One in a Hundred
by Galen Peoples
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One in a Hundred
by Galen Peoples
Jason Bolt dreamed of trees. Every night. And when he woke in the morning he had the pleasure of seeing his dream come true.
This morning the dream was interrupted by a voice urging him to get up. It carried a slight residual stammer that Jason knew somehow. Coming to, he recognized it as his brother Jeremy's and his surroundings as the tent at their lumber camp, where they slept more than half the time. Early rising was part of the job. Jason opened his eyes to see Jeremy standing over him, obviously agitated. "It's an emergency," he said.
Jason's first thought as he fully regained his senses was of his other brother Joshua. He jumped to sitting and reached for his trousers. Jeremy quickly allayed his fear. Josh had left before sunup, heading a crew out on Blissful Ridge. He was not due back for another two or three hours. But Jeremy immediately replaced that worry with another–a lesser one but big enough. "It's S–Stempel."
Jason snorted. "What's he done now?"
"It's what he's doing. Got the men in a stew–"
Jason's look turned dark. "Making trouble? In our camp?" Jeremy prudently stepped away from the tent flap.
A moment later Jason was outside and seeing for himself–not that he believed it. Aaron Stempel, the mill owner, Jason's colleague and rival, was striding around the camp as if he–Jason dismissed the thought. Some of Aaron's men were trailing behind him, as Jeremy was trailing behind Jason. Occasionally when they took a new turn two or three big loggers would block their path.
Aaron was issuing a stream of instructions, which startled Jason almost as much as his free run of the camp. Move this flume here, that track there. The filer's shack would have to be rebuilt. Catching sight of Jason, he nodded dismissively and then returned to his agenda. He had reached the camp sign, the ramshackle construction that had never changed since the earliest days. "Bolt Lumber Company," it read. That would certainly have to be changed.
Jason had heard enough. He stepped in front of Stempel. "You have five seconds to explain yourself," he said, "before I boot your backside to the holy seat of judgment."
"Didn't your brother tell you?" Aaron's manner was bright. "I own your camp." A low rumble emerged from Jason's throat. "Well, good as own it. Will, come Thursday." Tardily, Jeremy stammered confirmation.
"Of course it follows," Aaron added, grinning, "seeing I own your mountain."
Lottie Hatfield, unaware of the imminent revolution, was restocking her bar. At this hour she had only one customer–her perpetual customer. But Captain Clancey was taking a long time to empty his tumbler. He would not be fully conscious for at least another hour.
The doors opened unexpectedly to a new customer, a stranger who must have come in on the mail packet. He obviously hailed from a more civilized part of the world, although even there he would have been outsized by most men. His suit was a tan pinstripe. He set down his valise by the door and extracted a small notebook. That and his small, darting eyes led Lottie to peg him as a reporter.
Approaching the bar, the man introduced himself as Pringle, Samuel L. "–of St. Louis," he added importantly.
Lottie, who had been there once, was unimpressed. "What'll you have?" she asked curtly.
Pringle waved a hand. "I'm a teetotaler." Clancey, who had been regarding him speculatively through half-closed eyes, turned away with a grunt. Pringle appeared not to notice. "I'll bet you're wondering," he said, "why a well-dressed Eastern gent should be stopping in your settlement–"
Lottie saw a long road ahead. "What are you sellin', Mister?" she asked.
"My good woman, I'm not selling. I'm collecting."
"Collectin' dust, is it?" Clancey muttered.
"I'm compiling a history of the territory–a comprehensive account of every person and event of consequence." He winked at her. "I'll bet you know everybody in town."
Lottie returned to her bottles. "Sonny, I'm a barkeep. People confide in me. And their business stays their business." Before he could try to dissuade her, she added, "There's one man around here who won't mind talking your ear off. See Jason Bolt."
Pringle jotted the name in his book.
At the moment Jason was not feeling loquacious. He was reading the notarized affidavit that Aaron had handed him–reading it a second time, as if it might come out differently from before. He handed it to Jeremy, who did the same. "It's genuine," Aaron assured them.
"You expect me to take your word for that?" Jason asked.
"No," Aaron acknowledged, "but there's a witness whose truthfulness you won't question." He deliberately held the Bolts in suspense for several seconds before continuing. "Miss Candy Pruitt."
Jeremy shook his head. "She woulda told me."
"Why don't you ask her?" Aaron said, smiling.
Jeremy looked at Jason. "It better be me," he said. Jason nodded. Jeremy started for town at a run.
Candy was hanging laundry at the side of the brides' dormitory. "Just in time," she said as Jeremy appeared. "Hold this." She handed him a basket of wet muslin, which she took out a piece at a time and pinned to the line.
