A Bride for Noah (20 page)

To demonstrate, she raised the plate above her head and beat another tattoo with the spoon. Wincing, Lucy covered her ears.

Sarah planted her hands on her hips. “What if they mistake that noise for a dinner bell?”

Ethel extended her neck and shouted in a voice that carried to the tops of the trees. “That's why we should talk loudly too.”

Lucy dropped her hands from her ears and turned a pleading look on Evie. “Do we have to listen to that the whole way?”

A stubborn expression settled on Ethel's features. “I came to Oregon Territory to find a husband, not get eaten by bears.” She aimed her voice at the sky and emitted a piercing cry. “Whoop! Whoop!”

Louisa erupted into peals of laughter. “That racket would certainly scare me off if I were a bear.”

The deer Evie saw that morning had been attuned to any sound that might indicate danger. Loud voices or a metallic clamor would certainly have sent him scurrying away. Perhaps cougars and bears and coyotes were equally cautious.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose it makes as much sense as anything.”

They continued their trek down the now-familiar trail to the accompaniment of Ethel's clanging spoon. Every time she shouted, “Whoop! Whoop!” Louisa laughed in her infectious way, and before long they were all chuckling and giggling as they walked. At least the time went quickly and they saw no sign of animals, ferocious or otherwise.

The afternoon temperatures rose higher than any since the Denny party first arrived at this camp. After lunch Noah joined the other men in peeling off his flannel shirt and working in his shirtsleeves. Around midday he stowed his ax with the rest of his tools and grabbed the cheat stick. In most logging camps the ink slinger might serve as a scaler also, splitting his time between record keeping and maintaining an accurate tally of the board feet of lumber the men produced. Rarely did the scaler or ink slinger pick up an ax
and work as a lumberjack but on this job, with time pressing down on them, every man was needed logging.

An hour later he finished his measurements and sat down on a stump to do the calculations. Head bent over his ledger, he was so intent on his work that he didn't notice Arthur's presence until the sound of boots on ground alerted him. He looked up to find the boss peeling off his work gloves and watching him intently.

“Well?” Arthur's expression was almost fearful. “How are we doing?”

Noah shook his head. “It's going to be close. Our production's slowed down in the past few days.”

He didn't finish the sentence, and a look at Arthur's face told him he didn't have to. Production had slowed since the ladies arrived. Not their physical presence, necessarily, though they obviously created a ruckus whenever they showed up at the cutting site. But even when they were out of view, the men worked slower and produced less than before.

“Hmm.” Arthur slapped a glove against his thigh. “We've got to push harder. I hate to do it, but we might have to break out the suns.”

Noah frowned. The suns were torches used for night work. “The men won't like that.”

“I don't like it either.” He shook his head. “Maybe if we tell them we're
considering
working at night, we won't need to.”

If the threat of working nights would kick the loggers into motion, it was worth putting up with any amount of grumbling. But extra hours meant extra pay, something Noah knew Arthur would like to avoid if he could.

Truth be told, Noah couldn't place all the blame on the men's lack of motivation, or even on Evie and the others. “One thing that's slowing us down is we're getting farther away from Elliott Bay. It takes longer to haul logs to the skidway, and that ties up the bullwhackers' time when they could be logging.”

“I've been thinking the same thing myself.” Arthur's eyes scanned the area. “Maybe we ought to leave this cutting for later in the year and head back down toward the cutover where we started. The skid trail is shorter there and there's still some good lumber.”

“Want me to go take a look around?” Noah gestured toward the logs he'd just measured. “I'm finished here.”

Arthur nodded. “Good idea. Let me know what you think.”

When the boss strode away, Noah gathered his ledger and tools and headed back down the work trail toward camp. He'd stow his things and then hike down to the bay on his way to checking out their original cutting site. He'd intended to check on Evie's supplies this morning before breakfast, but time slipped away from him. Though he felt sure Chief Seattle's people had kept their word, he'd like to be able to tell Evie he had checked.

Evie straightened, holding the heavy ax in one hand and pressing the other into the small of her back. Though she was no stranger to work, never had she felt such an ache. The pain crept from her back down her thighs until she thought her legs might give out from the strain. The weight of the ax dragged on her right arm, pulling at muscles already tortured with the unaccustomed exercise. She dropped the tool and lifted her heavy mane of hair to wipe perspiration from the back of her neck with a sleeve. Another item to add to her list for tomorrow—handkerchiefs. Or maybe a stack of linen napkins, since her dainty handkerchiefs were more for decoration than real work.

At a moan from behind, she turned to find Sarah resting in the shade of a bushy fir tree. Correction. She had collapsed on the ground, her arms thrown wide and her head obscured by the tall, thick grass. The girl had removed her shoes, and her bare feet showed beneath her skirt.

Evie crossed the glade to stand over her. A hot red flush stained her normally pale skin. Dirt smeared one cheek and her hair clung limply to her damp forehead.

Concerned, Evie knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?”

Sarah's eyes remained shut. “Yes.”

