In her large white house in Stillwater, Will’s mother, Agatha Tellers, sat brooding over the telegram a messenger had brought her.
It was from her manager at the Shell Lake sawmill and said a fire had destroyed the mill Thursday night. They had only a small amount of insurance on it. She tucked the telegram into the pocket of her dress and considered. She must wire Will to decide whether they could afford to rebuild it.
But really, there was nothing to decide. They had to rebuild it. The local loggers and their sawmill employees had been thrown out of work and were counting on the Tellers to do so. They couldn’t let them down.
“You have a visitor, Ma’am.”
Agatha looked up to see her maid usher in a young caller. “Why, Evelyn Burns. Whatever brings you to see me?” she exclaimed, standing and taking Evelyn’s hands in hers.
“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, Mrs. Tellers. But I’ve been rather busy. But now, I just had to come.”
“What’s happened?” Agatha asked, drawing her through the front parlor and offering her a chair at the little tea table in the music parlor. She took the walnut Renaissance Revival ladies’ chair opposite her guest and nodded her order for tea to the hovering servant. The girl disappeared back to the kitchen.
“You must have heard about the logjam upriver?”
“Yes, of course. Will telegraphed to the mill here for more men and supplies to be sent to help break it.”
Evelyn nodded. “It must be a big one. He also telegraphed Papa asking for the Arcola.”
“Will thinks they need the pile-driving boats? Oh, dear, that does sound serious.” Agatha leaned back while her maid arranged the items from the tea tray on the little table. The girl retreated and Agatha poured their tea from the white china pot.
“I truly love this china,” Evelyn mused, fingering the delicate blue design on the cup her hostess set in front of her. “From England, isn’t it?”
Agatha smiled approval as she filled their cups. “Yes. It’s their Chelsea Grape pattern. My aunt sent it to me many years ago for a wedding gift.”
“How nice.” Evelyn lifted her cup and sipped her tea, raising her little finger.
Agatha pretended not to notice that Evelyn cast a glance her way to make sure she noticed the polite gesture. “Have a ginger cookie, dear,” she said.
“Thank you.” Taking a cookie from the plate, Evelyn bit into it. “These are delicious. Please give your cook my compliments.”
“Thank you, I will.” Agatha put down her cup. “Is Marvin taking the Arcola upriver, then?”
“Yes. He’s heard all the excited talk and is willing to put aside their differences in the interest of business.”
Agatha smiled her approval of that news and nibbled a ginger cookie. “That’s good. How can I help?”
“Well,” Evelyn said, casting her eyes down, “I’m worried about Will. I’ve grown quite fond of him, you know. Papa says breaking a jam can be very dangerous, as well as an exciting sight to see.”
“I’m sure it is that. But my son is very strong and capable. He’s quite able to look out for himself.”
“Oh, of course, you’re right. But so many people are taking the excursion trains to see this exciting event. There have even been articles in the Minneapolis papers.”
“Yes, I saw them,” Agatha murmured.
“I thought perhaps you’d want to go, as well, to watch your son in the center of attention?” Evelyn’s large blue eyes glanced up shyly at her.
Agatha frowned. “Well, I hadn’t thought about it. I’m not as strong as I used to be, you know. I don’t travel much anymore.” She’d been going to send a telegram to Will. But talking to him face to face about the fire might be a better idea. Should she go to see him?
“Oh, I know. That’s why I wanted to come to offer my services as your traveling companion. I’d be pleased to accompany you on the trip to Taylors Falls.”
“How nice of you to offer, Evelyn.”
“Will has been at the logging camp all winter, hasn’t he?” Evelyn kept her eyes down on her teacup.
“Yes, of course. Why?” She stared at Evelyn, wondering what the girl had up her sleeve now.
Evelyn glanced up at her. “I was only thinking that now he’s in town without proper clothes and you might want to take some to him. Surely he may have need for more than his working clothes in the town if this jam continues for very many more days. I hear Taylors Falls is full of important dignitaries who have come to see the big logjam. As one of the sawmill owners, Will might need to attend some meetings with them and need to be properly dressed.”
