by Amanda Boone
“It’s wonderful of you to take your sister’s children,” Bridget said to show him some sympathy. Since she didn’t want him to know why she was asking the questions, she decided to end the conversation on a positive note. “How old is everybody?”
“I have four teenagers and three between six and ten.”
“Do you need help caring for them?”
“My wife and I have been struggling ever since my sister died. Her husband died before her, and I couldn’t let my parents take on the burden. Three of my sister’s children went to live with my other sister. They’re all in San Francisco, so they all get to see each other once in a while.”
“It’s admirable that you try to keep them connected,” Bridget said. “I really wish you could get more of a salary from Mr. Harris. Does he know your circumstances? If he did, maybe …”
“He knows, but he just told me that I need to sell more merchandise. I try, but it’s hard when it’s mostly men living in town. There aren’t many families here, and the men can go off to Redding for a few days and get what they need.”
“That’s too bad. Well, I should be leaving. I need to get back to work. Thank you for the supplies.”
“Thank you for your business, Mrs. Coleman.”
Now there was a story, Bridget decided as she headed home with her few purchases. She’d bought some ribbon for Emily’s hair, a sack of flour, and a few homemade biscuits that Wessel’s wife had made that morning.
If she could word it correctly, maybe she could print a story about the merchant and his family in a way that would both humiliate Harris into giving them a higher percentage of the profits without painting Harris as an ogre. She needed to be very careful not to antagonize the owner of Forestville.
When she got back to the office, she drafted up an article about the merchant and showed it to Mike. He read through it before he spoke.
“He only gets ten percent of the proceeds and has all those children to feed?” Mike asked in amazement. “I had no idea.”
“Most of the town probably has no idea. I thought if we could publish a human interest story that showed it without making Harris look bad, maybe he would open his wallet a little wider and give him a bigger percentage.”
“Unfortunately, he does look a bit mercenary in your wording. Let me rewrite it and see what we can do.”
After the next edition came out with the article in it, three prostitutes from the saloon came to the office with some clothes they’d collected on a trip to San Francisco. They wanted to donate them to the merchant’s family, they declared. Unsure what to do but grateful for their thoughtfulness, Bridget accepted the gifts and took them to the storage room to hold until she could get them to Wessel.
Before she knew what was happening, donations started pouring in. Elise and Moya brought over some toys for the younger children and books for the older ones. Elise offered to teach them all if they needed or wanted more education. Stina Bengtson offered free laundry services, and her sister Karin said she would be happy to watch the younger children if need be. Men from the town offered help with household repairs or adding an addition to their house.
Bridget couldn’t believe the outpouring of assistance from these people, so she wrote an article about it. With Mike’s approval, they published the article in the next edition.
Chapter 14
Within a week, a short, balding man entered the newspaper office and asked to speak with Michael O’Riley. When Mike came out of the office, he stopped short, exclaiming, “Mr. Harris! What brings you to Forestville?”
Bridget turned toward him in shock. All she could do was hope that he wasn’t there to close down the newspaper after the articles they’d posted.
“Mr. Harris,” Mike said, pointing to Bridget, “this is my sister Bridget Coleman. She married Jared Coleman. Bridge, this is Mr. Frank Harris.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Harris,” Bridget said, extending her hand.
He shook it briefly then turned back toward Mike and said, “I’m glad you printed those articles about William Wessel. I had no idea how many people he was trying to feed and clothe with the small amount I was giving him. I came to offer him a new contract, giving him more money. I assume you’ve given them the donations already.”
“I tried to, sir,” Bridget admitted, “but he and his wife didn’t want to take them. They didn’t want charity. I explained that nobody asked these people to donate, that they did so because they wanted to, but it didn’t matter. Everything is back in our storage room here.”
“I’ll see that they agree to take the donations,” Harris offered.
“Not all of the donations were something you could put your hands on. Teaching, handyman work, and building work were all offered free of charge.”
“That’s very kind of people. I’ll make sure that the Wessels accept those offers, as well.” He smiled at Bridget and added, “I just wanted to meet the woman behind the printing press before I went over to the store. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Coleman. Now, Michael, would you mind helping me with the donations?”
With Mike’s and Moya’s help, Harris hauled the donations out of the building and headed down the street.
Bridget watched for a couple of minutes then returned to the printing press, where she’d been working. This man, Harris, who she’d always thought of as a large brute, had actually been quite kind. Nobody had asked him to change Wessel’s contract; nobody had even asked him to come to town. But here he was, willing to give Wessel a raise without question. Maybe everything she’d heard about him, everything she’d assumed about him was wrong.
“Where’s Mr. O’Riley?” a teenage boy asked as he ran into the office.
“He’s on his way to the mercantile store,” Bridget replied. “May I help you instead?”
“No, ma’am. I need him to come to the lumber road. There’s been an accident.”
“Another one?” she exclaimed.
“Yep.”
“Let me get his supplies, and I’ll go with you instead.”
“Mr. Coleman doesn’t want women out there.”
