was an Indian uprising near there.”
“I assume you’re referring to the Whitman massacre?”
“Yes.”
“That occurred seven or eight years ago. Things have settled down considerably since that unfortunate misunderstanding. You can’t blame the Indians. They were fed erroneous information about Dr. Whitman and acted on it because they didn’t understand how measles was spread. Besides, those were the Cayuse and Umatilla. The tribes Naomi’s parents minister to are farther north, around Puget Sound. I understand they’re quite accommodating.”
Naomi chimed in. “That’s right. The Nisqually and Puyallup leaders have actually helped my father in his dealings with less civilized tribes. Mama told us in her letters.”
“If you say so.” Thorne wasn’t about to argue with her and give her more reason to worry. Whatever she and Aaron decided to do next was no concern of his. He’d gotten them safely as far as San Francisco and that was all they had asked of him. Still, he had grown attached to their winsome child during the long, tedious voyage and he could tell the boy liked him, too. It was Jacob’s future that concerned him most.
He felt a tiny hand grasp one of his fingers as he started down the stairs. He smiled at the boy in response. Of all his relatives, Jacob was the one to whom he felt closest. Theirs was a strangely intuitive bond that had begun almost as soon as Aaron and Naomi had boarded the Gray Feather and had deepened as time had passed. Jacob had seemed unusually bright for a two-year-old, as well as curious almost to a fault and Thorne had taught him a lot about the workings of the ship during the long sea voyage. To his chagrin, he had to admit he was really going to miss the youngster when they parted.
Looking up, he noticed that their approach had drawn the attention of the young woman he had infuriated earlier. He greeted her politely as he and the boy reached the bottom of the stairs. “Good evening, ma’am.”
“Good evening.” She offered her right hand, then smiled and withdrew it when she noticed that his was being firmly controlled by his diminutive nephew. “Looks as if the nap helped.”
“Resting has certainly improved my outlook,” Thorne said. “Again, I must apologize for unintentionally offending you.”
“No apology is necessary,” Charity said. As the man and boy passed her, Jacob reached for her hand, grabbed her index finger tightly, and kept them together by tugging her along, too.
Charity laughed softly. “I see someone in your family likes me.”
“Apparently. If you’ll forgive my saying so, the boy has excellent taste. You look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Noting 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
