The saw caught in the tree, and worked paused. Noah closed his eyes for amoment and erased his thoughts. He had no right dreaming about Adie like that. Her father had died a few hours ago. And he had to take care of her.
Butch yanked on the saw, and their rhythmic work started again. Noah’s promise to Quinn came to mind. Even before the accident, he’d been concerned for his daughter’s well-being if something should happen to him. His anxiety deepened when Derek Owens began making advances toward her.
Without her father there to watch out for her, she became a prime target for Owens and women-thirsty jacks like him. Unfortunately, there were too many unprincipled men in a logging camp. They wouldn’t see another woman all winter long, so they’d try to take advantage of the one in their midst.
Noah wanted to see her protected. The thought of her falling into the clutches of someone like Owens disgusted him. She made clear her distaste for the man’s suggestions.
Early on, Noah and Quinn had formed an unlikely friendship. Quinn was the only lumberjack who didn’t ridicule Noah for his beliefs, the only one who listened to anything Noah had to say. So when Quinn asked Noah to make sure no harm came to Adie if anything happened to him, Noah had agreed to it without much thought. Right before he passed away, Quinn had reminded him of his promise.
He shook his head and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, his plaid flannel shirt and woolen long johns damp with perspiration. His nerves were as jagged as the saw blade.
He stepped back to watch Butch hammer a wedge into the saw cut with the back of his axe. The tree creaked and moaned, then leaned. Tiiiimberrrr.
It plummeted to the earth with a crash.
No problems. Not like this morning.
Noah groaned. He had an obligation to the one man who didn’t laugh at him or put him down. He knew he needed to keep his promise to Quinn. But how? What might be the best way of going about it? Noah felt inadequate.
Adie needed someone to watch out for her and to keep her reputation from being sullied by men like Derek Owens. A logging camp was no place for a woman alone. But what could he do?
Chapter 3
After work halted at nightfall, and with a hearty dinner behind him, Noah knocked on the back door of the wanigan, the company store, where Mr. Larsen slept.
“Come in.”
Noah entered the boss’s small and sparsely furnished lean-to. A narrow but neatly made bed occupied one wall, a colorful quilt tossed over it. Mr. Larsen sat in a straight-back chair at a long table on the opposite wall. That left little space for even as simple a task as turning around. Noah could just step inside and still have room to close the door behind him.
Mr. Larsen looked up from the books and papers spread over his desk, his glasses on the very tip of his hawk-like nose. He was probably somewhere around forty, but his importance in the camp made him seem much older. He nodded in Noah’s direction. “Mitchell. Have a seat.” He motioned to the bed.
Noah sat, the corn husks in the mattress rustling as he settled into position.
“I’m sorry about O’Connell. What exactly happened?”
Noah shifted, those horrible images of Quinn’s accident repeating themselves in his mind. The eardrum-busting crack of the tree. The men rushing to insert wedges, racing to control the fall of the pine. The sight of the tree leaning directly over Quinn. The look of surprise, horror, fear on the man’s face. The icy cold that shot through his own veins.
“It’s like I told you. The tree split. Why? I don’t know. We tried to wedge it to no avail. I yelled to Quinn, but it was too late.” Noah closed his eyes and took a couple of quick deep breaths, trying to dissolve the lump in his throat. “He did nothing wrong. None of us did. The Lord called him home today. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry, Mitchell. I know you two got along real well.”
“Thank you, sir.” Noah cleared his throat and twisted the end of his mustache. “But I didn’t come about that. Well, maybe in a way it is. I have a problem. I was wondering if I could ask your advice.”
Larsen removed his spectacles and placed them on the desk. “What is it? Owens bothering you? You know, he’s done nothing illegal. There’s not much I can do about him. You two’ll have to work it out yourselves.”
The man sounded exasperated. Noah wondered how many others had complained about Owens.
“No, sir, it’s nothing like that.” He shifted, the mattress crunching beneath him. “In a way it is, though. I mean, it does involve Owens. Sort of.”
