Love's Story (12 page)

The mother of the deceased young man lived in town. Meredith went to visit her the next afternoon. The small woman appeared strong in spite of her grief.

“I knew when I saw the bull, something had happened to my boy.” She wrung her handkerchief. “He was such a good boy. Ever since his pa died, he took good care of me.”

“I met him once. He was a special young man.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. He talked about you that day.”

“I remember,” The older woman nodded. “You put it in the paper.” She looked at Meredith with dewy eyes. “Will you write something good about my boy?”

“Yes. I will.”

After that call, Meredith visited Francine Wiley, the woman who had birthed twin sons. Their conversation turned out to be as special as the one with the mother of the young logger who was killed. The visit with Mrs. Wiley cheered Meredith enough that she could write up two articles. The first told of the twins' progress, and the second was a touching obituary, which included how the loggers had rallied together to try to save the young man's life. Meredith delivered her stories to the newspaper editor and mailed a copy of the obituary to Asa.

Once she returned home, she thought about the three sons, and her own father came to mind. Then, his words:
“If only you'd been a boy.”

M
eredith attended the logger's funeral. It was her first time inside the Buckman's Pride small, steepled church. Though it was a sad occasion, a sense of peace washed over her, and she wished she had attended the congregation's weekly services.

Church, as a child, had been one of the few places her father had allowed her to sit up tight against him. Her father's silent strength, along with the churchgoers' loving smiles, had made it a special haven. When she became a young adult, she had accepted Christ as her Savior.

Today, as the people gathered to bid the deceased boy good-bye, death brought the loggers and town leaders together. Everyone gave a kind word to the boy's mother. After the brief service, Meredith sidled into the crowd that shuffled outside to wait for the loggers who carried the casket of the young man on his last earthbound journey.

The town cemetery was located behind the church. Meredith gave Jonah a thankful smile when he appeared next to her and offered his arm for support. The preacher said a few more words. There was a prayer, and then it was over except for a lunch hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Washington, owners of the sawmill.

Emotional exhaustion wearied Meredith, but she felt obligated to attend the lunch. The townswomen had prepared dishes that were arranged on makeshift tables outside the sawmill. The sound of the Mad River's rushing waters could be heard in the background.

Meredith felt a pat on her shoulder and whirled. “Come sit with me, dear, won't you?”

“Oh yes, Amelia. I'd love to.”

“What a nice story you wrote about that poor boy.”

“It was a hard one to write.”

“I'm sure it was.”

“Mrs. Cooper, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“You are one of the town's most affluent and well-respected women. Why do you take in boarders?”

“Because I get bored, and I enjoy cooking. Since my husband died, I've been lonely. The first boarder I took in was a favor to someone. I enjoyed myself and decided to keep on doing it.”

“I thought it was something like that.”

Folks began to settle around Meredith and Mrs. Cooper. Mrs. Bloomfield took a nearby seat, and Mrs. Washington settled in next to her. Their husbands stood with a group of men across the way.

When Meredith caught a few words of the women's conversation, her fork stopped in midair.

“Journalism in this town.”

Not wanting to be conspicuous, Meredith finished her bite, but strained her ears.

“She got herself a story at that poor young man's expense.”

“Give the people back East something to read about. As if they care.”

“Heard she rode out alone again.”

“And she lamed her horse.”

Meredith felt a squeeze on her arm and sneaked a look at Mrs. Cooper. The woman's pale face held a taut smile of reassurance.
Should I get up and leave or defend myself?
Meredith wondered. She had to do neither for someone rescued her.

“I don't think you ladies need to worry yourselves over Miss Mears's welfare or her horse's.” There was a collected gasp as Mr. Talbot eased into a chair beside Beatrice Bloomfield and charmed her with a smile. “I happened to be there the day the boy had his accident. Miss Mears's horse will be fine, and Miss Mears conducted herself most properly. I think I speak for all the loggers when I say that her articles have lifted the morale of the camp. And Miss Mears was sent west because she is one of the best.”

Beatrice smiled up at Talbot. “Well, if you say so, my dear, then of course it must be true. We do value your opinion.” She leaned close. “But you must admit, she does seem a bit unladylike.”

