by Cora Seton
“The only reason you’re working on this house is because we’re short of labor,” Curtis said. “I heard Clay say that to Boone. Any guy off the street could do what you do. Even a teenager. You don’t have any real skills to offer this community. Not like me.”
Harris went back to his job, and kept on ignoring him. But Curtis had found a weak spot, and he knew it. As the afternoon wore on, he kept probing at it, returning to his theme again and again, until Harris found it difficult to concentrate on his task. Only Daisy’s antics as she explored her surroundings offered him any relief. As long as the two men stayed near each other, she gave them equal attention. God knew what He was doing when he made dogs, Harris mused. What the heck he was thinking when he got to men like Curtis was anyone’s guess.
Still, it was hard to ignore the man’s incessant talk. The problem was, Curtis was right. The framing work wasn’t difficult. He knew he was doing a good job—possibly a better job than most teenagers would, he assured himself with a private smile—but most men could handle the work. He wasn’t a finish carpenter like Curtis was.
But while that was galling, it wasn’t the worst thing. Curtis was also right he didn’t really have a place here in this community. He’d come here determined not to end up the watchman again. Then, when he’d finally relaxed, trouble had reared its head and Nora had nearly died. Now he didn’t know what to do. Nora’s attack was an isolated incident, and the man who’d perpetrated it was dead, but still there was nothing to say there wouldn’t be more trouble ahead. He’d promised himself he’d take up a watch again, but that was before he’d met and married Sam. How was he supposed to keep framing these houses and mount some kind of one-man guard of Base Camp—and woo Sam all at the same time?
Harris had no idea, and that bothered him. He was a man who needed to know where he fit in. He needed to feel needed. Curtis was undermining that with every complaint and comment.
Now Curtis was muttering again, and Harris braced himself for another attack. He didn’t have to wait long. Suddenly Curtis erupted, “For God’s sake, how am I supposed to fit anything in here when the job you’ve done is this shoddy?”
Harris reached the end of his patience. “The only one doing shoddy work is you. Why don’t you shut your mouth and get to it?”
Curtis was on him in a second, darting out of the half-finished house and shoving Harris hard. “Say that to my face, asshole.”
“Gladly. Shut your mouth and get to work.”
Harris was ready for the punch Curtis threw at him. He struck back, and landed a blow on Curtis’s jaw. The bigger man came at him again, but while Harris’s job in the Navy rarely called for it, he’d always excelled at hand-to-hand combat. Curtis was so angry it was hindering his ability to fight. Harris could predict his moves and dodge his blows. The ones he returned hit their mark. Daisy barked and jumped around them but kept her distance. She didn’t like what was going on, but she was too timid to get involved.
He had no idea how long the fight would have gone on, or what the result would have been, because Walker arrived before things got too out of hand. One of the founding members of Base Camp, Walker was a Native American who, like the others, had served as a Navy SEAL for years before coming home to Montana.
“Break it up. Break it up!” He pushed his body between them and suffered a blow or two before they each got a hold of themselves and backed off. “What is this?”
“This is fucked,” Curtis said. “Harris couldn’t frame up a square house if his life depended on it.”
Walker eyed him. “This really about framing a house?”
“This is about Samantha.” Harris was done playing games.
“Come with me. Just you.” Walker pointed to Harris. “You get back to work,” he said to Curtis.
Harris put away his tools, and followed Walker gladly. Daisy whined, but in the end she stayed with Curtis.
Figured.
Harris wished he could punch Curtis a few more times for stealing his dog, but the two of them needed to find a way to coexist. He wasn’t sure if that was possible, but he refused to be the one to prove it wasn’t.
“Where are we going?”
Walker strode toward the barn and outbuildings. “Horse threw a shoe. Going to need some help.”
“You know how to shoe a horse?”
“Farrier’s on his way.”
Harris followed him with interest. He hadn’t grown up with horses like many of the other men at Base Camp. He had begun to learn to ride, but he had a long way to go to catch up. Meanwhile, he was curious to see the farrier at work.
The farrier arrived in a battered old silver truck and began unloading his tools. He was a man in his seventies, with a hitch in his gait, but a youthful, cheerful face. He whistled while he worked, and although Harris suspected he had already visited several other ranches that day, he seemed eager to get on with the business at hand, and meet his patient.
Walker brought him to the stables, where a black gelding named Spirit shifted restlessly in his stall. Walker motioned Harris back, and the two men watched the farrier approach the horse.
“Roy Egan is a wizard with them,” Walker said. “Just watch.”
As far as Harris could tell, Walker was right. Egan spoke softly to the horse the entire time, as he unlatched the stall door and entered it. He let the horse out gently, and soothed him until the horse settled, then asked, “What happened?”
“He was scrambling up a rocky incline,” Walker said.
The farrier nodded. As he got to work, Harris watched with growing curiosity. He had expected the horseshoes the man used to be prefabricated, but somehow he got the sense that Egan had made them himself. They looked like works of art rather than pieces of metal that had been stamped and shaped by machines. As Egan got to work on the horse’s hoof, filing and shaping it correctly for the shoe, Harris found himself edging closer for a better look.
