Mail-Order Marriage Promise. Regina Scott

Peter around. If you hear of anything else, though, please let me know.”

      “Oh, yah, of course,” Mrs. Gustafson promised. “But I don’t know of any places that will take a mother with child. And we leave tomorrow for the Duwamish. I would ask you to come, but it is my brother’s place, and he only has room for me and my Dieter.”

      It was the same story every place Dottie tried that afternoon. Either the business did not want to take on a woman, or they needed her to work long hours away from Peter. The shops in Seattle, it seemed, were open by five in the morning and did not close until nearly ten at night. One of the owners even suggested that she give up her son, claiming many of the farmers in the area would be interested in adopting a baby that would grow into a strong young man. Clutching Peter close, she had hurried from the store. Peter was hers, not Frank’s, not anyone else’s. He was the one good thing to come from her bad marriage.

      “You are a blessing,” she told him as she carried him back to the hotel. A passing gentleman favored her with a gap-toothed grin as if he thought she was addressing him. Peter snuggled closer.

      That night, after she’d settled her son to sleep beside her on the bed, she allowed herself a moment to pray, asking for help finding work, a safe place for her and Peter to live. But still she found no peace.

      Her mother and father had always prayed before bed and at mealtimes. They’d attended church services as well, read to her from the Bible. All that had changed when they’d been killed in a train accident. Her uncle had taken her Bible away from her, told her it was just a book of nonsense. She hadn’t seen the inside of a church in years. She shouldn’t be surprised she no longer felt God’s presence. She’d been the one to move away.

      All Dottie could hope was that John Wallin had better connections in the frontier town than she ever would, and that he’d find something that would work for her and Peter.

      * * *

      John returned to Seattle the next day on horseback, leaving his mount at the livery stable while he canvassed the town. But it seemed Dottie had been unwilling to wait for his help, for most of the places he tried reported that she’d already been in.

      “Lovely lady,” the tallest Kellogg brother said when John asked at his store about a clerk position, “but we simply could not accommodate the hours she wanted.”

      He heard similar stories at other shops he tried. Dottie seemed determined to work as little as possible. He couldn’t understand it. Had she been so tenderly raised that she had no idea what employers expected? Surely if she’d lived on a farm she knew that work went on from before sunrise to after sunset most days.

      He wished he knew more about her. He’d asked Beth as they’d ridden back to Wallin Landing yesterday, but his sister had obviously recovered her usual buoyancy and determined that he was the villain in all this.

      “Oh, no, John Wallin,” she’d declared with a toss of her head. “You didn’t wish to heed my advice and marry Dottie Tyrrell, so don’t think you can get back into my good graces by appearing interested in her now. If you want to know more about her, I suggest you talk to her directly. I am quite finished playing matchmaker.”

      He didn’t believe that for a minute. Beth had taken great delight in helping all their older brothers fall in love. She wouldn’t stop until every last Wallin male was wed.

      But John wasn’t about to help her. He would find a better situation for Mrs. Tyrrell than marrying him.

      Now he followed each lead to possible positions and talked to everyone with whom his family had built connections over the years. His quest eventually led him to the home of one of Seattle’s founding families, the Maynards. Doc Maynard, who had first hired Drew’s wife, Catherine, as a nurse years ago, had passed on last spring, leaving his wife as one of the area’s most notable widows. An advocate for literacy, she had been one of the women to whom John had presented yesterday. Today she listened more intently and handed him her card to give to Dottie. Feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he hurried to the hotel.

      He had to cool his heels awhile as Billy Prentice, the porter, went up to tell the lady she had a caller. John had stayed at Lowe’s a time or two when he was needed in town, but looking around the plain white walls of the lobby, the hard-backed benches and brass spittoons, he wondered now whether it was the best place for a lady. As close as the hotel was to the businesses that catered to the workers at Yesler’s mill, the noise at night could be considerable some days. If only Dottie would take the situation with Mrs. Maynard, all her problems would be solved.

      Billy came back down the stairs. “Sorry, Mr. Wallin. Mrs. Tyrrell says she cannot see you at present. Perhaps tomorrow.”

      Tomorrow?

      What was wrong with the woman? She came from a farming background. She had to know he had chores waiting for him, animals to feed, fields to till for spring planting. Wallin Landing was still several hours round trip from Seattle. He couldn’t just make the jaunt when it suited her.

      “Tell her I have urgent news,” he insisted. “A position she’ll want to hear about.”

      The porter raised a brow, but up the stairs he went again.

      John tapped his hat against his thigh. She hadn’t seemed so persnickety yesterday. Indeed, given the magnitude of his sister’s mistake, Dottie Tyrrell had been remarkably calm. Besides, Beth surely would have noticed a high-handed manner in the letters they’d exchanged. Any woman desperate enough to answer an ad for a mail-order bride couldn’t afford to put on airs.

      “I’m sorry,” Billy said as he came down the stairs. “But Mrs. Tyrrell cannot see you now.”

      John drew in a deep breath. Here he was, known for his patience, and it was about to desert him. “Tell her that if I do not see her now, she will forfeit this opportunity, and I will bear no further responsibility for helping her.”

      Billy sighed. “If it wasn’t you, Mr. Wallin, I wouldn’t be going up the stairs again. But I never forgot how you helped me carry that luggage in out of the rain last winter. I’ll try to get you a better answer from the lady.” He turned and trudged up the stairs yet again. John was very glad when he returned with the news that Dottie would see him after all, even if it was in her room.

      Odd, when she’d hesitated to be seen in the lobby with him yesterday. What had changed?

      He climbed the stairs, then rapped on the door, hat in one hand. Though she had to know he was coming, Dottie took her time answering. When she did open the door, it was the merest crack, as if she expected him to come armed.

      “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Tyrrell,” he said, trying for a smile that he hoped would put her at ease. “I’ve brought the funds as promised and what I hope is good news. One of the greatest ladies of my acquaintance, Mrs. Maynard, is seeking a companion. She has a fine house right here in Seattle and is well respected by all. I’m sure she’d be thrilled for your company.”

      He had hoped for delight at the announcement, but if anything she looked sad, mouth dipping.

      “I doubt a companion post will do, Mr. Wallin. I cannot be available the hours that would likely be expected.”

      That again. Once more, he felt the temper he hadn’t known he had threatening. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but most places expect a day’s work for a day’s pay.”

      “So I am coming to learn, but I’m afraid I must insist on it.” Behind her came a coo, as if a dove had been let loose in the room.

      John frowned, but she thrust out her hand. “If I could have the funds you promised?”

      At least he could do that much for her. He dug into the pocket of his coat and offered her the money. “I wish you would reconsider,” he told her. “I sincerely doubt you’ll find another situation like this in Seattle. Folks who come here generally aren’t afraid of hard work.”

      The coo had become a whine, accompanied by the sound of material