by Regina Scott
“If you are intent on meeting the right people,” Weinclef told Reynolds, “you should join us for the May Day picnic. Everyone will do his or her part to build our great city, even our city fathers.” He raised a brow at John as if to dare him to disagree.
Reynolds smiled. “Well, then, gentlemen, count me in. Perhaps I’ll see you and your family there, Mr. Wallin.”
John nodded. “We’re planning on going. Look for me, and I’ll be sure to introduce you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Over the next few days, Dottie helped the Wallin ladies prepare for the big May Day event, baking pies, cakes, bread and biscuits.
“I still say no one makes biscuits as good as my brother Levi,” Beth had remarked with a sigh.
From conversations, Dottie had gathered that the youngest Wallin brother had ever been the most adventurous. Unwilling to farm, ranch or log, he had left home with his friend Scout Rankin to seek their fortunes. The last the Wallins had heard, the two men were at the Omineca gold rush in Canada, but the last letter had come months ago, and all were concerned.
Dottie couldn’t help thinking about her aunt and uncle. Did they miss her? Wonder where she’d gone? They had wanted nothing to do with her when they’d learned she was with child and had no husband to support her.
“I knew there was something wrong with that man,” her uncle had railed, for all he’d been the one to introduce Frank to Dottie.
“We told you not to marry him,” her aunt had lamented, even though she’d nearly dragged Dottie to the altar.
Somehow she couldn’t imagine them caring the way the Wallins cared about their lost brother.
Or the way she was coming to care for John.
He did not press her about whether she was willing to have him court her in earnest, but he resumed his usual pattern at the farm. He was waiting for her, smiling, when she went out to gather the eggs in the morning, and, more often than not, he joined her and Peter around the breakfast table. When he didn’t, her son would look at the empty chair, face scrunching.
During the day, she could see John out the windows, working on the fields that ringed the house, tending to the animals and fixing things around the house and barn. One day, he came to the door midmorning, face red from his work but smiling.
“To what do I owe this visit?” Dottie teased him.
“I promised to show you that big cedar,” he reminded her as he took Peter and offered her his arm.
Peter straightened in John’s other arm as if eager to see, and Dottie felt her own spirits rising as John led them down the drive. Of course, it could have been the man beside her rather than the prospect of seeing the tree.
He veered off the drive onto a narrow path that wound deeper into the woods.
“Just a little ways,” he told Dottie. A moment later, and he strode into a clearing, then paused as if to let Dottie take in the sight.
The tree was massive, the trunk like a wall in front of her. Tilting back her head, she couldn’t make out the top through the branches, but it had to be more than forty feet tall. The entire Wallin family holding hands would have had a difficult time encircling it.
Peter just stared, foot twitching.
“Drew figures it’s hundreds of years old,” John said. “We had a few like it on the other claims, and they fetched a pretty price in board feet. I’ve seen whole families live in one of these hollowed-out stumps.”
He let go of Dottie’s hand to reach out and pat the rough bark. “But I couldn’t see this grandfather of the forest come down.”
Dottie knew she was regarding John as fixedly as Peter regarded the tree. Friend to widows, children, lost cats and even trees. She could not help but admire him.
And there lay the problem. John had given her an opening to tell him how she felt, to encourage him to court her. But now that she knew he had loved and lost, she hesitated. He’d been through pain not unlike her own. Was he truly willing to try again? Especially if he knew about Frank?
Beth and his sisters-in-law seemed determined to have him notice Dottie at the May Day picnic. Beth had created a darling hat from deep blue velvet with a matching pleated satin ribbon that sat on Dottie’s upswept curls and made the gold of her hair all the more apparent. She’d had two fittings with Nora for her new gown and knew it would complement the hat as well as her figure.
Yet all of her new finery would be in vain if John wasn’t truly interested. If he was still grieving the loss of his sweetheart, she could understand his reluctance to try again so soon. Yet she felt every hour that passed like the toll of a bell. At some point, it would strike the final note, and she would have to leave Wallin Landing. She could not live on the Wallins’ charity forever.
* * *
By arrangement, everyone was up earlier than usual on May Day. The sky was still dark, clouds so low they touched the tops of the firs and hid the stars. John came to collect her, holding the lantern while she carried Peter through the hush of the forest to the main house, where everyone was to gather.
Simon, who seemed to share John’s opinion of the futility of the event, was staying behind with Nora and the children. Like Dottie, the women were swathed in cloaks or coats against the chilly damp air. The men in their thick coats looked as bundled as little Peter.
Beth stepped up on the back porch of the main house, her long, dark blue coat making her look a bit like a little general, and began issuing orders. “Drew, you take Catherine, Harry and the lads up with you along with the tools.” Her brother and his crew began loading the axes and shovels into the bed of Drew’s waiting wagon.
“James,” she continued, “you take Rina and the food with you.”
“‘Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough,’” James quipped, offering his arm to his wife, “‘and thou beside me singing in the wilderness.’”
Beth frowned. “Wait, sending the food with just you and Rina will be entirely inconvenient. She won’t want to keep looking backward to make sure it’s securely stowed. I better ride in the bed with the food. Pickles have been known to explode when not properly tended.”
