Rock Hard Lumberjack: A Lumberjack And A City Girl Romance

by Rye Hart

  “Yes, I understand. I suppose I’ll have to begin it all again. Tell me, do you have someone in your estimable family who happens to know anything about livestock?”

  Harold did, but he was hesitant. “Sir, it won’t do if it looks as though my family is taking all the jobs,” he said bluntly. “There are plenty among your tenants who can do the job. Best to look to one of them.”

  “Thank you,” Laverly said.

  “Lucy put me in mind of it. She said it was for you to decide which were to work for you. Reckon we know everyone, me and Lucy have lived nearby since we was born. But folks’ll want a chance. We can tell you who we think is honest, sir, and the vicar can tell you if we’re truth telling.”

  “Is Lester still the vicar? My parents used to have him to dine after services on Sunday.”

  “He’s retired, sir, and living in Devon, where he’s from. There’s a new fellow, Reverend Stone. He’s a good ‘un. Not afraid to lend a hand with the haying if it’s needed.” From Harold’s words, it was apparent that he valued the physical abilities of a man of the cloth as much as his spiritual attributes.

  “I reckon he’d welcome an invitation to Laverly Hall, sir,” said Harold enthusiastically.

  “An invitation? To Laverly Hall? You must be in jest. How would I invite callers?”

  “Beg your pardon, sir, but if callers are welcome, they’ll come. My Lucy might not be up to London standards, but she can cook a fine meal that will please your guests. Give her a recipe, sir, and she’ll serve up a real feast. It’s the company, surely, that makes the meal worthwhile.”

  The man was a hopeless yokel. One’s table defined one’s ability to host, and hosting depended upon manners, style, the right assembly of guests, and a deft host who could engage people. Certainly food mattered, one didn’t want to give the impression that one’s staff was unfamiliar with the delicacies that adorned the most fashionable tables in Mayfair. But a social occasion of any kind, whether it was a supper or a ball, required an artistry that Laverly knew he lacked. He could not see. There would be no guests invited to dine at Laverly Hall.

  “Where are we?” he asked, sparing Harold the rough edge of his tongue for the ludicrous suggestion that a blind man could play host. “Which of the tenants are we approaching?”

  Harold was eager to turn to a different subject. “The Cantwells, sir.”

  “Cantwells?”

  “Farmers, sir. Josiah Cantwell and Elsie, and their six. You might not remember them,” Harold said.

  “How long have they lived here?”

  “At least ten years, I’d wager. All their children was born here.”

  “Ten years, I was still on the estate then,” Dennison mused.

  “But you was a young man. Not much call for a young man to know the tenants on his father’s estate.”

  Laverly said nothing. His father had known all the tenants; known them by name. And had probably known them when he was young. The realization that he had not been the man his father had been fitted him ill.

  “Harold, where is that young man that you mentioned? The one who was wounded at Salamanca. Where is his farm?”

  “He’s Mary Pargetter’s son, he lives with her. Pargetter’s been dead two years since. Their farm is the next one after the Cantwells.”

  Chapter Three

  The meeting with the Cantwells went fairly well., Mrs. Cantwell insisted on sending her youngest down to the fields to fetch his father so that he could meet the Master. As they waited for him, Harold maintained an easy flow of conversation that required little of Laverly but to nod upon cue. Mrs. Cantwell was garrulous, and Harold had little to do to inspire a discourse. Finally, Mr. Cantwell arrived, out of breath from his haste.

  “Glad to have you back home, milord; it just hasn’t been right, not having a Laverly at the Hall. But things will be right now that you’re back.”

  “How long has the Hall been abandoned?” Laverly asked.

