"Ja." She touched the high collar as if apologizing. "I made it over from one of... of Martine's. The fabric is good, and it is clean. I only wear it to church."
"Would you be insulted if I told you it's as ugly as sin?"
She tried to frown, but couldn't quite manage. "It is, is it not? So plain, and with no style at all. I had no time to make it pretty. Not before Valter's funeral."
"Well, then, let's see what we can find. I'll bet there's a dressmaker or two in town who has something mostly made up that she can fit to you in a few hours." Buff was actually looking forward to shopping with her. More than once he'd imagined her in the sort of gown she should be wearing. Something in blue satin...
She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap, but not before he saw the longing in her face. "I told you I have no money!"
"Siri, you will have to go with me to Martine's house so you can identify your kids. Do you want her to recognize you?"
"No, but how can I--"
"Trust me. When we get done, she'll never know who you are." He doubted it was possible to make Siri unrecognizable. Her silver hair was too distinctive and her face too beautiful. But if she believed him, that was all that mattered.
"Besides," he continued, "we have an invitation to dine tonight, and I want you to look your best." He ignored her look of alarm. Before she could ask a single question, he had his hands on the back of her chair, waiting for her to rise.
* * *
Jaeger cursed his ill fortune. The only other steamship scheduled to make the upriver run to Portland the day of Lachlan's departure was the R.J. Wilson, a decrepit sternwheeler that probably should be sunk. He was about to board when a burly man in a yellow slicker came down from the wheelhouse and mounted a handwritten sign on the gangplank.
DEPARTURE POSTPONED UNTIL NOON.
"What is this? Why have you postponed the departure?" Jaeger demanded.
The sailor said, pointing, "Look at them waves, mate. You really want to try your luck in the river today?"
The light from lanterns on the dock only penetrated a little way across the water, but that little way was enough to show waves that must be as high as he was tall. "But you will sail at noon?"
"Dunno. Depends on the winds. More'n likely we will." The sailor went back up the gangplank, not waiting for further questions.
At the ticket office, Jaeger learned that a sailing was scheduled for the next day. "The Lolochuck will sail unless there's storm warnings posted," the ticket seller said. "She's a sturdy vessel. No problem with rough water. Of course, it won't be a comfortable voyage."
"I do not care for comfort. It is important I get to Portland as soon as I can. I have business there that will not wait."
"Well, I'd advise you to wait for the Lolochuck, then. Even if the old R.J. sails, it's likely she'll lie up at Westport or Kalama. Her master don't like to travel up the Willamette after dark."
Verdammt! Jaeger uttered a curt thanks. Now he would have to find lodgings for the night. He went around the corner, toward the Pilot Whale Saloon, one of Astoria's more squalid bars. He'd heard that rooms were to be had there. And women.
A woman was what he needed, to mitigate his anger.
Chapter Twenty-seven
"Så skön!" Siri breathed, almost afraid to touch the sky-blue satin. The gown had been made for a woman who, for some unspoken reason, had changed her mind. When Buffalo had mentioned she needed something suitable for dining at the Siskiyou House, the dressmaker had brought it out and removed the linen in which it had been wrapped for storage.
"There's not many tall enough to wear this," Mrs. Abbot said. "I'm not above hoping you'll find it to your liking. I'll give you a good price on it, just enough to pay for materials and labor."
"Try it on," Buffalo said, before she could protest that it was much too fine.
All her life she had dreamed of a gown like this. Ropes of pearls draped across the front of the skirt and hung from the shoulders, across the bodice front and back. Darker blue velvet trim edged with more pearls outlined a high, pouffed bustle that fell away into a long train. Truly a garment fit for royalty!
She pretended her fingernails were not broken, her hands were smooth and white. Just this one time, she would be beautiful.
Siri had never worn such a corset before. Why, she wondered, did women inflict this discomfort upon themselves? She won the argument about leaving herself room to breathe, but only because the gown was made for a heavier woman. Even so, she felt as if she was wearing a tight iron cage around her middle.
