Rocky Mountain Redemption

by Lisa J. Flickinger

  “You folks care for menus? Soup won’t be ready until noon. Most everything else is available.”

  “Please.”

  May pulled two menus from under her muscular arm, laid them on the table, and spoke as she walked away. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Isabelle cleared her throat as Preach passed her a menu. “I don’t think she likes me.”

  So May’s attitude was obvious. “Does she know you? I didn’t think you’d ever left the camp until today.”

  “I’ve never met her before.”

  “Then she can’t know if she likes you or not.”

  As Isabelle dipped her head to study her menu, the corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile, the first one he’d seen since he’d given her the carving the night before. If only he could make the smile last.

  Preach glanced at the menu. Skipping breakfast meant he was hungrier than usual—and that was saying something. According to Lou, the twenty-one men at the camp ate more than three times what the average man consumed. Isabelle probably had some idea, helping Lou and all, but she’d never watched the men tuck into the food before. It was something to behold, not a word said between them as they chowed down on mountains of foodstuffs. He’d have to cut back or he would scare the poor girl, and it looked as if she’d been scared enough.

  “Have you decided on something?” he asked.

  “I’m hungrier than usual. I’ll have two poached eggs and toast, please.”

  “And?”

  Isabelle cocked her head. “And the coffee? Miss Sophie made me a sandwich not long ago.”

  Only two poached eggs on toast? It wasn’t even an appetizer. That would explain the size of the girl. Preach, on his own, could eat a dozen eggs in one breakfast, and that was before he moved onto the ham and beans. He stared at the menu. It was looking like he would be hungry a while longer. “May, we’re ready.”

  Twenty minutes later, Isabelle laid her fork and knife diagonally across her plate before thanking him for the breakfast. Egg yolk pooled next to the half slice of brown toast on her plate.

  Preach resisted the urge to drag her toast through the yolk and stuff it into his mouth in one bite. The double order of a frizzled beef omelet and a side of beans hadn’t touched the growl in his stomach.

  The door opened, and a cool breeze swept into the room. Phyllis Thorebourne, wife of the owner at Thorebourne Timber Company, stepped inside. Preach glanced at May, who avoided his gaze as she wiped the counter. Had May sent word he was in Stony Creek? Probably not. May and Phyllis were unlikely cohorts.

  With a tower of feathers and ribbons bobbing on her straw hat, Phyllis tromped across the patterned oilcloth floor to their table. “Good morning, Preach,” she said, and crossed her arms over her imposing bosom. “Who might this young lady be?”

  Phyllis was the church pianist and the most fervent champion for a daughter’s hopes in landing Preach as a future husband. It wasn’t the girl’s fault he didn’t find her near six feet of height and sculpted features appealing. He simply preferred women who looked less capable. Women with pale skin, sparkling eyes, brown hair down to their—who was he fooling? Women like Isabelle, future wife or not.

  Preach cleared his throat. “Mrs. Thorebourne, how nice to see you. Meeting someone for coffee?” He glanced at May, still scrubbing at the same spot at the counter. It must be quite the stain.

  “Just stepping in to see my sister.” Phyllis nodded, and the ribbons and feathers bobbed as though agreeing with her.

  “May’s your sister?” So May had sent word. Now, knowing the truth, he could see the resemblance between the two women. May was a stronger, thinner version of Phyllis. Josephine, Phyllis’s daughter, had been fashioned from a different mold altogether.

  “May’s not much for baking,” Phyllis said, “so I supply the desserts for the house. Who’s your friend?” Tossing her chin, the feathers and ribbons went at it again.

  “I’m—”

  “So you’re the one who makes those delicious apple dumplings with the hard sauce?” Sorry, Isabelle. But it was none of Phyllis’s business who Isabelle was, she was planning to leave town anyway. “I think I might have one. It’s never too early for an apple dumpling. May,” he called across the room, “two orders of apple dumplings with hard sauce please.”

  May ducked behind the narrow canvas curtain dividing the dining room from the kitchen.

