by Debra Samms
"What city?"
"Manchester. In New Hampshire. That's where most of us women in Sawyerville came from."
"I heard you all came out here to get married, to get away from working in the textile mills."
"Well, you heard right as far as wanting to get away from those mills." She shuddered a little, in spite of herself. "It's cold and gray and very hard in those cities. Girls go deaf and lose their fingers trying to work those machines. This place is like heaven compared to that."
"Even with men like these loggers?"
Hattie only shrugged. "There's bad men everywhere. At least we've got fresh air and pretty trees out here."
John grinned. "But tell me the truth, Hattie Mary. You really came out here to get married. Didn't you."
CHAPTER THREE
John seemed determined to get an answer to the marriage question. "Well, maybe I did come here to find a husband, Mr. Gilbert," Hattie said. "Or maybe not. I'm earning my keep up at the Sawyerville Ladies' House with the work I do there. And there's plenty of other things I could do out here. I'm not a bad hand with horses, if it comes to that. I can read and write. I could help out in the mercantile, or in the post office or even the sheriff's office. Lots of things."
"Well, then, Hattie Mary, it looks like you'll do just fine out here in Sawyerville whether you marry or not."
"I'd like to think so." She took another bite of the cookie. "What about yourself, Mr. Gilbert? Why would you come all the way out to a place like Sawyerville when you're not even a logger?"
He dug out yet another piece of fried chicken. "At first, I thought I would be a logger. I needed a job, so I signed on. But I found out nearly from the first day that what they really needed out here was somebody who could trim and shoe the horses and the mules and even the oxen, and repair the iron tools. There was no end of work for a good blacksmith, so I just stayed with that. And here I am."
This time she grinned back at him. "So I suppose we'll each work at jobs that are outside what we came here to do. You'll be a blacksmith and not a logger, and I'll just work and not marry."
Both of them laughed. And then, after a moment, Hattie realized that they were sitting still and just looking at each other.
She quickly looked down but realized he was still eyeing her closely. At that, she lifted her head and decided she may as well face the truth now.
"I'm pleased you asked me to share a little time with you, Mr. Gilbert. But I know the truth – I mean, I know what I look like and I don't believe in fairy stories. I know there's a good chance I'll never find a man to marry me out here or anywhere else – especially a man as handsome as you."
This time he just laughed a little and shrugged, but Hattie's voice was serious. "I'd still rather live the life of a spinster out here, where it's beautiful and clean, than marry some worthless man back east . . . or end my days alone back there, working until I drop dead in that mill."
John Gilbert nodded, and his face was solemn. "You're as brave as any woman I've seen. You're willing to live alone out here, and willing to work alone if it means getting out of that city or not being stuck with some man you don't want. And I guess that ship voyage around the Horn wasn't such a picnic, either."
She drew a deep breath. "I can say it wasn't anything I'd care to repeat. The waves and rocks around the Horn – the men attacking us – the men killing each other – the dirt and slime everywhere – little food, stale water . . . " Hattie closed her eyes.
Then she looked out at John Gilbert again, and smiled. "But I don't want to complain too much. Some things were sure beautiful – the sunrises and the sunsets over the sea, and the stars at night. You could see them all whenever the skies were clear."
"You like beautiful things, don't you?"
"I suppose I do. I suppose that's why I like this place. It's beautiful. Clean. Natural."
"I suppose that's why I like it, too," he said. "I work hard, but I can have a warm place to sleep at night with plenty of food. Even a few companions for a game of poker or dice. No walls. No fences. Can't ask for much more than that."
"I'll admit," Hattie ventured, after a moment, "that as much as I like the Sawyerville Ladies' House, I'd sure like to have a home of my own. A home with room enough to be comfortable, and plenty of good food, and wool to make warm shawls and blankets . . . "
She stopped, a little embarrassed at talking about something like a married woman's home with John Gilbert when she'd only just met him.
