Shelter in Seattle Read online

  The big man held Sloan by the front of his shirt. His angry voice rumbled over them like hot lava. “No man hits a woman in my camp.” He growled in Sloan’s face, then shoved him away. He turned his gaze upon her, his dark brows slanted in a frown.

  “Sir, I never received the money; only the letter saying for me to come.” Her voice shook but she forced her gaze to meet Sloan’s. It was the truth, and she mentally dared him to deny it.

  “He sent the money.” All eyes turned to Maggie. She stepped forward. “I helped him write the letter, and I put the money inside the envelope.”

  Julianne felt faint. There had been no money with the letter. Had her Uncle known about the letters? Had he taken the money? She felt Maggie’s accusing gaze upon her and lifted her head. “I never received the money. I promise, Maggie.”

  “Then where is it?” Sloan barked.

  Unable to hold them at bay any longer, tears filled her vision as she pleaded with Maggie and Sloan. “You have to believe me. I never got the money. When Mr. Kellywood didn’t send it, I signed on with Mr. Mercer.”

  “Look you owe me money. That’s all there is to it.” Sloan took a threatening step toward her once again. “And I want it now.” He snarled the words through clenched teeth.

  “Sloan.” The warning came from the lumber boss. “Touch the woman again, and I’ll remove you from my camp.”

  “I don’t have it.” Julianne whispered broken hearted. “I don’t have fifty cents to my name…

  Shelter in Seattle

  by

  Rhonda Gibson and Jean Kincaid

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Shelter in Seattle

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2008 by Rhonda Gibson and Jean Kincaid

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN 1-60154-384-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Rhonda's Dedication

  A special thank you goes to Jean Kincaid, this book is special because of you. To James Gibson, for all of your support. And above all, to The Lord above who is the author of all my titles. Thank you.

  Jean's dedication

  To Rhonda Gibson, for granting me this opportunity to write with her; To Dale Kincaid, the love of my life; To my kids, Daren, Kim & Kelly, who always liked the tall tales I spun; to God for granting me the desire of my heart and to my editor, Nicola Martinez, thanks for taking a chance on a newbie.

  Logging camp

  Outside of Settle Washington

  Spring 1866

  Chapter 1

  “I’ll give you eighty dollars for the little lady!”

  “No! I’ll pay you one hundred dollars. You owe me, Sloan.” Judging by the speaker’s rotten teeth and tattered clothing, Julianne Maxwell figured it had to be a gambling debt Sloan owed him, for the man’s appearance definitely was not that of a banker.

  She grew hot with resentment and humiliation as the loggers auctioned her off like a milk cow at a Saturday farm sell. Her annoyance increased when she found her hands shaking. What had she done? When she’d made plans to run from New York, Seattle had seemed the perfect place. She’d arrived in Puget Sound and now here she stood smack in the middle of a logging camp in the biggest mess of her life, bar none.

  Weariness enveloped her as she tried to concentrate. It appeared her day of reckoning could be postponed no longer.

  The men crowded closer, and the air thickened with tension. Never in all her born days had Julianne smelled sweat, dirt and foul breath all in one small space. She took a step backward only to find more men had closed in on her from behind. She searched the crowd for the only person familiar to her; a woman named Maggie who had given her a ride from town.

  “What in blue blazes is going on here? Why aren’t you men working?” The loud voice parted the sea of soiled bodies, and the large man attached to it made his way to her. With an ax propped on his shoulder, he looked down his eagle nose and continued to demand answers. “What’s going on here, Sloan?”

  Julianne chanced a look at the man who stood by her side. Sloan Kellywood twisted his hat in his hands and refused to answer.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on here.” Maggie’s voice rose as she pushed her way through the crowd. “This no good for nothing mule of a man, ordered himself a bride, then up and married one of the skid road girls in town. That’s what’s happened.”

  Maggie stopped in front of Sloan. She pushed a bony finger into his chest. “Now he’s selling her off like she’s his personal slave or something.”

  Conscious of intense scrutiny as every eye looked her over from head to toe, Julianne was sure her face had just caught fire.

  The big man spoke again. “What gives you the right to sell this woman?”

  “She owes me for the ship fare. And I want my money, Boss. She owes me.” Sloan’s voice rose in anger. He stepped away from Maggie’s abusing touch.

  Julianne watched Sloan puffed out his chest. How could she have believed his letters? This man was not the man who had written to her. He just couldn’t be. She fought back tears of disappointment.

  “Now let me get this straight, Sloan. You sent for her; she came. Did you send a wire telling her you were already married and that she should return the money?”

  “No, boss…”

  The boss interrupted Sloan, his impatience with the matter evident in the expression of disbelief on his face. “Then she followed your orders. She’s arrived and you don’t get your money back.” The tone of his voice said, ‘and that’s final.’

  “But she didn’t even bring a trunk, Boss. There wus no boxes nor nuthin. Just her satchel of clothes.”

  “What in thunder are you talking about, Sloan.” The big man dropped the ax from his shoulder to the ground and propped himself on the handle, his chin jutted forward, a less than subtle threat to Sloan that he’d better clear things up in a hurry.

