Lilacs for Juliana (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 3)

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Hope sprang up. Even a five percent difference would help with overhead costs. “Ma’am?” He’d not thought to remove his Frenchman’s cap, but pulled it off now and clutched it to his chest.

  “My husband is a bit distracted because…” She stood up on tiptoe and cupped her hands around her mouth. He bent down to hear her whispered words. “James Yost, the famous beer baron from Milwaukee, was just here in our store!”

  She straightened, her eyes bright.

  “You don’t say?” Not that Richard had heard of Yost. He didn’t drink spirits, and truth be told, he’d rather read a novel than the newspaper. But his gaze suddenly settled on the large sign near the beer bottles, which clearly showed the man’s name in huge fancy lettering. “I can see where having a man of such importance in his store might fluster Mr. Labron, ma’am.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh my, and now I’m flustered, too—you must be Bon Jean!”

  He stiffened then laughed. “You mean I was Bon Jean at the library. Did you get to watch?”

  She motioned to a tawny haired boy. The youngster had been one of the boys sitting on the fringe of the group; well-dressed and obviously not an orphan. “Matthew, son, come over here.”

  “Ma’am, please don’t embarrass him. My name is Richard Christy and I’m the new camp boss out near Grand Corners.”

  She ceased gesturing and her red-faced son scurried toward his father, who was animatedly gesturing to the beer display and his signs.

  “He said you really surprised Juliana Beauchamps, the head librarian. She’s a good friend of mine.” She pulled a notepad from her apron and a short pencil. “Now let me see if I can help you out. Here’s the quote for food for sixty men. Just realize that most of it will be tinned and we only have fresh during the season.”

  Taking the paper, he exhaled in relief. This figure was close to Pa’s numbers from Mackinaw City. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Oh, and I’ll include canned fruit with that when it is out of season. We possess a great many ladies in town who supply us with their jarred fruit. In fact, the Beauchamps provide those lovely preserves behind you.” She pointed to a display of Mason jars filled with jams and jellies. “And they have recently inquired about providing baked goods to the camps, too.”

  “I’ll have camp cooks for baked goods, ma’am, but I thank you kindly.”

  “Well, you haven’t tasted a true northern cinnamon roll until you’ve had one of Mrs. Beauchamps’.” Mrs. Labron had a pleasant voice with a musical quality to it. Richard could see where she’d be a wonderful help to her husband.

  “Beauchamps a large family?”

  “Oh yes, there are over a dozen.” Mrs. Labron’s features suddenly bunched. “That is, there were, but now just the three women still live here.”

  By themselves? Was the woman widowed? She must be. He needed to change the topic. “Well, I sure hope we’ll see some of those jellies in our orders.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt that you’ll have all you need.” She chuckled and gave him a sly smile.

  What was that supposed to mean? Women—who could figure them out?

  Labrons’ male patrons clustered in a circle outside the store, smoking and chattering animatedly when Juliana had entered. The men were probably chased out when her friend caught them puffing away inside the mercantile. Juliana fled the smoke and the chill breeze from the lake and hurried into her friend’s store where she soon found Janet straightening a display of women’s nightgowns. Janet Labron never looked a day older, whereas Juliana…Well, she didn’t want to think about how her dark clothing accentuated the circles under her eyes. Her black and navy blue clothing conveyed that she was a professional woman with authority and not a child, like some early patrons had thought when she’d come to work attired in pastel dresses.

  “I need some fabulous cloth—something sumptuous, like a light velvet or a heavy satin. Do you have new material in stock for the summer residents, but suitable for me?” Her words tripped over themselves. This would be her first time attending the Lumberjacks’ Ball and she wanted to look perfect. Now to get Bon Jean, rather Richard Christy, to ask her.

  Janet blew out a puff of breath. “I’m so sorry, Juliana—but we haven’t gotten our newest shipment of fabrics in yet. We’re not gearing up for the Lumberjacks’ Ball, or the tourists, until another month.”

