Thatcher took the photograph and slip of paper. “She’s always been very beautiful.”
“I wish I’d realized what I had before I ruined things between us.”
“I’ll keep you in my prayers. You’ll find her.”
William pushed back his empty plate. “What about you? How long are you going to keep running?”
“Until I can get the courage to go back and face Father.”
“He’ll probably never change his business manners without your influence. He’s only gotten worse with you gone.”
“I just can’t handle his unethical, greedy, vindictive…” Thatcher’s voice trailed off into silence.
“He has one weakness in that mean façade.”
“It’s not a façade.”
“He loves you. He’s falling apart without you. He rationalizes all his actions. He’s meaner than ever since you’ve left, but there’s such an emptiness, a sadness about him.”
“I don’t think he could love anybody.”
“He has offered a reward for any information of your whereabouts.”
“He what?” Thatcher leaned forward and his chair scraped the floor. “How?”
“His lawyer sent out letters, inquiries. The word’s out.”
“I can’t believe it. Father owns everything else in Chicago, I guess he thinks he can buy me, too.”
“Maybe you should go back and get it straightened out.”
“I can’t. Are you forgetting Adaline? She’s a female version of Father, and he demands that I marry her.”
“Hmm. I did forget about her. I guess I was too caught up in my own problems when you left.”
“Father pressed for a marriage. He even spoke to Adaline’s father. Mother arranged events to throw us together.” Thatcher shook his head. “There is no way that I will marry her.”
“So you’re going to hide out until she marries someone else?”
Thatcher chuckled. “No one else will have her.”
William rapped the table with his fist. “We’ve gotten ourselves into some real messes, haven’t we?”
“I’ll pray for you, if you’ll pray for me.”
“Sounds like a good place to start.”
Chapter 11
Several days passed. One morning, Meredith started off for Bucker’s Stand clad in her comfortable men’s trousers.
Just before Meredith reached the camp, her horse stumbled on a rock and began to limp. The rooftops of the bunkhouse and mess hall were visible, not more than a mile up the road, so she dismounted and led her horse the remainder of the way.
As she approached camp, she could tell that things were in an upheaval. Men scurried, shouting orders. With concern, she tethered her horse to a post and went in search of the bull, whom she found meting out instructions with a stern voice.
As soon as there was a lull, she asked, “What’s going on?”
“Accident. Don’t have time.” The bull hurried past her.
“Where?” She started after him, but he paid her no heed. Then she spotted Talbot in the crowd and ran up to him. “Mr. Talbot! Where’s the accident?”
“You don’t want to see it.”
“But I do.”
“No.”
They glared at each other until the bull interrupted, “Talbot, go after the doctor.”
Talbot nodded, gave Meredith a final cutting look, then left for his horse.
The bull gave her a calculating look. “So you finally got your accident.”
“It’s not my fault, and you know it. I only write the facts.”
“Go on, then,” he motioned. “Go watch a man die.”
Mr. Talbot approached on his horse. The bull called out after them, “Give her a ride, Talbot.”
Talbot stopped his horse and looked down at her. “Where’s your horse?”
“He’s picked up a stone.”
He reached down his hand and said curtly, “Come up, then.”
“No. I won’t ride with you….” Her words choked off as she reminded herself, It’s for the story. His face was unreadable, but he still offered his hand, so reluctantly she took it.
He hoisted her up behind him and nudged his horse. The animal jerked into motion, and Meredith grasped Talbot’s shirt with two hands. Men! Even though she resented Talbot’s and the bull’s attitudes, she couldn’t help but notice how good it felt to hold on to Mr. Talbot’s solid back.
Meanwhile, Talbot was disgusted with his own awareness of the feminine body pressed up against his. Protective feelings surged up. Why must she insist on seeing the accident? Why is she so stubborn? Couldn’t she just act like a woman? He cut his thoughts short when they rounded the next bend.
“This is it,” he said, reining in his horse. He reached back to help her dismount, but she slipped to the ground and landed hard on her bottom.
She got up and dusted off her pants. “Thank you.”
Talbot nodded then made haste for the town’s doctor.
Meredith watched him go for a moment, then followed after the loggers. Once they had reached the accident, Meredith gasped ragged breaths from the exertion and hung back to recuperate.
Finally, she edged forward. It was a very young man. The one she remembered from her interviews, who reminded her of Charles. The boy had told her he worked at the camp to support his mother. The young man was pinned beneath a log that was too heavy to move with manpower. The loggers had already moved the donkey steam engine and were frantically fastening the log to its cables. She watched the scene before her, wondering how the young man could even have survived. His legs must surely be crushed.
Finally, the cable was secured. “Hang on, boy, we’ll have you free in a minute. A doctor’s on the way. You’re gonna be just fine now.”
Words of encouragement rallied around the boy. His eyes remained closed. Meredith turned away, too anxious and nauseated to watch. She went behind the nearest tree and dropped to her knees to pray. There was a giant crashing sound, and she knew that the log had been moved. Still, she waited.
