“Thank you, sir.” Tom climbed up onto the seat beside her, the wagon creaking in protest.
Did he actually just thank Pa for threatening to send her brothers after them?
Tom displayed a pistol. “You can’t be too careful out in these woods, sir.”
Pa walked around to her side of the wagon and handed Jo the zippered cash bag as a black flash of fur exited the cook shack and ran straight toward them.
When Blue’s attempts to launch himself up onto the wagon failed, Pa gave him a lift and in two shakes of his tail, Blue had settled himself beside Jo, nudging her closer to Tom with his head. Her cheeks warmed.
Her father raised and lowered his index finger, motioning her to move farther over on the seat and right against Tom’s strong shoulder. She pulled the blanket from beneath her pet as his tail slapped the wooden floorboard in glee.
“You have enough room, Miss Christy?” His eyebrows rose in question over eyes that shone deeper green today, like the pines surrounding them. Pines that would soon be logged out and sent off to the mills to be made into homes and grand hotels like those on nearby Mackinac Island. While she was in town today, she’d look to see if they had need of help at the train station restaurant, where many travelers disembarked on their way to the island.
“I’m fine.” She tucked the blanket in around her, hoping that would give her enough room so she wouldn’t be pressed up against him the entire trip to and from the hour’s drive to town.
They headed out to the road and soon rocked on through the countryside, Tom guiding the horses around ruts. “Beautiful out here, isn’t it, Miss Christy?”
She’d never been seated so close to someone who wasn’t her own kin. This near she could see the fine lines framing Tom’s eyes. “How old are you?”
His hands jerked on the reins, startling the horses, but he regained control. “Twenty-eight. Why do you ask?”
“Why haven’t you married?” The words flew out of her mouth. Overhead birds chattered as though scolding her for asking.
He blew out a long puff of breath that clouded in the chill air. “I almost did, once. I waited four long years for my fiancée to finish her schooling.”
Jo looked down at her hands, their chafed skin covered in mittens today.
“She wanted to be a doctor.”
She gasped. “A doctor?”
His challenge to her truly had been a joke. No man who’d set his heart on marrying a modern educated woman would marry up with a camp cook. Disappointment battled with relief over ending this game Tom was playing.
“What happened?”
He redirected his gaze ahead. “Received a better offer.”
“Lumber camps aren’t a good choice for lady docs.” As far as she knew there weren’t too many of them and those who’d finished their training tended to go to the big cities, where people were more open to newfangled notions.
He chuckled. “I wasn’t a lumberjack.”
“What were you, then?” She chewed her lower lip. All those big words he used. The way he scolded the shanty boys when they were out of line. His after dinner stories read to the camp children.
“A minion.”
“Minion?” She didn’t want to ask what that meant.
“I was someone who had to dance to the tune of a board of men who had no idea what was involved in my work—unlike your father, who does. He has the respect of the men.”
A board. A school board, perhaps? A teacher. She’d heard Moose’s friend, Myra, a schoolteacher in town complain about the requirements. The woman couldn’t so much as sneeze without accounting for her actions. If her suspicions were right, Moose wanted to marry the pretty teacher.
“So that’s why you became an axman?”
His face reddened. “After my father died, I needed to make better wages to help my mother keep our home. Her family has owned the property for a hundred years or better. They earned the hundred acres for fighting in the American Revolution.”
“Oh.” What could she say to that? Ma’s family and Pa’s populated the hills of Kentucky. Maybe they, too, had earned their property during the Great War for Independence. Regardless, Granny didn’t want Pa staying there for some reason and kept funding his lumbering efforts with money from the family stores. So they’d moved on from place to place ever since she was ten.
Sitting beside Tom, a yearning for permanence took root in Jo. Regardless of the outcome of his challenge, he’d been scorned once by a woman. Surely as a Christian she shouldn’t humiliate him. Not like she’d planned.
She moistened her lips. “What will you do when this camp closes out?”
“I don’t know. What about you?”