  Cantwell couldn’t rightly say, but Mrs. Cantwell could, and did, in a cascade of information that was as much speculation as fact. The servants had been true to the Duchess, but after Her Ladyship’s death, with no one about to keep them in line, things had gotten a bit off the path. Mrs. Cantwell heard that some of the servants were even living in the house, just as if they were gentry. Wicked it was. No work being done. Some of the lads had gone up to the Hall to see what was what, and Hy Bartram, he that won the wrestling contest five years in a row, had told them that if they wouldn’t do their work, they’d best be off the property or he and the other lads would crack their skulls for them. When? That was in the early summer, sir, but they’d done no work all spring, no planting, not a bit of it. And the Hall---well, doubtless he’d seen what they’d left behind---

  She halted abruptly, her words cut off.

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cantwell,” he said in the thick silence that ensued. “Fortunately, Harold and his family are putting things to rights and I have no doubt they will restore the Hall to its former appearance.”

  “That we will, sir, that we will,” Harold said eagerly, filling the void with his own contributions. “’Twill be just as it was in Her Ladyship’s time.”

  “We do miss Her Ladyship, sir. That we do. There weren’t no one like her.”

  “No,” Laverly agreed. “There was not.”

  What would she have done to welcome back a blind son? How would she have dealt with the cruel fate that robbed her son and heir of his sight? His mother was a gentle woman; his father forever anxious that she be sheltered from the hardships of life. Wealth and affluence he could provide for her, but life was a leveler. He felt a rush of grief for the parents who were unknown to him because, young and reckless, he had not thought of how his escapades would affect them. Now they were gone, and he could have benefitted from his father’s wisdom and his mother’s affection.

  “We’d best be off. His Lordship wants to meet with all the tenants. There’s a powerful lot of work to be done at the Hall,” Harold announced.

  “Yes,” Laverly echoed. “I shall count on all of you for help. And if you happen to hear word of the servants who pillaged the Hall and left it in such an abominable state, please pass it along.”

  When they were back in the wagon, Harold said, “Good thinking, sir. Asking them to let you know if they hear anything about those who ran off.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, well, I confess I’d like to set my fists on the lot of them.”

  “Best rely on the law, sir,” Harold said gently.

  The days when he could solve his own problems with his wits and his two fists were gone. Harold was right. Now, like an old man bereft of strength and resources, he must depend on others to settle his scores. He was of half a mind to tell Harold to turn the wagon back around and head back to the Hall. Calling on the tenants was obviously a waste of time; he didn’t know them, he couldn’t help them. He couldn’t even help himself. But return to what? A day spent in a residence that was simply a reminder of the past, while around him Harold’s family dusted and scrubbed to restore it to a semblance of a home? While he did nothing?

  When the wagon pulled into the next farm, Harold turned to give Dennison a word.“Old man Tyler is a gruff sort, sir. Not much in the way of manners,” Harold said quietly. “Pay him no mind.”

  “I thought you said the name was Pargetter.”

  “Aye, I did so. But Mary Pargetter’s father, Tyler, lives here with them.”

  ‘Quite,” Laverly said. He turned so that his legs faced out of the wagon, gripped the sides and lowered himself to the ground before Harold had a chance to offer assistance.

  “Well, sir, that was quick learning,” Harold said, sounding impressed. “Reckon you’re going to manage just fine in no time.”

  It was absurd, of course, the man was but a servant. And yet Laverly felt as if he’d done something worthy of praise for the first time in weeks.

  “Cam Tyler!” Harold called out as they approached the cottage, his hand steeri
ng Laverly by the elbow but discreetly so that, until they were near, Tyler could not have told that the Duke depended upon Harold for guidance. “We’ve come to see you and yours. This here’s His Lordship, come to meet his tenants now that he’s back from war.”

  “Me and mine ain’t about. Mary’s with that Knollys girl, birthing another brat. Will is in the fields.”

  “Then I shall meet you,” Laverly said, piqued by the man’s blunt speech.

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” Tyler asked boldly.

  “They don’t see,” Laverly replied evenly.

  “I know that, I can see those specs. What happened?”

  “Now, Cam, you know His Lordship was hurt in the war, fighting the French.”

  “He can tell me hisself, can’t he?”

