A Bride in the Bargain

by Deeanne Gist

  Anna curtsied. The unfamiliar words and guttural sounds rolling from Joe’s tongue fascinated her. “What did you say?”

  “That you were my woman.”

  She gave him a sharp glance.

  He escorted her to the table and pulled out her chair. “Please, have a seat.”

  Looking at the other women in the hut, Kitlu brought her fists to her sides and then pushed them out. Activity amongst them increased threefold.

  One girl dropped red-hot stones from the fire into a watertight basket holding soup of some kind. Another peeled back a mat, uncovering a steaming pit.

  “Anna? Are you listening?”

  She jerked her attention back to Joe. “I’m sorry. I was watching the women. What are they making? It smells wonderful.”

  He tucked his napkin into his collar. “Venison.”

  Her gaze wandered back to the fire pit, taking stock of all he’d done to prepare for the evening. It had taken no small amount of time, effort, and planning.

  “The boat ride was wonderful, Joe. The lanterns were beautiful. And all this.” She waved her hand to encompass the elaborately set table and the food being prepared. “I’m completely charmed.”

  Before he could respond, Kitlu served them each a bowl of soup in small handwoven baskets.

  “Mersi,” Joe said, then waited politely for Anna to take the first bite.

  “What is it?” Dipping her spoon into the concoction, she tried it.

  “Squirrel.”

  The liquid trickled down her throat, but the meat stayed in her mouth. Squirrel? Anna looked at the soup. She was eating a rodent?

  Trying not to picture the varmint with its beady eyes and bushy tail, she chewed and swallowed.

  In true lumberjack form, Joe had already eaten almost half of his. “Do you like it?”

  He was trying so hard, she didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. “I’ve never had squirrel before.”

  “Never?” His expression registered shock.

  “No.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve only had one bite so far.”

  “You better eat up, then. The clams are almost done.”

  Sure enough, one of the women was scooping clams from a pit.

  “I thought we were having venison.”

  “That’s the main course.”

  Nodding, she took another bite, doing what her mother had taught her whenever she was eating something unpleasant.

  Just put it in your mouth and say, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.” That way you’ll trick yourself into thinking it’s good.

  “How’s Sprout?” he asked.

  Mmm. Mmm. “You mean, Roy? He’s coming along quite well. Doc said his young body is still making bone, so his leg will not only heal, but will in all likelihood be stronger than his other one.”

  “No limp?”

  “No, thank goodness.” Mmm. Mmm.

  Joe scraped the edges of his bowl. “I need to talk with Doc and find out when I can bring the boy up to camp like I promised.”

  “What on earth would he be able to do?” Mmm. Mmm.

  “I have a little wagon in the barn. When the fellows and I chop an undercut with our axes, Spr—Roy can fill his wagon with the chips that come flying out and take them to Ollie for the stove. Just the walk to and from the house will keep Roy busy for most of the day.”

  “Feels strange calling him Roy, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  “I still can’t get over him picking my name. Bet that knocked Rountree’s raker out of line.” Chuckling, he nodded at her soup. “You going to finish that?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll fill up on it and not be able to enjoy the rest of the meal.”

  He extended his hand and she tried not to look too relieved as she passed her basket-bowl to him. They caught up with each other’s news during the subsequent courses.

  Finally, the venison was served. It had been rolled in leaves and baked in a pit covered with hot stones.

  “Good heavens,” she said, taking her first bite. “This tastes nothing like beef.”

  “Do you like it?”

  She closed her eyes in concentration. “Yes. It’s different, but very good.”

  He asked her to finish telling him about her week. She regaled him with stories from the various surgeries Doc had performed, ending with Henry Yesler’s. He’d almost sawed a finger off at his mill.

  “I’d heard that. Is he all right?”

  “Yes, but I must say he could stand to read a few books from your library.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He has a rather limited vocabulary and uses the same words over and over, even when he’s swearing.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m telling you, the man’s language is a fire hazard.”

