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Fortune's Two Faces
by Galen Peoples
It was the young man's turn to sleep now. The time was marked by the grandfather clock outside the door, each beat falling away into the stillness of the bedchamber.
He woke to a voice in his ear. "Richard?" A hand clutched his shoulder. He knew whose it was without seeing the sallow face and sunken cheeks. "Is he awake?" the visitor asked. Richard said he had been and might be yet.
The lean man went to the four-poster and set down his black leather brief-bag. From the stack of eider pillows, the invalid moved his eyes to take him in. "Arthur," said the visitor, "it's Matthias." The old man's expression did not change. "Your lawyer," Crewe added. He picked up a paper from the bedside table. "This is what we discussed earlier. It will annul the new will and reinstate the old one. I know the change was but a whim of the moment–sign this and it will be as if it never happened." Arthur's only answer was to move his eyes back to the window.
"Think of your children," Crewe persisted, "–those who've been loyal to you–those you wanted to be seen after." Arthur seemed to smile at this; Crewe could not be sure. At last he lost patience. "You may not have another chance!" he cried.
Richard quickly came forward. "He can't understand," he said.
"Can't he?" Crewe said wryly. Again he thought he saw the flicker of a smile. With a sigh, he consigned the document to the brief-bag and bade Arthur goodbye, adding a godspeed for good measure. On the way out he paused at the door. "There will be other avenues to explore after–" He stopped out of respect for the son's feelings. "Well–after. For the present we can only wait."
The voice was just loud enough for the dying man to hear, if he were listening. But he was attending to a far finer sound: "The Bride's Favorite" played on a concertina. It was a sound from another place, another time. The brocaded drapes stirred in the bay breeze. Arthur saw beyond them, beyond the city where he lay, to a square board building whose glowing windows seemed to dispel the northern damps surrounding it. Over the doors was painted the word "Lottie's."
Arthur smiled at the vision.
The boy hardly noticed the saloon as he ran past in the golden light. He was headed toward the wooden landing, where he liked to play at pirates. He liked it best when he could persuade his sister Molly to be the captured maiden, but when she played she usually insisted on the role of pirate queen. This morning he was on his own. As he stood scouting the horizon for enemy vessels, a wonder occurred: he saw one. In fact it was a chartered schooner, but to Christopher Pruitt it was as good as a man of war.
"Big ship comin' in!" he shouted, running up the main–and only–street. Shutters flew back. Doors opened. Heads peered out. He ran on past Stempel's mill, repeating the announcement. The mill hands, scarcely into their day, left their saws standing and hurried for the dock. Aaron Stempel came out of his office to call them back and then, hearing the cry, ran after.
From the foredeck two passengers watched the town materialize magically in the lap of the deep green hills. Soon they were near enough to see the crowd that was turning out to stare. One of the two stared back with an expression akin to theirs. "Seattle," he said in a hush. "Never thought I'd get to see it."
"You don't believe your father's stories, do you?" his companion said. "Jenny Lind? A lumberjack who quotes Shakespeare? Fifty women shipped west to this hog wallow?"
"Why not?" Richard said. "And it was a hundred," he corrected. "A hundred brides."
"Pure fantasy," Crewe declared.
Just then the upstairs shutters of a broad white building, the biggest in town, were thrown open in a line, revealing a cluster of fresh-faced young women at every window. Richard laughed to see them. Others came running out to join the people at the waterfront.
Aboard the only boat in port, which was rather less grand than the one attracting notice, the skipper staggered on deck in his nightshirt. He nearly jumped ship at the sight of the two-master bearing down on him. At the last minute she came half about and stopped. The captain coldly tipped his cap. Captain Clancey tried to return the gesture, only to realize with surprise that he had not his cap on.
Once the lines were made fast and the gangplank was lowered, the travelers unboarded. Crewe picked his way gingerly around patches of mud. Richard's eyes roved over what seemed to him an overwhelming number of gorgeous things: the glittering water, the bubbling clouds, the forests mounting above the town, and last of all–because his eyes went no farther–the grey-eyed, chestnut-haired girl at the edge of the crowd.
To Crewe the natives appeared a crude patchwork of boots, rough flannels, and hard, unshaven jawlines. Hesitantly he asked whether any of them could direct him to a Miss Lottie Hatfield. To his alarm, and Richard's delight, the crowd closed in on the two of them and headed in a bunch toward the saloon, jostling them along. They barged through the doors and delivered them up to a buxom, queenly-looking woman behind the bar, who appeared to take the intrusion in stride.
Recomposing himself, Crewe presented his card. Attorney-at-Law, it read, San Francisco. Lottie could imagine nothing that would bring a lawyer all that way to see her. She handed it back with a question in her eyes.
"Arthur Pepperell was my client," Crewe said. "I must inform you he's no longer with us." Getting a blank look from her, he repeated the name with more emphasis. The look remained the same. Crewe could not make it out. He introduced Richard ("Arthur Pepperell's son"), whose attention he first had to recapture from the girl in the crowd. "Is there a place we might speak privately?" he asked Lottie.
"Mister, these are my neighbors," she said. "Anything you have to say to me–" As often, her candor finished the statement for her. "–they'll find out for themselves anyway." Though she did not say so, she did not cotton to the idea of being closeted alone with him either.
