After a moment, Rebecca placed her hands gingerly on the goat’s teats and pulled. When her effort produced nothing more than an irritated bleat from Trouble, her face scrunched up in disappointment.
“What am I doing wrong?”
“Like this.” He crouched beside her and covered her small hands with his, showing her the proper amount of pressure and rhythm to produce a steady stream of milk.
“I did it! I mean, we did it.” Her bright smile nearly knocked him over.
He stood abruptly and brushed hay from his trousers.
“Practice a while,” he said. “I’ll go stoke the fire in the stove.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the cabin, turned, and trotted toward the front door, calling himself a fool to put any weight in her beautiful, bright smile. The woman loved another man—he’d do well to remember that.
***
As Becky carried the full bucket of milk to the kitchen, she felt a tiny thrill of accomplishment. She’d proved she could still play the lady while helping Isaac with the chores. The silly dress was a hindrance she’d gladly do without, but images of the perfect Melody waltzing through Sullivan’s Grocers in a lovely white dress reminded Becky of her purpose.
Living on a mountain had seemed strange at first, but she’d come to love the crisp air. She loved the view outside too. It took her breath away whenever she looked at it. It truly was the most amazing place. The only things she missed about living in Pepperell were the trappings of comfort: readily available food at the grocers, hot running water, a tub... And she missed her mother and Rachel, some nights rather dreadfully. Did they miss her too? she wondered. Did anyone in town miss her? Did Jack?
She shouldn’t even think about him. It was wrong now. She was married. She had Isaac. Somewhat.
Today was Sunday. Back home, her family was probably getting ready for church, if they hadn’t gone already. The difference in time was still a puzzle she hadn’t worked out. The previous week, Isaac had conducted a short private service for just the two of them, but today he was taking her to the logging camp. It had been an adjustment being all alone so much, even though back home she’d spent quite a bit of time escaping town and riding China through the farmer’s fields. But it was different not to see anyone at all—except for Isaac, of course—and his father, who occasionally stopped by to check in on her. Mr. Jessup—or Sam, as he liked her to call him—was a nice man. He made her laugh.
While preparing breakfast, she stole glances at the potato-sack curtain serving as a door to Isaac’s room. She heard water swishing and the sound of metal tapping against ceramic, telling her he was shaving.
He’d left his big black Bible open on the table this morning. Having spent the last week with him, she was starting to learn his routine. He’d get up before dawn to read the Bible. After that, he’d go out to the barn to milk the goat. While he was gone, she’d start on breakfast and eagerly read from the Good Book, knowing he’d return any moment to set the milk bucket next to the basin. She’d never had her own Bible. Papa had jealously guarded the family Bible, preferring to choose the passages he wanted to preach to them each evening before dinner. So it was a treat to read it herself every morning. After Isaac returned with the milk, he usually took his Bible back to his room, emerging moments later ready for breakfast and a day’s work at the logging site.
This morning, she’d joined him in the barn to help with the milking, and she’d been glad to find the Bible still out on the table when she returned to the kitchen. Maybe she could read a little while she waited for her flapjacks to cook through.
He’d marked a passage with a scrap of paper, and she read the words, “To obey is better than sacrifice...”
With a frown, she pushed back a strand of hair hanging in her eyes and tucked it into the knot at the top of her head. Of course. What else would a man be reading who was chafing against his duty?
And right now his marriage to her was Isaac’s duty.
Becky pursed her lips thoughtfully as she flipped the flapjacks to brown the other side, determining as she did so to make the best of things. At least this morning they’d be spending the whole morning together, she realized with a hopeful little smile.
What was a logging camp like? She had nothing in her experience to form a picture of the place. A giddy feeling quickened her heartbeat at the opportunity to venture past the confines of the cabin and its immediate surroundings. Except for the times she went out hunting, she generally kept to her promise to stay close to the cabin, not wanting to risk another run-in with a grizzly.
Though she’d been tempted to explore beyond the stream many times, Isaac’s warning to her every morning to stay near the cabin reinforced her commitment to her promise. She couldn’t very well nod at him and go off and do exactly the opposite of what he asked. Her conscience bothered her enough as it was for riding off on Siren to hunt fresh game, but as long as she was careful, and as long as Isaac gave his father the credit, she didn’t see the harm in it. They’d run out of venison sausages several days ago, and—at least this way—she could keep those wretched beans in the sack.
All her thoughts fled as Isaac pushed through the curtain and walked toward her. He certainly looked handsome with his face freshly scrubbed and shaven, his skin smooth-looking and tanned from hours in the mountain sunshine. The ends of his damp hair curled against his neck. As he stopped beside her, she felt small and delicate—an unfamiliar feeling that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
“We need to eat quick-like in order to get up to the service on time.”
She nodded. Reaching for his Bible, Isaac paused a moment, moved his scrap of paper back into position, and looked at her, a question in his dark brown eyes.
Her heart fluttered. “Would you like milk in your coffee?” she asked quickly to distract him, even though she knew he liked it black. She wasn’t sure, but based on how her father felt about his Bible, she didn’t want Isaac to know she’d been reading his every morning.
