A Promise to Love (24 page)

Katie's thirteen-year-old brother, Ned, and Robert's twelve-year-old son, Thomas, had begged to come along. They both had small jobs at the lumber camp and thought they were men—but their father had refused. Joshua was grateful. If things got ugly, he did not want two young boys along.

With Wright leading the way, they had set off in the middle of the night in order to get into position before the guards awakened. Surprise was always good.

Long before dawn, he had his small army in position, each man behind one of the many tree stumps left behind when the camp was cleared. The camp had been situated in a flat, low spot with a slight elevation all around it. The stumps plus the slight rise gave his men a distinct advantage. All were ready to attack when he gave the order. It was almost a perfect situation from which to fight, but he was hoping it would not be necessary.

Each man lay on his belly behind his own stump, waiting for the camp to awaken. The full moon illuminated the scene.

At five o'clock they saw lanterns being lit inside the cookhouse. A half hour later the man who, from the looks of his filthy apron, was apparently the cook, came out of the front door of the cookhouse and rang a triangle. He scratched his massive belly beneath his apron, passed wind loudly, and went back inside. Joshua's men did not move. It was not the cook they wanted.

A few moments later he saw a stocky man with a full beard emerge from a small cabin. He went over and pounded on the door of the padlocked bunkhouse.

“Get up, you lazy shanty boys. It's daylight in the swamp.” There was sarcasm in the man's voice. Shanty boys all over the Saginaw would be awakening to the very same words. Even haywire camps kept some traditions.

Three other men emerged from the same cabin right behind him. Even though they were carrying weapons, it was easy to see that they were still half asleep. One was juggling his gun with one hand while trying to pull up his suspenders with the other. Another stumbled along, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The third seemed more awake. He looked up toward the line of hardwoods as though he sensed something.

Joshua decided it was time.

“Bart Mabry,” he yelled into the still morning air. “Tell your men to put down their weapons. We have you surrounded.”

Bart's head swung toward Joshua's voice, then lowered like a bull ready to charge. The man struggling with his suspenders tripped and fell. In trying to break his fall, he dropped his rifle and grappled in the dirt to grab it.

A sniper bullet zinged, and the gun jumped a foot away from him. His hands shot up over his head. “Don't shoot,” he pleaded.

The guard who had been rubbing the sleep out of his eyes dropped his weapon and also put his hands above his head. “This weren't my idea,” he yelled.

The man who had sensed trouble had already ducked behind the cabin opposite from where the first sniper bullet had come. He probably thought he was momentarily safe, until the sniper Joshua had placed on the other side of the camp zinged a bullet into the cabin—directly above his head.

“I repeat,” Joshua shouted. “You are surrounded. Lay down your weapons.”

The last man came out from behind the cabin with his hands and rifle in the air. “I'm going to lay my gun down now,” he said, and proceeded to slowly do so.

Joshua gave the signal for his men to rise. Bart's mouth hung open, and he wheeled around in a circle, seeing the shadowy forms of approximately thirty men materializing from behind the stumps—all armed with some sort of weapon.

“Men with firearms, stay in your position,” Joshua called. “Cover us while we secure the guards and release the loggers.”

Carefully, the other men and he moved toward Bart and his men. He motioned for three to go in and make sure the cook was not a potential danger. He saw two go in the back door of the cookhouse as one went in the front.

The loggers were not particularly gentle as they tied Bart's men's hands behind their backs with rope they had brought along for that purpose.

“Give me the key.” Joshua held his hand out to Bart.

If Bart could have murdered him with his eyes, he would have done so, but with no other recourse, he fished the key out of his pocket and dropped it in his hand.

Joshua fit the key into the lock and opened the door.

It had begun to get light outside, but inside the bunkhouse it was a dark cave.

In a decently run camp, there would be at least one lantern turned low and left burning through the night. Bunkhouses were built with no windows because the men got up before daylight and went to bed after dark. Windows served no practical purpose and would have let much-needed heat leak out in the harsh winters.

In this bunkhouse, there was no light at all, and it reeked.

Bunkhouses in lumber camps were famous for their rank smell. Too many unwashed bodies, too many unwashed woolen socks steaming on makeshift clotheslines, too much foul breath, too much smoke from stubby pipes.

