Mercer's Belles

by Heather B. Moore

  “Mister Ingemar.”

  Lang shook from his reverie and glanced to his left. “Yes, Miss Sorcha?”

  “You mentioned looking for a teacher. What are the details about the position?”

  This time he allowed his optimism to show in his wide smile. “I have a crew of loggers from my homeland who need to learn English.”

  She stopped walking, and her eyes shot wide. “Adults? You want me to teach men who don’t know English?” She glanced around and then cocked her head. “What language do they speak?”

  “Swedish.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “We’re all from a region near Lake Slijan in Sweden.”

  “Hmm.” Miss Sorcha crossed her arms and scratched fingers along her chin. “I don’t know.”

  “How big is your crew?” Miss Blinne moved in front of him and looked up.

  “Twenty-four men.”

  She giggled. “Really and truly?” Smiling, she glanced at her cousin. “I’ll bet your crew will need new shirts or maybe warm knitted caps.”

  He remembered her inquiring about a seamstress shop. From the moment he’d come up with this teacher idea, he’d wondered how he would handle the issue of a chaperone. He thought Wikimak would fill the role, but after seeing these proper Eastern ladies, he doubted they’d consider an Indian woman sufficient. However, Miss Blinne provided the perfect solution. “I’m sure they do.”

  “Where is the school located, Mister Ingemar?” Miss Sorcha squinted against the bright sun.

  Here’s where my charm is needed. He fingered the brim of his hat toward Missus Gardner, who passed, her gaze moving between his two companions. “Morning, ma’am.”

  A team and wagon rumbled by with clanks from the harness, and the driver lifted his hat. “Good day, ladies.”

  Such interruptions would not do. “Our discussion needs privacy. May I treat you ladies to tea at the hotel?”

  Miss Sorcha flashed a smile and started walking. “I appreciate the offer.”

  Ten minutes later, he sat near a hotel window and waited while the waiter placed steaming cups of tea before each of them. He reached for a sugar cookie from the heaping plate in the middle of the table. As soon as the server left, Lang looked at Miss Sorcha. “The camp doesn’t have a separate schoolhouse. But the bunkhouse has a big open area downstairs with enough tables and chairs to seat everyone.”

  “Camp? How far away from town?” Miss Sorcha leaned back, rubbing fingers on her temples. “I have so many questions.”

  “Let me give you an overview. New Hope is a small settlement about four miles north of Seattle. My crew’s first task on arriving was to cut a clearing in the forest and construct the buildings. The bunkhouse, cookhouse, bastu, and the company office are the original ones. Since that first year, we’ve added another set of privies, a smoke house, and storage sheds.”

  “So, we would have to live there?” Her brows wrinkled. “Out in the wilderness?”

  Was he losing her interest? “Not really wilderness. But traveling to and from town every day would not be practical, especially since classes would be taught in the evening.” He kept from adding especially in inclement weather. They’d learn about that aspect of the Pacific Northwest soon enough. “The men built a cabin specifically for the new teacher this spring.” He glanced at Miss Blinne and shrugged. “We planned on only one person, but I think the space is adequate for two. Plus we have the supplies to expand if either of you deem it is needed.”

  “I don’t know.” Miss Sorcha nibbled on a cookie.

  He gazed at a pale cookie crumb stuck to her upper lip—such pink lips—then shook his head. “By accepting this position, Miss Sorcha, you wouldn’t have to relocate every month and be fitted into the households of families sending children to the school.” He clenched a fist on his thigh. He needed to keep his focus. “You’d have a house of your own.”

  Miss Blinne bounced in her chair. “Oh, Sorcha, wouldn’t that be wonderful? We could fix it up however we want.”

  Lang studied Miss Sorcha’s frown and wished he knew the exact words that would smooth her wrinkled forehead. He hadn’t felt such a kinship with a female since he was thirteen years old and dancing around the mid-summer maypole with Birget Sigvard. Now, all he wanted was to obtain her agreement.

  “What does the job pay?” She watched him over the brim of her tea cup, her green eyes intent.

