Wilderness Courtship. Valerie Hansen

the soft blush on her already rosy cheeks and the shy way she smiled, then averted her gaze, Thorne was confused. He had pictured this woman as a stiff, bossy matron, yet now she was acting more like an ingenue. Truth to tell, he didn’t imagine she was more than nineteen or twenty years old. Still, by the time he was that age he had sailed around the horn more than once and had considered himself any man’s equal.

      Leading them to the table, Charity made brief introductions without citing all the travelers’ names. “Those gentlemen over there are new guests, too,” she said. “They’re from Virginia and Pennsylvania, I believe. And this is my father, Emory Beal.” She indicated a thin, gray-haired man at the far end of the rectangular dining table. “Next to him is Mrs. Montgomery. She owns this hotel and several other buildings along Montgomery Street.”

      The round-faced, portly woman grinned and patted her upswept, salt-and-pepper hair. “Land sakes, girl. You make me sound like a land baron. I’d of had more to brag on if the storm last November hadn’t carried off sixty feet of the wharf at Clark’s Point. That was pitiful.”

      “I’d heard about that damage,” Thorne said. “I’m sorry the losses were yours.”

      “Well, these things happen,” the proprietress said with a shrug. “Lately I’ve been concentrating on improvements to this here property. I reckon we’ll have coal gas lamps to brag on soon, just like the Oriental Hotel and the Metropolitan Theater. Can’t let the competition get ahead of me. No, sirree.”

      Thorne agreed. “Exactly the reason I’ve chosen the most modern sailing ships. We’ve already seen steam travel on a single vessel as far as the Isthmus of Panama. Someday I hope to be sending my own steamers all the way around the horn.”

      “My, my, you don’t say.”

      “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

      Thorne stepped aside to shake hands with Emory while he waited for Aaron to seat his little family. That left Thorne with only one available chair, which happened to place him next to Jacob. Charity was already seated on the boy’s left.

      The other guests, all men, nodded brief greetings but were clearly more concerned with dishing up their share from the bowls and platters already on the table than they were with making polite conversation.

      Thorne was about to reach for a nearby plate of sliced beef when he saw Charity clasp her hands, bow her head and apparently begin to pray. Since the hotel proprietress had not led any blessing on the food, he saw no reason to join in until he noticed that Jacob had folded his little hands in his lap and closed his eyes, too.

      All right, Thorne decided. He was a big enough man to let a woman and child lead him, at least in this instance. Following suit he sat quietly and watched the young woman out of the corner of his eye until she stopped whispering and raised her head. He was about to reach over and tuck a napkin into Jacob’s collar to serve as a bib when Charity did just that.

      “I can manage him,” Thorne said.

      “It’s no bother. He’s a sweet child. So well mannered. He reminds me of my own nephew.”

      “You have family here?” Thorne asked as he plopped a dollop of mashed potatoes onto the boy’s plate.

      “My sister and her family live over near Sacramento City,” she answered. “It was just chosen as the official state capitol to take the place of Benicia, you know.” She looked to the child seated next to her. “Would you like some gravy?”

      Thorne answered, “Yes, thanks.”

      That brought a demure laugh from Charity. “I was talking to my short friend here. I’ll gladly ladle some over your potatoes, too, if you’d like.”

      “I think I can handle it myself,” Thorne said with a lopsided grin. “But thank you for offering.”

      “You’re quite welcome.” She began to cut the slab of roast beef on her plate, then paused. “This piece is very tender. May I give him a little of it?”

      “Of course. He doesn’t like much, though. And cut it into very small bites.”

      “Believe it or not, I know how to feed a child.”

      “We should be doing that,” Naomi said from across the table. “If you want to send him over, he can sit on my lap and eat from my plate.”

      Judging by the firm way the boy was grasping his fork and leaning his chin on the edge of the table, Thorne knew that Naomi’s suggestion was not to his liking. “He’s fine where he is. A little variety is good for him. And I promise we won’t spoil him too badly.”

      “Speak for yourself, sir,” Charity gibed. “I plan to enjoy my supper companion to the utmost.”

      When she smiled at the child, Thorne was astounded at how young and lovely she appeared. Her hair glistened like sunbeams on fine, golden silk and her eyes were as blue as a cloudless, equatorial, summer sky. It was as if the presence of the boy had lightened her usual burdens and given her a new lease on life. And Jacob had taken to her, as well, he noted. The two were acting as if they had always known each other.

      Pensive, Thorne glanced at his brother and Naomi. Their countenance was anything but joyful by contrast. Aaron was eyeing the strangers at the table, looking ready to leap upon the first one who might pose a threat, while Naomi appeared near tears, as she had been during most of their sea journey. The one time Thorne had tried to discuss her concerns with her she had merely said that she feared for the lives of her dear ones.

      He couldn’t argue with that grim conclusion. Not if Aaron’s words were to be believed. Louis Ashton had never been much of a father to either of them, nor had he been a kind, loving husband to the dear mother they shared. For that, alone, Thorne had grown to detest the man.

      When Louis’s last beating had raised welts on Thorne’s sixteen-year-old shoulders, he had gone to his mother and begged her to leave the Ashton estate with him. Of course she had refused. But that was the night she had opened her heart and explained her painful past, including revealing her fears regarding the untimely demise of her first husband and her growing suspicion that Louis Ashton might have somehow been responsible.

      Rather than be too specific, she had likened the tale to the biblical saga of King David and Bath-sheba with Thorne’s real father playing the part of the hapless Uriah. From there on, however, the basic facts of the story had diverged. Louis had rushed the new widow Blackwell into marriage and had gotten more than he’d bargained for a mere six months later. He’d gotten Thorne, another man’s son, and he’d never forgiven the boy for being born.

      At sixteen, Thorne had wanted to take Aaron with him and run away to sea but Mother had convinced him otherwise. Once he had entered that occupation and realized what a hard life he was facing as a young seaman, he was glad he had listened to her wisdom, at least in regard to his baby brother.

      Yet look at him now, Thorne thought. Everything Aaron had hoped and planned for was ruined. He had no home, no source of income and no plans for the future other than to elude any assassins Louis might send in pursuit. It was a terrible, dangerous existence that faced the little family.

      Thorne had known in his heart that he could not simply abandon Aaron in San Francisco and hope that he and his loved ones eventually managed to reach Naomi’s parents in the Northern territories. Now that he thought about it in detail he knew what he had to do. Like it or not, he must accompany them. And in order to do that he had to transfer some of his business duties to underlings or risk financial disaster before he could return.

      Having decided, he addressed his brother. “I know you’re in a hurry to be on your way but I will need several more days to arrange my affairs before I can travel. The telegraph only connects to a few cities close by so I shall have to handle my business mostly with personal dispatches. Nevertheless, I think I can have everything settled by next Friday. How does that sound?”

      Aaron’s mouth gaped. “You’re going with us?”

      “Yes. If you have no objection.”