A Family Arrangement

by Gabrielle Meyer

  “I suppose some could stay in the barn—or even up at the church. It looks like it would be suitable enough to sleep in for now. In no time at all, there will be more options.”

  “What about food?”

  “The men will be getting regular paychecks. Perhaps Miss Lee would be willing to provide meals for payment—like a boardinghouse.”

  Abram glanced at the house, where Charlotte was watching from the window. What would she think of that? She had her hands full with the demands of his home and children. Could she cook for a dozen more people?

  “Where should we start, boss?” One of the men came up to Hubbard, his box of tools in hand.

  Hubbard looked at Abram, a grin on his face. “Well? What do you think, boss?”

  A dozen men stared at Abram, waiting for direction. In this moment he would set himself apart as boss—or he would hand that title over to Timothy Hubbard. As principal owner of the company, the position should fall on Abram’s shoulders.

  “First, you can all come in and warm yourselves with some coffee and meet my sister-in-law, Miss Lee. After that, we’ll start clearing Main Street and Hubbard will take a few of you over to his house site, and you can get started there.”

  Hubbard nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  Abram directed the men to put their things in his barn for now, and a couple of them took the horses in to rub them down and give them some oats. When they finished, Abram led them to the house, hoping Charlotte would be amiable to the new plans.

  Charlotte opened the door before they reached the house, a cautious smile on her face.

  Several men in the group whistled under their breath.

  The response unsettled Abram. She stood in a blue-gingham dress, tight at her waist and belled out from her hips. Her dark hair was held up in a snood, and her brown eyes surveyed the oncoming crowd behind thick lashes. She was a beautiful woman and he wasn’t surprised the others noticed—but he was suddenly aware that, from this moment on, he would have to share her attention with all these men and many more who would come after them.

  “Who’s the pretty lady?” one of the men asked from the back of the group. “Is she your wife, Mr. Cooper?”

  Abram didn’t answer the question immediately, but waited to address the group until they stood before Charlotte. “Gentlemen, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Lee.” He watched them eye her up with appreciation. “Charlotte, Mr. Hubbard has brought these men to work on the town.”

  Her dark brows arched. “They’ll be staying?”

  “I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you, Miss Lee,” Hubbard said, his charming smile falling into place. “The company intends to pay you, and each man will offer a stipend for his meals.”

  “Meals?” Charlotte blinked at Hubbard. “You expect me to cook for all these men?”

  “I—”

  “Charlotte.” Abram put his hand on her elbow. “May I have a word with you?” He led her back into the house as he spoke over his shoulder. “Everyone come in and have some coffee. Miss Lee and I need a few minutes alone.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a few minutes alone with her,” said someone from the group.

  “Now, men.” Hubbard turned to face the laborers. “I won’t tolerate any disrespect.”

  Abram and Charlotte walked into the house, where the boys were eating their meal. Hubbard and his men followed, and Abram showed them where the coffee cups were while Charlotte stood with her arms crossed.

  He touched her elbow again and led her into the main room, closing the door behind him. “Charlotte, I had no idea Hubbard was bringing those men with him. I’m sorry.”

  “Am I really expected to cook for them? That wasn’t part of the deal, Abram.”

  “I realize that, and I hate to ask it of you, but I’ll see that you’re paid well.” He thought quickly. “You could use the money to build a dress shop for yourself in Iowa City and make a real business out of your seamstress work.”

  “A real business?” She dropped her arms.

  “That’s not what I meant.” He was bungling this whole thing. “I’m simply saying you could profit a great deal from this endeavor. And it wouldn’t be permanent. I’m sure there will be a hotel and a restaurant built before long, not to mention a boardinghouse or two.”

  She studied him for several moments. Excited conversation floated in from the kitchen and he knew the men were anxious to get started. He was anxious to get started. But they needed to settle this business before suppertime or they’d all be in a mess.

  “I don’t have any other options, Charlotte.” He put his hand on her arm. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

  She glanced down at his hand—but didn’t move away from his touch. She swallowed and nodded. “All right.”

  He bent to look her in the face. “If anyone can do it, you can, Charlotte.” He wanted to kiss her cheek, or pull her into a hug, or do something else to show her how much he appreciated her willingness to help—but he refrained, remembering his resolve to keep his distance. Instead he squeezed her arm and then let her go.

  Together, they reentered the kitchen and Abram nodded at Hubbard.

  It was time to get started.

  * * *

  Charlotte opened the oven door and a wave of heat bathed her face with the fragrance of baked bread. She normally enjoyed the smell, but this was her third batch today, and she had one more to go. The kitchen felt overly warm and sweat dripped from her brow.

  George stood next to a kitchen chair, his face red, tears streaming down his cheeks. His bottom two teeth looked like small pearls on his swollen gums. The poor little boy was running a fever and his nose was draining—but she had to get this last batch of bread in the oven before she could take care of him. She had sixteen men to feed, plus the three children and herself.

  “I’m sorry, Georgie,” she said. “Your ginger tea is almost ready.”

