The rolling hills of Tumwater came into view. Small farms where cattle grazed in green fields skirted the town. Farther down the line, he spotted several wooden structures clustered along Main Street. Few people were milling about the lively town he called home when he wasn’t stuck up in the logging camp.
Clutching the throttle, Frederick checked the pressure gauges as a short wooden bridge approached. He gave a cursory glance behind him to check on the logs and make sure they were still on the flatcars. It was a wonder they were considering the way he drove, but he hadn’t lost a load yet, and he didn’t intend to.
The wheels rolled onto the bridge with a shaky bump and again Frederick held his breath. Pieces of twisted metal and broken railroad cars lay on both sides of the tracks in the creek below. Remnants of a recent crash that killed one of his coworkers, one of his friends. Frederick shuddered. But for the grace of God…
As Inferno rolled over the tracks, the wheels made an eerie thumpity-thump, drowning out the sound of rushing water in the creek. Slowly the locomotive passed over the bridge. Frederick relaxed when it was on solid ground on the other side.
He blew out a sigh of relief and mopped the sweat from his face with a red bandana. He was going to make it in one piece. The last guy who rode these rails wasn’t as lucky, as evidenced by the wreckage behind him.
As the small businesses that dotted the landscape began to whip past his line of vision, Frederick applied the brake again. More sweat caused his hair to stick to his forehead. The noise made him want to cover his ears, but he had to keep his hands on the levers and his eyes on the gauges. Renier Lumber Company lay just ahead, and the team of men waited to take this load of logs and turn them into lumber.
Frederick pressed hard on the brake lever and steam poured from the locomotive. The heat caused his muscles to grow weak as he came to a stop at the loading dock of the mill. “Thank You, Lord,” he whispered under his breath.
He climbed down the rough metal ladder. “Morning, E.V.”
E.V. strode up and gave Frederick a slap on the back. “Looks like you had a good run there.” He raked his fingers over what had to be at least three days’ stubble on his chin. E.V. only shaved on Wednesdays and Sundays.
“Sure did.” Frederick stood back and took a breather as E.V. pulled on a pair of worn leather work gloves and joined a team of men nearby.
Frederick couldn’t help but feel pride in his accomplishment of getting the train safely to Tumwater. If all continued to go well, he just might get that promotion. If only the boss could overlook the recent loss of the previous engineer. The accident hadn’t been Frederick’s fault, but he felt somewhat responsible anyway. He should have been there that day.
“You all right?” E.V. asked with concern buzzing through his tone.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get this thing unloaded so I can get back up to the landing and get another load.” Frederick moved with precision, although his thoughts vacillated between a gnawing hunger to impress his boss; Albert, his coworker’s widow with two fatherless children; and anxiety at his own father’s home teetering toward the auction block.
“Shoo, shoo!” Emma Pearson charged after a rat, knocking over a wash bucket as she chased the vermin out of the bunkhouse. Once the rat darted into the woods, she halted her chase and paused to catch her breath. She looked over her shoulder into the open bunkhouse door. “Oh no,” she groaned at the mess she’d created.
Getting the sheets off the beds, washed, and dried was proving to be much more work than she had originally anticipated. Nonetheless, the job had to be done before the men came back in from the woods, or she would be in a heap of trouble that night.
Muttering under her breath, she traipsed back inside. She picked up the water bucket and winced as the dirty soapy water sloshed on a recent burn she received while taking dinner rolls from the cookstove.
Emma hated living in the rough and dirty logging camp. The work was so hard and the conditions were so … primitive.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilkin were kind enough to offer her a loft in their cabin. The tiny room offered little privacy, but it held her most prized possession, her mother’s dark green ball gown. The garment had frayed around the collar and sleeves over the years, but to Emma it was a dress fit for a fairy tale.
“Lord, I know Your Word says to be content in all circumstances, but this?” With no place to go and nobody to turn to for help, she gritted her teeth against the pain in her burned fingers and resigned herself to finishing the sheets. First she had to get a bucket of fresh water to replace the one she’d spilled.
