Frederick watched as E.V. ran across the street to the mercantile and helped Miss Whitworth with her packages. See a need and then meet it.
With that thought in mind, Frederick tromped back to Inferno and climbed aboard.
The afternoon went by with a blur, quite literally, as he sped back to the woods, refilled his string of flatcars with timber, and returned to Tumwater. This didn’t allow for any time to check on Miss Pearson at camp, but it did allow for time to pray for compassion and insight as to what made Miss Pearson tick. She had to have some type of need.
Yet the only answer he heard from the Lord was “Seek, and ye shall find.”
As Inferno’s engine cooled from the day’s frantic pace, Frederick pulled his red bandana from his trouser pocket and wiped his face. He climbed down, helped unload the logs, then headed down the street looking for a nice peace offering.
An hour later, with his nerves frayed at the edges, Frederick stomped down the wooden-planked boardwalk. Everything he “sought” had too high a price.
“I could use a little help here, Lord,” he grumbled.
“Seek, and ye shall find.”
Not sure where he was supposed to seek, Frederick stopped walking and looked around. Karl’s Feed and Seed was the only business he hadn’t visited. “All right, Lord, I’ll keep seeking.”
He hurried across the street. After entering Karl’s, Frederick walked around, examining every shelf before roaming to the pens in the corner. Baby pigs rooted around and climbed over each other in an effort to get to the food plate. Two of the scrawnier ones looked up at him with big dark eyes.
“Just came in this morning,” Karl called from the side counter where he scooped grain from a large bin into bags.
“Twelve, that’s a good-sized litter.”
“Thirteen, actually. I heard the runt in the litter had to be disposed of.”
“That’s too bad.” Frederick studied the wiggling creatures.
Karl reached for some twine to tie off a full bag. “You heading back to camp tonight?”
“Yup—do you need me to do something?”
Karl walked to him, carrying a gunnysack. “Johnny isn’t back from the last delivery, and I have all these customers. Could you take this watering can to Mrs. Wilkin? She ordered it awhile back for her chickens and it just arrived.”
“Sure thing.” Frederick took the sack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out the door. Within minutes, he and Inferno were on the rails again. His father’s house was still in foreclosure, Miss Pearson still hated him, and the guilt he felt every time he saw the bridge continued to grow. As the bridge approached, Frederick slowed the locomotive in an effort to be extra cautious.
“Lord, I pray You’ll take Albert’s family by the hand and walk with them through the valley of the shadow of death. Give them a comfort that only You can bring.”
When God’s peace washed over him, he glanced over the bridge. What in creation?
He leaned far out the locomotive’s window to get a better view. A tiny pink piglet clung to the wreckage. Probably the runt piglet Karl had mentioned. The water was plenty cold for late September.
Frederick jerked Inferno to a stop. He climbed down and slowly made his way to the riverbank. With great care, he maneuvered across the wreckage and managed to grab the creature by the head and pull it from the icy water.
The piglet protested at this treatment with a series of ear-piercing squeals and wiggled with more force than what Frederick thought possible.
Climbing back up the ravine to the train, Frederick bundled the piglet inside his wool coat. He whistled a lullaby all the way back to where Inferno was parked on the tracks in hopes the tune would help calm the squirming animal. Once they were back inside the train, Frederick pulled the watering can out of the gunnysack.
“Not sure why I saved you. All you’re good for is a few strips of bacon,” he said, wrapping the squirming piglet in the gunnysack. He placed it in the kindling bucket. “Can’t have you falling out on the way home.”
The piglet lay down, content.
Frederick grinned as he fired up the locomotive and headed off in the direction of camp. Large, fat raindrops descended from the gray sky. He needed to hightail it home. The rails were a temperamental part of logging equipment, as moody and unpredictable as a woman scorned. He shuddered, thinking of Widow’s Bend. The curve of slippery metal lay only a few miles ahead.
Chapter 3
Weary of life in the primitive logging camp, a determined Emma would use any excuse she could to go into town. Now if only such an excuse would present itself.