Had they? Dottie didn’t remember that from her days on her parents’ farm. “Perhaps I could help,” she offered.
Beth shook her head. “You need to focus on Peter.” She waved a hand. “John, you take Dottie and Peter and the blankets for the picnic.”
Dottie didn’t know whether to thank Beth or scold her for arranging things so neatly. John’s sister hopped down off the porch, picked up the blankets that had been piled there and carried them to where John stood by one of the farm wagons. Dottie followed.
He offered her a smile and held out his arms for Peter.
Before Dottie could hand him her son, Beth all but threw the blankets into the bed of the wagon and leaped between Dottie and John. “Let me hold him, Dottie. John, help Dottie onto the bench. We really must be going if we’re to reach Seattle in time.” She scooped Peter out of Dottie’s arms.
John’s arms fell, and he frowned at his sister as if he wasn’t sure what she was on about.
Beth stamped her foot, startling Peter. “Well, go on! Must I do everything around here?”
With an apologetic grimace, John stepped forward and put his hands on Dottie’s waist.
She was certain time stopped. His gaze met hers and held. Her breath lodged in her chest. She felt his muscles tighten, sending a jolt through her. His name whispered past her lips as he effortlessly lifted her onto the bench.
Then he drew back, and sound and movement returned.
“He’s such a sweetheart,” Beth said.
Dottie blinked, then she realized Beth was talking about Peter.
“Thank you,” she said as John came around and hopped up beside her.
Beth beamed at the baby in her arms. “Could I keep h
im with me on the drive? We’ll be just behind you, so we can stop if he needs you.”
“I would think you wouldn’t want Peter to ride with the exploding pickles,” John drawled.
But Beth was already hurrying away with Dottie’s son.
Dottie watched her, then glanced at John. “Do you think the pickles are truly dangerous?”
“Not in the slightest,” John said, gathering up the reins. “But I’m not too sure about my sister.”
They set off after Drew’s wagon. Dottie glanced back in time to see James and Rina pull in behind them.
The way was slow. Lanterns at the front of each wagon gave enough light for the horses and oxen. The jingle of tack played the cavalcade along, the wagons swaying in time. She could imagine Peter closing his eyes, safe in Beth’s arms, surrounded by pickles, pies, cakes, bread and biscuits.
“I must apologize—again—for my family,” John said beside her. “I’m not sure what it would take to get through to them we don’t need their assistance in courting. Shall I write it in the rain clouds? Outline it on the snows of Mount Rainier?”
Dottie smiled. “At least we know they have our best interests at heart.”
John snorted. “Sometimes that’s just a handy excuse for meddling.”
“Or helping,” Dottie insisted. “The way you helped me by bringing me out to Wallin Landing.”
He glanced her way, gaze shadowed in the lantern light. “Did I help you, Dottie? Sometimes it seems you’d like to be somewhere else.”
Dottie readjusted the cloak about her. “Not somewhere else. Just settled. It would be nice to know I could stay where I am, without having to look for something more.”
He returned his gaze to the road ahead. Drew’s wagon was no more than a lumbering dark shape beyond the golden light. She could feel the mist gathering on her cheeks.
“Is that why you suggested we consider courting?” John murmured. “So you’d know you’re settled?”
Dottie stared at him. “Of course not! I suppose it may seem otherwise because I came out here as a mail-order bride, but I take marriage very seriously. The Bible says that God created Eve because it wasn’t good for man to be alone.”
“And look at all the trouble that caused,” he said, but she could hear the teasing tone in his voice.
“Oh, come now,” she protested. “What would your brothers do without their wives? What would Wallin Landing be without everyone’s contribution? You’d have no school without Rina, no dispensary without Catherine.”
“James would have to go to town to find someone to sew him a new waistcoat without Nora,” John added.
He was in a rare mood. She found she liked it. But then, she liked a great deal about John Wallin. The only thing she didn’t like was his refusal to wed. He seemed to think he wasn’t good enough to be a husband.
“Caroline Crawford has a lot to answer for,” she said.
He started, and the horses picked up their pace. Immediately he slowed them again. “What did you say?”
She’d known speaking her thoughts aloud to Peter and Brian would get her into trouble one day. “Forgive me, John. It’s really none of my affair. Your sister mentioned that you had courted Miss Crawford, and you and she decided you would not suit.”
“She decided.” The words were said quietly, all humor gone. “I thought we were meant for each other. She did not share that opinion. It seems when it comes to being a husband, I lack a key characteristic.”
Dottie decided she did not like Miss Crawford in the slightest. “Nonsense. I can’t imagine what she thought was lacking, but she was clearly mistaken.”
“No, she was right,” he insisted. “Once the fault was pointed out to me, I saw it as well. And I’m not sure it’s something I can change.”
Dottie swiveled to face him. “John Wallin, surely a well-read gentleman like you knows that we are always capable of changing.”
“When the fault is in our very nature?”