  Joe threw back his head and laughed. The action involved his entire body—head, neck, shoulders, chest. Land sakes, but he was handsome.

  Kitlu took their empty plates and replaced Anna’s with a small box tied in white ribbon. The amusement slowly left his face. He looked from the box to her.

  Her stomach tightened. “What’s this?”

  “Dessert.”

  The evening had been wonderful. She didn’t want it to end. She definitely didn’t want it to end on a poor note. But what could she say? That she was full and wanted to skip dessert?

  “Go ahead,” he said, his voice low. “Open it.”

  Taking the ends of the bow, she unraveled it and opened the box. “A wonder turner!”

  She hadn’t seen a child’s thaumatrope in years. Leon used to have one with a picture of a drum on one side of the cardboard and a boy holding drumsticks on the other. When Leon twisted the strings attached to each end of the cardboard, the pictures spun, merging the images into a drummer playing his drum.

  The cardboard in her box was about the size of a silver dollar and had a silhouette of a woman looking up. The opposite side held an image of a lumberjack looking down.

  Grasping the strings on each side of the turner, she rapidly twisted them. The figures merged into one of a couple passionately embracing.

  “Will you marry me?” he whispered.

  She continued to spin the thaumatrope. Faster, faster, until it blurred. Not because of the speed in which the cardboard rotated, but because of the tears filling her eyes.

  A man did not go to the extent in which Joe had unless he was confident of the answer to his question. And she’d given him every reason to assume she’d answer affirmatively.

  She quit twirling the toy. It slowly came to a stop. The couple was one no more.

  Carefully tucking it back into the box, she closed the lid and retied the ribbon. “I’d very much like to marry you.”

  The only sound in the hut was that of their breathing. Kitlu and her women had all vacated the house.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  Every muscle in his body was coiled like a bear trap. What would happen when she triggered the spring?

  She slid her hand across the table, palm up. He grasped it. Closing her eyes, she took a moment to relish the feel of his large hand, hard and knotty from hours of wielding an ax. Finally, she could put it off no longer.

  “The doc says I have tuberculosis and if I don’t move someplace dry like Kansas or Texas, I’ll not survive.” She squeezed his hand. “So, I’m afraid, love, that I’m not going to have the pleasure of marrying you, after all.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Too many thoughts came at once, so Joe zeroed in on the one that scared him the most. “You have tuberculosis?”

  “Evidently.” Anna kept her chin up, though it quivered.

  He slowly pulled the napkin from his collar. “I thought it was just a cough.”

  “So did I.”

  “What is the exact prognosis?”

  “It’s in the very early stages. I should live a long and healthy life, so long as I am someplace dry.”

  His relief was short-lived. She would be
safe, but only if she left the Territory.

  He shot to his feet, then paced. “I don’t understand. This isn’t making any sense. You were fine the whole time you were up at home with me.”

  “I know.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  He grabbed the back of his chair. “When did you find out?”

  “This morning.”

  “You’ve barely coughed all night.”

  “It’s not just the cough.”

  “What else? Blood? Fever?” Skirting round the table, he placed his palm against her forehead.

  “No. It’s my breathing. Remember what happened at the lake?”

  “Yes.”

  “That same thing happens twice, sometimes three times a week.”

  He ran his thumb under her eye, capturing the moisture there. “What are we going to do?”

  “You’re going to go home and I’m going to go to Kansas.” Her words were matter-of-fact, but her face crumpled.

  He pulled her up against his chest. No!

  But he knew she couldn’t stay. Not if it would put her in danger. He also knew he couldn’t let her go.

  Which left him with only one option. He would have to leave, too. His chest seized up. What about his land? His crew? Red?

  He knew they’d understand. Men started over all the time and for much more trivial reasons than his. But could he simply walk away?

