Oh no. The beer baron, again. Here. And she’d have to thank him for his charity. She should do so—but why didn’t she want to? “Hadn’t he gone back to Milwaukee?” If he waylaid her again and claimed he wanted to discuss Dewey’s system—at length—she might just call his bluff. Maybe the man truly did wish to discuss library science with her, but she doubted his motives were purely for the motivation to organize his new library in Milwaukee.
Just then, the man emerged from the nonfiction aisle and walked toward them carrying an ebony-headed cane. His black leather shoes gleamed and a bowler was tucked under his arm. He smiled in their direction.
“Let me take the cart and put the returns away.” Gracie’s winsome features settled into a professional mask as she grabbed the bar of the book cart and pulled it away from behind the counter.
When Gracie immediately veered in the direction of Mr. Yost, Juliana drew in a long breath. Sure enough, James Yost immediately engaged her assistant in conversation, periodically glancing in Juliana’s direction. The man was persistent, she’d give him that much. And she should thank him for the supplies he’d sent out. But it was rather presumptuous of him to send them as well as implying they required his charity, which didn’t sit well with her. She could provide for her own family, and would.
“Ma’am, do ya have a minute?” Richard Christy’s deep voice startled her and she jumped.
Her hands flew from the books they rested on. “How can I help you?”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. For some reason that irritated her.
He was the one who had helped her so why should he frighten her now? He’d saved her. Her hands began to shake, remembering the feel of his arms around her as he’d carried her.
“Ya sure do look pretty, Juliana, that is Miss Beauchamps.”
He’d called her Juliana. But he’d also taken to calling her sister Claudette. Why did Richard Christy cause such confusion in her? She should avoid him, but she couldn’t do so while she was at work. She daren’t look up into his handsome face. But she wanted so badly to look into those dark eyes. She drew in a slow breath. With effort, she tried to swallow the knot that formed in her throat every time the lumberjack came by. An unbidden image surfaced of him in bare feet, his pants rolled up, and his undershirt stretched taut over his muscles. She wanted to shoo the thought away but it persisted.
“Thank you.” She tugged at the curls around her face.
“I reckon ya might not think a lumberjack enjoys poetry, but I do.” His husky voice drew her attention as he leaned in so close that she could see the amber flecks in his dark brown eyes. “I just don’t want anyone else seein’ me with this book—especially since I think it’s written for ladies.”
He clutched one of her favorite poet’s books. She recognized the tome, despite his broad hand covering Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s name.
Blinking up at him, she combatted the conflicting desires to lean in a little closer, drawn by the handsome man, or to fuss at him for his vanity. Too proud a many woodsman to be seen with a poetry book in his hand. She’d just been literally burned because of her own prideful behavior, wanting to see her new gown. Her wandering thoughts of Richard’s muscular legs well in check, now, she ground out her question, “And I am to do what about this dilemma of yours?”
He puffed out his cheeks and straightened. “I thought we were gettin’ to be friends.”
The man had rescued her from what would have been certain death. He’d invited her to The Lumberjacks’ Ball. And he thought of them as mere friends? She stared at him, speechless. Or was this the “friend speech” and he was distancing himself so he could pursue the lovelier sister? And why did she care if he did—didn’t her mixed up feelings tell her that he’d brought fear into her life?
“And I wondered…”
He sure had some nerve. “Oh. You want me to check them out for you.”
Richard grinned, and though it would seem he couldn’t possibly be any more appealing than he was, that smile sent a current through her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Christy, but it is against library policy for me to check out a book for a patron.” She pressed her lips together in a prim smirk.
When his face fell, she almost felt bad. But it was true—she couldn’t simply check out books because someone was afraid to be seen with a book of love poems by a prominent female author.
Nearby, someone cleared his throat. As Mr. Yost left Gracie’s side, he cocked his head and caught Juliana’s attention. He adjusted the lapels of his expensive tailored-to-perfection linen jacket, worn with pleated and cuffed linen trousers. Then he strode toward the desk, knocking his elbow into Richard in the process—an act that appeared deliberate.