“He’s gone.”
Meredith knelt behind the tree for a long time, listening to the fragments of conversation.
“Too late.”
“Could’ve never saved his legs.”
“Better this way.”
“Just a boy.”
“He was a good lad.”
After a time, Meredith wiped her eyes with her sleeves and, never looking back, stumbled out of the woods and onto the road. She would never forget him lying there. Once she wandered back to the camp, she remembered her horse and led him to the stables. The groom gave him a careful inspection. “He’ll be fine, but you can’t ride him back tonight.”
“Can I borrow a horse?”
“I’ll check with the bull and be right back.”
Meredith waited, her mind reliving the scene of the accident until the groom returned and found her a mount.
On the ride back to town, the sound of approaching riders reached her, and she looked up to see a dust cloud advancing toward her. The riders pulled up beside her. It was Talbot and the doctor.
Talbot looked at her with concern. “The boy?”
“He didn’t make it.”
Talbot let out a sigh of regret, and the doctor said, “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” Meredith shivered.
“You going to be all right?” Talbot asked. “I can ride back to town with you.”
“No. I’ll be fine. I’d rather be alone right now.”
Talbot hesitated, and the doctor said, “I’ll go on out to the camp, anyway.”
They separated, and Meredith continued on into town, stabled her horse, and even though it was still daylight, went straight home to bed.
The mother of the deceased young man lived in town. Meredith went to visit her the next afternoon. The small woman appeared strong in spite of her grief.
“I knew when I saw the bull, something had happened to my boy.” She wrung her handkerchief. “He was such a g
ood boy. Ever since his pa died, he took good care of me.”
“I met him once. He was a special young man.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. He talked about you that day.”
“I remember,” The older woman nodded. “You put it in the paper.” She looked at Meredith with dewy eyes. “Will you write something good about my boy?”
“Yes. I will.”
After that call, Meredith visited Francine Wiley, the woman who had birthed twin sons. Their conversation turned out to be as special as the one with the mother of the young logger who was killed. The visit with Mrs. Wiley cheered Meredith enough that she could write up two articles. The first told of the twins’ progress, and the second was a touching obituary, which included how the loggers had rallied together to try to save the young man’s life. Meredith delivered her stories to the newspaper editor and mailed a copy of the obituary to Asa.
Once she returned home, she thought about the three sons, and her own father came to mind. Then, his words: “If only you’d been a boy.”
Chapter 12
Meredith attended the logger’s funeral. It was her first time inside the Buckman’s Pride small, steepled church. Though it was a sad occasion, a sense of peace washed over her, and she wished she had attended the congregation’s weekly services.
Church, as a child, had been one of the few places her father had allowed her to sit up tight against him. Her father’s silent strength, along with the churchgoers’ loving smiles, had made it a special haven. When she became a young adult, she had accepted Christ as her Savior.
Today, as the people gathered to bid the deceased boy good-bye, death brought the loggers and town leaders together. Everyone gave a kind word to the boy’s mother. After the brief service, Meredith sidled into the crowd that shuffled outside to wait for the loggers who carried the casket of the young man on his last earthbound journey.
The town cemetery was located behind the church. Meredith gave Jonah a thankful smile when he appeared next to her and offered his arm for support. The preacher said a few more words. There was a prayer, and then it was over except for a lunch hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Washington, owners of the sawmill.
Emotional exhaustion wearied Meredith, but she felt obligated to attend the lunch. The townswomen had prepared dishes that were arranged on makeshift tables outside the sawmill. The sound of the Mad River’s rushing waters could be heard in the background.
Meredith felt a pat on her shoulder and whirled. “Come sit with me, dear, won’t you?”
“Oh yes, Amelia. I’d love to.”
“What a nice story you wrote about that poor boy.”
“It was a hard one to write.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“Mrs. Cooper, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“You are one of the town’s most affluent and well-respected women. Why do you take in boarders?”
“Because I get bored, and I enjoy cooking. Since my husband died, I’ve been lonely. The first boarder I took in was a favor to someone. I enjoyed myself and decided to keep on doing it.”
“I thought it was something like that.”
Folks began to settle around Meredith and Mrs. Cooper. Mrs. Bloomfield took a nearby seat, and Mrs. Washington settled in next to her. Their husbands stood with a group of men across the way.
When Meredith caught a few words of the women’s conversation, her fork stopped in midair.
“Journalism in this town.”
Not wanting to be conspicuous, Meredith finished her bite, but strained her ears.
“She got herself a story at that poor young man’s expense.”
“Give the people back East something to read about. As if they care.”
“Heard she rode out alone again.”
“And she lamed her horse.”
Meredith felt a squeeze on her arm and sneaked a look at Mrs. Cooper. The woman’s pale face held a taut smile of reassurance. Should I get up and leave or defend myself? Meredith wondered. She had to do neither for someone rescued her.