  “Cam Tyler, you’ve no cause to be rude to His Lordship—“

  Laverly interrupted. In a perverse way, he relished the thought of engaging in a battle of words with this codger. No one else was likely to dismiss his condition or his rank so completely. “It’s quite all right. What would you like to know? Harold and I would appreciate a chair if we’re going to enjoy your discourse; it’s quite impossible to stand and be amiable.”

  Tyler grunted. “Chairs are inside,” he said.

  Harold went inside.

  “What would you like to know?” Laverly repeated.

  “I’d like to know,” Tyler said, “how you lost your eyesight. My boy lost his leg below the knee. He’s got a wooden peg where his leg used to end.”

  “I was under the impression that your grandson was a fine judge of horseflesh and skilled with them. Was I misinformed?”

  “You were not. Will were trained by the best, and that’s me. Could have had work in any stable yard in England, that’s how good he is. Now no one will hire him. They don’t see what he can do. All they see is that wooden leg.”

  “What can he do?” Laverly asked. He heard Harold coming out of the cottage, carrying chairs..

  “You can sit, sir.” Harold, his hand again on Laverly’s elbow, went to steer him toward the chair, but suddenly Laverly was determined to manage on his own, if only to prove something to the ornery old man.

  “Thank you for fetching the chair, Harold, and to you, Mr. Tyler, for allowing us to sit with you.” Carefully, Laverly felt for the edge of the chair. Slowly, he lowered himself down. When he was securely seated, he could not refrain from grinning. “My compliments to your craftsmanship, Mr. Tyler. I feel quite secure.”

  Tyler grunted again. “My son made the chair,” he told them. “Jim weren’t much for horses. He was a carpenter.”

  “I’ve been telling His Lordship about Will,” Harold said. “And how there’s no one in the village can match him for horses and knowing them.”

  “No one with two legs,” Tyler said. “What about your eyes?” he asked again, unwilling to let his question go.

  “I had the great misfortune to be in a place where I did not think Boney’s artillery could reach me. Clearly, I was wrong,” Laverly said lightly, as if being struck had been all of a great joke and nothing of significance.

  Tyler grunted. “Damn French.”

  “I agree with you there, Tyler,” Laverly said. “I trust God will see it our way.”

  There was a pause and then Tyler emitted a laugh. It was a short, dry rasp of humor, as if he had not found anything to laugh about in a very long time. “That’s a prayer I’ll render,” Tyler said. “Though I don’t know as the vicar would share it with me.”

  They were deep in a discussion of the damnation of the French when Laverly heard the approach of steps. “Grandfather, I didn’t know you had visitors.”

  “Will, lad, His Lordship has been meeting his tenants now that he’s back home. Your Lordship, this be Will Pargetter.”

  “Harold tells me you were wounded at Salamanca,” Laverly said. “Good fighting there.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We left thousands of them dead,” Laverly said.

  “Damnation to them all,” Tyler spoke up.

  “A worthy toast,” Laverly said, “now that we’ve gone from praying to toasting.”

  Tyler laughed again, the sound a little less like a rusty hinge this time.

  “I was wounded at Waterloo,” Laverly said.

  “Wellington,” the boy said as if he were repeating an incantation. “He carried the day.”

  “He did indeed. Harold and your grandfather tell me that you’re a fine man with horses.”

  “I was, sir,” the boy said.

  “Yes, before your wound. I understand that you still have the skills, and I’m in need of someone. My stables don’t exist at the moment, but I shall need to buy horses and I’ll need someone to tend them. Are you up for the job?”

  “Sir, I haven’t been on a horse in a long time,” Will said honestly. It was plain, from the tone of his voice, that he regretted the truth. “I do believe that I could still tend them and keep them for Your Lordship, but my racing days are done.”

  “I had no intention of asking you to race,” Laverly said.

  Tyler began to laugh and Harold took it up. The boy laughed to be polite, but said nothing, as if he did not share their humor.

  “He’s asking you to work, boy, not to frolic about with his horses,” Tyler bawled. “Now what’s with you? Are you going to do what you’re nature-bound to do or are you going to carry on in the fields, where you don’t want to be?”

