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

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “No, Juliana, I’m not too young.” He met her gaze and held it.

  Her heart leapt in her chest. Did he know her age?

  He cleared his throat. “You see, I understand men like Hatchens—they’re always trying to work a situation out for themselves.”

  “Hatchens?” She frowned.

  “I’m old enough to know a scoundrel when I see one.”

  “What?” She clamped her lips shut. What was he talking about? Had he heard about the latest mandate? This was making no sense.

  “I reckon I shoulda said somethin’ earlier. But now I’m not sure what’s to be done.”

  She found her voice. “About?”

  Richard ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Ya see, Hatchens has got kin he wants to put to work at the library—to take your place.”

  Her mouth went dry. “What?” She was beginning to sound like a parrot. Juliana’s heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t lose her job. What would she do?

  “His nephew’s gonna be done with college any day and Hatchens has offered him a job up here. Hatchens is tryin’ to get the board to approve him.”

  “But I have a contract.” Which ended in thirty days and would need to be renewed and hadn’t yet. Her stomach spasmed.

  “That might be, but…” He turned her toward the street and pointed to his buggy. “Let me get you home and I’ll tell you all I’ve learned so far.”

  “So you’re my spy?” Did she really like the sounds of this? No—but it was a relief to know someone had her back covered. Like her brothers used to do for her.

  He laughed. “I reckon so.”

  When they reached the open carriage he swooped her up by the waist and placed her on the passenger side. “Oh!” When he released her, she missed the warmth of his hands, and his strength.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

  Soon they were on their way and he explained what had happened so far. She shook her head, a pall of shock dampening her senses.

  “Listen to me, Juliana. Don’t change a thing yer doin’. That man has it in for you, and I don’t know why the good Lord is allowin’ this but one thing is for sure and for certain—the Lord is in control.”

  “If you believe that, then why are you skulking around?”

  He scratched his head. “Wasn’t skulkin’, was tryin’ to get at the truth.”

  If she lost her job… “I support my mother and my sister—and as you know, they both have physical ailments and are unable to work.” Juliana chewed on her lower lip and stared down at her hands.

  “Yes’m, I know that, but they seem to be improvin’.” He grinned at her in approval. “I like a woman with pluck, and you got that in spades.”

  She shook her head but couldn’t help laughing. “Pluck, but possibly no job soon.”

  “We’ll keep prayin’ about that—and about finding me some cooks.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I sure couldn’t picture a pretty little gal like you out there cookin’ for a bunch of shanty boys.”

  Juliana blinked in confusion. “Thank you for the compliment. But you’re wrong.” He must not know that once she and Aleksanteri were wed she was to have cooked for his parents’ camp. But after he’d left, Papa sent her off to school in lower Michigan. And she’d become a librarian.

  “I ain’t wrong about you being beautiful. I’ve got two good eyes in my head.” He pointed to the dark orbs.

  “Well, thank you. But you’re wrong about my capabilities, or lack thereof.”

  He flicked the reins and the horse pulled the carriage from the curb. As they departed town, church members waved at them, and men lifted their hats. It seemed half the city was out, now that the weather was improving and the tourists hadn’t yet descended upon them. Soon they were outside of town and beneath the canopy of fir, pine, oak, and maple. The spinster librarian with the handsome Paul Bon Jean, or rather, Richard Christy.

  Next to her on the bench seat, his presence loomed larger than life. How many times had she imagined the real Bon Jean arriving here? And he always brought, with him, her older brothers who’d been lost in the war; the Beauchamps brothers she’d never had the chance to grow up and know. In reality, her brothers’ remains were buried far from home, all alone. In her imaginings, however, Gerard, Emmett, and Pierre hadn’t really died in the Civil War. In her childhood fantasies, the heroic Paul Bon Jean had stomped down to the battle fields in Virginia, rescued her brothers, and brought them to his mystical lumber camp in Canada. There the three brothers worked as lumberjacks, chopping down the mighty trees across Canada. One day she would have met those hardworking brothers. She wiped away a tear.

