The Northwoods Read online

  “A few, though that has never seemed to last long,” Abigail said. “I think he might be a bit of a brute with the ladies. He started to drink heavily after our mother and father were both gone, and whiskey can make even the kindest man turn wicked.”

  Two months after that conversation, on a warm summer morning, Sarah had been in the garden tending to the flowers, watering and weeding, when she heard a wagon approach and turned to see Sam. He pulled up beside the house and tied the horse to a post. She expected him to go directly to the house and was surprised when he headed her way.

  “Good morning, Sam,” she said.

  “Za-rah,” he said, his voice sounding sluggish and slurred.

  Sarah then noticed an awkward staggering in his step. When he finally was in front of her, she could smell the stench of whiskey.

  “Came by to ask you to the Harmons’ barn dance tonight,” he said.

  Sarah felt herself reddening as she stood before him, speechless. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t say yes. No part of her wanted to say yes, but she also didn’t want to offend him, for he was Abigail’s brother.

  “Cat got your tongue, there?” Sam asked, as he nearly stumbled into her. He reached out and rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I think we’d make a fine pair on the dance floor.”

  Sarah had tried to back away, but Sam had a firm grip on her. Just then, she heard the front door creak open and slam shut.

  “What’s on your mind, Sam?” Abigail asked as she approached him and Sarah.

  Sam removed his hand from Sarah and swung around, nearly losing his balance.

  “Thought I’d invite Sarah to a dance,” he said. “I bet she’s a helluva dancer.”

  “You’ve been drinking, Sam,” Abigail said. “You already smell like a saloon and it’s still morning.”

  “Just a little hair of the dog,” Sam said, a sloppy smile spreading over his face. “Got a little carried away last night.”

  “I’m sure tonight won’t be any different,” Abigail said. “And you’re too old to be taking Sarah to a dance. You’re more than ten years her senior.”

  The smile vanished from Sam’s face, and he turned away from Abigail and twisted about to face Sarah again. She dropped her eyes to the ground. Just as Sam reached out to her, Abigail snagged one of his arms and pulled him back.

  “That’s enough, Sam,” she said sternly. “You need to go home, have some coffee, and sober up. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  Sam grunted loudly and Abigail steered him toward his wagon. Sarah watched, relieved. Abigail waited until Sam’s wagon was well down the road before returning to her side. She looped an arm around Sarah’s waist.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Has he ever approached you before?”

  “Never,” Sarah said. “I was so startled I didn’t know what to say. You came out just in time.”

  “I saw him through the kitchen window,” Abigail said. “I guess I was right. He’s probably had you on his mind for some time.”

  She had kissed Sarah on the cheek, and they went to the garden together to finish their tasks. Sam never did approach Sarah again, and she had simply regarded the incident as a one-time occurrence, fueled by the liquor. Now that she was sequestered with him at the logging camp, she hoped she was right.

  * * *

  When they reached the wagon, Sam finally released her and started to unload his bag and a few other supplies he had brought with him. They then went to the cook shanty and Sam pushed the door open.

  “After you.”

  Sarah stepped into the small building that was just as crude as the bunkhouse. Two long tables made of rough pine boards flanked with benches were on each side of the shanty and ran nearly the length of the building. In the back were a large woodstove and a small fireplace. Above them, stringers ran crosswise over the cook’s and flunkies’ stations, from which hung kettles, frying pans, baking dishes, cleavers, meat saws, ladles, and big spoons. Next to the stove was a large baker where the pies and biscuits were prepared. To the right of that was a table where the food was prepped, and to the left of the table was an area with a large basin that was used to wash the dishes, utensils, cups, pots, and pans.

  “There’s no talking during meals,” Sam said. “The men need to eat quickly, and if they were all in here talking, the sound would be deafening. As it is, you can hardly hear yourself think. If they want more food or a refill, they’ll gesture to you.”

  “What are my duties?” Sarah asked as she tried to imagine maneuvering around that small structure filled with men.

