Fortune's Two Faces
Now it was the young man's turn to sleep. The time was marked by the pulse of the grandfather clock outside the door, each beat falling away into the vast stillness of the bedchamber. The young man woke to a voice in his ear. “Richard?” A hand was laid heavily on his shoulder. He did not have to see the sallow face and sunken cheeks to know who the visitor was. “Is he awake?” The young man said he had been and might be yet.
The lean man went to the four-poster and set down his leather brief-bag. From the stack of eider pillows, the invalid moved his eyes to take him in. “Arthur,” said the visitor, “it's Matthias.” The old man's face did not change expression. “Your lawyer,” Crewe added. He picked up a paper from the bedside table. “This is what we discussed earlier. It will annul the new will and reinstate the old one. I know the change was but a whim of the moment—sign this and it will be as if it never happened.” Pepperell's only answer was to move his eyes back to the window.
“Think of your children,” Crewe persisted, “—those who've been loyal to you—those you wanted to be seen after.” Arthur seemed to smile a little at this; Crewe could not be sure. At last he lost patience. “You may not have another chance,” he cried.
Richard came forward. “He can't understand,” he said.
“Can't he?” Crewe said wryly. Again he thought he saw the flicker of a smile. Sighing, he consigned the document to the brief-bag. He bade Arthur goodbye, adding a Godspeed for good measure. Pausing at the door, he said, “There will be other avenues to explore after—” He stopped out of respect for the son's feelings. “Well—after. For the present we can only wait.”
The voice was just loud enough for the dying man to hear, if he were listening. But Arthur was attending to a far finer sound: “The Bride's Favorite” played on a concertina. It was a sound from another place, another time. The brocaded drapes stirred in the bay breeze. Arthur saw beyond them, beyond the city where he lay, to a square board building whose glowing windows seemed to dispel the northern damps surrounding it. Over the doors was painted the word “Lottie's.”
Arthur smiled at the vision.
“Big ship comin’ in!” Christopher shouted, running up the main (and only) street. Shutters flew back; doors opened; heads peered out. He ran on to Stempel’s mill, repeating the announcement. The mill hands, scarcely into their day, left their saws standing and hurried for the dock. Aaron Stempel emerged from his office to call them back but, hearing the cry, ran after.
From the foredeck two passengers watched the town materialize as if by magic in the lap of the deep green hills. Soon they were near enough to see the multitude that had turned out to gape. One of the two stared back with an expression akin to theirs. “Seattle,” he said in a hush. “Never thought I'd get to see it.”
“You don't believe your father's stories?” his companion said. “Jenny Lind—a lumberjack who quotes Shakespeare—fifty women shipped west to this hog wallow—”
“Why not?” Richard said. “And it was a hundred,” he corrected, “a hundred brides.”
“Pure fantasy,” Crewe declared. At that moment the upstairs shutters of a broad white building, the biggest in town, were thrown open in a line, revealing a cluster of fresh-faced young women at every window. Others came running out to join the crowd at the waterfront.
Aboard the only boat in port, which was markedly less grand than the one attracting notice, the skipper staggered on deck in his nightshirt. He nearly jumped ship at the sight of the two-master apparently bearing down on him. At the last minute it came half about and stopped. The captain coldly tipped his cap. Captain Clancey tried to return the gesture, only to realize, with some surprise, that he hadn't his cap on.
Once the lines were made fast and the gangplank was lowered, the travelers unboarded. Crewe picked his way carefully among the patches of mud. Richard's eyes roved excitedly over what seemed to him an overwhelming number of gorgeous things: the glittering water, the bubbling clouds, the forests mounting above the town, and last of all—because his eyes went no farther—the grey-eyed, chestnut-haired girl at the edge of the crowd.
To Crewe the natives appeared a crude patchwork of boots, rough flannels, and hard, unshaven jawlines. He asked hesitantly whether any of them could direct him to a Miss Lottie Hatfield. To his alarm and Richard's delight, the throng quickly closed in and headed as one toward the saloon, jostling the newcomers along. Through the doors they barged, delivering up their cargo to a buxom, queenly-looking woman behind the bar, who appeared to take the intrusion in stride.
