Abram nodded at a clerk who stood behind a high counter. “Is Mr. Cheney available?”
The mousy clerk peeked at Abram behind his round spectacles. “Whom shall I say is asking?”
Harry had stayed outside, having no desire to sit in on the meeting, so it was just Abram. “Mr. Abram Cooper.”
The clerk looked him up and down and then turned to walk into an office behind the counter.
A few moments later the office door opened and the clerk stepped out, followed by Mr. Cheney, a tall, slender fellow with a large mustache. “Mr. Cooper, what a pleasant surprise. Will you come into my office?”
Abram took off his hat and walked around the counter. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Cheney slapped Abram’s back. “Always willing to meet with a competitor.”
Abram glanced around the large office overlooking the Mississippi and the dozens of men Cheney employed. He would hardly call himself a competitor with his four employees and simple sawmill.
Cheney took a seat behind a large oak desk and indicated a chair for Abram. “What brings you to St. Anthony, Mr. Cooper?”
Abram found it hard to ask for help. Seeking investors made him feel like he was admitting defeat—but he had no choice. He would do it for his children’s sake. “I’ve reconsidered your offer to invest in my sawmill.”
Liam Cheney didn’t say anything right away. Instead he studied Abram from behind heavy brows. He indicated his office and the mill outside. “As you can see, I invested here—and I must say I’m not disappointed.”
Abram’s chest felt heavy at the news. “So your offer is no longer good?”
“My initial offer is no longer valid. However...” He leaned forward and placed his forearms on the desk. “I just met a man who is interested in investing in a sawmill. Since he was too late to invest in St. Anthony, he asked if I knew of any other promising locations.”
Abram leaned forward. “What did you tell him?”
“I said the territory is very big and there are several prospects, but I did not mention Little Falls, since you had so adamantly refused my offer.” Cheney leaned back again, this time steepling his fingers together as if sensing he held the upper hand. “He and I are planning an exploratory trip next week—but I didn’t plan to stop in Little Falls.” He paused. “Should we?”
“Who is this man?” Abram had devoted three years of his life and all his worldly possessions to his endeavors at Little Falls. He didn’t want to hand it over to just anyone.
“His name is Timothy Hubbard. He and his wife just arrived from Moline, Illinois, with their three children. He told me he has several friends and family back home waiting for him to send for them. He’s not only willing to invest, but he’ll bring ready-made citizens in the bargain.”
Abram sat for several moments, feeling like a poor beggar. Just looking around at the success Cheney had found at St. Anthony made Abram frustrated that he had turned down Cheney’s offer two years ago. The sounds of men shouting orders and saws cutting lumber seeped through the walls in a muffled taunt.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could have the same success.
“Well?” Cheney asked. “Is it worth our time to stop and look around Little Falls?”
Abram stood and extended his hand. “I believe it will be.”
Cheney also stood and shook Abram’s hand. His face became serious. “I feel it only fair to tell you we’re looking at several possible locations to invest, and more than one has already caught our eye. I don’t know if it’s too late to convince Hubbard that Little Falls is the place to invest.”
Abram was proud of Little Falls, as humble as it was, and he was convinced it was the best place to build a town on the Upper Mississippi. “You get him there and I’ll do the convincing.”
Cheney offered a shrewd smile. “I like your attitude.”
Abram slipped on his hat, not wanting Cheney to think he was desperate. “And I feel it’s only fair to tell you I’m meeting with several prospective investors while I’m in St. Anthony. I just hope you and Hubbard aren’t too late when you come.”
Cheney’s smile fell and Abram nodded farewell. “Good day.”
Abram turned and strode out of the office, his back straight and his head high, though inside he was shaking. He did plan to meet with several investors, but none had shown the avid interest that Cheney had.
Harry stood outside Cheney’s office building, leaning against the wall. He was almost twice Abram’s age and the deep lines in his face suggested he’d had a tough life. But he was a hard worker and had been the first to come to Abram looking for a job.
“Let’s head over to Thompson’s Mill,” Abram said. “I have a feeling the answer will be no, but we need to ask.”
Harry pushed away from the wall and came alongside Abram, his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t like that Lee woman,” Harry said. “She’s not good for the mill or Little Falls.”
Abram glanced up. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to comment.”
“If she hadn’t come, you wouldn’t be here—” Harry scoffed at their surroundings “—begging for handouts.”
“I’m not begging for handouts. I’m seeking business partners—”
“Because she threatened you.”
“She didn’t threaten—”
“She’s too high-and-mighty for the likes of us,” Harry continued as if he hadn’t heard Abram. “She’ll eventually guilt the others into believing her way and she’ll do it by threatening not to feed them.”
“Harry, you have to try to see things from her perspective.” Abram could hardly believe he was defending Charlotte. “She’s doing what she thinks is best.”
“She’s going about it the wrong way.” His jaw clenched and his eyes filled with bitterness. “I don’t want her preaching to me, or threatening to make me go hungry, just because I won’t do what she says.”
