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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

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  Edited by Kristy Stewart and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Rachael Anderson

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  INTRODUCTION TO MERCER’S BELLES

  The first story in this collection, One Dance by Heather B. Moore, is based on the first voyage from the east coast to Seattle in which Mr. Asa Shinn Mercer, entrepreneur and former university president, guided eleven women in 1864. Two years later, he transported a larger group of single women and widows. The second two stories, A Journey to Love by Teri Harman and A Faraway Life by Linda Carroll-Bradd, are set during the second voyage. Mercer’s stated purpose in convincing women to leave behind friends and family and travel to the Washington Territory was two-fold: for them to teach school and help populate the area with single women, with the goal of potential marriages. These voyages were quite controversial, received a lot of interesting press coverage, and included some wild and amazing events. Yet, many women from these voyages went on to play an important role in the society and history of what would become Washington State.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  One Dance by Heather B. Moore

  Next romance by Heather B. Moore

  About Heather B. Moore

  A Journey to Love by Teri Harman

  Next romance by Teri Harman

  About Teri Harman

  A Faraway Life by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Next romance by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  About Linda Carroll-Bradd

  HEATHER B. MOORE

  1864

  “Harriet, you must come at once,” Vivian said.

  Harriet Silverton could barely move, let alone come at once. Since departing San Francisco, she’d been feeling rather ill. The fresh air didn’t help, and lying down only made her feel more queasy. There was nothing Harriet could pinpoint her illness on. She’d been on the S. S. Illinois from New York to San Francisco, since boarding out of New York on March 14.

  Nearly two months ago. And she’d been healthy.

  “You’re going to miss it,” Vivian said.

  Harriet rose from the rough-hewn deck chair, then made her way to where Vivian was leaning a bit too far over the railing of the Torrant, the sailing vessel they were now on to make the final leg of the journey to Seattle. Because of a delay in the Panama Canal, they’d missed their steamer connection at San Francisco. So Mr. Mercer had booked this smaller lumber bark that was on its way to Puget Sound in the Washington Territory.

  “There,” Vivian said, pointing with a proud finger.

  Harriet leaned over the rail, tamping down the increased nausea, and peered into the dark, churning water below.

  “Do you see it?” Vivian asked.

  At first, Harriet only saw the endless water that she’d been seeing for weeks now. And then . . . a dorsal fin crested from one of the waves. She gasped. “A dolphin!”

  “Yes,” Vivian said in a triumphant voice. “Mr. Mercer told us we might see dolphins, but you were skeptical.”

  Harriet wasn’t listening. She was utterly fascinated with the creature moving in and out of the water. The dark tumult of the water must be freezing. It was a true wonder of nature anything could actually live in the ocean. Beneath all that cold water.

  The dolphin seemed to be following their vessel.

  “What is it doing?” Harriet asked.

  “I don’t know,” Vivian said. “I’m going to fetch the others. They’ll be fascinated.”

  It wasn’t long before they were surrounded by other spectators, exclaiming over the single dolphin. Harriet glanced over at Mr. Mercer, who was explaining in detail about the patterns and habits of sea life. He really was an impressive man, full of knowledge on all sorts of topics.

  When Harriet had read an article about Mr. Mercer in the newspaper back home in Philadelphia, she’d been immediately intrigued. The wild West was no longer wild but in desperate need of teachers for its schoolhouses. Another sentence in the article had caught her attention: “The West, especially Seattle, is filled with young, hardworking men who are on the brink of settling down and starting families.”

  Mercer had made no secret of the fact that he was interested in aiding the young women joining the voyage in finding a suitable husband in Seattle. But, he’d also given the caveat that the women were perfectly free to determine their own future. This opportunity was not one of the mail-order bride ventures.

  Harriet was twenty-six, past the typical age for marrying, and all of her friends had done just that. Married with babies, some with more than one. It didn’t bother Harriet, not really. There were plenty of women who married later in life. Not that she knew any, but she’d read many books of older heroines . . . though she couldn’t remember a single one at the moment.

  The crowd that had gathered to watch the dolphin was now exclaiming about something else. Harriet looked toward the shoreline they’d been skimming for several hours. “We’ll stop over in Teekalet,” Mr. Mercer said to the women. “Then tomorrow we’ll arrive in Seattle.”

  A place to settle down at last, and it couldn’t be a moment too soon for Harriet. She would not miss a thing about Philadelphia. Not the dances, where only the men over fifty asked her to dance, not Mrs. Raphael, who asked her every time she came into the bakery if she was engaged yet. Not her twin brother Harry, who spent more time drinking than working nowadays.