“I suppose you’re right about that,” Agatha said and sighed. “People do seem to judge others by their appearance.”
Evelyn nodded. “And you’ve never seen Papa’s boat in action pulling logs out of a jam, have you? So you’d get a chance to do that. Papa thinks the world of you, you know.”
Agatha felt her face heat. “Really,” she murmured. Goodness. Was it so obvious she and Marvin Burns were interested in each other? She hadn’t realized his daughter knew about them. They must be more careful not to cause talk. Of course, there was no reason they couldn’t see each other. He’d been a widower a year and she’d been a widow for ten years now.
“Yes, he does. He’s told me so.”
“I’m sure Will would enjoy seeing you again too, Evelyn, after being in those dreadful logging camps all winter.” Agatha smiled to herself, pleased at Evelyn’s interest in her son. Perhaps the efforts she’d made in the past year to match them up would pay off yet, though Will hadn’t been cooperating with her efforts. He didn’t show any interest in Evelyn or any of the other women she’d invited to dinner for him to meet. He’d been so sad since his wife and baby’s death and she didn’t know how to help him. She sighed and pulled her thoughts back to what Evelyn was saying.
“Yes. I hear the accommodations in the woods are very primitive. Not what he’s used to at all.”
“But you know Will. There’s no talking him out of going each winter. He seems to enjoy it.” Agatha shuddered delicately at the thought.
“Then you’ll consider going to Taylors Falls to see the big logjam?”
Agatha nodded. “It will be nice to see my son again. I miss him more every winter.” She sighed and sipped her tea. “I’ll telegraph him to reserve us a room there and send someone to make train reservations. How about tomorrow?”
Evelyn smiled. “Tomorrow would be perfect. I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll send a messenger with the time and pick you up in my carriage on the way to the station,” Agatha said.
“Thank you.” Evelyn rose. “You are most kind. Until to-morrow, then.”
Agatha nodded to the maid who came forward to show Evelyn out.
Yes, Agatha thought. Going to see Will was the best way. Telegrams were too public for discussing a delicate thing like family finances. The telegraph operator at both ends would know the contents and might gossip. Word would quickly spread that they were having financial difficulties. It was best to avoid talk.
* * * *
The next afternoon, Will was working on the highest point of the logjam under the new bridge across the St. Croix river. Logs stood every which way in the jam.
He was fighting discouragement. It seemed as though all their efforts were useless. Then suddenly, the force of the water behind the logs started them moving.
“It’s gonna break. We’re moving!”
Cheers rose as the men scrambled to keep their footing. The noise of the logs grinding against each other was deafening.
“Hooray! They’re moving.” The people along the bank crowded closer to the edge in excitement. This was what they’d come for, to see the end of the big jam. It was happening at last. The whole jam was moving in front of them. They yelled encouragement to the loggers working on the logs.
But as suddenly as the logs had started moving, they stopped and the cheers turned to groans.
“Oh, no. They stopped again.” Will hurried across the logs to the lower end of the jam near Angle Rock where his friend Sven was working with some more of his crew.
“Did we get many out?” he asked.
“Ya, we got a good sized haul out,” Sven said morosely. “But look at it now.” He pointed at the head of the jam. Logs were tangled about ninety feet deep. “It’s jammed in there worse than before.”
“That it is.” Will eyed the mess, his stomach churning in consternation. Only a moment ago, success had seemed in their grasp, but it had eluded them again. He raised an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow, pushing his hair back impatiently. The unseasonably hot weather wasn’t helping them any either. All of his men were letting this jam and the crowds watching them get their goat. Tempers were already short after living in close quarters all winter, and now could easily escalate from harsh words to fights and worse. He’d be lucky to finish this mess without serious injuries to some of his men.
“It’s that devilish rock’s fault,” Sven groused, staring up at the huge cliff of gray trap rock towering over their heads. “It makes the river’s bend too sharp. If we could blow up that cliff with dynamite, we could straighten out the river. That would stop these damn jams.”
