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“A job, you say?” Mr. Brown the blacksmith wiped his calloused hand on his leather apron, then scratched his stubbly chin. “Not much work right now, Johnny. But I think Mr. Simpson down at the mill might have some.”
“Thanks, Mr. Brown, I appreciate it,” Jonathan said as he shook the man’s beefy hand. “It’s sure nice seeing you again.”
“Good to see ya too. Ya got a place to stay?”
“Nothing permanent. I haven’t checked into the boarding house yet.”
“That would be my and Abigail’s fault,” Jasper said. “We kept him visiting too long.”
Mr. Brown nodded sagely. “And yer serious about settlin’ in Cutter’s Creek?”
Jonathan shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any. I know folks here.” And I hope my folks won’t come here, he didn’t add.
“Sensible,” Mr. Brown replied. “Tell ya what I’ll do – ya go talk to Mr. Simpson, see what he has. I can make a spot for ya, though it won’t be enough to keep ya busy all the time. Maybe between the mill and the livery, ya can make do.”
Jonathan smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Brown, you’re very kind.”
“Well, I remember how hard ya worked for me before.”
“Thank you. And I can work harder now.”
Mr. Brown looked him up and down. “I don’t doubt it. Yer all grown up.”
Jonathan hoped he wasn’t turning pink. Everyone here remembered Jonathan the youth – none of them knew him as a man yet. He planned to remedy that as soon as possible.
Jonathan and Jasper strolled down the street to the Cahill Lumber Mill. “You don’t have to come with me,” Jonathan told Jasper.
“I don’t mind. Besides I needed a break.”
“After all that hard work in your store?” Jonathan teased.
“Very funny. But visiting does take a toll on a person.”
Jonathan chuckled, then got around to what he really wanted to say. “Miss Woodhouse seems nice.”
“She is. Very.”
“How long have they been in Cutter’s Creek?”
“Since summer of last year. She and her family arrived a few months before she came to work for Abigail and me. Poor Mr. Woodhouse – never did get to start his business.”
“What kind of business?” Jonathan asked, curious.
“He wanted to start a newspaper and print shop, of all things,” Jasper said, shaking his head. “Like we need either one around here.”
They reached the mill and Jonathan stopped, glancing over his shoulder at the town and smiling. “True enough. I’m sure news travels just as fast as it did ten years ago.”
“Faster,” Jasper said with a grin. “There are more people here now to spread it. Let’s go talk with Mr. Simpson and see what he has to say.”
The meeting with the mill foreman was short – the words “you’re hired!” were out of Mr. Simpson’s mouth quick as lightning. One of their workers had just left Cutter’s Creek for Billings after discovering mill work wasn’t to his liking. “I ain’t gonna lie, young man – this is a hard job. Dangerous too, if you’re not careful.”
“Then I’ll be as careful as I can, Mr. Simpson,” Jonathan said. “I thank you for the opportunity.”
“I guess this means you’ll have to tell our blacksmith you won’t be able to help him out,” Jasper added.
“What’s this?” Mr. Simpson said. “Did Mr. Brown hire you?”
“No, sir,” Jonathan said. “He just offered to have me help them out now and then when I had time.”
“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Simpson. “Well, you can inform Mr. Brown you’ll have plenty of work here. Looks like the good Lord was watching out for both of us – I needed a new worker fast, and you needed a job.”
“Yes, sir,” Jonathan agreed with a smile. “When can I start?”
They worked out the details, and before Jonathan knew it he and Jasper were strolling back down the street toward the mercantile. “Just like that, you arrive in town and have a full-time job,” Jasper said with a shake of his head. “Next thing you know you’ll be looking for a wife.”
Jonathan almost tripped. “Trying to marry me off already?”
Jasper laughed. “No, that’s Abigail’s job. Trust me, when she finds out you have work that can support you without worry, she’ll see to it you have someone else to support.”
Jonathan fought a groan. He hadn’t had to deal with matchmaking before, though he was no stranger to it. He’d seen his mother try to match Olivia plenty of times – with little success, due to Olivia being herself. But his parents hadn’t tried to marry him off – he was their meal ticket. Well, he used to be.
