Rocky Mountain Redemption
Rocky Mountain Revival Series - Book 1
Lisa J. Flickinger
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
20. Sneak Peek: Book 2
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Want more?
“Being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.”
* * *
Romans 3:24
Chapter 1
1898
The Rocky Mountains
Isabelle slid the moist length of potato peel between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and stretched her arms apart as it unfurled.
One handbreadth longer than yesterday’s best. Six months ago, she couldn’t have imagined being hidden away in a lumber camp and performing such tedious work.
Thanks be, the trembling in her fingers remained minimal. Doctor Bradley, a frequent visitor to Isabelle’s second-story bedroom before she’d been dropped at the camp, had advised her parents the tremors would subside as she regained her health. It appeared he’d been correct.
Isabelle tossed the peel on the mound atop the long table serving as a work counter in the center of the kitchen and wiped her hands on the white muslin apron at her waist. The potatoes were a treat usually reserved for the weekends, a welcome break from the enormous iron pots of beans.
The logging camp’s twenty-one men tucked away an astounding volume of food Aunt Lou and Isabelle prepared and served every morning and every night. Why had Father thought such tedious work would cure what ailed her?
Isabelle dumped the peels into an enamel slop pail and wiped the counter. Aunt Lou didn’t abide any mess in her kitchen, and Isabelle dared not leave one.
A quick jaunt to the creek and she could empty the slop pail while Aunt Lou slept in the small bedroom near the back door of the cook shack. She’d complained of sore joints earlier in the day, and Isabelle had urged the older woman take a short nap before the evening’s meal preparation began in earnest. If Isabelle was quiet, Aunt Lou would be unaware of her niece’s escape.
Isabelle snatched up the handle of the slop pail and tiptoed through the screened back door helping to keep the kitchen cool. As she scurried down the hard packed dirt toward the trees, Isabelle dared a look over her shoulder—no Aunt Lou.
Near the creek, tall pines cast long shadows on her path and the cool air of the forest enveloped her. She passed towering poplars and narrow birch trees, their leaves a bright patchwork of orange, gold, and brown. Spongy mosses cushioned the forest floor. A tangle of roots on the trail slowed Isabelle’s pace.
She stopped and swung the pail, both hands on the handle, in a full circle. The pungent aroma of the pines coated the back of her throat like a balm. How could she have lived seventeen years without setting foot in such grandeur? Even her best friend and next door neighbor, Kittie, wouldn’t understand when Isabelle tried to describe the hint of joy she felt among the trees, high on the mountain’s side—if she ever saw Kittie again.
When Isabelle reached the creek, she leaned over the bank and tipped the pail above the bubbling water bedded with smooth, round rocks of vivid pink, dusty brown, and speckled gray. The peels floated on the surface and, drawn by the current, scattered downstream until they rounded the corner out of sight.
If only the overwhelming anxiousness stealing Isabelle’s sleep hours before every dawn, would scatter and disappear like the peelings on the creek’s surface.
Isabelle closed her eyes and inhaled another long, deep breath. An image of Daniel’s intimidating face entered her mind, and her eyes popped open. She swallowed and tossed the bucket into the moss. Aunt Lou wouldn’t know Isabelle was missing from the kitchen for another twenty minutes at least, plenty of time for Isabelle to soak her feet in the refreshing waters and try to forget about Daniel.
Isabelle twisted the hem of her navy skirt and white petticoat around her thighs. The cool air of the forest tickled her skin, and she shivered. Grasping a pliant willow to slow her descent, she turned and scooched down the steep, graveled bank. Halfway down, the smooth leather soles of her black boots turned on the damp stones, and she fell.
“Ouch!” Clamping her teeth together, she squeezed her eyes until the piercing pain under her hipbone subsided. It had been foolish not to remove her boots before descending the bank.
Isabelle sat up and plucked at the laces of her boots until they were loose before pulling them off and tossing them onto the path along the creek bank. Her wool socks soon followed. After descending the remaining incline, she slid her feet into the water. Her toes curled under at the chill.
Aunt Lou had informed Isabelle the creek never warmed, even in midsummer, due to the thick layers of snow at the higher elevations. The cool water provided storage for the milk, cream, and butter the men were so fond of.
As Isabelle bent and scooped a handful of water to slurp, a branch snapped on the bank. She whipped around and stepped back into the creek. Her hands shook, and the heavy folds of her clothing dropped into the water
“Is someone there?”
“Yes.” The response came from a male voice.
Isabelle’s heart lurched. Had she been followed? Aunt Lou had forbidden her to leave the cook shack unescorted. Why had Isabelle done it? She knew how risky taking chances could be.
“If you don’t leave right now, I’ll scream.”
“All right…But I have a question first.”
“You have a question before you leave or before I scream?”
“Both, miss.”
Was he some kind of lunatic? The way the cold water had numbed her feet and calves, she would be fortunate if she could walk, let alone run, from an assailant. “What’s your question?”
“Are you decent?”
“Am I decent?” Perhaps not a lunatic but a polite voyeur. Was there such a thing?
