The rain had stopped as they paused on the boardwalk of Second Avenue. Muddy puddles spanned the wide streets, and the signs plastered on the businesses on either side were shiny with moisture. The air hung with brine and wood smoke.
“Are you staying at Lowe’s, as I suggested?” Beth asked.
Dottie nodded. The white-fronted hotel was neat and tidy, and she had felt safe staying there alone the last two nights.
“Allow us to escort you back,” John said. He offered her his arm.
Dottie did not feel right taking it. Instead, she started forward, and he fell into step beside her, Beth trailing behind. That didn’t stop her from continuing the conversation.
“Maybe Dottie could farm,” she suggested. “She lived on a farm until she was twelve and her parents died. Then she went to live with her aunt and uncle in Cincinnati.”
A reasonable thought, but not here, not now.
“I remember how to work on a farm,” Dottie told Beth and her brother. “But I don’t know if I could manage one alone, particularly starting from the wilderness.”
John nodded in agreement. Beth, however, would not let the matter go.
“We could help,” she insisted, voice bright. “Our brother Drew logs. I’m sure he and his men could clear the fields for you and help you build a house. Simon has designed several, and John designed the church. I wrote you about my brothers.”
Yes, she had. Dottie felt as if she knew all about the Wallin family. Both parents were gone, the father nearly two decades ago in a logging accident, the mother a couple years back from pleurisy. Beth had five brothers, three of whom had married and were raising families and one named Levi, who had headed north to seek his fortune in the Canadian gold fields. A shame Dottie knew the least about the man she had come to marry.
John walked beside her now, his smile pleasant. The people they passed—mostly dapper gentlemen in tall-crowned hats and rough workers in knit caps—nodded in greeting. Their looks to him were respectful; their looks to her speculative. John cast her a glance as if his green eyes could see inside her to her most cherished dreams. She could have told him she had only one dream that mattered—a safe, secure home for her and her son.
“Farming alone might be difficult,” he agreed. “But we bear the responsibility for bringing you out to Seattle, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you I won’t rest until you have a situation that suits you.”
He sounded so sure of himself, so certain he could solve her problem. If only she could feel so sure, of Seattle and of him.
* * *
Mrs. Tyrrell did not look convinced by his statement, but John knew it for the truth. He still couldn’t believe his sister’s audacity in bringing him a bride. Did he truly seem so helpless?
Now Mrs. Tyrrell shook her head, her golden curls shining even under an overcast sky.
“I appreciate the thought, Mr. Wallin,” she said, her voice soft yet firm, “but you know nothing about me. How could you possibly understand what would suit?”
“He may not know,” Beth said, “but I do.” She tugged on her brother’s shoulder to get him to glance back at her. “I told you she enjoys reading, John. You should hire her for your library.”
That Mrs. Tyrrell liked books was certainly a mark in her favor. Indeed, as John faced front once more, he saw a light spring to her eyes, making the lavender all the brighter.
“A library?” she asked, and he could hear hope in the word.
“John is building a free library at Wallin Landing,” Beth said, “so everyone has a chance to improve.”
“Admirable,” Mrs. Tyrrell said, eyeing him as if he had surprised her.
Did she think everyone in Seattle illiterate? He’d seen articles from the newspapers back east that talked of the primitive conditions, the dangers from natives and animals, when they hadn’t had a problem in years.
“Our family is committed to building a town at the northern end of Lake Union to honor our father’s dream,” John explained. “We have a school, a dispensary, a new store, a dock on the lake, decent roads and soon a church. We’ve even applied for a post office. A library seemed the next most important civic improvement.”
“That’s why John came into Seattle to ask the Literary Society to donate funds,” Beth told Mrs. Tyrrell, and John nearly cringed at the proud tone. She tugged on his coat again, and he glanced back at her.
His sister’s dark blue eyes sparkled with interest. “How did it go? Did they see the logic? Agree to support you?”
The six women of the Literary Society, which included his longtime friend Allegra Banks Howard, had seemed more interested in quizzing him about why a fine upstanding gentleman like himself hadn’t married. He had been no more ready to confess his shortcomings to the most influential women in Seattle than he had been to the lovely lady beside him.
“Suffice it to say it will be some time before I have funds enough to build and staff the library,” he told his sister. “I’ll have to find some other occupation for Mrs. Tyrrell.” He turned to Dottie. “Do you have enough money to see you through the next few days while I ask around?”
Her step quickened, as if she would distance herself from the very idea. “I can’t take any of your money, Mr. Wallin. Now that I know we will not be married, it wouldn’t be proper.”
At least she wasn’t a fortune hunter, not that he had all that much fortune to hunt. He leaned closer to her, catching a scent like fresh apricots over the salt from Puget Sound. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to damage your reputation, ma’am. But my sister’s promises that I would marry you are responsible for bringing you here. You must allow us to see to your needs.”
She slowed her steps, body stiffening, until she reminded him of one of those golden-haired wax dolls on display at the Kellogg brothers’ store. She had every right to be offended by this entire affair. She was likely questioning his character, and Beth’s sanity.
At last she nodded. “Very well. I would appreciate it if you were to pay my room at the hotel for the next week, and I could use ten dollars for food and sundry.”
It was a reasonable number, but he hadn’t brought that much money with him to Seattle. “I’ll return with the funds tomorrow, along with a report on my progress.”
They were approaching the hotel, and she seemed loath to even allow them to enter the lobby with her. He supposed that was wise. Neither her future employer nor husband would approve of a rumor that she had received a gentleman caller in her room.
“Give your name at the front desk, and I’ll come down to meet you,” she told him. Then she dipped a curtsy. “Good day, Mr. Wallin, Miss Wallin.” She straightened, then swept into the hotel.
Beth sighed as she and John turned for the livery stable, where their wagon and team were waiting. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” John agreed. “You meant well, Beth, but I wish you would have consulted me first.”
“You would only have tried to dissuade me,” she said, her chin coming up as they passed the mercantiles on Second Avenue. “You persist in seeing me as your little sister, John, for all I’m a grown woman.”
She was wrong there. John and all his brothers knew she was grown. So did the gentlemen they were passing. Their smiles were appreciative as they tipped their hats in her direction. Beth paid them no heed whatsoever.
“Maybe you should think about your own wedding,” John suggested with a smile, “instead of mine.”
Beth’s lips thinned. “My wedding is years off, if I even consent