It wouldn’t hurt any of them to work – he hoped all three did now, though it was doubtful. More than likely they were just hopping mad that he’d left. But if he’d stayed, nothing would change. They wouldn’t change. He’d rather be struck by lightning than turn out like them, something he was afraid would happen over time. He’d already found his temper growing shorter, his patience wavering, and knew that, family or no, he had to leave – for all their sakes. At least he left a note.
“Mrs. Whitehall down at the boarding house should have a room open,” Jasper said. “Maisie and her mother live there. You could be neighbors.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “I thought you said I’d have to worry about Abigail playing matchmaker.”
Jasper held up both hands helplessly. “It just slipped out. But what better way to get to know a gal? At least you wouldn’t have to walk across town to see her.”
Jonathan sighed in annoyance. “No offense, but if there’s any matchmaking to be done, I’ll do it myself, thank you very much.”
“Tell my wife that,” Jasper said, bemused.
When they reached the mercantile, they said their goodbyes and Jonathan continued on to the boarding house. He’d return for his things once he was done arranging a room. Who knew if the boarding house had one available? For all he knew, while he was at the mill Mrs. Whitehall had rented the only accommodations left to some stranger.
Stranger. He still felt like one, even though he was in a familiar place and had seen familiar faces. But he didn’t know Jasper and Abigail as well then as he was getting to know them now. Now he was all grown up – Jonathan the man was different from Jonathan the boy. He wondered how Aggie would react to seeing him.
He set the thought aside and entered the boarding house. A middle-aged woman with graying hair, blue eyes and a thin smile sat in the parlor knitting. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am – are you Mrs. Whitehall?”
“Sure enough am. And you are?”
“Jonathan Bridger, ma’am. I’d like a room, please.”
She pushed herself out of her chair, set her knitting on the cushion and joined him in the front hall. There was a desk against one wall, and she sat behind it, pulled a ledger from a drawer and set it on the desktop. “You just passing through?”
“No, ma’am, I plan on staying a spell. Until I get my own place.”
She looked up him up and down. “Is that so? You got money?”
“Yes, ma’am – enough to cover the room until I get going with my new job.”
“What job?” she asked skeptically. “As far as I know no one’s looking for help in Cutter’s Creek.”
“Mr. Simpson just hired me down at the lumber mill. One of his workers left recently.”
Mrs. Whitehall slapped her hand on the desk. “I knew Martha Higgs would talk her husband into leaving. Of course, I can’t say that I blame Pete – he’s not cut out for that kind of work. More of a bookkeeper type.”
Jasper tried to hide his smile. “Yes, ma’am. So do you have a room?”
“Well, seeing as how you’ve got steady work and can pay on time, I think I can accommodate.” She scribbled something in the ledger before looking back up at him. “Name?”
“Jonathan Bridger.”
She wrote it down, opened another drawer and pulled out a key. “You’ll be in room five upstairs, third door on the right at the end of the hall. I serve a light breakfast at seven. Supper’s at six. You’re on your own for lunch. We’ve got a café in town where some men from the mill like to eat. You being with no wife ...” She looked at him again. “You don’t have a wife, do you?”
Jonathan did his best not to laugh – she eyed him as if he was about to pull a woman out of his pocket. “I’m not married, ma’am.”
“Call me Mrs. Whitehall. Any questions?”
“No, ma’am ... I mean, Mrs. Whitehall.”
A tiny hint of a smile curved her mouth. “Good – hope you’ll enjoy your room. See you at supper.” She got up and went back to the parlor and her knitting.
Jonathan stood, key in hand, and watched her resume what looked like a scarf. With a shrug he turned to the stairs and decided to check out his room, absently wondering what time Maisie Woodhouse would be home.
* * *
MAISIE FINISHED HER shift at the mercantile, locked the doors as she left and headed home. She shivered and hurried her steps as the wind pulled at her clothing. She had to see about a new coat. The one she’d brought with her from Virginia, wasn’t practical – it did the trick last winter, but Abigail had told her last winter was hardly a winter at all. This year was different.
