A Bride for Noah (4 page)

He faced the chief. “Chief
Si'ahl.
” He awarded the man the respect of using the tribal pronunciation of his name and ducked his head, though taking care not to lower his eyes.

Without a noticeable change in his expression, Seattle fixed polite attention on Noah.

What's the word for woman?
Noah cast about in his mind. “Ah, the
klootchman
in the cabin that way.” He pointed eastward in the location of the Denny cabin.

Seattle's eyes followed his hand, and then he indicated he understood with a nod. Not surprising, since there were the only two white
klootchman
within a hundred-mile radius. No doubt everyone knew their location.

By using gestures and a few words he had picked up, he managed to communicate Arthur's request. At least, he hoped the message came through accurately. The chief turned his head and spoke to his tribesmen in a commanding voice. Then he turned to Arthur and regally lowered his head as if to indicate that the request had been granted.

Relief flooded Arthur's features, and he extended a hand toward Seattle. “Thank you. You don't know how I appreciate that.”

The chief hesitated only a moment before shaking the offered hand. Behind him, the braves chuckled and mumbled to one another in low voices. The Duwamish did not shake hands with one another but their leader's willingness to learn the white man's customs, if not his language, spoke of his respect and hopes for a peaceful future relationship.

Noah bid the visitors farewell and returned to his work. As he picked up the ax, he shook his head. Women. Nothing against Mary and Louisa, who were both upstanding and hardworking, but life was much easier without the burden of protecting and caring for a woman, especially in the rugged environment of this part of Oregon Territory. The crew obviously did not agree, and continued to complain bitterly about the lack of female presence in the new settlement.
To Noah, though, that was one of the appeals of the place. Hard work during the day and solitude at night. That was the life for him.

If only he'd figured that out before he'd squandered his inheritance on that deceitful woman back in San Francisco.

Chattanooga, Tennessee

The morning was well underway when Mr. Coffinger finally put in an appearance downstairs. As was her custom, Mrs. Coffinger would linger in her upstairs sitting room until after lunch, when Evie could clear the lunch tray and begin her afternoon duties cleaning the bedrooms.

Mr. Coffinger hummed a monotone tune as he descended the stairway. He nodded absently toward Evie, who was sweeping the hallway carpet runner, and continued past her to the library. A moment later the heavy oak door closed behind him with a soft click.

Particles of dust rose in puffs from the carpet as Evie changed the direction of her efforts and swept toward the closed door. Sleep had eluded her last night, so tumultuous were her thoughts. In the past five days she had become more certain that James's true intention in marrying her had been to gain control of Grandfather's house. One moment she'd berated herself for her uncharitable attitude toward him, but the next she remembered the neighbors selling their properties one by one to business owners as the railroad track down Mulberry Avenue had neared completion. She remembered the men who knocked on Grandfather's door with their offers, which he had sternly refused to entertain. And James's words from that night had echoed in her mind.
You're attractive enough. I'm fond of you.
And, of course, the ones that rankled.
Are you so ignorant? Foolish is as foolish does.

James was a fine man, not afraid to work. He had goals, and ambition enough to attain them. She also had to admit that he was something of an opportunist, no doubt a necessary quality for a man with lofty aspirations. He would make a fine husband for someone.

But not for her.

The realization brought with it a curious sense of relief. The fact that she was not devastated at the idea of ending her relationship with James proved that what she had assumed to be love had been something else entirely. Fear, perhaps, of being alone in the world after Grandfather's death. Anxiety at the approach of her twenty-third birthday, an age at which most young women were safely wed and raising a family. Marriage had seemed a logical step to relieve her of the looming fear of a lonely spinster's life. But not marriage to a man she did not love and who described his affections for her as mere fondness.

With the coming of dawn this morning, clarity had arrived. Why must she rely on anyone else to make her future? Many women made their own way in the world without the benefit of a husband. Look at Mrs. Browning, the widow who ran the boardinghouse where she lived. Evie was certainly as capable of earning her way.

Leaning her broom handle against the wall, she paused for a moment in front of Mr. Coffinger's library to gather her thoughts. Swallowing past a lump of nerves, she lifted her hand and rapped quietly on the door.

“Yes?” came the muffled reply from inside.

She cleared her throat and cracked open the door enough to stick her head through. “Might I have a word with you, sir?”

He was seated behind the big wooden desk, his head bent over a paper. Dark pouches dragged at the skin beneath red-rimmed eyes. He must have had as restless a night as she.

She looked around the room, curious. Her housecleaning duties
excluded this room, which was Mr. Coffinger's domain. Bookshelves lined the walls, though most were only half-filled with bound volumes. Stacks of papers occupied much of the writing table and many of the shelves as well. Though sunlight filtered through the tall windows behind the desk, the odor of lamp oil clung to the air.

He raised his head to look her full in the face and leaned back in the tall leather chair. The mustache twitched, indicative of a hidden smile.

“Of course, Miss Lawrence. Come in and be seated.” He gestured toward a wooden chair resting against one wall.

