MB01 - Unending Devotion (32 page)

Connell stopped at the sight of the wrath boiling in the blacksmith’s eyes. Would the people of Harrison, the men of the camps, and the residents of Clare County be willing to fight Carr? Had he been wrong to assume everyone was afraid of him?

“I brought Carr’s anger upon myself,” Connell said to both the men. “You don’t need to do this—”

“We think you did the right thing,” the smith said. “We’re in this together.”

“Anyone who threatens this camp,” Herb added, “threatens me.”

The two men didn’t back down.

The shattering of the glass window on the side of the tiny log building was followed by the crash of a chair against the hard-packed snow.

Connell raised one of the knives and then kicked the door. The force flung it open and slammed it against the wall. The usual musty odor—a lingering scent of kerosene and tobacco—swelled over him.

“Well, look what we got here, boys” came a voice from within the dusky interior.

One of the men, in the process of tearing the pages out of Herb’s tally book, paused. A half page fluttered to the floor. Another man rummaging through a spilled carton of cigars straightened.

“Get out.” Connell drew mental targets on the two men in places that would hurt but not cause death.

“We’ve been waiting for you to get back to town.” Another man stepped closer to the door, the daylight revealing his face.

“Jimmy Neil?”

The man smiled, exposing the black gap in his cracked top teeth. The smile was followed by the glint of a pistol.

“So Carr’s got you doing his dirty work now?” Connell’s body tensed. He wasn’t sure he could fling his knife into Jimmy’s hand before he pulled the trigger.

“Putting a bullet in your heart isn’t dirty work,” Jimmy sneered. “It’s chopping your body into tiny pieces and tossing them into the well that gets messy.”

“Carr can’t kill me.” At least he was gambling upon the fact that Carr wouldn’t have him murdered in broad daylight.

Connell took a step toward Jimmy, but his heart quivered with the uncertainty of how to proceed, how to actually fight against Jimmy or anyone. Sure, he’d pounded Tierney until he was nearly unconscious, but how would he fight against three men?

“We’ve got orders to take you to Carr.” Jimmy’s aim didn’t budge. “Today. Now.”

“You can tell Carr I’ve been meaning to pay him a visit.” Connell flung one of his knives toward the bouncer with a stolen cigar in his mouth. The knife came within two inches of the man’s face and sliced the cigar so that only the head remained between his lips, dribbling tobacco to the floor.

With a twang, the knife embedded into the shelves behind the man—the shelves barren of all the camp-store supplies, which were dumped across the floor.

Connell had another knife in place and ready to throw before the man could even blink.

“Let Carr know I’ll make sure he’s more than compensated for the girl.” With a flick of his wrist, he threw the next knife into the center of the tally book the other bouncer was holding, missing his fingers by a mere half inch.

The man cursed and dropped the book as if it were glowing hot metal straight from the smith’s forge.

Connell aimed the last knife at the hand Jimmy was using to hold the pistol. “Now, go on and get out of here before I decide to do a little more target practice.”

Jimmy didn’t move. His eyes narrowed on Connell.

“You heard him,” Herb bellowed. “Get out of my camp and don’t come back.”

Jimmy looked at the foreman and then the blacksmith. He lowered the pistol. “Carr doesn’t like you, McCormick.”

“You can tell him I don’t like him either.” Connell’s dad had told him to clean up the mess he’d made and to make sure he didn’t anger Carr again. But how could he sit back and let the man bully him—and anyone else who opposed him?

Why did they need to cave in to Carr’s wishes and demands? Maybe they’d somehow inadvertently given him control over their county. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t take it back from him, did it?

“And you can tell him we’re tired of him intimidating and bossing everyone around.”

Jimmy tucked his pistol into his holster. “I’ll be sure to relay your messages. They’ll make him real happy.” Something dark lurked in the man’s eyes—something that sent a shiver of trepidation through Connell.

“Then let Carr know I’ll make it my duty from here on out to make him as
happy
as I possibly can.”

Jimmy flashed a gap-toothed grin—one as cold and sharp as the angles of broken glass remaining in the windowpane. “You’re a fool, McCormick. A big fool.”

