The Lumberjack

by Kelli Ann Morgan

  Eli had always had a love of horses and had been fascinated by the talents of the Redbourne wrangler, but it was during the latter part of their time here, that he had connected a little too well with his sister.

  Hannah.

  This wasn’t the first time over the last six years that he’d thought about the girl who’d twisted his insides up in knots whenever he’d looked at her, but he’d tried not to let their last encounter dampen some rather wonderful memories.

  Jonah faced him directly. “Or, if it’s not something Whittaker Industries would want to take on, maybe you could be enticed to branch off and start up a business of your own.”

  “But,” Isaiah protested, “he is being groomed to take over the family business. Here. In Oregon.”

  His father was a difficult man to talk to. He’d often thought about what it would be like to be his own boss, but his father was just ornery enough to outlive all of them. While the southern heat did not sound inviting to Eli, the idea of running his own mill intrigued him.

  “No,” Isaiah said flatly, “if he goes, it will be on behalf of the company.”

  How was it that his father had the ability to still make him feel like he was twelve years old? He was in the summer of his twenty-sixth year and was no longer a child to be ordered about. While he had a lot of respect for his father and all he’d been able to accomplish, he imagined how wonderful it would be to get out from under his thumb—if only for a few months on a drive with Jonah Deardon to Texas, but one look from his father squelched that idea.

  “Thank you for the offer, Jonah. I just don’t think that now is the time to be leaving the camps. The men have really started looking to me as a leader and I would hate to lose any traction with them.”

  Visions of what was happening right now down at the cookhouse disgusted him, but his father had encouraged the goings on, believing it would be one of the reasons to keep them in his camp instead of wandering off into someone else’s. Lumberjacks and the like did not make a whole lot of money in comparison to the dangers they faced, but they were fed well and his father always made sure all of their other social needs were taken care of.

  “I’ve done, and excelled at,” he noted for his father’s benefit, “just about every job there is to do in the camps. I think it’s time for me to take over more of the day to day responsibilities of running the business. Don’t you, Father?”

  Isaiah fidgeted with the quill plume at his desk and could not meet his son in the eyes.

  His father was bold, unafraid of anything it seemed, but as much as he talked about Eli taking over the business, he doubted he’d be handed the reins anytime soon.

  The older Whittaker scratched at his chin.

  “I must admit, I have never been to Texas and have not requested elevations of any part of it. Where did you say this Redbourne lived?”

  “I didn’t, but he is just outside of Round Rock.”

  “Ah. I happen to have a friend who lives in Austin. I will send inquiries right away. In the meantime, I think it is best if Eli stays here. We can send Angus.” He spoke as if his word was the last.

  “Forgive me, sir, if I seem contrary,” Jonah said, “but Tag specifically requested Eli.”

  Isaiah’s face pinched subtly, red color flushing his otherwise calm face.

  “I’m sure Angus would do a fine job,” Jonah rushed his words, “but despite Tag’s request, frankly, I also need someone who knows how to work a drive. This is a longer trek than usual and I could use Eli’s experience.”

  “Jonah,” Eli said, watching the perplexity and indecision churning in his father’s mind, “could you give me a day or two to think about it?”

  Jonah stood, placed his hat on his head, and shook Eli’s hand. “That’s about all I can give you. We’re leaving at week’s end.”

  Three days.

  “You’ll have your answer tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Whittaker,” Jonah said, yanking on the front of his Stetson.

  “Mr. Deardon,” his father said, pushing away from his desk and coming to his feet. He bent forward in a slight bow and waited for Jonah to leave before walking out from around the back of the desk.

  “Don’t tell me you are actually entertaining this ridiculous notion,” his father said, sitting on the front of his desk top.

  “Why not?”

  “Because your place is here.”

  “My place?” Eli stared at the man, willing him to register the idiocy of telling a grown man his place. “My place. I have always done as you have instructed. I am the son of the great and powerful Isaiah Whittaker, owner of the largest lumber company in all of Oregon and Washington combined,” he took a deep breath, “yet I’ve slaved over this lumber, in every job, like my life depended on it.”

  “Listen to me—”

  “No, Father,” Eli said, knowing if he let him speak, he’d never say what needed to be said. “I think it’s time you listen to me.”

  Isaiah shut his mouth and swallowed.

  Eli had always been the good son, the obedient son, the responsible son.

  “I’ve lived for a long time on a lumberjack’s wages and I am good at being a lumberjack, but the truth of the matter is, I don’t want to be one anymore. I want to settle down and have a family.”

  “I have a fam—”

  “It’s not the same. We’re not the same. You have a family that you can be with when you want to be. A wife who cooks your meals for you, who keeps a clean home, and watched over your children as they were growing up—at least the girls.” He whipped around to face his father. “Angus and I were raised by all the scroungy, seedy, whoremongers who were strong enough to wield an ax and strike a saw and were willing to show us the ropes.”

  “You just don’t understand what it takes to provide f—”

  “To provide for a family? Well, neither do you. Could we have had more of the comforts this life has to offer? Yes. Am I complaining that you’re such a scroungy miser that you couldn’t even provide a decent doctor for your own dying daughter? Yes.”

