A Log Cabin Christmas (15 page)

M
ina spied the cabin up ahead, only its squared corners and pitched shingle roof delineating it from the trees surrounding it.
As God surely intended trees to remain until sawn into respectable lumber for building
.

Everything seemed so much simpler back in England, before the months-long passage had robbed her of far too many meals and an incredible amount of dignity. Mina might have begun the journey full of triumph and hope, but she’d ended the long, perilous path to her guardian in an undesirable mishmash—cold, hungry, dispirited, exhausted, and unsure of her welcome.

She stifled the thought, envisioning it crammed at the very bottom of their heaviest trunk, with the weight of her past and the demands of their future flattening it beyond recognition. Mina prayed for resolve.

She would prevail. She hadn’t brought her beloved nurse untold miles over the course of eight harsh weeks only to freeze on an abandoned mountainside. No matter how much patience Mina needed to dredge from her dwindling supply, or honeyed words poured from her sorely chapped lips, she’d use every wile and weapon at her disposal to find Belinda a home before the next storm. Without access to her fortune, goodwill was all she had.

Mina eyed the cabin anew as they pulled to a stop. I don’t have the luxury of taking any perspective but that the cabin is quaintly cozy, Belinda and I belong here, and—most importantly—I must convince Mr. Carver to see things the same way
.

He’d seen their luggage.

Wasn’t that always the way of women? To carry the past with them from place to place, passing the accumulation of sorrow, memories, and untold knickknacks through generations; passing on burdens long extinct in defiance of time?

On the spot, Sam decided
this
was the reason Lot’s wife had been turned to salt. She’d been warned to leave all behind, but surely she remembered something she would need, and looked back. It could be no mistake God changed her into the essence of the tears her weakness would eventually have caused….

When I left England, I brought a trunk—one reasonable trunk—to begin a new life. That’s all I needed, all I kept, and I’m not taking on any more now, especially not
two women lugging half the continent with them
. He shouldered his rifle and rounded the corner as the overloaded wagon shuddered to a stop.

“No need to dismount.” Sam didn’t yell. No need. Even the birds and squirrels were quiet given all the noise the visitors made. Stearns could hear him just fine. The other man sank back onto his haunches on the crowded wagon seat.

“That’s kind of you.” The young one, perched so precariously on the end of the bench seat that Sam almost marveled she hadn’t tumbled off at some point, reached out a gloved hand for his assistance. “But we did engage Mr. Stearns’ services for both driving and assisting with our luggage.” She tentatively stood, waiting in vain for him to draw near and help her down. Obviously, the lady hadn’t realized Sam meant for them to turn back around.

He took a step forward to tell her so, but an ox shifted, and the girl in dark blue lost her uncertain balance after all. Sam barely caught her before the ground did, quickly registering some pertinent facts as he did so.

The mystery girl who’d descended upon his doorstep was a woman, and if startled doe eyes and creamy skin meant what they used to, a very attractive woman. More importantly, she bore no resemblance to himself nor any of his far-flung relations.

The warm surge of relief lasted only so long as it took for him to swoop her right back up onto the plank seat of the wagon. “You misunderstood, miss. I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place and either need to keep going or turn around. Good day.”

Sam turned on his heel, scooped up the rifle he’d dropped in favor of the lady, and slowed his steps as she spoke.

“No, Mr. Carver,” the sound of his name sliced through his certainty, making him turn. “We’ve come to the right place, and need to vacate Mr. Stearns’ wagon. I see my hopes were unfounded, and my letter did not make an appearance before we—”

“Oh, right!” Stearns scrambled over the side of the wagon, tugging a grubby envelope from his jacket. “Brung your mail.”

Sam accepted the thick missive, biting back a groan and raising a brow at the still-seated ladies. His mother wouldn’t understand nor forgive his lack of manners, but perhaps his surliness would be enough to drive away this strange duo.

“Would you prefer to read it or converse inside?” The girl’s doe eyes held the glint of a riled grizzly as she vigorously rubbed the older woman’s gloved hands between her own.

The gesture of tenderness toward her companion trickled toward his conscience like a snowmelt, making Sam aware of the chill in his chest. Hethawed, but only enough to not drag out the interview. If he allowed the women inside, he wouldn’t be able to oust them. Even if he could ignore the girl, he wouldn’t be able to silence his scruples once they’d awakened that much.

“Neither.” He stepped forward and thrust the envelope toward her. “Whatever you wrote then or might say now won’t change my mind. I don’t know you, and I’m not going to wait while you try to talk me into believing you have any right to be here. You don’t. Stearns will see you back to town and on your way.”