  “You okay?” He transferred the reins to one hand and wrapped the other around her and pulled her close. She didn’t resist, but leaned in against his broad shoulder. “Don’t ya worry none. It will be all right.”

  She wanted to believe him. As they rode through the woods, the fresh scent of pines and new growth on the hardwoods permeated the air. She breathed in deeply. Her family had been here generations, and God had always seen them through.

  “Right pretty back here, ain’t it? I’ve enjoyed my rides out to the new camp.” But he looked down into her eyes with something she could only construe as adoration. Then he focused on the road, again.

  They exited into the clearing and onto the sandy road that led to their little compound.

  He whistled as they approached the half-circle drive. “That view of the lake never stops giving me chills of appreciation. It’s so darned beautiful.”

  She shrugged and removed his arm from her shoulder. Didn’t need Mother and Claudette seeing them and getting the wrong idea. “Guess I’m used to it.”

  “How do you get used to something so lovely, that’s always changin’?” The warmth in his voice suggested he was talking about something else entirely and sent a shiver through her.

  He assisted her down from the buggy, holding her aloft for a moment, eye-to-eye, her feet dangling over the ground. “Juliana, we’re gonna beat old Hatchens at his own game, you wait and see.”

  His face was so close to hers, his almost black eyes much lighter this close, with flecks of amber in them and a dark gray rim. His lips were full and pink and right there where she was looking. He cleared his throat and chuckled then lowered her to the ground. Her legs wobbled and he took her arm.

  Later, after he’d stayed for dinner, at Mother’s insistence, all the Beauchamps women fussed over him, Melanie in particular.

  “Are you sure you didn’t coax me out here just to get me to hire your sister-in-law?” Richard accepted a third helping of biscuits and gravy.

  Where did that man put all the food he ate?

  Melanie leaned in on her elbows, hanging on his every word when he sampled each dish.

  But it was Claudette who surprised her most. She set the apple cobbler in front of Richard, as though prepared for him alone, and beside that, she’d added one of Mother’s best china bowls full of whipped cream, which had to have taken her over a half hour to prepare, even with using the rotary beater. Her younger sister stood over the tall man now, her slim arm draped across the back of his chair for all the world as though taking possession of him.

  Juliana didn’t like it. Not one bit. She tried to catch her younger sister’s attention but failed.

  “Please, Mr. Christy. You try it first. You’ll see I’m a good cook and I’d love to be hired full time at the camp—for once all the men get here, too.”

  Full time? Juliana’s jaw dropped. Their mother didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at this comment.

  “Reckon ya have fed the handful of us well out there.” Richard looked across the dish-strewn table at her, his lips twitching.

  Juliana tried to consider how Richard might see her sister. Golden, wavy hair trailed to a slender waist. Her too-small dress hugged decidedly feminine curves. Goodness, Claudette needed new clothing and soon. Perfect beautiful features set in ivory skin, with her large blue-green eyes focused onl
y on him. Juliana’s heartbeat struggled into a faster erratic beat in protest. She patted her mouth, her too-small mouth compared to her sister’s, and set her napkin on her lap.

  Claudette was also closer in age to Richard.

  Juliana pushed back her chair from the table, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. “I’ll clean up.”

  “We’ll help.” Her sister-in-law left the table.

  Mother shook her head. “No, Melanie, you go take care of the children. And Juliana you take a rest—go down by the beach and sit a spell. I want to talk with Mr. Christy.”

  Carrying plates to the sink, she overheard Claudette’s soft voice. “Should I stay, Mother?”

  “Yes, my dear. Sit down.”

  Juliana and Melanie left the house.

  “Do you think he’ll hire all three of us?” Melanie wrung her hands. “I pray so.”

  “What?” Had Melanie lost her mind?

  Later, after a long walk during which she’d swatted away more mosquitoes and black flies than she cared to count, Juliana returned with a sprig of lilac in her hand, as Richard was exiting the house.

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “Seems I’ve hired me three new cooks.”

  “My sister isn’t able…” She waved the lilac springs before her.

