Читать книгу A Family Arrangement - Gabrielle Meyer - Страница 14
ОглавлениеIt would be hours before the sun rose on another cold November morning, and hours before the boys woke up expecting breakfast. Charlotte sat at the kitchen table, a kerosene lamp making a small halo of light for her to work by. She held Abram’s best trousers in one hand, a needle and thread in the other. Last night, after everyone had gone to bed, she had washed his clothing and set it out to dry.
The potbelly stove radiated heat and boiled the pot of coffee percolating on the burner. Susanne’s irons sat next to the coffee, drawing heat from the fire beneath.
“Are you always an early riser?”
Charlotte jumped at the sound of Abram’s voice. He stood in the doorway wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday, his hair a mess and his beard just as shaggy as before.
She snipped the loose thread and set the pants on the table to be ironed. His sudden appearance left her heart pounding a bit too hard. “Yes.”
“Are those my clothes?” His sleepy eyes grew wide and he took one pant leg in hand. “They look brand-new, Charlotte. I don’t know what to say.”
She slipped the needle and thread into her sewing basket. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m only doing my job.”
“No. You went above and beyond your job.” He studied her, as if gauging whether or not she had done it out of kindness or duty. “Either way, thank you.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes but simply nodded and closed her sewing box.
He rubbed his beard for a moment and then walked over to the stove, where he closed his eyes and inhaled. “There’s nothing like waking up to the smell of coffee. Before you came, I was the one who made it every morning.”
“Even when Susanne was alive?”
Abram glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “Unlike you, Susanne was not an early riser.”
Charlotte smiled to herself. How could she forget? She had practically dragged her sister out of bed every morning of her life...until she had eloped with Abram.
A stilted silence fell between them.
Abram reached for a speckled mug as Charlotte stood and took a clean towel from the drying rope she’d strung over the stove the night before. She folded it on the table, laid Abram’s pants on top, then hooked a wooden handle to one of the heavy irons and lifted it off the stove.
“Would you like me to do that?” Abram reached for the iron, his hand covering Charlotte’s on the handle. “Susanne’s arms used to get tired when she ironed.”
Charlotte didn’t let go, too stunned to move. She was so used to taking care of herself, the thought of someone else easing her burden made her feel helpless, which she tried to avoid at all cost. “That won’t be necessary.” She gently tugged the iron out of his grasp. “My arms are strong from my seamstress work.”
Abram awkwardly turned to the stove and filled his mug. He walked around her and took a seat at the table.
She swallowed and glanced at him, her insides feeling a bit shaky with him watching her. “I’ll have breakfast ready within the hour. I imagine you have work to do in the barn and then you’ll want to get an early start.”
He took a slow sip of his coffee, apparently in no rush. “The men should be up soon to take care of the animals.” He paused. “I actually came down early to make a request.”
She ran the hot iron over the first pant leg. “Oh?”
“I could use a haircut before I go.”
Charlotte stopped ironing. “You want me to cut your hair?”
“Would you?”
She had cut her father’s hair, after her mama passed away, but she had never touched the head of another man, not even Thomas’s. Somehow it felt...intimate. “I don’t know—”
“I haven’t had a cut since Susanne died.” He put his hand to his head and tugged on a long strand for emphasis. “I want to make a good impression in St. Anthony—and I’m afraid George might be scared of me with all this hair.”
“You do look a bit like a bear.”
He smiled at her and she returned the gesture. It was the first time they had ever shared a lighthearted moment.
Their smiles disappeared, as if they had the same thought at the same time.
“The boys’ hair is in need of a trim, too,” Abram said quickly, toying with the handle of his mug. “Do you think you could add it to your list of duties?”
Speaking of the boys reminded her of the idea she wanted to discuss with Abram.
“I have a request of my own.”
He took a sip of his coffee and looked at her over the rim of his mug. When he set it down he let out a contented sigh. “This is good coffee, Charlotte.”
His compliment made her blush, though she couldn’t understand why. She turned from him and set the cool iron on the stove, unhooked the handle and then hooked it to the other hot iron waiting. Maybe her cheeks were warm from the stove.
“What kind of request?” he asked, taking another sip of coffee.
She cleared her throat and set to work on the other pant leg. “This past year, two men began a school for the deaf in Iowa City. I read an article in the Iowa City Reporter about their school. It sounds very promising.”
Abram set down his mug. “What are you getting at?”
