Wanted: Tycoon

by Jenna Brandt

  Wanted: Tycoon

  Silverpines Series

  Jenna Brandt

  Praise for Jenna Brandt

  I am always excited when I see a new book by Jenna Brandt.

  Lori Dykes, Amazon Customer

  Jenna Brandt is, in my estimation, the most gifted author of Christian fiction in this generation!

  Paula Rose Michelson, Fellow Author

  Ms. Brandt writes from the heart and you can feel it in every page turned.

  Sandra Sewell White, Longtime Reader

  For more information about Jenna Brandt visit her on any of her websites.

  Signup for Jenna Brandt’s Newsletter

  Visit her on Social Media:

  www.JennaBrandt.com

  www.facebook.com/JennaBrandtAuthor

  Jenna Brandt’s Reader Group

  hwww.twitter.com/JennaDBrandt

  http://www.instagram.com/Jennnathewriter

  For my Friends

  You make living in a small town adventurous.

  I love doing life with all of you.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  A Note from the Author

  Also by Jenna Brandt

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Locale and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or actual locations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email jenna@jennabrandt.com.

  Text copyright © Jenna Brandt 2019.

  The Silverpines Series © George H. McVey 2019

  Original cover design by Josephine Blake with photo copyright by Period Images

  Chapter One

  April 21, 1900

  Outskirts of Silverpines, Oregon

  The constant thudding of the train tracks made Willa Brown restless. Travel by rail was better than it used to be when it was first invented decades ago; but they still hadn’t made it smooth. She wondered what it would be like if, one day, a mode of transportation would be invented that would be so effortless, one would be lulled to sleep by the ease.

  Willa shook her head, trying to dismiss her musings. She was a daydreamer, always wanting life to be filled with rainbows and love matches. It seldom turned out that way, and her romantic heart got trampled more times than she could count. Yet, it didn’t keep her from dreaming.

  It’s why Willa traveled to Rockwood Springs, Texas, to learn from her Aunt Judy how to become a dressmaker. Dreams of opening her own dress shop one day enticed her to make the journey. Finding she was good at it made her stay. It also didn’t hurt it was easier being away from Silverpines with all the difficult memories of losing first her eldest brother, and then later, Mama and the baby.

  An entire six months had flown by since the funeral, and Willa had built a life for herself in Rockwood Springs. She enjoyed going to church, spending time with her best friend, Lydia Caldwell, and working at the general store when she wasn’t learning how to sew.

  Her Uncle Paul, her mother’s brother, owned the mercantile in Rockwood Springs, and Aunt Judy made the dresses they sold in it. Her designs were masterpieces. The craftsmanship so impeccable, people all over Texas traveled to the small town in order to purchase her dresses.

  Willa’s life was wonderful in Rockwood Springs, at least, until she got the letter from her younger brother, Arthur. Everything changed when she read the words a week ago, and she knew she had to come home to Silverpines.

  Gingerly, Willa opened her tapestry traveling bag and pulled out her journal. Sandwiched in between the pages was Arthur’s letter.

  Did she dare read it again? She knew it would only make her worry more, but the train was due to arrive in the next few minutes. She needed to remind herself what she would return to when she stepped off the train.

  Dear Sister Willa,

  I debated about writing this letter for a few weeks now, but I’m afraid if I don’t, we will lose the farm. Papa hasn’t been the same since Mama passed away. He tried to hide it the first few weeks. It’s even why he insisted you go work with Aunt Judy like you planned. I think he knew you could see through him best and he didn’t want you to know how bad he was doing.

  I noticed his peculiar behavior after you left, but hoped it would go away. That hasn’t happened. It’s only gotten worse. He’s been talking to himself, leaving in the middle of the night to go to the cemetery, and not paying attention to the farm. It’s been so bad; the winter crops didn’t survive. Then, a week ago, Papa took ill. He’s been in bed refusing to eat or sleep. I’m scared, Willa, really scared.

  I don’t mean to pile it on, but there’s more bad news. A debt collector has been coming around saying Papa took out a loan from the bank in New Harbor. The man says he owes money, a lot of it. I don’t understand the documents in his office, or even what to do about any of it, so I need you to come home and help us, Willa. Please hurry home before the worst should happen.

  Your Brother, Arthur

  Willa used the little money she saved up to wire a message to Arthur that she would come home as soon as she could make arrangements.

  Uncle Paul had told her if he had the money, he would have given it to her, but they had just used all their savings to expand the mercantile and add the new dress shop onto the side.