“No, thanks.” He closed his Bible and rubbed a loving hand over the worn leather binding.
They ate their meal in silence. As Becky washed the dishes, Isaac helped dry them with a kitchen towel. Sharing the simple task with the man at her side gave Becky a warm feeling of belonging she hadn’t felt in years, maybe not since Jack had left for the war. Holding the feeling close, she excused herself and ran to her room to replace her hooped crinoline for a trio of ruffled cotton petticoats. The effect wasn’t nearly as dramatic without the crinoline, but she could hardly ride a horse in the stiff monstrosity. She exchanged her slippers for a pair of practical half boots, tied her bonnet tightly under her chin, and buttoned up her warm, navy-blue wool cape.
With a flutter of excitement in her stomach, she hurried back to the main room to join Isaac for their trip to the logging camp.
FOURTEEN
Isaac watched with growing concern as Rebecca sat her mount beside him. The mare was too spirited by half, but Rebecca had told him she rode sidesaddle, and this mare had been the only sidesaddle-trained mount available. A more placid horse would have suited her better, he felt, but he hadn’t had any other options. At least Rebecca seemed to like Siren well enough. In fact, she’d seemed quite touched that he’d bought her a horse. Unfortunately, she didn’t appear entirely comfortable riding. That was too bad. He would have liked to take her riding through the mountain paths. Maybe he could teach her to ride astride? She’d likely be shocked if he mentioned the idea, he was sure, but her balance would improve greatly.
That is, if she stayed here much longer.
Lord, he prayed, what direction do you want me to go here? I feel so confused. Do you want me to keep Rebecca here and make her my wife in truth? His stomach did that funny little knotting thing at the idea. Or should I ask her if she wants to return to Massachusetts to mend things with this Jack fellow?
It was a terrible thought, one that filled him with dread.
You’re a coward, Isaac told himse
lf with a deep sigh. He couldn’t even bring up the subject of Jack with the woman. He should ask her to tell him more about the man and why she’d come here instead of staying with him. Had the man died in the war? She hadn’t spoken of him in the past tense, but sometimes people slipped and spoke of the dead as if they were still living. He remembered doing that after his own mother had died. Glancing over at Rebecca concentrating so hard to keep upright in the saddle, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words: Tell me about Jack. Just thinking of saying it aloud gave him a serious case of heartburn.
His attention turned to the trail. They’d be at the logging camp soon. What would she think of it?
Why did he care?
He tried to picture the camp in his mind, tried to see it through a woman’s eyes. A city woman’s eyes. Logging was his life. He’d poured drops of his own blood into this soil, trying to build a successful business. He had a ways to go yet, but his dream was taking shape before him every day. Though his peers scorned his tactics, he refused to clear huge swaths of trees, preferring to thin out small areas and then moving on to the next. This made the work longer and less profitable, but left the mountain’s beauty more or less intact.
His investments in the mills down in Teekalet were likely to reap benefits in the not-too-distant future. He liked to think things were going well enough. He straightened a little in his saddle.
It didn’t matter what Rebecca thought. Sure, it would be nice to see her face light up with admiration at what he’d accomplished, but in the end it only mattered what he thought, and not anyone else. At least that was what he told himself.
***
As they broke through the stand of thick, tall trees into a clearing, Becky brought Siren to a halt and stared around at what looked to be a neighborhood of tents and several long rectangular log cabins, set amid huge tree stumps, impressive in their own right. Some of the trunks looked wide enough to be the floor of an entire house, or a good-sized room at least. It was really quite amazing to see. She never would have imagined such a thing.
Isaac reined his horse in and looked back at her. He was staring at her so intently, as if he expected some response from her.
“It’s quite a place.” This didn’t seem to be exactly what he wanted to hear, but he gave a slight smile, and jerked his head toward the largest log cabin.
“Worship is over there in the cookhouse.” He kicked his horse into a slow walk over to the building. After dismounting and tethering his bay to a post, he tethered Siren too and turned to help Becky down. She couldn’t seem to find her balance sitting today in the awkward sidesaddle position, especially with her skirt and voluminous petticoats bunched up under her. So it was a relief to have her feet planted firmly on the ground. She enjoyed the brief sensation of being in Isaac’s arms before he released her and turned to open the cookhouse door.
Inside proved to be a long spare room with two columns of simple wood-plank tables and benches. The windows along each wall helped illuminate the room with bright spring sunshine, but the air seemed old and thin, possibly due to the number of loggers already packed onto the benches. They all seemed to turn as one man, gawking at her with unabashed curiosity. There wasn’t another woman in the building, but then she remembered Mrs. Pearson saying as much.
Becky felt much like a rare beetle on a pin being twirled about for a group of entomologists. Except the entomologists in this instance were big burly men with suspenders and beards. They also looked a little hungry, as if they hadn’t had breakfast yet. Either that or they were interested in her as a woman. She edged closer to Isaac, felt his hand at the small of her back, warming her in a way, as if he’d claimed her. That alone gave confidence to her faltering steps. Her chin lifted higher, and her lips relaxed into a more natural smile.
