The Lumberjacks' Ball (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 2)

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “Boxes?”

  His wrinkled cheeks flushed red. “The ones I kept at the wharf.” Why did he look so guilty?

  “Oh! I’d almost forgotten.” Another burst of relief caused her to feel almost dizzy. “The shipments you’ve been holding since I left.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “How many do you have?” They could stack five or six crates in her room.

  Head bowed, silver hair glistening beneath the gas lamps, he sighed. “That’s the thing, Miss Hart. I’m afeared I haven’t been keepin’ up with yer deliveries. I was tryin’ my durnedest to tell you at the wharf the other day.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve had a real bad bout of rheumatism with the last rain. And, well, I left ’em in storage but now they got to go.”

  “I see.”

  “My boss says he needs them off the dock by this afternoon.”

  “How many crates? What kind of weight?” No wonder shipments had slowed. Rebecca tried to recall her last orders. “What is in them?”

  “The thing is, all this fancy stuff, these breakables—they’re lightweight but there’s plenty of ’em. I wasn’t real sure I could manage the lot of ’em without breakage.”

  “Oh. I think I know.” She exhaled. “Sample china tea cups and saucers from vendors throughout the East coast, is my guess.”

  Charlie nodded. “That’s some of ’em, miss. But the rest is things people in these parts consider frivolities—although the summer clientele might appreciate the finery, but they ain’t here yet. There’s honey, tea, packaged crackers, and cookies.”

  “I see.” Which meant there also may be silver-plated teaspoons. The pretty things in life that she enjoyed. What else had she sent for? Father had said these items wouldn’t sell.

  “Sorry about your loss, Miss Hart.” The deliveryman dipped his chin. “Guess I shoulda said that first, eh?”

  Stifling a chuckle, she shook her head. “It’s all right. Life goes on.”

  “It certainly does.” Mrs. Jeffries swept in with a tray of ham biscuits. She offered the tray to Charlie.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Jeffries.” The porter took two big bites.

  The inn proprietress cocked her head. “Do you think the lumberjacks and their ladies might enjoy these for their dance?”

  “Mmm, yes, ma’am.”

  She offered him another and he accepted, grinning.

  Garrett entered the room, humming. He swiped two biscuits from the tray and winked at Mrs. Jeffries. “I heard your question as I was coming in and think I should be the judge of that.”

  Rebecca plucked one of the warm biscuits from his hand. “Charlie was telling me about some crates I have at the wharf.”

  “They need movin’?” Garrett said around a mouthful of biscuit. He wiped crumbs from his mouth.

  “Sure do but can’t do it by myself.”

  “Me and my brother could help you.”

  Charlie quirked an eyebrow upward. “Today?”

  “Let me go get him.” Garrett grabbed two more biscuits. “Right after I’m done sampling these.”

  The dockworker inclined his head toward the inn’s owner. “Say, Mrs. Jeffries, have you got room somewhere in this big place for about ten dollies worth of goods?”

  Rebecca gasped. “Those can’t all be mine. You mean four big boxes each load?”

  “Yes, miss. Could take me and the Christy men over two hours to get them here unless I can locate a dray.”

  “Take our wagon.” Mrs. Jeffries set the tray down on a side table. “No one is using it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Appreciate it, Cordelia.” Garrett leaned over Rebecca and took yet another biscuit and handed another to Charlie, who grinned.

  Mrs. Jeffries feigned disgust at the men. “And if Garrett has room in the workshop out back, I think that would be the perfect place to store your merchandise, Rebecca.”

  In two weeks, Garrett would be moved to the island. What was she to do?

  “Why don’t I send my men to help you, Charlie, while Garrett readies his workshop?” Mrs. Jeffries removed the tray from the table again and headed toward the back.

  Forty crates of goods? And no shop in which to sell them.

  “Come on back, Rebecca.” Mrs. Jeffries called over her shoulder. “Don’t forget we still have tea time to prepare for today.”

