Lilacs for Juliana (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 3)

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Virginia clutched her hat, an odd-shaped little covering that resembled an acorn and fit her impish personality. “Why are you walking us back to the orphanage, Miss Beauchamps?” There was a tease in the child’s voice. Did she know about the gown Juliana had made for a dance that she’d not yet been invited to?

  Juliana teased back, “I suppose it’s because I’m going to adopt all of you and take you out into the country to live with a hundred dogs and a thousand cats.”

  When a tiny flicker of hope appeared and then disappeared from the child’s eyes, a stab of regret pierced Juliana. What careless words. If she had her way, she’d take a half dozen orphans home with her. How wonderful it would be to be surrounded by children again. Soon her older brother would arrive with his family. But there was plenty of room where she lived. “Do you know something?”

  The child shrugged and averted her eyes to the walkway.

  “I wonder if Sister Mary Lou might let some of you come to visit with us—maybe some of you children could take turns coming out every week.” But how would they feed all those extra mouths? She wished she could trust God, but seeing as He took away her fiancé all those years ago and her brothers, she didn’t count on Him to provide. Maybe if she’d not spent so much money on her gown then she wouldn’t be worrying about feeding extra mouths. But something about her Bon Jean had her wanting to attend the Lumberjacks’ Ball. And she would attend that dance and make sure that those who’d tormented her after Aleksanteri abandoned her would see that Juliana Beauchamps wasn’t a washed up old spinster.

  They marched along, the children talking and laughing amongst themselves. Stephen and Marcus Lone slipped their hands in Juliana’s. “We want to be the first to go to your house.”

  “And together.” The blond twin fixed his green gaze on her.

  “We’ll see. Father Paul has to approve.” Sister Mary Lou would agree, Juliana knew that in her heart, but the priest had to answer to the diocese and to the orphanage board. Hopefully, there was no one on the committee like Mr. Hatchens.

  When she stopped in front of Josephine Christy’s bakery, the children broke ranks and ran to the windows, pressing their hands and noses to the glass.

  “We’re praying for Miss Christy and her father.” Virginia clasped her small hands together.

  Timmy pointed to the “Closed” sign. “Father Paul says it’s a shame Miss Christy had to close her store, to go see if her dad is all right, but he said that’s what family does for each other.”

  “Yeah.” Marcus hugged his twin. “And Sister Mary Lou says I’m blessed because I have family right with me.”

  Stephen elbowed his twin and wriggled free then raised his fists. “Not if you’re gonna hug me in public. Unless you want to be blessed with a shiner.”

  Gracie strode to Marcus and pulled him against her side. She pointed to the back of the line.

  Juliana lifted her whistle, dangling from a chain on her chatelaine, and blew sharply. A dozen startled faces turned in her direction. “Any child who is back in line, and proceeds quietly and with decorum into the store, will receive a treat.”

  A collective gasp went up before quick feet brought them back in queue. Gracie laughed but wagged a finger at them. “All of you behave.”

  After she unlocked the door, Juliana turned to face the orphans as passersby gawked at them. “Miss Josephine Christy has offered us her unsold cookies.” Hopefully they were all the same type because if they weren’t, the children might argue over them. She stepped inside and approached the case and scanned it. A huge stack of sugar cookies overflowed a platter. Perfect.

  Gracie cleared her throat. “Wipe your feet as you enter.”

  The boys made a show of repeatedly wiping their feet while the girls rolled their eyes at them and giggled.

  The twins moved to the front of the line, waving their hands.

  “Yes, Stephen?”

  The dark-haired twin grinned until a dimple showed on his chubby cheek. “Can we pray for Miss Christy’s family?”

  Was Stephen trying to redeem himself for his early misbehavior? “Yes, let’s bow our heads for a moment.”