“I’m not going on. I know that. But I’ve got to find a job and … and let my Pa know.”
Beside her, Blue began to yip as he tried to scramble up to sitting.
Movement in the tree line caught her eye. Tom followed her gaze. He reached inside his coat and retrieved his gun.
Overhead, the sun dimmed as thick clouds bunched together.
“Jo—you able to take the reins?”
She grasped them as several men, in tattered clothes, stumbled toward the road. “Hee-yah!” She slapped the reins against the horses and they pulled the empty cart faster down the lane.
Tom fired off a warning shot as the men ran toward them. Jo didn’t look back, but Blue barked furiously. She couldn’t let go of the reins and if she grabbed her dog now, he’d bolt. Dear God don’t let him run off after those men.
Tom fired again. “Threw up some dirt at them, Jo. They’re rubbing their eyes.”
He grabbed the reins back and Jo wrapped an arm around Blue. The dog continued to pant loudly and whine as the team carried them at a brisk pace out to the main road that led to town.
Jo’s heart beat so fast she could scarcely get her breath.
When Tom slowed the wagon and pulled her close, she didn’t resist. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder while Blue slumped down, covering her feet.
“It’ll be all right, Josephine.” Reins in one hand, Tom patted her pet’s head. “Don’t you worry.”
After Tom and Jo had dropped Blue Dog off at the miller’s, they’d continued on to town. Now, what seemed like hours later, Tom prayed their procurements at the mercantile had ceased. After totaling the figures, Tom surmised that Jo’s purchases resulted in a sum well over the allotted budget. She’d just tried on a pair of lady’s boots but had put them back on the display shelf after she’d looked at the price.
When she moved on to the yard goods, he slipped over to the rack, grabbed the footwear, and then brought them to the sales clerk.
“Box these up separate, please,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Put them on my tab.”
“Yessir. Didn’t realize Miss Christy had a beau.” The young sales clerk’s long straight hair flopped into his eyes as he bent and almost reverently tucked the brown boots inside a cardboard box, covered it, and then wrapped twine around it. “Was thinking about asking her father if I could come visit her out to the camp sometime.”
“Well, don’t,” Tom ground out between clenched teeth. What had gotten into him? Maybe those tramps on the road had him riled up. Or maybe it was the way Jo felt tucked next to him, her soft body conforming to his as they rode into town.
The young man’s pale blue eyes met his and widened. “No, sir. I can see right away that she’s your gal.”
His gaze flitted to Jo, whom Tom caught staring at him in what appeared to be open admiration. She twirled so fast toward the bolts of cloth that she knocked half a dozen over.
“Excuse me.” The young clerk moved toward the display, but Tom stepped in front of him.
“I’ve got this.” He came alongside Jo, whose cheeks flushed pink, which heightened her prettiness. Her deep auburn hair and hazel eyes contrasted nicely.
Tom’s hands brushed against her as they both bent to pick up a bolt of cheerful green and red cotton fabric. He felt a spark
move through him, igniting a longing that this Christmas could be as festive as the fabric—a time filled with happy new memories.
“I got distracted.” Jo averted her gaze and straightened the cloth. “Can I get that bolt of Christmas cloth? It would look so merry on the tables.”
“I don’t see why not.” Except that she’d already exhausted every bit of money her father had allotted … and then some.
He brought the fabric to the front and motioned for the clerk to incline his head. “Go ahead and total out the order, but anything over this amount…” He handed the man Mr. Christy’s note. “Put that on my account with the boots.”
“But it’s quite a fair amount over with this cloth, Mister.”
Tom held up his hand. “Please, just do as I say.”
They’d not even stopped at the mill yet. What would that total be? Tom opened his wallet and examined the contents. As Mr. Christy had suspected, fruit prices—even on dried fruit that would have been harvested the previous year—had already risen. Prices were already inflated in this area because of the long trip most food took to arrive there. Hopefully flour prices were stable.
Jo and Tom shopped along the main street for personal items while Mr. Cooper’s men filled the wagon with their order. She’d brought a large bag of her sugar cookies and spent time trading with some of the Chippewa.
