“Go ahead. The dining room is right through those doors and the missus will make sure nobody bothers you.” The man pointed to double doors that opened to a room with about fifteen tables covered with sturdy red cloths. “Joseph Williams is the name if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Mr. Williams. I’m Rachel Phillips.” They shook hands warmly. “And I’m obliged to you for all your information and kindness.”
Mrs. Williams offered a sweet smile. She sat Rachel at a table in the corner by the kitchen and quickly helped her to a meal of chicken and biscuits. It was a delicious, satisfying meal. Afterwards, Rachel thought a walk around town might do her good.
Rachel silently praised God for using these good people to comfort her in her state of agitation. She expressed her appreciation, left her trunk behind, and headed out to stroll the streets of Redwood until her stage arrived at one o’clock.
Rachel turned right outside the hotel and strolled along Main Street beside the waterfront. Her steps echoed along the wood-plank walkway. The first place of business Rachel passed was a saloon and billiard parlor called The Bowling Alley. Rachel could hear poorly tuned piano music playing inside as she neared the swinging double doors that marked its entrance. She also caught the agitated shouts of men embroiled in some type of disagreement.
“I’ll teach ya!” a burly man yelled right before a fist landed upon his cheek.
“We’ll see!” shouted the other as he took the next punch.
Before Rachel had time to discern any danger in the situation, the two men were locked in battle, the momentum of their brawl carrying them straight toward her. Never letting go of one another, the men continued to throw punches with complete disregard for their surroundings. Horses in the street reared and onlookers cleared the boardwalk quickly.
Rachel was so stunned, she stood motionless as the men, lost in their struggle, came tumbling closer. Bracing for the impact, Rachel suddenly felt herself pulled from their path and into the solid arms of a man. Rachel looked up and found herself staring into the most fascinating eyes she had ever seen. They were brilliant, partly blue, partly green, and the pattern captivating, seemingly drawing her in closer. The fight continued to rage, but Rachel was a hundred miles away in the arms of a dashing stranger.
When Rachel regained her composure, she consciously averted her gaze from the man’s bluish-green eyes. Once she did, she was caught up in his clean-shaven face and freshly cut dark hair. These features were in sharp contrast to the men she had seen on the docks.
Rachel was at a loss for words as she studied the handsome man, standing tall in a dark shirt with light suspenders. Without warning, he suddenly gripped her shoulders and shouted, “You could have been hurt! Where is your husband?”
Rachel’s mouth opened but no words came out as she took the barrage of questions like a beating. “Well, where is he? In the saloon?” The man roared.
“No. He’s, I mean… there is no ‘he.’ I’m not married.” With this statement, Rachel’s temper flared. Who did this man think he was, anyway? He had no right to question her. She had a perfect right to walk on a public street in the middle of the afternoon.
She was ready to let this stranger have a little piece of her mind. She shook free from his grip and continued, “I beg your pardon, but if I had a husband, his whereabouts would remain none of your business. Now, I appreciate your rescuing me from those childish men, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Rachel’s tone was attracting attention and people began to cross the street to watch the action unfold. Fist fights were a common occurrence, but a lady in a conflict was something new.
The tall stranger stepped back in surprise at Rachel’s outburst, letting his eyes take in a full view. He eyed her inquisitively.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but this here’s a logging town, with the loading done for the day. These men are ready to play, and that makes this no place for a woman alone. Certainly not one as pretty as you. Now, where are you going? I will escort you personally.” He resolutely reached for her arm.
“Hmmph.” Rachel’s eyes had fire in them now as she shook free of his hold. “I am quite capable of finding my own way, and I certainly do not need any more help from you. Now please excuse me.”
The onlookers, sensing the nature of the argument, were beginning to snicker. One of them called out, “Hey Dylan, little lady more’n you can handle? Maybe you need some help.”
Rachel’s face became hot with embarrassment. When she looked around her she noticed that everyone was staring and that she was the sole focus of their attention. Unable to conceal her anger and frustration, she walked briskly back to the American House to wait for her stage.