Reluctantly Crewe nodded acquiescence. "I realize that nothing can expunge your grief at a time like this. But you may take some solace in the knowledge that Mr. Pepperell made ample provision for you. Indeed–" He took a paper from his brief-bag. The buzz quieted as he read. "'I, Arthur Pepperell, being of sound'–well–'give, bequeath, and devise all my property to Miss Carlotta Hatfield of Seattle, Washington Territory–the memory be green.' He insisted I add that." Richard smiled. "You understand? You are the sole beneficiary. The estate totals some"–he deliberated–"five hundred thousand dollars."
The buzz started again. Lottie found herself in need of a chair. It was a few seconds before she was able to speak. "I only have one question," she said finally. "Who in holy blazes is Arthur Pepperell?"
Jason Bolt, having got wind up at camp of the ship's arrival, came striding into town with some of his men. Normally his two younger brothers would have accompanied him, but one was away on a buying trip and the other was overseeing the camp in Jason's absence. Lately he had decided it was only right, and no more than they had coming to them, to give them a larger share in the duties of the concern, especially those of which he himself had tired.
He pushed his way through to the saloon doors and exchanged nods with Clancey, now fully dressed, and Ben Perkins, the storekeeper, who was gabbing to everybody within earshot, "Didja hear? Lottie just came into a heap of money!" not omitting the exact amount. The news, relayed back through the peerers-in, propelled Jason inside to find out more. What Clancey was thinking could only be guessed at, but he soon fell to frowning and rubbing his begrizzled chin.
Aaron was at Lottie's back, where Jason joined him. Taking in Crewe at a glance, he whispered, "Watch this buzzard."
Aaron smiled at the needless advice, so typical of Jason. "Believe me, I am."
Richard had taken out a pocket watch and was holding it open for Lottie to see. "This was my father," he said.
"Difficult to recall one among so–" Crewe began. He stopped at a look from Aaron.
The photograph in the watchcase brought back a memory Lottie had filed away long since. "Yes, I knew him," she said after a moment. "There's clearly been some error."
"None," Crewe said coldly. He brought out another paper. "If you'll sign this authorizing me to–"
Aaron intercepted it and after skimming it returned it to him. "She'll sign no such thing," he said. "Do you take us for yokels?" Crewe declined to answer. "This would give you a free hand with her money."
Crewe returned it to the bag. "Merely endeavoring to expedite matters," he muttered.
"Expedite," Jason repeated. He liked the word and ran it over his tongue once or twice. "That means you've done all the necessary lawyerin'–am I right?"
Crewe worked to frame an answer. "I believe," Aaron said, "my friend is thinking of probate."
"That's the ten-dollar word," Jason acknowledged.
Crewe promised to institute proceedings as soon as he got back. "We sail tomorrow," he said. Richard showed his disappointment. Crewe pleaded pressing business.
"Who's being pressed, I wonder?" Aaron said to nobody in particular.
Crewe was casting about for a change of subject when Lottie broke in. She had been half-listening, puzzling over the matter. Coming back to the present, she offered to put up the visitors for the night. Richard expressed a desire to sleep in the same room his father had. "Would that include a bath?" Crewe asked doubtfully.
"Only bathtub in town," Lottie boasted. Crewe rolled his eyes. "It's full of slops," she added, "from the pigs using it, but I can have it scrubbed bright and clean for you."
"Thanks," Crewe said, "we'll sleep amidships."
"I'll stay here," Richard said, "as Father did." Jason and Aaron did not miss the look that passed between them. Crewe announced he was returning to the ship.
As Lottie led Richard upstairs, Jason wondered aloud what the strangers' game was. "Whatever it is," Aaron said, "it seems the boy doesn't know the rules."
The first thing that struck Richard's eye was the brass tub by the washstand. It was immaculate. He raised his eyebrows; Lottie shrugged. "Don't like folks like your friend prancing in and looking down their noses at us up here." She considered. "It is the only one, though."
"I know Father wasn't that way," Richard said. "The tales I've heard him tell–"
"He was one of a kind," Lottie agreed. Her manner had changed. Now she looked almost like one of the brides. "Did he–ever mention me?" she asked lightly.
"He talked about Lottie's place. We had no idea who Lottie was until he remade the will." She tried to hide her disappointment. "I'm afraid we were all rather taken aback. Especially Matthias."
"I hope you don't resent me for it."
"Not now I've met you." Richard smiled. "Father always did recognize quality."
"Flatterer!" To draw attention from the color taking over her cheeks, she began fussing with the bedspread. She promised to change it while he took supper. Richard told her he would be out most of the day seeing the town. "–for once without my chaperone," he added.
The chaperone was standing to leeward, shredding the rejected power of attorney and casting the scraps into the ocean. The captain grimaced at his untidiness but leaned forward to get a closer look at the open brief-bag, which was filled with other legal papers. Crewe noticed his interest. "When sailing unfamiliar waters," he said, "it's as well to have all the possible courses charted–if you'll forgive a landsman his clumsy nautical metaphor. One can never be sure which way the wind will blow." The captain came as near as he ever did to smiling.
