Elaine Coffman - [MacKinnon 04] (35 page)

“I know, and I want to get a grip on this thing. I’ve been
thinking we should start shipping venture cargoes—we’ve got the lumber to do
it, or we will have, as soon as that new saw is installed.”

“Venture cargoes? You mean to sell in cities where we have
no agents?”

“If we get to the root of the trouble we’ve been having,
that’s what I mean.”

“And if we don’t find a buyer?”

“We unload it, divide it into smaller lots, and auction it
off.”

“As soon as we get to the bottom of these accidents,” Big
John said.

“Exactly,” said Adrian.

“Do you think Matt Greenwood should still be a suspect? Burt
Haywood has been keeping an eye on him, but he’s come up with nothing. Maybe we
should just fire him and see if the accidents stop.”

“I told you before, I can’t fire a man on suspicion alone,”
Adrian said. “He could be innocent. He did discover that cut cable in the
logging lines.”

“And he could have done it to make himself look good, to
throw us off,” said Big John.

“Yes,” Adrian said, contemplating. “He could.” Adrian came
to his feet. “We’ll put another man on him; with two watching, maybe they’ll
come across something.”

“Who do you suggest?”

“Put Mose Whittaker on the same crew with Greenwood. Tell
Mose to keep him in his sight. Watch everything the bastard does. If he so much
as pisses crooked, I want to know about it.”

It was past ten o’clock when Adrian came home. Maggie was
waiting for him in a dressing gown of saffron velvet that set fire to her hair.

She looked up when he walked into the bedroom, and saw the
troubled expression on his face. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“You look worried.”

“I’m tired,” he said.

“Come into the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll fix you something
to eat.”

“I ate with the men at camp.”

“Adrian, you’ve got to slow down. You’re killing yourself.”

He gave her a cold look. “Did you wait up to tell me that?
If you did, you should have saved yourself the trouble.”

“I waited up because I want to talk to you.”

“Not tonight, Maggie. I’m too tired.”

She winced at his indifference, longing for the softness she
had seen the other night. “I ken how you feel about me, Adrian, but I’m not
asking for me. It’s Ainsley.”

“What about her? Is it the fever again?”

“No, she’s fine in that regard.” Maggie looked at him, her
eyes never leaving his face. “I’m worried about her not talking.”

Adrian was watching her, but he didn’t say anything. “She
hasn’t talked for some time. Why all the concern now?”

“Because I wrote Dr. Farnsworth about it. I just received
his reply. He said it happens sometimes after a child has suffered some illness
or trauma. Perhaps it was too much, losing her father, then my leaving her—all
of that added to her own illness. It was much harder on Ainsley when Bruce
died, because she was too young. She didna understand death. She wandered
around the house for weeks calling, ‘Papa, Papa.’”

“Did Farnsworth say what could be done? Did he have any
suggestions?”

“No. He said sometimes this lasts only a short while, in
other cases he’s heard of it going on indefinitely.”

“If Farnsworth can give you no help, what makes you think I
can?”

“She seemed to respond to you during her illness, you ken.
She…”

“She didn’t respond, she thought I was her father.”

“There had to be something about you that made her feel you
fit the role. I ken it’s only a gamble, but it’s the only thing I’ve got. I was
hoping you might spend some time with her, to see if she will respond to
you…perhaps then, she might talk.”

He frowned. “I don’t have time, Maggie. There are
problems—big problems at the mill. Everything I have worked for is at stake.
You don’t understand.”

“No,” she said softly, “you are right. I dinna understand. I
dinna ken how anything could be more important than a child.”

Maggie spent the next morning in the kitchen with Barrie,
Fletcher, and Ainsley. They were making gingerbread men. Molly helped Barrie
mix the dough, Fletcher cut them out, Maggie and Ainsley put on the raisin
faces and buttons, while Maude was in charge of baking.

Ainsley was standing in a chair, taking the raisins that
Maggie handed her and pressing them into the gingerbread figures Fletcher had
so carefully cut.