Maybe he was a fool. Maybe he was going to end up getting hurt or even killed in the process. But deep inside he could feel God shifting him away from apathy to a solid foundation where he could plant his feet and start acting like a real man.

After Jimmy and the two men were gone, Connell stepped outside and leaned against the log building. Through the layer of his cotton shirt the chinking of moss and clay was cold against the sticky sweat on his back. His legs felt weak and his fingers trembled as he sheathed his knife.

The blacksmith finally lowered his hammer and turned to Connell, his eyes alight with admiration. “You’re a good man, Boss.”

Herb’s cussing from within the van penetrated the silent gray air of the morning.

“It ain’t easy to take a stand against Carr,” the blacksmith continued. “But I’m glad to see you putting that man in his place.”

Connell wasn’t sure that he’d put Carr in his place. In fact, he probably hadn’t accomplished much of anything, except to anger Carr all the more.

One thing was certain, however. Lily would have been proud of him for not caving in to Carr’s demands, for being willing to fight against the man. He could picture her wide smile. She would have been jumping up and down with excitement at the sight of him tossing knives at Carr’s men. Her brown eyes would have lit up with passion, and she wouldn’t have been afraid to give Jimmy Neil a piece of her mind.

His gaze strayed over the stumps scattered around the camp, the tobacco-stained snow, and the frozen slop puddles. For an instant he saw the camp the way she did—the barrenness, the ugliness of the landscape, the destruction. He and his workers were like the blades of the saw, ripping through the land, cutting down everything in their path, leaving behind slashings and stumps and waste.

The devastation they were wreaking wasn’t a pretty picture. In some ways it reminded him of the way the van now looked after Carr’s men had rampaged through it.

Lily had wanted him to walk away from the business.

Everything within him had resisted.

And still did.

He couldn’t agree with her that the lumber industry was evil and worthless. It was a business like any other, and along with the many good things it was also bound to have problems. But could he do more to not only stand up and fight against Carr, but to also stand up and fight against some of the problems within the business?

Maybe there was more he and the other companies could do to help take care of the land so it didn’t look like a burned-out war zone by the time they moved on.

One pure white snowflake floated softly in front of him, followed by another and another.

He’d never been a fighter. He’d always been content to float through life.

But since the moment Lily had walked into his life, something about her had kicked him off his behind and propelled him into action.

And now that he’d started fighting, he had the feeling he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Chapter
25

L
ily swatted the edge of the basket against the spindly insect that seemed to appear out of nowhere and skitter across the surface of the table.

She pressed down until she heard the telltale crunch letting her know she’d rid the widow’s one-room apartment of another cockroach.

Holding back a cringe, she hefted the baby in one arm and used the basket to sweep the ugly rust-colored bug onto the littered floor.

“I will be praying for you, my dear.” Mrs. McCormick rose from the only chair in the room and reached for the widow.

Tears trickled down the young woman’s cheeks, and she embraced Mrs. McCormick with a fierceness that spoke of her gratefulness more than words ever could. The contents of the now empty basket were strewn across the sagging bed: packages of fresh food wrapped in brown paper, diaper cloths, and other necessary items.

After losing her husband to a sawmill accident, the widow had no money and no easy way of earning a living—especially with the responsibility of a young child. Mrs. McCormick’s gifts wouldn’t last long, but they would provide the woman with some stability until she could find a means of caring for herself and her infant.

The baby reached sticky fingers for the wide velvet laces of Lily’s bonnet—one Mrs. McCormick had loaned her. Trimmed with ostrich feathers, it was far too extravagant for Lily and out of place in the boardinghouse. But Mrs. McCormick had encouraged Lily to wear it.

Lily repositioned the baby on her hip and pressed a kiss absently against the child’s grainy hair. The sourness of the baby’s soiled diaper and clothes had seeped into her smooth deerskin gloves and the fashionable but heavy tweed jacket Mrs. McCormick had insisted she don to match another of the lovely skirts she’d loaned her.

