Chapter Twenty-six
What should have been a ten hour voyage was lasting into the night. The river was rough, with white-capped waves pushed along by the strong wind. Even Buff, who had experienced a typhoon in the South China Sea, was glad to stay in the elegant lounge, where hot coffee came from a bottomless pot and good whiskey could be had for a quarter.
To his relief, after dinner Siri had gone to the small stateroom he'd engaged for her and had, the last time he'd peeked in, gone to sleep. A good thing he'd brought the small vial of laudanum. She hadn't tasted it in the tea. He felt like a betrayer, drugging her like that, but wasn't sorry he had. She'd been amazing, the way she'd conquered her fear. He'd been sick watching her start at the slightest noise, her eyes enormous and her face frozen, like a terrified doe facing a panther.
With any luck, she'd sleep until they arrived in Portland. The steward had told him they'd be docking in a couple of hours. He sure hoped Longstreet had taken care of reserving their rooms for a week.
Darkness fell while they were still in the Columbia. Restless, he went outside and took shelter in the lee of the wheelhouse. Standing there with his collar turned up and his hat pulled low, he was protected from the rain but not from the wind, which sought out every gap in his clothing. It seemed warmer than it had been this morning, though, for which he was grateful. Somehow the damp cold ate into his bones worse than the bitter dry cold he'd grown up with.
Sometime in the next few days, he was going to have to decide what to do with Siri. The question he'd asked her the other night--what she was planning to do once she had her kids--had been for his benefit as much as hers. He needed to know if she'd made plans she hadn't told him about.
She hadn't, which only added to his dilemma. He wanted to continue wandering, chasing the next great adventure. And he wanted Siri, no matter how it would change the shape of his future.
C'mon, Buff, admit it. You hoped she had plans that would take you off the hook. You wanted to go on playing until you're an old man. Flitting from pillar to post, like a butterfly sampling all the pretty flowers.
He strode out to the rail and stood, gripping it, staring at the dimly-seen shoreline where an occasional glimmer of light marked a homestead. When he felt the boat turn, he leaned over and looked ahead, but saw nothing new, no city lights. How much farther was it to Portland, anyhow? Shouldn't they be there pretty soon?
He wondered where Silas was. Right now he'd sure like to have someone to talk to. Maybe he'd be able to make up his mind, if he could talk it out. Silas had more good sense than anybody else he knew, and wouldn't offer advice, only a sympathetic ear.
Ma would like Siri. He was sure of that. Maybe he could take her and her kids to Boise City. It wouldn't be the first time Ma had taken in total strangers and made them part of the family. Then he could go on to Australia, as he'd planned to do, now he'd kept his promise to Anders.
Bullshit! You're acting like one of those spoiled lordlings you saw too much of in Europe, with no thought for anything but your own pleasure, scared to death of responsibility.
Maybe it's time you grew up, Buffalo Lachlan.
"But I'm not ready yet!"
As soon as he spoke the words, they shamed him.
It was a pity he'd not be able to prove Siri was really Astrid Thorsdotter. As the heir to half of Baron Mogensen's fortune, she wouldn't have to worry about making a home for her kids. She would be able to live in style in Copenhagen, or anywhere else she chose.
Pipe dreams. There wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell he'd be able to prove anything. Astrid Thorsdotter had no birthmarks, no identifying scars. Just a remarkable resemblance to her twin brother.
He swung away from the rail and paced along the wet deck, up to the prow, where the steamer seemed to be cutting through a featureless black tunnel. How the dickens did the pilot know where to steer? Even as he asked, he saw a beacon, burning brightly right straight ahead.
He couldn't just abandon her. Siri was a strong woman, and would do whatever it took to give her kids a decent life. But strength and determination weren't always enough. She'd have to remarry. A single woman with a couple of kids to provide for really hadn't any other choice. She'd have to find herself a man willing to take on a ready-made family.
He just hoped she'd find a decent one.
Hasn't she? a small voice said inside his head. Hasn't she found a decent man? Only trouble is, he may be too selfish to tackle a responsibility like that.