Crewe, regaining his composure, presented his card. Attorney-at-Law, it read, San Francisco. Lottie could imagine nothing that would bring a lawyer all that way to see her. She handed the card back with a question in her eyes. “Arthur Pepperell was my client,” Crewe said. “I must inform you he's no longer with us.” Getting a blank look, he repeated the name with greater emphasis, and then, when the look remained the same, introduced Richard (“Arthur Pepperell's son”), whose attention he first had to recapture from the girl in the crowd. “Is there a place we might speak privately?” he asked.
“These are my neighbors,” Lottie said. “Anything you have to say to me—” As often, her candor finished the statement for her. “—they'll find out anyway.” She didn't cotton to the idea of being closeted alone with him either.
Crewe reluctantly nodded acquiescence. “I realize that nothing can expunge your grief at a time like this. But you may take some solace in the knowledge that Mr. Pepperell made ample provision for you. Indeed—” He took a paper from his brief-bag. The buzz quieted as he read. “‘I, Arthur Pepperell, being of sound’—well—‘give, bequeath, and devise all my property to Miss Carlotta Hatfield of Seattle, Washington Territory—the memory be green.’ He insisted I add that.” Richard smiled. “You understand? You are the sole beneficiary. The estate totals some”—he considered—”five hundred thousand dollars.”
The buzz started again. Lottie found herself in need of a chair. “I have one question,” she said finally. “Who is Arthur Pepperell?”
Aaron was standing at Lottie's back. Jason joined him. Taking in Crewe at a glance, he whispered, “Watch this buzzard.” Aaron smiled at the characteristically needless advice. “I am.”
Richard had taken out a pocket watch and was holding it open for Lottie to see. “This was my father,” he said.
“Difficult to recall one among so—” Crewe began. He stopped at a look from Aaron.
The photograph inside the watchcase brought back a memory Lottie had long since filed away. “Yes, I knew him,” she said after a moment. “There's clearly some mistake.”
“None,” Crewe said coldly. He took another paper from his bag. “If you'll sign this authorizing me to—” Aaron intercepted it and, after skimming, returned it to Crewe. “She'll sign no such thing,” he said. “This would give you a free hand with her money.” Crewe returned it to the bag. “Merely endeavoring to expedite matters,” he muttered.
Jason stepped in. “Expedite,” he said, then ran the word over his tongue once or twice. “That means you've done all the necessary lawyerin'—am I right?” Crewe worked to frame an answer. “I believe,” Aaron said, “my friend is thinking of probate.” “That's the ten-dollar word,” Jason acknowledged. Crewe promised to institute proceedings as soon as he got back. “We sail tomorrow,” he said. Richard showed his disappointment. Crewe pleaded pressing business. “Wonder who's being pressed,” Aaron said to nobody in particular.
Crewe was casting about for a change of subject when Lottie broke in. She had been half-listening as she puzzled over her inheritance; coming back to the present, she offered to put the visitors up for the night. Richard expressed a desire to sleep in the same room his father had. “Would that include a bath?” Crewe asked doubtfully. “Only bathtub in town,” Lottie boasted, adding, when Crewe rolled his eyes, “It's full of slops, but I can have it scrubbed out.”
“Thanks,” Crewe said, “we'll sleep amidships.” “I'll stay here,” Richard said, “as Father did.” Jason and Aaron did not miss the look that passed between the two. Crewe announced he was returning to the ship. As Lottie led Richard upstairs, Jason wondered aloud what the strangers' game was. “Whatever it is,” Aaron said, “seems the boy doesn't know the rules.”
“I know Father wasn't that way,” Richard said. “The tales I've heard him tell—”
“He was one of a kind,” Lottie agreed. Her manner had changed; now she looked more like one of the brides. “Did he—ever mention me?” she asked lightly.
“He talked about Lottie's place. We had no idea who Lottie was until he remade the will.” Lottie tried to hide her disappointment. “I'm afraid we were all rather taken aback—especially Matthias.”
“I hope you don't resent me for it.”
“Not now I've met you.” Richard smiled. “Father always recognized quality.”
