“A sawyer, all right then.” He shook his head. “Well, let’s get you outfitted, young man. You’ll need a union suit, some wool shirts, pants, socks, caps, and a heavy coat—unless you already have one of those?”
For a moment, I wished I could say that I would take all of it, even the coat. Ma had told me to pick out what I needed and had given me the money for it. But then I pictured Marta, Peter, Pa, and, most of all, Ma, and how tired her face had been looking lately. She was taking in mending for some of the men who worked at the mill, but that didn’t bring in hardly any money. It was going to be a hard winter for them.
“No.” I shook my head. “I can use my Pa’s coat.”
We went to the back aisle of the store, where anything and everything that a lumberjack could need was sold. Mr. Whiteside was right helpful while I picked out my gear.
When we were about done, Hugh and I stopped up at the front counter. There were some fine-looking knives all set out under the glass, including Bowie knives, hunting knives, and some woodcarving knives. I wasn’t there to buy a knife. But you know how it is when you have money in your pocket and you’re ready to spend some of it, you look at all sorts of things that you really aren’t interested in buying.
There was one knife in particular that caught my eye. I asked Mr. Whiteside, “Can I see that one?”
He reached under the counter, pulled it out and handed it to me. It was a Jim Bowie blasé, about eight inches long and about two inches wide. I ran my forefinger and thumb along the steel of the blade.
Hugh whistled low.
I heard a low chuckle from behind me. “Too much blade for a boy,” an accented voice broke in.
Irritated, I glanced around to see a dark-haired man with a lean, tanned face. His hair was longish and tied back. His shaven cheeks were darkly shadowed and he had bright blue eyes that were laughing at me. He was a big fella with arms like ham hocks. His chest was broad and his legs, thick, and he stood with them wide apart. His shirt was a bright and bold red, and he carried himself with confidence. My father would have said that he was a man who was comfortable in his own skin. I knew that I was looking at a real woodsman, a lumberjack.
“I’m headed up north,” I remarked. “You can run into all sorts of wild animals in the woods. This here knife might come in handy.”
“You gonna gut a black bear with that knife, boy? Or maybe a badger?” He laughed out loud, baring big, white teeth. He had one of those deep laughs that seemed to echo through the cluttered store.
I looked around, worried that other people would hear how he was poking fun at me.
“Hey, Augie, this boy, he is something.” The newcomer was a Quebecois, French Canadian. My pa had had several fellas from those parts to supper over the years, so I recognized the accent.
I saw that Mr. Whiteside was chuckling, too.
“You never can be too careful,” I mumbled.
Hugh rolled his eyes.
“A black bear is more afraid of you than you are of him,” the French Canadian continued. Then, he reached over and, without a by-your-leave, took that blade right out of my hand. “And badgers...” He gave an expressive shrug. “They are fierce. If you are close enough to a badger to touch it with a knife, it had better be dead or in a trap.”
“I was looking at that knife.”
The laughter went from his face just like that, and he looked at me hard. “Are you buying it?”
“Uh, no. I mean, I don’t know.”
“Augie, throw the blade in with my other things.”
“What I meant was I hadn’t decided,” I protested. I didn’t like this fella coming in and running me over.
“I am doing you a favor,” the man responded. “Now you will not cut yourself.” He ran a finger across his throat demonstratively. “I will pick it all up in the morning, Augie. You have it ready?”
“Yes, it’ll all be ready, Fabien.”
“Well then, À bientôt. I have plans for this evening, so do not be expecting me early.” He clapped Mr. Whiteside on the back, and, without another glance at me, strode out of the store, whistling.
“Do you know who that was?” Hugh’s eyes were wide with admiration.
“Fabien Roget,” Whiteside said. “Some say he’s the best riverman on the Chippewa.”
“Yeah, well maybe I’ll be a river rat, too, come spring,” I announced, lifting my chin high. That Roget might be bigger and older, but that didn’t make him a better man than me.
Augie chuckled, clearly dismissing that possibility.