But she didn’t mind—not when she could help alleviate the widow’s suffering—even if just for a few minutes.

“I wish we could do more for her,” Lily said as they closed the door behind them and began descending the narrow stairwell.

“I wish we could do more too,” Mrs. McCormick said wistfully, pausing to retie the big lacy ribbon under her chin.

The putridness of rotting garbage that littered the floor underneath the rickety stairs rose to gag them. Lily tried to breathe through her mouth and made an effort to hide the disgust that swirled through her stomach—especially because several small urchins at the bottom of the steps had turned wide eyes upon them and were watching every move they made.

Except for the click of their boots on the steps and the faint wail of a baby in one of the apartments, the tenement was mostly deserted and quiet.

The boardinghouses near the sawmills were common two- or three-story establishments that charged five dollars a week for room and board. But from what she’d seen, they weren’t worthy of five cents. They were poorly built, run down, and rat infested. She’d killed at least a dozen cockroaches in the widow’s sparsely furnished room. And no doubt there were hoards of bedbugs and lice as well.

The orphanages she’d grown up in had been cleaner and safer.

When Lily pushed through the front door and stepped onto the muddy street, a burst of bitter air slapped her cheek, as if reminding her that but for the kindness of Mrs. McCormick, such a building—or worse—might become home for her and Daisy.

She’d promised Daisy that she would take care of her and make things better for them. But where else would they be able to afford to go, besides a boardinghouse like one of the many along the river?

With a determined set of her shoulders, she climbed into the waiting carriage and refused to look at the dilapidated building again. She had to keep believing she could provide Daisy with a better life now. She couldn’t allow herself to think they would end up like the widow.

Mrs. McCormick followed her into the carriage and sat across from her, her eyes never once leaving the apartment complex, not even after their conveyance began rolling away. Only when they’d turned the corner and begun the short ride back to the McCormick mansion did the older woman tear her gaze away with a sigh.

“Someday I would like to have a home of refuge to help young women like her.” She smiled faintly.

Lily reached for one of the woman’s hands and squeezed it. “You’re wonderful and kind, Mrs. McCormick.”

The woman pressed her hand in return. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Someday I’d like to have a safe place for young women too,” Lily admitted. And once the words were out, she wished she could take them back. Who was she to think she’d ever have the means to provide such a place for scared and helpless women?

Mrs. McCormick didn’t scoff at her. Instead she wrapped both her hands around Lily’s. “All God needs is a willing heart. If we desire to serve Him, He can take care of the rest of the details.”

Lily was half tempted to argue with Mrs. McCormick. Surely they had to do more than have a willing heart. They had to work hard to make things happen. At least that had always been her philosophy. But something in the wise depths of Mrs. McCormick’s eyes stopped her response.

The ride home was over in a matter of minutes, and as Lily walked into the lavish home, she shrank back, overwhelmed with guilt. How could she live in this comfort and splendor—even if only for a short time—knowing that four blocks away families lived in squalor and filth?

“How can we live like this”—Lily waved her hand at the entryway into which the widow’s apartment could have easily fit—“when there are so many people who have so little?”

As the words left her lips, Lily cringed at the brashness of them. Mrs. McCormick was one of the most generous people Lily had ever met. And she certainly didn’t want to lose the woman’s favor. Even though Connell had walked out of her life, there was still part of her that clung to the hope he would see the error of his ways, change his mind, and come back to her.

The woman laid her gloves on the tall polished side table and glanced into the oval mirror that hung above it. She began unbuttoning the tight-fitting jacket that matched her striped silk visiting dress. A crease formed in the gentle contours of her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “It’s just that all winter long as I’ve traveled through the lumber camps, I’ve witnessed mile after mile of ruined forestland. And even worse, I’ve seen lives ruined by the evil and greed that the industry fosters.”

Mrs. McCormick nodded.

“I’ve seen young girls lured into prostitution. Some are even forced into it against their will.” Lily pushed aside the twinge of guilt she felt every time she thought about Frankie and the fact that she still hadn’t done anything to rescue the girl.