A Family Arrangement

by Gabrielle Meyer

  He was quiet for several moments and then his coat enveloped her shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed as the weight of his compassion weakened her knees. She longed to share her grief—yet years of heartache and disappointment forced her to bear it alone.

  She wiped her tears with her handkerchief and slipped his coat off her shoulders, handing it back. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  He took the coat and draped it over his arm but didn’t put it on. “Susanne and I wanted to build this town for our sons,” he said softly. “She wanted them here—”

  “But don’t you realize things have changed—”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “I know it seems impossible, but I believe this place will one day be a great city. It’s a legacy Susanne and I wanted for our sons.”

  “You don’t really think you’ll succeed—”

  “I do.”

  She closed her eyes, tired of the unabashed optimism in his gaze—so like the look her father and Thomas used to have.

  He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you stay here to help raise them?”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Here? But I have a business and a home in Iowa City.” She had made a living as a seamstress for eight years, since her father had died.

  “You could be a seamstress here.”

  “I have friends there.” Though not many since she devoted so much time to her work and had resigned herself to being an old maid.

  “You could make new ones here.”

  “There isn’t even a town here.”

  “I’ll have one built soon.”

  “How soon? A year, five years, ten? By then the boys will be grown, if they survive this place.”

  “A year,” he said. “This place will be a real town in one year’s time.”

  She shook her head. “A year?” There was nothing but trees, and hills, and tall, dead grass. “How will you build a town in one year?”

  “More settlers are coming into the territory and speculators are arriving in droves at St. Anthony Falls, which is only a hundred miles southeast of here. If I had one or two investors, we could begin construction on more buildings immediately.”

  “Buildings do not make a town.”

  “What does?”

  “People. Teachers, preachers, doctors—”

  “There are teachers and a preacher at the mission, and the military doctor is at Fort Ripley—”

  “No. Here. To make this place a town.”

  “If I had a teacher, a preacher and a doctor living here, would you consider this a real town?”

  “Not just a teacher, but a school. And not just a preacher, but he must have a church—a separate building from the school. And there must be at least one doctor in town.” She looked at the empty woods. “And then, yes, I would say it is a town—or at least a good start.”

  Abram took a tentative step toward her. “Then this is what I propose. Stay for a year and help me take care of the children. I’m confident I’ll have a teacher, with a school, a preacher, with a church, and at least one doctor by November first of next year. But if I don’t—” He swallowed. “You may take my boys back to Iowa City with my blessing.”

  Charlotte stood speechless.

  He studied her closely. “It’s my only offer. If you refuse, you will have to return to Iowa City alone, immediately.”

  “Why?” She shook her head. “Why are you giving me this option?”

  “Because.” He paused and looked down at his weathered hands. “I know how much you want to be with the boys. And—” he let out a sigh “—I’m sure Susanne would want it, too.”

  “But I can’t stay here for a year.”

  He looked up, a challenge in his eyes. “Why not?”

  “I already told you. My business.”

  “Is there no one to do the work for you—at least for now?”

  Of course there were people who could take over for now—but one year? More important, could she survive in a place like this for one year? Her sister hadn’t, and her mother hadn’t. What made her think she could? Charlotte never took risks. She had learned long ago that nothing good came from taking risks. She was content to stay in Iowa City, unmarried, and be a seamstress for the rest of her life. It was safer that way.

  “Why can’t I take them with me and bring them back if you succeed?”

  “I have no desire for them to leave Minnesota Territory. If you’re worried about a living, I would pay you to keep my house.” He studied her as if gauging whether or not she could do the work. “If you think you could manage.”

  Manage? Hadn’t she been the one to care for Susanne all those years? “Of course I could manage.”

  “Then you’ll stay?”

  Charlotte wrung her hands. “Why a year? Why not six months?”

  “That’s impossible.” He shook his head. “Six months from now is the first of May. I couldn’t build a town over the winter. I need the spring and summer—at least until September first of next year.”

  Charlotte quickly calculated. “Ten months.”

  He rubbed his beard, as if in thought. “If I found the right investors, I think I could do it in ten months.”

  Was she mad to say yes and take a risk? But what choice did she have? She wanted to care for Susanne’s boys. They were all the family she had left. Her house in Iowa City was locked up and her customers could find other seamstresses until her return. There was nothing to stop her but fear.

  She spoke quickly, hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision. “Yes.”

  He became still. “Yes?”

  She glanced at Susanne’s grave. She wasn’t doing this for Abram; she was doing this for her sister and her nephews. She could give up ten months of her life to ensure that Susanne’s boys returned with her to Iowa City.

  And maybe, just maybe, she could make Abram realize how foolish his dream was and she’d return to Iowa much sooner.

  * * *

  Abram stared at his sister-in-law, suddenly unsure of the agreement they had just made. He had set out to convince her to stay on as his housekeeper, yet now he had agreed to send the boys with her if he couldn’t build a town. What had he been thinking? What if he didn’t succeed? How would he live without his boys?