“Where will you put the nose?” Maggie asked.

Ainsley’s chubby finger came out to point, then she looked
at Maggie for approval.

“How many buttons on his coat?”

Ainsley held up three fingers.

“And how many gingerbread men are you going to eat, you
little scamp?” Maggie asked, grabbing her and giving her a profusion of kisses.
Ainsley giggled. “Come on,” Maggie said, “tell me how many you’re going to
eat.”

Ainsley held up ten fingers and giggled.

“No fingers,” Maggie said, closing her eyes. “I canna see
your fingers, so you will have to tell me.”

Ainsley looked at Barrie.

“She dinna want to,” Barrie said.

Maggie opened her eyes. “Why?” she asked Barrie. “Why
doesn’t she want to?”

“She canna,” Barrie said.

Maggie looked at Maude, but Maude dabbed at her eye with the
corner of her apron and looked away.

Everyone teased Ainsley after the cookies were baked because
she ate only three cookies, not ten. While Maude took Barrie and Fletcher into
the bedroom they had converted into a schoolroom for their studies, Maggie
washed the crumbs from Ainsley’s face and hands and, taking her by the hand,
led her to her room, putting her down for a nap.

She gave her a kiss, and had almost reached the door when
Ainsley made a whining sound. Turning, Maggie saw her point at her, then point
at the bed. “What?” Maggie said. “Do you want me to read to you?”

Ainsley shook her head, pointing at the bed again.

“Do you want me to lie down beside you?”

Ainsley nodded.

Maggie lay beside her, stroking the long, rosy curls until
Ainsley’s eyes drifted closed and she had fallen asleep.

After she left Ainsley’s room, Maggie went to her own room,
threw herself across her bed, burying her face in the pillow, and cried. She
had always thought herself a strong woman, capable of handling whatever came
her way, but she had too many things weighing her down at once. She couldn’t
deal with the problems between herself and Adrian and deal with Ainsley and the
gloomy future that awaited herself and her children back in Scotland.

She cried herself to sleep. It was dark when she awoke. She
went downstairs.

“Do you want some soup?” Molly asked.

“What time is it? Did I sleep through dinner?”

“Dinner and the dishes,” Molly said.

Maggie looked around the room, still feeling a bit groggy.
“Where is everyone?”

“Maude is getting Barrie and Fletcher to bed.”

“Ainsley?”

“Adrian took her up to her room after dinner.”

Maggie looked astounded. “Adrian?”

“That’s what I said, and I didn’t stutter. Now, do you want
that soup or not?”

“In a minute,” Maggie said, and left the room.

When she reached Ainsley’s room, the door was ajar. She
stood in the hallway looking inside. Adrian was tucking her in. He started to
leave, and Ainsley whined. Adrian turned toward her, and she pointed to her
doll sitting on the chair.

“You want the doll?”

She nodded.

He picked up the doll and handed it to her. “What’s the
doll’s name?”

Ainsley shook her head. “She doesn’t have a name?” Ainsley
nodded.

“She does have a name?”

Ainsley nodded.

“She has a name, but you won’t tell me?”

Ainsley looked at him for a moment, as if she were
considering something. Then she pointed to the curtains at the window.

“You want the window open?”

She shook her head and held up her doll, then pointed at the
window.

“You want me to put the doll on the window?”

Ainsley looked really frustrated now. She shook her head and
pointed at the doll, then crawling across her bed, she picked up the lace
curtain and waved it.

“Lace?” Adrian said.

Ainsley nodded and pointed at her doll.

“The doll’s name is Lace?”

She nodded, then shook her head.

“It is, but it isn’t,” Adrian said, then paused a moment.
“This is asinine,” he said, then staring at the little rosy-headed mite looking
at him, he sighed. “Okay, you win. I’ll play one more round. You mean the
doll’s name is something like Lace?”

Ainsley nodded.

