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Authors: Jennifer L. Holm
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that I shall be helping you this evening, Millie.”
The guests were already seated and conversation filled the room. All the tables were jammed elbow to elbow. At one end of the head table sat Mr. and Mrs. Frink, Mr. Swan, the Hosmers, and Father Joseph, and at the other end, where I was to sit, were Mr. and Mrs. Biddle, Sally, and William. William had taken the seat next to Mr. Biddle, and the two men were looking very chummy. It was so strange to see them all together—it was almost as if Philadelphia had been transplanted to Shoalwater Bay!
Sally caught my eye and gave me a knowing look. It was clear who had arranged the seating. She was wearing a beautiful evening gown of icy silver, no doubt another of the very latest styles from
Godey’s Lady’s Book
. I suddenly felt like a scullery maid in my simple silk dress.
Mrs. Biddle sat opposite me, wearing a grand frock made of heavy brocade satin and a rather annoyed expression, as if she still weren’t quite sure how she had found herself there.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Biddle,” I said.
Mrs. Biddle merely fixed a scornful eye on my apron. “Do ladies not dress for supper here?”
William leaned over to Mrs. Biddle and smiled. “I assure you, Mrs. Biddle, that there are many here who are endeavoring to bring civilization to these wild shores.”
Mrs. Biddle gave an approving little nod and said, “I should hope so. Mr. and Mrs. Frink assured me that this was a respectable establishment. I should hate to have to take our business elsewhere!”
Millie, who was serving the soup, met my eyes and we shared a little smirk. Where exactly did she plan to take her business? Mr. Russell’s cabin?
“Oyster soup again?” Mrs. Biddle asked in a disagreeable voice. “I had oysters for supper last night, as well as for lunch today!”
“Oysters are our specialty, Mrs. Biddle,” I explained. “You might even say that they are the blood of this town.”
“Speaking of this town, I have an announcement to make,” William said, brandishing an official-looking letter. “I bring word from the territorial government that there are to be local elections.”
“Elections? What a marvelous idea!” Mrs. Frink said. She looked fetching in her soft brown dress, with her lovely hair pulled back in a simple knot. “For what positions?”
“For constable and justice of the peace, as well as for a representative to the legislature,” William said.
“Why we need such legalities is quite beyond me. We are doing very well managing our own affairs,” Mr. Swan said a little huffily.
Mrs. Frink rolled her eyes at this.
“I think it’s a fine idea to have elections,” I said. “Actually, you’d make a wonderful justice of the peace, Mr. Swan.”
“Me?” Mr. Swan said, brightening. “Hadn’t thought of it myself, but why not?”
“You would be the perfect choice, Mr. Swan,” Mrs. Frink said graciously. “I don’t know how Mr. Frink and I would have been able to build the hotel without your guidance in local matters.” She turned to the table and confided, “He was invaluable.”
“And Mr. Swan helped us with our claim,” Mrs. Hosmer said.
“Monsieur Swan helped secure a cask of fine wine for communion,” Father Joseph added.
Mr. Swan reddened under the praise. “I was happy to be of assistance.”
“Have you any experience in governing?” Mr. Biddle asked.
“Not exactly,” Mr. Swan stuttered. “But I have served as judge in this part of the territory in an … ahem … unofficial capacity.”
Mr. Biddle looked unimpressed. “Speaking of letters, did you say your name was Swan?”
Mr. Swan drew himself up proudly. “James G. Swan, at your service, sir.”
“Humph,” Mr. Biddle said, and fished in the pocket of his dinner jacket, extracting a thin letter. “The captain of a passing ship from Boston gave this to me to give to you.” He held out the letter.
The letter was addressed to “James G. Swan, at Shoalwater
The guests were already seated and conversation filled the room. All the tables were jammed elbow to elbow. At one end of the head table sat Mr. and Mrs. Frink, Mr. Swan, the Hosmers, and Father Joseph, and at the other end, where I was to sit, were Mr. and Mrs. Biddle, Sally, and William. William had taken the seat next to Mr. Biddle, and the two men were looking very chummy. It was so strange to see them all together—it was almost as if Philadelphia had been transplanted to Shoalwater Bay!
Sally caught my eye and gave me a knowing look. It was clear who had arranged the seating. She was wearing a beautiful evening gown of icy silver, no doubt another of the very latest styles from
Godey’s Lady’s Book
. I suddenly felt like a scullery maid in my simple silk dress.
Mrs. Biddle sat opposite me, wearing a grand frock made of heavy brocade satin and a rather annoyed expression, as if she still weren’t quite sure how she had found herself there.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Biddle,” I said.
Mrs. Biddle merely fixed a scornful eye on my apron. “Do ladies not dress for supper here?”
William leaned over to Mrs. Biddle and smiled. “I assure you, Mrs. Biddle, that there are many here who are endeavoring to bring civilization to these wild shores.”
Mrs. Biddle gave an approving little nod and said, “I should hope so. Mr. and Mrs. Frink assured me that this was a respectable establishment. I should hate to have to take our business elsewhere!”
Millie, who was serving the soup, met my eyes and we shared a little smirk. Where exactly did she plan to take her business? Mr. Russell’s cabin?
“Oyster soup again?” Mrs. Biddle asked in a disagreeable voice. “I had oysters for supper last night, as well as for lunch today!”
“Oysters are our specialty, Mrs. Biddle,” I explained. “You might even say that they are the blood of this town.”
“Speaking of this town, I have an announcement to make,” William said, brandishing an official-looking letter. “I bring word from the territorial government that there are to be local elections.”
“Elections? What a marvelous idea!” Mrs. Frink said. She looked fetching in her soft brown dress, with her lovely hair pulled back in a simple knot. “For what positions?”
“For constable and justice of the peace, as well as for a representative to the legislature,” William said.
“Why we need such legalities is quite beyond me. We are doing very well managing our own affairs,” Mr. Swan said a little huffily.
Mrs. Frink rolled her eyes at this.
“I think it’s a fine idea to have elections,” I said. “Actually, you’d make a wonderful justice of the peace, Mr. Swan.”
“Me?” Mr. Swan said, brightening. “Hadn’t thought of it myself, but why not?”
“You would be the perfect choice, Mr. Swan,” Mrs. Frink said graciously. “I don’t know how Mr. Frink and I would have been able to build the hotel without your guidance in local matters.” She turned to the table and confided, “He was invaluable.”
“And Mr. Swan helped us with our claim,” Mrs. Hosmer said.
“Monsieur Swan helped secure a cask of fine wine for communion,” Father Joseph added.
Mr. Swan reddened under the praise. “I was happy to be of assistance.”
“Have you any experience in governing?” Mr. Biddle asked.
“Not exactly,” Mr. Swan stuttered. “But I have served as judge in this part of the territory in an … ahem … unofficial capacity.”
Mr. Biddle looked unimpressed. “Speaking of letters, did you say your name was Swan?”
Mr. Swan drew himself up proudly. “James G. Swan, at your service, sir.”
“Humph,” Mr. Biddle said, and fished in the pocket of his dinner jacket, extracting a thin letter. “The captain of a passing ship from Boston gave this to me to give to you.” He held out the letter.
The letter was addressed to “James G. Swan, at Shoalwater
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