Love's Story (16 page)

Come in.

The door opened, and Jonah's bald head popped in. “Mrs. Cooper gave me permission to check on you.”

“Come on in.”

Jonah entered, balancing a tray of hot soup, which he placed on her desk. “How are you?”

“Ugh. Stuffed up. Got caught in the storm yesterday.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Got a good story.” She eased herself into a sitting position. “And a job for you.”

Jonah straddled a chair and listened to her explain how she would like some photographs of the mill and logging camp, shots that showed the implementation of conservation methods.

Jonah liked the idea. “As soon as this rain is over, I'll do it. But for now, you'd better eat this soup. We're invited to a dinner party in a few days, and you'll need your strength.”

“Whose?”

“Mrs. Bloomfield's.”

“Ugh.” Meredith sank down into the bed sheets. “Maybe I'll take my time recuperating.”

Jonah chuckled. “Get back up here and eat this.”

Meredith ate a few bites and then begged him to leave. After that, she slept until the next morning. Amelia served her breakfast in bed, and Meredith fell back asleep. But by afternoon, she rose and dressed. It continued to rain, so she pulled a cozy blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her while she worked at her desk.

The next day, the sun finally shone. Meredith mailed her stories off to
McClure's
and stopped by the newspaper office.

“Here's your retraction. I think you'll like it.”

Charlie looked over the article that praised the local mill and logging camp for their high standards and told how they rose above the normal tides in lumbering.

“This is perfect. Though it's not exactly a retraction, I believe it will please the townsfolk, especially the part about their fierce and commendable loyalty to the local lumbermen.”

“I'm not doing this just to make the town happy.”

“Why are you?”

“It's just the truth,” she smiled. “And I was pleased to discover it.”

“It makes me proud of our town.”

“Here are two more articles. One's entitled, ‘Bad Weather Doesn't Stop Loggers,' and the other, ‘Tribute to a Logger's Wife.'”

“Looks like we've got enough to do your column for a few weeks,” he said with approval. “That's good, because I'm going to be traveling for a couple weeks.”

“Oh? Where?”

“San Francisco. My sister's getting married. Frederick will be in charge of the office.” He leaned close. “I know you two don't get along very well, so this is perfect. You won't even have to come around until I get back.”

Meredith felt hurt. “Have a good trip.”

When Meredith returned to her room, she started another article for
McClure's
and wrote another letter questioning Asa about Thatcher Talbot. Even with her work, she could not get the man off her mind. She knew that she should not get emotionally involved with a man who could be a criminal, could be married, and even if neither of these were true, could provide nothing more than a tiny cabin in the woods for the woman he married.

But she could not deny the attraction she felt toward him. She worried over his injury. She thought about his smile, his brown eyes, handsome face, dark wavy hair, and mustache.

No,
she told herself.
I must forget about him. He is not right for me. I am a city girl. He is a… What are you, Thatcher Talbot?

The next day, Meredith still brooded over Thatcher. If she rode back out to the camp to check on him, it would be too obvious. If she asked the town doctor about Thatcher, he might question her motives.

I'm a reporter. That's my motivation.

Within the hour, she was outside the doctor's office. The door swung open easily, and she looked about. The front room was empty, but she heard some noises in the room beyond. He might be with a patient, she reasoned, so she found a chair to wait.

“Miss Mears. I'm sorry. Didn't know I had a patient.”

Meredith rose. “I just came to check up on the loggers. How are they?”

“The one had a broken leg. He's laid up and only time will tell if it heals properly.”

“I didn't know it was that serious. That's too bad.”

Meredith waited. The doctor was absorbed in private thought. Finally, she prodded, “And the other man?”

“Oh. His arm will be fine as long as it doesn't get infected.”

He certainly wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. “But it's not infected? He had a fever the last I heard.”

“No. Both men's fevers are gone. They're on the mend, barring complications.”

“Good.”

“You're an enigma to me, Miss Mears.”

“How is that, Doctor?”

“You act as though you care for the loggers, yet your stories of late contradict your actions.”

“You haven't read my latest article.”

“Change of heart?”

