But something in her gut seemed to shatter into a million pieces that cut into her. She bent over, feeling the sensation that she knew wasn’t from a true physical ailment.
“You all right, Rebecca?”
Go.
She looked up at Tom but knew he hadn’t urged her. And her body screamed that she should stay here—let Jo and Tom find Garrett and Amelia. She’d stay and prove that she could manage this store and look after herself without anyone else’s help.
Trust.
Look what trust had gotten her with Myron, who at this very moment may be trying to kill her. She was being silly. Just because Garrett had failed to clean up his work space one time. And hadn’t locked the door, she was overreacting.
Obey.
Shivers coursed down her body to her boots. God, show me that is You. Please help me trust and obey.
“You’re shaking.” Tom took hold of her shoulders. “You’re going to just need to trust God and go with us.”
11
Pearl and Frenchie gathered the children around the potbelly stove in their shack as Garrett retrieved extra wood to feed the fire. The night had turned cool. He hoped Rebecca had gotten his message in St. Ignace and hadn’t worried.
“Is that really you, Ox?” Ruth’s sweet voice carried across the clearing.
Sven trailed after her, toward Garrett, both of their boots kicking up the piney muck that covered the central camp area. He’d forgotten how dirty his boots got and how long it took to clean them off at night. But he had recalled that shanty boys didn’t bathe as often as he now did, which was another reason he’d chosen to stay at Pa’s cabin.
“Ja, it truly is you.” Sven threw out a wide hand and grasped Garrett’s with such force that his knees almost buckled. “You getting soft on us, Ox?”
Sven laughed and Garrett did, too. His old friend could say such “fighting words” to his face, but he’d never spread rumors nor would he make nasty remarks behind his back.
“How are your wedding plans coming, you two lovebirds?”
Ruth shrugged. “Soon as we get settled in the new camp, if...”
“Your Pa says he’s for quitting this kind of work.” Sven’s light eyebrows joined together.
The pretty blonde leaned toward Garrett. “Honestly, your Pa’s notion started when Tom’s aunt showed up.”
“His aunt?” Cordelia’s sister must have arrived and like her had shown up out of the blue, too.
“Yes. And she’s just as pretty as Mrs. Jeffries.”
Garrett frowned. “What is she doing here, and what has this got to do with my Pa?”
Sven patted his stomach. “Been cooking for us.”
Rolling her eyes, Ruth elbowed Sven. “Mrs. St. Clair came to see if her sister needed help at the inn, but your Pa convinced her he was desperate for help here, with Jo gone.”
“How long has she been here? Cordelia acted as though she’d just heard from her.”
After playfully punching at Garrett’s shoulder, Sven laughed. “She’s been here long enough, my friend, ja?”
“Irene is a sweetheart—we just love her in the kitchen.”
Still chuckling, Sven mumbled, “More than just the cooks feel that way.”
Ruth brought a booted heel down on Sven’s instep and he howled. “Forgive my fiancé, he seems to be feeling his oats today. But as I was going to say, who can understand sisters and why they do what they do?”
“Not me, for sure.” Garrett eyed his father’s cabin, which loomed so empty without Jo’s presence.
Ruth sighed. “I think Irene is embarrassed at all the attention your Pa is paying to her.”
“Ja, you should see them.” Sven squeezed Ruth’s hand. “I think they might have their own plans.”
“So Pa may marry this woman?” Garrett shook his head as though he could dispel cobwebs from between his ears. “Is that what you’ve been beatin’ all around the bush about?”
“Ja, but we hear you have your own news.” Sven waggled his eyebrows.
Had he heard about Rebecca? “Oh?”
“You won’t be with us up North—Moose may be boss.”
“I don’t think Moose is mature enough to manage the camp.” Garrett allowed his opinion to sit there between him and Sven, like an unclaimed biscuit on the counter.
Both Sven and Ruth remained silent, the sound of squealing children, in the distance, carrying through the pine trees.
After clearing his throat, Sven glanced to Ruth and then to Garrett. “But I can help him, ja?”
Garrett pulled his friend into a brief bear hug and then released him. “You betcha.”