“Au contraire. I find her most lady… is that berry pie you have there, Mrs. Washington?”

“Why, yes it is.”

“I must have some of that. You ladies are the best cooks. Please, excuse me.”

The table became eerily quiet until Meredith politely excused herself. She looked around the crowd for Mr. Talbot. He was leaning against a post, staring out toward the river.

“I must thank you for championing me.”

He turned with an expression of pleasure. “Join me?”

“Perhaps if we walked down by the river, the noise would drown out the conversations.”

“They don't mean anything by it.”

They started down the gradual incline toward the river. “And how would you know that?”

“I've known Beatrice for years. She's not a vicious person.”

“I don't understand. You knew her back East?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Talbot's clamlike evasion of the personal question did not surprise Meredith. “Why did you defend me just now?”

“I only spoke the truth.” He looked down at her, admiration softening his brown eyes. “You are a good reporter.”

Several feet away, the ground broke off into a bluff. Below that, the rushing waters drowned out the din of the townspeople, giving Meredith and Thatcher the illusion that they were in their own private world. “And you are very good at what you do,” she replied.

“Logging?”

“No. Being mysterious and aloof. In fact, I would call you an expert.”

“From a reporter, I guess that's a compliment.”

“Being elusive is not always a good idea.” She gave him a saucy look. “Good day, Mr. Talbot.”

Thatcher watched Meredith's not-so-elegant departure with amusement. Her boot caught in a hole, she wobbled, straightened herself again, gave her hat a fierce tug…. He chuckled. If he didn't know better, he'd say she'd flirted with him just now. What had she said?
“Being elusive is not always a good idea.”
Now that could be taken several ways.

“I'm going home,” Meredith told Jonah, her voice still breathless from the short climb. “Should something important happen…”

“I'll get you,” he finished. “Everything all right?”

“Just tired.”

Jonah took her arm. “Me, too. Mind if I just tag along?”

They had gone a ways in comfortable silence, and then Meredith asked, “Do you think Mrs. Bloomfield is a malicious person?”

“No. I don't think so.”

“Then why does she spread bad rumors about me? She doesn't even know me.”

“Perhaps you frighten her. Maybe she's afraid of the things that a progressive woman like yourself represents.”

“I'm just normal.”

“You're a driven woman.”

Meredith shot a startled look at Jonah. “Is that bad?”

“You ask too many questions, Storm. I'm just an old man who likes to take photographs.”

She patted his dark, chemical-stained hand. “No more questions, old man. I'll just enjoy your company.”

M
rs. Cooper rapped on Meredith's door.

“You have a visitor.”

Meredith poked at stray hairs as she followed Amelia downstairs. A somewhat familiar logger was waiting.

“Yes?”

He spoke with a European accent. “I have a message from Thatcher Talbot.” He held out a folded paper. “I'm to wait for your reply.”

“Oh.” Meredith fumbled to unfold the paper and scan its contents.

She tapped her fingernail on the paper and glanced up at the patient man at the door.
Does Talbot have a story for me, or is he finally going to talk about himself? Or does he just want to have dinner with me?
It really didn't matter which of these were true. She knew what her answer had to be.

“Please, tell Mr. Talbot I said yes.”

“Yes ma'am.” The man grinned.

After he left, Meredith dashed up the steps to her room. She leaned against the closed door with a smile. She wouldn't have to ride out to the camp this week, and she was dining with the mysterious Mr. Talbot.

Meredith hummed as she made her way down Main Street, more to bolster her courage than anything else, a nervous habit she had picked up as a little girl. Whenever she faced troublesome chores, she always hummed.

When she reached the bank, she clutched her portfolio, and entered the building. Jonah had told her that the Bloomfield's always spent late mornings together.

A teller pushed at the bridge of his glasses and asked, “May I assist you?”

Meredith cleared her throat again. “May I see Mrs. Bloomfield?” She leaned close. “It's a personal matter.”

He raised his brows. “I'll see if she's available.” He motioned. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

Comfortable, right,
she mused, situating herself on a low wooden bench at the far end of the room.