by Ginny Aiken
Roger grunted.
On her way out, she saw Theo pull out a bottle of whiskey from the box.
It looked like it was setting up to be another long night.
Chapter 3
Days went by and Nathan heard nothing about his order. One night, after supper had been eaten, the long oak tables cleared off, and the thick, white pottery dishes cleaned, dried, and put away, he sat with Matt and Woody, his ornery but decent and hardworking camp cook, all three nursing by-now cold cups of coffee.
“No, Matt,” he said, “I haven’t found a solution yet, not since the last time you pestered me about it a couple of days ago. No matter which way I look at my circumstances, I can’t come up with any source of extra dollars. I exhausted all the money I could get my hands on to finish the work on the flume.”
“What about that there bank of your pa’s?” Woody asked. “Thought it was part yours now.”
“I’m only a minor and always silent partner—by my choice, I’ll have you know. I don’t call the shots there, and I can’t use it as my personal money well where I can go dip a bucket whenever the fancy strikes.”
Matt leaned his head back, a thoughtful look on his face. “I know how you feel, since you’ve told me plenty of times, but are you willing to consider a loan yet? Especially since a store of your own would solve so many of your supply problems.”
“Ya mean all of ’em, Matty-boy, don’tcha?” Woody’s faded blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Matt hated the childish nickname.
“I’ve told you not to call me that, Old Man.” An impish light burned in his own gray ones. “What’s wrong? Getting forgetful under all that gray hair—oh, that’s right. Most of it’s fallen out by now.”
“The Good Lord’s just making it easier for a body to comb with less and less every day now.” The cook broke into cackles of laughter.
“Enough, you two.” The jabs and jests were all in good fun, since the two men sincerely liked and respected each other, but they did like to egg each other on, and could go on like that for hours on end. “We’re not discussing the state of Woody’s head right now.”
Matt let the chair drop down onto all four legs.
Nathan arched a brow.
“Sorry. I forget how you don’t like that.” At least Matt had the grace to look remorseful. He also looked as single-minded as ever. “Back to the store and the money. It would seem to me that a loan for this kind of reason shouldn’t rub you quite so wrong. Would you consider borrowing?”
Nathan sighed. “I’ve all but reached that level of irritation. Sadly, my friend, the Bank of Bountiful has little liquidity at the moment. Don’t forget how rough these last couple of years have been on Hope County. The droughts and the grasshopper plagues killed the crops and dried up the land, even the creeks. Many of the farmers and ranchers had to mortgage their properties. Eli—have you met Eli Whitman?”
“Can’t say I have,” Matt answered.
“Yup.” Woody crossed his arms over his portly middle. “Good man, Eli Whitman is. His pa raised ’im good. Good man, too, his pa was.”
“Eli’s my partner,” Nathan continued, “the bank president. I met with him a number of times to take out the funds for the flume. He’s struggling, too, since he used the bank’s liquidity to help the men hang on to their land. They won’t have the means to repay those loans until they bring in some decent harvests or until their sheep can be sheared for the wool or are plump enough to take to slaughter. And you know cattle’s also got to be well-fed to sell well. No one’s herd out here’s in any condition for that.”
“So there won’t be no help there.”
“I see no way to make a camp store a reality, not right now. No matter how much I want to be free from the unreliable actions of the Nolan brothers.”
Matt leaned forward on the table, the fingers of his hands laced together. “I can see how it galls you to have to depend on someone like Roger Nolan.”
“I can hardly stomach it any longer. But, I only have one option left. I’ll have to work even harder than I already do, sell more lumber, ship it out to more markets, so the logging operation can earn the funds to support a general store.”
“Hoo-hoo-hoo!” crowed Woody. “When this boy makes up his mind to do something, look out! Heaven will be the only help the fool what gets in his way is gonna have, Matty-boy.”
Matt chuckled, letting the use of the name slide on by. “The man knows you, Nate. That is you in a few choice words.”
Woody took out his battered silver pocket watch. “Hmph! Dunno ’bout you youngsters, but a man’s gotta get his sleep, if he’s gonna get up in time to make biscuits and coffee in time for others to eat.”