  Isabelle said, “I don’t think—”

  “’Shaw, you’ll love ’em. I promise.” Ignoring Isabelle’s wide eyes, he focused on the woman standing beside them. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Thorebourne. We won’t hold you up. You have a good day, now.” Preach slurped at his coffee, hoping Phyllis would take the hint.

  Phyllis planted her feet and stretched a beefy hand toward Isabelle.

  Apparently the woman wasn’t going to give up easily.

  “Phyllis Thorebourne. So nice to meet you.”

  Isabelle’s gaze flicked to Preach’s before she cautiously extended her hand toward Phyllis’s. “Nice to meet you, I’m Isabelle Franklin.”

  All right, Phyllis. You have her name, now move along.

  Phyllis leaned in, bringing her eyes level with Isabelle’s. “And how do the two of you know each other?”

  “I’m assistant cook at Pollitt’s logging camp.”

  Phyllis dropped Isabelle’s right hand while glancing at her left one. “Assistant cook? You’re married?”

  “N–no.”

  “You’re not? Lou said Joe was particular about not having unmarried women at the camp. Not that my Josephine needs a position, but she’s a wonderful cook.”

  Here Phyllis went.

  “She helps me cook for her brothers. She’s got four.”

  He sat back, waiting for the same words she always spoke next. They’re big boys, used to hard work, big appetites.

  Phyllis preened a little. “They’re big boys, used to hard work, big appetites.”

  Just as he’d expected. Truth was, it didn’t matter to Preach how well, or how much, Josephine could cook. If courting was only about satisfying his stomach, Preach might as well marry Lou.

  “I guess they took me on because I’m her niece.”

  “Her niece?” Phyllis stepped back and stared at Isabelle as though comparing her to Lou.

  There was no comparison. “May,” Preach called, “are you coming with those dumplings? We’ll have another coffee, too. Phyllis, it’s been nice talking—”

  “So, you’re Lou’s niece? The woman doesn’t admit to having any family, period, yet here you are. It doesn’t change the fact Joe doesn’t want eligible woman at the camp. He said it gets the men too worked up.”

  Joe was right. Isabelle had caused all kinds of excitement, and most of the men didn’t even know if she was real or not. The poor girl looked like she wanted to crawl under the table to escape Phyllis’s scrutiny.

  May finally entered the dining room with their desserts.

  Phyllis didn’t need to know Joe had no idea Isabelle was at the camp either. “I guess he changed his mind,” Preach said. “Excuse us. We’d like to enjoy our dumplings while they’re hot.”

  May removed their used dishes and served the dumplings.

  Steam rose from a large pastry-covered apple at the center of each plate. Brandy sauce coated the top and sides of each dumpling and pooled generously around the base. A dollop of hard sauce, his favorite part, melted into the brandy sauce. His mouth watered.

  Isabelle picked up her fork. “These look delicious. Thank you.”

  May retreated behind the counter, but Phyllis made no move to let them eat without her company.

  “Please excuse us, Mrs. Thorebourne,” he said, hoping she’d note the sternness in his voice.

  “I’d like to say, perhaps we’ll meet again but judging by the sight of you, I don’t think you’ll last long.” Phyllis arched one eyebrow as though daring Preach to argue with her.

  Isabelle stilled in bringing the st
eaming bite of apple and pastry to her lips.

  Preach took in her dropped chin and the moisture collecting at the corner of her eyes. How could Isabelle help it if she’d been sick? “Look here, that wasn’t a kind thing to say. Why don’t you apologize?” In less than twenty-four hours, Preach had asked two women to say they were sorry to Isabelle. She appeared to invite more torment than she deserved. If only he could reach over and wipe the tears from her eyes.

  Phyllis crossed her arms. “I’m not apologizing. Anyone with eyes can see the truth of it. The girl won’t last long working up the mountain with Lou.”

  “Excuse us, Phyllis, we mean to eat our dumplings while they’re hot.”

  Phyllis finally heard reason and marched behind the counter with May. The two of them disappeared into the kitchen, whispering. Phyllis most likely telling May who the interloper was. It didn’t matter how much finagling the two women did, Preach wasn’t interested in Josephine.