She sat a few feet from the kitchen door and plucked another feather off the chicken. Cooking was a dirty job and not in her normal duties, but when Mrs. Wilkin ran behind schedule, she needed Emma’s help. It was difficult, to say the least, keeping up with the appetites of the hordes of hardworking lumberjacks.
Ridding the deceased poultry of their feathers was a job she especially disliked, but a job she had to do for dinner. The dead birds stunk to high heaven, causing her to gag. She considered lighting a match to get rid of the smell, but the wet feathers stuck to her fingers with frustrating tenacity and would make lighting matches difficult at best.
Finished with the second bird, she grabbed the next one in line, submerged it in scalding water, and yanked at feathers till her forearms ached. She tried not to look at the pen containing nine more waiting their turn for a neck wringing and a dunk in the boiling pot.
Emma longed for her quiet time after dinner when the washed dishes were put away for the night. Then she could crawl into a hot tub of water. If only she had some dried rose petals to take away the stench of dead chicken. Resigned to her duty, she focused on the only thing she could make a difference in—praying for her brother’s safety.
“Lord, please protect Jake from danger—and Mr. Corrigan, too,” she added for good measure, hoping God would hear her prayers. A decent and worthy way to pass the time even though, in her opinion, prayers hadn’t done much good for her mother, who had been left to support two children after their father had died. Warm clothing had been scarce in cold winter months, not that they had any finer clothing in the summer. She remembered frequent hunger, but Mama had always prayed before every meal, no matter how meager it might be.
“Oh Mama.” With tears pooling in her eyes, Emma pulled in a ragged breath of air. “I wish you were here.”
“Emma, could you come in here, please?” Mrs. Wilkin called out the kitchen door.
“Be right there.” Emma dropped the half-plucked bird and strode toward the small but sufficient kitchen.
“Mr. Corrigan would like to speak to you.” Mrs. Wilkin jerked her thumb at Frederick Corrigan, standing in the corner with his arms folded across his barrel chest. “I’ll attend to the chickens.” She walked outside carrying what looked like a shiny new watering can.
Mr. Corrigan pointed to a little wiener pig rooting through the rancid garbage pail in the corner. As small as the creature was, it had no difficulty in tipping over the bucket and spilling the contents onto the floor. Another mess for her to have to clean.
“Would you accept my peace offering?” Mr. Corrigan had a cheesy grin plastered on his face, as if he expected praise for the “offering.” “I thought you could raise him for a while and then we’d butcher him when the time was right. Or you could sell him.”
Emma stood speechless.
The piglet lifted its nose and looked her way. Brown smelly gunk covered its tiny snout. It eyed her with what had to be curiosity and sniffed.
“Um, thank you.” Emma raised her eyebrows and hoped it was enough of a response. What else could she say? No one had given her a gift in years. While it wasn’t rose petals, she supposed it was still sweet of him.
“Go say hello, Bacon,” Mr. Corrigan chided. He gave the piglet a tap on his two-strips-of-bacon belly. Much to Emma’s horror, the animal let out an ear-piercing squeal and limped straight toward her.
The locomotive’s wheels rolled along to the tune of a well-oiled machine. Frederick stood next to Jake Pearson, ready to take control of Inferno in case an emergency arose. He hoped things would continue to run with smooth efficiency. After a week of intense training, Jake had done quite well. He hadn’t even been intimidated rounding Widow’s Bend. Fear could be as dangerous as rain on the rails. But then, so could cockiness.
As the landscape passed during a straightaway, Frederick asked Jake how his sister and Bacon were getting on.
“She was busy with dishes last time I seen her and didn’t say much about it.” When Jake didn’t say more, Frederick decided to let the matter go.
But he couldn’t forget about it, about Miss Pearson. There was something about her that kept invading his thoughts. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to convince her he’d keep her brother safe. He wanted to see her smile.
The locomotive rolled over the bridge leading into town. Just a few more miles to go and then another few dollars would be added to the precious hoard in the bank. Dollars meant for saving his father’s house in town.