  Her old friend likely didn’t remember how long it took for a dress to be made. Janet had both the luxury of being an average size woman and the ability to choose whatever ready-to-wear items she wished to have. “I don’t have much time to myself for stitching, much less looking…”

  Janet hooked her arm through Juliana’s and pulled her toward the display of threads, buttons, and lace. “Matthew came home from the library all excited because he said you’d invited Bon Jean to come speak. Tell me all about it.”

  Stepping back, Juliana waved her friend away. “I don’t need rumors started.”

  The pretty store proprietress frowned. “About what?”

  She chewed the inside of her lower lip. “Nothing.”

  “A mysterious stranger—and you need a new dress for the Lumberjacks’ Ball.” Janet clasped her hands together, her long blonde braid bouncing on her shoulder. “Sounds interesting.”

  “Shhh!” Juliana eyed the other customers—Mrs. Pickleman picking out tinned goods, Mr. Nelson chatting with Mr. Labron, and Gertrude Parker gently touching a baptismal gown.

  “Is that old Hatchens really trying to add a requirement that the librarians not marry?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what Charles told me. He attended the board meeting last night.”

  Juliana ground her teeth together.

  “Don’t worry—he’s just a windbag.”

  “Charles or Mr. Hatchens?”

  Janet playfully slapped at Juliana’s shoulder. “Oh, you.”

  “Well, I better go.” No need staying and hearing any more unpleasant news.

  “Come back in a couple of weeks for the new fabric.”

  It would be too late then. “We’ll see.”

  “I agree you need something new.” Janet grinned. “It’s about time you ceased this silly habit of dressing entirely in black. You remind me of a little blackbird, or worse yet, a crow.”

  “A crow?” Juliana feigned offense but couldn’t help laughing. “Caw! Caw!” She opened her black wool-covered arms and waved her black rectangular pocket book. She stomped her heavy leather boots. First Sister Mary Lou and now Janet—both of her friends trying to reform her.

  Laughing, Janet leaned in. “Trust me, you’ll not put any fear in the heart of Hatchens with that performance.”

  “Oh, pooh. I suspect you’re right.” So much for thinking the dark clothes made her appear more formidable.

  “You better go. He’s probably down there shivering by the library’s back door, waiting your inevitable late return.”

  “Probably.”

  Janet raised her index finger. “But before the fair librarian departs, methinks she must hear of the town square news.”

  “Oh?” The men were obviously enthused about something.

  “Who do you want to hear about—the beer baron or Bon Jean?”

  Her hands began to tremble and she clutched her purse tighter. “As I don’t know any beer barons, I’ll pick the latter.”

  “Good choice!” Dimples formed in Janet’s pretty face. “First of all, his name is Richard Christy.”

  Juliana nodded. She knew that. She resisted looking up at the clock. “Yes?”

  “And I believe he’ll be buying all his tinned and canned goods from us.” Janet clapped her hands together.

  “Excellent.”

  “Also, I believe he’s anticipating tasting some of the wonderful Beauchamps jellies and jams we offer here.” She giggled, and from that sly look, Juliana knew her friend had done or said something.

  “What did you do?”

  “Me? Nothing. But he was very interested
when I pointed them out to him.”

  She sighed. “As are most men—they all have stomachs, don’t they?”

  Janet waggled her eyebrows. “But how many men stare at the local librarian like she’s the jam?”

  “Janet Labron!” Beyond them Mrs. Parker glared. Had she heard? Or was she over there thinking of something snide she might say to Juliana about Aleksanteri? He’d been the former-teacher’s favorite pupil.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Parker moved away from them, toward the cast iron skillets.

  Janet leaned in. “Matthew said he looked like he could just eat you right up with a spoon.”

  “He did not!”

  She shrugged. “No, but he did say he was watching you the whole time.”

  Juliana shook her head but she hoped it was true—and that soon she’d be the belle of the ball at the dance.

  After they hugged, Juliana headed toward the door, trying to resist the lure of the peppermint sticks. The children loved them so much. When she broke the candy into tiny pieces there always seemed enough to go around—like the fishes and the loaves.

  Janet had returned to the sewing notions, and from the counter, Charles motioned her over. He was ringing up Mr. Gustafson’s purchases of sardines, rye crackers, and a jar of Momma’s spiced apples, which appeared to be the railroadman’s lunch. Juliana was glad she had her own ham sandwich waiting for her to eat before she went back on the clock.