  “I’m sorry she was rude, even if Phyllis isn’t. The woman thinks she has everything figured out.”

  Isabelle stared at her plate, the bite of dessert cooling on her fork. “It’s understandable. I shouldn’t have agreed to come here with you. It gives people the wrong notion.”

  Was she referring to the notion that seeing her beautiful smile made his heart flop over in his chest? It wouldn’t be the wrong notion at all. “I’m not sure—”

  “My father shouldn’t have sent me to the camp. I’m not much use. I’m sorry you were seen with me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Here, in town, you know, with my past.”

  He couldn’t take it, his throat pained at the sight of her desolate face. “Look.” Preach took Isabelle’s hand. Her soft fingers felt like they belonged in his. Perhaps he’d judged her too soon. “I don’t know your past. Your aunt alluded to one, but I’d like to hear the story from you. We all have pasts, stuff we’d like to forget.” Preach had a lot of stuff he’d like to forget about before he was saved.

  Isabelle drew her hand from under his. “I’m sorry. The dumpling looks delicious, but I’m not hungry any more. If you’ll excuse me, I‘m going to walk back to the post office and see if I’ve received a reply yet.”

  His chair scraped on the floor as Preach pushed back from the table and rose.

  Isabelle’s gaze pleaded with his and she held up her palm. “Please, stay and eat. I’d like to go alone. I’ll wait at the post office until I have word from my mother. If you wouldn’t mind stopping by Miss Sophie’s in an hour or so, I should know by then if I’ll be leaving on the train tomorrow. If not, I guess I’ll go back to the camp.” She plucked her kid gloves from her lap, pulled them on, and tugged on the cuffs before flashing him a quick smile. After thanking him for the breakfast, she left the eating house.

  Preach picked up his fork and speared the dumpling off Isabelle’s plate. Brandy sauce trailed in blotches across the table and joined the coffee in staining May’s tablecloth. It served her right for all her meddling. In two bites, Isabelle’s dumpling disappeared. Bland and sticky, it was nothing like he remembered. He dropped his fork beside his own dumpling. For the first time since he was a young’un eating Brussels sprouts, he would be leaving food on his plate.

  Chapter 7

  Isabelle checked the clock ticking out time on the wall above Ellis’s head. Ten thirty, she’d been sitting on the bench in the corner for over half an hour. A quiet day, according to Ellis, as the mail only arrived with the train on Tuesdays and Fridays. Three times her stomach tightened its knot at the tapping of the telegraph receiver. Each time, Ellis had looked across the room and shaken his head. What was keeping Mother’s reply?

  Thank goodness Ellis had given up trying to engage Isabelle in conversation and had resorted to organizing his desk. He shuffled through disorderly piles of paper, occasionally trotting over to a filing cabinet with a map of the country stretched above it and depositing a paper or two in one of the drawers.

  Isabelle covered her stomach and shifted on the bench. It was a good thing she hadn’t eaten May’s apple dumpling. It had looked delicious, but she was having a hard enough time keeping the eggs and toast down.

  Preach was probably having second thoughts about buying Isabelle breakfast at the Blue Jay. Phyllis was a lot like Stella back home. Most likely, Phyllis wouldn’t stop digging until she learned the truth about why Isabelle was hidden away on Cougar Ridge Mountain with her aunt. If Phyllis had set her sights on Preach as a son in law, true or not, in Phyllis’s mind, Isabelle was an impediment to her daughter’s happiness.

  Phyllis was right about one thing though, anyone could tell Isabelle wasn’t cut out to be a logging camp cook assistant, and that would prove to anyone who thought about it someone was trying to keep her out of sight. And what reason would any father have to keep his daughter out of sight other than he didn’t want her to bring ruin on his family? If Phyllis ferreted out the information, Aunt Lou’s decision to allow Isabelle to join her at the camp would also cost Aunt Lou her reputation.

  Preach, as well. He should have stayed clear of Isabelle. What pastor needed the company of a pathetic soul like her?

  Tap tap tap. Once again, the telegraph receiver sprung to life beside Ellis’s desk. He cocked his ear and listened to the sounds as they clipped out a steady beat. His gaze traveled to Isabelle’s before he rose to tear the tape from the machine.