“You’d better stop there,” Egan said in a soft voice, keeping the same tone he’d been using to speak to the horse the entire time. “I’ll show you everything you want to see later. Nothing I like better than talking over the trade with an interested man. Right now, though, this fellow is mighty anxious, and I don’t want harm to come to either him or me.”
A little embarrassed, Harris edged back. He didn’t bother to apologize, though. He knew the man understood his curiosity, and had only spoken up to keep everybody safe. After a while, Harris realized there really wasn’t anything for him or Walker to do, and he wondered why they were there. Maybe Walker had just made up the errand to get him away from Curtis for a while. It didn’t take a genius to see that things were going from bad to worse back there.
A half-hour later, Spirit was shod again, and back in his stall munching his feed. Walker had gone off to speak to Boone, and Harris followed Egan to his truck, where instead of loading his tools, the man laid them out on the tailgate. He began to explain each one, the rasps and files he used on the horses’ hooves, the hammer and clinchers he used to pound the nails into the horseshoes and bend over the ends, and so on. But Harris was most interested in the way he manufactured the horseshoes.
“These look homemade,” he said, lifting one.
“That’s right. Not many of us do that anymore, but it was the way I was trained, and it’s the way I like to do things. It allows me more control over the way the horseshoe fits the hoof. I’m old-fashioned that way.”
“You must have a forge.”
“I do.” Egan beamed. “Don’t suppose you’d want to see it?”
“I’d like that. If you have the time.”
“I definitely keep busy, but I have time to show a man who takes an interest. There’s not many who find blacksmith work compelling these days.”
“Don’t know that I’d be any good at it, but I am interested.” Harris leaned against the truck. “Seems a solid kind of work to me.”
“Don’t want to put the cart before the horse, so to speak.” Egan began to pack his
tools away. “But I’ll have to retire someday, and when I do this town’s going to need another farrier. I don’t have any backups. Next one is 50 miles away, and some days I can’t keep up with the work. If you’re interested, you can take a course to cover the basics, but I’d be happy to teach you, too. If it’s the blacksmithing part that interests you most, you’d better come around to my forge, and take a look. There’s plenty I can show you there, too.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Any time.” Egan handed him a card that was a little bent and worse for wear for being in his pants pocket. “Give me a call, we’ll set something up.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I don’t know how this is going to look without stays. The dresses are made to be worn with them,” Riley told Samantha. They’d gone up to Riley’s room to find Sam a spare dress to wear until they got to Alice’s.
“If it doesn’t work I can wear my normal clothes until I get one of my own,” Samantha assured her, surveying the pretty room they stood in with something close to avarice. She’d always wanted to live in a house like this, and had spent many hours reading Jane Austen novels on the bus in between gigs. The idea of having so much space to herself nearly overwhelmed her. In between tours, the band spent a lot of time in temporary housing, where they doubled up in order to save money. The band had always done well, but there were many people to split the money among, and in truth, the members partied hard and weren’t exactly pillars of the community as far as savings were concerned.
“It must’ve been hard for you to move down to a tent after living here,” Samantha told Riley.
“It was,” Riley admitted, “but I love my tiny house. What it lacks in space, it makes up in character by far. Besides, I get to come up here to work every day, so it’s not like I’ve left the manor behind for good. When we have guests, we’ll sleep in our rooms in order to be close to them. I guess you could say I have the best of both worlds. Here,” she said, “try this on.”
She held up a plain blue gown and a large white apron. Sam thought the dress looked beautiful. “I can’t believe you work in these.”
“I know.” Riley smiled. “That’s how I felt in the beginning, but they’re made of a very washable fabric. Our dressy ones are much harder to keep clean.” Riley handed Samantha some undergarments. “I loved your wedding gown, by the way. I’m sorry the day didn’t go as planned.”
“Do you really think Renata can annul my wedding?” Samantha stepped into the petticoat and slid the chemise over her head. Riley helped her into the blue gown. As she did up the fastenings in the back, Samantha surveyed herself in the mirror. Riley was right, the gown didn’t quite fit as well as the other women’s did. She wasn’t sure if that was because it had been made for Riley, or because she wasn’t wearing stays, which acted like a corset to shape the body.
“It’s not Renata you have to worry about, it’s Fulsom. Billionaires have a way of getting what they want.” She stepped back and looked at Samantha critically. “That’s much better than I thought it would be. You have a beautiful figure.”
“Thanks,” Samantha said. She allowed Riley to help her on with the voluminous apron. Now she looked like a character straight out of a Jane Austen period drama. “I can see why she’d make us act like we’d just met, in order to make the show better, but I don’t see why she’d actually annul our wedding.”
“Because she hopes you’ll act differently because of it,” Riley explained. “She’s trying to drive a wedge between you and Harris. She wants there to be controversy in the show, so people keep watching.” She tied the apron strings behind Samantha’s back. “What did your family think about you coming here?”
Samantha made a face. “They don’t know I’m here. And they’re not going to like it when they find out.”
“When are you going to tell them?”