To draw attention from the scarlet color taking over her cheeks, Lottie began fussing with the rumpled bedspread. She promised to change it while Richard took supper. He told her he would be out most of the day seeing the town. “—for once without my chaperone,” he added.
The chaperone was standing to leeward, shredding the rejected power of attorney and casting the scraps into the ocean. The captain grimaced at his untidiness but leaned forward to get a closer look at the open brief-bag, which was filled with other legal papers. Crewe noticed his interest. “When sailing unfamiliar waters,” he said, “it's as well to have all possible courses charted. One can never tell which way the wind may blow.” The captain came as near as he ever did to smiling.
“Missed me,” a voice said. Looking up, Richard found himself in front at the brides' dormitory, whither in fact he had been bound, and facing the person he had hoped to see. She was standing in front of the gate, a basket on her arm. Richard felt himself coloring. “Try again,” she suggested, “I'll stand closer this time.” Richard tried to speak, but the effort ended in an uninterpretable noise. Abigail Frost saw that the initiative must remain with her. “You came on the ship from California,” she said.
“You—came on the one from New England,” Richard answered weakly.
“Some time ago,” Abigail said, “and it wasn't much of a ship.”
“I can't imagine—” Richard had gotten no farther when the word “Halt!” rang out six times from the porch and a tall, slender redhead marched down to them to announce that the conversation must cease immediately. “Proper young ladies do not speak to strange men on the street,” she told Abigail. “I've warned you before.” “Candy, don't be such a—” “Sir,” Candy Pruitt informed Richard, “you may ask my permission to call on this young lady tomorrow.”
“I so ask,” Richard said humbly.
“Be here at eleven, sharp,” Candy said. At her command Abigail followed her up the steps. Inside the screen, they stopped to gaze again on the new prospect. They acknowledged his gazeworthiness in a joint widening of eyes and barely stifled giggle.
“We leave tomorrow,” said a voice, the third to surprise Richard that morning and the least welcome. “Had you forgotten?”
“I'm sure there'll be time for tea.” Richard checked his watch. “Nearly half an hour. Weren't you afraid I'd run off into the hills?”
“Only looking out for your interests, as I did your father's. You're fair game for these rustic fortune hunters.”
Richard had to laugh. “I don't have a fortune to hunt. Everyone here knows that.”
“True, for the present it's in the claws of that Barbary belle—another one to look out for.” Richard snorted. “You saw how she took the news,” Crewe insisted. “Her old stablemate, and she didn't drop a tear.”
At the window of the room that had been Arthur's, despite mighty efforts to resist, Lottie was on the verge of making Crewe a liar.
“Even 'way up here,” Lottie was saying, “you'll find those with a taste for the finer things.” That was the opening Crewe had hoped for. “Then you must appreciate what it's like for Richard, being torn from them so unexpectedly.”
“Matthias,” Richard said.
Crewe paid no attention. “It's worse for his sisters, poor things. Neither married well. The grandchildren will have a hard job making their way.”
“Matthias, don't,” Richard said.
“It all seems so unfair,” Crewe sighed. Lottie, who now had his measure, echoed him politely and moved to leave. “I knew you'd agree,” he said, reaching into the brief-bag, “so I took the liberty of drawing this up. It settles a portion of the estate on each of the children.” Lottie noted that he was named too. “In my capacity as advisor,” he said.
Lottie smiled winningly. “Let me consult my advisors.” She nodded toward Jason and Aaron.
Crewe took the paper back. “On second thought—” The advisors smiled. With a glance of reproach at him, Richard moved to the bar.
Crewe, unfazed, leaned over and spoke in a low tone to one of the roughnecks at the next table. With a look of surprise, the man jerked his thumb toward the rear. Crewe showed more than his customary distaste as he rose to leave. After he was out the door, the man repeated what he had asked, and the table roared with laughter.
As Crewe was making his way back in the dark, he found two figures waiting at the side of the building. One of them extended a boot, blocking the way. Crewe asked if there were something he might do for them.
“Not us,” Jason said, “but a friend of ours.” Crewe surmised who. “In case you were planning any unpleasant surprises for her,” Aaron said, “like copying her hand on one of those documents, or stretching out the probate till—” “—till the seas run dry,” Jason finished, and went on, “We figured we better warn you—being civic-minded and all—this can be a dangerous place for a stranger at night. Wander too near water's edge....”
