“I manage the Ny, er, New Hope Logging Company.” He guided them down the staircase and turned at the bottom.
Other people moved through the lower floor near the registration desk and in the foyer.
Scents of cooked meat and coffee wafted from the dining room, making Sorcha anticipate another meal as tasty as last night’s supper. “Logging must be a good livelihood here. Seems all we saw our boat ride yesterday were miles and miles of conifers.”
Mister Ingemar stopped and gazed at her, one eyebrow arched. “You recognize the type of tree?”
“I’m trained as a teacher, which is why I came on Mister Mercer’s expedition.”
A grin blossomed. “Then this meeting will prove fortuitous for us both, Miss Sorcha.”
His direct look sent warm tingles through her chest. How she’d missed having a man’s attention since Tully marched off to war. She shook away that thought. Once inside the dining room, Sorcha nodded at passengers she recognized as she eased her hand from Mister Ingemar’s arm and followed the waiter to an empty table.
“Oh, Miss Stewart.” Blinne hurried forward. “Good morning. How are you doing today? Isn’t this hotel lovely?” She stopped to chat with a friend from the trip.
Mister Ingemar pulled out Sorcha’s chair at a linen-clothed table. “Is this one all right?”
Smiling, Sorcha lowered herself and tucked her voluminous skirts as close as possible. She’d put on an extra petticoat this morning, knowing she wouldn’t have to worry about narrow ship staircases. But in a restaurant with many tables, she struggled with the fullness. “Thank you.” He was right that they were in a public place, but being together alone still felt strange.
Several minutes later, the three had ordered and sipped coffee while they waited.
Sorcha ran a finger along the rim of the porcelain saucer, such a treat after the thick crockery used aboard the Continental. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Blinne looking all around and waving at people she knew. Now that they’d arrived, they needed to secure their futures. “Tell me, sir, why did you state our meeting was fated?”
Smiling, he rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Because I’ve been looking for a woman just like you.”
She stiffened, her chin jerking upward. “I beg your pardon.” Had her first thought been wrong? Was he like all those other brazen San Francisco men who thought they deserved audiences with the women?
“Oh, my word.” Blinking fast, Blinne dropped her chin in her propped-up, open palm.
Frowning, Mister Ingemar glanced between the women and straightened, then his eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Accept my apologies. My conversational skills with cultured ladies like yourselves are a bit rusty. What I meant was I’m interested in the fact of you being a teacher.”
Sorcha blew out a relieved breath. “Mister Mercer’s appeal in the East was for women willing to accept available positions teaching children. I must find him today and get this matter settled.”
His expression tightened before he raised his cup and took a long drink. All the while, his gaze moved around the room.
Blinne slid into her chair and glanced between them.
Although their acquaintance was brief, Sorcha recognized avoidance in his demeanor. She clenched both hands in her lap, creating a dull ache in her scar. “What aren’t you saying, Mister Ingemar?”
“I was overseeing a lumber order at the docks yesterday and saw the reception. Just about everyone in town turned out to greet your group.” He narrowed his gaze. “How many school-age children did you notice among the citizens?”
His words echoed her very same thought from the previous evening during the group’s walk through town. But then she’d passed off the thought as being too suspicious. “I figured they were kept home with their mothers.” Before she finished her sentence, she spotted his head shaking. Her chest tightened. “No?”
“No what?” Blinne glanced between them, her eyebrows arched. “Did I miss something?”
The waiter arrived with their food, refilled their coffee cups, and then moved on to seat new arrivals.
“I’m sorry to inform you, Miss Sorcha, but more people under voting age came off your ship than those living in town. Seattle residents are bachelors, widowers, and older married couples. The first settlers with families arrived in 1852 and 1853, and those children have grown well past school age.”
A weight settled on her shoulders, and Sorcha slumped back in the chair. “I can’t believe it. How could Mister Mercer promise jobs that don’t exist?”