“Stupid rat.” Emma stomped down to the creek, her thoughts drifting in the direction of town and all the excitement going on there. Many of her friends were attending fancy parties at the Whitworth mansion, plays at the local theater, and a real church on Sunday mornings. If only she wasn’t stuck in this isolated and dirty place. Immersed in her dreams of all the activity in town, the pain she felt in her burned fingers subsided.
About the time she unpinned the last sheet from the makeshift clothesline, the sound of the men arriving in camp brought her back to the present. Emma’s older brother, Jake, sidled up to her, gave her a pat on the head, and then began gathering the clothespins. “You look like you’ve had a hard day,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“Every day is a hard day,” she replied, grimacing as the grin fell from his face like a giant oak crashing to the ground.
“I’m doing my best, sis, to support us.”
With dark hair and dark eyes mirroring hers, he was the only living relative she had left in the world. She was glad he was home safe, at least for the night. “I know,” she answered, “and I’m sorry for complaining.”
“I start training for driving the loads into town tomorrow.” Jake eyed her as if to gauge her reaction. “Frederick Corrigan has been kind enough to put in a good word for me and is willing to show me the ropes.”
Emma tried to smile but couldn’t, not any more than she could count on her burned fingers how many times a day she prayed for her brother’s safety. From what she heard of Frederick Corrigan’s driving, they could use the prayers tomorrow, and the days after to boot!
“Don’t be angry, Emma. Compared to the job I’m doing now, it’s twice the pay—”
“And five times the danger!” How could she make him understand that, after losing their parents, she couldn’t bear to lose him, too?
“Fred is a good man. He’s a skilled driver and will teach me well.” Jake rambled on about Frederick Corrigan’s proficiency, but few words soaked through the dry and brittle exterior of her heart. The company’s driver took daring chances on the rails—chances she didn’t want her brother taking.
“Emma, I need you to come and help me take up the potatoes, please.” The voice of the camp’s cook, Mrs. Wilkin, floated to Emma, drawing her from her thoughts.
“Go on, sis, I need to wash up.” Jake strode to the creek. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Emma quickly picked up the basket full of clean sheets. “Be right there,” she called toward the kitchen. She hadn’t taken more than two steps before she bumped into someone and nearly dropped the laundry basket. Clothespins fell to the ground and rolled every which way. Exasperation bubbled within her.
“Of all the—” Emma bit her lip to stifle the exclamations swirling in her head.
When she looked up, Frederick Corrigan stood blocking her path.
Chapter 2
Afternoon, Miss Pearson.” He tipped his hat and nodded.
Emma noted the twinkle in his sky blue eyes as he smiled down at her. What, pray tell, he had to smile about was beyond her. From what she heard, his father’s house was in foreclosure and one of his lumberjack friends had just died in a horrible accident.
“Afternoon, Mr. Corrigan,” Emma said, noting all too well the cold flatness in her voice. She had once thought him to be handsome and daring, but now that he had agreed to teach her brother—her only living kin—his re
ckless ways, she could only see him as a means to her brother’s death.
“May I help you with that basket?” Mr. Corrigan reached for the load she carried, and she shied away from his touch.
“No, thank you, I can manage just fine on my own.” Emma’s curt words dripped with disdain.
“Since your brother will be riding with me, I would think we could at least be friends.” He cracked a bright grin.
“I’m really very busy.” Emma adjusted the basket on her hip and turned toward the bunkhouses. Since when would she like to be friends with the likes of this rough scoundrel?
“You don’t approve of me, do you?” He stood in her path like a towering pine, with his hands on his hips. His eyes reminded Emma of the sky on a cloudless summer day, much as she hated to admit it.
“It isn’t that I dislike you. I just don’t care to see my brother taking the same reckless chances on the rails that you do.”
He glared at her with stormy intensity. The eyes that were a lovely shade of blue only a moment ago now took on a thunderous darkening. “I’m the best engineer this company has, and I’ll teach your brother well.”