Footsteps sounded behind them. The captain and two sailors, who had accompanied Crewe to Lottie's, came into view around the corner. Seeing the situation, they took up fighting stances. Crewe retreated gratefully to their circle. “I appreciate your concern,” he said to the others, “but as you see, these gentlemen are at hand to guard against any—accidents.” He turned and led the way back. The Seattle men, dejected over the failed bluff, brought up the rear.
“I was thinking of Father,” Richard said. “Wishing I could have seen this country with him.”
“He'd have liked that,” Lottie agreed, “but he only slept here the one night.”
“That was all?”
“That was all,” Lottie repeated, looking squarely at him, “and I mean all.”
Richard reddened. “We assumed—” He stopped. Lottie already knew what they had assumed. “You obviously meant something to him.”
Lottie came and leaned on the bar. “Well,” she said, speaking half to herself, “he asked a million questions about the town and the people. Said that given the chance to do it over, this is where he'd have liked to settle, where a man could carve out a future for himself—with the right woman. If he'd found her thirty years ago.” She laughed, embarrassed. “Also said he'd be back some day. I suppose we both knew it was just talk—but often of a still morning I've looked out over the Sound, half-expecting to see a ship—and now it's come. But it only brings sadness.”
“—and an inheritance,” Richard reminded her.
Lottie seemed not to hear. “Don't give up your dreams,” she said. “Tend them, make them grow—so years from now you don't find yourself confiding your regrets to a stranger nine hundred miles from home.” Embarrassed again at having said so much, she turned to the room and announced last call.
Richard became aware of Crewe beside him, looking somehow more skeletal than ever. “He wanted to come back,” Richard said. “You stopped him. You stopped him doing a lot of things.”
Crewe shrugged. “Someone had to be sensible.”
Richard felt an urge to strike him. “Lottie's not at all what we thought. I'm glad your plans didn't work.”
“So am I,” Crewe said, “after what I've heard this evening.” He called out to Jason and Aaron. “Gentlemen, permit me to put your fears to rest. Any action taken from here on will be entirely in the public eye.” Exiting, he bade them sleep well, and from his manner it looked as if he would. That left Richard worried.
“You know my name?”
“Everyone does—well, all the brides.”
“I brought you a bouquet,” Richard said, “but the matron took it.” Abigail asked what matron. “Irish eyes. She said I'm to help you chop the kindling.”
Abigail laughed. “She's really very nice. It's all part of our training.”
“Don't you ever feel—” Richard reached for words. “—like breaking free?”
“I did,” Abigail said simply. “That's how I got here.” Richard sensed that a story lay behind that statement and resolved to hear it some time. “We'd best get started,” Abigail said, “before matron catches us.” She stared at the pile, hands clasped behind her back. Richard offered her first go, but she declined. “All right,” he said dubiously, removing his jacket, “but at home the servants do this sort of thing.”
After studying the pile a little while, Richard leaned a block against the stump, took up the axe, and brought it down. It glanced the block, which somersaulted in Abigail's direction. She stopped it with her foot. Richard winced. He tried again. This time the block narrowly missed her head. “Bring it down harder,” Abigail advised. She pantomimed the technique. Richard copied it, but imperfectly. “Oh, let me show you,” she said. She grabbed the axe and demonstrated. Richard, determined to prove good, grabbed it back. In two swift moves he placed the block and neatly halved it.
Abigail applauded. “We'll make a pioneer of you yet.”
“I wish Matthias could—” Then he remembered. “Oh, Lord.” He dropped the axe and set off at a run.
By the dock, the ship was being held and Crewe was in a temper. “Hurry or we'll miss the tide,” he shouted, then, seeing the turned-up sleeves, “What have you done with your coat?”
“I—I'm not coming.” Crewe halted, foot on the gangplank. “I moved my things from the cabin this morning. I'm staying on a few days, longer maybe—”
“Not that girl! Didn't I warn you—?”
“Stop—warning—me!”
The force of the outcry, taking Crewe unprepared, caused him to stagger a little. He could not remember Richard's having raised his voice before. Also, he was aware that sailors and townsfolk were staring at them. “You were always telling Father don’t do this, don’t do that. He died wishing for the chances he never took. Not me.”