“She still feeds you and in time—”
“In time, nothing. I won’t play her games.”
Abram stopped on the muddy path and looked Harry in the eyes. “Keep in mind that Miss Lee is my sister-in-law, and a guest in my home, not to mention a lady.”
“She’s your employee first and foremost.” He looked Abram up and down, disgust on his face. “You’ll let her get away with anything, because you don’t want her taking your boys away.”
“She can’t take them without my blessing.”
“No—but you’re afraid she’s right, and Minnesota Territory is no place for them, so you’ll cave if she makes demands. You’re letting her get away with too much because you’re afraid of her.”
Abram wanted to laugh at the accusation but the truth was that he had always been a little afraid of Charlotte. From the moment he had made his intentions known about Susanne, years ago in Iowa City, Charlotte had been a force to reckon with. Susanne had respected her older sister, and when Charlotte made it clear she didn’t approve of Abram, he thought Susanne would bend to her sister’s wishes. Thankfully, Susanne had found the courage to walk away from Charlotte—but there was always a part of Abram that believed Charlotte was right way back then, and he wasn’t good enough for Susanne. He had fought the fear every day of their marriage, and when Susanne died, it had slapped him in the face.
Even now he was afraid Little Falls wasn’t good enough for his boys...and maybe he wasn’t enough for them, either. Would time prove Charlotte right again?
“Harry, I want you to listen carefully.” Abram’s breath fogged the air in front of his face. “Stay clear of Charlotte. If I find out you’ve even looked at her funny, you’ll have to leave.”
Harry stared at Abram, his thoughts imperceptible within his gray eyes.
Chapter Five
Charlotte sat at Susanne’s d
esk, her head resting on her folded arms. The letter to the Iowa School for the Deaf was half written beneath her weary arms.
With the boys taking a nap, and the clean laundry freezing on the clothesline outside, she had tried to sneak in a moment to write the letter before starting supper. But the lure of sleep had won.
It had been horrible timing for Abram to leave. The boys didn’t know her, nor did they trust her. Robert refused to eat what she had prepared for breakfast and threw a tantrum, causing George to cry. Nothing she did had soothed either of them.
Martin had eaten his breakfast without complaining, but when Charlotte had asked him to clear his plate, he refused. She had lost her patience and scolded him, and he’d begun to cry.
Charlotte had almost thrown her hands up in defeat, but she wouldn’t give in—not now, not when she had come so far and wanted so badly to be a part of their lives.
Though she and the boys were upset for the remainder of the morning, she had managed to get the beds stripped and the laundry under way before it was time to prepare dinner.
Caleb, Josiah and Milt had eaten their dinner quickly and then left the house without looking back—and Charlotte didn’t blame them. George had cried through the whole meal.
Between doing laundry, trying to soothe George, disciplining Martin and communicating with Robert, she had worn herself ragged the rest of the afternoon.
She sighed and picked up her head. The November sun was already starting to fall toward the western horizon. If she wanted to have supper ready by the time the men came in to eat, she needed to get busy. The letter would have to wait until later.
Charlotte stood and stretched her aching back. Her hands were chapped and her feet were sore. She walked across the main room and into the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t wake the boys who were sleeping in the big room above her head. She would fry up salt pork for supper and serve it with pan gravy over boiled potatoes.
She grabbed several pieces of firewood from the box in the lean-to and began to stoke the fire when a shadow passed by the kitchen window.
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder and a scream lodged in her throat.
There, standing at the window, was a tall Indian. His black hair was collected in two long braids running over his shoulders and down his chest. Though he wore a white man’s shirt and hat, he had large hoops in his earlobes and a buckskin jacket over the shirt. He stared back at her without expression, his black eyes like two dark pools of ink.
Charlotte slowly straightened from the cookstove. She was too far away from the sawmill to call for help and she had no weapons in the house, except a kitchen knife. Her thoughts immediately went to the boys who were asleep upstairs. She prided herself on being prepared in every situation—but right now she felt defenseless.
The man moved away from the window and toward the lean-to door. She raced to shove the crossbar in place to prevent his entry, but the door was already opening when she entered the lean-to.
Panic swept over Charlotte as he stepped into the house, his leather moccasins making no sound on the wood-plank floor. His eyes were hooded as he studied her.
Charlotte backed into the kitchen, her chest heaving. “C-can I help you?”
His solemn eyes traveled from her shoes, to her dress, to her hair. “Is Susanne here?” He spoke with a strange accent, foreign to Charlotte’s ears.
This man knew Susanne? But how? Should she tell him Susanne was dead? She’d rather not invite conversation—but what else could she do?
“S-Susanne died.”
Something akin to shock, and then sadness, permeated his countenance. If he had known Susanne, how did he not know she had died in July?
“Who are you?” he asked.
Perspiration gathered under Charlotte’s collar. “I’m her sister, Charlotte.”
