“I’m Rebecca…Hart, the new owner of the shop.” She would be sole proprietress once she convinced her father. “My father has set me up in business here, but he’s still my partner. He’s given me discretion on extending credit, though.”
The woman clapped her hands together. “Good. Because with donations decreasing for the orphanage, we’ve tapped out our account with Mr. Labron.”
“I see. Well, why don’t you sit down and tell me what you’ll need.” The only available seating was the two chairs recently delivered but as yet uncrated.
Her voice echoed in the almost empty room. Although crates were being moved in steadily by the men from the docks, she still had no display cases.
Sister Mary Lou and Amelia waited as Rebecca pulled the chairs free from the boxes and awkwardly sidled over to the counter with one chair at a time. The little girl sat on an overturned crate and pulled a tiny, blue yarn doll from her pinafore pocket. A smile tugged at Rebecca’s lips. How she’d loved playing with dolls as a girl, wishing one day she’d have her own children. But such was not to be. In a little over two years, she’d be thirty years old. She was unattached and had no intention of marrying. Why, then, did a certain tall, dark, and handsome lumberjack come to mind?
Focusing her attention to the task at hand, she sat beside Sister Mary Lou and opened her ledger.
“First of all, what is this Lumberjack Ball about?”
The little girl smiled shyly from where she sat. “That’s where the shanty boys invite the town girls out to dance and celebrate the big haul being over.”
“I see.” Rebecca hadn’t been to a dance since she was fourteen years old, and that was only because it was held in a family member’s honor on Mackinac Island. She vaguely recollected there being a woodsmen’s ball promoted about the time of her attack. “And do the girls have a gentleman invite them?”
The little girl nodded enthusiastically. “The lumberjacks ask the prettiest girls in town to go.”
Rebecca felt her lips twitch. By no means would anyone find her attractive in her plain attire and severe hairstyle.
Sister Mary Lou patted the child’s hand. “We’ll be making all kinds of goodies to sell that might help us keep food in the mouths of you orphans. That’s what we need to focus on.”
“Yes, Sister.” The child lowered her head and began pulling bits of cloth from her pocket, which she used to “dress” her doll.
The pretty nun directed her attention to Rebecca. “I need ribbon, crochet hooks, yarn, knitting needles, and crochet thread.”
“In what amounts?”
Sister Mary Lou opened a black satin reticule and, after retrieving a scrap of notepaper, pressed it into Rebecca’s hands.
Rebecca felt her eyes widening as she scanned the numbers and the remainder of the list. Such goods would tap out a fair amount of her allocated credit budget at the big Lumbermen’s Bank down the street. “Am I correct in assuming you’d need to be advanced that full amount as a credit purchase?”
The nun’s full lips thinned and she cast Rebecca a stern look.
“We might sell some of our popular antimacassars at one of our parish benefits before the dance. We could reimburse you with those receipts.”
Rebecca tapped her pencil on the wooden countertop. “What level of return have you had on your previous attempts?”
“Five hundred percent.” The nun’s light eyes sparkled.
Great day! “You have yourself a deal, Sister.” She laughed.
“Very good.” The woman sighed. “Now, to keep little Amy here busy until the supplies arrive.”
Glancing at all of her unopened boxes, an idea struck Rebecca. “Would Amelia be available to assist me in unpacking my inventory as it arrives? I can pay her from my budget and that cost can be either credited against your bill for supplies or used to purchase goods.”
The two exchanged a quick glance and the child nodded enthusiastically. Sister Mary Lou patted Amelia’s head. “If we might, I’d opt for using her wages toward extra canned goods for the children. Or fresh fruit if you get any in.”
“I have oranges arriving soon. And we’ve got apples in the barrel by the door. They’re delicious.” She pointed to the remnants of her apple. “Help yourself. Could Amelia stay now?”
It would be much less lonely with the girl there. How had she in only a few short days gone from being ecstatic over her isolation to now craving company?
The nun’s jaw dropped open as Rebecca pulled a large canvas bag from a crate and handed to her. “Fill that up. I’ll have her back to you by dinner time.”
“Very good. Thank you, dearie.”
Amelia grinned and hopped up from her seat. “Do you have a hammer for me to uncrate these boxes, Miss Hart?”
“I do. And do you know how to use the nail puller to open them?”
“Yes, ma’am. Our supplies were always sent crated like this out to the island.”