“True, but we can’t do it now. Blowing up that cliff would bring tons of rock down into the river. That would block it up for sure.”
“Humph. After we get this jam cleared out, we should ask the state legislature for permission to do it. I for one am sick of having our logs jam up in this same ornery spot all the time.”
“You’re right. But removing Angle Rock would sure be a big, expensive job. Think of moving tons of smashed rock out of the river and the cost of hauling it somewhere else.”
“Ya.” Sven rubbed his jaw. “We could ask the logger’s association to share the expense.”
“Maybe, but we’re all short of money now.”
Shouts from upriver near the bridge drew their attention away from the problem of the sharp bend in the river around Angle Rock. “Now what?” Will asked, as they hurried back upriver across the logs.
“Look!” Sven yelled to him and pointed at the logs. “Those big ones sticking straight up are going to hit the bridge and take it out.”
“Oh, no. If it goes, we’ll really be in for it.” That new iron bridge had cost six thousand dollars two years ago. Will could imagine some judge telling the Loggers Association to pay to rebuild it. The new bridge was vital to the local economy as well as essential for their work of breaking the logjam. It was the only way to cross the river for many miles up or downriver. How would they get wagons full of supplies where they were needed without the bridge? They had to save the bridge or they’d all go bankrupt.
Men from all directions raced towards the bridge over logs, which were still moving a bit, as they ground their way to new positions.
“Get the saws,” Will yelled to the nearest men.
Others had had the same idea and men were already bringing saws from the camps on shore.
Will grabbed the handle at one end of a saw and Sven the other. They went to work on the huge log sticking up nearest the bridge.
“Damned shame to ruin a good one like this,” Sven grunted as he pulled and pushed on the saw.
“I hate to ruin the log, too, but we’ve no choice. If the bridge goes out, we’ll all be sued for damages. That’ll cost a heap more than the damage to a few logs.”
“Ya, I guess.” They sawed off one large log and started on another. All around them, men were doing the same until all the logs standing on end were of a length to make it under the bridge safely.
Stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow, Will glanced up to see how the other men working around him were doing.
He saw Lars Anderson coming toward him with an angry scowl on his face. Lars was his late wife Amy’s brother and still blamed him for her death. But why was Lars angry now?
“You son-of-a-bitch, Will!” Lars shouted as he came near him. “That was one of my best logs you sawed in half and ruined. You’ll pay for that.”
Lars reached Will and swung a beefy fist at him.
Will ducked and strove to keep his footing on the wet, slippery logs. Cripes, one of those logs had belonged to Lars? He’d paid no attention to the log mark, since it didn’t matter who owned the log, it had to be cut to keep it from taking out the bridge.
“Come on, Lars, you know we had no choice. We had to save the bridge,” Will shouted back as he ducked and swayed to avoid Lars’ fists.
“You chose my logs on purpose,” Lars said, panting and attempting to hit him again. “Fight me, you lily-livered coward.”
“Lars, I’m way bigger than you. I don’t want to hurt you, you’re Amy’s brother, and practically family,” Will answered, ducking another blow.
“Amy’s dead, thanks to you, so I’m not in your family anymore,” Lars roared back.
“Stop it, Lars, damn it.”
But Lars brought up his other fist and connected with Will’s face.
“Ow. That hurt, damn it, Lars.”
“Good.” Lars panted and swung again.
“You asked for it,” Will said and swung at Lars. One big fist connected fast after the other.
Lars went down across the logs like a sack of potatoes. His woolen cap hung askew over his dirty blond hair.
“He gave me no choice,” Will said defensively to Sven, who along with several others, had stopped work to watch the fight.
“I know,” Sven said, shaking his head. He leaned down to check on Lars. “He’ll be okay there on the logs until he wakes up. We’re well above water level here.”
“Yeah.” Will rubbed the back of his hand across his split lip and frowned at the blood. He ran his tongue along his lip and decided the injury wasn’t serious. “I guess one of those logs we cut was his.”
“I heard he’s pretty close to going bankrupt,” Sven said, shrugging.