Nathan stood. “Now, don’t you go making things sound worse than they are. Matter of fact, how are things in the larder? I know you at least have beans left from supper, so breakfast will be a sight more than just a pile of bread and your muddy brew.”
“Muddy brew!” Woody stroked his grizzled beard. “Hmph! Let’s see what you say when you get up a day and can’t go opening them eyes on your own. S’pose my muddy brew will be right fine then, now won’t it?”
“You have a point, Woody. If nothing else, your coffee could wake up a bear in the dead of winter. But that doesn’t tell me much. Don’t sidestep my question. We need to feed the men. How’re we doing on food?”
Woody shrugged. “Not so good. I have a while’s worth of beans left, but they’re not so toothsome if I cook ’em up with only water and lard. I’m running real low on dried beef, the bacon’s nearly gone, and canned foods…well, you can look in the pantry. Don’t have us too many of those, either.”
A knot formed in Nathan’s gut. “Why didn’t you lay it out like this to me before?”
“Didn’t wanna burden you no more’n I had to, boss. I reckoned the Nolans would get us set back up soon enough. Can’t figger why they’re taking so long. It’s just food. How hard’s it to bring up sacks of beans, flour, salt, sugar, dried beef, some jars of molasses, buckets of lard? I fetched us a passel of hams from when I helped Perry Larrabie with them hogs of his. He promised hams, an’ I took ’im up on them.”
Nathan’s tight middle seemed to drop. “So we have hams. What else?”
“Bushels a apples an’ eggs an’ canned chicken an’ garden stuff I put up in September. But that won’t fill men’s bellies long enough.”
“No it won’t.” Before Nathan could come up with something else to say, Woody went right on.
“Other things you ordered?” He snorted. “The tools and stuff, why…that all showed up like a deacon with a collection plate of a Sunday morning. But I can’t be dishing up tasty saws and seasoned axes to hungry loggers.”
“That you can’t.” Thoughts whipping in his head, he forced a smile on his face. “Don’t you go worrying, Woody. I’ll figure something out. Even if I have to head out to Pendleton, buy me a pack of mules, and haul the food up here myself.”
Matt, who’d been silent uncharacteristically long, rose, the heels of his boots scraping the floor. “See? You’re already heading in the direction of a company store. I know me a thing or two about mules. I’ll help you pick out some sturdy ones.”
The knot in his gut loosened, but only to set his middle swimming sickly as he thought back on the balance in his bank account. “I wasn’t serious—”
“That’s a problem,” Matt said, no-nonsense this time. “You have to get serious about this mess with the supplies and the Nolan brothers. You’ve good men here, Nate. They’re counting on you—we all are.” He turned toward the door. “Sleep on it. Then get moving to do the right thing.”
Since there was nothing more to say, they parted ways, Nathan and Woody heading for their separate rooms in the main cabin, one on either end of the large dining hall, and Matt to the bunkhouse, where the other lumberjacks had gone earlier in the evening. But even though the conversation had ended, Nathan’s thoughts returned again and again to the matter of the store and the fix he
was in because of the no-account Nolan brothers. As troublesome as his situation was thanks to them, he couldn’t imagine how Mrs. Nolan tolerated living at the store, married to someone like Roger. But no matter how dire her situation looked, he had to respect the decisions she’d made. He respected her.
Roger was not much more than a brute, and Mrs. Nolan looked as delicate as a forest fern, but she must be made of stronger stuff, since she was managing to endure. Strong, graceful, and capable. She struck Nathan as quite the image of ladylike loveliness.
She was tall and slender, and he liked to watch how her thick, wheat-blond braid swung with purpose across her back as she went about her work at the store. Her forest-green eyes took in everything, and revealed a quick mind. He’d noticed how her delicate jawline could take on a determined firmness, and her skin looked as soft as his late mother’s velvet cloak. Her pretty, feminine features, the gently curved cheeks and straight nose, went well with her willowy frame.
