“Richard cut the wood for us last night when Mother drove you and the children into town.” A smiled tugged at her beautiful sister’s lips.
Richard was it—not Mr. Christy? Juliana set her mug down, the contents sloshing like her stomach began to do. “Oh?”
“Yes. And he bought the last of our jams.” Claudette pointed to a cloth bag of silver dollars.
“He did?” What else had he done that she didn’t know about? Why wouldn’t he come help her beautiful young sister?
They sat in silence, the wood fire crackling gently, the heat needed even on this late spring day. Juliana forced herself to keep eating, even though the pastry seemed to have turned to paper in her mouth.
She couldn’t begrudge her sister anything. Not even Richard Christy if she’d set her cap for him. Juliana’s pursuit of him was motivated by hurt and vanity. Wasn’t it? Claudette and mother were the only family she had left in the area, for it seemed she’d lost her brother to drink years earlier. Mother was nearing seventy. Everywhere in the home there were signs of their mother’s presence—from the crocheted antimacassars on the chairs, to the quilted multicolor placemats beneath their plates, to the chinaware from France. Yet Father’s craftsmanship was here, too. He’d constructed the two-story home, which some said reminded them of a large hunting lodge. He’d built the dining table they sat at, and the chairs, as well as all the beds. And objects made by all the Beauchamps children decorated the large living space—paintings of lilacs she’d made in school, Claudette’s clay bowl, Gerard’s tiny cabin constructed of twigs, her brother Pierre’s charcoal drawing of their grandfather fishing, and Pascal’s horseshoe wreath that Mother still put out at Christmastime.
Yet no one here to care for Mother and Claudette. No one but Juliana. The Civil War had claimed three of her four older brothers. And it might as well have claimed Emmett, whom they rarely saw and when they did he was intoxicated. Juliana huffed out a sigh as she headed to bedroom to dress. Her eyes lighted on a picture propped on her bureau. Her brother, Pascal, beamed in the photograph taken with his crew. But he had died in a mining accident, leaving his widow, Melanie, and their three children. Hard to believe he’d be turning thirty-seven soon if he were alive.
Juliana donned her everyday clothing, pulling a loose, cotton, shift dress over her head. With care, she avoided any tugging that might aggravate her burned hands. What a blessing that she didn’t require a frequent change in wardrobe and her librarian attire formed a simple uniform. Her brothers in military service would be attired in their regimentals. Sean and Connor had both enlisted in the U.S. Cavalry, despite Mother’s and Father’s protests, and moved out west with their units. If they sent their mother any money, she knew nothing of it. Their rare letters were scrutinized, as though they were holy writ, which Mother always studied as she did God’s word, looking for hidden meaning. Would she ever see them again?
She wiped at a tear that coursed down her face. How did this house, once loud with the sound of men’s voices, come to be a house occupied by only three women?
Juliana exited her bedroom.
A knock at the door startled her and she eyed the shotgun secured to the wall. As she moved toward the door, she called out, “Who’s there?”
“Richard Christy here, Miss Beauchamps.”
She opened the door to find him standing there, a string of fish hanging from his shoulder, feet bare and covered with sand, his pants legs rolled up revealing very hairy legs and muscular calves. Heat traveled up her neck and she pressed a hand there, as though doing so could staunch the red that would soon color her cheeks. Broad shoulders stretched an undershirt that emphasized his muscular chest, and she caught her breath.
He held out the line. “Brought you some more fish.”
Struggling to speak, Juliana managed to say, “Thank you.”
After lowering the fish into a bucket, he set it down and turned to her. “You all right?”
When she just blinked up at him, he gently took her hands in his and turned them over. He frowned. “Ain’t ya been usin’ that ointment?”
“Yes.”
“And ya been restin’?”
“Resting my hands—if that’s what you mean.” She looked up into his dark eyes, so full of compassion.
Claudette tapped her from behind. Richard released her hands and Juliana moved aside to allow the prettier sister to come alongside her. “Why Richard, we’re going to grow gills soon?”