“I believe Robert is too young to attend, but someday I hope to send him there—”
“Of course I want the best for Robert, but I think the best is to be had here, at home.”
“And I think he needs an education.”
“I would never deny him an education.”
She stopped her work. “How will he get it, if you don’t send him?”
“He’ll get it right here, when we have a school.”
“But how will a teacher communicate with him?” Helplessness weighed down her shoulders. “How will we communicate with him? He must be terribly frustrated and alone right now.”
Abram ran his hands through his hair. “We’ll learn sign language.”
“How will we do that?”
“We’ll make it up if we have to.”
Charlotte set the iron on the stove. “Wouldn’t it make sense to teach him the same signs they use at the school in Iowa City? Maybe they have a sign language book. I’ll ask them to send one if they do.”
“That’s fine—but I have no desire to send my son away. I’ll find a teacher who uses sign language if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him here.”
“Like build your town?”
“Exactly.” He indicated his head with a bit of frustration. “Will you cut my hair now?”
She exhaled an exasperated breath. “Only if you shave your beard.”
“Why do you always have conditions and counteroffers?”
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Why are you so stubborn?”
“I don’t want to shave my beard when it’s getting cold. My face is liable to freeze if I don’t have a beard.”
“I’ll knit you a scarf.”
“Why don’t you like the beard?”
Why not, indeed? Was it because a small part of her wanted to see if he was still as handsome as he had been the night of the Fireman’s Ball? The thought sent heat coursing through her—heat of embarrassment and guilt. She shouldn’t think that way about her sister’s widower. “You can trim it, can’t you?”
He rubbed his beard, as if sad to see it go. “I suppose I could give it a little trim. I’ll go get my comb and shears.”
While he was gone, Charlotte quickly ironed his shirt and folded it next to the trousers.
Abram returned, set the comb and shears on the table, and then began to unbutton his shirt.
Charlotte put up her hands, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“Taking off my shirt.”
“Why?”
“I always took off my shirt when Susanne cut my hair.”
She shook her head quickly and grabbed the towel from the table. “Please keep your clothes on and put this around your shoulders. I have no interest in seeing you without your shirt.”
His blue eyes twinkled with mischief and Charlotte was reminded of how charming he had been when he’d courted Susanne.
He sat at the table and set the towel on his broad shoulders with a chuckle.
Maybe it wasn’t just his good looks that had attracted her sister to him.
Charlotte forced the thoughts from her mind and stepped up to the job. Her hands hovered over his head. Father’s hair had been thin and greasy. Abram’s hair was thick and wavy. It looked as if he had washed it recently, too.
She took a deep breath and ran the comb through his hair. She allowed her fingers to slip through the thick waves and assess how she wanted to cut them.
He sighed and his shoulders relaxed.
Charlotte paused, aware of how her touch had just affected him.
“Nothing too short,” he said. “I like to keep a bit of insulation on top.”
She picked up the shears, and with a quick snip, the first lock of hair fell to the floor.
Charlotte worked for several minutes, combing and cutting until she was satisfied. When she was finally finished, she stepped back and admired her work.
“Well?” He turned his head this way and that. “What do you think?”
“I think your beard looks even worse now.”
He grinned and stood, holding the towel so the hair clippings stayed inside the fabric.
“Here—” she reached for the towel “—I’ll take care of that.”
“Then I’ll go see what I can do about my beard.” He grabbed his clean clothes and left the kitchen.
After she swept and threw the cuttings outside for the birds, Charlotte came back into the kitchen and began to make scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast. Everyone would soon be awake and they’d want to be fed.
She set the table for seven—recalling that she would not be serving Harry at her table. If he couldn’t come down for Sunday breakfast, she wouldn’t serve him the rest of the week. He could take a plate to the barn.
The door opened and Charlotte turned from the hot stove.
There, standing in the doorway, was a handsome stranger—or so she thought for a brief moment. Abram looked like a new man. He had kept his beard but trimmed it close to his face. He wore his clean pants and shirt, tucked in, and had wet his hair and combed it into submission.
He smiled and the effect was stunning.
“I look that good?” he teased.
The room suddenly felt overly warm. She realized she was staring and wanted to spin back to the sizzling sausages, but if she didn’t acknowledge his transformation, she suspected he would tease her incessantly. “You look fine.”
He cocked a brow and swaggered into the room. “Just fine?”