  “Now, that’s not fair!” His father jumped to his feet and headed toward him.

  Eli stood up straight, his full height reaching well over six feet, forcing his father to look up at him.

  “Fair?” He ran a hand through his hair and turned away, walking toward the only picture of their family that graced his father’s office. He reached up to stroke the surface of the photograph, his finger running over his sister’s face. “Fair?” His voice quieted. “Was it fair for you to allow Persephone to lie on her deathbed wondering why her father never came to visit? Wondering why he couldn’t part with a few measly dollars to bring in a real doctor instead of the drunk war medic who worked in the camp?” He lowered the frame onto its front, facedown, and rested a hand on top of it for a few moments before he turned back to his father.

  Isaiah narrowed his eyes at him as if trying to determine whether or not he’d lost all sense.

  He had to finish.

  “Is it fair that Mother spends her days at home, alone, with nary a friend to talk to because she’s afraid it would displease you? Or, what about—”

  “Enough!”

  Eli stopped short, a little shocked that he’d allowed his rant to go that far.

  What have I done? Never in his life would he have thought himself capable of talking to any man the way that he’d just spoken to his own father, but it was the truth.

  “If you think trying to teach you and your brother the importance of hard work means I failed as a father, so be it. But I have raised two strong and capable men who can do anything they put their minds to.”

  Eli opened his mouth, but his father poked him in the shoulder, effectively shoving him down into one of the chairs and pointed at his face.

  “My turn,” he said as he made his way back around his desk and sat down. “I work day and night up here in the hopes of providing a better life for you, your siblings, and your mother. How dare you insinuate that I love my
job, my money or anything else more than I loved your sister. Seph was my daughter, my little girl.” He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a short glass and a corked bottle of whiskey.

  “Then why? Why didn’t you send for a real doctor?”

  His father downed the deep amber liquid he’d poured in his glass and added another three fingers to it before he looked up at Eli. His head shifted from side to side, his gaze altering between regret and confusion.

  “I…I…” he shook his head again and downed his drink. “I didn’t understand how grave the situation was until it was too late.”

  If Eli hadn’t been sitting down, he was sure he would have needed to. He had never heard his father admit to doing anything other than exactly what was right for the family or for the business. He was unaccustomed to seeing the man even remotely vulnerable.

  “Do you think that I actually enjoy sleeping on a chair in the office?” his father continued. “Believe me, I would prefer my warm bed next to my wife, but I doubt she’d even have me anymore. Besides, who would run the mill? Who would keep the books and hire the men?”

  “Angus.” The answer was simple enough.

  His father scoffed. “That boy is almost as strong as you and is fairly levelheaded, but he’s too much like your mother. Soft. Unable to make the hard choices. But you, no, you have the ability to really do something with this company. You’ve taken every challenge ever given you and you have risen above expectation. You are the one who will take over here when I am gone.”

  Eli swallowed. How could he tell his father he wasn’t interested in taking over the business the family had built? He wanted nothing to do with the way things were being run and his father just wouldn’t listen to the changes he wanted to implement.

  “If I have taken a little satisfaction that my hard tactics have gotten you there, then so be it. I’ve done my job.”

  “Exactly what I’ve been trying to say. My relationship with you consists of being praised as a talented worker by his boss. You may be my father in name, but you have never been a father to me. To any of us.” Eli stood up and strode to the door, then turned back to look at the man. “I’m going with Jonah. We’ll discuss the rest when I return.”

  “I’m telling you, son,” Isaiah stood up from behind his desk, “if you leave with Deardon, you won’t have a job to come back to.”

  “Don’t make threats you’ll regret keeping, Dad,” Eli said as he twisted the knob and walked out the door, pausing for a moment as it closed. He took a deep breath.

  “Time to find Jonah.”

  Chapter 2

  Kansas, Early September

  “Well, hello there, silly boy,” Hannah Redbourne said, giggling as the Belgian nuzzled the side of her face and licked her neck. Grateful her brothers had built the dock strong enough to hold the weight of her horse, she reached up and rubbed Whisper’s neck, reveling in the unexpected display of affection

  She’d wanted to get a ride in before heading out to the surrounding farms and ranches to collect the material and squares being donated for some of the charity quilts they’d be making for the Apple Harvest Jubilee next month. With the devastation the locusts had left in their wake, it was still a possibility that the jubilee wouldn’t be happening.

  When she’d reached the river’s bend, she hadn’t been able to help but to climb down from her horse to watch as the sun rose over the hillside which bore a small copse of trees with several of her favorite black walnut varieties mixed with a few maples, black cherry, and cedars. It was different than all the jack pines that dotted much of the Redbourne landscape and a place she and Tag used to go to collect wood for him to carve.

  As she watched the sunlight hit the water, she wished she had her brother, Cole’s, ability to capture the land on canvas with his paintings. It was beautiful! The spot was one of her favorites, especially in the mornings because it was almost like having a second sunrise just for her.

  Whisper nickered softly.