Her sister’s playful tone should have encouraged Juliana. She should be glad she was feeling better—but was she flirting? And with the man Juliana hoped would be her beau.
The big man laughed and he gently touched Juliana’s neck, lifting her heavy curls, and sending a thrill through her. “I don’t reckon I see any growin’—yet.”
Heart hammering, Juliana was reminded of the terror she’d felt when that horrid man had choked her. She backed away and Richard’s eyes widened.
Claudette took her arm, steadying her. “Are you dizzy?”
“No.”
Richard shoved his hands in his pockets and averted his gaze, as though sensing her discomfiture. “How you feeling, Claudette? Ya think ya might be up to a little cookin’ for my camp? I got a half dozen men arrived at camp and they’re all clammerin’ for good food.”
Her sister’s face lit up. She gestured toward the table. “Come sit and have some breakfast and we’ll talk about it.”
Juliana’s jaw dropped open. How could Claudette possibly cook daily for a crew of men, even if currently that was limited? But her younger sister was an adult, so Juliana bit her tongue. Then she crossed her arms as Richard followed Claudette to the table.
“I’ve already eaten. I’m going for a walk.” Juliana could feel the lumberjack’s eyes on her back as she headed out the door. But what should have been a lovely walk to Lake Michigan, with gulls swooping and waves lapping at the shore, became a frightening experience as every caw startled her. Poor Rebecca. Was this what she’d had to endure?
Chapter 6
The Sunday school classroom seemed far smaller than Richard expected it to be—especially when surrounded by a dozen active boys. Was he so wild at their age? Yup. What had he agreed to?
The pastor’s wife rang a small bell and then set it back on a tiny shelf built into the wall by Ox, for that very purpose. His older brother had some good ideas and that was one of them. If only he’d come back and work at the camp—it was not the same without him and Jo. But the rest of the crew would be there within a few months.
“Boys! Listen up! Mr. Christy is speaking today…”
A gap-toothed boy in a too-small shirt waved his arm. “Are we getting a Paul Bon Jean story today?”
Drats. He’d feared they’d expect a tall tale. But he’d come prepared. He lifted his Bible. “No sir, fellas, I got somethin’ even better.”
“Aw!” They sent up a collective sigh but he didn’t flinch.
“I’m gonna talk about Goliath. But first I want to hear all of your names.”
Mrs. Jones slipped out of the room.
The boys stood, one at a time, and recited their names. Richard tugged at his collar. How was he gonna remember ‘em all? The last one stood, a gangly youth, his expression stoic. “Atlas Hatchens.”
A couple of the boys whispered to one another and Richard cleared his throat. “Atlas, how ‘bout you read from Samuel for us?”
The child complied, his pure, clear voice making the hair on Richard’s arms stand on end. How could this youngster be the offspring of the vile man who tormented Juliana?
“Good job.”
The boy’s pale cheeks flushed.
“Can you explain the passage?”
“I believe so, sir. It’s about how the Israelites had failed to obey God and hadn’t killed all the giants in the land.”
Matthew Labron raised his hand. “But if you’d lived back then, Mr. Christy, wouldn’t they have killed you—you’re a giant, aren’t you?”
&n
bsp; The boys laughed. Richard gestured for Atlas to take a seat.
“No sir, young Matthew, I wouldn’t have been the Israelites’ enemy. And there’s a real good reason for that.”
“Was it because they were over nine feet tall?” Matthew elbowed the boy beside him. “And you aren’t?”
“Nope, it is because I believe in God and worship Him only.”
The room quieted.
“It is true, I’m also no giant. I’m just a very tall man who was once your size.” He pointed to each of them and winked. Granted, he’d been their size when he was years younger. He’d taken no small amount of teasing wherever they lived, even in the lumber camps.
“So we might grow as big as you?” A tall youth named Clark flexed his muscles.
Garrett laughed. “I’ve had to heft many an ax and fell many a tree to get these muscles.” He flexed his biceps for them and their eyes got wide. “And if you’re as big as me you have lots of daily difficulties.”