  Eleven years he’d invested in his land. Two of which he’d spent fighting to retain ownership. He had practically kissed the forest floor every day since the judge had ruled in his favor. And now he’d have to voluntarily walk away or lose Anna?

  She slipped her hands inside his jacket, then buried her face against his shirt, suppressing a cough. He rested his chin on her head.

  Why, Lord? You already took one wife. Do you have to have Anna, too?

  But He wasn’t taking Anna. He was relocating her. To Kansas. But men didn’t log in Kansas. They farmed.

  Joe swallowed. He hated farming. He would not, could not, reconcile himself to such a fate.

  So that left Texas. And cattle ranching. He could probably do that.

  The reality of leaving, though, of starting all over, began to register. He’d never log again, never see the Territory, the redwoods, his friends, his land, the new log chute, the house he’d begun to think of as Anna’s. Did Texas even have trees?

  She gently pulled away. “I’m so sorry.”

  He swallowed the tears stacking up in his own throat. He wanted to say it would be all right. That he’d go with her. But he didn’t. No words came out. He let his hands fall to his sides.

  Turning around, she picked up the box with the wonder turner inside. “Would you mind if I kept this?”

  “Dash it all, Anna.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he made her face him again, then hauled her into his arms and kissed her. Not a kiss of passion or hope, but of anxiety. Of sorrow. Of frustration.

  He clung to her, frantic to get as close as he could. But no matter how fully he kissed her, nothing soothed the desperation inside him.

  He slowly withdrew. “Do you love me?”

  Biting her lower lip, she nodded.

  “Then marry me.”

  “I can’t. I have to leave.”

  “Then we’ll both leave, because I’ll never let you go, Anna.” And he realized it was true. He loved his land, but it would be nothing without her.

  “No, Joe. The land is as much a part of you as the heart that beats inside here.” She splayed her hand over his chest. “I won’t be responsible for tearing your heart out.”

  “If you leave me, that’s exactly what you’ll do.” He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Marry me.”

  Tears spilled from her eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She catapulted herself against him. “Yes!” She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his lips to hers. “Yes!”

  Her tears salted their kiss.

  Finally, he pulled back and rested his lips against the top of her head. “How soon do we need to leave?”

  She laid her cheek on his chest. “Right away. Otherwise, we’ll get caught crossing the plains in the winter.”

  “It’s already too late to go by land. We’ll have to go by boat.”

  She pulled back, her eyes were red, swollen. “You can’t get to Kansas by boat.”

  He hesitated. “I guess I was thinking Texas.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Southerners live in Texas.”

  “Cowboys live in Texas.”

  “Close enough.”

  Sighing, he kissed the tears from her eyes. “We can worry about that later. Come on. We need to give Kitlu her home back.”

  Anna glanced about the summer house. “It is beautiful, Joe. I’ll remember tonight for the rest of my life. I’m sorry I ruined it for you.”

  He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “The only way you could have ruined it is if you’d said no. Now, let’s get you home. I’m sure the cool night air isn’t good for you.”

  Joe was having second thoughts. When he was with Anna, he felt like he could walk away from it all. It wasn’t until he’d left town and passed tree after tree, acre after acre, that he began to doubt his resolve.

  A week. They were supposed to leave in a week. How could he leave so soon? If only he had more time.

  He slammed his ax into a cypress. It was only about twenty inches in diameter, so he could easily fell it himself. And it was a good thing, because he hadn’t felt like partnering with anyone today. So he’d left the boys back at camp, then ventured out to a far section of property that hadn’t ever seen the sharp side of an ax.

  Virgins. That’s what these trees were. And if he didn’t leave with Anna, they were likely to be the only virgins he’d ever have. He took another swing, chips flying from the undercut.

  Eleven years he’d been without a woman. He’d been happy. Content. Lonely now and then, but nothing that didn’t pass. Would he be able to recapture that?

  He tried to remember how he’d felt after receiving news of Lorraine’s death. He’d been shocked, saddened, but he hadn’t experienced this suffocating grief that had a hold of him now.