The lumberjack glared down at the not-much-shorter man. “Wait your turn in line, buddy.” He narrowed his eyes.
The other man shrugged and grinned at Juliana. “Must I wait, Miss Beauchamps?”
“Not at all, Mr. Yost.” She gave him a tight smile. “I believe Mr. Christy is unable to complete his library request…”
“At this time,” he completed for her. Then he had the audacity to wink.
She directed her gaze to Mr. Yost and affected an especially sweet tone of voice. “And thank you for the supplies you sent out, sir—the orphans who visit with us were especially touched by your generosity.”
Richard stretched his broad shoulders back and glared down at the beer baron. “You did that?”
Yost shrugged. “It was nothing. I was glad to help.”
“Can see ya don’t need me here.” With that, the lumberjack turned away from them.
After Richard had taken five long strides away, Mr. Yost sighed. “That buffoon hasn’t been bothering you, has he?”
That is no buffoon, but the new owner of a lumber camp who will be in charge of a hundred men. She bit back the desire to tell him that of all the men in town, it was he, himself, who bothered her most. Oh, if only she didn’t feel so confused about Richard.
“How can I assist you?”
“I would like to invite you and your assistant to dinner tonight at The Pines. I’d love to discuss the Dewey decimal system with you.”
Gracie edged the book cart closer, her gaze fixed on them, eyes wide. Juliana wanted to say “no”, but seeing the longing in her assistant’s eyes, she nodded.
“Perhaps. But, being a resident of the orphanage, Gracie will need to secure permission from Sister Mary Lou in order to accompany us.”
“Let’s ask that sweet nun. I see her sitting in the corner with three of her little charges.” His charming smile could persuade almost anyone, including Sister Mary Lou, and James Yost likely knew it. His comment bothered her nonetheless.
Why wouldn’t he have simply suggested that they go alone? He couldn’t consider Gracie an appropriate chaperone.
His face momentarily contorted. “I would enjoy a solitary dinner with you, Miss Beauchamps, to discuss library organization systems in depth, but I fear the library board would frown upon it. I do believe your apprentice can help us make our companionship much more palatable to the trustees. Don’t you agree?”
“True.” She’d about had her fill of the board members, who’d deigned to withhold her pay until she returned to work. Talk about Christian charity or the lack of it. All of those men were regular churchgoers, but Janet Labron shared that her husband was the only man present at the meeting who’d suggested they continue to pay her while she recovered.
But what could she do? She’d worked so hard for so long.
Rest in me. Trust me. The almost audible voice made Juliana jump and she almost spilled the inkwell atop the counter. But when she scanned the room, her eyes settled on Richard—her own Bon Jean come to life and her heart skipped a beat. Standing between two rows of bookcases, his dark head bowed over the book of sonnets, he resembled the giant lumberjack of her childhood daydreams.
Someone cleared his throat loudly. Juliana cringed, anticipating her nemesis.
Mr. Hatchens stepped alongside her and she wished she could run away. “I might ask you a penny for your thoughts, Miss Beauchamps, but it’s clear that shanty boy is distracting you.”
“No, sir. I’m just…” Juliana drew in a deep breath, catching the musty smell of the trustee’s suit. “I’m surprised that our library’s Bon Jean enjoys poetry.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she willed them back in, again, and resisted the urge to press her fingertips to her offending lips. She shouldn’t have pointed out where Richard was standing and she shouldn’t have referred to him as their Bon Jean.
The board member smirked. “Didn’t realize we had children’s poetry in that section, Miss Beauchamps. I doubt that gargantuan reads the great poets, like Wadsworth. So don’t trouble yourself over his behavior. Leave that to me. We can rein him in.”
Oh no. What did that mean? Before she could form a cohesive protest, Mr. Hatchens pulled out a notepad and a pencil, scribbled something down, and sped toward the door.