  “You and Annie will wake an hour before me and Mack to carry in the wood; build the fires in the fireplace, the woodstove, and baker; fetch the water we’ll need for the first half of the day; put on the coffee; and begin peeling potatoes.” Sam pointed to a door in the rear of the shanty before continuing. “That door goes out back, where you’ll find the ice house, root cellar, and woodpile.”

  Sarah looked around the shanty.

  “Where do we keep the water?” she asked.

  “In that barrel there,” Sam said. “It should always be at least half full.”

  “Okay,” Sarah said.

  “When you’re done with those duties, you’ll wake the teamsters before everyone else. Just pound on their door. They need to feed, water, and harness the horses before chow so they’re ready to go as soon as the jacks finish eating. You ring the triangle that’s hanging outside the door at four thirty to wake the rest of the jacks, and again fifteen minutes later to let them know breakfast is on.”

  “Is that it?” Sarah asked naively.

  Sam let out a loud laugh.

  “That’s just the beginning. You and Annie will wait on the tables during breakfast and dinnertime. Just keep the plates filled with food and the mugs topped off with coffee. As soon as breakfast ends, you’ll clean off the tables and wash the dishes, pots, and pans. You’ll spend the mornings preparing food for the next day’s lunch buckets, slicing bread, making sandwiches, and wrapping pie, cake, and fruit. Mack and Annie will deliver the buckets to the loggers in the woods each day. While they’re doing that, you’ll prepare for dinnertime in the afternoon, whatever needs to be done.”

  Sarah looked around at the bare bones of the shanty.

  “What do the loggers eat?” she asked.

  “Your basic fare,” Sam said. “Only what can keep in these conditions—salt pork fried with potatoes, beans, biscuits, dried fruits, shoepack pie. The pie is nothing but sugar, vinegar, water, and cornstarch. I’ve got a good recipe for bean hole baked beans that I’ll be showing you. They’re easy enough to fix, and they stick to the ribs. They’re usually made outside in a hole dug into the ground and filled with embers, but up here the ground’s too frozen for digging, so we use the fireplace instead. You just put your beans and molasses in a heavy pot or earthen jar, bury it in the fireplace, and bank it with coals before you go to bed. They’ll be ready by morning.”

  He pointed to two bunks against the opposite wall.

  “That’s where Mack and I will be sleeping,” he said.

  He walked over to a door on one side of the room and opened it.

  “Mack’s daughter can bed down in here.”

  Sarah took a deep breath and stepped into the room, barely big enough for the crude cot, wooden chair, and tiny table that it held.

  “That’s it,” Sam said. “This is the camp. You might as well settle into the shed for the night. It’s been a long day, and the days to follow will only get longer. You can wash up in the basin by the dishwashing station if you want. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a few more things for the shed to make it more convenient for you. This has enough grub in it to hold you for the night.”

  He handed her a brown paper parcel.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said. “For everything.”

  “With all these men rolling in, you’ll be a sight for sore eyes,” Sam said.

  His eyes settled on Sarah long enough to make h
er feel uneasy.

  “Good night, Sam,” she said as she exited the shanty.

  * * *

  Her first night at the logging camp, in the tiny shed, Sarah felt a sudden surge of fear when she ventured out in the dark to use the outhouse and realized how vulnerable she was in that arena. She didn’t really fear the animals that roamed the woods at night—the bears were already hibernating—but any one of the men who would be in that camp could easily take her down. She had no protection. She had never felt so alone and isolated. The first thing she did when she returned to the shed, before lying down that night, was wedge the chair beneath the shed’s doorknob. That was her only way of deterring a stray jack from entering. She knew it wouldn’t keep him out, but it would give her warning. She would secure one of the pots from the shanty the next day to keep in the shed so she could avoid going out into the night to use the outhouse. Soon she would be surrounded by a sea of unruly men, and she could think of no other way to protect herself.

