It’s easy to destroy. It’s much harder to build something…show me if you’re any good at building anything. Yes, he’d stick it out, and not just to show Leighton what kind of man he was.
As if she’d read his thoughts, Hester said, “You don’t have to prove yourself to my father or to me. You only need to find peace for yourself. And there’s only One in Whom you will find that kind of lasting peace.”
He had no answer for that. “I’ll bid you good night. I’m sorry I gave you such a fright when I first arrived.”
Her dark hazel eyes sparkled with humor. “A wonderful fright.” She became serious. “I thank God that He brought you here. You may not understand this yet, but it was He who brought you to these shores.”
“I hope you’re right and that I haven’t…well—” he shrugged unsure how to word his greatest fears “—done the most foolish thing in my life.”
She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Don’t worry. You’ve done the right thing.”
“Good night, sweet Hester.” How he wanted to close the narrow gap between them and kiss her lips. Reluctantly he let her hand go, knowing he would continue feeling the pressure of her lips against his skin for a long time.
She opened the door for him and he braced himself against the freezing air. With a final wave from the front steps, he turned and hurried down the dark path.
Chapter Fifteen
That night, Jeremiah Leighton came to sit at his wife’s bedside. “What did you think of Major Hawkes?” He trusted his wife’s judgment, but he also knew how persuasive the major’s charm and looks could be to a female.
As if reading his thoughts, she laid down her Bible. “I found him delightful. A very presentable young gentleman. Modest, too.”
He made a sound of disgust low in his throat as he loosened his cravat. “I wonder if there’s a woman alive who finds the major displeasing.”
His wife smiled indulgently. “You forget, Hester confided a lot more to me about the major in her letters home than she did to you. I feel as if I’ve known him almost as long as she has.”
“Why didn’t she say anything to me all that time in England?”
“I’m sure she knew your feelings about the man and knew you were already predisposed to judge against him.”
“I told him I always give a man one chance to prove himself.”
“I’m glad you told him that. I think the major has come here to take hold of that one last chance. Hester told me that he has spoken little of his war years, but that she senses he is very troubled by them.”
He snorted. “At least he knew enough not to come prancing into Bangor in his full redcoat regalia covered with gold braid and silver badges.”
“I’m glad he showed the patience of a saint in answering Jamie’s questions, especially if he dislikes talking of the war.”
Too restless to sit still, Jeremiah got up and began to pace over the fine Persian carpet. “The thing that troubles me is that we are talking of our daughter’s future! It’s all very well that the man has come all the way across the sea, fleeing his own demons, and seeking a new life—but is he the right kind of man for Hester?” He stood in front of his wife, imploring her.
She met his look with understanding. “We must pray for them both. I know Hester won’t defy you if she believes that your assessment of the major is the correct one.”
“You saw the way Adele—and even Katie—were smitten by evening’s end. What happens when the other young ladies of our acquaintance set eyes on him? Who’s to say Hawkes won’t let his gaze wander further than Hester?”
“There is that danger,” she agreed, her own gaze troubled. “But if he didn’t fall for any English lady…”
He snorted again. “I’ve heard he left a string of broken hearts—and worse—in England and who knows where else!”
He continued pacing a few more minutes, his hands clasped behind his back. He knew his duty, as his wife had pointed out, was to pray for Hawkes, but he didn’t like the fact that, for the foreseeable future, his Hester and this man would be seeing each other on a daily basis. England had been bad enough, but here Hester was at much more risk. Knowing the major had come all the way to be with her, what wouldn’t Hester agree to? And if she shackled herself to this man for life, and the man turned out to be a heartless womanizer—
He had to do something. Suddenly he stopped and snapped his fingers.
“What is it?” his wife looked up, keeping her place in the Bible.
He turned to her slowly. “I want you to plan a few sociables for the major. Invite every pretty young niece of ours and every other young lady we know to meet him while he’s here.”
She drew her brows together. “But I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t. But I want to see—and I want Hester to see—how he behaves when he’s surrounded by every available female. Will he still stay true to our Hester? Or will he let his head be turned by a pretty face? If I know the man, he’ll soon let his gaze wander farther afield.”
“You want to trip him up. I don’t know if that’s worthy of you.” His wife’s gentle reproof would normally have convicted him. But this was his beloved daughter they were talking about.
“I’m doing it for our daughter’s future happiness.”
She nodded. “Very well. I shall do as you ask.”
The next morning, although it was still dark outside, Gerrit showed up at the riverside mill at the appointed time. The air was bitingly cold, worse than the winters he’d spent on the plains of Spain. He was glad he’d bought sturdy work clothes before his voyage when he’d sold his uniforms.
Now he stamped his feet at the entrance of the sawmill. Already men were busy at their tasks. A middle-aged man approached him across the sawdust-strewn floor, his face dark, his mouth bracketed by deep lines. “You Hawkes?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Baxter, the foreman. Ever worked in a sawmill?”
He shook his head. “No, sir,” he answered, his long-ingrained military habit of address kicking in.
“Well, come and let me show you what to do.”