“Yeah, I heard that too. But we’re all having money problems, now.”
“Worry can eat at a man until he does foolish things.”
“I suppose so.” Will frowned at a young boy skipping across the logs toward him.
Darned if it wasn’t Tom, the kid from the Falls House again. Hadn’t he told him to stay out of the loggers’ way? Darned kids never listen. The loggers had enough trouble keeping their footing on the wet logs with spiked shoes. The kid was bound to slip. He was wearing plain leather shoes. At least he wasn’t barefoot this time.
“Hey, boy, get off the logs. You wanta get hurt?”
Tom shook his head and kept on moving from log to log, waving a paper in his hand.
Angry because his order was being ignored, Will started toward the boy. “Didn’t you hear me, boy? I said, get off the logs. Nobody’s allowed out here except loggers. It’s too dangerous for you.”
Tom waved a paper at him and continued on toward him. “Will Tellers? Telegram for you, Sir.”
At Will’s nod, Tom handed him the paper.
“Thanks. Now, scoot.”
Tom quickly skipped back toward shore where a large crowd of people lined the banks, watching the men and horses at work.
Satisfied that the boy was obeying his orders, Will glanced at the telegram.
“What is it?” Sven asked. “More bad news?”
Hell’s bells. Will glanced up from the telegram. “Yah, in a way. Ma and Evelyn are coming here today. On the noon train.” He looked up at the sun to judge the time. “Only an hour from now. They want me to meet them at the depot and find them a place to stay.”
Sven snorted. “A place to stay? For Criminy’s sake, where? Every room in the area is full of tourists or reporters.”
“I know.” Will sighed. According to the table talk over dinner last night, Sven was probably right. As if he didn’t have enough problems already without womenfolk showing up to complicate things. This was probably Evelyn’s doing. Evelyn was a pushy woman. He doubted his mother would have come on her own.
By now, everyone would have heard the news about the jam. Reporters seemed to thrive on the loggers’ trouble. Even some from Europe were coming, for Pete’s sake. Hadn’t they heard of a logjam before?
Well, he didn’t have time to worry about them or the women now. They could fend for themselves if they decided to stay. Maybe they’d take a look at the jam and take the return train.
Sven yelled, “Will, another log’s gonna hit the bridge. Come on, give me a hand, here.”
Will hurried over to Sven and grabbed the end of the two-man saw and began cutting the log with him. His mind flew back to the problem of a room for his mother. Will knew she wasn’t likely to change her mind if she’d planned a lengthier visit. A more stubborn woman he’d never met.
Unless it was Carrie, the pretty waitress at the Falls House. He smiled, thinking of her long, luscious form under the prim and proper dress.
What business did a logger like him have thinking of a woman? There was no place for one in his rough and ready life. One long winter alone and she’d be screaming at him to quit going into the woods. On long winter nights in the logging camp, he’d heard enough of his men’s sorry tales of their marital troubles to know how it would be.
He shuddered at the thought of coming home every night to a formal dinner party like his mother gave. She always invited a variety of single women like Evelyn who, she insisted, should interest him. His mother never tired of trying to get him married again. One of the reasons he retreated to the woods each winter was to avoid those social affairs. In the summer, he avoided them by pleading he was too busy with work to attend.
True, he’d enjoyed going to social affairs with Amy. Life had been good for the short time they’d had together. She’d been happy to spend time alone with him, too. Of course, she’d been ill a lot during the short year they’d been married, until she died trying to give him a son. Pain squeezed his heart at the memory of her sweet face wet with tears as she labored, her lovely, long blond hair matted with sweat. He remembered the tiny red bundle she’d delivered who had never even cried. He would never forget that night as long as he lived.
A sliver of pain shot through him at the realization that he would probably never again have an ordinary life with home and family like most men.
With a vicious push to the saw to stop the painful memories, he resumed cutting the big log. Sven looked at him strangely, but he paid no attention.
A half hour later, men shouted that the Arcola had arrived.
Will hurried across the logs to the head of the jam, to make sure the workers on the boat understood what he wanted them to do with the pile driver.
