A movement in the darkness ahead drew Jason out of his thoughts. He stopped on the street and glanced around. So distracting had his thoughts been that he walked right past his turn down First Street. Left to themselves his feet had followed a familiar course and carried him toward the blockhouse instead of the mill. Now he’d have to double back. A good thing he was early this morning.
But what had moved? Hard to tell in the dark, but he’d swear he saw a black shape run down the knoll and disappear into the forest. He stood stock-still, eyes scanning, ears on high alert.
What was that scurrying noise, that rustling in the trees to his right? He narrowed his lids and squinted in that direction, but the forest was pitch-black, impossible to see inside. Probably a deer. He dismissed that thought. Deer were known to bed down at night. The shape he’d glimpsed was too big to be a raccoon or a possum. A cougar maybe? His mouth went dry at the thought. David and Noah had described some of the giant cats that inhabited these woods. There had been a handful of attacks on livestock and even children of families that lived in the forest, but the cougars tended to avoid the cleared areas of town.
Besides, the shape he’d seen—or might have seen—had been upright. Like a person.
He started up the knoll, senses on high alert. David’s advice returned to him with force: Maybe we should all start carrying our long rifles with us. I’m gonna keep mine handy. Reports kept coming in that hostile tribes were amassing in the woods, the attack force growing bigger every day. David and Noah and the others had discussed posting a guard on the blockhouse at night to guard against possible sabotage, but hadn’t done it yet. Maybe they should.
Jason approached the knoll from the bay side, opposite the closest point of the forest. He circled upward, his head moving constantly to scan the area around him. Nothing moved. The half-finished walls rose high above him, sturdy but still roofless. Everything looked exactly as it had when he and the others left at sundown last night.
Crouching, ready to run if the need arose, he crept toward the open place in the wall that would soon become the door. Inside, the second floor platform they had begun a few days before created even darker shadows toward the back. His muscles twitching with nerves, he peered into the darkness and inched forward.
The smell hit him just inside. He jerked upright, nose twitching to identify the location. Somewhere off to the right. Turning in that direction, the odor grew stronger with every inch. He had not taken two steps when he found the source. There, by his foot, was an empty bottle. Running a pair of fingers down the wooden boards, they came away wet with a faintly oily residue. He crouched down to inspect the bottle and spied a few items littering the dirt. Picking one up, he verified what he had suspected when he first identified the smell. An unlit match.
Holding his fingers before his nose, he sniffed the familiar odor, mind racing. Oil of turpentine. No doubt at all. And he knew only one person in all of Seattle in possession of oil of turpentine.
Eleven
It’s ridiculous!” The force with which Evie applied her rolling pin to the lump of dough kept Jason on the other side of the café’s dining room, well out of swinging distance. “Kathryn would no more sabotage the blockhouse than I would.”
The evidence—the empty bottle and eight unburned matches—lay on the table beside Jason.
“How can you be sure?” Noah adopted an even, almost placating tone to address his wife. “You’ve only known her a little over a week. We all have.”
The glare she turned on him held almost as much force as her rolling pin, and Jason marveled at Noah’s ability to return it without flinching.
“Where is Kathryn?” Jason asked, hoping to diffuse a marital battle before it began. “Isn’t she usually here by now?”
Evie turned that fiery glare his way. “Just because she’s a little later than usual proves nothing. A woman should be able to sleep late every now and then without making everyone suspicious.”
He was about to agree when a new voice entered the conversation.
“Suspicious of what?”
Jason jerked around to see Kathryn enter through the open doorway, her fingers fumbling with the button at the neck of her cloak.
At the sight of her, Evie burst into tears. She abandoned the biscuit dough and charged across the room to throw her arms around her friend. “Oh, Kathryn! I believe in you. Don’t think for a minute I don’t.”
Noah’s mouth dangled open, consternation etched on his face as he stared at his wife. His gaze flickered to Jason and he shook his head, clearly baffled.
Kathryn seemed equally perplexed at the normally composed restaurant owner’s behavior. “Well…thank you.” She patted Evie’s back, casting a questioning glance first at Noah and then Jason. “I appreciate your confidence in me. But would you tell me why?”
Evie straightened and took a step backward, blotting her eyes with her apron. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cried all over you like that. It’s just that—” Her mouth snapped shut and she turned a narrow-lidded glare toward Jason. “You tell her.”
He swallowed convulsively, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of feminine ire. Beth never lost her temper like this.
He arrested the thought. Now was not the time to dwell on the past, not with Kathryn’s expectant gaze fixed on him.
Clearing his throat, he adopted an even tone. “There’s been an attempt to sabotage the blockhouse.”
As he described his discovery, he watched a series of emotions flicker across her features. Shock, concern, dismay, and finally, a dawning disbelief.
“But surely you don’t suspect me.” Her hand flew to her chest and her glance flickered from Evie to Noah and finally came to rest once again on Jason. “I most certainly did not do anything so vile. And I’ll prove it.”
She whirled and ran from the restaurant. The sound of her running footsteps faded, and an awkward silence fell on the room. Jason stared at a knot in one of the logs on the wall, listening to Evie’s sniffle.