He sounded skeptical, yet under the tone she heard a yearning. The lantern light outlined his cheeks, made his green eyes dark pools. She had wondered whether this man was hiding a flaw. Now that he had seemed to confess as much, she found she couldn’t believe it. Her faith had grown, in him and in her own judgment.
Even in God’s provision. For all her trials, He had led her to a good place, surrounded her with people who cared. The least she could do was treat others the same way.
“What did Miss Crawford find so very objectionable?” she asked. “That you give too much of yourself to others? That you put the needs of friends and family before your own? I find those characteristics heroic, sir.”
He stared at her. “Heroic? When I can’t find time to fix a stuck window or fund the library?”
“Those things will come,” she assured him. “But I insist that your nature is the very essence of a hero. If Caroline Crawford can’t see that, she isn’t worth your time.”
A laugh bubbled out of him. “If only I could see the world through your eyes.”
Dottie smiled. “And I’d like to see it through yours, full of opportunities to do good for those we love. You notice the wonders in everyday life, John. Look for them in yourself.”
He reached out a hand and laid it over hers. “Perhaps we can both catch hold of a new vision together.”
Together. They had started as strangers, become friends. Now she could see that they had a chance to end as something far more.
* * *
John kept his hand on Dottie’s until they reached the outskirts of Seattle. Her words said she believed in him, wanted him at her side. She’d called him heroic. Him! For her, he wanted to be. He was only sorry the crowd made it prudent to put both hands on the reins.
Indeed, it seemed as if Seattle had heeded the call, and every man and woman above the age of sixteen had turned out. From the tracks, from the woods, others joined them on foot, on horseback and in wagons. They went ahead, beside, around, voices growing louder in excitement and anticipation.
The actual location for the work was three miles south of town near where the Duwamish River turned for the bay. As he guided the horses into the city, a boom echoed across the hill, and the church bells began ringing. Dottie glanced his way, brows up.
It had been so dark at Wallin Landing he hadn’t gotten a good look at her this morning. Now with the sun setting the city to glowing, he saw the color high in her cheeks, the sparkle of her lavender eyes under the velvet blue of her hat.
The rosy warmth of her lips.
“What was that?” she asked.
It took him a moment to find coherent thought. “That had to be the cannon at the armory. They’re certainly doing this up right.”
So it seemed. Now he heard the sound of horns playing a rousing march. As they turned the corner onto Second Avenue, he spotted Seattle’s brass band, horns flashing in the light as they moved south, a parade growing behind them.
“It’s as if the circus came to town,” Dottie marveled.
John could only agree. Townspeople shouted and cheered as the Wallin group moved past, then fell in behind. Men carried the tools of their trade, women bore baskets or casks of provisions. As they crossed the old skid road, John spotted other people heading toward the wharves, where the steamer Comet was waiting, stacks smoking, to tow the scow CC Perkins down to the work site by water.
The parade continued the three miles into the woods, with people singing, laughing. Loggers and sawmill workers leaned on John’s wagon, peered up at Dottie and grinned.
“Quite a lady you got there, Mr. Wallin, sir,” one asserted.
“I’ll save a spot at the picnic for you, ma’am,” another offered.
Dottie kept her face forward, her chin up, not so much as giving them a look of encouragement. John waved them back fr
om the wagon.
“Go along now, lads,” he told them. “The lady has better things to do than to dawdle with the likes of you.”
“A shame, oh, a shame,” one lamented. Then they noticed Beth in the wagon just behind and hurried off to petition her instead.
Dottie clasped the opening of her cloak. “And I thought Beth intended to introduce me to suitable bachelors!”
He knew there would be others at the work site, but suddenly he had no interest in sharing. He reached out and took one of Dottie’s hands in his. “If you believe I’m suitable enough, Dottie, maybe you don’t have to look so hard today.”
Her head snapped around, her gaze searching his. Then she smiled, cheeks pinkening.
“Perhaps I don’t,” she said.
This time he didn’t release her hand as they rolled into the work site.
If the parade through town had been wild, this place was in turmoil, with older people milling about while the youth dashed from one group to another. John had thought his sister’s attitude this morning a bit dictatorial, but it was clear someone needed to take charge. He called to a redheaded fellow who seemed to be directing traffic.
“Pull your wagon in over there,” the man said, pointing to a cleared field near the shell of a gristmill that was under construction. “We’ll need your horses to help pull the stumps after the loggers take down the trees.” He nodded to Dottie. “All the ladies are gathered at the mill, ma’am.”
Dottie turned in her seat, but her gaze went back the way they had come. “Where’s Beth with Peter?”
John glanced back, too. James had been right behind them, but the number of people had obviously forced his brother to slow. Now it took John a moment to locate his sister, his brother and Rina.
“They’re heading for the gristmill,” he reported. “They’re probably dropping off the supplies before James finds a spot for the wagon. I’ll take you to them.”
She nodded, but she seemed taut as a bowstring as he maneuvered the wagon into an open space. He asked a lad he knew to watch the horses, then came around to help Dottie down. Her gaze skittered past his in apparent panic. She’d probably never been parted from her son for more than a few minutes.