Rugged and Relentless (9 page)

Problem was time passed. His inquiries turned up no new information—save that the man who’d fired a shot point-blank into his brother’s chest hadn’t even been arrested—and his parents showed no signs of accepting the fact that Edward would never walk through the front door. Grief could do strange things, and, granted, his parents long ago mastered the fine art of fooling even themselves. But after a month, it became eerie.

As gently as possible, he pressed his mother for when she’d begin making arrangements for Edward’s memorial—questions she dismissed as “unnecessary” and “macabre.” Broaching the
subject with his father resulted in stern censure: “You know better.”

Another month of this sort of thing, and Jake decided even his parents couldn’t believe Edward hadn’t passed on. With the lag in time before they were informed, an entire business quarter had gone by without so much as a telegram from him. More telling, the company he’d gone to negotiate with contacted Granger Mills to implement production as based on their agreement. They had, apparently, paid a full half of the contracted fees to Mr. Edward Granger. Cash.

The day of his brother’s death, Jake noticed. He also noticed there’d been no mention of any money on his brother’s person at the time of his death, nor had any deposits been made to company accounts. The sizable sum vanished into thin air.

Dad noticed the same—he noticed anything to do with money.

Jake made the only natural assumption. Dad was making investigations of his own into Edward’s death, preparing to seek justice for the son who’d never let him down. Meanwhile, mourning would wait. There were too many unanswered questions. Too much to smear Edward’s good name when he deserved better.

Jake might have been wrong about his parents’ motivations, but that fact remained. If word got out now, people would think Edward to be a cheat, a swindler, and a violent drunk.

Not
my
older brother
. Jake clenched his teeth.
Edward truly lived by the convictions our parents pretended. If I’m forced to practice one of his virtues in order to clear his name, I’ll be patient. For now
.

     SIX     

I
t’s now or never.”
And never doesn’t cut it on my menu
. Evie smiled at the thought as she gathered her traveling bag, where she’d tucked her courage alongside the family Bible.

Train workers scuttled about, busy loading water into the steam reservoir or—and this managed to be the far more ambitious undertaking—unloading everything the women had brought with them. Although Evie and Lacey had started establishing their businesses early on, efforts had been abandoned and then redoubled. Mr. Draxley, the mine representative who’d stayed on in Hope Falls and negotiated the sale of the remaining property, helped them send supplies ahead the moment they’d hatched the new plan.

All the same, they were four women with two modest, if solid, businesses and one grand, risky venture to prepare for. That didn’t even take into account their plans for marrying and setting up their individual households.

“Packing light” wasn’t possible. “Packing light enough not to stall the train engine” seemed a noble goal, to Evie’s way of thinking. One they’d accomplished, no less, despite moments of grave misgiving when the locomotive strained up steep inclines.
Only once had their “bare necessities” caused issue—when something with the freight car holding everything snapped and caused it to wobble precariously on the tracks.

Despite dirty looks from some of the men who’d been enlisted at the last stop to transfer the “freight,” it seemed this type of thing happened often enough. That realization hadn’t settled Evie’s nerves—or stomach—much.

Evie kept a close eye on the men as they unloaded her stove this time. True, most of the men were different, but that didn’t matter. In fact, the half dozen or so who’d appeared from various places in town struck her as polite and respectful, judging by the way they tipped their hats. What mattered was …

“I thought most of the men were … gone?” She addressed this to Lacey, whose business contacts made her the expert. Evie was careful not to say “dead.” How tactless it would sound to mention the town was supposed to be as abandoned as it looked when they’d first pulled in.

“They were—they are.” Perplexed but not concerned, Lacey shrugged. “It looks as though Mr. Draxley started hiring loggers already. I mentioned to him that we’ll need several for the initial stages, though I hadn’t expected them so soon.” As she spoke, more men made appearances—each one offering a friendly wave and a smile along with a dip of his hat.

“I’ve never seen such bold workers.” Naomi gasped as one fellow threw a saucy wink her way. “Mr. Draxley will need—” She hushed as a pale fellow with a twitchy blond mustache bobbed to a stop in front of them and adjusted his spectacles.

“Oh dear, I’m late,” a reedy voice fretted. “I’m also afraid I do far better with lists, but I will strive to remember whatever it is you mention, miss.” His mustache gave another twitch just before he sank into an overblown bow more befitting a foreign dignitary. “Mr. Draxley, at your service, at all your services. I’m rather afraid I cannot deduce which name belongs to which lady, at this point, but surely that can be forgiven until proper introductions are dispensed?”

He reminds me of someone
. Evie pondered who it could be while Lacey made formal introductions.
I can’t put my finger on who though
. It tickled at the very edge of her mind but shifted away when she got close.

“Mr. Draxley, would you mind overseeing the unloading of our things? You’ll know what to do—everything is labeled either ‘mercantile,’ ‘café,’ or ‘house.’ We’ve come a long way.…”

“That’s the house, down there.” Mr. Draxley made a vague gesture toward a two-story building closest to the crumpled mountain, obviously too polite to point. “You must long to rest and refresh yourselves. Forgive me for not seeing it sooner.”

“I’d like to see my fiancé,” Cora broke in, her patience worn to a frayed edge after months of believing Braden to be dead then days of travel. “Immediately.”

