Threads of Betrayal

by Monica Koldyke Miller

  “Best you just heat up a little snow and wash in a basin,” Hattie cackled as she stirred a stew pot. “This here goulash is the closest thing yer gonna git to a large kettle of water.”

  “A half-barrel was brought to the cabin for a table,” Amanda said, careful to omit Theo’s name. “Turned upright, it would make a useful tub.”

  “Look, missy,” Hattie said. “I don’t care if’n you is the boss’s wife. I ain’t got time to heat water all day, just so’s you c’n sit in it!” She banged her spoon as she dumped carrots into the stew.

  “I didn’t mean for you to do it,” Amanda said. “I’ll gladly do it myself. Besides, I need to wash my clothes. I happen to know the men wash their clothes. So, there should be some means to do so.”

  “Clothes washin’ day is Sunday. Always been, and always will be.” Hattie eyed Amanda up and down. “Your clothes look plenty clean to me, but the wash kettle’s in the equipment shed.” She then turned her back. “Theo!” she hollered. “Fetch me some wood!”

  Setting aside his broom, Theodore snatched his coat and trotted outdoors. Amanda followed. But once outside, she hesitated.

  She was forbidden to go near the bunkhouses. Yet, that was the most likely place for the kettle. Glancing toward the sun, she guessed there were three hours before nightfall. After a moment’s indecision, she approached the nearest shed. Tools and saws lined the walls, but nothing inside resembled a kettle. Amanda crossed the yard and opened the door of the next shed. It too, lacked the desired iteMs. She became nervous about being so far from the cabin but her need for a bath overrode her fears and she approached the third shed. Swinging open the door, she spied a wash kettle alongside a tripod and a tin of soap. She removed the tripod and soap and then with a twisting motion, dragged the kettle out. After only moving it a couple feet, tears brimmed her eyes for the cabin seemed too far to drag it.

  The sound of crunching snow told her someone was approaching and she quickly wiped her eyes. Amanda turned to see Theodore lift the kettle by its handle and head toward the cabin. She grabbed the tripod and soap and then hurried to catch up. Despite his size, Theodore was surprisingly strong. His shoulders and back had developed a sinewy toughness from hours of chopping wood.

  “Thank you,” she breathed as he took the tripod from her hands. “But, I don’t want to cause you trouble.”

  “Hattie don’t own me,” he said while hoisting the cauldron onto the hook. “As long as my work gits done, I do what I want.” After clearing a spot, he started a fire from the cabin’s wood supply. Meanwhile, Amanda filled the kettle by making several trips from the water barrel. She then found a snow bank and made an equal number of trips back, refilling the barrel.

  Theo went back to the shed and returned with a wooden lid. “Just keep the fire going,” he instructed. “It’s gonna take awhile for it to git hot.”

  After he left, Amanda went inside and set a pot of water on the stove. When it became hot she poured it into the tub before adding cool water from the pitcher. She scrubbed her clothes with soap, wringing and draping them on chairs before checking on the kettle outside. Seeing percolating bubbles, Amanda made several trips inside with bucketfuls of hot water. On the last trip, she kicked out the fire. After setting out towels she undressed and climbed in, sighing as she lowered herself to the bottom. Though she couldn’t stretch out, it was enough to sit in water with only her knees peeking out. She raised her arms in childish glee, laughing as droplets splashed her face and throat. After soaking for nearly an hour, she dug into the mushy soap and lathered her body. She then spent a great deal of time sudsing and rinsing her hair before wrapping it in a towel.

  Amanda wasn’t ready to end her unexpected luxury and closing her eyes, rested against the rim. She didn’t notice the fire in the stove dwindling until a sudden, cold blast of air startled her from her slumber. Sitting upright, she covered her bosom until she saw Reagan in the doorway, looking surprised.

  “For God’s sake, close the door,” she said, shivering. “And bring me another towel.” Amanda stood as he hastened to do her bidding. She quickly wrapped the towel about her, but not before Reagan got an eyeful of glistening, goose-fleshed limbs.

  “How’d you obtain a bath, milady?” he asked, helping her from the tub before turning to the stove.

  Amanda dried herself off before donning a flannel shirt. “I just did, with lots of help from Theodore.”

