The troll's face was hideous--heavy scowling brows, a twisted mouth from which long fangs protruded, and red, glowing eyes. He loomed over her, slavering and growling, yet the hands holding her shoulders were gentle, though unyielding as iron bands. Her legs were caught between his, immobile.
He snarled, yet seemed to be speaking. He roared, but under the blaring sound she heard almost-words.
Fear overcame her again and she fought, with one arm, her feet, her teeth. "Let me go! Let me go. Oh, please!"
"Siri! Listen to me!"
How did the troll know her name? Or was it her name?
Who is Astrid?
She wrenched one leg free of his hold and kicked him.
He fell away from her. Disappeared below the cloud.
Siri lay still, listening.
The troll was making awful sounds, gasps and growls, somewhere out of her sight. Cautiously she rolled to the edge of the cloud and peered down.
As if released from a förtrollning, she saw the man clearly. He lay on his side, legs drawn up, arms wrapped around himself. His breath came in labored gasps. "Buffalo!" Fighting the dizziness that made the room spin about her, she climbed from the bed and went to him.
He continued to fight for each breath.
Just so had Rosel acted once, when she had fallen from a high porch. Her breath had been taken away for so long, until Siri had feared for her life. She knelt beside Buffalo and held her hand firmly on his belly. "Deep breaths," she told him. "Slow, deep breaths. One at a time. One...breath...at...a...time...." As she spoke, he seemed to relax, and after a few moments, his breathing became easier.
"You sure pack a wallop," he said, in a husky whisper, when his breathing had slowed and become even. "Remind me never to make you mad at me."
"Oh, Buffalo, I did not intend...I was not myself." She remembered how he had appeared to her, and decided not to tell him how long his fangs had been, nor how hideous his features. "I do not know...have never...Oh! You must not get up!"
He did, though, rolling to one side and getting to his feet. "I've got to. Siri, will you be all right if I leave you?"
Not certain she was being truthful, she nodded. "Yes, I am fine, but why?"
"The whole damn hotel is sick. Poisoned, Singh said. I've got to see if the doctor's here yet. The captain's bad. Real bad."
"Oh, no! I will come---"
"You'll stay right here. I don't think this had anything to do with you, but it could have. After what's been happening, I just don't want you to take any chances."
"Oh, that is dum! If everyone is sick, then no one will harm me. I will dress and come down. You go now, quickly."
He caught her to him and kissed her, hard. "I've got news," he said, "but it'll have to wait." Then he was gone.
Siri dressed slowly, because the room still wanted to spin around her and the walls kept trying to melt. Whatever ailed her had not gone entirely away. She pulled on a thick pair of wool socks, because tying her boots was beyond her ability. For a brief moment she considered removing the wide band that held her right arm to her chest--how could she be any use in a sickroom with only one arm? But she decided against it, remembering the pain when she had fallen off the--off the bed?
Not ten steps from Buffalo's door she found Mr. Kincaid, the burly millwright, crawling toward the stairs. She knelt beside him and tried to get his attention, but he paid her no mind. His eyes were wide open, staring and vacant. "Flowers," he said, over and over. "Flowers. Flowers. Flowers."
He seemed otherwise unharmed, so she left him, hoping that when he came to the stairs, he would not tumble down. He was much too big for her to manage, even if she had had two arms.
As she left Mr. Kincaid, she thought she saw someone dodge back into the opposite corridor. But when she called out, there was no answer. She briefly considered going to see if anyone on that side of the house needed assistance. At the very thought the hair on her nape tried to stand on end. All the other fourth-floor residents were young and healthy. The captain was not, and Buffalo had said he was very ill.
When she reached Captain Stokes' room, she had to hold her breath. He had been sick, and his bowels must have given way. Strong, offensive odors permeated the air. The doctor and Buffalo were standing by his bed, and the doctor was shaking his head.
Siri caught the doorframe as another dizzy spell beset her. When she saw the doctor's expression, she whispered, "Oh, no!"
