A four-poster double bed, covered in lilac silk bedding, predominated the room’s center. Beyond, in a small alcove, nestled a single bed, presumably for a lady’s maid.
Maisy’s cheeks reddened. “Oh no, miss. You’ll each have your own rooms and a maid, if you wish, to attend you.”
Isabelle climbed up the two steps of the small wooden structure beside the bed, and onto it. “Papa said this bed might be too high for Miss Juliana. He said you were petite. I like that word.”
Juliana’s mouth twitched into a smile. But her humor vanished when her companion gasped in pain.
Sister Mary Lou’s face drained of color and she sank into a padded boudoir chair. Perspiration beaded on her brow and Juliana rushed to her. “Are you all right?”
“Just tired.”
This was more than fatigue. “Miss, um, Maisy, could you please show us to Sister Mary Lou’s bedchamber right away?” And they’d need to get the physician.
“Yes’m.” Maisy dipped into a brief curtsy.
“And Gracie, could you stay here with Isabelle, and have her tell you about the house?”
“Yes,” the child answered for Gracie. “I’ll be the bestest hostess Papa has had yet.”
The servant led them next door. “Here you are.”
“Thank goodness,” her friend sighed and pointed to the low bed.
Maisy rushed to the bed, and pulled back the ivory matelassé coverlet. Sister Mary Lou immediately laid down, habit and all.
“You’re not well, Sister.” The servant began removing Sister Mary Lou’s shoes. “I think we’d best get you undressed and into bed.”
“Let me help.” Juliana clutched her hands, wanting to do something, anything, to ease the nun’s distress. “And would you please go to Mr. Yost and have him send for the doctor?”
“Yes’m.”
Sister Mary Lou groaned. Juliana went to her and began helping the nun out of her heavy clothing.
“No, no, I can do it myself.” But when the nun struggled to sit up and couldn’t, Juliana patted her hand.
“Lie still. You are clearly unwell. Be a good patient for me.”
Although clearly embarrassed, Sister Mary Lou permitted her to remove her garments until she was clad in what looked like a very long slip.
Maisy soon returned. “Mr. Yost already sent for the doctor. He’s such a good man.” The latter reference seemed to apply to her employer.
Isabelle bounded into the room, but then stopped. “Oh no. You’re not going to die like my momma did, are you?” Tears sprang to her eyes.
Stepping between the child and the nun, Maisy shook her head. “No, lass.”
But were the child’s words correct? How many people had Mother ministered to, over the years, as they lay dying from peritonitis? Dear God, please…
Chapter 13
Wheels rumbled toward the office, a little too fast for Richard’s liking.
Avery Bell emitted a low whistle. “Now there’s a handsome woman.” The rural mail route carrier’s daughter drove her carriage straight toward them, and Richard pushed Avery out of the way as the woman cut a little too close.
When she finally brought her horses to a halt, half of her chestnut brown curls tumbled free from beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat. “Gentlemen?”
Bell grinned up at her like a puppy awaiting a treat. “Miss Griffis?”
“Mr. Bell.” Her pert nose tipped up. “My father is ill, so I’m carrying his route again today.”
Carrying? More like rampaging across the countryside with it. But with Miss Griffis toting the mail for her father, they kept the income in the family.
Richard rubbed his chin. “Miss Griffis, can ya give me a few minutes to go grab our outgoing mail?”
“Certainly.”
A grin split the handyman’s face. “I bet Mr. Christy wouldn’t mind if I showed you around his new camp while you’re waiting, would you, eh?” He turned to Richard.
Richard ducked his chin in agreement.
Miss Griffis batted her eyelashes at Avery. “You might wish to ask me, Mr. Bell.”
Removing his hat, Bell bent at the waist and then made a sweeping gesture. “Milady, may I have the honor of escorting you through this fair village, our new lumber camp?”
She stifled a giggle. “It has to be quick, I still have mail to deliver.”
The lady, judging from her appearance, had to be a good five to ten years Bell’s junior. But what did that matter in God’s timing? Might be good for Avery to hitch up again. Did Juliana trouble herself about such trifling matters? He’d add a line about that very matter in his letter to her.
