South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (25 page)

Chapter Fifty-One

     
R
ebecca sat in the sweeping ball room and felt the morning breeze as it drifted cool through the open windows. A hard, drenching rain had fallen during the night, alleviating the heat and giving everyone in the household a well needed night’s sleep. The sound of the rain had soothed the babes and women alike. After two days of the men being gone they all needed a reprieve from worrying.

      “Poof!” Louisa blew out through her puffed cheeks, sending the babies into infectious giggles. She put the thin blanket over her face again, waited until both babies were holding their tiny breaths in anticipation and puffed her cheeks and blew out another gust. Their chuckles echoed in the big room.

      Emma returned from the kitchen with porringers filled with fine cereals and laughed along with the children. The babies were growing quickly, both laughing and finding great joy in chewing on hands and fists, their own, or anyone’s they could maneuver into their tiny mouths.

      “Loo Elgerson, I think I might have to take you home with me just to keep Ottland so happy!” Emma lifted Phillip, handed him to Rebecca and gathered up her own baby for feeding.

      It was more apparent as time went by that Ottland suffered no ill effects from his difficult birth. Whenever the babies were together it was apparent that their development was very close, though not their personalities.

      Phillip was outgoing and sometimes even silly. He was a child that found it easy to laugh and now was beginning to babble constantly in first early repetitive sounds. He grunted a loud happy snort for Louisa, a sound that he reserved for her, and she adored him. His hair grew in golden tufts, like thatches of wheat and his eyes were an intelligent, gentle brown. He was several inches taller than Ottland, a feature that surprised no one.

      Ottland was a more sober child, quick to follow a sound with a curious turn of his head. He studied new faces thoughtfully and although not shy, he could be pensive with strangers. He now mimicked Emma’s
da da
sounds, but when he began using them on his own he used them primarily to beckon Émigré, much to Roland’s dismay.

      Yet, Ottland and Roland seemed of the same mind to Emma, and to anyone who saw them together. Emma was sure it was not just the similarities in their personalities, but that Roland had cared so closely for the child after he was born. He carried the baby everywhere, speaking to him quietly, confidentially, pouring out his fears to the child. Although only an infant it was as if Ottland understood Roland in a distinctive way somehow.

      Rebecca and Emma shared their joy of motherhood, enjoying the opportunity to be together again as they had been as children. They often stayed up late into the night talking and laughing, and then one watched the children during the day while the other napped. Emma appreciated the help of a nanny while at Stavewood, but wondered if, with only one child, she would want such a thing. Rebecca had much more to do than she did what with running the estate and all, she reasoned.

      “Is this what we dreamed of, Becky?” Emma asked one evening as the women sat out on the big porch, two watchmen hovering in the yard.

      “Why do you ask?”

      “We had plenty as children, plenty of things and plenty of love.”

      “We did once, until my parents died. I wonder sometimes how they would have reacted if they knew what David was really like, if they would have wanted me to marry him back then.”

      “How could they have known?” Emma rocked slowly in the chair, Ottland asleep against her chest. “I think they believed he would make you happy.”

      “I believed it myself, briefly,” Rebecca sighed.

      “I didn’t dream so much about anything like all of this when we were kids, but I certainly did dream about the way I feel about Roland. I always wanted that.”

      “I agree,” Rebecca mused. “Stavewood is so beautiful. This entire place is so wild and wonderful, but it’s the love here that fills my heart. It’s really the love.”

      “I miss the men,” Emma exhaled.

      Timothy Elgerson tipped the driver and surveyed the town from the middle of the street. The city was bustling with trolleys and buggies. Store fronts bore bright, colored awnings and wide windows. All three men had their jackets slung over their shoulders. Unaccustomed to the southern climate, they moved into the shade of a large, busy restaurant.

      “I could do with something to drink, boys,” Timothy announced and both of his companions nodded in agreement. He spotted a friendly looking place and made his way across the thoroughfare, the others close behind.

      The three men stepped inside, into the cool dark of the busy tavern, allowing their eyes to adjust to the light. Every head turned to assess the strangers, men and women alike.

      First they noticed the big man, rugged and tanned from a lifetime of hard labor, a pleasant look about his face. He stood so much taller than most, yet he did not slouch as many do at his height. He chest was broad and strong, his hair long, the color of ripe wheat.

