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

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Chapter 12

  The medication Dr. Adams-Payne had given Juliana was wearing off as the ship entered Milwaukee’s inner harbor. Pink and orange washed the skies over Lake Michigan, as the sun sank lower on the horizon. If Richard were there, he’d point out how spectacular the sunset was, but all Juliana could think of was how close they now were to solid ground.

  “Juliana?” Gracie lowered herself into the chair beside her on deck. “Are you feeling better now?”

  “Much better.” She’d slept in a small cabin for most of the trip. Sister Mary Lou yet remained in her room, having complained of stomach pain, and she’d still not risen from her narrow bunk.

  Her friend stretched her arms overhead. Good thing Sister Mary Lou had stitched Gracie up new ensembles for this trip, because otherwise the young woman’s blouse would have torn. It was nice to see Gracie dressed in clothing that flattered her instead of in cast offs. “I’m tired, too, but this journey has been so exhilarating!”

  James Yost strolled back from the bow, his jaunty straw hat making him appear younger. “Exhilarating for you, maybe, but not for our captain, Miss Gracie, who worked hard during that storm off of Escanaba.” But he laughed, grabbed the rail, and tipped his head back.

  Juliana’s stomach still roiled at the recollection of the high waves they’d encountered on the trip. But after the showers and turbulence, the calm arrived and, with it, fresh air.

  A crisp breeze continued until the boat neared the docks. Then the crew stepped up their maneuvering. Juliana and Gracie ducked back into the cabin. Ropes groaned, steam hissed, and metal screeched for almost a half hour.

  “I can’t rest with all that noise.” Gracie made a face when an incoming ship blasted their horn in greeting.

  Juliana gently nudged Sister Mary Lou’s shoulder. “You’ll need to get up soon.”

  The nun groaned. “I don’t feel well. I’m so sorry.”

  Gracie pressed a hand to Sister Mary Lou’s forehead. “You have a little fever.”

  Juliana felt, too. “This might not be sea sickness, after all.” But she hoped it was.

  Their friend rolled away from them, threw off her covers, and pulled herself to sitting. “I’ll be all right.”

  She and Gracie exchanged a long glance. Sister Mary Lou’s recent ennui, so uncommon for her, was the reason they’d wanted her to accompany them and was why Father Paul had agreed. Was she more ill than they’d feared?

  “There, I’m up.” When the nun turned to face them, she had her habit adjusted and her face would have looked completely composed, had it not been for the tightness around her eyes. She was in pain.

  At her first private opportunity, Juliana would share this information with Mr. Yost.

  A rap at the door preceded James Yost’s call. “We’re ready ladies.”

  “Can you check and be sure we’ve not left anything?” She asked the others, as she grabbed her pocketbook and her overnight bag intent upon slipping outside.

  As the other two women looked over the compartment, Juliana departed their cabin. “Mr. Yost?”

  “Yes?” If only his handsome face, his crooked smile, and his personality appealed to her more…

  “I fear Sister Mary Lou may be ill.”

  “Yes, I’m aware.” As a gust of wind threatened to steal his hat, he clamped a hand over it. “That’s one reason she’s with us.”

  “Oh?” Was he apprised of something she hadn’t been? “She seems worse.”

  At this, he frowned and puffed out his cheeks in a long exhalation. “My personal physician is at the hospital today, but I can have him called over to the house after dinner. Can it wait until then?”

  “I believe so. I hope so.”

  “Thank you for alerting me, Juliana.”

  When she frowned, he touched her sleeve. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your Christian name, but we’ll be working closely together.” He offered a warm smile.

  She bobbed her head and opened the cabin door. “Ready?”

  The other two women joined her and Yost. He smiled at Sister Mary Lou and offered his blue-suited arm to her. “May I accompany you down?”

  “Why thank you.”

  “Wait for me here, ladies.”

  When he returned, Mr. Yost took her hand and escorted her down the ramp then returned for Gracie, who chattered nervously on the way down and then clung to Yost for a moment. “I’m dizzy. Sorry.”

  Concern danced over his handsome features and he led her assistant to a nearby bench and then sat down beside her, still holding her hands. Could it be? As she watched, chills coursed down her arms. Gracie was falling for James and if she was right, the feeling may be mutual. She almost chuckled out loud. Silly me—thinking he was romantically interested in me when he’s done nothing but pursue me to ask questions about libraries. Lord, is this the answer you have for Gracie?

