Garrett stomped to the back door, too steamed to pay attention to something niggling at him. He paused on the stoop before swiveling to look back. His own big boot tracks covered most of the footprints someone else had left. They’d been smaller than his, but that wasn’t unusual. And they were narrower, which also wasn’t a surprise. But the prints seemed larger than those left by Rebecca’s boots...but maybe. With word that Peevey was out, his nerves were on edge.
He located the low, steel boot scraper to the left of the door and scraped off as much mud as he could. Turning, he narrowed his eyes at the brown remnants on the box. Might that clump be tealeaves and not tobacco? Rebecca took a notion that the remnants from her tea ball should be emptied out on the struggling daffodils—said the tannic acid in it helped them. He’d wanted to tell her his ma always threw down old fish with her bulbs in the fall, when she’d replanted them, but thought he should pick his battles. If she wanted to toss tealeaves outside her own store, so be it. But why throw them atop a crate?
He inserted the key into the lock and groaned when it didn’t immediately open. As he fiddled with it, the lock cylinder produced grating noises, as though already loose. He’d try to speak with the locksmith later, but his good intentions wouldn’t make that happen. Between working at the inn and for Rebecca, his list of things to do was lengthening and the time to do them in shortening. At least Rebecca hadn’t mentioned any problems with the entry door lock, so if this failed, he’d go around to the front. The mechanism finally gave and he opened the door and went inside, carefully scanning the room for signs of an intruder. Nothing. All his tools right where he’d left him. He exhaled. Those carving implements had cost him a pretty penny, but they remained nestled in their flannel wrap.
Whistling, he set up his workplace. Then he walked to the front of the store. All looked in order. He pulled back the curtains from the window and unlocked and checked the door. Perfectly smooth, opening and closing. The locksmith was an elderly man who’d been in his line of work for decades. He’d installed the inn’s locks, but had been ill recently and needed to finish putting in the door locksets on the top floor. The third level held no occupants, though, and likely wouldn’t until summer and the tourists arrived.
Garrett returned to his workbench and began sanding down a cabriole table leg. The curving wood reminded him of a woman’s figure and he paused momentarily in his motions. He’d designed the piece. Was his distraction by Rebecca and her womanliness affecting his work? If so, she’d not complained about all he’d produced so far. Still. He swallowed as he set aside his sandpaper.
The doorbell jingled. Already? Had Rebecca pushed herself to come in after he’d urged her to stay put at the inn? But when he rose and went through the privacy curtain to the front of the store, he found Jo and Tom waiting. And kissing.
Although his father described him as a “man of strong emotions,” Garrett had managed to constrain most of his romantic feelings until recently, when he’d seen Janie, or rather Rebecca, again. Ma always scolded that he should withhold any grand displays of affection until he’d found the woman he’d marry—sure that passionate nature would get him into trouble. Thankfully, it hadn’t. Although after her death he’d indulged in some activities he knew she’d rue, but he’d always ceased his kissing the tavern girls before things escalated and before they’d asked for money to continue their “attentions”. After seeing what that weasel Peevey had done to Rebecca, Garrett could only wonder what she must think about men who “paid her any mind,” as his Ma used to say. Though Myron Peevey shouldn’t be compared to other men. Peevey’s father was one of the worst abusive drunks around, but so were many other men of the woods and that didn’t make their sons become deranged. Right from the beginning, before Mr. Peevey lost his wife and started his decline, Myron had something strange about him. And it wasn’t just the way he trailed Janie Daggenhart like a puppy. Not that anyone dared allow their pets loose in town—for those small animals were often found dead, near the river. Garrett shivered. Peevey had been a killer from the beginning, yet he kept that aspect of himself hidden, just as he made a display of his dedication to Janie. And that betrayal had to have affected her and made Rebecca Hart who she was today—a woman unlikely to accept the type of affection Tom displayed toward Jo.
Garrett groaned. “Hey, you two, you’re in a public place.”
