After unloading his trunk and suitcase onto a rough hewn platform in front of a building, apparently named "Lottie's", the stagecoach pulled away, out of the mud puddle, spraying generously. The weary looking man stepped away, avoiding the most of it. He frowned at the splatter on his suit pants and dress shoes before looking at his new – town?
THIS was a town? A saloon, a church, and a barn, plus some strange structure that looked like an Indian hut stretched over a white man's house frame.
This was his Grandfather's town?
No wonder his father thought HIS father had lost his mind.
This was not a town. It wasn't even a crossroads. It was a mudslide with a dock, surrounded by mountains.
Heavily forested mountains. Maybe his grandfather had been not quite as crazy as he'd thought at first impression. There was money on those nearly untouched mountains.
He blew out his breath and skirted the mudhole as best he could, heading for his things sitting in front of the saloon. Which was, no doubt, where his rooms were. The other buildings didn't look habitable. (The church was too small and the barn too open.)
His cases were on one side of the door.
There was a young child on the other side. A child bundled into a coat and hat and even a muffler around its neck. A young, thumb-sucking child. That was pretty young, wasn't it? What he knew of children could fit in a teaspoon with swimming room left over. His own sister he'd just recently met was older than this child, and past thumb-sucking; but how old was she? He wasn't sure.
The child stared at him, both boldly and warily. It wasn't wearing skirts, so it was beyond infancy, and not a girl.
With eyes like that, it should be a girl. Those heavily lashed and brilliant, flowery blue eyes were surely wasted on a boy child. At least they would be, in civilized places.
The blue eyes stared into the stranger's black eyes, and the slight motion of the mouth was the only sign of any emotion. The boy was sucking longer and minutely faster, but the eyes never faltered.
Should he speak to the child? Say hello? What was the proper thing to do?
He wished he knew.
Another boy raced to the young one from the –trading post?. This one was more nearly his sister's age, and he was as blond as she was, too. He was wearing a(n open) coat and gloves, no hat or muffler.
The older boy grabbed the younger one's elbow. "Da wants you over there," he said, and dragged the child away.
That is, he tried to.
The child did not move, for all the other's tugging and dragging.
"Come on, don't DO this!"
The child sucked his thumb and stood in place.
Blondie dropped the elbow and put his hands on his hips. "If I get whupped because of you, I'm whupping you! Do you really want Da mad at us?"
The eyes turned toward the blond, but there was no other reaction.
The older tilted his head toward the saloon door. "Is Jason in there?"
The child bobbed his head, once.
"Did he tell you to wait for him here?"
Another head bob.
"Well, foot!" His eyes swiveled to the stranger standing by the luggage. "Sir, are you going in there?"
"As soon as I can get to the door."
"Oh." The boy stepped away from the door. He was surprised by the man's brusqueness. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to block the way."
"Is there something I can do for you?"
"Yessir, if you don't mind. If you'd just tell our brother we need him out here, please."
"How will I know your brother?"
"Oh, his name's Jason. Just ask anyone, they'll tell you. And thank you."
The man nodded, as abruptly as the child had, picked up his suitcase, and went inside.
098
Inside, there were men at three tables. One table had three men who were drinking silently. Another had four men playing cards. The third table, back in a corner, was crowded, an indeterminate number of men, and they were all talking back and forth, each trying to outdo the other.
A blonde woman behind the bar with large blue eyes of her own greeted him. "How can I help you?"
"My name's Stempel. I have a reservation."
Her eyes widened. "You do?" The room behind him fell silent.
"Yes. I wired from Olympia three days ago."
"Where did you wire to? We don't have the telegraph here."
Damn it,I got cheated, the man Stempel thought, but he said aloud, "They said it was to here. I paid for it. This is the place called Seattle, is it not?"
"Among other things," she answered cheerfully. "It doesn't matter. I have room. How long will you be wanting it for?" She set a drink in front of him.
"I don't know." He lifted the drink, got a whiff of it, and set the glass down. "Have you anything better than this?"
