A Family Arrangement

by Gabrielle Meyer

  The reality of her situation suddenly felt like a heavy burden she wasn’t sure she could shoulder.

  * * *

  Abram burrowed deeper into his thin coat on Wednesday evening as he and Harry followed the Wood’s Trail toward Little Falls. The wind had picked up, swirling snow across the path.

  “It should only be about ten more miles,” Abram said to Harry, who rode silently next to him.

  Thick woods stood on either side of the trail and the Mississippi flowed to the left. If it had been nicer, Abram would have done some hunting to bring Charlotte fresh venison. No matter how tight his finances over the years, there had always been one thing he did well, and that was supply Susanne with a well-stocked larder. He had spent a great deal of time harvesting and preserving the large garden this fall, and he had salted and smoked the pig they had slaughtered—but with more mouths to feed, he would need more food.

  “Rider.” Harry drew to a stop and slowly put his hand over his pistol. There had been little cause for concern recently, but one could never be too cautious on the Wood’s Trail.

  A lone horseman broke through the swirl of snow and moved steadily toward them.

  “It’s Ben,” Abram said, his muscles relaxing.

  Harry didn’t bother to respond, so they continued forward to meet the reverend.

  Abram reached out and extended his hand to his old friend. “Ben. You haven’t been through these parts since last spring. It’s good to see you.”

  Ben squeezed Abram’s hand and held on for a bit longer than usual. “I’m sorry about Susanne. I just heard. I would have come if I had known.”

  Abram nodded, trying to put on a good face for his friend, but the reminder stabbed.

  An interesting light filled Ben’s eyes. “I met Miss Lee.” A hint of a smile appeared on his brown face. “A lively soul, that one.”

  “Lively is one way to describe her,” Abram conceded. Stubborn, opinionated, plucky...all adjectives related to Charlotte.

  Ben’s gaze turned serious. “I think I scared her, though, and I’m sorry. Please convey my apology again.”

  No doubt his presence had created quite a stir.

  Harry pounded his hands against his arms, as if to warm them, and Abram took the hint. “Come and visit us again soon. We have much to catch up on.”

  Ben nodded. “I’m going to St. Paul, but I’ll stop by on my way back through.”

  They shook hands again and Abram nudged his mare into motion, dreading what he might find at home. How badly had Charlotte been scared? Would her bags be packed?

  She couldn’t leave now. If she did, the boys would have to go back to the mission, and that was the last thing he wanted.

  The wind whipped off the cold Mississippi and chased them all the way home. When they finally arrived, they walked the horses toward the barn. Abram was eager to see his boys, but his horse needed to be rubbed down and fed.

  “Go on,” Harry said, nodding toward the house.

  Abram knew voicing his thanks would make Harry uncomfortable, so he simply nodded his appreciation and picked up his bags and the box of staples he had brought for Charlotte.

  The waterwheel was turning at the sawmill, which meant his men should be hard at work. Good. He craved a little time alone with his sons before everyone came to ask about his trip to St. Anthony.

  He entered the lean-to and immediately smelled roasting pork and fresh-baked bread. Now that they had a good cook, he had splurged and bought cocoa powder, more dried apples and his favorite, molasses.

  Abram set down the box and bags and walked into the kitchen. Charlotte had lit the wall lantern and the reflector plate illuminated the light into the room. George sat in his high chair, a wooden spoon in his hand, banging it against the table. Martin and Robert sat on the floor playing with jacks. And Charlotte stood at the stove frying potatoes, her left hand on her hip and her foot tapping as she hummed “Over the River and Through the Woods.”

  “Papa!” Martin saw him first and jumped up from his game. He raced to Abram’s arms and Abram threw him high in the air. Robert’s face glowed with delight, and Abram picked him up, as well. He tickled the boys and sweet laughter emanated from their lips.

  Apparently, George approved of Abram’s new haircut and trimmed beard, because he banged his spoon harder and said with a wet mouth, “Pa-pa-pa.”