But this bunkhouse smelled of urine and defecation from men locked in for long hours.

In his opinion, Bart Mabry and his men deserved to hang for what they had done.

“Somebody find me a lantern,” he said. “You men in there, if you're able to, come on out. Your guards are unarmed and restrained. Men from Robert Foster's lumber camp have secured the camp. You're free.”

The incarcerated lumbermen began to emerge. When all had crawled out of their beds of moldering straw, he counted twelve men altogether. Some of the older ones were weeping. It was a pitiful, ragtag crew Bart had assembled to take down those giant white pines.

An older man with a badly infected foot was the last to come out. He was supported as he limped by a tall, blond Swede.

“Are you Hans Larsen?” Joshua asked.

“Ja. How you know my name?”

“I'm your brother-in-law. Your sister is going to be very relieved to see you.”

“You're not going to believe the pig slop they've been feeding these men.” Disgust laced Foster's voice after he had inspected the kitchen. “It's a wonder they didn't come down with scurvy.”

“This is
good
food for here,” Hans said wryly. “The cook baked bread this morning.”

“If you can call this bread.” One of the snipers deliberately dropped a loaf on the floor. It was so heavy, it thudded like a rock. Bart and his men, including the cook, were led away, leaving Joshua and Foster to care for the four captives who were not strong enough to walk the ten miles back to camp.

“Horses are in the barn,” Hans told Foster, who was tending to the man with the infected foot. “Bart care more for his horses than his men. Horses can carry the weak ones.”

“Did he not realize he could get more work from men who were cared for properly?” Foster asked.

“Bart said we were . . .” Hans struggled to find the correct word. “Disposable.”

“How did they capture you?” Joshua asked.

“Hans and friends work for Bart last winter. Got pay. On way to steamer to Detroit, four men jump me. Take back to Bart. He get our money. Work us all summer. Clear river. Set up camp.”

“Mosquitoes and blackflies,” Joshua said.

“Snakes too,” Hans said. “How is my sister?”

“Ingrid is doing very well.”

Hans gave a great sigh of relief. “I worry and worry about not meeting her.”

“She did a good job of taking care of herself. She came to the Saginaw area to try to find you. She finally decided that you must be dead. She said that death was the only thing that would keep you from keeping your promise to her.”

“That or a padlock and three guns.” Hans cocked his eyebrow. “You and Ingrid, you have good life?”

“Yes,” Joshua said with a certain amount of wonder. “We do have a good life. I'm a widower with five children. Our family was broken, but Ingrid mended it. Your sister is an amazing woman.”

“I'm ready to move these men out, now,” Foster said as he tied off the bandage he had wrapped around the man's foot. “Could you two get the horses?”

“We have much time to talk, my brother.” Hans clapped a hand on Joshua's back and nearly knocked him over. “Let us get these men back to your good camp.”

Right before they left, Hans turned around and stood staring at the bunkhouse.

“I will come back and burn that building to the ground someday.”

“You tell me when, and I'll help you,” Joshua said.

As they began to walk toward Foster's camp, Hans's face lit up with a smile so familiar that it made Joshua's heart long to see Ingrid again. “Now—you tell all about children. I have nephews, nieces now?”

“When we get you back home,” Joshua said, “you will have nephews and nieces coming out your ears.”

 23 

There had been a smoky haze developing over the land for several days, and Ingrid was worried.

“Where is the smoke coming from?” Ingrid filled the teakettle with a half quart of precious water to make tea for Hazel, who had come for a visit.

“Don't worry,” Hazel said. “There are always a few fires in Michigan this time of year. A lot of farmers burn their fields off in the fall. This is normal.”

“But everything is very dry,” Ingrid pointed out. “It is dangerous to start fires when it is no rain.”

“True. I've lived here for a long time and I've never seen such weather.” Hazel reached for a sugar cookie from the mounded plate in the middle of the table. “If you're worried, you can bring your family to my place until we get a good, soaking rain. I practically live on top of the lake. It might ease your mind.”

“I like that very much.” Ingrid lifted the tea canister off the top of the warming oven. “But I not want to leave Joshua's animals.”

“It's just something to keep in mind,” Hazel said. “By the way, did you know Susan and Lyman are getting married in the spring?”