“Go on, Avery, and show Miss Griffis around while I get the letters to go out.”
The brunette handed Richard a twine-bound bundle of correspondence. “That’s all the camp’s mail.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
After tucking the mail under his arm, Richard strode across the spongy, sandy, soil to his cabin. Once inside, he pushed his stack of Ox-personalized plaques out of the way. Hopefully, Juliana would appreciate the significance of the lilacs carved into them. A grin tugged at his mouth as he imagined her reaction. Then he scowled, imagining the ribbing he’d take when the lumberjacks saw the camp buildings labeled with lilac-embellished signs. He sat at his makeshift desk, a tall one with a good-sized chair Moose had constructed. Now if only his brother’s and Rebecca’s encouraging words and prayers were effective.
Locating his fountain pen, he drew up the ink, and then added a line to his note. Then he pushed the love letter aside, to make sure the ink was dry before sealing it. While his words may not be wonderfully poetic, they were the best he could put together. And his apology was heartfelt, that was for sure.
He retrieved his letter opener from the wooden desk organizer that Ox had made for him, grinning at the fancy lilacs carved into the wood. What if Juliana didn’t accept his offer? What if his concerns about Yost were valid? He’d sure have quite the collection of lilac-decorated furnishings for his cabin and the camp.
He cut the twine. On top were two bills from town and a carte de visite picture postcard from Kentucky, featuring his aunt and his cousins sitting in front of their cabin. The fourth piece of mail was a letter addressed to Claudette, in her sister’s beautiful handwriting. What was that doing here? It was addressed to her home. Maybe Miss Griffis knew Juliana’s sister would be at the camp. Postmark was Milwaukee. Richard set it down. His fingers itched to open it, but he pushed it aside. The next letter was for Juliana’s mother, also with a return address at Yost’s mansion. Who was Richard kidding? Why would Juliana want to come back to him? To a lumber camp? He snorted in disgust at himself. God, I believe in miracles and this here situation is gonna need one.
He continued through the rest of the stack, hoping to see something from Juliana for him. The bottom letter’s ink was so smeared that Miss Griffis must have eagle’s eyes to have made out the address and name. Had the storms in Wisconsin damaged the mail? The ships that had come into port held passengers complaining of the rough weather they’d been having. Must be Milwaukee got its fair share of rain, because only those letters had sullied ink. He could discern only a few letters on the name, but the Milwaukee postmark was clear. He opened it, his heart beating.
My dear one,
She thought him dear? The Lord was indeed answering prayers.
More smears on the letter made it hard to decipher. Must have had downpours over there for the rain to have penetrated clear through to the paper inside. Or had Juliana been crying when she’d written it?
I fear for Sister Mary Lou’s life. By the time you read this she may have died.
His gut clenched as he scanned ahead, but Richard couldn’t make out the writing in the rest of the blurred paragraph. What had happened? The nun had been tired out from all her exertions for the orphans, but when he’d last seen her, she’d been excited about the trip.
Too many deceptions have been wrought on me and I fear…
Once again the words disappeared into the paper. Richard leaned as close to the letter as he could but he couldn’t read what it said. But then another distinct sentence loomed.
My dear sister, pray do not tell Richard.
This letter was for Claudette? He should stop reading, but he had to know.
A rat-a-tat-tat knock on the door preceded Sven’s entrance. “Father Paul is here with Reverend Jones. Come on out, now, ja? I think you better talk with the priest. He’s very upset.”
As was Richard. He handed Sven the letters for Mrs. Beauchamps and Claudette. “Bring these to them, would ya.” Why had both clergymen come out if only one was upset?
Reverend Jones nodded to Richard, but kept his distance, standing near his carriage and feeding carrots to his two bay mares.
Father Paul paced in the clearing, his shiny shoes kicking up dust that would surely coat them if he didn’t stop. “Mr. Christy. We must converse.”
“Is it about Sister Mary Lou?” Richard swallowed back a lump in his throat.