“You’re overset by his experience, but I don’t believe you understand the particulars of his … condition.” The mustache twitched so rapidly Evie began to wonder when it might fall off. “Mr. Lyman wouldn’t want to be seen this way. ’Tis unseemly.”

“She asked where she could find him.” Evie kept her tone even but firm. “I should think it apparent we aren’t women to cavil at breaking a few social niceties.” She fought to keep a stern expression at the massive understatement.

“I intend to see my brother, so we’ll go together.” Lacey’s declaration brooked no argument. “If you’ll just point us to the doctor’s office, Mr. Draxley, we’d much appreciate it.”

Lips compressed into a thin line, he bobbed his head to indicate a small single-story structure close by.

“Perhaps it’s best for the two of you to go the first time,” Naomi suggested, as discreet and thoughtful as always. “It’s to be expected Braden will tire easily, and he’ll be overwhelmed to see you both. Best to keep it to family.”

At the word “family,” Mr. Draxley’s shoulders unhunched, showing him to be less compact than he seemed. “Until Miss Higgins here mentioned it, I didn’t consider the matter thoroughly,
but Miss Thompson—the other Miss Thompson, that is—does boast some sort of family tie with the Lymans.”

“Lacey certainly accepts her as a sister. Cora and Braden would be wed already if not for recent tragedy. A slight delay changes little.” Naomi soothed the man’s ruffled feathers. Something Evie foresaw would need doing quite often in the coming weeks.

“Of course! I should have seen it right away—Misses Lyman and Thompson would naturally want to see Mr. Lyman directly, after believing him dead and crossing the country to be by his side. Quite romantic of her to show such bravery.”

“Thank you, Mr. Draxley.” Evie seized the break in his monologue to end it. “It seems they’ve unloaded everything.” The real meaning behind the reminder went unspoken.
Talking doesn’t move crates, barrels, boxes, chests, sacks, nor cases to their proper homes. Overseeing and instructing your men does
.

“Excuse me for a moment while I organize things.” With another odd little bow—this one not so deep as the first—Draxley hopped to work. The moment he reached the dozen or so men, he straightened his shoulders, raised his voice, and apparently began issuing orders en masse.

The other men slid glances at each other. Eyebrows raised. Gazes shifted to where Evie and Naomi stood watching the tableau unfold. Some men shrugged and looked about to set to it. Others responded to Draxley in low tones, even going so far as to nod in their direction. It looked, Evie decided, like a mutiny about to break loose.

“What is it about men and luggage?” She huffed the question to Naomi, recalling her ire over the stove that morning. “These are big, strong men who’ll gladly swing sharp blades at massive trees threatening to crush the life from them, but a few boxes and bags inspire revolt?”
And they claim men are more logical
.

“Not to suggest anything but complete agreement with your sentiment,” Naomi murmured, eyeing the colossal heap of baggage
they’d hauled along, “but in all fairness, it’s more than a few.”

“Many hands, Naomi.” Evie grinned. “Division works wonders. But where mathematics fails to persuade, a woman has her ways.” With that smile still in place, she swept toward the men, adding the last part under her breath so only Naomi could hear her. “After this evening, Draxley will have to fire the whole lot.”

“Agreed. They lack a proper work ethic.” Naomi beamed and raised her voice as they reached everyone. “Good afternoon.”

The transformation almost stunned Evie as, to a man, they straightened up. Literally. Gone were the slouches, sullen glances, and idle hands shoved in pockets. In an instant, grins appeared, shoulders went back, and chests puffed out for all the world as though imitating prize peacocks. Expectation lit their gazes, which remained absolutely riveted on herself and Naomi.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” A rumble of voices responded with a haphazard chorus to make even the strictest schoolmarm proud.

Evie blinked. She looked at Naomi, who looked back, as disconcerted as she. They looked again at the men, just to check and see if they were all staring in the same transfixed, expectant fashion.
Yep
. She blinked again—and suspected Naomi did the same, though she couldn’t tell.
Maybe I’ll ask later
.

Dedicated workers were hard to come by—
devoted
workers almost indescribably rare. Here, before her, stood a dozen men looking at them with the sort of regard she’d only seen reserved for … supper.
Or possibly dessert, if a man harbors a sweet tooth
. Her plans to bribe them with the information that some of these boxes held what
could
be a spectacular dinner evaporated in the face of this strange turnaround. Things grew more awkward every moment they stood without speaking.
What on earth is going on here?

“We sure is glad to see ya,” one of the horde spoke up.

“No’ expectin’ the lassies yet, aye?” another added.

“Leastways, not till the seventeenth,” one man said finishing the thought so that the picture began to grow clear.

“But, as someone first mentioned, we’re mighty glad you ladies came early!” This reiteration set off a round of nods.

“You’re—you’re not loggers?” The squeak came from Naomi, but Evie almost would have believed it sprang from her thoughts.

Why wouldn’t my thoughts sound squeaky? They’d almost have to right now, since my brain’s all but screeched to a halt, and any thought worth its salt would have to be squeezed out
.…

“Most of us are loggers, some buckers, and Bob and Dodger back there”—the huge man speaking jerked a thumb over his shoulder—“are even high climbers.” Hearing his name, one waved as the spokesman completed his recitation. “But we’re timber beasts, one and all—just like you asked for in that ad of yours.”

Somewhere amid those nonsensical terms lay one simple truth Evie grasped. She hadn’t wrestled it into submission yet—most likely never would—but the fact remained fairly obvious.