The Lumberjack's Bride
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Jean Kincaid
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Chapter 1
Logging camp outside Seattle, Washington, 1866
“I’ll give you eighty dollars for the little lady, Sloan!”
“No! I’ll pay you one hundred dollars. You owe me, Sloan.” Judging by the speaker’s rotten teeth and tattered clothing, Julianne Maxwell figured it had to be a gambling debt Sloan owed him, for the man’s appearance definitely was not that of a banker.
She grew hot with resentment and humiliation as the loggers auctioned her off like a milk cow at a Saturday farm sale. Her annoyance increased when she found her hands shaking. What had she done?
When she’d made plans to escape from New York, Seattle had seemed the perfect place to settle down. She’d arrived in Puget Sound four days ago, traveled on Skid Road through the Duwamp town, and now here she stood, smack in the middle of a logging camp in the biggest mess of her life, bar none.
Weariness enveloped her as she tried to concentrate. It appeared her day of reckoning could be postponed no longer.
The men crowded closer, and the air thickened with tension. Never in all her born days had Julianne smelled so much sweat, dirt and foul breath all in one small space. She took a step backward only to find the men had closed in on her from behind. She searched the crowd for the only person familiar to her; a woman named Maggie who had given her a ride from town.
“What in blue blazes is going on here? Why aren’t you men working?” The loud voice parted the sea of soiled bodies, and the large man attached to it made his way to her. With an ax propped on his shoulder, he looked down his eagle nose and continued to demand answers. “What’s the cause of this ruckus, Sloan?”
Julianne chanced a look at the man who stood by her side. Sloan Kellywood twisted his hat in his hands and refused to answer.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on here.” A woman’s voice rose as she pushed her way through the crowd. Maggie. Thank You, God. “This no-good-for-nothing mule of a man ordered himself a bride, then up and married one of the Skid Road girls in town. That’s what’s happened. Now his mail-order bride shows up, and he doesn’t want her.”
Maggie stopped in front of Sloan. She pushed a bony finger into his chest. “He’s selling her off like she’s his personal property or something.”
Conscious of intense scrutiny as every eye looked her over from head to toe, Julianne felt sure her face had just caught fire.
The big man spoke to Sloan. “What gives you the right to sell this woman?”
“She owes me for the ship fare. And I want my money, boss. She owes me.” Sloan’s voice rose in anger. He stepped away from Maggie’s abusing finger.
Julianne watched Sloan puff out his chest. How could she have believed his letters? This was not the man who had written to her. He just couldn’t be. While his words hadn’t been flowery, that man had shown kindness in his words. She fought back tears of disappointment.
“Now let me get this straight, Sloan. You sent for her; she came. Did you send a wire telling her you were already married and that she should return the money?”
“No, boss…”
The boss interrupted Sloan, his impatience with the matter evident in the expression of disbelief on his face. “Then she followed your orders. She’s arrived and you don’t get your money back.” The tone of his voice said, and that’s final.
“But she didn’t even bring a trunk, boss. There wuz no boxes nor nuthin’. Just her satchel of clothes.” The man’s whining voice set Julianne’s teeth on edge. A valise with a few personal possessions was all she’d had time to pack.
“What in thunder are you talking about, Sloan?” The big man dropped the ax from his shoulder to the ground and leaned on the handle, his chin jutted forward, a less than subtle threat to Sloan that he’d better clear things up in a hurry.
“I sent an extra hundred, Boss, for her truesole. Took me nigh on to a year to save that money.”
“Her what?”
If her circumstances had not been so dire, Julianne would have laughed at the look on the boss’s face.
“Trousseau,” Maggie corrected Sloan, then she turned her gaze on Julianne as if she, too, wondered why Julianne had arrived so lacking in possessions.
“I was expecting her to bring some of them fancy linens from New York. You know, boss. Towels, sheets and curtains to outfit my new home. Maybe some good pots and pans to cook with. And she was supposed to buy several fine dresses and material to make more. I paid to have all that frippery, but she showed up empty handed, with just that old valise.”
Julianne about swallowed her tongue. She’d never heard a man lie so outright before.
“What do you have to say about this?” The boss turned to her and demanded answers in the same booming voice he’d used on Sloan.