  “I wondered why the kettle was outside. I assumed you decided to wash your clothes.” He closed the stove, viewing her wet garments. “I guess I was half right, anyway,” he said, leaning against the barrel to peer inside. “If I’d have known what you were about, I would’ve come back sooner and joined you.”

  “As if there would’ve been enough room,” she scoffed.

  “Oh, there’s plenty of room.” Reagan spoke with such assuredness, Amanda turned to inspect the barrel herself.

  “I don’t see how.” She tried to imagine them both fitting in the bottom. Though large in capacity, Amanda was sure it wasn’t spacious enough for them both. She raised quizzical eyes to her husband, and saw the humor in his look.

  “Why, you’d be sitting on my lap,” he smirked, holding his arms to demonstrate her legs straddling his torso.

  The image was so vivid that Amanda was momentarily speechless. “Oh you!” she said, throwing her towel. “Your lecherous mind roams where no gentleman would go.”

  Reagan laughed as he lit the lamp before stretching out on the bed. He was amazed at the great contentment he felt when nightly, he returned to his cabin. His eyes followed Amanda as she pulled a chair near the stove and began working tangles from her hair. He watched with growing fascination as she combed her hair until the strands dried. Then sweeping her tresses over her shoulder, she brushed her hair with long, even strokes.

  “Reagan?”

  “Hmm?”

  Amanda set the brush in her lap. “Hattie seemed upset when I asked about having a bath. She didn’t know I wanted to do it myself. Well, as I said earlier, Theodore helped me and I’m afraid after today, she’ll not allow him to.”

  “You can’t expect Hattie to give up her help every time you wish to bathe, madam.”

  “I know,” she said, sighing. “But what can I do? I can’t lift the kettle to its hook, and I’m terrible at starting a fire.”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “You let me know the mornings you wish to bathe, and I’ll set the kettle and start a fire. That way, it’ll be ready a lot sooner. How does that sound?”

  Amanda’s face lit with pleasure and she rose to kiss his cheek. “Thank you!”

  Reagan grinned, catching her arm. “I think this deserves a better kiss than that.” When Amanda obligingly leaned near, he pulled her onto his chest and rolled over, trapping her beneath him. With deliberate slowness, he repaid the kiss. As her fragrance snared his imagination, Reagan ignored the clanging triangle that announced supper was ready.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  As the camp’s activity stretched on in unending similarity, Amanda’s routine became equally monotonous. She would rise for breakfast, get dressed, stoke the fire and after the men left, seek Hattie’s company. At first she would sit on a corner stool while Hattie told stories of rugged lumbermen. According to Hattie, the strapping Scandinavians were used to working in harsh conditions and preferred saws over axes. The colorfully dressed French-Canadians and cheerful Swedes contrasted with Germans whose sour dispositions caused many a brawl over games of smear. She told about a few city men who tried lumbering but had a hard time dealing with tricks and jibes of others. “They wuz always bein’ sent for left-handed hammers, shore lines and ricochets,” Hattie cackled over her shoulder. “All except this big old Injun. The boys were afraid of him. Claimed he could cast spells from an amulet he wore.”

  As the days passed and Amanda’s stool moved closer to the stove, she found herself involved with kitchen duties. At first, it was to fetch this or that item from across the room. The
n it was to stir batter while Hattie took pies from the oven. Once, when Theo needed to fetch more kindling, Hattie directed Amanda to pick up his knife and finish slicing potatoes. She complied, evoking a few ‘devil damns’ from Hattie who got spattered after the vegetables were scraped into boiling water. By degrees, Amanda went from washing and slicing vegetables to mixing ingredients from any of Hattie’s many recipes. Finally, it seemed natural to walk in and without prompting, make a batch of biscuits. As always, Hattie banished Amanda from the shanty before the men returned.

  One day, Amanda was occupying her stool while Hattie made pancakes. “Theo. Go fetch the eggs, lest the chicken’s try hatching them.”

  Theodore obediently slipped out the door as Hattie tossed Amanda a dirty towel. “Put this in that yonder pile,” she said, pointing to the floor. “They git boiled on wash day. Which reminds me ‘bout the time the boss fetched a kettle from another camp and got chased by some ornery timber wolves.”

  “Wolves?” Amanda gasped.