  “Aunt Charlotte,” Martin called from the main room. “Robert needs you.”

  “Tell Robert to wait a moment,” Charlotte shouted above George’s cry. “I’m busy.”

  “But he hurt himself,” Martin called back.

  “Is he bleeding?” Charlotte pulled the second loaf of bread from the oven and set it on the cupboard.

  “No.”

  “Then tell him to wait.”

  Charlotte took out the third loaf and then closed the oven door. She used her towel to flip the bread pans over onto a cutting board.

  George’s wails escalated.

  “Oh, baby.” Charlotte left the bread and picked up George. She bounced him as he laid his head on her shoulder, his tears and drool staining her dress. She touched his forehead. “You’re burning up.” She went to the cupboard where she had George’s ginger tea cooling. She lifted the ginger root out of the tea and mixed in a little sugar so the baby would drink it. “Here you are.” She put the tepid liquid to his lips. “This should help your fever.”

  Thankfully, he sipped the tea, but a hiccup escaped his mouth, causing the tea to drip onto her dress, and the tears to start all over again.

  Robert’s muffled cries met her ears at the same moment.

  The lean-to door opened and Abram blew into the house, pushing the door closed behind him. His hair and beard were coated with snow and ice. “Fickle weather. April first and we get a snowstorm.” He walked into the kitchen and glanced at Charlotte. “What’s wrong with George?”

  “He’s teething.” Her words were strained and exhausted. “And Robert just hurt himself.” She glanced out the window for the first time all afternoon. “When did it start snowing?”

  “You didn’t notice?”

  For reasons unknown to her, tears sprang up in her eyes and she choked on her words. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Here.” He took off his coat and hung it
on the peg. “I’ll take George and see what I can do for Robert.”

  “You’re busy.”

  He took the baby from her arms. “I’m never too busy to help my family. Is this ginger tea?”

  Charlotte used her apron to wipe her eyes and nodded. “It should help with the fever.”

  Abram left the kitchen and Charlotte put the last batch of bread into the oven. She sat at the table and started chopping carrots to put in the stew. Her eyelids felt heavy and her back ached. For over two weeks she had been cooking and cleaning up after Abram’s laborers, and there was no rest within sight. Already, four extra men had joined the original group, simply showing up and asking for work. One of them, Nathan Richardson, had immediately set to work on building a large hotel on Main Street, north of the church.

  Within two weeks several roads had been cleared, and the construction of the Hubbards’ home, as well as the company store, had begun. Charlotte had stepped outside on several occasions and glanced up the hill toward the town site, but she hadn’t had time to leave the house and get a closer look. There was always another meal to prepare.

  The knife slipped, slicing her left forefinger. For a second she stared at it and didn’t feel a thing, but then the pain came and blood pooled at the surface. Charlotte could handle many things—but blood was not one of them.

  She moaned as she jumped up from the table and grabbed a towel off the cupboard, her hands shaking. She pressed it to her pulsing wound, her stomach feeling woozy and her head spinning. The cut was deep—much too deep. How would she stop the bleeding?

  “George is sleeping,” Abram said as he stepped into the kitchen. “He fell asleep the moment I—” He paused. “Charlotte, what’s wrong?”

  She swayed and he rushed to her side, placing his arm around her. “What happened?”

  “My finger.” A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and her legs buckled.

  Abram lifted her off her feet and brought her to the table, where he gently lowered her to a chair. He glanced at the knife. “Did you cut yourself?” His eyes grew wide. “Did you lose a finger?”

  She shook her head, hating her weakness. “No—but it’s bad.”

  “Let me see.” He knelt in front of her and took her left hand, tenderly unwrapping the towel.

  She caught a glimpse of blood and had to look away lest she lose her breakfast.

  “Charlotte.”

  She swallowed back the nausea. “What?”

  “You hardly broke the skin.”

  “It’s gushing blood.”

  “Look.” He held up her hand. “It’s already stopped bleeding.”

  She tried to look—but couldn’t make herself do it.

  He began to chuckle. “I had no idea you were so queasy around blood.” He still knelt before her, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “Imagine that. The indomitable Charlotte Lee afraid of a little blood.”

  “It wasn’t a little blood.” She swallowed and then forced herself to look at her hand. Sure enough, it had stopped bleeding.

  She met his gaze and the nausea was replaced with an altogether different feeling in the pit of her stomach. One that scared her even more—attraction.

  Charlotte sat straighter and tried not to look into his eyes. “Well...maybe I overreacted just a bit.”

  He tilted his head back and laughed. “You almost fainted! I thought you cut off your finger.”

  “It could have been serious.” She lifted her chin—but a smile played about her lips. “I can’t believe how insensitive you’re being.”

  He continued to rock with laughter. “I’m sorry, Charlotte—but I never expected you to be so...” He paused and his face sobered as he studied her with care. “So in need of rescuing.”

  Warmth filled her at that look and she suddenly realized, for the first time in her life, that she had never once allowed someone to rescue her. She had always prided herself on not needing anyone—but at the moment, with the reminder of his strong arms around her, she found she had enjoyed it.