Chapter 7
The previous evening, after spending dinner with Mr. Yost, resulted in a splitting headache and a night’s worth of fitful sleep. When she’d not felt any better in the morning, she’d taken the carriage to work, unsure she could manage her bicycle. The day, at the library, hadn’t gone much better as Richard hadn’t visited the library. Driving home from work, Juliana slowed their bay gelding to a walk, taking in the beauty of the lush forest near her home. If she turned the carriage to the right, she could go to the Christy’s lumber camp. Hesitating, the horse must have sensed her indecision for he neighed and shook his head, attempting to pull to the left. She slapped the reins and they continued on toward home. She glimpsed a flash of sapphire blue through the break in the trees. Lake Michigan beckoned to her to come take a dip in the water. And she might—later.
Four cabins surrounded the main house, two on either side, all unoccupied, even though Papa had built them to hold his “grand hommes,” as he liked to call her big older brothers. She’d not been able to make any repairs to them since Papa died. But Juliana would not worry about that right now. She just needed to get home and get dinner on. Unless, tonight, again, Claudette fried fish brought by Richard Christy. What did the two talk about? Claudette never shared, which rankled Juliana. She always told her younger sister about her own day, especially since Claudette had experienced a bad episode the previous winter and had become more isolated.
Soon Juliana arrived home and had taken care of the horse and carriage. Claudette stepped down from the porch, where she’d been rocking. “I have whitefish for tonight.”
Juliana cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Mr. Christy brought them?”
Sunlight haloed her sister’s golden hair. “He did, indeed, and he told Mother and me all about the new ladies he’s interviewed for the camp cook jobs.”
“Have his prospects improved?” She pulled the crystal-headed hatpins free from her straw boater and removed it as they walked to the house.
Laughing, her sister grasped her hand and swung it. “I believe Richard’s luck is about to change.”
Mother met them at the door and cast Claudette a cautionary look. “We’ll discuss things later. But first I want to bring your sister up to date on some of the changes we might have around here.”
Fiddling with her hat, Juliana accidentally poked her finger with one of her hatpins. “Ow!” She pressed the pierced finger to her lips.
As she took a step back down the porch, about to go to the pump, her mother gently grasped her shoulder. “I’ve already pumped water and hauled it—enough for a hot bath heating on the stove—so come on inside and let’s clean that up.”
This was the mother of her youth. The mother she’d thought she’d lost to rheumatism after her father’s death. Was she back to stay?
Later, after a splendid dinner, Mother cleared the table and then returned with rhubarb pie and cut it into generous slices.
Tugging at her collar, Claudette fixed Juliana with a mysterious look. “You know, someday I may be well and you may again find someone you’d wish to marry.”
And might you be interested in marrying Richard? Juliana clamped her mouth shut, sure the green-eyed monster inhabiting her body would leap out.
Mother returned to the stove and then brought coffee back for them and three mugs. “I went into town today and everyone says James Yost must be interested in you.”
Juliana cringed. She’d suffered enough gossip for a lifetime. “Oh? And how did you get there, Mother, since I had the carriage?”
“Never you mind—but Richard gave me a ride.” Now her mother was calling him by his Christian name? “And you are changing the subject, which is James Yost.”
Claudette poured cream into each of their mugs. “How did your dinner go last night?”
Grabbing the sugar bowl and, eyeing her sister, Juliana proceeded to pluck out four cubes, instead of using the tongs. She tossed them in her coffee, the satisfying “plunk” making her grin.
Mother chuckled. “He must have gotten under your skin. You didn’t say much when you came home.”
With a groan, Juliana stirred her coffee. “James Yost grates on my nerves.” Last night the man seemed jumpy, for some reason, which had ratcheted up her anxiety level.
Claudette laughed. “With all of his money, I imagine a great many women could overlook a little edginess.”