“Conservation of timber is a very serious issue, but I believe that your loggers do a commendable job and that the men running the operations are honest, caring men. It's my intention to make them an example to the entire logging industry.”

“That's good to hear.”

“Good day, Doctor.”

O
ne morning, Meredith visited Jonah's studio. When she entered the small shed, Jonah was putting the backing on his most recent photographs. “May I see them?”

“Help yourself.”

Meredith browsed through the photographs, taking special care with the unmounted ones. “These are perfect for my articles.” She turned to him with satisfaction. “We're doing it, Jonah, getting Asa some great material.”

“He's got to be pleased.”

“When you were at the camp, did you happen to see Thatcher and the other injured logger?”

“Yes. They're both doing well.”

Meredith exhaled a sigh of relief. “I'm so glad.”

Jonah chuckled. “But they're bored. Eager to get back to work.”

The way Jonah talked about the camp, it was obvious he was fitting in with the loggers, with all the townsfolk.

“You're going to stay here, aren't you?” Meredith asked.

Jonah paused from his work and turned toward her. “I haven't decided yet. I like it here.”

“I'll probably go home before winter.” Her voice was distant.

“Something bothering you, Storm?”

“It's been so up and down for me.”

He nodded. “The townspeople liked your last article. You should be up again.”

“That reminds me, are you going to Mrs. Bloomfield's dinner party?”

“Of course. Mrs. Bloomfield loves me,” he said.

Meredith rolled her eyes. “I'm still amazed I even got invited.”

“I hope you can behave yourself.”

“Mm-hmm. So do I.”

The evening of the dinner party, Meredith gave particular attention to her attire. She put on her new yellow hat with the green ostrich feather and her matching gown from New York. It was high necked with rows of horizontal tucks on the bodice and around the hem. She smoothed down the skirt, did a little twist, and watched the hemline swirl just right.

Jonah escorted Meredith and Amelia Cooper. Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield met them at the door.

“Do come in. It's so good of you to come.”

“I am so pleased to be invited,” Meredith said.

“I have a few more guests to greet, please go into the sitting room and make yourselves comfortable.”

Meredith wondered who the other guests would be. When they entered the room, Meredith hesitated and Jonah slammed into her.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Go on.”

She took a hesitant step, then pasted on a smile and entered the room. Thatcher Talbot stood, as did the other men.

Why did I have to wear this wretched hat?
Meredith thought. She moved forward to greet him. “I am surprised to see you here,” she said.

She saw his gaze settle on the hat.

“The Bloomfields are my friends. Remember? I told you at the funeral.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, determined to ignore his smile. “But your injury.”

His arm was in a sling. “It's almost good as new.”

“You certainly are looking better.”

“Please, have a seat.”

Meredith took a nearby chair after she greeted everyone.

When conversations picked up again, Thatcher said to Meredith, “You were my angel of mercy that day.”

Meredith smiled in spite of herself. “When I saw all that blood and that stick in your arm, I was scared to death.”

The woman's photograph came to Meredith's mind, and she grew quiet. She wondered if he had discovered that it was moved, or if she replaced it in such a way that he didn't notice.

He lowered his voice. “Your articles have been the talk of the camp.”

“I can well imagine,” she said. She looked about the room, then leaned close. “I'd rather not talk about my articles tonight.”

He smiled. “I understand.” His voice perked up. “We could talk about how lovely you look in that hat.”

She whispered, “I don't want to talk about that either.”

“Hmm, that doesn't leave us much to talk about.”

Mercifully, Meredith was saved from answering as they were invited in to dinner.

About halfway through the main course, Meredith's hostess asked, “Miss Mears, your articles have caused quite a stir, haven't they? Are you used to that sort of thing?”

“No. I'm not. Before I came here, I was doing some routine things. This has been challenging.”

Mrs. Bloomfield's eyes squinted. “Why do you do it?”

“It's personal. Just something I have to do.” She concentrated on her food. “I must compliment you on this dinner.

“Thank you. I was a bit nervous inviting you here.”

“Why?”

“I think everyone in Buckman's Pride is just a bit worried over your opinions… fearing they might find themselves in print.”