21
Joshua did his chores the next morning, gave Lyman some instructions, and then he packed up what the lumbermen called a “turkey,” which was nothing more than a bag flung across his back. He wouldn’t need much—just warm clothing and a couple of heavy blankets.
His family was sacrificing so that he could do this, and he would be one of the few who would not so much as step foot inside of a saloon come spring—no matter how glad he was to see civilization. He was determined to bring back every penny.
It was so much harder to leave them than he had expected.
“How far will you have to walk?” his mother asked.
“It should take me about four to five days.”
“That is very far,” Ingrid said.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Shouldn’t you ride Buttons?” Agnes asked. “We could use one of the plow horses to pull the wagon.”
“The foreman won’t want to stable and feed my horse through the winter.”
“Oh.”
“I packed food,” Ingrid said. “They will feed you good in the camp?”
“This particular camp is famous for its cooking.”
“You have two blankets to keep you warm?”
“I’ll be the envy of the bunkhouse, Ingrid.”
“When will you be back, Pa?” Ellie asked.
“Come here, sweetheart.” He got down on one knee and gave her a hug. “I’ll be home in the spring. You girls be good to Ingrid while I’m gone.”
“I’ll keep an eye on ’em for you, Pa,” Agnes said. “They won’t give her any trouble.”
Each girl got a kiss and a hug, and he held Bertie close for a moment, absorbing his smell and feel. His son and his daughters would change so much while he was away. It broke his heart that he would not be here to see it. He was afraid that he would seem like a complete stranger when he came back.
He kissed his mother on the cheek, and then he turned to Ingrid. They had not kissed since their hurried wedding. Now, with the family looking on, he gave her only a peck on the lips, but he wanted so much more.
When had the idea of leaving her become so hard?
Was it only when he saw her in her new dress, dancing with all male eyes fastened upon her?
Or was it when she had trudged beside him, day after day, lugging water to save his orchard?
Was it the evening he found her trying to bury Diantha’s diary to save him the pain of knowing the truth?
Perhaps it had happened the night that she had taken in his mother without question and pulled her out of her near-coma of neglect and abuse. Because of Ingrid, his mother looked and acted like a woman twenty years younger than the one who had been left on his porch.
He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she had become necessary to his happiness, but he suspected it was simply the cumulative effect of months of sheer, unadulterated kindness.
It felt strange walking away from his family, knowing that he would be spending the next eight months without seeing them—but if that’s what he had to do in order to care for them, then that is what he would do.
Mary took the smaller children back into the house.
“You coming?” Agnes asked.
“In a little minute,” Ingrid said. “You go on inside.”
“All right,” Agnes said, “but watching him won’t bring him back any faster.”
“I know.” Ingrid watched him walk away, the sack across his shoulders, headed off to a brutal and dangerous job to make a living for his family—and it was such a dangerous job! Had it been a lumber camp that had taken her brother? Would she ever know?
She knew that some women waited and watched for their husband to come home from the lumber camps, only to find out that he had been given a hurried burial beside the river where he had drowned—unable to reach the surface with tons of white pine closing over his head, his only headstone a pair of calked boots hanging on a lonely branch. There were also women who waited and watched, only to discover that the money they so desperately needed had been either stolen or used up in one wild, drunken spree in Bay City after the lumber camp broke up.
But she had no doubt that if he survived, Joshua would bring every penny back to his family. He was that kind of man.
There was nothing left to do except go back inside the cabin.
Mary looked up from her Bible when Ingrid came through the door. “So now we pray that he comes back safely.”
“Yes,” Ingrid said. “Now we pray.”
It was seventy miles to Saginaw as the crow flew. When he got there, he would inquire about Foster’s camp. His only fear was that Foster would already have all the men he needed. If so, Joshua would ask around to see if any other camps were hiring.
He figured he could get there in four to five days on foot. There were rumors that a railway line would be coming through soon—but he didn’t put much stock in that. It was all still too raw and unsettled between White Rock and Saginaw.
There were a lot of hopes and dreams about railroads and such these days. With the war over, it seemed like every other man he met had some big idea on how to get rich. White pine was being cut as fast as possible, making wealthy men out of some, and breaking others. He had heard about those who had sunk every dime they had into copper mines in the cold Upper Peninsula only to lose it all on the difficulties of trying to take the ore out. There was a joke going around—probably started by the very ones who had tried mining copper—that a man needed to own a gold mine if he wanted to run a copper mine.
He didn’t have the hunger to get rich. He just wanted enough to take care of his family.
There was no schoolhouse in White Rock yet, nor was there a schoolteacher. Each family taught their children as best they could. Joshua and Diantha had taught the girls what little book learning they knew so far. Now Mary, who had once taught school, was working with them. Ingrid was delighted. It gave Mary a chance to do something she had once loved, and it freed Ingrid to do both her and Joshua’s chores.
It felt so strange not having Joshua around. Even though their marriage had been awkward at times, she missed him desperately.