  What would happen to the farm if papa refused to run it? Arthur was too young, grandma was too old, and Willa couldn’t do it all by herself. Would they really lose the hundred-acre farm that her papa had worked so hard to purchase parcel-by-parcel over the last two decades? The thought of it turned Willa’s stomach.

  Willa wanted to remain optimistic. She hoped it wasn’t as bad as Arthur was making it out to be. After all, he was just a child and could be exaggerating. Additionally, the farm had escaped with minimal damage from the earthquake and the mudslide, but Mama had been alive back then. She had been the glue that held the family together, and without her, it wasn’t surprising her papa was crumbling. The kind of grief a man feels from losing first his eldest son, then a wife and baby at the same time, could cause any man’s body to break down. The question was, could her papa recover? She would hope that was the case, and in a few weeks, once she got everything sorted, she could return to her life in Rockwood Springs.

  As Willa looked out the window at the Rocky Mountains, she could barely see through the thick groves of trees that dotted the edge of the railroad tracks. The closer the train got to Silverpines though, the denseness of the forest diminished. Many of the trees were uprooted and washed away during the earthquake and subsequent mudslide.

  The quake; it was what killed her brother and sent her parents down the doomed path of having another child. Mama had been firmly passed child-bearing age, but she had been determined to try. When she got pregnant, they all thought it was a miracle. At least, until she got too sick to eat, then too sick to stand, then too sick to do anything but lay listless in
bed. The doctor said there was nothing to be done, except make her comfortable.

  Six months after Willa’s older brother Jacob passed away, they buried her Mama next to him. They never knew if she was carrying a boy or a girl, but Willa believed she would have finally gotten a sister.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Willa should have never left Silverpines. It had been selfish, and now her family was paying for that selfishness. She just hoped it wasn’t too late for her to fix her mistake.

  As the train pulled up into the Silverpines station, Willa tried to push away her troubling thoughts. She took a deep breath and prepared herself to exit the car.

  Willa tucked her dark brown hair into place, gathered her bags, and prepared to disembark. As she stood up, she noticed that the passengers were clustered together, staring out the windows on the west side of the train. Loud cries, gasps, and curses flew from the various mouths, as they all clamored for a better view of what was upsetting them outside.

  What on earth was causing such a reaction? She could hear mumblings with the words “destroyed” and “fire” being mentioned over and over. Did that mean a building in Silverpines caught fire recently?

  As she walked along the aisle, she tried to look out the window of the east side of the train where all the passengers were gathered, but she couldn’t see beyond any of them. Willa supposed whatever they saw, she would see it soon enough.

  Her booted feet clicked on the top metal step of the stairs descending from the train to the platform. A hand reached out, offering to help her down. As she placed her hand in the stranger’s, she said, “Thank you.”

  “How do you do, miss? I’m Denver Hughes,” the man introduced himself, as she reached the bottom of the platform.

  Willa noticed the man was neat in appearance, with brown hair and hazel eyes. He had a strong, square jaw and a firm, yet friendly, disposition.

  After only moments of being outside, Willa was certain a fire was the culprit for the passengers’ reactions. The air was thick with the smell, the lingering smoke nearly choking her chest. Ash floated down in small flurries, coating everything around them in a layer of grey. If Willa didn’t know any different, it almost looked like dirty snow.

  “It’d be better if I knew what was going on,” Willa stated with worry. Realizing she didn’t introduce herself, she added, “I’m Willa Brown, by the way.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Brown.” Mr. Hughes looked around and observed, “Whatever happened must be something horrid to cause the passengers to react so. I was sitting on the opposite side, so I didn’t see what was going on.”

  She nodded. “As was I. But with this smoke and ash,” she said, putting her hand out to catch a few flakes that showed up clearly against the brown of her kid gloves. “I think a fire is to blame.”

  “Perhaps the train worker coming towards us will have an answer,” Mr. Hughes suggested.

  A man with a frightful, tired look about him rushed up to them. “I should warn you both, I’m not sure you will want to stay here, considering what happened in town last evening.”

  “What are you referring to? What exactly happened?” Willa asked with concern, beginning to think the fire had burned more than just one building.

  From the look in the worker’s eyes, she suspected the disaster that laid on the other side of the building would be nothing short of horrific. She had to see it for herself so she moved hurriedly along the edge of the platform, Mr. Hughes by her side, hoping she wouldn’t faint from the view.

  The train worker scurried in front of them, blocking their path. “Trust me, neither of you want to see the results of what happened,” he warned. “You’d do best to get back on the train and head to Astoria.”

  “I can’t do that. My family lives here,” she whispered, pushing past him. She squared her shoulders and marched forward until she reached the corner of the platform where she could see around the building.

