The Fur Trader (3 page)

Next to Brent was William Figg, a young widower who ran the lumber mill on the east side of town. What William lacked in knowledge, he made up for in wealth. He was by far the richest man in Cherry Brook, and any of the nearby villages for fifty miles in any direction. Next to either of them, Garrin knew he would not likely stand out to Belinda. Still, he liked to think it could be possible.

As he watched the three of them, Brent moved and whispered to a long-haired gentleman. A moment later, the gentleman pulled a fiddle and began playing. A space was cleared and Brent took Belinda’s hand and walked her out to the center of the clearing. The two of them began dancing a minuet that obviously had its origins in the larger cities. Garrin grinned as he saw the frustration on William Figg’s face. The widower had been out-foxed, and now Brent had Belinda all to himself.

Garrin imagined what Brent’s face would look like if he were to get up and dance with Belinda. He had learned a couple of dances himself, though none of them quite as refined as what Brent and Belinda were doing now.

Garrin’s training came not from any city college, but from a few of the villages and camps he had stayed in during his time in the Frontier Legion. He smiled faintly as he remembered a young, black haired woman who had first taught him to dance. The legion had camped with a nomadic tribe. They spent a week dancing and feasting by firelight. It was one of the few times Garrin had enjoyed his military service. He had hated everything else about the wars and the politics that sent him and the others into the teeth of death.

The trapper wiped his mouth and took courage. If he had lived through ten years on the frontier, he could easily cut in and dance with Belinda. In his mind, he could hear the cheers and hollers that would erupt if he managed to steal Belinda away from Cherry Brook’s most eligible bachelor.

He stood and moved toward the gathering crowd. He gently pushed his way through. His heart pounded in his chest. The music grew louder in his ears, filling him with confidence. He would dance with Belinda the way he had with the black-haired woman.

Brent spun Belinda around and then dipped her slightly. Her eyes caught Garrin’s and the trapper froze. His confident smile vanished as she flashed a bright grin at him. He turned and quickly walked away, heart now beating faster than ever.

Once again, the mighty veteran was defeated by the radiant Belinda Graye.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Garrin whispered to himself. He opened the canister on his table and stuffed the bread inside. “Don’t eat this all at once,” he instructed the canister.

The trappers at the table adjacent were all staring at him now. Garrin knew they likely were still confused by him talking to the cylinder, but now their judging eyes seemed to mock his bashfulness as well. He took another mouthful of stew and then gathered his heavy coat and began the journey home.

“Time to go,” William Stenton said authoritatively as he kicked the young teenager tucked into a bedroll next to the dying camp fire. “Come on, hurry it up.”

“I’m tired,” the teenager said groggily.

William arched a brow and reached down to rip the covers off.

“Up! Now, Richard!”

“I hate it when you call me that,” Richard said. He pushed up and rubbed his shoulders.

“Mind your tongue,” William said. “I’ve already packed the camp, just get your bedding put away and let’s go.”

“I’m hungry,” Richard complained.

“You can eat on the road, now move.” William kicked dirt over the fire and used a long limb to push the remnants of last night’s logs apart. The fire wasn’t entirely out when he roughly helped Richard onto the second horse, but he doubted whether the fire would spread through a wintry forest anyway. Even if it would, the two of them needed to get moving.

The bright sun was peaking over the mountains to the east and casting its golden rays down upon the frosty forest, but little warmth came with the light. William’s bones ached from the night spent in the open cold. He should have prepared better. Then again, he hoped to be able to find a guide in the next village. He hadn’t found anyone willing to help them in the last two towns, but Cherry Brook was a bit larger, and boasted more rugged folk.

Surely he could find someone there who could help.

“I’m out of food,” Richard announced from atop his horse.

William eyed the small burlap sack in the teenager’s hands and nodded. Richard looked to him with his green eyes, a rare color in these parts of the world, and an expression that said his stomach was killing him.

“We’re almost to the next town. We can resupply there,” William said confidently. In his mind, he was cursing himself. He most definitely should have prepared better for this trip.

Then again, nothing had gone according to plan.

Kidnapping was never a simple game to play.

Richard and William prodded their horses along the snowy, uphill road winding through the trees. They rode in a line, keeping their horses in the narrow tract of dirt where the snow had been worn away by traffic. William kept a constant vigil as they rode. He was almost certain no one in the previous towns had recognized them, but there was always a chance that they were being followed. If he was caught…

William pushed the thought from his mind. Being aware of his surroundings was good, but worrying needlessly about events he couldn’t control did little more than give him heartburn.