“You may not know me, but you knew my father,” she began her explanation, refusing to take the letter. He let it drop onto her lap.

“I know all my relations, miss, and you do not number among them. This is a harsh place for ladies under the best of circumstances. Good day.” Clearly these were not the best of circumstances. Whoever she was—and Sam resolutely silenced his own curiosity—she’d barged onto a stranger’s land claiming connection. It didn’t get much worse.

“She didn’t claim to be your relation, you stuffed-up bufflehead.” A rasp emerged from the swaths of blankets bundling the old woman. “Miss Montrose said you knew her father.”

And for the second time that morning, a name stopped Sam in his tracks. “Montrose?”

Thoughts of patience and honeyed words shattered in the face of this man’s callousness. Mina didn’t have time to kill her guardian with kindness—not when Belinda would shiver herself into an early grave long before the man showed any measure of consideration. At least he responded to her father’s name.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Montrose. Upon your sire’s death and his own sudden sickness, my father hastily amended his will. You see, Mr. Carver, my father bore the opinion that you would repay his generosity. So he entrusted his most precious possession into your care, in full faith you would do right by his memory.” Grim satisfaction trickled through her at the dawning horror her guardian’s overgrown beard couldn’t conceal.

“You cannot be saying …” He gave a hard swallow before attempting to speak again. “I seem to recall something to the effect that my father would take guardianship of Montrose’s daughter under such circumstances, but …” He gestured curtly, as though blotting out the rest of the equation.

“Yes.” She refused to be softened by his obvious shock. Mina had deduced his ignorance long before embarking upon the journey. But ignorance didn’t excuse rudeness. “I’m your ward.”

So saying, she shuffled to the very edge of the wagon, braced her hand upon the seat, and arched her brow in expectation. When neither man moved to help her down, she almost stomped in frustration. Instead, Mina eyed the ground, gauging the distance and refusing to consider how swiftly the hard-packed earth rushed to meet her when she’d slipped moments ago.

I’ve crossed an ocean and traveled hundreds of miles via carriage and wagon without male assistance. Now it seems the Lord is asking for a more literal leap of faith. No matter how low the ground, how can I balk after coming this far?

Mina closed her eyes, bent her limbs, and sprang forward. For a second time, strong arms intervened before she hit the ground. But she’d learned from prior experience not to hang limply like a rag doll. Instead, she immediately shoved against the broad chest, wriggling until he dropped her—from a higher distance than she’d realized—onto her feet.

“What did you do that for?” Anger blazed from green eyes, points of light in a face obscured by bushy beard and hat brim.

“Neither you nor Mr. Stearns seemed inclined to help me disembark.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’d be obliged if you’d help my companion. Mrs. Banks will need the assistance.”

“Not that. I knew why you jumped—foolish thing to do though it was. Why did you fight me?” He reached up and plucked Belinda from the wagon as though she weighed no more than air.

“Because last time you tossed her right back into the wagon,” her nurse chided. Even with her boots swinging a hands’ span off the ground, Belinda began to lecture. “If you’d spent the last two hours clinging to that seat while splinters burrowed into your palms with every bounce in the road, you wouldn’t think jumping such a foolish idea.”

“I’ll just see to the luggage.” Mr. Stearns slumped toward the rear of the wagon, his gait slowed by an odd, almost rolling quality Mina had seen on the docks, as if he were more used to life on ship than on land. His slow progress came to a dead halt all too quickly when Mr. Carver shook his head.

“We’ll get these ladies warmed up and rested, but then they’ll need to go back.” Laughter warmed his voice, but his words chilled Mina afresh. “Women shouldn’t winter in the wild.”

“There’s no place to stay, Mr. Carver, and no stages until spring. No matter the weather, they say they won’t risk it.”

“I’ll hire you to drive them on to the Burnham,” he said without sparing her a glance. “The Swan’s Wing is a decent enough hotel to hold them through the spring, when they can be sent back to England.”

Manners dictated a lady should attempt to be agreeable. Politeness exhorted that one never interrupted. The strongest—and therefore unspoken—rules of
society revolved around women tactfully leaving decisions to men. More links in the chains of convention to break beneath the force of necessity
.

“I am not a parcel to be returned in the post, Mr. Carver.” No response to her comment. She found herself irked when the man didn’t even acknowledge her objection.

“We cannot reside in a hotel unaccompanied, Mr. Carver.” She appealed to the sense of responsibility her father put faith in. “Such arrangements would prove neither safe nor seemly.”