Now wasn’t the time to turn into a weeping female, Julianne told herself. She pulled her shoulders back, forced herself to stand tall, and answered as honestly as she knew how. “I’m confused, sir. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I didn’t receive any money, just a letter saying to come. So…I signed on with Asa Mercer, the man who brings out brides for men in remote areas of the west. When I explained to him that I was betrothed to a man in the area and didn’t have the means to get here, Mr. Mercer agreed to let me travel with them. He paid my fare.”
“You liar! I sent the money for your ticket!” Sloan swept his arm upward to strike her.
Julianne cringed and stepped back. The heat and stench of unwashed bodies at her back halted her retreat. When no blow came, she opened her eyes and looked at Sloan under the cover of her eyelashes.
The big man held Sloan by the front of his shirt. His angry voice rumbled over them like hot lava. “No man hits a woman in my camp.” He growled in Sloan’s face, then shoved him away. He turned his gaze upon her, his dark brows slanted in a frown.
“Sir, I never received the money, only the letter saying for me to come.” Her voice shook but she forced her gaze to meet Sloan’s. It was the truth, and she mentally dared him to deny it.
“He sent the money.” All eyes turned to Maggie. She stepped forward. “I helped him write the letter, and I put the money inside the envelope.”
Julianne felt faint. There had been no money with the letter. Had her uncle known about the letters? Had he taken the money? She felt Maggie’s accusing gaze upon her and lifted her head. “I never received the money. I promise, Maggie.”
“Then where is it?” Sloan barked.
Unable to hold them at bay any longer, tears filled her eyes as she pleaded with Maggie and Sloan. “You have to believe me. I never got the money. When Mr. Kellywood didn’t send it, I signed on with Mr. Mercer.”
“Look, you owe me money. That’s all there is to it.” Sloan took a threatening step toward her once again. “And I want it now.” He snarled the words through clenched teeth.
“Sloan.” The warning came from the lumber boss. “Touch the woman again, and I’ll remove you from my camp.”
“I don’t have it,” Julianne whispered, brokenhearted. “I don’t have fifty cents to my name. I can’t pay you back money I don’t have.” She’d spent her last dime on the last four days at the boarding house and the little bit of food she’d eaten. She trembled with fear. Would the lumber boss have her removed from camp, too? The thought of going back to Seattle and once again being ogled by the men there made her want to curl up and die. And traveling all the way back to New York was out of the question.
The sickening smell of body odor intensified as an old grizzled-looking man stepped up beside her. Brown spittle covered his gray beard. “I said I’ll pay you one hundred dollars. Let me have the girlie, Sloan.”
The thought of being bought by the smelly man was almost more than Julianne could take. Given a choice, she’d go back to town and face the men there. Surely there were a few civilized males in Seattle who would protect her. Julianne squeezed her eyes shut. Lord, please don’t let this happen, she silently pleaded.
The man’s renewed bid started the bargaining again and the crowd surged forward as each man tried to outbid the others. Her eyes snapped open, and she searched for a way out of the crowd. Julianne felt herself being pressed against the big logger boss.
He reached out and steadied her. “Ain’t nobody going to buy the little lady today, and that’s final.” At the men’s loud complaining, he said, “Tomorrow is Sunday. We’ll have a contest then. Whoever wins the contest will win the right to pay this little lady’s debt. Until then, no one so much as lays a hand on her, you hear? I expect you men to get back to work. We have logs to cut.” With that he stomped off.
Julianne watched the men slowly follow the lumber boss. She took a deep breath of clean mountain air and silently prayed again. Thank You, Lord.
Maggie came up to Julianne. “Well, I guess you and I are stuck with each other until after the contest.” Julianne felt a tear slide slowly down her cheek and saw Maggie’s look of disgust. “Now don’t go getting soft on me. Let’s go fix supper for these men, and maybe we’ll think of a way for you to get out of this mess.”
Julianne heard Maggie murmur as she headed toward the cookshack, “Wish I’d left her by the river.”
* * *
Caleb Hansen watched from the edge of the woods. He’d witnessed the whole sorry event as it unfolded. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one with problems. The young woman looked and acted innocent of any wrongdoing, but he’d met many a woman who could look and act innocent.
The baby in his arms whimpered. “What am I going to do about you?” he asked the little fellow. Terrible regrets assailed him and grief weighed heavy on his heart. He’d had great plans for the sister he’d not seen in years. Those plans now lay in a grave on the edge of his property and he was left to raise her infant son alone.
