Dreaming on Daisies by Miralee Ferrell Page B

enough for him to find you here. No telling what he’d done if he thought I brought you here to convince him to give us the loan.” She picked up her skirt and fled through the door.
    Steven stood in the middle of the room, his stomach growling over the thought of warm cookies, his hands already smarting from the blisters he knew were to come, and his heart hurting from the knowledge Leah’s words had revealed.

    Columbia River Gorge
    April 18, 1881
    Tom leaned over the rail of the steamer and stared at the awesome sights around him. He’d been only fifteen when he’d made this trip six years ago, and he’d been so frightened that his pa would follow and drag him home that he’d cowered below deck most of the time. Now he was headed home to face his father, and he would never cower again.
    He squared his shoulders and concentrated on the magnificent Columbia River and the gorge it flowed through, cut between the state of Oregon to the south and Washington Territory to the north.
    A little boy at the rail pointed. “Hey, mister, what’s that waterfall?”
    Tom dragged his gaze from the sight and smiled at the youngster. He’d been like that as a child, inquisitive and not afraid to approach a stranger. “Someone told me it’s called Bridal Veil Falls, because that’s what it looks like. Pretty, isn’t it?”
    “Uh-huh.” The boy popped a peppermint stick in his mouth and sucked on it. “We haven’t seen any houses for a long time. When we gonna get to a town?”
    “I think we’ll arrive at The Dalles by sundown. You stopping there or going on?”
    “Pa is working in The Dalles, and we live there. We been visiting my grandparents in Portland for the past two months, but Pa’s mighty lonely and said it’s time to come back. I’m glad.”
    “Good for you.” Tom nodded at a plain woman wearing a modest gown who moved close to the boy. “Ma’am. I hope you don’t mind me visiting with your son.”
    “Not at all, but I was going to tell him not to bother you.” She stroked the boy’s tawny hair and smiled. “He tends to talk too much at times.”
    “I’ve enjoyed the visit. I haven’t had anyone to talk to—” He bit off the last word and turned his gaze back to the river. “Sure is pretty here.”
    She nodded. “Wait till we get a couple of hours farther, when we pass the little town of Hood River. You’ll be able to see Mt. Hood to the south. And there’s another waterfall even bigger than this one another mile or two past here—it’s called Multnomah.”
    “I remember that one.” Tom gazed to the east as a hazy memory surfaced.
    “Oh, so you’ve been this way before.” She cocked her head.
    “Yes, but it’s been a number of years, and I spent a good amount of time inside.”
    “Ah, seasick.” She nodded sagely, then offered her hand. “I’m Mrs. Cynthia Woodsmith, and we live in The Dalles.”
    “So your boy was saying.” He nodded toward the child who’d edged down the rail. “What’s his name?”
    “Jonathan, after his father. You appear to be good with children. He took an immediate fancy to you.”
    He hunched a shoulder. “I like children, always have, I guess. I hope someday to have a houseful, if I ever find a woman who’ll have me.”
    She studied him. “I can’t imagine you’ll have much trouble in that regard, a fine-looking young man who is kind to children. Are you stopping in one of the towns along the way, or continuing on past The Dalles?”
    “Once I leave the steamboat I’ll take the stage to Baker City.”
    “So it’s the lure of gold taking you east?”
    Tom hesitated, then nodded, not wanting to lie but loath to discuss his business with a stranger. Besides, only a few days ago he’d considered trying his hand at finding gold, so it wasn’t exactly a lie.
    “Well, I pray God will bless your endeavors and help you find what you’re looking for.” She moved away, following her son to the prow of the paddle wheeler.
    Tom stood frozen as he