“Pooh, this isn’t public—it’s just you.” Jo laughed and kissed Tom again.
Tom Jeffries pulled Jo close and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ve never been so happy in all my life.”
“Me, too.” Jo’s satisfied sigh grated on Garrett’s taut nerves, but he couldn’t say why.
You’re jealous.
Am not. So now he was arguing with himself. Or was that I Am speaking to him?
The two kissed again. Garrett’s cheeks heated. Couldn’t deny he wanted to enjoy such happiness with someone he loved. How would it be to kiss Rebecca and have her glow like his sister did?
“We’re trying to plan our wedding.” Tom arched an eyebrow.
Jo nibbled her lower lip. “But we’re running into trouble with scheduling because of the Lumberjacks’ Ball.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about it.” Had no intention of going.
Jo strode toward him, her hand outstretched, clutching an envelope, its seal broken. “Pa sent us all a letter.”
Garrett took it and scanned the missive. “Pa’s gonna give up lumberjacking? I don’t believe it.”
Tom joined them. “We need to let Moose know what your Pa thinks. And I’m concerned about my own job, too. No camp—no students, unless I’m hired here or in one of the other small towns closer to the camp.”
His future brother-in-law needed that job. Garrett rubbed his jaw. “Moose is young.”
“But he’s capable.” Jo’s lower lip protruded as it did when she was about to be stubborn.
He wasn’t pursuing this conversation, because as far as he was concerned their younger brother was a man of action and not one for thoughtful planning, which was required to manage a camp. What would happen to all their lumber camp friends if Pa followed through?
***
The door to Rebecca’s bedchamber drifted open. Amelia stood there, holding Sister Mary Lou’s hand and clutching a pitiful-looking first daffodil, its fledgling petals almost transparent.
The girl broke free and ran to the bed. “You can’t be sick! I don’t want you to die.”
“Oh, hush, now.” Sister Mary Lou’s dark skirts swished as she approached the bed, bringing the chill of the outdoor air with her, and a faint hint of incense.
Rebecca pushed up on her elbows. “I’ve just got a spring cold. I’m not dying.”
She brushed a lock of the girl’s hair back from her eyes. What would it be like to have a child? To pull her own daughter into an embrace?
Amelia dropped the flower on the bed, threw her arms around Rebecca, and wept. Startled, Rebecca froze. The small hands were tight against the back of her neck, evoking memories of the moment the rope had pulled tight and began to hoist her up. But this touch was a loving one and slowly the chill she’d experienced ebbed away, replaced by the warmth of tiny fingers tugging at her bed-strewn hair.
“Will you look at all her pretty hair, Sister Mary Lou?” Amelia sat on the bed and began to arrange Rebecca’s waist-length locks around her shoulders. “Can I brush it?”
Before she could answer, the child had crossed the wood floor and retrieved her boar’s head brush, its silver-plated and embossed handle in need of a good polishing.
The nun leaned in and whispered, “I tried to keep her back at the orphanage, but she’d become almost hysterical. She believed you were dying.”
Soon, little Amelia had brushed all the tangles from Rebecca’s tresses. She returned the brush to the dresser and brought the ornate, hand-held mirror back. “Look.”
Rebecca’s hand shook as she held the reflecting glass aloft. Sister Mary Lou pulled the heavy drapes ba
ck from the windows, allowing in more light.
Hazel eyes gazed back at her. Twin swirls of pink glowed on her high cheekbones. She held the mirror further away. Dark curls framed her face and a decade seemed to have fallen away from her complexion, making her look closer to her twenty-seven years than the woman of middling years she’d appeared lately. She looked almost pretty.
Heavy footfalls sounded in the hallway outside the room and the door swung in. “Are you all right?”
Rebecca looked up to see Garrett Christy, his cheeks flushed, wringing his hat with his beefy hands. Right behind him, the priest appeared and gently pushed the gaping lumberjack aside. Rebecca pulled her bedcovers up to her chin.