The swell of pain that filled his chest was beyond tears. His throat felt raw with unuttered protests. Why had he been robbed of the only person he held dear? Why must this precious baby boy grow up without a mother? Why did she have to die? Why, why, why?
Holding his jaw rigid against the pain that made him want to crumble, Caleb made his way down the steep incline to the cookshack. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by grief. But reality had stared him in the face the last couple of mornings, and he found himself struggling for courage, strength and determination to carry out the task the Lord had seen fit to place upon him.
For now, he’d have to ask Maggie to watch the little tyke so Caleb could help fell trees today. Due to the commotion the foreman had needed to settle a few minutes ago, they had lost valuable sunlight. They would need every able-bodied man to make up the time. And in the logging business time was money.
* * *
The savory smell of stew and cornbread permeated the cookshack. Julianne watched the baby sleeping as Maggie stirred pots of meat and potatoes and checked her bread in the oven. Several cakes of corn pone already cooled on the long plank that served as a table.
The baby’s little lips twitched into what appeared to be a smile. “He’s such a sweet little fellow. Why is his mama not tending to him today?” Julianne smiled down into the baby’s sleeping face.
“Ain’t none of our business. If Caleb had wanted us to know, he’d a told us.” Maggie dropped another pan of cornbread on the makeshift table. “Besides, we got other problems to think about.”
Julianne’s heart went out to the little one sleeping so contentedly as if he hadn’t a care in the world. That would all change soon enough.
Her parents had died when she was eight years old and left her in the care of her mother’s only sister and her husband. But her aunt was no match for her bullying husband and Julianne had felt his wrath constantly. His ambition to belong to the elite of New York’s growing city kept him overworked and dissatisfied with those in his household. They’d had to perform and entertain at his whim, and heaven forbid they have lives of their own. Fear shivered down her spine and she clamped her lips even tighter. She wouldn’t even think his name.
“Can you wash clothes?”
Maggie’s question pulled her from her troubled thoughts. She looked up into the older woman’s tired face. “Of course I can.”
“Good. Maybe you could wash the men’s clothing for a price, and then pay Sloan back the money you owe him.” She stirred the first big pot of stew then moved on to the next.
Powerful relief filled Julianne’s heart as a glimmer of hope took root. “Maybe I can. Then I wouldn’t become anyone’s property.”
Maggie laughed. “That is the idea.”
“But where would I live? I’d need a place to stay and supplies to wash the clothes.” She chewed on the tip of her fingernail. “Do you think the store would give me credit?” Julianne got to her feet and began pacing.
“You’re welcome to stay with me, but you’ll have to sleep outside on the porch. There’s not enough room in my shack for a tick, much less a dog,” Maggie offered, pulling down bowls and plates for the men.
The analogy was not lost on Julianne. And the thought of sleeping out on the porch with those men lurking about wasn’t something she planned on entertaining, either. She’d worry about where she’d stay later. Right now she had to think about a way to make some money. “I’ll need a wash tub and a scrub board and some soap.”
Maggie hesitated. “I’m not so sure about credit. We’d have to ask Mr. Miller about that.”
The baby awoke with a start and let out a weak cry.
Julianne frowned in the baby’s direction, but didn’t move. The cries grew in force till they seemed like one long scream, which caused Maggie to almost drop a pan of cornbread.
“Pick him up for goodness sake.” Maggie ordered, righting the hot pan.
Reluctantly Julianne walked to where the crying baby lay. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Don’t get used to this.” She slid her hands under his tiny little body, lifting him up to her shoulder. He smelled of baby and milk. She cuddled him close to her heart, swaying back and forth until he settled down.
Maggie glanced at her. “You sure are good with that baby.”
“I should be, I used to help my aunt with her children,” Julianne muttered, remembering the twin babies she’d practically raised in New York. Day in, day out, she’d bathed, fed and diapered her cousins, falling into bed at night completely exhausted. She’d been nine years old when they were born and she’d cared for them until she fled her uncle’s home for Seattle. It had been much too heavy a load and she mourned her stolen youth.
The little guy’s eyes began to droop, but every now and then he’d jerk as if afraid he might fall. A tiny spark of empathy stirred in Julianne’s heart. She’d had the same feeling ever since she stepped off the ship.
She heard laughter and raucous voices outside. Maggie rushed to the side door and shushed the men as they stomped wood shavings off their boots and came in from their hard day’s work. They cast furtive glances Julianne’s way, the braver ones studying her with curious intensity. Each man accepted a bowl of stew and a generous hunk of cornbread from Maggie and made his way to a table.
