Mail-Order Marriage Promise

And she’d have a nanny of sorts, it seemed. Still, that voice inside her warned that it was all a trick. Hadn’t she learned by now that anything good in life could be taken from her?

She gazed down into Peter’s dear face. His blue eyes, more gray than hers, gazed back, trusting. He offered her a smile as if to encourage her, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

Whatever happens, Lord, thank You for entrusting me with this precious boy.

And didn’t her son deserve something more than this narrow hotel room, the company of strangers, here today and gone tomorrow? If what John Wallin was offering was even half true, she could provide Peter a safe home and good food, perhaps even friends. Shouldn’t she take the chance, for him?

“I believe Beth said Wallin Landing is about five miles from Seattle,” she told John, who was shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn’t wait to hear her answer. “I’d be willing to move out, see if the area will suit Peter and me.”

His smile showed his relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.”

She couldn’t make herself believe that.

* * *

She was coming with him. John wasn’t sure why Dottie’s decision raised his spirits so high, but he couldn’t help whistling a tune as he went to the livery stable to see about hiring a wagon and stabling his horse overnight. She’d been reticent, but who could blame her? She’d already left everything behind to come to Seattle on a promise that had proved false. Why should she believe anything he said?

He’d simply have to show her he was a man who could be trusted.

He brought the wagon around to the hotel, carried her trunk down the stairs and heaved it into the bed. James still joked about the amount of baggage he had been required to move to bring Rina out to Wallin Landing to teach. Dottie’s belongings seemed to amount to much less, especially when she was carrying clothing not only for herself, but also for a baby.

“Is there more?” he asked as she passed him by the front of the wagon.

She glanced back. She’d covered her gown with a navy wool cape that fell to her hips, and it twitched as she moved, drawing his attention to her slender figure.

“Just my valise with Peter’s things.” She held the case in one hand and cradled her son with the other.

An unencumbered female. That would be a novelty. Rina and Catherine had come to Seattle as part of the Mercer Belles. The women had followed Asa Mercer to Washington Territory from the East Coast to work and marry, bringing fine silk and wool gowns with them. Nora had also been a Mercer Belle, but she’d brought fewer clothes. Still, she was a seamstress. Now she sewed herself something new on a fairly regular basis. And Beth had been known for her obsession with fashion, as depicted in Godey’s Lady’s Book, since she was ten.

He took the valise and stowed it behind the bench, where Dottie could reach it if needed, then turned to hand her up. Instead, she offered him the baby.

“If you’d hold Peter a moment?”

John accepted the soft weight. Peter regarded him solemnly, as if considering his character. Meeting the baby’s gaze, John stood a little straighter. He felt the chuckle bubble up inside Peter’s chest before the baby grinned. For some reason, John felt like celebrating.

“He likes you.” Dottie sounded surprised. She had climbed up into the seat by herself and paused now to gaze down at her son. “He doesn’t usually like strangers.”

Neither did his mother, but John decided not to mention that.

“I’m used to babies,” he said. “I guess they know that.”

Dottie dropped her gaze, rearranging her skirts around her on the bench. Then she held open her arms. “I’ll take him now.”

Peter pouted as John gave him back to his mother. John felt the same way. There was something warm, something real, about holding a baby. The soft skin and sweet breath made him feel protective, strong. He’d felt the same way holding his nieces and nephews. Drew and Catherine had three children now, James and Rina three and Simon and Nora two.

Yet there was something different about Peter, with his too-solemn face. Perhaps he touched John’s heart more than his nieces and nephews did because John knew they had two parents to love them. Dottie clearly cared about her son, but unless she remarried, the lad would grow up without a father. John remembered how it had felt to lose Pa, but Drew had stepped into the role. Who would step up to help raise Peter?

John came around, hopped up on the bench and took up the reins. “You won’t regret this,” he promised Dottie before calling to the horses to set off. Her tight smile showed she disagreed with him.