Richard was enjoying the unaccustomed freedom of his walking tour. Inevitably, it brought his foot into contact with a mud puddle. The splash delighted him. As a child he had loved mud puddles, before his father, at Matthias's urging, had pronounced him too old for such nonsense. Another puddle beckoned. He stepped in it deliberately and looked down with satisfaction on his spattered shoe tops.
"Missed me," a voice said. Looking up, Richard found himself in front at the brides' dormitory, whither in fact he had been bound, and facing the person he had hoped to see. She was standing in front of the gate, a basket on her arm. He felt himself coloring. "Try again," she suggested, "I'll stand closer this time." He tried to speak, but the effort ended in an uninterpretable noise. Abigail Frost saw that the initiative must remain with her for now. "You came on the ship from California," she said.
"You–came on the one from New England," Richard answered weakly.
"Some time ago," Abigail said, "and it wasn't much of a ship. You must have seen it in the harbor."
"I can't imagine–" Richard had gotten no farther when the word "Halt!" rang out six times from the porch and a tall, slender redhead marched down to them to announce that the conversation must cease at once. "Proper young ladies do not speak to strange men on the street," she told Abigail. "I've warned you before."
"Oh, Candy, don't be such a–"
"Sir," Candy Pruitt informed Richard, "you may ask permission to call on the young lady tomorrow."
"I so ask," he said humbly.
"Be here at eleven, sharp," Candy said. At her command Abigail followed her up the steps. Inside the screen, they stopped to gaze again on the new prospect, acknowledging his gaze-worthiness in a joint widening of eyes and barely stifled giggles.
"We leave tomorrow," said a voice–the third to surprise Richard that morning, and the least welcome. "Or had you forgotten?"
"There'll be plenty of time for tea. I am allowed the benefit of some society, I suppose?" He checked his watch. "Nearly half an hour this time. Weren't you afraid I'd run off into the hills?"
"Just looking out for your interests, as I did your father's. You're fair game for these rustic fortune hunters."
Richard had to laugh. "I don't have a fortune to hunt any more. Everyone here knows that."
"True, for the present it's in the clutches of that Barbary belle. There's another to look out for." Richard snorted in disbelief. "You saw yourself how she took the news about your father," Crewe insisted. "Her old stablemate, and she didn't drop a tear. She's cold as a cashbox, that one."
At the window of the room that had been Arthur's, despite mighty efforts to resist the call on those feminine emotions that her years of toughening had not quite eradicated, Lottie was about to prove Crewe a liar.
Yet that evening she showed no trace of sorrow as she set down his drink, with a clatter scarcely heard above the usual row. His ears hurting, Crewe took a remedial sip of bourbon. Its finish impressed him unexpectedly. "You keep a finely stocked bar," he said. "My congratulations to you." He lifted his glass, and Richard did the same.
Clancey saw them as he entered. They all looked very cozy together. He left before the toast ended.
From the bar, Jason and Aaron were watching too. "What that snake wants is a thorough talking-to," said the one. "Wouldn't come amiss," said the other, "and who better than us to administer it?" "Nobody of my acquaintance," said the one. "Mine either," the other agreed. They sipped their drinks conspiratorially.
"Even 'way out here in Purgatory," Lottie was replying to Crewe, "you'll find some of us capable of appreciating the finer things."
That was the opening he had hoped for. "Then you must appreciate what it's like for Richard, being torn from them so unexpectedly."
"Matthias!" said Richard.
"It's worse for his sisters, poor things. Neither married well. The grandchildren will have a hard job making their way."
"Matthias, don't."
"It all seems so unfair," Crewe sighed. Lottie, who had his measure now, echoed him politely and moved to leave. "I knew you'd agree," he said, reaching into his bag, "so I took the liberty of drawing this up. It settles a portion of the estate on each of the children." Lottie could not help noticing that he was named too. "In my capacity as advisor," he said.
Lottie smiled winningly. "Why don't I just consult my advisors?" She nodded toward Jason and Aaron.
Crewe took the paper back. "On second thought...." With a glance of reproach, which did not faze him in the slightest, Richard moved to the bar. Jason and Aaron exchanged a look. Crewe leaned over and spoke in a low tone to one of the roughnecks at the next table. Surprised, the roughneck (whose name was Corky) jerked his thumb toward the rear. Crewe showed more than his customary distaste as he went out. Corky repeated the question he had asked, and the table roared with laughter.
Making his way back in the dark, Crewe found two figures waiting for him at the side of the building. One of them extended a boot, blocking the way. Crewe asked if there were something he might do for their good selves.
"Not for us, good or bad," Jason said, "but for a particular friend of ours." Crewe surmised who.
"In case you're planning any unpleasant surprises for her," Aaron said. "For instance, copying her hand on one of those documents of yours. Or stretching out the probate till–"
"–till the seas run dry as the Arabian waste," Jason finished, and went on, "We supposed–being civic-minded and all–that we ought to warn you how dangerous these streets can be for a stranger at night. Wander too near the water's edge, and...."
Footsteps sounded behind them. The captain and two sailors, who had accompanied Crewe to Lottie's, came into view around the corner. Seeing the situation, they took up fighting stances. Crewe retreated gratefully to their circle. "I appreciate your concern," he said to the others, "but as you see, these gentlemen are at hand to guard against any–accidents." He turned and led the way back. The Seattle men, dejected over the failure of their bluff and each silently blaming the other for it, brought up the rear.
