“So this is not really a lumber camp?”
“Yes, it is. And no, it isn’t.”
Percy raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It has been a lumber camp. But it doesn’t always have to be just that.”
Percy nodded slowly. “I’m beginning to understand. Troy Wilger likes things the way they are, but not everyone does.”
Joshua smiled. “Your deductive reasoning skills seem to be intact. I guess we can be sure that there’s no permanent damage to your brain.” He bent to examine the wound once more, pushing her thick, wavy hair away. Black, silky strands slipped through his fingers, and he had to hold her head more firmly. “Hold still now,” he instructed, “and let me bandage this.”
“I could do that,” she insisted.
“Humor me,” he responded. “Let me prove to you that I’m a real doctor.”
The door from the kitchen creaked open, and Lacey stepped out onto the porch. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” Lacey said. “I’m Lacey Gates.”
Percy could not turn her head to greet her hostess, but she said, “The sister with the back porch. Nice to meet you.”
“Excuse me?” Lacey said, confused.
Josh chuckled but made no explanation to his sister. “That’s right. And the older son is inside with a sore throat, and the presumed husband is trying to smooth things over with the men.”
“Presumed husband? I assure you, my husband is quite real. I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Lacey said.
Josh caught the twinkle in Percy’s eye and did not respond to his sister.
“The son with a sore throat is asking for Uncle Josh,” Lacey said.
“I’ll be in soon. I just want to get Miss Morgan settled.”
Chapter 6
Your nephew needs you,” Percy said as she stood up awkwardly. She had more of a headache than she wanted to admit. “Just point me in the direction of my trunk, please.”
“Nonsense,” Joshua protested. “When I said I wanted to get you settled, I meant I wanted you to be comfortable on this cot so you could rest. Perhaps later in the day we’ll move you.”
“I’ve intruded on your sister quite enough,” Percy insisted. No matter what her welcome had been like, she was determined to make an impression of competence.
“You were unconscious for several minutes,” Joshua reminded her. “I think it is premature for you to be up walking around.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I have only the slightest headache remaining, and I’m sure a cup of tea will take care of that.”
“Then let me fix you one. Lacey keeps a fine assortment.”
Percy waived away his efforts. “I came here to run a kitchen. I’m sure I can manage a cup of tea.”
Joshua sighed and snapped his medical bag shut. “Miss Morgan, are you always this stubborn?”
“Generally,” she admitted. She had good reason for her stubborn streak, but she was not about to explain it to this stranger, no matter how sincere he was in taking care of her.
“What is the harm in letting someone look after you for a short while?”
“It’s simply not necessary.”
“If you’re afraid of what the men may think if they hear you’re hurt—”
“I’m not concerned in the least with what the men may think,” Percy cut in. “It’s simply not necessary for anyone to look after me at all. Now, please, be so kind as to direct me to my quarters.”
“All right,” Josh said in resignation. “But it’s against my better judgment.”
“Dr. Wells, please.”
“Yes, yes, come this way. I’ll walk you over.”
“I told you that it is not necessary for you to coddle me. Just point.”
“At least let me walk you to the front of the house. From there you can see where I’m pointing.”
Percy marched down the steps of the porch and led the way around the side of the house, resisting the urge to clasp her aching head between her hands. From her new vantage point, she scanned the street. “I see where we came in,” she said. “That must be the mess hall over there.”
“Yes, it is,” Josh confirmed. “There’s a small room in the back. Your trunk should be waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wells.”
“My name is Joshua.” He hesitated. “I’m afraid the room is not much. It’s quite small, and I don’t know whether Travis had it cleaned out after the last cook left. The window doesn’t open properly, and there’s no lock on the door.”
“Will I need a lock?” Percy asked sharply.
“I hope not,” Josh answered softly. “But if you would like one installed, let me know.”
Percy chuckled. “And you’ll go right down to the hardware store and get one, won’t you? I must have missed that shop on my tour of the city.”
