“Hush. Where is everybody?”
“Probably in the woods.”
They dismounted and asked the first man they came across where they could find the camp foreman.
“Bull of the woods? Thar, in that tent.” The burly man pointed toward a rectangular gray structure.
Jonah nudged Meredith toward the tent indicated, while she took stock of the place.
One man, whose wrinkled face looked like leather, made a smacking noise with his lips, and Jonah gave her a light tug. “Hurry up.”
She felt a surge of disgust. “They’ll just have to get used to seeing me around.”
Jonah peeked inside the tent’s open flap, and a black bear of a man motioned them inside.
“If you’re looking for a job, I don’t think you’ll do,” he said. His black eyes glanced over Meredith. “Especially that one.”
She strode forward. “We’re not looking for a job. We have one. Meredith S. Mears, New York journalist.” She stuck out her hand.
“Jonah Shaw, photographer. You had any photographs taken of your camp yet?”
“Mm, nope.”
“Well, I’m your man then.”
The black-bearded bull of the woods did the formality of shaking their hands. “Josiah Jones. I can appreciate that you’ve come a long way. But I don’t think you’ll want to be sticking around. This is no place for city folks. It’s rough, and it’s dangerous. You’ll likely get in the way of my men and get yourself killed.” His eyes raked over Meredith. “The only women here are ones who serve the meals, and they’re loggers’ wives.”
“Mr. Jones, we have come a very long way, and I have no intention of leaving Buckman’s Pride without my story.”
“Staying in town then?” The bull asked.
“And I’ve set up a studio. We’ll be around for a bit,” Jonah announced.
The bull shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t say you haven’t been warned. I’ll not be responsible for any harm that comes your way. And I’ll be mighty displeased should one of my men come to harm because of you. Accidents happen around here too easily as it is. The men don’t need distractions.”
“Understood,” Meredith said.
Just then, a shadow indicated someone had entered the tent’s doorway.
“Talbot,” The bull said with a sudden smirk on his face. “Got a job for you. See that these folks get shown around, and answer whatever questions they have, best you can.”
“But I was on my way back to the field, sir. One of the peelers sent me with this message.”
“I’ll take it.” Josiah Jones reached out and took the piece of bark that served as paper. “And you’ll take these folks. Try to keep them out of harm’s way, if you can.”
“Yes sir.” The man’s voice was both reluctant and familiar.
A dread fell over Meredith. She sensed that this was the one man she most wanted to avoid. Afraid to discover the truth, she turned very slowly.
Even though the slight person dressed like a man, Thatcher Talbot instantly recognized the reporter from the train and her photographer. The last thing Thatcher needed was her following him around, ready to delve into his personal life. His signing on with this outfit, however, was too recent for him to raise any objections to the boss’s orders. When her eyes met his, he smelled trouble.
“No,” Meredith said. The bull of the wood’s black brows furrowed. “Is Silas Cooke available? We’re friends, and I’d really appreciate it if…”
“Does he look like he’s available?” The bull of the woods asked.
“Come on.” Jonah took Meredith by the arm. “Mr. Talbot will do just fine.”
Beyond the tent, out of the bull’s sight, Meredith dug in her feet. “No! He will not do just fine. He’s the horrible man who ruined my hat.”
“I what? I don’t know what your problem is, woman,” Talbot backed up a few paces, his hands fending her off, “and I don’t think I want to know. I don’t like this any better than you do.”
“In Buckman’s Pride, the day I arrived, you splattered my gown and hat with mud. You are a… a beast!”
He shook his head. “I think I’d remember such a thing.”
“It was you,” Jonah said. “But you didn’t realize you did it.”
“Well, that explains it then. I’m sorry, ma’am. I’d never do something like that intentionally.”
Meredith gritted her teeth and thrust herself in front of him, the top of her head at his chin. She tilted her head back. “You, sir, are a rude man. I’d rather be hung from a rope and dragged by my heels through these woods,” she gestured to the surrounding trees, “than be escorted by the likes of you. But this assignment is important to me, and since you’re all we have, you’ll have to do.”