  Fördömma. He hadn’t given this issue much thought. Plus whatever salary he offered came out of his earnings until he could convince his father the expense was essential. “Well, in addition to the cabin and meals, the wages are ten dollars a month.”

  “Only ten?” Her mouth crimped harder, and she locked her gaze on his. “For twenty-four students?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “For only two hours a day, not six.”

  “Sorcha.” Miss Blinne leaned close. “A house of our own.”

  Shaking her head, Miss Sorcha held up a hand.

  From her tone, he figured the amount didn’t sound fair. “What did Mercer offer?” Not paying rent or buying food more than matched the cash sum.

  “I don’t know. I figured we’d discuss details when I was offered the job.” She swallowed hard, then her eyes narrowed. “I was prepared to take less than what’s offered on the East Coast, but . . .”

  “Don’t forget, Sorcha . . .” Miss Blinne pointed with the last bite of her cookie. “Depending on the location, you might have had to rent a boardinghouse room.”

  “Blinne, please.” She tapped the table near her cousin. “The discussion is between myself and Mister Ingemar.” Squaring her shoulders, she faced him. “Do you realize I’ll have to restructure all my teaching materials?”

  “True. But you won’t have children who would rather be home with their mothers.”

  Miss Blinne stood and refilled the tea cups.

  “Those recalcitrant students would at least know an English vocabulary of several hundred words.”

  A nod displayed his agreement. That fact couldn’t be argued. He thought back to his years in school and how the teacher managed the classroom. “But you’d only have one set of lessons, because everyone will be at the same level.” He quite enjoyed this bartering and watching the emotions run across her face as she worked through her decision.

  “That’s true.” Brow crinkled, she munched on another cookie.

  What other factor was a plus? “You won’t be facing surly youths taller than yourself who resent being there.” As soon as he spoke, he thought again. Well, that statement might be a stretch of the truth. He could imagine one or two individuals who might fit that description.

  “How do you know English and they don’t?” She tilted her head.

  The head tilt to her right was a most becoming look. “My mother was born and raised in England. So my siblings and I speak both languages.”

  “Oh, how fortunate. I always wished to learn a foreign language.” She sipped her tea, then set down the cup. “What supplies are available?”

  That question meant she was serious about accepting. Keeping his anticipation tight to his chest, he leaned forward. “None. Without a teacher, they would be meaningless. Tell me what you need.”

  Miss Sorcha turned toward her cousin and raised an eyebrow.

  Smiling, Miss Blinne nodded.

  “I will make no promise until I see the house and the location of the camp. Blinne’s need to obtain sewing jobs has to be taken into consideration as well.”

  “Ja. Of course. We’ll go right now.” Glancing between the two women, he grinned. One-half of the deal was so close he could envision her signature on the contract. Now came the harder half—ensuring the men would be cooperative.

  The wagon bounced over a rough spot in the road, rattled the trunks and valises in the bed. Sorcha did her best not to bump into Mister Ingemar, who sat to her left. But three bodies on a seat didn’t leave much space. The longer the ride became, the less sure she was of her decision. How would they get to town often enough for Bl
inne to take in orders?

  Tall trees created a thick border on both sides of the road, dotted with occasional puddles from a recent rain. The tangy scent of pine filled the air, and she filled her lungs with the freshness. Now, so different from when they’d walked to Mercer’s house earlier, clouds obscured the sun. She was glad for the woolen shawl wrapping her shoulders.

  Not only had he convinced her into bringing along all her possessions, he’d received agreement to use each other’s first names. Once she expressed her willingness to consider the position, she’d been swept away by Lang’s enthusiasm for how her skills could assist his crew.

  Her first assessment had been correct—the teal-eyed man was a handsome charmer and an astute negotiator. Probably came from his experience with negotiating lumber contracts for his company.

  Lang sat tall with the reins of the four-horse team held loosely in his hands. As he’d loaded the wagon, he’d identified each of the horses.

  But the Swedish names felt uncomfortable on her tongue, so she hadn’t repeated them. Although if she took the job, she’d have to get used to potentially mispronouncing a name or word now and then.