  “I sent an extra hundred, Boss, for her truesole. Took me nigh on to a year to save that money.”

  “Her what?”

  If her circumstances had not been so dire, Julianne would have laughed at the look on the Boss’s face.

  “Trousseau.” Maggie may have corrected Sloan, but she turned her gaze on Julianne as if she too wondered why Julianne arrived so lacking in possessions.

  “I was expecting her to bring some of them fancy linens from New York, you know Boss; towels, sheets and curtains to outfit my new home. Maybe some good pots and pans to cook with. And she was supposed to buy several fine dresses and material to make more. I paid to have all that frippery, but she showed up empty handed, with just that old valise.”

  Julianne about swallowed her tongue. She’d never heard a man lie so outright before.

  “What do you have to say about this?” The man Sloan called, ‘Boss’, turned to her and demanded answers in the same booming voice.

  Now, isn’t the time to turn into a weeping female, Julianne told herself. She pulled her shoulders back, forced herself to stand tall, and answered as h
onestly as she knew how. “I’m confused, sir. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I didn’t receive any money, just a letter saying to come. So … I signed on with Asa Mercer. He paid my fare over here.”

  “You liar! I sent the money for your ticket.” Sloan swept his arm upward to strike.

  Julianne cringed and stepped back. The heat and stench of unwashed bodies at her back halted her retreat. When no blow came, she opened her eyes and looked at Sloan under the cover of her eyelashes.

  The big man held Sloan by the front of his shirt. His angry voice rumbled over them like hot lava. “No man hits a woman in my camp.” He growled in Sloan’s face, then shoved him away. He turned his gaze upon her, his dark brows slanted in a frown.

  “Sir, I never received the money; only the letter saying for me to come.” Her voice shook but she forced her gaze to meet Sloan’s. It was the truth, and she mentally dared him to deny it.

  “He sent the money.” All eyes turned to Maggie. She stepped forward. “I helped him write the letter, and I put the money inside the envelope.”

  Julianne felt faint. There had been no money with the letter. Had her Uncle known about the letters? Had he taken the money? She felt Maggie’s accusing gaze upon her and lifted her head. “I never received the money. I promise, Maggie.”

  “Then where is it?” Sloan barked.

  Unable to hold them at bay any longer, tears filled her vision as she pleaded with Maggie and Sloan. “You have to believe me. I never got the money. When Mr. Kellywood didn’t send it, I signed on with Mr. Mercer.”

  “Look you owe me money. That’s all there is to it.” Sloan took a threatening step toward her once again. “And I want it now.” He snarled the words through clenched teeth.

  “Sloan.” The warning came from the lumber boss. “Touch the woman again, and I’ll remove you from my camp.”

  “I don’t have it.” Julianne whispered broken hearted. “I don’t have fifty cents to my name. I can’t pay you back money I don’t have.” Her body trembled with fear. Would the lumber boss have her removed from camp too? The thought of going back to Seattle and once again being ogled by the men there made her want to curl up and die. And traveling all the way back to New York was out of the question.

  The sickening smell of body odor intensified as an old grizzly looking man stepped up beside her. Brown spittle filled his gray beard. “I said I’ll pay you one hundred dollars. Let me have the girlie, Sloan.”

  The thought of being bought by the smelly man was almost more than Julianne could take. Given a choice, she’d be willing to go back to town and face the men there. Surely there were a few civilized men in Seattle that would protect her. Julianne squeezed her eyes shut. Lord, please don’t let this happen, she silently pleaded.

  The man’s renewed bid started the bartering again and the crowd surged forward as each man tried to out bid the other. Her eyes snapped open, and she searched for a way out of the crowd. Julianne felt herself being pressed against the big logger boss.

  He reached out and steadied her. “Ain’t nobody going to buy the little lady today, and that’s final.” At the men’s loud complaining, he offered. “Tomorrow is Sunday. We’ll have a contest then. Whoever wins the contest will win the right to pay this little lady’s debt. Until then, I expect you men to get back to work. We have logs to cut.” With that he stomped off.

  Julianne watched the men follow slowly behind the lumber boss. She took a deep cleansing breath of mountain air and silently prayed again. Thank you, Lord. Her gaze moved to the heavens in gratitude.

  Maggie came to stand beside Julianne. “Well, I guess you and I are stuck with each other until after the contest.” She watched a tear spill down Julianne’s cheek. “Now don’t go getting soft on me. Let’s go fix supper for these men, and maybe we’ll think of a way for you to get out of this mess.”

  Julianne heard Maggie mummer as she headed toward the cooks shack. “Wish I’d left her by the river.”

  ****

  Caleb Hansen watched from the edge of the woods. He saw and heard the whole sorry event as it unfolded. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one with problems. The young woman looked and acted innocent of any wrong doings, but he’d met many women who could act and look innocent.