Thatcher wanted to take the woman over his knee. “And you, ma’am, are a spoiled brat. But since my boss has given me this duty, and for your friend’s sake, you’ll have to do.”
“Well!” Meredith jerked her head so hard her hat slipped.
Jonah gripped Meredith’s shoulder and stepped between them like a referee at a prizefight. “If I were to set up camp for a week or so to take some photographs, where would I stay?”
Talbot eased back. “This way.” He tramped off with Jonah and Meredith jogging after him. “I suppose the bull would put you in the bunkhouse with the rest of us.” He stopped in front of a long building with rows of bunks so close together that they had to be accessed from the foot end. “And if you didn’t like this, you could just pitch a bedroll outside. Course, with the wild animals, I’d recommend the bunkhouse over the woods.”
“Are the animals here as ferocious as the men?” Meredith asked.
“Most are.” Talbot met her glare, hoping to frighten her.
Meredith raised her hands in surrender. “Look. We’re wasting time. Why don’t you let us follow you back to whatever it was you were doing. I’d like to see the loggers in action. Wouldn’t you, Jonah?”
“Yes. That’s a good idea.”
“It’s not safe out there,” Mr. Talbot said.
“We’ve been through all that with the bull,” Meredith said. “We promise to stay out of your way, and we’ll even find our own way back to camp when we’re done.”
Talbot shrugged. “Have it your way.” He charged into the woods, not really caring if they kept up with him. They did. About twenty minutes later, they entered a tiny clearing where men were working together.
“By the way,” Meredith said. “What’s a peeler?”
Talbot rolled his eyes. “A man who peels bark off a log.” He looked over the logging site. “You two can stand over there.” He pointed.
The loggers gave Meredith and Jonah several sidelong glances. Meredith didn’t care; she was too intrigued with the logging operation. Questions popped into her head as quickly as the axes dropped wood chips onto the forest floor.
Talbot looked up once to see Meredith and Jonah tramping off alone. He figured they were heading back to the camp. The bull had put them in his care, so he took off after them. The crackling twigs made Meredith jump. Talbot stifled a grin.
That evening, Talbot lounged on his cot, his arms folded under his head, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.
“She sure is a pretty one.”
Talbot’s head shot up, but when he saw it was Silas Cooke, he grinned. “Too pretty for her own good.”
“Hers or yours?”
Talbot sat up and motioned. “Sit a spell.”
Silas parked himself on the foot of Talbot’s cot. “She doesn’t like you much, does she?”
Talbot laughed. “Why don’t you tell me about your trip together?”
The other man’s eyes lit up.
Chapter 6
Good morning.” Meredith smiled at two women crossing Main Street. One returned the smile until her black-haired companion elbowed her, then quickly tore her eyes away. Meredith felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Unlike New York City, Buckman’s Pride was a small town. Had Mrs. Cooper sp
read some gossip? Her writing experiences trained her not to make assumptions, so she squared her shoulders and sought to dismiss the incident.
At her destination, a wooden sign swung from two ropes. It read: BUCKMAN NEWS. A bell jingled as she pushed open the door. Inside, the familiar smells of ink and paper filled the room. Frederick Ralston, the blond-haired, fragile-looking newspaper reporter, looked up from his work.
“Hello,” Meredith said.
“Expected you sooner or later.” His voice reminded her of a New York winter day.
“Is there a reason you dislike me?”
His fingers poked at printing blocks. “Just don’t like women nosing around in men’s business.”
An older man with an apron draped over his thick belly entered from a back room. He wiped his hands when he saw Meredith in her feathered hat and flowing gown. “Well, there, what can I do for you, miss?”
Meredith stepped forward. “Meredith S. Mears, journalist.”
“My hands are dirty.”
“No matter.” Meredith warmed beneath the short man’s smile.
“Charlie Dutton.”
“Are you the owner?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“You have a delightful shop.” She made a slow circle of the room. “Mr. Ralston invited me to come and look at an article he wrote about the schooners lost in the harbor.”