“Ace…Base…Case…Dase—
That doesn’t make sense. E— Why am I
doing this?
Grace…”

Ainsley whined, nodding her head, pointing at her doll.

“Grace,” he said at last. “Your doll’s name is Grace?”

Ainsley nodded.

“Well, then, it’s time to tell Grace good night.” He blew
out the lamp and left the room.

“Thank you,” Maggie said when he closed the door.

He looked at her, and the mask slipped into place. “No need
to thank me. Molly and Maude had their hands full, and you looked like you
could use some sleep.” Then his face hardened. “Don’t expect me to make a habit
of it,” he said, and turned to walk away.

When Fletcher and Barrie came running into the house, they
were screaming as if banshees were after them. “Hold on now, Miss Ruckus,”
Molly said, grabbing Barrie by the collar as she streaked by. Fletcher dodged
and started up the stairs, only to find his way blocked by Maude. “I dinna see
your britches on fire, so why are you running in the house?”

“Where’s Mother?”

“I’m right here,” Maggie said from the top of the stairs.

“Come quickly,” Fletcher said. “Come and see…”

“Ainsley has a burro, and it’s the most precious thing you
ever saw. Come and see,” Barrie said.

“
I
was telling her,” Fletcher said, turning and
coming down the stairs in a hurry, his eyes hot and locked on his sister.

Barrie shrieked when he drew closer, breaking loose from
Molly and running out the front door, Fletcher dead on her heels.

“Merciful heavens,” Maggie said, rushing down the stairs and
following Maude and Molly outside. When they reached the front yard, they saw
the burro, a long-eared melee of brays and hoofs with a tufted tail and a
ruffling of hair for a mane. It was adorable, and that must have been what
Ainsley thought, for Grace had been ignominiously dumped in the dirt and was
lying on her side. Ainsley had her arms around the burro’s neck. It was then
that Maggie noticed the burro was attached to Adrian by a length of rope.

Maggie looked at him, a question in her eyes. “I brought it
for her. I thought maybe if she had a pet, something of her own…well…I…I
thought it might help.”

“I dinna ken what to say,” Maggie said. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t
seem to be enough.” Dropping down beside Ainsley, she said, “Do you know if
it’s a boy or a girl?”

Ainsley pointed to Barrie.

“It’s a lass,” Maude said.

“What do you suppose we should call it?” Maggie asked.

“She wants to call her Heather,” Barrie said.

“How do you know?” Maggie asked.

“Because I asked her if she wanted to call her Heather or
Hortensia, and she picked Heather.”

“I dinna say I can blame her,” Maude said, and everyone
laughed.

Molly turned her head to one side and studied Heather.
“She’s a cute little moocher.”

Maggie looked at Heather, taking in the long, brown, shaggy
coat, the way the color grew lighter at the nose and beneath the belly, only to
turn darker around her eyes, as if someone had drawn circles around them.

After a minute, Adrian said, “I’ll put her in the barn for
now. Tomorrow I’ll have one of the men build a pen for her.”

Adrian started away, and Ainsley ran after him, taking his
sleeve in her hand and giving it a yank. She pointed at herself and then at
Adrian.

“She wants to know if she can go with you,” Fletcher said.

“I know what she’s asking,” Adrian said, then, to Maggie, he
said, “She can see the burro tomorrow,” and he turned, leading the burro away.

Maggie picked Grace up and handed her to Ainsley. “Why don’t
you go give Grace something to eat? I think she’s awfully hungry. You can see
Heather tomorrow. Would you like to watch the man build her pen?”

Ainsley nodded, and taking her mother’s hand, followed her
into the house, her head turned in the direction Adrian and Heather had taken.

Maggie awoke to the most dreadful noise.

She opened one eye and heard nothing.
I must be dreaming.
She rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head.

There it was again.

With a disgruntled sigh, she climbed from the bed and went
to the window, drawing back the drape. She looked around the yard for a full
minute before the dreadful noise drew her eye toward the stable.

