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

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Chapter 3

  Despite Cordelia’s insistence, after a few days, Richard had to return to the camp. He had work to accomplish and finally had one assistant who’d come out to work on repairs.

  “Mrs. Beauchamps told me you might need help. I’m Avery Bell and I’m a handyman and jack of all trades.” The man had told him when he showed up in camp that morning.

  “She’s right. I do.” After the debacle with the cook interviews, Richard was skeptical. “How do you know the Beauchamps?”

  “Well, I was in the same unit as her eldest son, Gerard, during the war.” The man looked to be in his late forties. Did Juliana have a brother that old? Didn’t sound right.

  “Where is he now?”

  Salt and pepper eyebrows drew together. “Buried in Virginia along with two of his younger brothers—only one came home.”

  He should have thought first before asking. “I’m sorry.” Poor Juliana. She must have been a young girl then if what this fella said was true. Probably not even born yet. Easy enough to discover if this was true.

  “I check in on Mrs. Beauchamps about once a week. She lives just yonder by the lake.” He removed his slouch hat and gestured south. “Out of all those seven sons she bore, only one lives nearby and he’s a fisherman. With a habit, if you know what I mean.” He gestured as though drinking from a bottle. “Emmett keeps to himself.”

  Might be worth a try to hire this fella. Garrett extended a hand.

  The two of them tackled the single men’s building first, which needed a lot of work.

  Later that afternoon, Sheriff Edwards rode out. He confirmed that Avery Bell had indeed served with the Michigan militia and the Beauchamps brothers. And so Bell had come on board as the first new employee at Christy Lumber Camp at Grand Crossing.

  They’d worked hard all day but the sun was sinking lower over the treetops. A chill wind kept the newly-leaved trees swaying.

  “We done for the day, boss?” Avery Bell was a good worker.

  Richard nodded as he glanced around the bunkhouse, now much closer to being safe and sound with their repairs. “We’ve gotten a lot of work done today despite the cold weather.”

  The wiry man grinned and stuck a plug of tobacco in his cheek.

  Daytime in the camp didn’t bother Richard so much but soon it would be night. “Reckon yer wife might like to feed ya some dinner.”

  “You want me back tomorrow?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “You got shotguns and all out here, too, eh?”

  Richard was a grown man and shouldn’t be afraid, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he didn’t need weapons at the ready. “I do.”

  Between his older brother, Garrett’s, and Mrs. Jeffries’ encouragement, he knew moving into town was probably the wisest thing to do.

  “Having survived the war, I can fend for myself, too, Mr. Christy, but I’m not sure I’d want to—if you get my drift. Might want to get some of your jacks who are willing to get themselves on up here soon.”

  “None so far and both my Pa and I asked.” And asked and asked.

  “Ah.” Bell gave him a little salute and then headed off to get his horse ready.

  The thing keeping him from continuing to bunk in town was the thought of encountering Miss Juliana Beauchamps daily. She didn’t scare him, not exactly, but she put him on edge. He’d never been one to compare himself—had too much of that with others comparing his height to theirs’—but now he found himself criticizing his own appearance.

  He headed to the side of his cabin and grabbed some firewood then ducked inside the door. He needed to keep focused on his job. But after setting his wood down, he stepped to the slab wood table and lifted the Milwaukee newspaper he’d picked up in town. He’d left it open to the society section.

  James Yost, one of our most prominent citizens, has departed on what is described by his social secretary as both a “business and pleasure” trip into Michigan’s eastern Upper Peninsula. His presence will be missed at our society functions here. Until he returns…

  What business did a man like Yost have around here? And what kind of pleasure was he seeking?

  Richard set the Milwaukee paper aside and settled into the rocker. He read part of a newer Sherlock Holmes book, The Sign of Four. Now every noise had him wondering what or who was out there. Even three kerosene lamps wouldn’t deter the darkness that would overcome the cabin within an hour.

  Over the sound of crackling wood, he could have sworn he’d heard women’s voices. Ma always claimed he had the best imagination of the three of them. Couldn’t be female voices he heard. The only ladies who’d come out to the camp were the handful who’d come out from town early on to see where they’d be working—and promptly returned to St. Ignace. That was one of the reasons he’d taken to interviewing in town.