“No! Lyman not tell me.” Ingrid measured a small spoonful of tea into the chipped teapot. “I hope he not planning for Susan to live in my barn!”

“From what I understand, they'll be living with her parents.”

Ingrid poured boiling water over the dried leaves. “Do her parents like this idea?”

“Emma's thrilled. Susan's father probably won't even notice. Last I heard, he had a crate of books shipped in from Boston. An old friend of his passed away, and his widow sent them to the Cains. Emma says he hasn't stopped reading since.”

“Very much learning!” Ingrid clucked her tongue. “His head be too heavy to hold up.”

“I hope not!” Hazel laughed. “Susan wants him to do the wedding ceremony.”

“I have a good idea! I make Swedish wedding cookies for them,” Ingrid said. “They melt in mouth.”

“If they're anything like these sugar cookies, I imagine they will.” Hazel bit into a second one. “Any word from Josh?”

“No. I hope he is all right.” Ingrid poured the hot water into two cups.

“It's hard for the men to get letters out,” Hazel said. “Spring will be here before you know it.”

“You are right.” Ingrid lifted the steaming cup to her lips.

Mary was upstairs working on lessons with the little girls. Bertie was napping on Agnes's lap, and Agnes was absorbed in an assignment her grandmother had given her. It was a rare luxury for Ingrid to be able to simply sit quietly and have tea with a good friend. She was savoring every second.

“How is your livestock faring?” Hazel asked.

“The creek has low places where some water is, but it will be dry soon.”

“Me and She-Wolf are glad we live next to the lake.” She ruffled fur on the dog's head. “Aren't we, girl?”

“Where do you find such fine animal?” Ingrid asked.

“I found her half-starved when she was small,” Hazel said. “It was right after my husband passed. I needed that pup every bit as much as she needed me.”

“God has a way of giving person what they need,” Ingrid said. “Sometimes before they know they need it.”

“I hope you are talking from experience?”

Ingrid blushed. “Joshua . . . he care for me now.”

Hazel chuckled. “Well, it's about time!”

She-Wolf, who had been asleep, stood up, yawned, and stretched her back.

“I'll be leaving now,” Hazel said. “She-Wolf wants to go home. She knows I have some nice venison waiting for her, and she's all excited about it.”

At the word
venison
, She-Wolf trotted to the front door and stood there until Hazel opened it, and they walked out together.

Agnes looked up from her assignment at the closed door. “Hazel does know that She-Wolf can't really talk, right?”

“Maybe,” Ingrid said, “but sometimes it seem that dog knows every word that comes out of Hazel's mouth.”

“What I don't understand,” Joshua said, “is what Bart thought he was going to do with you in the spring. He couldn't keep tabs on you once you men and the logs hit the water.”

Joshua and Hans were lingering, absorbing the warmth and scents of Katie's cookhouse, their stomachs comfortably full. Joshua wished he could see Ingrid's face when Hans showed up.

“He kill us. He make plans for Indian river hogs to ride the logs.”

Jigger, who had been helping Katie, took off his apron, came over to the table, and sat down on the bench beside them.

“I'm Jigger—the head cook of this camp.” He looked over his shoulder at Katie and then raised his voice, as though wanting her to overhear. “There are some who make the mistake of thinking that that there red-headed woman is the head cook, but she ain't!”

Joshua glanced at Katie, who was most definitely in earshot. She seemed utterly unflustered by this comment. Without her hands pausing for an instant in kneading bread, she gave Joshua a big smile and a wink, as though letting him in on a secret. Evidently she had learned to deal with this ancient banty rooster by humoring him as much as possible.

“What happened to the men that kidnapped you?” Jigger asked.

“Loggers take them to Bay City to jail.”

“Them men are lucky they didn't get strung up on the spot. Loggers can be terrible rough. One camp I worked for, the men found a couple of river pirates while they was on the spring drive. The pirates had a little tributary off to the side where they was doing their dirty work. They was snagging other camps' logs, cutting off the ends where they was branded with the other camp's sign—and then putting their own brand on it.”

“What happen?” Hans asked.