  ****

  With a quarter of his best tools gone, what was Garrett going to do? His job on the island was contingent upon him bringing his own woodworking implements. He scanned the workshop and began sorting out what he had left.

  An hour later, sweating, he’d ventured back into the inn looking for lemonade. Instead, he’d heard the patrons laughing in the parlor, where no doubt they were enjoying tea and all the pretty little treats Rebecca and Cordelia conjured up. Not fit for a man but the ladies sure relished them—tomato aspic, coconut cookies too tiny for a man’s fingers, miniature bowls of rice salad, Madelines, and shortbread cookies imprinted with designs so fancy it seemed a shame to eat them, and more. Give him a big ham biscuit and lemonade any day and he’d be happy.

  Foraging, he located the pitcher of lemonade on the servants’ table in the back of the big kitchen. He poured himself a mason jar full and tossed back the contents. Lord, I’ve slaked my thirst, but I need some help, elsewise this is gonna be one long afternoon and I need to get to the bank.

  The back door swung in. Moose stood framed there, the top of his head almost hitting the jamb. “Thought I’d find you in here.”

  “How are you, brother?”

  Moose held out his hairy hand and wobbled it. “Fair to middlin’, if you must know.”

  “Why’s that?” Garrett was the one who had lost the tools of his trade.

  “Pa’s coming over here to check out the new camp, and he sent a message that I had to hire a passel of cooks. Do you know why?”

  “Uh, well first off there’s Jo, which you already knew about.”

  “Yup.”

  “And Pearl plans to come to the island?”

  Moose’s jaw dropped open. “You got yerself yer own cook?”

  Garrett held both palms up to his brother. “Nope. She’s got her grandkids to care for now.”

  “Grandkids?”

  “Yup. That little Amy that trailed Rebecca is one of ’em.”

  “You’re joshing me.”

  “Nope. And there were several more at the orphanage on the island. So I brought ’em to their grandma and new grandpa.”

  “Whooee, I can’t picture Frenchie with a slew of grandkids. And those two are long in the tooth for this new job.”

  Moose’s words echoed those convicting his heart that he should do something. “I plan to help when I’m not working.” And he hoped Rebecca would accept his proposal of marriage and feel led to aid him, maybe the two even taking over the raising of the kids if need be. A ready-made family, but an awfully sweet one.

  “Well, that’s two cooks, but who is the third one?”

  “Dunno.” He scratched his head.

  “Well, Pa should be here soon and he can tell us.”

  “Pa’s coming?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wait, I remember now—Ruth isn’t gonna cook anymore.”

  “Figures.” Richard shoved his hands into his dungarees and rocked back and forth, his eyes lighting on each set of tools. “Looks like you got most of your stuff. I thought Pa was coming to help get you back on your feet.”

  Heat steamed his face. “I’m a man and I’ll take care of my own losses, thank you very much.”

  “Seems to me that Daggenhart should reimburse you…”

  “I’ll never ask for a cent from that man.” He made fists then flexed his fingers.

  “All right, all right, don’t get angry at me.”

  “Sit down for a spell and have some lemonade—it’s good.”

  “Can’t. I’m going to the docks to watch for Pa.”

  “I’d join you, but I need to go down to t
he bank.” For a loan. And to withdraw what he’d already deposited there.

  17

  “You’re so good at entertaining, you should consider doing this for a living.” Cordelia smiled at Rebecca as the two removed the remnants of their afternoon tea from the parlor.

  The sunshine, filtering through the lace curtains, illuminated dust motes. “I don’t think hosting tea parties is something one does as a business.” At least not one that would bring in the type of income a mercantile could.

  “If my sister weren’t coming to take over the catering and tea parties here at the inn, I’d offer you the job—you enjoy this so much.”

  “Really? She’s going to run a Tea House here?” Maybe there was a possibility somewhere. Rebecca straightened and smiled. “I do love it! From finding the perfect cups and saucers to the prettiest napkins and linens. It’s fun to me. But as a business…”

  “Delivery, Miss Hart.” The doorman called through the half open door.