“Ox, I don’t want to cook up there, though. I thought you should know.” Ruth’s gaze moved to the tree line, from where her siblings emerged. “I’ll be staying at home.”
How would Rebecca manage if he were to marry her and if they took in the orphans? That was, if Pearl and Frenchie couldn’t manage them. He’d have to chew on that notion for a while. Of course, it would help if Rebecca Jane actually had any interest in marrying him…
“Good news for me—I’ve got a job doing cabinetry on Mackinac Island.”
Ruth squealed. “That’s so exciting. Congratulations!” She kissed his cheek before Sven pulled her back to his side.
“Ja, we know you want this new work a long time. Best wishes.”
“Thanks.” Garrett accepted Sven’s handshake.
This entire exchange with his friend reminded Garrett of one of the last serious conversations they’d had about life and where it was taking them. Misty Fawn had accepted his offer of marriage and Sven expressed his concerns. They were valid, for many of the lumberjacks held strong prejudices against the Chippewa and Odawa who populated the area. But within the month, the beautiful métis widow and her children had died from an illness so virulent it struck down a quarter of the small village where she lived outside the lumber camp. Too numb with shock to properly grieve, it had taken his mother’s death to finally open that wound and let it heal. He and Pa mourned in private, together, far more than Jo or Moose had ever known.
Pa strolled toward them, a tall brunette, bearing a strong resemblance to the striking Cordelia Jeffries, on his arm. This must be Irene. He patted her hand and then released her, closing the distance between himself and Garrett. Grinning broadly, he opened his arms, and with a bear hug lifted him briefly off his feet. “Don’t say yer old man can’t still do that, son. And what are they feedin’ you over there? Ya feel like ya lost some weight.”
After Pa released him, Garrett playfully punched him in the arm. “Ain’t lumberjacking no more. Don’t need all those vittles that Jo and the ladies served up.” And Ma, rest her soul.
The pretty stranger flushed beneath Garrett’s appraisal. She indeed was a handsome woman, but what was Pa doing already seeking out another wife? Maybe with him knocking on fifty years’ door soon, he didn’t want to be alone. Still, it grated.
With a flip of his wrist, Pa gestured the woman toward him. “I want you to meet Cordelia’s sister, Mrs. Irene St. Clair.”
Cordelia had mentioned the widow recently. “Happy to know you, ma’am. Your sister sure is lookin’ forward to seeing you soon.” But with the way Pa and her seemed so cozy, was Cordelia’s hope misplaced that her sister would soon join her in the Upper Peninsula?
“Good to see you, Garrett.” Mrs. St. Clair smiled up at him. “I can’t wait to catch up with Cordelia when we make the move.”
She and Pa exchanged a long glance. Garrett squelched the urge to question them.
“Looks like my boy got himself shaved.” Pa laughed. “Makes him look younger, which goes along with that leaner look he’s sportin’ now.”
Garrett ran his hand along his now-stubbled jawline. At the end of most days, he needed to shave before dinner, but such wouldn’t be needed here. He shot his father a look but ignored his comment as he addressed Irene. “Nice meeting you, too, ma’am.” His face itched, but he resisted the urge to scratch
his chin.
Pa scrunched up his face like one of Ma’s cornhusk dolls. “You gonna keep clean shaven, son? Or are you gonna let your beard grow back in?”
“Pa, this is one day’s growth.” Garrett sighed and then hated himself for doing so. “Gonna keep myself shaved, but I ain’t got a razor here. So, yes sir, I suspect by tomorrow I could have the beginnings of a new beard.”
The lady blushed, as though this topic was too intimate for her to overhear. “Come, come, Mr. Christy, let’s not embarrass him.”
Pa laughed. “Let the barber get you in town before you cross back over, son.”
“We’ll see.” Garrett felt all of twelve years old again.
“I’m assuming you got yourself some good work lined up, then.” Pa winked at him. “Given this new hankerin’ for a smooth face.”
“Yessir.”
“Don’t you worry none about your brother—he’ll do just fine.” Pa clapped him on the shoulder then grinned at Sven. “You boys got a good friend in Sven. And I’ve got me a new camp assistant for your brother. So yer off the hook, Ox.”