Every time he stopped at the general store, Nathan couldn’t escape the thought that, because of her circumstances, like a willow, surely she must have the inner strength to bend and sway as the winds of life buffeted her.
Yes, indeed. He admired and respected Mrs. Nolan. Even if he doubted he ever would understand her.
A week later, Roger hitched the mules to the store’s generous flatbed wagon and hauled a new order to the store from the nearby small town of Bountiful. He and Theo stacked cases and crates of supplies in the storeroom corner they had assigned to the logging camp’s orders. Remembering the camp owner’s kindness toward her, Faith gathered up her courage and approached Roger.
“Will you or Theo be going up the mountain to let Mr. Bartlett know his supplies are here?”
Roger shrugged. “Tomorrow, maybe. Or the next day. Tonight, I’ve a friend or two coming in to…um…play cards. I’ll get ’round to Mr. Bartlett soon enough. Don’t you go pestering me with it.”
Distaste and dismay warred in Faith’s heart. Dismay because Mr. Bartlett would have to wait longer for items he and his men needed up at the camp before the weather turned. He’d come down to the store twice now. She doubted he took the trek for his health. Mr. Bartlett had bought and paid for the food, and they were probably close to running out. The upper heights of the mountain were surely covered with snow by now, and soon the snow line would reach Mr. Bartlett’s property. No one at the logging camp had pack mules. Horses weren’t built to haul large loads like the one in the storeroom up a mountain trail. Her three mules, on the other hand, were.
She felt enormous distaste, because whenever Roger and Theo had “friends” in, the visit—drinking bouts, more like it—went on into the wee hours of the night. As dreadful as it seemed to her, it appeared that was all the Nolan brothers cared about. She felt even more unsafe, if possible, at those times.
On warm nights, she would slip out to the barn and sleep on a blanket spread over a bed of fresh hay in a quiet corner, but with the temperature dipping as low as it had of late, that wouldn’t be a good option. She reckoned she’d have to stay in the sleeping loft above the sitting room and pray for safety.
As for supplies, she would wait for the right moment to do the only thing her conscience allowed her to do. When she found her opportunity, she would load the mules and deliver Mr. Bartlett’s order before Roger managed to make it mysteriously vanish again.
Before Roger noticed what she was up to.
She’d much rather suffer the consequences after she’d done the right thing.
Yes, she would have to watch for the right moment, for the chance when she could slip past Roger’s much too watchful eye.
When the sun rose the next morning, well after the visitors had left but the brothers continued drinking and playing cards, Faith came down the stairs one step at a time, as quiet as could be. She knew what she would find on the first floor of the cabin. It had happened too many times already.
In the kitchen, it became impossible to escape the thunderous rumble of snoring. Both brothers remained sound asleep. It was the perfect time to carry out her plan.
With a hammer and a chisel, Faith pried open the crates and boxes in the storeroom. She separated the supplies into manageable bundles, then tied the bundles on the mules as she’d often helped Roger do. Once she’d loaded the three animals to the maximum they could safely carry up the mountain trail to Mr. Bartlett’s logging camp, she slipped inside the house again to check on the sleeping men and grab her wool wrap. To protect herself against the chill wind, she draped the warm shawl over her head and tucked it carefully around her ears, neck, and shoulders. Finally, she crossed the ends over her chest, fixing it in place with a long, polished wooden pin that had belonged to her mother. She hurried back to the stall.
“Come along now, Maisie, my dear. Quietly, now, if you can. There’s a good girl.”
As she was about to guide the pack leader out of the stall, she heard the unmistakable sound of Theo, still half asleep, stumbling into the stable. It sounded as though her brother-in-law was headed out, as he regularly did. Who knew where he might be headed. Not that it mattered. She only cared that he didn’t bumble his way into the farthest reaches of the barn, near the mules’ area, and find her and the loaded animals.
She scooted to the back of the stall, making sure the mule’s body hid her as much as possible. She hoped Theo wouldn’t look too closely in her direction. His boots plodded back and forth in an erratic rhythm until he seemed to trip over his own feet. A vile curse burst from his mouth, but since Theo often used such language, Faith wasn’t surprised. Bothered and offended still after all this time? Yes. Surprised? No. Nothing much about the Nolans surprised her any longer.
