“I escort her or meet her at the camp,” Jonah said.
Meredith cleared her throat. “I would not traipse in New York. But,” she shrugged, “here in the wild…”
“You assume incorrectly,” Mrs. Bloomfield said. “I also am from a city, Chicago. And I find your conduct here…”
“It is Miss Mears’s story that is important.” Mrs. Cooper gave Meredith a look of censure, yet flew into a long-winded exoneration on her part. “You see, long after Miss Mears has gone back to New York City, the things remembered will be her stories about Buckman’s Pride and Bucker’s Stand. Folks who read her articles back in the East won’t know that Miss Mears got her story traipsing across the country in men’s clothing.” Amelia Cooper gasped and put her hand over her mouth.
Beatrice Bloomfield’s eyebrows arched.
Amelia recovered and said, “But the things she writes are what they’ll remember.”
Meredith cast Mrs. Cooper a grateful glance. The woman had tried to defend her, even if she did have a slip of the tongue.
“We shall see,” Mrs. Bloomfield said. “What a delightful dinner this has been.” She pushed back her chair.
The men at the table bumbled to their feet when Mrs. Bloomfield stood.
“Mrs. Bloomfield, would you like to see my studio?”
“Perhaps some other time, sir.”
“I would like to see it,” The quiet-mannered banker said.
“It really is something to see, Beatrice,” Amelia Cooper urged.
As the group of dinner guests moved outside to view Jonah’s photograph studio, Mrs. Cooper squeezed Meredith’s arm. “Come along with us, dear.”
Meredith trailed behind the group, headed up by Jonah, then Herbert Bloomfield, the banker, whose gait was quite enthusiastic. His wife’s hand remained looped through his arm, where he’d placed it, but her back was rigidly straight. Jonah gestured and chatted, and Mrs. Cooper turned to wait for Meredith.
“Don’t let that woman intimidate you,” Amelia whispered. “I have every bit as much say in this town as she does.”
“Let’s hope Jonah can impress her,” Meredith whispered.
His studio enthralled Mr. Bloomfield and held the others’ attention. Jonah explained some of the chemical processes involved in dry-plate photography and showed them photographs of the waterfalls from their trip.
“These are of the logging camp. I’m going to send them to McClure’s magazine to go along with Miss Mears’s articles.”
Herbert Bloomfield adjusted his glasses. “They are quite good.”
“I would love to take a photograph of the two of you.” Jonah included the banker’s beautiful wife in his gaze. “You could frame it to hang in the bank.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t want to be so prideful,” Beatrice Bloomfield said.
“Not at all. If anything, it adds an air of respectability to an establishment.”
“Really?” she asked. She released her husband’s arm and moved closer to Jonah. “And where would you take this photograph?”
Jonah shrugged. “Anywhere you like.”
“That does give us something to think about, doesn’t it, Herbert?”
“And Meredith could write a caption to put beneath the photograph. Couldn’t you?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Meredith said with an appreciative smile.
“It’s settled then,” Mrs. Cooper declared.
Chapter 9
I see you and Mrs. Cooper are on a first-name basis now,” Jonah said.
“I was wrong about Amelia,” Meredith said. She hovered over Jonah’s shoulder as he coated albumen paper with a silver solution.
“I’m just glad to see the two of you getting along.”
“Me, too. Those are great, Jonah.”
“They could be better. See the shadows there? I’m still experimenting with the lens to get the lighting the way I want it.”
“I’ve never seen you use flash powder.”
He shook his head. “Don’t like it.” Meredith browsed around the studio. “You working on a problem?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“Usually, when you get that expression, you’re sorting out a problem.”
“I guess I am. Maybe you can help. I need you to take a special photograph.”
He looked up from his work. “That shouldn’t be a problem. What do you need?”
“I need a photograph of Thatcher Talbot.”
Jonah grinned. “Lovesick, are you?”
“Of course not. This is strictly business.”
“Seriously, Storm, you know I promised him I wouldn’t take his photograph. I gave my word.”
“He’ll never know.” Meredith leaned her elbow on the studio worktable, close to Jonah. “Listen. I think our Mr. Talbot is a wanted man. If there’s a story on him, it’s worth a look.”
Jonah jerked the thin paper. “I don’t like it, Storm. I like Thatcher. Anyway, if he were a wanted man, he could be dangerous.”
“I just want a photograph to send back to Asa. I’ll let him do the investigation.”
“And if he uncovers something?”
“Then I’ll bring my finds to you, and we’ll make the decision together.”
“Even if I wanted to help you, he’s too smart, too cautious. I’d never get the photograph.”
“I’ll distract him for you.”
“How? No, wait!” His hand shot up. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Does that mean you’ll help me?”
“I don’t know, Storm. I’ll have to think about it.”
“I’m riding out to Bucker’s Stand tomorrow. I’d like it if you went along.” Jonah sighed, and Meredith said, “I know. You have to think about it. Take all the time you want as long as you let me know by tomorrow morning. I’ll let you get back to work now.”
The next morning Meredith thanked Jonah repeatedly when he said he would accompany her, although he was careful not to make her any promises. When they reached the camp, Josiah Jones, the bull, tipped his hat at Meredith as she rode past his tent.
