The Claim (12 page)

“As you know, I am surveying land on behalf of … interested parties.”

“What has that to do with me?” I said.

He shook his head as if I were a recalcitrant child. “Jane, Jane. You have acquired a rather sharp tongue. Something I don’t approve of in the least.”

“Your approval has not been my concern for some time,” I said.

William pulled a slip of paper out of his jacket.

“This shall be of some concern to you, though, I should imagine.”

Something in me went still at the sight of that paper. It looked so familiar.

“It is so interesting what one runs across when working for the governor,” he said nonchalantly. “This came into my possession quite recently.”

My eyes widened. It was my claim!

“GRANT FOR ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ACRES OF LAND TO J. PECK. DECEMBER 22, 1854.”

He clucked his tongue sympathetically. “And I must say, I find it very curious indeed that an unmarried lady, barely older than a child, has a claim for some of the most timber-rich land on the bay, when government land grants are meant only for white men over the age of twenty-one,” he said. “A rather fortuitous discovery, wouldn’t you agree?”

My mind raced. Even now I remembered what Jehu had said after he’d filed the claim on my behalf, writing “J. Peck” because—

They’ll never know. You could be a Jonathan or a Jack or a Jebediah—

“So under the law, one could legitimately assume that there are one hundred and twenty acres of unclaimed land around here, don’t you think?” He leaned back, all confidence.

I stared at him in shocked silence. He had trickcd me into coming out here, abandoned me, married another woman, and now he was threatening to take my land? I hadn’t thought it was possible for him to sink any lower, but apparently it was!

Finally William said mockingly, “Why, Jane. I do believe this is the first time in all our acquaintance that you have nothing to say! How perfectly remarkable.”

The door to the hotel opened, and I heard footsteps. Mr. Biddle was standing in the doorway.

“Shall we go see that piece of land you mentioned, William?” he asked. “The one you said was situated on a high bluff with good access to the bay?”

A high bluff with good access to the bay? That sounded suspiciously like
my
claim!

I looked at William, but he merely raised a mysterious eyebrow.

Mr. Biddle caught sight of me and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Peck.”

“Mr. Biddle,” I said.

William stood abruptly. “Miss Peck and I were just discussing a matter of mutual interest. I believe we have finished our conversation, haven’t we, Miss Peck?” There was a challenging note in his voice.

I said nothing.

“Very good then,” Mr. Biddle said with a touch of impatience. “Shall we be off?”

William shook his head at me in disappointment and said, “We shall finish this discussion later, Miss Peck.”

As I watched the two of them stride down the hotel steps, I felt the firm ground being swept from beneath my feet, my whole safe world cast away. I was like one of those lost ships, tossed against jagged rocks, being sent to my doom.

It soon became apparent
that Jehu was not the only one with designs on Mr. Biddle’s money.

All of a sudden every prospecting man on the bay began hanging about the hotel in hopes of talking Mr. Biddle into funding some wild scheme. Red Charley wanted Mr. Biddle to go in on opening a new tavern with him, Mr. Swan thought there were possibilities in salmon, and even Mrs. Frink was full of hopeful ideas.

“Mr. Frink and I have been speaking to Mr. Biddle about becoming a partner in the hotel,” Mrs. Frink said, her voice laced with excitement. “With more funds, we could add a new wing and take in more guests.”

Only Millie seemed to share my misgivings.

“It’s like the gold rush,” she said, shaking her head. “Men can’t see what’s right in front of them. They’re too busy counting gold they haven’t even dug up yet.”

As for me, my thoughts were consumed with William’s
threats. When I tried to share my fears with Jehu, he dismissed them.

“Baldt’s full of bluster,” he said. “He just likes stirring you up. Ignore him.”

But I knew that William wasn’t full of bluster. He was full of greed.

  I was waylaid by Father Joseph one afternoon as I walked toward M’Carty’s homestead. I was finally getting around to returning the rifle Hairy Bill had brought back.

“Mademoiselle,” he called as I strolled along Front Street.

“Father Joseph,” I said, relief flooding me. Perhaps he could give me some good advice on how to deal with William. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“And I you,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Where are you going?”

“To visit Cocumb and M’Carty,” I explained.