“Island?”
“Yes, ma’am. My parents owned a shop on Mackinac Island—until they took sick.”
Rebecca didn’t want to ask. If the child was at the orphanage, surely they had died. Amelia would discuss the details in her own good time. Why hadn’t island residents taken the child into their home?
“I’m a little surprised the parish sent you over to the mainland, since Mackinac Island has their own orphanage at St. Anne’s Church.”
The child’s lower lip began to quiver. “Sister Mary Lou asked for me to come.”
“Oh?” Rebecca handed the child the hammer and the girl began to pry out the nails on the crate’s lid.
“I tell you what, miss, I sure am glad I didn’t have to stay over there anymore.” Amelia’s features hardened and for an instant she resembled an elderly woman.
“Were they unkind to you, then?”
“That ain’t the half of it.” Amelia opened the crate and began to lift items from the straw inside.
“I’m sorry.” Horrible images danced through Rebecca’s mind. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No, miss, but they yelled all the time and I wasn’t used to that.”
Sometimes Rebecca wished her parents had ranted and railed instead of discussing in hushed whispers and looking at her with disappointment, as though she’d brought Myron Peevey’s attack upon herself. “Yes, well, I’m sure Sister Mary Lou doesn’t yell.”
“Nope. She’s a real lady, but my dad would have said ‘she’s a tough one.’”
“She’d have to be with all those orphans to look after!”
“Yes, that’s a true one if ever I heard it.”
What must it be like with so many children to watch over? Perhaps Rebecca could volunteer to help, once she got the store up and running.
“Ooooh, that one is pretty!” Amelia pulled a white and pink rosebud teacup and saucer set free from its packaging. “Sister Mary Lou would love this set.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” But where were the rest of the teacups she’d sent for?
The little girl ran her finger around the porcelain cup’s rim. “When Lent is over, the parish is going to have a party for all the ladies who volunteered to help with us and with the church.”
“Oh? That sounds very nice.”
“Yes, it is.” Amelia smiled up at her. “Maybe you’d like to donate something from your shop to it?”
The faintest twinge of offense plucked at her chest before Rebecca laughed. “I can tell you have the beginnings of a good little businesswoman.”
“We always had people asking for donations on the island.” The child set the teacup and saucer back in their wrappings. “What I don’t understand is why with my parents being so kind, why didn’t I receive that in return?”
“I can’t say.” Words filled her mouth and spilled forth, as though Rebecca could not contain them. “Sometimes what seems like something bad can become a blessing. We have to wait and pray to see what God does with this in your life.”
Amelia’s mouth fell open.
“That is exactly what Father Paul told me last night.”
And something God must have wanted the child to hear again. Rebecca pressed her fingertips to her lips, which tingled. Years had passed since God had given her a word to share with others. A decade gone by.
Whatever was within her power to show in kindness to this child, she would do. Rebecca pointed to the teacup set. “That’s an early Easter gift for you, for being such a good helper.”
“Really, Miss Hart?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” Amelia threw herself at Rebecca and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad I get to work for you!”
Blinking back moisture in her eyes, Rebecca patted the girl’s back. “That makes two of us. Come back after school tomorrow.”
4
True to her word, Amelia returned the next afternoon. “It’s sunny outside, today, Miss Hart, and Father Paul says the snow will soon melt away.”
“Good day to you, too.” Rebecca couldn’t help but smile.
“Sorry, I should have said ‘good afternoon’ but I forgot—I’m so excited about working here.”
“Hang up your coat.” Rebecca almost called the child sweetheart, which her own mother had called her in front of customers. But only when others were present—why was she just now realizing that?
“Yes, ma’am.” Amelia hung her coat on a peg. “Can I look at my teacup?”
“After you’ve done your work, then you may.”
The doorbells jingled as Garrett Christy entered, filling up the doorway. No wonder his comrades nicknamed him Ox. “I’ve brought something for you.”
Exhaling loudly, Rebecca placed her hands on her aproned hips. “Good day to you, as well, Mr. Christy.”
He frowned as his big hands clutched a dark-stained cherrywood box with drawers. It resembled a miniature display case. “Already wished you a good day this morning—don’t that one still stand?”
Rebecca pressed her eyes closed for a moment. Between his grammatical issues and failure to maintain social etiquette, how would this man be a good example to little Amelia?