Jeremy had completely worked out his opening, but this reception took him aback. He tried to reconstruct what he had had in mind and at the same time keep a lid on the frustration that was simmering inside him. "Goodness, you look sober," Candy laughed. "I think Jason's working you too hard–"
Jeremy gave up the effort. "C–Candy!" he shouted.
Candy's expression changed to a look of apprehension that Jeremy knew well. Her voice grew tiny. "Yes?"
"Hetty Oliver," Jeremy blurted out. It was not what he had meant to say.
"Hetty Oliver Caine," Candy corrected. Hetty had left the previous year with her new husband. "Why, has she done something I don't know about?"
"It's something she didn't do. And you did know." Jeremy handed over the affidavit. As Candy read, he echoed it aloud. It was signed by Hetty, who like Candy had been one of the hundred brides-to-be that Jason had fetched from New Bedford. Here she was attesting that she had not stayed the full year promised but had stolen out of town six weeks early. "–and you helped her," Jeremy finished. His eyes were unforgiving.
Candy gave back the paper. "Does she say why?" she asked quietly.
"It doesn't m–matter!" Jeremy was losing control. "Who else knew about this?" he asked.
"Nobody at first. After a few days the other brides noticed she was missing."
Jeremy could not resist turning the screw. "And Aaron Stempel?"
"He had no idea." Candy was at sea.
"He has now," Jeremy said. "And you know what that means?" He reminded Candy of Jason's agreement with Aaron, the one that had brought the brides there in the first place. Candy looked confused. Wasn't that all over with? "Because we thought the brides stayed the year," Jeremy said. "If Hetty didn't, we still l–l–lose the mountain. Th–thanks to you." He turned to go.
"I can explain," Candy said.
Spinning on her, Jeremy exploded at last. "No, Candy, you c–c–can't! Not this. Not ever." He stormed off, leaving Candy to the twin springs that were beginning to well up on either side of her nose.
Jeremy reported the news unhappily. "She knew?" Jason said. "And she didn't tell you?" Too many warring feelings kept Jeremy from answering. Jason turned to Stempel. "How did you find out?"
Stempel was happy to give a full account. A large mill out Idaho way had shut down, and he had gone there to deal for the inventory. Learning where he was from, a man at the hotel recollected another traveler from Seattle who had passed through two years before. A woman alone, especially one with her looks, he wasn't likely to forget. Stempel said he must be mistaken in the date. The man insisted. "Turns out he was right," Stempel concluded with a grin. "I tracked her down myself and got a full confession." The grin vanished. "Circuit judge is due on Thursday. I'll present my claim to him."
After a last brief look at the paper, Jason threw it back at Stempel. "Till then, get off our mountain."
"My mountain," Stempel said. But he gestured to his men to come away. "I'll make you a fair offer for the equipment," he said.
Jason stepped down to Stempel. Some of the loggers joined him, forming a phalanx. "I'll chop it into stovewood first," he said.
"I'll be back on Thursday," Stempel said, "and I'll have more men with me."
"So will I!" Jason countered.
"Don't try to stop me. The law's on my side." Stempel turned to Jason's men, who were still trying to take it all in. "Any of you that care to are welcome to stay on with me."
"At the same wage?" Corky asked. Taken by surprise, Stempel did not have a ready answer. "I thought so," Corky said. He looked around at the others. "What do ya say, boys?" Absolute silence.
Jason smiled with satisfaction. "I'd leave now if I was you," he said.
"Remember," Stempel said, "Thursday." With his men he started down the hill.
The atmosphere lightened but not Jason's frown. "Brother," he said, "looks as though we may have to find ourselves a new mountain."
As the mill crew tramped homeward, Stempel's foreman took the courage to speak up. He could never be sure with Stempel. Sometimes he took advice gladly, other times–
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," the man began, "you'd best see to it Bolt don't cut things up like he said. That's a top-grade set-up. Take weeks to build it new."
The man was relieved when Stempel thanked him for the idea. "They try anything," he said, "we'll send a few of the boys up here to stop 'em." It sounded hollow.
"Beggin' your pardon again, sir," the man said, "they're sawyers. These are axemen. Somebody'll have to talk Bolt out of it." He refrained from mentioning who.
Stempel was considering the prospect of trying to outtalk Jason when a figure came into view on the path. He and Stempel spied each other at the same time. Stempel hailed him heartily. "Joshua!" When he came within reach, Stempel reached out to clap him on the shoulder, but an agile turn by the younger man left Stempel's arm dangling in the air.
"What are you doing up here?" Joshua asked.