  He raised a large hand and backed away. “Let’s see what she can do, all right?”

  Then he headed out, as though they’d both just experienced another fire, as he sprinted to his carriage.

  As she lamented his departure, Juliana inhaled the lilac. Too bad the growing season was so short. There was so little time to enjoy them—and then they were gone.

  Richard had dodged a bullet, or rather a sneezing spell, before he’d left Juliana. A shame to have to depart so quickly, but he daren’t risk an attack in front of her. No self-respecting man would. What would she think of him if he had?

  Now, after enjoying the Beauchamps ladies’ company and good cooking, Richard’s drive out to the camp seemed lonely. Too much so. The handful of men in the camp could take care of themselves. Probably knee-deep into a game of pinochle, already. He needed to talk with Tom—see what he’d heard about the board members. Richard directed the horses to the fork in the road and headed toward town. A handful of men, inhabiting what would become a bustling lumber camp, just wasn’t normal. Good thing Mrs. Jeffries had said that he was always welcome.

  Did I do right, Lord? Offering to hire all three women? Sure, Juliana’s little sister couldn’t keep up with those other ladies, but if she could peel taters and carrots and help out even half a day--that was something, wasn’t it? He wasn’t about to tell Juliana of his concerns, lest she think he was giving charity. Come to think of it, he’d probably not tell Pa until they’d all gotten settled in. He had to believe that God had provided for his imminent need. Even if two of those three ladies could help, at least he wasn’t empty-handed.

  After he’d arrived and stabled the horse, Richard headed in, through the back of the inn. Dark had begun to settle in the skies, turning the heavens a deep blue. Instinctively, he locked the door behind him—he’d seen no light in his brother’s work shed, so Ox was likely upstairs reading. Richard stepped into the kitchen. Empty.

  He strode up the long hall. No lights on in the family’s dining room. Maybe Tom was reading in the parlor. He headed down the hall. Hearing James Yost’s distinctive voice, Richard stopped short. Up till now, he’d been able to avoid the man when he was at the inn. For some reason, Yost had chosen to stay at Cordelia’s Inn when he’d returned from Milwaukee. Edging up to the parlor’s entryway, Richard spied Hatchens’ profile as he lifted a teacup from its dainty saucer. What kind of man sips tea—and from a cup that small, anyway? Richard ducked back behind the wall. What were they doing there? True, Yost was welcome to visit with anyone he chose, but why Hatchens? Richard leaned against the cool plastered wall.

  “We’re so happy to have you staying with us on this visit.” Cordelia’s voice carried into the darkened hallway where only a couple of gaslights flickered on low.

  “It’s been delightful, but I need to return to work and get back home, again.”

  “Your assistant said you’re greatly needed in Milwaukee. You have some needs at the factory, I believe.” Leave it to Cordelia to get that information out of Yost’s sidekick.

  “Indeed, I do. And Milwaukee is a lovely place. Not so charming as here. But, yes, I need to return promptly.”

  Richard stifled the urge to sneeze. Someone must have brought more of those blasted lilacs into the building. Sure enough, right down the hall, on a half-circular cherry table, beneath one of the gaslamps, a large bouquet featured spikes of the purple flower. He tried holding his breath.

  “And so you’ve determined you need help with your personal library, is that correct?” Hatchens’ actually sounded happy for once.

  “Yes, the public library is beginning to settle in. We still have some positions to fill but we’re confident we shall place some of the top candidates soon.”

  “Very admirable.” Father Paul’s words startled Richard. What was the priest doing there?

  Richard exhaled slowly and tried breathing through his mouth.

  “Indeed, and I would be most grateful to both of you men if your very capable librarian and her lovely assistant could accompany me back to help me in my personal endeavors.”

  Juliana and Gracie? Richard pinched his nose. He couldn’t sneeze just now. Had to listen.

  “Personal endeavors?” The priest’s skeptical tone contrasted with the earlier warm response.

  “That is, since the private library is in my home…”

  So he’d take the young women to his own place? Richard pinched his nose tighter, drawing in slow breaths through his mouth.