  “Look.” Blinne pointed. “I see smoke through those trees.”

  “Our cook keeps the fireplace and stoves going for most of the day.” He angled his body so he met her gaze and smiled. “She’s always got something in the oven or in the pots.”

  “She? Another woman lives at the camp?” Learning that fact eased her nervousness a bit.

  His eyes widened, and he faced forward again. “That’s right.”

  How odd. She was about to ask more about the cook but spotted Lang’s raised hand.

  “This path marks the cutoff to the camp. We’re almost there.”

  The wagon rolled under a banner-type sign held high over the path by thick posts. Stylish carved letters painted yellow spelled a string of words—Ny Hoppas Skogsavverkning Företag. She probably mentally pronounced them wrong. The odd combinations of consonants confused her and made her quail at the thought of finding a way to introduce English terms. She thought of all the hours she’d spent during the voyage creating storybooks from Irish proverbs. New English learners wouldn’t understand nuances or puns. Maybe she truly didn’t have the training to take on such a monumental task.

  “Oh, Sorcha, I see buildings.” Blinne leaned forward. The seat jostled under her bouncing. “Lots of them.”

  Thankfully, Blinne didn’t need much to be happy. Her positive outlook helped so many times on the trip when Sorcha struggled to deal with a few of the selfish ladies.

  The first sight of a roof made Sorcha mimic her cousin’s pose. Within moments, the wagon rolled into a clearing that wasn’t much bigger than a square city block back in Lowell. Across the expanse stood a boxy, two-story building with a steep-pitched roof that must be the bunkhouse. Next to it was a single-story building with smoke curling from two chimneys. Other buildings dotted the grassy meadow, about equal distance from the biggest one. As she scanned the structures, she couldn’t help but wonder which one was the newest cabin. Everything was much neater and more orderly than she’d envisioned.

  “Stanna.” Pulling back on the reins, Lang stopped the wagon near the second biggest structure and set the brake. “Here’s the logging camp. Barn in front of you, bunkhouse to the left, followed by the cookhouse and the new cabin on the end.” As he talked, he swept an arm along the line. “I’ll take you to the cabin and then bring in food.” He hopped down, then braced a hand on the seat and looked up. “Until you make a decision, Sorcha, I don’t feel the need for introductions to happen with the crew.”

  That arrangement didn’t sound fair. “But how will I—”

  “My decision stands.” His gaze narrowed. “I don’t need to disrupt the men until an agreement is in place.” He nodded to the man who came from the barn and stopped at the first horse. “If I don’t get your agreement, then I’ll search out another new arrival to make an offer.” He turned to the man and spoke while indicating the items in the wagon bed. Then he rounded the back of the wagon and held out his hand to Blinne.

  Dismayed at the seriousness of his attitude, Sorcha barely remembered to offer her uninjured hand for assistance. She walked in silence the thirty feet or so to the indicated building, listening to Blinne pepper Lang with questions. As she approached, she spotted the fresh cuts on the lumber. Yellow shutters adorned the large windows in the facing wall. A row of ivy leaves trailed across the heavy lintel above the door. From off in the distance, near the tree line, floated the drone of saws.

  “Please come in and explore.” Lang stood on the half-circle of stones at the entrance, holding open the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with food.”

  Blinne stepped into the cabin and disappeared.

  Sorcha paused on the stones and met his gaze. “I need to say thank you for the opportunity, no matter what I decide.”

  Lang tipped a finger to his hat brim and walked away.

  Taking a deep breath, Sorcha stepped over the threshold and sucked in a breath. The space was divided not by walls like in her parents’ house but by the arrangement of the furniture. In the left side stood a gleaming rectangular table with four chairs and a built-in hutch along the far wall. To her right, an upholstered settee faced a stone fireplace that covered a third of the wall. A dark-wood rocker sat to provide a good look out a front window. In the right corner sat a desk, and a bookcase stood to the left, abutted to a wall. Separating the dining room from the kitchen was a half wall. A wide counter atop the wall would be good for assembling items to be moved between the rooms.