Julianne felt uncomfortable under their stares. They talked in soft whispers as they ate, their eyes darting back and forth between Julianne and their plates.
As if the baby sensed her unease, he began to fret. Stiffening his little body, a single cry of protest escaped. Maggie thrust a bottle with a sticky rubber nipple into her hands and shoved her toward the back door.
Julianne walked outside and sank down on the back step. The baby snuggled against her as he drank from the bottle. He was such a tiny little thing. He couldn’t be more than a few days old. Helpless in the situation life had placed him. Same as Julianne.
She brushed the fine blond hair across his forehead. Deep blue eyes stared up at her as he drank. Julianne remembered a woman aboard the ship she’d traveled on. She’d had blond hair and soft blue eyes, and had been pregnant. Had she been Caleb’s wife, and was this their child?
“We’ll make it, little fellow. Just you wait and see.” She whispered the words of encouragement with a slight smile of defiance. They weren’t beaten yet.
“He seems to like you.”
Startled by the voice, Julianne glanced uneasily over her shoulder.
A man stepped out of the shadows.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He offered, easing down to sit beside her on the wooden step. Julianne eyed him nervously. She’d learned quickly not to trust any man, even if he did have a pleasant look, nice smile and soft voice.
She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. The only sound in the evening air was the mewing sound the baby made as he ate. She sought a topic of conversion to fill the silence but found nothing of interest. Only her problems were uppermost in her mind.
“He’s a greedy little fella, isn’t he?” The man leaned forward and touched the baby’s soft cheek.
Expecting the offensive odor of sweat, Julianne was instead surprised by the clean scent of lye soap.
Earlier in the day, when he had brought the baby in and passed him off to Maggie, Julianne had been so wrapped up in her own troubles that she hadn’t paid much attention to the man. So this was Caleb. The Caleb Maggie seemed to think so highly of.
Now, sitting just inches away from the man, she took the time to get a better look at him. Light brown hair touched his collar. It curled on the ends, making her wonder if it was as soft as it looked. His profile was sharp and confident, his skin bronzed by the wind and sun. His firm mouth tilted upward slightly as if always on the edge of a smile. The fingers that stroked the baby’s cheek were callused, tapered and strong.
But the thing that drew her attention most was his eyes. They looked moist as he studied the baby in her arms. They were an unusual shade of green, polished jade, and she detected a touch of sorrow in their depths. As if too much heartbreak had entered his life.
Again she wondered about the baby’s mother.
As if he could read her mind, Caleb answered. “His mother is dead. I buried her the day the ship arrived in port. She didn’t even have time to name him.”
Julianne heard the heartache in his voice and felt the urge to comfort him. “I’m sorry,” was all she could get out of her tight throat.
“Maggie tells me your name is Julianne. I’m Caleb Hansen.” He raised his head and studied her face. Julianne wondered what he saw. She knew she was no beauty. Her uncle had told her she had hair the color of coal and that her lips were too big for her face.
Not that it mattered; the last thing she wanted was for a man with a baby to find her attractive. The baby squirmed as if in protest to her thoughts. She gently transferred him into Caleb’s arms.
Caleb put a cloth over his shoulder and rested the baby against it. He gently patted the little fellow on the back until a loud burp reached their ears. When Caleb eased the infant from his shoulder, a small dribble of milk escaped the corner of the baby’s mouth. She watched him wipe the edge of the tiny lips with tender care that seemed impossible with those large hands.
Settling the child in the crook of his arm, he stood. “Thank you for watching him.”
For reasons she didn’t understand, Julianne didn’t want Caleb to go. “Have you eaten?” He mounted the horse with the baby in one arm, emphasizing the strength of his thighs and powerful, well-muscled arms.
“Not yet, but I’m heading home. I’ve got food at the cabin. Thanks again for taking care of the little one.” He turned the horse to go.
Julianne watched Caleb and the baby until she could no longer see them through the trees. Then she turned wearily to help Maggie with the massive cleanup of the kitchen. She tried to maintain a positive outlook, but tomorrow loomed like a giant thundercloud, much like the ones hovering over the sawmill camp right now. In fact, in the four days since she’d arrived she’d only caught an occasional glimpse of the sun. That sat slightly at odds with her nature. Lord knew, she needed all the positive reinforcement she could get and a little sunshine would go a long way.
