When he had finally finished, Cordelia stepped into the parlor. She looked at him almost a full minute before they both started to laugh. “That was quite an interesting group, wasn’t it?”
“Never seen anything like it, Miss Cordelia.” He scratched his cheek, beneath his beard. “Right unusual clothing they wore.”
She raised one eyebrow at him. “Well, let’s have some lunch and make a new plan.”
The front door to the inn opened and then groaned shut. Within a minute, the sheriff entered. “What did you think of my ladies? Glad I let them out?”
“What?” Richard barked out the words and the lawman raised a hand.
“Just trying to help out. Heard you needed help and those women could use another profession.”
“Sheriff Edwards,” Cordelia stomped a foot. “Are you telling me you sent women of ill repute into my inn?”
“No, I never said that.” The man grinned.
Richard shook his head. “If it keeps on goin’ like this I reckon I’ll have to run over to Newberry and see who I can find there.”
Cordelia continued to glare at Edwards.
“I’m thinkin’ yer not gonna get a lunch invite today, Sheriff.” Richard tore his notes in half and was about to toss them in the waste bin when Cordelia took them from him.
“I came here to ask if you had noticed anything unusual out near your camp, Richard.”
Prickles raced up his spine. “Not sure, but somethin’ ain’t right out there.”
“Seen anything of your neighbor?”
“Nope, he seems to be keepin’ to his cabin.”
“Mrs. Beauchamps says she’s had some of her eggs stolen recently but it could be animals getting in. Don’t say anything to that librarian friend of yours, though, because her mother is keeping that under her hat for now—says Juliana has enough to concern herself with.”
Such as? He wanted to ask, but refrained. “I’ve heard and seen deer and an occasional bobcat, and there’s been something…” or was it someone? “…in the woods at night.”
Cordelia took his arm. “Please stay in town with us until more of the camp moves up.”
“Might be a good idea if you keep to town for now.” The sheriff waggled his eyebrows. “Rumor has it you’re a regular patron at our library. I’m sure Miss Juliana wouldn’t object, either.”
Heat crept up Richard’s neck. He dare not say anything smart back to the sheriff so he held his tongue. Yes, he had gone to the library every time he was in town and always he’d talked with Juliana, and she’d taken his focus off finding the help he needed for the new lumber camp.
Sheriff Edwards tipped his hat. “Good day.”
Cordelia followed the man out into the hallway, waving her hand before her face. “Goodness that cheap perfume stinks.”
The lawman laughed. “Thought you wanted more folks coming to the inn, Cordelia.”
As he exited the front door, she called after him, “Goodbye, Sheriff, and please don’t continue that type of favor—we don’t need it.”
Richard stood and stretched to his full height, admiring the coffered ceiling overhead.
Ox strode in from the back, carrying with him the scent of turpentine and wood. “Quite the little parade ya had today, brother.”
The inn owner splayed her hand outward. “Don’t even start with him. It’s all the sheriff’s fault.”
Ox shrugged. “Rebecca made you a new sign to advertise for camp cooks, with bigger letters, and put it in her front window.”
“Please tell her thanks for me.” Ox was clearly smitten with Rebecca Jane but Richard withheld a teasing comment.
“Young man, you shall convey that message yourself, as you shall be staying right here.” Hard to believe this handsome woman would soon be his sister’s mother-in-law, when Jo married Tom Jeffries.
Ox chuckled. “My little brother is gonna be camp boss soon, Mrs. Jeffries. I can’t wait for ya to talk to him like that in front of a lumberjack crew.”
“No different than Ma did.” Richard sighed. “And, yes ma’am, I’ll thank Rebecca proper-like when I see her.”
After lunch with Cordelia and Ox, Richard headed to the library. This time he would get a book and not be distracted by a pair of big blue eyes. Heck, the way the sheriff acted, ya’d think he only went there to take a gander at Juliana Beauchamps. Knowing which book he wanted, Richard went straight to the shelf and tucked a copy of Horatio Alger’s Ragged Dick under his arm and headed toward the librarian’s desk. He let out a little whoosh of air when Gracie, the assistant, grinned at him—Miss Beauchamps was nowhere in sight. Although he should be relieved, loneliness tugged at him. He strode forward and slid his book onto the counter just as a dark head bobbed up from behind the counter.