“It was up in Maine and it had been a hard winter.” Jigger put both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “The conditions had been terrible. They never got a good, hard freeze where they could sled the logs out easy. Everything had to be dragged through mud. We'd only gotten out about half of the timber the foreman had hoped for. None of us were sure we'd even get our full pay. Without a good snow, the river was low that year and the drive was hard. And then, while they was trying to get the logs they
did
have down the river, they found those two weasly river pirates stealing their hard-earned lumber. The men strung them up on the spot. It weren't pretty.”

“I'm sure it wasn't,” Joshua said.

“Men who steal other men's logs, and those who kidnap because they run such bad camps no one wants to work for them—they deserve what they get.” Jigger spat on the floor with contempt and then sheepishly ducked his head and looked around at Katie.

“You can clean that up later, Jigger,” Katie said calmly. “Go ahead and enjoy your conversation.”

Jigger looked relieved.

Katie dusted the flour off her hands and took something that smelled wonderful out of the oven. “I just baked some fresh molasses cookies,” she called. “Would any of you gentlemen like some?”

Joshua saw Hans's eyes light up. “Ja!”

“I guess I'd better get back to work now,” Jigger said without moving. “That woman can't cook worth spit without my help.”

Katie brought a platter of molasses cookies to the table. They were the size of small dinner plates. Then she brought all three of them mugs of strong, hot green tea.

“This and some good ‘chaw' will pert' near cure anything that ails you, boys.” Jigger took a big slurp of the green tea. “I made an awful mistake a few years back. Took a job cooking for that health sanitarium down in Battle Creek. Thought I might teach them people a thing or three. I felt sorry for the poor things. Let me tell you something, boys. Them people are pitiful. No meat. No liquor. No tobacco. No tea. I give it my best shot, but after two weeks I had to hightail it out of there. Eatin' that food just about kilt me.”

Joshua tried not to smile. It was obvious that Jigger's sojourn among the health-food enthusiasts had left him a haunted man.

“But you're back where you're needed now, Jigger,” Katie said. “Can you show me again how to get these beans ready? I've got a good batch of coals built in the hole the boys dug, but I can't seem to get this Dutch oven cover on just right.”

“You gotta seal it with bread dough, woman. To hold the steam in. I've told you a hundred times.” Jigger shook his head as he stood, as though unable to believe her foolishness. “See what I mean? For some reason, people get it into their heads that Katie is head cook—but they're wrong. She can't do nothin' without my help.”

The efficient and competent Katie humbly stood back and allowed Jigger to seal the cast-iron bean pot. It was the most Joshua had seen the fragile old cook do so far except blow the Gabriel horn to call the men to meals. It occurred to him that Robert Foster's wife was an exceedingly kind and wise woman.

Foster entered the cookhouse. “Well, that's good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“The bad men are gone?” Katie set the kettle for more hot water.

“The bad men are gone, sweetheart.” He went over and kissed her cheek.

“I heard that the law in Bay City is pretty lax,” Joshua said. “Do you really think that they'll do anything to them?”

“Sure they will,” Foster said with a smile. “The ones in charge don't want anyone taking the loggers' money except themselves.”

“Is it still smoky outside?” Katie asked.

“It is,” Foster said. “I think it might be getting a little worse.”

“Do you think the camp is in any danger?”

“I don't think so,” Foster said. “Those fires are still pretty far off. It's probably just some farmers burning off their fields.”

“Awful dry to be burning off fields,” Jigger said. “I'd hate to go through what we did back in '67. That was too close for comfort.”

“What happened in '67?” Joshua asked.

“We got hit with a wildfire,” Foster said. “It was touch-and-go. If you've never been in one, you have no idea how fast a forest fire can spread.”

“You keeping all them loggers you freed?” Jigger asked. “It's gonna be a mite crowded in the bunkhouse if'n you do.”

“Most of them want to go home after the ordeal they've been through and let their families know they're alive. What about you, Hans?” Foster asked. “Do you want to go home or would you rather stay and work?”

“Now that I know my sister is safe, I will stay and work.” He dug a playful elbow into Joshua's side. “Me and my new brother will make much money, take it home, and give it all to my sister. Our Ingrid can turn a penny into a dollar.”

“Find a bunk and get anything else you need out of the store. Josh will put it on the books for you.”

As Joshua and Hans walked to the store, it seemed to Joshua that the smell of smoke was getting stronger.