“I need something for Ruth for Christmas.” She held aloft a blue beaded necklace, then made a trade.
They walked on and she stopped at a restaurant, at the train station, and at a druggist to inquire about work. She’d also stopped at the post office, where jobs from southern Michigan and even the Upper Peninsula were posted. With each address Jo recorded in her tiny notepad, his heart sank. But if, like Mother, she wanted to work then perhaps he could return to teaching. Still, he wanted to be able to support a wife on his own. Or, was that his pride speaking? Biblical admonitions came to mind, warning him that humility was a virtue and pride a sin.
Everywhere they stopped, people hugged Jo and asked about her mother. And, each time, she cried. He bought an extra handkerchief for her at the mercantile when his became too soggy to be effective. When a stiff wind blew down from the straits, she allowed him to drape his arm around her.
Now, an hour later, as they rolled up toward the mill, Tom estimated the amount of money he’d need to pay for the various grains they’d need for the camp. He’d already sent his mother money for taxes. Her curt reply in her recent letter wasn’t at all the appreciative missive he’d hoped for. Instead, she reiterated her plan to take up work as a businesswoman of sorts. I’ve got a lot of life left in me, Thomas, and I intend to make my own way, she’d written.
After securing the horses, Tom assisted Jo down and Blue came bounding from beneath the shade of an oak tree. “Good boy.” He picked up a stick and threw it for the dog while Jo went to check on her order.
In a short while she returned, grinning. An impish gleam lit her eyes. “I’m done.” She pointed back to massive sacks of milled wheat, cornmeal, oats, and rye.
Lord what have I got myself into here? The miller stopped the millstone from turning, wiped his hands, and headed toward Tom as his assistant swept up.
“Them shanty boys gonna eat good this month.”
On Tom’s coin, too. He bit his lower lip. When the man named the total, Tom clenched his jaw and reached for his wallet.
Jo frowned and watched as he pulled the money out and handed it to the man. When the proprietor failed to exchange the usual pleasantries, Tom offered his own.
“Thank you, sir, for doing business with us.” Tom extended his hand.
“Oh, yes…” The miller smiled and shook hands. “Mighty fine to meet you, too.”
He tucked the bills into the front of his white apron then waved his assistant over. The two men hoisted up a fifty-pound sack on each shoulder. Tom did the same, trailing Jo out to the wagon.
Tom cleared his throat. “We encountered some miscreants on the road on our way here.”
The miller loaded his bags in the wagon with a resounding thunk. His assistant followed suit, flour dust puffing out from the bags.
“Don’t know anybody by that name, Mister.”
Jo gave Tom a pointed look. “He means we had trouble with some bums on the road near town.”
“Oh.” The miller scratched his balding pate. “Were there three of them?”
“Yes,” Jo and Tom answered in unison.
“They stole from us yesterday and we chased them off.” The miller’s assistant squared his scrawny shoulders.
“I had to fire at them.”
“Me, too.” The owner pointed back toward the mill. “I always keep my shotgun ready, being situated out from town this far.”
Jo shivered. Tom needed to get her home.
“I don’t want a repeat on the way back but I’m prepared.” He’d purchased additional ammunition for their return.
The miller whistled long and low. “Can’t imagine what the Christy men would do to them fellas if they harmed this little lady.”
Jo’s features pinched together.
“I got Miss Christy here safely and I’ll get her home again—safe.”
Blue looked up from the bowl of water he’d noisily slurped from.
“Come, Blue,” Jo called.
The retriever shook his black head and trotted over, but headed to Tom, not Jo.
She narrowed her eyes at him as Tom hoisted the good dog up and onto the floorboard.
“My own dog likes you better than he likes me.” Her voice, so childlike and soft, stirred his protective nature.