Buffalo looked up. "Will you sit with him, Siri? We need to see to the others."
"How bad is he?"
"He'll likely not last the night, poor old fellow," the doctor said. His manner was far less abrasive than it had been the other time he had come. "But someone should be here if he rouses."
"I will stay. Just tell me what to do."
"Unfortunately there's nothing much you can do," the doctor said. "If this is mushroom poisoning, then the captain will live or die according to his fate. That Indian fellow said he ate two big bowls of the soup, more than anybody else--"
"The captain is very fond of mushrooms," Siri said.
"Yes, well, his fondness may kill him. Keep him comfortable, tend to him if he's sick again, and call me if anything changes." He picked up his bag and turned to Buffalo. "Let's go. This is going to be a long night."
As Buffalo went with the doctor, Mr. Singh came in. "Here is water to drink and to wash him with," he said. He set the tray on the dresser, then leaned against its front. "The cook is very sick, and I am taking care of him. The doctor refuses to."
"Chu? Oh, I will...no I cannot come to him. Please, Mr. Singh, is Bao all right?"
"I do not know him. The cook is the only person in the kitchen."
"Bao is the laundryman. Chu's cousin."
"I..." Mr. Singh shook his head. "I will look for him, after I have tended to the cook."
The captain lay as one dead. But his breathing, shallow and slow, went on and on. Siri occasionally heard others speaking in the parlor, but not what they said. Now and then she felt dizzy for a moment or two, and several times the urge to be up and about was so strong she paced the room. But no more of the awful visions assailed her.
Captain Stokes had been so kind to her. When she'd first come to work at the hotel, she had been clumsy and slow. He had flirted with her and teased, had helped her over her fear of doing everything wrong. Even when he'd patted her rumpa, he had done so with kindness, not true lust. Wishing she could lend him strength to fight the poison in his body, she took his hand. It was limp and cold, but she held it, stroking the liver-spotted back with her thumb.
The night seemed endless. Gradually the coming and going in the parlor beyond the captain's sitting room ceased, but no one came to relieve her. She dozed once, waking with a stiff neck and a dry mouth. Captain Stokes' hand still lay in hers, completely unresponsive. With a sigh, she lay her head on the bed and wept silent tears of sorrow and helplessness.
Suddenly he moved. He jerked his hand free, flung the covers aside. With strength amazing in one so ill, he sat straight up in the bed, eyes staring wildly. He flung one arm forward, pointing. "Land ho! Look, lads, there she lies! Land ho!" His voice was strong, full and free like a young man's.
"Captain--"
"We'll find a safe anchorage here, lads. Drop the anchor."
For a moment more he sat, pointing at a shore that existed only in his memory. Then he collapsed, like a puppet with its strings cut.
And breathed no more.
Siri touched his neck, where a fragile pulse had beaten. Nothing. Moving her hand to his chest, she breathed a brief prayer for him. Tears seemed to clog her throat as she closed his staring eyes. She straightened his limbs, pulled the covers to his waist, and folded his hands together. Only then did she go to find Buffalo.
* * *
Everyone else had more or less recovered by the time the winter dawn broke. Buff saw Siri safely to his room. "Set a chair under the knob," he told her. She nodded, as numb and exhausted as he.
&n
bsp; More so, for she had also been poisoned. He pulled her to him, held her close. "Ah, Siri, I should have been here. I won't leave you alone again."
"Then stay with me now. I...I am frightened."
"I'll be downstairs. I've got a few things to do, but I promise I'll come to you soon." He didn't want to leave her, but Singh and Tuomas were waiting in the kitchen. They were going to strain the leftover soup. The doctor had told them of a woman in town, an herbalist, who might be able to identify the poisonous mushroom, even though it had been cooked.
She went inside. Buff stood there until he heard the lock click into place.
The doctor believed the poisoning was an accident, due to ignorance on Chu's part and carelessness by the Chinese who gathered edible mushrooms in the woods.
Buff disagreed. He would bet his life that someone had deliberately added poison mushrooms to the soup.
