MB01 - Unending Devotion (4 page)

She fidgeted but refrained from rudely repositioning herself altogether, as she was tempted to do. She wasn’t in the habit of staring at or making small talk with strange men—or really any men, for that matter. At eighteen she was old enough to begin thinking about a husband and marriage and that sort of thing. But she’d always been too busy worrying about Daisy to be even the slightest bit interested in romantic involvements.

Thankfully, with Oren scaring all the men away, she hadn’t had to worry about anyone showing ongoing interest in her.

Anyway, what kind of man would be interested in her, a poor orphaned girl with no family, no money, and nothing to bring to a marriage except herself?

Connell barely lifted his eyes, as if trying to peek at her without her knowledge, and for an eternity of a second their gazes caught.

A spark lit his eyes, almost as if he were remembering their encounter of the previous evening and the draping of dirty socks they’d both worn.

An odd flush of pleasure wrapped around her middle, and she wanted to smile at the memory of how silly they’d both looked. But she shifted her gaze to the bare walls and drummed her fingers against the table. This time it was her turn to pretend nothing had transpired between them.

“Here you are.” Vera ambled back into the room holding a pannikin in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. She dropped the pint-sized tin cup to the table, and inside was the promised doughnut.

Lily lifted out the doughnut before Vera poured a thick brew of coffee into the pannikin.

“You’re a dear.” Lily lifted the cup, and out of habit she blew on the steaming liquid.

“Don’t you worry none.” Vera bustled toward Connell, sliding another doughnut out of her apron pocket. “I’ve got an extra for you too.”

Connell reached for the doughnut, but Vera pulled it back and held it out of reach. She pointed to her ruddy cheek. “You know what you owe me first.”

To Lily’s surprise, Connell grinned, leaned toward the older woman, and planted a kiss in the spot she’d touched.

Vera handed him the doughnut and then gave the round flesh in his cheek a pinch. “You’re a good boy, Connell.”

Lily smiled at Vera’s compliment. Connell was definitely no boy. His shirt stretched across his shoulders and around his thick arms. He had the rugged build of a man accustomed to cutting and hauling heavy logs. He might have earned the nickname of shanty boy, like all the other men who came north to work in the woods, but he was all man as far as she could see.

She took a sip of her coffee, only to find it was gritty and strong enough to choke a horse. She nearly dropped the pannikin on the table and couldn’t keep from sputtering into her hand.

One of Connell’s eyebrows shot up and his grin turned lopsided, as if he knew from personal experience just how awful the coffee was.

She swallowed the bitter mouthful and smiled back—a secret smile that gave her a strange sense that maybe this man had the potential to be a friend.

“Mrs. Heller sure does make the best doughnuts this side of the Tittabawasee River.” He took a bite, easily chomping half the circle.

“You’re only getting one from me this morning.” Vera wagged her finger at him. “And no amount of flattery will get you more.”

He shrugged at Lily, still grinning. “Doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

Vera pulled out the bench across from Lily, and her eyes danced from Connell’s compliment. She sidled in, bumping the table and causing coffee to slosh out of Lily’s cup.

Maybe with enough jostling, Vera would spill more and save her from having to drink it.

When she met Connell’s gaze, his eyebrow quirked again.

Lily nibbled on her doughnut and tried to stifle a smile.

Vera fished another doughnut out of her pocket, brushed off a stray potato peel, and then took a big bite—a bite that rivaled Connell’s.

“So tell me about yourself,” she said with her mouth full. Her dark hair, threaded with gray, framed her splotchy face in a frizzy disarray. The woman had likely been up since the wee hours of the morning and had already put in a full day’s worth of work. “Tell me where you’re from. And all that good stuff.”

Lily set her doughnut on the table. Where should she begin? How could she go about explaining the complexity of her past? And did Vera really care to know?

She looked into the woman’s eyes and read genuine kindness there.

“Well . . .” Lily hesitated and then opted to give the abbreviated version of her life history. “We came up from Bay City. Oren has a photography studio there.”