The orphan jumped up and ran to Mr. Christy. “Oh, it’s beautiful, and I love the little heart.”
“Thank you.” The big man’s cheeks reddened.
“I’m Amelia and I’ll be helping here.” She ran a finger over the heart. “Who is this for?”
“My name is Garrett Christy, and this here case is gonna be for someone real special.”
Amelia turned to her. “Are you his sweetheart?”
Rebecca’s jaw dropped, but she couldn’t utter a word.
The girl glanced between the two of them. “Why, this is your wedding gift, isn’t it, Miss Hart? A jewelry box to hold all the fine things that Mr. Christy will buy you someday, right? My mama had a case like this.”
The lumberjack cleared his throat. “Actually, little gal, this here is an example of some display cabinets I’d like to build for Miss, um… Hart, who is fixing to be a fine businesswoman in this town, and far too good for the likes of a shanty boy like me.”
With his eyes averted from her and fixed on the little girl, Rebecca furtively surveyed Garrett’s handsome profile. Her breath caught in her throat. Did he truly believe she was too good for him? Or was he sparing her feelings by pretending?
Amelia bounced up and down, a gesture that reminded Rebecca of young Garrett when he’d accompanied his father to her store. “You should ask Miss Hart to the Lumberjacks’ Ball before anyone else does.”
Rebecca found her tongue. “Amelia, that’s quite enough.”
“Lumberjacks’ Ball?” Garrett’s dark eyebrows pulled together beneath the frayed cuff of his red Frenchman’s cap. She’d give him one of the new ones as soon as they came in stock. Or had his true sweetheart, the one who’d attend the dance with him, knit the headcovering for him? If so, she’d only embarrass herself further if she offered him a store bought hat. For pity’s sake, he could be married already.
“Mr. Christy surely already has a wife.” His father always kept a family lumber camp. Surely at his age, and with him being the boss’s son, he’d have married by now. She exhaled, certain he’d confirm her thoughts.
“Nope.” He grinned lopsidedly and rocked back on his boot heels.
Clapping her tiny hands together, Amelia grinned. “Good—then you can ask Miss Hart.”
“No!” they both shouted in unison.
The little girl’s eyes filled with tears, and Rebecca wrapped an arm around her. “I’m sorry for yelling.”
“Yeah, we didn’t mean to scare you.” Garrett bent down and touched the girl’s chin.
The lumberjack’s gesture bothered Rebecca and she pulled Amelia toward her. “And we weren’t mad at you, child.”
“Why did you shout then?” Her pink lips formed a pout.
“I, um…” She cast about for an answer, but could not explain her strong emotions to herself much less to a child.
When Garrett’s eyes locked on hers, Rebecca’s breath caught, for they held an open invitation despite his denial. And somehow, that pleased her. If only her heart would stop galloping in her chest.
***
He might not be there in a few months, and Garrett wasn’t about to be committing to attending any dances. Besides which, he didn’t know how to do a jig unless one counted log rolling in the river as a dance. And the last time he’d tried inviting someone to the woodman’s ball near camp—look how that turned out. His face heated in shame at the rejection he’d received. “I won’t be going to the ball, little miss, that’s why.”
“Did you forget my name already?” She cocked her head at him. “You can call me Amy—it’s easier to remember and I like it better.”
He laughed. “No, I didn’t forget your name little miss, Amy.” He tweaked her pug nose.
She giggled. “You still didn’t answer me. Why can’t you go to the dance?”
“Aw, I’m kind of loud at celebrations, and that’s not always appreciated by the womenfolk. I’m a big guy with a booming voice.” That wasn’t exactly true of him since he tried to keep his feelings, other than anger toward bullies, under control. If he wasn’t protecting someone, he didn’t have a loud voice. Who was he protecting now—Janie, whom he needed to think of as Rebecca, or himself?
“Neither will I be attending.” Rebecca’s pretty face became grim and Amy ducked behind her.
No surprise with Rebecca’s pronouncement—she’d rejected his request those many years ago, hadn’t she? Sweat began to trickle down his collar.
“But let me see what you brought.”
He set the example on her counter top. “You know I can fix you a better counter, too.”
“Hmm?” Rebecca ran her finger slowly over the miniature cabinet’s tiny shelves and then pulled a minuscule drawer open. “How did you make dovetail joints so small?”
He shrugged.