  Sister Mary Lou paced near the water, which had turned a deeper blue. The magenta-streaked sky surrounded a sinking orange sun, as it reflected its mighty orb on the great lake. The nun moved to a black iron fence and leaned against it. The spiky tops of the fence appeared incongruous in their jutting spears against the peaceful sunset.

  Nearby, an enormous, heavily gilded, black carriage pulled onto a semi-circle drive, adjacent to the harbor. Once the vehicle stopped, a door opened and a girl exited and ran toward them, her blonde hair streaming behind her. As she neared, Yost stood. “Isabelle!”

  “Papa!” She launched herself into his arms.

  “My dear, what are you doing here?”

  “Cook said I could.” She kissed Yost twice on both cheeks and then they pressed their noses together.

  He turned to face Juliana and Gracie. “Ladies, this is my beautiful daughter, Isabelle.”

  The child curtseyed.

  “And this is Miss Beauchamps, the librarian I’ve raved to you about. The very best librarian I’ve ever met.” The expression in his eyes was clear to Juliana now—it was an appreciation that had nothing to do with her sex.

  “Nice to meet you, Isabelle.”

  Yost’s eyes grew softer as he turned toward Gracie. “And this is Miss Gracie, Miss Beauchamps’ assistant—a lovely and sweet young lady.”

  “I’ve already told your Papa that I’d be happy to read you all the stories you want at bedtime!” Gracie clutched her hands at her waist and rocked side to side in her new kid leather pumps.

  When had Yost told Gracie that he had a child? This information came as a shock to Juliana. Isabelle appeared to be about six years old, but her deportment suggested she could be older—or she was precocious.

  From behind them, Sister Mary Lou cleared her throat.

  “This is Sister Mary Lou, who is to chaperone these fair ladies—but who also needs a rest herself.” Yost’s complexion paled slightly. “And we’re going to invite my friend, Dr. Howerter, to come meet her after dinner.”

  The child ran to her. “Are you a real nun?”

  Sister Mary Lou laughed. “Yes, I am, dear.”

  “We go to a church that some say is as big as a cathedral in Europe.” Isabelle opened her arms wide. “Have you been to one of the Catholic cathedrals there?”

  “Why yes, I have.”

  Both Juliana and Gracie swiveled in their friend’s direction. Obviously there were things she didn’t know about her friends. As her assistant, Gracie had run interference for her with Mr. Yost. Had she developed an affection for the man? And now Juliana learned Sister Mary Lou had traveled to Europe. Would this trip help her learn more about herself, as well? Such as why her heart longed to be nearer to Richard Christy? She rubbed her arms. Couldn’t she even be open and honest with herself? She wanted more than an invitation to The Lumberjacks’ Ball. His reaction to her lilacs had stymied her. Mr. Hatchens, too, had divulged overhearing Richard’s pronouncement, at the banquet, that he was not courting her. Shouldn’t that disclosure have killed what feelings she’d developed for the lumberjack?

  Si
ster Mary Lou groaned in pain and clutched her side. Juliana and Gracie went to her and Isabelle ran to her father, terror, out of proportion to the situation, washing her tiny face. What had the little girl gone through when her mother died? And could this doctor help Juliana’s friend?

  Sven shoved Richard’s shoulder as he sat down next to him in the cookhouse. “How can I work for someone who is such a dumhuvud?”

  Richard slid over on the bench. “Huh?”

  “Sven just called you a dunce.” Swede, sitting across the table, glanced between the two of them.

  “Ja, are you going to fight me now?” Sven elbowed him.

  Richard shook his head. “Nah, you’re right.” As he dug into his roast pork and potatoes, he sensed the other men’s eyes on him. Richard’s idiocy likely drove Juliana right into James Yost’s open arms.

  “You sick, boss?” Swede laid his rough cloth napkin down.

  “Stop calling me boss, we’ve been friends for too long.” Richard rested his elbows on the table, knowing what his mother would say if she were here to view him performing this “crime” in manners.

  “Ja, well, I can’t call you any of the other names we have said over the years.” Sven laughed. “And since you don’t want us calling you Moose anymore, boss is easier to say than Richard.”