Josh laughed, too. “It might take a few weeks, but we could get one. And anything else you need—staples, kitchen supplies, pots. With enough time and patience, we can get whatever we need.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She offered her hand to him firmly. “Thank you, Joshua Wells. I hope that someday I will have the opportunity to repay your kindness.”
Josh shook her hand gently. “Thank you, Percy Morgan. And if you need any more medical attention, you know where to find me.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked around. “You can’t go far.”
“I do ride an occasional circuit to other places just as obscure as this one. But I’m not usually gone too long.”
“Good day, then.” She turned on one heel, lifted her skirt out of the dirt, and, with her head held high and her eyes straight ahead, she strutted across the street. The handful of men still standing in the street watched curiously, but no one spoke to her.
As Percy reached the mess hall, her heart was in her throat, but she was determined that the men staring at her would not unnerve her. She would ignore them until she felt ready to be in control of an encounter. With her lips pressed hard together, she pulled open the door to the mess hall and began to take stock of her new surroundings.
Travis Gates had told her by correspondence that the mess hall was a fairly new building. For years the men had eaten under a makeshift shelter, their fare prepared over an open fire, and this happened only seasonally. Gradually more and more men began to stay on the peninsula year round, and the lumbering continued as steadily as the harsh winter would allow. Travis had been instrumental in constructing an enclosed building that could house the men for meals and provide shelter and camaraderie when the weather kept them from working. This was the building that would be Percy Morgan’s world, her workplace, her home.
Percy walked slowly through the dining area, admiring the craftsmanship of the tables. They were plain and functional, but beautiful in their simplicity and solidly built. The chairs, though of a half-dozen different designs, were just as well made. Percy had grown up in a home filled with fine furniture and she recognized craftsmanship when she saw it. Her mother would have been pleased to have a table and chairs of this quality in her home.
She came to the kitchen. No doubt Matt Harden had done his best to manage the unfamiliar territory, but he had left chaos in his wake. A greasy film covered everything in sight. Pots and dishes were stacked haphazardly around the room. The floor looked as if it had not been swept in three months. She would speak to Travis about the condition of the kitchen, Percy decided. She at least deserved to begin her work with reasonable conditions. Travis could assign a couple of the men to scrub down the kitchen and put things in order at her direction.
On the other hand, she told herself, some of the men were already inclined to throw her out. If she caused a stir about working conditions, they would find more reason to complain about her. She was here on a three-month trial basis and was determined to give Travis Gates no cause to exercise his option to let her go. No, she would have to tackle this job on her own. It would not be the first time she had taken on such a task, although she had learned these skill
s fairly recently.
Cautiously, she began to open cupboards and inspect the contents of the shelves. Flour, beans, lard, more flour, more beans. If she wanted to serve vegetables, she supposed she would have to grow them herself. She wondered if it was too late in the spring to put in a garden. And perhaps there was some dried meat hanging in a place she had not yet discovered. She would have to have something more than flour and beans to work with.
She hated to admit it, but her head was throbbing. In her trunk she had some chamomile tea, which would soothe her aching head and frazzled nerves. She also longed for a long, hot bath, but knew that that was out of the question and would be for as long as she stayed at the camp. Lugging the buckets of water, heating them, and filling a tub would be her own labor, not that of a servant. Percy did not suppose she would have time for such indulgence very often.
Percy pumped the handle above the sink, wondering if there really was water flowing straight into the kitchen. Delightfully, there was! It was cold, clear, and sweet, apparently coming directly from a well. She splashed her face with her eyes wide open. Feeling momentarily refreshed, she looked around for a kettle or a pot clean enough in which to boil water. She found one that looked a little less dubious than most of the others, pumped some fresh water into it, and set it on the stove. The coals were still hot from breakfast, and the woodpile, though depleted, was nearby. Swiftly she stoked the wood and stirred up the fire. It would not take long for the water to heat.