  Abram set down the boys and kissed George’s downy head. He glanced at Charlotte, who had turned at the commotion, her cheeks pink from the stove. “Hello, Charlotte.”

  She dipped her head, her dark hair shining under the lantern light. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

  Abram slipped out of his coat and hung it on a peg in the lean-to. He came back into the kitchen rubbing his hands to warm them.

  She glanced at his hands and then moved to the medicine cabinet and removed the jar of salve. “Do they hurt?”

  He looked down at his red hands. They were cracked and bleeding in several places, but they had been worse. “I suppose.”

  She opened the jar and dipped her long fingers into the medicinal-smelling ointment. Without asking, she took his hands into hers and began to apply the salve.

  Warmth quickly returned to his fingers and the tingling sensation raced up his arms and into his chest. Her touch, though platonic, felt far too good. Susanne’s memory filled his mind and cold remorse replaced the warmth. He pulled away. “I’ve got it from here. Thank you.”

  Charlotte’s brow crinkled at his abrupt behavior, but she silently wiped her hands on a towel and replaced the salve in the cabinet. “Did you buy yarn and wool for me to make mittens and coats?”

  “Everything’s in there.” He tilted his head toward the lean-to, his voice a bit too gruff.

  She nodded and then flipped the potatoes, steam rising from the frying pan. “I’ll get to work on your mittens this evening.”

  “You’ve been busy while I was away.” The kitchen was even more organized than when he had left, the boys’ hair had been cut and they were wearing clean clothing. Several loaves of bread sat on the cupboard, cooling under dishcloths.

  She removed the pan from the stove and scraped the golden potatoes onto a platter. Robert and Martin crowded close to her, and she had to put her hand up to keep them away from the hot pan. She pointed to the iron skillet and made a motion as if being burned and then said to Robert and Martin, “Hot. Danger. Stay back.”

  Robert seemed to understand the warning and he backed away, but Martin didn’t obey and continued to crowd Charlotte.

  “Aunt Charlotte told you to back away, Martin.” Abram stepped in and took the boy into his arms. “You must listen and obey what she says. She’s trying to keep you safe.”

  Charlotte turned and he caught the look of appreciation in her eyes.

  “Do you need any help?” Abram asked her.

  She looked as if she would refuse him—but then she paused and offered a quick nod. “You may call the men in to supper. It’s almost ready.”

  Abram did just that. He walked through the main room, marveling at the clean rugs and the polished furniture, and stepped out onto the front porch. He used the metal stick to clang the dinner triangle. When he was satisfied that his men had heard, he walked back into the kitchen just as Harry entered.

  Charlotte glanced at him and then handed him a plate filled with roast pork, fried potatoes, bread and spice cake. “Bring the plate back when you’re finished.”

  Harry’s face turned crimson and he glared at Abram, as if demanding him to do something.

  Charlotte didn’t miss a step. She turned away from Harry and brought the platter of pork to the head of the table, where Abram usually sat.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to invite Harry back to the table?” Abram asked.

  Charlotte paused and
studied Harry. “Do you plan to join us for breakfast on Sunday morning?”

  Harry opened his mouth to offer a retort but Abram took a step between the two, as if to shield Charlotte from Harry’s scathing words. “She’s not asking much, Harry.”

  Harry narrowed his eyes at Abram then spun out of the kitchen and strode through the lean-to and outside.

  Abram let out a breath and turned to face Charlotte. “I don’t know why you insist on riling him up.”

  Charlotte brought the bread to the table. “I don’t know why he insists on being so ungentlemanly.”

  “Charlotte, I’m warning you, Harry is not a man to be told what to do.”

  She paused. “Then why do you keep him here?”

  “Because he’s a good worker and good workers are hard to come by.”

  She stood firm. “I won’t deny him food—but I will deny him a place at my table until he can show the Sabbath some respect.”

  It was a reasonable request, but she needed to realize things didn’t always work the way she wanted them to.

