by Regina Scott
Dickie heaved a sigh. “Especially since Miss Beth won’t hardly look at us.”
John couldn’t see his sister over Harry, but he heard her righteous huff.
Drew cleared his throat with a deep rumble. “The trees are waiting. If this takes much longer, they’ll grow too big to be used for spars.”
With joking protests, his men begged Dottie’s pardon and followed their boss toward the door. Dottie watched them go. John knew, because he was watching Dottie.
Then he noticed that Peter was watching him. The red faded from his face, and he offered John a watery smile. John smiled back.
“They didn’t even eat their breakfast,” Beth complained, coming to the table. “You two better sit, because this food has to go somewhere.”
With a laugh, Dottie went to sit at the table. John joined her.
“Your friends are very kind,” she murmured, gaze on Peter, who had grasped one of her fingers and seemed to be examining it in amazement.
John nodded, though he could only be annoyed with the men’s behavior. He couldn’t remember a time he’d simply “forgotten” to go to work. Cows had to be milked, fields tended, wood chopped. A pretty face had never stopped him from doing his duty.
Then again, there weren’t many faces as pretty as Dottie’s.
“Drew has a great crew,” Beth assured her, bringing a plate of bacon and another of pancakes to the table. “And Harry and Tom have filed their claims, so they’ll have homes of their own soon.”
“And none of them are married?” Dottie asked, serving herself a pancake. She asked the question so casually, as if the answer was of no importance. John’s shoulders tightened.
“None,” Beth told her, taking a seat across from her. “Go on and eat, John. You never eat enough. Sometimes I wonder that you don’t blow away.”
Dottie eyed his shoulders, and he found himself sitting taller. He was fully aware his physique was as powerful as Harry’s, and he was taller than either Dickie or Tom.
And what difference did that make? It wasn’t as if he was in competition with them. He piled the pancakes onto his plate and pushed the bacon alongside them.
“They’re fine men,” Beth continued, slathering her stack of pancakes with butter. “Considerate, clever even. Any one of them would make a good husband.”
A piece of bacon in his mouth, John nearly choked. “Husband?”
Beth pointed the butter knife at him. “I warned you, John. Dottie is bound to attract the attention of another man. Just because you refuse to wed doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way.”
“But didn’t Mr. Morgan say you refused to wed any of your brother’s crew?” Dottie asked Beth.
Simon would have approved of her logic. So did John. He swallowed his bacon, settling in his seat.
Beth blushed, but she reached for the jar of blackberry preserves and dumped them onto her pancakes. “I’m not attracted to Harry, Dickie or Tom. And we are talking about you, Dottie. I feel responsible for bringing you all this way. I won’t rest until I see you well settled.”
John snorted. “You don’t have to play matchmaker this time, Beth. I’d think Dottie would know what she prefers in a husband.”
Beside him, Dottie shifted, her gaze dropping to Peter in her arms. He was eyeing the pancakes as if wondering how they might taste.
Beth raised her chin. “Very likely. But I know the local gentlemen and which are suitable.”
Suitable. Sometimes he didn’t think his sister knew the meaning of the word. Look how many fellows had tried to court her. Look how many had come away as no more than friends.
“You can’t choose a husband like you choose a dress out of Godey’s,” he told her.
Beth cut into her stack of pancakes. “I don’t see why not. I take particular care in choosing my gowns. I’d think choosing to court would take just the same amount of consideration.”
“Dottie doesn’t need to marry any old Tom, Dick or Harry,” John blurted out.
Beth stared at him a moment, then her laughter peeled. “Why, John, James would be so proud of you for that quip.”
Dottie seemed to be fighting a smile, though her cheeks were turning that delicate shade of pink again.
“I just thought it might be a little soon to be planning a wedding,” he told his sister. “Dottie just met them.”
“Sometimes it only takes one look to know you’ve found the right fellow,” Beth informed him.
She’d read their father’s adventure novels, too. A shame real life didn’t usually follow that pattern.
“And sometimes it takes months of courting to know,” John insisted.
“You’re right.” Dottie spoke softly, gaze still on her son, who was examining his own fingers now. “But I can’t stay in your house for months, John. I must find employment or a husband.”
“Employment,” John told her. Just saying the word eased the tension in his shoulders. “There has to be someone out here who needs help cooking or sewing.”
“Or teaching,” Beth suggested. “Rina has enough students that I wonder whether we could convince the board to hire her an assistant.”
Rina. The school.
John shot to his feet. “I promised Rina I’d teach school this morning!”
Beth glanced out the window. “By the looks of things, the students have found other methods of education.”
John could see them now, too, running around the school door. Worse, he could hear them. From across the clearing came whoops and hollering, and the shrill shriek of a girl annoyed.
It seemed no matter what he did, he showed himself to disadvantage in front of Dottie. Perhaps Beth was right. Dottie needed to find the right man for her, and it clearly wasn’t him.
Chapter Seven
Dottie could see exactly what had concerned John. A half-dozen children ran about the clearing in front of the main house. Others hung off the split-rail fence, calling to the horses in the pasture or holding out clumps of grass to lure the animals closer. One enterprising lad tugged on the rope for the school bell, setting it to pealing.