  “All by hisself, he was,” Hattie said. She scooped bacon from a skillet before ladling in fresh batter. “The boys talked ‘bout it for months, on account of how lucky he was to not git eaten by the critters.”

  “What happened?”

  “Like I said, Mr. Burnsfield went to fetch us another kettle. Seems the boys had more dirty clothes than they could boil on washday. And whooey! Them boys sure know how to smell up a bunkhouse! Mr. Burnsfield hitched a couple horses to the sleigh and crossed a frozen lake. Well, he made it to the camp just fine, but the trouble started on the way back.”

  “Mr. Burnsfield thought he heard wolves howling, and sure enough when he looked, they wuz a’comin’ out of the woods. He later told us the kettle wuz so heavy it was slowin’ him down. So he tied down the reins, grabbed an axe and tossed that kettle onto the ice before jumping off with it.”

  Hattie stopped her story as Theo returned with a brimming basket. “Boy! Come git these flapjacks!”

  As Theo scurried to set filled platters on tables she continued her story. “Once him and the kettle dropped off’n the sleigh, those horses skedaddled like nuthin’ you ever seen! When the horses got back to camp with their eyes as big as saucers and no boss, the men went lookin’.” Amanda inwardly groaned as Hattie paused again to remove muffins from the oven.

  “So, tell me what happened!”

  “I’m gittin’ there, missy, I’m gittin’ there,” she said, chuckling. “It seems once the wolves found they couldn’t keep up with the sleigh, they went back to see what fell off. Mr. Burnsfield crawled underneath that kettle, just a’fore those varmints got there. They started digging in the ice, but the boss, he just chopped them paws when they got too close. Blood wuz runnin’ all over the place, I heard.”

  Hattie grinned at Amanda’s suddenly pale face. “Despite gittin’ their toes clipped, them wolves didn’t stop till our boys got there. By the time they lifted the kettle off poor Mr. Burnsfield, he was nearly out of air!”

  “Enough!” Amanda said, reaching for her coat. “If I hear another word I’m going to be sick.”

  “But there’s at least two hours of daylight left,” Hattie said.

  Amanda buttoned her coat. “The wind’s kicking up, and I should check our stove. It’s hard to keep the cabin warm when it gets windy.”

  Upon reaching the cabin, Amanda saw the fire had indeed burned out. She tried relighting it, but the draft from the flue kept dousing matches. She imagined Reagan’s displeasure at finding a cold cabin and looking around, her eyes stopped at his desk. Of course! She could light some paper to start a fire. Hadn’t she seen Reagan do that very thing? She recalled he’d been careful to select paper he no longer needed, twisting them into tight spirals before placing them beneath kindling. Searching cubbyholes, she found invoices and supply lists but no useless scrap with which to start a fire.

  Opening a drawer, Amanda withdrew several sheaths folded together. The dates at the top indicated Reagan penned them last summer and her hopes grew that this forgotten stack was no longer needed. Scanning the sheets, she found it was a list of expenses for the new mill as well as accounts and revenues from which Reagan could draw. Yet, even with her untrained eye, Amanda could see his bank accounts fell short of the expenses. Just as she was about to refold the papers, a note at the bottom of the last page caught her eye.

  She saw her name. Perplexed, Amanda took a closer look. In his usual neat handwriting, Reagan had written ‘Amanda’s dowry’ with a question mark where an amount should’ve gone. She rechecked the dates, seeing it had been recorded early August of last year.

  How could that be? How could Reagan have anticipated her dowry before the bounty hunters captured them? Her hands trembled as she stared at the paper. When the news of their capture got out, she’d assumed Reagan’s proposal had come from his sense of duty. But now it appeared he had wanted to marry her for financial gain.

  Tears blurred her vision. “No,” she murmured. “Oh, no!”

  The past weeks had been some of the happiest she had known. Despite his anger at her arrival, Reagan seemed to enjoy their shared meals as well as the long, cold nights. But now, it seemed a cruel joke. Reagan had never cared about saving her reputation. He had simply used the situation to barter his bachelorhood for money.

  Amanda didn’t know how long she stared at the papers, but when she stood, they scattered from her fingers. She opened the door, looking from the cook’s shack to the stables before heading to the barn.