Lottie was cleaning glasses behind the bar. She noticed Richard's bereft expression. "Don't fret," she assured him, "nobody will hold you responsible for what your friend does. We're not that way here."
"I was thinking of Father," Richard said. "Wishing I could have seen this country with him."
"He'd have enjoyed it," Lottie agreed. "But, you know, he only slept here the one night."
"That was all?"
"That was all," Lottie repeated, looking squarely at him, "and I mean all."
Richard reddened. "We assumed–" He stopped. Lottie already knew what they had assumed. "You obviously meant something to him."
Lottie came and leaned on the bar. "Well," she said, speaking half to herself, "he asked a million questions about the town and the people. Said that given the chance to do it over, this is where he'd have liked to settle, where a man could carve out a future for himself–with the right woman. If he'd found her thirty years ago." She laughed, embarrassed. "He also said he'd be back some day. I suppose we both knew it was just talk–but often of a still morning I've looked out over the Sound, half-expecting to see a ship. And now it's come–but it's only brought sadness."
"–and an inheritance," Richard reminded her.
She seemed not to hear. He did not expect what came next. "Don't give up your dreams," she said. "Tend them, make them grow–so years from now you don't find yourself confiding your regrets to a stranger, nine hundred miles from home." Embarrassed again at having said so much, she turned to the room and announced last call.
Richard became aware of Crewe beside him, looking somehow more skeletal than ever. "He wanted to come back," Richard said, "but you stopped him. You always stopped him. You robbed him of most of life's pleasures."
Crewe shrugged. "Someone had to be sensible."
Richard felt an urge to strike him. "Lottie isn't at all what we thought. I'm glad your plan didn't work."
"So am I," Crewe said, "after what I've heard this evening." He rose. "Gentlemen!" he called to Jason and Aaron. "Permit me to put your fears to rest. Any action taken from here on out will proceed entirely in the public eye." Exiting, he bade them sleep well. From his manner it looked as if he would. That left Richard worried.
Up in his room, as he began to undress for bed, there came a light knock at the door. Lottie looked in to ask if he needed anything, and also perhaps to catch a last glimpse of him standing like his father in the place Arthur had stood. Richard thanked her for having troubled herself. Long after she left he lay awake, working himself up to what might have been the first independent decision of his life.
He got up early next morning to act on it while Matthias was breakfasting. When he got to the dormitory he found Abigail waiting by the woodpile in back. He arrived a few seconds too late to see the swing with which she had skillfully split a wood block. Now she appeared helplessly demure, as she intended to. She was pleased to see that he had dressed and groomed himself with unusual care. "Mr. Pepperell," she greeted him.
"You know my name?"
"Everyone does–well, all the brides."
"I brought you a bouquet," Richard said, "but the matron took it." Abigail asked what matron. "Irish eyes back there. She said I'm to help you chop the kindling."
Abigail laughed. "She's really very nice. It's all part of our training to be brides."
"Don't you ever feel–" Richard reached for words. "–like breaking free?"
"I did," Abigail said simply. "That's how I got here."
"And left it all behind?"
"All what?" She laughed. "No kind of life for a girl with spunk." Richard sensed that a larger story lay behind that statement and resolved to hear it some time. "We'd best get started," she said, "before–uh–matron catches us." She stared at the pile, hands clasped behind her. Richard offered her first go, but she declined. "All right," he said doubtfully, removing his jacket, "but, you know, at home we have servants for this sort of thing." Abigail smiled to herself.
After studying the pile a little while, Richard leaned a block against the stump, took up the axe, and brought it down. It glanced the block, which went somersaulting toward Abigail. She stopped it with her foot. Richard winced. He tried again. This time it narrowly missed her head. "Bring it down harder," she advised, pantomiming. He copied her, but imperfectly. "Oh, for heaven's sake, let me show you," she said. She grabbed the axe and demonstrated. Richard, determined to prove good, grabbed it back. In two swift moves he placed the block and halved it. Abigail applauded. "There, we'll make a pioneer of you yet."
"I wish Matthias could–" Then he remembered. "Oh, Lord! Matthias!"
He dropped the axe and set off at a run. On his way down the slope to the dock, he dodged a startling number of wagons, pedestrians, and small animals and sent enough mud flying to make up for years of suppressed cravings.
He came to a halt at the quayside, where the ship was being held and Crewe was in a temper. "Hurry or we'll miss the tide!" he shouted. He noticed Richard's turned-up sleeves. "What have you done with your coat?"
"I–I'm not coming." Crewe halted, foot on the gangplank. "I moved my things out of the cabin this morning. I'm staying on for a few days, longer maybe–"
"Not that girl! Didn't I warn you–?"
"Stop–warning–me!"
The force of the outcry, taking Crewe unprepared, caused him to stagger a little. He could not remember Richard's ever having raised his voice before. Also, he became aware that people were staring. "You were always telling Father don't do this, don't do that. He died wishing for the chances he never took. Not me. Not this time. I'm staying, and if you don't like it, you can–I shan't say what you can do, because Abigail wouldn't approve." He considered for a moment. "Or perhaps she would."
