support in the name of protecting Irish interests. He could be his own man, follow whichever way the Lord pointed. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the crisp, salty air.
“I don’t want to be a farmer,” Aiden announced, heading toward the road beyond the pier with a skip. “I want to be a sailor, see the world.”
“Now, where would you be getting that idea, I wonder?” Maddie said, following him with a sidelong look to Michael.
“Not from me,” Michael assured her as Ciara came along as well. “I worked the docks in New York. I didn’t sail the ships. And I’d think you’d have had enough of living on a ship by now, Aiden.”
“You’re right,” Aiden said. “It was too small. I can’t wait to run!”
Maddie grabbed his hand as if she feared he’d dash off right then. “Not so fast, me lad. First you need to learn your way about.”
With her free hand, she pointed up the steep hill in front of them. Michael had never seen anything like it. Though businesses were rising on each side, the rutted track running down the center was dark with mud. He could not imagine a wagon navigating it.
“That’s the skid road,” Maddie explained. “Lumbermen drag their chopped-down trees to the top and skid them right down to Mr. Yesler’s mill over there, where workers cut them up for boards to make houses and ships. Some of the logs are so big across, a man looks like a wee child beside them.”
“Now I know you’re bamming me,” Ciara said.
This time, Michael couldn’t argue with her.
“Be that as it may,” Maddie said, face turning stern, “it’s a dangerous place for the likes of you. The men are rough, the logs heavy and fast. You’re not to be going anywhere near it, understand?”
Aiden nodded solemnly. Ciara looked less sure, but she nodded too.
As if satisfied by their responses, Maddie set off walking, one hand still holding her brother’s. Ciara walked on her other side. Michael could only fall in behind. Her heavy skirts twitched with her impatient stride, and he didn’t think it was her siblings who concerned her. She didn’t like him by half. He needed to work harder if he wanted to put himself in her good graces.
He tried to keep quiet as he followed her up the street. Humility had been a hard lesson, but nearly three months at sea had given him time to reflect. He had a chance for a future and he wasn’t going to lose it by slipping back into old habits.
But Seattle, he saw, was even more sparsely populated than he’d supposed. He was used to tenement buildings crowding out the sunlight, masts of sailing ships so thick in the harbor he could have walked from one yardarm to another.
Here, single-story, whitewashed houses dotted the hillside, with dusky green trees taller than any he’d ever seen rising all around them. Two-story businesses were rare. The wide roads were heavy with black mud and crowded with wagons pulled by thick-necked oxen and wiry mules. And almost everyone he saw was male.
They were halfway up the hill, Maddie pointing out interesting shops to the children, when an older fellow in a fine suit, his whiskers thickest over his chin, stopped them. The tiny woman holding on to his arm must have been his wife.
“Good afternoon, Miss O’Rourke,” he said as he tipped his hat. “Mrs. Horton was asking when we might purchase more of your exceptional ginger cookies.”
“Now, dear,” his wife chided him with an affectionate smile, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m sure Miss O’Rourke is much too busy preparing for the wedding to bake us cookies.”
The wedding? Was Miss O’Rourke about to be married? A wealthy groom, eager to please his bride-to-be, would explain where the money had come from for passage as well as her fancy clothes and hat. What he couldn’t understand was why the thought of a wedding disappointed him. Was he truly so hurt by Katie’s desertion that he couldn’t see others happy?
Maddie smiled at the couple. “Sure-n but I’ll never be too busy for my best customers. I’ll have a batch ready tomorrow afternoon, just for you.”
Mr. Horton nodded, cheeks pink with obvious pleasure. “I’ll come get them myself,” he promised. “And good day to you and yours.”
With a nod to the couple, Maddie led Ciara and Aiden on.
Ciara glanced back at them. “Who was that? And why did she ask about a wedding?”
Michael walked closer to hear the answer.
“That was Mr. and Mrs. Dexter Horton,” Maddie replied, skirting around a rain barrel that sat at the corner of a building they were passing. “They’ve been loyal customers. They know I’m helping with a wedding for a friend who’s marrying at the end of the month. It will be a grand affair.”
Michael seized on the one word that made sense to him. “Customers. For your laundry?”
Maddie glanced back at him, and he thought a challenge lurked in those dark eyes. “First for my laundry, now for my bakery.”
“A bakery?” Aiden hopped up and down beside her. “You mean with sweets and cakes?”
Maddie turned her smile on him, warmer and more tender, and something inside Michael reached for that smile like a plant seeking light. He thought he knew the source of the reaction. His parents had died when he was about Aiden’s age; he hardly remembered them. Sylvie had been the one to look so kindly at him, to make him feel he was loved and appreciated. Was it any surprise he wanted the same for Aiden and Ciara?
But a bakery? How did a former laundress manage that, either from skill or with finances?
“Sweets indeed,” Maddie promised Aiden, her voice glowing with excitement. “And breads and cakes. As much as you want.”
That didn’t sound like such a good idea. Michael opened his mouth to tell her, then shut it again. She wouldn’t thank him for the suggestion. Still, he couldn’t help wondering whether she was trying to buy their affection.
She certainly didn’t need to buy the affection of Seattle’s citizens. That much was clear by the slow pace at which they progressed up the block of mercantiles. Every man acknowledged her as they passed, tipping his hat or otherwise greeting her as if she were the queen come to visit. By the looks in their eyes, more than one was smitten with her.
They tended to glare at Michael, who merely looked over their heads. He noticed, however, that Maddie didn’t introduce any of them to the children. Was she unsure of the men or ashamed of her kin? The latter didn’t seem likely, as she’d paid their passage and arranged for an escort.
“And here we are,” she sang out, stopping before a narrow, two-story building at the end of the street. A wide window fronted a boardwalk, and a wooden sign over the door proclaimed the place the Pastry Emporium. Aiden’s eyes lit.
“You own this?” he asked, voice heavy with awe.
“Not entirely,” Maddie replied, taking out a ring of keys and inserting one in the door. “A gentleman here finds likely enterprises and funds them to grow. He was persuaded to support my endeavors. I’m paying him back a little at a time, with interest.”
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