At that, she did turn back to the stove, taking a deep breath to steady her thoughts. “Where will the men sleep while you’re away?”
“The men?”
She looked back at him—she couldn’t help it. “Yes.”
He raised his hand to stroke his beard, but finding it gone, he rested his hand on his chest instead. “Why can’t the men sleep in the house?”
“It wouldn’t be decent.”
“But it’s decent when I’m here?”
“As my sister’s husband, you’re an acceptable chaperone. With you gone, tongues could wag.”
“What tongues?” He looked around, a bit bewildered. “No one is close enough to care.”
“I care.” She flipped the sausages one at a time with a fork. “They’ll need to sleep in the barn or somewhere else while you’re gone.”
“I doubt they’ll like that idea.”
“That may be so—”
The door opened and Harry and Milt walked into the kitchen.
Harry ignored Charlotte, while Milt nodded a halfhearted greeting. They both stopped when they caught sight of Abram.
“What’d she do to you?” Harry asked, his eyes filled with horror.
Abram touched his jaw and paused. “I thought I’d get cleaned up to go to St. Anthony.”
Harry shook his head and exited the house, Milt behind him.
“I don’t think Harry will be happy with the idea of sleeping in the barn,” Abram said.
Charlotte indicated a plate sitting on the cupboard counter. “He can eat out there, too.”
Abram groaned. “Maybe I’ll take him with me to St. Anthony. Let the two of you cool off a bit.”
Charlotte glanced outside, where Harry and Milt were entering the barn. Harry appeared to be just as stubborn as her. She doubted either one would cool off soon.
* * *
Abram stepped into the office of Cheney Milling Operation and inhaled the familiar scent of pine. The office stood on the eastern banks of the Mississippi at St. Anthony Falls, where dozens of men had built sawmills on wooden stilts in the water. Numerous mills crowded the piers and sawed thousands of feet of lumber a day. Mill owners were bringing in a fortune as the population increased, making St. Paul, St. Anthony and Stillwater thriving towns.
Over the years several prospective investors had traveled through Little Falls and longed to harness the power at the largest waterfall north of St. Anthony, but Abram had said no. One of those men had been Liam Cheney, owner of a successful sawmill here in St. Anthony.
Abram nodded at a clerk who stood behind a high counter. “Is Mr. Cheney available?”
The mousy clerk peeked at Abram behind his round spectacles. “Whom shall I say is asking?”
Harry had stayed outside, having no desire to sit in on the meeting, so it was just Abram. “Mr. Abram Cooper.”
The clerk looked him up and down and then turned to walk into an office behind the counter.
A few moments later the office door opened and the clerk stepped out, followed by Mr. Cheney, a tall, slender fellow with a large mustache. “Mr. Cooper, what a pleasant surprise. Will you come into my office?”
Abram took off his hat and walked around the counter. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Cheney slapped Abram’s back. “Always willing to meet with a competitor.”
Abram glanced around the large office overlooking the Mississippi and the dozens of men Cheney employed. He would hardly call himself a competitor with his four employees and simple sawmill.
Cheney took a seat behind a large oak desk and indicated a chair for Abram. “What brings you to St. Anthony, Mr. Cooper?”
Abram found it hard to ask for help. Seeking investors made him feel like he was admitting defeat—but he had no choice. He would do it for his children’s sake. “I’ve reconsidered your offer to invest in my sawmill.”
Liam Cheney didn’t say anything right away. Instead he studied Abram from behind heavy brows. He indicated his office and the mill outside. “As you can see, I invested here—and I must say I’m not disappointed.”
Abram’s chest felt heavy at the news. “So your offer is no longer good?”
“My initial offer is no longer valid. However...” He leaned forward and placed his forearms on the desk. “I just met a man who is interested in investing in a sawmill. Since he was too late to invest in St. Anthony, he asked if I knew of any other promising locations.”
Abram leaned forward. “What did you tell him?”
“I said the territory is very big and there are several prospects, but I did not mention Little Falls, since you had so adamantly refused my offer.” Cheney leaned back again, this time steepling his fingers together as if sensing he held the upper hand. “He and I are planning an exploratory trip next week—but I didn’t plan to stop in Little Falls.” He paused. “Should we?”
“Who is this man?” Abram had devoted three years of his life and all his worldly possessions to his endeavors at Little Falls. He didn’t want to hand it over to just anyone.
