Chapter 3

It’s hard to believe Samuel is gone. Murdered,” a stately gentleman declared.

“I think it may be the result of his views on people of color,” another added. “They might well be to blame for killing him and Berkshire.”

The man they knew only as Mr. Smith walked amongst the gathered elite and smiled. If they only knew.

“Mr. Smith, it’s so good to have you join us for our meeting.”

Smith tried to remember the man’s name. Johnson? Jamison? No, it was Jenson. “Mr. Jenson, it is my pleasure to be here.” He tapped his walking stick on the floor.

Smith knew the men gathered here felt as he did. There was no acceptance for people of color polluting the population of Oregon. There were laws on the books that went widely ignored, and today they were speaking on how to resolve that. The key, most agreed, was to get judges and officials who supported the laws and would pledge to see them upheld in office.

“Some of us plan to share supper after the meeting, if you’d care to join us,” Jenson added.

“I’m afraid previous obligations make that impossible, but thank you for the kind invitation.”

Generally, at these events, Samuel Lakewood would have been in charge, but Smith had grown weary of the man’s failings and inability to motivate his underlings. He had concluded that the only thing to be done was to kill Lakewood and his top man, Gerome Berkshire. He only wished he could stand up and announce that he’d done it and would do the same to any man here who chose to defy him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. He’d never allowed his leadership position to be known, except to a choice few. With Lakewood and Berkshire gone, that left only one man, and he was about to speak to him.

“Mr., uh, Smith,” the man greeted nervously. “I had no idea you were attending this evening’s meeting.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Smith replied. “Given the current situation, I felt it was necessary. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Carter?”

Elias Carter was no more than five feet, five inches and weighed nearly two hundred and fifty pounds. He didn’t strike an imposing figure, but was rather a rotund, sweating fool. At least in Smith’s eyes.

“I—I supposed that you would come eventually.” He tried to smile. “I just didn’t think it would be here . . . like this.”

“Well, wouldn’t you suppose that the murder of two of our most prominent members would necessitate my presence?”

“Ah . . . yes. Of course.” Carter was perspiring all the more. “But of course, no one knows of your leadership . . . save me.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that. I make myself scarce so as to be less noticeable. A sage such as myself needs to guard his appearance. While it’s perfectly acceptable to disagree with our current situation, one needn’t make one’s self out to be a madman.”

“No. No, of course not,” Carter agreed. He leaned a bit closer. “Is there anything I can do to aid you at this time?”

“Not here. I would, however, like you to come to my hotel after this meeting adjourns.” He handed Carter his card. “I’ve written the hotel and room number on the back. I’ll slip out of the meeting before anyone can corner me for discussion. See that you are there without delay after the meeting concludes.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be there,” Carter said.

Smith tried not to notice that the man’s hand was shaking. It was good that Carter was afraid. He should be. If he counted his life precious, he would do what he was told and not interfere or improvise with the plans. After all, not following orders to the letter hadn’t served Lakewood or Berkshire well at all.

“I’m so excited to see Connie again. She’s been gone for far too long.” Faith Gratton crossed the kitchen of the boardinghouse to the icebox and took out a pitcher of lemonade.

“I’m excited to see her too,” her cousin Nancy Carpenter agreed. Nancy had just finished feeding her baby son, Jack, and was attempting to burp him. A soft whoosh of air passed from the infant’s mouth as he snuggled against her, already asleep.

Faith held up the pitcher. “Want some?”

“Please.” Nancy got to her feet. “I’m going to put Jack in his cradle, and I’ll be back to start peeling those potatoes.”

Faith had just finished pouring two glasses of lemonade when Nancy returned to the kitchen.

“Would you pour a third, please? I’m going to take this to Seth. He’s resting in the office, and I think it might be just the thing for him.”

“It is a rather warm day.” Faith poured lemonade into a third glass, then returned the pitcher to the icebox. No doubt they would need to make some more, but for now she was just going to sit down and enjoy a bit of rest.

Nancy came back from seeing her husband, beaming a smile. “He’s getting stronger every day. I know he’s frustrated at not being able to jump back into his legal work, but it’s so hard for him to work for very long because his head starts to hurt. He wants to be able to play with Jack and go places with me, but I’m just delighted that he’s alive.”

“These kinds of wounds take time to heal. It might be as much as a year or more before Seth is completely healed. He needs to be patient, or it will only slow his healing.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but I know he also worries about the man or men who did this. He worries they might strike again. He’s confident that Lakewood was answering to someone.”