“Miss Hart, the children from the orphanage came to me.” The priest glanced at Sister Mary Lou, who appeared to be rolling her eyes skyward. “They thought you were dead.”
“Do I look dead, Father?” Rebecca laughed as Amelia hid behind Sister Mary Lou.
“She sure don’t.” Garrett’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You look pretty as a peach with your hair like that.”
The priest cast a stern look in the other man’s direction before returning his attention to Rebecca, who shrank further beneath her Ivory soap-scented covers.
Sister Mary Lou wrapped an arm around Amelia and brought her forward. “I’m afraid the other girls took Amy’s alarm over Miss Hart’s illness a little too far and came up with their own dire conjectures.”
Garrett frowned as though he was trying to understand the nun’s words. “Do ya mean like that silly game about those new-fangled telephones and taking messages that get all mixed up?”
St. Ignace boasted their own telephone exchange, available to those who could afford the service. But when Rebecca had visited Burt’s Bank, where the switchboard was located, and inquired about the fee, she knew her father wouldn’t agree to a store phone until she began to produce a hefty profit margin.
“The Grapevine game,” Amelia called out. “And that’s been played since before Mr. Bell invented telephones.”
Sister Mary Lou drew in a deep breath. “Regardless, as we can all see, Miss Hart simply has a cold and is in no mortal danger.”
She might be in no mortal danger, but from the gleam in Garrett’s eyes, Rebecca found herself in a new sort of danger. One she didn’t care to face.
***
After saying their goodbyes, Garrett left Rebecca’s room and the inn and returned to the shop. Deep in his thoughts of how pretty she’d looked, he soon found himself walking ahead of Amy and Sister Mary Lou. The duo trotted after him.
A train whistle drew his attention momentarily toward the tracks, across the street, and beyond to the straits. Beyond that beautiful sapphire water lay the Christy lumber camp, nestled in the woods. Hard to believe that instead of hefting an ax or working one end of a saw he’d be creating something beautiful from the lumber culled from the forests.
As he easily unlocked the mercantile front door, he vowed to talk with the locksmith and to keep watch for any other indications that someone had been smoking behind their building.
He turned to the child. “Amy, have you or Miss Hart been tossing spent tealeaves out back behind the shop?”
“Yes. In that little area where I got a blossom for her. I think it is helping.”
The nun, standing behind the girl, rolled her eyes, and Garrett almost laughed.
After waiting for Sister Mary Lou and Amy to enter the store, Garrett followed them in, the scent of freshly sawn wood an intoxicant to him. He missed the piney woods. Missed his father and friends. But God had called him to come out and begin using his gifts of crafting furniture.
“What’s this?” Amy pointed to the ornate bookcase he’d just finished.
Although he’d intended to sell that piece elsewhere, Rebecca liked it so much she’d purchased it for the store. She understood that he would be making other copies if commissioned to do so. Already someone had left their name with Rebecca while he’d been in the back working on the new armoire that would hold soft goods such as yarn and fabric. She’d asked for casters on the bottom, in case she wanted to move the furniture around more easily. Only a woman would think of such a silly thing. Much safer and sturdier to simply build-in your displays where you wished them to remain.
“That’s Miss Hart’s new bookcase for all the maps, books, and paper goods she plans to sell.” If they ever arrived. At this rate, summer season would be here and gone and the store not yet fully stocked.
Sister Mary Lou smiled and lifted a wooden cube that he’d outfitted with an “X” shaped divider in the middle. “And this?”
“I thought that might work to hold stationary and cards.”
The nun’s smile faded. “I hate to say this, but with all of the new businesses in the area, Miss Hart will face stiff competition. A new bookstore and a stationers have both opened further down State Street.”
Nearer the more popular shopping area. Trusting in You, God, and praying Rebecca does, too.
8
Rebecca stripped away April’s calendar sheet, saving it for the tinder pile. Her first month had ended and her father had yet to return. Her helpers consisted of a pint-sized orphan, a nun whose sales could help get her out of debt, and a lumberjack handyman who reminded her every day of her past and whose presence had her reconsidering her future.
