The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection #3

by Margaret Brownley

  A few good speeches, a horse race or two, pole climbing, shooting anvils, and all the fried chicken a man could want made the day plenty exciting.

  “Not that way.” Lucy took the bunting from him and shook it out, the vibrant colors fluttering as she snapped them in the air. “Like this.”

  She held one end of the bunting while he secured the other end. Then he took hers, but before he could attach it, she stopped him. “No, wait. It needs to be little higher.”

  Eli bit back a grin and moved the bunting. “Here?”

  “Too high. Down a bit.” She tipped her head sideways, considering. “There. Perfect.”

  She fluffed out the bunting, making sure the folds fell just so, then stepped back and sighed. “Doesn’t it look pretty?”

  Pretty described the happy glow on her face. “Yes ma’am. It looks real nice.”

  A commotion from the other side of the clearing drew his gaze. Josiah and the lumberjacks hoisted a ninety-foot pole into the air and let it drop with a resounding thud into a hole in the ground. A red bandana fluttered from the top.

  Lucy eyed the pole that rose to a dizzying height. “What’s that for?”

  “Pole-climbing event.”

  “Pole climbing?” Her mouth fell open and she turned her gaze on him. “You climb that pole—all the way to the top?”

  Eli laughed. “Yes ma’am.”

  “It looks dangerous.”

  “It is. But we do it all the time, so we’re good at it.” Eli moved closer, his gaze devouring hers. “Are you worried?”

  “Of course.” She gave him a nervous smile and flicked her gaze away. “Who wouldn’t be?”

  Lucy couldn’t remember even one point from the rousing political speeches. She barely tasted the picnic lunch and accepted congratulations on her kolaches without really registering any of it.

  She was too worried about those two poles towering at the edge of the clearing. Her heart pounded at the very thought of anyone attempting to climb such a thing. What was Eli thinking? All too soon, the speeches were over and the crowd hurried to witness the friendly games between the lumberjacks.

  The men lined up and threw axes at a wooden target that spanned at least four foot across. The axes whirred through the air, end over end, to embed with solid thuds in the target. She watched nervously as Eli stepped up and toed the line, his gaze intent on the target. Her heart thumped in her chest as he hefted the axe over his head with both hands, set his stance, and tossed it. The crowd cheered as the axe stuck true. Samuel stepped up to the line and tossed, also hitting the target. Back and forth, they competed, the scores tied. Lucy couldn’t really tell how Jack could keep score, but somehow he did. And she knew enough about competition to know if one of them hit a bull’s-eye, he’d win.

  Samuel made a throw and hit the target a bit off center. Jack called out the score. “Come on, Eli, you can do this. You need a bull’s-eye to win.”

  Eli stepped up. He threw the axe and it landed in the middle of the target. The crowd erupted in cheers. Lucy couldn’t hold back her grin; she clapped along with everyone else.

  Annabelle leaned over. “Well, I can see where your loyalties are.”

  Lucy’s cheeks flamed, and she laughed to cover her embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, it’s quite obvious.” She nodded toward Eli. “He’s quite handsome. A bit rough around the edges, maybe. Nothing like your Mr. Reichart back in Chicago, from what you’ve said.”

  “He’s not my Mr. Reichart.” Lucy squirmed.

  Josiah and another man stepped up to try their hand with the axe, drawing Annabelle’s gaze back to the games. “But you’d like him to be. Has he written to you?”

  “Yes.” Lucy caught a glimpse of Eli’s broad shoulders as he stood among the men, his brawny arms crossed as he watched the competition. When Josiah’s axe hit the target, a wide grin split his face, and he whistled and clapped for his brother.

  “And. . .” Annabelle jostled her shoulder, letting her words trail off.

  Lucy blinked, turning her full attention on her cousin. “And what?”

  Annabelle laughed. “And what did Mr. Reichart say in his letter?”

  “He told me about the summer walks in the park, the church picnics, and the latest collection of books on display at the Newberry.” Lucy took a deep breath. “And he mentioned that he would like to keep up our correspondence if I was willing.”