“He mentioned it. Let’s see what we can find.”
Frederick Ralston’s resentful eyes followed her. She flitted about the room to examine the presses until Charlie Dutton returned with the discussed issue.
“Here we are, Miss Mears. You can sit at that table if you like. Take your time.”
“Thank you.” Meredith took the paper and went to the designated table. The article detailing the helpless sailors’ plight against the forces of nature moved and saddened her. The coast had abundant resources, which, when harvested, would pile money in some men’s pockets. Her fingers traced the printed lines, marking her spot. But how many men would die taming the wild land? The ocean’s treacherous rocks, sandbars, and storms could easily splinter the latest design of shipping vessel. They snuffed out men’s lives in their prime and left families bereft. Her finger tapped her cheek. Dead men didn’t make fortunes. Their risks were another man’s gain.
Was it the same in the woods? Instinctively, she knew it was. Asa had said a logger’s life span was only seven years. The bull warned about accidents. All of a sudden, it seemed important to ride to Bucker’s Stand again. She knew the topic of her first story.
“I’m done here. Thank you for letting me read this.”
“You’re welcome,” Charlie Dutton said.
“Are you hiring?” she asked.
“Sorry. It’s a small paper, and I have to keep our staff small as well.”
She glanced at the younger, brooding man across the room. “I understand. Thank you again, and good day.”
“Good day, Miss Mears.”
To finish out the day, Meredith compiled her completed articles and sent them off to Asa. Once this was done, she returned to her room and typed far into the night.
The next day she rode out to Bucker’s Stand. Jonah had gone a day earlier to set up his equipment at the logging camp. Once she arrived, she stabled her horse. A mass exodus of brawn and boot erupted from the mess hall. Meredith slunk behind a tree to observe. Two men passed nearby, engaged in a shoving contest and shouting loud oaths at one another. Meredith shrank further around the tree.
A moment later she saw Jonah, walking with Silas Cooke.
“Jonah!” Meredith stepped out with her portfolio in hand. “Wait!”
The two men turned back. “I didn’t know you were here,” Jonah said.
“I just got here. Hello, Mr. Cooke. On your way to the field?”
“Sure enough,” Silas said.
“I’ll just tag along then.”
She chatted with the men until they reached Jonah’s equipment. Meredith’s eyes widened. Before them spread what looked like a giant spider web, the loggers being the spiders. Her journalistic mind allegorized even as she tried to grasp the operation.
Huge cables strung through pulleys and fastened to the tops of trees sloped downward to the earth. Several loggers worked to fasten these cables to logs. Before Meredith had it all figured out, there was, all of a sudden, a great creaking, then a terrible crashing noise, and one of the huge logs in the midst of them jerked violently and lurched straight up into the sky. Meredith scrambled backwards in terror, letting out a shriek.
Jonah shouted, “Shocked me, too, the first time I saw it.”
Meredith’s hands flew to her heaving bosom. Once Jonah’s comment sank in, her pulse calmed. She scrambled for a safe spot, somewhere she could observe and stay out from underfoot. A rotting stump looked inviting and removed from the action, and she backed onto it. Her gaze returned to the steam engine yanking giant logs and hurling them up into the air, crashing through any obstacle.
There was a system to the madness. Logs were yanked toward the river, where they would be floated to the mill. Even the ground beneath her shook when the mighty logs rolled or moved. She watched the process with riveted interest and imagined the sorts of accidents that could occur, until a distant physique caught her eye.
Thatcher Talbot helped to fasten the cables. She observed him from her perch and jotted down notes. Hours sped by while she quietly penned words. Once when her concentration broke, she looked up to see Talbot striding toward her. No, not toward her. Jonah seemed to be the object of his wrath.
“Can’t use that photograph,” Talbot yelled up at Jonah.
“What?” Jonah called down from his perch.
Instead of answering, Talbot climbed up the scaffolding like a monkey Meredith had once seen at a zoo, until he was nose to nose with Jonah.