  As silence fell over the group, remorse filled Juliana. Her actions of late had been about what she wanted. She’d not been thinking of the Christy family. She should have been praying for all of them the minute Josephine and Rebecca asked her and Richard to watch over their stores. Instead, she’d made cow eyes at Richard, who was beside himself worried over his brother and father. Although Richard denied his distress when they’d talked about watching over the shop, the way his jaw muscle jumped and his fists clenched had told her otherwise. And she’d spoken no words of faith to him.

  “Juliana?” Gracie’s whisper brought her back to the moment.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Dear Father in heaven, we thank you for these children. Give them all good homes.” A tear slipped down her cheek. The words had just slipped out. “And be with the Christy family. All of them.” Richard, too, and let me be of support to him. “Give them safety in their travels, and where there is illness in this situation, bring healing. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand and headed behind the counter as the children glued their eyes on the cookies.

  “I wish I could come here every day.” Marcus’s mouth hung slack as he stood by the glass case.

  As she passed a treat to each child, in turn, Juliana couldn’t help but be touched further by their grateful smiles and joyous reactions. Did God ever look down on her and wonder why she didn’t rejoice when he’d done something in her life? He’d given her the opportunity for schooling and a job when Aleksanteri departed without her. God had used Juliana to provide for her sister and mother when Papa had died. Now he’d brought this family of friends into her life—feisty Josephine who always spoke the truth in love, the talented Garrett whose hands crafted beautiful furniture from the very wood he used to cut down, and Richard who seemed to love books and children as much as she did.

  The orphans hadn’t bothered to sit in the chairs that surrounded small tables in the store. Instead, they’d almost inhaled their cookies.

  Juliana shook her head. “Some of you have more cookie on you than made it in your little mouths.”

  “Or on the floor?” Steven laughed and wiped his face with his coat sleeve.

  “I’ll sweep up after them.” Gracie gestured to a broom and dustpan that peeked from behind the open doorway to the back storage room.

  When the last child had finished and the floor was swept, they left and Juliana relocked the door. Tomorrow she’d take some vinegar water to the front windows to remove the hand and nose prints. Which of these precious imps would she bring home first? And wouldn’t they cheer up Mother!

  Their delight in the simple act of receiving a cookie had encouraged her soul. Maybe Claudette, too, would find the same thing by watching their actions. Maybe something outside herself was just what her sister needed.

  Soon they’d reached the orphanage. Sister Mary Lou’s dark habit flapped around her as she descended the steps to greet them. “Has the Secret Cookie Festival been successful?”

  The children cheered and the nun beamed. She took Juliana’s arm and pulled her aside as Gracie and the children ascended the stairs. “It’s done.”

  “My dress?” She’d squealed so loudly that several children swiveled around. Juliana covered her mouth, then quickly dropped her hand.

  “Just a few finishing touches. But I’ve got a key and I’ll put it in the armoire to surprise Miss Hart when she returns.”

  “I can hardly wait to see it!” She trembled with excitement. Would Mrs. Puumala be at the Lumberjacks’ Ball? Would she and her husband wonder why their son hadn’t married her?

  For ten long years she’d endured the pitying looks of her friends as they added child after beautiful child to their homes and spoke of how accomplished their husbands were at work. And had she heard anything from Aleksanteri?

 
You need to let this go. The words were almost audible and Juliana scanned the nearby church building, its stained glass windows glowing softly in the afternoon sun. She shivered. God was preparing her heart. She and Alek had been so young.

  Sudden tears pricked her eyes but she wiped them away. “I have to go.” I have to let Aleksanteri’s hurt go, too.

  Juliana hadn’t slept well as she’d wrestled with hanging onto her anger and resentment but by morning, she’d given Alek over to God along with her hurt feelings. But now, settled in the workroom at the library, she clutched her copy of Sonnets of the Portuguese to her breast and sipped a third cup of Earl Grey tea. Glancing downward at the note from Mr. Yost, she took in his quickly scrawled words about meeting with him to discuss filing systems. She set the Elizabeth Barrett Browning book onto the rectangular worktable and took her tea cup and cookie with her to the glass windows that overlooked the street. This was the St. Ignace she knew from her youth. But soon it would be teeming with wealthy tourists and seasonal occupants. Despite the heavy fog this morning, she knew that even now porters lugged early arrivals’ trunks up from the docks. She dipped one of Josephine’s sugar cookies into the steaming brew then took a bite. Not stale at all now. Amazing how something dry and brittle could take on new life so easily.