Vera stuffed the rest of the doughnut into her mouth and nodded at Lily to continue.

“He does good business during the winter months traveling around the camps taking pictures of shanty boys.”

“And?”

“And I help him.”

Vera brushed the crumbs off her hands and then folded them in front of her. “And . . . ?”

Lily smiled. She’d been right. She was going to like this woman. “And I’m trying to find my sister.”

Vera swallowed the last bite of doughnut but didn’t say anything.

“In her final letter to me she said she was heading north to the new lumber towns to look for work.”

“Work?” Vera’s eyes turned grave.

The ache in Lily’s heart flared to life. “She told me it wouldn’t be the kind of work I’d approve of. But apparently she’d heard girls could make a fortune during one winter season.”

Vera shook her head and pursed her lips.

“She wrote that she wanted to earn money so we could afford a place for the two of us to be together again.” Lily pressed the ball of her hand into her stomach to stave off the pain.

“Sounds like one foolish little girl.”

“I have only myself to blame.” She should have seen it coming, should have done more.

“Well, if you’re looking for her among the spawn of the devil, you’ve certainly come to the right place.”

Connell cleared his throat. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh, Mrs. Heller?”

The woman tossed him a glare that could have melted ice. “This town has less than two thousand permanent residents but over twenty taverns. And with all the sporting that goes on at almost every single one of them, I’m actually being kind in my description of this town.”

“Twenty taverns?” That was more than any of the other small lumber towns she’d been to. She’d best start visiting them right away.

“And then there’s the Stockade,” Vera lowered her voice to a hush.

The name sent a chill crawling over Lily’s skin.

“The place is on the edge of town, up on a hill, surrounded by a tall stockade fence. You can’t miss it. And it’s run by the devil himself in human flesh—James Carr.”

Connell pushed away from the table, his bench scraping against the floor. “Harrison’s like any other lumber town that’s sprung up in these parts. It’s got both the good and the bad. And that’s just the way of things.” He pulled off his wire spectacles and folded them closed.

Vera heaved a sigh and climbed back to her feet, bumping the table again and spilling more of Lily’s coffee. “I don’t like it. I wish we could do more to clean things up in this town.”

“Why can’t we?” Lily asked, pushing aside the odds. “I’m a part of the Red Ribbon Society in Bay City, and with enough publicity and pressure we got the Wolverton House to close its doors—and it was one of the bawdiest on the lower end of the Saginaw River.”

In the spring after the river drive, most of the shanty boys ended up in Bay City, often spending every last dollar of their winter earnings on drinks and women. The port city had more than its share of debauchery. If she could help fight problems there, she could do the same in Harrison.

Connell shook his head. “The Wolverton was closed because it was falling apart and had become a fire hazard. Besides, there are still dozens of other taverns along Water Street that your Red Ribbon Society won’t ever be able to close.”

“In time and with enough effort, we’ll make a difference.” Enthusiasm sprang up like a spring blossom, despite Connell’s negativity. “We can form a group here and hold meetings. We’ll make the public aware of what’s going on. And come up with a plan to help close the taverns.”

Vera paused, as if weighing Lily’s idea. “I wonder . . . maybe that’s just what we need.”

“If we try to rid the town of women, booze, and card playing,” Connell said, “the men are going to try to sneak them into the camps. And we know how much trouble that will cause.”

His words crashed into Lily, nearly knocking her from her bench. For a long moment she couldn’t speak, but then finally managed, “I don’t think I heard you right.”

He stacked up his books and tucked them under his arm. “There’s bound to be some evil in every town. It’s just a fact of life.”

She shook her head in utter disbelief and rose to her feet, her ire rising with her. “Are you telling me, Mr. McCormick, you’re unwilling to do anything about the debauchery that runs rampant in this town, that you’re content to turn a blind eye to the sin right under your nose?”

“If you were somehow able to miraculously close down all the taverns in this town, ninety-nine point nine percent of those owners would pick up and move to the next county and keep right on doing what they’re doing.”

“So why even try?”

“Exactly.”