“I’ve no doubt you’ll teach him to properly deliver the timber, but will you teach him to be safe? Speedy delivery didn’t fare well for the last driver, now did it?” Emma didn’t wish to be confrontational or tell Mr. Corrigan how to do his job, but the last thing she wanted was her brother becoming the next casualty in the logging camp.
He aimed an icy glare straight at her.
“Do you think I’d intentionally endanger another man’s life?” Rage and hurt pride were evident on his tanned face. His nostrils flared and his jaw was set in hardened lines.
Emma sucked in her breath. Something in her gut coiled as the hair on the nape of her neck prickled. She had seen men angry like this before. If she lived to be a thousand years old, the sight would always trigger fear.
He sneered through clenched teeth. “I’ll see to it your brother’s kept safe.” Without another word, he turned on his boot heel and stomped away, leaving a gasping Emma to cope with his blunt words.
“Emma Pearson is sure angry with me.” Frederick spoke with E.V. the next morning at the sawmill. He could almost feel his blood heating in his veins. “She doesn’t want me showing her brother the ropes of train engineering.”
“Can you blame her?”
E.V.’s words gave Frederick pause, and he thought about Emma’s situation. Having lost both her parents, she probably lived in daily fear of losing her brother, too. And with an engineer’s recent death, her fears had to be multiplied.
Frederick shook his head. “No, it’s dangerous work, much as I hate to admit it. I just wish she’d understand I’m not the daredevil she thinks I am.”
Even though E.V. owned the sawmill and had his employees to do the grunt work, he pulled on a pair of leather gloves and began to help Frederick with the current load of logs. “Why don’t you do something nice for her?”
“I don’t want Miss Pearson thinking I’m sweet on her.”
E.V.’s gaze shifted to the street where Larkin Whitworth exited the mercantile, holding boxes precariously balanced. “Doing something nice doesn’t mean you have to start courting. See a need and then meet it.” He dropped a log onto the pile then patted Frederick’s back. “I’ll catch up with you when you bring the next load in.”
Frederick watched as E.V. ran across the street to the mercantile and helped Miss Whitworth with her packages. See a need and then meet it.
With that thought in mind, Frederick tromped back to Inferno and climbed aboard.
The afternoon went by with a blur, quite literally, as he sped back to the woods, refilled his string of flatcars with timber, and returned to Tumwater. This didn’t allow for any time to check on Miss Pearson at camp, but it did allow for time to pray for compassion and insight as to what made Miss Pearson tick. She had to have some type of need.
Yet the only answer he heard from the Lord was “Seek, and ye shall find.”
As Inferno’s engine cooled from the day’s frantic pace, Frederick pulled his red bandana from his trouser pocket and wiped his face. He climbed down, helped unload the logs, then headed down the street looking for a nice peace offering.
An hour later, with his nerves frayed at the edges, Frederick stomped down the wooden-planked boardwalk. Everything he “sought” had too high a price.
“I could use a little help here, Lord,” he grumbled.
“Seek, and ye shall find.”
Not sure where he was supposed to seek, Frederick stopped walking and looked around. Karl’s Feed and Seed was the only business he hadn’t visited. “All right, Lord, I’ll keep seeking.”
He hurried across the street. After entering Karl’s, Frederick walked around, examining every shelf before roaming to the pens in the corner. Baby pigs rooted around and climbed over each other in an effort to get to the food plate. Two of the scrawnier ones looked up at him with big dark eyes.
“Just came in this morning,” Karl called from the side counter where he scooped grain from a large bin into bags.
“Twelve, that’s a good-sized litter.”
“Thirteen, actually. I heard the runt in the litter had to be disposed of.”
“That’s too bad.” Frederick studied the wiggling creatures.
Karl reached for some twine to tie off a full bag. “You heading back to camp tonight?”
“Yup—do you need me to do something?”