Crewe, his anger controlled but not concealed, led Richard to the edge of the landing. "You think you can do without the money, do you? I hope so, for your sake. But consider your sisters. Consider their children. I can regain the inheritance and restore all of us to our rightful place, but I need your support. Yes, Richard–I need you." Now he was sounding lawyerly again. "Whatever your plans," he concluded, "they'll go a deal farther with money behind them."
After years of observing Matthias, Richard understood him but was still unable to outsmart him. "All right," he said at last, "as long as it doesn't hurt Lottie. I won't have that."
"Why, she's the one person we have to dispose of," Crewe said. "And we will, make no doubt." Dropping his voice, he proceeded to describe his purposed strategy as they returned to the gangplank. A head popped out from behind one of the barrels where they had been standing. Christopher had overheard the whole conversation. His face was white. Seeing his break, he fled for the dormitory.
"We gotta do somethin'," he told his sister. "Them men are gonna kill Lottie!"
The object of Christopher's concern stepped out of her saloon to see Jason and Aaron converging on her at right angles to each other, each with blueprints under his arm. Spotting each other and each the other's burden, both assumed the same poker face. They reached her together and, the niceties quickly disposed of, began talking together. As best she could make out, Aaron envisioned a second mill on the south river and Jason wanted to rip out the skid trails on the mountain, to replace them with steel railways.
That arrested Aaron's attention. "Steel rails! Never work."
"Never been tried, to be found wanting," Jason countered, "but one day–"
Lottie begged to interrupt. "And my part in these plans would be–?"
"Well," said one of the men, "there's the question of capital–"
Lottie iced over. "I have errands to run," she said, "somewhere other than here. You two geniuses regale each other with your grand designs." With that, she set off for the general store. Jason called after her, but she affected not to hear.
"Now see what you've done!" said the one.
"Me!" said the other.
Ben seemed unusually pleased to see her. Before she could state her business, which was to get a closer look at the hat in the window, he remarked on what a coincidence it was she had come to visit. "Been meanin' to get over and talk to you. I had this notion of addin' on to the store in back–" When he turned around, the shop was empty.
If Candy had heard those conversations she would have been less dismayed that when she finally reached Lottie–who was tramping forward at so furious a pace Candy had to run to catch up–and announced in all innocence the wonderful idea she had had, she got back a fierce "If it's a new way to spend my money for me, you can save it!"
It took Candy's breath away. She said after a moment, in a tiny, aggrieved voice, "No, just a new blend of punch for the church social."
Lottie, instantly remorseful, apologized. "But everybody seems to have gotten the idea I'm the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow." Candy, being more honest than tactful, pointed out that after all she was. Seeing that this bothered her, Candy pointed that out too.
It took several seconds for Lottie to reply. "I know, I know it should go to the family. But a part of me–the girl who worked saloons all her life, pocketing every penny, till she put enough together for a place of her own, even if it was a million miles from anywhere anybody knew–that girl tells me I'd be a fool to give up that kind of money." Candy pointed out that Pepperell had wanted her to have it. Lottie was not so sure. "I wonder if it wasn't something else he wanted." She put on a bright face. "But it's mine for now, or soon will be. Guess I can afford to spring for the punch." She laughed. Candy could not help joining in.
Molly meanwhile was digesting Christopher's information. "It's her money they're after," she declared, adding for emphasis, "The villains." Christopher knew the look on her face: she was planning something. Perhaps they ought to tell Jason first? "He'd never believe us. The tall man left, you said?" Christopher nodded. "Then you'll have to watch the other one everywhere he goes."
Christopher had been afraid of something like that. All of Molly's plans were mainly carried out by him. "You can watch too," he said hopefully.
Molly shook her head. "Watching's a boy job." Christopher nodded in resignation.
Unfortunately for him, Richard chose to spend the afternoon paying a visit to the Bolt logging camp, on Abby's advice. "No visitor to Seattle should miss it," she declared. That entailed a climb halfway up the side of Bridal Veil Mountain. It tired Christopher, who had to take two steps for their every one. But the girl seemed not tired at all. She must be some walker, he thought.
Outside the Bolts' tent, they found Aaron Stempel. Had Richard known him better, he would have been surprised by his presence there. Aaron was studying a set of plans, the same ones Jason had tried to show Lottie. Jason had just finished studying Aaron's. On second thought each had found more merit in the other's project than he had recognized at first. Also, each had separately reached the conclusion that he had behaved rather meanly–but not as meanly as the other, whose superior in manners he was set now on showing himself to be.
The two of them greeted the visitors briefly, and Jason assigned one of his loggers to give them a tour of the camp. Christopher, hiding behind one tree and then another, continued his pursuit. There were so many men about he could not keep from being seen, but those who saw him paid little notice, except to hope he would stay out of their way.
He did, but the other two did not quite manage to. They stopped at the edge of a ravine from which they could see the town in the distance below. Richard consulted his watch, thinking that perhaps it was time he got back. That was purely out of habit, since with Matthias gone he had no one to see and nothing to do.
A wagonload of timber passed close by them. One of the drivers jostled Abby, pushing her against Richard. The watch flew from his hand, over the side, and was swallowed up by a dark thicket halfway down. He said it was no matter, but Abby saw in his face that it was. "Is that your father's?" she asked. "Then we must find it." Before he could stop her, she ran to fetch Jason.
