Oh no, Jo’s on a roll. In a moment, both women might be rolling up their sleeves to do battle. “Why I reckon that’s because, good businesswoman that she is, Miss Hart doesn’t want to detract from her inventory. Ain’t that right?”
Her hands were clasped so tightly together that the knuckles almost glowed white. She released them and removed her coat from the nearby rack. “You both make good points that I shall take under consideration as I replace my wardrobe this spring.”
“I’ll help you when you do, and the two of you have a good day.”
“Thank you. I must get going back to the mercantile.”
“Once I’ve finished helping here, I’ll be off to my bakery.” Jo clapped her hands together and beamed at them. “It sounds so good to be able to call it my own place—a dream come true. But right now I better head off to the kitchen.”
“Bring us cookies later,” Garrett called as she walked down the hall.
Jo raised a hand, dismissing him.
“Don’t count on that.” Rebecca strode toward the front door.
They exited out into a cool day, the sky a brilliant blue behind the morning mist.
“Would you like to sit in our pew on Easter Sunday?”
She grimaced. “Don’t I sit there with you now?”
“Yes, but…” This was different. This was how family sat for holidays. And he wanted her with them.
Stopping, she caught his arm. “I’ll find something to wear that will be cheerful and new and I won’t distract from the gaily attired people in your pew, if that is what’s worrying you.”
“No.”
They resumed walking, in silence until they reached the mercantile. “Here we are.”
Once inside, he took her elbow. “It’s not my place to say, but I feel like you’re hiding who you really are. Not just with your name but by…” He gestured from head to toe.
She pulled away. “You’re right, Mr. Christy. It’s not your place to say.”
He swallowed hard and tried to assist her in removing her coat, but she shrugged away. He’d pushed too hard. Would need to back away and give her time to consider. “I’m gonna go fashion that wardrobe you wanted.”
“Good.”
That day he worked until he’d completed the basic structure that Rebecca wanted. The armoire would display ready-made dresses, which should be arriving within the week from her father. Another carpenter had delivered a long table for stacking fabric, but no boards were affixed to the sides to contain the material in case it shifted. Disgusted that she had received more poor workmanship, Garrett decided to add a second level to the table and adorn both layers with a scalloped edge.
****
All day long, Rebecca fought the agitation that the morning’s conversation had stirred in her spirit. Every time she glanced toward the back, she wanted to go to Garrett and apologize for her surly behavior. But she couldn’t. Because these strong emotions rolling over her needed to be released. Time had come for her to face her demons and drive them out.
When Amelia arrived, she first gave Rebecca a quick hug and then ran to the back to do the same with Garrett. Almost as if they were a little family. The gesture both warmed and unnerved her. She returned to the front and began to dust the shelves.
Jingling bells announced the librarian’s arrival. The tiny dark-haired woman hurried toward her. “How are you Juliana?”
“I’m ever so fine, how are you?” She clasped her white-gloved hands together and raised them to her cheek. “I just saw my Mr. Christy, again.”
Her Mr. Christy? Was she implying that Garrett was Rebecca’s Mr. Christy? “You did?”
“Yes, and I think he’s invited me to attend Easter service with him.”
“Oh.” So it really wasn’t that special that Garrett had asked her.
“At least I think he asked me.” Juliana’s dark eyebrows pulled together. “He stopped by the library to get a book. Then he said he was looking forward to going to church on Easter. And then he gazed right at me for what seemed like a full minute.”
The young woman’s romantic enthusiasm should stir something in Rebecca but confusion kept her from encouraging her. “And what did you say to him?”
“I couldn’t say anything, my supervisor came up and librarians are not allowed to be having private conversations with the clients. Particularly not single librarians and young men.”
Biting her tongue, Rebecca refrained from suggesting that Richard may have been trying to determine if she held his same faith. Or he may simply have been making conversation.
“So now I need to have my dress made up sooner. I need something really special.”
