Remember Me When: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  She glanced around her and shuddered. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Strong arms wrapped around her before she realized what was coming. She flew up through the air in their secure clasp, a feeling of safety and shelter embracing her, foreign and a touch alarming to her. “What—”

  “Don’t fret,” the logger said in his calm, resonant voice. “Horace here might be a tall one, but he’s gentle and smooth as any horse I’ve ever known.”

  Mr. Bartlett set her on a dark chestnut horse, who stood quietly waiting. With an abundance of care, he settled her on the saddle, not one built for a lady, but still, at the moment, perfect to her. Her initial reluctance to put the lumberman to any trouble began to fade, since she doubted she could make it to the camp on her own steam.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He took the reins in hand and began to lead her mount up the trail. “Wait!” she called. “Where’s your horse—oh, no! You can’t give up your horse. It wouldn’t be right for me to ride, while you have to walk.”

  “Well,” he said, his voice again striking her as purposefully light, “it’s all sorted out already. You’re on Horace, and I’m walking next to the two of you. I’d hardly let a lady walk while I ride. And, well, begging your pardon, but you looked ready to fall. After all you’ve been through, I’m not surprised. But you’re safe now. You can ride easy, and let the horse do the work.”

  Again that word, that sensation she hadn’t felt since her parents’ deaths. Until Mr. Bartlett appeared, offering protection…safety. It felt good and strangely right.

  To her amazement, the logger continued to walk apace with the horse—Horace. Mr. Bartlett kept a hand near the animal’s rump, and on the rare occasion when the fine animal stumbled on the debris strewn over the trail, that hand flew to steady her.

  A woman could get used to such kind treatment, especially one who’d never known a man so kind and protective. Aside from her late papa.

  With that sense of protection firm in her mind, she let darkness enfold her, the only sounds breaking the forest’s hush those of the horse’s hooves leading her to the shelter of the logging camp.

  After what seemed like only seconds, but couldn’t have been, she opened her eyes and realized they were no longer out in the woods, but at the edge of the clearing at the camp.

  “Let’s go inside,” Mr. Bartlett said, a hand extended to help her dismount.

  She blinked. Pain in her head and dizziness threatened to drown her. Her surroundings swam around her.

  “How could I have lost track…maybe even dozed? And on a horse, at that.”

  “You’ve been through a lot, Mrs. Nolan.” With another measuring look, the camp owner reached and grasped her by the waist. A moment later, she stood unsteadily on the ground.

  “Ooooh!”

  “Careful there,” he said, his steadying hand at her back. “I’d say you may have a bit of a concussion, from the look of the wound on your head. It could make you mighty lightheaded, and I wouldn’t want you to fall. You’ve already been hurt enough.”

  The double meaning of his words brought a wash of shame over Faith, but at the same time, the warmth and compassion in his expression and in the sentiment he expressed couldn’t be discounted. Sincerity radiated from the man.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She had to navigate the wide clearing and make it to the main cabin across the way—

  “Here we go!” Strong arms again swooped her up, but this time, he held her close, as his legs made short work of the walk. With a booted foot, he pushed open the door, which evidently Woody had left ajar.

  Moments later, he set her down carefully on an upholstered piece of furniture in the shadowed room.

  When Faith’s eyes grew accustomed to the dimmer indoor light and she managed to focus, she noted she’d been placed on a large leather sofa. A moment later, she was covered with a heavy woolen point blanket, its distinctive green, yellow, red, and indigo stripes against the white background bright in the light that seeped in through a nearby window. She also caught sight of well-chinked log walls; saw the small glassed windows at various spots in those walls; made out the large, black iron stove toward the back of the room; rejoiced in the vast stone fireplace where a warm fire crackled and spat; became aware of the brawny tables and chairs scattered about; even glimpsed a few braided rugs sprinkled under various pieces of furniture. The place looked like a haven for rugged men should.

  “Lady…” Theo muttered as he stomped in. “She ain’t no lady. Ladies don’t go ’round killing off their husbands, and then running off with their brother-in-law’ses inheritances.”