  Yet the truth had been evident since Susanne had died and he had sent the boys to live at the Belle Prairie Mission. This settlement was no place for growing boys without a woman to care for them. Charlotte’s sudden appearance seemed like an answer to an unspoken prayer—even if it meant living under the same roof with her.

  No matter what, he would have a teacher, a preacher and a doctor living in Little Falls within ten months. Miss Charlotte Lee would go back where she came from, and at that point, the population would boom and there would be other women available to hire as a full-time housekeeper. If he succeeded.

  “Are we going now?” she asked.

  “Going where?”

  “To get the boys.”

  He shook his head, still a bit unsettled by the sudden shift in his plans. “Not today. I have another lumber order I need to deliver to Fort Ripley on Monday and I only have today to work on it. We’ll go for them tomorrow.”

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body.

  “You should get back inside,” he said, leaving the graveyard.

  “I’ll go after them,” she said, keeping up with his long-legged stride. “I’ll hook up the wagon and fetch them myself.”

  “No. The boys have been through enough change these past few months already. I want to be there when you meet them.”

  “Abram, I’ve waited five years to meet the boys—”

  “And you can wait one more day.” He hated to sound so heartl
ess but she had to understand that there was work to do, and only so much time in a day to get it done. “Use today to get the house ready.”

  By the set of her shoulders he could see she didn’t like his answer, but she had little choice.

  “See that dinner is ready by noon,” he said. “And then bring us a light lunch in the midafternoon. We’ll work until dark, so have supper ready at eight. You’ll find everything you need in the pantry and root cellar under the lean-to.” He inspected her fashionable gown and recalled how she had responded to the chicken and the dirt yesterday. “Do you think you can manage all that?”

  She didn’t respond but set her mouth in a firm line and veered off toward the house like a soldier marching into battle.

  Susanne claimed she had learned how to work hard from Charlotte, but he wondered if his wife had been stretching the truth. From her neatly pinned hair to her polished boots, Charlotte didn’t look as if she had ever lifted a finger in her life. Could she keep his home and provide care for his children?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Abram put his hands in his pockets and walked with determination to the mill.

  On Monday morning he would make a trip to St. Anthony Falls and talk with several men who were interested in investing in his town. There had been dozens of men who had come to look over the area since Abram had bought the sawmill and property in 1851, but he had turned each one down, determined to make a go of it himself. After three years of barely getting by—and now his deadline to produce a town in ten months—he had no other options. He needed to find financial partners whether he wanted to or not.

  * * *

  Charlotte opened the lean-to door and entered the house. After five long years she had hoped to meet her nephews. One more day felt like an eternity.

  She stood just inside the lean-to with her hands on her hips and looked at the stack of dirty clothes, the cobwebs in the corners and the dirt on the floor. The housework loomed in front of her like a battlefield. She must strategize an attack or it might overwhelm her—and that was the last thing she could allow. She would prove to Abram that she was more than capable of taking care of his home.

  She walked into the kitchen and inspected the greasy stove, the stack of dirty dishes and the mouse droppings. Her mother’s chore rhyme ran through her mind: wash on Monday, iron on Tuesday, mend on Wednesday, churn on Thursday, clean on Friday, bake on Saturday and rest on Sunday. Since today was Saturday, and she would never think to bake in such a filthy kitchen, she would spend the remainder of the day cleaning and then start fresh on Monday morning with the wash.

  She went to her room, changed into a work dress and apron, tied a red handkerchief around her hair and then set to work pumping water into a large kettle. At least she didn’t have to sit around all day and fret about Susanne’s boys. She enjoyed staying busy. It was a way to feel in control.

  She scoured every surface in the kitchen, including the ceiling, with hot water and lye soap. When that was done, it was time to prepare dinner. She did a quick inventory of the pantry and was surprised at the abundance it contained. Flour, sugar, coffee, dried apples and dried beans. The root cellar was just as impressive with fresh eggs, milk, venison and a barrel full of salt pork. There were several bins of recently harvested vegetables, as well, so she picked out some potatoes, carrots, rutabagas and radishes.

  She could make a nice stew with biscuits and dried apple pie for supper. But for dinner she didn’t have time to produce much, so she decided to fry up some bacon. If it was good enough for supper and breakfast, then it should be good enough for dinner, too.

  Charlotte removed the last piece of bacon from the grease when the back door opened and Abram walked in with his crew.

  All five men stopped and looked around the immaculate kitchen. The root vegetables were sitting on the worktable, washed and waiting to be diced up for the stew, while the dried apples were soaking in a bowl of water on the cupboard.

  Charlotte’s hands were chapped from being in soapy water all morning, but she met Abram’s gaze with a bit of triumph. Of course she could manage a house!

  He glanced at the handkerchief on her head and then his gaze traveled around the room once again. Disbelief showed on his face. “It hasn’t looked this clean in here since before Susanne became sick.”

