eyes and mahogany hair were a potent combination, especially with that warm voice and smile. It certainly seemed as if those broad shoulders could help carry a woman’s burdens.
“And think of Mrs. Tyrrell,” he continued as his sister sank in her chair, cookie falling to the plate. “You raised her hopes and put her in a difficult position.”
Beth straightened with a show of defiance. “Not so difficult. Seattle is a much better place for her than where she was. I knew even if you could not be brought up to scratch, she could have her pick of husbands.”
There was that. Ever since she’d arrived two days ago, she’d seen a predominance of gentlemen on the streets of the burgeoning town. But which of the miners, loggers, farmers and businessmen strolling past with approving looks were honest and hardworking? Which had left a wife behind when they’d journeyed west? She shuddered just remembering the day she’d discovered the truth about Frank.
She and Frank had been married a mere two months, sharing a little apartment on Poplar, just north of the busy downtown area. Some days she didn’t see him because he traveled for his work, but he was utterly devoted when he was home. That day, when she’d heard a knock on the door after Frank had left for work, she’d thought it must be one of the neighbor wives who liked to come over for a cup of tea. But her smile of welcome had faded when she found herself facing a finely dressed woman wringing her hands.
“I know he’s here,” the woman had said. “The detective agency gave me this address. Please, won’t you let me see my husband?”
Even remembering, she felt the cold sickness sweep over her. She’d thought surely the so-called Mrs. Reynolds was mistaken. Frank would laugh off the story.
After he’d returned that evening, Frank had tried to keep up the pretense when Dottie told him what had happened.
“She’s crazy, sweetheart,” he’d said, taking Dottie in his arms. “You’re the only girl for me.”
But Mrs. Reynolds had returned the next day and the next, until Frank was forced to admit the truth. Unhappy in his marriage, he had found solace in another woman’s arms.
In her arms. Dottie was the second Mrs. Reynolds, which meant she wasn’t married at all. Small wonder she’d used her maiden name ever since.
“A good husband,” she told Beth now, “is not so easy to come by. They generally don’t wear labels like ‘excellent provider’ or ‘kind to cats and children.’”
John Wallin smiled. Another man might have refused to have anything more to do with her after realizing his sister’s scheme. But then again, he didn’t know about Peter yet. Marrying a woman with a baby born out of wedlock might make even the kind, thoughtful Mr. Wallin turn tail.
“You might be better off seeking employment,” he suggested. “My family knows many of the business owners in town.”
And he believed she had the skills to succeed. That was refreshing. Too often men took one look at her lavender eyes and golden curls and assumed there was nothing behind them.
Beth straightened. “Of course! Maybe Maddie’s hiring.” She pushed back her chair. “I’ll go ask.”
Dottie raised her hand in protest, but Beth was already heading for the counter.
“She means well,” John said. “Her heart just gets in the way of logic sometimes.”
Dottie had been that way once, but she no longer had the luxury.
“I’m not sure about a position,” she told him. “I never learned a trade. And I have some issues with my schedule.” She took a breath and prepared to tell him about her son, but Beth bustled back to the table.
“They’ve just hired two more bakers,” she reported. “So they don’t need help at present.”
Once more, the patrons were glancing their way. Perhaps this wasn’t the best place to confess that she had a baby. Dottie rose, and John climbed to his feet as well.
“Thank you for asking about employment, Miss Wallin,” Dottie said. “I think we should continue this discussion elsewhere.”
Beth glanced around, cheeks turning pink as she must have realized the amount of interest they were still generating. “Of course. Come with me.”
Her brother stepped back to allow Dottie to go before him. She could feel him behind her, a steady presence, as she followed Beth out of the bakery.
The rain had stopped as they paused on the boardwalk of Second Avenue. Muddy puddles spanned the wide streets, and the signs plastered on the businesses on either side were shiny with moisture. The air hung with brine and wood smoke.
“Are you staying at Lowe’s, as I suggested?” Beth asked.
Dottie nodded. The white-fronted hotel was neat and tidy, and she had felt safe staying there alone the last two nights.
“Allow us to escort you back,” John said. He offered her his arm.
Dottie did not feel right taking it. Instead, she started forward, and he fell into step beside her, Beth trailing behind. That didn’t stop her from continuing the conversation.
“Maybe Dottie could farm,” she suggested. “She lived on a farm until she was twelve and her parents died. Then she went to live with her aunt and uncle in Cincinnati.”
A reasonable thought, but not here, not now.
“I remember how to work on a farm,” Dottie told Beth and her brother. “But I don’t know if I could manage one alone, particularly starting from the wilderness.”
John nodded in agreement. Beth, however, would not let the matter go.
“We could help,” she insisted, voice bright. “Our brother Drew logs. I’m sure he and his men could clear the fields for you and help you build a house. Simon has designed several, and John designed the church. I wrote you about my brothers.”
Yes, she had. Dottie felt as if she knew all about the Wallin family. Both parents were gone, the father nearly two decades ago in a logging accident, the mother a couple years back from pleurisy. Beth had five brothers, three of whom had married and were raising families and one named Levi, who had headed north to seek his fortune in the Canadian gold fields. A shame Dottie knew the least about the man she had come to marry.
John walked beside her now, his smile pleasant. The people they passed—mostly dapper gentlemen in tall-crowned hats and rough workers in knit caps—nodded in greeting. Their looks to him were respectful; their looks to her speculative. John cast her a glance as if his green eyes could see inside her to her most cherished dreams. She could have told him she had only one dream that mattered—a safe, secure home for her and her son.
“Farming alone might be difficult,” he agreed. “But we bear the responsibility for bringing you out to Seattle, Mrs. Tyrrell. I promise you I won’t rest until you have a situation that suits you.”
He sounded so sure of himself, so certain he could solve her problem. If only she could feel so sure, of Seattle and of him.
* * *
Mrs. Tyrrell
