South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (27 page)

Chapter Fifty-Six

           
A
t the schoolhouse, Mark scratched his head while puzzling over the math test on the desk in front of him. He had always liked that he only attended class in town a few days a week and had a tutor available a couple of more days. It usually put him ahead of his peers and he enjoyed the feeling of always being comfortable with his learning ability. These days however, his father had decided to tailor more of his lessons to business applications and he found some of the calculating rather challenging. He thought he’d rather have a good lesson on history. Stories of great generals and the victories of war were best. He thought he could do without the politics as well and of course, the complicated math.

      When he had finished the exam he gathered his books and walked out into the schoolyard.

      “I hear your father is hiring half the territory at the mills. I filled out an application myself.” Samuel Evens walked up beside him, his own books in hand.

      Mark looked up at the boy, just a year older than he and the thought crossed his mind that one day he might have friends he had known all of his life working beside him, perhaps as his boss, or he as theirs. Lately he found himself considering the responsibility the new mills were bringing to his life.

      He pushed the thought from his mind and loaded his books into the saddle bag.

      “I’ll race you to the mill road,” Samuel challenged.

      Mark looked at his friend’s filly and shook his head. He knew Sam had won it fair and square at the wedding a while back. Losing stung less these days, especially now that Roland and his father decided he could keep the filly that had been born in Roland’s field. She was just about ready for breaking. It wouldn’t be long that she would give Sam’s horse a real run.

      “Save it, Sam.” He mounted the mare. “This horse is fine but when Strawberry is ready to run I’m going to leave you in the dust.” He chuckled and turned the horse towards home.

      “She’s fine, Elgerson,” Sam laughed, “but this one’s pretty fine, too.”

      “We’ll see.”

      “What time are you coming tonight?” Sam asked Mark as they reached the fork in the road.

      “I’ll be over after supper.”

      “See you then!” Sam headed towards his home and Mark continued down the trail toward Stavewood. He had waited anxiously all week for the dance at the Even’s barn. Sam would be turning twenty and it certainly would be a night of celebration. Mark had considered asking Timothy if he might have a party himself, maybe after the mill opened.

      He rushed through his supper and ran up to dress for the party.

      Timothy watched him pull the wagon off towards the dance and walked back into the house. “He’s a good kid,” he said to himself.

      The party had drawn almost everyone close to the boys’ ages for miles around. Mark listened to the band from the loft with a couple of boys who had graduated recently, and stood whispering in the hay.

      “Hey, Elgerson,” one of them hissed out.

      “Hey.” Mark walked over and leaned down to see what they were up to.

      “Did you ever taste moonshine?” Albert Malling held up a small jug.

      “No thanks.” Mark went back to watching the dancers.

      “Elgerson,” the boy whispered again. “Afraid?”

      “Nope,” Mark replied confidently. “Just don’t like it.” His father had let him taste some liquor a couple of times and he didn’t enjoy it. One time he and Sam had tried a few glasses and Mark didn’t care for the disorienting sensation the alcohol brought about. He decided to leave the boys to their drinking and head downstairs.

      “Sam.” Mark walked up beside his friend and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Nice party.”

      “Hey, Mark!” Sam turned to face him and handed him a glass of punch. “I’m glad you came.”

      Mark smiled at him and nodded. He always enjoyed Sam’s genuine smile and his easy going approach. As long as he could remember, Sam seemed to always be in good spirits, even that time that Timothy had made them round up the chickens at the cabin. Mark had been red-faced and irritated, but Sam laughed as if the whole event was completely entertaining. The two young men often found a balance when they spent time together. They had hunted and fished with their fathers since they were boys and both could handle a rifle or a line.

      Bernadette Shofield watched them both from the corner of the room intently. She knew that Mark didn’t like her. He didn’t seem to like most of the girls from Billington. She didn’t know about the other girls, but she figured he didn’t care for her because her family couldn’t afford pretty dresses and fancy hats and hair curling. Her dress wasn’t the best around tonight, but she had saved up and bought it from the second hand shop and it was almost like new. She did her best to set her hair in the rags she had, like she had seen the women in the shop wearing theirs. She wasn’t rich like Mark, but she thought she looked alright tonight and perhaps he’d dance with her.

       “Hello.” She walked up to him and looked down at her feet. She frowned as she watched Sam walk away.

      “Hi,” Mark replied distantly.

      “I thought you might dance with me, I mean if it’s okay.” She looked up at his face expectantly.

      He stopped looking around the room and she caught his eye.

      The girl looked unusually attractive tonight, he thought. He always had thought of her as if she were nothing more than a tomboy. Tonight she had on a pretty frock and her hair was brushed and curled with a soft shine.

      “Hello Bernadette.” Mark regarded her as if he had never laid eyes on her before.