* * *
Siri couldn't understand why she was so sleepy. She felt as if her mind was wrapped in batting, safely padded and protected. Her thoughts were slow, sluggish, and her senses seemed flat, as if she had a terrible head cold.
When Buffalo offered to help her into bed, she knew she should argue, but hadn't the will. Instead, she let him pull her nightgown from the small case that held every stitch of clothing she owned. Obediently she stood when ordered, so he could remove her skirt, raised her chin so he could unbutton her high collar, and when he told her to, she held her right hand in her left, so he could rewrap the binding that held it in place. As if in a dream, she stood passively while he let her braids down and slipped her nightgown over her head.
"Can you handle the rest?" he said as he buttoned the front of the nightgown.
"The rest..." Why can I not think?
"There's an ewer and water behind the screen. Can you manage?"
"Oh," she said, comprehending. "Yes, I can manage." She took a step toward the screen in the corner. Her legs felt heavy, as if they were caught in thick syrup.
Her nightgown seemed to have twice the material in it than before. She finally had to hold it in her teeth to keep it out of her way. When she had finished washing up, she emerged from behind the screen to find Buffalo sitting in the straight chair beside the bed. He was fully dressed.
"Where are...aren't you...Why...?"
"My room's next door," he said, as if he understood her half-formed thoughts. He rose to stand before her. But he did not take her into his arms, as she wanted him to do. "You're about to go to sleep on your feet. I'll talk to you in the morning." One quick kiss on her cheek and he was gone, striding across the room and out the door. She heard the rattle of a key as he locked her in.
"Nej! Do not..." she cried, as she tried to run to the door. Her feet would not move so fast, and she stumbled, catching herself with her free hand on the doorknob. For some reason, the thought of being locked inside a strange room in an unknown place terrified her.
A door she hadn't noticed in the side wall opened. "I'll leave-- Siri, what's wrong?"
She was still clinging to the doorknob when he caught her in his strong hands and lifted her against him. In no time at all she was tucked into her bed. Buffalo sat beside her, frowning.
At last he spoke. "Somebody's tried awful hard to kill you, Siri. I don't know who it is, or why. But until I do, we're both sleeping behind locked doors." His fingertip, rough with callus, stroked across her lower lip. "I was going to come in after you were asleep to tuck a chair under the doorknob. My room's got an easy chair, so I'll slide the dresser across the door in it."
"But--" Oh, why could she not think clearly? "How could he know we are here? You said..." What had he said. Something about Li Ching making the arrangements for their passage? Or had the Chinaman done something else and Carleen bought the tickets? She caught at his wrist and gripped it tightly. "I am so dum! My thoughts...they go nowhere..."
His mouth twisted and his brows came together. "That's my fault, sweetheart. You were so damned scared on the ship. So I gave you some laudanum. I guess I gave you too much." Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed her knuckles. "Will you forgive me?"
"You drugged me?" she repeated, not sure she'd understood. "Why?"
"Afraid so. In your tea, at dinner. I had the dickens of a time getting it in there, too, without anyone seeing."
Siri thought back to how she had felt, sitting on the steamer. Only an effort of will had kept her from givi
ng way to panic. By dinnertime, she had been exhausted, and almost sick. She remembered toying with the food on her plate, but eating nothing but the applesauce that had accompanied the roast pork, drinking nothing but the one cup of tea. That had been only halfway into the voyage. Would her self-control have endured the rest of it? Possibly not. "You are a bad man," she told him, doing her best to be severe, "but I forgive you. Your intentions were good, even if your conduct was högdragen."
He chuckled. "Seems to me you've called me bossy before. I only did it for your own good, you know."
"Hmph!" She released his hand and turned away. "I am sleepy. Good night." Men! Do they all believe they know what is best for everyone?
* * *
Tuesday morning Carleen saw Mr. Gans' door standing open when she turned into the hallway. "He's forgotten to lock it," she said to the armful of linens she carried.
But he hadn't. He was standing beside his bed, packing his valise.
She tapped on the doorframe.