  Someone rapped at the door and Richard jumped up, threw off the quilt covering his lap, and reached for his shotgun.

  “Mr. Christy! It’s the Beauchamps.” Was that giggling he heard?

  He sucked in a deep breath and laid his weapon aside. After lifting the latch, he opened the door.

  Juliana stood there holding a basket, with a taller young woman with golden hair, and an older lady, peering in.

  The silver-haired woman smiled up at him. “I’m your neighbor, Nora Beauchamps.”

  He gestured for them to enter. “I believe you’re the one to thank for sending Mr. Bell my way, ma’am. Please come on in.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Neighbors are ya?” They must live as close as Bell had suggested. He waved them in and as they passed, he smelled something beefy. “Smells like pasties to me, is it?”

  “You’ve got a good sniffer, young man.”

  “My favorite, ma’am.” His mouth watered as the scents of beef, potato, onion and turnips mingled in his new little home. Wasn’t much to it and sure wasn’t like the Yost mansion, pictured in the society article. Good thing he had four ladderback chairs by the table. “Have a seat?”

  Miss Beauchamps beamed up at him. “I thought I’d heard your lumber camp was right near our home.”

  “Actually, it’s a few miles.” The blonde woman slowly lowered herself into a seat, as though she were stiff. “And I’m Claudette Beauchamps, Mr. Christy.”

  “Welcome to my cabin. Can I make you some coffee?” At least his tins were all clean since they were new from Labrons.

  “No, thanks…” She untied her bonnet.

  “I’d love some.” Miss Juliana Beauchamps removed her fussy-looking black hat trimmed with gray bird feathers.

  He went to his pantry and retrieved the fixings and catsup for the pasty and then poured water into the percolator and set it on the woodstove. “This could take a little while ladies. Are you joining me for dinner, then?”

  “Oh no, we’ve already eaten, but Juliana thought you might enjoy some.” Mrs. Beauchamps glanced between the two of them.

  The blonde flexed her shoulders. “She worked very hard on them.”

  Was it his imagination or was Juliana frowning? She’d averted her gaze and now stood.

  Mrs. Beauchamps smoothed her hair. “Juliana’s such a hard worker, I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “What would we both do, Mama?” Claudette dropped her chin to her chest and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Yes, well, you shan’t have to know…” Juliana called over her shoulder as she removed her coat and hung it from a peg on the wall. When she turned, she’d pasted a bright smile on her face but her eyes were sad.

  Mrs. Beauchamps reached across the table and patted his hand. “I imagine you know, Mr. Christy, that she works as a librarian all day long.”

  “Yes’m, I do.” Those pasties smelled delicious and his mouth watered.

  Mrs. Beauchamps must have read his mind because she pushed her parcel toward him. “You better eat before these get any colder.”

  “She packed three for you.” Claudette now swiveled her head from
side to side. She reminded him of someone. Grandma Christy, with rheumatism, that’s who.

  All eyes trained on him as he took his first bite. Then he had to slow himself so he didn’t devour the meat pie. He almost groaned, the savory taste was so pleasant and so much better than beans and hard tack and dried buns he’d been eating.

  “Juliana made that. She does all our cooking.” Claudette, the pretty blonde, appeared in her mid to late twenties, and must be Juliana’s older sister. Why didn’t she help? Maybe she was infirm— certainly looked to be.

  “We help—we peel, cut, chop during the afternoon, but it’s our Juliana who does the actual cooking when she gets home.” Mrs. Beauchamp set her hands on the table. Her gnarled fingers were swollen around the knuckles and red. She must be in a fair amount of pain with that rheumatism. He’d seen it before. Pa feared it could happen to him if he kept at the lumbering trade—it was one reason Pa wanted out before he became old before his time. This lady, though, appeared to be closer to seventy--maybe near Grandma’s age. And something was wrong with her daughter, too. What a shame.

  Juliana cleared her throat. “Of course the two of you do the majority of the work. I just throw it together and put it in the oven.” She pushed another pasty toward him and he placed it on his plate.