Garrett smiled and cringed at the same time. “About that nickname, sir…”
12
As Rebecca, Tom, and Jo entered the queue for the ferry, Charlie hobbled out from one of the buildings that held shipments and baggage bordering the docks. His features tugged in several directions. “Miss Hart, I need to tell ya something.”
Tom cocked an eyebrow at her.
“What is it, Charlie?”
“I, uh, I got your message about keeping your shipments.”
“Good.”
Jo tapped her toe as the infirm man removed his cap and twisted it in his gnarled hands.
“Miss Christy, I’m to tell you that your brother acquired a good-payin’ job at the Grand Hotel.”
Her friend beamed. “Good news.”
The porter slapped his cap back on. “Miss Hart, I fear that means you’ll lose your fine carpenter.”
“Yes.” Much more than a carpenter. Rebecca’s spirits plummeted.
He departed and Jo took her hand. “Don’t look so down. I know you care for him.”
Tom moved ahead, allowing them privacy, as he toted their bags to the ferry attendants.
Rebecca ran her tongue over her dry lips. “Does…is…the woman Garrett was to wed…”
Jo stopped walking and pulled Rebecca from the line of those departing. “I believe I told you the poor dear and her children died.”
How tragic. Rebecca’s heart clenched. Here she was begrudging that Garrett may return to her and the poor woman was departed to her heavenly home. A passenger’s cane grazed her leg, and Rebecca jumped back. Jo held her hand, preventing her from falling over a trunk, behind her, and pulled her upright.
“Oh, my, Rebecca, you best settle down before you end up overboard.” Jo released her hands but then linked her arm with hers. “It has been almost two years since Misty Fawn died. And she was a believer, as were her children. That gives me consolation as I hope it did Garrett.”
“You’re not sure that faith helps Garrett?”
Jo ducked her chin to her chest but then met Rebecca’s eyes. “Something happened that got between him and God. About ten years ago something really bad happened. And he’s not been the same faithful boy he was.”
“He’s a man now.” Had her plight caused Garrett’s beliefs to falter?
Jo laughed. “Yes, he seemed to become a man overnight. And it’s only recently that he says he relishes time spent in the Word and listens to the sermons—asks questions afterwards.”
“So he’s coming back to the Lord.” Relief coursed through Rebecca.
“I believe so.” Jo released her arm so the two could board the boat.
Soon they were underway, and Tom obtained hot tea and sweet rolls for them. “Not as good as my fiancé’s, but close.”
Jo gazed up at Tom with a look that Rebecca hoped would one day pass between Garrett and herself. Hadn’t she already glimpsed him making eyes like that at her when she’d entered the back room of the mercantile? Her cheeks heated at the memory. But if he’d already procured employment on the island, what could that mean? Still, she felt a blessed peace such as she’d not experienced in a long while.
She sat back in her seat, listening to Tom and Jo’s comments and bits of conversation from the other passengers. One lady sought out her daughter to bring garments she’d knit for a grandchild. An older gentleman planned to visit the tavern to hear the latest songstress brought in for the summer season. All around her, people were making plans and connecting with their loved ones and engaging in activities they enjoyed. Why shouldn’t she as well? The burden of running the shop lifted, freedom beckoned.
Soon coming to an end, the trip across the straits exhilarated Rebecca in a way she’d forgotten, so long had it been since she’d loosened the stiff bindings she kept on her emotions. The deep blue and then aquamarine tones of water gave way to a misty gray-green as they reached the docks in Mackinaw City. Seagulls swooped down to gobble up crumbs that the very earliest tourists and returning summer folk had scattered on the park banks.
After they’d disembarked and taken sustenance at a small café, Tom sought transportation for them. When he returned, an older man, whose head reached Tom’s shoulder, accompanied him.
As Jo introduced Rebecca, her eyes twinkled. “Frenchie, this is Rebecca Hart.”
“Enchanté.” Old world charm emanated from the elderly lumberjack despite his rustic appearance. He swept off his slouch hat and bowed as though they were at court in France.