“Excuse me,” John said, starting for the door.
“John!” Beth cried. “Where are your boots?”
He glanced down at his feet, which Dottie noticed for the first time were clad only in brown wool stockings. Then he rolled his head skyward as if begging the good Lord for help and plunged out the door anyway. Peter began to whimper once more.
Dottie met Beth’s gaze as she rocked her son. “Will John be all right?”
Beth shrugged.
Dottie glanced out the window again. He had made it to the schoolroom door and was calling the children to him. Most came willingly enough, but a few dragged their feet. The boy who had rung the bell went so far as to hide around the corner of the schoolhouse.
“Poor John,” Beth said as if she’d seen the same problem. “Even Rina struggles to get them to calm down long enough to learn some days. I help her on occasion, but I’m too busy today.” She swung a leg under her lavender skirts, setting them to swinging.
“What are you doing today?” Dottie asked, eyeing her pretty dress. Those purple bows and the scalloped trim did not seem conducive to hard work. Was Beth heading back into Seattle? Should Dottie hitch a ride?
Beth rose and came around the table to her, holding out her arms. “Why, I’m watching Peter so you can settle in, of course.”
Of course. Dottie didn’t remember agreeing to any such plan, and she seemed to recall James remarking, before anyone else had known that Dottie had arrived in Wallin Landing, that Beth had been too busy to teach today. She ought to protest the imposition on Beth, but she had to own that a few moments to herself would be most welcome. As John had suggested last night, she had followed the path down to the main house t
his morning to see if she could locate Beth and ask about employment opportunities in the area. Perhaps she could go to the trading post along the lake she’d seen when she’d walked to the main house and ask if the owner needed any help.
If Peter would be amenable.
He regarded Beth solemnly, a slight frown on his face. Beth wrinkled her nose at him, and his frown deepened.
“Oh, we’ll get along fine,” she said, taking him from Dottie’s arms. “You just wait and see.”
Peter didn’t smile, but then, he didn’t cry, either.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Dottie said.
Beth beamed at her. “Absolutely sure. We’ll be right here when you want us.”
Dottie lifted the bag she had tucked under the table earlier. “There are diapers in here. I nursed him before I came, so he should be fine for a while. If he fusses too much, try singing to him. He seems to like that.” Well, he liked it when John sang to him. Dottie could only hope he would like the sound of Beth’s voice as well.
“I’ve diapered and cared for all my nieces and nephews,” Beth assured her, rocking Peter in her arms. “I’ll just take him around to meet the others. If Peter needs you, I’ll be sure to send someone to find you.” She glanced up. “Though you might take John his boots before you go. Let’s go find them, shall we, little man?” She whisked Peter up the stairs before Dottie could protest.
Alone in the main cabin, she glanced around. The log walls, plank table by the window and stone fireplace gave the place a sturdy look, while the quilts thrown over the wooden chairs, settee and bentwood rocker made it feel more homey. She could imagine John and his brothers running down the stairs for breakfast in the morning.
She accepted the worn leather boots Beth brought down, pressed a kiss against Peter’s head and started for the door, but something made her turn. “You mustn’t let him go to anyone else, even if they claim kinship.”
Beth brightened. “Oh, do you have family in Seattle after all?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Beth the truth. She had been nothing but kind, her falsehood about her brother’s interest in marrying notwithstanding. But Dottie couldn’t admit how foolish she’d been, couldn’t watch Beth’s smile turn to disdain.
“No, not that I know of,” Dottie told her. “But stranger things have happened.” She hurried out the door before Beth could question her further.
She’d gotten a good look at the clearing when she’d walked over from John’s house earlier. The main house, barn and schoolhouse were clustered inside a ring of trees, the lake at the front and a hill rising at the back. Even now, mist clung to the treetops, making the peaceful clearing seem sheltered out of time and place.
The schoolhouse, however, was far from peaceful. John was out on the porch, peering one way and another while faces crowded at the window. She spotted the last of his students still lurking around the corner of the school, clinging to the log wall.
Dottie caught John’s gaze and raised the boots with one hand. He beckoned her closer.
“Beth thought you might need these,” she said, trying not to look down at the stockinged feet sticking out below his rough trousers. There was something vulnerable about those wiggling toes.
He sat on the porch and pulled on the boots. “Thanks. Hard enough to teach in stockings. Even harder to go searching for a lost lamb.”
“I know something about lambs.” Dottie pointed silently to the side of the building. John didn’t look that way. He merely inclined his head in thanks, stood and strolled in that direction. A moment more, and he pounced on the lad.
Dottie thought he might reprimand the boy or set him to some labor as punishment. That was what most of the schoolmasters she’d known would have done. John merely threw the boy over his shoulder and carried him back to the school.
The child’s voice echoed across the clearing. “Oh, please, Mr. Wallin. Can’t I play one day?”
John’s answer was hidden by the closing of the schoolroom door behind him.
The sounds from his students were not nearly so quiet. Squeals and laughter rang out, followed by thuds and bangs. What was he doing in there?