  “Delicious, Miss Beauchamps.”

  Her face reddened as deep as the catsup he’d opened and was spreading over the meat pastry. Did she think he’d said she was delicious? His own cheeks heated.

  “This here meal tastes wonderful.”

  She nodded, her eyebrows raised and her mother glanced between the two of them. He lowered his head and focused on shoveling his food in. When all grew quiet, he slowed and raised his head. All three women laughed.

  “Good to see a man with a hearty appetite.” Mrs. Beauchamps continued to chuckle and wiped away a tear from her eyes.

  “No menfolk at your place, ma’am?” His shoulders stiffened—if they lived that close and were unprotected, how did they manage? And although the sheriff confirmed Bell’s military connection, he wondered if the rest was correct.

  “We have a brother who fishes in Naubinway and he comes by sometimes.” Juliana’s tone was defensive, like she expected an argument.

  “And one of my sons is moving his family back soon from the mines.”

  “What?” Juliana cocked her head at her mother.

  “Yes, Phillip.”

  “He’s bringing my grandson and his little family with him, too.” The woman patted her daughter’s hand, across the table. “Don’t worry dear, they’ve both procured jobs at the mill.”

  “Yes,” Claudette agreed. “They’re finally coming back home.”

  Juliana’s lower lip worked, as though she was chewing it. Mighta been nice if her kinfolk had informed her about her brother.

  “Good to have work, ma’am.” Richard took another bite.

  Claudette shifted in her chair. “I’m hoping to find employment, too, one day.”

  Pretty girl like her should be married. Maybe her condition kept fellas away.

  Mrs. Beauchamps pushed the third pasty at him. “Juliana takes care of me and Claudette. She’s a good girl.”

  He stopped chewing when he heard the librarian’s sharp intake of breath. “Mother, please.”

  “What? I’m giving you well due praise, Juliana.” Wind rattled the cabin’s shutters and seeped through the walls. Would need to chink those in better.

  So was Mrs. Beauchamps warning him away from her daughter? “My pa thinks I’m a good son, too, ma’am, although I can’t say why. He’s trusting me to get this lumber camp in order and I’ve got my work cut out for me, as you can see.” For one thing, no one wanted to cook.

  Chuckling, Claudette stood and stretched. “You’d never get Juliana out here unless you add some pretty flowers. Maybe some lilacs.”

  “Beggin’ to differ, Miss, but Juliana is here right now.” He grinned and took another bite and the librarian narrowed her eyes at him.

  Claudette moved toward the stove and extended her hands.

  “There is nothing of beauty in this place, Mr. Christy.” Juliana lifted her chin. “I see no flowers planted, not even daffodils, and no lilac bushes nor other flowering trees.”

  He had beauty there right now. He kept chewing, looking into her blazing blue eyes. What would it be like to look at that pretty face every night? “Flowers are gonna bring ladies out here?”

  Maybe he needed to see the place as a woman would. He’d have to ask his sister, too.

  Mrs. Beauchamps chuckled. “Good pay, a safe and respectful place, and yes, gussy it up some and that might help the town ladies see some potential here.”

  “Lilacs, there have to be lilacs for this to be a place I’d want to visit.” Juliana squared her shoulders.

  That stuck in his craw. Lilacs gave him sneezing fits. No way in tarnation was he ever putting in lilacs. “Right sorry to hear that Miss Beauchamps.”

  Right sorry indeed! The only one sorrier than her was Mother, who now kept her eyes glued to the red-and-white checked tablecloth. So, he was saying he didn’t want her out here. She’d fix him. When the lilacs bloomed she’d have them on her desk daily. And she and Claudette would be bringing some lilac bushes out. “We should get going, Mr. Christy.”

  Between her mother’s and Claudette’s comments, Richard likely thought her an old maid saddled with the responsibility for her family. With kerosene light pooling circles in several corners of the rustic building, something whispered to her heart. Juliana was yet unmarried and the caretaker of her sister and mother. Such had been her fate when her fiancé, Aleksanteri Puumula, had left her to supposedly pursue a future for them near the mines in the western part of the peninsula. A second generation Finlander, Alek had been the best student in school. How he’d look down his perfect nose at Richard if he met him, even though Aleksanteri, too, had been brought up in a lumber camp.