Her heart pounded so hard that Faith wondered if Theo could hear. If not her heart, then surely he could catch the ragged sound of her rough breaths. Eyes closed, she drew in air, then held…held…held it, eased it out, bit by tiny bit.
As she strained to remain undetected, he muttered more curses each time he knocked another item off the hooks on the walls. The tremendous ruckus he raised made the animals restless. All three shuffled in the hay, the sound a soft susurration in the open building. Maisie let out a low whickery bray.
“Shhhh!” he hissed. “’S only me, ya dumb beasts. I’m not wanting nothing with the three of you, especially not your noise. Don’tcha know my head’s fit to burst like a dropped egg?” He crossed to the stall where he usually kept his horse, and banged open the door. His horse whinnied.
“Aw, c’mon. Not you, too. Don’t give me no what-for right now. I’m of no mind to put up with yer foolishness. Lesss go! I gotta get me down into Bountiful, and I can’t be letting you make me late.”
Man and horse made for the barn door.
Faith daren’t let herself ease up on her cautious, soundless breathing—not yet. One never knew when Theo might notice he wasn’t alone in the barn. If he found her, he’d immediately alert his older brother, and then, not only would Faith pay a price for her desire to do the right thing, but Roger might keep the supplies longer out of spite. Once winter arrived for the duration, no more shipments could be taken up the mountain. It would be too dangerous, not only for people, but also for the mules. The moist soil of the forest froze when the weather turned winter-cold, and ice wreaked havoc on any unsuspecting traveler, be it human or animal.
Maisie shuffled her feet again. Faith ran a hand down her flank. Although she knew a soothing word would calm Maisie, she also knew Theo would surely hear that. They would all have to be patient for a while longer.
After what sounded like multiple clumsy attempts to saddle and mount his horse, Theo and the animal clomped out of the barn. The initial blast of cold air from the opened door struck Faith in the face, then as fast as it had come, it stopped with the final slam of the door.
Only at that moment did she allow herself a deep breath. It took minutes longer for her heart rate to slow down to a more bearable beat. “Oh, Maisie,” she crooned under her b
reath. “I think we’re safe now, but Theo’s still close enough that he might see us if we leave. I need you to stay still a bit longer. It’ll be soon, now…”
She strained to hear anything outside, from either a possibly returning Theo or a rousing Roger.
As the minutes eked past, the silence of the woods remained undisturbed. Faith’s middle eased back to normal, and her shoulders released the tension they’d assumed the moment she’d first heard Theo. Only then did she slip out of the mules’ stall. She closed the door behind her and hurried to the window to check for the brothers out in the clearing. When she saw no one, she crossed back to Maisie’s stall to guide the lead into the middle of the barn. Then she let the other two join her, first Daisy, then Lazy.
With one hand, she adjusted the wrap more tightly around her face. With the other, she opened the heavy door. Moments later, she led her small parade through the clearing and onto the mountain path.
She hoped Roger slept long and deep. It would take a while for her to reach the camp. Upon her return, she’d have to face the consequences of her actions. But it had to be done. The hardworking men up at the camp had to eat. How Roger could disregard that fact Faith would never understand. Especially since Mr. Bartlett and his lumbermen had come to the Nolans’ aid a number of times in the past when stray Indians had roamed the area and an attack appeared imminent. Most had been moved by the military to a reservation in Idaho, but some had eluded the soldiers’ efforts. Desperate and angry at the white men in the area they considered theirs, they were known to attack without mercy.
Faith knew Roger had drawn the threat upon them. He had on occasion traded alcohol for the Indians’ horses. Who bought the horses from him, she never knew, but he’d made a tidy sum in those transactions. Those times when he hadn’t wanted to trade, or hadn’t had what the Indians wanted, they left the general store none too happy with the Nolan brothers. It was in those times, when Roger refused to supply the irate Indians with that to which he had accustomed them, that the loggers had ridden to meet the Indians and cut off their hostilities at the pass.
