Cascades Christmas

by Mildred Colvin

  “Mr. Corrigan would like to speak to you.” Mrs. Wilkin jerked her thumb at Frederick Corrigan, standing in the corner with his arms folded across his barrel chest. “I’ll attend to the chickens.” She walked outside carrying what looked like a shiny new watering can.

  Mr. Corrigan pointed to a little wiener pig rooting through the rancid garbage pail in the corner. As small as the creature was, it had no difficulty in tipping over the bucket and spilling the contents onto the floor. Another mess for her to have to clean.

  “Would you accept my peace offering?” Mr. Corrigan had a cheesy grin plastered on his face, as if he expected praise for the “offering.” “I thought you could raise him for a while and then we’d butcher him when the time was right. Or you could sell him.”

  Emma stood speechless.

  The piglet lifted its nose and looked her way. Brown smelly gunk covered its tiny snout. It eyed her with what had to be curiosity and sniffed.

  “Um, thank you.” Emma raised her eyebrows and hoped it was enough of a response. What else could she say? No one had given her a gift in years. While it wasn’t rose petals, she supposed it was still sweet of him.

  “Go say hello, Bacon,” Mr. Corrigan chided. He gave the piglet a tap on his two-strips-of-bacon belly. Much to Emma’s horror, the animal let out an ear-piercing squeal and limped straight toward her.

  The locomotive’s wheels rolled along to the tune of a well-oiled machine. Frederick stood next to Jake Pearson, ready to take control of Inferno in case an emergency arose. He hoped things would continue to run with smooth efficiency. After a week of intense training, Jake had done quite well. He hadn’t even been intimidated rounding Widow’s Bend. Fear could be as dangerous as rain on the rails. But then, so could cockiness.

  As the landscape passed during a straightaway, Frederick asked Jake how his sister and Bacon were getting on.

  “She was busy with dishes last time I seen her and didn’t say much about it.” When Jake didn’t say more, Frederick decided to let the matter go.

  But he couldn’t forget about it, about Miss Pearson. There was something about her that kept invading his thoughts. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to convince her he’d keep her brother safe. He wanted to see her smile.

  The locomotive rolled over the bridge leading into town. Just a few more miles to go and then another few dollars would be added to the precious hoard in the bank. Dollars meant for saving his father’s house in town.

  Much to Frederick’s chagrin, Jake piled more wood into the furnace. An uneasy feeling did a slow roll in Frederick’s gut. In almost no time, the train picked up speed.

  “I know you’re getting good at managing the engine,” Frederick warned the greenhorn, “but its best not to get too cocky with the rails.”

  “I’ve got control over this thing!” Jake shouted above the racket of the locomotive. He seemed quite confident in his abilities.

  Frederick wished he could say the same. Anxiety and a rising anger twisted around his heart.

  “We’re going fast enough!” he yelled back. He braced himself against the wall of the car as it rocked and swayed. He knew how to handle Inferno at that speed, but Jake didn’t have enough experience yet.

  Images of Miss Pearson flooded Frederick’s thoughts. If her brother died on the rails, she’d never forgive him, and Frederick doubted he’d ever forgive himself either. And he wasn’t about to have another accident like the one that killed his good friend. No. Not on his watch. Miss Pearson would survive if he died, but she’d never recover from the loss if anything happened to her brother.

  He pushed himself off the wall and grabbed Jake’s arm. “Jake, put the brakes on,” he ordered. They were approaching the mill with unsettling speed. Sweat beaded on Frederick’s forehead, and not just from the heat. “Do it, or this thing will jump the tracks when we get to the end of the line at the sawmill.”

  “I’ve got it. Back off, will ya?” Jake hollered at Frederick and gave him a rough shove to the side. “I need to learn how to do this so I can take care of my sister.”

  “You can’t take care of her if you’re dead,” Frederick bellowed.

  Jake pushed him again. “I’m going to make more money at this than you do and give her all the pretty things she deserves.”

  Frederick would have loved to debate the issue, but time was of the essence. He wrestled the controls from Jake and shoved him up against the wall of the locomotive. “Until you’ve proven yourself, this is my train. Now step aside or you’ll be back logging trees.” He released Jake and focused on the tracks in front of him.