  “And are you? Willing, I mean?”

  Lucy’s gaze sought out Eli, who took his place with Josiah for the final round. Deotis and Eli were worlds apart. Deotis spent his days clerking in his uncle’s warehouse, working his way up through the ranks with plans to take over some day. He dressed in a suit, and at the end of the day, took a stroll through the park before joining his family for dinner, promptly at six. When he’d invited her to the Christmas ball, Lucy had felt like Cinderella at the palace, amid all the glitz and glitter.

  Eli threw his axe and hit the bull’s-eye. He lifted a fist high in victory and turned, his dark brown gaze catching hers. A smile wreathed his rugged face, and her heart tipped as dangerously as one of those axes flipping through the air, straight toward its target.

  She’d thought Deotis and the world he lived in was what she wanted, but now she wasn’t so sure. Without taking her gaze off Eli, she whispered, “I don’t know.”

  Chapter 11

  Eli gripped the rope and anchored his calked boot into the sides of the pole, ready for the signal to start. He spotted Lucy standing at the edge of the crowd, her fist pressed to her mouth, looking worried.

  Before he even realized what he’d done, he winked at her. Her eyes widened, and she looked away, looking flustered. Like an overheated steam engine, Eli’s chest nearly exploded from the adrenaline rush her reaction gave him. Maybe that Deotis feller didn’t mean anything to her after all.

  “Ready?” Samuel called out. “On the count of three. One, two, three!”

  Eli pushed off the ground and slapped his left boot into the pole, feeling the spikes grip the trunk. Left foot, right foot, upward, and onward. As he flicked the rope higher on the pole and concentrated on his rhythm all the way to the top, he couldn’t help but think about Lucy. He wanted to make her proud, but would the life of a lumberjack, moving from logging camp to logging camp be enough for her? He’d seen the toll that kind of life had taken on his mother. After his pa had died, he and his brothers had taken care of her. They’d still drug her from camp to camp, and she’d never had a place to call her own, but she never complained. Maybe it was time she settled down.

  By the time he reached the top of the pole and grabbed the red bandana off the top, he’d made up his mind. He’d talk to his brothers about finding a plot of land for their mother. They’d build her a sturdy cabin, and even if they had to go far afield to provide for her, their mother would have a home. They could come back here, back to Sipsey.

  Close to Lucy.

  He headed down, lowering the rope, dropping to the ground as fast as he could. The prize money for today’s event would go a long way toward helping fulfill his dream for his mother and a family of his own some day.

  No more than ten feet off the ground, his gaze caught Lucy’s, and he faltered. Next thing he knew, he’d lost his grip and felt himself falling. Somehow he managed to jerk his spiked boots out of the pole and pinwheel his arms to slow his descent. He tucked his knees and hit the ground in a roll, hoping to lessen the impact. It didn’t help. He hit the ground with a thud, rolled over onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. So much for an impressive finish.

  “Eli?”

  He opened his eyes. Lucy hovered over him, her face as white as her starched shirtwaist. Her trembling hand rested against his flannel shirt, her warm palm covered his heart. He squeezed her hand and winked.

  Everyone crowded around, and Lucy eased out of the way as Eli’s brothers brushed past her to help him to his feet. Her gaze met Annabelle’s and her cousin grinned. Heat swooshed ov
er Lucy—everyone in Sipsey Creek had seen her unladylike rush to Eli’s side.

  Annabelle, apparently taking pity on her, snagged her arm and led her toward the tables. “Are there any of those pastries left? I’ve been hankering for some all afternoon. You’re going to have to share the recipe with me.”

  “It’s. . .” Lucy couldn’t tear her gaze from Eli as he limped away. “It’s Mrs. Everett’s recipe. I’m sure she’d be glad to give it to you.”

  Annabelle bit into a blueberry-topped kolache, closed her eyes, and groaned. “That is so good.” Grinning, she reached for a second pastry. “And since I’m eating for two, I’ll have another one.”