Not this again. “I hear Labrons has a good selection.” Maybe they’d all be bought out and she’d have an excuse not to have to bedeck herself in a frilly outfit just to please Garrett and his sister.
Amelia joined them. “Oh, I forgot. I have to run by the library today. Do you mind if I go with Miss Beauchamps?”
“No, that’s fine. But come right back. Not dilly dallying.” She was even sounding like someone’s mother.
“Well, come on with me then.” Juliana departed, with Amelia trailing after her.
The child turned. “I’m going to bring back several books to read to the littler children tonight.” She swiped a hand across her eyes as the door closed behind her.
What brought on Amelia’s tears? Why would doing such a kind deed upset the girl?
She sucked in a breath beneath her ill-fitting corset, blaming no one except herself for its too-tight condition. She’d begun using the front-closing models since her mother wasn’t there to assist her. How was her mother faring without Rebecca to tally the inventory, bring Mother her tea, and keep track of all the incoming and outgoing stock from the store, plus perform whatever little duties Mother sent her way? She stifled a laugh. And to think people had believed she was spoiled. Yes, she’d had anything a child could ask for and many fine belongings she’d never wished for nor needed. But she was to be an example to the community of what could be if only they purchased all these items from the Daggenhart’s store.
Her mind wandered to the man in the rear room. What a relief that Garrett wasn’t pursuing the librarian. She chewed her lower lip as she went to the back, drawn by some invisible cord that connected the two of them. Garrett looked up from the table, his dark eyes piercing hers before she could look away, pinning her there. A current chased through her and she trembled.
“I reckon you remember my brother.” His hands held the wide piece of hardwood steady.
“Yes, of course.” Was her new world about to get even smaller?
“He sent word he wants to stay with me tonight. Didn’t think to mention it earlier.”
Her breath caught in her chest. “So your brother will be at the inn, too?” Both of her rescuers there to remind her of her past.
He shrugged and averted his gaze down to the wood. “Don’t know for how long, other than when he’s in town. There’s a cabin out by the site that Pa told him to use.”
“He’s out there by himself?” She took two steps closer and ran a finger over the smooth wood, sensing Garrett watching her.
She turned to face him.
“Him and his rifle.” Although he gave her a half smile, the twitch near his left eye made her think he, too, had some concerns.
She’d considered purchasing a small pistol for herself. Just in case. With Myron due out of prison soon, she prayed he’d stay far away. As she pushed a stray lock of hair from her temple, one of her hairpins fell, and Garrett quickly caught it in his free broad hand. He held it out to her and she took it, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his. Her heart rate sped up.
“I think I know what color this oak will be with the varnish on it.” He moved one step closer to the table.
“Oh?” Her breath caught. She really had to loosen this corset. Either that or stop eating the fluffy biscuits Jo Christy baked for the inn.
He reached
toward her, and when his rough fingers grazed her jaw and jostled her fallen curl she immediately stepped away, reliving the moment when Myron had grabbed her neck and wrapped a rope around it. She pressed her hand to her throat.
Garrett’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry.” He ran a finger along his own square jaw line and then pointed to hers. “Just meant to say that with the varnish, the wood should be the same pretty golden-brown color as your hair. Didn’t mean to upset you.”
Pretty color? Gone were the golden tresses she’d sported as a girl. She’d welcomed the drab brown locks that replaced her blonde curls.
“Miss Daggenhart?”
“Yes?” She shook her head. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Janie, please…” He held up his hands.
She backed away. “I’m Rebecca Hart now, not Janie Daggenhart, and you need to remember that.”
Her words came out brusquer than she’d intended, and his features flashed in hurt before settling into a mask. “It just slipped out. Why call yourself Rebecca?”
“That’s my first name.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.” She tried to stuff the stray curl into the rest of the mass with another pin but struggled to secure it without a mirror to guide her.
