Love's Story (5 page)

“Jonah. As soon as we're settled in, I want to visit the sawmill.”

“That mill will provide some great photographs. I can't wait to get started.”

They discussed plans for their assignment, and Meredith puffed under the steep incline of the street. “Not so fast, Jonah. This climb is taxing.”

“Forgive me, Storm.” He slowed his pace.

A team of horses clattered past, pulling a wagon. “Eek!” Mud splattered Meredith from hat to boot. “Of all the…” She wiped her face with her sleeve and peered, unbelieving, at the back of the driver of the wagon that had just plastered them with grime. “It's him!” she spat.

“Who?” Jonah asked. He, too, brushed off specks of mud, though Meredith had received the brunt of the avalanche. “Do you know him?”

“Of course! The man from Outfitters! That rude, horrible man!”

Jonah squinted at the wagon in disbelief just as it topped the hill. The man didn't even realize what he'd done.

Meredith's hands fluttered up. “And he's ruined my hat.”

“Come along, missy. Let's get you back to the hotel.”

She hiked up her skirt a few inches and stomped up the hill, now oblivious to the steep incline.

T
he hotel manager arranged for a hired wagon so Meredith and Jonah could move their belongings and equipment to Mrs. Cooper's. Once they arrived, she gave them keys to their rooms.

Meredith circled the pile of leather bags, which had been plunked down in the center of her room, wondering where to start. Mrs. Cooper gave a soft rap on her door.

“Come in.”

The landlady smoothed back several gray-streaked blond hairs. “I hope everything is satisfactory. If there is anything else I can do to make your stay more comfortable, please let me know.”

“Everything is perfect.” Meredith's eyes ran across the small window above the desk. “It seems you've thought of everything and arranged the room just as I would have.”

“After so many boarders, it gets a little easier. Dinner is at six. I only do breakfast and dinner.” Meredith nodded. “I'll just check in on Mr. Shaw, now. I need to show him the shed he'll be using.”

“Please, tell Jonah that I'll help him as soon as I'm finished here.”

“I will.” Mrs. Cooper nodded and the stray hairs worked free again.

Once the door had closed, Meredith unclasped the leather bags. Her clothing went into a wardrobe in hopes the wrinkles would not need to be steamed. Her hats she arranged and rearranged about the room, some on hooks by the door.
That looks cheery.
When her personal belongings were in place, she dove into the writing supplies and organized those on the desk by the window.

She retrieved her typewriter, handling it like a piece of fine china, and positioned it in its place of honor, center front of her desk. She traced the gold ornate lettering,
The Chicago,
across the front of its black cover and inspected all of the keys and parts.

Satisfied, she took a final inventory of the room. Her gaze lingered upon the mud-splattered green velvet and black-rimmed hat, and she crossed the room to it, plucked it off its peg, and dropped it into an empty bag. Next, she rearranged her desk. With a satisfactory nod, she pulled open the curtains above the desk. Jonah was in the backyard by the shed.
Perfect. I can see when he's in his studio.
With a song on her lips, she closed the curtains and changed into an old gown.

Just as she arrived at the shed's open door, a cloud of dust accosted her. With a cough, she jumped back.

“Is that you, Storm?”

Another cough. “Yes, it is.”

Jonah's head peeked out, then the rest of him appeared, his hands gripping a broom handle. “Sorry about that. I didn't know anyone was about.”

“So I see. Looks like you're doing serious housecleaning.”

“Come look,” Jonah said. “This place is going to be great.”

He stepped back inside, and Meredith tiptoed in behind him. Cobwebs scalloped the cluttered room. “I'm glad you're so excited. It looks like a lot of work to me.”

“Oh, you're right there. Mrs. Cooper said that most of this stuff can go down to the mill. I'm going to move everything outside and let her tell me what goes and what stays. The rest she'll take inside the house.”

“Why the mill?” Meredith asked.

“Didn't she tell you? Her late husband was a partner of Cooper's Mill. She figures the mill's owner can use some of this.”

“Really. What can I do to help?”

“Hmm. Maybe you should sweep down cobwebs,” Jonah said, offering her the broom. “And I'll start dragging these crates outside.”

“Done,” Meredith said.

By the time they had emptied the old building of every tool, bucket, boot, and fishing pole, Mrs. Cooper poked her head inside. “You've been working so hard out here. I thought you might welcome a snack.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cooper. How thoughtful,” Jonah said.

Mrs. Cooper pushed the tray of milk and cookies at him.

Meredith and Jonah perched on crates to enjoy the snack while Mrs. Cooper shuffled through boxes and rattled off instructions.

“This must be hard for you,” Jonah said.

“It is. James was as good of a man as they come. But this needed to be done sometime, so don't worry about it.”

Jonah nodded.

By early afternoon, the mopped-down shed was as clean as it would get. Meredith rubbed her palms on the skirt of her gown. “It looks real good, Jonah.”

“Did you want to go to the mill with me?”

“Now?”

“After I locate that hired wagon. That'll give you time to change clothes and freshen up.” He brushed a cobweb from her hair.

“Think I need it?”

Jonah gestured with a small wave. “I won't venture a reply to that. But if you wish, meet me here after I get things loaded, and we'll go to the mill together.”