He quickly assembled a crew, and they got busy at once, paying no attention whatever to Richard's insistence that it was irretrievable. They peered down the steep side and discussed how to get down to it, dropped a rope and held its end while one of them backed down step by step and disappeared into the shadow of the trees, where he remained for what seemed hours.
Richard was feeling chagrined that his careless act should have cost so much wasted effort when he heard the cry "Found it! And it's still tickin'!" As if by divine intervention, a slim shaft of sun had penetrated the leafy cover and glinted off the watch case. The man climbed back up and handed it over with pride.
Richard hardly knew what to say: so much trouble for him, a stranger. He took a silver dollar from his pocket and offered it in payment, but the man waved it away and returned to work along with the others, as if nothing special had happened. Richard shook his head.
"That's the way here," said Jason. "Each lends a hand to all. And, after all, you are by way of being a sort of family acquaintance."
"But he had nothing to gain by that," said Richard. "None of you did."
"Up here folks are always looking for the chance to help out," said Jason, "'stead of looking for their chance." His face appeared innocent enough; Richard could not tell if the words had a hidden meaning or not.
"You're awfully broody this afternoon," Abby said on the way down–which Christopher, trailing by several yards, was finding much easier than the way up. "Did you and your friend have words?"
Richard had not only been thinking about Matthias. And he wished people would stop calling him that. "We did, but–Abby," he said suddenly, "if I were to stay here in Seattle–"
Abby brightened. "Yes? If?"
"I could start a business." Abby showed that that was not exactly what she had been thinking. "Something good for the town–I'm not sure what. That'd be worth some trouble, wouldn't it? Worth any degree or manner of trouble? Wouldn't it, though?"
Surprisingly, Abby brightened again. She had not a glimmer of what he was getting at but she had stopped listening anyway. "I have something to show you," she said. A little way ahead she turned onto another path, which sloped upward again. Christopher wanted to go home. Richard felt as if his legs were about to buckle under him, but he would have undergone more than that for the sake of Abby's company.
A few minutes later, they were overlooking a valley just beyond the outskirts of town. Richard complained of feeling dizzy. "That's what comes of having a clear head," Abby said. "What do you think?" Richard looked around. "That," she said, pointing down. "The perfect site for a dairy farm, just like the ones back home. I knew the minute I saw it. It'd be the only one close to town."
Richard was at a loss. "I don't know the first thing about dairy farming."
"I do," Abby volunteered, and then hedged: "Well, a little. My granddad was a dairyman. And the property's up for sale."
"It would have to wait until–" Richard stopped. Had she caught that?
"Of course," she said, and for a moment he was alarmed. "We'd want to be sure." He was relieved. "But when the time came–you must know people in the city–people who could help us get started?"
"I suppose I do." He realized with a leap of joy what that meant: freedom from Crewe's plan. He realized something else too. "Abby? Did you say–'us'?"
Abby shushed him. "We're being tracked," she whispered, nodding toward a bush from which the toe of a boy's shoe protruded.
Richard stole around to the far side and popped out with a bear roar. Christopher screamed. He ran the wrong way, right into Richard, jumped back violently, and bolted down the hill. The couple watched, puzzled.
"I have to go too," Abby said, "and make myself pretty for the social. You're coming, aren't you?"
"No one's invited me," Richard said, grinning.
Abby took his hand and happily pressed her lips to his.
The space outside the church was bigger than it looked. Almost everybody in town was there. At one end stood a row of pine tables laden with platters of food. On the borders, between the trees, Japanese lanterns were strung. A three-piece band was playing "Mary's Wedding". Those not dancing were tapping their feet. One of them was Lottie. It baffled her that no one had asked her yet. Indeed, people seemed to be keeping their distance.
At last she took matters into her own hands. She spotted Frenchy, one of Jason's men who she knew was partial to dancing, took his arm, and led him toward the floor. To her surprise, he snaked out of her grasp and begged off. She tried Corky. He shook his head tightly. "What's the matter with you boys?" she asked. "The bunch of you grown club feet all of a sudden? I'm busting to dance!"
"Dunno, ma'am," Corky muttered, "somehow it don't seem fittin'."
"'Ma'am!' 'Fitting!'" Lottie released her exasperation in a heavy sigh. Then she glimpsed Clancey at the edge of the clearing. She wondered where he had been hiding himself. She approached him confidently. "You scurrilous son of the seven seas," she said fondly, "I know you'll honor me." But he shrank back, waving vaguely, and slinked off into the dark.
Lottie felt as if she had been slapped. All her old friends who were not angling for a stake were treating her as if she were on a high horse. If this was what it was like to be rich–
A silver coin appeared before her eyes. Jason was holding it over her like a stage mesmerist. She had meant to be angry with him for his foolishness of that morning. But you couldn't stay angry with Jason long. And she really wanted to find out about the coin. He was banking on that to ease him back into her good graces.
"They give these out at the big exposition in Philadelphia," Jason said. He identified the face on it as Lady Luck. "See how she smiles. But flip her over, so, and she's frownin'." He paused. "That's generally the way of it–every stroke of fortune wears two faces. It's up to you to reckon out which you'd rather believe in."