  After she built a fire in the woodstove, she yawned and finally removed her boots and outer layer of clothing and stretched out on the cot. She pulled the thick wool blanket tightly over her. As tired as she was from the day of travel, she couldn’t sleep. The winds whipped and whistled, while tree branches snapped. Every sound outside seemed to be amplified, the creaking of the trees and the occasional calls from night birds. The cot was uncomfortable, hard and unyielding, and though she welcomed the glow from the small woodstove, it barely kept the shed warm enough. She knew that as the temperatures dropped, it would be almost unbearable. She closed her eyes and thought of Abigail, wishing her life could be as it once had been, with Abigail’s body warm against hers, soft arms around her, holding her close. Tears traced down her cheeks.

  * * *

  The first week that Sarah and Sam were at the camp, they spent the time from sunup to sundown unpacking and storing the supplies that were delivered on the second day and thoroughly cleaning the shanty, scrubbing down the floors, tables, and benches with boiling water to try to eradicate the lice that had nestled in during the warmer months and to wash away the dust that had settled over everything. Sarah cringed the entire time.

  Sam began to stockpile firewood, and Sarah scrubbed the pots and pans, plates and cups, and utensils. The work was so constant that there was little idle time, which relieved Sarah. She didn’t need to worry about conversation and everyday courtesies, and she was even more relieved when the cook’s helper and his daughter arrived the first day of the second week. Sarah had just returned from getting a bucket of water when their wagon pulled up. She watched as they got out of the wagon and gathered their belongings. The man, Mack, was a compact, rather stout man, with a shock of red hair and a short bush of a beard. His daughter, Annie, was a small, mousy-looking girl with shoulder-length, curly strawberry-blond hair. With Sam nowhere in sight, Sarah greeted them.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m Sarah, the other flunky.”

  “Mack,” the man said. He thrust out his hand and firmly shook Sarah’s. “Mack McGee, and this is my daughter, Annie.”

  Sarah smiled at the girl.

  “We’ll be spending a lot of time together the next few months,” Sarah said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  She felt relief to no longer be the only person in the camp with Sam.

  “Where’s Sam?” Mack asked as he surveyed the camp.

  “He’s out beyond the river chopping some firewood,” Sarah said. “He told me you two would be bunking in the cook shanty with him. He cleared out the small room in the back for your daughter. I’ll be staying in that little shed there.”

  She pointed to the structure.

  “Well, then, let’s put our gear in the shanty and get cracking,” Mack said to Annie.

  They gathered their belongings and took them into the shanty and immediately came back out.

  “I’m going to track down, Sam,” Mack said. “Annie can join you in the shanty so you can show her the ropes.”

  Sarah picked the bucket of water back up and looked at Annie.

  “Will do,” she said. “Follow me.”

  Mack took off into the woods, whistling a cheerful tune that filtered through the trees. Sarah headed into the cook shanty with Annie trailing her.

  “We spent the last week cleaning the place so it’s not half bad,” Sarah said as they stepped inside.

  “It’s so…simple,” Annie said.

  “It is rather crude,” Sarah agreed. “I have to admit that I spent my first two days here in a near state of shock.”

  “I can see why,” Annie said.

  The look on her face was grim.

  “Sam said the loggers will start to arrive toward the end of the week, so you’re here just in time,” Sarah said. “I’ll show you where the supplies are and go over our duties. Our days will be long ones.”

  “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m dreading this,” Annie said.

  “You seem so young,” Sarah said. “Have you been here before?”

  Annie sighed.

  “This is my first winter,” she said. “I’m fourteen now. Father says he needs me here, but my mother doesn’t take kindly to him pulling me out of school. I’m hoping that when he’s old enough, my brother Jacob will take my place.”

  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” Sarah asked.

  “Two brothers and one sister,” Annie said with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “I’m the oldest. As much as I argue with my brothers, I’ll miss them both, and my mother and sister. I’m going to be so lonely up here. Father already forbade me from talking to any of the loggers.”