Dottie glanced about the clearing. She could see no one else. Drew had left with his men. Beth was busy in the main house. Likely Simon and his wife were up in their home on the ridge, with Drew’s wife at the dispensary. No one would notice if she took a peek.
Dottie gathered her skirts and climbed up onto the porch. The schoolhouse had grown silent, and she pictured children bent over their desks, slaving away as John tapped a ruler against his palm. She had not taken him for a strict disciplinarian, but she had mistaken a man’s character before.
She carefully tilted her head to see through the window.
John sat at the front of the class on the teacher’s chair, the children gathered around him on the floor. Their postures were still, their gazes rapt.
“‘But no sooner were my eyes open,’” he said, voice rich, “‘but I saw my Poll sitting on top of the hedge; and immediately knew that it was he that spoke to me; for just in such bemoaning language had I used to talk to him, and teach him.’”
Was that Robinson Crusoe? Surely it wasn’t part of the curriculum. She had to admit he had calmed them enough to sit still and listen, and with evident interest stamped on each young face. She found herself listening just as intently as he read a few more passages of the story.
He glanced up, and their gazes met. He winked at her.
Dottie jerked back. What must he think to find her spying on him? She drew in a breath and climbed off the porch. Really, she should just accept the fact that he was the kind, considerate fellow his sister had extolled in her letters.
But everyone had thought Frank the perfect gentleman, too. Her uncle had had no idea of his other life on the far side of town. Cincinnati was big enough that a man could have had several wives stashed away in different corners.
So what secrets was John Wallin hiding?
She glanced at the main house and considered going to question Beth, but John’s sister had already written so much about the man. And would a man confide his darkest secrets to his sister in any event? No, it was more likely his brothers who knew him best. That was where she should start.
Not that she had any designs on John, she assured herself as she picked up her skirts and headed for the store on the shores of Lake Union. It was only because she was staying in his house, beholden to him and his family, that she wanted to know more about him. She was merely being cautious.
The store, which was more of a trading post, was a square block of shaved logs with a plank door painted a welcoming blue. Hitching rails stood on either side, and she could see a dock running out from the back into deeper water. Smoke curled from the chimney, so she knew someone was inside. She hesitated a moment, wondering whether she should knock. In the end, she merely grasped the latch and opened the door.
Inside, the walls were lined with wide shelves crammed with such an assortment of items she wasn’t sure where to look first. Kegs of nails stood next to bolts of calico, tins of tobacco beside jars of honey. At the counter near the front sat John’s brother James, chin propped on his hand.
He straightened at the sight of Dottie. “Well, my dear, welcome to my treasure cave. What can I get for you? Pearls from the Orient? Silk from China?”
Dottie wandered closer, skirts brushing a woven trap she guessed was for fishing and a bundle of beaver pelts. “Do you really sell pearls and silk?”
“No,” James said with a grin. “But they sounded better than saltpeter and molasses.”
Dottie couldn’t help smiling. “You’re the owner of this fine establishment?”
He puffed out his chest. “Owner, founder, builder.” He slumped. “And clerk. Humbling, isn’t it?”
“I think it a n
oble calling,” she assured him. “Why, everyone for miles around must come here at some point for something they need.”
“That was the idea,” James told her. “What can I get you today? John has plenty of food, so I doubt the tin of ham would amuse. Needles for sewing a young man’s shirt?”
For a moment, she thought he meant John, then she realized he was likely talking about Peter. “I’m all set on needles, actually. It’s employment I need.”
“Ah.” He pulled a rag out from under the counter and set about buffing the wood, which already gave back a dim reflection of his light brown hair. “I wish I could help you. But this store is just beginning to show a profit, and not enough to allow me to hire another worker.”
“Of course.” Dottie tried not to show her disappointment. “Do you know anyone else in the area who needs help?”
He paused in his buffing. He was a handsome man, like his brother, but his features were sharper, his build more slender. “You might ask Nora, Simon’s wife. She’s a seamstress of some talent. She always seems behind in her commissions.” He grinned. “Or maybe it’s just my commissions she finds difficult to complete. I can be quite exacting in my standards.” He put his nose in the air.
Dottie laughed. “I’m sure you’d be very kind to your sister-in-law.”
“All of them,” he assured her, lowering his nose with a grin. “Even the ones who aren’t quite there yet.”
Oh, but he was going to put her to the blush. “I can be just as exacting in my standards, sir.”
He nodded. “As you should be. But you won’t find anyone better than John.”
Dottie cocked her head. “Really. I’ve only met you and Drew so far, but the Wallin men seem to be tall of stature and fine of character. What makes John better than the rest of you?”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, will you make me praise someone other than myself? I don’t know if I have it in me.”
“I have faith in your abilities,” Dottie said.
He laughed. “That’s one of us. But very well. Drew has ever been the leader—brunt, determined, focused. He built this family, and his logging business. Simon is the thinker—he sees every angle and lets you know the flaw in your argument. He makes sure we’re all fed and housed appropriately. Levi is the adventurer, never satisfied with staying put. He’ll do great things one day, you mark my words. And I’m the charming one, as I believe I mentioned.”