Lottie was looking over at Richard and Abby. "I know already," she said.
Richard was holding a cup of punch. A woman in an apron thrust a plate of fried chicken and potato salad into his other hand. "This is splendid!" he told Lottie as she walked up. "I've never had such a time."
"I have to tell you something," Lottie began.
"I have something to tell you too," he said, taking Abby's hand.
The music stopped. "Everybody," Candy announced, "time to play 'Stealing the Pines'!" Half a dozen children flocked around her. She called for someone to keep time. Richard volunteered. He reached for his watch–
Seconds later, Christopher felt his arm grabbed. He looked up into a face red with anger. "What'd you do with it?" Richard demanded. He knew the boy must have taken it on the bluff; he had not been close to anyone else, except Abby.
The others were shocked. Candy ordered him to let go. Christopher buried himself in her dress, squealing, "Don't let him kill me!"
"Never mind, sweetie, he won't–" Then the words registered. "Kill you? What ever put that idea in your head?"
Molly answered for him. "He heard him and that other villain plotting to kill Lottie."
Some of the listeners gasped.
"That's a lie!" Richard said.
"These children don't lie," Lottie said. Candy agreed angrily.
Jason, perceiving a mix-up, stepped in before it grew worse. "What exactly did you hear?" he asked Christopher.
Feeling all eyes on him, Christopher tried to tell it as accurately as he could. "The tall man said if they was to get the 'her–heritance, Lottie was the person they had to–had to–" The word eluded him.
"Dispose of," Richard finished hollowly. "But we didn't mean–" The faces of his hearers stopped him short. There was a threat in the air. "Good heavens, you can't believe we were planning to murder her!"
"Suppose you unfold the span of what you were planning," Jason said.
Even Abigail looked suspicious now. Richard saw he had no choice. "To regain the estate by proving Father wasn't in his right mind at the time he made his will."
"Not right how?"
"Leaving everything to a stranger. Telling wild tales about this place. Only they weren't, I know that now–"
"And you were a part of this?" Lottie said soberly.
"No–yes–not any more. I was going to wire Matthias and tell him I wanted out of the whole business." There was a general drone of disbelief.
"Would it have stopped him?" asked Jason. Richard knew the answer. Jason nodded toward Abigail, who was running off. "Your change of heart came too late," he said, "and has been turned away."
As Richard started to follow, Candy handed him his watch, which one of the aproned women had just brought her. "You dropped it by the punchbowl," she said.
Richard looked around. The faces no longer held menace, only contempt– except for the disappointment in Lottie's, which was worse. All watched him as he left.
He reached the dormitory as Abigail ran in. He called out. She did not look back. I am too late, he thought, and the world I longed for, I've lost.
Candy reported to Jason that the children had confessed to keeping an eye on the stranger for Lottie's protection. Jason pondered a moment. "They may have had the right idea, at that."
After two hours of chilly night watch on the saloon, he changed his mind. What harm could Pepperell do now? He was about to start on the long walk back to camp when he glimpsed a light moving behind the curtain. So he was up to something.
The lantern was resting on a table. Shadows wavered in its light. The figure was on the stairs a quarter of the way up, hands closing around an object on the wall. Jason clutched his shoulder. The figure turned–
"Clancey?"
Outside, the captain confessed. "Stealin' from me own mavournin–did ever a man sink lower?" Jason asked what he was stealing. "What else but a picture of herself, so's I'd have something to remember her by?"
Jason shook his head. The man was impossible. "Lottie's not going anywhere."
"Ah, but now she's took up with her fine new friends, she won't have an old barnacle like me clingin' to her. So yiz may as well lock me up and t'row away the key. It don't matter nohow."
Jason refused to arrest him, to Clancey's obvious disappointment. "In point of fact, I have news that'll make you a happy man," he said, not sounding happy. "Likely Lottie won't ever see her inheritance. Those rascals are planning to take it from her."
Clancey straightened. "From Lottie? Who is? Not while they got me to contend with!" Jason grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. This was the Clancey he knew. "So, now, bucko," Clancey said, "how do we go about stoppin' 'em?" For once Jason had no answer. From Clancey's expectant look he saw he would have to find one.
When the time for the hearing came round, his two brothers looked forward to the chance of another visit to San Francisco, but between another buying trip and the oversight of the camp, they could not be spared, or so Jason alleged to them. The townsfolk who were able to attend hardly heard Crewe's opening speech, so agog were they at the splendor of the big-city courthouse; back home cases were still heard in the saloon. Its owner was present also but seemed remote from the proceedings. Jason had arranged for her to sail ahead of him and Clancey on the ship Crewe had sent for Richard, and the latter had been more than willing, hoping for a chance to make it up with her. But Lottie had kept to her cabin the whole voyage. Her only interest in coming was to look up old friends on the waterfront. Jason had made her promise to stand up in court for what was hers. Perhaps he was right; she was not sure any more.
Crewe stated that the facts in the case were simple. That meant, the judge knew, that they were less so than he would try to make them appear. The deceased had left his estate to someone with whom he had had only a nodding acquaintance; and why? Because he was living in a world of his own, his vague recollections of a tavern stop having blossomed into wild fancies that had usurped the place of reality. The man's son would be better able than he to recount those for the court.