Faith nodded. “Worry won’t change a thing. We’ll be on our guard, and I know the police check the house regularly.”

“I know.” Nancy collected her glass of lemonade and brought it to the table. “Want to help me peel potatoes?”

“Sure. Just bring me a knife. Mother always said I was a faster peeler than she was. It took me several years to realize she only said that because my pride would puff up and I’d insist on peeling all the potatoes.”

Nancy laughed and brought a huge bowl of potatoes to the table, along with two knives. She poured the spuds out onto the bare wood. “She’s a smart one. I’ll have to remember that when teaching Jack.”

“Are you going to teach him to cook?” Faith picked up one of the knives and a potato.

“I am. My mother always maintained that boys needed to know how to cook as well as girls. At least the fundamentals.” Nancy took a long sip of lemonade and then got to work. “Father agrees. He used to have to cook for himself quite often when he was working as a trapper.”

“I think it’s reasonable to have men learn to cook. Andrew isn’t much for it, but the cook on the ship is quite adept.”

“When will Andrew and the Morning Star return to Portland?”

Faith finished the small spud and deposited it before grabbing another. “In another week. I miss him so much. If I hadn’t had those obligations with the college and Connie wasn’t returning, I might have gone along with him.”

“I certainly would have. You’ve only been married a couple of weeks, and Connie’s been gone seven years. You can wait a few more weeks to see her. I, for one, would rather be in my husband’s arms.” Nancy gave Faith a conspiratorial smile.

Faith felt her cheeks flush. “I would too.”

A knock interrupted their exchange, and Faith got to her feet. “I’ll see who it is.” She strolled to the door and opened it wide. “Mr. Singleton, if I’m not mistaken.” She laughed. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

Clint Singleton laughed heartily. “It has been a long time, Miss Faith, but you’re as pretty as ever.”

“I’m an old married lady now. I married steamboat captain Andrew Gratton two weeks ago, so you may call me Mrs. Faith.” She laughed. “Actually, just Faith will suffice.”

“Congratulations.” He dusted off his coat.

“Won’t you come in? We knew you’d be showing up one of these days. I know my cousin will be glad for the escort back to the reservation.”

“Your aunt Mercy was just telling me the other day that it has been seven years. I hadn’t stopped to think of it, but I realized she was right.”

Faith led him through the house to the kitchen. “Nancy, Mr. Singleton has come.”

Nancy looked up. “Forgive me if I don’t rise. Supper must be prepared for the boarders.”

“That’s quite all right. You don’t need to rise for me.”

“How was your trip? Did you just arrive?”

He smiled. “It was lengthy but good. And yes, I just got in a few minutes ago on the Lady Luck.”

“Another paddle-wheeler,” Faith said as if explanation was needed. “Well, I’m certain coming by river was easier than the stage.”

“But not as fast as the train. We have so many options these days.” He chuckled. “Have you heard anything from Miss Constance? I stopped by on my way to my hotel to see if you knew when she planned to arrive.”

“We received a telegram from them when they reached San Francisco. They took the train there and plan to sail up the rest of the way. That was over a week ago. We expect to hear from them soon, however. If you don’t mind, why don’t you have a seat?” Faith motioned for him to take a chair at the kitchen table. “We were just enjoying some cold lemonade. Would you care for a glass?”

“That would hit the spot.” Clint sat down and smiled. “It seems the Lady Luck gave me some luck after all. I consider myself more than blessed to share such pleasant company.”

Faith chuckled as she poured the lemonade. “Well, we’re busy, to be sure, so I don’t know how much of a blessing we can be.” She brought him the drink. “Nancy has a house full of boarders, including me, to keep up with. I do my best to help.”

“Will you stay for supper with us, Mr. Singleton, or do you have other plans this evening?” Nancy asked.

“I do have other plans. My father and brother keep me pretty busy.”

“That’s right, your father is a senator from California and your brother is working with the Bureau of Indian Affairs.”

Clint sampled the lemonade and smiled. “Perfect. Both the drink and your summary. That’s why I got involved as an agent. My family has always had great passion for righting wrongs, and their desire to see the Indian treated fairly has become a family business.”

“Well, we need more people like you,” Faith said, once again taking a seat to help Nancy peel. “I suppose you’re quite happy to hear about the recording of the culture and tribal history that Connie and Mr. Lowell will be doing.”