Larsen tapped his fingers on his desk. He was getting impatient.
“Sir, what is going to happen to Miss O’Connell? Quinn’s daughter.”
“Happen to her? What do you mean?”
“She’s a beautiful young woman. Some of the men have made advances toward her. Inappropriate advances.” He wished he could halt the progress of the heat up his neck and into his face.
The boss leaned forward and rubbed his chin. “Go on.”
“Quinn always watched out for her. Protected her. When he was around, none of the men dared to even look at Miss O’Connell. Without him here, I’m afraid of what some of them might do. She’s vulnerable.” A vision of Adie, her slender white hands grasping a sweating water pitcher, a red curl falling across her pink cheek, crossed his mind. “She needs someone to watch out for her.”
“And you propose to do the job, Mitchell?”
“I promised Quinn several times I would take care of his daughter should something happen to him. I didn’t ever think …”
Larsen slapped his knee. “No one ever does. And you’re right. Miss O’Connell needs a protector. All the women I’ve ever run across in a logging camp have been married. And matronly. Never had one young and single like she is. O’Connell was a good worker and a leader. He kept the men in line, and they respected him. That’s why I allowed him to bring her along. But now—well, what she needs is a husband.”
Noah didn’t like the way Larsen looked directly at him. His mother had that same I-have-a-chore-for-you-that-you-won’t-like kind of look. One that usually meant he was about to muck out stalls.
He swallowed. “A husband?”
“If someone married her, she would come under the protection of her husband. While the men here might be wild and some would say uncouth, they wouldn’t dare touch a married woman.”
“Who?”
Larsen laughed. Actually laughed. The crinkles around his eyes deepened. “Seems to me, Mitchell, if you made the promise to O’Connell, it ought to be you.”
Noah stood so quickly the room spun. “Me? Marry Miss O’Connell?”
“She is beautiful. Maybe a bit spirited for a quiet man like yourself, but you could do worse. Much worse.”
The world tilted, and Noah reached for the rough lumber wall to steadyhimself. Him? Marry Adie? Couldn’t he just treat her like his sister? That’s what he’d had in mind when he’d promised to protect her. Not marry her. That hadn’t come to mind at all when Quinn asked.
His plans did not include a wife. A spouse would change his future. With someone else to support, he would never be able to save enough money for seminary. Later, maybe, there might be room for a wife, but not now. He needed to scrimp and save every last penny to pay tuition, not have it frittered away by a woman buying lace, ribbons, and other frippery. He hadn’t seen any of that on Adie, but his sisters liked those sorts of things.
He would have to give up so much to marry her.
Yet his loss couldn’t compare to Adie’s. He had a choice in the matter. She didn’t choose to be brought to this camp, didn’t choose to lose both her parents, didn’t choose to be stranded, alone, and defenseless. The apostle Paul commanded Christians to care for orphans, and he supposed she fit that category. And her father told him she knew the Lord.
“Mitchell? You all right? You need a drink of water?”
Larsen’s voice pierced his thoughts. For a moment the room was so silent he could hear nothing but the sputtering
of the oil lamp.
Noah shook his head, clearing his mind.
He trembled at the thought of what the Lord wanted him to do. His life was about to change forever.
“I’ll marry her, sir. If she’ll have me.”
Adie stared at the mountain of dishes that awaited her this morning.
This morning, like so many other mornings, yet so different. In one day her father had laughed with her, died, and been buried.
Everything was different.
Everything was the same.
Cookie had told her she didn’t need to come to work today. If she didn’t work, though, what was there to do?
She scrubbed the egg pan, telling herself her tears came from the ache in her knuckles, not from the pain in her heart.
A soft knock sounded at the swinging door. “Miss O’Connell?”
She recognized Preacher Man’s—Noah’s—soothing tenor voice.
She swiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “Yes.”