  “No matter. When all the men return, I’ll still be Moose.” If only he was still someone’s Bon Jean, as Juliana sometimes slipped and called him. He stifled a chuckle. The little lady imagined him the lumberjack hero of so many stories. One day someone would write those tales down and put them in a book. But it wouldn’t be Richard, although he loved good storytelling.

  Sven tapped at Richard’s elbow. “Watch out. One of those Beauchamps ladies might find a wooden spoon and teach you some manners.”

  He straightened.

  Swede grunted. “He must be sick. And the new doc isn’t here.”

  “Ja, he’s love sick, like his pa said.” Sven pushed half a biscuit into his mouth and then chased it down with coffee.

  “If ye mean over that golden-haired gal, I ken ye better give up.” Scotty McNear tugged at his faded red, almost pink, suspenders and lowered his eyebrows as he met Richard’s gaze across the table. “The doc has her in his sights and she’s a good-looking lass, ain’t she?”

  “Inte hennes.” Sven intoned.

  “Not her?” Swede grabbed a biscuit from the basket.

  “Miss Juliana Beauchamps, the librarian.” Richard cleared his throat. “That’s who Sven’s talking about, and yes, I’m a complete dunce.” Pride had kept him from explaining how he couldn’t tolerate lilacs in his camp.

  Scotty speared a potato just as Sven reached for it, barely missing stabbing him. “Ye got the manners of a polecat—tryin’ to nab my victuals from me. Dinna ken ye can take my food from me, ye young whelp.”

  Richard wiped his mouth and splayed his fingers open at the men. “Don’t even think about starting up this fight, again, at this camp. I’ll make you two sit at separate tables, like Pa used to do with me and Ox.”

  After slicing the large potato in a stabbing motion, Scotty plunged the knife into half and set it onto Sven’s plate. “There ye be, lad.”

  No one but Scotty ever tried to get Sven’s goat. Maybe because the big man could crush anyone who tried, if he ever got angry, which he rarely did.

  Mrs. Beauchamps, her silver hair glistening beneath the kerosene lamps, brought a large bowl of stewed turnips, smothered in butter, to the table. “Here you go, men.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Swede smiled up at her, grabbed the bowl and then passed it to Sven, avoiding Scotty’s outstretched palms.

  The wooden bowl, elaborately decorated with carved and painted cherries, wasn’t one Richard had brought for the camp. Juliana’s mother followed his narrowed gaze. “That’s one of mine, Mr. Christy, from home.”

  “Pretty thing.” Sven rotated it slowly, admiring the handiwork.

  Ox could make something similar. An idea sparked the dead wood in Richard’s dunderhead. “Sven, I’ll be going to Mackinac Island tomorrow first thing. Gotta see my brother.”

  There was more than one way to bring lilacs into this camp. What would his cabin look like with a pretty lilac painted chest for Juliana? A rocker with lilac blossoms carved into the back? And surely at one of those fancy art shops on Mackinac Island, he’d find a painting of lilacs that they could hang on the wall. His spirits rose for the first time since she’d departed. But was he too late?

  The Yost carriage rolled to a stop near a three story tan brick building whose façade was embellished in a gingerbread style, with a jagged edge covering the top level, beneath the steep tile roof. A herringbone brick walkway bisected the rolling lawn. Thankfully, Sister Mary Lou’s symptoms were calming. But Juliana wanted to get her friend right to bed.

  “I thought you might like to enter from the front instead of the side—give you a chance to get your land legs again.” Mr. Yost gave her a meaningful gaze. He obviously had the same thoughts she had, wanting to get them in as quickly as possible. He assisted the nun out rather than waiting on his footman.

  He called up to the driver and footman, “Bring the trunks in and have Rawley bring them upstairs. Sister Mary Lou’s first, please. Let Maisy direct where the others should go.”

  “No, Papa!” His daughter hopped down into his arms. “I want to show them.”

  “All right then, peanut.” He kissed her forehead and she ran across the lawn as a slender, dark-suited man opened one of the massive paneled front doors.

  Soon Juliana and Gracie stepped down from the carriage, assisted by Mr. Yost. He offered his arm to Sister Mary Lou.

