Hope Rekindled

by Tracie Peterson

  “Mine too,” Mother said, giving Jake a reassuring nod.

  “I’ll go to the commissary and see what can be had,” Arjan promised. “I’ll be headin’ there to send the telegram anyway.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Deborah interjected. “There are cots at the infirmary. We could use them for the workers. Stuart Albright may not like it, but I don’t intend to ask for his permission.”

  “Sounds good. I know any extra tents are bein’ used to help shelter the folks who lost their homes,” Arjan replied. “I’ll see what’s to be had later in Lufkin. We’ll get what we can and get back here as soon as possible. By then, you oughta have the rest of the gear loaded and ready to go.”

  Mother nodded. “Sissy and I will pack the other wagon with dried beans and cornmeal.” She looked to her friend. “We’re running low after taking so much into town after the fire, but we’ll get by.”

  “The garden is producing, and with game and such, we can surely get by until Albright pays us on the twentieth,” G.W. said. “We’ll need to work around the clock at the camp, so we’re gonna need a lot of lanterns and kerosene.”

  “I’ll add that to the list,” Arjan said.

  “Can we really do this?” Mother asked.

  Deborah hated the way her voice sounded—so uncertain, weary before they even attempted to accomplish the goal.

  “It’ll be close. We’ll have to work every day,” G.W. said.

  “We aren’t working on the Lord’s Day,” Arjan declared firmly. “Your pa and I had a long-standin’ agreement that we would always honor the Lord by keepin’ that day holy. I don’t intend to break with that now.”

  Deborah looked at him in surprise. “But it’s just this once, and the circumstances are critical.”

  “Either we believe God will see us through this or we don’t,” Arjan replied. “God certainly expects us to work and do our part, but He won’t be replaced by a false idol—even one as honorable as meetin’ our contract obligations.”

  “He’s right,” Mother said, glancing at her husband with a smile. “We put God first. He will provide what we need.”

  Deborah fully believed in having faith, but this surprised her. Surely God allowed for extenuating circumstances. Jesus was even confronted by the Pharisees about healing on the Sabbath. What was it He said?

  “ ‘Wherefore it is lawful to do well on the Sabbath days,’ ” she murmured, remembering the twelfth chapter of Matthew.

  Her stepfather met her gaze. “What was that?”

  “I was just remembering that Jesus said it was lawful to do well on the Sabbath. He said it just before healing a man.”

  “And I suppose we must reckon what the Lord meant by doin’ well,” Arjan said. “Like healin’. I figure selfless acts that keep a fella or animal from starvin’ or dyin’ are doin’ well. Earning a livin’ can’t hardly be the same difference.”

  Deborah knew she wouldn’t convince him otherwise and only nodded. She supposed he made a good point. Their dilemma was one that, when resolved, would provide them with monetary gain.

  “Don’t fret, Deborah,” her stepfather added. “God ain’t forgotten about us in all this time. I don’t reckon He’s gonna start anytime soon.”

  She smiled, knowing he was right. She pushed back her fearful thoughts and settled on revisiting such issues at a later time. “Well, we’d best get to town. There’s no tellin’ what we’ll find. Stuart Albright may well have shipped the commissary off to Houston by now.” She got to her feet.

  “Let’s pray first,” Arjan said, standing.

  The others rose and joined hands. Deborah bowed her head and closed her eyes. Father, this seems to be more than we can bear, she prayed even as her stepfather began his petition. Please go before us.

  Deborah was surprised to find the commissary very nearly emptied. Arjan stood at the counter, shaking his head as Jude Greeley explained.

  “Mr. Longstreet came in here with the black folks and set them up accounts to get the things they needed. He moved them over to the row of empty houses on the north side of town and said they could stay there until new places could be built. He figures to get the mill going mighty quick—even put in a big order of supplies to come up from Burke and any place else he could get ’em.”

  “Do tell,” Arjan said, shaking his head. “Well, it would seem Mr. Albright and Mr. Longstreet have had a change of heart in matters regardin’ Perkinsville.”