  After a brief moment of though, Will answered. “I’d like to try it, sir.”

  “You’ll do more than try, boy,” Tyler said. “You’ll be the best stable hand His Lordship has ever had the pleasure to have known, or I’ll disown you.”

  Laverly could tell that, despite the rough words, Tyler’s feeling for his grandson was clearly one of affection and pride. Perhaps his anger was for the war that had robbed the boy of his leg and his livelihood. Laverly wasn’t sure of the boy’s age: old enough to have served in war but young enough to respect his grandfather’s authority. So Laverly offered the terms and wages to Will while his grandfather was there to speak up if he chose to.

  “When can you start?” Laverly asked.

  “He can start right now. Harvest is in, he was just clearing and he can do that on his half-day,” Tyler answered for him.

  “Grandfather, are you sure?”

  The chair creaked as Tyler rose. “Sure? Of what? I can manage my own crops, I reckon. I’ve just been idle because you’ve needed something to do. Best tell your ma first; she’s still at the Knollys girl’s. You’ll not be calling there, Your Lordship, unless you want to get in the way of a passel of women going about a woman’s business.”

  “I appreciate the warning. Will, I will expect you tomorrow morning,” Dennison said.

  “Aye sir, I’ll be there. What time?”

  What time indeed. He had no idea. “There are no horses in the stables at present, but there’s a lot of work to be done before I can purchase any. The former servants were, I regret, ill-suited for the work. The stalls haven’t been cleaned since horses were last stabled.”

  “I’ll tend to it, sir, early tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent,” Laverly said, standing up. “Will, I look forward to having you in my service. Mr. Tyler, no doubt we shall again share another one of our theological discussions on the French.”

  Tyler chuckled. “You’re welcome to worship with me any time, m’lord.”

  “I’d offer to raise a toast to the burning in hell of the French, but the miscreants who left the Hall in such piteous shape helped themselves to my wine cellar.”

  “Bloody sots,” Tyler said with feeling. “They ought to be stretched for that.”

  “Do you know anything about them?” Laverly asked. “They seem to have taken over the Hall after Her Ladyship died. It’s very peculiar. I don’t believe my father ever had trouble with the servants.”

  “Sir, I did hear that after Her Ladyship died, a new man showed up to help, so
he said,” Will said. “Talk was that he was a rough sort; people in the village were fearful of him. He had mates who showed up, and folk did say that they were staying in the Hall. But no one knew for sure and there was no one to ask. Finally Hy Bartram went up with some of the lads and I reckon they scared off the lot.”

  “I owe Bartram my thanks.”

  “He’s in the forest most days, now that winter is coming upon us, chopping firewood for the widows. If you’re going to call upon the tenants, you’ll not find him inside on days when he can be outside working,” Harold said.

  “Good of him.”

  “Hy is a good man,” Harold said. “There’s many a widow and old grandmother who would have a cold winter if not for him.”

  “Aye,” Tyler spoke up. Laverly doubted if Tyler offered praise often; that he did so for Bartram indicated that the man deserved it. Laverly had the feeling, as he and Harold left, that perhaps the old man’s opinion of him might have reformed a bit during the conversation. Laverly wondered what his father had thought of Tyler and how the two of them had gotten on. He also wondered if his father would have been pleased to see his son and the tenant in conversation. Not that, as the Duke, Laverly was obliged to get along with the tenants, particularly a cranky one, but his father had been respected by men such as Tyler. Laverly realized that this was not necessarily a given in village life.

  Chapter Four

  Harold thought that they had time for one more call before returning to the Hall where lunch would be waiting for them. But before they arrived at the next residence, he pulled the wagon to the side of the path.

  “Why have we stopped?”

  “Our next call. I want to explain-“ Harold sounded ill at ease. “Sir, I think you should meet Bella Dart.”

  “Is she a tenant?”

  “She lives with her father; he’s your tenant.”

  “Then we’ll meet them both,” Laverly said.

  “Aye, but I wanted to let you know first that Bella is someone who could help you.”

  “As a cook? Parlor maid?”