  “A mansion from what I’ve seen—simply beautiful.” Mr. Hatchens intoned. “I’m sure they’d be very comfortable.”

  Richard would give Hatchens the comfort of his own bed, too, after he’d gotten a whoopin’. What was the ignorant man thinking? Richard had to calm his anger. Surely God wouldn’t let two innocent women go off with this man. Maybe the newspapers didn’t print the truth about him.

  “Thank you.” Yost’s self-satisfied voice grated on Richard’s nerves. “As I was telling Father Paul, since the library is in my home, it makes this a personal task.”

  “I see. But Gracie is too young to serve as chaperone to Miss Beauchamps.” Father Paul didn’t sound convinced of this idiotic plan, either.

  “She’d suggested that Sister Mary Lou could use a rest. I could ensure that your orphanage supervisor could be well tended to, trust me. She’d serve solely in a spiritual capacity to the young ladies, and not work on the library whatsoever.”

  “So she’d chaperone?” The priest still sounded doubtful.

  “Sister Mary Lou does need a good break—she’s been looking rather piqued lately.” Cordelia’s words steamed Richard up. How could she encourage this folly?

  “And we, at the Board of Trustees for the Library, could certainly make an exception for Miss Beauchamps and her assistant to be gone for say—four weeks?” Hatchens spoke in his confident and supercilious manner as though all was a done deal.

  “A month would be fine.” Yost almost gloated. The man already counted his victory.

  A month? She’d be at this man’s home a full month? Richard focused his attention on not sneezing but was becoming light-headed.

  “Of course, I could get my nephew to help out at the library, for that time, and we have our summer library interns.”

  Juliana had said nothing about helping Yost with his library. Did she even know anything about this? As likely as hens having teeth.

  “Is your nephew done with his schooling?” Cordelia, his betrayer, acted as though this plan was just fine.

  “Yes, recently graduated—summa cum laude.”

  “Impressive.” Yost’s single word held a heavy German accent that sometimes appeared in his speech.

  �
��I thought so.” That simpering pole cat Hatchens would think so.

  “So, do we have a solution to my problem?”

  “Let me see.” Father Paul intoned. “I agree that our favorite nun needs a break. And I’d ask one thing of you, in return.”

  “Anything.”

  “Help Gracie find a suitable position in Milwaukee—perhaps as a nanny with a good family. Or in the new Milwaukee library that you helped build.”

  “Is she unhappy here?” Something about Yost’s tone of voice sounded like he knew something he wasn’t saying.

  “She’s about to age out of our orphanage, Mr. Yost. And I fear this area holds too many sad memories for the child. Gracie may benefit from a move.”

  Poor Gracie. Richard had no idea.

  Hatchens cleared his throat. “She’s very attached to Miss Beauchamps. Perhaps you may seek a permanent position there for the two of them? We’d hate to see them go, but we should consider her happiness, too. After all she’s a spinster of twenty-eight, with no prospects here.”

  Twenty-eight? The first time he’d spied her she looked to be a child. But he’d immediately become aware she was a woman, albeit a tiny one, or petite, as Jo would put it. Why, thank God, she’d not been snapped up before now. And she did have prospects here—him being the primary one. Just as soon as he had something to offer her. But Yost—he had more. Richard’s hopes yelled out “Timber!” as they crashed.

  Hatchens cleared his throat. “I hate to state it so plainly, but I’m not a heartless man. My dear wife will attest that my heart holds only the greatest care for womankind. But I believe that lumberjack friend of hers lacks compassion for a woman’s sensibilities.”

  “Oh?” Richard could picture Yost’s ears’ perking up.

  “Yes. I overheard Christy announce that he has no intentions of marrying Miss Beauchamps. That said despite his constant hovering over her at the library.”

  Richard’s loud sneeze reverberated in the hallway and he trotted his hasty retreat out the back.

  Chapter 11

  “Miss Beauchamps, may I have a word?” James Yost swooped in on Juliana, in the men’s fiction section, where she was placing books in their proper Dewey decimal order.