  “It would seem that way,” Jude admitted. “I still have some bags of beans and meal, though. Just not a great deal. I’ll give you what I can and then you come back next week and we should be restocked. Mr. Longstreet wired for the new supplies to be sent right away.”

  “Guess that’ll have to do us,” Arjan replied. “How about kerosene and some lanterns?”

  Jude shook his head. “I have some kerosene left, but they cleaned me out of lamps and lanterns. Why don’t you take a look around and see what’s left. If you can use it—take it. Say, you oughta check over at the livery. Maybe they could spare a few lanterns for you to borrow.”

  “It’s worth askin’ after,” Arjan agreed. “We may just have to make some smudge pots.”

  “Or some good old-fashioned bonfires.” Deborah touched his arm. “I’m going to go over to the infirmary and get the cots.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Deborah—I mean Mrs. Kelleher,” Jude interjected, “but they took those, as well.”

  She looked at him in disbelief. “All of them?”

  “ ’Fraid so. Those folks lost everything, as you know.”

  “Looks like we’ll be sleeping out under the stars,” she told Arjan.

  “Reckon so. Guess we’d do well to finish up here and get on our way.”

  G.W. loved being out in the woods again. He relished the smell of pine and earth. Watching the men at work, he found he even missed the hard labor of swinging an ax. His father had taught him at a very early age how to cut wood for the hearth. Later, he instructed G.W. how to cut a wedge to fell a tree. So many lessons he’d learned from his father. And in times like this, G.W. couldn’t help but think of them. His father had been a good man—loving and generous. How he missed him.

  An approaching wagon drew G.W.’s focus. He figured Arjan and Deborah were returning with the commissary purchases and left his things to go greet them. Not seeing any telltale evidence heaping the back of the wagon, he frowned.

  “What happened?” He saw only a few bags of beans, cornmeal, sugar, and salt. There were also half a dozen other items, including some extra axes and saws and tins of kerosene.

  “Apparently, Mr. Longstreet and Albright practiced generosity on the black folks. The commissary was pretty bare by the time we got there.” Arjan climbed down, accepting G.W.’s offer of help. “The ride put me to achin’, but don’t tell your mother or she’ll be fussin’ over me.”

  G.W. nodded. “We can make do. I’ll send a couple of the boys out to shoot a rabbit or two. Maybe a squirrel. We’ll get by.”

  “They took all the hospital cots, as well,” Deborah said, coming from the other side of the wagon. “I can’t fault them for doing such a kindness, but it does change things for us a bit.”

  “Not to worry,” Arjan said. “I’m gonna head right up to Lufkin. If I get a move on, I can get there by dark. I’ll attend church with Bertram Wallace in the morning and return on Monday.”

  Deborah reached into the wagon bed and took up several small sacks of flour. Smiling at her stepfather, she said, “We’d best get you on your way.”

  Within a matter of minutes, Arjan was back in the wagon seat. “I’ll see you on Monday.” He snapped the reins and moved the horses out.

  G.W. turned to Deborah. “Lizzie has been workin’ to expand the cooking area. I’m gonna send Jimmy and Tommy down to bring up the tables and benches we made for your weddin’. I reckon they’ll serve us pretty well.”

  “Where’s Christopher? I need to let him know that I couldn’t bring much of anything from the
old house. It was pretty well stripped.”

  “He’s actually gettin’ a lesson on the two-handed saw. I have a feelin’ your husband is in for blistered hands and a sore back before this is all said and done.”

  “There are worse things,” Deborah replied. “Where did he set up?”

  “Right over there. We doubled the boys up in the other tents, and you and the doc are in the one by mine and Lizzie’s.” G.W. pointed to where two tents sat apart from the others. “You’ll be closer to the creek that way. I told the boys to just figure on bringin’ up two pails of water every mornin’ to help you ladies get it heated for coffee and anything else you need. After that, you’ll pretty much be on your own. The men are gonna be too busy.”

  She laughed. “Gijsbert Willem Vandermark, we are fully capable of doing our part. Hard work never hurt anyone.”