“It’s just, well, when you scream, the men will come running, and if you’re not decent, you’ll regret it.”
“Sir, do you have any idea how cold this water is?”
“I do. We men folk bathe in it when the scent in the bunkhouse is strong enough to curl the hair on your toes. Alvin usually puts up a fight, but the rest of us enjoy the brisk cleansing.”
Isabelle shivered. Now that the man mentioned toes, she could no longer feel hers. Risky or not, she would have to leave the water. Lifting her water soaked skirt, Isabelle stepped toward the bank.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
She froze. Water trickled from her skirt into the creek. “Yes, I’m fully clothed. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have stepped as deep into the water if you hadn’t surprised me.” Isabelle fixed her gaze on the bank where she’d descended. “Whoever you are.”
“In that case.” A head and broad shoulders appeared over the edge of the bank. The man wore a narrow brimmed hat, and reddish brown curls teased the collar of his checkered wool shirt. His dark blue eyes took in the length of her from under long full lashes.
He didn’t look like one to take advantage, but she wasn’t known to be a proper judge of character either.
The corners of his mouth turned up into a wide smile accenting the deep cleft in hi
s chin.
Isabelle’s shoulders twitched at his frank appraisal. If she didn’t leave the water shortly, her feet would turn to ice.
“Who would have guessed?” the man said. “Snoop was telling the truth. There’s been a lot of speculation. In fact, the men have been taking bets on whether another woman resides at the camp or not. Snoop swore he saw a tall slender woman with a braid down to her knees walking the moonlit path to the cookhouse when he went to use the facilities last Thursday.”
It was true. Isabelle’s father had delivered her to the camp close to midnight the week before. He was still angry when they’d arrived and had merely stood at the carriage door and given her instructions on which path would lead her to Aunt Lou. With only the moon’s glow to light her way, Isabelle had walked past a long, low cabin she assumed was the bunkhouse to an even longer log building with two small windows at the back. “I did arrive last Thursday”—Isabelle worried the nape of her neck as the man studied her—“but my hair was pinned up.”
“I figured you were wishful thinking on Snoop’s part until I heard you exclaim earlier. Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, I slipped on the rocks. You go back to the camp. I’ll manage.” The sooner the stranger left, the better. Isabelle needed time to wash her skirt and petticoat with the washboard in the kitchen before her aunt woke up. Otherwise, she would have to explain why her skirt was a sodden mess.
“Miss?” He raised a heavy eyebrow.
Isabelle dipped her chin as she replied, “Miss Isabelle Franklin, sir.”
“Franklin? Are you a relative of the cook?”
“She’s my father’s sister.”
Isabelle’s stomach fluttered as the man’s gaze slid over her from head to toe.
“I can’t say as I see much resemblance.”
Aunt Lou was as wide as Isabelle was narrow—and tall. She towered over Isabelle’s five foot seven. Isabelle’s father alleged that Aunt Lou had turned men’s heads when she was a young woman. These days, she was as likely to knock them off as to turn them. The woman wielded a broom like a fiend. Since Isabelle’s arrival, she’d clattered out of the kitchen twice to chase a logger from the dining room before meal time. And judging by the hollering that followed, she’d connected with at least one body part on each man.
With two leaps down the graveled bank, the logger landed by Isabelle’s side in the creek. “Charles Bailey, otherwise known as Preach, at your service, Miss Franklin.” He doffed the cap from his head, bent at the waist, and reached out a large calloused palm. “May I escort you up the bank? It would be impolite of me to leave you in danger of both man and beast.”
The man was a giant. Even bent over he made an imposing figure. His black leather boots were almost twice the size of her own. Isabelle stared at his outstretched palm. Was the man dangerous?
He straightened his back and withdrew his hand. “Ah, cautious are you? I suppose I do appear daunting on first meeting.”
Isabelle tipped back her head to meet his eyes.
He gathered his rough curls before he returned his cap to his head and snugged it down.
“Why are you called Preach?”
A low chuckle spilled from his chest. “An unlikely title, for certain. The men used to call me Bunyan.” His grin revealed pearled, even teeth, except for one blackened bicuspid on the top jaw. “I’m sure you can guess why. As for the name Preach, at spring break-up this year, while celebrating the season’s end in Stony Creek, I stumbled into a tent meeting by accident. The minister urged all those tired of the way they were living to come to the front and be prayed for. I was tired, tired of working hard and having nothing to show for it other than several weeks of carousing at the end of the season.” Preach’s neck turned a soft pink. “Pardon my rough talk, miss”
Isabelle nodded to encourage him to continue.
“So I went forward and cried like a little baby while the preacher prayed over me. The men say I’m different now.” He cocked his head as though in contemplation. “I wish I were a whole lot different.”
The same wish had jabbed at Isabelle’s heart since May.
“In these parts, I’m the closest thing there is to a man of the cloth.” He stretched out his hand once more. “So, would you permit me to escort you up the bank, Miss Franklin?”