Crewe led Richard to the edge of the landing, his anger controlled but hardly concealed. “You think you can do without the money. I hope so. But consider your sisters. Consider their children. I can regain the inheritance and restore all of us to our rightful place, but I need your support. Yes, Richard—I need you.” He was sounding lawyerly again. “Whatever your plans,” he concluded, “they'll go farther with money behind them.”
After years of observing Matthias, Richard understood him but was still unable to outsmart him. “All right,” he said at last, “as long as it doesn't hurt Lottie.”
“Why, she's the one person we have to dispose of,” Crewe said. “And we will, make no doubt.” Dropping his voice, he proceeded to describe his purposed strategy as they returned to the gangplank. A head popped out from behind one of the barrels where they had been standing. Christopher had overheard the whole conversation. His face was white. Seeing his break, he fled for the dormitory.
“We gotta do somethin',” he told his sister. “Them men are gonna kill Lottie!”
As best Lottie could make out, Aaron envisioned a second mill on the south river and Jason wanted to rip out the skid trails on the mountain, to replace them with steel railways. The last arrested Aaron's attention. “Steel rails! Never work.” “Never been tried,” Jason countered, “but one day—”
Lottie begged to interrupt. “And my part in these plans would be—?”
“Well,” said one of the men, “there's the question of capital....”
Lottie iced over. “I have errands to run. Regale each other with your grand designs.” With that, she set off for the general store. Jason called after her, but she affected not to hear.
“See what you've done,” said the one.
“Me!” said the other.
Ben seemed unusually pleased to see Lottie. Before she could state her business, which was to get a closer look at a hat in the window, he remarked on how coincidental her visit was. “Been meanin' to get over and talk to you. I had this notion of addin' on to the store in back here—” When he next looked, the shop was empty.
If Candy had witnessed those conversations, she would have been less dismayed that when she finally reached Lottie (who was tramping ahead with such furious propulsion that Candy had to run to catch up) and announced in all innocence the wonderful idea she had had, she got back a fierce “If it's a way to spend my money for me, save it!”
Catching her breath, Candy said, in a tiny, aggrieved voice, “No, just a new blend of punch for the church social.”
Lottie, instantly remorseful, offered a heartfelt apology. “But everybody seems to have gotten the idea I'm the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” Candy, being more honest than tactful, pointed out that after all she was and, seeing that it bothered her, pointed out that fact, as well.
It took several seconds for Lottie to reply. “I know, I know it should go to the family. But part of me—the girl who worked saloons all her life, pocketing every penny—she tells me I'd be a fool to give it up.” Candy said that Pepperell had wanted her to have it. Lottie was not so sure. “I wonder if it wasn't something else he wanted.” She put on a bright face. “But it's mine for now, or soon will be. Guess I can afford to spring for the punch.” Candy couldn't help joining in her laughter.
Molly meanwhile was digesting Christopher's information. “It's her money they're after,” she declared, adding for emphasis, “The villains.” Christopher knew the look on her face: she was planning something. Perhaps they ought to tell Jason first? “He'd never believe us. The tall man left, you said?” Christopher nodded. “Then you'll have to watch the other one everywhere he goes.”
Christopher had been afraid of something like that. All of Molly's plans were mainly carried out by him. “Can't you watch too?” he asked.
Molly shook her head. “Watching's a boy job.” Christopher nodded in resignation.
“You're terribly broody this afternoon,” the girl said. “Did you and your friend have words?”
Richard wished people would stop calling Matthias that. “We did,” he said somberly, “but we settled it.”
“That's good, then,” Abby said, somewhat at sea.
“It might be,” Richard said, “if—Abby, if I were to stay here in Seattle—”
Abby brightened. “Yes? If?”
“I could start up a business.” Abby showed that that was not exactly what she had been thinking of. “Something that'd be good for the town—I'm not sure what. That'd be worth some trouble, wouldn't it—worth any degree of trouble?”