He turned around. For a moment his expression was savage. Carleen took a step backwards, ready to run.
Then he smiled, and she wondered if she'd imagined the danger. "Good morning," she said, doing her best to return his smile. "Are you off again?"
"Yes, I must leave for a while. I have received word that there is someone in Portland whom I must interview. Today I will complete some business here, and tomorrow morning I will take the steamer."
"Well, we'll miss you," she said, but she wasn't being entirely truthful.
There was something about him. Something not quite...right.
* * *
Buff accepted the tray from the white-coated waiter, tipped him, and assured him that they would handle everything. Siri was still sleeping, so he set it on the table and poured himself a cup of coffee to drink while he finished dressing.
She woke while he was pulling on his boots. Her face, pink with sleep and drowsy-eyed, emerged from the pillow. For a moment he was tempted to join her in the big, soft bed and say to hell with responsibility. Instead he reminded himself of all he had to do today.
"I'll be back before dinnertime." He settled his coat on his shoulders and picked up his hat. "This afternoon we'll go shopping." If he were to kiss her, he'd never get out of the room.
"Wait! Where are you going!" Siri erupted from the bedclothes like a small explosion.
"To see what I can find out. I ordered breakfast. It's on the table in my room."
"Nej! You cannot go without me. I will be dressed in a trice!" His nightshirt, which she'd adopted as her own, billowed about her as she dashed behind the screen.
"Siri, I want you to stay here. I've got half a dozen stops to make and you'll only slow me down."
"Nej, I will not stay. How can you find mina barn if I do not go with you? I will be only a moment." His nightshirt came sailing over the screen and landed on the floor.
He wondered how she was going to get into her dress with only one arm. So far she hadn't managed the buttons up the back without help. He picked up the nightshirt and tossed it back. "I'm not taking you with me, and that's final. Now calm down, put the nightshirt back on, and have a leisurely breakfast."
Clad only in drawers, she came storming out, holding her camisole against her chest. "You will not give me orders. I say I go with you, and that is that. We will..."
Not sure whether to laugh or to curse, Buff did the easiest thing he could think of. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Setting her on the edge, he held her there. "Now you listen to me, Siri. I've got business of my own here in Portland, and I need to take care of it. While I'm at it, I'll ask around about this Martha Peterson, see what I can find out. Until we know more, we'd be crazy to go pushing into her place, letting her know we're on her trail. It could set her to running again."
He watched her absorb what he'd said. Finally she nodded. "I understand. You cannot devote all your time to my problems." She sounded subdued, disappointed. "But this afternoon? We will go--"
He stole her words with a kiss. "This afternoon we'll go shopping, like I said. There are some things we need to get before we can start."
He could tell she wasn't happy, but at least she didn't argue any more. Understanding her impatience, he wished he could rush right out and rescue those kids. But he'd learned a long time ago that planning could make the difference between success and failure.
"I want your word you'll stay here until I get back," he said, once again picking up his hat.
She hesitated, mouth set in a stubborn line, but at last she nodded. "I will stay."
His first stop was Chinatown, where he quickly found the man for whom Li Ching's message was intended. Once they'd both identified themselves, Buff recited the incomprehensible syllables he'd memorized. The fellow smiled widely and thanked him profusely. Buff wondered just what chicanery he'd made himself part of.
Well, needs must when the devil drives, as his Pa had been fond of saying. Li Ching had been helpful. Now they were even.
The local office of Dewitt Shipping was a busy place. He found his way to the agent's office eventually, having been distracted by the hustle and bustle of the warehouse, where crates and bales of merchandise from all over the world were opened and repacked for shipping inland. "I'm Buffalo Lachlan," he told the young man sitting at a desk in an outer room. "Any chance of having a word with Mr. MacCray?"
"He's in a meeting right now," the fellow said. "I expect him to be free soon, though. Can I tell him who you represent?"
"I'm from the Idaho store," Buff said, not sure what else to tell him. He hadn't heard that Silas had closed the hardware store in Centerville.