      The young man’s look made the girl catch her breath. She always thought he might be the handsomest boy in town, but she thought maybe she just saw him that way because he was rich. Rich people always seemed to look good, she thought. Right now, however, with him looking in her eyes she realized that Mark Elgerson would be really good looking without a dime to his name. He wasn’t just one of the kids anymore. His face had changed, all of him had changed and she had never noticed any of it before now. His hair was combed really nice, and he had tucked it back behind his ears. His voice was deeper than she remembered and he was getting really tall. In fact, she had to look up to look into his eyes. She thought he was shaving now, like a real man. His neck was long, his cheekbones high. Bernadette Shofield held perfectly still.

      “Sure,” he replied.

      “W-what?” she stuttered.

       “Dance. You said you wanted to dance.”

       “Oh, yes!” She smiled.

       He took her hand gently and led her into the group of dancers and they began their steps. After three dances he suggested they get something to drink, but when he saw the two boys from the loft snickering around the punchbowl, he decided he and the girl would be better off trying the root beer in the new glass bottles.

      “Everyone in town is talking about your father’s mills,” she ventured.

      Mark scowled. “It’s the big topic, yes.”

      “Are you excited?”

      “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “It seems like it’s the only thing going on anymore. Sometimes I think I liked it better when we just had the one mill.”

      “Is your father making you work a lot?”

      “He wants me to know and understand the business.”

      “Is that not a good thing?” She tasted the root beer and was surprised by how it fizzed on her tongue.

      “I don’t know. My father is really good at running it all. I’m not sure I’ll be as good at it.”

      “I think you would be. Your father is really important and all. Maybe you’re just making yourself afraid,” she suggested, taking a deep thirsty gulp of the refreshing drink. “Maybe when it’s time for you to run the mills you can do it your own way.”

      He looked at her thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right.” He considered her perspective.

      “I mean that you could be really good at being yourself and not just another person in your family. That’s what I tell myself anyway,” she mused. “I have always wanted to be something besides just a Shofield.”

      He looked at her thoughtful face and considered her situation. He himself had never thought of her in any other way before. It occurred to him that everyone he knew always thought of him as an Elgerson. “Maybe we’ll just have to be ourselves,” he remarked.

      “Yes, lets!” She smiled and suddenly belched loudly.

      Mark looked at her in surprise as her hand flew up over her mouth. “Oh, please excuse me.” Bernadette Shofield thought she wanted to just die right then and there.

      She watched Mark’s face break into a huge smile and he began to laugh loudly. She looked at him mortified.

      “Bernadette,” he grinned. “That may have been the best belch I have ever heard!” He grabbed her around the shoulders as they sat on the bench and Bernadette blushed deeply and smiled.

      When they had danced several more dances he led her to the refreshment table and offered her another bottle of the fizzy root beer.

      “I don’t think so,” she laughed and blushed again.

      Mark chuckled and checked the punch.

“This might be worse,” he laughed.

      Bernadette giggled and decided she wasn’t very thirsty after all.

    “I really had a good time tonight,” the girl confided as the party wound down. She knew her father would be arriving in their rickety wagon soon and she wanted to say goodbye before Mark noticed how bad their vehicle looked.

      “How are you getting home?” he asked.

      “My father,” Bernadette scowled.

      “I could give you a ride,” he suggested.

     “That would be really nice,” she smiled up to him, “but my father is probably on his way.”

      “Then I’ll wait with you for him.” He flashed a handsome smile.

      “Okay,” she sighed.

      “No?” He wondered why her face had grown so gloomy.

       “Remember when I said I would like to be something besides just a Shofield?”

      “Ah,” he smiled in understanding. “I won’t judge you by your family and you don’t judge me by mine.”

      “I’d like that,” Bernadette smiled.

      “What are you doing tomorrow?”

      The girl thought about what Mark Elgerson might think about her house if he were to come calling, and then caught herself. “I’ll be at the Shofield house,” she replied.

      “I see,” he grinned. “Then I’ll come for you there about noon, okay?”

      When her father arrived Mark helped her into the wagon as he greeted the man politely.

      “Tomorrow,” he said as the wagon pulled away.

     Albert Malling leaned against the side of the barn and watched Mark help the girl into the wagon.

      “Hey, Elgerson,” he called out.

      “What do you want, Albert?” It was clear to Mark that the boy was intoxicated and Mark walked over to him.

      “I bet with all your father’s money a girl like that will give it right up, eh?”

      “I wouldn’t know,” Mark Elgerson replied and headed for his wagon.

“Is that the Elgerson boy?” Bernadette’s father eyed her suspiciously.

      “Yes, it is,” she smiled.

      “What does a boy like that want with you?” Old Man Shofield grunted.

      “He’s very nice,” Bernadette responded.

      “When a boy like that comes sniffing around people like us he’s up to no good,” he remarked.

      Bernadette sighed.

      Mark Elgerson rode home quietly, the conversations of the night filling his head. He had to admit to himself that he was lucky to be who he was. He had everything in the world that he wanted. Bernadette Shofield didn’t even have shoes that fit sometimes, even in the worst weather. She was a nice girl from a poor family and he had never seen anything except that she was poor.