“Could I see that knife again?” I asked. It was such a fine looking blade, new, without a nick in it. Of course, we’d never had one like it. I would be nice just once to have something shining and new that I didn't really need. I could just see myself as a lumberjack, working the pines, with that trusty knife strapped to my side.
Mr. Whiteside shook his head. “No. You heard him – Mr. Roget’s buying this one. If you’re interested in a knife, I can show you some others.”
I shook my head. “Nah.” The truth was I didn’t have the money for any knife. In a way, Roget had let me off the hook. I mighta bought it had he not come in. The money that I earned this winter would be going to my family. But, I promised myself, if I had any left over, I would come right back here and buy myself a knife just like Roget’s.
Mr. Whiteside began to add up my purchases. “It should be quite a winter for logging. I’ve heard talk that the lumber companies are gonna try and send a couple-million yards of board feet down the Chippewa this spring. Wouldn’t that be something?”
I tried to make my response sound like I was in the know. “I don’t know if Half Moon or Dell’s Pond can hold that much timber.”
“Which outfit will you be working for again, young man?”
“The Daniel Shaw Lumber Company,” I said it proudly, well-respected outfit it was. “Just like my Pa.”
“Who’s your father, boy?” Mr. Whiteside asked.
“Gustav Andersen,” I said. “He’s one of the best sawyers in these parts.”
“Gus Andersen? I heard tell that your father was hurt in an accident at the mill.”
“Broke his leg bad. But Doc Foster says he should get better. The leg’s set. Now he just has to give it time.” I’d heard Ma and Pa talking late at night when they thought we were sleeping. I knew that they were worried Pa’s leg might not heal right. If he was lame or worse, he would have a hard time going back to lumberjacking.
“Your pa is a good man.” Mr. Whiteside looked like he was about say something else, but Hugh interrupted him.
“Hey Sevy, come take a look at these peaveys.” Hugh held up the tool of the river pigs, who herded the logs harvested in the winter down the rivers in the spring. The long handle was smooth and finished and there was a metal spike and a hook at the end for moving the logs. A picture flashed into my head of me, poised on a thick log using my peavey to break up a log jam in front of an awed audience. River rats were the daring heroes of the lumber industry. They risked life and limb herding the logs through frigid waters and over treacherous rapids. But then the reality that I wasn’t sure that I had the money for the peavey as well as the other gear had me putting it back regretfully.
“No sir, I don’t need it.”
Mr. Whiteside took the peavey and handed it to me. “Take it, young Andersen. It’s on the house. A while back, your father did some woodworking for me and gave me a real fair rate. Take the peavey. I hope it brings you some good luck. You Andersens are due for some.”
I nodded my head, a little choked up. It sure did seem like us Andersens had been gettin’ a raw deal lately.
I paid for the lot, waited while Mr. Whiteside wrapped it up for us, then we headed out.
“Like you need any more luck.” Hugh snorted. “No more school. You get to be a lumberjack this winter and Whiteside gave you a peavey.” He wielded it in the air, striking the sign for the apothecary’s shop we passed by.
“Hey. Watch what
you’re doing.” For a moment, I thought about how my pa’s face was pinched with pain and my ma’s with worry. That didn’t feel too lucky. I shook my head.
“Yup.” Hugh gave me a cheeky grin. “Hey, wait. Clancy’s Sweets Emporium is down there.”
“I want to stop somewhere else first.” We continued down the street, past a tailor, a music store, and a grocer’s. The day was progressing, and the sawdust covered street was filled with horses and conveyances of all kinds, drays, moving vans, and an ice wagon. One carriage had a particularly fine-looking matched pair of bays.
“Randall Park,” Hugh and I said at the same time. A fancy looking team like that had to come from the neighborhood where the wealthy folk lived, the homes of the mill owners and lumber barons.
Even though I was nervous about where I was going, and I had a very specific place in mind, I couldn’t help smiling at Hugh, shaking my head. He just didn’t let things bother him. He was always along for the ride, no matter where it took us.
We turned a corner, headed a few blocks up a smaller street, and were met with the acrid odor of burning horse hooves. I paused outside of a barn that adjoined a small, white house.