“Oh, Mr. Christy, so good to see you!” Her breathy voice seemed to suck the air from the room. He froze.
“You, too.” He needed to get outta there right quick. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have gone to all the newspapers and put new ads in them. No time for a lady friend to distract him from his mission, which was to get Pa’s new lumber camp set up. No—not Pa’s—his new lumber camp.
The dark topknot on Miss Beauchamps head bobbed up and down—was she bouncing on her toes? She must be. From the advantage of his height he peered over and sure enough, she was.
He straightened. Who was he fooling? If he wanted to place those ads he’d have gone right after lunch instead of over here to the library. What was he going to do about his fascination with this perky little lady?
“Isn’t the weather improving?” The librarian blinked up at him.
“Yes’m. I ‘spect it’ll be right pretty for Easter Sunday.”
“Oh, I do love Easter. It means the lilacs will soon be in bloom.”
Easter. Lilacs? He’d never made the association. Weren’t that many downstate in the last town. “There many of them kinda flowers up here?” They made him ill.
“Oh, yes. The French brought them here centuries ago.”
As was he, but how that related to anything he didn’t know. His mouth went dry. “Um, yes’m, if ya say so.”
“And as you can probably tell, I’m of French descent.” Again, she blinked up at him, those dark blue eyes contrasting with her pale skin and thick, dark hair. Why she was more lovely than any flower he’d ever seen? “And I’m Irish, too.”
“Me, too—Irish that is. Maybe French, too. Don’t rightly know.” He scratched his head.
She scanned the cluttered desk before her. “Now where is my fountain pen?”
He pointed to it, right in front of her, and she blushed, making her look even lovelier. “Are you looking forward to Spring, Mr. Christy?”
“Yes’m, I’m looking forward to going to church on Easter.” Now why had he said that? Of course he was. For once he’d be able to sit in a pew instead of on a stump or in the cook shack as a borrowed parson spoke to the lumberjacks.
Would he need new clothing? Shucks, that was one more expense he’d have to enter in the ledger. Didn’t need his older sister Jo yelling at him. What clothes could he wear?
“Ahem.”
Miss Beauchamps held the nib of her fountain pen over her cut glass inkwell and gazed expectantly at him. Her eyes widened and she beamed up at him. What had he said? “Should I record your borrow of this notable children’s book, Mr. Bon Jean?”
He blinked at her. “I ain’t Bon Jean.” She didn’t have to point out that it was a children’s book he borrowed.
Her lips pulled into an adorable pouty smile, flummoxing him further. “I was just teasing—I know your name is Mr. Richard Christy, but I was hoping you might like to share some excerpts from the book as Bon Jean. Would you come again for the orphan’s reading group today?”
Before he could reply, Mr. Hatchens appeared from behind a nearby row of books, the nonfiction section devoted to business. “Miss Beauchamps!”
The little lady jumped nearly a foot off the ground and Richard fixed
the man with a gaze that he hoped would reflect his aggravation at the interruption.
“Here you go, Mr. Christy.” The librarian gave him a curt nod and crooked her finger at the lady behind him, who clutched a stack of books to her chest.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said to the woman as he turned to leave. “Woulda gotten out of your way, if I’d known you were there.”
“It’s all right. I was young once, too.” She gave him a motherly smile which should have warmed him, but instead sent a pain through his heart.
“Yes’m. You have a nice afternoon.” What would Ma have said if she’d found him loitering at the library when he should be setting up the new camp?
He turned to leave, but catching Hatchens glaring at Miss Beauchamps, Richard pointed to the sign behind him and spoke to the interfering trustee. “Sir, I reckon ya might not know, but only employees of the library are allowed back there.”
“I’ll have you know…” Hatchens’ beady eyes narrowed behind his wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
Richard raised his hand. “Yeah, yer a board member, but ya ain’t an employee, are ya? So git on out of there before I offer ya an escort.”