Blinne reached out and patted Sorcha’s hand. “This situation is just plain awful, Sorcha. We’ll hunt down that horrid man and learn his intentions.” She angled toward Mister Ingemar and flashed a smile. “Do you know if this town has a seamstress shop?”
Sorcha snorted, then turned it into a cough and brought her napkin to her mouth.
“Don’t judge me.” Blinne shrugged. “One of us has to get a job.”
“Teaching jobs could exist in surrounding areas that I’m not aware of. People are moving to Washington Territory all the time. A fact for which I’m glad, because my business is doing well.” He cut off a slab of ham and slid it into his mouth, chewing hard. “Or possibly he intended teachers to be placed at the university.”
Guilt attacked, and Sorcha exchanged glances with Blinne, who grimaced. A university would require proof of her credentials. She’d mailed her final coursework from San Francisco, so her teacher’s certificate wouldn’t be arriving for several weeks. “That advanced level of teaching wasn’t discussed.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say, ladies, but many people in town don’t hold Mercer in the highest esteem.” He bit into a biscuit and chewed, glancing between them.
“Not just in this town.” Keeping scorn from her voice was difficult. Sorcha shook her head. “We’ve seen the newspapers.” She scooped up a bite of fried egg. Even though she savored the fresh flavor, the food almost stuck in her throat. Had she been hasty in her decision to relocate? Could she have learned more about the man before signing onto the expedition?
After a sip of coffee to wash down the egg, she spread butter on her toast, contemplating how much to tell this almost-stranger with the kind eyes and open expression. “Do you know he called for private meetings and attempted to bully us into signing notes for additional transit monies? More than two months into the trip . . . as if we had another way to finish the voyage. He admonished us that our new husbands would be obligated for the payment.” Irritation lingered over that unpleasant discussion. She tapped a clenched fist on the tabletop. “That strategy wasn’t right.”
“No, miss, it wasn’t.” His lips pinched into a tight line. “You didn’t sign such a document, did you?”
What did the man take her for . . . a fool? She wrinkled her nose. “I most certainly did not.”
“We sewed and knitted plenty of his garments to more than pay back the grant from the expedition fund.” Blinne gave a sharp nod.
“Good to hear. I’ll be happy to escort you to his family’s house so the matter can be decided.” Mister Ingemar ate in silence for several moments, then reached to an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a document. “To be completely honest, I should inform you that I hold a contract with Mister Mercer’s expedition.” He laid the folded paper in the center of the table.
Dreading what she’d learn, Sorcha dug her spectacles from her reticule, reached for the contract, and unfolded the thick paper.
It read, I, Asa S. Mercer of Seattle, W.T., hereby agree to bring a suitable wife of good moral character and reputation, from the East to Seattle, on or about September, 1865, for each of the parties whose signatures are hereunto attached, they first paying me or my agent, the sum of three hundred dollars, with which to pay the passage of said ladies from the East and to compensate me for my trouble. (signed) A.S. Mercer, Seattle, W.T., March 1, 1865.
Blood pounded in her ears. Gasping, she jumped to her feet, squaring
her shoulders. “Do you mean to claim me as your wife?”
As soon as he laid the contract on the table, Lang wondered at the wisdom of sharing the document. Perhaps he should have provided more background on his reasoning for supporting Mercer’s enterprise. He studied Miss Sorcha as she scanned the document. The spectacles didn’t detract from her attractiveness. Her reddish-brown hair rolled away over her ears into a complicated twist. Short, curly wisps escaped the hairdo and framed her heart-shaped face. A becoming pink blush colored her cheeks, then deepened in color. He noted her tightening jaw and stilled, his cup raised halfway to his mouth. The paper crinkled in her tightening grasp, and he wanted to grab it back.
Her head lifted, and she connected with his gaze, eyes narrowed. She rose, her posture rigid. “Do you mean to claim me as your wife?”
All conversations at the closest tables quieted. Glancing around to confirm that his table was the focus of people’s stares, he stood. Heat infused his neck. He stretched an arm toward her to urge her back to her chair but thought better of the action. “Miss Sorcha, please sit and let me explain.” He really was woefully out of practice around women.
