“Allow me to take you home,” she offered. “You should get out of those wet things as quickly as possible.”
Dark brown eyes, veiled with even darker, thick lashes, peered up at Elizabeth, tears springing forth in each. “I . . . I . . . have no place to go,” the young woman said, a sob escaping from her throat.
Elizabeth was not surprised by this confession, realizing that anyone who had chosen to take their own life could not have a loving home with caring parents. It was plain and simple: She was alone.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth soothed, placing a comforting arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. “Then come along with me. I shall share my home with you. We shall both get into warm clothes and Frannie will prepare bowls of soup for us. Soon we shall forget about ever being in that dreadful, cold water.”
The woman’s eyes wavered. “I’m not sure if I should,” she said, in hardly more than a whisper. “I . . . I . . . don’t want to intrude.”
“I insist that you come with me,” Elizabeth said, guiding the girl by an elbow to her horse and buggy.
After the buggy was turned around and headed back toward home, and blankets were wrapped not only around their shoulders but also their laps, Elizabeth studied the young woman.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she blurted out. “Do you want to tell me why you had decided to end your life? Surely you have someone, somewhere, that cares about what happens to you.”
“Yes, I do have someone,” the young woman replied. “But not here. My parents live in San Francisco.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “Then why on earth are you here in Seattle?” she asked, glancing at the road, then again at the woman.
“I was wrong to come,” she whispered, casting her eyes downward in shame. “Had I known . . . had I known . . . what I know now, I never would have come.”
“Known what?” Elizabeth prodded. “What happened to make you leave home, and then want to kill yourself? Did someone take advantage of you? Is that it?”
“In a sense, yes,” the young woman said, nodding.
There was a brief pause. Then Elizabeth reached a hand to the young woman and took her hand. “Well, no one is going to take advantage of you again.” she reassured. “I’ll see to that. You can stay with me as long as you wish. We’ve plenty of room, and I’m new in these parts and quite lonesome.”
“You’d do that for me?” the young woman gasped. “You’d be that kind?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Elizabeth said, not venturing to guess what her father would think about bringing a total stranger into the house. He was never home to lodge a complaint, anyway. “My name is Elizabeth Easton,” she offered, smiling at the young woman. “Care to tell me yours?”
“Maysie,” she said softly. “Just Maysie.”
“No last name?” Elizabeth asked, again raising an eyebrow.
“Not one I feel free to use right yet,” Maysie said, givin
g Elizabeth a cautious glance. “Please just call me Maysie.”
“All right, Maysie,” Elizabeth said. She patted Maysie’s hand. “But one day I hope you’ll tell me everything.” She paused, then added, “Like where you’ve been living since you left San Francisco, and who has put such fear in your heart.”
Maysie ducked her head and swallowed hard, then turned blinking, apologetic eyes to Elizabeth, as though what she wanted to tell her was too shameful to share.
* * *
Strong Heart rode onward to the outer fringes of Seattle. He made his way up the butte to his camp where he could continue to watch and study the activity at Copper Hill Prison below.
After securing his horse where it could graze peacefully beneath a towering oak tree, Strong Heart changed into dry buckskins. He was disappointed that he had not found his grandfather, yet he had not actually thought that he would. The old Indian was too elusive for his own good, it seemed. So tomorrow he would go for Four Winds.
But tonight he would think about the lady whose name he had not asked. It would have allowed her to ask too many questions about him, and he had already drawn too much attention to himself in meeting her and the other woman.
He settled down on a blanket and drew his knees to his chest, hugging them, smiling as he continued thinking about the lady whose hair was the color of a flaming sunset. Yes, she was worth taking risks for. Even though he did not approve of her living on Suquamish soil, the woman had fascinated him from the first moment they had met.
And today, he had been a witness to her courage. He had seen her fiery spirit, which matched the color of her hair.
And her eyes! They were as green as the panther’s that stalked the trails of the forest. Somehow he had to find a way to meet her again—when danger would not overshadow their meeting.
He must learn her name, and soon. It must have been their destiny to meet. Chance had thrown them together now not only once, but three times.