  “That’s probably wise,” Sarah said. “I imagine they’re going to be a rather rogue gang of men.”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Annie said meekly.

  “As the only two females here, we’ll have to look out for each other,” Sarah said.

  Even as she spoke those words, Sarah knew that Annie would be far less alone than she would. She, at least, would have her father by her side.

  Chapter Three

  When Evelyn arrived at the logging camp, the air was bitter cold and the ground was already frozen, rock hard. A thin layer of snow dusted the trees and earth, and the sky was bright and clear, a solid aqua. Monstrous, hundred-year-old trees, many of them pines, seemed to span into forever, like an endless ocean of dark green. The grandeur of the land gave Evelyn comfort, solace, and she took a deep breath of the fresh, chilled air. She climbed out of the wagon, and Will tossed her the canvas pack. Their eyes locked for a moment.

  “Watch your back,” Will said.

  Evelyn nodded.

  “Watch my children,” she told him.

  “They’ll be fine,” Will said. “We’ll all be fine.”

  Evelyn watched as he turned the wagon around and headed back the way they had come. When the wagon finally vanished from sight, she yearned to run after it, but she stood in place. She gazed at the small army of men that surrounded her, roaming about the camp grounds, their booming voices resounding through the woods, and she felt a sharp twinge of panic burrow into the pit of her stomach. She felt intimidated. She knew many of the men were long-term lumberjacks. Others, like her, were just trying to make a living for their families. Evelyn had never seen so many men gathered in one place, and she realized in that moment how isolated and sheltered she had been in life. She had spent nearly all her time on the farm with George and the children, seeing outsiders only when they had gone to town for supplies or visited a nearby neighbor. No part of her could have envisioned the realm she was entering.

  “You check in yet?” asked a man with a jet-black handlebar mustache that curled into two question marks at each end.

  “Just got here,” Evelyn said, so conscious of her voice that her palms instantly became sweaty. “Name’s George Bauer.”

  “Been here before?”

  “Two times. Last time was three years back.”

  The man riffled through
his papers.

  “Here you are,” he said. “You’re a sawyer?”

  “Sure am,” Evelyn said.

  “I’m the foreman, Johnny Jones. You know how things work around here. No gambling, no booze, and we’ll get along just fine. Some of the jacks are still arriving, but we’ve already had a crew in the woods for a week now. You’ll be starting tomorrow. Dinner’s in about an hour. You can find yourself a bunk to settle in until then.”

  Johnny pointed to the long, low bunkhouse. Evelyn took it in. No part of her believed the structure could withstand a wicked storm or provide sufficient warmth for the winter. Just as she was about to head to the building, a young boy, he didn’t look older than fourteen or fifteen, bare-cheeked except for the peach fuzz that feathered his face, rode into camp on a horse that was definitely nothing to brag about—more like a haggard plow horse. The horse’s nostrils emitted puffs of white and its body steamed from exertion in the wintry air. As the boy was about to dismount, Johnny Jones yelled out.

  “Whoa, now! You stay right where you’re at, boy. What’re you doing here?”

  “I came for work,” the boy said.

  “We don’t allow jacks to bring their own horses up here, boy. Unless you’re a teamster. You a teamster?”

  “No, sir,” the boy answered.

  “Well, we don’t need any distractions, and we definitely don’t need another mouth to feed,” Johnny said.

  By then some of the other jacks had gathered around the boy and his horse. One jack, with long, curly brown hair that fell like a drape past his shoulders and a thick beard that resembled snakes coiling down his chest, bellowed loudly, a sound that rose to the treetops.

  “Can’t believe that old mare actually made it up here,” he said. “You might have to carry her halfway back.”

  The other jacks laughed and the boy reddened.

  “Where you from, greenhorn?” Johnny asked.

  “From outside Baxter,” the boy answered quietly.

  “Better head back that way, boy,” Johnny said.