  Faith pulled herself into a full sitting position. She grasped the tight woven edge of the blanket, almost as though the item might offer her strength. But it couldn’t. She was on her own. And with the Lord.

  She tipped up her chin. “I didn’t kill Roger.” Then, before Theo could argue again, she squared her shoulders and continued. “You know I didn’t run off with anything. I already told you what happened. I fell during a…a disagreement between Roger and me after you had left the cabin. I bumped my head and fainted. When I woke up again, I saw Roger dead on the floor, and the cabin going up in flames. I had to run outside to keep from dying in the fire myself.”

  Theo rolled his eyes. “You weren’t nowhere—”

  “And,” she said, cutting off his argument, “while I was trying to get here—to safety and to ask for help—the mules showed up. They began to follow me. You know they often do that. Since I’d gotten turned around off the trail and was lost by then, I couldn’t lead them back to the barn. I decided to rest until sunrise so we wouldn’t get even more lost than we already were.” When he opened his mouth to respond, she held up a hand. “Please, wait. I’d like to know what you would have had me do. Would you rather I had turned them back then locked them in the barn? Risked them dying if the fire spread? I didn’t steal anything.”

  “Did so steal ’em. Saw you with my own eyes. All what you jist said is nothing more’n a story you cooked up once you got caught with ’em. It’s awful lucky one of Bartlett here’s men heard them mules running in the woods where you had them go. Otherwise, why…I can’t begin to figger out how much these three fine, sturdy animals are worth. How could I have replaced ’em, now the store’s all gone? And I’m needing them to haul things out here from Bountiful, at least to the barn, if I’m going to earn my decent living. But you? Well, we all know you’re jist plain worthless.”

  Although Faith knew she shouldn’t take the sharp, hate-filled words to heart, it still hurt to hear them spoken out loud. Even if the one speaking them was only Theo.

  Before she could compose herself enough to come up with a passable response, Mr. Bartlett stepped up to her brother-in-law. With a large, work-roughened hand, he took Theo by the arm and led him to the door.

  “I think we all need to catch up on lost sleep before we do much more talking,” the lumberman said. “It’s always better to think a thing through before one says something one will later regret.”

  Much like the mules, Theo dug in his heels. “I ain’t said nothing I’m ever gonna regret. And I’m not starting to, neither. I always speak my mind. I’m not about to stop doing that, no matter what story she cooks up.”

  Mr. Bartlett nodded. “That’s fine, Theo. Let’s get some sleep so that you can continue to speak your mind some more once you’re rested.”

  From the chair at the head of one of two long tables in the large room, the older lumberjack Mr. Bartlett called Woody made a sound much like a snort. Faith narrowed her eyes, but the man’s heavy, wiry gray beard concealed much of his expression. He continued to ply his wicked, sharp knife over a chunk of wood, as he whittled away the excess from whatever he was busy making.

  Theo also turned to the old codger, stared at him with his small eyes. But he must have seen as little as Faith herself had because he shrugged and let himself be led right up to the door. “This ain’t over
, you know, Bartlett. The marshal ain’t here yet, and jist on account of your man finding my mules, it don’t mean she’s not a thief. She was about to steal them, and she would’ve, too, if we hadn’t’a caught her. And them.”

  “Then you have your mules back?”

  “Yeah, I got ’em,” he grumbled.

  “Good. In view of all that’s happened tonight, then we must be thankful you suffered no further loss.”

  Faith couldn’t tell if Mr. Bartlett was using his mild words and tone to rebuke Theo for his lack of response to his bereavement or if he merely wanted him out of the building.

  “Like I said,” the lumberman added, “we all need sleep. I can offer you a bed in our bunkhouse. It won’t be fancy, but it’s clean and the boys don’t snore. Much.”

  Beds!

  Oh, dear. What had she done? She’d never even given propriety the least thought. She couldn’t stay here. It was a place for men. She’d have to figure out somewhere else to live, and soon. But where? She had no money for a room at Folsom’s River Run Hotel, and while she did have a passing acquaintance with most in town, she could count few as close friends. Her head throbbed viciously the more she thought about it.