Mr. Williams stood behind the elaborate counter, smiling as Rachel entered the hotel. “Ah, Miss Phillips. What a pleasure to see you again so soon.” Mr. Williams’ amiable style softened Rachel immediately.
“Mr. Williams, it seems I stepped into a bit of trouble during my walk. Would it be all right with you if I waited here for a few minutes until the stage arrives?” Rachel asked, her voice flustered. She plopped herself forcefully into a high-backed chair, exasperated.
“Of course, my dear. We’d love to have such a pretty ornament grace our lobby. Dresses the place up a bit, don’t you think, Mrs. Williams?”
Mrs. Williams stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face wrinkled in concern. “Was there a problem, Miss Phillips?” Before Rachel answered, the stranger from the street entered the lobby. She stood immediately.
“There you are,” The man said with relief. “Are you all right?”
“She’s fine, Chase,” Mr. Williams said. Rachel’s head shot around abruptly to the amiable Mr. Williams.
“You know this man?” Rachel asked.
“Sure do. Allow me to introduce you to Chase Dylan. Chase is our resident peacekeeper. He owns a large sawmill up yonder in Portola Valley and comes down during the loading. Oversees his men; keeps them out of mischief. Chase, this here is Miss Rachel Phillips, the new Searsville schoolteacher.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Phillips. I’m sorry if I startled you.” The eyes that had fascinated her just moments before once again held her complete attention, much to her dismay. “This is a coincidence. Perhaps I can give you a ride into town; I go right through Searsville on my way to Portola Valley. In fact, you’ll be teaching a few of my men’s children. My buggy’s right next door at the Ostrum Livery, and I’d be honored to ride into town with the new schoolteacher,” Chase said, a pleasant smile crossing his face, a challenge rising in his brows.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Dylan. I’ll be taking the stage into Searsville,” Rachel answered curtly, astonished by the man’s audacity.
“Chase knows the roads well, Miss Phillips. You’d probably be more comfortable with him than on the mail stage,” Mr. Williams interjected.
Rachel felt betrayed. Surely her merry Mr. Williams couldn’t think highly of this arrogant man, yet it seemed he did. “Thank you both for your concern, but my passage is planned on the stage. People are expecting me and I don’t believe I should make any changes to my scheduled arrival, for their sake. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better be on my way.” Rachel lifted up her floor-length, blue muslin skirt and walked briskly out of the American House. Her long, bouncing curls swung in her defiance.
Chase Dylan and Mr. Williams looked at one another and grinned. “I guess she told me, huh, Joseph?” Chase asked.
“By the look in your eye, I’d say you won’t let her get away that easily,” Mr. Williams added. Both men laughed merrily and watched Rachel stride confidently toward the stage, dragging her trunk along behind her.
Chapter 3
After nearly three hours, the dust from the stage was becoming unbearable. The ride had been fraught with rough spots along the steep grade, pauses for every slow-moving, redwood-hauling oxen wagon, and numerous mail stops.
Rachel, the coach’s only passenger, felt as though
she hadn’t bathed in days and was not looking forward to meeting her new employer in her condition. I’m sure they’ve seen many a dusty passenger arrive on this stage, Rachel thought hopefully but without conviction. She lurched forward and the stage came to a final abrupt halt.
Her first view of Searsville brought only melancholy; the sight was nothing like she’d imagined. There were no beautiful redwoods shadowing the land, only a dry, dusty valley scattered with whitewashed buildings and a few oak trees. Rachel stepped down from the coach, her disappointment evident. The town certainly wasn’t much.
The stage had stopped in front of the primitive Searsville Exchange and Post Office. Not far to the right was Eikerenkotter’s Hotel, a simple two-story building. On the porch several men stood speaking with a questionable woman.
A young man dressed in a black suit approached Rachel, a welcoming grin on his face. “Miss Phillips?” he inquired.
“Yes. Mr. Lathrop, is it?” Rachel replied, surprised at the man’s youth. As the patron of Searsville’s school, she was expecting a much older man.