But he just tossed the chicken bones back in the metal bucket and took out his own very large apple walnut cookie. "I can't help but admire your spirit in coming out here. I thought most of the women who came west arranged for a husband ahead of time."
"Not always. There are so many bachelors out here, and Sawyerville is so isolated, that I guess they though even a girl who looks like me couldn't miss."
He shook his head, and smiled gently. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Hattie Mary. There's somebody for everyone, or so they say."
She looked away from him, and nodded. "I guess you don't get anywhere without taking a chance or going through a little hardship. Seems to me that things are worth what you give for them – if you give nothing, you'll get nothing in return."
"In that case, Hattie Mary, you should have quite a bit already."
She smiled at him. "I have enough. I have a life here, and even if I never have anything more than this, it's enough."
CHAPTER FOUR
For the next several weeks, Hattie found herself spending a fair amount of time with John Gilbert. He was usually up at the livery barn in the town on Fridays, trimming and shoeing whatever horse or mule might need it, and Hattie began to look forward to Fridays very much.
She would hold the horses as he worked on them, especially the fractious or nervous ones, and he was able to complete his work faster that way. And then they would sit down for the noonday meal in the haystacks in the barn or outside near the corrals behind it, sitting on a fallen log overlooking the river.
They enjoyed good food and conversation, and told jokes and little stories, and tried to spot the different sorts of wild birds that lived in the forest around them. One day they even saw a herd of deer which came very near the camp.
One day, John Gilbert leaned over and gave Hattie a little kiss, and she blushed until she thought she would melt . . . and then felt as though she were walking on clouds all the rest of the day.
***
And then, on a rainy afternoon in early July as John worked hard filing the hooves of a big gray work horse named Thunder, Hattie looked up to see slim and pretty Sarah Weatherall hurrying into the barn.
Again.
She'd been here a few times before, always on some pretext of needing John's help with something or bringing him a message from someone with a horse that needed shoeing or doctoring.
"John! John Gilbert!" Sarah cried, running up to them.
He dropped the horse's front leg that he was holding and stepped back. Hattie worked for a moment to calm Thunder, who'd been startled by Sarah suddenly running past him.
"What's wrong, Sarah?" John asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.
"Down at the camp near the river!" she cried, breathless. She steadied herself on his own strong shoulder. "One of the skidder horses – he tore off a shoe and took a piece of his hoof with it – can you help?"
"Sure. Just let me get a few things." John walked to the shelves near the forge and began throwing tools and supplies into an open wooden toolbox. Sarah stood and waited anxiously, being sure to keep the hem of her lace-trimmed lavender cotton dress out of the dust and dirt of the barn floor.
"Hattie, put Thunder back in his stall. I'll be back as soon as I can," called John. Then he hurried out of the barn with Sarah, leaving Hattie behind in the aisle with only the big gray horse for company.
Hattie sighed deeply, trying to keep her frustration and humiliation under control, and got the big horse back in his stall. Then she walked out into
the street, intending to go down to the end of it and try to see where John and Sarah were heading.
Just in case there was anything else she could bring him from the barn that he might need to treat the injured skidder horse.
When she reached the halfway point, in front of the Frost Mercantile, she heard a familiar voice. "Hattie. Hattie!"
She turned to see Ruby Swanson coming after her, stepping down from the wooden walkway in front of the Mercantile. "Hattie, where are you going?" Ruby said, hurrying out into the street. Then she looked up and followed Hattie's gaze – and caught sight of John Gilbert with Sarah Weatherall.
"Oh," Ruby said. "I thought you were seeing him."
"I suppose I thought I was, too," Hattie said, as she and Ruby continued walking down the street. "But how can I blame him for having eyes for Sarah, when she looks the way she does?"
"Now, Hattie – "
"It's true. We both know it is. Sarah Weatherall is what I'd look like if I were pretty. She's about my height but probably weighs half as much. She's got the kind of figure men like, along with shining brown hair . . . bright blue eyes . . . skin like a rose petal . . . all of it."