  “Isn’t this cabin so cozy?” Blinne rushed up, her smile wide and her eyes flashing. “Don’t you love it? I can already see the afghan your ma knitted spread on the back of the rocker. My mama’s tablecloth and napkins would go on the table.” She grabbed Sorcha’s hand.

  Sorcha stumbled forward at Blinne’s hard pull, glancing at details as she moved. Her feet thudded on thick floor planks. White paint covered the walls, reflecting the sunlight through numerous windows.

  “The kitchen is already stocked with cutlery, plates, and cups. See the icebox on the far wall. And I spotted a full woodbox outside.”

  Her cousin’s chattering and the weight of what was at stake rushed at her, and she stopped. “Let me take in the details on my own, Blinne. I agree the cabin is wonderful, but I can’t think only of this place. I have to think of the work requirements.” She cautioned herself not to get too excited, because the job still represented a huge challenge. The fact she’d been offered a teaching job was the point of being here in Seattle. Introducing foreigners to a language that would assist them to get along in their new home was truly a noble cause. Although her goal had been to provide learning for inquisitive minds, she just hadn’t thought those minds would be accompanied by beards and moustaches.

  “Oh, look. Sorcha, come see.”

  Sorcha followed Blinne’s voice to an enclosure that held a long metal bathtub with one end higher than the other. A half-sized potbellied stove stood against the wall with a small woodbox. Two wall shelves held towels in different sizes and a wrapped bar of soap. She let out a sigh. This bathing room was twice bigger than the one in her entire family’s house.

  Blinne fingered carved pegs protruding from a board nailed to a wall. “Whoever designed this place thought of everything. Have you noticed how smooth and polished all the wood is?”

  The open design esthetic of the cabin appealed to her senses, but she couldn’t pick out one particular item. The smooth lines of the furniture cried out for cushions, but the light-colored wood looked fine without them.

  A knock sounded, followed by a “Hej.” Lang stepped into the cabin carrying the bail of a pot in one hand, with a cloth-wrapped item tucked at his elbow and a jar of liquid.

  Startled by the foreign word, Sorcha paused, then rushed forward and took possession of the cloth. Warmth penetrated her gloves. A yeasty scent filled the air.

/>   “The meal is venison stew with wild onions and hot-out-of-the-oven rye bread.” He walked to the kitchen and set the pot on the stove. “A crock of butter should be in the icebox.” After a glance around, he headed toward the door.

  “You’re not staying?” Sorcha hated how plaintive her voice sounded.

  “I’ve been away from camp for several days and need to check in with my foremen.” He ran a hand over his hair. “You need time to evaluate your options, Sorcha.”

  “How will I find you?” Again, she sounded so helpless, a fact she abhorred. “I mean when my decision is made.”

  From nearby, a bell clanged, reminding her of the ship’s call to meals.

  He beckoned her forward, then pointed out the window. “See the building with the blue shutters across the clearing?”

  She approached to see which one he meant, which brought her only inches from where he stood. Her heart rate kicked up. In such a short time, he’d captured her attention like none other. “I see.”

  “That building’s the company office. Within an hour after the meal, I’ll be there . . . waiting.” He gazed into her eyes, then nodded and stepped around her to the door. A moment later, he was gone.

  She stared until her eyes ached, then she blinked. Why had that single word, waiting, tied her tongue? She shook away such foolery and spun. “Let’s eat.”

  Blinne stood at the stove with the lid raised and her other hand on her hip. “Did he say venison, as in deer meat?”

  “We’re not in a hotel with multiple choices on the menu, Blinne.” Back home, Sorcha had been hesitant about eating new cuisine. But the foods and dishes they were served while in Lota, Chile, on the voyage—tamales, enchiladas, plantains, and mangoes—had all been enjoyable. She reached for a plate from a shelf. “Besides, if someone else cooked the food, it will taste wonderful.”

  “I don’t know.”

  At the dining table, both chose chairs with a view out of the windows.

  Sorcha savored her first bite of the solid texture of the bread softened by the creamy butter. The stew had a robust flavor, seasoned with herbs she didn’t recognize.