“Oh, I see,” Hugh muttered. “You think she’s here?”
The street sign read “Jaeger-Farrier.” Wrinkling my nose against the stink, I poked my head inside the opened door. The clash of metal on metal erupted from the back of the shop.
“Mr. Jaeger. Mr. Jaeger,” I called. But there was no response. Clearly, he couldn’t hear me over his work. I took a step in. It was hot and smoky inside, even with the door open.
Mr. Jaeger, a thick set, bald, stocky fellow was shoeing a Percheron. And holding the horse was the very person I’d come to see, a girl with a thick braid of dark blond hair.
“Hel-lo,” I called out. Still they didn’t hear me.
Using some long clamps, Mr. Jaegar pulled the red hot shoe out of the fire and pressed it onto the horse’s hoof. The hoof sizzled. Smoke rose up around them.
Hugh picked that moment to try to push past me through the door. Not thinking, I pushed back. Somehow our legs got tangled up. I pulled one way. He jerked the other. Then we were both face down on the ground.
That got the Jaegers’ attention. Big Mr. Jaeger turned his head to the side and spit, then eyed us suspiciously. Adelaide Jaegar stared at us. Both Hugh and I scrambled to our feet and I felt the blush creeping up my cheeks. Thankfully, we hadn’t spooked the Perchie.
“Was ist los?” Jaeger spoke in his native German first, then, seeing who it was, asked, “What do you want?”
I dusted the dirt, hay and straw off my clothes. Then, I picked up my packages, which were, thankfully, wrapped. Hugh still had the peavey, which he had somehow managed not to stab me with when we fell.
“Afternoon, Mr. J-Jaeger,” I stuttered. “Adelaide.”
She had some soot on her face and a piece of straw in her hair, but when she smiled at me, it was like seeing an angel. Now, ordinarily, I would never have had the nerve to do what I was about to do, but I didn’t know when I’d be back in Eau Claire, and I wasn’t going to waste this chance.
“You boys are needing something?” Jaeger asked. Mr. Jaegar had a deep voice and a definite accent but he spoke English well, as did his daughter.
“We were just doing some shopping,” Hugh explained grandly, like it was something we did every day, “saw the smoke and decided to stop in.”
I glared at him and shook my head.
Adelaide rattled something off in German and I only caught the word “Schule.” Jaeger grunted and turned back to his work.
Standing there, my arms full of packages, I felt foolish. I hadn’t really thought this out. I had just wanted to see her once before I left.
“Let’s go.” Hugh elbowed me.
“No.”
“The candy store.” He wiggled his eyebrows expressively.
“In a minute.”
He groaned but still I didn’t move.
“Well, are you going to talk to her?”
But I wasn’t paying any attention to him. My eyes were on Adelaide. Now that her Pa’s back was turned and he was bent over with a horse’s hoof in his huge hands, she shyly met my glance. My heart pounded.
“I’m leaving Eau Claire. I’m going up to a logging camp near Siren,” I said it loud enough so that she could hear me— the most words I’d ever said to her.
She nodded, just looking at me.
“Well, goodbye then.”
“Auf wiedersehen, Sevy. Goodbye.”
There was nothing else to say, so I turned and headed out of that barn, walking tall. She’d spoken to me.
“What was that all about?” Hugh demanded once we were outside. “You got a shine in your eye for the blacksmith’s daughter?” When I didn’t respond, he was quiet for a moment, mulling things over. Then, he went on, “If you like her, then why’d you up and leave like that? You could of talked her up some more. You aren’t going to see her again until summer.”
He was right. I wouldn’t see her again for months. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so smart anymore. But it had taken all my nerve just to walk into that barn and say “hello.” I hadn’t really thought the whole thing out. Adelaide probably thought I was some kind of fool.
“Come on, Sevy.” Hugh took mercy on me by letting it drop. “Let’s go get some taffy and a root beer.” He took off down the sidewalk.
Feeling kind of downhearted, I followed him.
