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 rustling. Were there rats in the room? Perhaps he should find her somewhere else to stay.
“I’m not afraid of hard work, Mr. Wallin,” she said, fingers tightening on the door. “I am simply unable to provide it at present. Thank you for your help, and good day.” She started to shut the door, and a howl erupted behind her.
John’s hand caught the door. “Wait. What was that? Are you all right?”
For a moment she hesitated, her gaze on his as if determining how easy it would be to refuse to answer him. Then she released the door and stepped back. “That, Mr. Wallin, is the reason I was willing to become a mail-order bride.”
She turned and headed for the bed, and John stepped into the hotel room. Now he could see two chubby fists waving in the air above the bed. She bent down and swept up the baby.
“There now,” she crooned. “It’s all right. Mommy has her little man.”
She had a child.
He drew in a breath. That explained so much—her reason for seeking a husband so urgently, her need for additional funds, her stringent requirements for a position. But it also meant his job of finding her a situation had just grown exponentially harder.
The baby calmed in her arms, blinking his eyes as he stuffed one fist into his mouth.
“What’s his name?” John asked, venturing closer.
“Peter,” she said, but so begrudgingly he wondered if she thought he’d argue over the matter.
The lad seemed about four months along. That was generally when they discovered their hands, if his nieces and nephews were any indication.
“I suppose Beth knows all about him,” he said.
She blushed, the pink as deep as the sunrise. “Actually, I never wrote Beth about him. When I first answered the ad, I was rather sick, and I thought I might lose the baby. Why explain something that might never come to pass?”
She bounced the little fellow up and down on her hip, wiggling her nose at him and setting him to smiling. John fought a smile himself.
“And