      The man beside him, although tall in his own right, had fine, chiseled features and an upright stance. He had an intelligent and serious look about him, and he surveyed the room intently.

      The youngest of the three was nearly as tall as the second, his hair longer than the others; shiny, smooth and dark against the shoulders of his white shirt. His complexion was warm and his features more gentle than the other two. His face was curious and open and he waited for the other men’s lead.

      Timothy nodded to several of the patrons and directed his group to a table in the far corner.

      “Evening, gentlemen.” A saucy waitress sauntered up to the table and greeted the men with a provocative smile. She was slender, her complexion a creamy rose.

      “Good evening,” Timothy responded easily.

      The men ordered food and drink and the woman smiled at them, winking at Mark, who furrowed his brow slightly.

      “She’s awfully friendly,” he remarked.

      “I would say so.” Timothy pulled a set of folded papers from his pocket and opened them onto the table.

      Mark had trouble concentrating on the task at hand while the waitress giggled with her co-worker and winked in his direction several times. He was a little bit flattered, but also thought the girl to be very forward, being that he was a complete stranger.

      “If the laws are passed,” Mark turned to listen to his father and tried to catch up on the conversation, “there will be logging restrictions all over the country. Places like Kentucky will be restricted. A lot of the land that is being cut for the lumber will belong to the government. It’s down the road a ways, but it will affect us eventually.

      “Now, that might impact where in the country men can cut, but if we handle this right it won’t shut us down. The need for the lumber will still exist and these guys here certainly aren’t going to cut it,” Timothy chuckled.

      Mark looked around the room at the other customers in the tavern. The men wore their hair short and closely shaved at the neck, very few of them in whiskers. Timothy had given up his beard some time ago, but Roland kept a goatee and moustache. Many of the men in Minnesota still kept full beards. These men wore close fitted jackets and straight slacks, sharply creased. Along the street most wore top hats and striped shirts. Mark had to agree with his father that these were city men and not like the men he knew and with whom he had spent most of his life.

      “Timothy is a logger,” he recalled his mother saying to him once as a young child. “The men in the city are finely dressed and not covered in sawdust all the time. One day we’ll go to the city and I’ll show you how fine they look.” Mark scowled. Now that he saw these men he thought they all looked a bit dandy, and he wasn’t very fond of the idea of getting haircuts all that often.

      When the three walked along the sidewalks to their hotel it was even more apparent to the boy that they didn’t fit in. But, instead of being treated like simple loggers, many of the men tipped their hats and the ladies fluttered their lashes. They might be from the country, like his mother had said, but the men in his company were plenty fine for the city, the young man thought.

Chapter Fifty-Two

    
 
T
imothy laid out his paperwork and a large map on the table in the big hotel room. Following the massive destruction of the far-ranging Minnesota fire, he had purchased what had been useless timberland, thousands of properties. Timothy Elgerson currently owned over 50,000 acres, now good woodland, as it began to have abundant regrowth and he stood on the verge of his mills becoming a substantial operation. Being a shrewd businessman, he plotted his trade carefully.

      “If the Neilson Company will commit to these lumber purchases,” he explained to his partners, “we will have to make some major changes to the landscape in the area around Stavewood. We’ll stop using the animals to haul the wood out and invest in steam donkeys. The engines will haul out the wood and then we’ll move a good part of it on the train, and less on the river. That will mean a new station here.” He indicated a location on the map north of the mill where the new train station would be located.

      Roland whistled softly. “Will we be able to meet the lumber quotas they’ll be talking about?”

      “Yes, I’m sure we can meet the lumber footage, if we put in a mill here and here.” Timothy pointed to areas along the north side of the river.

      “Pa,” Mark was sure he misunderstood his father’s plan. “You’re saying that we will build two more mills on the other side of the river and a train station on the railroad just for our mills?”

      “Exactly,” his father replied.

      “A real train station?”

      “Yep.” Timothy studied the map, the pictures of the future mills and station clear in his mind. “We’ll want to put them on the other side of the river. I still don’t want to hear the operation at Stavewood.”

      “What will the station be called?” Roland began to see the vision of the expansion in his own mind.

      “Elgerson Mill Station, of course!” Timothy smiled proudly.