  “Is the message for me?”

  Ellis pulled a slip of paper from the pigeon hole behind the receiver. “Yes, I’ll have your copy ready in a moment.”

  Finally! Isabelle dashed across the floor, ducked behind the counter, and stood next to Ellis to peer over his shoulder as he transcribed the message.

  “Look here,” he said, the skin around his collar turning a deep red. “Customers are supposed to wait in front of the counter. I’ll be with you shortly.”

  Isabelle looked at the narrow paper tape lined with meaningless ink dots and lines Ellis had placed on the desk.

  “Would you please just tell me what it says?”

  “If you will kindly wait in front of the counter, I’ll have your copy to you shortly.”

  Ellis was stalling. The news wasn’t what Isabelle wanted to hear—his frown implied it.

  Surely, Isabelle’s father would allow her to return home. Over the last two weeks, Aunt Lou had made certain Isabelle no longer languished in bed. There had to be a better solution than hiding her away in Aunt Lou’s care—a solution that required work that Isabelle was more suited to, and one that did not require seeing the disappointed look in Preach’s eyes.

  It had been a mistake not to ask for Aunt Lou’s help in convincing Father she should come home. Aunt Lou could have let her parents know how much better Isabelle was doing and that it was time to let her rejoin the family.

  If, as Father thought, Isabelle’s chances of a good marriage were over, perhaps she could become a governess or a teacher. Father would never allow it in Seattle, but Isabelle could go anywhere—anywhere Preach wasn’t.

  Ellis laid the telegram on the counter.

  Isabelle stared at the words scrawled on the paper, a blot of ink accenting the i in Franklin.

  Isabelle Franklin

  * * *

  You may only return home when you have accepted the offer of marriage from Daniel.

  * * *

  Your father

  Isabelle shook as she lifted the paper and returned to the bench in the corner. Father couldn’t possibly mean it. Although it was why he’d sent her to the camp in the first place, Isabelle had made it clear she would never marry Daniel. It didn’t matter where Father sent her. Did he think he could keep Isabelle at the camp forever? She crumpled the telegram slip and tossed it to the floor before twisting it under her boot. There was no point in a reply. Under no circumstances would Isabelle be marrying Daniel P. Talbot.

  The memory of the warm spring day, full of promise, and the last time she’d seen Daniel still caused Is
abelle’s heart to pound, her throat to squeeze its breaths, and heat to flash through her entire body.

  * * *

  “Daniel!” Isabelle lifted Daniel’s white glove from the silk layers covering her upper thigh as the carriage clattered over the ruts of Lakeside Drive.

  His breath smelled of alcohol, and the liquor made him bold. Getting into the carriage, when he’d arrived alone, had not been wise on Isabelle’s part.

  “I love that about you, my little cherub,” he said, pinching the flesh of her right cheek.

  Isabelle pulled away and massaged the sting. Hopefully the mark would be gone by the time they arrived at the Allens’.

  Daniel said he loved her almost every time they were together, though it was never clear why. “What do you love about me, Daniel?” Perhaps he was attracted to her cheerful disposition or her unwavering faith.

  “Your feigned reluctance, my dear.”

  Isabelle slid farther away on the bench and turned to face him. Was the man serious?

  A smirk played at the corners of his lips.

  “Feigned? My reluctance is not feigned. What has gotten into you? How much did you imbibe before arriving at my home?”

  Daniel pulled a sterling silver flask from the inside pocket of his black coat. “Not nearly enough.” He flipped the lid back with his thumb. Holding the flask aloft, he poured a long gulp of the amber liquid. “Would you care for some?” He tipped the flask toward her.

  “No, Daniel, I would not. Nor should you have any more.”

  Daniel scooted closer, crushing Isabelle against the smooth wood of the carriage wall. “Come now. You can tell me what you want.”

  “You’re wrinkling my dress. I’ll arrive at the ball a complete fright.” Slipping her elbow between them, she wedged Daniel away and smoothed the light gray silk of her skirt.