“You are in a fine mood today, sir,” she said, after she dismounted.
“I want to thank you for your article. It boosted the morale mountain high.”
“I only wrote the truth, the way I see it.”
“The men will soon be in to eat. You’ll see for yourself.”
The loggers entered the mess tent in twos and threes, all vying for Meredith’s attention.
“Won’t you join us, Miss Mears?” asked one of the older lumberjacks. “You, too, Jonah.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Meredith tried to ignore the stench of working bodies as she and Jonah joined him at a long table. The loggers shoveled in food as if their innards were empty, yet they managed to keep up a conversation.
“Here to write another one of your stories?” The older man asked.
“I’d like to add a bit to the last one, if I could get your help,” she gestured to all of those seated about her. She could tell by their grunts, grins, and nods that they would help if they could.
“If I were to ask why you do it, why you jeopardize your life by working at such a dangerous occupation, what would you say?”
“So’s a pretty reporter women can ask us questions,” one quickly replied.
She smiled.
Another piped up, “Don’t know how to do nothing else.”
Meredith grabbed her portfolio and fumbled for a paper and pencil. She wrote while the responses flowed without pause.
“Once you see these trees, you can’t never leave them.”
“There’s glory in these trees.”
One younger man, who reminded her a lot of her stepbrother, Charles, said, “Got a mother who needs the money.”
“Got a wife and kids,” another said.
“Working the trees chases the demons out of you,” offered a fierce-looking man.
“It’s the smell of the woods,” Silas said.
“C
ame west looking for gold. Ended up here instead.”
“Wanted to see the West.” The phrase was familiar, as was the voice, and Meredith looked up at Thatcher Talbot. She swallowed when Jonah reached down for his camera and slipped away from the table.
“And is the West better than the East?”
“It’s different,” he replied.
Meredith tried not to concentrate on his handsome features. She pressed hard on her pencil until the lead broke. “Oh no.”
“Here, let me.” Talbot’s hand brushed against hers and sent a flurry of sparks through her arm. With expertise, he withdrew a small knife from his belt and began to whittle the writing tool.
A guilty stab pierced Meredith, but she squelched it. “Thank you.” She retrieved the pencil from Talbot, with a small gasp, for there was another jolt of physical awareness. She hadn’t distracted him long, but Jonah gave her a nod.
A bell rang, and the loggers stampeded out of the mess hall. Meredith stuffed her supplies into her portfolio and smoothed out her riding skirt.
Thatcher Talbot had moved away, and now he leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, waiting for her.
She gave him a weak smile.
“On behalf of the camp, thanks for that article.”
“It was just the truth.”
“The truth sounds lovely, coming from you.”
“What a nice compliment.”
His eyes were soft like suede; his hair hung in boyish waves across his forehead. “I’ll bet you get plenty of those.”
“Whatever happened to that rude man I once knew?”
He chuckled as they left the mess hall together. “‘I’d rather be hung from a rope and dragged by my heels through these here woods than be escorted by the likes of you.’”
“You’ll do.”
He slapped his thigh with his hat as, together, they burst into laughter.
Meredith experienced a sense of wonder at Talbot’s personality transformation and felt as if she were falling under a spell of charm. Such magical eyes.
“I have to go out to the field. Are you coming?”
“Hmm? Not today.” She patted her portfolio and gave him a final smile. “I have what I came for.”
He nodded. “Another time, then.” She watched him walk away, sorry that he was such an enigma, sorry she was pressed to investigate him, worried over what she would find.
“Ready to go?” Jonah asked.
Back at his studio, Meredith helped Jonah process the photographs he had taken at the camp. Once they were hung to dry, she inspected them.
“Here, Storm. This one of you with all the loggers would be a good one to show your grandchildren some day. Want to buy it?”
“It’s a moment I’ll never forget.” She sighed. “It was like being the belle of the ball.”
His eyes twinkled with a mixture of pride and amusement. “You brought some light into their lives.”
Meredith’s tiny hand brushed away tears. “And they to mine.”
Jonah said softly, “I was only teasing. You may have it.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t cry, missy.”
“I’m not.” She sniffled as she turned to the next photograph. It was the one of Thatcher. “It’s good.”
“Should give you the information you are after.”
“Do you think I should send it to Asa?”
“Maybe you need to set your mind at ease about him so you can…” His voice trailed off.
“Can what?”
“Like him.”
“Oh.”
Once the photographs dried, Meredith needed to make her decision. Jonah was right. She must know. With decisive movements, she prepared the photograph and package she would mail to Asa, along with a note:
See what you can find out about this man. His name is Thatcher Talbot. He got on the train in Chicago. He may be a wanted man.
All she could do, Meredith determined, was wait to hear from Asa. In the meantime, she should put Thatcher Talbot from her mind.
Chapter 10
That night Meredith slept poorly and dreamed of Talbot just before she awoke. She dressed and went straight to her typewriter. When her wastebasket spilled over with crumpled wads of paper, she sighed and pushed away from her desk. Maybe if she went for a walk, the morning air would clear her head. She found herself strolling up the town’s main street.