“I’ll go with you as far as the stream.”

As we walked, a tired-looking oysterman passed us, his wagon piled perilously high with oysters. The wheel of the wagon hit a thick groove in the road and looked as if it was going to tip over, but then the man yelled at the horse and skillfully maneuvered it back to safety.

“Father, I need your advice about something,” I said.

“But of course, and I’ve been meaning to ask your advice as well,” he said with a tilt of his bald head.

“My advice?”

He met my eyes. “You are friends with Mademoiselle Biddle?”

“We are acquainted with each other,” I said in a hesitant voice.

“Wonderful,” he said. “I was hoping that you might arrange an introduction to her father.”

“You want to talk to Mr. Biddle?”

“The chapel is in very poor repair,” he explained. “And I am hoping that he might contribute some funds to build a new church.”

My heart sank.

I promised Father Joseph I would try to arrange a meeting with Sally’s father and bade him farewell, then continued through the woods to where M’Carty and Cocumb lived. It was a considerable walk from town, on the far edge of the bay.

Cocumb was sitting on the front porch of her cabin weaving a basket when I arrived at her homestead. “Hello, Boston Jane,” she said with a smile.

Katy came running around from behind the house, carrying a handful of grass reeds. “Hello, Boston Jane,” she said.

Cocumb smoothed her daughter’s thick black hair, a mirror image of her own. “Katy and I are making a basket, aren’t we,
nika tenas klootchman
?”

Nika tenas klootchman. My sweet little girl.

“It’s very lovely,” I said, surveying the basket. It had a figure of a crane woven into it.

“Come in. We have another visitor,” Cocumb replied.

I saw the silhouette of a man sitting by the fire, and by the scraggly shape of his whiskers, I knew him immediately.

“Mr. Russell,” I said, pleased.

“Gal,” Mr. Russell said, spitting a huge wad of tobacco at my feet.

Mr. Russell was not a man given to good manners, I’m afraid, but he was M’Carty’s oldest friend, and I imagined that Cocumb was rather used to him by now.

M’Carty was sitting right next to Mr. Russell in a beautifully carved rocking chair, smoking a pipe.

“Hello there, Miss Peck! What brings you way out here?”

“Hairy Bill was passing through and brought this back,” I said, handing him the rifle.

“Huh. How about that.” He restored the rifle to its place of honor on a hook over the fireplace.

“Please, sit down,” Cocumb said.

I took a seat on one of the benches, and admired the cheery cabin. At one end was the fireplace, and near it a long, gleaming wood table. In another corner was the sleeping area, sectioned off with a length of canvas.

Cocumb perched on her husband’s knee, and now M’Carty placed an affectionate hand on her waist.

“How’s your oyster beds?” M’Carty asked.

“I’m afraid we haven’t had time to harvest them,” I admitted. “I was thinking I might rent them out for a season.”

“Reckon I can find you someone who might be interested,” he said. “I’m going to Astoria next week. Anything you want me to bring back?”

“Maybe you could take me with you?” I said, only half joking.

“Now, why is that?” M’Carty asked.

“It’s just that I wouldn’t mind getting away from here for a little while,” I confessed. Away from William and his threats, that is.

“What’s the matter, gal?” Mr. Russell asked in a sharp voice, but I heard the concern underneath.

I explained the situation with William and my claim. M’Carty nodded as I spilled out my fears.

“Can he take my land?” I asked.

M’Carty’s eyes met Mr. Russell’s for a long moment.

“And to think I came here to get away from folks like Baldt,” Mr. Russell grumbled.

“Jehu says I have nothing to worry about,” I said. “Still, I can’t help but think he’s wrong.”

M’Carty rocked slowly in his chair, puffing on his pipe. “Look, Jane, way I figure it, Baldt’s gonna need some sort of legal writ or something to take that land way from you, and the only person who can give him that is a judge.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of! The elections. William’s running for justice of the peace! What if he wins?”

“I reckon we should all be worrying about Red Charley winning,” Mr. Russell scoffed. “There sure has been a lot of free whiskey going around lately.”

“Do you think William has a chance of winning, Jane?” Cocumb asked, and by the look in her eye, I knew that she did not underestimate William. After all, he had tried to put her family on a reservation.