Too bad he’d missed the sarcasm in her voice. She thumped her fingers against the table in rhythm to the angry thudding of her heartbeat. “Your philosophy appalls me.”

“I’m sorry. But I’m just explaining the reality of the situation.”

“Well then, please don’t say any more.” She picked up the doughnut she’d hardly touched. She’d save it for Oren. “There may always be sin and evil, but that doesn’t mean God wants us to sit back and turn a blind eye to the problems.”

“Amen,” Vera said.

“I, for one, refuse to give up hope that I can do my part to make the world a better place.” Lily glanced to the big window across the dining room that overlooked Main Street. Where would she start her efforts?

Of course, she wouldn’t neglect the work she had with Oren in the darkroom and all the pictures that still needed developing. But first chance she had, she’d begin her crusade to find Daisy. And in the process, she’d do everything she could to clean up Harrison.

How could she do anything less?

She squared her shoulders and shot Connell a look she hoped contained the contempt she felt toward his attitude.

“My sister is out in the middle of all that evil somewhere. And every night I get down on my knees and pray that it will be the last one she has to spend in her living hell.”

Chapter
3

C
onnell blew a frustrated breath and leaned back in his chair. Perched on two legs, the old hickory creaked under his one hundred eighty-five pounds. He stared at the sheets of figures spread across his rough-board desk.

None of his three camps was cutting and hauling the number of logs he needed them to. With the newest narrow-gauge track they’d laid last summer to the farthest camp, they should have an increase of at least fifteen percent over last winter.

But the figures weren’t adding up. In fact, he’d computed them enough times to know the camps were hauling less than last winter at this exact date.

He glanced at the wall to the large calendar, the only decoration in his sparsely furnished second-story office. He read through the familiar words printed across the top of the sheet in big black letters:

MCCORMICK LUMBER CO

Dealer in Pine Lumber, Logs, Laths, Shingles & Salt

Sixth & Water St., Bay City

He’d already drawn
X
’s across the first ten days of January, which meant it wouldn’t be long before Dad or his brother, Tierney, came up from Bay City to check on his progress. He never knew when one of them would show up. Neither had made the trek into the woods since before Thanksgiving, and Dad would be ready for an update by now.

Connell was determined to give them the kind of report they expected—the kind that reflected just how hard he and his men were working, the kind that showed McCormick Lumber coming out ahead of all the other companies in the area.

If only he could get his numbers to add up to more . . .

Connell let the legs of his chair slam to the ground. He jumped to his feet and tossed his spectacles onto his ledgers. “What am I going to do?”

He needed to figure out a way to increase production—from all his camps. But how could he require more of the men when they were already cutting and hauling from well before sunup to after sundown?

His boots clunked against the floor as he paced to the window, to the box stove, and then back to the window.

“Stop all that racket up there.” From the office below, Stuart Golden tapped a broom handle on the flimsy boards that separated one floor from the next. “Some of us have work to do around here.”

“That’s right,” Connell called with a grin. “Some of us
do
have work. So why don’t you get to it?”

Over the past two lumber seasons, Connell had rented an office above the
Harrison Herald.
As chief editor, Stuart had been willing to part with the room in an effort to sustain his weekly paper. Even if the office wasn’t fancy, it had sufficed. Not only did Connell have a private place where he could work on all the many details of his bookkeeping, but he could also conduct business with his foremen, timber cruisers, and all his other employees when they came to town to give him reports.

For all practical purposes, the office would serve as the headquarters for McCormick Lumber for the duration of their lumbering in Clare County. With all the other companies cutting logs in the area, Connell didn’t expect to be in Harrison for more than another year or two before they’d gotten everything out of the land that they needed. Based on previous statistics, he’d calculated they had exactly eighteen months before all the white pine in the area was gone.

He already had a couple of cruisers out to the north scouting for fresh tracts of pineland and reporting back to him with estimates of the number of pine trees per acre. As soon as his cruisers located valuable land that wasn’t already bought up, he’d make arrangements for McCormick Lumber to purchase it. Soon enough, he’d be busy planning for the new camps.