“I will not. Come along, Blinne.” She tossed down the document and strode from the dining room.
The sights of her head held high and her stiff posture looked foreboding. A groan rose in his throat. He had to fix this misunderstanding. The success of Ny Hoppas depended on acquiring a teacher. He knew this fact as well as he knew which tree to cut and in which direction to drop it. After collecting the contract, Lang grabbed a few coins from his pocket and tossed them on the table, then hurried after the women. They could not disappear. He spotted them at the registration desk, stepped behind the chestnut-haired one, and spoke for her ears only. “Miss Sorcha, you don’t have all the information.”
“Really?” She shot a sideways glare. “The despicable contract was written in plain English, of which I’m perfectly capable of understanding.”
Wincing at her injured tone, he reached out a hand to cup her elbow. For a reason he couldn’t explain, he needed to relieve her hurt. The tingles running along his palm fractured his focus, and he dropped his hand. “But I don’t want a wife. I want a teacher.”
She stiffened and turned so fast the single peacock feather on her bonnet bobbed. Her eyes rounded. “You do?”
Aware of curious glances aimed in their direction, he swept a hand toward the door. He certainly didn’t need townspeople knowing his private matters. “Could we perhaps continue the conversation on the porch?”
Shaking her head, she glanced at the door, then back, gaze narrowing. “You offered to take me to Mercer’s house. We’ll talk on the way.”
At least he still had a chance. “Allow me to get the door.” He stepped forward.
“I can open my own doors.” Head held high, she marched across the foyer and onto the porch.
Miss Blinne followed but shot a smile over her shoulder.
Once outside, Lang followed the women down the stairs and then gestured toward which direction to walk. Tension radiated off this petite woman, from her stiff shoulders to her quick steps. He cast about for a subject to put the conversation back on neutral ground. “Mercer’s older brother, Thomas, established one of the earliest claims here in Seattle, along with Yesler, who built a mill. After being a dairyman and a freighter, Thomas has become a prosperous farmer. He’s also the area’s probate judge.”
The women remained silent, so he glanced around for a new topic. “On the knoll a couple blocks over is the Territorial University of Washington. Seattle citizens are quite proud of the two-story stone building with four columns in front. I’m sure you spotted the cupola from the docks.” He sounded like he orated a tour of the city, but he wished to get himself back in Miss Sorcha’s good graces. “The building, which is Seattle’s most substantial so far, serves as a great landmark when arriving by land or by sea. When you get close, you can see the widow’s walk all around the roof.”
“Very nice.” Sorcha angled her body to address him. “What’s the rest of the explanation you mentioned earlier?”
The flash of her green eyes shot a stab to his chest. He disliked how his actions offended her. “Again, I apologize for how I presented the contract. I understand how its meaning could be misconstrued.” He stepped close in order to match her gait. “What I should have said first was how, during the first year after I moved here, the men in town did nothing but lament the lack of women. The war in the states slowed the few arrivals Seattle received on the migrant trail. Most travelers go to Oregon for the rich farmlands. I’d heard about Mercer’s trip in 1864 that brought eleven women to the area, and he had such grandiose plans for this trip.” Her expression was set, the feather still bobbed, and he couldn’t tell if his words made much impact. “Turn right on this street.”
Miss Sorcha glanced to her friend, then nodded. “We know he left New York with many fewer women than he’d hoped would pay passage to relocate. From what we later learned, financial problems kept delaying the departure date. A circumstance for which we’re grateful, because we only saw the notice a couple weeks before Christmas.”
Lang didn’t fight his growing smile. Her tone no longer held censure, and her posture appeared more relaxed. “As someone who made a trans-Atlantic crossing not too long ago, I know conditions are not always the easiest. I neglected to inquire about your experience on the long voyage. Did you both fare well?”