It was a pleasant morning with blue sky and fluffy clouds, a melodious string of birds roosted on the cobbler’s hitching post, and a smattering of town residents went about their daily rounds. One, Beatrice Bloomfield, bustled out of the bank’s main entrance, her head bent over an armful of packages. When she recognized Meredith, she gave a start, then a terse greeting before she swooshed away in her chic day dress.
At least it wasn’t a total snub. I’m making progress.
Meredith crossed the street, drawn to her favorite store, the dress shop and milliner. The little yellow hat with the green ostrich feather still beckoned from its window display.
Across the street, Thatcher Talbot strode toward the bank, his mind occupied with the news he had received at the camp: One of his old acquaintances was in town. However, his thoughts shifted when he spotted the fascinating reporter, slightly bent and peering intently at something inside a store window. Thatcher lingered over the delightful vision, his back against a hitching post and his arms and legs casually crossed, until she entered the shop.
Meredith positioned the little yellow hat with the green ostrich feather on her head while the dressmaker secured it with pins.
“Take a look in that mirror. You look pretty in it.”
Meredith moved to the cheval mirror. “It’s exquisite.”
“Would you like to see the matching gown?”
“I have a gown from New York that matches perfectly.” Meredith dallied over her reflection until, with a final sigh, she removed the hatpins. “Actually, I’ll need to sell a few more stories before I can afford this hat. But if someone doesn’t beat me to it, I’ll be back for it. It caught my eye the very first day I came to town.”
“That’s how it goes, my dear. Once something strikes your fancy, you must have it. I hope it’s here when you are ready to purchase it.”
“Yes, so do I. Thank you.”
Meredith exited the dressmaker’s and made a quick assessment of the street only to catch a glimpse of a man who resembled Talbot. What would he be doing in town on a weekday? Unconsciously, she found herself trailing after the man across the street. Still unsure of the man’s identity, she watched him enter the bank. She loitered, window shopping, and waited for him to reappear. The owner of the general store happened to be sweeping in front of his store, so she engaged him in conversation, where she could keep a watchful eye on the bank.
After a time, the man came out of the bank. It is Talbot. And he’s with another man. She was surprised to see both men attired in Eastern suits of clothing. Her curiosity intensified; a small voice inside her chirped, I told you he was suspicious.
The two men engaged in conversation until they turned a corner and vanished down an unfamiliar side street. Meredith curtailed her conversation with the general store owner and skipped across the street toward the intersection where Mr. Talbot had disappeared. She rounded the corner in haste and, to her horror, ran smack into Mr. Talbot’s broad side. With a shriek of surprise, she allowed a strong hand to steady her.
“In a hurry, Miss Mears?” Thatcher Talbot cast her a look of censure. The only establishments on this street were a men’s haberdashery, a saloon, and a blacksmith shop.
Meredith saw the irony. “Excuse me, Mr. Talbot.” She released herself from his grip. “I was just out for some exercise. I’d never been this way before, and…”
“It might not be the best proximity for a lady. The main streets would be safer.”
“Yes. I’ll remember that.” Her eyes darted to his companion.
“May I introduce you?”
Meredith gave the brim of her hat a push so she could better see the stranger’s face.
“Mr. William Boon of Chicago, may I present Miss Meredith S. Mears.” Meredith felt the heat rise to her cheeks as Talbot overplayed her middle initial. “William is an old friend of mine, and Miss Mears is a reporter from New York City.”
Meredith detected a glint of humor in William Boon’s eyes and had the distinct impression they were making sport of her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t miss this opportunity to snoop.
“Are you travelling on business, then?”
“No ma’am. It’s personal.”
Mr. Boon had a fair rectangular face, covered with freckles, and Meredith wondered what a few hours in the California sun would do to it.
“I’m surprised you could get the day off at the camp, Mr. Talbot.”
“It wasn’t that hard. I just don’t get paid.”
“Which reminds me, I should get back to my work.”
“Have a nice walk, Miss Mears.”
“A pleasure meeting you.”
“Gentlemen.”
Meredith’s feet could not get her away fast enough. Of all the embarrassing things! What could that impossible man be up to? Was his city friend an accomplice?
Once Meredith was out of sight, the two men chuckled. “You were right about her,” William said. “She was following you.”
“Nosy little thing, always probing.” Thatcher tried to put her out of his mind. “Let’s go have that breakfast.”
Inside the café, the men ordered and received their meals. They fell into a comfortable conversation, and William caught Thatcher up on the news from the East.
“After Colleen left, I moped around for several months. One day it hit me. I want her back, and I’m willing to fight for her. I was a lousy husband, but I’ll change if I can get her back.”
Thatcher sympathized with his longtime friend whose wife had left him. When Thatcher had left Chicago, both he and his friend’s lives had been amuck.
“I hope you can find her and forgive her.”
“I’ve already forgiven her. Here…” William reached into his vest pocket and withdrew a small photograph of his wife. “I’d like you to have this. Perhaps it will help to locate her. Ask around whenever you get the chance. And here,” he said as he pulled out another small slip of paper. “This is my lawyer’s address. You can reach me through him.”
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