“I’ll handle my husband. Let’s go.”
While the teen climbed into the buckboard on one side, Bridget climbed up on the opposite side. Once they were seated, the teen slapped the reins across the horse’s back and off they went.
***
Dr. Frey was already at the site on the road where he frantically worked on a man lying before him. As soon as the wagon stopped, Bridget scrambled from it. When she got closer to the scene where a large wagon with ten draft horses hitched to it stood, she saw a severed arm lying near the man.
“Oh, my God,” she wailed, her stomach churning.
She raced off into the trees and vomited. The man had somehow lost his arm, and he was bleeding profusely. She couldn’t look at it, but how could she possibly take notes on the scene if she didn’t? Determined to do the job, she wiped her mouth on her underskirt and went back to the scene.
As badly as she wanted to throw up again, she stifled the urge. Instead, she wrote about what she saw. Dr. Frey worked to stem the flow of blood, tying a tourniquet around the man’s upper arm and using the multitude of towels at his disposal. Apparently, he’d brought them with him from his office. Blood soaked the dirt under the wagon of tree trunks. He must have fallen under it. This man would no longer be able to work as a logger. He had lost more than just his arm; he’d lost his livelihood—and given how pale he was from the loss of blood, maybe even his life.
Bridget scribbled notes as fast as she thought of them. Who was this man? What, if any, family did he have nearby? Where had it happened? Right where he lay, of course. When had it happened? It had to have been recently, since Dr. Frey was still working on him. How did this happen? Why did it happen to him? Was it just an accident? Or was there evidence of yet another attack on a man working in Forestville?
Had she asked herself all of the questions that Mike had told her made for a good story
? She checked over her list of questions—who, what, when, where, why, and how. That was all of them. Next she needed to find answers to those questions.
She went to the nearest lumberjack and asked, “Do you know who that pour soul is?”
“Gunther Jansen,” the logger said. “It’s such a tragedy that he fell like that. We don’t even how it happened. He must have slipped in the mud.”
That had not only answered who, but how. She jotted down the blond lumberjack’s answers then thought of another question. “May I ask your name so I can quote you in the article?”
“Lars Olson.”
Lars Olson, Bridget thought. Why did that name sound familiar? She was sure she’d never met the man, yet his name rang a bell. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind for later consideration and continued with her inquiries.
“Do you think I should contact his family, Mr. Olson? I could have Moya send a telegram if necessary.”
“I’d wait to see how he’s doing. His family is back East, Pennsylvania, I think. We don’t want to worry them before we know what’s going to happen to poor Gunther.”
“You’re probably right.”
Bridget wrote on her piece of paper. Family lives in Pennsylvania?
“I’m assuming,” she said, “that his fall happened here. Is that correct?”
“Yep,” Lars answered. “I was leading the team, when I heard him scream. I turned around, and there he was, lying on the ground with his arm under the wagon wheel. I moved the team ahead far enough to get him out. That kid heard him scream and came running, so I sent the kid for the doc. Doc sent the kid for Mike, but you showed up instead.”
“Mike wasn’t in the office at the time the young man got there, so I came instead. Do you know when his accident occurred?”
Pulling out his pocket watch, Lars opened it. A moment later he snapped it shut and returned it to the small watch pocket on his denim dungarees.
“It’s been at least an hour, ma’am,” he replied. “I did what I could to stop the bleeding, but nothing helped.”
Only then, as she scanned Lars’ body, did Bridget notice the blood on his shirt and pants. There was quite a bit of it, so he obviously had helped Gunther. She wanted more information than from just one person, so she decided to go in search of someone else to interview.
“Thank you for talking to me, Mr. Olson,” she said as she started away from him.
“Wait,” he said. “Don’t you have any other questions for me?”
“Not at the moment. I want to get a better description of the scene here.”
Chapter 15
Baffled by what she’d learned, Bridget sat down at Mike’s desk to write the story. Mike said that, since she’d gotten all the information, he would let her write it. But now she stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her and wondered if it was a good idea.
According to her sources, the four other men at the scene to whom she’d spoken, only Lars and Gunther had been working to get the load of tree trunks that were on the wagon to the mill. Ninety-five percent of the time, the horses were easy to handle, so a two-man crew to drive them was plenty. The lead man walked to the right of the team and the man in back to the left.
This was where Bridget became confused. According to her notes, Lars had said I turned around, and there he was, lying on the ground with his arm under the wagon wheel. If Lars had been at the head of the team on the right, how had he turned around and seen Gunther? Those draft horses were massive. Lars would have had to look under the team or go around it. If he simply turned around, he couldn’t have been following company policy on that point.
After staring at the paper for several minutes, Bridget told Mike that she was leaving for Dr. Frey’s office to go see how Gunther Jansen was doing. First, though, she stopped at Jared’s office.
“Ah, it’s my beautiful wife,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”
Bridget stared up at him when he came to a stop in front of her. Her heart broke at the thought that she could lose this man at any moment. He could be taken by a heart problem or an accident or any number of ways. She couldn’t bear losing him. She loved him, and could …
She stopped mid-thought. She loved him! She didn’t know when it started, but it was true.
