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Authors: Jennifer L. Holm
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Bay” in a feminine hand, the script cursive and flowing. Mr. Swan looked at the letter for a long moment and then reluctantly took it, his hand shaking slightly.
“Thank you,” Mr. Swan said formally, and secreted the letter into his coat pocket.
“Who do you suppose shall run for constable?” Father Joseph asked.
Mr. Frink, who was normally quiet, chuckled. “Wouldn’t be a speck of disorder if Jane was in charge of things round these parts!”
Mrs. Biddle looked appalled. “You are most certainly joking, sir.”
“Our Jane here’s a fine shot with a rifle,” he said. “Apprehended a thief not too long ago.”
Mrs. Hosmer turned to me, a nervous look on her face. “You’re not serious, are you, Miss Peck? About becoming the constable? That sounds terribly dangerous.”
I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I assure you I have no ambition to be constable. But Mr. Frink is right. I am a good shot.”
“Perhaps M’Carty could be constable?” Mr. Swan suggested. “After Mr. Russell, he knows the territory best and has been here the longest.”
“He’s married to that old chief’s daughter,” William commented, his voice thick with disapproval.
“Cocumb is a lovely lady,” I said.
“She may be a lovely woman, but she is hardly a lady,” William said. “She’s a savage.”
“I’ll thank you not to insult my friend like that,” I said between gritted teeth.
“Perhaps she is the exception that proves the rule, but I shouldn’t like anyone who is our constable to be married to a savage,” he said.
All talk at the table had ceased, and nine pairs of curious eyes regarded William and me.
Mr. Swan said hastily, “Ahem, so tell me, William, what brings you back to the bay? And is there money in it?” He laughed, a little too loudly.
William took a long sip of water, his blond hair glowing in the light of the candles. “I am surveying land,” he said in a cool voice. “Apparently a number of fraudulent claims have been filed.”
His eyes met mine across the table for a long moment, and I suddenly remembered the blond figure walking across my claim the day Sally had arrived.
William gave a cold little smile, and a shiver of unease ran through me.
I excused myself to check on progress in the kitchen. Millie was already loading her tray with bowls of mashed potatoes and platters of fried oysters.
“I tell you one thing,” Millie said, all business now, snatching up a tray of chicken, “I am going to torture young Willard if he doesn’t turn up in time to scrub the dishes.”
“Why don’t you take that out and I’ll check his regular haunts,” I said.
I opened the back door of the kitchen and looked around.
“Willard!” I called.
There was a rush of movement and a loud clatter, the sound of barrels being knocked over. Someone cursed. The voice was too deep to be Willard’s.
I peered into the darkness.
Two figures hovered over barrels containing various supplies that had been delivered by a late-arriving schooner that afternoon. I had neglected to have Mr. Frink move them into the storage room.
“Excuse me,” I called. “May I help you?”
The men stumbled forward. I could smell the whiskey on their breath from where I stood.
One wore a red cap and was so tall and skinny that he resembled a scarecrow. The other fellow had a shiny gold front tooth and a bald head. I didn’t recognize either one of them. They were, no doubt, recent arrivals, and of very poor character as well.
They stared at me with their beady, red-rimmed eyes for a long moment and then stumbled off into the darkness.
“How peculiar,” I said to myself.
When I returned to my table, the topic of conversation had changed.
“So, William,” Mr. Biddle was saying, “I liked the plot of land you showed me yesterday, but what about the other land you wrote me of? There were several locations that sounded promising.”
So my instincts had been correct, after all!
“Thank you,” Mr. Swan said formally, and secreted the letter into his coat pocket.
“Who do you suppose shall run for constable?” Father Joseph asked.
Mr. Frink, who was normally quiet, chuckled. “Wouldn’t be a speck of disorder if Jane was in charge of things round these parts!”
Mrs. Biddle looked appalled. “You are most certainly joking, sir.”
“Our Jane here’s a fine shot with a rifle,” he said. “Apprehended a thief not too long ago.”
Mrs. Hosmer turned to me, a nervous look on her face. “You’re not serious, are you, Miss Peck? About becoming the constable? That sounds terribly dangerous.”
I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I assure you I have no ambition to be constable. But Mr. Frink is right. I am a good shot.”
“Perhaps M’Carty could be constable?” Mr. Swan suggested. “After Mr. Russell, he knows the territory best and has been here the longest.”
“He’s married to that old chief’s daughter,” William commented, his voice thick with disapproval.
“Cocumb is a lovely lady,” I said.
“She may be a lovely woman, but she is hardly a lady,” William said. “She’s a savage.”
“I’ll thank you not to insult my friend like that,” I said between gritted teeth.
“Perhaps she is the exception that proves the rule, but I shouldn’t like anyone who is our constable to be married to a savage,” he said.
All talk at the table had ceased, and nine pairs of curious eyes regarded William and me.
Mr. Swan said hastily, “Ahem, so tell me, William, what brings you back to the bay? And is there money in it?” He laughed, a little too loudly.
William took a long sip of water, his blond hair glowing in the light of the candles. “I am surveying land,” he said in a cool voice. “Apparently a number of fraudulent claims have been filed.”
His eyes met mine across the table for a long moment, and I suddenly remembered the blond figure walking across my claim the day Sally had arrived.
William gave a cold little smile, and a shiver of unease ran through me.
I excused myself to check on progress in the kitchen. Millie was already loading her tray with bowls of mashed potatoes and platters of fried oysters.
“I tell you one thing,” Millie said, all business now, snatching up a tray of chicken, “I am going to torture young Willard if he doesn’t turn up in time to scrub the dishes.”
“Why don’t you take that out and I’ll check his regular haunts,” I said.
I opened the back door of the kitchen and looked around.
“Willard!” I called.
There was a rush of movement and a loud clatter, the sound of barrels being knocked over. Someone cursed. The voice was too deep to be Willard’s.
I peered into the darkness.
Two figures hovered over barrels containing various supplies that had been delivered by a late-arriving schooner that afternoon. I had neglected to have Mr. Frink move them into the storage room.
“Excuse me,” I called. “May I help you?”
The men stumbled forward. I could smell the whiskey on their breath from where I stood.
One wore a red cap and was so tall and skinny that he resembled a scarecrow. The other fellow had a shiny gold front tooth and a bald head. I didn’t recognize either one of them. They were, no doubt, recent arrivals, and of very poor character as well.
They stared at me with their beady, red-rimmed eyes for a long moment and then stumbled off into the darkness.
“How peculiar,” I said to myself.
When I returned to my table, the topic of conversation had changed.
“So, William,” Mr. Biddle was saying, “I liked the plot of land you showed me yesterday, but what about the other land you wrote me of? There were several locations that sounded promising.”
So my instincts had been correct, after all!
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