If you couldn’t trust a man named Preach, a man who loved the Lord, who could you trust? Isabelle gathered the folds of her skirt and reached out. His palm engulfed hers as he pulled her up the slope, over the embankment, and onto the path.
Toward them, broom at her side, lips pinched in a tight grimace, marched Aunt Lou. “Why am I not surprised? No more than a week at the camp and I find you cavorting in the woods with the men. I warned you not to leave the cook shack without me.”
The accusation hit its mark. Isabelle snatched her hand from Preach’s grip and dropped her chin. “I’m sorry, Aunt Lou,” Isabelle’s chest warmed, and she willed the crimson flush to remain below her collar. Regardless of her aunt’s claim, Isabelle and Preach hadn’t done anything improper.
“Your father led me to believe you were weak willed regarding men, and now I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Weak willed regarding men? Isabelle had only ever been courted by Daniel, and she and Father had never spoken of the relationship’s demise, nor had Father ever asked to hear the particulars. Instead, he’d searched out numerous cures for her “ailment” and had finally resorted to hiding her away with her aunt at the logging camp.
Her cook’s hat askew and her blue eyes snapping at Preach, Aunt Lou stopped at the creek bank’s edge and raised the straw end of the broom in the air.
Preach stepped back into the moss, removed his cap, and lifted his large palm toward her. “Now, Lou, don’t get yourself worked up.”
Too late for that, Preach.
“The girl and I were not cavorting.”
Isabelle glanced sideways at Preach, and he winked in return. Did he think the situation funny? There was nothing humorous about Aunt Lou when she was angry.
Aunt Lou poked the broom near Preach’s face as he replaced his cap. “I can see what you were doing. Her skirt is soaking wet. When I tell Joe what you’ve been up to”—she thrust again—“he’ll see you run off this camp, and I’ll make sure you don’t find work within a hundred miles.”
Preach shouldn’t lose his job at Pollitt’s Lumber because of Isabelle’s foolishness. “I’ll go.” Surely someone else would take her in. Perhaps Mother’s cousin who lived further north “It’s my fault, I wanted—”
“You, young lady, will be quiet.”
“Aunt—”
Aunt Lou turned, and the broom whisked through the air toward Isabelle’s shoulder.
Preach swung out, stopping the broom in its path.
Aunt Lou reared back, and her heel caught on a gnarled root. She stumbled backwards. Her arms flailed in the air, and she lost hold of the broom handle. Isabelle leaped forward to catch her, but the rough gray wool of Aunt Lou’s skirt slipped through her fingers. Isabelle gasped as Aunt Lou slipped down the bank on her haunches before summersaulting backward and landing with a grand splash in the creek.
Isabelle and Preach rushed after her.
Aunt Lou plucked her cap from the cold water and tucked it on her wild gray ringlets. Rivulets streamed down her broad cheeks and nose.
Isabelle stifled the desire to giggle.
“When I am fit to deal with this matter, you will be sorry you ever tangled with me or my niece, Preach Bailey”
Preach’s eyes twinkled and without a grunt he lifted Aunt Lou’s large frame from the water and stood her upright at the water’s edge.
“Now, Lou,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice carrying a hint of amusement, “you know you don’t mean it.”
Aunt Lou swatted at Preach. “I do mean it. Move away from me, young man.”
Isabelle looped her arm through her aunt’s. “Are you hurt?”
Puffing her chest like an angry hen, A
unt Lou squared her shoulders. “Nothing more than a few scratches. I’ll be quite fine. Help me up the bank, Isabelle. I’ll go straight to the boss.”
Preach removed his cap. His curls fell forward as he lowered his chin. “Lou, there’s no need for you to speak to Joe. I promise you that Miss Isabelle and I had no knowledge of one another up until our meeting a few minutes before your arrival. And you and I both know Joe will be just as surprised as I was to discover an unmarried young woman at the camp.”
Aunt Lou drew in a quick breath. “Why do you presume he doesn’t know?”
“She arrived in the middle of the night. We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her since then, and it’s against the rules. No unmarried women at camp.”
That explained why Aunt Lou forbade Isabelle to leave the area comprising the kitchen and two small bedrooms when the men were in the dining hall. It wasn’t a punishment. It was necessary to keep Isabelle’s presence hidden. “Aunt Lou, if I’m not allowed to be here, why did you offer to take me in?”
Aunt Lou raised her chin and sniffed. “Your father thought it was best. You were wasting away, and he feared for your life. We both thought the fresh air and hard work would help you to…”
Isabelle froze. The handsome giant before her didn’t need to know why Isabelle was at the camp. Please don’t say it.
Preach cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. His gaze carried a question, a question Isabelle hoped would not be answered.
“…find your way.”
Isabelle exhaled with relief. Find her way. What a polite turn of phrase for the dark journey she’d experienced since the night of the May Ball, a journey that had threatened to crush the very life from her. Father’s fear had been justified. Isabelle had no appetite for months as she’d hidden away from family, friends, even God, in her bedroom. Her clothes still hung from her as if they belonged to someone else.
Rocky Mountain Redemption Page 1