They rode for nearly three hours before they came to a small wooden sign staked to the side of the road. Black painted letters spelled out “Cherry Brook” above a founding date that was now illegible. William sighed with relief as he saw the open gates nestled securely within a wooden palisade. His feelings soon turned to dissatisfaction, however, when they rode through the gate and he realized that the “palisade” was nothing more than a long fence that stretched out from either side of the gate and then ended in trees just beyond the buildings. Cherry Brook had no fence or wall encompassing the town securely. William grunted and kicked his horse into a trot to ride up alongside Richard.

“Remember, keep your mouth shut and let me do all the talking, understand?”

Richard nodded. “Can we at least buy some food first?”

William shook his head. “Patience is a virtue,” William said sternly. “Over here.” William led the two of them out on a town road that led out to the east of Cherry Brook. They crossed over a large bridge spanning a creek, and continued on toward a large mill at the eastern edge of town.

A great waterwheel spun smoothly, water spilling and splashing as the wheel churned.

William and Richard approached the mill and William dismounted, leaving his horse to nibble at the few bits of grass it could find under the snow. He walked around toward a large cart of logs stationed at the base of a long ramp that led up to the sawing track.

A tall man with black hair and a tidy mustache came around the cart just as William did and the two nearly bumped into each other. William’s hand went down toward his belt, but the tall, mustachioed man smiled and put his hands up in the air.

“Sorry, friend, didn’t see you there. What can I do for you?”

William’s muscles relaxed and he took in a calming breath.

“Do you run the mill?”

The man shook his head. “No, I’m Finley, I run the carts. If you want the boss, Mr. Figg is up near the saw. I just brought this load in and he is preparing the saw.”

William nodded and walked up the well-worn ramp. He saw a large, wide-shouldered man with a small can of oil near an assembly of chains and cogs. The man caught sight of William and set the can down, pulling a pair of leather gloves off his hands as he came out to greet William.

“What can I do for you, stranger?” the man asked.

“You run the mill?” William asked.

The large man nodded. “That I do. You need logs?”

William shook his head. “No,” he said.

“Ah, boards then?”

“No,” William replied.

The large mill owner scrunched up his brow, stopped walking toward William, and folded his arms across his chest. He eyed William carefully and then spit off to the side.

“If you are one of those fancy city folk looking to come up and buy the mill, the answer is no.”

William smiled and shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of something like that,” he said honestly. “No, I thought I might be able to procure services from you.” William closed the distance between them and stuck out his hand. “The name is William Stenton.”

At that, the mill owner’s hard expression melted into a smile and his eyes twinkled warmly.

“Ah, well any man named William can’t be all bad,” he said as he took the proffered hand and shook it heartily. “Though, I am a bit biased myself, seeing as I am also named William.”

“Our mothers had good taste in names,” William Stenton replied.

Mr. Figg nodded. “What kind of services do you need? We can clear land if that’s what you desire.”

William Stenton shook his head. “I was hoping to rent a barge from you.”

Mr. Figg’s smile stretched downward into a frown and he shook his head. “I am filling the last order for lumber for this season. I’m loading the last two barges today and sending them down river. I won’t be able to transport anything else until the spring.”

William Stenton nodded. “What price would make it worth your while? I’m not transporting goods, just myself and my nephew. We’re headed up river, so we could send the barges back in a couple of days.”

“Up river?” Mr. Figg echoed. His head shook vigorously and he waved a meaty hand at the notion. “Can’t do that for any price. It’s too late in the season. The ice flows have already started further up river. The barges will never make it. As it is, I have to hurry and send out the loads today to avoid having my barges frozen in before they hit the main waterway that heads south. Sorry, friend, but I don’t think I can help you.”

“Do you have a canoe then?” William asked.

Mr. Figg shook his head. “If you want a canoe, you can try the general store. Jacop runs a fine shop there, but he’ll tell you the same thing. The rivers further north are freezing up. You won’t make it up river. Not sure why you want to go that way anyhow, there isn’t anything up there but forest and snow.”

William smiled sheepishly. “Just an adventure for my nephew and myself,” William replied.

Mr. Figg shrugged and turned back toward the cogs and gears.

“A few city folk come looking for adventure, though most come in the summer time. You should know, though, the Dryden Range isn’t for fancy folk. You can forget all your rules and laws and civility out here. The mountains will chew you up and spit you out, especially in winter.”