  “I know, boy. We need to get going.” She took a deep breath, admiring the bright colors that accompanied the morning sky, then picked up the reins and stood, brushing some of the debris off her split skirt that the breeze had deposited there.

  Many had told her that a Belgian would be too big for a girl, but she’d always had a special connection with the horse and found the gentle giant to be perfect for her, even though she generally had to wear her split skirt if she wanted to ride him. The young stallion and his sister had been born twins, very rare by ranching standards and even more rare to have seen them both survive. Her brother, Tag, had saved his life when he was first born, but she’d helped feed and care for him even after Tag had moved down to run his own place in Texas.

  She heaved a leg up into the stirrup and pulled herself up into the saddle.

  “Come on, boy,” she said, leaning down and giving his neck a good rub, “let’s get on over to the Connolly’s.”

  All in all, she had nearly a dozen homes to visit. The women of Stone Creek were quite eager to participate. Between making quilts to give away to the poor and getting new recipes together for the many varieties of delectable pies, everyone was looking forward to the upcoming jubilee. Many of the towns across Kansas had been hit hard with the sheer number of locusts that had eaten their crops, but Stone Creek had fared better than most, while still seeing some of the devastation. But, despite the worry, folks seemed to cling to the traditional event with hope. Even Mr. Wendell, the mill owner, had gotten into the spirit this year and had offered to sponsor the event out at his place.

  By the time she got back to Redbourne Ranch, Hannah had four large mail sacks full of colorful pieces to be included in the quilts. Her brother, Ethan, helped her down from the horse.

  “Marty,” he called over to the closest ranch foreman, “will you and one of the boys take these bags into the house for my sister?”

  “I’ll be right there, boss.”

  “Don’t worry about Whisper,” Ethan said. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Hannah reached up onto her toes, her hand on her brother’s shoulder, and kissed his cheek.

  “Thank you.” Hannah glanced over at Marty who stared intently at the saddle he’d been repairing, but from where she stood she couldn’t see what he was doing. Then, he sprung up from his position, spread an oiled rag across the seat, and strode toward them.

  “I’ll help,” the new hand, Timothy, called out with a raised hand as he skip-walked toward them. “It would be my pleasure, ma’am, if you’d allow me.” He smiled at Hannah with a tip of his hat, then grabbed the first bag and slung it over his shoulder onto his back.

  He must not have been expecting the weight of it.

  Hannah giggled as his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “You would have never guessed some old material could weigh so much, would you?”

  “It’s nothing, ma’am,” Timothy said with an awkward wink as he lugged it up to the front door where her mother was waiting.

  She stepped back away from the door and allowed him into the house.

  “I’ll just get a couple of those from you, ma’am.” Marty was one of her favorites at the ranch—almost like another of her brothers. He was a few years older than Raine, her eldest brother, but he’d been with them long enough that he felt like family.

  Up the road, a carriage caught her eye.

  “Maeve Stillwell is coming,” Hannah called out loud enough her mother could hear, then ran to the front gate to greet the woman with whom she’d spent many blissful an afternoon lying in the meadows amidst the wildflowers and staring up at the sky dreaming of the handsome men who would carry them off into their own happily-ever-afters.

  Married more than three years ago, Maeve was still one of Hannah’s nearest and dearest friends. She and Lydia Caulfield would be joining them this afternoon to separate and organize the squares into patterns for the quilting bee, which would be held at the end of the month. It
was hard to believe that yet another year had passed and they were quickly approaching the end of the harvest season—at least for those with orchards that had been able to produce anything after the locusts had passed through. She felt terrible for those in the west who’d experienced near total devastation from the horrible little creatures. And now, winter waited just around the corner.

  Hannah waved as the phaeton pulled into the yard. Handy, one of the ranch hands, already had two buckets of water ready for the horses. He nodded at Maeve as she climbed down.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jefferson,” she said with a smile, pulling off her fashionable white gloves.

  “It’s just Handy, ma’am,” he corrected her.

  “Well, thank you, Handy.”

  As soon as she was on level ground, Hannah threw her arms around her friend. Brant Stillwell had purchased a plot of land at the edge of Stone Creek, but it had been too long since the women had seen each other.

  “We have so much to catch up on,” Maeve said as they headed toward the door.

  “Looks like we have enough here to do at least two bed-sized quilts,” her mother said as they stepped inside the house. All four bags lay open on the living room floor, spilling with an array of color and style, but all of the squares were of the same, or at least similar, size and shape.

  “And there are two quilts already sewn together here that just need the finishing work.”

  “Will we have enough time to get them all completed by the jubilee?” Maeve asked, her eyes wide.

  “Well, last year,” Leah said, “there were twelve of us, including Hannah and I, and we were able to complete three full quilts and one crib-sized quilt.”

  Maeve had never been very good with the needle, but she was quite an industrious cook.

  “And, how long would it take someone like me to complete a crib-sized quilt on my own?”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes at her friend, who effectively dodged her gaze, but a small smile played with the corners of the woman’s mouth, and hope sprang into her heart. Maeve and Brant had not yet been blessed with a child in the three years they had been married and it had been quite an ordeal and emotionally taxing on her.