by Anthology
Mattie Jensen pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and once again silently implored her friend to come back. She did not want to be here, in Seattle, in this meadow. She wanted to return to Indiana, to reunite with the only family she had left. She wanted to get away from this cosseted aristocrat whose smile made her uncomfortable.
He was doing it again. Smiling as if he knew how handsome he was, with his perfectly symmetrical features, reddish brown hair that scraped his collar, and green eyes that sparkled in the abundant sunshine. Only now he wasn’t talking; he’d gone quiet. What could be worse than standing in the shadow of a man who said nothing? He just stood there looking more like a true frontiersman—broad shoulders filling out his open-necked shirt which was loosely tucked into brown trousers—than a sophisticated Englishman.
Embarrassed, she stared at the tips of her boots. The scuffed brown leather looked even more shabby against the carpet of fresh spring green covering the hill. She’d never been good at carrying conversations, especially with men. Everything she said came out wrong. Becoming acquainted with her husband, Daniel, had been difficult enough; now that she’d lost him she had no intention of trying to find another. Neither her nerves nor her heart would be able to bear it.
The silence between her and Mr. Caldwell dragged on even as birds chirped away in the trees and Bjorn barked into the wind. She could even hear a murmur of voices from Helene and Mr. Tilford atop the rise. She did not look up, though, at the man towering over her who must wish he’d been the one to walk up the hill with the ever delightful and talkative Helene.
Think, Mattie! What else could she ask that wouldn’t result in him misunderstanding her?
“Mrs. Jensen.”
Such a nice voice he had. Deep and hardy, but spoken with that refined English accent. Despite the warmth of the sun, Mattie nearly shivered.
She lifted her gaze before he thought her daft. Instead of the impatient look she expected to see, his eyes were soft and inquiring, almost as if he understood her feelings of awkwardness. Or maybe wanted to understand.
He sighed, as if resigned to holding most of the conversation. “How long have you been here? In the northwest?”
“We—I arrived last August.” It should have been “we.” She and Daniel and their baby and her brother.
His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but never got the chance. Helene came skipping back, her smile huge. Mattie knew the signs well—her friend was halfway in love with Mr. Tilford already. Mattie couldn’t blame her—in this rugged land of rugged men, he looked like a poet. He was probably nearer to thirty than the rest of them were, but with his windswept black locks and blue eyes he looked young and romantic. Not to mention he seemed to be enamored by Helene, too.
“We must return tomorrow, Mattie,” her friend exclaimed, stretching her interlocked hands out in front of her. “Mr. Tilford is going to take my photograph! He has one of those new cameras.”
Helene had found a reason to come back and see her new beau. Mattie, however, would rather search for someone to escort her back across the country than spend another uncomfortable minute around Mr. Caldwell.
Mr. Tilford bowed gallantly over Helene’s hand. “Such beauty must be immortalized.”
Mr. Caldwell shook his head and made a curmudgeonly sound. Eager to finally be gone, Mattie stepped forward and snatched her basket from near his boots.
“Mrs. Jensen.”
She almost dropped it again. The way he said her name, it was like a plea or a call to—
Oh, for heaven’s sakes. She mustered the only word she could. “Yes?”
He smiled. Again. “It was an honor to meet you.”
She’d done nothing to deserve his smile or the ridiculously charming words he offered. “Yes, of course. You too. I mean, it was nice, yes, lovely to make your acquaintance.”
Ohhh, Lord. She grabbed Helene’s arm and pulled her away. Bjorn caught up to them and Mattie was grateful she didn’t have to turn back to call him.
Helene looped her arm around Mattie’s waist. “I am so glad we came this way. Mr. Tilford is… Mmmm. I haven’t the words, Mattie. I just know he’s the one.” She laughed, as brightly as the sun. “Did you know he’s Mr. Caldwell’s manservant? Isn’t that a lark? A manservant. Mr. Tilford can be my womanservant any time he chooses!”