“When I came over here, Jared,” she admitted, “I didn’t know why I wanted to. I just knew that I did. Have you heard about Gunther Jansen?”
“Yes. It’s so sad to lose an arm like that.”
“I was there to report his accident. It was very bloody.”
Unable to restrain herself any longer, she hugged him tightly. His arms slid around her in response. Feeling him against her, having his arms wrapped protectively around her, gave her a sense of security that she hadn’t even realized she needed.
“It’s all right now, sweetheart,” Jared said in a near-whisper. “I’m here. I’ll help you wash all of those unpleasant thoughts and images away.”
“I love you more than life itself, Jared,” she sobbed, her emotions bursting forth in torrents of tears. “I never realized how much until just now.” She looked up at him. “But I do, Jared. I love you with all my heart.”
“Thank you, God!” he exclaimed to the ceiling. “You’ve answered my prayers.” Then he laid his chin on her head, saying, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you finally love me. I’ve done everything I can to show you that it’s safe to love me, and it finally worked.”
“It did, darling. I don’t even know when I fell in love with you. I just know that I did.”
“I don’t think you fell in love with me, sweetheart. I think you grew to love me. That’s why you don’t know when it happened.”
“That’s very true. I did grow to love you. Jared, I wish we could be together right now, but …”
She stopped speaking when he pulled away from her. Without a word, he went to the office door, locked it, flipped over the sign indicating that he was now closed, and went to each window to shut the curtains.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to show you the back room of my office,” he announced as he swept her into his arms. Opening the door that Bridget had always thought was a rear exit, he exposed a bedroom with a small bed, a nightstand with an oil lamp on it, and a washstand. “Your wish, my dear, is my command.”
When he set her on the edge of the bed, her gaze fell upon his trousers and the tell-tale lump at his groin. Timidly, she reached out and touched his covered erection. It moved, and she cupped it with her hand.
“Oh, God,” he sighed.
If it felt that good to him, she wanted to do more; she wanted to caress his naked maleness. Unbuttoning his trousers, she discovered he wore nothing underneath. She pushed them over his hips and stared at his dancing organ. Unable to resist, she leaned closer to him and kissed it. His penis jerked with excitement. Suddenly, she wanted to taste him. Taking his erection into her mouth she licked the head while he moaned above her.
Not really knowing what she was doing, she took her shaft in her hand and squeezed gently. The sounds he made as she did so convinced her that she was doing something that pleased him, and she dared to squeeze him again.
His hands slid to the back of her head, where he pulled out the pins holding the chignon in place. Soon her hair cascaded from its confinement. He dragged his fingers through her tresses, over and over, as though he were combing it.
Then he pulled her head away from his groin, and she stared up at his now-naked chest. He was the most beautifully built man she had ever seen, and she couldn’t take her gaze from his rippled stomach as she slipped her hands up it, through the hair on his bulging pectorals.
Jared took her wrists and pulled her to her feet. After quickly unbuttoning her bodice, he searched for the buttons to release her skirt. Finding them, he let her skirt drop to the floor at her feet and finished removing her blouse. Now only her petticoat and pantaloons separated them. Taking each from her, he exposed her
body.
Bridget stood before him unashamed. He was her husband, and he deserved to see her body. Laying his hands on her hips, he drew them up her sides until his thumbs touched under her moderately full breasts. He cupped them, bent over and kissed each nipple. Moving her out of the way by the shoulders, he dropped onto the bed, which was really only big enough for one person.
His hand went between her legs, and he caressed her excited womanhood. Languidly sliding across her opening, his finger dipped into her body. Then it hit the spot that increased her excitement every time he touched it. He taunted her clitoris gently for a second or two then slid his finger into her vagina again. Even she could tell that she was hot and wet with desire.
With his hand behind her knee, he draped it over him and brought her down onto his lap. He held his organ out so she could sit down on it.
She didn’t need verbal explanations as she had before when they’d had sex. She knew exactly what he wanted even though they’d never done it this way before. He wanted her to sit on his hard penis. And she did exactly that.
A heavy sigh escaped from her as she impaled herself on his manhood—slowly, quietly except for their moans of ecstasy, inching down on him until she encased him fully. At last, his lips caught her nipple, sucking gently and increasing her enjoyment.
When his hands grasped her buttocks, she wanted to cry out in joy, but without breaking their union, he stood with her and laid her on the bed. He came down on her, grinding against her pelvis as he never had before. The pitch of their mating grew. Her body ached and arched to meet his thrusts. She wanted to wait for him, but her excitement was so strong that she couldn’t hold it back. Then her body exploded into the throes of release so strong that she couldn’t help but grab his back and hold on while he bored into her with a lusty growl of fulfillment.
Finally, he collapsed against the wall against which the bed sat and pulled her into his arms. She laid her arms over his and let him toy with her nipple, which was still hard from her orgasm.