  “My word, what awful destruction,” she gasped, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. “I cannot believe what my eyes behold.”

  “Why I never…” she heard Mr. Hughes say from the side. “To think, I came here to help this town develop. I never imagined walking into something like this.”

  The streets of Willa’s precious hometown were filled with chaos. Men and women were rushing to and fro, trying to put out the still smoldering embers from the fiery flames that engulfed the once-standing buildings only hours before. All that was left now were dilapidated heaps of rubble, covering up who-knows-what beneath.

  Women were crying, holding their sobbing children or tiny burnt trinkets from the rubble. Men were picking through the debris in a frantic manner, looking for any signs of life or items to salvage.

  “What caused this?” Mr. Hughes inquired, his face flushed white with shock.

  “A fire started in Chinatown last night and spread. We were able to subdue the majority of the flames towards early morning, but pockets of the fire manage to rekindle. Only early this afternoon was the fire completely extinguished.”

  “How far did the fire reach?” Willa asked, fear for her family’s safety seizing her heart. Though the farm was a small distance from the edge of town, fire could spread quickly and destroy everything in its path.

  “It crossed over part of the cemetery near Maple Street, then continued up through town to Ash Street. We were able to keep it from going past Main Street, but…” he paused as he swallowed a couple of times, then continued, “huge sections of the center of town were destroyed. I’m not sure how the town is going to recover from this.”

  Willa was wondering the same thing. The destruction was catastrophic, the type that most towns never rebounded from. She now wondered if she not only returned to save her family, but to also witness the demise of Silverpines.

  Late April 1900

  Idaho Falls, Idaho

  Harrison Holt placed his hands on the wooden rail of the platform overlooking his newest brickyard. He smiled with satisfaction as he watched his men work.

  They loaded the last of the bricks and placed them in the cargo car resting on the train tracks of his personal train depot. They were ready to be picked up by the train in the morning. The bricks were to be shipped to a neighboring town that was expanding their main street.

  The Idaho Falls brickyard had been open for four months now and was running smoothly. Harrison had spent extra time at the location, knowing with it being the furthest away, he would have the least amount of time to check on it.

  His foreman and bookkeeper were trained and handling their responsibilities well. The men were capable and content in their duties. With the opening of his eighth yard, Harrison felt confident that he was an expert in the process. Now, the only problem he felt was finding the location for his next brickyard.

  “Everything is going according to your plan, Mr. Holt,” Joseph Smith, Harrison’s short, thin bookkeeper, said with a grin. “According to the ledger, you are firmly in the black. I’ve never quite seen anything like it, to have a new business prosper this quickly.”

  “It helps that I figured out that placing the brickyards by railroads and adding my own personal rail connection makes all the difference.”

  “Yes, you are quite ingenious when it comes to inventing new ways to conduct business,” Joseph pointed out, pushing his glasses up his nose and adjusting the closed ledger in his hands. “When I heard the great Harrison Holt, heir to the largest coal mining fortune on the East coast, was coming to start a brickyard in our small town, I was pleasantly surprised. I couldn’t wait to see what you would do. When you got here, and you came to my office and asked me to help you, I couldn’t believe my luck.”

  “It wasn’t luck. You had a solid reputation as a thorough and honest bookkeeper. Hiring you was a calculated decision; one that paid off better than I could have ever expected.”

  The man beamed with pride. “Thank you, Mr. Holt. Your praise does me great honor.”

  “No thanks needed. I only sp
eak the truth,” Harrison said, patting the man on the back. “Come, let’s walk the yard and talk with the men.”

  Joseph nodded. “As you wish, Mr. Holt.”

  Both men headed down the stairs, but before they could get far, a worker came running up to them. “Mr. Holt, Mr. Holt, I’ve got a letter for you. The postman just delivered it. It’s marked urgent.”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking the letter from the other man’s outstretched hand.

  Harrison opened the letter and read the words written inside.

  Mr. Holt,

  My name is Mallet Thorne. I’m a stonemason in Silverpines, Oregon. I’m writing to you to tell you of our town’s urgent situation and ask for your assistance. A week ago, our town caught fire. Massive damage was done to the center of town, destroying twelve buildings and damaging several more.

  We are beginning the planning stages of rebuilding the areas. To keep this from happening again, we have decided to build the new structures out of brick.

  Braylon Watts mentioned he knew you from the university you both attended. He has kept up with you via correspondence and knew you were starting a brickyard in Idaho Falls. Braylon said you might be willing to help our town out. We would like to purchase our bricks from your yard. If you are interested, please respond so we can negotiate a price and work out the details.