He came through the swinging door, tall, lean, but somehow soft. Maybe it was the look of compassion in his golden-brown eyes. “I’d like to speak with you, if you have a few minutes.” He shuffled his weight from one booted foot to the other.
“Just a few. I need to wash all of those.” She tilted her head toward the pile of dishes.
He held the café door open for her and gestured for her to sit on one of the benches in the mess hall while he stood, then paced, rolling one end of his mustache between his fingers.
He stopped in front of her and looked straight into her eyes. “I’d like to extend my sympathies to you on the loss of your father.”
She dug her ragged fingernails into the edge of the wooden bench, willing herself not to cry. After last night, she thought she had cried all the tears in the world. But today, if she let herself give in to the grief, she knew she would weep and weep and never stop.
“Thank you, Mister …”
“Mitchell. Noah Mitchell. Please call me Noah.”
“Thank you, Noah.”
“He and I were felling the tree together yesterday. I don’t know why it happened. He did nothing wrong. But he loved you very much.”
She bit her lip. She couldn’t speak, so she nodded. He was sweet and thoughtful, but she didn’t want to talk about this.
He resumed his pacing, and she relaxed her grip on the bench. Without warning, he spun around.
“He was always concerned about you. Wanted to make sure nothing happened to you. He loved you very much and felt bad about dragging you all over the state, never giving you a place to call home.”
She couldn’t take any more. She rose and touched his upper arm, surprised by the firmness of the muscles. For a moment she forgot what they were speaking about. Then it rushed back.
“Mr. Mitchell—Noah—I want to thank you for your sentiments.” She didn’t know how many more words she’d be able to force through the narrow opening in her throat. “But truly, I need to finish the dishes and start peeling potatoes for supper. Cookie will be upset with me for wasting so much time.”
She started toward the door, but he caught her by her wrist. Though his grip was firm, he didn’t hurt her. She paused and turned, her face so close to his she could feel his rapid, warm breath on her cheek. “Mr. Mitchell, please.”
“Miss O’Connell, I promised your father that I would be the one to take care of you if anything happened to him. For some reason he felt I could be trusted with his most treasured possession.”
His eyes turned dark, and she couldn’t tell what he thought.
“A lumber camp is no place for a beautiful young woman all alone. There are men who … who would do things.”
“I assure you, Mr. Mitchell, that I can hold my own with the jacks. They don’t frighten me in the least.” Well, none of them but a certain Derek Owens. The man disgusted her and yes even caused her to tremble. But her father was always there to keep him in line.
Her father. Who wasn’t here any longer.
Noah touched a curl that had strayed from her pins. The hairs on her arms stood up straight. This big room must be cold without the ovens going. She took a step back, and he released her wrist.
“I don’t think you understand. Some men might try to take, well, advantage of you.” A blush heightened the ruddy look of his face. “You need someone to take care of you, to protect you. A husband.”
“A what? A husband? You have to be kidding me.” Where did he get such a ludicrous suggestion? “I have no need of a husband. Besides, who would I marry? One of those ill-mannered jacks you mentioned?”
Noah turned, walked to the end of the table, gripped the edge, and then faced her. For some reason she held her breath. He put his hand over his heart and pressed his chest. “Me. You could marry me.”
Chapter 4
You? You want me to marry you?” Adie’s eyes widened. “What kind of crazy idea is that?”
Noah wondered the same thing. “It’s not all that wild. Look, these men aren’t going to see another woman until March or April. Some of them might try …”
Her calm voice belied the touch of fervor behind her words. “I’ve been in logging camps around jacks much longer than you have. Don’t try to tell me what they’re like. I can take care of myself.”
Noah thumped himself down on the bench by the table. “I realize the idea might take some getting used to. I wasn’t fond of it when Mr. Larsen mentioned it. But it’s wise. If you came under my protection, as my wife, the men wouldn’t dare touch you.”
“This wasn’t your idea? Mr. Larsen suggested it?”