  The distinctive form of Richard Christy emerged through the mist, setting her pulse racing. Could he infuse her heart with a new beginning? She glanced down at her keys, hanging from the chatelaine on her chest. Richard possessed the key to Rebecca’s shop. Might Juliana’s gown be in the armoire as Sister Mary Lou said? What did it look like? Was it as perfect as she imagined? Oh, what she’d give to try it on—or at least look at it completely done. And she’d dance at the ball with Richard. No longer would her motivation include anything to do with Aleksanteri and her need to prove to the community that she wasn’t a cast-off spinster.

  Grabbing her sweater, she raced out of the building to meet him on the walkway. “Good morning, Mr. Christy.” She pressed a hand to her chest, hoping to still her rapid heartbeat.

  He set down his canvas bag, overflowing with books, and ran a hand back through his dark hair. “Mornin’. How ya doin’ today?”

  “I’m fine, just fine.” Except she was bobbing up and down on her toes like a schoolgirl. She forced herself to still. “I’m about to take a short break, and I was wondering if I might have the key to Miss Hart’s mercantile?”

  A frown tugged between his eyebrows. “I was gonna go down there myself in a few minutes, but I reckon that would be all right.”

  “Good for me to stretch my legs with this lovely weather we’re having. Once that fog burns off later we should have another sunny day.”

  He fished a key from his vest pocket and handed it to her, the metal warm from his body. Richard pressed it into her hand then sandwiched her much smaller palms between his, the strength and heat in them speeding up her heartbeat even further. As he leaned in, she held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Not out here in public. Strands of wavy hair fell across his broad forehead. Something shifted in her—his brow was completely unlined. His cheeks smooth above his beard. No lines etched yet around his eyes. How was that possible?

  “Miss Beauchamps, please don’t go in the mercantile’s back area—Ox will have my hide if you do. Better yet—wait a few minutes for my long legs to catch up with you after I return these here books.” He bent and picked up the rucksack.

  She clutched the key. “See you there.”

  Across the street, the busy harbor held the first of the regular ferryboats that crossed to Mackinac Island. As soon as Richard lumbered toward the library building, Juliana raced down the walkway, wishing she flew faster than any cannonball that had ever shot from Fort Mackinac, over the straits. When would the rest of the Christy family return over those cerulean waters?

  When she arrived at the mercantile, she hesitated only a moment, eying the sign advertising for lumber camp cooks. Poor Richard still hadn’t found any. She’d start asking her friends if they knew of anyone.

  She unlocked the door and admitted herself into the mercantile, which reeked of fumes even worse this day. Was it lamp oil? Or was Ox careless with his varnish and turpentine? She waved her hand before her face. Maybe she should reopen the door, but she’d only be here a minute or two.

  Juliana’s heart throbbed in anticipation. Her heart pumped in her chest. Because of the strong odor, she had difficulty drawing a breath. With the light streaming through the front windows, she didn’t need to adjust the gaslights.

  From the back of the shop something skittered and she cringed. She hated mice. Waiting, she heard nothing further and moved forward.

  Every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation as she headed to the beautiful armoire that Garrett had constructed. She threw it open. Empty. Completely barren. Nary a gown to be seen. Her heart sank. Disappointment coursed through her, freezing her there. She closed the door reluctantly, a floorboard creaking nearby.

  “Here for the store owner,” a sinister voice sounded from the back. “You there, Janie?”

  She whirled around as a whoosh sounded, bringing with it smoke.

  “Here to finish what I started.” An emaciated-looking man flew toward her, tugging on a hank of rope.

  Juliana shook her head and backed up.