“Wilson, the proprietor owes me. I’ll send a note, and he’ll keep an eye out for you two. Your companion will keep your reputation intact—particularly as far from England as this.” He waved away her protests. “Your solicitor should never have sent you, but there should be little damage done upon your return.”

“I wasn’t sent, and I can’t go back.” She straightened her spine and locked gazes with him. “I escaped.”

W
hat?” Sam gaped after his ward as she looped her companion’s arm through hers and they headed into the cabin.

His cabin.

The door swung shut behind them with more force than necessary, but not quite enough to call it slammed. Apparently his new houseguest remained too ladylike to sink that low.

“Escaped.” Stearns scratched the back of his head, just underneath his grubby hat. “That’s what I heard, leastways. Escaped from
what
is what I’d like to know. For high-born ladies, those two don’t seem the sort to quiver in their corsets and flee over nothing. If you don’t mind me saying so,” he tacked on hastily, correctly interpreting Sam’s dark glance.

“You will not speak of their unmentionables to anyone,” he ordered. Then he paused. When dealing with Americans, especially former sailors whose tastes might run to the scandalous, he’d found it best to be as clear as possible. “Or any unmentionables whatsoever in their presence.” Sam fought a sense of foreboding.

He rubbed his forehead and tried to marshal his thoughts, form a plan of action, but found himself trapped by the notion that henceforth his days would be trussed to the feminine strictures already casting nets.
Ladies arrive, and the conversation of men is reduced to quibbling over the word
corset.

“This will never work,” he concluded. “Whatever the trouble, it needn’t land them on my doorstep. The ladies need a more fitting place to reside while I work all this out. At the very least, the hotel will give them a more civilized winter than I can provide until spring opens things back up.”

“I won’t take ‘em to the Swan’s Wing.” Stearns made a revolting hacking noise in the back of his throat and worked his jaw around. “And you don’t have a wagon, so that’s out.”

“Don’t be a fool. I said I’d pay you.”

“I’m not the fool, here. You say Wilson owes you, but he can’t be everywhere at once, and your ward there’s a pretty little thing with nothing but a mouthy sack of bones to look after her. Ain’t half a miracle she made it across the ocean and all this way without a fellow or worse, a group of ‘em, bothering her. Sailors get mighty rough after several trips, and there’s not much to keep them in line.” Having said his piece, Stearns hocked a glob of spittle toward the nearest tree, crossed his arms, and squinted as though daring Sam to argue.

“She made it,” he pointed out. “And Wilson’s hotel is on land with no sailors but you for miles on end, Stearns.”

“I still won’t do it. My missus took a liking to them, and I won’t weather the storm if she finds out I dropped two defenseless ladies off at a hotel. I might’ve been captain of my own ship, but when winter comes on and I’m land-bound, it’s my wife’s kingdom.” Suddenly, Stearns looked sheepish to have said so much. “Besides, Wilson might up and marry her before you come down off your high perch to check on her again.”

“If she marries, she’s not my ward.” Then Sam groaned as he realized that it would be far too easy for Wilson or another man to force her into something by threatening the older woman. In a matter of minutes he’d noted her Achilles’ heel, and he carried no doubt others would, as well. “But if I’m not there, she might be forced into marriage before I could intervene.” And that didn’t sit well. Any woman deserved protection, and pawning this one off on a hotel owner wouldn’t be honoring Sam’s debt to her father. “Is there a family or widow I could pay to keep them?”

“To take in one woman? Sure. Two’s stretching it, but money could cover that if the house was big enough. But two
ladies
?” Stearns didn’t have to shake his head; the disbelief in his tone made it clear that high-born ladies would make more work, help with none of it, and add complaints into the bargain. No sane family would agree to that prospect.

“What am I supposed to do with them, Stearns?”

“You’ve only got the one choice, Carver.” The other man turned toward the wagon and hefted the first trunk into his arms before setting it on the ground. “You’ve got to keep ‘em.”

Mina swung open the door, ushered Belinda inside, and shoved it shut with a resounding thud. “If he wants to stand in the frigid air and converse, let him do so. We’ll not become blocks of ice.” She spent several seconds glowering at the familiar, smooth planks of the back of the door. It eased some of her indignation and allowed her precious time to compose herself so she’d be able to find the good in the situation and highlight it for Belinda.

She closed her eyes, stealing another moment to organize the muddle of impressions assaulting her from that first glimpse of the cabin. Overwhelmingly, she’d noted dimness; partly due to the dismaying fact that even the interior remained armed in bark. Mina let out a breath, drawing air deep in preparation for the conversation to come.