She supported her right hand with her left while the dressmaker's helper assisted her into the petticoats. As the cool fabric slid over her bare skin, she shivered with delight and tried to ignore the sharp twinge when the bodice was gently slipped over her arms. Mrs. Abbot slapped her hand away when she would have adjusted the bodice, so she let the dressmaker tug and twitch until the low neckline lay smooth across her bosom. Looking down, she could see far too much of her breasts. Surely a tucker or a scarf belonged there. Why a man could just look down and see--
"It's a mite big through the waist. And it'll need taking in across the bosom." Mrs. Abbot pinned and tucked, until the bodice felt snug--but no more modest. "Nothin' we can't fix, though." She straightened the two strands of pearls that fell just below Siri's breasts. "There, now! Take a look!"
Siri turned to the mirror she had been straining to catch a glimpse of ever since coming into the fitting room. For a moment she could not believe what she saw there. An elegant lady.
Or a harlot, bought and paid for.
Well, had she not given him every reason to think so?
"Ah, nej," she said then. "No. Please. I must take it off." She tried to reach the back, where the bodice fastened, but her hand tangled with more pearls. She paused, afraid of breaking the strands. Hot tears filled her eyes.
"Here, now! There'll be no weeping. That satin water spots the worst way!" Mrs. Abbot handed her a scrap of linen. "What on earth's the matter with you?"
Siri fought to speak. How could she explain she had seen her dream come true? And seen it soiled by the truth.
Sigrid Hansen Trogen was no elegant lady, but a fisherman's daughter. Buffalo Lachlan was, she had come to realize, a rich man. A worldly man, who had, for some incomprehensible reason, decided to help her find her children. And because he was handsome and appealing, she had fallen into his arms when he held them out. The days alone with him, in the small room behind the Chinese store, had been like time in a dream.
A wonderful dream she would cherish all her life. And hers was a life that did not include beautiful blue satin gowns or tall, handsome men with golden curls and elegant manners. She was a peasant, a servant. No matter how she was dressed up in rich clothing, she would never be more than she was born to be.
"Take it off," she said again, keeping her eyes tightly closed. If she looked again in the mirror, she was afraid she would be tempted beyond resisting.
A door opened and closed behind her. Two big hands settled on her shoulders. "Mrs. Abbot said you were upset," Buffalo said. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He turned her and enclosed her in his strong arms. "Siri, darlin', what is it?"
"Oh, it is so beautiful," she wailed. "You are so cruel. I cannot wear this. Oh, help me take it off!" Once more she tried to reach the hooks in the back, but this time Buffalo's hand caught hers before she could damage the gown.
"Look, Siri, I don't have any idea of what's going through that head of yours, but it's pretty clear you're not thinking straight. You look fine. They'll have the other dress ready by the time this one's fitted. So you just settle down and let these folks get on with their work."
"But I can't--" He did not understand. She could not let him clothe her this way, as if she was someone who belonged in his world.
"Yes, you can." His voice was hard, commanding. A tone she had not heard directed at her before. "I'm not taking you to meet my uncle and aunt with you looking like somethi
ng the cat dragged in. So you let Mrs. Abbot finish fitting this dress and let's go. I've got other things to do today." He gave her a small shake. "You hear me?"
She gave up. Until she had her children, she must obey him. "As you wish."
Buff had a hunch he knew what was going through her head. That dress was something! Oh, it was a mite fancy for dining in the hotel, but he'd bet his bottom dollar that Soomey would be tarted up even more. In red, if she hadn't got tired of the color.
He'd noticed before that Siri had a strait-laced streak. She'd probably seen herself looking like a courtesan.
Well, no wonder. He hadn't said anything to her about what would happen after they'd found her kids.
He'd hoped this shopping spree would take her mind off her troubles for a while. Now he realized his mistake. A woman like Siri wouldn't be distracted by foofaraw.
Yet she needed decent clothing, damn it! Especially if they were to get her into the boarding house to identify her kids. A wig, a high-style dress, maybe some face paint--whatever else it took to keep her mother-in-law from recognizing her right off.
And pigs would sprout wings any minute now.