Evie lowered herself into the chair, nerves doing battle in her stomach. In the predawn light, her resolve had been firm. Now she wasn't so sure. Perhaps she really was the fool James claimed her to be.

“If you've come to ask for an increase in your wages, let me save us some time and tell you I am not in a position…”

“No,” she hurried to say. “That's not it at all. I'd like to continue our conversation from a few nights past.”

Mr. Coffinger rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and entwined his fingers across his middle. “I must confess to some surprise. When we spoke I had the impression I'd offended you.”

No use denying the truth. “I was…taken aback by your parting comment. But I've since considered your words and have some questions.”

A gleam of interest appeared in his red-rimmed eyes. “Questions concerning my nephew's letter?”

She nodded. “That and your offer.”

His eyebrows rose. “I wasn't aware I had made an offer.”

She realized she had twisted the fabric of her skirt into a knot, and smoothed it out. “You said I should speak with you if I decided to go west. I am considering such a move.”

Surprise colored his features. “Don't tell me you've been bitten by the gold lust.”

“No, but it has occurred to me that there are many opportunities in the West besides the quest for gold. Your nephew's venture, for instance.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowed. “Has your fiancé a mind to try his hand at logging?”

Heat rose in her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to a point on the desktop in front of him. “We have…ended our agreement.
If
I decide to pursue a future in the West”—she met his eyes directly as she placed an emphasis on the word—“I will be alone.”

A long silence followed, during which Evie forced herself not to shift in her seat. She had not actually told James of her decision yet. Nor had she informed him of her determination to end their engagement.

Mr. Coffinger said, “I see. And tell me, exactly what do you intend to do when you get there?”

That very question had occupied her thoughts throughout much of the early morning hours. Her initial assumption upon hearing Noah Hughes's jesting request for “a wagonload of women” was that it had been a thinly veiled invitation for women of low reputation, which of course was out of the question for a Christian lady such as herself. But he wrote with such conviction of the bright future of the settlement he and the others were striving to establish. If so, there would be opportunities for upstanding women, especially if they were not afraid to work.

She cleared her throat. “Every successful town needs commerce to thrive. Dry good stores, and clothiers, and blacksmiths…the list goes on.”

Mr. Coffinger's expression became thoughtful, and he nodded slowly.

Evie took his silence for encouragement and straightened in the chair. “I've considered many opportunities—perhaps a restaurant?”

Clearly, that had not been the answer he expected. His brow furrowed. “A restaurant?”

Ignoring his lack of enthusiasm, she continued. “Just one possibility. The opportunity for business in a new settlement is practically unlimited, and I must consider my talents. I am a fair hand with meat and bread—and a needle, so a trade as a seamstress is a possibility. Surely men who work out of doors have mending needs and since there are very few women in the settlement, the demand for a full-time seamstress is undoubtedly limited.”

He steepled his fingers in front of his mustache and dipped his head. “Go on.”

Folding her hands in her lap to keep them still, she continued. “I've a good mind for finance, which would help in any number of ventures. Running a mercantile for instance.”

“Certainly a necessity to a fledgling town,” he commented.

Encouraged, she nodded. “There is a good deal of work involved in opening such a business. Suppliers must be secured, inventory purchased, trade routes established.” She spread her hands. “I have no contacts in the area, so forming these relationships would take time, and a great deal of money.”

“Opening a restaurant would also require suppliers and the purchase of inventory.”

“Yes, but the initial expenses would not be as high. We would not need to purchase inventory to stock shelves, merely cooking equipment and a good supply of basic ingredients.” She reached into her apron pocket and drew out the list she'd made. “Tables and benches, but surely in an area rich with timber those would not be difficult to find.” She glanced down. “Oh, and table linens of course. We want to provide a homey atmosphere so the men will feel welcome and relaxed. Our restaurant would be a hospitable place, a respite from the demands of their labor.”

As she spoke, Mr. Coffinger's eyebrows edged upward toward his hairline. “
Our
restaurant?”

Evie busied herself in folding her list. “That is the matter I hoped
to discuss with you. Though I am able to run such a business competently, and am confident enough in my cooking ability to have no fear about my ability to attract a satisfactory clientele, there is an obstacle.” She slid the paper back into her apron and settled her hands once again in her lap. “I have no money to finance such a venture.”

“None?”

Her thoughts turned to the small sum secured in her hope chest at the boardinghouse, squirreled away from her meager wage as Mrs. Coffinger's housemaid in anticipation of setting up a home as James's wife. “Very little.” She cleared her throat. “I am aware that in the past you have occasionally invested in causes you deem worthwhile.” With that thought she fell silent, the unspoken question deafening in the silence that fell between them.

His mustache twitched from side to side, and she fancied she could almost hear the faint tapping of his steepled fingers against one another. Then she realized the noise was the sound of her own pulse.

Finally, he spoke. “I see merit in the venture.” Her chest inflated with a hopeful breath as he continued. “There is only one problem.”

“And that is?”

“In an unsettled territory the amount of money to finance a fledgling business is significant.” He splayed his hands. “In all conscience I cannot entrust such a large investment to someone I hardly know. Especially a woman.”