“I don’t think you ladies need to worry yourselves over Miss Mears’s welfare or her horse’s.” There was a collected gasp as Mr. Talbot eased into a chair beside Beatrice Bloomfield and charmed her with a smile. “I happened to be there the day the boy had his accident. Miss Mears’s horse will be fine, and Miss Mears conducted herself most properly. I think I speak for all the loggers when I say that her articles have lifted the morale of the camp. And Miss Mears was sent west because she is one of the best.”
Beatrice smiled up at Talbot. “Well, if you say so, my dear, then of course it must be true. We do value your opinion.” She leaned close. “But you must admit, she does seem a bit unladylike.”
“Au contraire. I find her most lady… is that berry pie you have there, Mrs. Washington?”
“Why, yes it is.”
“I must have some of that. You ladies are the best cooks. Please, excuse me.”
The table became eerily quiet until Meredith politely excused herself. She looked around the crowd for Mr. Talbot. He was leaning against a post, staring out toward the river.
“I must thank you for championing me.”
He turned with an expression of pleasure. “Join me?”
“Perhaps if we walked down by the river, the noise would drown out the conversations.”
“They don’t mean anything by it.”
They started down the gradual incline toward the river. “And how would you know that?”
“I’ve known Beatrice for years. She’s not a vicious person.”
“I don’t understand. You knew her back East?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Talbot’s clamlike evasion of the personal question did not surprise Meredith. “Why did you defend me just now?”
“I only spoke the truth.” He looked down at her, admiration softening his brown eyes. “You are a good reporter.”
Several feet away, the ground broke off into a bluff. Below that, the rushing waters drowned out the din of the townspeople, giving Meredith and Thatcher the illusion that they were in their own private world. “And you are very good at what you do,” she replied.
“Logging?”
“No. Being mysterious and aloof. In fact, I would call you an expert.”
“From a reporter, I guess that’s a compliment.”
“Being elusive is not always a good idea.” She gave him a saucy look. “Good day, Mr. Talbot.”
Thatcher watched Meredith’s not-so-elegant departure with amusement. Her boot caught in a hole, she wobbled, straightened herself again, gave her hat a fierce tug…. He chuckled. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she’d flirted with him just now. What had she said? “Being elusive is not always a good idea.” Now that could be taken several ways.
“I’m going home,” Meredith told Jonah, her voice still breathless from the short climb. “Should something important happen…”
“I’ll get you,” he finished. “Everything all right?”
“Just tired.”
Jonah took her arm. “Me, too. Mind if I just tag along?”
They had gone a ways in comfortable silence, and then Meredith asked, “Do you think Mrs. Bloomfield is a malicious person?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Then why does she spread bad rumors about me? She doesn’t even know me.”
“Perhaps you frighten her. Maybe she’s afraid of the things that a progressive woman like yourself represents.”
“I’m just normal.”
“You’re a driven woman.”
Meredith shot a startled look at Jonah. “Is that bad?”
“You ask too many questions, Storm. I’m just an old man who likes to take photographs.”
She patted his dark, chemical-stained hand. “No more questions, old man. I’ll just enjoy your company.”
Chapter 13
Mrs. Cooper rapped on Meredith’s door.
“You have a
visitor.”
Meredith poked at stray hairs as she followed Amelia downstairs. A somewhat familiar logger was waiting.
“Yes?”
He spoke with a European accent. “I have a message from Thatcher Talbot.” He held out a folded paper. “I’m to wait for your reply.”
“Oh.” Meredith fumbled to unfold the paper and scan its contents.
If you’ll agree to have dinner with me Saturday evening at the hotel, it’ll save you a ride to the camp. You can interview me for your column. Please say yes.
She tapped her fingernail on the paper and glanced up at the patient man at the door. Does Talbot have a story for me, or is he finally going to talk about himself? Or does he just want to have dinner with me? It really didn’t matter which of these were true. She knew what her answer had to be.
“Please, tell Mr. Talbot I said yes.”
“Yes ma’am.” The man grinned.
After he left, Meredith dashed up the steps to her room. She leaned against the closed door with a smile. She wouldn’t have to ride out to the camp this week, and she was dining with the mysterious Mr. Talbot.
Meredith hummed as she made her way down Main Street, more to bolster her courage than anything else, a nervous habit she had picked up as a little girl. Whenever she faced troublesome chores, she always hummed.
When she reached the bank, she clutched her portfolio, and entered the building. Jonah had told her that the Bloomfield’s always spent late mornings together.
A teller pushed at the bridge of his glasses and asked, “May I assist you?”
Meredith cleared her throat again. “May I see Mrs. Bloomfield?” She leaned close. “It’s a personal matter.”
He raised his brows. “I’ll see if she’s available.” He motioned. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
Comfortable, right, she mused, situating herself on a low wooden bench at the far end of the room.
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