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When the haloed fire of the setting sun was fleeing before an ashen dusk, Strong Heart rode through familiar terrain. With his horse breathing heavily, he topped a rise.
Drawing rein, he took in the imposing view of the Cascade Range. No matter how often he saw the green-cloaked mountains with their thick covering of firs, hemlocks and cedars, he was in awe. And standing sentinel over all was the pure white peak of Mount Rainier.
Dwarfed by the mountains, the city of Seattle was not nearly so beautiful. Below, he recognized Skid Road, which took its name from the skids of logs that were pushed down from the slopes above to the ships on the waterfront, waiting to transport the lumber to faraway ports. The muddy, rutted road was lined on either side by bars and brothels, making it both noisy and occasionally dangerous.
Looming high above Seattle on another slope of land, yet just below where Strong Heart stood, was a long, ugly and ramshackle wooden building, with the name COPPER HILL PRISON written on a large sign at the front. He squinted his eyes, watching the men hammering outside the prison, the tell tale signs of a hanging platform taking shape.
Heaving a long sigh, Strong Heart shifted his eyes to where the Sound lay. He knew that among its sheltered coves and winding channels, salmon were swimming peacefully through the kelp forests. Soon they would be making their journey upriver. He would be there waiting for them, meeting them at the canyon for the autumn harvest.
Then something else caught his eye: a huge, four-masted ship approaching Seattle. He watched its movement through the choppy waves made by the cool northwest breeze. He always felt awe for these large vessels with their white sails catching the wind. He could not help but wonder whom this ship carried to the land that once belonged solely to the Suquamish.
His jaw tight, he wheeled his horse around and followed the slope of land that took him away from Copper Hill Prison.
Tonight and tomorrow he would renew his search for his grandfather.
Then he would return to study the prison, and how often people came and went from it.
Chapter 2
We have made no vows, there will be none broken. Our love was free as the wind on the hill.
—ERNEST DOWSON
The wind was damp and chilly as it blew across the deck of the four-masted schooner, whipping Elizabeth Easton’s elegantly trimmed black cape about her ankles. Her luxuriantly long, red hair whispered in the breeze around her face. Her impudent green eyes watched the ship pass Seattle, to go to a private pier a mile or two down the Sound.
Elizabeth clutched her gloved hands to the ship’s rail, and although it was growing dusk, she was able to study the city. From this vantage point, she could not deny that it was a lovely setting. Seattle was framed by mountains and water, the dark forest crowning the hilltop above the city. If she inhaled deeply enough, she could smell the mixed, pleasant fragrances of roses, pine, and cedar. If she could forget her resentment for having been forced to come to the Pacific Northwest with her father, she would regard the land as nothing short of paradise.
In the dimming light of evening, her eyes locked on something that gave her a feeling of foreboding. She had been told about the prison, its reputation having traveled as far as California.
“Copper Hill Prison,” she whispered, shivering at the thought of the kinds of criminals that were known to be incarcerated there. She feared that this city of Seattle might be even worse than the one she had left behind, San Francisco.
As the moon rose bright and beautiful in the sky, Elizabeth turned her attention from the city, and watched the land creep by on her left. Soon she would be reaching the place that she would call ‘home.’ She didn’t look forward to it, for she had not wanted to leave her home in San Francisco. But leaving San Francisco had been a part of her father’s plan for more than two years now. He had gone on many scouting expeditions in the Pacific Northwest, searching for just the right spot to build his fishery. After much study, he had found that the area around Seattle abounded in shellfish and other fish, making it possible for him to procure fresh fish year round for his planned business.
He had heard that much profit could be made in salmon, which were in abundance in the autumn. He planned to double his wealth on salmon alone, by exporting packed salted salmon to all corners of the world.
Elizabeth grasped the rail harder as the ship edged close to a pier. The water was deep enough here so the ship could dock without the need of longboats to carry cargo and passengers to shore.
In a flurry of activity, Elizabeth was whisked along with the others to the pier. She watched guardedly as her trunks were being taken from the ship and brought to land.
She sighed heavily, still not believing that her father was not going to take the time to go up to the house with her. Instead, he was going to join the ship’s crew to help unload his own supplies to begin constructing his fishery tonight. Once he began, she knew not to expect his company, except for short visits, until it was completed.
Except for Frannie, her devoted maid, Elizabeth would be spending her every moment alone. Long ago, Elizabeth’s mother, Marilyn, had fled the life Elizabeth’s father had given her, leaving behind much bitterness and hurt. Elizabeth didn’t think that she could forgive her mother, ever, yet deep down inside she had feared that when she and her father left San Francisco, it would cut the ties with her mother forever. If her mother decided to return, to be a part of the family again, she would not know where to find them.
And Elizabeth knew that she should not care. She had been eight when her mother had left her. She was now eighteen and had learned, in the many absences of her father, to fend for herself.
If she allowed herself, Elizabeth could understand why her mother had left to seek a new life elsewhere. Elizabeth had felt the same abandonment many times. Surely her mother had felt the same, when her husband had traveled the high seas.
A slim, muscled arm slipped around Elizabeth’s waist as her father stepped to her side. She stiffened as she was encouraged to lean against him. These rare shows of affection were always brief. She was well aware that her father only paid her these attentions because he knew that it was expected of him, not because he actually wanted to be open with his feelings. He was one who shied away from revealing feelings of any sort. He had become a cold, embittered man since his wife’s departure.
“So, daughter, do you think you can survive the transition without your father?” Earl asked, hugging Elizabeth to him. He looked down into defiant eyes, yet shrugged it off because he did not wish to take the time to question it. Though Elizabeth was petite, she was not frail and could withstand any change without his pamperings.
“I’ll never understand why you had to move to what I feel is the end of the earth,” Elizabeth said, drawing away from him. “Father, that is the only description that comes to mind when I try to describe this wretched place. And you aren’t even going to take the time to go to the house with me. Just how long would that take, Father? But I’m wasting my breath, aren’t I? You are determined to leave me to find my own way in this new place, and in a strange house, no matter what.”
“Elizabeth, if I’m ever to succeed in my new venture I must get right to constructing the fishery,” Earl said, clasping his hands behind him. “Try to understand, Elizabeth. Although I won’t be suppin’ with you each night, I’ll always be near. Soon we’ll get acquainted with our house and
land together.”