  It seemed her problems were just beginning.

  Chapter 7

  After an extended, uncomfortable silence, Woody scraped his chair back away from the table. It shrieked against the floorboards. He approached Faith with his odd, bowlegged limping walk.

  “Here, boss,” he said, walking up to Theo. “You can see to Missus Nolan’s situation while I go ahead and take Theo on down with me to the bunkhouse. Wouldn’t want him getting hisself lost out there, now would we? ’Sides, it’ll do the both of us a passel of good to snore some ourselves.”

  The two loggers nodded to each other, their communication obvious but unclear to anyone but them. Mr. Bartlett opened the door, let Woody stomp out, and then gave Theo a gentle push outside. He closed the door with a gentle but firm click from the iron latch as it fell into place on its own.

  Did these men let the door lock them out of their own house?

  As Faith allowed herself a curious appraisal of her surroundings, she noticed three doors at the rear of the room. Two were on either side, almost against the back wall. She suspected they might lead to additional rooms. The third was located near the stove with a window to its right that showed the tall trees outside. That door sported a latch much like the one at the front of the cabin.

  “It locks all by itself, too.” Mr. Bartlett’s eyes twinkled with humor. “We don’t want bears getting in here, you know. If one of the men forgets to close the door, a bear can give it a swat and come inside.”

  Faith couldn’t stop the shudder. “That’s dreadful! Roger never told me we were in danger from anything like bears. I knew they were about, but I never thought they’d try to get inside. The only animals I’ve seen near the general store are the squirrels and deer. Oh, and he and Theo did talk about spotting foxes every once in a while.”

  “Indeed.” The corners of the logger’s lips twitched. “Don’t want to mess with foxes, either, Missus Nolan. They’re serious animals.”

  Foxes? From what she’d seen they were small creatures, but of course, he’d know more than she would. To think she’d been living in complete ignorance of all she might have faced out here on the mountain.

  Or…was that a smile trying to break free?

  He wouldn’t make fun of her, now would he? Surely not.

  She stood carefully, pushing herself upright with her hand against the sofa. “Very well, sir. Then I’m sure you’ll understand why I must get back to Bountiful. The Good Lord didn’t fashion ladies to be subjected to such savage creatures.”

  Mr. Bartlett crossed his arms across his broad chest. “Can’t say you have much chance of making it back to Bountiful if you leave now. You got lost in the first place, didn’t you? Would you want to come up against one of those bears or foxes alone out there in the trees? I imagine there’s a mountain lion or two about as well. And it’s a long, long walk to Bountiful.”

  Faith felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach lurched once again, and then sank all the way down to what felt like her toes. The man was right. It didn’t matter if he looked a mite like the mountain himself, tall, rugged, strong. His plaid black and white shirt and denim trousers with the knees worn to almost white gave evidence to hard work and the powerful muscles that permitted that hard work. Perhaps not totally dangerous. Just not wholly tame.

  His wavy golden-streaked hair did make Faith think of the animals from other lands in the books her mother had read to her when she was still a little girl. A lion came to mind every time she saw the man. And the way he’d handled Theo…well, it took someone with little fear and great courage to confront the often angry younger Nolan brother. He had a reputation, gained by his actions and hot-tempered nature.

  Clearly Mr. Bartlett had bested Theo.

  Oh, how Faith wished she could do the same. She appreciated his effort and would have to find the words to thank him—yet again—for the way he’d intervened on her behalf.

  “…are you quite all right, ma’am?” he asked, concern drawing lines across his brow. “Can you hear me?”

  When she nodded, he went on. “I imagine that bump you took to the head could’ve done something grave to you. You do need to do like Woody said a bit ago and get yourself some rest. You don’t look very well, you know. What I mean is…”

  The blush and the way he ruffled his hair gave him a youthful look, endearing in an odd way.

  “I do understand. I must look a fright by now. Don’t worry one bit.”