“Like what?” Matthew cocked his head.
“Like fittin’ in a bed, for one thing. My big brother is makin’ me a new one for the lumber camp at Grand Corners.” He’d tired of sleeping all cramped up with his feet hanging off the bed.
“You have a brother bigger than you?” Clark’s mouth gaped open.
Richard ran his hand along his jaw. “My older brother, that is—not exactly bigger—just a figure of speech, I reckon.”
“Oh.” The boy slumped in disappointment.
“But as I was sayin’, it ain’t so good being too tall. If I get in a carriage, I have to duck my chin to my chest like this.” He demonstrated. “When I come in a room I always have to check to be sure I’m not gonna get knocked out.” He pointed to the doorway. “And I don’t fit on most chairs.” Like this one in which his knees were practically to his chest.
“Your brother’s gonna make you chairs, too?” a child asked.
Had his great height influenced Ox to veer away from the lumberjack life, to which he’d seemed so suited, and to pursue furniture making? Why had God allowed that? “I ‘spect so. But we need to get back to our Bible lesson. Who wants to be David?”
Matthew raised his hand and Richard had him read further in the passage. The boys sat still, which pleased him.
“So do you think this young brother, who was probably about you fellers’ size, could bring down a big old giant?” Richard tapped the side of his head. “And from what Goliath was spoutin’ off, what do ya think that bad old Philistine believed about himself?”
Clark popped up. “He thought he’d stomp him out.” He stomped the floor.
“Get up fellas, we’re gonna stomp like Goliath.” Maybe that would chase some of their wiggles away.
Atlas Hatchens remained seated. “My father says men of strength are to be admired.”
“Get up, Atlas.” Matthew pulled him to his feet. “Your dad doesn’t mean wicked men.”
“Oh. Right.” The slender boy smiled. “He says men of strong character should be admired.”
“Well, now, we’re gonna address that notion, too, young Atlas. What if a man had a strong character—say was a wealthy man of commerce…” like Yost “or a man who had great influence that he used to squash the hopes of others?” Like the boy’s own father. “What then?”
The boy’s pale face twisted. “I don’t know.”
Richard scrunched his face up in disbelief. The child clearly understood the Bible passage. “What if that high falutin’ man went against God, Atlas?”
“He’d get a whoopin’,” one of the boys called out.
Laughing, Richard held his hand high overhead, almost touching the ceiling. “Okay, fellas, let’s say not only was Goliath physically massive but he’s a man of influence, which some people misconstrue as character, which it ain’t. And let’s pretend that now he’s stomping toward David.” He pointed to Matthew to sit and led the class around him.
Matthew remained rooted as the boys encircled him, making ugly faces and growling at him.
“Okay, sit back down, fellas.”
Behind him the door opened. He hoped they’d not distracted the other classrooms. “Read to us some more, Atlas.” He handed the boy the Bible and pointed to the passage.
The trustee’s son read how David, in his simple, yet strong faith in God, defeated the giant.
“First I want to make you all understand something before you leave. A man of character is someone who follows God’s Word.” He displayed the Bible. “He may not have two bits to rub together.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two coins and tossed one to Matthew and the other to Atlas. “Maybe he’s a shanty boy who’ll never be able to enjoy having young’uns like you all because he can’t afford to marry.” He gestured to them. “Maybe he’s an orphan and has to make his way in the world and works too hard to take time to engage in politics or other community agencies that influence his town.” He paused and looked into their upturned faces. “But if God’s Word is in his heart, and he listens to his Father’s voice and obeys, boys, and stands up for the rights of women and children—that’s a man of character.”
Behind him someone applauded. “Well said.” The pastor and his wife grinned, as did Mrs. Labron, who wore an expression of regret.
What was Juliana’s friend regretful of?
