Mountain Christmas Brides

by Mildred Colvin

  Frederick could see that it was going to be a close race for his life.

  Emma swept the bunkhouse for the tenth time and filled the woodbox for the old stove. The nights were getting so cold, and she pitied the men sleeping in these damp and freezing quarters. That included her brother. And it was only early October. How much colder would it get in January? Oh, if only they could leave.

  An argument just outside the bunkhouse caught her attention. From what she heard, Frederick Corrigan had nearly been killed by a falling tree!

  Emma clasped her hand over her mouth. What, pray tell, was he doing traipsing through the woods? He had to have known how unsafe that was. Mr. Wilkin was arguing with a man, and Emma decided to investigate.

  “You need to be more careful when you’re felling timber, especially widow-makers!” Mr. Wilkin’s face was red. “Corrigan could have been killed.”

  “I’m fine.” Mr. Corrigan rubbed the back of his neck.

  She took a step back in surprise. He didn’t look fine—he looked as if he were going to topple over any minute. Couldn’t the other men see he was in no condition to stand outside arguing about whose fault it was?

  “He should have never been out there anyway!”

  “I hate to say it, but he’s right, Corrigan. Stanley, just try to be more careful,” a calmer Mr. Wilkin said.

  Emma was quite surprised to see that the boss’s son was the one arguing with Mr. Wilkin. Stanley Kenicky, not a day over twenty-one, lugged at least that many extra pounds around his thick middle.

  “You can forget working in the woods, Corrigan.” Stanley jabbed his finger in Frederick’s direction. “I’ll see to that.”

  Frederick stepped forward, but Mr. Wilkin held him back.

  Emma drew back against the door and tried to keep from trembling.

  “Don’t worry about this, Miss Pearson,” Stanley said. “You go back inside now.”

  The condescending tone of his voice made Emma shift from one foot to the other with mounting discomfort. He didn’t seem like a pleasant person to work with. She felt sorry for the cutting crew. She turned and headed back into the bunkhouse. The sound of arguing filled her ears as she went.

  Frederick lay propped up in bed and grumbled at the bandages the doctor placed on his hands all the way up to each elbow. No thanks to Stanley Kenicky, they were now scratched and bleeding besides burned and bruised. His head ached horribly, and he had lost his chance to work in the woods.

  He needed to get back to work. Not only did he need the money, but Jake was placed in charge of training another new man how to drive Inferno. That was a recipe for disaster. Jake was nothing but a greenhorn himself and not in any position to be training anybody in how to get the timber to the mills.

  And what about his father’s house? Frederick should take some time to visit the aging man, but couldn’t afford to take time off work. His body could heal just as well at the helm of Inferno as it could lying around.

  Heaving himself up and off the bed, he wobbled as his head swam.

  “Frederick Corrigan, shouldn’t you be resting?” Miss Pearson set a tray on the table, hurried to him, and grabbed him around the waist. Even in his wounded condition, it felt good. Her touch was something he could definitely get used to.

  For the past three days after Frederick Corrigan’s near brush with death, Emma had wrestled against pity knotting in her stomach for him. He had been nearly crushed by a widow-maker, but insisted on doing as much for himself as possible.

  “Here, Mr. Corrigan, why don’t you lie down? I’ve brought you some food.” Emma advanced toward him, carrying a tray.

  The aroma of the fresh meal wafted upwards and it smelled delicious. Corn and potato chowder—his favorite—along with some fresh-baked bread and a cup of coffee.

  “Thank you, Miss Pearson.” He grimaced as he looked at her. His stomach growled loud enough for her to hear.

  She stifled a giggle. “Sounds like you’re hungry.” She handed him the napkin.

  He took the cloth and tucked it around his neck. He reached for the bowl of steaming chowder and began to eat.

  “Mind if I keep you company?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” A bit dribbled down his chin.

  This time she couldn’t help but giggle out loud. “It’s not easy eating with thick bandages from fingertips to forearms. Allow me to help you, and please, Mr. Corrigan, call me Emma.” She helped him hold the spoon in his hand so he wouldn’t drop it. He spooned a few more bites into his mouth before he replied.

