The Claim

by Jennifer L. Holm

  “Speaking of baking,” Mrs. Staroselsky said, “has anyone given any thought to the Fourth of July festivities?”

  “I suppose we could do something here in the hotel,” Mrs. Frink said.

  I shook my head. “Believe me, I think it’s best if it’s held outside, preferably far from anything that can burn down.”

  I had been in attendance for the previous Fourth of July celebration, which had been a wild, raucous party marked by a massive consumption of whiskey.

  Mrs. Woodley chuckled. “I heard about last year’s party, all right. Mr. Russell said it went on all night long!”

  “And all morning,” I added.

  “Well then, Jane, would you consider coming up with some suggestions for the Fourth of July celebration?” Mrs. Frink asked.

  “I’d be delighted to,” I said.

  “Wonderful! And be sure to let me know if there is anything I need to special-order,” Mrs. Staroselsky said.

  “Now, I understand we have some new arrivals. Ladies?”

  “Mrs. Biddle and her daughter, Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia,” Mrs. Hosmer said. “They’re lovely!”

  “Perhaps they’ll join our sewing circle,” Mrs. Woodley mused.

  “I don’t really think they’d enjoy the sewing circle,” I said with hesitation.

  “But I adore sewing! How could you forget, Jane?” a voice called behind me.

  I winced, turning around slowly.

  Sally Biddle stood there wearing a cashmere gown of soft sea green, cut close to the figure, with demisleeves. The collar was tied with a loose pink ribbon, and the outfit was topped off by a smart little cap with matching pink and green ribbons. The resulting ensemble gave the effect of a young lady out on a spring stroll. I had little doubt that it was the latest in Philadelphia fashion.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hosmer,” Sally said with an incline of her head. “Mrs. Frink.”

  “How lovely to see you, Miss Biddle!” Mrs. Hosmer said in an excited voice. “Have you met Mrs. Woodley?”

  Sally smiled at Mrs. Woodley. “How do you do?”

  “Very nice to meet you,” Mrs. Woodley said.

  “And this is Mrs. Staroselsky,” Mrs. Hosmer continued with the introductions. “She and her husband own—”

  “Star’s Dry Goods! You have a lovely store,” Sally said, flipping open a fan and fluttering it lazily.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Staroselsky said. “And welcome to Shoalwater Bay!”

  “You must join our sewing circle,” Mrs. Hosmer said enthusiastically. “We have such fun!”

  I held my breath. Surely Sally wouldn’t take her up on the offer.

  “I would simply love to come,” Sally said, bringing the full force of her Philadelphia charm to bear. “Thank you so much for inviting me!”

  “Wonderful!” Mrs. Staroselsky said.

  “Wonderful,” I echoed.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sally said with a wicked little grin.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  or,

  A Room with a View

  The hotel’s rooms were quite cozy, and mine was no exception. It was warm and comfortable, and I didn’t have to worry about waking up with some strange man in the bunk above me. Best of all, it had a perfect view of the bay.

  I had accepted an invitation to dine at Chief Toke’s lodge that evening and had left the running of the kitchen in Spaark’s capable hands. I was trying to put my hair into some semblance of a style when there was a knock at the door.

  It was Sally, and she was holding a beautiful gown in her arms.

  “Is this your room?” Sally asked, stepping inside without an invitation.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Sally scanned the room with sharp eyes. “Why, you have a view,” she said, strolling to the window.

  “May I help you?” I asked pointedly.

  She took one last look at the bay and turned to me. “As a matter of fact, I expect you must.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, taken aback.

  “How very naughty of you to deceive me, Jane,” Sally replied spiritedly. “I wonder what Miss Hepplewhite would think about her favorite student telling a fib.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “Why, Jane. You encouraged me to assume you were a paying guest, when in fact, Mrs. Frink has informed me that you are employed here.” She gave a little laugh.

  “Yes, I am the concierge, and I enjoy my job very much.”

  “That is good, because I need my frock pressed for tonight. I gave it to that Millie woman and she missed half the pleats!” Sally’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Fortunately, you of all people will understand how high our standards are back in Philadelphia.”