  “Must be Charlie.” Rebecca followed Cordelia down the hallway, each carrying stacks of dishes, which they placed on the empty kitchen table. Their dishwasher should be there shortly.

  “Go ahead and show them how you want those crates, Rebecca, and I’ll finish up.”

  “Thanks.” Wiping her hands, she exited through the back door, hurried down the steps, and then strode to the workshop.

  The drayman and Mrs. Jeffries’ assistants rolled chest-high stacked crates on dollies into the workshop. As she approached, she spied TEA, COFFEE, HONEY, SPICES etched on the wooden slates in black block lettering. Maybe the inn’s owner would offer to buy some of the supplies. Or Rebecca could check with the restaurants.

  One after another, the men rolled in dollies piled with boxes. Rebecca shook her head, trying to recall what all she’d ordered. Had she erred in recording the figures when she ordered?

  “This bunch is a whole lot lighter than that was.” Charlie pushed a cart in with boxes marked CHINA, samples, and various suppliers. “But it also says frah-jilly.”

  Rebecca frowned, not understanding. Then she saw FRAGILE marked on the side. At least he could read. Sort of. That was something. As long as he knew what it meant.

  He removed his wool cap and wiped his forehead. “So I was extra careful with these. Although frah-jilly stuff isn’t something you commonly see around here, eh?”

  When they finished, she paid them, adding a tip from the purse Sister Mary Lou had left for her. She faced the crates, also realizing she needed to face facts. She really wasn’t a great businesswoman. She’d ordered what caught her fancy. Familiar shame tried to gain hold in her spirit, but she resisted. Her parents had shamed her the past decade. God wouldn’t do that to her, nor would she visit the horrid feeling upon herself again.

  “What all have you got here?” Mrs. Jeffries stood, arms akimbo, in the doorway.

  “We should check and see.” Hopefully, the inn could benefit from some of these purchases. The two of them began opening each crate.

  Cordelia Jeffries pulled a rose and lilac teacup from a straw-filled container. “This is fabulous.” She held it aloft, sunshine streaming through the side windows meeting where she stood.

  “And free!” Rebecca laughed. “The vendors must have all shipped me their samples within days of each other because all seven of those crates are marked China. I’m betting the boxes hold teacups and saucers. All orphan sets now.”

  What a pity that no one in the area would be ordering the lovely designs.

  The innkeeper frowned. “Are they all similar to this one?”

  Rebecca retrieved a violet and daisy chintz boneware teacup. “Yes, and so beautiful.”

  “And so expensive.” The woman’s low voice chided.

  Slumping to the floor, Rebecca looked up. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “People in these parts aren’t likely to order such fancy patterns. A few, maybe, but the summer folks tend to bring theirs up with them from down state. But at least you aren’t out any money for them.” She moved to another box and using a small crowbar pried free the slats. She unrolled the wrapping around an odd-shaped item and held it aloft. “Teapots? There must be four porcelain teapots in this box. And they gave them to you?”

  No. She’d foolishly ordered them when she’d learned they weren’t free. “Afraid not.”

  “If I didn’t already have sufficient supplies I’d buy these from you…”

  Rebecca raised her hand to stop her. “It’s not your fault.” It was no one’s fault that a madman had befriended her as a child and later tried to kill her. Not once, but twice. Yet here she was.

  A pucker formed between Cordelia’s eyebrows. “I don’t know why God saved you, child.”

  Prickles went down Rebecca’s arms. It was as if the woman read her mind. Or as if the Holy Spirit spoke to both of them.

  “But I believe you are here for a purpose.” She pressed a hand to Rebecca’s shoulder. “Life is short, my dear. I’ve learned you need to do what you love. God puts that joy in your heart when you are doing what pleases Him. And I’ve seen that glow of peaceful joy on your face when you’re serving tea, preparing goodies, and all that. You love people, that’s for sure.”

  “I do. I’ll pray about it.”

  “Good, and let’s see what else you’ve got here.”

  “Should be honey in many flavors, teas of all types, coffees…”

  She laughed. “Mercy’s sake, you’ve got enough goods there for a tea shop of your own.”

