“I wanted to be absolutely certain I gave you correct information last night,” said Francie’s father, “so I asked Lewis about individuals owning sequoia trees.” He took a sip of his after-dinner coffee and looked at Francie. “I assume Charlie is familiar with the subject as well?”
Francie stared at her father. In honor of Charlie’s visit she’d also been allowed to have coffee, well laced with thick cream. Now she clattered the cup back onto its saucer with trembling fingers. “You didn’t tell Mr. Granger about Carrie’s tree, did you?” She felt as if the floor had suddenly given way beneath her chair.
Her father frowned. “Of course. I asked about the trees and the land on the north side of the basin. I told him my daughter had discovered an especially big tree up by Connor’s Pass where the old hermit used to live and had the strange idea that Old Robert owned the land rather than the lumber company. I asked if that was even possible.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “What did he say, Uncle James?” He glanced at Francie and then away again.
Francie’s father stroked his mustache with his finger. “He took me into the lumber company office and asked me to show him on the map where the tree was.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know exactly, but from the entry in the diary—”
“You read Carrie’s diary?” Charlie’s eyebrows went up.
“Frances read me the one entry,” Francie’s father said stiffly. “I assume the tree must be up by Connor’s Pass, since that’s all unexplored land. But,” and he tapped his finger on the white tablecloth, “my answer to you yesterday was correct. The lumber company owns all that land. Old Robert may have wished to deed the tree to Carrie, but it wasn’t his to give away.”
“But what about the will?” Francie gripped the tabletop so hard her fingers turned white. “Carrie saw the will!”
Francie’s father reached out and touched Francie’s hand. “He may not have understood the law, Frances,” he said. “Everyone said he wasn’t always right in his head. He may have thought since he lived on the land, he owned it. But Mr. Granger assured me that wasn’t the case here.”
Francie held her breath, trying not to cry. She looked at her father’s hand covering her own. A question was buzzing in her brain, one she didn’t want to know the answer to, but she had to ask it anyway. “Papa,” she began in a small voice, “did Mr. Granger seem interested in the tree?”
“The discovery of a tree that big is always of interest to the lumber company, Frances,” her father said. “Because of the depression, Connor isn’t as solid as he’d like to be. The more wood he cuts, the more he’ll sell, and the stronger the company will become. Any new stands are of help.” He patted her hand and then began folding up his napkin.
Francie stood up. “He can’t cut that tree, Father.” She was surprised to find her voice almost steady. “That’s Carrie’s tree. She promised to protect it.”
Her father sighed. “Frances, I know you love the trees, and I know Carrie did. But we can’t let our personal preference stand in the way of human progress. The decision to cut the tree will be made by Granger.”
“James, is there no possibility they’ll leave it alone?” Francie’s mother put her hand to her mouth, and Francie knew it was to hide the quivering of her lips. “If Carrie loved it . . .”
“Now don’t you start, Mary.” Francie’s father stood up. “It’s enough to drive a man mad, all these softhearted women. What do you think, Charlie?”
Charlie looked at him and swallowed nervously. “I guess I just don’t know, sir. It would be a great challenge to bring it down in one piece, and I think we’ve got the manpower to do it.” Then his eyes met Francie’s. “But it would be a shame, too, in a way. It’s so old.”
“Think of how many years it’s been growing, Papa.” Francie rushed around the table and grabbed his arm. “That stump had more than three thousand rings. This one is probably even older than that. Can’t you stop them? Can’t you do this for Carrie? So we have something to remember her by?”
Francie’s father closed his eyes and his face looked suddenly gray and old. “I don’t want to remember,” he mumbled. He tried to pull away, but Francie was holding onto his arm. He looked down, but instead of brushing her hand away as she’d expected, he covered it with his own. They stood there in silence for a moment. Then, gently, he lifted her hand, touched it to his cheek, and then let go and walked out of the room. Francie waited, looking at her mother’s stricken face and Charlie’s sad eyes. In a moment the front door opened and then closed again.
“He’s going back to the hotel,” Francie’s mother said. She sighed and began clearing away the dishes. She looked up at Francie. “Don’t be angry with him. You don’t understand how he feels.”
Francie shook her head. “You’re right. I don’t. I miss Carrie, too, but how can he just—”
Charlie stood up, interrupting her. “I’ve got to go, Francie. Walk me to the door?”
Francie looked at him and then at her mother, standing with bowed head and a pot in her hand. She bit her lip. “Of course,” she said.
When they were out in the hall, he turned to her. “Let it be, Francie. You can’t change them. Only time will do that.”
“It’s been six years!” Francie whispered, but it felt as if she were shouting. “How much longer will it take?” Tears that had been burning in her eyes since her father’s announcement spilled over. “And now he won’t even fight to save Carrie’s tree.”
“We don’t know if it’s Carrie’s tree,” Charlie murmured. He touched her shoulder. “And maybe Granger won’t bother with it. There’s plenty of logging still left to do on the east side.”
“It doesn’t matter whether Carrie owns it.” Francie almost shouted, and Charlie put his finger on her lips. “It doesn’t matter,” she began again more softly. “Why can’t he fight anyway? For me! Why can’t he fight for what I want?”
She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hands. “And you think Granger won’t bother with that tree? Ha! The chances of that are about the same as me riding the flume. You said it yourself when we found it. You just wait, Charlie Spencer. Granger will want that tree. He’ll be angling to cut it down as soon as possible. And then there won’t be anything of Carrie left in the entire world.” She put her hands over her face and sobbed.
“Francie?” Charlie’s voice was hesitant. She felt his hand on her shoulder tighten, and then he sighed. He put his arms around her, holding her as if she were made out of glass and might break at the least movement. “Just cry it out, cuz,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s okay.”