“Sorcha’s got the constitution of a bull. She handled the ship’s rocking just fine.” Miss Blinne leaned forward and shuddered. “I, on the other hand, languished for a dreadful week of being seasick. I have no wishes for another ship voyage in my near future.”
After a sideways glare toward her cousin, Miss Sorcha nodded. “We fared well enough in a confined space when having no choice in traveling companions.”
“Intriguing statement, Miss Sorcha. I suspect hearing about your travels would be interesting.”
“The trip is too recent in my memory to do such a tale justice.” A smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Ask me again in a week’s time.” A blush colored her cheeks, and she looked ahead.
“I’ll do that.” He took a long stride forward and then swept an arm to the side. “Down this pathway is the Mercer place.” The ladies’ conversation turned to the naming of trees and shrubs, and he glanced around for a sight of the man they’d come to see.
Moments later, Miss Mary Jane, the eldest Mercer daughter, ushered them into a parlor. “I’ll collect my uncle and return in a moment. Make yourselves comfortable, please.”
Soon, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Mercer stepped into the room, pulling on a jacket. “Ladies, good to see you again. And Ingemar”—he brushed a hand through the wavy curls over his ears—“what business brings you here?”
By the way the man brushed at his shirtfront, Lang had the impression they’d interrupted him at his breakfast. “I defer to the ladies’ business first.” He lifted his chin in their direction.
Narrowing his gaze, Mercer glanced at the sofa where both ladies sat. “Yes?”
Miss Sorcha straightened, her hands in her lap. “I’ve come to inquire about the promised teaching position.”
“So soon?” Mercer claimed a nearby upholstered chair. “Before you’ve become acclimated to life on land and been welcomed into one of the residents’ homes? I believe your request is a bit premature.” He smiled, then sat back. “Why not enjoy a couple more nights at the Occidental?”
Miss Sorcha’s tightened jaw was subtle, but Lang had been staring, so he caught the movement. This woman did not like being told what to do—a fact he would do well to remember.
“I don’t feel my request is out of line. After all, obtaining such a position was my purpose for boarding that sailing ship.” Miss Sorcha leaned forward, her gaze narrowed. “Do you have a teaching position to offer or not, sir?”
Clearing his throat, Mercer tugged the lapels of his jacket tight. “Of course I
do. The location, however, is not here in Seattle. A teacher is needed for a small schoolhouse in Chambers Prairie, south of Olympia, the territorial capital.”
From what he’d heard about the cousins’ plans, Lang guessed that location would not be acceptable. Lang breathed a sigh of relief but didn’t let his emotion show.
“Where’s the capital located?” Frowning, she looked to her cousin, who sat wide-eyed.
“About sixty miles south.”
“Oh.” Her body slumped, then she angled her head.
Uncrossing his leg, Lang connected with her stricken gaze, hoping to relay the message that all was not lost. When she remained quiet for several moments, Lang stood. “Thank you for seeing us, Mercer. Miss Geraghty will give you her response in a few days.” He bent enough to grasp Miss Sorcha’s elbow and squeeze. “We’ll be going now.”
Shaking her head, she blinked and then rose.
Miss Blinne copied her movement and linked arms with her cousin before heading for the hallway.
When Lang was sure they were out of earshot, he looked at Mercer and hardened his expression. “I trust that no further requests for additional funds will be broached to these ladies. Between my contract”—he patted his breast pocket—“and their payments and onboard labors, their passages should be considered paid in full.”
Mercer sucked a breath through his nose, then stood to his full height. “Certainly.”
Lang gave a sharp nod and set his hat atop his head. “I’ll see myself out.” Knowing that obstacle had been cleared, he left the house with a spring in his step. Now the task was convincing Miss Sorcha of the advantages to the position he had to offer. As he approached the waiting ladies, he fought to keep his expression somber. He led the way to the street and then turned toward town.
Silence hovered over the group for the time walking several block lengths. The cloudless sky allowed the sun’s strength to beat on his shoulders. A day without rain was a good day for a logger. His thoughts drifted to how the men fared at the camp and if production was on schedule.
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