A minute later the back door opened and Kathryn stepped inside. Her eyes looked larger than normal in her pale face. “It’s gone. My oil of turpentine is gone. I’d left it by the back door because of the smell. My room is small, and…” She lifted a fearful gaze toward Jason. “I didn’t do it. What possible reason would I have to do such a terrible thing?”
“Exactly.” Evie had gained control over her tears, and now she looped an arm through Kathryn’s and stood by her side, spine stiff. “It makes no sense. We don’t believe it for an instant. Do we?” The glare that slid between Noah and Jason became intense as both women waited for their answer.
Actually, Jason did not believe Kathryn would attempt such a violent act. For one thing, she had made no secret of her fear of the looming Indian attack. Destroying the place where she and the others would take refuge made no sense. Besides, he could not envision Kathryn creeping through the forest in the dark all the way to the blockhouse, and he had definitely seen the saboteur scurry into the forest. And finally, he could not forget her expression as she watched the riot she had caused the other day. She had been appalled by the violence. Under no circumstances would he describe her as gentle, but neither would he believe her capable of vandalism on a scale such as this.
“No.” He voiced his answer with the confidence he felt. “I don’t believe you did this.”
Grateful tears sparkled in her eyes, and the sight of them caused a sympathetic pang in his chest.
“Neither do I.” Noah stepped toward his wife, who slipped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his sleeve. “But someone obviously wanted us to suspect you.”
Jason agreed. “That’s true. The oil of turpentine is clear evidence that points to you.”
“Not necessarily.” Evie raised her head. “If the bottle was sitting outside in plain sight, anyone could have picked it up. It might have been a scout from one of the hostile tribes.” She looked up at her husband. “Our Indian friends have told us they’
re keeping watch over the town.”
“It’s possible one of them snatched it and decided to do mischief.” He remembered the night a week ago when they’d first agreed to build the blockhouse. An argument had nearly broken out between those who saw the necessity for action and those who accused them of being alarmists and spreading panic without cause. “Or it need not have been an Indian scout. There are plenty of people right here in Seattle who don’t support the blockhouse.”
Noah nodded, his expression sober. He and David had been the target for a lot of verbal jabs and taunts.
“Thank goodness you arrived in time.” Kathryn folded her arms and hugged her middle in a gesture that reminded him of a frightened child. “When I think of what might have happened if you’d been a few minutes later…”
Noah rubbed a hand across his mouth, shaking his head. “I’m not sure the vandal actually intended to set a fire. If it wasn’t one of the hostiles, that is.”
Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to guess where the man’s thoughts had taken him. “What about the matches?”
“They could have been placed there on purpose. Think about it. If someone really wanted to set a fire that would do some damage, wouldn’t they use a lot more fuel than what was in that little bottle?” He gestured toward the empty bottle. “Why not lamp oil? Comes in bigger containers and is far more accessible.”
“Do Indians use lamp oil?” asked Kathryn.
“They use dogfish oil.” Evie wrinkled her nose. “It stinks even worse than turpentine.”
Jason considered Noah’s point. “You’re right.”
“So we’ve got two possible culprits.” Noah raised a finger. “Indian scouts intent on destroying our efforts to protect ourselves, and who happened across your oil of turpentine.” He lifted a second finger. “Or one of our own who found the bottle and decided to cause a bit of mischief.”
“There’s a third possibility, and I’m afraid it’s the most logical.” Jason turned an apologetic look on her. “Someone in town dislikes you enough to want to cast suspicion on you.”
Her mouth dropped open, shock registering on her face.
“That’s absurd.” Evie drew herself up in staunch defense of her friend. “Kathryn’s only been here ten days and already everyone loves her.”
Not everyone. Jason held his tongue, but Will’s warnings resounded in his mind. The man made no effort to hide his intense dislike for her, at least not to Jason. One way or another, he intended to discover why.
Who hates me enough to try to turn everyone against me?
The question gnawed at Kathryn after Jason left. Her hands busied themselves in preparing for the breakfast crowd that would arrive shortly while she tried to assemble a list. Could it be one of the sailors from the other day? At supper last night Red told her word leaked out that Captain Gansevoort had been furious when he learned about the brawl. Those involved had been denied liberty for an indefinite period of time. Maybe one of them was bitter enough to sneak ashore for a bit of mischief.
She went into the storage room after another stack of plates. That could be the case, but she doubted it. For one thing, how many of those sailors knew about her painting? None that she was aware of. The townspeople, on the other hand, did. She talked openly of the inspiring view from the hotel’s back porch and her struggles to capture the majesty of Mount Rainier on her canvas. Plenty of the diners at the café spoke disdainfully of the construction project. Even so, she could not think of a single one who would have any cause to cast aspersions on her. She had done nothing to cause anyone to dislike her.
And yet, there was one who disliked her without cause.