She scanned the girl's body for signs of blood. “Where?”

“Everywhere.” The word came out on a moan. “My shoulders, my arms, my legs, my feet. It all hurts.” Her eyes fluttered open. “I can't cut down one more tree. I can't.”

Lucy approached with a cup and the skin of water that Miles had refilled for them from a nearby stream. “Here. A drink will refresh you.” She opened the cap and, filling the mug, held it out toward her sister.

Sarah did not move to take it but closed her eyes again. “The only way that will refresh me is if I can swim in it.”

“All right, if you say so.”

With a shrug and a wink at Evie, Lucy held the cup over her sister's supine figure and tilted it. Cool water splashed into Sarah's face and she shot off the ground, sputtering.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded, wiping water from her eyes.

Lucy smiled sweetly. “Because you looked so warm, dear, I thought it might cool you down.” She thrust the skin and empty cup into Sarah's hands and flounced away, chuckling.

Her mouth dangling, Sarah stared after her sister. “I can't believe she did that.”

Evie tried to control her mirth and failed. She slipped an arm around Sarah's waist and gave her a hug. “You do look cooler,” she said, laughing.

Though she looked like she might voice a heated reply, Sarah held her tongue. Then she gave a reluctant smile. “Actually, I feel cooler.” Then she turned a stern countenance on Evie. “But I can't use that saw anymore today. My hands are blistered.”

She held one up for Evie's inspection. The tender skin between her thumb and forefinger was fiery red and a row of angry blisters had risen. They had realized early on that they needed to wear gloves and had sent Miles to scrounge some from the camp. He'd returned with several pairs of gloves that swallowed the ladies' dainty hands. Huge gloves were better than no gloves at all, but they did chafe. Evie's hands bore similar injuries.

“Maybe it is time to stop for the day.”

She looked toward the sky. The sun had passed directly above the clearing several hours past, and was now nearly obscured by the tall fir trees that lined the western edge. She judged the time at around four o'clock, which meant they'd been working more than six hours. No wonder they were exhausted.

“But look what we've accomplished!”

The area where she envisioned her building was almost clear of trees. True, they had all been small, but that was one reason she selected this area. Stumps still protruded knee-high from the ground, shorn of their tops and looking like spikes planted around a battleground. On the far side of the glade, Louisa and Ethel were plying their saw to the last tree that stood in the way. Lucy was dragging a felled cedar from the center of the clearing.

When they'd begun that morning, Evie would never have dreamed they could accomplish so much in a single day. The achievement was in large part due to Ethel, who had given up her loud cries of “Whoop! Whoop!” hours past. She'd labored tirelessly and with an unending good cheer, and even seemed to enjoy the work. Evie had to admit that her sturdy build was more suited to this sort of industry than Sarah's stick-thin frame.

Tree limbs rustled and Miles's call preceded him into the clearing. “We've brought the last of it.”

The man had proven absolutely worthless when it came to anything resembling physical labor. After a halfhearted attempt to fell a bush with a stalk no bigger around than Sarah's bony wrist, his
feet became tangled in the tall grass and he fell. Claiming that he had injured his shoulder in the fall, he'd insisted on “resting” in the shade for an hour while the ladies worked. At that point Evie had realized he had no intention of actually doing any real work and began assigning him a series of tasks, such as fetching gloves and filling water skins. At least he accomplished those cheerfully enough.

Miles emerged from the trees, followed by a pair of Duwamish braves carrying crates of earthenware dishes. The natives had showed up shortly after lunch. For a while Evie hoped they would pitch in and help, but they seemed content to stand off to one side and watch the work with amused stares. She'd finally given Miles the task of engaging them to carry the restaurant supplies from the beach. Here the provisions would be far less visible, and therefore safer. At least that was her hope.

“There you go, my good fellows. Right over there.” Miles, whose empty hands swung freely at his sides, nodded toward the pile of crates and bundles at the far end of the clearing, and the Indians good-naturedly followed his directions. Miles approached Evie. “The only thing left at the beach is the stove, which is far too heavy for two people to carry. We'll need to borrow the Dennys' mule before we attempt to move that.”

“Here it goes,” called Louisa.

Evie turned in time to see Ethel cup her hands around her mouth and shout, “Timber!” in an enthusiastic voice that filled the glade and rose into the sky. Grinning like a child, she said, “I just love doing that.”

The tree stood around eight feet tall. Small by lumberjack standards, but it was one of the biggest the ladies had felled. They'd learned early in the day, by trial and error, to cut the smaller branches from the bottom of the trunk to save their faces being scratched, and to give them room to work around the trunk. Now Ethel jumped up and grabbed one of the remaining branches to tug it toward the ground while Louisa plied her saw to the last bit of wood attaching
the tree to its stump. With a crack the trunk gave, and Ethel leaped out of the way as the tree fell to the grass. Evie let out a cheer that was echoed by the other ladies. Even the two Duwamish natives joined in with high-pitched victory cries.