Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (11 page)

Thank goodness Noah returned at that moment. He strode through the open doorway, his expression pensive. When he caught sight of Jason he gave a nod. “Still here, Gates?”

Evie answered in a bright voice. “I was just about to put him to work as a kitchen slave. Now that you’ve returned, he’s escaped my whip.”

Noah’s face screwed up into a good-natured grimace. “I knew I should have accepted Louisa’s offer of a cup of coffee.”

Glad for an excuse to take his leave, Jason re-buttoned his coat. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Thank you for the delicious meal. I haven’t eaten food like that in a good long while.”

“I look forward to serving you many more.”

Her gracious smile didn’t hold a trace of the sympathy he found so disturbing, though it lingered in her eyes. He dipped his head in farewell and made his escape.

Four

Tuesday, January 8, 1856

T
he sun had barely begun to rise when Jason joined a line of men making their way down the hill toward the mill. Yesterday’s rain had stopped, at least for the moment, and the air held the chill of winter. Nothing like back East, but a frigid breeze stung his cheeks. He recognized several of the men from the restaurant the night before and dipped his head in a greeting here and there. As though in deference to the early hour and those still sleeping in the houses they passed, they spoke only in whispers and not to him at all, though he did overhear the occasional phrase that let him know he was a topic of several conversations.

“…Evangeline’s last night…”

“…seems decent enough…”

Someone mentioned Michigan, and he hid a smile. He had not discussed his past last night, but the men obviously knew something about him. Probably from Yesler, which made sense. No doubt he’d been talking about the man he’d hired, describing his qualifications. Still, being the topic of discussion among strangers—even though they would soon be coworkers and hopefully friends—didn’t sit well. He valued privacy above almost everything else. That was one reason he intended to keep to himself as much as possible here in Seattle, especially where gossipmongers like Madame Garritson were concerned.

He had dropped his guard a bit with Evie last night and let the information that he was a widower slip. No doubt that tidbit would spread like wind through a forest. But unlike Madame, Evie didn’t seem the type to indulge in mean-spirited gossip.

The mill was situated at the bottom of Mill Street, directly on the shore end of the first of two piers. The
Fair Lady
lay in port at the second. In the dawning light, Jason took his bearings. A wide, muddy strip of bare land carved into the surrounding forest ran behind the buildings he had passed yesterday, and he recognized it immediately as the skids. Deep grooves bore evidence of the passage of many tons of logs, which could be sent sliding down the steep embankment to land directly into a cordoned-off area of the bay and floated into the mill. A tall smokestack belched great billowing clouds of white smoke that rose and dissipated into the rapidly lightening sky. The boiler was already going, then. He quickened his pace and passed by a handful of millworkers. He’d intended to arrive before the operation got started for the day.

He entered at the nearest end of the long mill shed and stopped to get his bearings. To his right lay the boiler, where a pair of workers were already feeding the fire with shovels full of wood chips and scrap lumber. Heat rolled toward him from that direction, a welcome relief from the cold outside. The welcome wouldn’t last. Though the sides of this shed were open to the elements, the fires and the engine and the physical effort of the work would make the men warmer than was comfortable by the end of the first hour. The smell of sweating men and milled timber that lingered in the air would intensify, and by lunchtime he’d be praying for a wind off Elliott Bay to blow through the building and cool them off.

A man on the far side of the shed caught sight of him. He said something to the fellow he was talking to and then made his way down the length of the conveyer belt. His long-legged, confident strides and the erect set to his shoulders gave evidence of his self-assurance. Henry Yesler, if Jason were to hazard a guess. He wore
his hair short, his mustache shaved, and his beard neatly combed. A liberal amount of gray colored the beard, but his dark hair had not yet surrendered to the silver touch of age.

He extended a hand when he neared and held Jason’s gaze in a direct one of his own. “That you, Gates?”

“Yes, sir.” His fingers were warm, his grip firm.

“Welcome. Sorry I didn’t make it up the hill to meet you last night. We had some trouble with the engine, and repairs took longer than expected.”

Jason tossed a glance over his shoulder toward the platform where the giant engine sat, its levers, pistons, and wheels dormant since it had not yet been started for the morning’s shift. “I should have come down to help.”

“Nah. Nothing you could have done.” He dismissed Jason’s chagrin with a grunt and then grinned. “Me either, for that matter, except hover over the mechanic and ask for an update every five minutes.”

Jason returned the grin. “I’m sure that motivated him to hurry the job along.”

“You don’t know my mechanic.” He rolled his eyes. “He let me dither for an hour or so before he snapped. Almost took my head off. Told me to go shuffle papers or something and let him work. I backed off, and he had it fixed twenty minutes later.”

His good-natured manner spoke of his confidence in the mechanic’s abilities and a healthy realization of his own tendency to brood over the men’s work. Jason made a mental note to stay out of the mechanic’s way, or at least to hover from a distance.

Yesler turned and waved down the length of the shed. “This is our operation. You’ve worked mills before, so I expect you know your way around a saw.”

Nodding, Jason inspected the equipment. The infeed deck, rollers, and head rig all looked standard from here. He’d put in his time operating every piece of equipment in the sawmill where he’d
worked back in Michigan. The work of the sawyer suited him best, actually setting and operating the primary saw. Something about watching metal teeth rip into a rough log and turn it into clean, usable timber, about being the first to inhale the odors of nature that were released when a log was opened for the first time, gave him a sense of satisfaction like none other. His job here would be to manage the men who did the physical work. Still, he intended to get his bearings by taking a hands-on approach. A man had to work with a piece of equipment before he really understood what it could do.