She cuddled the baby as they rolled through the streets, passing other wagons, men on horseback, ladies with baskets on their arms. Seattle had grown in the last few years. The fancy houses on Third Avenue that had once stood at the edge of town were eclipsed by the buildings on Fourth and Fifth. New streets with names like Cherry and Spring stretched east and west as well. They ran right up to the edge of the forest, which quickly wrapped around John and Dottie, narrowing the road and the world to the single rutted lane leading north.

Dottie glanced longingly back at the town that was disappearing behind them.

“More remote than you expected?” he asked.

She nodded, facing front again. “A bit. Do you have trouble with wild animals at Wallin Landing?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “The more people move out our way, the more the animals flee. It’s getting harder to find deer or rabbit near the claims. We may get a fox or weasel after the chickens once in a while, but I haven’t seen a cougar up close in years.”

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that’s good.”

She didn’t sound convinced.

“It’s no Cincinnati,” John acknowledged. “But you must have known that much when you agreed to come.”

“Beth’s letters were quite detailed, but I suppose it wouldn’t have taken much for me to want to be elsewhere. I didn’t like living in Cincinnati. I’m sure Wallin Landing will be fine.”

He’d always thought so. “My brothers have done their best by the place. Ma and Pa brought us out before the Indian War here in ’55. They each filed a claim, then each of us siblings, except my brother Levi, who went north, filed a claim when we reached our majority. Pa always wanted his own town.”

John had grown up with the dream, but saying it aloud to Dottie felt odd. After living in a big city like Cincinnati, she could only see their goal of building a community as provincial. Why, Wallin Landing was small compared to Seattle!

She busied herself with her son, tucking the blanket around him, pulling a corner over his head and murmuring assurances. Not for the first time, he felt a stab of loss. Ma had been gone just two years, having met and loved each of her grandchildren, and he still missed her. He thought she’d like Mrs. Tyrrell. Ma had appreciated women who stood up for themselves.

The skies above the firs were heavy with rain, and John could hear it pattering down above them. Under the trees, however, it was drier. The cool air that brushed his cheeks carried the scent of Puget Sound. It might have been a pleasant ride, but he was all too concerned about the lady beside him. She’d come this far and the end of her journey wasn’t in sight. Surely he could find some way to reassure her.

“It’s nearly time to plant,” he remarked. “We’ll have corn and beans aplenty, and each claim has its own garden and orchard for fruit. Our neighbors are good about trading whatever’s extra. You’ll see the farms soon.”

“How many people, all told?” she asked, sitting taller, as if she longed to spot any sign of civilization.

John frowned, considering. “With our claims and the neighbors to the north and south, perhaps sixty people.”

“Sixty.”

She said the word breathlessly, but he was fairly sure the number was far too small for her. He was just glad when they came out of the forest onto farmland, the fields dark as farmers turned the soil for new planting. He spotted neighbors out working as they passed. All raised a hand in greeting, and John waved back. Mrs. Tyrrell regarded him, brows tight over her nose, and he couldn’t tell what was troubling her.

Peter had no such concerns. He closed his eyes and drowsed in her arms.

There had to be something that would please her. Through the trees ahead, he spotted a steeple rising. He pointed toward it. “That’s our church.”

“Beth said you designed it,” Dottie replied, angling her head as if to try to glimpse more of the structure.

He couldn’t quite prevent the pride from leaking into his voice. “I did. But Drew and his men felled the timber, James paid for it to be cut into board at Yesler’s mill and my brothers and I all worked together to construct the building. It still needs paint, inside and out, and there are benches, steps and a pulpit to install.”

“By summer, then,” she said with a nod.

He grimaced. “Realistically, with planting coming, it might be a while before we finish. I’m hoping we’ll start holding services there around harvest time, provided we can find a preacher willing to relocate out this way.”

He spied an opening in the trees and turned the horses west, up the track that led to his house. The forest was thinner here. Drew and his crew had taken out most of the big firs years ago, but John had left a few vine maples and madrone to shield the house from the main road. His home and barn sat on a bench, with fields running down to the road and spreading out on either side, the forest rising at the back. The arrangement had proved both practical and pleasing.