The two of them were silent for a moment as they walked along. "Hard to argue with that," said Ruby. "We've all of us encountered that sort of thing."
"Yes. We have. I've been thinking that – that maybe I should just give up on it right now before I get in any deeper."
Neither of them said anything more. But just as they reached the end of the main street, and looked out over the vast loggers' camp and down the hillside to the river, another man came running up to them.
"You're Hattie, aren't you?" he said. "In the patchwork skirt? John Gilbert said he wants your help. I'm Bill Becker. Follow me and I'll take you to him."
She and Ruby glanced at one another. "Go," said Ruby. "I'll be at the mercantile, or up at the house."
Hattie just nodded and hurried down towards the camp with Bill.
They ran across the flat plain at the bottom of the town, which stretched out to the wide river on one side and the dark forest beyond it, and ran into the woods. Hattie stayed with Bill as best she could.
Soon they broke into a clearing where a number of men were gathered around a team of black horses – one of which was down and lying with its feet tucked under it on the muddy skid road leading down to the river.
Just as Hattie walked over, the horse lurched to its feet and stood on three legs beside its teammate. She saw that John Gilbert stood at the horse's head.
"Hattie Mary! Good. Hold him for me. Bill, get that other horse out of here."
Hattie stepped up and took the skidder horse by the bridle, holding him firmly while his teammate was unhooked from the double harness and then led away. Right away, John Gilbert began work on the pulled shoe and broken piece of hoof.
"Looks like he slipped in this mud and grabbed the front shoe with a hind foot, and bent that shoe almost in half," he said. The big metal cutters snapped loudly as he cut the nails so he could carefully pull off the remainder of the bent and crooked shoe. "Good thing you sent for me. He would have been walking right on the nails if he'd tried to get up."
In moments John had the shoe and nails safely off, had poured a bucket of water on the broken parts of the hoof, and packed it with salve and wrapped it in clean bandages.
"Just let him rest for a week or two, and I'll look at him again. I think he'll be all right soon enough."
The other men nodded and led the horse away, limping but able to walk. Hattie turned to John, proud of the work he'd done. He was a good horseman, after all. "John Gilbert, I – "
"Oh! John! That was just wonderful. You saved him!"
Hattie looked back to see Sarah walking over to John, still looking just as fresh and clean as she'd looked up in the barn. Hattie had been standing in the mud heading the horse, and her boots and yellow patchwork skirt were quite dirty . . . as were her hands.
But Sarah only held onto a little spray of delicate white Queen Anne's Lace that she must have picked along the way, and smiled and flashed her blue eyes at John Gilbert. Hattie saw how the two of them looked at each other, and her heart sank. She realized that it would be just as difficult for her to find a man out here as it had been back east . . . maybe even more so.
CHAPTER FIVE
A week later, John Gilbert once again sent word to Hattie to come down to the loggers' camp and help him with something. This time it was at the collection of sheds and pens at the far eastern end of the camp, where the work horses were kept.
When she finally arrived, Hattie was delighted to see that standing alone in one of the smaller pens was a big red mare with a brand-new foal of the same color.
"He's arrived a bit late in the year," John said, "but sometimes that happens. Nothing wrong with being a late bloomer, is there, Hattie Mary?"
"I hope not," she said. "What can I do to help?"
"I'll hold the mare and you get this halter on that colt. Here – " Hattie took the small rope halter from him and together they walked out into the pen, where she managed to slip it on the baby without much trouble.
"Now just rub him and pet him all over, so he'll be gentle. Try to get the mud off of him with this rag so we can make sure he's not scraped or cut anywhere."
She caught the rag and went to work, enjoying spending the time with the new little creature and seeing his curiosity as he swung his head around and seemed to enjoy all the attention.
"Good," said John. "He looks all right. Let him go, and I'll get you back to town."
Soon they were walking together along the road that led back into Sawyerville. Hattie felt very pleased, thinking of how well they two of them worked together – and even more pleased that for today, at least, there'd been no sign of Sarah Weatherall.