      He began to realize that no one had ever seen him as anything but rich. What was important was that he was a good person, no matter the money. He looked forward to seeing Bernadette the following day. If he ever had a family he thought, it would be a much better life for them if he weren’t poor. His father was probably right, he decided. It was a good idea to have a plan for the future.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

     
T
h
e
sign swung slightly in the early morning breeze outside of the wide wooden building
:
Elgerson Mill Station
.

      Mark realized that he liked the sound of it, and not just because it had his name. There would be a grand opening later that day, but he wanted to see it alone first.

      The station was painted a deep green with the trim stained a dark reddened brown. It was broad across the front with an open platform lined in benches. It looked like a nice place to watch for and catch a train.

      The rails had been laid now, and, although there were several tracks lined up in parallel rows, it did not look like the station in Missouri. It was nestled in the forest that surrounded it. Not one more tree than was necessary had been removed from the area. There was a wide path that led north to the new mills and an attractive covered bridge that crossed the Towhee River towards the original mill and farther on to Stavewood. There was an open area for parking a wagon or two and a hitching post along the side. Mark could see it would be very convenient to travel to and from Stavewood, but hoped the added traffic wouldn’t mean that more strangers found their way to the estate.

      He had listened to his father talking about the wonderful possibilities and now it made much more sense to him. He would try hard to learn how the business worked, it was important.

      He had noticed how many things Emma had needed to put a household together, how many things a new baby needed, that women needed dresses and enjoyed pretty things and homes that were well kept. He began to pay attention to what the bill was when they had feed delivered to the barns, what it cost to keep the work animals well and fed, what one simple upgrade to the estate would cost. He began to think that one day he, or Louisa, or Phillip would want to live and raise their families at Stavewood. Keeping an estate of that size did not come cheap. He and at least little Phillip better know how to earn a sizable income.

      He walked back toward the home deep in thought. When he reached the yard of the house he looked to see the sunrise reflected in the facets of the windows. After working on the Vancouver home he had a much clearer understanding of what it must have taken for his father to spend years, much of the time alone, building the estate. Stavewood was more than a home. It was a dream. He looked at the big pines that grew beyond the house, straight, tall and even. Trees that one could fell, mill into a fine piece of lumber and build into a home. It was a tree that the Norwegians would thoughtfully name
stavewood
. It was a tree that his father would use to build his home.

      “Thank you for asking me to the opening,” Bernadette thanked Mark as he helped her into the wagon under the suspiciously watchful eye of her father.

      “Don’t you dare say a word to him that way, father, please,” she had begged as she waited for Mark to arrive. “He’s not like that. He’s been nothing but a gentleman. What if he doesn’t just want me in the way you’re accusing? What if he really likes me for who I am? If he does really like me and you were to accuse him of what you’re suggesting I’d never have any chance for a better life. Please, father, don’t say a word.”

      Old Man Shofield considered that getting a shotgun out for a wedding to a rich young kid might not be so bad after all.

      “I’m telling you right now, girl,” he threatened. “That rich boy gets you in trouble and he’ll be walking you down the aisle. No amount of money will keep that from happening.”

      “Oh, father, please!” she pleaded.

      She settled into the cushioned leather seat next to Mark and glared at her father, who shuffled into the shabby house silently.

      Soon the house was behind them and she was enjoying the bracing fresh air and bright sunlight. Mark glanced at her as he pulled the wagon into the road. She was not remarkable in her looks. Her hair was the color of a fawn and her features simple. She was slender and carried herself easy. She looked comfortable, he thought, like a friend.

      “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “There’s a fur blanket there if you like.”

      She wasn’t really very cold at the moment, but the fur looked so sumptuous and inviting that she reached behind her and pulled the weight of it onto her lap. She buried her hands into it and sighed deeply. “Would you like to share?” she offered. Scooting closer, she threw half of the pelt over his knees and he patted her hand and smiled.

      As Mark pulled the wagon to the back of Stavewood, Rebecca and Emma emerged from the house, dressed in woolen capes, and new winter hats. Both of the women smiled at Bernadette and looked at Mark expectantly.

      “Bernadette Shofield, this is my mother Rebecca and her cousin Emma Vancouver.”

      The women nodded and greeted the girl warmly. It did not go unnoticed that Mark had introduced Rebecca as his mother and she smiled at the young man affectionately.

      Bernadette was captivated by how beautifully dressed the family was and stepped back in embarrassment. She wore the same dress that she had bought for the dance, but it seemed simple and ordinary next to the women before her.

      Voices carried along the path from Stavewood and, as they neared the mills, the throng of people packed the area. They moved across the bridge in a steady stream.

      The water was icy and clear, splashing along the snowy banks beneath them. The women kept their hands in fur and woolen muffs, and wore warm hats and capes across their shoulders. The men wore long, wool coats and hats in a wide range of styles from top hats to fur hunting caps. Most of the snow had been brushed away by dragging a wide log behind a horse, and what remained was now trampled and packed hard.

      The Elgerson and Vancouver families fell in with the crowd and crossed the wide bridge slowly.