  With a flourish, Sally tossed her gown at me and sauntered out of the room.

  The sun was sinking into the bay, turning the landscape a glorious shade of gold. I followed the path that led from Mr. Russell’s cabin down to the stream where Father Joseph lived, and on to the Chinook village.

  Father Joseph, a French Catholic missionary, had come to Shoalwater Bay on the same ship as I had. He was trying to convert the Chinooks and had not been very successful. Although he did have one recent convert—Auntie Lilly, an older Chinook lady.

  Auntie Lilly had been married to a Hudson’s Bay Company man, but she had been abandoned by him when he returned to England on a ship and neglected to tell her he was going. For her part, Auntie Lilly did not seem all that upset that her English husband was gone, as it was well known that he had not been a particularly kind man.

  These days Auntie Lilly spent a great deal of time with Father Joseph, and not just listening to his sermons. She cooked his meals, bargained for his supplies, and even cajoled some of the Chinook children to attend services. They had become good companions to each other in their own way.

  I found Auntie Lilly at the stream washing what appeared to be one of Father Joseph’s wool robes. The Chinooks were great believers in bathing, and cleanliness in general, and I had hoped more than once that this habit would rub off on the local pioneer men, who thought nothing of wearing the same pair of trousers for weeks on end.

  “It certainly is very kind of you to do Father Joseph’s washing for him,” I said.

  She clucked her tongue, slapping his robe in the cool stream. Gray streaked her hair, giving it a silvery tint. “Who else will do it if I do not?”

  “Perhaps the angels?” I said wryly.

  Auntie Lilly guffawed. “Angels? They will run from these robes.”

  I laughed.

  The owner of the filthy robes was sitting outside a rustic chapel, reading a Bible.

  “Hello, Father Joseph,” I called.

  A smile wreathed his lips. “Mademoiselle! What brings you here?”

  “I’m going to Chief Toke’s lodge for supper,” I said. “How are you?”

  “Très bien, merci. Auntie Lilly has been encouraging the children to go to church, you see. I think they are all very much enjoying my sermons! Auntie Lilly has been so helpful!” Father Joseph enthused.

  “Yes,” I teased. “I noticed that she was very helpfully doing your laundry.”

  He blushed so brightly that even his bald head turned red.

  “I best be going,” I said, and headed on.

  Farther down the trail, I saw a plump, white-bearded, bespectacled man sitting on a log, studying a small book. It was Mr. Swan, another longtime resident of Shoalwater Bay and my business partner.

  “Why, hello, my dear!” Mr. Swan declared. “Where are you off to on this fine evening?”

  “To Chief Toke’s lodge. For supper.”

  “Capital! Then I shall join you, as I am going there myself! I do so look forward to a good Chinook feast!”

  As we strolled along Mr. Swan waved his ever present diary. “Chief Toke is having a new canoe made, and he promised to show it to me after supper. I have been making notes on its construction. It is fascinating!”

  Mr. Swan was som
ething of an amateur anthropologist, or “adventurer” as he liked to call himself, and he spent much of his time studying the local flora and fauna, as well as the Chinook Indians. Known as one of the original American settlers on Shoalwater Bay, he’d arrived here several years ago from Boston. In fact, he still had a wife and two daughters back there, although he never spoke of them. Mr. Swan presently resided in Mr. Russell’s cabin.

  “Squire!” a voice called.

  As there was no formal local government, Mr. Swan currently acted as the unofficial judge in local disputes. and the men had taken to calling him squire.

  Red Charley came stomping up to us, dragging a thin man by the arm. “Me and Joe here are having a dispute.” Red Charley grinned at me, revealing his yellow teeth. “Howdy, Miss Peck.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Charley,” I said.

  “Explain the situation, my good man,” Mr. Swan said.

  Red Charley’s face grew annoyed. “See, I gave Joe here a barrel of whiskey on credit, and he went and drank it, and now I want my money to buy me a new roof, and he won’t give it to me!”