  But maybe that was the problem. Maybe Charlotte’s life was full of events that didn’t work out as she had hoped, and that was why she fought so hard to keep control.

  Chapter Six

  Charlotte sat near the main room window, allowing the afternoon sun to illuminate the dark green coat she held on her lap. She studied the seams with a critical eye, holding it up to look at the front and back one last time. Abram had tried it on the night before, but it had been tight around his shoulders. While the boys napped, she had taken out the seams and restitched them to allow for a better fit. Hopefully now it would be ready for him to wear.

  Following Abram’s trip to St. Anthony three days ago, he and Milt had been working up the hill from the house, clearing trees. Though he didn’t complain of the cold, she had noticed him sit closer to the fireplace in the evenings, a shiver often shuddering through his sturdy frame.

  Charlotte stood and glanced out the window toward the mill, as she often did. The water had frozen along the banks and, according to the men, would soon be frozen solid all the way across. The milling would cease and Milt, Caleb and Josiah would move on to the logging camp for the winter.

  She slipped on her own coat, buttoning it tight up to her chin. She had come to enjoy the evenings around the fire with Josiah and Caleb, and had even grown to appreciate Milt, though he was much quieter than the other two. The looming winter felt gloomy with the thought of the men leaving. She wished Harry would leave with them, but according to Abram, the grizzly man stayed on through the winter. Hopefully he remained in the barn, like he had the past few days since returning from St. Anthony.

  After putting on her bonnet, Charlotte draped Abram’s coat over her arm and stopped at the bottom of the steps to listen for the boys. They should sleep for another hour or so, and she was anxious to get the coat to Abram as soon as possible.

  Hearing nothing, she walked through the kitchen and picked up the hot pot of coffee and mugs, and then went out the lean-to door. The chickens were brooding in the henhouse, trying to stay warm, and the lone pig was grunting in the trough, his food probably frozen. Abram’s mare stood in the corral, her breath blowing out in a cloud from her nostrils.

  Steam poured out of the spout on the coffeepot, its aroma filling her with much-needed heat as her eyes roamed the gently sloping land toward the Mississippi. She was growing to love its beauty, though it did feel lonesome, especially when her gaze landed on her sister’s grave. She offered a sad smile but was thankful Susanne had loved the Lord. It made Charlotte’s loss a bit easier to accept. Someday, when Charlotte’s earthly life passed, she would see her beautiful sister once again.

  “Timber!” A loud cry came from the direction Charlotte was headed, followed by the crunch of breaking tree limbs. A thud reverberated through the cold woods and then there was silence.

  Charlotte followed the well-packed trail through the snow, pushing aside branches that wanted to catch on her wide skirts.

  A massive white pine lay on its side, large branches sticking up and out. Abram stood on the felled tree, his boots firmly planted as his ax flew back and forth, cutting limbs and branches off in quick order.

  Charlotte watched for a moment, amazed at the agility and strength in his movements. His threadbare coat was flung on a nearby bush and he sweated with exertion, his face red and his muscles rippling under his flannel shirt.

  Milt walked behind Abram, picking up the branches and limbs and stacking them in a large pile off to the side.

  Abram glanced up and noticed her arrival. His ax stuck into the tree with a thwack and he leaned against the handle, breathing heavy. He nodded at her, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine.

  The sight of him sent a tingle of awareness through her limbs. With a wobbly smile she raised the coffeepot in one hand and the coat in the other. “I thought you might need help keeping warm.”

  He looked over her offerings, a smile lighting his face. “I’ll gladly take a cup of coffee and a warm coat.” He jumped off the log and walked over to her, his boots crunching in the snow.

  The sensation she felt upon seeing him grew stronger with each step he took. She quickly handed him the coat and turned to set the mugs and coffeepot on a tree stump.

  Abram walked around the stump and slipped the coat on, an appreciative whistle slipping from his lips. “I’ve never owned such a fancy coat before. I don’t dare wear it while I work.”