  Yes, the deaths of their parents five years ago had been impossibly hard. But Harry had inherited the house and property and their father’s accounting business. She had inherited dependency. And she was tired of being dependent. She wanted to make her own way in the world, live her own life, make her own decisions.

  They were nearly to the harbor now, and the women of the Mercer’s Belles group had all left to finish packing their belongings.

  Harriet was already packed, so she remained on deck, wat
ching the bustle of the approaching harbor. Dock workers milled about, and several of them were unloading carts behind impatient horses. When the vessel docked, Harriet joined the others and walked down the gang plank.

  A couple of men were at the end of the plank, giving a gentlemanly hand to the ladies stepping onto land. A nice gesture, especially since the women’s skirts were long and heavy. Harriet took her turn behind Vivian, who was prattling on about something or other. It was hard to keep up with the woman’s conversation.

  The seagulls soared in the air about them, their screeches an odd, welcoming cadence. A child started to cry ahead of her. One of the passengers. He’d dropped the red ball he always carried around on deck, and now it bounced on the gangplank right before Harriet.

  If it weren’t for her long skirts and rather fitted shirtwaist, she might have been able to bend more gracefully and snatch the ball before it fell into the water. But that wasn’t the case, and as Harriet attempted to rescue the ball, she missed.

  And lost her balance.

  Then fell.

  Into the cold, dark water.

  It wasn’t every day that Caleb Munns saw a woman topple off a gangplank and land face first in the Pacific Ocean. Truth be told, he’d never witnessed such a sight. If he’d had time to analyze it all, the passengers disembarking from the sea vessel, walking the gangplank toward shore, the rather round boy dropping a red ball, the ball bouncing once, twice, then a third time precariously on the edge of the gangplank, the boy’s displeased cry, the woman behind him reaching for the ball, tumbling toward the ocean . . .

  Caleb had never taken off his thick fishing coat so fast in his life. There was no time to worry about his heavy boots or anything else on his person. His hat flew off when he jumped. He would miss that hat.

  But a woman needed saving.

  And fortunately, or unfortunately, Caleb had never been good about stopping his impulses. Which was why he now found himself swimming through fiercely cold water toward a very water-logged woman with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

  She couldn’t swim, that was quite obvious by the widened panic in her eyes and the way that her mouth gaped like a fish. Although Caleb rather liked fish, now wasn’t the time to notice physical features. The woman was making a valiant effort to stay afloat with her frantic splashing, but that wouldn’t last long.

  Even in May, the Pacific was cold enough to turn an innocent situation into a deadly one quickly.

  “Ma’am,” he said as he reached her and grasped one of her arms.

  She was looking right at him but didn’t seem to see him.

  “I’ve got you,” he said. “You can stop thrashing now.”

  But she pushed him away, likely in a panic. And Caleb would be darned if he was going to leave her here to drown. Besides, no one else had deigned to jump in, so it was up to him.

  He hauled her toward him a bit roughly. “Hold onto my shoulders,” he ordered.

  She gasped, then choked on some water. Coughing, she pushed him away again.

  “Come on, woman,” he growled. “You’re going to drown us both.”

  These words seemed to register with her, and she suddenly threw her arms around him, grabbing for his head.

  He nearly went under. “Not like that,” he sputtered, peeling her hands from his head. He turned her so that her back was toward him, then he wrapped his arm about her torso. “Lie back and relax. I’ll pull us in. All you have to do is keep your chin up.”

  But she wasn’t relaxing in the least. She was still kicking and gasping. Her elbow jabbed him in the gut.

  “You infernal woman, pretend like you are dead,” he said. “Don’t move. I will pull you, do you hear?”

  Inch by inch, she gave in, and by the time she did, his lungs were screaming with exhaustion. He couldn’t feel his feet, and his legs were heavier than an ox.

  But they were making progress. He swam on his back, clutching her against him, as he propelled them toward the dock. “This would have been much easier if you’d been unconscious.” Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, but holding his tongue was not one of his strong suits.

  She didn’t reply, not that he expected her to.

  Plenty of men who hadn’t wanted to get wet extended helping hands as he reached the dock. Within moments, Caleb and the woman had both been hauled onto the wood planks, and while Caleb spat out a mouthful of sea water, the woman was surrounded by a gaggle of other females.

  They seemed to know each other—likely had all been on the boat together. It was just as well. She’d be taken care of.

  Caleb didn’t stand quite yet, because he needed to catch his breath. He was soaked through, freezing, and a bit pleased with himself. Although he’d not heard one word of thanks, he’d write that off to the woman’s shock at nearly drowning. What had possessed her to go after a crummy child’s ball while standing on a gangplank was beyond his understanding.