“It is. Robert Lathrop, the local blacksmith and benefactor of our new school. Welcome to our humble Searsville.” Mr. Lathrop’s arm made a sweeping motion to introduce the town. “Your trunk will be taken over to the hotel where you’ll stay until you find a boardinghouse that suits you.”
Rachel looked to the hotel and uneasiness gripped her. “Don’t worry, Miss Phillips. You’ll be well taken care of, August Eikerenkotter runs a respectable business.”
Rachel watched her dusty brown trunk being pulled roughly off the stage and shook her head in disbelief.
“What is it, Miss Phillips? You’ll be safe at the hotel,” The blacksmith reassured her.
“Oh, I’m sure I will, Mr. Lathrop. I was just thinking of all the colorful dresses my stepfather purchased for me before my trip. Obviously, he’s never been here or he would have only let me buy brown.” Rachel’s smile told Robert Lathrop that she knew how to make the best of a situation.
Mr. Lathrop’s voice turned falsely serious in mock lecture. “Brown’s a very popular color around here, and rightly so, I might add.” The lighthearted conversation warmed Rachel to her new home and she decided she would reserve final judgment until after she’d had a bath.
“By the way, the schoolhouse is straight up the main road a spell.” Mr. Lathrop pointed north, then continued. “My blacksmith shop is to the right there and my home is on the left. The schoolhouse is just beyond my ranch.” Rachel looked in the direction of the schoolhouse, but it was not in her line of sight.
Mr. Lathrop spoke again, his voice low. “Miss Phillips, I need to be frank with you. You were selected for this position because of your faith. Your stepfather assured us you had come to know the Lord at a very young age. Maria, my wife, and I are believers and we want His light to shine through our school.”
Rachel nodded, but Mr. Lathrop continued on. “Being from the gold country, I’m sure you’re aware of the so-called recreation that goes on after work: the gambling, the fighting, the gun play, and especially the drinking. Well, I’m afraid sawyers are no different. In fact, most of them are from the mining camps. Many of their children have never seen the inside of a church, and as patrons of the school, it is very important to Maria and myself that these children learn the road to heaven. I don’t want to put a lot of undue pressure on you before you begin your duties, but I’d like you to do your best to teach them about Jesus.”
Rachel couldn’t believe her ears. “Mr. Lathrop, I promise I will do my very best to teach the children about Jesus. Nothing would make me happier.” Rachel had heard stories from the Bible since she was a tiny girl; no lesson plan for the children would give her more pleasure.
“Come along, let’s get you situated so you can rest. Introductions can wait until tomorrow. Since tomorrow is Sunday, I’m hoping you’d like to join my family for the service.” He picked up her trunk gently with a strong hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Lathrop. I’d enjoy that very much.”
“Good. Maria and I will pick you up at 9: 30. The church is a little bit of a hike, so wear your walking shoes. Actually, if you own any other kind, you can get rid of them now.” Mr. Lathrop laughed, and his young companion, now in good spirits, joined him.
Rachel allowed her trunk to be dropped off at the hotel but headed south on the road to the schoolhouse, eager to see where she would perform her teaching duties. She strolled down Searsville’s main road, pleased to see the town offered all of life’s necessities, including a general store, where she could order books.
At the end of the main route, Rachel was thrilled to see a lovely fresh-water lake bordering the village. She passed the schoolhouse by to gaze into its placid waters for a while. The water looked so inviting that Rachel wanted to jump right into it. She bent down, cupped her hand, and splashed her face with the cool, clean liquid. Feeling at once restored, she exhaled deeply and walked at a leisurely pace back toward the school.
The schoolhouse looked surprisingly like a church, and had probably been created by the same plans. Where there would have been a church steeple, a white tower housed the large cast-iron school bell. Rachel was tempted to ring the bell, but refrained. Giggling at the notion, she stepped inside the classroom. Her eyes became big and her mouth dropped; everything was just as she’d imagined. The room was in perfect order, and someone had scrubbed the walls and polished the windows until they gleamed.