Cedar
. The aroma flooded her so powerfully she wondered that she hadn’t noticed it before. The scent of smoke, which she’d expected to hit her like a cloud of coal dust, mellowed into the robust spice of the wood. It smelled … warm, inviting …
Such a welcome change from the smoke-filled rooms we’ve stopped in along the journey here…
. With that discovery bolstering her courage, Mina turned to face their new home.

Light flared in the corner where her nurse lit a hanging oil lamp before moving to ignite another atop a nearby table. Mina stoked the flames in the fire, building it up with the help of the wood and kindling piled near the hearth. With the flames leaping and the two lamps burning across the cabin like wide-set eyes, the place didn’t seem as dim.

Mina only wished things looked less grim as she studiously ignored the gory pile of who-knew-what creatures slumped atop the table. “It looks like one room, but I think that’s a loft overhead.”

“We anticipated one room,” Belinda reminded, stretching her hands toward the fire and sighing. “Remember that he could have built a dugout. It looked as though the place abuts a hill, so that would’ve been much simpler for one man to erect.”

“Very true.” Though living below ground didn’t bear thinking about. Mina continued ticking off any and every positive she could think of regarding their new surroundings. “It smells wonderful. I’d thought it made of pine, but the cedar carries through—which will help ward off insects.” She winced at the thought that
fewer
insects could be considered one of the highlights of any building.

What more could she say? The place boasted those most excellent necessities; walls, a roof, and a fire, but precious little else. A single bench flanked the table. The opposite corner held a bed of sorts—really more of a pallet. A rough ladder descended off toward the third corner, reaching toward the loft. In its entirety, the room held nothing more. Nor could it measure beyond a dozen feet squared.

“The woodpile outside seemed very healthy, so we’ll not freeze. And there’s a proper hearth set up for cooking.” Her nurse stamped her feet. “The floor’s dirt, but hard packed.”

“Floors can be covered fairly easily.” Mina brightened as she noted darker brown shadows against the walls, and she went to investigate. “There are windows! No glass, but if you move the coverings aside …” She did so with great caution, peeping to see Mr. Carver and Mr. Stearns beginning to unload the wagon.

Until relief flooded her, she didn’t acknowledge how worried she’d been.
Thank the Lord he didn’t turn us out
. She hurried away from the window before they spotted her.

“We can put up waxed paper to let the light in on fine days.” If one couldn’t alter the dimensions or construction of the place, at least two determined women could work wonders on its inner aspects. “Proper curtains go a long way, and if we strip the walls of bark, it will seem much brighter inside—”

“Also colder.” Mr. Carver’s voice preceded him through the doorway. “Notto mention that the smell of fresh-cut or exposed red cedar hereabouts is exceptionally powerful. It wouldn’t be livable in this place for a solid month if I let you try that.”

“Oh!” Mina clapped a hand over her mouth. “I am sorry.” She didn’t elaborate. Apologizing for planning to redecorate his cabin the first time she set foot inside it was sufficient. Her guardian needn’t know she also regretted the infeasibility of those plans. She’d also marked the steel underlying the phrase “if I let you.” Obviously, he’d determined to take her in, but he wouldn’t allow her to take control.

He and Mr. Stearns carried in the luggage, wedging and stacking it into the space nearest the ladder. Hopefully, it meant his thoughts mirrored their own; the loft should be for exclusive use by the ladies, so they could retreat in peace and sleep in privacy as was decent. At least, it would be decent just as soon as proper stairs could be cobbled together. Ascending a ladder of that sort counted as a minor scandal considering that anyone below would have a view directly up one’s skirts!

When they’d brought everything in and Mr. Stearns drove away, Mr. Carver looked at the two of them as though at a loss. Which well he might be, given not only the way they’d descended upon him but also his inconvenient lack of furniture.

Mina had brought the only bench closer to the fire, which bore the added benefit of distance farther from the mess atop the table. Belinda shared it with her, leaving no remaining seats. Because no gentleman would be so far gone as to even think of—

Sinking down onto the bed-like thing facing them, Mr. Carver drew off his hat. The gesture revealed sandy hair a good three shades lighter than his surprisingly red beard. “There’s no sense in standing on ceremony just because a lady doesn’t approve where a man chooses to sit.” He arched a brow, flickering firelight making his shadowed expression imposing. “I built this cabin for trapping, not hosting company or housing unexpected guests. We’ll make do with what’s at hand. Agreed?”

They nodded. Mina didn’t know why Belinda held silent, whether from curiosity or uncertainty. Perhaps she held her peace now so she could win the war later. A contentious woman could never stage an ambush, and she judged that the element of surprise would be needed in any battle fought with this odd guardian.