Her heart pounding in fear, Carrie rushed back down the winding gravel path to the riverbank where she’d be able to get closer to Tom. Martha followed close behind her.
They stopped on the bank and screamed at him to get back to safety. Men were shouting orders at each other and the horses. The log they’d just pulled loose came crashing down and began rolling toward Tom.
“He can’t hear you,” Martha said, putting a comforting hand on Carrie’s arm.
They could see Tom trying to keep his footing on the slippery, wet logs, his arms outstretched and waving as he fought for balance.
* * * *
Will heard a woman’s sharp scream amongst the usual men’s shouting voices as they worked. He turned toward the sound and saw a boy out on the logs. Damn kids, always wanting to see what was happening and getting underfoot. And out on the logs, barefoot. Fool boy. Reminded him of his young brother Johnny, who had always tagged along with him whether it was safe to do so or not.
Then Will saw the big log rolling toward the boy. He’d be crushed. His heart pounding, he strode easily on his spiked shoes across the logs to where the boy was. Just in time, he grabbed him and pulled him out of the way. When the rolling log had passed them, the boy clung to him for a minute and then tried to pull away.
“No, you’re getting off these logs, now.” He held the boy’s arm as they skipped from log to log towards shore.
He was surprised to see Carrie on the bank waiting anxiously for them. As he handed the boy up to her, she met his gaze and he saw tears shimmering in her eyes. The kid was hers? She must be older than he’d thought. Married, too. Why did that thought dismay him?
Carrie had held her breath as they navigated the slippery logs until they reached safety. Tears of relief rolled down Carrie’s cheeks. She impatiently brushed at them.
As the logger handed Tom up onshore to Carrie, she saw that he was Will Tellers. She flushed with embarrassment. Of all the people to catch her brother causing trouble, why did it have to be him?
“This your boy?” Will growled at her.
Her boy? Will thought Tom was her son? But she didn’t have time to argue the point now. She reached for Tom’s hand and pulled him onto the riverbank.
Will said, “Keep him off the logs. We’ve got enough to do without looking out for young-uns.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you so much,” Carrie said but he was already turning back to work.
“I’m not a young-un. I’m twelve, almost a man,” Tom protested to Will’s back, but Will ignored him and strode back out onto the logs.
Tears of frustration still burning her eyes, Carrie grabbed Tom’s arm and pulled the resisting boy with her. Together the three headed toward the safety of her spot on the bluff.
“What’s the matter with you?” Carrie scolded as they made their way along the path. Her heart was still pounding at the thought her brother could have been badly hurt or killed. “Don’t you know better than to do something so foolish as to go out on moving logs?”
“They weren’t moving when I stepped out on them. I just wanted a better look at what they were doing out there,” Tom defended himself. “Then that log started rolling toward me.”
“You can see very well from up here where you’re safe.” Carrie settled herself back beside Martha under the pine tree and glowered at him.
“Come sit by me, Tom,” Martha coaxed, apparently trying to soften Carrie’s scolding.
“No thanks.” Meekly he stood under the tree, one hand resting on the trunk as he looked out over the piles of logs where the river used to be. “That logger sure is a big one, isn’t he?”
“Yes, that he is. Handsome, too.” Martha glanced slyly at Carrie and winked at Tom.
Carrie ignored them both. She pulled a lacy handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. Honestly, Will had seen her in tears. How embarrassing.
She suppressed a shiver, remembering Will’s touch as he’d handed Tom over to her. That kind of unladylike reaction would never do. She must restrain her feelings. She drew a deep, fortifying breath.
Picking up her notebook, she went back to her writing. She worked in silence, watching the colorful scene and doing her best to capture it in words. The loggers seemed to be unaware of the danger as they leapt from log to log, fastening ropes or chains, pushing, shoving and rolling logs wherever they could get them to move.
As far as she could see upstream, past the new iron toll bridge, more logs were floating toward the jammed-up mess of unmoving logs below the cliff where she sat.
On the cliff across the river, she saw Mr. Sargent with his camera perched upon a tripod, taking pictures of it all. By tomorrow, he’d have a sign in the window of his shop on Bench Street, advertising copies for sale. Tourists would buy them to show all their friends to prove they’d been here for this exciting event.
Mr. Sargent would bring some pictures to Uncle Joe for the special edition of the paper. Cash was scarce in their little town, and businessmen often bartered services. In return her uncle would print his advertisement listing copies of the pictures for sale.
The train whistled loudly only a half block behind them. Carrie enjoyed the awe on Tom’s face as he turned to watch the noisy iron beast pull into town and stop at the depot.
Someday soon, when she could afford it, she’d buy them both a ticket for a trip to St. Paul and back. She knew he’d treasure that experience and swallowed painfully as she realized how little pleasure and adventure her brother had in his life. No wonder he sought excitement by climbing out on the logjam. This scene in front of them was probably an event of a lifetime. At least he’ll have firsthand stories about this to tell his grandchildren someday, she thought.