The desktops were expertly crafted from oak and securely fastened to wrought iron bases. An elegantly carved, larger desk stood at the front of the room, and the new blackboard had WELCOME MISS PHILLIPS written upon it.
Rachel traced the words with her finger, and her stomach churned with excitement as she thought aloud, “I am a teacher and this is my classroom.” Rachel couldn’t help momentarily crediting Marshall for his choice of careers for his stepdaughter.
“Miss Phillips?” Rachel turned to see a flamboyantly dressed woman with jet black hair and dark, piercing eyes standing in the doorway. The sweet tone of her voice simply did not coincide with the woman’s looks.
Her dress was violet with a very tight fit and she wore a matching hat that had a single purple plume rising from its side. The ensemble was strangely out of place in this small logging town.
Rachel tried not to appear surprised by the woman’s appearance, and answered, “Yes, I’m Rachel Phillips.”
“Welcome to Searsville, Miss Phillips. I’m Mrs. Gretchen Steele and this is my son, Henry.” Mrs. Steele turned to find her son missing from her side, and called sharply, “Henry!”
Henry soon appeared in the doorway, his head bent forward contritely and his big brown eyes peering shyly up at Rachel. “Say good day to Miss Phillips, Henry,” prodded Mrs. Steele.
“Good day, Miss Phillips,” sung the tiny boy sweetly.
“Henry will be one of your students. However, that’s not why I’m here. I’ve come to invite you to our women’s sewing circle. It meets on Tuesday evening at a different member’s house each week. Obviously, since you have no home, you would be excused from being a hostess. This week we’re meeting at my house, which is at the end of the main road, near the lake on A Street, second house on the left. I’m certain I’ll see you there. I’m anxious to know all about you.” Mrs. Steele then grabbed Henry by the shoulder and left.
Rachel stood in a daze, unable to discern if the invitation was genuine. Too thrilled about her classroom to care at the moment, Rachel turned her attention to sorting through the supplies and preparing her desk for the upcoming school year.
The tinny music from the saloon below made sleeping a difficult task in Eikerenkotter’s Hotel. Rachel decided locating a boardinghouse would be the day’s priority. She rose early and opted to skip breakfast in lieu of strolling through town once again before attending church. The beauty of the morning surprised Rachel. The sun was glorious, coos from doves atop the hotel filled the air, and the golden hills with their majesti
c oaks reminded Rachel of her first home in Weberville, California.
Finding herself once again at the lake, Rachel finally viewed in the near distance the famed redwoods that provided the area’s industry. She inhaled deeply, smelling their fresh scent, and suddenly the charm of Searsville became apparent. These trees were truly incredible; they were overwhelming in stature. Rachel’s mouth gaped in awe as she looked up to the magnificent giants. She was reminded of her father’s first words upon seeing the Sierra, and she realized she truly was witnessing the very handiwork of God.
As Rachel stood in wonderment, her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of an older woman, “Good morning, Miss Phillips. They’re quite a sight, are they not?”
Rachel turned to see a woman with graying hair, dressed in her Sunday best: a long, dark plaid skirt topped by a crisp white shirt and a blue jacket. “I’ve never seen anything like them,” she answered.
“Well, I’ve lived here for ten years now and I still don’t tire of looking at them. I hope the mills will leave a few for our enjoyment. By the way, I’m Thelma Hopper. Since I’ve already addressed you as Miss Phillips and was not corrected, I’ll assume you are the new schoolteacher.” The older woman extended her hand and Rachel gently reached for it.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Hopper. I was a little preoccupied. Yes, I am Rachel Phillips.”
“Ah, no matter. These trees are like seeing the ocean for the first time, wouldn’t you say?”
“A good comparison, Mrs. Hopper.”
“Well, I wanted to catch you today, Miss Phillips. I own the white house at the end of the street there.” Mrs. Hopper pointed to a charming two-story house that graced the end of town near the lake. “I live by myself most of the year while my husband is off running our mill in Bear Gulch.”
“Bear Gulch?” Rachel questioned the strange name.
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