The Lumberjacks’ Ball
The Christy Lumber Camp Series
Book Two
By Carrie Fancett Pagels
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, places, characters, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by Carrie Fancett Pagels
All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever—except short passages for reviews—without express permission. For information, e-mail [email protected].
First Edition
April 2015
Printed and bound in the United States of America
ISBN-13
ISBN-10
Cover Art by Cynthia Hickey
For contact with the author or speaking engagements, please visit www.CarrieFancettPagels.com
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my son,
Clark Jeffrey Pagels,
whom the Lord blessed me with
thirteen years ago this month (April),
fulfilling His promise revealed to me.
1
St. Ignace, Michigan, April 1891
White-wash, freshly sawn wood, and shellac vapors permeated the air inside the mercantile, encapsulating the scent of Rebecca’s new beginning. Standing in the front center of the empty store, she clutched her blank order pad to her lace-covered chest. Outside the expanse of mullioned windows, an old carriage slowly churned its wheels through the slushy street. Across the roadway, the newest railroad tracks, all but unseen beneath clumps of dirty snow, ran parallel to the ferry docks. Beyond, the desolate white-capped waters of Lake Michigan churned dismal gray. If this was spring in the Upper Peninsula, then what would next winter be like?
The gusting wind swept through the cracks around the adjacent door. She shook off the sensation of abandonment that had swooped inside with it. Her parents had not left her alone since that fateful night a decade earlier. Finally, she was able to go about without her every move monitored. Her father’s lack of protest had shocked her, other than his absurd comment when she’d insisted he returned home to have inventory shipped up from Lower Michigan. Rebecca had remained in the Upper Peninsula, a full-grown adult of twenty-seven years, finally treated like she had a mind of her own. What a relief!
Father had given her one month to hire a manager. “Or find a husband,” he’d said. And he’d sounded serious! She laughed at the ridiculous comment. As though I’d ever marry. She had no intention of looking for either, since she was fully capable of running the new store herself.
Father knew her worth and must have enjoyed the jest he made. Her mother’s “suffering” over the attempt made on her only daughter’s life, must finally have worn as thin on her father as it had with her. Mother behaved as though she’d been the one left for dead, instead of the girl they once called “Janie,” now identified by her first name, Rebecca.
A red-capped man strode determinedly down the boardwalk, his red-and-black-checked wool Mackinaw jacket marking him as a lumberjack. Her heart hammered as she stepped away from the window.
Hastily locking the door, she inhaled the scent of sawdust and swiveled around. Her footsteps echoed in the long rectangular room as she moved toward the back to examine the counter constructed by a local carpenter. She frowned. Such inferior work wouldn’t stand the test of time.
The door rattled and she flinched. Rebecca turned to face the entrance, where a “shanty boy” stared through the window at her. Her breath caught in her throat as her heart betrayed her terror. The man’s almost-black eyes shone against fair skin. A thick beard extended to the middle of his chest and a red wool Frenchman’s cap covered his ebony hair.
Stop it right this minute! How will you ever be able to function on your own if you can’t control your emotions?
The man attempted a smile, displaying a set of straight white teeth. He pointed to the door, but she remained frozen. Why hadn’t she thought of this possibility? Why hadn’t she considered that lumberjacks would call on her, at the mercantile, while she was alone—until Father returned or she found assistance?
Father had placed ads and she’d submitted another that morning. They’d already found a man to supply them with wood for the stove and to bring it in each morning. She doubted she’d see Mr. Carpenter, who made his rounds very early each day.
Rebecca closed her eyes and sent up a quick prayer as she prepared to unlock the entry.
***
Why wouldn’t the woman open the door? Did he look that scary? Ox stroked his beard. Maybe it would be best to return when he’d had a shave and the owner was present.
He drew in a deep breath of frosty air and then exhaled, his breath fogging the window just as the woman finally headed toward the door.
Tall and slim, she moved with a natural grace constrained by tension, pulling at the fingers on her gloves, removing them as she approached the door and turned the latch.
The shop girl cracked the door open. A soft whoosh of warmth from the pot-bellied stove behind her flowed out.
“Good afternoon, miss. I’m here to ask about the cabinetry ad.” He hoped the job hadn’t been taken already; he sorely needed it if he was ever going to prove himself to his pa.
Ox pushed the door open as the woman stepped back, her mouth agape. Light brown hair, pulled back tightly from her face, strained her features, making them appear sharp in her creamy complexion. The hat squashed down over her hair did nothing to flatter her either. Wasn’t that the point of a lady wearing those fussy little caps?
Even her dress was drab—a gray skirt and blouse. With no color on her person, she looked like she wanted to fade into the very new woodwork.
When she said nothing, he removed his wool cap and moved toward the stove. “Mighty chilly out there, miss.”
She raised an ivory hand to her neck. “Aren’t you a lumberjack?” Her voice was soft and low, stirring something in him.
Her hazel eyes appeared, somehow, familiar.
