You are not alone. God’s voice echoed in her heart.
I know, Lord, you are always with me. “God help me!” she cried out, fearing it might be her last utterance, when a pair of strong hands grasped her beneath her arms and hoisted her into a wobbling canoe as another young man worked to keep the vessel from flipping over.
Everything had happened so fast and she could barely see. “Who are you?” she’d rasped, her throat sore.
The one who had saved her removed the rope from her neck. “We’re the Christy brothers.”
When the full moon’s light broke free again from the clouds, illuminating their faces, she’d realized that she knew them. They were the two handsome ebony-haired boys who liked to watch her from the corner of their dark eyes when they were in her father’s store.
“You’re not alone,” her rescuer told her. “Not tonight. We’ve got you, miss, and we’ll get you back to shore.”
Chills, whether from the river or from Garrett Christy’s words, the same as those whispered to her heart earlier, coursed through her. He’d wrapped a wool blanket around her. And that was to be the last warmth of genuine human kindness she’d experience. Until now. But could she trust that kindness?
5
On her second week in the store, Rebecca arrived to find a drayman parked out front, and three crates leaned against the freshly painted building.
The driver tipped his black cap brim to her as he climbed up the side step and onto the dray’s wide wooden seat. He pulled a fox fur across his lap and then a small bear hide. “Those crates are real lightweight, miss. Shouldn’t be no trouble at all for you to bring ’em in.”
Irritated, she glared up at the elderly man. Was this how men in the Upper Peninsula treated women?
Lifting the reins, his red bulging knuckles and misshapen fingers revealed the truth—he suffered from severe rheumatism. What was he doing driving a dray in this cold weather? And no gloves on. Probably can’t pull them over his fingers. Sympathy mixed with guilt chased away her anger.
“Thank you, sir,” she called out, and a smile tugged at his lips as he whistled for his horses and flicked the reins.
Soon she had the door unlocked and she slipped inside. After setting her pocketbook behind the counter, she went back outside to retrieve the boxes. As the carter had said, each of the upper two crates weighted so little that she easily carried them inside and set them by the east wall. But the third, which was longer, almost three feet across, was not only heavy but also cumbersome, and she had to lift one end and drag it into the store, her back pressed against the door until she got it inside, her heart beating with the effort.
“Lightweight. Humph! This one is heavy.” She removed and hung up her blue wool coat and wool hat, and then tugged off her boots, and slipped her feet into a pair of navy leather pumps with shiny brass side buckles—the only bright ornamentation on any of her clothes.
After tending to the fire in the pot-bellied stove, she decided to open the first shipment. What would it be? Too light to be the fabulous teacups and saucers that she’d ordered before she’d left. She lifted the uppermost container and set it on the floor, then pried the top free with a bar.
Rebecca lifted the bolt of raspberry moire silk satin from the crate and stared, trying to suppress her shock. Did Father really believe the local ladies of St. Ignace would have need of such a fancy fabric? That was the clientele they strove to reach, not the summer crowd of wealthy tourists. She frowned, trying to think of what the women had worn to church. She’d not noticed, spending most of her time aware of the man who sat beside her. Garrett seemed to fill up the entire pew even when more than six of them shared it. His presence monopolized her thoughts, and she’d struggled to focus on the sermon’s message of Christ’s provision in every circumstance.
In what instance would such fluffery as this fabric be used? She exhaled a puff of air and unrolled a yard of satin. It had a fine hand and was a perfect weight for a spring gown. She carried the cumbersome bolt to the Cheval mirror that Garrett had helped assemble, then unrolled enough yardage to drape the silk over her shoulder.
The bells over the door jingled as an elaborately dressed child entered. She took a second look. Not a girl after all. A tiny young woman, adorned in heavy black wool from head to toe, fixed a bright sapphire gaze on Rebecca. She wiped her heavy, leather boots on the new mat and stood there, clutching a rectangular pocketbook in her gloved hands.
When the petite woman remained near the door, Rebecca rolled the bolt of fabric back up and brought it to the counter then turned to see she’d begun to step forward.
“Could I…that is…the fabric you just put up—is it claimed?” The woman’s voice was deeper, and warmer, than Rebecca anticipated, and held a note of authority despite the stutter in her words. Her boot heels clicked across the wood floor as she joined Rebecca at the counter and removed her gloves. She daintily stroked the rosy fabric. “It’s so pretty. And I need a new gown made up for me. They don’t have anything like this at Labrons.”
That was the third time since she’d arrived that customers pointed out her competitor’s store, at the other end of town.
“Take off your hat.” Rebecca pointed to the nearby new oak hat rack that Garrett had built. “And let’s see how this color goes with your hair.”
“Oh.” She patted the dark curls on her brow and then removed her heavy wool cap. “I’m afraid I usually pin my hair up so you won’t see it well.”
Didn’t Rebecca do the same thing?