Steam hissed loudly as the conductor braked and slowed the train to a stop beside the depot. A few minutes later the passengers stepped out and hurried down the gravel road toward the river to see the logjam, while the train’s crew worked to replenish the wood and water supplies.
“Well, I guess we don’t have to doubt that word of the jam has reached St. Paul,” Carrie said wryly. “I’ll bet the stationmaster sent a telegram as soon as he heard it.”
Martha nodded. “He loves to be the first to spread the news of anything that happens.”
After watching the tourists crowd the banks near them a while, Martha suggested, “Let’s get an ice cream, Carrie.”
“Could we, Carrie?” Tom’s eyes lit up and his gaze swung hopefully toward his big sister.
Carrie bit her lip, hating to disappoint him, but not wanting to spend her small cache of coins on treats. “How about we go home and make some lemonade instead? I’ll bet Auntie has some gingersnap cookies left, too.”
“I’ll buy the ice cream,” Martha insisted. “I got paid extra this week, for doing more typing work for Mr. Folsom.”
“Please, Carrie?” Tom pleaded. “I promise I’ll be really careful about staying off the logs from now on.”
“All right,” she said, giving him a little pat. “I didn’t say ‘no’ to punish you. I think the scare you got was punishment enough, don’t you?”
Following Martha down the path towards town, Tom shuddered. “You bet. And the scolding from that big logger.”
“Mr. Tellers,” Carrie corrected.
“What?” Martha asked, her eyes widening.
Carrie flushed and explained, “The big logger’s name is Mr. Tellers. He’s staying at the Falls House.”
“Aha.” Martha smiled at her as they stopped at the edge of the road and waited for a team of horses to go by.
“There’s nothing to ‘aha’ about. You know we’re not allowed to have anything to do with loggers. Besides, they’ll be gone in a few days and we’ll never see them again.”
“True. But he is a fine figure of a man, isn’t he?”
“I suppose.” They sat at a table in the confectionery.
“Well, I think he’s too big and fierce-looking,” Tom said, perching on one of the round metal chairs as though he were afraid it would break. “And strong. He picked me up and helped me across those logs like I was a feather.”
A waitress took their order for vanilla ice cream.
Carrie tried not to think about the big logger or the odd way he had made her feel when he stood over her. It was just that he was so big, she decided. At five foot ten inches, few men towered over her. Most men were intimidated by a woman taller than they were. She was used to garnering admiring glances from men while she was sitting, and having those looks change to a frown when she stood and the man saw how tall she was.
Realizing she still carried her notebook in her hand, Carrie tucked it away inside her reticule. As she straightened, she saw a young man walk in. He was well dressed in an expensive-looking vest and coat. Taking a seat at a table along the wall, he smiled at them.
Carrie hurriedly dropped her glance and sipped at her water. He was probably one of the train passengers who’d come to see the excitement. The town was full of them.
The waitress brought their ice cream in tulip shaped glasses with a fresh red strawberry on top of each.
“Sorry the ice cream’s a bit soft,” she said anxiously. “Nothing stays cool long in this heat. My mister is getting more ice from the icehouse on the hill. If it’s not all right, he’ll freeze a new batch soon as he brings the ice. I’ve got the custard and cream already in the ice cream freezer, ready for him to add the ice and salt and turn the handle.”
“I’m sure this will be fine,” Martha said, smiling at her and handing her some coins.
“Mmm, it’s good, isn’t it?” Tom said, dipping up a big spoonful.
“Delicious,” Carrie agreed, savoring the sweet creamy treat as it melted on her tongue.
The waitress smiled and went to wait on the young man. “Don’t look up, now,” Martha said. “But that man was watching us.”
“I know. He’s probably a tourist. Ignore him.”
“He’s talking to the waitress now.”
“Honestly, Martha.”
“All right, I’ll mind my own business. But she looked our way like he’d asked about us,” Martha said with a knowing smirk. At that, Carrie barely managed to keep her eyes from straying.
They ate their ice cream while listening to Tom excitedly rave on about the logjam.
“I wonder how long it’ll take them to break it up this time?” he said.
“I don’t know. But while it lasts, we’re going to be very busy helping Aunt Louise, because there will be extra people staying at the Falls House. So, please don’t run off to play until all your chores are done, all right?”
“Yes’m,” Tom said, looking crestfallen.
Carrie felt mean to request that of him. He was only twelve, after all, however much he wanted to be thought of as grown up, and his face reflected how hard obeying her was for him. “I’ll try to squeeze out an extra copper for an ice cream next Saturday,” she promised.
His thin face brightened. “Really, Sis?”
She patted his hand. “Really. Extra tourists mean extra money for Aunt Louise, so she’ll pay me a little extra, too.”
“So the logjam is a good thing?”
“That it is. A wonderful Godsend for our little village. It’ll bring extra work and money for a lot of people here.”