A couple of men were already placing a log beside a long vertical saw. The water-powered saw began its slow up-and-down movement, slicing through the log which had already had its curved outer edges chopped off.
After taking him around and explaining the various procedures, Baxter took Gerrit outside to where other men were wielding their axes, chopping the outer layers of the logs away.
The foreman handed him an ax, holding it just under the blade. “This can be your best friend or your worst enemy. Keep it sharp. Learn how to wield it, and you’ll do all right here.”
He showed him how to whack at the outer bark of the pine logs to leave the yellow pulp exposed and straight, making a four-square piece of lumber to be fed to the mill saw.
“The biggest and best of these logs will end up on one of your country’s ships as a mast. That’s why they need to be handled with care. The rest will be for board lumber and shingles.”
Gerrit took the ax from him and attempted a few whacks of his own. He barely nicked the wood.
“You’ve got to put some muscle into it and develop a rhythm. Here, practice on this waste lumber.” He pointed out a pile of lumber heaped haphazardly at one end of the yard.
Four hours later, his back aching in protest from the constant bending and stretching, his palms beginning to blister, his fingers frozen stiff, and his stomach growling with hunger, Gerrit finally had a few moments’ rest when the men abandoned the mill for their dinner break.
Gerrit walked back to the tavern. He didn’t recognize any of the other men from the mill, so he assumed they had their own homes to return to. As soon as he’d opened his mouth, and they’d realized he was British, he’d noticed a distinct cooling in their attitude. That, coupled with his own incompetence with the ax, didn’t guarantee him much popularity with his fellow workers.
At the tavern, a few other men, mostly sailors from the ships in port, sat at the rough trestle tables in the taproom.
“Here’s a nice hot bowl of barley soup for you, Mr. Hawkes,” the same tavern maid he’d seen the day before came by and placed the thick bowl in front of him. She leaned very close to him as she reached to set down a small loaf of bread on his far side. “Just give me a holler if you need any more,” she told him, her gold-flecked blue eyes looking at his mouth.
“Thank you,” he said, looking down at his bowl.
A few minutes later, she brought him a pewter tankard.
“There aren’t many guests here this time of year, I imagine,” Gerrit said, curious at the quiet atmosphere of the tavern.
“Most o’ the loggers are up country. Wait till spring, this place will be hopping.”
“What happens in spring?”
“The river drive. The loggers all come back to town.” She smiled and sat across from him, seeming in no hurry to leave. “They’re a wild bunch after a winter in the woods. Then the port will be full of schooners again. Winter is too quiet around here. Nothing but a bunch of womenfolk snug in their houses. Too cold to do much except bundle indoors.” She gave him a speculative look, leaning forward on an elbow and displaying her scooped neck for him.
Gerrit bent down to his soup once again. The last thing he needed to do was encourage an over-friendly tavern wench.
He quickly finished his food and drained the last of his ale. The serving maid had left him with an angry sniff when he hadn’t continued the conversation. He stood now and looked down at his hands. Four blisters had appeared along the ridges of his palms. Well, soon they would form calluses, he thought with a shrug, before taking up his coat and heading back outside.
When he left the sawmill yard late that afternoon, the sky was already dark. He saw the shadowy outlines of three horses standing in the street. “I was hoping you’d come out soon.” Hester waved to him, laughter in her voice.
His fatigue forgotten, he hurried over to where she sat atop one of the horses. He smiled up at her welcoming face, framed by a warm bonnet and thick scarf. Her cheeks were red.
“Hello, Hester, what are you doing here?” He glanced over at the other rider. “Hello, Jamie.”
“We’ve come to fetch you for supper. I knew you probably wouldn’t come of your own accord, even though Mama gave you an open invitation.” She held out the reins of the third horse. “I even brought you a mount. I meant to ask you about Royal. What did you do with her when you left England?”
He took the reins and swung himself up in the saddle. It felt good to feel a horse under him again. “I gave her to my valet, Crocker. He’ll board her at Delia’s and play groom at her stables for the time being.”
“I’m glad Royal has a good home.”
“So am I.” He nudged the horse forward to ride abreast of Hester’s mount. Jamie rode ahead of them. “Delia knows horses and keeps an excellent stable.”
“Soon we’ll be riding sleighs down this street,” she said as they followed the road along the river, the churning sound of water loud in the darkness. “We haven’t had much snow yet, but it won’t be long.”
“What do people find to do when they’re snowed in?” he asked, remembering his conversation with the tavern maid.
“For the men, it’s a busy time, going out to the forests and cutting next year’s wood. We women always find occupations at home—there’s wool to be spun, sewing, knitting.” She glanced over at him and laughed. “I’m sure you’re not interested in hearing all about that. It must sound awfully tedious to you.”
He wanted to say that actually it sounded quite homey and comforting. He caught himself short. He must be changing. Only a short while ago, he would have found it sounding hopelessly beneath him. Now, what wouldn’t he give for a warm home and hearth the way he’d witnessed the previous evening at the Leightons?
“More interesting to hear about are our sleighing parties and skating parties, dances, and singing school. I hope Papa won’t work you so hard that you’ll be too tired to attend these sociables.”