He relaxed with a pleased sigh when he saw the short, squat man at the rail. Evelyn’s father, Marvin Burns, had come to captain the Arcola himself. Marvin had worked with them to break other logjams with his pile-driving boat, and he knew how to proceed.
He didn’t like Marvin, considered him a pompous fool like his brother, the doctor who’d attended his wife’s fatal confinement. Will knew it was wrong to blame the doctor for Amy’s death, or to extend that anger to Marvin. But Will couldn’t help how he felt, anymore than he knew Lars could help blaming him for Amy’s death. Because of his feelings, Will often found himself at odds with Marvin during the summer when Marvin worked in his hardware store next door to Will’s sawmill in Stillwater.
Now, Marvin was courting Will’s mother. Will was furious at that idea, though he knew his mother welcomed Marvin’s attentions. She’d been lonely since his father had died, especially since the younger children had grown up and left home and he’d started going to the woods each winter over her objections. She had a right to some happiness in her remaining years.
He had no right to object, but was finding it hard to put his personal feelings aside.
But for now, he and Marvin had to put personal matters aside in their mutual interest. The loggers needed Marvin’s help and Marvin needed the money his boat could earn helping them.
Waving and shouting greetings over the noise of the engines, Will explained the strategy he and the other men in the Loggers’ Association had discussed the night before.
Marvin signaled agreement, and Will leapt back out of the way, then turned back to watch the pile driver begin trying to pull out individual logs. Will prayed they would be able to find the key ones holding the others trapped.
He watched as the boat hooked onto a log and pulled it out to float free. Only a few of the other logs moved a little, then resettled. Again and again, they got the same small results for their efforts.
He sighed. Even with the help of the boats, he could see this would be a long, drawn-out job.
Behind him, up the side of the valley, the train whistle blew long and loud announcing the train coming into town. That sound reminded him of his mother’s arrival. He nimbly stepped from one log to another as he headed toward shore.
Nearing the riverbanks, he spotted his mother and Evelyn coming down the hill from the train depot amongst the latest crowd of tourists the train had brought. The little town was bursting at the seams with city folk from all over.
Walking awkwardly on spiked boots, he climbed the riverbank and made his way between the men, ropes and horses. His mother saw him and waved excitedly.
When Will reached them, he opened his arms to hug his mother, a large welcoming grin on his face. “Hello, Ma. It’s good to see you again.”
Agatha gave him a quick hug, then said, “Hello, Son. I’ve missed you. Oh, my, but you are dirty. And your lip is swollen and your knuckles are bloody. What happened?”
Flushing, he realized that he was hot and sweaty in his loggers’ woolen shirt and pants. He looked down at his filthy scarlet pants, dropped his hands and stepped back.
“Yeah, well, it’s hot work out there. I had a little disagreement with Lars. We had to cut one of his logs to save the bridge and he objected.”
“Amy’s brother? Oh, dear. You know how I hate fighting, especially between family members.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ma. I convinced him we had no choice. How’s everyone?”
The worst thing about staying in the woods all winter was not knowing how his younger brothers and sisters were, and knowing that if they did need him, he was too far away to help. Letters from them often took weeks to arrive. But a man couldn’t have everything.
“They’re all fine, Will. They miss you and send their love. They’re looking forward to having you home for the summer. We’re already planning a get-together and a nice dinner for the first Sunday you’re back.”
“That’s good. I’ll be happy to see them again, too.”
Evelyn was standing a bit behind his mother, a disapproving frown on her face. She looked elegant as usual in a long, plum-colored skirt and a white shirtwaist and hat. A matching silk plum parasol kept the hot sun off her delicate skin. Seeing her and his mother dressed in their stylish city clothes made Will feel very unkempt.
“Hello, Will,” Evelyn said, stepping forward. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Evelyn,” he said, nodding at her.
“I can’t believe Lars attacked you,” Evelyn said, rolling her eyes. “How uncivilized of him.”
Will shrugged, ignoring Evelyn’s haughty remark.