“His name is Timothy Hubbard. He and his wife just arrived from Moline, Illinois, with their three children. He told me he has several friends and family back home waiting for him to send for them. He’s not only willing to invest, but he’ll bring ready-made citizens in the bargain.”
Abram sat for several moments, feeling like a poor beggar. Just looking around at the success Cheney had found at St. Anthony made Abram frustrated that he had turned down Cheney’s offer two years ago. The sounds of men shouting orders and saws cutting lumber seeped through the walls in a muffled taunt.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could have the same success.
“Well?” Cheney asked. “Is it worth our time to stop and look around Little Falls?”
Abram stood and extended his hand. “I believe it will be.”
Cheney also stood and shook Abram’s hand. His face became serious. “I feel it only fair to tell you we’re looking at several possible locations to invest, and more than one has already caught our eye. I don’t know if it’s too late to convince Hubbard that Little Falls is the place to invest.”
Abram was proud of Little Falls, as humble as it was, and he was convinced it was the best place to build a town on the Upper Mississippi. “You get him there and I’ll do the convincing.”
Cheney offered a shrewd smile. “I like your attitude.”
Abram slipped on his hat, not wanting Cheney to think he was desperate. “And I feel it’s only fair to tell you I’m meeting with several prospective investors while I’m in St. Anthony. I just hope you and Hubbard aren’t too late when you come.”
Cheney’s smile fell and Abram nodded farewell. “Good day.”
Abram turned and strode out of the office, his back straight and his head high, though inside he was shaking. He did plan to meet with several investors, but none had shown the avid interest that Cheney had.
Harry stood outside Cheney’s office building, leaning against the wall. He was almost twice Abram’s age and the deep lines in his face suggested he’d had a tough life. But he was a hard worker and had been the first to come to Abram looking for a job.
“Let’s head over to Thompson’s Mill,” Abram said. “I have a feeling the answer will be no, but we need to ask.”
Harry pushed away from the wall and came alongside Abram, his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t like that Lee woman,” Harry said. “She’s not good for the mill or Little Falls.”
Abram glanced up. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to comment.”
“If she hadn’t come, you wouldn’t be here—” Harry scoffed at their surroundings “—begging for handouts.”
“I’m not begging for handouts. I’m seeking business partners—”
“Because she threatened you.”
“She didn’t threaten—”
“She’s too high-and-mighty for the likes of us,” Harry continued as if he hadn’t heard Abram. “She’ll eventually guilt the others into believing her way and she’ll do it by threatening not to feed them.”
“Harry, you have to try to see things from her perspective.” Abram could hardly believe he was defending Charlotte. “She’s doing what she thinks is best.”
“She’s going about it the wrong way.” His jaw clenched and his eyes filled with bitterness. “I don’t want her preaching to me, or threatening to make me go hungry, just because I won’t do what she says.”
“She still feeds you and in time—”
“In time, nothing. I won’t play her games.”
Abram stopped on the muddy path and looked Harry in the eyes. “Keep in mind that Miss Lee is my sister-in-law, and a guest in my home, not to mention a lady.”
“She’s your employee first and foremost.” He looked Abram up and down, disgust on his face. “You’ll let her get away with anything, because you don’t want her taking your boys away.”
“She can’t take them without my blessing.”
“No—but you’re afraid she’s right, and Minnesota Territory is no place for them, so you’ll cave if she makes demands. You’re letting her get away with too much because you’re afraid of her.”
Abram wanted to laugh at the accusation but the truth was that he had always been a little afraid of Charlotte. From the moment he had made his intentions known about Susanne, years ago in Iowa City, Charlotte had been a force to reckon with. Susanne had respected her older sister, and when Charlotte made it clear she didn’t approve of Abram, he thought Susanne would bend to her sister’s wishes. Thankfully, Susanne had found the courage to walk away from Charlotte—but there was always a part of Abram that believed Charlotte was right way back then, and he wasn’t good enough for Susanne. He had fought the fear every day of their marriage, and when Susanne died, it had slapped him in the face.
Even now he was afraid Little Falls wasn’t good enough for his boys...and maybe he wasn’t enough for them, either. Would time prove Charlotte right again?
“Harry, I want you to listen carefully.” Abram’s breath fogged the air in front of his face. “Stay clear of Charlotte. If I find out you’ve even looked at her funny, you’ll have to leave.”
Harry stared at Abram, his thoughts imperceptible within his gray eyes.