  She hadn’t laid eyes on her horse since her arrival, but she easily picked her gelding from the few horses not being used at the work site. She thought quickly while saddling him. Staying was impossible. She felt she could make it home with the aid of her map, but where was home? Amanda rested her head against the saddle as she considered her options. She worried the Burnsfield’s wouldn’t believe her if Reagan denied the truth. If she returned to her parents’ home, she’d shame them by breaching her marriage contract. Amanda lifted her head. Perhaps Aunt Ella would take her in.

  She wiped away her tears, resolving Reagan wasn’t worth her grief. Yet, the ache in her heart decried that notion. By his actions, he seemed to have protected her at every turn. He denied her involvement with Gabriella’s activities and even convinced the judge the bounty hunters were wrong. He’d also shown tender regard of her person when she, a frightened virgin, faced the unknowns of the marriage bed. And yet nothing could dispute the fact that Reagan had anticipated receiving her dowry before Jebediah captured them. There could be no other explanation. Reagan had used her.

  Amanda stiffened her back and led her horse outside. Suddenly, a gust of wind ripped the door from her fingers, slamming it against the wall. The horse pranced skittishly but Amanda hung on. She kept both hands gripped around the reins and made her way to the cabin, tying him to a post. Hurrying inside, she felt an urgency to leave as she stuffed her saddlebag, unaware she was being watched.

  Hattie happened to glance out the window as Amanda left the barn with her horse. She watched in growing alarm as the girl emerged from the cabin minutes later and attached a bag to the saddle before heading into the forest. Feeling something was awry, Hattie sent Theo to get Mr. Burnsfield. For the first time ever, the cook ceased all activities as she stared out the window and waited.

  It was nearly an hour before Reagan’s horse burst from the woods with Theodore trailing behind. He galloped to the cabin and rushed inside. Picking up the scattered papers, it wasn’t until he looked them over a second time that Reagan realized he had forgotten to burn the incriminating tabulations. He ran outside, nearly colliding with Hattie. “Which way did she go?” he yelled.

  Hattie pointed westward as the wind blew away her words. Reagan cursed while jumping on his horse. “When Danny returns, send him after me!”

  Hattie held onto her hat as she hustled back to the shanty. There was much to be done, the least of which was feeding the men. Much trouble was brewing. Hattie could feel it in her bones
.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Amanda followed the trail used to transport logs to skidways. She recalled Reagan describing how logs were stacked into piles like way stations along sleigh roads. The piles were eventually loaded onto sleds and hauled over iced roads to what he called rollways. Rollways were where logs would be stacked on riverbanks to await spring thaw. As she passed skidway after skidway, Amanda was struck by the irony that because of her dowry, these mighty pines had fallen.

  A steady dusting of ice crystals caused her to wrap her face with a scarf. She could do nothing however, about the prickles that pelted her horse. When he began skittering sideways, she was forced to pay more attention to keeping her seat than staying on the trail. It wasn’t until the trees closed in around her that Amanda realized she had somehow veered from the road. Struggling against a panic that threatened to overwhelm her, she turned her mount around. It wasn’t fair; she thought darkly, that she must fight the elements as well as her horse.

  Without warning, a huge cr-ra-ack exploded overhead as a branch, heavy with ice, fell directly in front of them. Despite her commands with her knees and reins, the gelding reared then bucked with all its might. Amanda felt herself being tossed through the air before hitting the ground in a plume of snow. She lay motionless, gasping for breath until the painful weight on her chest receded and she rolled onto her knees. Her hat lay a short distance away and Amanda reached for it, wincing as snow showered her neck while putting it on. All the while her horse stood, eying her suspiciously.

  Although hurting from the fall, Amanda got up and held out her hand. “Here boy,” she said. “It’s all right.” The horse snorted at her quivery voice and pranced away when she moved toward him. “Come on, boy,” she said, taking another step. “We need each other.” Yet, despite her soft pleadings, the horse turned and plunged into the darkening forest.

  Amanda sobbed as she fell to her knees. Her life had become meaningless. She had hoped a true marriage could emerge even from troubled beginnings, but now her faith lay as frozen as the snow around her. A soft snow began to fall, sticking to her lashes like thistledown. Amanda curled in a crevice of a tree. Even as her mind warned her to find her way back, her heart repelled the idea and she shouted at the trees, “I’d rather die first!”