The Last Honest Seamstress Read Online Free

a chair and waited for him to finish.
    When he left, she locked the door behind him and watched him walk out of sight down the uneven street, glad the last customer of the day was finally gone. Olive, her tabby cat, bounded out of the office and pawed at her skirts as Fayth turned the lock. Olive's little silver collar bell jingled happily as Fayth reached down and stroked her. "Happy to be free and out of hiding are you?"
    Olive hadn't liked men since she was tiny, when she'd been kicked by one so hard she was nearly killed. Fayth swept her up and walked to the small adjoining office, crooning to her.
    "No need to worry, kitty. They're all gone today. We won't have to deal with any more men until tomorrow."
    A gentle saltwater breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying with it the smell of tide flats and sawdust from the mills at water's edge, ruffling the stack of sketches resting on her well-organized desk. Downtown Seattle was almost always favored with a cooling western breeze off Elliott Bay in Puget Sound. The familiar sounds of horns and steam whistles from ships floated up from the wharves. Seattle, with its shipping and lumber industries, was a man's town. Everything about the city, from the legitimate businesses to the profusion of prostitution cribs, parlor houses, and bars in the ample Tenderloin district, catered to the predominately male citizenry.  
    Fayth sighed. It wasn't as much fun as she'd thought being a woman in a man's town. Not when nearly every one of them seemed to be chasing her. She’d come to Seattle because she’d heard the town had an independent, free spirit. If anyone had thought to mention that the men themselves weren’t independently minded, she would have run the opposite direction.
    She walked across the wavy, sloping floor and sat down in her desk chair, settling Olive in her lap. Long evening shadows slanted in through the window. This was her first spring in a Northern city and she wasn't used to such lengthy days. They made her feel slightly off balance. Days and nights should be evenly matched. She scanned the dust that settled on the floor, carried in from the dry streets outside. She should sweep up.
    The same sawmills that whined endlessly at wharf's edge were responsible for her nemesis, the uneven floors. Seattle was built on tide flats that had been filled with sawdust and debris from the mills. Unfortunately, the city had already sprung up on the fill when the founding fathers discovered that sawdust decomposed randomly, causing buildings to settle unevenly. Seattle's citizens were forced to put up with the results.
    She should buy this building. She had saved almost enough money for the down payment. Renting was just throwing money away, not building equity. She could almost hear her father's scolding voice as she remembered his litany of business and personal advice. Her gaze moved around the room. The water stains up the walls bothered her. The building had flooded last March. Fortunately, all she lost were several bolts of fine wool. Old tide flats died hard. More worrying was whether any damage had been done to the foundation of the building.  
    Realizing her own inadequate knowledge of construction made her feel two things she detested—helpless and frustrated. How could she tell whether the building was sound, or whether the foundation would wash away during the next rainy season? How expensive would it be to repair the watermarked walls? Could she trust a hired contractor to give her an honest bid and do conscientious work? The city was full of scoundrels and con artists, men eager and willing to make a quick dollar off any easy target. And wasn't she the easiest of marks? Whom could she trust? Her cousin Sterling was too busy, and knew little more about buildings than she did. And she had no desire to be dependent on her cousins.
    Olive squirmed to get down, already tired of cuddling. Reluctantly, Fayth let her go and turned her attention to the