  “Is this true? Did he give it to you on credit?” Mr. Swan asked.

  The man scratched his head sheepishly. “He did, but he didn’t say when I had to pay ’im back. And I can’t pay ’im now. I’m plumb broke!”

  “Then you shouldn’ta drank that whiskey!” Red Charley muttered.

  “Hmmm,” Mr. Swan said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I believe I have a solution.”

  The two men held their breath for his verdict.

  “As you are in need of a new roof,” he said, looking at Red Charley, “and you have no funds,” he said to Joe, “why don’t you build a new roof for Charley, Joe? In return, he shall forgive your debt.”

  The men regarded each other and then slowly shook their heads in agreement.

  “I reckon that would be okay,” Red Charley said, almost reluctantly. “But that’s the last time I give you any whiskey on credit!”

  “Capital!” Mr. Swan said, and slapped both men on their backs. “Now, I’m afraid that we must move along, as I am escorting Miss Peck to supper.”

  “O’ course,” Red Charley said, tipping his hat.

  “Thankee, Squire.” Mr. Swan paused, looking back. “Charley, would you be so kind as to lend me some whiskey? I’m afraid I’m rather light for coins at the moment.”

  “Your credit’s always good with me, Squire!” Red Charley said.

  I shook my head. Mr. Swan shared the men of Shoalwater Bay’s affection for drinking too much whiskey. Still, in spite of this failing, he was greatly respected by all. He had helped more than one man secure oyster beds and negotiate for help from the Chinooks.

  Ahead of us in the distance loomed a collection of large buildings. It was the Chinook village. The Chinooks built massive lodges of cedar that were so big that they had the capacity to house several families in comfort.

  We entered Chief Toke’s lodge by slipping through an opening near the ground. Fire pits lined the center of the lodge, and cedar planks that could be shifted served as the roof, allowing smoke to escape. Huge bunklike structures, platforms really, were built along the interior walls and housed entire families. The Chinooks lived in perfect luxury compared to the settlers in their tiny cabins. I had spent many a happy evening in this lodge, and I immediately felt at home.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Peck!” a voice cried, and I turned to see M’Carty and his wife sitting with Chief Toke on a high platform along with Keer-ukso. Mr. Russell was there as well, I noticed, and Sootie and Katy were giggling away in a corner with their dolls.

  M’Carty and Mr. Russell had been the first settlers to arrive on the bay, and the two were fast friends. M’Carty had helped to establish the territory’s now thriving oyster business and owned a schooner that he hired out to ferry the oysters to San Francisco. He had married Cocumb, who was one of Chief Toke’s daughters. They made a handsome couple.

  “Boston Jane,” Cocumb said with a warm smile. She and I had become good friends during my time on the bay.

  “Kahta mika?” she asked. How are you?

  “Kloshe kahkwa,” I replied. Very well.

  Cocumb smiled approvingly. “Your Jargon is coming along well.”

  The Jargon was the local trading language, and it consisted mainly of Chinook, with some French and English words as well.

  Katy and Sootie rushed over to me.

  “Boston Jane,” Katy said. “You must come and help us with our dolls!”

  Cocumb smiled and smoothed back Katy’s hair. “After supper, tenas klootchman.”

  We all sat down and bowls of food were passed around. I took some camas, a Chinook specialty, and some roasted salmon.

  I had just taken a bite of the salmon when Mr. Russell announced without preamble, “Baldt’s back.”

  I choked. “When?”

  Mr. Russell spit. “This morning.”

  William’s return was not good news. My former betrothed now worked for the governor as an Indian agent, and he did not look upon the Chinooks favorably. There was a moment of worried silence.

  “Saw him in town with that new feller from Philadelphia,” Mr. Russell finally said.

  “Mr. Biddle?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “Yep.” Mr. Russell nodded. “They were having themselves a real conversation. All businesslike, if you know what I mean.”

  Of course! How could I have not thought of it myself? It explained why Mr. Biddle was here on Shoalwater Bay, the most unlikely of places. William had known Mr. Biddle back in Philadelphia. They had traveled in the same circles. No doubt William had written him about the prospects for land speculation in the territory.