She took him for a lumberjack? True, he looked the part. But he’d not be a lumberjack much longer, if he had anything to say about it. Not if he could prove that he could build furniture. “Well, ma’am, I do work in a camp but I have some free time. And I’d like a chance to prove myself.”
She arched a light brown eyebrow at him. “Prove?”
His cheeks heated. “I’m a good cabinet maker and I can do a sight better than what was done there, I reckon.” He pointed to the counter that clearly had been slapped together.
“Can you bring me in a sample of your work?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to.” He’d bring the miniature cabinet he’d made as a wedding gift for his sister, Josephine.
“What hours are you available?” She ran a finger over the top of her shirt collar and frowned.
“I can get myself over here at night and after church on Sunday.” He’d have to eat with Jo and her husband, Tom, at her bakery.
“I won’t be here in the evening.”
“No, ma’am, you shouldn’t be.” He looked around the wide room, noted the overpowering scent of fresh pine and shellac. Should have been applied elsewhere, not in the store. He nodded toward the front door and the docks of the wharf beyond. “You’re too far down this here street from the main traffic.”
The blush that bloomed on her face softened her features, making the woman appear almost pret
ty. What in tarnation has gotten into me? Think about the job, man, not how fetching she is. He shifted his weight. “I’d be happy to meet with your husband. I’m sure he’d not want his wife working down here at night.”
Her high cheekbones reddened further. “I have no husband.”
“Excuse me, ma’am. But may I meet with your father, then?”
She blinked rapidly. “No. You may return Sunday afternoon with your example.” Her tone had turned icy as the straits of Mackinac.
Garrett recognized a dismissal when he heard one. “Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am.”
She nodded curtly.
“Well, I’ll be on my way, miss.”
He stepped out into the frigid breeze; the lock clicked into place behind him. Good. That shop lady didn’t need to be alone here. No husband. Her father not even there. Something in his spirit gave him pause. He headed to his sister’s bakery. Maybe she and Tom could keep an eye on this single lady and make sure no one bothered her.
He slowed his steps and almost turned around. He’d failed to leave his name. With this move, he didn’t need to be known as Ox—an ignorant but strong animal. His given name, Garrett, should be used. The Garrett of his youth was quiet, responsible, and half in love with a girl named Janie. Why, after all these years, does that sweet gal come to mind?
Now to get everyone to call him Garrett, not Ox. At least he didn’t have the entire camp to contend with as far as correcting them. He groaned, pulled his cap down low over his ears, and bent his head against the wind. Instead of heading toward the bakery, he stopped in front of the barbershop.
His dark beard and Frenchman’s cap reflected back at him in the glass window. What did his face look like now? The last time he’d seen his bare face, he’d been seventeen. After stopping Peevey’s wicked plan, he’d no longer felt like a boy, but a man. Why, after all this time, did Janie come to mind? Perhaps because she, like this young woman, had a father who owned a mercantile. With waist-length golden blonde curls, Janie had always dressed fancy and seemed more like a decorative bird caged in her parents’ store.
He opened the door and went inside. Another patron sat in the chair, a sheet wrapped around his thick neck. The barber brushed hair from the back of the man’s head and collar then offered a mirror for inspection.
The barber turned to Garrett. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to take it all off.” He made a circular motion over his long beard. Sometimes he felt as though he’d been trying to hide from God under all that bushy hair.
“Hope you got a lot of free time available, young man.”
“Yes, sir.” Garrett inhaled the mix of hair tonic, pipe, and wood smoke that hung in the air of the small square room.
Over an hour later, Garrett took a look in the mirror. The terrified boy’s face he’d last seen beardless was gone, replaced by a man’s firm, determined jaw. He stroked his smooth cheek and the cleft in his chin. After returning the mirror, he stood and dug coins from his pocket to pay the barber.
“Wonder what my sis is gonna say. She’s not seen me beardless in so long, I reckon she might not recognize me.”
“You got that right, son.”
“Name’s Garrett Christy.” He thrust out his hand and they shook. “Thank you.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was another man entirely who’ll be walking out my door.”
Laughing, Garrett nodded his goodbye and walked out, turning toward his sister’s bakery.
Wait till Moose got a look at him—he wouldn’t believe the difference, either. Janie, if she were here, she’d surely recognize him. Wouldn’t she? He and Moose had vowed after Janie’s rescue that they’d never leave their sister in a situation where someone could hurt her. And they’d lived up to that promise. Now, Jo was Tom’s to protect.
But that woman in the new mercantile—who was watching over her?
2
Standing in the woodworking shop behind the inn, Garrett blew sawdust from the area where he’d finished chiseling “Cordelia’s Hotel” on the new sign. At least he wouldn’t have to pull bits of wood from his now-missing beard. All he had to do was wash up. And with the innkeeper’s insistence that he give up chewing tobacco, he’d have a cleaner face in general.
Cordelia Jeffries entered the small building, accompanied by the damp chill from the outside air. She crossed the rectangular room’s plank floor and joined him. “Looks wonderful.”