“Frenchie is my Pa’s camp driver.”
“Oui, I am glad I made this second trip this week to town.”
“Thank you for driving us.”
“I brought Garrett, as he now wishes to be called, out to camp last night, with the children.”
Tom made a shooing motion toward the ancient dray, parked on the street. “Time to move along, ladies.”
Frenchie took Jo’s arm and escorted her out to the street, Tom’s scowling face making Rebecca stifle a giggle. The Frenchman pointed to the back of the most dilapidated wagon Rebecca had seen in some time, its wood sides grayed to almost silver. “Was in town for more supplies for Pearl’s grandchildren and the celebration tonight.”
Jo tapped his arm. “What grandchildren?”
“I’ll tell you on the way, but we must get going.” He held out his hand.
Light rain seeped through Rebecca’s new red-and-black jacket, a close-fitting garment that would easily become soaked through if true rain commenced.
“All right.” Jo handed Tom her bag.
“Hop on up, mademoiselle Josephine.” The driver assisted Jo into the front seat. “We will head to the Christy camp, as quickly as we can, ahead of this rain.”
Rebecca vowed she wouldn’t complain as the raindrops thickened and blotted into her pretty jacket that would surely cling to her before long.
“Frenchie, where’s the lap robes?” Jo stood up front, arms akimbo.
Rebecca nibbled her lip and kept her head down as townspeople gawked at them loading onto the dray. What would her mother say if she could see her now? She’d die of embarrassment.
The elderly driver moved to the back and retrieved two dusty Hudson Bay woolen blankets and handed them up. Rebecca sneezed.
“God bless you. I’ll sit in the back, but let me help you up, first.” Tom grabbed her around her waist and hoisted her up before she could stop him.
Jo rolled her eyes. “He’s just showing off his muscles.”
Leaning in, Rebecca whispered, “Which will rapidly disappear if he remains teaching.”
They giggled and, after Rebecca settled on the buckboard, Jo spread a lap robe over the two of them. Sun peeked through the clouds and the rain altered to a gentle mist.
When the driver mounted, Jo passed him a blanket but he shook his head.
“You’re looking belle, Josephine.”
Jo pat
ted her auburn curls, made bouncier by the rain. “I have a maid, a butler, my own chef, and a wardrobe of beautiful gowns now.”
“At the inn?” The man’s mouth gaped open, revealing no teeth. Poor thing.
With a laugh, Jo tapped him on his arm. “No, but Tom says I have the handsomest fiancé in all of Michigan.”
This drew a snort from the elderly man. Obviously he knew Tom well. He released the brake and directed the horses to move out into the thoroughfare. Few carriages populated the roadway, but soon the trains would be loaded with tourists and summer residents of Mackinac Island. Those wealthy people would be dressed in finery shipped from Paris or London, not from small shops such as hers or her parents. No matter how hard her parents had tried to climb the social ladder in their small city, they’d never attracted this type of clientele. Now, here was their daughter riding out in an ancient dray to a lumber camp. But, indeed, she did wear a lovely new jacket, one that would match the red-and-black checks of the lumberjacks’ flannel shirts.
In all her years of waiting on lumberjacks, Rebecca Jane had never actually gone to visit any. They’d set up two different stores, moving northward as the camps did, a little over a decade each time. But in neither case had she ventured to see what life was really like, although she’d heard many tales. More horrible stories when they were further south.
Jo squeezed her hand. “Won’t Garrett be surprised?”
Surprised wasn’t the emotion she’d hope for. Pleased. Delighted. Enthused.
Maybe it wasn’t God nudging her on this trip. Surely, this had to be a mistake. She’d abandoned her new mercantile and traipsed across the straits of Mackinac with Jo and Tom and for what reason? Garrett had made no promises to her. He’d not even indicated that he cared for her, even though she’d seen it in his eyes. She’d cut him off whenever he steered their conversation in that direction and maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe all those times he wanted to talk about them, he’d just wanted to tell her he was moving and intended to live elsewhere.
Trust. Obey. Release.
The Lumberjacks' Ball (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 2) Page 9