Now, surprisingly, Abby brightened again. She hadn't a glimmer of what he was getting at but she had stopped listening anyway. “Come,” she said, “I have something to show you.” A few minutes later, they were overlooking a valley beyond the outskirts of town. Richard complained of feeling dizzy. “That's what comes of having a clear head,” Abby said. “What do you think?” Richard looked around. “That,” she said, pointing down, “the perfect site for a dairy farm, just like the ones back home. I knew the minute I saw it. It'd be the only one close to town.”
Richard was at a loss. “I don't know the first thing about dairy farming.”
“My granddad was a dairyman,” Abby volunteered, “and the property's up for sale.”
“It would have to wait until—” Richard stopped. Had she caught that? “Of course,” she said, and for a moment he was alarmed. “We'd want to be sure.” He was relieved. “But when the time came—you must know people in the city—people who could help us get started?”
“I suppose I do.” He realized what that meant: freedom from Crewe's plan. He realized something else too. “Abby? Did you say—‘us’?”
Abby shushed him. “We're being tracked,” she whispered, nodding toward a bush from which the toe of a boy's shoe protruded. Richard stole around to the far side and popped out with a bear roar. Christopher panicked and ran the wrong way, right into him. He freed himself violently and bolted down the hill. The couple watched, puzzled.
“I have to go too,” Abby said, “and make myself pretty for the social. You're coming, aren't you?”
“No one's invited me,” Richard said, grinning.
Abby took his hand and pressed her lips to his.
At last she took matters into her own hands. She spotted Frenchy, one of Jason's men who she knew was partial to dancing, took his arm, and led him toward the floor. To her surprise, he snaked out of her grasp and begged off. She tried Corky, Jason's third foreman. He shook his head tightly. “What's the matter,” she asked, “you boys grown club feet all of a sudden?”
“Dunno,” Corky muttered, “somehow it don't seem fittin'.”
Lottie released her exasperation in a heavy sigh. Then she glimpsed Clancey at the edge of the clearing. She wondered where he had been hiding himself. She approached him confidently. “I know you'll honor me,” she said. But Clancey shrank back, waving vaguely, and slinked off into the dark. Lottie felt as if she'd been slapped. All her old friends who weren't angling for a stake were treating her as if she were on a high horse. If this was what it was like to be rich—
A silver coin appeared before her eyes. Jason Bolt was holding it over her like a stage mesmerist. She had meant to be angry with him for his foolishness of that morning. But you couldn't stay angry with Jason long. And she really wanted to find out about the coin.
“They give 'em out at the big exposition in Philadelphia,” Jason said. He identified the face on it as Lady Luck. “See how she smiles. But flip her over, so—now she's frownin'.” He paused. “That's generally the way of it—every stroke of fortune wears two faces. It's up to you to reckon out which one to believe.”
Lottie was looking over at Richard and Abby. “I already have,” she said.
Richard was holding a cup of punch. A woman in an apron thrust a plate of fried chicken and potato salad into his free hand. “This is splendid,” he told Lottie as she walked up. “I've never had such a time.”
“I have to tell you something,” Lottie began.
“I have something to tell you too,” Richard said, taking Abby's hand.
At that moment the music stopped and Candy came up beside them. “Everybody,” she called, “time to play ‘Stealing the Pines’!” Half a dozen children flocked around. She called for someone to keep time. Richard volunteered. He reached for his watch—
Seconds later, Christopher felt his arm grabbed. He looked up into a face red with anger. “What'd you do with it?” Richard demanded. He knew the boy must have taken it up on the bluff; he hadn't been close to anyone else, except Abby. She and the others were shocked. Candy commanded him to let go. Christopher buried himself in her dress, squealing “Don't let him kill me! Don't let him kill me!”
“Never mind, sweetie, he won't—” Then the words registered. “Kill you? What ever put that idea in your head?”
Molly answered for her brother. “He heard him and that other villain plotting to kill Lottie.”
Some of the listeners gasped. “That's a lie!” Richard said. “These children don't lie,” Lottie said. Candy angrily agreed. Jason, perceiving a mix-up, stepped in before it grew worse. “What exactly did you hear?” he asked Christopher, who, feeling all eyes on him, tried to relate it as accurately as he could. “The tall man said if they was to get the 'her—heritance, Lottie was the person they had to—had to—” The word eluded him.