  The mill up ahead loomed closer still. If he didn’t slow Inferno down, they’d crash into it. He didn’t want to think of the number of possible deaths.

  “Think of your sister, for pity’s sake!” Frederick reproved.

  For what seemed like an eternity in slow motion, Frederick pulled hard on the brake lever. Jake slumped against the wall and sneered at Frederick with a red face and fists clenched at his sides. Frederick didn’t care. He wasn’t about to have another casualty on the roster of Kenicky Logging.

  Bacon squealed with the force of a lumberjack yelling “timber” as Emma bathed the gunk from his body in the creek. Careful inspection of his back legs explained why he had been rejected by his owner. The left leg was stunted and twisted at an odd angle, making it difficult for him to move easily.

  Emma ran her hands over the disfigured part of Bacon’s body. If anyone understood the pain of being small in a big world without a mother, it was she. No wonder the poor thing squealed all the time. Tenderly, she wrapped a towel around him then held him close so he could get warm.

  An hour later, while sitting outside the cookhouse shucking corn for the evening meal, Emma eyed her new wiener pig. Wariness and caution sat on one end of her heart’s seesaw while pity and protectiveness balanced on the other. He was a cute little creature, even if he was from Frederick Corrigan.

  A pig as a peace offering. A new hat or a bouquet of flowers or even material for a new dress would have bought her more pleasure, but the strangeness of the gift actually brought a curve to her lips.

  Bacon let out a squeal, and Emma looked down in time to see a rat scurry past them. The piglet loped inside with as much speed as he could muster and hid behind the woodbox in the corner. Emma laughed so hard the shucked corn dropped to the ground. Whoever heard of a wiener pig being afraid of a rat?

  When she regained her composure, she moved to comfort the poor thing.

  “It’s all right, Bacon. A rat’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll protect you,” she soothed as she squatted in front of the woodbox. She reached behind it and grabbed the squirming creature, pulling him out from his hiding spot. Not caring who might see them, she cradled him close. He let out a few grunts and rubbed his wet snout against her neck. It tickled, and she couldn’t help but laugh and squirm.

  “What’s so funny?” Mrs. Wilkin asked as she strolled into the kitchen. “That little pig Frederick got you causing a stir?” She chuckled and set about peeling potatoes.

  “I think he’s starting to grow on me,” Emma replied. A quick shudder went through her. What would Miss Abigail Fancy Pants say about her having a pet pig? She pulled Bacon closer and kissed the top of his soft head. The Bible said all creatures needed loving-kindness, especially the motherless ones. A determined Emma decided to give that to Bacon.

  “Emma, could you please finish shucking the corn? It’s getting late.” Mrs. Wilkin’s voice rose above the noise of a few men who were trickling in a little early, to Emma’s surprise. “I’m going to stoke more wood on the fire.”

  While Mrs. Wilkin hustled into action, Emma set Bacon on the floor and resumed work.

  She hadn’t been shucking corn for more than a few minutes when one of the men came running up to her. The expression on his face spelled disaster, eerily reminiscent of when Jake told her their mother had died. Was her brother dead now, too? Why else would the men come in early?<
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  Chapter 4

  After the close call they had at Renier Lumber Company that morning, Frederick and Jake had gotten into a fistfight. Now Frederick’s hands were bruised and burns covered his forearms from where he fell against the hot furnace. He sat in the bunkhouse and winced in pain while the doctor examined his wounds. Jake glared at him while waiting his turn to be seen for his apparently broken fingers.

  Frederick cast his gaze at the floor. How could he make Jake understand that he cared for his sister a great deal and wished to see her at peace about their job?

  Groaning with frustration as the doctor finished, Frederick stomped from the room. Perhaps a walk would do him some good. He wandered down the path that led to the creek. The water rippled over the moss-covered rocks with bubbly enthusiasm. Dipping his hands into the cool refreshing stream, Frederick splashed water over his arms and sighed at the relief. He lifted a drink to his mouth. The cold liquid felt good going down his parched throat. He never failed to appreciate how refreshing it was after a day of slaving over a blazing furnace.