He nodded at Yesler. “Yes, sir, I know my way around a mill. You’ve got a nice outfit here.”

“I bought the machinery down in San Francisco and shipped it up here. No proper wharf at the time. We had to throw it overboard and float it to shore, all except the engine. Loaded that on a raft.” His head turned as he gazed around, an expression of proprietary satisfaction on his face. “Yep. It took us a while to smooth out the operation, but here we are four years later and doing great.”

“I can’t wait to get started.”

“Good.” Yesler slapped him on the back. “ ’Course, you’ll spend most of your time pushing a pencil, I’m afraid.”

He arranged his features into an expansive grimace, and Jason laughed. “That’s all right. Part of the job. Believe it or not, I enjoy the paperwork almost as much as the mill work.”

“Now, that right there proves I made a good decision in hiring you.” The man’s smile became companionable, and the last vestiges of tension fled Jason’s muscles. They were going to get along just fine.

“Before you start going over the books, I’d like you to get your hands dirty. Work with the men, let them see you know what you’re doing.” He spied someone behind Jason. “In fact, here’s somebody you need to meet first off.”

Jason turned and saw a familiar face approaching. William Townsend, the man who’d arrived at the restaurant in David Denny’s company and then left so abruptly.

“We met last night.” He extended a hand. “Good to see you, Townsend.”

The older man examined him with the same cautious gaze as the night before, and again Jason wondered about his position with Yesler. Why had he not been given the manager job?

After what seemed to be a longer-than-normal pause, the man’s grip became firmer for a second before the release. “We don’t stand on ceremony around here. Call me Will.” He grinned. “It’ll be nicer than some of the names the men have for me.”

Feeling as though he had passed some sort of test, Jason grinned in reply. “Fair enough. I’m Jason.”

Yesler jerked a nod and flashed a brief smile at each of them. “Right. Will, I’ll leave Jason in your care. Walk him around, introduce him to the men. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

He started to turn away, but Will stopped him. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but David and Noah are planning to build a blockhouse up at the end of Cherry Street.”

Yesler stopped, and his smile transformed into a grim line. “I heard. Are they going to start work this morning?”

Will nodded. “I told him this couldn’t come at a worse time, what with that shipment due by the end of next week.”

Uh-oh. Jason eyed his new boss. A tight timeline to meet a scheduled shipment meant double shifts in most mill houses. Would he forbid the men to work on the blockhouse?

He straightened and turned to face Yesler head-on. “I volunteered to help with the construction after hours. If that’s a problem—”

The man cut him off with a swift gesture. “Not a bit. I’ve been telling David and Noah and anyone else who’ll listen that my Indian friends are worried about these newcomers from the northern tribes. We’ve got to do something, and we can’t afford to wait.” He clapped Jason on the back a second time. “Glad you’re throwing your support in that corner, Jason. I’ll be putting in my share of time up there too.” He peered at them both from beneath thick eyebrows.
“ ’Course, we still have to meet that shipment. If it starts looking like we’re going to come up short, you let me know. Sooner rather than later.”

Will met his gaze without flinching. “We’ll meet the shipment. Don’t worry about that.”

His certainty boosted Jason’s confidence. If Will Townsend had anything to say about it, he believed they would.

“Good man.”

Yesler gave a curt nod and then turned on his heel and headed for a door in the corner Jason hadn’t noticed before. The wall beside it contained a large glass window, and he glimpsed a desk in a tiny dark room on the other side. The office, no doubt, with an opening so Yesler could keep an eye on the mill operations while he worked. Smart man.

When he disappeared through the door, he turned to find Will studying him through narrowed eyes. “He showed me your qualifications. You’re young to have worked all the places you have.”

It was a statement of fact, but was that a hint of doubt in his tone? Jason kept his expression impassive. The new man in an operation always had to prove himself. Didn’t bother him.

“I started young. Worked alongside my father cutting white pine when I could barely hold my end of the crosscut. Then I got a job in the mill sweeping sawdust. Water powered. As soon as I operated my first mill saw, I was hooked.” He allowed himself a smile at the memory.

The older man answered with a slow nod. “Yeah, me too. Sawing by hand’s one thing, but then you get your first taste of power, and there’s nothing else like it.”

They exchanged a smile, an expression of connection that transcended age or geography and delved the depths of shared experience. Jason relaxed. He and Will were going to get along just fine.

“C’mon. There’s Big Dog and Pelfrey. They’re the off-bearers on this shift, and they’ve been here longest. I’ll introduce you.”

He took off down the length of the mill shed, heading toward the place where the giant Jason had met at the restaurant stood talking to another man.

As they walked, he eyed Will sideways. “Pardon my asking, but you seemed to be in a hurry to get out of there last night.”

The man kept his gaze focused ahead, but did his jaw tighten? “I remembered something urgent I had to attend to at home.”

Jason didn’t believe him. If that were the truth, he would at least meet his gaze now. Will had left in a hurry the moment he’d been introduced to Kathryn. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he didn’t think he was, a look of recognition had flashed across the man’s face in the instant before his hasty departure.

“The lady who arrived on the ship with me. Have you met her before? Her name’s Kathryn Bergert.”