A Bride for Noah (14 page)

Noah transferred the mule to Cookee, who would use it to deliver lunch to the cutting site. In the command tent he found that the crate containing his ledgers and papers had been moved back inside, along with the flattened log they used as a desk. He ran a hand over the rough-cut surface. Finally, things could get back to normal. The journey had taken valuable time from his schedule, and he felt a pressing urgency to reconnect with work. The success of this lumber venture meant more to him than any man present, with the exception of the Denny brothers. If they succeeded, he would settle here with prospects for a good future as full as anything he'd left back in Tennessee.

If they failed he'd be left with nothing, destitute. Again.

He took a moment to read through the ledger, noting David's hurried scrawl beside his neatly formed script. In his absence, Squinty had been sick with ague for three days and Red Anderson had missed one day with a shoulder injury. He underscored the notations so he wouldn't miss them when it came time to calculating their pay and then put the ledger back in the crate. Time enough later to compute the men's wages, a task that could be performed by lamplight. While the sun still shone he needed to get down to the skidway and talk to a man about his time. Snatching up the cheat stick he used to measure the logs, he strode out of the tent.

The sound of men's labor echoed through the forest long before he reached the cutting site. Deep voices called to one another over the background of saws and axes, sounds that had become as natural in this area as that of water rushing through the streams or wind rustling in the branches. He stepped out of the trees into a swatch of cleared downward-sloping muddy ground. With a smile of satisfaction he noted the skids. There had to be close to thirty logs piled high on platforms built for that purpose. The men had not wasted any time in his absence.

A mule came into view, led by Palmer and pulling a log by skidding tongues along the moist ground toward the skidway. When Palmer caught sight of Noah, his expression turned eager and he urged the beast to a faster pace.

“Did you get the ladies settled?” he asked when he drew close enough for speech.

Noah held back a groan. Apparently every conversation would now revolve around the women. “Yes, they're well settled.” He gathered his brow and turned a stern look on the man. “And they are not to be bothered.”

The man's shoulders sagged. “We wouldn't bother 'em none. Nothing wrong with talking to a purty woman, is there?”

“Nothing at all,” agreed Noah. “As long as the work gets done. Work first, at least for the next month.”

“Yeah, yeah, the boss already told us that.” A scowl scrunched his face. “But it sure would be nice if they was a bit closer, to my way of thinking.”

“That's exactly why they're where they are.”

“How's a man supposed to find a wife around these parts?”

Noah had plenty of answers to that, but kept them to himself. Instead he helped Palmer guide the mule and position the log before unfastening the skidding tongs. When the man had disappeared up the trail, he set about his task of calculating the board feet of lumber in each of the felled logs. He kept careful records, and as he measured each log he marked it with the stamp hammer that identified it as belonging to the Arthur Denny camp. As he worked, muscles in the back of his neck that had been tight for two weeks relaxed. This was what he needed—to immerse himself in man's work and forget for a while the complications that came with females. Especially one diminutive female with wavy hair and a stubborn set to her shapely chin.

So engrossed was he in his work that he didn't hear the approach of someone from the direction of the camp.

“There you are, Noah. I've finally found you.”

He turned to find Uncle Miles striding toward him, his face blazing with exertion and his normally neat hair plastered to his damp forehead.

“I've looked behind every tree in this forest and got myself turned around more than once.” He stepped into the soft, moist soil of the skidway and then lifted a foot and inspected it with distaste. He gave a vigorous shake to dislodge the mud that clung to his boot and stepped more gingerly across the trail. “I need you to speak to the Indians for me.”

Noah closed his eyes and sent a silent request for patience toward heaven. Uncle Miles might prove to be as much a distraction as Evangeline. “I'm busy at the moment.”

“Oh?” He looked at the ledger in Noah's hand as though he'd just noticed it. “Well, I'm sure whatever you're doing can wait.”

Noah cocked his head. “What business do you have with the Duwamish?”

Uncle Miles straightened. “I intend to pickle their salmon.”

Noah stared at him blankly. “What?”

“Or rather, I'm going to purchase salmon from them as well as what I catch on my own, and preserve it. Then I'll sell it in California.” He rubbed his hands together, a wide grin on his face. “According to Captain Johnson, I am practically guaranteed to triple my investment in a single shipment.”

Pickle their salmon
. Noah stopped himself just before his eyes rolled upward. He was well aware of Uncle Miles's propensity to investing in schemes of all kinds. He couldn't recall one that had worked yet. His partnership with Evangeline and his very presence here in Oregon Territory was proof of that, and now he wanted to pickle salmon. Did Evangeline know that his investments had never shown a profit? If not, he certainly would not be the one to tell her so.

On further consideration, the salmon idea held promise. It was true that every time Captain Johnson visited this distant place on Elliott Bay he set aside time to sail along the shoreline, stopping at all of the native villages in the area in order to buy as much salmon as they would sell him. Afterward, he made haste to return to California before the fish spoiled.

Even so, Noah couldn't allow himself to be distracted from his work.

“I'm sorry, but I don't have time to take you to the Duwamish village right now.” He held up the ledger. “Next month, when we've settled this contract, I'll gladly help any way I can.”

Uncle Miles's lips drew together into a tight bow. “I begin to see why Evangeline has become so ill-tempered at hearing that answer.” He paused a moment, during which time Noah bit his tongue
against a heated reply, and then his face cleared. “Ah, well. No harm done. I shall visit the chief myself. I understand he's a man of intelligence and honor.”

The idea of Uncle Miles trying to make himself understood when faced with Chief Seattle's perpetually impassive expression almost made Noah smile. But he had no time for amusement, not with forty more logs to scale.