The man’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? I’m here because of Gracie.”
Richard puffed out a breath of air. “Sir, Father Paul, that is…”
“Do you have word from them?”
“Sister Mary Lou is very ill.” Richard shoved a hand back through his hair as his lips curled around the words he was about to say. “She may be dying, if Juliana’s letter is correct.”
Color drained from the priest’s face. He tugged at his clerical collar. Richard pointed toward a bench by the cook house. The savory scents emerging from within couldn’t tease the sour feeling in Richard’s gut as the man slumped onto the bench.
The two Beauchamps women exited the wooden structure and hastened to them, their skirts swishing rapidly.
Mrs. Beauchamps went to the priest’s side. “Are you all right, Father Paul?”
“I’m worried.” He tugged at his collar. “Which is one reason Reverend Jones drove me straight out.”
“We’re worried, too.” Claudette waved her letter. “Why, I believe that Mr. Yost may be a wicked man.”
Mrs. Beauchamps grabbed Claudette’s free hand. “I fear the same thing. Dishonest at the very least.”
Sun touched Claudette’s golden hair, giving her an angelic appearance, as though she’d been sent to deliver a message to them. “From what Juliana wrote, that beer baron’s house could be straight out of a gothic novel—a terrifying one.” She shivered.
The priest pressed a hand to his chest. “Lord, forgive me. What have I sent those two into?”
Didn’t he mean three, not two? Did the priest only have concern for his nun and the orphan under his care? What about Juliana? What about her predicament? And it was Richard’s fault. He should have put aside his vanity and accepted what everyone, including his sister, Jo, had explained. Juliana was offering herself as his wife—the lilacs being a symbolic gesture of her affection for him and willingness to live with him. But he wasn’t one for understanding symbolic stuff—give it to him straight any day. Still, he’d gotten it now and he had lilac-decorated items coming, enough to fill up his entire cottage.
Mrs. Beauchamps’ eyes filled with tears. “What have you heard, Father Paul?”
“Actually, it was Reverend Jones who received communication.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and passed it to her. “Mrs. Puumula, Alek’s mother, brought this in to him, she was so concerned. It says that since the women have arrived, James Yost doesn’t allow them out of the house.”
Claudette gasped. “Just like a Gothic villain would do. I just knew it.”
Richard rubbed his jaw.
The priest nodded, solemnly. “Furthermore, they’re not accepting visitors. Mr. Yost is isolating them and Aleksanteri was worried enough that he wrote to his mother.”
“For Alek to write his mother about this situation, he has to be dreadfully afraid.” Mrs. Beauchamps dabbed at tears in her eyes. “My poor girl. Even that boy who broke off their engagement is concerned.”
Richard’s heartbeat sped up.
“Aleksanteri pointed out that, like Yost’s wife, Sister Mary Lou was taken to the hospital with abdominal pains.”
“Do you think he may have killed his own wife?” Claudette raised her hands to cover her mouth.
Although Yost didn’t seem the evil-doer type, for a man to write his ma about a former sweetheart didn’t bode well.
“He didn’t say his opinion, but reading between the lines, it sounds as though Aleksanteri Puumala fears so. And he’d heard they had a beautiful young woman at the mansion, who Yost may intend to press into marriage.”
Juliana. His Juliana. Forced to marry Yost? Had he forced his attentions on her? Heat crawled up his neck.
Claudette dropped her hands to her side. “Just like one of those gothics where the demented man locks an innocent young woman up in the attic. Maybe he even killed his wife. Maybe she didn’t die of natural causes.”
“And now Sister Mary Lou is deathly ill.” Richard tried to maintain composure, but his breath seemed to stick in his throat. “The very person who is supposed to be chaperoning the younger women.”
Richard swallowed back his fears. He had to take action. All around him, in camp, readiness for the lumberjacks was moving forward. This place would be nothing to him if he didn’t have Juliana with him. But did she love him? He loved her so much he’d endure years of teasing about lilacs in the lumber camp—decorating everything from camp signage to their biscuit bowls. Yet, Juliana hadn’t sent him any mail.