Mattie stopped dead in her tracks. A servant here in the brutal northwest frontier? She whirled around and marched back toward Mr. Caldwell. “How dare you treat this man like a slave? What right do you have to drag him to this wild land and make him do the grueling work for you? Not everyone wants to be a pioneer. Some people prefer to remain in their lifelong homes, to be surrounded by the familiar. No one should be forced to endure the trials of such a journey and—”
Helene, who’d come up behind her, put a hand on her shoulder and Mattie closed her mouth. She looked from the frowning, puzzled Mr. Caldwell to his manservant to the white canvas of their tent. Her words had struck close to her heart; they were as true for her as they were for Mr. Tilford.
Mr. Caldwell crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a hard stare. “First of all, Tilford is not a slave; I pay him a fair wage. Second of all, our relationship is none of your business. And third of all: Tilford, did I force you to come away from England with me?”
“No, sir.” Tilford paused and rocked back on his heels. “Your mother did.”
“What?” There was a lot of irritation in that one word. Mattie was relieved it was no longer directed at her.
Hands in his trouser pockets, Tilford shrugged. “She ordered me to follow you, to keep an eye on you.” He grinned at Mr. Caldwell. “She didn’t want you going off into the wide world by yourself.”
Mattie looked over at strapping Mr. Caldwell and couldn’t stop a smile. His mother thought he needed watching over. Of course she did—he might be over six feet tall and two hundred pounds, but to her he was still her child.
“Mrs. Jensen.” He was looking at Mattie again, his eyes brilliantly offset by all the green surrounding them. “I am so glad to have finally brought a smile to your face.”
After her harangue, she would have expected sarcasm, but his tone was genuine. Unsettlingly genuine. “I just… Your mother must love you very much.”
He smiled fondly. “She does, though she can be a little high-handed about it sometimes. And knowing Tilford as I do, I can assure you he would have come with me no matter what.”
Tilford nodded. “It’s true. I had my valise packed before her ladyship ever approached me and I cannot say I regret a single moment of our journey.” His face turned sour. “Except perhaps for that tumultuous time when the ship rounded Cape Horn and I thought all was lost.”
Mr. Caldwell laughed. “You avowed so many prayers I thought you’d become a monk if we survived.”
The two of them reminisced about their sea journey from Baltimore to Portland for a while longer, with Helene asking a few curious questions. Mattie breathed deeply, easing the tension in her stomach. Thank goodness her outburst hadn’t turned things ugly. Either she was too quiet when conversation was called for or she blurted out the worst thing possible. God help her. Where was a convent when she wanted to join one?
“We really must be getting back,” Helene said, without much conviction. “I’m sure you want to begin working on your cabin with this fine weather.”
“Indeed. We look forward to your return tomorrow.” Mr. Tilford’s half smile indicated just how much he anticipated seeing Helene again. Mattie had no trouble picturing the two of them standing in this meadow in the full bloom of summer, repeating their vows after Doc Maynard, the justice of the peace.
She and Helene turned to go.
“I hope we’ll see you again tomorrow, Mrs. Jensen,” Mr. Caldwell said. “And perhaps Mr. Jensen as well?”
She shook her head. “I do not think so on either account. I have much work to do tomorrow and, if you should like to meet Mr. Jensen, you will need to die and go t
o heaven in order to do so.”
Oh, Mattie, just shut your mouth.
Chapter 2
James watched the two ladies disappear into the woods, uncertain how to feel. It seemed crass to be happy to hear Mrs. Jensen was a widow and yet, he was glad. Why, though? She didn’t like him, he was leaving, and so on and so forth.
Now Tilford and Miss Stover…
His manservant hummed while he cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Yes, there could be a complication there. Tilford might want to stay. Might? Who was James fooling? Tilford loved it here and with the fetching Miss Stover casting her lure, why would he change his mind?
Leaving without Tilford was an idea James didn’t want to contemplate. They’d become… closer during the last four years. Although maybe Tilford didn’t feel that way. Perhaps a part of him agreed with Mrs. Jensen’s bitter rant. Perhaps he was through with following James from place to place with no purpose.
James bit off a curse. This day had started off well and yet now his mood had turned ugly. A pretty woman thought him a useless tyrant and he was going to lose Tilford.