“Dispose of,” Richard finished hollowly. “But we didn't mean—” The faces of his hearers stopped him short. There was a threat in the air. “Good heavens, we weren't planning to murder her!”
“Suppose you tell us what you were planning,” Jason said.
Even Abigail looked suspicious now. Richard saw he had no choice. “To prove Father wasn't in his right mind when he made the new will.”
“Not right how?”
“Leaving everything to a stranger. Telling wild tales about this place—only they weren't, I know that now—”
“And you were a part of this?” Lottie said soberly.
“No—yes—not any more. I was going to wire Matthias and tell him I wanted out.” There was a general drone of disbelief.
“I'd say you're a little late,” Jason observed, nodding after Abigail's retreating form. Richard started to follow. Candy handed him his watch, which one of the aproned women had just brought her. “You dropped it by the punchbowl,” she said.
Richard looked around. The faces no longer held menace, only contempt, except for the disappointment in Lottie's, which was worse. All watched him as he left. He reached the dormitory as Abigail went in. He called out; she did not look back. I am too late, he thought, and the world I longed for, I've lost.
Candy reported to Jason that the children had confessed to keeping an eye on the stranger for Lottie's protection. Jason pondered a moment. “They may have had the right idea, at that.”
The lantern was resting on a table; shadows wavered in its light. The figure was on the stairs a quarter of the way up, hands closing around an object on the wall. Jason clutched his shoulder. The figure turned—
“Clancey?”
Outside, the captain confessed. “Stealin' from me own mavournin—did ever a man sink lower?” Jason asked what he was stealing. “What else but a picture of herself, so's I'd have something to remember her by?”
Jason shook his head. The man was impossible. “Lottie's not going anywhere.”
“Ah, but now she's took up with her fine new friends, she won't have an old barnacle like me clingin' to her. So yiz may as well lock me up and t'row away the key. It don't matter nohow.”
To Clancey's obvious disappointment, Jason refused to arrest him. “In fact I have news that'll make you a happy man,” he said, not sounding happy. “Likely Lottie won't ever see that money. They're planning to take it from her.”
Clancey straightened. “From Lottie? Who is? Not while they got me to contend with!” Jason grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “So, now,” Clancey said, “how do we stop 'em?”
For once Jason had no answer. From Clancey's expectant look he saw he would have to find one.
The saloon's owner was present but seemed remote from the proceedings. Jason had arranged for her to sail ahead of him and Clancey on the ship Crewe had sent for Richard. The latter had been more than willing, hoping for a chance to make it up with her, but Lottie had kept to her cabin the whole voyage. Her only interest in the trip was to look up old friends. Jason made her promise to come to court and stand up for what was hers. Perhaps he was right; she wasn't sure any more.
Crewe stated that the facts in the case were simple—which meant, the judge knew, that they were less so than he would make them appear. Pepperell had left his estate to someone with whom he had only a nodding acquaintance; and why? Because he was living in a world of his own, his vague recollections of a tavern stop having blossomed into wild fancies that had usurped the place of reality. But the man's son would be better able to recount those.
The son was unwilling to do so until prodded by the judge. “—and he didn't make any of it up,” he added afterwards. “I've been there, seen for myself—”
The judge thought Richard well-meaning but fanciful. “Come, come,” he said, “if half these tales were true, Seattle would be—would be—”
“—the land of heart's desire,” one of the spectators finished. “And so it is.”
“Who said that?”
The strapping man in the front row rose to his feet. “Jason Bolt, your honor.” “Not the Jason Bolt?” The fellow had figured much in Arthur's stories. “Tell me,” the judge asked, as man to man, “did you really win a tree-climbing match head down?”
Jason gave a modest nod. “I'd like to present evidence in Miss Hatfield's behalf if I may.” The judge asked where it was. “They're waiting outside.” Clancey nodded to the guard, who opened the doors to admit a slew of couples in their Sunday finest. They paraded in until the aisle was full.
Lottie was as startled as the judge, who began to protest. “All these folks,” Jason said quickly, “met, fell in love, and got wedded inside of two years—all in Seattle. And this isn't the half of 'em. Here's the list.”