“Charlotte.” He let her name roll over his tongue, as if tasting it or trying it on for size.
She stood motionless, afraid to breathe or to speak again. Did he mean her harm?
“And Abram?” he asked.
Charlotte glanced out the window to see if there was anyone to call for help—but there was no one. She couldn’t tell him Abram was gone.
Her eyes landed on the firewood and she was reminded of her task. “Food.” She said the word quickly.
“Food?” His eyebrows came together in a quizzical expression.
“Would you like some food?” She remembered when she was a young girl and they had homesteaded in Iowa, an Indian had come to their door looking for food. He didn’t leave until her mother had produced some. Charlotte took a tentative step toward the oven. “I can make cornmeal cakes.”
He looked at her for a moment, confusion evident on his face, and then lowered himself into a chair at the table and nodded.
Charlotte quickly set a griddle on the stovetop and went to work mixing up the batter, glancing at him several times, though he didn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave.
Before long she had fried up several cornmeal cakes and put them on a plate before him. She stepped back and waited, unsure what to do next.
He looked at his plate of food and then at her. “Will you join me?”
She shook her head, her stomach in knots.
He frowned again and then bowed his head and clasped his hands. “For this meal, and our lives, Lord, we are eternally grateful. Amen.” His prayer was exactly the same as Abram’s.
Charlotte stared at him, confusion clouding her mind. Clearly there was more to this man than she originally thought—but what was it?
George began to cry upstairs and the stranger’s eyes wandered to the ceiling. He nodded to Charlotte. “Go ahead.”
Charlotte didn’t need a second invitation. She rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Her mind raced with what she needed to do next. Should she sneak out the front door with the boys and go to the sawmill for help? Should she stay upstairs until the Indian left? Should she go back to see if he needed anything else, hoping he would leave sooner?
She opened the door to her right and three pairs of sleepy eyes turned at her arrival. She didn’t want to alarm the boys—but she needed to keep them safe.
“Martin, will you please help Robert with his shoes? I’m going to change George’s diaper.”
Martin climbed out of his bunk and obeyed without complaint—so different from earlier in the day.
Charlotte offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.
George continued to cry until Charlotte put a clean diaper on him, and then the baby actually smiled at her, his brown eyes sparkling.
For a moment Charlotte stood in the boys’ room and simply waited—but for what, she didn’t know.
A tug on her dress made her look down into Martin’s face.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
“I know—”
Voices from below interrupted her words. Had the men come in from the mill for their supper? Relief washed over her—followed by a new fear. Would violence erupt in her kitchen?
She needed to get rid of the stranger, but she couldn’t put Martin in charge of his brothers, and she couldn’t explain to Robert and George that she wanted them to stay in the room—so there was only one thing to do. She motioned for the boys to follow her and put her finger to her lips to indicate silence.
She opened the door and listened.
It didn’t sound violent.
Charlotte tiptoed down the steps, with the older boys close behind, and George in her arms—but she heard something that made her stop in her tracks.
Laughter.
With round eyes, Charlotte peeked into the kitchen and found the Indian still seated, with Caleb, Josiah and Milt sitting around him. He was regaling them with a tale about a fishing trip on Gull Lake.
Caleb glanced up and saw her first
, but the others soon noticed her arrival and the Indian stopped talking.
He stood and offered a bow. “I’m sorry I startled you earlier. My mother’s people call me Abooksigun—or Wildcat, but my father’s people call me Benjamin Lahaye. My friends call me Ben.”
“His flock calls him Reverend,” Caleb said with a shine in his young eyes. “You probably like that, don’t you, Miss Charlotte?” He looked at Reverend Lahaye. “Miss Charlotte made us all go to church on Sunday.”
The reverend glanced at Charlotte and offered a simple nod. “Then she’s accomplished more in just a few days than I have in two years.”
The men thought this quite funny, but Charlotte did not join in their laughter. Embarrassment flared in her chest and she entered the kitchen on shaky legs. She set George in his high chair and clasped her hands so they would stop trembling. “A gentleman would have told me who he was and waited for an invitation to enter the house.”
The reverend looked contrite. “I am sorry. I’m a circuit preacher, and when I came through the area Susanne used to insist I let myself in. Since I thought she was still here...” He paused and Charlotte felt the weight of his sadness. “After I learned about her death, I decided to let you decide for yourself whether you would trust me or not—before you learned who I was.”
Charlotte felt chastised and even more confused. Surely he must understand how his presence had made her feel. She didn’t answer him, but went to the pantry and took out enough ingredients to make cornmeal cakes for everyone.
Before returning to the kitchen, she paused and took several deep breaths. What if he had not been a friendly Indian? She had not even contemplated such a risk—but now that she had been faced with the possibility, her mind began to race with all the other dangers involved in settling a new territory. Wasn’t that why she had been afraid for Susanne?
How was she going to survive ten months in this place? And how would she learn to parent with no previous experience and no other woman to help guide her?
A Family Arrangement Page 6