  “Pleased to have your company, Emma. You can call me Frederick if you like.” A genuine grin curved across his tanned features and caused Emma’s heart to jerk and skip a beat.

  “Thank you, Frederick.” Heat rose to her face as if she were standing in front of a blazing hot stove. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt too terribly bad, and I’m glad you’re on the mend.”

  She sounded like a giddy schoolgirl. She ducked her head with embarrassment. Several quiet moments elapsed as Frederick polished off his bowl of chowder.

  “That was delicious.”

  “It’s my mother’s recipe. She made it often when Jake and I were small.” Emma shifted in her seat with nervous energy. She was sorry they had gotten off on the wrong foot and wished she hadn’t said such horrible things to him.

  “I’m sorry for the terrible things I said to you, Frederick. I know they wounded you deeply. Please forgive me.”

  Frederick gazed at her with uncertainty written in his expression. His eyes were so incredibly blue, and she gazed into them, into his very soul. Could he see the longing in her eyes? Momentarily startled, she wondered where that longing had come from.

  “It’s all forgiven, Miss Pear—um, Emma. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing.” Frederick cleared his throat once and then again a second time. He reached for his coffee and took a long slow drink. “And would you please forgive me for the things I said to you?”

  Emma’s cheeks grew even warmer. She fanned her face with the hem of her apron and gasped to catch her breath. She desperately wanted to believe him.

  Time and again she had seen her stepfather say he was sorry only to imbibe again and again. And in the dark of night he slunk home to take his rage out on her mother while Emma cowered under her blanket. She’d rather be boiled in hot laundry water than make the same mistakes as Mama. It was best if she just left and didn’t get attached.

  “All is forgiven, Frederick. I’ll take those dishes to the kitchen now if you don’t mind. I’ve work to do before the men come from the woods.” She grabbed the tray and hurried from the room. Experience had taught her well the dangers of trusting daring men who said they were sorry for their heedlessness.

  Chapter 5

  Several days later, with his hands and forearms mostly healed, Frederick stood on board Inferno with Jake Pearson and Stanley Kenicky. He struggled to move within the crowded space. Jake was stoking the engine with his usual arrogance, while Stanley looked ready to jump off before the train had a chance to move.

  The company was in the process of acquiring a new locomotive to replace the one that had gone over the bridge and crashed. At least one more engineer was needed to run it, and Stanley’s father had decided that Stanley was ready for the job.

  “Nothing to worry about, kid,” Jake said. “Just keep the fires burning hot and know when to use the brakes.” He gave the young man a slap on the back and then threw more wood into the furnace.

  Stanley looked even paler than a moment ago.

  Frederick groaned. It was going to be a long day. Jake had done well learning to use the brakes and the furnace. The problem was that he hadn’t learned to use them at the appropriate times. Frederick hoped to get a moment alone with Jake and ask him about his sister. He wanted to spend more time with her and become a true friend.

  The furnace grew hot as the locomotive picked up speed.

  “I think I’ll be spending the afternoon in town running som
e errands for Father,” Stanley stammered as he cowered against the wall. Frederick wondered about the truthfulness of his statement but wasn’t about to question it. Grateful for the opportunity to have Stanley gone, he hoped to speak with Jake alone.

  The locomotive rolled along the tracks at a normal speed. “We’re doing real well, boys. Let’s not get carried away.” Frederick didn’t want Stanley reporting to his father that they were reckless engineers.

  “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times,” he reiterated, wishing he could toss Jake from the engine. “You need to watch the speed and not get rolling faster than what the brakes can handle.”

  The temperature rose within the small quarters of the engine car and sweat blurred Frederick’s vision. Widow’s Bend approached.

  “We’re going too fast!” Stanley screamed, white-knuckling the side of the locomotive.

  “We can handle this just fine!” Jake shouted.

  “Just hang on. Don’t worry, she always leans a little,” Frederick instructed. Wheels screeched as the engine rounded the most dangerous part of the bend and lifted.