The early winter dusk was settling in when they got back to the hotel. She was truly furious with him. Even though he was amused, Buff didn't blame her. He'd been pretty high-handed all afternoon. After he'd told her she was going to get the blue satin gown whether she liked it or not, he'd dragged her to a milliner's, a shoemaker's, and a hairdresser's. At first she'd kept asking him about the business he'd told her he had to take care of, but after a while she must have caught on. The only business he had this afternoon was turning her into the vision of loveliness he'd imagined she could be.
And she was. He hadn't let her hair be cut, but the elegant chignon at the back of her head was a far cry from the simple knot she usually wore. The blue bonnet, with its ostrich feather and trailing ribbons made her hair appear even more silvery. The cape of rich blue wool turned her eyes from pale ice to the deep shade of northern waters.
He held the door of her room open. "Let me know if you need help. I'm a pretty fair lady's maid."
"I am sure you are," she said, sounding as if she'd like to scream at him instead of speaking softly. "You must have had much practice."
Since he couldn't deny her accusation, he just grinned and pulled the door closed. This morning he'd slipped the key to the door between their rooms into his pocket. The mood she was in, she'd probably lock him out if she could.
A good thing he'd engaged one of the hotel's maids to help her dress. If he were to do it, they might not ever get to dinner.
His evening clothes, packed in his trunk since Honolulu, were pressed and hanging in the wardrobe. When he went into his bathroom to shave, he eyed the copper bathtub in the corner. It was big enough for two. "I wonder..." No. Siri wouldn't. Not in the mood she was in tonight, anyhow.
Maybe later. When they came back from dinner. He'd order some champagne--had she ever tasted it? She'd need help getting out of that fancy gown.
His fingertips tingled, as if he'd touched the warm, smooth skin under the gown.
* * *
"You're gonna have to pay me more, else I'm goin' back downstairs. The boss don't like us stayin' more'n an hour."
Jaeger looked across the room at the half-naked woman who'd just come from behind the screen in the corner. She was young, but already showed the ravages of the life she led. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her skin coarse. "I will pay. Come here."
"In advance," she said, not moving. "You gotta pay in advance."
"Very well." He sat up and reached for his trousers. The only coin he had was one of the tiny gold pieces worth two-and-a-half dollars. A quarter-eagle? Whatever that meant. "Here."
She snatched it out of the air. When she saw what she held, she said, "I don't give change."
"Then I will take it out in trade." He snapped his fingers. "Come here."
How unfortunate the walls are so thin, he mused as she came to him.
* * *
The dining room was a feast for the senses. In one corner a small orchestra played, the music soft and complex, like nothing she had ever heard in church or at Liberty Hall. Rich purple velvet draperies framed mirrors made to look like windows, and three elaborate crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling embossed with gilded medallions and ornate moldings. The tables were widely spaced, covered with white tablecloths, and decorated with small bouquets in silver vases. Only about half of them were occupied. Siri was not surprised. Seven o'clock was far too late for supper.
Buffalo said something to the man who had met them at the door. He wore clothing even more formal than Buffalo's. "Who is he?" she whispered as he led them across the room.
"The maitre d'hôtel," Buffalo whispered back. "The headwaiter."
"Oh, my! I thought he was a prince or something." Now she felt even more out of place.
The table to which they were led was close to the center of the room. With a flourish, the headwaiter pulled one chair back. "Madame?" he said.
"This won't do," Buffalo told him. "We'd like a table on the side of the room. Maybe back in that corner." He nodded his head toward the far end of the room.
"Of course. Right this way." This time he took them to a table set for six. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a younger man who whisked away the extra place settings.
Fortunately Mrs. Abbot had showed Siri how to sit gracefully with a bustle and train, so when he again offered her a chair, she didn't quite make a fool of herself. She perched on the edge of her chair and looked around. Most of the other diners were men, but there were a few women. None of them were clothed as elaborately as she was.
As she glanced back toward the doorway, she saw a man and a woman standing there. She was tiny, the top of her head scarcely as high as the broad shoulder of the man beside her. Her gown was bright red, her hair coal black.