The son was unwilling to do so until the court prodded him. "–but he didn't make any of it up," he added. "I've been there, seen for myself–"
The judge thought him well-meaning but fanciful. "Come, come," he said, "if half these tales were true, Seattle would be–would be–"
"–the land of heart's desire," one of the spectators finished. "And so it is."
"Who said that?"
The strapping man in the front row got to his feet. "Jason Bolt, your honor."
"Not the Jason Bolt?" The fellow had figured much in Arthur's stories. "Tell me," the judge asked, as man to man, "did you really win a tree-climbing match head down?"
Jason gave a modest nod. "I'd like to present evidence in Miss Hatfield's behalf if I may." The judge asked where it was. "They're waiting outside." Clancey nodded to the guard, and the doors were opened to admit a slew of couples in their Sunday finest. They paraded in until the aisle was full. Lottie was as startled as the judge, who began to protest. Jason cut him short. "All these folks met, fell in love, and got wedded inside of two years–all in Seattle. And this isn't the half of 'em. Here's the list."
"Sir, is this germane?" the judge asked.
"Been claimed a man was crazy for believing Seattle was something out of the common. I say it is, and here's the proof. A place where if you look quick you can see Cupid himself swingin' from bough to bough. A place where hearts beat so wild, they leap right out into the sunny sky to grab each other." He had a sudden inspiration. "Why, the very name Seattle–"
The judge raised his hand. "Mr. Bolt–please." He turned to the couples. "Were you coerced into coming here?"
They looked at each other in perplexity. "We wanted to come," one of the women said. Others murmured assent. The judge asked why. "To help Lottie," she said. The words echoed through the group. "Help Lottie–help Lottie–help Lottie."
Lottie was not prepared for that. She reached up and brushed something from her eye.
The judge turned to Jason. "And you, sir–you've gone to a prodigious amount of trouble over this."
"It was Clancey done the fetching, your honor."
The judge did not know the name. Clancey stood. "Captain Roland Francis Edgar Charles Sean O'Carolan Clancey, at your service, sir."
"You must think highly of this woman."
"She ain't just any woman. She–she–" Clancey searched for a fit comparison. "–she has as fine a bosom as graces the prow of the good ship Glory of the Seas. And I don't know higher praise than that."
"Oh, Clancey," Lottie said. That speck was still in her eye.
"I must concur with you, Mr. Bolt," the judge said. "Seattle is plainly a remarkable place." Jason and Clancey looked triumphant, and so did Richard. "Nonetheless," the judge continued, and their faces fell, "the imprudence of the decedent–"
"Your honor?" two voices broke in at the same time. Richard and Lottie were on their feet. "She can have the money," Richard said. "I don't want the money," Lottie was saying.
"Are you both mad?" Crewe chimed in.
The two looked at each other in amazement. "You'd give it up?" Richard asked.
"It was never mine in the first place," Lottie admitted, happy with relief. "I was flattered to imagine it was me your father was thinking of at the end. A lady can never have too many admirers. But I see now he was just making up for lost dreams."
"In that case," Richard said, "I'll put my share into the town." Then he was unsure. "–if the town will let me." The town, to the extent present, cheered. The judge pounded for order. "I'll donate half of it to the city treasury," Richard continued. "The other half I'll use to start a dairy business– " He turned to Abby. "–assuming I can find a partner."
She ran into his arms. "Where do I sign?"
"Ask Matthias," Richard said, "he's the expert."
Crewe did not find the joke funny. "If your father were here–"
"He'd congratulate me," Richard said, "for making his dreams come true." He smiled at Lottie.
The judge pounded again. "It looks as if this case has resolved itself," he said. "Will the population of Washington Territory please clear the court?"
People flocked to Richard, shook his hand, clapped him hard on the back. Crewe flung his papers into his brief-bag. Richard offered him his hat.
Lottie thanked Jason, who referred her to the scruffy Irishman standing shyly to one side. "He was willing to give you up," Jason said, "as long as you were happy."
Lottie stepped up to him. "How could that be," she said tenderly, "without my loyalest customer?" She kissed him on the cheek.
"Madam," Clancey said, "I believe I owes you a dance." He lifted his arms. One of his sailors pulled out a mouth organ and struck up "Haste to the Wedding". The couple took the floor, heedless of their surroundings. Richard and Abby joined them. Others followed suit. The court clerk looked doubtfully up at the bench. The judge was nodding his head in time. Relaxing, the clerk began to clap along himself.
Candy had a brainstorm. She took the marriage list from Jason's hand, borrowed the clerk's pen, and scribbled a few words at the bottom. When Jason read them, his wrinkle of puzzlement dissolved in a grin. He looked where Candy was looking: at Richard and Abby, paused in a kiss. He nodded approval of the amendment. "Heart's desire," he said softly, "heart to heart, desire to desire, each answering the other, and both speaking as one."
Candy had hoped for more than high-flown talk. Her eye caught Jason's and led it down to her foot, which was sliding back and forth restlessly. Then she looked away in mock-indifference. Jason felt chagrined. To leave a lady at his side unpartnered was perhaps not a sin–but then again perhaps it was, and anyhow it was not his style. He made up for the oversight at once, and Candy joyfully followed his lead into the dance.
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