  The threat of rain became a reality as the clouds rolled in and women started gathering pots and pans, baskets and blankets. They corralled their husbands and children to carry everything to the waiting wagons. Good-byes and hugs were passed around, and everyone hurried to beat the rain. Even though the festivities had been cut short, the promise of rain was welcome in the hot, dry season.

  Lucy grabbed her basket of kolaches and headed toward the speaker’s platform. She needed to remove all the bunting before the rain set in. As she untied the first piece, Eli limped toward her. She winced at the look of pain on his face.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Mostly my pride.” He nodded at the bunting fluttering in the wind. “Need some help?”

  “If you don’t mind. I don’t want the bunting to get wet. We can use it next year.”

  A funny look crossed his face, but he didn’t say anything.

  Lucy folded the red, white, and blue cloth. “What did I say?”

  He removed another section of bunting and handed it to her. “I wasn’t sure if you planned to be here next year.”

  “Papa seems determined to stay.” She folded the cloth without looking at him then tucked it into the box. The sky darkened and a few drops of rain splattered against her cheeks. “We’d better hurry.”

  Eli and Lucy jerked the last of the bunting off the railings and bounded up the steps as the storm clouds bore down on them. The downpour cocooned them in their own little world while everyone else sought shelter in the church.

  Eli leaned against one of the rough posts, his gaze heavy lidded as he watched her. “I wasn’t asking about your pa.”

  “I know.”

  He straightened and stepped closer, his dark eyes searching hers. Lucy clutched an armful of bunting, her heart pounding at his nearness. The small platform was just big enough for one speaker to engage the crowd; certainly not big enough for the two of them, especially when she was so aware of Eli’s presence.

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and his fingers slid down the shell of her ear, his palm cupping her jaw. The rain slapping against the roof picked up its tempo, keeping time with her runaway heart.

  Without another word, Eli leaned in and captured her lips with his, his kiss sending shivers of delight racing through her veins, exploding in her heart. She only thought she’d missed the annual fireworks display in Chicago.

  Funny, she hadn’t missed a thing.

  Chapter 12

  The gut-hammer gonged, but it didn’t matter. Eli hadn’t slept enough to amount to anything. He sat on his bed and fingered Lucy’s shawl, the soft, gauzy material sliding through his fingers like silk.

  Soft, dainty, and pretty, like her.

  How could he expect her to choose him over that man in Chicago? What woman would pick an itinerant lumberjack who didn’t even own a home over an educated man set to inherit his uncle’s business?

  He scowled. And did he want her to choose him?

  Well, if the fact that the taste of her lips had broad-sided him with the force of a widow-maker had anything to do with it, he did. He’d tossed and turned all night, worrying what he was going to do about his feelings for Lucy. He loved her. He knew that, without a doubt, and he could barely stand the thought of her heading back to Chicago and marrying another man. But all he had to offer was a lifetime of hardship, picking up and moving all the time, never knowing where they’d be from one year to the next. He’d be sentencing her to the very life his mother had lived; one of constant toil and moving and nothing to show for it in the end. He tossed the shawl on the rumpled quilt beside him and dropped his head into his hands. His heart told him one thing, but his head another.

  He froze at the sound of the soft, gentle rustle of his mother’s slippers as she shuffled into the room. She paused next to him, one hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s a mighty pretty shawl, son.” She sat on the bed beside him and picked it up. “I’m guessing this is Lucy’s. I won’t even begin to speculate how you ended up with it.”

  Eli lifted his head and blew out a long, slow breath. “She lost it the day the tree almost fell on her.”

  “Ah, I see. And yet, you still have it.”

  He shrugged. “The time hasn’t been right to give it back.”

  “And now you’re not sure you want to.”

  He clenched his hands together and stared at the wall. “I’m no good for her, Ma. She deserves better than to be dragged all over the country from lumber camp to lumber camp, from shanty to shanty with no place to call home. That’s no kind of life for a woman.”

  His mother grasped his chin, turned him to face her. Fire burned in her dark eyes. “It isn’t?”