Much to Frederick’s chagrin, Jake piled more wood into the furnace. An uneasy feeling did a slow roll in Frederick’s gut. In almost no time, the train picked up speed.
“I know you’re getting good at managing the engine,” Frederick warned the greenhorn, “but its best not to get too cocky with the rails.”
“I’ve got control over this thing!” Jake shouted above the racket of the locomotive. He seemed quite confident in his abilities.
Frederick wished he could say the same. Anxiety and a rising anger twisted around his heart.
“We’re going fast enough!” he yelled back. He braced himself against the wall of the car as it rocked and swayed. He knew how to handle Inferno at that speed, but Jake didn’t have enough experience yet.
Images of Miss Pearson flooded Frederick’s thoughts. If her brother died on the rails, she’d never forgive him, and Frederick doubted he’d ever forgive himself either. And he wasn’t about to have another accident like the one that killed his good friend. No. Not on his watch. Miss Pearson would survive if he died, but she’d never recover from the loss if anything happened to her brother.
He pushed himself off the wall and grabbed Jake’s arm. “Jake, put the brakes on,” he ordered. They were approaching the mill with unsettling speed. Sweat beaded on Frederick’s forehead, and not just from the heat. “Do it, or this thing will jump the tracks when we get to the end of the line at the sawmill.”
“I’ve got it. Back off, will ya?” Jake hollered at Frederick and gave him a rough shove to the side. “I need to learn how to do this so I can take care of my sister.”
“You can’t take care of her if you’re dead,” Frederick bellowed.
Jake pushed him again. “I’m going to make more money at this than you do and give her all the pretty things she deserves.”
Frederick would have loved to debate the issue, but time was of the essence. He wrestled the controls from Jake and shoved him up against the wall of the locomotive. “Until you’ve proven yourself, this is my train. Now step aside or you’ll be back logging trees.” He released Jake and focused on the tracks in front of him.
The mill up ahead loomed closer still. If he didn’t slow Inferno down, they’d crash into it. He didn’t want to think of the number of possible deaths.
“Think of your sister, for pity’s sake!” Frederick reproved.
For what seemed like an eternity in slow motion, Frederick pulled hard on the brake lever. Jake slumped against the wall and sneered at Frederick with a red face and fists clenched at his sides. Frederick didn’t care. He wasn’t about to have another casualty on the roster of Kenicky Logging.
Bacon squealed with the force of a lumberjack yelling “timber” as Emma bathed the gunk from his body in the creek. Careful inspection of his back legs explained why he had been rejected by his owner. The left leg was stunted and twisted at an odd angle, making it difficult for him to move easily.
Emma ran her hands over the disfigured part of Bacon’s body. If anyone understood the pain of being small in a big world without a mother, it was she. No wonder the poor thing squealed all the time. Tenderly, she wrapped a towel around him then held him close so he could get warm.
An hour later, while sitting outside the cookhouse shucking corn for the evening meal, Emma eyed her new wiener pig. Wariness and caution sat on one end of her heart’s seesaw while pity and protectiveness balanced on the other. He was a cute little creature, even if he was from Frederick Corrigan.
A pig as a peace offering. A new hat or a bouquet of flowers or even material for a new dress would have bought her more pleasure, but the strangeness of the gift actually brought a curve to her lips.
Bacon let out a squeal, and Emma looked down in time to see a rat scurry past them. The piglet loped inside with as much speed as he could muster and hid behind the woodbox in the corner. Emma laughed so hard the shucked corn dropped to the ground. Whoever heard of a wiener pig being afraid of a rat?
When she regained her composure, she moved to comfort the poor thing.
“It’s all right, Bacon. A rat’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll protect you,” she soothed as she squatted in front of the woodbox. She reached behind it and grabbed the squirming creature, pulling him out from his hiding spot. Not caring who might see them, she cradled him close. He let out a few grunts and rubbed his wet snout against her neck. It tickled, and she couldn’t help but laugh and squirm.