“I’m wanting a new dress for the Lumberjacks’ Ball.” The woman grinned shyly.
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about that. So you’ve already been invited?”
The lady’s cheeks flushed as bright as the cloth. “Not yet, but I’m praying Mr. Christy will invite me.”
“Mr. Christy?” Sucking in a breath, Rebecca chose her next words carefully. “Oh, I see. Well, he’s a very nice man.”
“I know.” She smiled prettily. “I’m Juliana Beauchamps, the librarian.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you, Juliana. I’m Rebecca Hart, the proprietress of this mercantile.” Garrett never mentioned visiting the library. How had the two met?
Rebecca wasn’t Garrett Christy’s keeper. And he’d done nothing to insinuate that she was anything more than someone offering him a craftsman’s job; employment he wished to engage in far more than lumberjacking.
“You should come down to the library and get signed in as a patron. We have many good titles, despite our location.”
The door swung open again and Amelia entered, pulling off a pair of red mittens. “Morning! How are you doing today?” She bobbed a curtsey to each of the women.
Rebecca smiled at the little girl and motioned for her to come forward and hang her coat up. She held the satin across the librarian’s narrow shoulders. “Doesn’t this color look lovely on Miss Beauchamps?”
Perfectly wonderful—the rosy hue brought out the pink in her cheeks and the blue of her eyes. Garrett should be impressed with the result. What a handsome couple they would make. But that image was quickly erased by a picture of her and Garrett, her arm interlocked with his, entering the dance, laughing.
“Rebecca, are you all right?” Sapphire eyes met hers.
“Yes.” She forced a smile. “Have you met Amelia? She’s my new helper.”
“Indeed, the children from the orphanage come regularly to pick out the books they wish to read. And Amy likes Louisa May Alcott’s books best, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And the fashion books, too. Am I right?” Juliana smiled benevolently at the girl, who stood only inches shorter than she did.
“I do, ma’am, but I’m not so good at stitching.” She dropped her blonde head and then looked up from beneath golden eyelashes. “Sister Mary Lou could sew you up a really pretty dress—that’s her hobby when she’s not watching us kids.”
“Is it?” The other woman’s blue eyes sparkled. “I wonder how m
any yards I need?”
Amelia went to the crate that held the rest of the cloth. “Have you looked at these other fabrics? This is the prettiest cloth I’ve seen around here.”
Juliana followed Rebecca and they bent over the assortment.
Running her hand along the bolts, Rebecca quickly checked for matching fabric. “I’m afraid I don’t see more of the raspberry silk, but I think you’ll have plenty on that one bolt because it’s full.”
Amelia pulled out mossy crushed velvet from the collection. “What about this emerald color for you, Miss Hart? It brings out your hazel eyes.”
Rebecca cringed. She didn’t want anything bringing attention to her—not to her eyes nor to anything on her person. She returned to the counter, leaving the librarian and Amelia “oohing” and “ahing” over the fabrics.
One person came to mind, whom she would like to notice her. But how would that be possible? Garrett would remind her of that awful episode every time she looked at him. But she’d schooled herself now to not gaze at him, because although he did, indeed, bring back painful memories, he also called up feelings in her that she dare not recognize. She cast a glance at the petite local woman who had set her sights on the man who’d saved Rebecca’s life. An ache began somewhere deep inside her and her eyes moistened.
Amelia touched the librarian’s tightly coiled bun. “I bet your hair is as pretty as my mother’s if you’d let it down and curl it.”
With two flicks of her wrist, the child had the pins pulled free and dark locks tumbled down Juliana’s back like a gorgeous waterfall.
An early spring breeze announced Garrett as he entered the room. Rebecca had no right to feel jealous, but she did. And there was little point in lying to herself.
***
“Good morning, ladies.” He winked at Amy, who bobbed him a curtsy. Then he laughed at the sight of the girl performing such a gesture in an almost empty storeroom with sawdust still liberally sprinkled across the floor. The other workers hadn’t cleaned up after themselves, like he had. And if Janie was holding her breath thinking they’d be back to do so, she’d be dead soon. He’d take care of it himself later, when she went for lunch.
With care, he strode forward, trying to not kick up the dust.
“Good day, Mr. Christy,” Rebecca addressed him, but her features pinched as though she’d caught a whiff of polecat.
“Mr. Christy?” The tiny gal, dressed in mourning, rapidly blinked her large blue eyes. “Are you related to the other Mr. Christy?”
He stopped walking. He’d not seen Moose in town since they’d arrived. He was supposed to be taking care of their pa’s business at the new site.
The little woman rose up on tiptoe in her ugly black boots and held her gloved hands high. “Even taller than you?”
A flush began to heat beneath his red-and-black flannel shirt as he unbuttoned his wool overcoat, turned his back to them, and then hung it on a wood peg he’d hammered in the wall yesterday. Even when they were much younger, people mistook Richard’s height to mean he was the older brother, and it had constantly grated Garrett until he’d grown a beard and his younger brother hadn’t been able to.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m his older and better-looking brother.” He’d started making this joke in camp and the other lumberjacks got a kick out of it.