Since arriving in the northwest he’d discovered physical labor was an excellent counter for frustration. While Tilford finished tidying up, James made sure the area they’d chosen for the cabin was clear. Then the two of them set about attempting to fell trees, a task about which neither of them knew a thing. By dusk, they had cut down only two, somehow managing not to injure themselves, though they came close a few times. James quickly determined the next claimant for this parcel of land would have to build his own cabin and should be grateful not to have to rely on a shelter erected by inept Englishmen.
Despite the constant activity, James’s thoughts often strayed to Mrs. Jensen. Mattie, her friend had called her. She’d finally smiled when he’d least expected it. One minute she was ringing a peal over his head and the next she smiled so beatifically his stomach flipped. Not that he would admit such a thing to anyone, ever. Nor would he confess to Tilford, who’d prattled on about Miss Stover’s virtues, that he’d softened toward Mrs. Jensen the moment he had realized she was shy, not abrasive. Being the least scholarly of his family, he could sympathize with anyone vexed by words.
As they lay down on their pallets that night, James turned to Tilford. “I’m going to check with Mr. Denny tomorrow and ask if he knows when the Exact is next due in from Portland. Then we’ll be able to plan our departure.”
“Very good, sir.”
Damnation, Tilford, speak your mind. Tell me you have no intention of leaving. James waited, propped up on his elbow. Tilford simply stared at the canvas ceiling.
James blew out a breath. Very well, he would prod. “You aren’t bound by anything my mother asked you to do. You are not in her employ.”
“Understood, sir. My loyalty has never been to her.”
James was beginning to loathe this wooden, servile side of Tilford. Where was the man who had made sheep’s eyes at Miss Stover and shared his wit with them all? Why wasn’t his loyalty to himself? He owed James nothing.
He dropped back on his pillow. Tomorrow he would try again to get Tilford to speak for himself. He hadn’t quite sorted out why it was so important, but it was. “Good night then.”
The sun had barely broken the horizon when James rose and crept out of the tent, leaving Tilford to snore away. Again, no clouds cruised across the blue sky. James smiled. He could get used to dry days and picturesque scenery.
Still, he was leaving, the sooner the better. With or without Tilford.
The day before, he had gathered a pile of medium-sized branches and dried them by the fire. He grabbed a branch from beneath the canvas he’d used to cover them and began to whittle away the bark. By the time Tilford emerged from the tent, yawning and stretching, James had debarked four branches. As a lad, tired of lessons that got muddled in his brain, he had often snuck off to the woodcarver’s cottage on his father’s estate. The patient carver had taught James’s eager young self everything he knew.
Perhaps he would fashion a chair as a parting gift for Tilford. “Good morning. I think we can do with just bread and cheese for breakfast today. I’ll go fishing later and we’ll have a fine dinner.”
Tilford drew in a deep breath, his face peaceful and bright on this fine morning. “Excellent, sir. I think—”
Miss Stover exited the woods, stealing his thoughts away, no doubt. And why not? In a pink flowered dress, she was just as vivid and comely today as she’d been yesterday.
James rose, looking to the trees for a glimpse of Mrs. Jensen. However, his smile of greeting faded when at least twenty-five men poured from the trees behind Miss Stover, all carrying axes and saws. He turned to Tilford. “I think perhaps these Americans seek vengeance in a slightly different manner than a civilized duel. Should we run?”
The other man’s calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by one of sheer alarm. “I swear I didn’t touch her, sir.”
Miss Stover waved cheerily and skipped further ahead of the mob, calling out, “Good morning!”
Either she was morbidly merry or they were mistaken in their assessment. James was going to assume the latter. “How are you today, Miss Stover?”
“I am well.” She drew up before them and gave Tilford a special smile. “We’ve come to help you build your cabin.”
James looked to the group gathering in his meadow, now recognizing many of them as men he’d met when they had first arrived.
One, a man called Carson Boren if James remembered correctly, stepped forward. “We’d be glad to give you a day or two of assistance, Mr. Caldwell. It’s the least we do for each other out here.”