  “Lean this way!” Frederick yelled.

  Emma jumped up and down with excitement at the chance to go into town and do some shopping. Counting her meager savings, she prayed for money enough to purchase some lace or new buttons for her mother’s green dress. Christmas was coming up, as well as a number of parties to celebrate Washington being signed into the Union. She needed time to sew something pretty to the gown.

  “Let’s go, Emma,” Mr. Kenicky hollered above the noise of the company’s new locomotive. It was good to see that the company had replaced the one that had plunged off a bridge a few weeks ago. This one had a few seats for passengers, unlike the one that crashed and left one train engineer dead. If only she could do something to help the widow and her children. Knowing the deceased man had been Frederick’s friend, Emma made a mental note to add the family to her list of folks to pray for.

  Hustling to the train, Emma took care while boarding to not get her best dress dirty. Mrs. Wilkin had decided to join them, so squeezing into the small space wasn’t an easy feat. Emma didn’t wish to rub against something that would turn her pale blue dress a horrid shade of charcoal black.

  Mr. Kenicky, who also happened to be a skilled engineer, piled wood into the furnace and soon the wheels turned round and round along the tracks. Emma squirmed like a child in church the entire way. It soon grew hot in the car, but not any hotter than standing in front of a mammoth caldron of boiling wash water.

  Mr. Kenicky was a cautious driver, and Emma didn’t flinch in the slightest as the train rounded Widow’s Bend. If anything, she enjoyed the gentle breeze that wafted into the car and cooled her flushed face.

  The town’s buildings soon came into view. Emma craned her neck to soak up every image she could. Three new stores and a large barn had been built on the end of one very long street. She could hardly wait to browse through each one of them.

  The engine’s whistle blew, startling her. She covered her ears, and the brakes screeched as if in protest. Once the train had rolled to a stop, Emma all but leapt from the locomotive.

  “I’ll be back in time to ride home for dinner.” She waved a hand over her shoulder and rushed toward the nearest mercantile.

  Strolling up and down the aisles, Emma rubbed her fingers over one bolt of fabric after another. Soft cotton, crisp taffeta, and smooth cool silks all cried out to be sewn into something beautiful, but they were out of her means. Even so, she could hardly wait to get back to camp and make use of her needle and thread.

  “Oh, how are you today, Miss Pearson?” Abigail Leonard waltzed down the fabric aisle as if she clung to the arm of a prince of England. “I hear you have a pig for a pet, and a beau.” Abigail’s cackling echoed off the walls of the store and sank deep into Emma’s heart.

  “I don’t have a beau.”

  “Oh, no? I hear you’re sweet on Frederick Corrigan, and he’s sweet on you.” Abigail jutted her chin in the air. To Emma, the haughty girl’s ruddy cheeks belied a look of pea green jealousy.

  “You’re wrong. Now, please just let me be,” Emma snapped as she turned on her heel and stomped away. The Wilkins were such a great family, Emma couldn’t figure out how their youngest daughter, Anna, could be friends with Abigail.

  As she walked away from the sneering girl, a bolt of fine imported material all but leaped out at Emma. A gasp escaped her lips, followed by a soft groan of disappointment. She caressed the fabric that would never be hers, and then she jerked her fingers back as if she’d touched a rat. No sense in dreaming over something she couldn’t afford. Her complaints to Jake about the drudgery of her job came back to her in a rush.

  Emma wandered through the mercantile with twinges of guilt following close behind her. She shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on Jake to make more money. No wonder he worked so hard. She decided to forego a dress for herself and make him a nice shirt instead. She could afford the material, and she’d pull some buttons off an old shirt to finish it.

  Moving farther down the aisle, her eyes fell on a cream-colored spool of eyelet lace. It equaled in softness the finest dress she’d ever owned. She could use it to patch a few worn spots on her mother’s dress and wear it to the Christmas Eve service. But she didn’t have the money to buy both the lace and the shirt material.

  No matter. Jake deserved a new shirt for taking such good care of her. Emma moved past the expensive dress material and the lace and proceeded to the counter.