  She took a step toward the back door, since a glance in that direction revealed that latch didn’t seem to have dropped into place when last it closed. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, and your concern for my welfare. But I really must be on my way—”

  “And here I thought we’d gone through this and agreed you didn’t want to meet bears or foxes today.”

  She clenched her fists at her side. “Of course, I don’t. No sane woman would. But I must get back to civilization, to where there are other women—proper ladies—and where I can…can…”

  “Yes, ma’am. From what I can tell, it’s time for you to get some sleep.” He came to Faith’s side and grasped her elbow again. “I’m sleeping in the bunkhouse tonight, and Woody has his own room to the back here, right by the kitchen. You’ll use my room. It is quite comfortable, even if I do say so myself, with a wool blanket plus the quilt my mother made years ago. You can rest well and in peace there.”

  Before she knew it, they stood before the door on the right-hand wall of the large main room. As she’d thought, it led to another room built onto the structure. Mr. Bartlett opened the door, and when she caught a glimpse of the plain but neat appointments inside, she nearly swooned from the longing for rest.

  The bed lured her inside.

  “Oh, but I’m sure this isn’t fair to you,” she argued against her own wishes and best interest. What was right was always right. “This is your room. I’m sure I’ve imposed enough already. I could never presume—”

  “Don’t you like the room, ma’am?” he asked, that expression of genial humor on his face and in his voice again. “Please answer me that. At no point would I think you’ve presumed. I did invite you to take my room, after all.”

  How could she answer the man? She would never—could never—lie again, not now that Roger’s demands no longer hung over her head, like an anvil about to fall. “Of course, I like the room. It’s lovely, and like you said, has a lovely quilt on the bed”—made of what seemed to be bits and pieces of men’s suits—“But—”

  “Buts don’t come into this, ma’am. I insist. Go ahead. We can talk about anything you want later on, but do yourself some good—and me, too. Woody has taken quite a shine to you, and he won’t be happy if I don’t take proper care of you. Especially since you’re a guest to the camp. Please accept my offer and get
some of that sleep you need so much.”

  Seeing the urgency in his face, Faith realized the search for her had exhausted him, too. He needed sleep, but his manners made it impossible for him not to ensure her comfort while she remained under his care.

  She patted the large hand on her arm. “I think I will do as you say, after all. I’m sure you have something more important to do than argue with me.”

  “Why, yes, ma’am.” The eyes sparkled with leashed mischief again. “I do indeed. I have some sleep to get, too.”

  When she stepped fully into the bedroom, Mr. Bartlett closed the door behind her. His boots strode across the main section of the cabin, and seconds later, she heard the front door open and close again, the latch clattering into place. Only then did Faith allow herself the luxury of examining her new surroundings.

  A simple wood-framed rope bed held a plump mattress, over which Mr. Bartlett had spread the quilt, whose shades of grays, blues, tans, and browns made for an attractive patchwork. The point blanket the logger had mentioned lay folded over the foot of the mattress, and Faith remembered the comfort the one that had covered her on the sofa a short while earlier had offered. She could almost feel the warmth it would give once she curled up under it. Puffy pillows—two of them—sat at the head, their clean, white covers a pleasant contrast to the richer colors of the quilt.

  Two large windows, on opposite walls, let in plenty of daylight, but the muslin curtains pulled to a side of each would offer her welcome shade. Faith went straight to them, let loose the cream-colored fabric from its ties, and as they fell into place, soft, soothing shadows dropped across the bed, to the side of the pine dresser and the spindles of the rocking chair in a corner.

  Even in the dimmer light, the small table at the side of the chair gleamed with care and a welcome lack of dust. Underfoot, a colorful braided rag rug cushioned her steps.

  She struggled with the urgency brought by a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify as she admired Mr. Bartlett’s bedroom. Although she’d tried to keep the cabin as nice as possible, to her dismay the Nolan brothers hadn’t been so inclined. No sooner had she neatened the sleeping loft than Roger would drop something on the floor, sprawl on the smoothed bed, leave dirty bootprints and the dirty boots themselves strewn about, or carry a stack of boxes up from the store for what he called “safekeeping.” Theo had done the same downstairs.