Love's Story (42 page)

“Good morning, class,” she said brightly.

“Good morning, Miss Phillips,” The class sang in unison.

“Today we're going to work on our numbers.” Aubrey Dawson and Dennis Shine let out a groan from the back of the classroom.

Rachel ignored the outburst and was prepared to continue, when a girl of eight with red pigtails announced, “Ouch! Miss Phillips, Aubrey pulled my hair.”

“Very well, Aubrey. We shall start with you today. How many board feet can you get out of one redwood tree?”

“That's easy,' bout a thousand.”

“Now, as a mill owner—that
is
what you said you wanted to do, isn't it?”

“Yep.” His bored expression left him and he unconsciously sat up in his chair. “Gonna own my own place with ten saws.” The class laughed and Aubrey got out of his seat, slapping his hands violently on the desk. He peered around the room, displaying a threatening stare, and the laughing stopped instantly.

“That's wonderful, Aubrey. Please sit down. Now, let's say with those ten saws you have 25,000 board feet ready to take to Hanson & Ackerson's in Redwood. They will pay you fifty dollars for each thousand board feet; how much money will you be bringing back with you to Searsville?”

Aubrey sat stunned, his eyes wide with embarrassment. “I… I don't know. That's a stupid question.” Aubrey fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Is it, Aubrey? I would think that if you were going to sell your redwood, you would want to know if you were paid correctly.” Rachel stared intently at the boy, who refused to meet her eye.

“Yeah, well, Hanson's an honest man; don't need to worry about him,” Aubrey replied smugly.

“That's good, because if, by chance, Hanson makes a mistake, you might not have enough money to pay your sawyers. That would probably make you very unpopular with them and their families.” Aubrey's face was now red with humiliation and Dennis covered his face, pointing and laughing along with the entire class at his friend.

“Dennis, I understand you're going to be a bullmaster.” Rachel's gaze became fixed on Dennis, and he stiffened with dread.

“Yes Ma'am,” Dennis answered politely, hoping Miss Phillips would continue her example without him.

“Dennis, as bullmaster you may be entitled to pay equal to that of the mill owner, correct?”

“That's right,” Dennis replied brazenly, remembering himself.

“Dennis, you're a bullmaster dropping off the lumber in Redwood. Unfortunately, some of the redwood is of poor quality and Hanson only pays you half of what your wood is worth. He gives you $12.50. What amount should you have received for the wood?” Rachel took great pleasure in watching the flustered boys. She had beat them at their own game and it felt good.

“It doesn't matter,” Dennis answered.

“Well, it will when you must put food on the table. Let's answer the first question, shall we? Can anyone else tell me how much money a mill owner would receive for 25,000 board feet of lumber at fifty dollars per thousand board feet?”

Many hands sprang up throughout the room, and Rachel heard the scratching of slates. Aubrey and Dennis sheepishly looked around at the younger children and eyed them threateningly. The children were surprisingly unaffected and kept their hands raised.

Miss Phillips called on a small boy of about eleven. “One thousand two hundred fifty dollars.”

“That's right, Jacob, and would you like to explain to the class how you arrived at this figure?” Jacob went on to bask in his glory and explained his multiplication. The class was ecstatic in this practical use of their knowledge and were anxious for more questions.

“Okay, now this one's a little more difficult,” Rachel said as she repeated her second question. “If you are the bullmaster and your wood is of poor quality so that you only receive fifty percent of its true value, what would the true value be if the amount you received is $12.50.”

“That's easy. Thirteen dollars,” Dennis replied arrogantly.

“No, I'm sorry, Dennis. That is incorrect.” The young schoolteacher tried to be gentle now; she had seen that the older boys were more than humiliated, and had had their share of the day's lessons.

A child of twelve raised her hand. “I know, I know. Half of anything is fifty percent, so if he got half of what he should have at $12.50, then he should have received twenty-five dollars.”

“Very good, Michelle.” The children were enjoying themselves immensely, having answered questions that could help their parents
and
silencing the school bullies at the same time. Rachel had prepared enough questions to keep the children actively involved until recess time. Dennis and Aubrey remained sheepishly at their desks. Rachel momentarily thought about how much Chase would have enjoyed the spirited lesson, but then remembered Mrs. Steele. Chase had probably invited her to Redwood; Rachel thought perhaps she had only been a simple diversion to the handsome mill owner before he made any commitments. If he returned, he would probably be married and a proper father for Henry. The idea pained her and she bent over her desk to lose herself, once again, in her work.

Chase Dylan bent over a floorboard, hammering a nail with fury. His black trousers were white with board dust and his black hair was colored with pink redwood shavings. The heavy fall rains had never come, and the heat caused the dirt to stick to everything.

The room additions to the once “bunk style” hotel were almost complete and Chase's project was ending. Mr. Williams would arrange for professionals to do the finishing work, and Chase could return to Portola to start up his mill due to the lack of inclement weather. The dry winter would be a blessing for his men, who were used to being without work in the winter. Chase was anxious to get back before other mills hired his sawyers out from under him.