With a handful of forks from the bin resting on the topmost plate, she hefted the stack. Will Townsend had disliked her from her first night in Seattle. Why? She couldn’t imagine. A few discreet questions to Evie and Louisa had produced the fact that he was well respected and highly regarded by everyone in town. He was a good provider for John William, who clearly adored him. He’d answered Louisa’s questions regarding the change in the little boy’s daily care with the assurance that this was a temporary change only, to give her a much-needed break from the active child so she could save her strength for the birth. Louisa protested the need, but had been satisfied that there was no hidden reason behind the change.
Kathryn wasn’t so sure. Was she somehow at fault?
She carried the plates into the dining room and skirted past Evie, who stood in front of her huge frying pan, turning a thick slab of sizzling bacon. The more Kathryn thought about it, the more certain she became. Will Townsend had stolen her oil of turpentine in order to cast suspicion on her. He wanted to make her look bad in front of her friends. No, in front of the entire town.
Well, she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
She set the plates down on the table with force. Evie turned to give her a surprised look.
“I’ve got to check on something,” she mumbled as she snatched her cloak and bonnet off the peg.
“Now?”
“I won’t be long.”
“But what about—”
She didn’t wait to hear the rest of the question, but hurried through the door. A colorful dawn was still several minutes from breaking, and the eastern sky behind the restaurant showed hints of pink and red streaks. A string of early risers were heading for the café, and she greeted them with a distracted smile as she hurried past. Louisa had pointed out the Townsend home the day she gave Evie a wagon tour of Seattle. It wasn’t far. Hopefully she could catch him before he left for the mill.
She gathered her skirts and increased her pace to as close to a run as decorum allowed.
The glow of lamplight shone in the window. Relieved, she approached the door and then paused to gather her composure. What would she say? Accuse the man of trying to defame her?
No, she would not resort to accusations. Instead she would demand to know the reason behind his instant and intense hatred of her. Forcing her breath to return to normal, she squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.
A scurrying sounded inside and she heard the latch lift. The door cracked open and was then thrown wide.
“Miss Kathryn!” John William, still dressed in a long nightshirt, leaped forward to wrap his arms around her skirt in an enthusiastic hug. “Grandpa, look who came calling.” He lifted his head to beam up at her. “Am I staying with you today while my grandpa is at work?”
Words evaporated from her mind. How could she have forgotten about the child? She couldn’t very well shout at his grandfather in front of him. Maybe this impromptu visit wasn’t such a good idea.
She knelt and returned the child’s embrace. “Not today, sweetheart. I have to work at the hotel. I came to talk to—”
“John William!”
The coldness in Will’s voice startled both of them. He had appeared from a back room and stood glaring in their direction, his face full of fury. The boy turned a wide-eyed question on his grandfather while Kathryn’s pulse kicked into a gallop.
The man made a visible effort to control himself as he addressed the boy. “Go get dressed.”
“But Miss Kathryn is here to visit.”
“I said go!”
Though he did not shout, his tone held an undeniable command. John William gave her a confused look and then obeyed.
Kathryn straightened and waited for the child to leave the room. She glanced once into Will’s face, but quickly looked away from the fierce anger she saw there. Blood sped through her veins, propelled by a racing heart that pounded like a drum in her ears. When the boy disappeared into the bedroom, Will stomped toward her and she beat a quick retreat to small patch of grass in front of the house. He stopped on the square platform that served as a porch, pulling the door closed behind him.
“What are you doing here?” he spat.
Words momentarily failed her. “I—I wanted to—” A spasm took her throat. “To talk to you about something that happened last night. Or—�
� She shook her head. “This morning, rather.”
“No.” He chopped off the word. “I mean what are you doing here? Why are you in Seattle?”
Taken aback, she stared at him. “I came to help Madame at the Faulkner House.”
“Don’t bother repeating that tale to me. We both know better.”
Was the man mad? She tried again. “My father sent me to work with Madame Garritson, who is a distant cousin.”
A smirk appeared, though anger still snapped in his eyes. “Does your father know what you really are, or have you fooled him along with everyone else?”
An initial flash of guilt stabbed at her. No, he couldn’t possibly be aware of that shameful incident in San Francisco. He’d been here, in Seattle, at the time. He had obviously confused her with someone else, that was all. She drew herself up. “You’ve made a mistake. My father is—”
“Philip Bergert. I know who he is, Kathryn.” He spoke her name with a sneer. “You might fool him and everyone else into thinking you’re a mannered lady, but you and I both know better.”
He stepped forward and came right up to her. Though she tried to hold her ground, she took an involuntary backward step. She was face-to-face with a lunatic. Would he strike her?
Instead, he searched her face as though trying to see her thoughts. Whatever he found there dampened the fire in his eyes. His shoulders slumped, and when he spoke, his whisper held a hint of agony. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but I will not let you ruin everything. We’re happy here. Do you understand that? Leave Seattle. Just leave.”
Before she could gather her thoughts to answer, he turned and stomped back into the house. The door closed with a solid thud, leaving her standing outside.
Was the man insane? A moment before she would have said yes, but that last plea gave her pause. Was she imagining things, or had she detected a touch of fear in his tone? He seemed truly afraid that she would—how had he put it?—ruin everything, simply by her presence.
A slow realization stole over her. There was only one explanation for his behavior.
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