Isaac led her past the staring eyes to the other end of the room near a makeshift podium. She sat on the bench next to Sam, who grinned widely at her.
“Glad to see you, gal. Son.” He nodded first to Becky then to Isaac.
“Pop.” Isaac nodded back and took his place next to Becky, his big black leather Bible balanced on his knees.
“Good morning, Sam,” Becky greeted her father-in-law, admiring his slicked-back white hair, tied at his neck with a leather cord as usual, but seemingly with greater care today. His silvery-blue eyes scanned hers for an instant, leaving her feeling slightly exposed again, but in a different way, for his eyes were kind and his half grin contagious. She smiled.
“My son been treating you right, gal?” He whispered loudly enough for Isaac to hear, and his son scowled at him.
Becky noticed how Isaac shot a quick glance at her as though waiting for her reply.
“Just fine, Sam. Thank you.” She couldn’t very well tell him she hardly ever saw her new husband. Couldn’t tell him Isaac slept in the other room. How could she? It would be nice to open up about the state of her life and marriage with someone. Another woman preferably—ideally her mother—but Sam actually looked like the sort of person you could say such a thing to and not get an offended reaction. Just not now, of course.
Becky glanced down at her white-gloved hands and loosened her grip on her reticule when she noticed how tightly she was grasping the bag.
“Preacher here yet?” Isaac leaned forward to address his father.
“Saw him out and about trying to rustle up a few more pew warmers.”
“Pew warmers?” Becky couldn’t resist a little chuckle at his description.
“Well, if you have to drag ’em here they’re not doing much more than warming the bench, I say.”
“Now, Pop,” Isaac protested, “some folks just need a little more encouragement.”
“I reckon.”
Their exchange was interrupted when a man shuffled up front with a stiff, sort of running gait Becky was coming to associate with the loggers who took the logs down the Skid Road to the mill. She sometimes saw them in the distance while she was hunting. This man’s face stirred up a blurry memory of her wedding day, and she recognized him as the preacher who’d performed the ceremony.
He conducted a brief lesson, complete with a solemn communion, led them in some hearty, somewhat rowdy hymns, and then called on Isaac to read a scripture.
Becky watched with interest as Isaac stood and strode to the podium to replace the logger-preacher. He opened up his unwieldy Bible, found his place, then read with a forceful voice, “The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples made by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else... He determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live.” He stared out across the room of attentive faces. His eyes seemed to bore into each man.
Silence stilled the room. Not a logger coughed. No one wiggled or even scratched.
He continued in a softer voice, “God did this so that men would seek him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. ‘For in him we live and move and have our being.’ As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are his offspring.’” His words reverberated in the quiet of the room.
Becky desperately tried to remember each word. It wasn’t the passage she’d expected him to read. Though she felt certain the message could change her very life, she wasn’t able to grasp it at that moment.
Isaac’s face split into a wide smile, and the whole room seemed to take a breath as he returned to his seat. The preacher took his place at the podium to thank Isaac and to close the service with another round of energetic singing and a prayer.
Meanwhile, Becky’s gaze slipped again and again to Isaac’s profile, assessing him anew. She felt the respect his men had for him. A sense of wifely pride filled her. Her first impressions of him being a good man took on renewed weight.
After the last song, the men hanging near the door deserted the room rather quickly, but the others milled around talking and laughing. Becky felt odd to be the only woman in the
room, so she kept to Isaac’s side, waiting for his cue as to what they would do next.
He turned to his father. “I wanted to thank you properly for the game, Pop.”
Becky’s stomach clenched. She darted a quick glance at Sam’s rather bemused face. “Yes, thank you, Sam.” She pleaded silently with her eyes for her father-in-law to play along with her.
“It was nothing.” His cryptic reply didn’t give her secret away and seemed to satisfy Isaac for the moment for he looked away, as if searching for someone. Sam’s brows lifted slightly at her, his eyes curious, and Becky sensed he’d return to the subject the first chance he got.
“Brody, there you are.” Isaac’s greeting served to turn Sam’s attention from Becky to the burly red-haired man charging toward them, and she felt a momentary sense of relief.
“Well, if it ain’t the lovebirds.” The loud booming voice was unmistakable. She immediately placed him as the man who’d inadvertently revealed Isaac’s reason for marrying her in the first place.
Becky’s memories of that moment drained the joy from the worship service and replaced it with sober reality. Isaac had married her out of a sense of duty to his father. She was nothing more to him than an obligation.
“Been seeing too much of you lately, Jessup, working like a man possessed. Ain’t tired of your new wife already are you?” Brody laughed.
Becky saw Isaac’s strained smile, and it hurt her, as if he’d come right out and said he didn’t want her. His actions had said as much when he’d left the marriage bed after one night. The air seemed suddenly staler, the press of bodies stifling. The room rocked and swayed like an all-too-familiar ship cabin. Becky had to get outside and see the sun—breathe in some crisp mountain air.
The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1) Page 10