In a moment the headwaiter was leading them across the room.
"Here they come," Buffalo said. "My uncle and aunt."
She is Chinese! Siri automatically held her hand out to Buffalo's uncle, but almost jerked it back when he bowed over it. His beard tickled the back as his lips moved lightly against her knuckles. She turned to the woman when Buffalo said, "And this is my Aunt Soomey. Don't let her size fool you. She can lick her weight in wildcats."
"You have not grown too big for me to tell you to mind your manners, Buffalo." She let the headwaiter seat her, then smiled across the table at Siri, but there was a question in her eyes. "You did not expect a China woman, did you? Buffalo is very bad not to warn you."
"I thought I had," Buffalo said. "Siri's used to Celestials. Li Ching helped us out in Astoria."
"I trust you found him well," Mrs. Dewitt said. "I have not visited with him for some time."
"He's fine. Just as wily as ever." Nodding when a waiter offered to fill the stemmed glass by his plate, he sat back. "Well?" he said to his uncle, "did you find out anything?"
"I did," Mr. Dewitt said, smiling. "Good news." He waited until they were alone, then leaned forward. In a low voice, he said, "The mate of the Hattie's Fortune is already staying at Mrs. Peterson's boarding house. We're installing some new rigging, so the crew's on leave. Trouble is, Simmons went off hunting, and isn't expected back until tomorrow or the next day."
"Great," Buffalo said. "I was afraid we'd have to find someone to take a room there. I sure hope he gets back tomorrow. Siri's waited long enough."
She had been paying little attention to the men's conversation. Instead she had let herself wonder about Mrs. Dewitt. Did she dare ask the question that was burning on her tongue? Buffalo's mention of her name caught her attention. "What are you saying? What have I waited for?"
Buffalo looked excessively pleased with himself. "You tell her, Silas."
"Mrs. Trogen, a crewman on one of my ships is lodging with Martha Peterson. When he gets back to town, we'll ask him if there are children there. If there are, we'll figure
out a way to get you inside so you can see if they're yours."
She looked at him, unbelieving. So simple. Buffalo had not failed her. All this day she had been filled with resentment because his pleasures seemed to be more important to him than her quest. "Jag känner mig så skamsen," she choked out. For the second time that day, she felt the hot welling of tears. She snatched the napkin from her lap and buried her face in its thick folds. "So ashamed. I doubted you."
"I can't hear a word you're saying, darlin'" Buffalo's warm, deep voice sounded close to her ear. "But I can imagine what it is. I'm sorry we sprung this on you, but when I talked to Silas this morning, we weren't sure what we might do to get someone inside that house."
She lowered the napkin. "No, that is not it. I doubted you. I thought you only...that because I..."
"Clumsy men! You have no sense!" Mrs. Dewitt pushed Buffalo aside. "Come, Siri...I may call you Siri? We will go to where we can be private, away from too-nosy people who want to mind everyone's business but their own." With a grip surprisingly strong for such a tiny woman, Mrs. Dewitt forced her to stand. "Come now. Follow me."
Siri followed her across the dining room, being careful to keep her gaze on Mrs. Dewitt's back. Even so, she could feel the curiosity and the contempt in the minds of all who stared at her tear-wet face. When they reached the room set aside for ladies' privacy, she sank into the first chair she found, not worrying about her train, or about tearstains on her gown.
Mrs. Dewitt said to the hovering attendant, "I will call you when I need you. Do not let anyone else come in." When the woman would have argued, Mrs. Dewitt said, "Go! I am important lady. You will obey me."
The woman went.
"Now, you will drink this water, then you will tell me your story with no roundaboutation." She sat next to Siri and folded her hands in her lap.
Hesitantly at first, Siri told how she had been forced to find work when Valter drowned, and how Martine had cared for Rolf and Rosel. "I visited them when I could, but it was only one day a week. And for so short a time, because I had to walk far and the days were getting short. Then one day, I went to visit, and they were not there." Her throat tightened, as it always did when she remembered that horrible, terrible day. "The house was empty. Martine was gone. Mina barn were gone."
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