"Maybe, but I don't give that away." She took the glass away, knocked it back herself, and waited.
The crowded corner table sniggered.
"Perhaps you should try paying your customers to drink it. You might get rid of it that way."
"Yes, but I wouldn't make money to pay for it that way, would I?"
The corner table hooted and cheered.
The main talker at that table asked, "Need any help, Lottie?"
"Not yet," the woman replied. "Don't be chasing off my business. At least not until he pays."
That was greeted with general laughter, and the speaker offered a two finger salute toward her.
Rustics, yokels, rubes, yahoos. God, he hated small towns. There was no anonymity in places like this, and no sophistication, either. He wouldn't be here if his father hadn't sent him to check out his latest inheritance. Father had said it was probably a lost cause, but as Aaron had nothing else to do, he may as well check it out. It had already been deeded as legally as possible to Aaron, so he could do as he wished with it.
"Could we –," he asked the proprietress, with a gesture at his suitcase. He was tired, hungry, and wanted a rest, a change of clothes, a meal, and a decent drink, if there really was anything on hand. If his grandfather had spent time here, there probably was – he wouldn't have stayed otherwise, no matter how many trees he could turn to cash at how little cost.
"Of course." They tended to the business at hand. It was done informally but competently. Of course she was competent. She was able to run a business in a mudhole, wasn't she? Even if the business was in debt, it existed, and had a clientele.
"I have a trunk," he informed her. "If I could get some help with that?"
"Of course." She looked out through the room. "Bisby. Clark. Gentleman needs help with his trunk."
"Course he does," one of the raggedy rugged men drinking silently growled. "What's in it for us?"
"Beer, one each, if you get it done before it rains."
The room rocked with laughter.
"I'll get it," the impresario at the crowded table got to his feet and crossed the room, hand extended. "I'm Jason Bolt. Welcome to our fair city."
"Ah, Jason, you don't need a free beer!"
"It's not free if you work for it."
"Some city," grumbled the growler.
"It will be one day. You may even live to see it, Bisby." He headed for the door when his hand was ignored.
He lifted the trunk to his shoulder and carried it in, with the blond from earlier following behind to lend a steadying hand on the stairs.
The two came back down the stairs and the owner was waiting for them, hands on her hips. "Jason Bolt, have your brothers been waiting out there for you all this time?"
"No, just Jeremy. Josh was with Da."
"You've left that poor baby standing out there all this time? He must be half-frozen!"
"I guess I did sort of lose track of time. But he's all bundled up; he's alright."
"Shame! Shame on you!" She opened the door and spoke to the child. "You get in here this instant!"
The boy stood as he'd been doing all along and didn't acknowledge her.
"He's not gonna do it," the blond one said, shaking his head. "Jason told him to stand there and wait and that's what he's gonna do. Until Jason tells him different."
Jason looked at the child and smiled, then gestured for him to come on in.
The boy took his thumb out of his mouth and ran and threw himself at Jason, who laughed and picked him up. The child nestled his head against his brother's neck and looked out at the room with unblinking eyes.
"We'd better go," Jason said to Lottie. "Da doesn't like the boys being in here without him."
"Oh, your Da! Sit down! That child needs a hot drink."
"Now, Lottie –."
"Sit, I said. Josh would like something, too, I'm sure. I'll take care of your Da."
"From your mouth to God's ear," Jason agreed, dropping into a chair. "Yes ma'am."
The newcomer thought this might be a good time to slip up to his room. He should have gone when they brought his luggage in, but everything had happened so fast. Now was a good time, though, while the men were gathered around the brothers.
He made it to the foot of the stairs.
He made the mistake of pausing for a last look around, and was captured by a(n already) familiar pair of disinterested but curious blue gentian eyes, peering at him over the brother's shoulder.
He had never felt more of an outsider in his life, and he'd had a lifetime of being THE outsider of any group.
He took his time climbing the stairs, and once in his room, he didn't quite shut the door. There was something soothing in the buzz of voices from downstairs.