“It’s not that … I mean, you know, I wanted to. But I just didn’t …” He was tangling himself like a dog in a leash.
She sat next to him, rubbing her hands together. “I appreciate the thought. But I’m not going to marry you. Or anyone else. I’ll be fine. You’ll see.” She touched his arm, sending the words in his brain scrambling.
“It would be in name only. The marriage that is.” Noah hated the schoolgirl blush heating his face. “If that makes a difference.”
“I know you made a promise to my father, to take care of me.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, even as she lifted her chin. “And you’re the kind of man who would never break a promise. You’re noble. If it makes you feel better, I hereby release you from your vow.”
Before Noah could say a word, she rose from his side and made her way to the kitchen, her skirts swishing at her ankles.
He sat there for a while running the palm of his hand over the rough wood of the bench, still warm from her body. While the idea of marrying her had sounded insane when Mr. Larsen first spoke of it, Noah knew now he had no other way of protecting her.
Cookie took one look at Adie when she returned to the kitchen and put down the potato he’d been peeling, but not his paring knife. “I seen Preacher Man out there talking to you. He giving you trouble?”
She cleared the tears from her eyes with her fingertips. “No. He, well, he proposed to me, for my own protection. If I was his wife, none of the men would bother me anymore.”
“And? Are you gonna marry him?”
“No. Of course not. I have you to take care of me, don’t I?” She pointed to his hand, holding the knife.
This light jesting always brought a smile to Cookie’s face, but not now. “Might not be such a bad idea. I seen how Owens treats you. You can’t be too careful around him. I’d think on it again if I were you.”
She didn’t want to think about it. Or talk about it, for that matter. “I’ll finish the dishes and then help with the potatoes.”
“Preacher Man wouldn’t make a bad husband. He works real hard. I ain’t never heard him cuss or talk coarse or nothing. Later on you might regret passing him up.”
She was pretty sure she wouldn’t. All she wanted was a small piece of the world to call her own, a simple log cabin, a simple life.
She stuck her hands in the cooling water and got back to her dishes. She kn
ew her father had watched over her. The jacks respected him.
She sloshed water all over the counter, the floor, and herself, not caring about the mess. Until Derek Owens came along, she’d never had problems with any of the men. There was the time a year or two ago when a jack slapped her backside as she came around with the coffeepot, but she’d steered clear of him from then on and had no more trouble. She’d do that for the rest of the winter, and once the thaw came and the logs were downriver at the mill, she’d leave. Perhaps she’d go to Green Bay or even Milwaukee, hire on as a maid there, and save her money. If she were careful, someday she’d have enough for her own farm.
She reached for another dish to wash and with relief realized she’d reached the end of the pile. Her present state of mind had helped her get through the chore at a rapid pace.
After wiping down the counters, she headed outside to dump the dirty dishwater and to pump more. The bright sun shining off the white snow hurt her eyes but did nothing to warm the air. A chill wind blew through the clearing.
Quiet permeated the camp. Even the blacksmith’s anvil remained still today. The jacks wouldn’t return from the woods for hours yet, not until dark began to fall. They ate their lunch outside. Sometimes they worked at a great distance from the camp, and coming in to eat would take too much time from their jobs.
Each evening she’d waited with anticipation for her father to file into themess hall for supper. He’d smile at her. The gesture comforted her. Someone in the world loved her.
The longing ache in her heart ripped open again. She missed Daddy. Her throat constricted. She dropped the dishwater pan on the snow and covered her face. Her breath came in gasps.
God, how could You do this to me? How could You take both Mama and Daddy from me? How could You? I’m all alone now. Do You hear me, God?
A boot crunching in the snow answered her.
A moment later, a rough hand slipped behind her neck. She ripped her hands from her eyes. Derek Owens leered at her from mere inches away. She backed up a few steps until she bumped into the log walls of the mess building. He came right after her, placed one hand on either side of her, palms against the wall, wrists against her shoulders.
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