Behind him someone laughed but Richard kept focused on the trustee.
“How dare you lecture me, when you are up here distracting this employee?” As Hatchens’ jabbed a finger at Richard, spittle flecked the ornery man’s cheeks.
Grabbing the man’s index finger, Richard pressed it down to the counter and leaned in until they were almost eye-to-eye. “Mr. Hatchens, I’m a patient man. Let me explain once for ya. I…borrowed…a children’s…book…which I intend to read to the orphans in this library for a trustee-approved program. So I had legitimate business talking with the librarian—unlike you.” That wasn’t exactly true two minutes ago, but it was now.
The chuckle stopped and someone tapped Richard on the shoulder. A well-dressed gent winked at him and stepped past him to the counter and extended his hand to the trustee. “Mr. Hatchens, I’m James Yost, a library board member in Milwaukee, and I believe this young man is correct—even trustees are not allowed in the librarian’s domain during work hours. Not unless the board has tasked him to do so. And as I attended last night’s board meeting, I know they did not.”
Hatchens’ face turned a mottled shade of purple and Richard expected him to begin spitting nails.
The wealthy beer baron stood straight and proud, awaiting a reply.
So this was James Yost. He wasn’t much older than Ox, maybe thirty or so. And he looked like he’d just stepped out of a fine haberdashery. Reminded Richard of one of the lumber tycoons he’d met with his Pa—a bad man who stole, cheated, and encouraged his shanty boys to take up with prostitutes, even going so far as to cart them into the camps after payday. Richard shuddered. Marvin Peevey had gone off to work in such a place and look what happened to him—almost killing Janie and then going to prison. This fellow, Yost, looked pleasant, though, and rumors in town claimed he was a donor to many charities in Wisconsin. Shouldn’t judge a man simply by his appearance—that worked both ways for the shabbily dressed and those all turned out well, like the wealthy man was.
Clenching his fists, Hatchens glared at the beer baron and then at Richard. “Well, I never…”
Shrugging, Richard tucked the Alger book under his arm.
Yost gestured to Richard. “Furthermore, as this gentleman has pointed out, when patrons are volunteering, do you truly wish to have your fair librarian drive them away?” The man’s voice took on a dreamy quality, which was probably supposed to soothe the trustee, but had the effect of setting Richard’s teeth on edge. Who was Yost, a stranger, to be commenting on Miss Beauchamps’ appearance?
A smile tugged at Miss Beauchamps’ mouth as she recorded the next patron’s borrows. Had she heard Yost? Was she flattered? A muscle in his cheek jumped. Who was he to be concerning himself with what Yost had to say to this pretty little librarian? Heck, why would she ever want to associate with a gargantuan who would make her look even tinier than she was? But she sure didn’t seem intimidated by his size. Juliana Beauchamps had spunk. And that gave him hope.
Juliana hurried into Miss Hart’s shop, greeted her, and then shared her wonderful news. At least she surmised it was good news and that an invitation had indeed been extended, albeit obliquely. She’d run this by Miss Hart, whose directness should help her clarify. “I just saw my Mr. Christy, again.”
“You did?”
“Yes, and I think he’s invited me to attend Easter service with him.” She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of sawdust, which still dusted the floor.
“Oh.”
“At least I think he asked me. He stopped by the library to get a book. Then he said he was looking forward to going to church on Easter. Then he gazed right at me for what seemed like a full minute.”
“And what did you say to him?”
“I couldn’t say anything, my supervisor came up and librarians are not allowed to be having private conversations with the clients.” She’d not tell her how Richard stood up for her. That was something that tonight, in the privacy of her bedchamber, she’d relive in detail. “Particularly not single librarians and unmarried, young men.”
Rebecca’s facial muscles tugged as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
Easter was coming soon. “So now I need to have my dress made up sooner. I need something really special.”
“I hear Labrons’ Store has a good selection.”