  The reminder of her sister brought a stab of grief to Charlotte’s heart and her moment of triumph evaporated.

  She placed the heaping platter of bacon on the table.

  All five men looked at the platter, their faces sagging in disappointment.

  “Ah, Miss Lee! Bacon again?” Caleb asked.

  “I thought we’d have us a real meal now that you’re here,” Josiah said, pushing his curls out of his eyes as he slumped against the door frame.

  Abram’s appreciation dimmed and his eyes filled with irritation. He glanced at the vegetables, but before he could say anything, she grabbed the coffeepot and nodded toward the table. “There will be stew, biscuits and hot apple pie for supper. This was all I had time to prepare for now. Sit up to the table and eat the bacon while it’s still hot.”

  They started to come into the kitchen but she held up her free hand. “Clean your boots off in the lean-to. I won’t have you tracking up this floor with mud. And wash your hands in the basin I set up out there.” She offered them a challenging look. “If I’m to serve food in this house, I’ll be serving it to clean hands.”

  “You going to let her talk to you like that?” asked the one with freckles named Harry.

  All the men looked at Abram to see what he would do. He stared at Charlotte for a moment and then nodded for them to do as she said. “It’s Charlotte’s kitchen for the time being, so we’ll abide by her rules.”

  She suppressed an urge to smile as she filled his mug with coffee.

  The men came back into the kitchen, each taking their seat, no one saying a word.

  They ate their bacon in silence, though Caleb grimaced a time or two and looked at the waiting vegetables fondly.

  Milt, Harry, Caleb and Josiah all stood when they were finished and waited for Abram, who took a final swig from his coffee mug. He tilted his head toward the door. “Go on without me. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Caleb glanced at Charlotte. “Thanks for the meal.” He dipped his head. “I mean no disrespect, but I hope it’s the last bacon we see for a long time.”

  Charlotte appreciated his candor. “I’ll bring you a special treat this afternoon at the mill. Do you like doughnuts?”

  His face lit with a grin. “Boy, do I!” With a holler and a jig, he made his way out of the house, followed by the others.

  Abram set his coffee mug on the table and stood.

  Charlotte began to clear the dirty dishes and tried to ignore him. Why hadn’t he left with the others?

  “There’s something you need to know.”

  She stopped stacking the plates and looked at him.

  He swallowed and glanced down at the table, adjusting the fork near his plate. “I don’t exactly know how to tell you this.”

  Apprehension wound its way around her heart. “What?”

  When he finally looked at her, deep sadness etched the corners of his eyes. “Right after Susanne died, a sickness went through the area and Robert became ill. The military doctor was sent for, but Robert’s fever became so high, he—” Abram swallowed and looked down at the table again. “When he got better we realized the fever had taken his hearing.”

  Charlotte clutched a tin plate. “He’s deaf?”

  Abram nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s been over three months now, and the doctor said if he was going to regain his hearing, it would have happened by now.”

  Her legs became weak and she took a seat. “What does this mean?”

  “It means we’ll need to le
arn how to communicate with him.”

  “You mean sign language?”

  Abram nodded.

  “Who’s teaching him? Are you learning—”

  “Just leave it be for now.” He put up his hand to silence her questions. “You’ll learn more tomorrow when we see him.”

  Charlotte sat in silence, though the questions continued to whirl in her mind.

  Deaf. Five-year-old Robert.

  “I need to get to the mill. I just thought I should tell you so you’re prepared.”

  Charlotte looked up at him but had nothing to say.

  Abram walked out of the kitchen and left her to mourn yet another loss.

  Chapter Three

  On Sunday morning Abram rolled out of the bottom bunk while it was still dark. He shivered in the cold and glanced out the window at the end of the long room.

  Snow fell gracefully from the black sky, brushing against the windowpane and gathering in the corners.

  Winter always frustrated Abram. Once the river stopped flowing, his saw would stop, too, and so would his income. Of course the snow and cold would come eventually, but he had hoped and prayed it would hold off a bit longer. At least until he had come back from St. Anthony. The trail would be difficult to travel now and the drop in temperature would make it more uncomfortable. But it wouldn’t stop him from going. He’d leave before the sun was up the following morning.

  He pulled his cold denim pants over his long johns. They felt grimy against his skin, but he had nothing else to wear. They would have to do for now.

  The other men continued to snore, so he tried to be quiet as he pulled on his shirt and buttoned up the front. He didn’t want to disturb them on their one morning off. All four of them had gone to Crow Wing village, about twenty-five miles north on the river, the night before, and they had crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning. He wished they would come to church with him at the Belle Prairie Mission, but none of them had any interest—especially after a night of carousing.

  Abram grabbed his boots from the end of his bed and tiptoed toward the door. He would see to the Sunday morning chores, like he did every week, and leave the rest of the afternoon and evening chores to his men so he could spend the day with his sons.