  The baby in his arms whimpered. “What am I going to do about you?” He asked the little fellow. Terrible regrets assailed him. He’d had great plans for the sister he’d not seen in years. Those plans now lay in a grave on the edge of his property and he was left to raise her infant son alone. The swell of pain that filled his chest was beyond tears. His throat felt raw with unuttered shouts and protests. Why had he been robbed of time with his young sister? Why must this precious baby boy grow up without a mother? Why did she have to die? Why, why, why?

  Holding his jaw rigged against the pain that made him want to crumble, Caleb made his way down the steep incline to the cooks shack. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by grief. Reality stared him in the face as soon as his eyes opened each morning and he struggled for courage, strength and determination to carry out the burdensome task the Lord had seen fit to place upon him.

  For now, he’d have to ask Maggie to watch the little tyke so he could help fell trees today. Thanks to the commotion of a few minutes ago, the foreman had lost valuable sunlight. They would need every able bodied man to make up the time. And, in the logging business time was money.

  Chapter 2

  The savory smell of stew and cornbread permeated the cooks shack. Julianne watched the baby sleeping as Maggie stirred pots of meat and potatoes and checked her bread in the stove. Several cakes of cornpone already cooled on the long plank board that served as a table.

  The baby’s little lips twitched into what appeared to be a smile. “He’s such a sweet little fellow. I wonder what happened to his mama.” Julianne smiled down into the baby’s sleeping face.

  “Ain’t none of our business. If Caleb had wanted us to know, he’d have told us.” Maggie dropped another pan of cornbread on the make shift table. “Besides, we got other problems to think about.”

  Julianne continued to watch the sleeping baby. I wish I were still a baby at my mother’s knee. The thought of her mother brought tears to her eyes.

  Why did her parents have to die and leave her in his care? Fear that her Uncle would find her if she said his name aloud caused Julianne to clamp her lips even tighter. She didn’t even think his name.

  “Can you wash clothes?”

  Maggie’s question pulled Julianne from her troubled thoughts. She looked up into the older woman’s tired face. “Of course, I can.”

  “Good. Maybe you could wash the men’s clothes for a price, and then pay Sloan back the money you owe him.” She stirred the first big pot of stew then moved on to the next.

  Powerful relief filled Julianne’s heart as a glimmer of hope took root. “Maybe I can. Then, I wouldn’t become anyone’s property.”

  Maggie laughed. “That was the idea.”

  “But, where would I live? I’d need a place to stay and supplies to wash the clothes.” She chewed on the tip of her baby fingernail. “Do you think the store would give me credit?” Julianne stood to her feet and began pacing.

  “You’re welcome to stay with me, but you’d have to sleep outside on the porch. There’s not enough room in my shack for a tick, much less a dog,” Maggie offered, pulling down bowls and plates for the men.

  The analogy was not lost on Julianne. And the thought of sleeping out on the porch with those men lurking about wasn’t something she planned on entertaining, either. She’d worry about where she’d stay later.

  “I’m not so sure about the credit, we’d have to ask Mr. Miller about that.”

  “I’ll need a wash tub and a scrub board and some soap.” The baby awoke with a start and let out a weak cry.

  Julianne frowned in the baby’s direction, but didn’t move. The cries grew in force ‘til it seemed like one long scream which caused Maggie to almost drop a pan of cornbrea
d.

  “Pick him up for heavens sake.” Maggie ordered righting the hot pan.

  “Don’t get used to this.” Julianne muttered to the baby as she slid her hands under his warm little body, lifting him up to her shoulder. He smelled of talcum powder and milk. She cuddled him close to her heart, swaying back and forth until he settled down.

  Maggie came to stand beside her. “You sure are good with that baby.”

  “I should be, I used to help my aunt with her children,” Julianne muttered, remembering the twin babies she’d practically raised in New York. Day in, day out, she’d bathed, fed and diapered her cousins ‘til she fell into bed exhausted at night. She’d been twelve years old when they were born and she’d cared for them ‘til she fled her Uncle’s home for Seattle. It had been much too heavy a load and she mourned her stolen youth.

  The little guy’s eyes began to droop, but every now and then he’d jerk as if afraid he might fall. A tiny spark of empathy stirred in Julianne’s heart. She’d had the same feeling since she stepped off the ship.

  Laughter and loud raucous voices sent Maggie rushing to the side door. She shushed the men as they stomped their boots and came in from a hard days work. Each one took a bowl of stew and a generous hunk of cornbread and made their way to a table.

  Julianne felt uncomfortable under their stares. They talked in soft whispers as they ate; their eyes darting back and forth between Julianne and their plates.

  As if the baby sensed her unease, it began to fret, stiffening his little body, a single cry of protest escaped. Maggie thrust a glass bottle with a sticky, rubber nipple into her hand and shoved her toward the back door.

  Julianne walked outside and sank down on the back step. The baby snuggled against her as he drank from the bottle. He was such a tiny little thing. Helpless in the situation life had placed him. Same as Julianne. She brushed the fine blonde hair across his forehead. Deep blue eyes stared up at her as he ate. Julianne remembered a woman aboard the ship she’d traveled on. She’d had blonde hair and soft blue eyes, and had been with child. Had she been Caleb’s wife, and was this their child?