He frowned. “I can’t say that I am. I suppose I’m cautious at best. I worry that it will stir up people’s memories of the past and what they once had and lost. It concerns me that in telling their stories, they will be provoked.”

“Surely not.” Nancy shook her head. “I would think they would proudly share their history and culture.”

“Of course they will, but then they will remember that they once roamed free and dressed differently—spoke their own languages and lived their own way.”

Faith shook her head and put a peeled potato in Nancy’s bowl. “You think they’ve forgotten that? They know very well what they’ve lost.”

Clint frowned. “I wasn’t trying to suggest they had forgotten, but bringing it all front and center again is likely to get people agitated. There are entire generations on the reservation now who don’t remember the old life. You can’t miss what you’ve never known.”

“I don’t know if I agree with that thought.” Faith finished another potato. “Sometimes the heart longs for the things it’s never known.”

“You sound like a poet, Miss Faith.”

“Faith is actually a certified doctor and surgeon. She finished her classes this spring.” Nancy put her knife down. “I’m going to go check on Seth and the baby.”

She got up and exited the room before either Faith or Clint could acknowledge her. Clint leaned toward Faith. “I heard her husband was nearly killed.”

“Yes. Someone attacked him on his way home one night. We weren’t sure he would even live, but he’s doing much better. He had head and spinal injuries as well as some cracked bones. We take good care of him, however. Much better than the hospital could, so we brought him home early. It’s been a little over a month, and he’s doing well. Seth is a fighter.”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Seth stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane.

“Seth, this is Clint Singleton. He’s an Indian agent down at Grand Ronde. He works with Aunt Mercy and Uncle Adam.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Singleton,” Seth said, giving a slight nod.

Clint got to his feet. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m glad to hear you’re nearly recovered. When I heard what happened to you, I was more than a little angry.” He extended his hand in greeting. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to. I suppose they robbed you blind?”

“No, that was the strange part. It seemed the beating was the only thing they were really interested in.” Seth smiled and looked at Nancy, who stepped through the door behind him. “But they didn’t count on these two. Nancy and Faith wouldn’t even hear of leaving me in the hospital. Once the doctors had me stabilized, they whisked me home to take care of me with the help of all the other ladies who live here, including my sister.”

“You are blessed to have so many who care about you,” Clint said.

“We were just discussing Connie and Tom’s work. Clint is concerned it will stir up warring thoughts amongst the Indians,” Faith said.

“I suppose he makes a good point,” Seth replied, much to Faith’s surprise. “You can never tell how remembering the past will affect a person.”

Clint smiled, appearing content that someone finally understood his point of view. “I don’t think it has to be a bad thing, but you folks don’t live with them like I do. The Indians are always looking for a reason to hate the white man. In fact, they don’t even need a reason. They just hate, and that hate eats them up until they want to make someone else suffer for their pain.”

Faith shrugged and put a peeled potato aside. “Well, we did rob them of their land and homes, force them to dress and act like us, and make them change their entire way of life. I think they have a right to be angry—even to hate us.”

Faith saw a flash of what could only be anger in Clint’s eyes. She’d obviously irritated him. “I’m not trying to be contrary.” He paused a moment, then continued. “You need to understand the importance of the changes we . . . forced. Those people’s only hope is to become like us. No one is going to tolerate them running around half-naked and moving from place to place, trying to live on land they don’t own. They don’t have the same concept of land ownership we do. They have to change, or they’ll never fit in with the white population.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t have to,” Faith replied. “Maybe there’s a way we can both live in harmony and still hold on to our heritage and the things that matter to us.”

He studied her for a moment and shook his head. “You can’t mix oil and water and expect it to blend. It’ll separate every time.”

Faith nodded. “That’s pretty much my point, Clint. You’re trying to force them to be oil when they are water.”

“That’s why we need to find a way to allow for both,” Seth interjected. “Maybe we need to focus on being American rather than worrying about the color of our skin.”

Jack let out a wail of a cry from down the hall. Nancy smiled and moved past the men. “I believe Jack would like us to refocus our energies on something of a more personal nature—food and a dry diaper.”

Seth chuckled. “I just figured he was agreeing with me.”

Nancy rolled her gaze heavenward. “I can hardly wait until he’s old enough to debate you and tell you exactly what he thinks.”