“No, he doesn’t, Josephine. He just knows I have treats in my pocket.” Tom took Jo into his arms. He’d been about to lift her up but having her this close, with the scent of the rosewater she’d dabbed on at the store, intoxicating his senses. He could only stand and look at her changeable eyes, her perfectly straight nose, and then those tempting lips of hers. Lips that trembled. Lips inviting him to…
“Mr. Jeffries?” Her eyes had turned hard. “I believe you were going to help me up. Or did you injure yourself lifting the bags?”
Tom heaved her up then marched around to his side of the wagon. What had he been thinking? And with the miller and his helper right there?
Once he took his seat, he whistled for Blue, gave him a dried biscuit, and then motioned for the dog to perch between himself and Jo. He didn’t need to be any closer to the pretty woman than he already was.
Jo spread her blanket around herself as the lab lay at their feet, between them. Tom directed the horses out onto the main road. For a few minutes they rode in silence. But when Jo spread the second blanket over his knees, he almost jumped.
“You all right, Tom?” She looked up. “Flakes are coming down. We’ll need that extra blanket.”
Light snowfall danced in the chill breeze. “Once we get into the woods we’ll get less precipitation.”
Beside him, she shivered. “Do you think those men will be there?”
“Let’s pray not.”
“Do you pray, Tom?”
“Every night. Don’t you?”
“I do.”
But were they praying for the same thing? Or were their prayers at odds with each other?
The next day, Jo woke with Pa well before sunrise and made sure he headed over to the kitchen shack for his breakfast. What a treat to be able to go back to bed and enjoy the warmth of quilts stitched by her mother, grandmother, and aunts. She could almost feel the love that had gone into making them. Ma used to let her sleep in and come to help with clean up after breakfast and to make sure the lunches were made up to be taken out to the men in the woods. In return, Jo had also worked the after dinner cleaning crew so Ma could spend some time at home with Pa. But that was before she got too sick to do much more than rock in Granny’s rocking chair, wrapped in the very quilt covering Jo now.
As she lay beneath the covering, she replayed the conversations she and Tom had had on t
he way home. They’d talked about so many things that she couldn’t remember them all. One thing she did recollect, though, was the way he made her feel—like she was the most special woman in the world. He listened to her concerns. He shared his trials as a teacher but also the joy he felt in watching a child learn to read and write. She sucked in a long slow breath, recollecting how good his arm felt, wrapped around her to keep her warm.
Someone rapped at Jo’s window and she startled. She lifted her red gingham checkered curtain and peered out into the dark. A lamp illuminated Sven’s blond mane and rugged features.
“Can I come in, Jo?”
“Sure—come on.” She got up and slipped her arms into her robe and her feet into a pair of fur-lined moccasins.
She unhooked the lock and opened the door. Sven entered, with the usually foul-tempered Mr. Schmidt behind him. She closed the door.
“What brings you here?”
Sven brought down the shotgun from over the door and placed it on the table, in the main room’s center. “Those men marched right into the kitchen pretty as you please, yesterday.”
Jo gasped.
“Ja, Thomas told us you saw them on the road.” The German man stomped, wiping his feet on the mat and Blue Dog rose from his bed to join them.
“Did they hurt anybody?”
“Nein, that relief cook, Irma, grabbed the shotgun in the corner and ran them off. She’s the fraulein for me, I think.” Mr. Schmidt waggled his bushy eyebrows. “Asked her to bake me a gut fruitcake.”
“Irma?” The widow was such a quiet hard-working woman.
“Ja. She told them to git—just like you tell your dog when he’s bad.”
Sven removed his cap. “Your Pa didn’t want to frighten you last night, so he didn’t tell you. Tom slept outside your shack, I was at Ruth’s in the middle of camp, and your brothers guarded each end of camp.”
“Thomas has eaten and he is to sleep now, ja?” Mr. Schmidt rocked back and forth in his heavy boots, the floorboards creaking.
Sven yawned. “I’m gonna join him and your brothers for a snooze in the bunk house.”
“I better get dressed then.” Jo pulled her robe more tightly around her.
The Fruitcake Challenge (Christmas Traditions Book 3) Page 5