There in the doorway stood, or rather sat, Heather. Sitting
on her haunches, her forelegs stretched out in front of her, Heather scratched
her back against the rough planking of the stable and gave a tremendous yawn,
before letting go with another braying blast. “
Eeeee—awwwwww… Eeeee—awwwwww!
”

Maggie turned away as Maude burst into the room. “I ken
you’ve heard it then,” she said, coming to stand beside Maggie at the window.

Maggie laughed. “How could I not?”

“Aye,” Maude said, “how could you not? Wake the dead, that
one would.”

They laughed together, the two of them turning to watch
Heather come to her feet, shaking the dust from her soft coat, then taking off
to run in a zigzagging motion, braying and kicking, ears flopping and tail
swinging to and fro. “If that doesna make Ainsley talk, nothing will,” Maggie
said, falling suddenly silent, and praying with all her heart that it was so.

For the third morning in a row, Heather had everyone awake
before daylight, and for the third morning in a row, Maggie staggered down to
the kitchen earlier than usual.

Molly showed Eli into the kitchen about the same time Maggie
stumbled in. Adrian was just sitting down to his breakfast.

“The saw is down,” Eli said.

Adrian put the biscuit in his hand on his plate and looked
at Eli. “What do you mean,
down!
”

“It won’t work. We tried to crank her up this morning and
she wouldn’t come around. She’s been tampered with. Big John and Nicholson are
looking her over. Seems there are some parts missing.”

“Parts?”

Eli nodded. “That’s what Big John said.”

Adrian stood, his chair scraping across the floor. “I’ll
come with you,” he said, taking his hat and jacket from the rack.

“You gonna eat first?” Molly asked.

“No time,” Adrian said, casting an eye at Maggie, then
motioning for Eli to follow him.

“Nice to see you again, ma’am,” Eli said, nodding to Maggie.

“You coming?” Adrian asked, careful not to look at Maggie.

Maggie nodded and said, “Nice to see you, Eli,” then looked
at Molly.

Molly shrugged and said, “What about you? You have any
breakfast?”

“No,” Maggie said, “just tea.”

Molly watched her go. “At the rate everyone keeps going off
their feed around here,” she said, “I’ll soon be out of work.” Molly eyed the
food she had just cooked. “Might as well eat it myself,” she said.

And she did.

Adrian stood beside Eli as Big John and Shorty worked on the
gang saw. One of the flywheels was missing, as well as two of the vertical
blades.

“We’ll have to get another flywheel out of San Francisco,”
Big John said. “As for the blades, we’ve got plenty of those.”

“I thought we had extra flywheels,” Adrian said.

“We do. At least we did. We used two last week,” said Eli.

“Two in one week?”

“They were broken, but who’s to say they weren’t helped a
little?”

“The bastard didn’t bother to break this one,” Adrian said.
“He simply took it.”

“It isn’t easy to break a flywheel by hand,” Big John said.
“He might have started out to break it, then heard someone coming and decided
to take it with him. Probably tossed it in the river somewhere.”

“Get Mose Whittaker,” Adrian said. “I want to talk to him.”

Eli looked at Big John. Seeing their looks, Adrian said,
“Now what? Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced Mose Whittaker?”

“Almost,” Big John said. “Mose disappeared sometime during
the night.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?” asked Adrian.

“He went to bed in the bunkhouse with the rest of the men,
only when they woke up this morning, Mose wasn’t there.”

“Get some men out looking for him,” Adrian said.

“I already have,” Big John said.

Adrian went on over to the office, but the day was plagued
with misfortune. There were three injuries in the logging area, a small fire in
the sawdust pile, and later on in the day, someone found Mose Whittaker’s body
floating in the river.

* * * * *

It was a warm and sunny afternoon, rare for the time of
year. While the children played outside with Maude, watching a man called Ben
build a pen for Heather, Maggie went looking for Molly. She found her stripping
beds.