“I think he could win,” I said. “He’s got Mr. Biddle’s ear. And everyone wants to get on Biddle’s good side, so they might vote for him to get to Biddle. No one’s going to vote for Red Charley, no matter how much whiskey he hands out for free.”

M’Carty puffed on his pipe. “Is Biddle the fellow with all the money?”

“I met him,” Mr. Russell growled. “He came sniffin’ round the cabin with Baldt.”

“Your cabin?” I asked.

“The man’s speculating. Looking to grab up land. Offered me fifty dollars for my claim.”

Fifty dollars was quite a lot of money, but even so, everyone who lived on the bay knew that Mr. Russell would rather die than sell his land.

“I don’t trust Baldt,” Cocumb said.

“And you got good instincts,
nayka klootchman
,” M’Carty said, his eyes tender.

Nayka klootchman. My sweetheart.

I looked away, at the fire, embarrassed by their show of affection.

“So what do I do?” I asked.

There was a long moment as we contemplated the turn of events.

Finally Mr. Russell blurted out, “Bah! Don’t you worry, gal. Me and M’Carty’ll take care of things if it comes to that.”

“You got that right, Russell. We got all the law we need right here.” M’Carty looked at the rifle hanging over the fireplace and chuckled.

  When I returned to the hotel it was quite late, and Jehu and Keer-ukso were sitting at the kitchen table with Mr. Frink, papers strewn before them, candles burning brightly.

“I think you’ll need a few more men,” Mr. Frink was saying as he reviewed what were obviously the plans for the mill.

“So we have to redo all the figures and start over again?” Jehu took a deep breath.

“Looks that way,” Mr. Frink said.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“Sally suggested that I make up a real detailed plan for her father,” Jehu said. “Lay out how many men we’ll need, that sort of thing. Way I figure it, it’s no different than organizing a sailing crew, and I’ve done that plenty of times.”

“Has Mr. Biddle agreed to meet with you?”

“Sally said that he was very busy right now, but she had no doubt that he would want to meet with us when the time is right,” Jehu said, slapping his hat on his hand triumphantly. “That’s practically a yes!”

“Jehu is very smart, Boston Jane,” Keer-ukso said.

As I watched Jehu, a feeling of helplessness came over me. He wanted this so badly, yet I knew there was no way he was going to get Mr. Biddle’s support. Sally was doing this to get at me. I recalled how our rivalry had started all those years ago.

I was eleven years old. On the fateful day, my friend, Jebediah Parker, and I had been challenged to an apple-throwing contest by two neighborhood boys, Horace Fink and Godfrey Hale. When my turn arrived, I chose a particularly rotten apple and threw it at the big tree on Arch Street.

At that exact moment Sally stepped out of her house.

My apple missed the tree completely and struck young Sally Biddle right on the bosom of her pale rose dress. From that moment forward, she tried everything in her power to make my life a misery.

Except we weren’t children anymore, I suddenly realized. Nor were we in Philadelphia. Ladies were different out here. We were strong and hardworking, and we knew what counted. She had to be stopped.

I walked upstairs and knocked firmly on Sally’s door.

“Come in,” she called sweetly.

I must say, it felt very strange to be invited into my own room.

Sally was admiring herself in the mirror. “Jane! How lovely to see you.”

“I know what you’re doing, Sally,” I said. “And I want you to leave Jehu alone.”

Her eyes widened in an innocent expression. “What exactly am I doing?”

I snapped. “You know as well as I do that your father will never invest in Jehu’s mill. Stop toying with him!”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, well, I’m afraid that is true. Sailors aren’t exactly the sort of gentlemen that Papa goes into business with.”

“You are deliberately trying to hurt him! Why?” I demanded in exasperation.

Sally’s face settled into a cold mask. “I should think it would be perfectly apparent why I am doing this.” She paused deliberately. “Because of you.”

“But this has gone on long enough! I never meant to throw that apple at you! It was a mistake!” I said wildly.

“What apple?”

“The apple that started it all. The one I threw at you when we were children.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I looked at her in bewilderment. “If it’s not the apple, then why do you hate me so?”

Sally regarded my reflection in her mirror with distaste and fanned herself.