“I hope you know I’d never hurt you. I’d never harm any woman.” He cleared his throat. “And as long as you’re under my protection, I swear no man will ever hurt you again.”
A strange chill went through her. Under his protection? She rubbed her hand against her throat. “Did my father send you here? Was this woodworking job just a ruse?”
“A ruse?” His dark eyebrows pulled together. “What’s that mean?”
“I mean are you really here to watch over me? Taking the job was just a trick?”
“Maybe the first part of what you said, but not a trick. And not the Father you think.” Garrett stared at her, his lips slightly parted. Then he closed his eyes tightly. Was he praying?
****
Moose plunked down in the overstuffed chair next to the couch in the inn’s main salon as Garrett set the newspaper down. Although there were several area newspaper publishers in the bustling town, Cordelia subscribed to the original paper, which had the most subscribers.
Moose swiped at the paper. “See any ads for a tall, dark, handsome lumberjack to sweep some gal off her feet?”
“Heard you already met the librarian.”
“Yup. Ain’t she a purty little thing?”
“If you go for the crow look, I guess.”
“She don’t look like no crow.” Moose scowled at him and raised a fist but dropped it when Garrett glared back.
“Dressed in those mourning clothes she does.”
“She ain’t in mourning.” Moose bobbed his head, as though agreeing with himself. “I asked.”
Garrett sighed. He hated it when his anger flared, but his little brother had a way of getting under his skin right quick. “Why’s she dressed in black then?”
“Makes her feel more…hmmm, some word that means powerful, awthora-something, she said.” Moose laughed. “Authoritative—sounds like a book writer. Anyways, she’s gotta look serious for her patrons.”
“Her patrons?”
“Yup. All the folks traipsing in and out of that library building of hers.”
Such as the orphan girl. “Hey, brother, I need to tell you something.” Just in case his brother recognized the girl they’d rescued.
“Ain’t you always tellin’ me something?” Moose extended a hand as though to slap Garrett playfully on the side of the head, but he stayed him by grabbing his wrist.
“Stop. You act like you’re twelve years old sometimes.” Garrett scowled at him. “Do you remember Miss Daggenhart?”
Moose dropped the newspaper onto his lap, his features softening, reminding Garrett of the young boy who’d been with him that night. “How could I forget? Is she all right? Pa said that fella who hurt her is out of jail.”
His heart clutched in his chest. “He’s out? And when were you gonna tell me that?”
“Just did. Sorry.”
Garrett squeezed his hands into fists. “She’s here.”
“What?” Moose cocked his head.
“Janie’s here. In this town. In this very establishment, right now.” He’d seen her skirts swaying as she’d gone upstairs fifteen minutes earlier clutching the bannister he’d installed the previous week.
“I’ll be a two-legged race horse.” His brother’s jaw slackened.
“I’m working at her store.” Garrett reached for his coffee cup, resting on the table he’d built for the inn, grabbed it, and threw back a swig of the strong brew.
“What?”
“She’s got a mercantile across from the train docks.”
Moose swiped a hand through his hair. “What kind of dumb pa…”
“Sh! You’re too loud, someone might hear you, but I was thinking the same thing. What kind of father lets his daughter come up here by herself?” He heard footsteps descending the hall stairs.
“Miss Beauchamps says they have very little crime here and the sheriff is top rate.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
Moose emitted a long, low whistle. “Yeah, I had a long talk with him earlier today.”
“About what?”
“Someone is camping out in an old shack not far from the new logging site.”
“One of the former lumberjacks?” Oftentimes someone injured would remain behind until he recovered.
“I don’t know. Can’t ever catch him there, but it gives me the willies. I’ve got Pa’s shotgun and all my hatchets and the like, but I can’t hardly sleep out there. I can tell you, ’cause you’re my brother, but I told the sheriff I was fine.” Moose stretched, expanding his chest. “After all, doesn’t everyone think a big man like me can handle anything?”