  “You’re not the mercantile owner. Not my Janie.” His wild eyes flashed like a wounded beast’s.

  “No. I’m not Janie.” Who was Janie? She had to get out.

  The shaggy-haired creature began to scream, as though the hounds of hell had found him.

  She moved past him toward the door but when she reached for the handle, she, too, screamed, in pain, as the brass doorknob burned her hand. She stumbled backward several steps, tripped over her hem, and fell to the floor, crying out in pain as the man’s clawlike hand gripped her throat.

  What Richard should have been doing was meeting with more ladies for the cook job but instead, he’d spent the early morning swilling coffee and chowing on baked goods at Cordelia’s inn. Now he hurried to catch up with Juliana. Today was the day he’d tell her that she wouldn’t be seeing much of him anymore. He was young. He had plenty of time to get married. What in tarnation was he thinking now? They’d not even begun courting and already he was begging off marrying her? She’d think he was a lunatic. Better just to stay far away from her.

  From three blocks back, the fog broke and the sun beat down. He could see Juliana, straight ahead of him, entering the mercantile. Hadn’t she paid him any never mind when he told her to wait on him? Women—so stubborn—another reason he couldn’t get married right now. He rubbed the side of his head, which began to ache. Both he and Ox had been on edge because of Peevey’s release and now the question of who was encamped in the old cabin near the camp. But, it was daytime, and who could figure out a woman’s rationale for why she did the things she did?

  Richard opened the door and smoke rolled toward him. He narrowed his eyes against the fumes’ assault and saw someone grabbing Juliana. He rushed in. Myron Peevey shrieked like a maniac. Richard knocked him down. “Get out, Juliana.”

  But she lay there as fire crackled up from Ox’s workroom.

  A searing blow caught him in the eye and he stifled a groan. Richard punched Peevey back as the flames licked forward.

  Grabbing Juliana, he whirled and charged out into the street as the building burst into flames behind them. Something within the building crashed and he ran faster.

  “Get back! Get the Fire Brigade!” he yelled at two men on the walkway, and they turned and ran toward the docks. As a blast shook the block, he fell down atop the librarian, trying to brace himself with his arms and legs so as not to hurt her.

  “Oh God,” he leant up on his forearms, his knees on either side of her as debris rained down on them. He bent closer and seeing her uninjured, he kissed Juliana’s damp forehead.

  “Richard,” she whispered, eyes wide.

  “Oh God, oh my Lord,” he
repeated as he pressed his lips to her forehead again, which was wet with something. Where were the tears coming from? Seeing that murderous Peevey with Juliana had snapped something loose in him and cloaked him with the presence of the Holy Spirit.

  Juliana reached up and wiped moisture from his face. “You saved me.”

  “No, Miss Beauchamps, God did.” Why? Twice in his life now, he’d helped rescue a young woman from that insane man, who surely now was dead.

  “I’m glad…” She took a shaky breath beneath him. “He let you be part of it.”

  Whistles and bells pierced the air. From up the street, a fire carriage lurched forward as volunteers streamed from nearby businesses, merchants jumping up onto the side as it passed.

  He began to cough as the air filled with dust. “We need to move further back.” They could have been killed. He had to get Juliana away to avoid more injury.

  Picking Juliana up, he carried her down the walkway as black matter rained down on them. She leaned her head into his neck and a fierce protectiveness shot through him. No one was going to hurt Miss Juliana Beauchamps again, if he had any say over it.

  What would he have done if she’d died? His arms began to shake, not from her feather-light weight, but from the crevice that had formed in his heart and which a tiny librarian had crawled inside. Life was short. He of all people should know that, even at his age.

  He inclined his head toward the ladies gawking at them as he brought Juliana to a bench. Richard set her down and then sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders. She leaned in against him. Truth be told—it felt like the most natural thing in the world, despite the circumstances.

  A gust of wind carried the stench of the fire away from them. In a moment of clarity, his spirit knew God called Richard back to Him, as if the words, “Come close, son,” had been spoken.