  When the ache in his fingers subsided to a dull throb, he stood and walked farther into the mass of towering trees. A few birds called to one another against the distant grating of the bucksaws. Before long the rest of the crew would come in for the night. It was moments like this that Frederick loved.

  The buckers might need some extra help—that is, when his hands were healed properly. The pay was just as good as driving Inferno and would provide a way for him to get away from Jake Pearson and his sister. If he volunteered for the most dangerous job, he could make money that much faster.

  Frederick ventured with care over fallen dead logs and through blackberry brambles, closer to the sounds of the bucksaw. No wonder the lumberjacks enjoyed their work. Here in the midst of God’s handiwork, peace and tranquility permeated the air. He should fit right in, or so he thought.

  A sharp, loud crack split the silence like a jagged bolt of lightning. Frederick jumped. A tree was falling. The swishing of tree limbs was followed by a long drawn-out “Tiiiimmmbbbeeerrr!”

  With a rapid glance to his left and then to his right, Frederick had little time for making an assessment as to which direction was safest. Additional creaks and groans from the monumental tree reverberated throughout the forest.

  “Lord God, protect me.” A prayer uttered out of sheer desperation.

  Looking up to the top of the hill, Frederick spotted the crew scrambling to the left. He quickly followed suit, leaping over sword ferns, clawing his way through blackberry brambles, and digging through the dirt on his hands and knees. God forbid one of those towering pines came down on him. It would squish him flatter than a pancake.

  No more than a few seconds had elapsed when he heard a thundering boom followed by squawking of birds and the shattering of tree limbs. The tree had landed. Shouts filled the air as Mr. Wilkin, the crew boss, called to check on everyone’s well-being.

  A voice cut through the chaos. “Look out! That widow-maker’s coming down, too!” The racket of creaking, crunching, and the splintering of wood grew louder and more menacing. Observing the mass of timber above him moving to the right, common sense told Frederick to run to the left. He sprinted as fast as his legs and the terrain would allow, stumbling and panting with every step. He didn’t know much about falling timber, but he had enough sense to know that he had get out of the way.

  Frederick could see that it was going to be a close race for his life.

  Emma swept the bunkhouse for the tenth time and filled the woodbox for the old stove. The nights were getting so cold, and she pitied the men sleeping in these damp and freezing quarters. That included her brother. And it was only early October. How much colder would it get in January? Oh, if only they could leave.

  An argument just outside the bunkhouse caught her attention. From what she heard, Frederick Corrigan had nearly been killed by a falling tree!

  Emma clasped her hand over her mouth. What, pray tell, was he doing traipsing through the woods? He had to have known how unsafe that was. Mr. Wilkin was arguing with a man, and Emma decided to investigate.

  “You need to be more careful when you’re felling timber, especially widow-makers!” Mr. Wilkin’s face was red. “Corrigan could have been killed.”

  “I’m fine.” Mr. Corrigan rubbed the back of his neck.

  She took a step back in surprise. He didn’t look fine—he looked as if he were going to topple over any minute. Couldn’t the other men see he was in no condition to stand outside arguing about whose fault it was?

  “He should have never been out there anyway!”

  “I hate to say it, but he’s right, Corrigan. Stanley, just try to be more careful,” a calmer Mr. Wilkin said.

  Emma was quite surprised to see that the boss’s son was the one arguing with Mr. Wilkin. Stanley Kenicky, not a day over twenty-one, lugged at least that many extra pounds around his thick middle.

  “You can forget working in the woods, Corrigan.” Stanley jabbed his finger in Frederick’s direction. “I’ll see to that.”

  Frederick stepped forward, but Mr. Wilkin held him back.

  Emma drew back against the door and tried to keep from trembling.

  “Don’t worry about this, Miss Pearson,” Stanley said. “You go back inside now.”

  The condescending tone of his voice made Emma shift from one foot to the other with mounting discomfort. He didn’t seem like a pleasant person to work with. She felt sorry for the cutting crew. She turned and headed back into the bunkhouse. The sound of arguing filled her ears as she went.