The question was, who had been the intended victim?
* * *
The hotel was quiet. Everyone was in bed, sleeping off the lingering aftereffects of poison.
Jaeger did not understand why only the foolish old man had died. The mushrooms had looked exactly like the ones he had gathered before, called Snehvid fluesvamp in Denmark. Those were deadly to almost everyone who ate them, causing vile sickness first, then painful death. Even a small portion would kill.
He had put six large caps, chopped into small pieces, into the soup when the Chinese cook was out of the kitchen. Enough to kill a regiment, if they had been as deadly as they should have been.
What a waste of time! Most of the hotel guests had merely suffered a few hours of discomfort. The brewmaster had broken his hand when he thrust it through a wall, but his was the only injury, other than a few bruises and scrapes.
The woman was unharmed, and seemed to have been only slightly affected. She was unbelievably fortunate.
Thus far.
Chapter Twenty-three
The weather continued cold. Gale warnings flew on Tuesday, and were replaced by storm warnings on Wednesday. Siri could not recall such bitter weather. Ice formed along the shore. The sawmills shut down, and the loggers stayed out of the woods. Bao, who had escaped the poisoning because he had eaten elsewhere on Monday evening, told her that even the canneries had closed their doors after the Chinese workers refused to handle the metal from which the cans were fashioned. Their fingers froze to it. All river traffic ceased, even the ferries. Captain Stokes's funeral was postponed, because the ground was frozen. His coffin was removed from the parlor where it had sat for two days and was stored in a shed at the cemetery.
Nightmares haunted Siri's sleep, even though she had shaken off other effects of the poison. Other guests in the hotel also complained of disturbing dreams. Mrs. Welkins was still confined to her bed with a bloody flux and severe dizziness. Neither Carleen nor Edna had suffered greatly, but Edna had quit, refusing to work any longer in a house where the food was poisoned.
"Good riddance," Carleen had said to Siri, when she brought word from Mr. Welkins that he wanted Siri to come back to work. "She has to be the most cranky woman in the world."
"I will help out for a short while," Siri said, "but I can do little with only one arm."
"You can wash dishes, and easy things like that. I'll do the rest. We just won't do floors or any other heavy cleaning until we find someone else."
"Only for a little while," Siri repeated. "We go to Portland soon."
"Portland? We? Oh, Siri, are you and Buff...?"
"He is helping me to find mina barn, that is all." As she spoke, Siri knew she wanted more. She wanted to be with Buffalo Lachlan forever after, not just until her children were once again restored to her.
Buffalo openly went to the drying room to sleep at night. Siri remained alone in his room, secure behind his repaired door with its new lock--there were no doors on the maids' rooms in the attic. She protested, but he was adamant. Her reputation had suffered enough, he told her.
She would have argued, but a lifelong habit of obedience kept the words inside, simmering but unspoken. Obedience and pride. She would beg him to help her search for her children, but not to share her bed.
Long after the residents had gone to their beds someone tried the door. Although Siri's heart leaped into her throat with each quiet rattle of her doorknob, she did not tell Buffalo. He would worry and would insist upon protecting her. Since she was convinced that Mrs. Welkins' persuasion of her immorality had been broadcast far and wide, she wasn't surprised someone was testing her door.
As long as she kept it locked, she would be safe.
* * *
"Guten Morgen, Frau Trogen," Mr. Gans said when she brought the coffee to the dining room Thursday morning. It was his first appearance since the poisoning. He had claimed to be suffering from lingering cramps and dizziness and had kept to his room. Siri had taken a tray with tea and pilot bread to him the previous afternoon, as he had requested, but she had refused to linger when he invited her inside. He had been sitting in his chair, looking as healthy as she. He still made her uncomfortable.
"Good morning." She deliberately spoke to everyone at table, rather than just to him. "Chu is well, but he is still weak. Breakfast is porridge again this morning, but he promises that dinner will be as usual."