  Of course, he’d only been eighteen at the time. Barely out of short pants. Three months after he’d married her, he’d left for the Territory. It was another six months when news of her death arrived. By then, the land had seeped into his veins. Any feelings he’d had for Lorraine had mellowed to the point of near-nonexistence. He’d had his whole life ahead of him, after all.

  It could be the same with Anna. He’d only known her for three months, too. All he needed was a little time. Joe eyed the angle of his cut, then began working on the crosscut and wondered how long a man could lie to himself.

  He imagined some did it for a lifetime, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that deep down Anna was more important than a bunch of trees. And that’s, basically, what his land was. But it wouldn’t make leaving it any easier.

  I want both, Lord. Anna and my land. Is that so much to ask?

  Flipping his suspenders off his shoulders, he pulled his shirt from his trousers and used it to wipe his face. He took a moment to rest.

  Fir, cedar, pines, oaks, and maples densely timbered this section. But it was the redwoods that never failed to fill him with awe. Their feathery-looking needles and reddish bark. The way they stretched up to incredible heights and the sheer magnitude of their circumferences. How long ago had God planted their seeds? Hundreds of years? Thousands?

  As he stood amongst those mighty giants, he realized the land wasn’t his at all. It was God’s. God had formed and planted the seeds. He’d tended the soil and caused it to rain. He’d needed no man. Least of all Joe.

  Yet over and over Joe had thought of this as his own. My land. My logging camp. My house. My woman. My everything.

  Picking up his ax, he returned to his work. But in his mind, he reviewed a list of men in the Bible who’d lef
t everything they held dear for parts unknown. Abraham. Jacob. Joseph. Moses. Even a woman. Esther.

  In every case, their circumstances were much more severe than his. God hadn’t commanded Joe to leave his land, though he’d prayed for guidance. Fasted. Read his Bible. But God had remained silent.

  Joe simply assumed God was letting him choose. But no matter what he chose, none of it was really his. It was all God’s. And God was sharing it with him.

  So which did he want? Both. Like a spoiled child, he definitely wanted both. But if he could only have one, wouldn’t he still be a man blessed?

  Yes. And he’d praise God and thank Him. But that didn’t immediately make the grief shrivel up and blow away.

  Eyeing where he wanted the tree to fall, he adjusted his stance.

  I want Anna, Lord. I choose Anna.

  Yet as long as he lived, he’d always miss this land. He’d miss the Territory. He’d miss the logging. He’d miss his friends.

  The cypress began to pop and splinter. Jumping away, he braced his feet, threw back his head, and shouted with everything he had.

  “Timber-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!”

  The tree wavered, then crashed to the forest floor. Noise resounded through the copse. The ground shook. Debris flew.

  Before any of it settled, Joe fell to his knees, doubled over, and sobbed.

  Red threw down his cards. “I don’t believe you.”

  Joe slid the newspaper across the barrel.

  FOR SALE. Valuable Lumbering Business on 640 acres of well-timbered land one-half day north of Seattle. Inquiries at office of Judge O.B. Rountree, Jackson Street, Seattle, W.T.

  JOSEPH DENTON

  Red’s face turned as bright as his hair. “Just like that? You’re giving it up just like that?”

  “She has tuberculosis. What am I supposed to do?”

  Red swiped the cards from the barrel, scattering the newspaper and their game of Casino. Ollie and the rest of the crew had headed for the bunkhouse as soon as the chores were done. But not Red.

  No, Joe’s best friend had taken one look at him and said, “After dinner, we’re having us a game of cards.”

  Joe hadn’t argued. He needed to tell Red before he saw it in the papers for himself.

  “You want to know what you’re supposed to do?” Red shouted. “I’ll tell you what you’re supposed to do. You let her go to Kansas or Texas or straight to the devil for all I care. But you do not go with her.”