“Chase, I just made some iced tea. Would you care for some? Joseph says I need to practice my serving skills if we're going to wait on those rich folk from San Francisco.” Mrs. Williams held a silver tray, filled with two crystal glasses and a large pitcher.

Chase laughed at the scene. “My dear Mrs. Williams, you have such a servant's heart, you could serve any king or queen.”

“Oh my, Chase, but you always know what to say. It's a wonder you've managed to remain an eligible bachelor for so long.”

Chase smiled at the compliment and his blue-green eyes sparkled with merriment.

“You're just determined to get me married off, aren't you? Well, I have news for you. I think I just may be heading in that direction. That is, if a stunning young schoolteacher in Searsville will have me.”

“Why, you little schemer. You've been here for over a month and you haven't said a word.” Mrs. Williams brought her hands to her hips in mock anger.

“All I can say is,” Mr. Williams added, “if your intention is to marry that girl, you better get yourself back to Searsville. Ain't no telling how many sawyers might have laid claim on such a pretty little thing while you've been gone.” His genial tone made light of the situation, but Chase knew there was truth in his words.

“I'm sending Mrs. Williams along behind you. I want her to stay in Searsville while the finishing work is done. She'll drive those poor carpenters to tears with her instructions.” Mr. Williams smiled amiably at his wife. “That hotel still up and running?”

“If you think I'd let my Mrs. Williams stay at Eikerenkotters' Hotel, you don't know me too well,” Chase said.

“Now Chase, you know I'm perfectly capable of handling myself in the midst of sawyers.”

“I know Missus, but I've got a better idea. There's a dry winter widow who could use a little spiritual guidance. I think you two would get along wonderfully, and I have ulterior motives.” Chase winked cryptically, and Mrs. Williams was clearly intrigued.

After her successful day of teaching loggers' math, Rachel had a bounce in her step as she approached the general store. She usually had Maria pick up her supplies because of the way Mrs. Davenport treated her, but today she felt especially confident and decided to go it alone.

The idea seemed like a good one until she spied Gretchen Steele coming out of the store. She had Henry in tow, and Mr. Davenport followed along behind her to her carriage with a large number of packages. Mrs. Davenport pursued the trio outside the store upon seeing Rachel and spoke loudly for her benefit, “Now you enjoy yourselves in Redwood. I hear it's going to be the peninsula's San Francisco during the foggy winter months. If you see Mr. Dylan at one of those balls, tell him hello for us.”

“I'm sure we'll have many opportunities to do so, Elizabeth. We'll see you at the wedding when we return.” Gretchen lifted her heavy black skirt into her buggy and reached for Henry when Mr. Davenport handed him up. Gretchen's hired man finished helping the store owner with the packages and then climbed aboard to take the small family to Redwood.

“Why, Miss Phillips, I didn't see you there.” Mrs. Davenport had stepped in front of the doorway, blocking Rachel's entrance. “Your order hasn't arrived yet. Is there something else that you need?”

Rachel reached for Mrs. Davenport's hands and held them gently. “Why yes, I need quite a few things,” Rachel replied sweetly. She knew she had flustered the woman with her touch and she took the opportunity to casually spin herself into the store.

Mrs. Davenport remained in the doorway, a look of astonishment on her lined face. Mr. Davenport gave his wife a sideways glance as he passed her, smiling at the teacher's ingenuity. “Miss Phillips, how nice to see you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Davenport. It's been so long since I've been here, and I needed to pick out a gift for my mother's birthday. Do you mind if I browse?”

“Of course not, make yourself at home. I'll be in the back; just call when you're ready.” The proprietor disappeared into the back room and Rachel could feel Mrs. Davenport's glare boring into her back. Rachel allowed her anger to give her strength, and she walked slowly through the mercantile, eyeing each item methodically and never looking back at Mrs. Davenport.

Rachel approached the main counter and appreciatively eyed the small collection of jewelry set beneath the glass. Mrs. Davenport walked heavily into the back room and began whispering loudly at her husband. “I don't want her in here. Don't you understand? If my friends and our customers see her here, they are going to protest with their purses.”

“Elizabeth, you're being ridiculous. No one believes that inane gossip.”

“Well, you may play the innocent, but…”

Rachel lost track of the words when she noticed an order book open before her on the glass countertop. In it was a catalogue dress order for Gretchen Steele. Rachel studied the description of the gown, which was a yellow satin with a lace neckline. The thought of Mrs. Steele in attractive attire sent a wave of jealousy through Rachel. She looked up to see if the Davenports had noticed her discovery, but their argument was heated.

Rachel noted the dress size on the order and once again peered about the empty room. Quickly, she picked up the abandoned pen near the catalog and wrote a “1” before the entered size. She giggled at the mere thought of Gretchen's dress showing up big as a tent and dropped the pen as though it were on fire.

It wasn't long before Mr. Davenport returned and asked if she'd decided. Rachel's heart was pumping wildly as she managed to calmly reply, “I believe I'll take this small cameo. Will you have it sent to this address for me? I have a letter to accompany it.”

“Certainly, Miss Phillips, and thank you for your business.” Mr. Davenport sounded sincere, but his wife watched with crossed arms from the back room.