  “Mrs. Beauchamps, I found a hoard of canning jars in the cook house and since I don’t even have cooks…” Their host clamped his mouth into a line then took a long drink of his coffee.

  “Yet.” Claudette bobbed her head and smiled. Her sister was so beautiful. With the lamplight gleaming on her hair, would Richard be drawn to her? But he took another swig of coffee and seemed to be lost in thought.

  “That’s right.” Mother covered the lumberjack’s hand with her own. “God hasn’t sent you the right ladies yet. And yes—we’d love to have those canning jars. Why last year we sold enough jars to put aside for both the girls’ weddings.”

  Money aside? Weddings? Juliana felt her mouth drop open.

  Richard began to choke on his coffee, but in a moment stopped and patted at his lips with the red cotton cloth he used for a napkin. He gazed directly into Juliana’s eyes, a muscle in his face twitching. “Why Miss Beauchamps, I didn’t reckon you were engaged to someone.” He ran a finger around his black and red checked collar.

  Her mother laughed as Juliana cringed. “She’s not yet—just like the cooks you don’t have yet, Mr. Christy.”

  “I’m not betrothed, either.” Claudette lowered her head. “And unlike Juliana, who has been engaged, I doubt I’ll ever be.”

  Juliana shot her younger sister a searing glance hoping to silence her, but Claudette didn’t look up so she averted her gaze only to find Richard staring at her.

  “As yer Ma said, not yet, Miss.”

  What must Richard think of her mother and sister? “Well, we better go before it gets dark.”

  “I’ll ride out with you, ladies.”

  “No need.” Her mother waved a dismissive hand.

  “Yes’m, there’s every need. Ya got precious cargo there in yer girls.” He stood and first offered their coats to them and then donned his own. “That way, too, I can run them jars over to ya sometime, as I’ll know where ya live.”

  Soon they were hopping into the carriage, assisted by Richard. Claudette loved to drive and she got in first, followed
by their mother. When it was Juliana’s turn, Richard turned her to face him. She craned to look up at him. Even in the twilight, she could read his expression, and it took her breath away. He cast a look that a suitor wore when he was falling in love.

  “Miss Beauchamps, I’m so glad ya came out here.”

  Heart hammering, she managed to nod.

  “And thank ya kindly for the victuals. And for being a good neighbor to a lumberjack.”

  “You’re welcome.” The heat from his hands seeped through her gloved hands.

  He didn’t release her, but stepped in closer, his breath forming puffs in the chilly night air. “And don’t believe I’m thinkin’ any less of ya despite what yer ma and sister said.”

  “Thank you.” The scent of woodsmoke mingled with leather and a strong, but not unpleasant, soap.

  Wind whispered through the nearby pines.

  “You’re no old drone. And you’re too lovely to be keepin’ company with the likes of me—a shanty boy. Yet ya show me kindness at every turn, for which I’m right grateful.” He still held her hands and showed no inclination to release them. Mother cleared her throat and Juliana pulled free.

  Mr. Christy, you may be saying one thing, but your behavior says something else entirely. She grinned. “Just follow us home, then.” She’d be the belle of the Lumberjacks’ Ball, with the handsomest lumberjack escorting her. Then all those tongues that wagged over Alek leaving her behind would be stilled.

  “First let me help ya up, Juliana.” In one fell swoop, he’d lifted her and placed her gently inside the back of the buggy.

  Her heart pounded in her chest despite the fact that she hadn’t needed to exert herself whatsoever. He’d lifted her like she was a bit of fluff. What would it be like to have someone take care of her? Dare she allow herself to imagine?

  Chapter 4

  Late May

  After securely locking the library’s doors, Juliana met Gracie and the orphans in front of the building. Spring had finally arrived in the Straits of Mackinac and daffodils and crocuses were popping up in red and yellow masses against the fledging green grass. Winds blew off the water briskly, setting a nearby flag to flapping wildly against its pole.