That’s where Juliana should have gone during her break. After all, Janet had told her that her new fabrics would be coming in. And they’d begun carrying some ready-to-wear clothing, too, but most was sized for someone of average height, even though Juliana had complained to her friend to acquire some shorter garments for her store.
One of her most attentive library patrons, Amelia, joined Rebecca and Juliana. “Might I go to the library, Miss Beauchamps?”
“If Miss Hart agrees.” Juliana brushed a stray curl from the girl’s forehead. Poor thing had lost her parents and was now separated from her siblings, who remained at the orphanage on Mackinac Island.
A smile tugged at Rebecca’s lips. “Certainly.”
“And I’ll ask at Labrons’, but I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of hope of finding one for my height.”
“I understand. And we can make arrangements to order some ready-to-wear that just might fit. I know a supplier from Detroit who used to send us some at my father’s shop in lower Michigan.”
“Wonderful!” Juliana departed feeling that a new beginning might be just around the corner.
When Juliana and Amelia stepped out of the building, both shivered and leaned in toward each other as a chill breeze blew in off the lake, threatening to chase her happy disposition. Across the street, railroad cars slowly rumbled out across the tracks. Overhead, huge puffs of white clouds dotted the azure sky. They stepped carefully over icy spots on the walkway. “I have some good news for you—Bon Jean is supposed to read this afternoon.”
“Bon Jean?” Amelia frowned then a grin split her tiny face. “Ah, you mean your Mr. Christy.”
Juliana froze in her tracks. Hearing the child use her own words, hearing her put it that way, sounded frighteningly silly of her. “Well, he’s not exactly my Mr. Christy.” Not yet.
“I know. But it sounded nice to say.” She laughed, not in a mean way like some of the girls at school used to do, but in a sweet way.
“I like Mr. Richard a lot, too.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” She slipped her bare hands into her shabby coat pocket. Juliana would check and see if she had an outgrown coat that might fit the child.
“Have you seen much of him?”
“Mr. Christy came to the orphanage and asked Sister Mary Lou how many children were there and how many boys and girls and their ages.”
“I see.” But she didn’t.
“He’s buying us all gloves—Mrs. Labron gave him a huge discount.”
Her heart gave a little thud beneath her heavy coat. “That is so sweet.”
“Sister Mary Lou says he’s a kind-hearted man, but I think he’s just got a great big heart because he’s so tall. What do you think?” Amelia began to giggle.
Juliana pretended to hit at the bright little girl’s shoulder. “Does that mean I have a small heart then?”
“I’ll have to research that at the library, Miss Beauchamps.”
Laughing, the scent of fresh-baked cinnamon bread drew her to the new bakery. Miss Josephine Christy’s place. “Say, do you mind if we stop by here for a minute?”
Amelia wasn’t much shorter than Juliana was and the orphan’s shoulder bumped into her arm. The child gazed up at her with wide eyes. “Can we?”
Feeling in her pocket, Juliana discerned she had at least two bits, unless her gloved hands deceived her. “Yes, and we’ll share a cookie, but don’t tell anyone.”
“Oh, I won’t. I love good secrets. It’s only the bad ones we need to tell—that’s what Sister Mary Lou says.”
Wouldn’t that be wonderful if she could buy one cookie for each child instead of breaking peppermint sticks into bite size pieces? But she had others to think of. Reality knocked at her door. But she wasn’t going to answer. Not when she could daydream all afternoon about sitting in the church pew with the Christy family.
Leaning in, Juliana whispered, “Maybe you can ask Miss Christy if she thinks Richard is kind-hearted.”
She’d just reached out to open the door when she spied the customer at the counter—Mr. Hatchens. And the clock behind Josephine Christy showed that Juliana was going to be fifteen minutes late getting back to the library. Pulling Amelia quickly past the building, she bit her lip.
“But Miss Beauchamps…”
“I have to get back to work. I’m late. I’m so sorry.” She’d be even sorrier if the trustee found out she was on an extended break. She reached into her pocket and retrieved the coin for Amelia. “You stop by on your way back to the mercantile and get yourself and Miss Hart a cookie, all right?”
Lilacs for Juliana (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 3) Page 3