Although it was almost summer, a damp chill accompanied Juliana as she’d ridden her Victor’s Lady’s Safety bicycle to work, on her first day back. Now inside, inhaling the mingled scents of books, inkprint, and lemon oil should have brought a sense of normalcy to her life. Instead, it seemed as though she’d stepped aboard a ship that was listing and about to sink. She rubbed her throat where the rope burns still chafed her and shivered. No wonder Rebecca Hart had seemed so aloof at times.
Seated in the back workroom, Juliana opened crates of books with one of the newly hired library interns from Michigan Normal School.
Graham Arsenault, who’d grown up in the area, lifted and displayed a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. “I read the original magazine version and I’ve heard the editors deleted some of the, er…”
“More objectionable material?” Juliana arched an eyebrow at him. Claudette had been waiting on this book.
“Yes.” He laughed. “My mother would be shocked, but your sister would love it—Claudette always enjoyed those frightful Gothic stories, if I remember right.”
“You do recall correctly. Let’s set it aside for her.” Maybe Claudette will read it to Richard and the lumberjacks at the camp. She drew in a slow steadying breath and then exhaled.
Gracie popped her head in. “Graham, do you mind covering the front desk?”
“Be happy to.”
He slipped out, and Gracie sat down across from her at the long rectangular table, covered with boxes and new books.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I am.” Other than wishing she could just be alone.
“Did you see that The Pines Restaurant has opened?”
“Has it?” Excitement skittered through her shooing her crankiness away. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” With its wide majestic porch, fancy gingerbread trim and glossy burgundy shutters, it stood out from the older establishments.
“I can’t help wondering if it’s as fancy inside as it is outside.” Gracie heaved a sigh. “I’ve never gotten to eat at any of the restaurants in town.”
“Really?”
Gracie never complained. But now the girl’s eyes glittered with unshed tears.
Juliana reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. “If I could, I’d take you to all of them.”
“Have you been in any?”
“Only a few of the older ones from before...” When her father had been alive.
Gracie’s frown vanished and she clapped her hands together. “What do you think of our new helpers?”
“We sure need those young men, with all the tourists.” Summer vacationers swelled the number of visitors to their library. Th
ank goodness the students had already been contracted, prior to the horrible attack. Her skin yet crawled at the thought of that man’s hands around her neck. Poor Rebecca—how had she born being hung from a tree, pretending to have fainted, thrown in a river and left to drown? But Garrett and Richard had rescued her. She rubbed her arms as a chill coursed up them.
“And some of the lumberjacks and their families are beginning to move up to the area. Your Mr. Christy brought in three men this morning to get their library cards. Have you seen him?”
“No.” Nor did she want to. The incident should have drawn her closer to the lumberjack, but she’d not gotten over her nightmares—that included him—and had a terrible one the night before. Her thoughts were irrational. The man had saved her, she should be grateful. The woman she’d been before the attack would have thrilled, perhaps swooned over the idea of him rescuing her. But now, it seemed as though God was preparing her for another chapter in her life. Unfinished business in her life needed to be addressed. She’d thought Richard might be that new beginning, but gazing down at her hands, still lightly wrapped in gauze, she couldn’t help wondering if she wasn’t being punished for her vanity and silliness. And with her suspicions that Claudette and Richard may hold affection for one another, Juliana wanted to step out of the way.
Gracie stood. “Well, I’m going back out. And when you’re done hiding, please join us.”
Juliana opened her mouth to protest but couldn’t find her voice. It was true. She was secreting herself away from the patrons. One in particular.
An hour later, Juliana emerged from the workroom. Her steadfast assistant waved from behind the counter.
“He’s back!” Gracie adjusted her waistband and then carefully rearranged the folds of her white cotton blouse so that they lay evenly.
“Hmmm?” Juliana removed two Herman Melville books from the returns stack on a nearby cart and set them atop the oak counter. Such a shame so few read Melville’s works any more—but at least someone had. “Who is back?”
Gracie cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered in Juliana’s ear. “James Yost has returned. I saw him at Labrons’ store yesterday, and he asked me tell you he’d be by today. Sorry, but I forgot until I saw him just now.”
Lilacs for Juliana (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 3) Page 7