  “You’re not leaving without these, are you?” He reached beneath the sturdy oak counter and brought up a paper bag and handed it to her. “I heard what you’ve been doing with all those sweets you buy.”

  She peered inside the hefty bag. “Thank you.” At least a dozen of the long sticks filled the satchel. “God bless you, Charles, you’re a good man.”

  He jerked a thumb toward his wife. “Just keep telling her that, all right?”

  She laughed and headed out to the street, a gust of cold air blasting her face—the one unprotected part on her body. Juliana pulled her ebony scarf up around her cheeks, the knit garment nearly the same color as Mr. Christy’s dark eyes. She drew in a frosty breath and marched on.

  Carefully, she avoided the icy spots on the walkway and made her way down the street to the new mercantile. They had very little merchandise but just maybe… As she opened the heavy door to the town’s newest store, she was greeted by the scent of varnish and new wood. She spied a severely dressed young woman unrolling a bolt of dusky pink-red moiré satin, the end draped over her shoulder. The fabric was perfection. She watched as the woman rolled it back up. Maybe she should wait for Janet to get her stock, but this was so beautiful.

  Making a decision, she stepped forward. “Could I…that is…the fabric you just put up—is it claimed?” Her boot heels clicked across the wood floor as she joined the woman at the counter and removed her gloves. She gently touched the raspberry-colored fabric. “It’s so pretty. And I need a new gown made up for me. They don’t have anything like this at Labrons.”

  “Take off your hat.” This must be Rebecca Hart, the new proprietress, who smiled and pointed to the nearby wooden rack. “Let’s see how this color goes with your hair.”

  “Oh.” She patted the unruly dark curls framing her face and then removed her cap. “I’m afraid I usually pin my hair up, so you won’t see it well.”

  But wouldn’t Bon Jean, or rather Mr. Christy, like to see her hair down? The store owner had a lovely face but with her hair pulled back so tightly and her clothes so drab, she reminded Juliana of a dove. What was the pensive woman mourning?

  “I’m wanting a new dress for the Lumberjacks’ Ball.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve heard about that. So you’ve already been invited?”

  Heat seared her cheeks. Miss Hart was certainly direct. But it had been Juliana’s experience that such women were often more trustworthy. “Not yet, but I’m praying Mr. Christy will invite me.”

  “Mr. Christy?” Miss Hart blinked rapidly. “Oh, I see. Well, he’s a very nice man.”

  “I know.” She smiled, remembering his kindness to the children. “I’m Juliana Beauchamps, the librarian.”

  “Oh. Nice to meet you, Juliana. I’m Rebecca Hart, the proprietress of this mercantile.” A frown worked between the woman’s brows. What troubled her?

  “You should come down to the library and get signed in as a patron. We have many good titles, despite our location.”

  One of the orphans, Amelia, entered, and Juliana gave her a tiny wave. “Morning! How are you doing today?” She bobbed a curtsey. After Amelia had hung her coat up, she returned and unrolled the rosy satin and stretched it over Juliana’s shoulders. “Doesn’t this color look lovely on Miss Beauchamps?”

  The proprietress seemed to have lost her tongue. What on earth was the matter with Miss Hart?

  “Rebecca, are you all right?” Might as well be as direct with the woman as she was with her.

  “Yes.” She offered a tight smile. “Have you met Amelia? She’s my new helper.”

  “Indeed, the children from the orphanage come regularly to pick out the books they wish to read. And Amy likes Louisa May Alcott’s books best, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And the fashion books, too. Am I right?” Juliana smiled at the girl, who would soon be her own height.

  Together, they examined all the new fabrics, oohing and aahing over the lovely selection.

  Amelia suddenly touched Juliana’s upswept hair. “I bet your hair is as pretty as my mother’s if you’d let it down and curl it.”

  In a flash, the orphan removed two large pins, and Juliana’s hair fell to her waist in a mass of curls. Oh no, now she’d have to put it back up and she’d be even later.