Evelyn frowned and continued, “Must you do this dirty work yourself? I mean, I’m sure you can hire plenty of workers to work on the logjam.”
“I always work beside the men I hire,” he returned. “I don’t expect them to do anything I wouldn’t do myself.”
“Evelyn has a point, though. You really try to do too much, son,” his mother put in.
He frowned. He knew his mother would prefer him to stay in Stillwater to run their sawmill instead of going to the woods with his men. But he liked the peacefulness of the woods and didn’t want to start that old argument again, now. He had to get rid of them so he could get back to work. Hurriedly he changed the subject.
“What are you doing here anyway? You know breaking a jam is hot, dirty and dangerous work. This is no place for ladies.”
“Why, we came to see the logjam everyone’s talking about for ourselves, of course. A whole trainload of others from the city came, so why not us? We wanted to see it, too. And my, what a sight it is.” Agatha waved a hand toward the wide expanse of tangled logs where the river should have been. “You can’t even see the water.”
Will laughed. “True. The logs are backed up for two miles upriver now and they’re packed in so tightly they’ve made their own dam. The water’s low at this time of year anyway, but what little there is has been backed up behind the jam. We’re hoping it will be enough to float the logs down-stream when we break up this mess.”
“It’s going to take a lot of water to float all these.”
“That’s for sure. We had a small haul this morning. It seemed as if the whole jam was in motion for a little while. We thought maybe it was going, but it only moved a ways and a small front section went downriver. No such luck with all the rest.” He stared glumly at the mess.
“What are they doing with the ropes?” Evelyn inquired, staring at the men pulling on one long rope.
“Oh. Well, we stretched guy lines across the river to support pulley blocks. Through those, lines are worked by the men, horses and engines to pull out the logs.”
As Will and the women turned to watch, the men tied a rope around a log sticking straight up, then hooked the other end to the horses’ harnesses. With a shout, the men drove the horses away from the riverbank. The log moved slowly out of the mess then dropped with a loud crash on top of the others.
“I see. I think,” Evelyn said, frowning delicately as she brushed away a fly with a white-gloved hand. She eyed the men straining to pull on the long ropes and hook them to another log. “Why, there must be forty men working along this one section of the river.”
“Closer to fifty, I believe,” Will said, squinting against the sun to judge the working loggers. “There are more men and horses working on it from the Wisconsin side of the river. About two hundred in all.”
“It’s quite a sight all right. But let’s get out of this hot sun and freshen up after the hot train ride. Did you reserve us a room?” Agatha asked.
“Not yet, Ma. I only got your wire a while ago, and I was working out there. Some of the logs almost took out the new bridge. If that had gone, we’d have been in for it.”
“Oh dear, that would have meant more legal trouble, wouldn’t it?” his mother said worriedly.
Will nodded glumly, eyeing the new iron toll bridge.
“A lawsuit over destroying that bridge would wipe us out. You can’t allow it to be damaged,” Agatha said.
“We’re doing our best to prevent that,” Will assured his mother.
“I’m sure you are,” Evelyn put in. “Well, what do you suggest we do? I’m dying for something cold to drink.”
Will shrugged. “Why don’t we go to the Falls House? That’s where I’m staying. I think she’s full up, but maybe the owner there knows who has some rooms left. I’m sure she’ll have some cold lemonade, as well.”
“We left our luggage at the depot.”
“That’s all right. I’ll send someone for it later.” He took his mother’s arm and led her and Evelyn carefully through the men working with ropes and horses and the crowd of tourists watching them and getting in the loggers’ way. “Damn gawkers,” he muttered darkly.
“What?” Evelyn asked.
“Nothing,” Will said.
Agatha smiled at him. “The people watching aren’t helping, are they?”
“No. But we can’t keep them away. It’s a free country, and we don’t own the riverbanks. The more the reporters write about it, the more trainloads of people come out here. Along with all the people who live around here, of course. I think half the local people are taking time off from their own work to watch us sweat.”
“You can hardly blame them for wanting to see the spectacle. It’s not a usual event, you know.”