“Thank you. Just need to paint it.” He grinned, pleased with the results. His skills could earn him compensation and would keep Pa from having to foot the bill for the inn.
Cordelia cocked her head. “Your sister suggested red and blue lettering against a white background and then black on the edges.”
“Sounds good to me.” Garrett wiped his hands on his work pants. He pointed to his row of paints, lined up neatly on the shelf he’d installed. “I bought those this morning.”
“Very good.” The lady patted his arm, bringing to mind the way his mother often had when she wanted to get his attention. A sharp pang of sadness shot through him.
“Glad you’re happy, ma’am.”
She smiled. “Jo tells me it’s almost time for dinner to be served, and if you want any, you’d better come in.”
His sister, Josephine, was set to wed Tom Jeffries the following summer. Slow business at her new bakery should pick up when tourist season began. In the meantime, she’d agreed to cook for her future mother-in-law’s new hotel until full-time kitchen help was procured. For now, just Jo and three helpers ran the big kitchen. But the hotel currently only housed a dozen visitors.
“We have a new guest, too.” Cordelia’s smile widened. “The new general store owner.”
“He’s staying here?” Hadn’t the young woman said he’d left?
The inn owner laughed. “She is staying here. And as I understand it, her father is one of those free-thinking men who believes women should be given their chance in business.”
While Cordelia almost preened before him, happy in her cause for women’s progress, Garrett cringed. The North Country was hardly a place for a lady, much less one on her own. This, at least, was a comfort to him though—she’d be at the hotel, surrounded by other people. And he could keep an eye on her like he used to do for Jo before she’d met Tom.
The image of a gaily dressed and laughing blonde girl danced though his mind. Janie.
“Anything wrong, Ox? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He sucked in a breath. “No. Just keep remembering someone from long ago.” Someone he’d never forgotten—the girl responsible for his close guard over his sister, constant protective oversight that nearly cost Jo her happiness. “And if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be addressed by my given name, which is Garrett.” He swallowed. This was going to take some getting used to.
She cocked her head. “Are you finally seeing how that moniker is demeaning?”
Moniker? He searched her face.
She must have noticed his confusion because she laughed. “Your nickname—Ox—means a big dumb animal. You are anything but that, young man.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m honored to help you here at your new inn. We’ll get the wainscoting and all looking just like you want it.”
“Thank you, Garrett. And I want to tell you how pleased I am with everything you’ve built thus far, and how tidy you keep the woodworking shop.” Her eyes lit with pleasure, spiraling approval through him, and he grinned back at her.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll wish to tidy up before you join us at the table. Dinner will be served in half an hour.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there right quick once I’ve gussied myself up.” He winked at her and she laughed then motioned for him to go on. What a nice treat to have indoor plumbing. And hot water in a real porcelain bathtub situated down the hallway from his room.
As he entered the hallway, the savory scents of roasted meat and something full of cinnamon gr
eeted him. His mouth watered as he mounted the back stairwell up to his room. He made his way to the indoor bathroom to wash up. Too late for a bath, but he’d sure as shooting take one tonight after the ladies had tended to their needs.
Soon, he made his way back downstairs, this time descending the front staircase, which guests used. He eyed the empty stairwell’s wall, absent a railing. He’d install one as soon as he could before somebody took a tumble.
As he approached the long walnut table in the hotel’s private dining room, Cordelia gestured toward a young woman attired in pale gray finery. “Miss Hart, this is Garrett Christy, a talented woodworker, who is also staying at the hotel. You’ve met his sister, Jo, already.”
Jo winked at him. “Garrett?”
“Just like Ma named me.” He winked back at her.
Next, he met Miss Hart’s wide eyes. “Garrett Christy?” she croaked. “Th…that was you earlier then, too?”
Her face blanched as she raised a hand to her high lace collar. To his surprise, she scooted her chair away from the table and rose. “Please excuse me. I’m feeling poorly.”
Tom cocked his head at Garrett. “Seems you have quite the effect on women now that they can see your face, which I have to say is almost as good looking as mine.”
“Thomas!” Cordelia scowled.
Jo laughed along with her fiancé, but Garrett didn’t.
“You said her name was Miss Hart?”
Cordelia also rose from her chair and set her napkin back at its place. “Yes. Rebecca, the new proprietress of the mercantile.”
Rebecca Hart. Daughter of the store owner. With hazel eyes that could look right into a man’s soul, like Janie’s. Garrett got to his feet as chills ran down his torso, almost feeling a cold, wet, and limp drowning girl pressed against him.
***
Rebecca tried to catch her breath as she raised her skirts above her ankles and hurried upstairs to her room. Hot tears wet her face. There’s no getting away from my past. No matter where she went she’d never be free. And with his newly bare face, she now had no doubt that this raven-haired man was the same handsome youth who’d saved her years earlier. And who’d given testimony at the trial.
The Lumberjacks' Ball (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 2) Page 1