      “We’ll have a real train station named after us?” Mark looked up to his father in astonishment.

      “Yes, we will.” Timothy chuckled and slapped the boy on the back.

      Mark regarded the map closely and tried to imagine a train station with the same name as his own, with men and logs and machines and engines all around it. If he were to take over the business one day it would mean much more than just running the one mill that had always been right in his own backyard. The young man swallowed hard.

      Roland stomped his boot onto the thick carpet and his heel slipped into it easily. He was freshly shaved and checked his appearance in the tall mirror. He pulled his cuffs at the wrist until his jacket fit smoothly and he left to meet the others in the dining room. Timothy was just beginning his breakfast of eggs and ham and fried tomatoes and potatoes. Roland decided he’d start with something a little lighter, beginning with just a cup of coffee. He had slept poorly and his stomach reflected his nerves. His mind kept traveling back to Minnesota with worry over Emma and the baby. He thought of the worst that could happen, and could find little rest throughout the night. The coffee was strong and hot and suited his needs perfectly.

      Mark hurried into his jacket and rushed down the stairs toward the dining room. He hadn’t heard Timothy leave the room and was certain he had overslept. He told himself that if he had, his father or Roland would have woken him, but he didn’t want to be sleeping like a kid while the men were up and beginning their day. He stopped in the doorway of the dining room and sighed in relief when he saw that Roland was just sitting down.

      “I have a very clearly outlined proposal. I can’t imagine anything that might be missing. Unless there are negotiations that I have not anticipated, we should get through this and be on the noon train home.” Timothy swabbed his nearly empty plate with a generous piece of toast.

      “I’d feel better getting home sooner rather than later,” Roland expressed.

      Timothy noticed that his foreman looked like he had suffered a restless night. He knew how the man felt. He himself had spent the night in an unfamiliar bed, far from home, and was filled with worry over his family.

     The tracks of a myriad of trains crisscrossed the yard, more rail than dirt between them, Mark noticed, as he picked his way through carefully. The buildings were haphazardly built and bits of tattered trash littered the terrain. Logs rolled slowly along in open beds on the tracks to be unloaded onto the oxen driven wagons, bigger than he had ever seen. The air was stiflingly hot and smelled of sour garbage. There were muddy puddles in the courtyard and he swatted several mosquitos away from his face and neck. The office building was cluttered and overfilled, stacks of papers piled on every surface. A plain looking secretary led them through the chaotic office to a tiny room in the back of the building where the windows were closed to the noise, capturing the sweltering air in the tiny space.

      Benjamin Neilson entered the room in a flurry. He seemed somewhat flustered as he shook the hands of the three men in his office, while trying to balance a ragged packet of stacked papers in his left hand. His jacket was rumpled and he gestured to the chairs and invited them all to sit down as he hung his hat on the teetering stand in the corner. Mark was sure he saw the man swallow hard.

      Mark sat behind his companions and listened to their negotiations. He watched as his father bargained with the man, but never veered from his plan, although he spoke of compromise and agreement. In the end Timothy Elgerson made exactly the deal he had wanted, in a firm and friendly manner.

      Mark ran his finger along his collar, where it was beginning to stick to his neck. He could not recall ever being so overheated. He took a deep breath and fought to focus on the conversation.

      Roland shifted in his dark jacket and suppressed a smile. He listened to his friend and employer discussing his business in a frank, but pleasant manner. Ben would suggest a compromise, or a larger commitment, but Tim would work the conversation to his advantage and Neilson would eventually acquiesce and surrender.

      Timothy Elgerson shook the hand of the big Norwegian, sealing his deal and assuring the man he would not regret his decision. Ben stood nearly as tall as Timothy himself, and knew in an instant that Mr. Elgerson was exactly the timberman he was seeking. Elgerson had the land, the operation and the capital investment to make a commitment, but he had something else as well. He was a man who would look another man in the eye. With Benjamin Neilson’s handshake, Timothy Elgerson was going home successful.

      “The next time we do this, boys,” Timothy put a big hand on the shoulders of each of his companions as they crossed the tracks back to the hotel, “we will be getting off the train at Elgerson Mills on our trip home!”

      Roland expressed his congratulations and Mark nodded solemnly.