Now she wondered where her small sleeping room might be. A narrow door off the kitchen looked likely. She pushed it open and peered in. The room was dim, even in the daylight, which puzzled Percy. Travis had obviously gone to great lengths to build a very workable kitchen—although dirty at the moment—and a pleasant dining hall. Why was the cook’s room so disheartening? Percy stifled her self-pity with determination and took inventory of the room.
An oil lamp sat on the bedside table and she lit it. Even though it was midmorning and the sun was shining, she thought the light would help. Now she could see that a great shade tree stood right outside the window. Although it made the room dark, the shade surely kept it cool in the hot summer.
Joshua was right. It was small. The room held only a narrow bed that was hardly more than a cot, the small bedside table, a chair that had probably come from the dining room, and a row of hooks for clothing. It was at once clear that Percy would need to keep her trunk in the room for additional storage. Though her wardrobe was far from lavish, she had more than a pair of overalls to hang on a hook.
Her trunk had been placed with care along the only unoccupied wall in the room. Percy went to it now and opened it. She rummaged past the few books she owned—a Bible that had belonged to her grandmother, a book of poetry, and two novels—and felt between the layers of her clothing for the tin of chamomile tea. She sighed as she wondered if there was a cup clean enough to drink out of anywhere in the kitchen. Her head ached and she longed to lay it down on a soft, clean pillow. But of course she did not have a soft, clean pillow. In her determination to get the job, she had neglected to discuss with Travis what personal items she should bring with her. The bedding looked serviceable for the time being, but it would have to be washed before she would actually sleep in it. Perhaps she should have accepted Joshua Wells’s invitation to spend the day on his sister’s back porch. That might have given someone a chance to come over here and see the sad state of affairs.
No self-pity, Percy told herself sternly. She glanced down at her torn skirt. A skillful seamstress could probably mend the tear at least well enough to wear the garment for working in the kitchen. But Percy was not a skillful seamstress. She was fortunate to have learned to cook, and her own fetish for orderly surroundings dictated that she learn to clean. But she had never learned to sew.
Briefly she wondered whether Lacey Gates was handy with a needle and could perhaps mend the skirt. In the meantime, Percy decided she could at least change her clothes. She extracted a gray poplin skirt from her trunk and quickly traded it for the torn garment.
The water was boiling. Percy peered into the depths of a dark cup and decided it was safe to drink from it. She took the tea back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. It was actually quite comfortable. Percy took her torn skirt and spread it out over the pillow. That would have to do until she felt up to scrubbing the bedding. She set the tea on the bedside table to steep and scooted back on the bed. Maybe Joshua was right; maybe she did need to rest a bit more. Her head beat like an African drum. She let her eyes close as she leaned her head back against the wall.
“Miss Morgan?” a voice called from the kitchen.
Percy scrambled to her feet, her head screaming with every movement. She had not heard footsteps. “I’m here,” she answered.
“I wonder if we might have a word.”
It was Travis Gates. She recognized his voice from the encounter in the street that morning. If he had any notion of sending her away, he had another thing coming. They had signed a contract.
“I’m just settling in,” Percy said as she stepped back into the kitchen. She regretted that she had not yet sipped her tea.
Travis smiled in a friendly way. She decided he was not there to send her away. At least not yet.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” he said. “You’ve already had quite a morning.”
“It’s no trouble. What can I do for you?”
“I’m afraid I have some rather disturbing news.”
So he was going to send her away!
“It’s about supper,” Travis continued. “Matt Harden refuses to prepare another meal. I explained to him your condition and that you were not likely ready to step in just yet, but he won’t hear a word of it.”
“Nonsense,” Percy said emphatically. “I’m perfectly fine. The men need dinner and I’ll cook it.”