“I’m not. But they watch Base Camp every week, so they’ll find out pretty soon.”
Riley laughed. “What will they object to? Our emphasis on sustainability? Or the fact that you married a stranger?”
“Well, they won’t know about the marrying the stranger part, since I have to pretend that didn’t happen. Basically, they’ll object to all of it. They consider themselves to be environmentalists. But they don’t think about their actions too deeply. They really don’t like the idea that a bunch of men who have been in the military could be the ones leading the way on this. It offends their sensibilities.”
“I’m sorry you don’t have their support. Family is important.” Riley stepped back. “You know, when we chose to wear these clothes, it was because we wanted an outward symbol for the choice we were making to pursue our dreams. What about you? What does joining us mean? Why bother to dress in Regency clothes?”
Sam didn’t have to think about her answer. “I’m finally choosing the life I want to lead. One that means something special to me. I believe in what you all are doing here and I want to be a part of it. I want to decide for myself what’s important and pursue that. I’m not just along for the ride on someone else’s trip anymore.”
Riley nodded. “I like that. You’re taking control of your destiny.”
But was she? Sam wondered if that was true. Right now it seemed like Renata was the one calling the shots.
“What about children?” Riley asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Have you and Harris talked about children?”
“Not really,” Samantha said, grateful for the change in topic. “I definitely want them. I think Harris does, too, but I guess we’ll have to put that off for a while. How about you and Boone?”
“We definitely want them,” Riley said. “Whether or not we can have them, we’ll have to wait and see.”
Samantha wasn’t sure how to answer that. “You can’t have been trying for too long,” she ventured. “I’m sure it’ll happen in time.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” Riley asked with a sigh. She smoothed the folds of the comforter on her bed. “Three of us need to be pregnant by the end of the year. I wanted to be one of those people. We’ve been trying ever since the wedding, but I’ve got my period again. I just want this so bad.”
Samantha hadn’t had much experience talking to women about pregnancy. The women in the band and those she met on the road were generally trying to keep from getting pregnant, not anticipating it. “Sometimes it takes a while,” she said awkwardly. “Just have faith. I’m sure it will happen.”
Riley nodded. “Let’s go downstairs and join the others.”
Downstairs, they found the rest of the women still gathered around the kitchen table. All eyes were on her as she entered the room, and Samantha smoothed her skirts self-consciously. She knew the dress she wore didn’t look quite right because she wasn’t wearing her stays. She hoped the others realized that, too, and as she took in the cameras filming them, she was grateful they hadn’t followed her and Riley upstairs while she changed. She doubted she would have had such an intimate conversation with Riley if they did, and she would’ve hated being exposed like that on television. She sat down, and there was a general shifting around as Avery handed her and Riley cups of tea.
“We’re discussing the itinerary for when our guests come,” she said. “They’ll arrive a week from Friday, and stay until Sunday night. It’s a short visit, so we’ll have to make the best of it. We want them to have a great experience, and talk about it online, to get the word out.”
“We’re going to do a lot of the same things we did when we held the wedding here,” Savannah said. “We’ll start on Friday with a tour of the manor and the property, fittings for the Regency clothes that the guests have ordered and a short dancing lesson after dinner.”
“On Saturday,” Avery said, “we’ll start with a carriage ride. Maude and James have already said they’ll help out with that. They would like to host a lunch at their cottage, followed by a tour of their gardens. We’ll return to the manor for another dance lesson, and then everybody will get dressed for di
nner and a small party Saturday night. We expect that to be a late night, so Sunday we’ll start with brunch.”
“It will be a picnic brunch with the men of Base Camp,” Savannah picked up. “And then we’ll do a tour of the sustainable community. We’ll finish with tea and snacks mid-afternoon, and they’ll leave before dinner.”
“That all sounds perfect,” Riley said.
“How can I help?” Samantha asked.
The others looked at each other, and when the silence went on a little too long, Riley spoke up. “There will be plenty for you to do when the guests actually arrive, but for now we’ve got it all taken care of,” she said. “You know, we’re going to have even more women before all is said and done. We should think of ways to make use of all that manpower.”
“Women power,” Avery corrected her.
“Let’s wait until Nora’s back from her honeymoon to assign jobs for the weekend,” Savannah said.
Samantha wondered how that would go. How would Nora react to her? After what Avery had said back at the tent site, she was paranoid that Nora would hate her.
Sam tried to imagine how she’d feel if she knew someone had come to Base Camp to marry Harris.
She’d be pretty pissed.
It would take time and consistency on her part to convince Nora she wasn’t a threat, Samantha decided. She’d be patient and vigilant. That was all she could do.
“Would it be easier if I stayed away from the B&B?” she asked.
“Let us talk it over with Nora,” Savannah said again. “She might need time to get used to you,” she added apologetically.
“In the meantime, I’ll go talk to Boone and find out what I should do,” Sam told them, trying—but failing—not to be disappointed.
“Boone’s already told me you’ll be working on the houses with Harris and Curtis,” Riley told her. “But that’s only for two hours a day. “There’s plenty of time for your own projects. What do you like to do?”