April had been a busy month, which had included a surprisingly vibrant Easter spent with Garrett’s family. Poor Miss Beauchamps, who’d not been included even though Richard expressed a fondness for her as well as his opinion that a well-educated woman who was several years older than him could not possibly be interested in a lumberjack. And Rebecca hadn’t corrected his misconception. Perhaps she should have. But she had her own romantic dilemma, for her appreciation of Garrett Christy grew stronger every day.
He joined her in the front, carrying two mugs full of coffee. “Here you go. Thought you might enjoy a break.”
“Thank you.” Taking a sip, she appreciated that he’d added enough cream to make it just the way she liked.
“I added sugar—two lumps.” Tiny lines crinkled around his dark eyes.
What would it be like to look into those chocolate brown eyes every night? “Perfectly prepared.”
“May already. Hard to believe.” His eyebrows pulled together as he swiped the sheet from the counter and held it aloft.
“You’ve accomplished so much.” Not one corner was untouched by his expertise—from the built-in armoires, to the shelving, to the cubes for dry goods, and to the new counter space.
“Thank you kindly, but I’m thinkin’ you’re running out of work for me.”
She almost dropped her coffee and he reached out to steady her hand, sending a spark through her.
“Listen, I’ve been wanting to talk with you about something.” This close, she could smell his spicy aftershave mingling with the scent of cedar and pine from his woodwork.
Her heart pounded.
“Actually, I have a couple of things I’d like to say. One is that if you’d really like to go to that Lumberjacks’ Ball then maybe I could practice the dances.”
“Uh…” Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t finish her sentence. Why had she been expecting him to make a profession of admiration for her? Her cheeks heated. But wasn’t this invitation saying he found her worthy of escorting? Yet, if she were to be a successful businesswoman how could she be consorting with her hired help? That wouldn’t bode well for her.
“You don’t have to tell me right now.” The smile tugging at his lips vanished.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips. “What was the other thing?”
Garrett exhaled loudly, took a long swig of his coffee, and then took the obsolete calendar sheet to the tinderbox. “I have to find more work, ongoing jobs, for me to stay here and not return to the lumber camp.”
“But this is a boom town. Surely you’ll have no difficulty.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Lots of wor
kers have flocked to the area, and many folks are willing to settle for basics. The wealthy summer residents haven’t yet returned.”
“Have you gotten commissions from your work here?”
“Yes, a few, but not enough to support me and…” He took another drink of his black coffee.
“Do you have any ideas?” Several ran through her mind. Marry me and help run the store. She dismissed that notion outright. “What about remaining at the inn?”
He shook his head, causing an ebony lock of hair to fall across his pale forehead. “I’ll keep looking, but I don’t think I can wait until June when more of the wealthy vacationers return.”
“I’ll keep my ears open and ask, too. And I’ll put an advertisement in all four newspapers.” She had to do something.
Suddenly, the excitement of opening a new store loomed pointless without Garrett there beside her.
****
Three glorious weeks of May arrived with walks in the park, meals shared at the inn, games of checkers and all manner of card games, and the welcome addition of laughter back into Rebecca’s life. Life truly was beginning anew. As was their new custom, she and Garrett took their morning break together, over coffee, accompanied by one of Jo’s new creations from the bakery. This morning she’d created a vanilla streusel breakfast muffin with a dollop of cream cheese in the center.
After sinking her teeth into the pastry, Rebecca savored the taste. “Mmm, this is delicious.”
Garrett nibbled at his and set it back down on its plate. How unlike him. He wrapped both of his hands around his coffee mug and took a long drink. All morning long he’d been pacing in the back, in between applying coats of varnish to a cabinet door.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve got a lead on Mackinac Island for a fine craftsman position.”
“Oh?”
“You know I’ve had no offers here and we’re bumping up on June soon.”
She swallowed hard. “What do you know about this job?”
The Lumberjacks' Ball (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 2) Page 6