Juliana shook her head. “There is something so officious about him. He kept talking about setting up and maintaining order in his new library in Milwaukee. And how many books he planned for the private library in his mansion—and how they all must be in perfect order!”
“Of course men prefer order in their households. Think of your father.” Mother’s eyes filmed over.
“He’s not like Papa.” Not at all. Salt of the earth didn’t apply to the beer baron. “Mr. Yost kept questioning me about Dewey’s system…”
“And what else?” Claudette’s eyes lit up. Her poor sister needed to get out more often, if she was this starved for gossip.
“Well, he’d alternate his library questions with compliments about my appearance.” She flushed remembering the comment that her eyes were like “rare sapphires.”
“Compliments?” Mother arched one eyebrow.
Juliana raised her coffee cup and drank for a long time, hoping the two would leave her be. “He said nice things to Gracie, too.” Which was very kind of him to not leave her assistant out of the conversation.
Her sister patted a stray curl on her forehead back into place. “He’s very handsome—I met him once at Labrons’ store.”
Mother nodded. “Very good-looking, and I’ve never seen a more dapper gentleman in these parts.”
“I just keep feeling like he wants something from me that is unsavory.” Even though he’d never made any inappropriate overtures toward her. In fact, he’d always been extremely polite.
Holding her forkful of pie mid-air, Mother hesitated. “Maybe that isn’t it—maybe it’s because the man is a widower.”
Heat seared her neck and cheeks. She’d wondered the same thing. Had the intimacies between a man and a woman in marriage caused him to give her such strange, searching looks? “Maybe that’s why he seems so…well…intense in his concentration on a subject or a person. Passionate. Perhaps, having been married—”
Mother held up her palm.
When Claudette’s eyes grew wide, Juliana added, “Not that those activities, blessed by God, are anything bad.”
Her mother laughed. “I wouldn’t have born all those children if they had been.”
Both Claudette and Juliana stifled a gasp but then joined her in chuckling.
“Even if he does look at you in that…married way…he’s so charming.” After lifting her fork and taking a bite, Claudette grinned around a mouthful of rhubarb pie.
“Yes, and handsome and wealthy as you mentioned.” Was Mother worrying about Juliana?
Juliana should be thrilled by his attention at the
library and in the community, but an inner voice cautioned her. Papa would have said she was discerning and he’d have told her to avoid him, which she’d tried to do.
“I think Aleksantari was too young to marry you, Juliana.” Her mother sipped her coffee.
Alek? They were speaking of Yost, not her former beau.
“You must forgive him.”
“I have forgiven.” Hadn’t she? She clenched her teeth. “Besides, he wasn’t a young lad—he was over twenty.”
Claudette rolled her eyes. “Maybe immature is a better word than young.”
“He was childish—not that I look back and waste time considering.” Perhaps that wasn’t true.
Her sister gave her a knowing look. “Right.”
Juliana shrugged. “Self-centered and self-absorbed might have described him back then.” Yost, too, seemed single-minded. In this case, the beer baron seemed obsessed with libraries.
“Wonder how Alek likes Milwaukee.” Claudette wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
“Milwaukee? He was in the mines.” And how did her sister know?
“I heard he’s in Milwaukee now, too.” Mother finished her last bite of pie.
Juliana didn’t care where her old beau was. All she knew was she needed to support her mother and sister the best she could. Her brothers were certainly of no help.
“Juliana, we’ve heard from Pauline.” Her mother lifted her cup, the dark circles under her eyes emphasized by the white porcelain.
Her brother’s widow hadn’t been to St. Ignace in years.
Claudette chewed her lower lip. “Um hum. She wrote.”
Juliana stood and took the dishes to the sink, awaiting an explanation. She swiveled around and found Claudette frowning.
“Pauline is bringing the children back here to live.” Claudette’s gaze held a challenge. “Here. With us.”
Mother stared at her lap. “Her father died.”
A wave of dizziness swept over Juliana. “Here? Why not remain in his home?”
Lilacs for Juliana (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 3) Page 8