"I thank you for your help today," John said, "but there was something else I wanted to tell you, too."
"Oh?" Hattie answered, trying to keep her voice casual.
"I'm thinking of moving on."
She nearly stopped. "Moving – on?"
"Yeah," he said, looking up at the sky. "I've got no contract here, unlike the loggers. A good blacksmith can get work anywhere. I'm thinking of going closer to a big city."
"A city."
"Sure. Like Portland. Or San Francisco. No end of work there, whether it's shoeing horses and mules or making tools."
For Hattie, the sunny day began to turn dull and gray. "Well, John Gilbert," she said quietly, "I'm sure you'll be successful wherever you go. Just as you've been successful here."
He nodded. "Here you are," he said, leaving her at the foot of the switchback which led up to the Sawyerville Ladies' House. "I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'm sure you will," she said, still feeling as though the day had suddenly turned cold.
"John! Hattie!"
They both looked up to see Sarah Weatherall walking towards them on the main road, carrying a basket. She wore a pretty blue dress that made her eyes even brighter as she gave John Gilbert the most flirtatious smile Hattie ever remembered seeing on anyone.
Unfortunately, Hattie could not help but see John's face when he caught sight of Sarah.
"Good afternoon, Miss Weatherall," he said, and it was clear that he had eyes for nothing else but the delicate young woman in front of his.
"Good afternoon!" she said brightly. "I'm just on my way back to the Ladies' House from the mercantile. It's so very nice to see you."
"Very nice to see you, too," he answered. Then he nodded to both women. "I've got to get down to the barn. Have a pleasant evening."
As he walked away, Hattie and Sarah started walking up the hill to the Ladies' House. "Well, Hattie," Sarah said, "we've all been here for nearly six weeks now. Do you have any prospects yet?"
Hattie glanced sideways at her. "Marriage prospects, you mean?"
"Of course!"
"Well . . . no." Hattie tried to laugh, but didn't succeed very well. "Do you think
any man is going to look at me, when most of the girls here are as pretty as you? I'm not sure why I thought it would be any different here. At least I'm not in the city anymore, and not slaving away in that mill any longer."
"Hmm. You see – I rather miss the city."
"You do? I would have thought – "
"Oh, I don't miss the mill. It's just that I caught sight of San Francisco when we stopped there on our journey to this place. It was so exciting! All the hotels, the stores, the busy streets, so many people! I love the excitement."
"I suppose it's a different sort of excitement from what you'd find out here."
"It is. Oh, it is! And Hattie – I've simply got to tell someone." Sarah leaned close and whispered near Hattie's ear. "I'm thinking of leaving Sawyerville for San Francisco! So is Lydia Sweet!"
Hattie stopped in her tracks. "You're leaving this place? To go live in – San Francisco?"
"I think I am, yes! With Lydia! You see – neither one of us wants to marry a logger. They're so rude, so dirty! In San Francisco, we could work in one of those fine shops for a time, while we're waiting to meet lawyers or a businessmen or even doctors. What a fine life we'd have then!"
"I see," Hattie whispered, as the day became grayer still. "In that case, I can only say 'best of luck' to you and Lydia . . . and to John Gilbert."
CHAPTER SIX
The days passed by, and then the weeks, and then at last it had been a month since the afternoon when Hattie had learned that Sarah Weatherall and Lydia Sweet were planning to leave Sawyerville for San Francisco – the same day that John Gilbert had said that he might be leaving for San Francisco, too.
Forever.
Yet Hattie wasn't ready to give up too easily. She told herself that things that were chased did nothing but run – and it was best to let them circle around and come to you, thinking it was safe since you were no longer pursuing them.
She succeeded in making another new skirt – this one in shades of yellow and orange – and bribed a couple of the pretty girls in the House to help her fix her long, plain brown hair in curls. The girls were only too happy to help and seemed thrilled to see her hair in something other than its usual single long braid down her back.