  “Nonsense,” Charlotte said as she poured the coffee. “I made it for you to work in. It’s hardly fancy.”

  He rubbed one rough hand over the sleeve. “I’m not joshing with you. This is a first-rate coat, Charlotte. I’ll be proud to wear it.”

  Her cheeks grew warm at the compliment but she didn’t want him to see the effect he was having on her. What would he think? More important, what would Susanne think? She grew cross at herself just thinking about her silly reaction. “I don’t know who will actually see the coat on you. With winter setting in, it seems as though this place will be dead.”

  Abram chuckled.

  She stopped pouring the hot liquid. “What?”

  His eyes twinkled with mirth. “I’m just wondering why you have such a hard time taking a compliment from me.”

  She filled the second mug with coffee and wished she could come up with a reply that wouldn’t reveal the true reason she was short with him—or, more accurately, with herself.

  Thankfully, Milt placed the last branch on the pile and wandered over. He nodded a greeting to Charlotte and took the mug of coffee with a grateful dip of his head.

  It would be best if she just walked away but something kept her standing there. Maybe it was adult interaction or simple curiosity. “This is the first time I’ve come to the top of the hill.”

  “This is where the town will sit,” Abram said. “The land levels out here. And—” he set the mug on the stump and put his hands on her shoulders to turn her around “—when you look in this direction, you have a beautiful view of the river.”

  He removed his hands but she could still feel the weight of them on her skin.

  “And look over there.” He pointed to the east, where a road ran through the trees. “That’s part of the Wood’s Trail. It was created by the Red River Oxcarts and runs all the way from Pembina to St. Paul. That will be Main Street. And this—” he spread his arm out and indicated the cleared spot of land “—near Susanne’s grave, is where your church will sit—at the end of Main Street.”

  “My church?” She turned quickly and looked up into his face. He was standing much closer than she had realized. “This isn’t my church.”

  He took a leisurely sip from his coffee mug, his eyes smiling at her over the rim. When he lowered the mug he said, “It’s the one you ordered.”

  “O
rdered? I didn’t order a church—”

  “Sure you did. But I suppose it’s not just your church.” He took a final swig of coffee and set the mug back on the stump. “It’s for Little Falls, and for my boys.” He crossed his arms and looked over the land, a sense of triumph on his face. “This church is part of the legacy I’ll leave them.”

  She felt herself being drawn into his dream and it scared her. She shouldn’t allow herself to trust him, because nothing in her past had shown her it was safe. “For the sake of the boys, I hope you’re right.”

  Abram studied her for a moment and then stepped back up on the log and started swinging his ax again. Wood chips went flying. “Thank you for the coffee and the coat.”

  Milt finished his coffee, as well, and handed her the mug. “Much obliged, Miss Charlotte.” He scurried off to pick up the branches that were rapidly falling to the ground.

  Charlotte gathered the coffeepot and empty mugs and headed back toward the house. Abram’s comments had stirred her but she was smart enough to put up a guard.

  She must stay strong for herself and for her nephews. They were the ones most at risk, just as she and Susanne had been when they were children.

  * * *

  The following Friday morning Abram stood at the top of the hill and looked at the frozen Mississippi, his skin pinching from the cold. Charlotte had already rung the dinner bell, calling him and Milt to leave their work and come to the house. One more day and they would have the church property cleared. Yesterday, he had the men mill the trees they had felled. The last milled lumber of the year.

  This afternoon, the sawmill stood quiet, frozen in place overnight. No doubt Caleb, Josiah and Milt would leave in the morning and head to the logging camp.

  Abram walked down the hill and opened the back door just as Harry exited with his plate of vittles. He glanced at Abram, irritation lacing his eyes. “That woman’s liable to drive a body crazy with her stubbornness. It’s been five days and she still thinks she can manipulate me into going to church on Sunday.” He kept walking, his back now to Abram. “It’ll take more than a warm kitchen to force me to a place like church.”