Mr. Russell,” I said in a bright voice.
His whiskers jerked irritably. “I don’t like surprises, gal,” he said shortly.
But he would like this one, I was sure.
My pie was resting on a shelf under a piece of cloth. It looked perfect to my eye—but then again, so had the coffee and look what had happened there. Sudden anxiety flooded me. I took a deep breath and lifted up the pie, starting across the dirt floor. Without any warning my foot caught on something and I stumbled. The pie rocked in my hands.
Brandywine looked up sleepily from the floor.
“Blasted dog!” I hissed.
Father Joseph raised one bushy caterpillar eyebrow at my curse. I blushed but held my head high and carried the pie to the table. I put it down with a flourish.
“That looks wonderful, my dear,” Mr. Swan said hesitantly. He turned to Mr. Russell and said, in a hearty voice that sounded forced, “Doesn’t it look wonderful, Mr. Russell?”
Mr. Russell grunted, eyeing the pie skeptically.
I cut a slice for Mr. Russell and put it on his plate.
“Go on. She’s been working at it all day,” Jehu said.
Mr. Russell took a careful bite. Salmonberry filling smeared his whiskers. He chewed thoughtfully and gulped.
“Well?” I demanded.
The moment seemed to stretch out forever.
Mr. Russell didn’t say a word. He just dug his fork into his pie and finished it in four neat bites. Then he leaned back, patted his belly, and belched.
Jehu roared with laughter.
“I guess he likes it, Jane!”
Mr. Russell grinned at me, and I didn’t even mind the salmonberries in his teeth. “Yar good at pie, gal.”
All the men clapped, and I flushed with pleasure. It was almost as satisfying as winning top marks for embroidery at Miss Hepplewhite’s!
Father Joseph’s eyes closed in delight as he took a bite. “Délicieux!”
“You should open a boardinghouse, my dear,” Mr. Swan said, biting heartily into his slice. “You’d do a brisk business with all the hungry men out here.”
“Just hire someone else to make the coffee,” Jehu suggested with a wink.
When I went to bed that night, the aroma of pie filled the cabin. I fell asleep thinking of all the pies I would make William.
“My dearest Jane,” William would say, smiling at me fondly, “makes the most delicious pies in all the world.”
I was awakened by a small, soft sound. The sound of a fork scraping a tin plate.
The walls of the cabin were golden with dancing firelight, and the men’s snores rose in a comforting way. It was an altogether cozy picture, which left me completely unprepared for the vision in front of me.
A strange woman was sitting at the sawbuck table, eating a piece of my pie, her back to me. Her hair hung in wet clumps down her back.
I wanted to call out, but I was too frightened to speak. Had she just wandered in while we were sleeping? But I thought Mr. Swan had said there weren’t any other pioneer women here on Shoalwater Bay.
I quietly slipped out of the bunk. The woman didn’t look up.
She just kept eating the pie.
I walked closer to the table. Water pooled at her feet, and the smell of saltwater steamed off her back.
“Excuse me,” I said.
She paused and turned slowly, deliberately.
I stumbled back in horror.
Mary’s face was white, her eyes black and filled with reproach.
She got up and walked through the door, disappearing into the inky night.
CHAPTER TEN
or,
A Well-Ordered Home
The balmy winds of June warmed my spirits. It rained less, and there was a feeling of hope in the air. Shoalwater Bay was an entirely different place when the sun came out, and on beautiful days I could almost understand Mr. Swan’s fascination for this raw country, the way the mountains rose high and seemed to go on forever and ever, the blue sky arched behind them like a bonnet.
I counted the days that Yelloh had been gone, mended clothes, and tried out Mary’s receipts on the men with varying success. Father Joseph built a small chapel at the edge of Toke’s village, between the lodges and the stream where the Indians went to fetch their water. He was forever encouraging the men to attend his masses, and I considered myself lucky that I was not Catholic.
Mr. Swan took me on long rambles, pointing out local flowers and teaching me bits of the Jargon. It reminded me of going with Papa on his rounds when I was a small girl. My hand itched to write him, but I was determined to hold fast.
I walked on the beach and collected shells. Sometimes I thought I saw Mary there, her dark gaze fixed on the horizon, staring out at the wide bay as if searching for something.
But when I called her name, she disappeared.
“I’m leaving,” Jehu said, slinging his pack on his shoulder
.
It was a bright day, and the light made his black hair shine like a raven’s wing.
“What?” I asked, startled. I was sitting on the rickety porch darning a particularly grim pair of socks that I rather suspected belonged to Champ.
He looked into the countryside, scanning the trees. “The Lady Luck’s all fitted up, and the captain’s got himself some Indians cutting down timber on a claim up the bay. I have to load the timber up on the ship. Don’t know how long it will take.”
He stared at me as if he wanted to say something. It seemed so abrupt, his leaving like this.
“Well, good-bye, then,” I said finally, swallowing hard.
“Jane,” Jehu said. His blue eyes pierced mine. “If you need anything, anything at all, send word.”
I looked down awkwardly. “If you happen to come across William, will you tell him I am here?”
His mouth seemed to tighten, but he nodded. And then he went away.
That evening at supper Mr. Swan announced that he, too, was leaving.
“Not leaving,” he amended. “Moving.”
“Moving? But where?” I asked.
He smiled in his jolly way and said, “Inland from the bay. I have fitted up an old Chinook lodge on a river up a ways.”
“May I come, too?” I asked quickly, casting a sidelong glance at Mr. Russell.
Mr. Russell grunted.
The mountain man and I had struck an uneasy peace, but I was still uncomfortable living in a place where strange men came and went as they pleased. Mr. Russell let any passing pioneer stay at the cabin, and it was most disconcerting to wake up to a new set of unshaven faces each morning at breakfast. At least with Mr. Swan, I reasoned, I would only be living with one man instead of a whole gang. It was hardly a proper situation, but I was finding that one must lower one’s good standards when on the frontier. If I was lucky, the fleas would remain behind in Mr. Russell’s cabin.
“Of course, my dear,” Mr. Swan said. “I’ll take you round tomorrow.”
We took Mr. Swan’s canoe to the old Chinook lodge. It was one of several abandoned dwellings situated near the river.
The place was utterly desolate.
“Where are all the Indians?” I asked, looking around nervously.
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