  A burst of frigid air entered the establishment and with it came a broad-shouldered man, whose gaze fixed determinedly on Miss Hart. He was almost as handsome as Bon Jean.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  “Good day, Mr. Christy.” Miss Hart’s harsh tone suggested it was anything but a good day.

  So here was another Christy. She took him in. Yes. Same dark hair and eyes, but this man was perhaps a half foot shorter maybe less. Bon Jean seemed to fill up the room. But this man looked like he could wrestle a black bear and win. “Mr. Christy? Are you related to the other Mr. Christy?” With his smooth cheeks and unlined complexion he must be the younger brother.

  She stretched up on tiptoe and held her hands high. “Even taller than you?”

  He removed his coat and hung it next to Amelia’s.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m his…” His low voice rumbled, obscuring his next few words, then said, “brother.”

  Rebecca frowned.

  Juliana cocked her head, unsure of what his mumbled word meant—but by the way he smiled and Amelia laughed, it was supposed to be funny.

  “Just a joke.” He mumbled something that sounded like, “my brother.”

  “He’s here, too?” Miss Hart’s voice came out a whisper.

  Juliana almost sighed aloud, thinking about how Bon Jean, or rather Mr. Christy, this man’s elder brother, had entertained the children. Anyone who cared about orphans like he did must have a huge heart to match his height. For the first time since Aleksanteri had abandoned her, she found herself wanting to spend time with a man. How she’d missed dancing. She had to get him to ask her to the Lumberjacks’ Ball. “I met him at the library just this morning.” Oh heavens—only this morning? Had she lost her mind? Or heart? And so quickly!

  “This morning?” Both he and Rebecca uttered the words simultaneously.

  Did they know what she was thinking? About how handsome and kind the older brother, Richard, was? She had to get going. She tugged at her collar. “Yes, well, I really have to get back to the library. I just wanted to look at some fabric for a dress.”

  “She’s making a dress for—”

  “Amelia!” Rebecca thankfully interrupted the child’s sentence.

  Juliana held her breath.

  In
a moment, Miss Hart accompanied Richard’s younger brother to the back, where he was to work on some cabinets. It seemed rather sad that his brother was setting up camp all by himself and hadn’t even asked his younger one to help. Perhaps Bon Jean wasn’t as fond of family as she’d hoped. She’d find out. Because he would take her to the ball, one way or another. He had to—or her head and her heart wouldn’t give her any peace.

  What about God, a tiny voice nagged. Juliana gritted her teeth. She still attended church. She still said her prayers. And she still believed. Wasn’t that enough? Why should she consult God about romance? Look what had happened with Alek—the man she thought God wanted her to wed.

  Chapter 2

  If his brother, Moose, hadn’t custom-made him a tall dining chair, Richard would be seated on a chaise—with his knees practically hitting his chest. But they’d hauled the big oak chair into the fancy wallpapered parlor in the inn that morning so Richard could interview camp cook applicants.

  A squat woman with beady dark eyes sat across from him. “I can’t believe you’re asking for a reference for a camp cook job.” She pursed her lips.

  “Yes’m, seems to me that shouldn’t be too hard with yer good cookin’ here.” He took a bite of a peanut butter cookie that she’d brought, careful not to chip a tooth on the stale thing. Good thing he gave her the compliment before he took a bite of the thing she passed off as a cookie. It had looked good. But he wouldn’t want to lie. He had no intention of hiring her and needed to wrap this talk up.

  “You’re a smart man and exactly right, Mr. Christy—my bakery goods speak for themselves.”

  “Yes’m, they sure do.” He rose and indicated for her to do the same. “Do ya mind sendin’ the next lady in?”

  “Do I have the job?” Her shrill voice made him clench his teeth.

  “I’ll decide after I’ve finished talkin’ with all the ladies, ma’am.”

  She harrumphed and headed out of the parlor, straight past the bench on which several other women perched. Richard exhaled and strode out to call in the next applicant. He had to hire an excellent crew as he was down three cooks, all of them known as being the best in the camps downstate. He had a reputation to keep up for the Christy Lumber Camp if he wanted to keep his lumberjacks up above the straits of Mackinac.