"Welkins should hire a white woman to do the cooking. Then we wouldn't be eating all these outlandish dishes and getting sick," grumbled Mr. Palmer. The fussy banker was the only one of the residents who had continued to believe the poison had been Chu's fault.
This was an argument that had occupied the diners at both dinner and supper yesterday. Siri was amused to note no one even replied to the banker's complaint.
"Where is Mr. Lachlan?"
She looked Mr. Gans straight in the eye. "I do not know. He is not mine to watch."
Something about his knowing smile made her very uncomfortable. But all he said was, "I thought you were his," in a soft, suggestive tone.
Siri turned her back on him. Gåshud covered her arms and she shivered.
Buffalo came to dinner on Thursday with word that they could move back to the Chinese store.
"I am ready," she told him, keeping her voice low, as he had. "Tuomas' cousin Kerttu will start work tomorrow. She has not much English, but she will learn quickly."
When Siri had gone to the kitchen, Buff sat and listened to the conversation in the parlor. Everyone claimed to feel well except Mrs. Welkins, who still could not stand without holding to something for balance. Palmer was still going on about Chu's carelessness, but none of the others seemed to agree.
The Chinese cook had insisted that he had used no mushrooms he had not used before. "I ver' careful. Only good toadstool go in soup. I cook long time, not make sick ever."
The weather was the main topic that evening. Both of the traders, stuck ashore until the wind lessened, gave it as their opinion that it had to calm soon. "I've never seen a storm last more than five days, and this one's been goin' for three already," Captain MacLain said. "I told my crew to be ready to start loadin' tomorrow afternoon. We'll put to sea come Sunday, God willin'."
"I talked to the Portmaster this afternoon," Thurston said. He'd been stuck ashore since Tuesday, when the ferries had ceased operation due to the storm. "He hopes they can go back to a gale warning tomorrow."
Buff raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He'd seen a roof go sailing this morning, and had shuddered to think what conditions might be like on the open sea. If he had his druthers, he and Siri would stay high and dry until all warning flags had been furled.
* * *
Jaeger cursed under his breath. Lachlan and the woman were surely planning something. Why else would they have lowered their voices. If only the other fools in the room would be silent, instead of yammering on and on about the poisoned mushrooms. They had survived hadn't they? Why did they need to chew the subject to rags?
He was sick of this assignment. Sick of this miserable climate. Sick to death of provincial bumpkin
s and uncivilized louts.
Even the women here were crude and uncultured, with none of the gentle manners or refined habits he was used to. The little dancer had been comely enough, but unlettered and coarse. The world was well rid of her.
He watched the couple on the far side of the room. Lachlan was sleeping with the woman, he was sure, yet he left her alone each night and went back to the Chinese store.
Barbarian! Treating the yellow monkeys as if they were men. This morning Jaeger had seen him bow to the hotel laundryman.
Lachlan had no taste, no discernment. It was no wonder he was attracted to sluts and servants.
He turned away from the scene in the hotel parlor. Ahhh, how he looked forward to leaving this wretched country.
* * *
The weather continued to moderate. On Saturday the ferries started running again. So did the river steamers. Siri stood on the docks that afternoon and stared at the choppy gray water of the river, telling herself the big sidewheel steamers were perfectly safe. She would be carried to Portland without incident. She would find her children, would hold them in her arms again.
And then what?
She looked about her, wondering who had spoken. But there was no one there. The voice had been in her own mind.
What would she do once she had found her children? How would she provide for them?
Perhaps they were better off with Martine, for they at least had a home and warm clothing and good food.
Nej! They would not be better off. They needed their mother as much as she needed them. She would find a job. Surely in a big city like Portland she would find something to do that would let her care for her children well. A nursery maid, perhaps, or a housekeeper.
Yes, indeed. And the lady of the house will not object to your children being underfoot as you work. Of course she will not.
This time Siri did not look for the source of the voice. It was her own doubts speaking.
"What are you doing?"
She turned. Buffalo stood just behind her, his golden curls stirred by the brisk breeze, his long canvas coat whipping about his legs.
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