  “Mr. Yost, I am fine now. You mustn’t baby me. I’ll be quite all right once I’ve rested.” Sister Mary Lou was standing straighter now, and the color had returned to her wan cheeks.

  “I pray you will be.”

  “I’m sure I shall—once I’ve rested.”

  He turned to address Juliana. “I can hardly wait for you to see the plans I have for the new library.”

  She forced a smile. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Mr. Yost quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’ve invited my personal assistant to join us for dinner tomorrow night—rather, he’s my former personal secretary. Alek has had a promotion. He’s assumed more responsibilities at my brewery.”

  Alek. That was the nickname she’d given Aleksanteri so many years ago. “I look forward to meeting him.” And Alek now lived in Milwaukee. Surely not. Oh Lord, please.

  “We’ll have a little repast tonight after we get you settled in your rooms.”

  She had to move quickly to keep up with his long strides but he didn’t slow for her, as Richard always did.

  “That would be lovely. Between Sister Mary Lou’s stomach problems, my fear of the ship, and Gracie’s fascination with the water, I fear none of us has gotten much food down today.”

  He laughed. “Gracie was born for the waves.” The affection in his voice gave her pause. Was the man falling in love with her assistant? But of greater concern right now was Sister Mary Lou and this Alek, whom he’d mentioned.

  Juliana ran her tongue over her lower lip. “Your former assistant, Alek, you said. It’s not Alex or Alexander?”

  His features bunched in concentration. “No, it is Alek. I never could pronounce his name but it’s not Alexander.”

  “What is his last name?”

  “Puumala.” He grinned, as though he’d won a prize. “I can pronounce that name. Why do you ask?”

  She gritted her teeth. “It would be best if you do not invite him quite yet, sir. I can explain later, in private.”

  “You know Mr. Puumala then?”

  Perspiration broke out on her forehead. This trip was turning into the nightmare she’d feared it could be, although not in the ways she’d imagined and discussed with her sister. “Let’s leave it at that.”

  A dark-suited man held the door. “Welcome back, sir,” he gre
eted Mr. Yost warmly.

  Yost handed him his boater, and his light coat, and then gestured for the women to pass their coats to his servant.

  Gracie entered first and stood staring, gape-mouthed until Sister Mary Lou joined her and whispered something. Having seen pictures of Yost’s mansion in one of the library books about Milwaukee, Juliana thought she’d be prepared for its opulence, but she wasn’t. Even after the shock of learning Yost was Alek’s employer, Juliana had to force her lips to remain together as she scanned the gargantuan entryway. Black and white marble floor tiles alternated in a diagonal pattern. An almost six-foot-wide chandelier, hanging high overhead, dangled thousands of crystals. To the right, a man-sized gilded baroque mirror hung on the burgundy flocked wallpapered walls. A cherrywood umbrella stand stood to the right, and a mahogany coat rack to the left, presumably for temporary guests, because the manservant carried their summer coats to a nearby closet.

  Ahead, a teal carpeted staircase wound at a steep curve up to the second level. Portraits of dour-looking European-dressed men from times past, presumably Yost’s ancestors, covered the adjacent wall. The overall effect was rather daunting. Juliana swallowed hard.

  “Meet me back down in the parlor in a half hour, ladies.” Mr. Yost gestured to the left, where a sitting room was visible through open paneled walnut pocket doors. A red velvet settee with curved cabriole legs hugged the wall with two rose-colored wing chairs facing it. Four black leather upholstered wooden chairs surrounded a claw-footed cherrywood card table.

  The grandfather clock that she’d passed chimed and echoed in the foyer.

  Isabelle entered the room from a hallway that connected further down the expansive room. “Come on, everyone!”

  A red-haired woman hastily followed her, her apron flapping away from her dark skirt. “Welcome home, Mr. Yost.”

  “Glad to be here, Maisy. Can you help our guests up to their rooms?”

  “Papa, that’s my job.” Isabelle rolled her eyes.

  Juliana chuckled and Gracie moved forward to take the child’s hand. “Won’t you please show us our rooms?”

  As they mounted the stairs, the cushioned carpet sank beneath Juliana’s feet. What luxury. When they reached the top, the little girl opened the first paneled door on the right, in the hallway, and slid the pocket door into the wall. Gracie squealed in delight. “This is the room we’ll share?”