Meredith sneezed. “Oops. I'll be here.”

Cooper's sawmill backed up against the Mad River a mile from where it spilled into the ocean. Buckman's Pride situated itself with its right arm resting along the river and its left arm embracing the ocean. The river produced the power to run the giant circular saws. They cut the large logs that came downriver from the logging camp. Because these redwood logs dwarfed any trees on the East Coast, the saws loomed bigger than any Jonah had ever seen.

“Look at those,” Jonah pointed. “I've never seen anything so huge.”

“I've never seen anything so fearful,” Meredith said. “It all looks so dangerous.”

The operation mesmerized them until a mill worker passed nearby, shouldering a bundle of leather straps. He shouted out, “Need some help?”

“Yes sir,” Jonah answered. “Have some business with the owner.”

“You'll find him in there.” The man nodded toward a nearby building, then continued on.

Jonah took Meredith's elbow and directed her toward the place the worker had indicated. Inside the warehouse, shingles were stacked in pallets along the wall. Beyond that was another door. They went to it, and Jonah knocked. Meredith straightened her hat.

“Come in,” a deep voice drawled.

They entered. Two men occupied the room; one sat behind a desk and the other stood in the middle of the room.

Jonah strode to the desk. “I'm Jonah Shaw, New York photographer.” The gray-haired man leaned over his desk and shook Jonah's offered hand. Meredith rushed forward. “Meredith S. Mears, journalist with
McClure's
magazine.”

“Clement Washington,” The owner said, also taking Meredith's hand. He settled back in his chair. “Seems to be my lucky day. You reporters know something I don't?” His question lumped them together like so much dead wood. “As if I don't have a business to run around here. Why don't you just talk to Ralston, here, so I don't need to repeat myself.”

Deep furrows edged Frederick Ralston's frown. He introduced himself as a reporter for the Buckman's Pride newspaper.

“I don't mind people nosing about my business, exactly,” Clement Washington said in his southern accent, “but I'm a busy man.” He rose as if the matter was settled, and they were all dismissed. “Maybe some other time.”

“Mrs. Cooper sent us,” Jonah said. Clement jerked up his head and listened. “I've set up a studio in her shed, and in the process, we've cleaned out some of Mr. Cooper's belongings. She asked me to bring his things to you. They're crated up,” he motioned, “outside in a wagon.”

“Oh? Well, that's a different story.” The mill's owner took a step toward Jonah and slapped his arm. “Let's go see what you've got.”

They followed him outside, Jonah matching stride with the southerner.

Meredith lagged behind with the newspaperman. “I'm excited to learn that there is a newspaper in Buckman's Pride.”

“Why is that?” The reporter's tone was frigid.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Just love the business.”

“There isn't any room here for another reporter. It's a small operation.”

“Is that so?”

Meredith pranced off and caught up with Clement Washington and Jonah. “I've never seen anything as excellent as these redwoods.” Her breath came in heavy spurts. “How far do you ship your lumber? It must be in great demand.”

“It is.” Pride laced his voice. “We ship timber all over the West Coast. San Francisco and farther.”

“How is the harbor here?” She cast a glance at the newspaper reporter, who had tagged after them. His eyes turned to dark narrow slits. Meredith knew he resented her conversation with the mill owner and wondered what made him so disagreeable.

“Too shallow with sandbars. There's no harbor to speak of along this coast. Mostly use steam-powered schooners now. They get around good, as long as they don't get caught in a storm of course. You might want to take a look at the wharf where the timber gets loaded onto the schooners. It's something to see.”

“I would like that.”

“Just a fortnight ago, we lost a couple schooners. Nearly their whole crews went down with the ships. Horrible.” He shook his head, his eyes reliving the scene.

“I'm sorry,” Meredith said.

By this time, they had reached the wagon. The man, who looked as if he'd be more at home on a cotton plantation than a sawmill, grazed his eyes over the bittersweet belongings of his old partner. “James always did take care of his tools. I'll get someone to come unload this stuff. Thanks for your trouble. Give Mrs. Cooper my regards and enjoy your stay.”

As Washington shuffled away, the newspaperman gave Meredith a smirk. “We did an article on that storm. Good day, Miss Mears.”

“I'll drop by to see it,” Meredith called over the man's shoulder. She saw his back flinch, though he did not give a reply. Perhaps it was old news, but it would make good material for her magazine articles.

Once they were alone, Jonah said, “You shouldn't have set his teeth on edge like that. I might like to work with him sometime.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Just born a woman, I suppose.”

“Humph!” She squared her shoulders. She was well aware of that, having heard it enough times in her past. Her father's words surfaced.
“You should've been born a boy. If your ma had to die birthing you, it was the least you could have done for me.”

T
he coffee sloshed over the rim of the china cup and caused a puddle on the white tablecloth. Meredith rushed forward. “Here, let me help.”

“What? Oh! How clumsy of me.” Mrs. Cooper hurried to get a rag, but when she returned to the table, her eyes swept over her guest.

The reporter's face burned. “I should have forewarned you. I plan to dress like this when I ride out to Bucker's Stand, and that's where I'm headed this morning.”

“Why?” Mrs. Cooper asked.