But when he’d turned around, Rebecca wore a look of disapproval. The shorter lady cocked her head at him. Only the child laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.
He shrugged. “Just a joke, but yes, he’s my brother.”
“He’s here, too?” Rebecca’s strained voice was just above a whisper. Did his employer harbor some secret feelings toward his brother, other than gratitude?
The little lady clasped her hands together and smiled. “I met him at the library just this morning.”
“This morning?” Both he and Rebecca uttered the words simultaneously and her eyebrows raised as high as his must be.
With crimson creeping up from her high collar, the woman placed a hand near her neck and nodded. “Yes, well, I really have to get back to the library. I just wanted to look at some fabric for a dress.”
Amy bobbed on her tiptoes. “She’s making a dress for—”
“Amelia!” Rebecca’s curt tone cut the girl’s words off. Both women wore the same expression the jacks wore when they saw a tree coming down and someone beneath it who needed to get out of the way fast.
He stroked his chin, not liking the way this conversation was going. “I’m here to get started on those cabinets, Miss Hart.”
“Come on through then, Mr. Christy.” Rebecca’s clipped tone propelled him toward the back.
The librarian offered him a shy smile as he passed, making his way around the shoddy counter to the back. He closed the makeshift curtain, a long piece of dun-colored fabric, as he passed through. Sniffing the scent of new wood appreciatively, he strode to his worktable and set out his tools. He needed to examine the wood delivered from the mill the previous day, when he’d gone out to purchase more sandpaper. As he crossed the plank floor to look at the new boards, he spied a clump of tobacco on the floor that he’d swept clean from his previous day’s work. Darned fools. Who had been smoking in here? Next time, if he left the store and returned, he’d be sure to come around to the back and check before he walked Rebecca to the inn. And someone should have a word with the lumberyard manager about his no account helpers. Garrett grabbed the broom and dustpan and swept up the tobacco then tossed it in the trash bin.
Some people are so careless. His shoulders stiffened. Since he’d been released from his own self-assigned supervision of Jo, he’d been freed of his daily watch over her. Looking after Rebecca didn’t tax him as much—not like it did keeping the lumberjacks away from his sister. On the other hand, one Myron Peevey was more dangerous than a Christy lumber camp full of shanty boys.
6
Garrett slowly ate his breakfast, trying to keep the turtle pace that Rebecca set. He’d never seen a young woman look so pretty first thing in the morning as she did. What would it be like to wake up to a wife so lovely? Even in the drab clothing she’d donned this day, Rebecca still shone like a jewel, illuminated by the rays piercing the nearby parted drapes. But she deserved better treatment than she gave herself.
“You seem lost in thought, Mr. Christy.” Rebecca eyed him, holding a forkful of ham, which she brought to those wide, pink lips of hers.
If she donned a new frock for Easter, she would, at least for one day, seem bright and new and not this diluted version of the girl he knew. He’d talk to Cordelia, or maybe little Amy, and see what they could do, or better yet, Jo.
“I was thinking about Easter coming up next week.”
She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Oh dear, with all the work at the store I’d almost forgotten.”
Jo carried a silver tray, piled with biscuits, into the room. “What have you forgotten?”
“Easter,” he and Rebecca said.
“How could you overlook the most important day of the year for Christians?”
Rebecca locked eyes with him. “The store has distracted me.”
Jo slid into a chair. “I’ve been stitching up a lemon-yellow skirt so I’ll have something new. And I made Tom a matching handkerchief for his suit pocket. I love Easter. It’s like the chance to start all over again—reminded by what Christ did for us on the cross to cleanse us of our sins.”
Her words stirred discomfort. Did Christ die to save men like Myron Peevey, too? Didn’t seem right. On the other hand, if he’d gotten religion in the penitentiary then maybe there was some hope they’d never see him again in this lifetime.
“Only time of year I let Ma dress me up, but this year I reckon I’ll have to…” He was about to say “make do” but caught himself. “I’ll need to stop by Labrons and get me some new clothes. Maybe Rebecca would like to come with me.”
Jo nodded. “Their ready-made items are good quality. I don’t think you’d have time to hav
e something made for you before next week, Rebecca.”
“Right, but I have plenty of serviceable clothes. I can’t see what making a fuss over a fancy new outfit will do for my appreciation of Easter.” Rebecca scooted back and Garrett followed her cue. “I need to get to work.”
“Mind if I accompany you?”
Rebecca shrugged.
His sister’s face reflected her hurt over Rebecca’s harsh comment. She stood. “You know, Miss Hart, that you, of anyone, should know how something new and bright can lift one’s spirits. After all, your shop carries many pretty items. Yet you attire yourself as plainly as possible.”
The Lumberjacks' Ball (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 2) Page 4