“This is exquisite.” He heard her intake of breath before she looked up at him. And suddenly his lungs stopped working as he gazed into her hazel eyes and then down toward her lips. He broke his gaze away and stepped back.
“Thank you.” He rubbed his chin, wishing he had his beard to cover his hot face, which always glowed red when he was embarrassed. Ma called it the mark of a true Irishman, those twin spots of red on his cheekbones when he was upset.
Amy peeked from behind Rebecca, eyes wide.
“How could we afford such expert craftsmanship?” Rebecca’s stern voice would make her a formidable negotiator in a business deal.
“Well, I had some ideas about that.” He had some notions he better control, too. “How about we discuss that over dinner tonight?”
“Miss Hart, I think Mr. Christy did just ask you out for a social occasion.” Amy slipped up and in between them, pulling at the drawers, open and shut.
“No, Amelia—so don’t start any rumors.” Rebecca dropped her chin. “Mr. Christy and I are staying at the same inn and we take our meals together at night.”
“I tell you what, though, Amy.” He quirked an eyebrow at the little girl.
“What’s that?”
He leaned in conspiratorially but whispered loudly enough so that Rebecca could hear, “If Miss Hart hires me then I’ll be here a whole lot more. Maybe then you can teach me to dance better, little miss. Do you know how?”
The golden-haired girl bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, sir, I do.”
He swept his hand through the air, in a pretense of a grand gesture. “There, you have it then.”
When he turned to Rebecca, the film of tears in her eyes surprised him. Must be all the dust in the air from the crates.
“Miss Hart, what do you say? Do you need a good carpenter?”
***
An acquaintance and almost-friend when they were young, her savior when older, and now a craftsman, Garrett Christy wanted to bring her store, her dream of freedom, to life. Rebecca quickly turned away from him, stifling a small sniff. “Yes,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m going to the back for a moment.”
Leaving Amelia with Garrett, she pulled her cloak from a peg and wrapped it around her shoulders and then went out the back door to the stoop. Nearby, daffodils pushed up through dark muck that passed for a minuscule garden. Had someone once lived on this property before the store had been built?
Across the alleyway, stacks of empty crates awaited either return to the wharf or breaking down into kindling by tobacconist who owned adjacent shop. Thank goodness Cordelia Jeffries had gotten Garrett to quit the nasty habit of chewing tobacco. It was hard to believe the well-muscled, broad-chested, and over six-foot-tall man was the lithe boy she’d known. Her closest “friend,” or so she’d thought, had been Myron Peevey before he’d grown up and departed for the lumber camps closer to Traverse City. The Christy brothers used to come to town weekly with their father, although rarely with their mother and sister. They’d always been kind and friendly to her, but she hadn’t really known them.
She’d been seventeen when Myron suddenly turned on her. He’d arrived back from months at the camp and came to her house at early evening, tapping on her window, urging her to sneak out for a walk with him. He’d changed, she’d known it, since his father had died and he’d become a lumberjack with one of the most notorious camps in central Michigan. But somehow she’d believed that the young man, who’d practically worshipped her, was still that sweet, mistreated boy who’d followed her around. Instead, she’d been dragged to the AuSable River to die. Myron stuffed his filthy handkerchief in her mouth when she’d yelled but he’d pulled it out when she stopped struggling. He’d wrapped a rope around her neck and thrown it over an oak branch as she’d stared up, horrified, at the full moon. He’d intended to hang her and throw her body in the river. Myron pulled on the rope, lifting her feet from the ground, and she began to choke. If she had any chance of making it out of this alive, she had to do something. When the limb cracked and dropped, hitting her in the head, she fell to the ground and remained motionless—hoping he’d think she was dead. Or at least unconscious. With putrid breath, he’d bent over her, listening for her breathing. But then her once close friend lifted her body and she feigned limpness in his arms, once thin as rails but now as strong and unyielding as iron. Before he threw her in the water, she briefly opened her eyes and had spotted a flicker of light in the distance. She had drawn in the deepest breath she could. Then she floated, still, as the river carried her swiftly away. Lying on her back, she opened her eyes, gazing up at the stars in the sky and glanced toward shore where Myron disappeared into the thick woods. The swift water tugged at her clothing and she thrashed, pulling free her cloak. It drifted away from her as she moved downriver, water splashing in her face.
The Lumberjacks' Ball (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 2) Page 3