Disbelief was plain on the fellow's face, but he wrote Buff's name down and said he'd tell Mr. MacCray as soon as he was free.
Buff sat in a chair and picked up a booklet from the table beside it. Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine. He flipped through its pages. The second article was about Astoria and he started to read.
"So you're from the Idaho store," a voice from his past said to him a little later.
He looked up, unbelieving. "Silas! Great God! I never expected to see you." He was caught in a bear hug, one he returned with enthusiasm. All of a sudden, homesickness tightened his throat. He'd been among strangers too long.
"You wouldn't have," his uncle said, when they'd finished slapping backs and taking long looks at each other, "but for that cold spell. Soomey and I were supposed--"
"Soomey? She's here?"
"Over at the hotel. Great God, lad, it's good to see you!" Silas turned to the man who'd been standing silently by. "Gil, this is my nephew, the one I was telling you about." He introduced his agent, then suggested Buff meet him and Soomey for dinner. "I've got a day's work ahead of me. Seven? At the Siskiyou House?"
"I'm staying there, too. And Silas? I'll have someone with me. A woman."
Only a raised eyebrow betrayed his uncle's surprise.
Conscious of a sense of great relief, Buff went back to the hotel. He'd been trying to figure out how to get inside Martine Pedersdotter's boarding house ever since they'd learned of it, and he hadn't been able to come up with any way he could do it. Not without help, and he didn't know a soul in Portland.
But Silas did. Or if he didn't, his agent would, which was why Buff had gone to the Dewitt office in the first place. By tomorrow night they should know whether Siri's children were with Martine.
And if they weren't, what was he going to tell Siri?
* * *
She was dressed and waiting when he arrived. "What did you learn? Are there children in the house? Will we go there tomorrow to get them?"
"Hold on, there! Give me a chance to take off my coat." He tossed it and his hat onto his bed. She was right behind him when he turned around. "Siri, I didn't go to the boarding house. I went--"
"You did not go there? Why not? You have wasted the morning!"
"What should I have done?" he said. "Barged in and demanded to know if she was hidi
ng your kids? Oh, yeah, that would have worked, wouldn't it? She'd have had the police at the door in no time at all, and then where would we be? Damn it, Siri, you've waited this long. Can't you wait another day?"
"Another day? How can I--" She paused and bit her lip. After a moment she said, "You are generous to be helping me, and I only complain. Förlåta mig? Var snäll och?"
"Why is it you only slip into Swedish when you're upset?" He pulled her close. Her head moved against his shoulder, but she didn't answer. He really didn't blame her for being impatient. It must seem to her that everything conspires against her. "Siri, I'll get your kids for you if it's humanly possible. Just let me do it my way, will you?"
She nodded against his shoulder. "Jag är obetänksam," she whispered. "I am sorry."
"No need to be sorry. You're upset, and I don't blame you. Can you put your mission out of your mind for one day? If I promise you that tomorrow we'll make progress?"
She pulled back and looked at him. Tears sparkled on her lashes. "Ja. I will not think of it."
"That's a fib! You can't not think of it, but will you try to think of other things besides?"
"I will try, then."
"Good enough. Tomorrow we'll get some answers, I promise."
They ate in the dining room, an experience that Buff could see made Siri uncomfortable. He had a hunch she was still self-conscious about her clothing. Compared to the other women in the hotel, she certainly did look drab. Well, he had plans to take care of that. "This afternoon we're going shopping," he told her, when they'd finished their meal. "I've been told there's nothing better to cheer a woman up." He wasn't going to tell her who'd shared that bit of information with him, but he silently thanked the woman in Paris who had.
"Shopping? How? I have no money? Only the few dollars Mrs. Welkins gave me when she discharged me."
"That's all right. I've plenty." He looked at her. "That's your good dress, isn't it?" The gown, made of a gray fabric that might be silk, wasn't exactly ugly. And it fit her well, showing her slim waist and her small, high breasts, but it was definitely past its prime and years out of style. Or maybe it never had been in style. There was nothing about it to flatter. It covered her body, decently, adequately, plainly.
The Lost Baroness Page 26