“Molly, who would you say knew as much as anybody about the
lumbering business—not someone like Big John or Eli, but someone with less
responsibility, someone who might have a little more time?”

Molly didn’t have to think. “I guess that would be that big
blond giant they call Nor.”

“The big Swede?”

“Norwegian. Nor is short for Norway.”

Maggie was heading out of the room. “Thank you,” she said.

“Hold on now. You’ve got my curiosity aroused now. What are
you up to? And don’t you go saying ‘nothing’. I know better.”

Maggie shrugged. “I dinna ken much about things here. I want
to learn something about this country, about running a mill.”

“Why?”

“Molly, I dinna know the first thing about running a mill or
the work Adrian does.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time in camp for a woman who
don’t know much about it.”

“Yes, but not in the main office. You know that. It isn’t
the same thing.”

“Then why don’t you ask…” Molly caught herself. “Oh, never
mind. Ask Nor. He’s as friendly as a basket of kittens.”

Maggie did ask Nor the very next morning. Nor was a little
shy, but agreeable. The following Sunday she slipped out of the house and met
Nor on the trail that led up to the logging area. For over two hours they
walked along the trail, Nor pointing out the different trees, and what their
lumber was good for. Once they reached the logging area, he showed her how the
trees were cut and felled. When they reached camp, he showed her the various
tools the loggers used. “I’d like to take you up to the logging area myself,
but I think it’d be better if you asked Big John to do it,” he said.

Big John took her to the logging area a few days later. It
was here, in the higher elevations where the timberbeasts worked, as the
loggers were called, that Maggie began to understand Adrian’s love for the
forest and the work that he was doing. It was quite a job to topple the tall
redwoods, get them down the mountain to the mill, then make them into lumber
and get them into the hands of the selling agents.

Men were needed for all kinds of jobs: There were fallers,
who cut the trees; and peelers, who peeled the bark away; and buckers, who
sliced the logs and split them into “shingle bolts”, to be shaved into redwood
shingles at the mill. There were choker settlers, who hooked the logs to
cables; and river pigs, who herded the logs downriver. And as always, there was
Adrian.

“Adrian works right along beside the men,” Big John said.
“One day he’s in the mill, the next day he might be cutting or felling, or
helping the bullwhackers. That’s why he gets so much out of his men. He doesn’t
ask any of them to do something he doesn’t do himself. He’s a fair man, and
honest, and he isn’t afraid to do a hard day’s work. Some of the men may not
like him, but they all respect him.”

Maggie didn’t say anything, and Big John went on. “I best be
getting you back to camp. Tomorrow I’ll take you to see the flume.”

The flume was unlike anything Maggie had ever seen. It was
nothing more than a water-filled trough used to move roughly cut wood from the
mountains down to the mill. But there were places where the flume had to cling
to walls of canyons and bridge deep ravines, like a crudely constructed Roman
aqueduct. Many times this required a grid-work of lumber that far surpassed any
bridge she had ever seen.

It was also dangerous, for logjams or water leaks could
prove disastrous, causing the entire flume to collapse. On Maggie’s third visit
to the flume, she watched a man called Jem Johnson ready himself to travel the
catwalk across a deeply scarred ravine to free the logs that had jammed in the
middle. The tension in the air was something Maggie could feel as Johnson
started up the flume, the men gathered around growing oddly quiet. Adrian, who
had been watching from Loner’s back, suddenly dismounted, calling Johnson back.
A moment later, Maggie watched breathlessly as Adrian made his way up a catwalk
no more than six inches wide, walking parallel to the flume, inching his way
forward until he was in the middle of the ravine, three hundred feet in the
air.

Maggie held her breath, watching Adrian shove the one log
that jammed the others with his foot. With a loud crack, the jammed log shifted
and the logs began to make their descent as Adrian made his way back to his
horse.

That night after dinner, Maggie found him reading the San
Francisco paper beside the fire in the library.