  Frederick lay propped up in bed and grumbled at the bandages the doctor placed on his hands all the way up to each elbow. No thanks to Stanley Kenicky, they were now scratched and bleeding besides burned and bruised. His head ached horribly, and he had lost his chance to work in the woods.

  He needed to get back to work. Not only did he need the money, but Jake was placed in charge of training another new man how to drive Inferno. That was a recipe for disaster. Jake was nothing but a greenhorn himself and not in any position to be training anybody in how to get the timber to the mills.

  And what about his father’s house? Frederick should take some time to visit the aging man, but couldn’t afford to take time off work. His body could heal just as well at the helm of Inferno as it could lying around.

  Heaving himself up and off the bed, he wobbled as his head swam.

  “Frederick Corrigan, shouldn’t you be resting?” Miss Pearson set a tray on the table, hurried to him, and grabbed him around the waist. Even in his wounded condition, it felt good. Her touch was something he could definitely get used to.

  For the past three days after Frederick Corrigan’s near brush with death, Emma had wrestled against pity knotting in her stomach for him. He had been nearly crushed by a widow-maker, but insisted on doing as much for himself as possible.

  “Here, Mr. Corrigan, why don’t you lie down? I’ve brought you some food.” Emma advanced toward him, carrying a tray. The aroma of the fresh meal wafted upwards and it smelled delicious. Corn and potato chowder—his favorite—along with some fresh-baked bread and a cup of coffee.

  “Thank you, Miss Pearson.” He grimaced as he looked at her. His stomach growled loud enough for her to hear.

  She stifled a giggle. “Sounds like you’re hungry.” She handed him the napkin.

  He took the cloth and tucked it around his neck. He reached for the bowl of steaming chowder and began to eat.

  “Mind if I keep you company?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” A bit dribbled down his chin.

  This time she couldn’t help but giggle out loud. “It’s not easy eating with thick bandages from fingertips to forearms. Allow me to help you, and please, Mr. Corrigan, call me Emma.” She helped him hold the spoon in his hand so he wouldn’t drop it. He spooned a few more bites into his mouth before he replied.

  “Pleased to have your company, Emma. You can call me Frederick if
you like.” A genuine grin curved across his tanned features and caused Emma’s heart to jerk and skip a beat.

  “Thank you, Frederick.” Heat rose to her face as if she were standing in front of a blazing hot stove. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt too terribly bad, and I’m glad you’re on the mend.”

  She sounded like a giddy schoolgirl. She ducked her head with embarrassment. Several quiet moments elapsed as Frederick polished off his bowl of chowder.

  “That was delicious.”

  “It’s my mother’s recipe. She made it often when Jake and I were small.” Emma shifted in her seat with nervous energy. She was sorry they had gotten off on the wrong foot and wished she hadn’t said such horrible things to him.

  “I’m sorry for the terrible things I said to you, Frederick. I know they wounded you deeply. Please forgive me.”

  Frederick gazed at her with uncertainty written in his expression. His eyes were so incredibly blue, and she gazed into them, into his very soul. Could he see the longing in her eyes? Momentarily startled, she wondered where that longing had come from.

  “It’s all forgiven, Miss Pear—um, Emma. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing.” Frederick cleared his throat once and then again a second time. He reached for his coffee and took a long slow drink. “And would you please forgive me for the things I said to you?”

  Emma’s cheeks grew even warmer. She fanned her face with the hem of her apron and gasped to catch her breath. She desperately wanted to believe him.

  Time and again she had seen her stepfather say he was sorry only to imbibe again and again. And in the dark of night he slunk home to take his rage out on her mother while Emma cowered under her blanket. She’d rather be boiled in hot laundry water than make the same mistakes as Mama. It was best if she just left and didn’t get attached.

  “All is forgiven, Frederick. I’ll take those dishes to the kitchen now if you don’t mind. I’ve work to do before the men come from the woods.” She grabbed the tray and hurried from the room. Experience had taught her well the dangers of trusting daring men who said they were sorry for their heedlessness.