“What’s so funny?” Mrs. Wilkin asked as she strolled into the kitchen. “That little pig Frederick got you causing a stir?” She chuckled and set about peeling potatoes.
“I think he’s starting to grow on me,” Emma replied. A quick shudder went through her. What would Miss Abigail Fancy Pants say about her having a pet pig? She pulled Bacon closer and kissed the top of his soft head. The Bible said all creatures needed loving-kindness, especially the motherless ones. A determined Emma decided to give that to Bacon.
“Emma, could you please finish shucking the corn? It’s getting late.” Mrs. Wilkin’s voice rose above the noise of a few men who were trickling in a little early, to Emma’s surprise. “I’m going to stoke more wood on the fire.”
While Mrs. Wilkin hustled into action, Emma set Bacon on the floor and resumed work.
She hadn’t been shucking corn for more than a few minutes when one of the men came running up to her. The expression on his face spelled disaster, eerily reminiscent of when Jake told her their mother had died. Was her brother dead now, too? Why else would the men come in early?
Chapter 4
After the close call they had at Renier Lumber Company that morning, Frederick and Jake had gotten into a fistfight. Now Frederick’s hands were bruised and burns covered his forearms from where he fell against the hot furnace. He sat in the bunkhouse and winced in pain while the doctor examined his wounds. Jake glared at him while waiting his turn to be seen for his apparently broken fingers.
Frederick cast his gaze at the floor. How could he make Jake understand that he cared for his sister a great deal and wished to see her at peace about their job?
Groaning with frustration as the doctor finished, Frederick stomped from the room. Perhaps a walk would do him some good. He wandered down the path that led to the creek. The water rippled over the moss-covered rocks with bubbly enthusiasm. Dipping his hands into the cool refreshing stream, Frederick splashed water over his arms and sighed at the relief. He lifted a drink to his mouth. The cold liquid felt good going down his parched throat. He never failed to appreciate how refreshing it was after a day of slaving over a blazing furnace.
When the ache in his fingers subsided to a dull throb, he stood and walked farther into the mass of towering trees. A few birds called to one another against the distant grating of the bucksaws. Before long the rest of the crew would come in for the night. It was moments like this that Frederick loved.
T
he buckers might need some extra help—that is, when his hands were healed properly. The pay was just as good as driving Inferno and would provide a way for him to get away from Jake Pearson and his sister. If he volunteered for the most dangerous job, he could make money that much faster.
Frederick ventured with care over fallen dead logs and through blackberry brambles, closer to the sounds of the bucksaw. No wonder the lumberjacks enjoyed their work. Here in the midst of God’s handiwork, peace and tranquility permeated the air. He should fit right in, or so he thought.
A sharp, loud crack split the silence like a jagged bolt of lightning. Frederick jumped. A tree was falling. The swishing of tree limbs was followed by a long drawn-out “Tiiiimmmbbbeeerrr!”
With a rapid glance to his left and then to his right, Frederick had little time for making an assessment as to which direction was safest. Additional creaks and groans from the monumental tree reverberated throughout the forest.
“Lord God, protect me.” A prayer uttered out of sheer desperation.
Looking up to the top of the hill, Frederick spotted the crew scrambling to the left. He quickly followed suit, leaping over sword ferns, clawing his way through blackberry brambles, and digging through the dirt on his hands and knees. God forbid one of those towering pines came down on him. It would squish him flatter than a pancake.
No more than a few seconds had elapsed when he heard a thundering boom followed by squawking of birds and the shattering of tree limbs. The tree had landed. Shouts filled the air as Mr. Wilkin, the crew boss, called to check on everyone’s well-being.
A voice cut through the chaos. “Look out! That widow-maker’s coming down, too!” The racket of creaking, crunching, and the splintering of wood grew louder and more menacing. Observing the mass of timber above him moving to the right, common sense told Frederick to run to the left. He sprinted as fast as his legs and the terrain would allow, stumbling and panting with every step. He didn’t know much about falling timber, but he had enough sense to know that he had get out of the way.
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