She crossed the room to her chair and picked up her
knitting. After a few minutes, she stopped, and the sudden silence, after so
many minutes of hearing her needles click, must have distracted Adrian, for he
glanced up.

“Why didn’t you let Johnson free the logjam today?”

“Because he has a wife who’s quite sick, and thirteen
children, back in Minnesota. He’s all that stands between them and starvation.”

“You’re a strange man, Adrian Mackinnon.”

“According to women, all men are strange.”

She laughed. “Not all, just some. But I ken you’re strange
in a different way.”

“Am I supposed to ask how?”

“Only if you’re interested in knowing.”

Adrian shrugged and returned to his paper.

“You aren’t as uncaring as you’d like me to believe,” she
said, “but you’re still too quick to anger and too slow to forgive.”

He sighed and lowered his paper. “Is that why you came in
here? To interrupt my reading with all these revelations about what is wrong
with me?”

“No, I didna. I came in here because I wanted to be with
you.”

“Well, I came in here to be alone.”

“Aye,” she said softly, “I ken.”

In contemplative silence, he watched her put away her
knitting. This woman was his wife, he was married to her, but they were like
strangers—no, worse than strangers. At least strangers would be cordial to each
other—kind, considerate—but they were none of these things. His eyes swept over
her. She was wearing blue tonight, and it suited her, for there was a bit of
melancholy to her, something that touched him, as mournful as the plaintive
song of a mourning dove. He studied her, finding it strange that he was still
having the devil of a time deciding if she was pretty—not that it mattered any,
for he found he desired her, and his desire had nothing to do with the way she
looked.

As if they had been out of focus, his eyes suddenly fixed on
Maggie, her image coming sharply into his mind. She was standing with a ball of
yarn in her hand, two knitting needles jabbed into it, pressing the yarn
against her stomach, as if she were trying to ward off pain. “You got a
bellyache?” he asked.

“No.”

“What ails you then?”

“Nothing. I just realized something that I ken I should have
realized before.”

“And what is that?”

“That you’re afraid of me.”

“Have you been filling the kerosene lamps?”

“No, why?”

“Because you must have been breathing too many fumes. It’s
addled you. I’m not afraid of you.”

She smiled. “Aye, you are, and it willna do any good to deny
it.”

“I don’t have to deny anything,” he said. “I came in here to
get some peace and quiet, and I sure can’t get it with you around.”

“Why not?”

“Because you bother the hell out of me, if you want to know
the truth.”

“How bad do I bother you, Adrian?”

He came out of the chair, tossing the paper aside as he did.
Two swift strides brought him to stand just inches away from her. “Bad enough
for me to put a stop to it.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “Show me, Adrian. Show me how you’d
put a stop to my bothering you.”

“Damn you,” he said, his hands coming out to jerk her
against him. “Damn you,” he said again, his mouth coming down hard, closing
over hers.

He broke the kiss. His breathing was rapid and rasping. “Get
out of here,” he said. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

She came up on her toes and wrapped her hands around his
neck. “I canna,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re standing on my skirt.”

Before he could say anything, before he could step away, she
brought her mouth against his and whispered, “Kiss me, Adrian. Kiss me like you
want me.”

“I do,” he said. “God help me, but I do.”

He followed her down to the floor, peeling out of his
clothes, helping her out of hers. She could smell the scent of wood shavings
and redwood on his skin. He pulled away the last bit of her clothing, then
rolled over her, covering her with his body, drawing her hands up, over her
head, holding them pinned against the floor.

“I’m no afraid of you,” she whispered.

“You should be,” he whispered back, spreading her legs apart
with his knee and fitting himself in between. Before she could reply, he drove
into her with a single thrust that made her gasp, sheathing himself as deep as
it was possible to go.

“You should have run when you had the chance, lass,” he said
softly, withdrawing and then pressing himself deeply into her again. “You’re
going to find out what happens to women who hang around places where they have
no business.”