Travis nodded gratefully. “That would be very kind of you. And then perhaps we should have a more specific discussion about your duties.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are the accommodations acceptable?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“I looked in that room a few days ago.” Travis smiled slyly. “I’ll ask Lacey for some clean bedding and bring it over after lunch.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’s the least I can do after the welcome you received this morning.”
“I’m quite fine.”
“I’ll see you after lunch, then.”
Travis turned around and gingerly stepped across the sticky floor. Percy put a hand to her throbbing temple and decided that she needed that tea more than ever.
Chapter 7
A week passed. Percy had never been so tired in her whole life. She had personally scrubbed down the kitchen and dining hall from corner to corner on her hands and knees, breaking from the task only long enough to prepare three meals a day for the fifty or so lumberjacks. Her days began before dawn. She could make enormous batches of pancakes or biscuits in her sleep, and it often felt as if that was what she was doing. The men left for the work sites very early, and breakfast had to be ready precisely on time. She could spend two hours cooking, and fifty men would whiz through and inhale the meal in nine minutes or less. Someone would grab the crate of packed lunches, and Percy would be left with dishes and cleanup and a deadline for getting supper ready. At the end of the day, just when she was ready for stillness and quiet, the men would come in, ravenous and rowdy, and their boisterousness would send her spinning.
On the first day that she was alone with the monstrous kitchen, Joshua came by and he scowled when he found her on her knees, scraping crusted pancake batter from the floor. It was hard to tell how long it had been there, but its texture and color suggested a very long time. Percy had assured Josh that there were no lasting consequences to the incident in the street on her first morning and refused to allow him to check her bandage. It was not bleeding, her head had stopped hurting, and she had far too much to do to lie i
n bed as he might have liked her to do. After a few minutes of awkward conversation that never seemed to veer from the cut on her head, Joshua left, but his parting words were a stern warning not to overdo.
When Percy was alone again, she scraped at the pancake batter a little more slowly. She would have liked it if Joshua Wells had stayed longer, but at the same time she knew she had driven him off with her impertinence.
At least three times every hour Percy admitted to herself that she ached and was tired and felt overwhelmed by what she had undertaken. But she was determined not to admit it to anyone else. She simply pressed on with the task of transforming the mess hall into an orderly, functioning state so that the next time Dr. Wells came by, he would see that everything was under control.
One day Travis Gates came by to ask what supplies she needed. She gave him a list, grateful for his promise to get them as quickly as possible but knowing that it might still be several weeks. Her mind whirled with the challenge of providing some menu variety with the limited supplies on hand. She hoped for several hundred pounds of potatoes to arrive sooner rather than later.
Once she proved her industriousness by cleaning the mess hall without a whimper of complaint, she intended to approach Travis about having someone dig a garden where she could put in some vegetables. And the dozen scrawny hens in the coop behind the mess hall might provide enough eggs for pancakes or dessert cakes, but she dreamed of having enough to scramble eggs for breakfast twice a week.
Percy had noticed Lacey Gates and another young woman weeding a vegetable patch between two houses. It must have been the garden that Percy had seen from Lacey’s back porch. Lacey and her companion seemed to converse pleasantly and easily as they worked, while their children of various ages roamed around, exploring the meadow and creek behind the short row of buildings. From a distance, Lacey Gates struck Percy as being competent and unflappable. Her children were as mischievous as any children, Percy supposed, but Lacey seemed to handle them with an admirable, gentle firmness. She worked in the garden swiftly and expertly, hung her tidy wash on Wednesday afternoon, and steered her children toward the kitchen with minimal resistance when it was time to prepare the evening meal. Her companion, whom Lacey judged to be about the same age as Lacey and a few years older than her own twenty-one years, seemed to hear a different drummer as Percy observed them in the street. She arrived at the vegetable patch after Lacey was already hard at work, and her wash was more likely to be laid out over the railing of her front porch. Even her children giggled and romped more energetically than the Gates boys. Despite their differences, the two women appeared clearly companionable.
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