Pushing a silver strand of hair behind her ear, Juliana’s mother displayed her own letter. “My daughter is desperately unhappy. And while she’s always been straightforward in what she tells me, in this missive, she seems to be beating around the bush about something. It’s the strangest thing.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “I’m her mother. She should be able to tell me she loves me. Why would she include so many poetic phrases that allude to her affection rather than writing it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Claudette sat next to her mother and grasped the older woman’s hands.
Hope sprang in Richard’s heart.
“Mind if I take a gander at that note, ma’am?” Richard held out a hand.
She passed it to him and sniffed. “I’m worried that she’s coming unraveled. I’d heard she may lose her job here. I know she enjoys her work, but I wonder if this position is causing her great stress and confusion. Or could it be Mr. Yost is the cause of her trouble?”
“There may be another explanation, Mrs. Beauchamps.” Richard unfolded the letter and scanned the greeting first. “Yup, it got wet, like mine did. But I can see Dear and the first letter.”
That was an “R” and not an “M” for mother. Dear Richard—not Dear Mother. He’d read this in private, later. A grin twitched at his lips, which fought to scowl at the situation Yost had put his beloved in. “Mind if I keep this for now?”
Three pairs of eyes fixed on him.
The side door to the kitchen opened and Melanie emerged, her children clustered around her. “I could use some help in here!”
“Coming.” Claudette rose and pulled her mother to standing.
Richard frowned. “Father Paul, would you come and pray with me?”
The priest stood, motioned for Reverend Jones, and the two clergymen followed Richard to his cabin.
God, what is your will in this situation? He almost sensed the Lord telling him to just use his head. And his heart. Father Paul and Reverend Jones each took a seat. As Richard pulled his chair from the desk, he focused on the last legible line in Juliana’s letter to her sister, which he’d begun reading earlier.
I think if Richard heard this news, he’d abandon his camp and come bring us home.
James, as he’d insisted she call him and finally had, appeared immaculate in a navy suit jacket and cuffed trousers, as he rolled Sister Mary Lou, in a wheelchair, into the Yost library. The man always managed to look handsome,
no matter what he wore—as did Richard, even in a checked flannel shirt. Did her Bon Jean miss her?
Juliana went to her and gave the nun a hug. “I’m so glad you’re back, Sister Mary Lou.”
“Not as happy as I am, I can assure you!”
Grinning, James met her gaze. “I wanted to bring her in here to see what you’re working on, Juliana. Then I’m getting her right back ins Bett—to bed—doctor’s orders.”
Sister Mary Lou’s eyes widened as she scanned the room. The personal library, situated in the south turret of the house, featured mullioned windows spanning eight feet and towering ten feet high. Multiple woods, in the furnishings, warmed the room. The oak desk, cherrywood table and chairs, dark mahogany filing cabinets, and light ash built-in book cases blended well with the multi-colored Persian wool rug that covered the pine floor. “Mr. Yost’s private library will be the envy of every Milwaukee citizen.”
“I agree.” Juliana had worked hard on bringing order to the collection, but it was Yost’s own vision that had made the library in his home such a welcoming place.
“Thank you, ladies.”
Her friend winced, as though in pain.
“Are you all right?” Juliana cringed. They’d prayed that the nun was now past any possible infection.
“Yes, I’m fine. The physician warned me I’d have some pain.”
“And that you’d be on bed rest for some time to come. I’m afraid I got overzealous.” James carefully maneuvered the wheelchair in an arc in the center of the turret. “Time for a rest, Sister Mary Lou.”
Juliana bent and kissed her friend’s soft cheek, inhaling the scent of harsh hospital soap. She’d make sure Etta or Lela helped the nun with a sponge bath that included some of Juliana’s own Pears soap.
Despite pushing a wheelchair, James appeared more relaxed than he had been in weeks. “I’ll be back in a few moments to discuss our social calendar, now that this precious lady is home from the hospital.”
Lilacs for Juliana (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 3) Page 15