* * * *
I was busy that night, getting ready to leave early the next morning. Though it was just October, early days for the log camps, there was work to be had for those who were willing to help set up. While packing my bag and doing some final chores, my head was going in ten different directions. Peter and Marta were all worked up, too, so it was hard to get them to go to bed in the little room that we three shared.
I was ready to turn in when Pa said, “Sevy, come sit with your ma and me for a while.”
Pa and Ma were sitting by the fire. Ma was doing some mending by the light of an oil lamp. Pa was sitting up in the chair he’d carved.
The two spoke softly to each other in Norwegian, which they did when they didn’t want us kids to understand what they were saying. Over the years, Ma had picked up Norwegian from Pa. Peter, Marta, and I knew some Norwegian, but since our folks wanted us to be real Americans they spoke to us almost always in English.
“Sit down, Sevy,” Pa directed. “These past few weeks, you’ve done a man’s work for this family.”
“Yes sir.” Had I packed everything I’d need? Had Adelaide thought at all about me since I’d seen her that afternoon?
“Ja, life is not easy at a logging camp. But for you it will only be for this one winter. Then, you will come back to Eau Claire and go to school,” Pa said it like he was trying to convince himself of the truth of his words.
“Yup.” I nodded.
Then, he was quiet for a moment. Pa was a proud man and I knew sending me to work in his place was real hard on him. If he could have worked with his busted leg, he would have. I shifted on my seat, my mind, wandering. Maybe I’d write Hugh a letter from the camp. He’d like getting a real letter. “How often does the mail get picked up at camp?”
“Uff da, Sevy. This isn’t a game. Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Pa. Sure am.”
“Go easy, Gus. The boy has a lot on his mind.” Ma looked up from her sewing. Her eyes were bright and teary. She always was one to cry, at sad or happy occasions.
“Sevy, listen close because you’ll be on your own from tomorrow on,” Pa continued. “You’ll have to act like a man even though you’re a boy and your life has been soft until now.”
“Soft?” I bristled. While he’d been layin’ in bed, I’d been bustin’ my rump doin’ his work and my work, too. “I do chores and you said yourself that I’ve worked hard since the accident.”
“Don’t interrupt me,” he growled. Pa may have been restricted to his ch
air but he was still a bear of a man with dark eyes that could pin you down.
I squirmed on the wooden bench.
“Your ma and I have wanted to make things better for you than they were for us. I know this house ain’t much, and it ain’t our own. But we were getting closer to having our own land. If only this hadn’t happened.” He gestured to his leg. “I wouldn’t let you go north if there were any other way.” He looked away from me.
“Pa, I know that.” Sure, one day, we’d have a farm of our own. We’d all heard it so many times and the truth was that something always got in the way of us saving the money we needed. One of us kids would get sick or Pa would have to send money back to Norway for his father’s funeral. Still, I knew we were better off than a lot of the other folks who lived in Shaw town. We always had enough to eat and a roof over our heads.
“I left Norway when I was just a little older than you are today. Pappa, your grandfather, was a husmand, which meant he rented the land he worked and the cottage we lived in. But he could never work hard enough to buy something of his own, and he saw that would never change. So, he told me to leave. He gave me what money he could and then I left Pappa, Mamma, my brother, my sisters, and my country. I worked my way to Hamburg, Germany and from there to New York. I took a steamboat up the Hudson River to Albany, a canal boat to Buffalo, and then a sailing ship to Chicago because I’d heard there was work to be had there. It was in Chicago that I met your mother.”
The way Ma was now looking at Pa smoothed away all of the worries and troubles on her face. In the firelight, she looked younger, a lot like Marta.
“I know, Pa. I know. She was working as a seamstress.” We kids had heard this story about a hundred times.
“My parents had come to this country together when I was a little girl. My father died right after they arrived in Chicago,” Ma said. “Morsa, my mother and your grandmother, was a seamstress, and she made a living for us in Chicago. But she always talked about us having a farm of our own one day. It was what my father had always dreamed of, what brought him to this country. But it wasn’t possible when it was only the two of us.” Her voice sort of quivered. “Morsa died a year before I met your father.”
White Pine Page 2