  “I beg to differ with you,” he said, grinning. “Hard work just about kilt me when I fell out of a tree.”

  “I can see your point, but unfortunately there’s no more time to chat. There’s a lot of work to be done. I’ve got to get the beans soaking for tomorrow and help Lizzie figure out how we’re going to manage everything.”

  “Oh, Sis?”

  She turned back to face him. With a rise of her brow she questioned him without a word.

  “You use my full name again, and I’m gonna tell doc about the time you tried to hatch that nest of eggs by sittin’ on them. Then I’m gonna tell him about the time—”

  She held up her hand. “Point taken, G.W. It won’t happen again.”

  Nearly a week later, Jael was happy to see a noticeable change in the town. The remaining debris from the mill site had been cleaned up and cleared away. Zed Perkins had returned to town, along with two of his sons, and with them came several other men from Lufkin. Apparently, Arjan Vandermark had found Zed before he and Rachel had even received the telegram Jael had sent. Zed was more than happy to return to town, and happier still when her father explained that he intended to take over Stuart’s supervision of the town and send his son-in-law back to Houston. At least that was the plan.

  Jael tried not to think about Stuart. She knew he was unhappy, being forced to adhere to the demands she and her father had given him. He’d barely said two words to her on any given day that week, although she’d heard more than one yelling match between her father and Stuart behind closed doors. He’d made it clear that he was enraged at being ordered about. He accused her father of going behind his back and spending money that should have been spent elsewhere. Jael had been proud of her father’s willingness to stand his ground, however. He was no pauper, and in his own right, he could very nearly match Stuart’s financial success. He, however, could boast that his money had been earned—something that was now more respected than it used to be. Stuart felt his wealth was more impressive because he’d inherited it, even if it came by deception and cruelty.

  Jael made her way to the commissary and walked in to find several black women helping to put away supplies. Jude Greeley was telling one woman where to place the cast-iron pots while another waited patiently to be shown what to do with a box of thread.

  “This is certainly a fine change,” she said as Jude pointed the last woman in the right direction.

  “It is indeed. Reminds me of when we first set up business, only then it was just the missus and me puttin’ away stock. It’s good to see the place up and runnin’ again.”

  “There will be a great many more people coming back to Perkinsville,” she told him. “My father and Mr. Perkins intend to see the mill operating, at least in part, by the middle of next week.”

  “I heard that, as well, Mrs. Albright. What was it that changed your husband’s mind?”

  Jael smiled. “I suppose he saw the value in moving forward.”

  “Jael!”

  She turned to find Deborah rushing across the store. “I can scarce believe my good fortune. I had heard you were far to the north at the logging camp.” She embraced Deborah. “Goodness, but you’re thin as a rail.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever worked harder in my life,” Deborah said with a laugh. “G.W. and I came down to the house to see how Mother and Sissy were doing. We heard the supplies had come into the store and thought to take a load back up with us.”

  “You look exhausted,” Jael said, taking Deborah aside, “but how marvelous that Stuart finally honored his contract.”

  “He honored it all right. Honored it with his demand that we meet an impossible goal by June twentieth or he’ll sue us and take our land.” Deborah frowned. “Hardly a victory.”

  Jael could hardly believe what she was hearing. “I don’t understand.”

  Deborah cocked her head to one side. “Don’t you know?”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

  “Stuart demanded the full quota of logs owed him by Vandermark Logging—the amount we would have provided from the time the mill burned until now.”

  “How can that be legal?” she asked in disbelief.

  “It’s within his rights, despite the absurdity of his demands. As usual, he’s found a way to manipulate the legal aspects to his benefit—and our detriment. Lizzie’s father told us that Stuart apparently has several judges eating out of his hand. He has an entire team of lawyers who do his bidding, and apparently owns the bank—or at least some of their people—where Vandermark Logging has borrowed.”

  Jael felt her ire rise. “I knew it was too good to be true. Stuart has been far too quiet. I demanded he tear up the contract with Vandermark Logging, but he said he had a better idea—he would get you back in business. My father even thought it sounded like a worthy idea.”