  He scrubbed at his face, then shook the water droplets from his rather long hair. It had been months since he’d seen a barber, and that would be the first order of business once he reached Seattle. He’d spent a few weeks in Teekalet, helping a fishing franchise get off the ground. They’d paid him handsomely, and now he was on his way back to Seattle to his own little fishing outfit.

  His gaze sought out the woman, but she was still being fretted over by her posse of females. Her hair was dark, her limbs slender, her cheeks red with cold, and her eyes . . . Yes. Still blue. Like the sky in Montana. A home he missed, but one he could not return to. Not if he valued his dignity.

  Through the throng of pant legs and skirts, their gazes connected briefly before another woman moved between them.

  Someone clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I must thank you, sir. On behalf of my entire company, you have our deepest gratitude.”

  Caleb turned and looked into the gaze of a distinguished gentleman. The sort who never got his hands dirty on a fishing boat. He wore a fine suit and well-placed hat. When he extended a hand, Caleb took it and stood.

  “Your company?” Caleb asked.

  The man smiled. “I’m Mr. Mercer, and I’m leading the charge of bringing education to the West. Seattle, specifically.”

  Still, Caleb didn’t understand.

  Plainly, this Mr. Mercer had encountered this type of confusion before. “Schoolteachers,” he said, leaning a bit closer. “Each of these women is bound for a teaching position, either at a school or a private residence.”

  Caleb glanced over at the women, who’d now ushered the half-drowned one some distance away where their stacked trunks sat.

  “And . . . they are all single, of course.” Mr. Mercer leaned close and lowered his voice. “They are open to marriage prospects as well.”

  Caleb frowned. “You mean . . . they’re coming to Washington Territory looking for husbands?” From his viewpoint, the women appeared to be nicely dressed, and if they were schoolteachers, they obviously were well educated. What were women like these doing in a place like this?

  Mr. Mercer rocked back on his heels. “What about you, sir? Are you in need of a wife?”

  Caleb snapped an incredulous gaze to Mr. Mercer. Was he propositioning him . . . offering up one of these traveling ladies to the first man he spoke to?

  “Perhaps you’d be interested in Miss Silverton for yourself,” Mr. Mercer said, a gleam in his eye. “You did rescue her. Lady in distress, and all that. Or we have Miss Cheney or Miss Gallagar. I could point them out to you if you’d like to be more discreet. Or I could invite a few over to meet you.”

  Caleb rubbed the back of his neck that was suddenly too hot. He was speechless. Well, not completely, because he had no trouble responding. “I’m afraid you have the wrong man, Mr. Mercer. With all due respect, I don’t think a woman should ever be paraded in front of a man. And, I’ll not marry again. Not ever.”

  Harriet could feel his gaze on her, and when she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, she turned to confront him. But there was no o
ne at the rail on the sloop they now traveled on called Kidder.

  She spun to search for him. Where had he gone?

  Perhaps the dip into the cold Pacific the day before had rattled her brain, and now she was imagining things. Like tall, copper-haired men with deep brown eyes following her around the deck of the boat. She’d seen him board today, but she hadn’t spoken to him. And she should have. At least to thank him for saving her life.

  Instead, she’d let the opportunity pass. The sun had already set, and the vast sky was a mixture of purples and deep blues.

  She should find him before they reached Seattle.

  Her pulse raced at the thought. Why, she didn’t know. Just because he was a bit wild looking. Just because he’d effortlessly rescued her from a horrible fate. Just because he looked like he could defeat a grizzly bear with one blow. He was a man, that was all. She could do this.

  She inhaled. Exhaled. Shored up her resolve and set off to find him. He couldn’t have gone far.

  She turned and ran straight into a post. Where one shouldn’t be.

  Strong hands reached out to steady her, because, yes, she nearly fell over.

  “Easy there.”

  She’d heard his voice before, of course, but the deepness of it rumbled through her. Making her feel . . .

  Looking up into his brown eyes, she saw that there was a bit of green in them too. “So very sorry,” she managed to say.

  “It happens,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly looking where I was going either.” He wasn’t smiling, but there was a bit of lightness to his tone.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “I mean, I’m sorry about . . . yesterday,” she said. “I didn’t mean to fall into the water, and then you jumped in too. And got all wet.”

  He folded his arms.

  She looked away from the gesture, away from the corded muscles in his forearms. Shouldn’t he be wearing a coat or a jacket, or something, out here? The wind was rather brisk. And his windblown hair reached the top of his shoulders. She’d never been much for the wild type, but on this man, it seemed to fit.