Karl walked to him, carrying a gunnysack. “Johnny isn’t back from the last delivery, and I have all these customers. Could you take this watering can to Mrs. Wilkin? She ordered it awhile back for her chickens and it just arrived.”
“Sure thing.” Frederick took the sack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out the door. Within minutes, he and Inferno were on the rails again. His father’s house was still in foreclosure, Miss Pearson still hated him, and the guilt he felt every time he saw the bridge continued to grow. As the bridge approached, Frederick slowed the locomotive in an effort to be extra cautious.
“Lord, I pray You’ll take Albert’s family by the hand and walk with them through the valley of the shadow of death. Give them a comfort that only You can bring.”
When God’s peace washed over him, he glanced over the bridge. What in creation?
He leaned far out the locomotive’s window to get a better view. A tiny pink piglet clung to the wreckage. Probably the runt piglet Karl had mentioned. The water was plenty cold for late September.
Frederick jerked Inferno to a stop. He climbed down and slowly made his way to the riverbank. With great care, he maneuvered across the wreckage and managed to grab the creature by the head and pull it from the icy water.
The piglet protested at this treatment with a series of ear-piercing squeals and wiggled with more force than what Frederick thought possible.
Climbing back up the ravine to the train, Frederick bundled the piglet inside his wool coat. He whistled a lullaby all the way back to where Inferno was parked on the tracks in hopes the tune would help calm the squirming animal. Once they were back inside the train, Frederick pulled the watering can out of the gunnysack.
“Not sure why I saved you. All you’re good for is a few strips of bacon,” he said, wrapping the squirming piglet in the gunnysack. He placed it in the kindling bucket. “Can’t have you falling out on the way home.”
The piglet lay down, content.
Frederick grinned as he fired up the locomotive and headed off in the direction of camp. Large, fat raindrops descended from the gray sky. He needed to hightail it home. The rails were a temperamental part of logging equipment, as moody and unpredictable as a woman scorned. He shuddered, thinking of Widow’s Bend. The curve of slippery metal lay only a few miles ahead.
Chapter 3
Weary of life in the primitive logging camp, a determined Emma would use any excuse she could to go into town. Now if only such an excuse would present itself.
&
nbsp; She sat a few feet from the kitchen door and plucked another feather off the chicken. Cooking was a dirty job and not in her normal duties, but when Mrs. Wilkin ran behind schedule, she needed Emma’s help. It was difficult, to say the least, keeping up with the appetites of the hordes of hardworking lumberjacks.
Ridding the deceased poultry of their feathers was a job she especially disliked, but a job she had to do for dinner. The dead birds stunk to high heaven, causing her to gag. She considered lighting a match to get rid of the smell, but the wet feathers stuck to her fingers with frustrating tenacity and would make lighting matches difficult at best.
Finished with the second bird, she grabbed the next one in line, submerged it in scalding water, and yanked at feathers till her forearms ached. She tried not to look at the pen containing nine more waiting their turn for a neck wringing and a dunk in the boiling pot.
Emma longed for her quiet time after dinner when the washed dishes were put away for the night. Then she could crawl into a hot tub of water. If only she had some dried rose petals to take away the stench of dead chicken. Resigned to her duty, she focused on the only thing she could make a difference in—praying for her brother’s safety.
“Lord, please protect Jake from danger—and Mr. Corrigan, too,” she added for good measure, hoping God would hear her prayers. A decent and worthy way to pass the time even though, in her opinion, prayers hadn’t done much good for her mother, who had been left to support two children after their father had died. Warm clothing had been scarce in cold winter months, not that they had any finer clothing in the summer. She remembered frequent hunger, but Mama had always prayed before every meal, no matter how meager it might be.
“Oh Mama.” With tears pooling in her eyes, Emma pulled in a ragged breath of air. “I wish you were here.”
“Emma, could you come in here, please?” Mrs. Wilkin called out the kitchen door.
“Be right there.” Emma dropped the half-plucked bird and strode toward the small but sufficient kitchen.
Cascades Christmas Page 8