  She pulled several coins from her reticule. “I need a few yards of that new green plaid flannel, if you please.”

  “Yes, of course,” the clerk replied, and went to retrieve her supplies. He returned a few minutes later and tallied up her purchase. Emma paid the man and was about to gather up her package when she heard an unfamiliar voice behind her.

  “Why, you’re Emma Pearson, aren’t you? Jake’s younger sister.”

  The hair on the back of Emma’s neck bristled and her hands grew cold and clammy. She made a slow turn on her heel to gaze at a leering Stanley Kenicky.

  “Good afternoon.” Emma tried to keep her voice from quavering, and failed.

  “Did you hear? Dad’s gonna give me a job running the rails on the new train.”

  “Oh.” It was all Emma could think of to say. She was getting an eerie feeling deep in her stomach from the way he looked at her.

  “I’ve seen you cleaning for the crew, helping out Mrs. Wilkin, and hanging around Frederick Corrigan.”

  A small gasp flew from Emma’s lips. What’s he doing watching my every move? She had to get away from this man.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Emma clutched her package and fled from the store.

  “I’ll be seeing you around, you can be sure of that, Miss Pearson.” Stanley’s laughter echoed behind her, but she dared not turn and give him the pleasure of knowing how much he unnerved her.

  Chapter 6

  The early November morning had dawned crisp and clear while Inferno rolled along the tracks. Much to Frederick’s relief, Jake began to show some signs of restraint and care when it came to running the rails.

  “So how is Miss Emma today?” Frederick held his hands close to the furnace to warm them against the chilly air.

  “She’s doing fine. She’s all excited about the territory becoming a state. Been sewing on one of our mother’s dresses, trying to patch it, for the occasion.” Jake’s hand rested on the brake lever, ready for any emergency, or so Frederick hoped.

  “Er, Jake.” Frederick paused and cleared his throat. “I’d like to escort your sister to the Christmas Eve service, with your blessing of course.” There. He’d said it. He rubbed his hands together and then held them to his face for warmth.

  “That’d be fine with me. I know you’re a good man, Fred, but it’s up to Emma, and she’s real cautious with gentlemen.”

  “I see.” Frederick noted the expression on Jake’s face. Not
used to seeing the man so serious, he raised his eyebrows and almost questioned Jake further, but then thought it best not to pry.

  Perhaps a man had broken her heart in the past. But plenty of women had been spurned and went on to love again. There had to be another, more deeply rooted reason for her feelings.

  The lumber mill came into view and Jake put the brakes on. When they stopped, Jake climbed down ahead of Frederick.

  “I’ve got some business in town. I’ll wait for your next trip and catch a ride home with you then,” Jake called over his shoulder as he walked toward town.

  “Sounds good, enjoy your lunch.” Frederick waved then helped the sawmill crew unload the logs from the flatcars. He was soon on his way back to the camp, with images of Emma dancing in his head like tree branches in a gentle breeze.

  “Lord, why am I thinking about her so much?” Frederick shook his head. He probably shouldn’t have given her a pig for a gift. Of course he cared for her, but he was loath to admit he was falling in love, because he wasn’t. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  The sound of a loud pop and then a hiss brought Frederick back to the present. Another hose had burst, and now he’d have to stop and repair it. He slapped the side of the engine then applied the brakes. Time was money on the rails, and he growled at having to stop.

  An hour went by as Frederick removed the bad hose with his pocket knife and installed the new one. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but with some extra twine tied and twisted here and there, he made it work. Such was life in the logging business. Men made do with what they had and learned to think on their feet.

  “Thank You, Lord,” Frederick murmured. At least the hose had been to something else and not the brakes. “Now back to work.”

  Two miles passed by uneventfully and Frederick began to breathe peacefully again. He could go extra fast and try to make up for lost time, but after some thought he decided against it. His hand clutched at the brake lever when a doe and her fawn leapt across the tracks. He relaxed his grip as they cleared the rails with mere seconds to spare. The last thing he wanted was to stop yet again.