“Sir, is this germane?” the judge asked.
“Been claimed a man was crazy for believing Seattle was something out of the common. I say it is, and here's the proof. A place where if you look quick you can see Cupid himself swingin' from bough to bough. A place where hearts beat so wild, they leap right out into the sunny sky to grab each other.” Jason had a sudden inspiration. “Why, the very name Seattle—”
The judge raised his hand. “Mr. Bolt—please.” He turned to the couples. “Were you coerced into coming here?”
They looked at each other in perplexity. “We wanted to come,” one of the women said finally. Others murmured assent. The judge asked why. “To help Lottie,” she said. The words echoed through the group. “Help Lottie—help Lottie—help Lottie.” Lottie was not prepared for that. She reached up and brushed something from her eye.
The judge turned to Jason. “And you, sir—you've gone to a prodigious amount of trouble over this.”
“It was Clancey fetched 'em, your honor.”
The judge did not know the name. Clancey stood. “Captain Roland Francis Edgar Charles Sean O'Carolan Clancey, at your service, sir.”
“You must think highly of the woman.”
“She ain't just any woman. She—she—” Clancey searched for a proper comparison. “—she has as fine a bosom as graces the prow of the good ship Glory of the Seas. And I don't know higher praise than that.”
“Oh, Clancey,” Lottie said. That speck was still in her eye.
“I must concur with you, Mr. Bolt,” the judge said. “Seattle is plainly a remarkable place.” Jason and Clancey looked triumphant, and so did Richard. “Nonetheless,” the judge continued, and their faces fell, “the imprudence of the decedent—”
“Your honor?” two voices broke in at the same time. Richard and Lottie were on their feet. “She can have the money,” Richard said. “I don't want the money,” Lottie was saying. “Are you both mad?” Crewe chimed in.
The two looked at each other in amazement. “You'd give it up?” Richard asked. “It was never mine,” Lottie admitted, happy with relief. “I was flattered to imagine it was me your father was thinking of at the end. But I see now he was just making up for lost dreams.”
“In that case,” Richard said, “I'll put my share into the town.” Then he was unsure. “—if the town will let me.” The town, to the extent present, cheered. The judge pounded for order. “I'll donate half of it to the city treasury,” Richard continued. “The other half I'll use to start a dairy business— “ He turned to Abigail. “—assuming I can find a partner.”
Abby ran into his arms. “Where do I sign?” “Ask Matthias,” Richard said, “he's the expert.” Crewe did not find the joke funny. “If your father were here—” “He'd congratulate me,” Richard said, “for making his dreams come true.” He smiled at Lottie.
The judge pounded again. “It looks as if this case has resolved itself,” he said. “Will the population of Washington Territory please clear the court?” People flocked to Richard, shook his hand, clapped him hard on the back. Crewe flung his papers into his brief-bag. Richard offered him his hat.
Lottie thanked Jason, who referred her to the scruffy Irishman standing shyly to one side. “He was willing to give you up,” Jason said, “as long as you were happy.” Lottie stepped up to him. “How could that be,” she said tenderly, “without my loyalest customer?” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Madam,” Clancey said, “I believe I owes you a dance.” He lifted his arms. One of his sailors pulled out a mouth organ and struck up “Haste to the Wedding.” The couple took the floor, heedless of their surroundings. Richard and Abby joined them. Others followed suit. The court clerk looked doubtfully at the judge and, seeing that he was nodding his head in time, began to clap along himself.
Candy was standing beside Jason, sliding her foot back and forth, when she had a brainstorm. She took the marriage list from his hand, borrowed the clerk's pen, and scribbled a few words at the bottom. When Jason read them, his wrinkle of puzzlement dissolved in a grin. He looked where Candy was looking: at Richard and Abby, paused in a kiss. He nodded approval of the amendment. “Heart's desire,” he repeated softly.
Speaking of which—, Candy thought. Her eye caught Jason's and led it down to her restless foot, then looked away in mock-indifference. Jason felt chagrined. To leave a lady at his side unpartnered was perhaps not a sin—but then again perhaps it was, and anyhow it was not his style. He made up for the oversight at once, and Candy joyfully followed his lead into the dance.