Another log lifted and slammed down, drowning out the two men’s conversation, but Meredith saw Talbot thumping his finger on Jonah’s camera. They argued about a photograph.
She scrambled off the stump and to the bottom of the scaffolding, where she crooked her neck to follow their conversation.
“I do have a say, and I say no!”
“Why don’t you wait until they’re developed and have a look at them. Then you can decide.”
“I want that plate.” Talbot fumbled for the glass.
Jonah jerked it out of the camera, and Thatcher smacked it against the tree trunk. A large crack zigzagged across the plate. He handed it back to Jonah.
“You can’t do that,” Meredith yelled.
Talbot glanced down at her as if she were an insignificant wood tick, then climbed down and brushed past her. The touch of his arm upon hers sent fire shooting up her shoulder. She jerked away.
He halted, as if he felt it, too, cast her a dark look, and strutted away.
She leaned on the bottom of the scaffolding, trembling. “Jonah! I need to speak with you.”
The cameraman’s face was flushed. He climbed down and brushed himself off.
“I need to get back to town,” Meredith said.
Jonah nodded. “I’ll see you back to camp.”
The two hiked toward the camp in silence until Meredith thought she would explode. “Why did you let him bully you that way? He had no right.”
“He does have a right to say if he doesn’t want his photograph published.”
“He did this just to spite me.”
“I don’t think so,” Jonah said.
Meredith mulled it over until they reached the camp. “I’m taking this to the bull.”
Jonah snatched at her arm. “Don’t. I’ve plenty of good photographs. We don’t need it.”
“You looking for me?” a voice from behind caused Meredith to jump.
“Yes,” she said when she had caught her breath. “One of your men threatened Jonah.”
“How’s that?”
“Meredith,” Jonah’s voice warned.
“He purposely broke one of Jonah’s plat
es.”
The bull scowled at Meredith with his black eyes. “Some stories are better left untold. Men’s lives can be like that.” He tipped his hat and walked off toward his tent.
Her mouth gaped.
“It’s not your problem, Storm.”
“I’m a reporter. If…”
“You better leave so you can get to town before dark.”
Jonah’s change of topic was like a dousing of cold water, and Meredith’s fire sputtered. She backed off. “What about you? Will you be all right here?”
“I’ll be fine. I like it here, Storm. Don’t ruin it for me.”
Meredith’s cheeks burned. “You’re right, then. I’d better go.”
That evening Meredith soaked off her trail dust. It was worth the extra effort to use Mrs. Cooper’s rustic indoor plumbing. Water first had to be pumped, then emptied by hand. Meredith did her own pumping, but Mrs. Cooper hired a boy to empty the tub for her guests. Meredith rubbed the kinks in her neck and stretched her sore legs out over the edge of the tub. She hoped her articles for McClure’s magazine would please Asa, her editor. The soft nightgown draped over a nearby chair looked inviting. It wasn’t easy to make the long ride out to the camp.
As she bathed, she recited a favorite verse, one that usually uplifted her in weary times. “‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’” The Spirit of God nudged her spirit. Why were you so mad at Mr. Talbot? Because he’s rude and… and… he’s hiding something. She disregarded God’s question in lieu of her own. Why didn’t Talbot want his photograph taken? What is Thatcher Talbot’s story? Meredith reached for her towel.
Chapter 7
Meredith awoke to the familiar saying of her editor. “If you fall off the horse, Storm, you’ve got to get right back on.” The horse, in this instance, was her story. And her instincts told her that her story somehow included Thatcher Talbot. Otherwise, why would her thoughts be consumed by him?
She donned her brown riding skirt and rehearsed her plans to ride to Bucker’s Stand and get Thatcher Talbot’s story.
On her way out of town, Meredith reined in her horse outside the newspaper office and dismounted. In her haste, however, her foot slipped through a crack, undoubtedly carved by some logger’s boot, and sent her flailing. She gave a gasp of exasperation and caught her balance. Take it easy. You know the hazards. Then at a more dignified pace, she started off again.
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