“This jam may be a good thing for you and your town, Miss Banks,” a deep voice said behind them. “But it’s costing us lumbermen a pretty penny. In fact, if we can’t break it up fast, it’ll ruin a lot of us.”
“Mr. Tellers,” Carrie exclaimed, turning to see him standing over her. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I gathered that.”
She stared at the big man who was frowning at her. “I’m sorry I offended you,” she managed to say.
He stared back and didn’t answer. Was he angry at what she’d said? What was he thinking?
He was making her nervous standing there as though he’d come to see her. Had he?
She swallowed the last spoonful of the sweet cream and asked, “Did you want something of me, Mr. Tellers?”
Nodding, he said, “Will. Call me Will.
“Oh, all right...Will.” She chewed her lip and waited for him to continue. Surely that wasn’t what he wanted.
“The livery stable is closed ’cause it’s Sunday. I thought you might know where I could find the man who runs it? I need to rent more teams of horses to help pull logs.”
Carrie sighed with relief and nodded. He only wanted information. “He lives in the third white house at the end of the street. It has a picket fence around the yard in front.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll see you at supper.” He turned and strode out.
The well-dressed man at the next table got up, tossed some coins on the table and hurried after Will.
Martha stared after them, eyes wide. As the screen door slammed, she giggled.
“What did Mr. Tellers mean, ‘I’ll see you at supper’?” she asked. “That sounds like a date. And he said, ‘Call me Will.’ I think he likes you.”
“Nonsense. I told you, he’s staying at the Falls House,” Carrie said. “I waited table on him and all the other men there. So naturally he assumes I’ll be there to wait on him again tonight.”
“Oh,” Martha said, sounding disappointed.
“We’d better get going. You go on ahead to help Aunt Louise, Tom. I’ll be along as soon as I give my notes on the logjam to Uncle Joe for his special edition. Thanks again for treating us to ice cream, Martha.”
They went back outside. Martha waved and went up the hill toward her home. Tom hurried down the street to the Falls House, where Carrie noticed extra people already gathered on the porch, enjoying the fine afternoon weather.
She stopped at the newspaper office, and stepped inside the building, trying to adjust her eyes to the dimness indoors after the bright sunlight outside.
“There you are, Carrie,” Uncle Joe said gruffly. “I’m waiting for your notes.”
Carrie pulled her tablet from her reticule. As she did so, she noticed for the first time the big lumberjack leaning against the counter, watching her.
“Oh,” she gasped, stepping back. “Mr. Tellers. What are you doing here? I—I mean I thought you went looking for the owner of the livery stable.”
“I’m going there, next. I just stopped on my way to place an ad for more help—horses and men,” he growled. “I have to do my share to help the local economy.”
She blushed at his reference to her earlier comment on the logjam being good for their little town. “I’m sorry I spoke without regard for your feelings, Mr. Tellers. It was selfish and thoughtless of me to say that,” she said stiffly.
She truly was ashamed of her bad manners. She’d certainly been raised to be nice to everyone, whether they were just passing through town or someone she dealt with every day. Why did he raise such contrary emotions in her?
A smile split his stubbled face and she noticed his strong, even white teeth. “Why, that’s nice of you to admit, Miss Banks.” He turned back to Joe. “That ad will run tomorrow for sure?”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll set the type up myself and the paper will be on the street in the morning. I’m sure you’ll be getting help fast as the word spreads around. There are plenty of hands who could use some extra cash here.”
“Good.” Will hesitated, then turned to Carrie and said, “I’m sorry I scolded your boy for being on the logs. But a six-year-old just drowned upriver, near the Kettle River rapids.”
Carrie gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, how awful.”
“Yes, it was. They haven’t even found his body yet. I sure don’t want any more kids dying because of this jam. It’s dangerous enough for the men who have to work out there. No need for the kids taking extra chances out there just playing around.”
“I understand. I’ll warn other people and keep a closer eye on Tom.”
“Thanks.” He smiled at Carrie, touched his woolen cap with one hand and walked out.
She watched him go, admiring his long strides as he hurried down the boardwalk toward the livery owner’s house.
“Stop gawking after the man and give me your notes,” Uncle Joe said gruffly.
“Yes, of course.” Carrie blushed and turned back to her uncle. “Here they are. I hope that’s enough.”
“It’ll have to do. I can’t have that blabbermouth across the river getting a special edition on the street before I do. Even if I have to work all night.”
Carrie smiled at his reference to his rival businessman across the bridge. The two towns divided by the river seemed to spawn rivalry and she was sure they enjoyed printing jibes at each other in their papers. “Hank won’t be back to help until morning?”
“No.”
“Well, I wish I could stay to help, but you know Aunt Louise needs me. The jam has brought her extra boarders already and I’m sure more will arrive on the train in the morning.”
“Go ahead. I’ll manage.”
As Carrie walked back to the Falls House, she saw Will at the end of the street, just opening the gate in the picket fence of the house she’d directed him to earlier. She couldn’t help thinking Martha was right. He was one nice looking man, even if he was a forbidden logger.