  She blinked and stood, almost knocking him over, and went to the cupboard where she kept scraps of cloth to wrap wounds. “I should bandage it, just in case.”

  She couldn’t look at him—not right now. She didn’t trust herself to keep her emotions in check. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t control the tender feelings he stirred within her. The only thing she could control was the distance she kept between them.

  Charlotte pulled a strip of white linen from the box and started to wrap it around her finger.

  “Do you need help?” he asked, close to her elbow.

  She kept her back to him. “No, thank you.”

  The lean-to door opened again and Charlotte turned to find several men walk into her kitchen, their bodies covered in snow.

  “It’s not fit for man nor beast out there,” Nathan Richardson said.

  “Come on in and warm yourself,” Abram invited.

  Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption. “I’ll put on the coffee.”

  The men filled her kitchen and poured over into the main room. Eventually all sixteen of them came into the house, except Harry, who remained in the barn.

  For hours, they laughed and joked, some of them pulling out decks of cards and cribbage boards, others drinking coffee and telling stories.

  The house shook with the intensity of the wind. It screeched and hollered like a panther, whipping around the eaves and threatening to blow in the windows. Charlotte kept the coffee cups full and tried to make supper with everyone in her way.

  “We’re in for a three-day snowstorm, mark my words,” one man said as he dealt a round of cards to half a dozen others sitting at the kitchen table. “No one’ll be working in this weather.”

  Charlotte glanced at Abram, who stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a steaming cup of coffee. He turned at the remark and caught her gaze. “I hope you don’t mind company for the next several days.”

  Mind? Already her ears were ringing from the compliments and ardent attention. How would she survive three full days with all these men?

  Chapter Ten

  Abram felt like a caged tiger. He’d seen one once, when the circus had come to Cooper, Michigan. It had paced in its cage, running its shoulder blades against the metal bars that held it captive, snarling his fangs at the crowd. Abram had wondered what would happen if one of those bars gave way—and now, as he paced in his kitchen for the third day, he knew what would have happened. That tiger would have sprung out of its cage and run as far and as fast as his legs would have taken him, knocking down anything that stood in his way.

  “Abram.”

  Abram jumped at the sound of Charlotte’s voice. “What?”

  She looked surprised but she didn’t cower—not like he did when the tiger had roared at him as a child. “The boys are ready for bed. Would you like to help me tuck them in?”

  Abram rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. He followed her into the main room, where Robert, Martin and George were being entertained by the card tricks Mr. O’Conner was teaching them.

  “It’s time for bed,” Charlotte said as she signed.

  “Ah!” Martin’s bottom lip protruded. “Not again.”

  “Do the lads have to go to bed?” Mr. O’Conner asked, stacking his cards together. “Their laughter brings a bit of sunshine on these drab days.”

  “I’m afraid they do,” Charlotte said. “But tomorrow is another day.”

  “Come, Martin.” Abram took his son’s hand and then touched Robert’s shoulder.

  “Good night,” the men called from all corners of the house.

  Charlotte led the way up the stairs with a lantern, her voice low as she spoke to George. The wind blew with such force, it drowned out her words.<
br />
  She pushed the boys’ bedroom door open and set the lantern on a little bureau against the wall.

  George was asleep almost before Charlotte laid him in his crib and Robert went about his nightly routine as if nothing was different. But it was Martin who looked at the window with large, frightened eyes as Abram buttoned his nightshirt. “Papa, that storm scares me.”

  Charlotte left George’s side and went to Robert to help with his buttons.

  “What about it scares you?” Abram asked.

  “The noise.”

  “Why does it scare you? What do you think makes the noise?”

  Martin’s little shoulders came up in an attempt to cover his ears. “Angry cougars and bears.”

  “Do you think cougars and bears would be out in this storm right now?” Abram shook his head. “They’re just as scared of the noise as you. It’s the wind that makes that noise as it howls from the north. And soon, it will be done and the quiet will return.”

  “Shall we say our prayers?” Charlotte asked, her hand signs shadowed by the lantern.

  Abram nodded and he knelt beside Martin’s bed, while Robert and Charlotte knelt by Robert’s bed.

  Robert signed his prayers first and then, when Charlotte said, “Amen,” it was Martin’s turn.

  “Dear God.” His small voice could barely be heard over the storm. “Please make the storm stop, and please protect the cougar and the bear tonight—but please don’t let them eat me if we should ever meet. Amen.”

  Abram looked over his shoulder and caught Charlotte’s eye and they shared a smile.

  “Papa,” Martin said, climbing into his big bed. “Can you sing to me until I fall asleep, so I don’t have to hear the scary noise?”

  Abram glanced at Charlotte, who was tucking Robert into bed. His oldest son’s eyes were already closed, unaware of the noises in the night.

  “And, Aunt Charlotte, will you rub my cheeks?” It was something Martin loved, and Charlotte never refused. She nodded and sat on the edge of Martin’s bed, near his head, and began to stroke his cheek. Martin burrowed into his pillow with a sigh.