She’d have to check how much it would cost to buy Mama one too. Not that the woman ever left the boarding house, but one never knew. She hoped to get her mother back one day. In the meantime, she’d have to deal with the shell left behind.
Ever since her father died, Maisie had watched her mother change into another person –bitter, grief-stricken, angry, and happy to take it out on Maisie. She’d known many others who’d suffered the same ills after great loss. The aftermath of the War Between the States still wreaked havoc in the South – one of the reasons Papa packed them up to head west. They were lucky he returned from the war safe and sound, and that they’d lost very little. Granted that there had been little to lose ...
“Good evening.”
Maisie jumped. “Good gracious!” She turned to find Mr. Bridger sitting in the shadows on the porch. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “Mr. Bridger, hello.”
He got to his feet and tipped his hat. “I’m sorry, ma’am – I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She fanned herself despite the cold. “Think nothing of it.”
He watched her a moment. “I really did scare you, didn’t I?”
“I ... well, yes.” She stilled her waving hand and forced it to her side. “Good evening.”
He reached the front door in two strides and opened it for her. “Ma’am,” he said with another tip of his hat.
“Thank you,” she said and, straightening her shoulders, marched past him into the house and up the stairs.
Once in her room, she pulled her shawl from her shoulders and sat on the bed. “Oh my ...”
“Maisie!” her mother snapped.
Maisie put her face in her hands. For a moment, she’d forgotten everything but the man holding the door open for her with that charming smile and a pinch of remorse for having frightened her.
“Maisie!”
She let her hands fall into her lap. “Yes, Mama?”
“Don’t just sit there, fix our supper!”
Maisie turned to the rocking chair by the window. Her mother sat, the same book in her hands she’d left her with. Had she even moved?
“Well, what are you waiting for?” her mother barked. “I’m hungry.”
Maisie took a deep breath. “Mama, Mrs. Whitehall asked after you today.”
“What did she want?”
“The same thing I do. She wants you to come downstairs and join the rest of the boarders for supper.”
Her mother snorted. “No.”
“But Mama ...”
“I will not eat with strangers, let alone a bunch of Yankees.”
“Mama!”
“Go on, get to work!”
It was the same argument over and over. Sarah Woodhouse wanted nothing to do with the rest of the world. “Mama, you can’t go on like this.”
“I can and I will. What business is it of yours what I do?”
“We have laundry orders,” Maisie countered.
“So get to it. If there’s mending, bring it to me.”
Maisie sighed. When her mother stopped going downstairs, she also stopped working the laundry. At least she still did the mending, probably because it gave her something to do. “Besides, you need to bathe. It’s been weeks.” Over a month, actually, but did her mother even care?
“I bathe!”
“The washbowl is not the same as a bath, Mama.”
Her mother fell silent for a moment. “Fine. Bring the tub up here and fill it.”
Maisie jumped up from the bed. “What? Are you out of your mind?”
Her mother looked her up and down. “You’re a strong girl. Hauling all that water isn’t going to hurt you.”
“Going downstairs isn’t going to hurt you!”
The sound of the door across the hall closing caught both their attentions. “What was that?” her mother asked, suspicious.
Maisie rubbed her temples with her fingers. “The neighbor across the hall, who else?”
“We don’t have a neighbor across the hall. That room’s empty!”
“Well, someone must have rented it –” Maisie stiffened. Mr. Bridger was across the hall? Oh no, she thought. How much did he hear?
“Find out who it is!” her mother said in a panic.
Maisie slowly turned to her. “Mama?”
Her mother began to fidget and finally stood. She moved stiffly, as if she hadn’t moved all day – which unfortunately was very likely. “I don’t want anyone next to us.”
Maisie rolled her eyes, unable to help herself. “Mama, there’s Mrs. Mitchell in the room next to ours and Mr. Martensen in the room across from hers. All the rooms are filled with boarders except the one directly across the hall!”
“Well, it’s full now! I don’t want ...”
Maisie put her hand over her eyes. “Mother, that’s enough!” She was shouting now, a clear sign she needed to leave the room. So she did.