  “It doesn’t matter whether he’s back or not,” Cocumb said. “My father still isn’t interested in that reservation treaty he’s selling.” She glanced at Chief Toke, who gave a small nod.

  Mr. Russell grunted. “They might not even bother asking.”

  “Mr. Russell,” I said, “they would not dare, would they? Things have been quite peaceful.”

  And this was true. The settlers and Indians lived together agreeably. In fact, the settlers would have been unable to run their oyster businesses without the Indians. They depended on them for help in harvesting the oysters.

  Keer-ukso leaned over. “Boston Jane is right,” he said with a grin. “All these new people are good. There will be jobs and more money for us!”

  With the recent influx of pioneers on the bay, the Chinook found their labor in great demand.

  “Yes,” Mr. Swan said enthusiastically. “Our little community is growing by leaps and bounds. And I firmly believe that our new arrivals will see that they can profit by developing a good relationship with you.” He paused, looking around. “Speaking of profit, anyone care for a friendly wager?”

  “Mr. Swan!” I hissed. Gambling had gotten Mr. Swan into trouble in the past.

  “Just one game, dear girl. To win back what I lost last week!”

  I looked across at Cocumb, who shook her head in silent communion.

  Cocumb turned to her husband, a shadow of worry in her eyes. “What if Mr. Russell’s right?”

  “Don’t you worry none, nayka klootchman.” M’Carty hugged her to him and laughed heartily. “Nothing’s gonna happen as long as I have breath in this body of mine. I take care of my own.”

  Mr. Russell belched.

  When I returned to the hotel, Mr. Frink was carrying one of Sally’s trunks down the hall. I followed him as he shouldered it … into my room! Sally was standing in the middle of the space, her possessions arrayed everywhere. A pile of her trunks rested in the corner where my desk had once been. Mrs. Frink was standing next to her.

  “You can put it right there,” Sally said to Mr. Frink. He put it down and straightened, rubbing his shoulder.

  Sally turned and noticed me standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, Jane darling,” she said. “I was just telling Mrs. Frink how sweet you were
to suggest that we change rooms. You’re such a dear friend to remember that I have trouble sleeping unless there is a good cross breeze. The air does seem better in this room.”

  My mouth dropped open so wide, I’m surprised a bird didn’t fly into it.

  “That’s why our Jane is the best concierge on the bay!” Mrs. Frink gushed.

  “She certainly is,” Sally agreed with a smile.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  or,

  Husband Material

  The next morning, after my chores were finished, I decided to go over to my claim to see how my house was coming along, and with particular interest now that I had been kicked out of my room.

  Not that anyone knew what had really happened. Mrs. Frink thought Sally was perfectly charming.

  “Such a nice young lady. And so thoughtful,” Mrs. Frink said. “Do you know that she said this is one of the nicest hotels she’s ever stayed at! I was so touched.”

  As I walked along the windswept shore, the salty breeze tangling my hair, I pondered news more worrisome than Sally Biddle.

  William was back on Shoalwater Bay, no doubt stirring up trouble.

  These thoughts of my father’s old apprentice brought a longing for Papa so deep, I could barely breathe. Papa had died of consumption after I left to come west to marry William. My dear, sweet father who used to have me sit on sailors’ bellies while he set their broken legs.

  “A man won’t scream so much if a little girl’s sitting on his belly, Janey,” he liked to say with a wink.

  Papa had not believed that William was worthy of me, but he had not lived to learn that I had discovered as much. I had been preparing to return home when I received word of my father’s death. It still broke my heart to think that Papa had died all alone, and all because I had foolishly followed William out west.

  I was smitten by William at first glance. With his bright blond hair and handsome gray eyes, William had appeared to be an angel fallen to earth, and I had done everything in my young way to please him, down to wearing only green dresses, which he claimed suited me. It was he who had encouraged me to enter Miss Hepplewhite’s, and he who had counseled me on the importance of fitting in with other girls, like Sally.