  Eli knew better than to answer, and he also knew his mother was about to give him a piece of her mind.

  “Eli, when you boys were coming along, I spent winters with your grandmother in Alabama, but after the babies stopped coming, I told your father I’d rather be with him year-round, and that was that. I spent my life following your father from camp to camp. It was a good life for all of us, and it was what I wanted, not just your pa. We never had much, but we had each other, and we were happy. If I had it to do over again, I’d do it.”

  “It was fine when you were younger, but now you need a place to live out your life, not worry about where you’re going to lay your head next month, next year.”

  “Oh, I don’t worry about the future. I know you and your brothers will take care of me.”

  “But have you thought about settling down? Would you, if—if we found you a place?”

  “I would if it was somewhere you and your brothers could visit often.” Her eyes twinkled. “Maybe Sipsey is just the right place.”

  He shook his head, his gaze on the shawl in her hands. “I don’t know, Ma. I’d thought it might be, but I just don’t know anymore.”

  The gut-hammer gonged the second time, and Eli heaved himself off the bed.

  His mother frowned up at him. “You missed breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.” He patted her shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. He fingered the shawl. “Would you see that Lucy gets this?”

  Eli trudged from the shanty to the log wagon that would take him into the woods. Was he still limping? Lucy wasn’t sure, but it looked like he might be.

  He’d hurt himself yesterday. She knew it. That’s why he hadn’t come to breakfast this morning. She wanted to run to him and ask how he was feeling, but there was no time. The wagon was already in motion. He lifted his head, his gaze meeting and holding hers as the wagon trundled past. He looked plumb sick.

  Lucy frowned, worry filling her thoughts. She wiped her hands on her apron and called over her shoulder to Annabelle and Maggie, “I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried across the yard to the shanty and knocked on the door. Ma Everett opened it on the first knock, a look of surprise on her face. “Oh, good morning, Lucy. I didn’t expect to see you so early.”

  “Yes ma’am. Uh, no ma’am.” Lucy glanced in the direction the wagon had gone. “Um, it’s Eli. He missed breakfast, and I was worried about him. He did hurt himself yesterday, didn’t he? Don’t you think he needs to go see a doctor?”

  Ma Everett shook her head. “No, child, he’s fine. Probably a tad stiff and sore, but he’ll be all right.”

  Lucy
frowned. “Then why did he skip breakfast?”

  Ma Everett walked onto the porch and sat in one of the rockers, patted the other one. “Sit.”

  Confused at the odd request, Lucy did as she asked, noticing for the first time the material bundled in Ma Everett’s lap. It looked like—Ma Everett held out the shawl.

  Lucy took it and shook it out. “Where did you find my shawl?”

  “I didn’t. Eli did. The day the tree almost fell on you.”

  Remembering the day Eli had rescued her, Lucy wasn’t surprised to see the multitude of snags in the yarn. She should have known better than to wear such a delicate shawl in the woods. And Eli had kept it. But why? She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Ma Everett set her rocker in motion, the gentle movement settling Lucy’s thoughts. “There’s more than one kind of sick. There’s sick in the body, sick in the head, and then there’s heartsick.” She leaned over and tapped the shawl. “Eli is heartsick.”

  Lucy’s heart pounded against her ribcage. What did Ma Everett mean? She wanted to ask, but couldn’t speak past the lump of fear in her throat. She bit her lip and waited.

  “Eli’s got it in his head that he’s not good enough for you.” Mrs. Everett’s eyes twinkled. “And if you care for him, you’ll just have to convince him he’s wrong.”

  Chapter 13

  Snaking logs kept Eli busy, and staying busy kept his mind off Lucy.

  Or at least it should have. But it didn’t. He’d worked in logging long enough he didn’t have to think about it too much, even though he knew the dangers of not having his mind on his work.

  He walked to the side of the log and slapped the reins against the mules’ backs, urging them forward across the ground, slick from yesterday’s rain. Josiah had gone on ahead with a log of his own.