Uncle Miles turned to go, and then stopped. “One more thing. Where can a man go to have a drink in these parts? My brandy supply will run low before long.”

One other aspect of Uncle Miles of which Noah was well aware was the older man's taste for brandy. He sighed. “I've wondered when the subject would come up.” He softened his voice to deliver what he knew would be a harsh blow. “Arthur Denney doesn't hold with strong drink, and doesn't allow any in the camp.”

Shock overtook Uncle Miles's features. He slapped his chest with a hand and staggered backward. “Do you mean the man's a teetotaler?”

A smile struggled to break free on Noah's face, but he wrestled it into submission. “I'm afraid so. All of the Dennys are.”

“But…but…” The hand left his chest to wave in the general direction of the camp. “All those men, those lumberjacks. They accept this restriction?”

“They do if they want to work here.”

Uncle Miles considered the information, and then delight broke out on his face. “I've just had a marvelous idea. What this new town needs is an ale house. Why, the man who opens that establishment will be rich in a matter of weeks!” Noah didn't have to answer, merely pasted on a heavy scowl, at which his uncle's face fell. “I suppose not. It wouldn't do to fly in the face of the town's founder at the outset. Perhaps later. In the meantime, I'll focus on my salmon until we can get the restaurant business settled.” He squared his shoulders once more. “I'm off to visit the Indians, my boy.”

Shaking his head, Noah watched him saunter back into the woods. Someday one of Uncle Miles's schemes would pay off. Who knew, maybe it would be pickled salmon. Or Evangeline's restaurant.

The thought of her brought her image clearly into focus. Her expression when he left the Denny cabin hovered in his mind. She seemed almost sad, her eyes dark with emotions that went unvoiced. He'd halfway expected her to ask to return to camp with him. Or maybe urge him to stay there with her. The thought wasn't all that unpleasant…

He snapped the ledger shut and picked up the stamp hammer. A ridiculous notion. She'd made it clear from the beginning that the only thing she wanted from him was his assistance in accomplishing her business goals. Denied that, she would rather avoid his presence.

With a mighty stroke, he swung the hammer at the flat end of the nearest log. The iron dug into the wood with satisfying force. Sometimes numbers weren't enough to clear the mind of unsettling thoughts.

Sometimes a man had to exert his muscle.

Eight

E
vie slept dry and cozy in Mary Denny's cabin, though there wasn't much room to move around after they'd set up four cots. Louisa and the two little girls climbed a ladder to a small loft, leaving the bed to Mary and Rolland. Apparently Arthur would sleep at the camp while Evie and the ladies remained guests at his home. She was determined that she would displace him for as short a time as possible.

On her second morning in Oregon Territory, Evie awoke far more refreshed than the first. She opened her eyes to find Margaret standing over her cot, watching her with intense concentration.

The child's face lit, and she announced, “She's awake!”

Evie sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes, her thoughts taking a moment to come into focus. When she looked around, she was embarrassed to discover that she was the last to rise. Ethel, Lucy, and Sarah had already tucked their cots and blankets out of the way, and were clustered around the table at the other end of the cabin. Mary, still dressed in a modest white flannel nightgown, stood over the stove.

Evie sat up and threw her feet over the side of the cot. “My goodness! Why didn't someone wake me?”

Louisa's face appeared over the edge of the loft. “You were sleeping so deeply we figured you needed the rest.”

Little Margaret fixed a solemn gaze on her. “We had to be quiet until you woke up.” She lifted her face toward the loft and shouted. “But she's awake now, Louisa Catherine!”

Mary turned from the stove with a stern frown for her youngest daughter. “That is quite enough. Ladies do not shout inside the house, Margaret.”

The child ducked her head submissively, but Evie had to hide a grin when she spied a rebellious twinkle in her eyes.

“Would you care for tea, Evie?” Mary asked. “Or, as the jacks say, ‘swamp water'?”

Tea! Oh, what a blessing. Ethel and the others at the table cradled earthenware mugs in their hands. “That would be wonderful.”

She watched as Mary poured steaming liquid into a mug and accepted it with a thankful smile. “We brought tea with us from California. When I can get to the rest of my belongings, I'll be happy to replenish your supply.”

“No hurry. We've plenty to last a while.”

Margaret took up a stance in front of her, hands clasped behind her back. Her hair had been brushed, and she wore a fresh frock this morning. “May I feed your chickens?”

The chickens. She'd forgotten about them. “Yes, certainly you may help me. Have you chickens of your own?”

Red curls waved as she shook her head. “The coyotes ate ours.”

“Coyotes?” Ethel half-stood, alarm ringing in her voice.

Louisa, dressed in a pretty skirt and waist shirt, descended the ladder. “That was shortly after we arrived. Now the coyotes don't come near the cabin so much.”

“Or the cougars either,” said Margaret.

Evie caught Ethel's eye and attempted a confident smile. The poor woman looked like she might jump out of her skin. “I'm sure it's quite safe for people.”

“Usually.” Mary spoke without turning from the stove. “Only we're careful not to let the children wander outside without one of us nearby.”

Blood drained from Ethel's face as she sank back into her chair, leaving her skin a pasty color. “Lord, help us!” She snatched up her mug and took a deep draught.

Evie's confidence sagged. Of course she'd known wild animals were a given in an unsettled territory like this one. But coyotes and cougars? If they would attack a child, wouldn't they also attack a lone woman?

Louisa's laugh rang in the cabin. “It's not as bad as that. They mostly leave us alone. The trick is to make a lot of noise.”

Sarah turned in her seat. “Why?”

Louisa shrugged. “It scares them off, I suppose. David says we are not their natural prey, and our presence here confuses them. So most of the time they prefer to stay away from us, unless they sense that we're weak and smaller than they.”