“Thanks,” William offered as he turned around. It was obvious that Mr. Figg was of no use, so there was no point listening to the man’s lecture about the dangers of Dryden Range.

When he got back to his horse, Richard was waiting patiently, though with a pained expression on his face and a hand rubbing his stomach.

“You ate last night,” William groused as he mounted his horse. “You can go a little longer.”

“Two biscuits does not make a dinner,” Richard replied.

“Shut it,” William said harshly. He knew Richard was right, though. They would need food soon. He led them back into two and followed the streets until they came to a large, log building with a sign that read, “Sockeye Tavern,” and hitched the horses to a post outside.

“Keep your head down and your mouth shut,” William said.

Richard nodded.

The two of them pushed in through the main door and William pointed to an out of the way table off in a corner close to the bar. They removed their outer cloaks and set them down over the backs of their chairs and sat down. A couple moments later, a stout woman with long, golden hair approached and set a pair of empty mugs on the table.

“Cider for the boy?” she asked.

William nodded as he looked up to the woman. “And coffee for me if you have it.”

The woman nodded. “We also have breakfast if you’re hungry.”

Richard kept his mouth closed, but his eyes lit up so that it would have been impossible not to notice how excited he was at the mention of food. William nodded his assent and the woman made her way back to the bar. A few minutes later she returned with steaming cider and coffee.

“Breakfast is coming shortly,” she said just before wiping a couple of drops that had spilled while she was pouring the beverages. She left and came back with two plates, each heaping with golden hash browns, two fried eggs, and a large ham steak.

“Thank you,” William offered as he dug into his coin purse and fished out a couple of silver pieces.

The woman nodded and offered a half-bow as she took the coins and left the table. Richard went to work attacking his plate as though it would eat him first if he gave it the chance. William took a more controlled approach, eyeing the room carefully as he cut a bite of ham and took a measured bite.

A pair of rugged looking men stood next to the fireplace smoking pipes. Their long beards covered their necks, but appeared to be clean, albeit a tad scraggly for William’s liking. They wore clothes that he would have expected of the mountain folk; hefty leather boots with thick, sturdy soles, trousers and shirt made of soft leather, strong bracers around the wrists adorned with small beads and stones, and belts that boasted large knives and a hatchet. They spoke in hushed tones as they puffed their smoke into the air.

William raised his hand and beckoned for the barmaid. She smiled and came with a pot of coffee in her hand.

“More coffee, dear?” she asked pleasantly.

William glanced down to his drink. He hadn’t touched it. He shook his head.

“Those two men over there, what do you know about them?”

The woman frowned and turned around for a second, glancing at the men in question.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

William put on a disarming smile and pointed to Richard.

“My nephew and I are on holiday. We are looking for a guide who can take us out into the mountains.”

The woman’s frown deepened and her brow knitted itself into a tight knot above her nose.

“It’s the beginning of winter,” she scoffed. “The first snow came weeks ago. No one in their right mind would do something like that.”

William shrugged. “I know that, but, this isn’t any normal trip, you see,” he began. “This is a special trek for my nephew. We’ve already come this far. It would be a shame to turn back now.” William reached out and placed his hand on the woman’s wrist. “Do you think you might know whether they could be hired on as guides?”

“Hey!” an old voice shouted out from near the bar.

William looked from the barmaid toward the voice and saw an elderly gentleman with a liver-spotted head rising from his stool and approaching them on shaky legs.

“Get your hand off of my Jinny!”

William slowly removed his hand and set it on the table. He couldn’t help but notice that all of the patrons in the tavern were now staring directly at him. This amount of attention was not what he wanted.

“Pipe down you old cook,” Jinny said. “I’m not yours, I’m a married woman.”

“Ah, but your husband isn’t half the man I am!” the old man shouted back as he continued toward them. “I still have enough vigor in my bones for two lifetimes!”

“Sorry,” Jinny offered. “He’s harmless, really. A bit of a nuisance, but harmless.”

“That’s alright,” William said.

“I am Derigan Burtle, and. Jinny is going to marry me after I outlive her husband.” Richard looked up from his food long enough to let out a small chuckle after eyeing the old man. Jinny, on the other hand, slapped Derigan’s hand away from her and sidestepped him entirely, leaving him with William and Richard.

“I will see if they are interested in taking you on your adventure,” Jinny told William as she walked away.