“I know. And thank goodness for that, or we’d all go broke. It’s costing us hundreds of dollars a day in extra wages, besides all the ropes and hiring the horses.”
“Really?” His mother frowned. “That is a great deal of money. All the other log owners are helping pay the cost, aren’t they?”
Will sighed. “Yes, we’re trying to get all the log owners to pay their fair share through the Logger’s Association. But some are broke already. You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip.”
* * * *
Inside the Falls House, Carrie was enjoying a break with her friend Martha between helping Uncle Joe at the newspaper office and her supper duties helping out at the Falls House.
Carrie brought Martha a glass of cold lemonade and sat across from her at one end of the long oak dining room table. “Whew, but it’s a hot day. And humid. It’s about to rain again, isn’t it?”
“It feels like it. Where’s your aunt today?”
“Taking a nap. She’s worn out cooking for so many extra boarders and she won’t let me do much of it.”
“Oh, dear. Can’t she get more help?”
“She’s hired two extra girls to help with the cleaning and laundry, but still...”
“As usual, she insists on doing most of the cooking herself,” Martha finished. “Well, she is the best cook around.”
“And she doesn’t want to spend any more of this windfall income than she has to.” Carrie sighed. “So what’s the big news you said you’re dying to share?”
“I just came from a meeting of The Ladies’ Aid,” Martha said. “They’ve decided to do another pie and ice cream social this weekend! You know, to take advantage of all the extra people in town. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Carrie laughed. “I’m not sure why you’re so excited about that. It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”
“Oh, of course, but fun, too.”
“I seem to remember you complaining about sore feet after cutting and serving pies for hours the last time you did this.”
Martha shrugged and sipped her lemonade. “Well, yes.”
“And I’ll bet they’ve asked you to work again, haven’t they?”
“Of course. I always do. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“I suppose. Uncle Joe will likely make me do a society piece about it for his paper,” Carrie said gloomily.
“Yeah.”
“I had to write up the Anderson wedding and the dance at Franconia this week.”
“But you didn’t go to that dance.” Martha frowned.
“But I talked to several people who were there.” Carrie paused and stared at her. “How did you know I didn’t go to that dance?”
Martha blushed. “I was there. Lute Snell took me. We’ve been keeping company.”
Carrie stared at her red-faced friend. “And you didn’t tell me?”
Martha shrugged. “You knew we’ve gone driving a few times and for picnics over at the lake. Lute likes to fish and I bring a lunch.”
“Yes, I knew that. I’m happy for you, Martha.” She couldn’t help feeling a little envious of Martha’s obvious happiness in her suitor. The blush on Martha’s face told her more than fishing and eating lunch happened on those outings.
“It’s great to have some time alone, even if it is out in the countryside,” Martha said.
“I’m sure it is.” What would it be like to have some time alone with a handsome suitor? Like big, muscular Will, for instance. Carrie’s own face heated at the thought.
“Look.” Martha pointed out the front windows to some people coming across the street. “Isn’t that the big logger we saw in the ice cream shop the other day?”
Carrie turned to look. “Yes, that’s Will Tellers,” she agreed, her heartbeat speeding up at the sight of him. “He’s still rooming here.”
“Maybe he’ll ask you to the social.”
“Honestly, Martha,” Carrie scoffed. She brushed back a lock of hair that had strayed from her combs and tucked it in place. Had Martha guessed at her wayward thoughts? “The loggers are much too busy for such things. Besides, what’s the point?”
“What’s the point? He’s a good looking man and you’re single, that’s the point.”
“You know we don’t see loggers socially. As Aunt Louise says, they pop in and out of town and leave nothing but misery behind.”
Martha frowned. “He’s an owner, not just a logger.”
Carrie shrugged. “So what? He’ll be gone as soon as they finish breaking the jam.” But she couldn’t help wishing that wasn’t true.
“I wonder who the women with him are?”
“Oh, oh,” Carrie said, quickly lifting a hand to smooth her hair. “It looks like they’re coming in here.”