A humbling warmth crawled up James’s neck. He couldn’t possibly refuse such generosity, even though he didn’t mean to stay. However, the beginnings of an idea had sprung up in his mind regarding this plot of land, and a cabin was a necessary part of his plan.
“I would appreciate the assistance.” James included the whole group in his grateful glance. “Tilford and I will bow to your greater wisdom and do exactly as ordered.”
With that, Mr. Boren took over and soon had everyone organized and working hard, including James, who took on the task of finishing the ends of the cut logs. Tilford helped too, after he’d spent an inordinate amount of time photographing Miss Stover with the equipment he’d carted all the way from the east.
They toiled in the sunshine and cool breeze for the rest of the day and as the men gathered up their tools to hike home, James was amazed to see the beginnings of a cabin take shape. He thanked Mr. Boren again and then approached Miss Stover, who had stayed and helped where necessary.
“Has Tilford fallen ill? Why is he not dancing attendance on you?”
She laughed, not at all discomfited by his impertinence. “He has gone to wash up. He intends to walk me home.”
“How thoughtful of him.” James cleared his throat. “Thank you for bringing those men to help us. It would have taken us until December—of next year, no doubt—to make this much progress.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Please don’t be mistaken. It was Mattie’s idea to ask the men to come up here.”
Mattie. So she did think James completely useless and incapable of taking care of himself. He crossed his arms over the sharp pain in his chest. It should feel more satisfying to have one’s own assessment of one’s character affirmed.
He smiled through his disappointment. “How unfortunate she did not accompany you so I might thank her.”
Miss Stover sobered and her eyes filled with concern. “Mattie isn’t happy here. She’s trying to find an escort for her journey back to Indiana, so she intended to visit a family today who might be leaving. I wish she wouldn’t go, but I’ve talked ‘til I’m blue in the face and she won’t change her mind.”
Well, well. Something else he had in common with Mrs. Jensen. “I can understand her feelings,” James said, “as I too wish to travel back east.”
Miss Stover’s blue eyes shone, but only
because Tilford joined them. To James she said, “Perhaps the two of you could go together?”
James shrugged. “Don’t let me keep you. I will see you upon your return, Tilford.”
“Very good, sir.” Tilford tucked Miss Stover’s hand around his arm and turned her toward the trees leading down the hill.
James stared off at the majestic mountain in the distance. The behemoth seemed close enough to touch. How strange it was to feel the warmth of the sun on his back and yet look upon the frozen terrain of the mountain.
Mattie Jensen wanted to leave. James wanted to leave. “Perhaps the two of you could go together?” Why did that sound enticing? Of course, she was pretty, but why would he want to travel miles and miles under the withering disparagement of that woman?
He shook his head, strode back to the tent, and grabbed his rifle. At the very least, he could provide those men who had helped him today with a fine meal tomorrow. In truth, he could have paid them all handsomely for their time, but James had learned, after four years on his own, that money didn’t buy friends or respect; it simply earned a greedy loyalty.
He headed to the east, away from the settlement of Seattle. The trees were thick here and only slivers of sunlight snuck through the lofty branches. Every morning since they’d arrived, James had seen deer wander out of this copse, nibble on the freshly growing greens covering the ground, and then bound back into the forest once they spotted or heard him. He walked slowly, quietly, the rifle hanging beside his leg. He’d not gone far when he heard leaves rustling and twigs snapping as something shuffled through the undergrowth.
James hauled the rifle to his shoulder and whipped to the left, his finger on the trigger, only to find Mattie Jensen’s startled brown eyes in his sights.
Heart beating apace, he lowered the weapon immediately. “My apologies. I didn’t realize anyone was here. I was stalking deer.”
She stood some forty feet away, her fingers worrying the knot of her black shawl. Her dress was pale green, her boots sturdy. James wondered if she’d ever worn silk or slipped her feet into satin shoes. Her eyes were still wide, but he thought that might be due to anxiety about what to say. He started walking toward her, as slowly and softly as he would toward a deer.