They had left the busier part of the small town, and now the houses were scattered between wide fields. The sound of the river receded in the distance as Hester led them down another road, which he recognized as the one he’d walked the night before. The large houses and outbuildings resembled farmhouses more than town houses.
“What is the name of the river we were walking along?”
“That’s the Kenduskeag Stream,” she answered. “We have two main waterways in Bangor—that and the Penobscot River.”
“Those names don’t sound English.”
“They’re not. They’re Indian. The first means ‘place of the eel weir’ in the Penobscot’s language, and the second is ‘place of white rocks.’ It refers to a rapids further up the river between here and Old Town.”
Everything sounded foreign and new. Would that he could make a new beginning in this strange land.
They reached the Leighton home and rode up the long drive toward the stables. One of the barn doors stood open and a warm light spilled out of it. Hester called out a cheerful greeting to a groom who came out to them. She relinquished her reins to him after he’d helped her down. Gerrit followed suit.
From the large barn, which housed a sleigh, a coach and a few wagons, along with several horses and cows, they entered a long shed. The smell of fir wrapped around him like a spicy blanket. Every inch of wall space was stacked floor-to-ceiling with cordwood. The wooden floor beneath him was littered with wood chips.
From the shed, they entered another area which looked like a pantry or buttery. They wiped their shoes on a rush mat and entered the warm kitchen. A cheerful fire burned in the large stone hearth.
He wondered for a moment if Hester’s family would still welcome him. Would her father glower at him all evening?
Hester unwound her muffler. “Excuse me for taking you by the back way, but in winter, it’s a lot nicer than walking through the ice and snow outside to the front door.”
“Good evening, Major Hawkes.” Mrs. Leighton turned with a smile from the massive fireplace lined with pewter plates along its mantel. She wiped her hands on her white apron before approaching him. “I’m so glad Hester managed to find you and bring you home. I hope our meal will make up for last night’s cold fare.”
He shook her hand, warmed by her friendly smile, so different from her husband’s. “There’s nothing to make up for. I appreciate the invitation to dine with your family. I hope I don’t trespass on your hospitality.”
“Please don’t feel pressed to do so, but please come whenever you’d like.” She turned to her daughter, who was removing her long, scarlet cloak. “Why don’t you take the major’s things and show him where he can wash up? Then you two can sit in the back parlor until supper. Your father should be there.”
Gerrit grimaced as he unbuttoned his coat, embarrassed by his dirty work clothes. “I’m sorry, I’m not dressed for dinner. I came directly from the sawmill.”
“Don’t worry a thing about it. You won’t appear any differently from Jamie. He’s begun to work in the warehouse when he’s not at his studies.”
Gerrit nodded, feeling only slightly comforted. Mr. Leighton surely would be in his well-tailored coat and stock. It wasn’t easy having to appear as a laborer to a self-made man, whose origins were as common as a sailor’s. He sighed, wondering how long he must endure this testing. He saw no end in sight, and he’d only just begun.
The evening passed very pleasantly, and his negative thoughts were pushed aside as he enjoyed the company of Hester and her siblings. Mr. Leighton spent most of his time before supper reading his paper, although Gerrit caught him observing him from time to time. The meal was again filling and hearty. He was developing a taste for this new vegetable called pumpkin. The evening before, he’d enjoyed it in pie, and now he tasted it in a custard.
When he left, Hester walked him back out to the b
arn. “I want you to take the horse back with you. You can board it at the blacksmith’s in town. He’s a friend of Papa’s.”
“That’s very kind of you but I can’t accept it.” How to explain to her that he didn’t have the funds to keep a horse?
“Don’t worry, it’s taken care of. I already spoke to Papa about it.”
He felt doubly uncomfortable at the offer. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, he tried to explain, “This is not exactly the way to win your father’s favor. He already thinks of me as a worthless—”
“Shh!” She put a finger to his lips. “I promise you it’s all right. He agreed right away when I brought it up. Maybe he’s already beginning to change his mind about you.”
Not likely. Gerrit frowned. What trick was the man playing with him? Undoubtedly to see whether he’d accept the easy way out. But Hester looked so hopeful he didn’t have the heart to refuse her offer. He’d bring the horse back tomorrow.
She smiled. “I hope Jamie isn’t being a nuisance to you. He seems to have developed quite a case of hero worship. A month ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking with a ‘lobsterback’ as we call the redcoats around here.”
He chuckled at the name. “I can remember being his age and thinking I could take on any challenge.”
“I’m glad you understand. Right now, Jamie’s dream is to go on a logging drive and prove himself as capable as the men who work for Papa.”
“That’s the second time I’ve heard of a logging drive today. It seems to be an important event around here.”
“Logs are our livelihood. They’re even used as legal tender. If this city prospers, it’s because of the lumber in the woods upriver from us. It’s every boy’s ambition to go into the forest to chop down trees and float them down the river to the sawmills.” Her face became serious. “But it’s very dangerous work, and Papa would just like for Jamie to be a little older before he begins.”
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