As she looked out the window at the fall landscape, she wondered if it would ever rain again. It was now the first of October, and she counted back—June, July, August, September, four months without a drop of rain. If it weren’t for the Faraway Spring, they would not even have water to drink.
She worried about food. There were seven mouths to feed, and sometimes eight when Lyman wasn’t at Susan’s. Their garden had not been abundant, but there had been enough to keep them fed so far. Ingrid had preserved everything they had not eaten.
There was a crock of cabbage pickling in brine in the cellar right now and another crock of pickled cucumbers. There were two apple trees that had fared better than the cherry trees. Joshua said it was because they were older and their roots went deeper. She had dried every last apple, even cutting the worms out of the misshapen ones to save every bite. Those dried apples garlanded the rafters of the cabin now and gave off a lovely scent. There were some potatoes, but not enough to see them through the winter. Joshua had gotten milled what little wheat had survived, and she thought she had enough flour. He had traded their bull calf to George for several bags of beans and rice.
They had not yet butchered the two hogs. Cold weather was needed for that. Lyman said he would help when the time came. After talking with and throwing scraps to the two pigs for months, she had gotten attached to the poor things, but there was no choice. Joshua had said that Richard had always sold them two piglets each spring from the litters he raised for market. She hoped that would hold true next year. The children would need every bit of fatty meat they could get this winter.
There were the chickens, but they were not laying well right now, which was a worry. Their cow, which Ingrid milked morning and night, was still producing enough milk, but there was always the chance that she would go dry before winter was over.
So far, none
of the children had gotten sick, with the exception of Polly’s memorable stomachache. Ingrid hoped they could make it through the winter without any major illnesses. She hoped to present Joshua with a happy, healthy family when he came home in the spring.
To do that, she needed good food and plenty of it.
She counted out the money Joshua had left with her. He had given her everything he had, and she would not spend it until she absolutely had to.
Agnes noticed that Ingrid was making a list of the food they had on hand. “Will we be all right?”
“We will be fine,” Ingrid said. “When the cold comes, we will kill the pigs, and I will ask Lyman to kill wild animals for us. If a hen stops laying, we will make chicken soup. You children will not go hungry. I promise.”
“It’s nice having you here to look after us,” Agnes said. Then she went back to working the arithmetic problems Mary had assigned her.
Ingrid went out to the garden, where she had left two heads of cabbage to eat fresh. She cut the crisp cabbage into pieces and put them into a kettle to steam. Then she cut up some scraps of ham and threw those in. There were two eggs today. Not enough to feed everyone—so she used the eggs and a few handfuls of flour to make into noodles to go with the cabbage. With salt, pepper, and butter, the noodles and the cabbage were a simple dish that the children and Mary enjoyed.
If it were God’s will, and if she could remain healthy and strong, they would survive the Michigan winter just fine. For the first time, she was grateful that she and Joshua had not truly lived as husband and wife. This particular winter would not be a good time to be with child.
She was just about to call the children to supper when she heard footsteps on the porch. She opened the door, and there stood Richard and Virgie. Richard carried a heavy cast-iron skillet with a lid, and Virgie held a basket covered with a towel. “We heard that Josh went to work at the lumber camps,” Virgie said. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” Ingrid said. “He will not be home until spring.”
Although Josh had allowed Agnes, Trudy, and Ellie to walk the half mile to their grandparents’ home several times this summer, Richard and Virgie had not yet taken her up on her invitation to come visit the children. Virgie meant it when she said she would not step foot in Josh’s house while he was there.
“You want come in?” Ingrid asked.
Virgie stepped into the cabin, and Richard followed. Both looked around, as though reacquainting themselves with the room with which they had once been familiar. Ingrid knew it must be very hard for them, this first time back inside their daughter’s home.
“You stay and eat with us?” she said. “Please?”
“I suppose we could,” Virgie said. “If you really want us.”
“Oh, we want. We have plenty food. Children be so happy to have grandparents here.”
Just at that moment, Ellie looked down the steps and let out a screech. “Grandma Virgie and Grandpa!” Then she came barreling down and hugged both of them around their knees. Trudy and Polly followed right behind her.
“You’d better take this before one of them knocks me down.” Virgie handed Ingrid the basket. Beneath the towel, Ingrid saw biscuits still steaming from the oven.
Richard sat the Dutch oven on the table and lifted the lid, releasing a delicious aroma. “Virgie and me killed a chicken and fried it up.”
“I have cabbage and noodles!” Ingrid said. “We will have feast!”
Agnes came down the stairs, carrying the baby.
“Is that my little Bertie boy?” Virgie held out her arms. “Oh, he has grown!”
Ingrid rushed to set out extra dinner plates and then called everyone to the table. It was gratifying to listen and watch as the conversations swirled around her. She thought about the diary and poisonous pills that she and Joshua had buried beneath the tree at the cemetery. Many men would have rushed to show those items to their in-laws. Instead, Joshua had chosen to absorb their anger—not wanting to add that extra sadness to their lives.
Neither she nor Joshua knew if they had done the best thing, but they had chosen what they thought was the kindest thing. She often prayed for these two broken people, that the Lord would lift at least some of their terrible grief.