Garrett shook his head. “That would be a mistake, thinking you could.”
“So you won’t tease that I’m acting like a little girl if I stay at the inn?”
“No. I’d never mistake you for a female. Especially not with that beard.”
“Speaking of which, where is yours, pretty boy?”
Heavy footsteps carried down the hall as someone approached from the rear of the inn. A strongly built man, with salt-and-pepper hair beneath a thick wool cap, stood in the archway. “Mr. Christy?”
Moose stood. “Yes, Sheriff Edwards, and this is my brother.”
Garrett stood and extended a hand, feeling his knees wobble slightly as the man delivered a bone-crunching grasp, one even stronger than he, Moose, or their father performed, and that was saying something. “Garrett Christy—nice to meet you, Sheriff.” He resisted the urge to rub his hand after the man released his aching fingers.
“We’ve confirmed one of the loggers was indeed injured and left to recuperate. A Mr. Giles. He’s got a squaw who’s supposed to be tending him out there.”
Garrett cringed inside at the man’s derogatory term. For Misty Fawn’s sake, and her children, he longed to correct the man’s attitude. Instead, he tamped down the steam building in him.
Moose frowned. “No sign of her. Looks like a single man is staying there.”
“Might be she left him. Or went back to her tribe if they needed her there. That happens.” The sheriff’s pleasant tone of voice reflected no bigotry.
Garrett relaxed his shoulders. Who knew, maybe the lawman, like many people from this area, might be Chippewa himself.
“That logger, Giles, had permission from the former owner to stay. They weren’t expecting you fellas till spring.”
“Right.”
Sheriff Edwards frowned. “And why are you here early?”
“I’m supposed to survey each structure, which I’ve already done. I’ll be going back out on the new train line tomorrow.” Moose grinned. “Sure am looking forward to that, sheriff, instead of having to tramp to the camp.”
A smile tugged at the man’s lips before
he directed his attention to Garrett. “What about you?”
“I’m making shelving for Miss Dag…Miss Hart’s mercantile.” And falling deeper into her hazel eyes every time she looked at him.
Heels clicked against the wood floor, crossing the short distance between the parlor and the main salon. Rebecca’s pink nose matched her lace scarf, the only decorative and colorful item on her person. “And he’s doing a beautiful job, Sheriff. Achoo!” Rebecca took a step back from the entryway.
Behind her, Cordelia descended the staircase. “Bless you, dear,” she called down.
Rebecca retrieved a flimsy looking excuse for a handkerchief, from her pocket, and pressed it to her nose.
When Cordelia reached her, she pressed a hand to Rebecca’s head. “Not you, too?” Then she took her by the shoulders, turned her to the stairs, and pointed upward. “We’ll bring a tray up for you. Don’t fret.”
7
Broken ice along the Lake Michigan and Lake Huron shorelines released frigid damp air permeating Garrett’s wool clothing as he strode up the walkway to the store. Rebecca lay abed at the inn, battling a spring cold. He hoped what ailed her wasn’t caused by all the sawdust he’d kicked up in the shop. Regardless, she’d given him the key and he’d made his way down State Street to the mercantile. He ducked into the muddy alley between the store and the tobacconist and stopped. Maybe he should have gone through the front door, but it didn’t seem right. So he continued down the dim alleyway, hoping the boot scraper out back could remove the muck from his boot bottoms.
Rounding the corner, he spied a wad of half-burnt pipe tobacco dumped out on an overturned box that leaned against the building. Darned fool. If that had any spark left in it and the wooden crate had caught fire, the building could have gone up in flames. Who had put that there? He scowled at the space behind the businesses on that block. Mr. Chambers, the gun shop owner on the other side of the building, often took his pipe out back while his wife waited on his customers. If Garrett didn’t have so much work to complete, he’d seek out the man and tell him to stay far away from Rebecca’s building when he smoked.
The Lumberjacks' Ball (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 2) Page 5