  A tea shop.

  An hour later, Rebecca sat in front of Mr. Jenkins at the Lumbermen’s Bank and spewed out her story. Then she waited.

  He sat, his fingers steepled in front of him as he leaned on his elbows. His thinning hair covered his bowl shaped head and his gray eyes seemed unfocused, as though he were lost in thought. “Young lady, I cannot help you here.”

  She bowed her head. At least she’d tried.

  He cleared his throat. “But if you are willing to set up shop on Mackinac Island, I believe I have something that could benefit us both.”

  Mackinac, where Garrett would be going.

  Reaching into a cigar box, he paused. “Mind if I smoke?”

  She did, but this wasn’t her office nor her bank. Instead of answering, she asked, “Can you tell me about what you have in mind?”

  After trimming the end and lighting the cigar, he drew in a long puff and slowly exhaled it, thankfully away from her. His twitching lips suggested he was refraining from laughing. Was he mocking her?

  “I know of a rental available on the main street in the heart of Mackinac Island’s tourist district.”

  Her heartbeat skittered. She could be near Garrett. And the children. “Yes?”

  Mr. Jenkins laughed. “I’m hoping that’s what you’ll say to my proposition.”

  She blinked rapidly, not liking the word he’d chosen. “Why is that?”

  “You see, my brother-in-law financed the move for the last client, a jeweler, from that prime spot to a newer building closer to the fort.”

  “You sound troubled, sir—why?”

  “I lost my income.” He brought his free hand down on his walnut desktop and Rebecca flinched. “But with your business background and the fact that you already have the merchandise and are ready to go, why, I could set you up immediately.”

  She swallowed. “And your terms? I’d have to discuss that with my fiancé.” And she’d have to let Garrett know that he was, indeed, her fiancé. As of one minute ago when she needed to ascertain what sort of man this banker was.

  He chuckled. “My wife is going to love this. She and her brother have had a rivalry for years over that store. You see, we own it and we’d purchased it before he’d gotten a chance to. And he’s resented that fact ever since.”

  “I really don’t want to get in the middle of a family feud.” She had enough family difficulties of her own to last a lifetime.

  “No, no, Miss Hart, I think we have a plan tha
t might show him what God can do and what mercy can, also.”

  Her head began to ache. “How so?”

  “You’d wish to eventually purchase the store?”

  “Yes, sir. Eventually.”

  “Good. And I’ve already met with your future husband earlier. Fine young man.”

  She stiffened. What had he done?

  The banker grabbed his fountain pen and scribbled something on a sheet of paper then handed it to her. “There are four bedrooms upstairs, which I believe would work quite nicely for the children.”

  The children?

  “The old folks might need the downstairs bedroom. It’s small but cozy.”

  The old folks. Did he mean Mr. and Mrs. Brevort?

  “The kitchen is also on the lower level, with the store in front. Let me show you a rough diagram.”

  Jenkins pulled out another sheet and quickly sketched out what appeared to be a deep rectangular building with a first and second story. “There is a balcony up top and a play area behind with enough grass to please most tykes. And it’s only a hop, skip, and jump from the boardwalk and beach. Close enough to the last dock that you could set up an arrangement for them to handle all your deliveries.”

  He named the square footage and her head began to swim. Mr. Jenkins tapped the page where he’d indicated the monthly rent. “I’ll drop that after the season lets off. But the locals will likely keep you in business, too. Velma’s family will make sure of that. Velma’s my wife and her kin includes some of the seasonal high and mighties like James Reynolds, the steel magnate, and Derik Cross, the lumber baron.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Right up front I need to tell you of a condition I have if you choose to buy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll have to finance through my brother-in-law’s bank on the island, and any loans must first be run through him.” Mr. Jenkins drew in on his cigar.

  “This is the man who got your tenant to move?”

  “Yes, but Velma and I are done playing this game with him. I’m hoping if he sees I’m making an effort then maybe he’ll stop. Sending business his way is bound to get his attention.”