Although there was a bittersweetness to the evening for her, Ingrid knew that Joshua would approve. Nothing, in her opinion, could lift grief as quickly as being in a house filled with children. Loving Joshua’s family had certainly helped her live with the grief she felt over her brother.
She had asked Joshua to inquire of every lumberman he saw if anyone knew what had happened to a big Swede named Hans Larsen, who had a triangle-shaped scar above his left eye and the sweetest disposition in the world.
It took Joshua three and a half days to get to Saginaw. By the time he arrived, he was convinced that if Michigan did not get rain soon, the whole state would dry up and blow away. It had been hard for him to find enough water to drink on the way here. This did not bode well for the lumber camps that depended on the rivers to move the logs to the lakes each spring.
He found a merchant on the outskirts of Saginaw who was able to give him the location of Foster’s camp. It then took him a hard day’s walk to get there. It was a new camp and neatly laid out. The cook shanty was well built and had fresh blue-checked curtains in the window. A woman’s touch always boded well when it came to food.
He was foot sore, hungry, and weary when he walked into the cook shanty door. His spirits brightened when he smelled the aroma of bread baking.
“Welcome.” A man who had been talking to a pretty red-haired woman enveloped in a cook’s apron when he came in walked toward him with his hand extended. “I’m Robert Foster, owner of this camp. Are you looking for work?”
“I was hoping to get here before you filled up,” Joshua said.
“What are you good at doing?”
“I spent one winter as part of a two-man axe team,” Joshua said. “I didn’t develop the knack for being a river hog. I can do a fair job on anything else, including carpentry.”
Foster looked him up and down. “You hold yourself like a military man. Where did you serve?”
“I rode with the Michigan First Cavalry.”
“Ah.” Foster nodded. “Custer and his famous Wolverines! I saw him once at Gettysburg. I couldn’t believe that young pup was a brigadier general.”
“You were there?”
“I was one of the surgeons trying to patch men back together.”
“I don’t envy you having had that job.”
“Nor I yours. How old was Custer back then?” Foster said. “Early twenties?”
“He was twenty-two when he became a general,” Joshua said.
“From what I heard, he was a vain, pompous man who deserted his men to go visit his wife.”
Joshua wondered why Foster was bothering to criticize his general. Was he trying to start a fight? If so, he would look for another camp to work at.
“General Custer had courage,” Joshua said evenly. “He led the attacks instead of staying in the back. He had eleven horses shot out from under him. We overlooked his vanity and his fondness for his wife because we knew we could depend on him in battle. He saved more than one of our lives.”
“You speak like an educated man.” Foster abruptly changed the subject. “Are you?”
“One year at Michigan State Normal School is all, but my mother was a schoolteacher. Why do you ask?”
“I won’t have any trouble getting together an axe crew,” Foster said. “But I’m missing an ink slinger for the office. The man who worked for me in the past decided to stay home this winter and help his daughters build a beef cattle business.”
“His daughters?”
“Seven of them. The oldest has turned into quite the manager. We used to rib him about how someday he would end up working for her, and that’s what’s happened. Are you good with figures?”
“I am.”
“How would you feel about being ink slin
ger and storekeeper for the camp?”
“I’ll work any job you want me to.”
“Oh, and by the way,” Foster said. “I have nothing at all against George Custer. I never met the man. I need someone I can trust to keep my books and run the store. I liked the way you defended your general against me when I criticized him. I’m impressed with your loyalty. It shows integrity. Ink slinger is your job if you want it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Joshua said. “I’m grateful for the work.”
His gamble in walking across the thumb of Michigan had just paid off.
Foster called out, “Katie, does this man have time to go drop his things off in the bunkhouse before you set out supper?”
“If he hurries.” Katie sat a huge pone of corn bread on the table.
“When Katie says you’d better hurry,” Foster said, “you had better hurry.”
As Joshua was leaving the cookhouse, he heard a great clatter of tin dishes and an old man’s voice cursing a blue streak.
“Jigger,” he heard Katie say patiently, “I don’t care if you did just drop a load of dishes. There’s no call to use the Lord’s name in vain. We have been through this before.”
“Well, if I didn’t have a dang woman in my way all the time, I wouldn’t drop so many dishes.”
It would be a long winter, Joshua thought, but an interesting one.
22
Keeping the books and running the little store made a nice change. Joshua discovered that he greatly enjoyed visiting with the men as they came in for a new nose warmer—the small stubby pipe that the lumbermen preferred—or a new pocketknife, or perhaps a bar of laundry soap for clothes-washing Sundays, or maybe even a small sack of candy. The shanty boys, as the loggers called themselves, loved their hard candy.
Foster kept more stock on the shelves of his store than the owner Joshua had worked for in the past. He didn’t know if that was in order to make more money or if it was simply Foster’s way of making camp life a little less hard on the men. He’d even supplied a large pile of dime paperbacks and police gazettes—the kind of reading material the men adored.
A Promise to Love Page 20