  “It would be, except for the deadline and quota of logs.” Deborah shook her head. “We’ve hired on as many men as want work and have experience. The job is getting done, but we still don’t know that we can meet Stuart’s demands.”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “What can you possibly do?”

  She wasn’t exactly sure. She could only push Stuart so far, but given all that he’d done, Jael figured he still owed her. “I’ll do what I can. When is the deadline?”

  “Monday the twentieth. We’re to have the logs stockpiled by the tracks or already delivered here to the mill. I’m not sure Stuart understands exactly how much ground that’s going to take up, but I figure that’s his concern.”

  “And it will be the least of them.” Jael took hold of Deborah’s arm. “I’ll speak to Father. He may have additional ideas.”

  “Thank you. You have been a good friend to me.” Deborah caught sight of the clock as it chimed two. “I need to run. G.W. and I have to get the wagon loaded and delivered yet this afternoon.” She leaned forward and kissed Jael on the cheek.

  Jael watched her friend head to the counter and contemplated what she should do. She thought about just confronting Stuart and decided against it. She would talk to her father first. He had proven himself more than capable of handling Stuart and the business of Perkinsville’s rebirth.

  Deborah awoke Sunday morning to the sound of rain pelting the tent. Thunder rumbled overhead and left her feeling more discouraged than she’d thought possible. The summer storms were wreaking havoc on their ability to harvest trees. Ever since the week before when she’d run into Jael at the commissary, the weather had been unpredictable. There had been no word from Jael or her father, not to mention Stuart. Deborah had hoped that one of them would arrive to say the deadline was extended—especially since it had rained off and on most every day.

  Christopher stirred, but he was still asleep. She smiled and scooted closer to her husband. What would they do if the deadline wasn’t met? Would Stuart really find a way to take their land? She sighed. Why were there no answers?

  Christopher opened his eyes and smiled. “What time is it?”

  Lightning flashed and thunder boomed right behind it. Deborah wanted to bury herself in her husband’s protective embrace. The storm was
apparently right on top of them. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t leave the tent.”

  He held her tight. “Pity.”

  “That was exactly my thought,” she said, giggling.

  “I’ve got things pretty well figured out now,” Christopher declared.

  She looked at him oddly. “What things?”

  “Well, I now know that I don’t want to be a logger. I don’t want to work with mules, and I definitely prefer houses to tents.”

  “I’m glad, because I’m of the same mind. My back is sore from sleeping on the ground.”

  He slid his hand down to the small of her back and rubbed it gently. “I found myself wishing for one of the infirmary cots.”

  The rain grew heavier and beat out a rhythmic beat on the canvas tent. “I’m glad I left the lids off all the pots. That rain-water will come in handy,” Deborah said, snuggling close.

  After a few moments of silence, Christopher sighed. “The deadline is tomorrow.”

  She leaned up on her elbow. Doubt and worry etched her husband’s features. “I know. I was thinking about that before you woke up.”

  “We aren’t doing too bad,” he added.

  “We don’t have enough to meet the quota,” she reminded him. “I doubt Stuart is going to give us an extension. Jael had thought she could help, but I’m guessing that was just wishful thinking. Otherwise we would surely have heard something by now.”

  The wind picked up and pummeled the tent walls. Deborah dropped again to the crook of Christopher’s arm. “I hope the storm will pass quickly.”

  “Arjan said the storms have been unusual for this time of year.”

  “Well, at least this many in a row and this strong,” Deborah agreed. The fury of the weather kept them from working in any consistent fashion. “Just when I thought we had a chance . . .”

  “Hey, that doesn’t sound like my ever-optimistic wife,” Christopher said, gently stroking her cheek. “You aren’t giving up, are you?”

  “I don’t want to give up, but . . . I feel depleted of hope.” Lightning illuminated their tent. The thunder seemed to rumble the ground around them. Deborah shuddered. “I’ve never had to be out in a storm like this. I’m afraid.”