Stempel assumed an air of helpless perplexity. "The queerest thing has happened," he said. "I hope you'll take the news better than your brothers. Jason is such a headstrong fella."
He pulled out the paper. Joshua, the businessman of the family, needed only a quick skim to see the worst. "This means we lose the mountain." Stempel assured him of his good intentions. He would try to make sure the operation continued without a hitch. He would assume all existing jobs, sparing Joshua and his brothers any penalties. "But if Jason does something foolish," he said, "like tearing the camp apart–" He left the consequence to Josh's imagination.
"Reckon I'll have to help him," Josh said promptly. "Afternoon."
Stempel scowled after him and then turned to the foreman, who was watching him uncertainly. "What are you waiting for?" he barked. He stamped off down the hill, leaving the others to follow.
The throng of burly men came tramping into town before noon. Candy watched from the dormitory porch. The two older Bolts did not spare her a glance. The youngest did, but only for an instant, and then returned his eyes to the front, copying his brothers.
A man in a pinstriped suit was waiting outside the general store. He came out and introduced himself to Jason. "I'm writing a history–" he began.
"Good luck to you," Jason said, without stopping.
Pringle two-stepped along with him and the others. "Miss Lottie said you knew more than anyone about–"
Jason stopped to face him. "Tell you who knows things–the only one around here, apparently." He pointed to the dormitory. "Miss Cassandra Pruitt. You tell her–on second thought, you wouldn't care to repeat what I have to tell her." He followed the others into Lottie's. Pringle made a note and turned toward the dormitory.
Holiday? Lottie asked herself as she doled out beers to one logger after another. A survey of their faces dispelled that notion. The Bolts had taken their usual places at the bar. Plopping three glasses in front of them, Lottie asked the obvious question.
"Called a day off," Jason said shortly.
"Any particular reason?"
Jason just growled. "Stempel," Joshua said quietly.
Lottie leaned on the counter. "Tell me about it."
The mill hands were uneasy. Stempel did not often call them together, and when he did it was usually to let some of them go. Occasionally it was news of a big job, which meant longer hours but more pay. You couldn't tell from his face either way.
From the steps outside his office, Stempel waved them to silence. "Come Thursday," he announced, "Stempel Mill will acquire the Bolt Lumber Company. Some of you will be joining me on the mountain." Those to whom that was news stared at one another in surprise.
"I'm assembling a logging crew," Stempel continued. "Work's harder, but"–he smiled–"the pay's better. Which of you men have had experience?" Silence. Stempel pointed to a rather ungainly young man with a cowlick. "You used to work for the Bolts, didn't you?"
The young man, whose name was Simon, shifted his feet. Stempel's foreman, from the step below him, leaned up and whispered into his ear. Aaron waved carelessly. "Little accident, could happen to anybody."
Spotting an axe wedged in a nearby stump, he stepped down and yanked it out in a way he hoped looked virile and lumberjack-like. He passed among the men, singling out the biggest, and appointed them to the gang. He stopped in front of Simon and thrust the axe into his hands. "You're lead man," he said. "Show 'em the ropes." There were looks exchanged between his back. Simon had the axe in an awkward grip, with one set of knuckles dangerously close to the blade. Stempel moved his hands to the correct positions. "Just–show 'em how it's done," he said encouragingly.
The foreman was still standing outside the office. "Beggin' your pardon, sir–" he began.
"I know," Stempel said, grimacing. "Loggers."
Candy peered down from the porch at the little man in tan. Her eyes, blurred by the constant runs of tears that had followed Jeremy's visit, could not make him out clearly, but she was sure she did not know him. The man said he had been referred by Jason Bolt. "He said you'd know all the guilty secrets," he added, with a wink.
Biddie Cloom came out just in time to hear the last words and to hold the screen as Candy ran inside sobbing. She whirled on Pringle. "You horrible man!" she said. "Why don't you just go away?" Starting in, she had a second thought. "Better yet, talk to Aaron Stempel. He's the one who started all this." The screen slammed behind her.
The failure of the attempted joke puzzled Pringle but did not daunt him. So Stempel started it all, he thought. He made another note.
"Don't let Jason upset you," Biddie said, perching on the edge of the comforter. Candy, buried in the pillow, said something that between the flannel and the crying sounded like "Ih nah yay."
"Beg your pardon?" Candy made the same noise again. "Well, of course," Biddie said encouragingly. "I mean, it stands to reason."
Candy lifted her head, sniffing back tears, although droplets continued to splash onto her cheeks now and then. "It's not Jason," she repeated. "It's me." She sat up. "I ruined their dream. But–oh, Biddie–it was my dream, too. I always thought"–now the drops became larger and more numerous–"Jeremy and I would build a little house up there, on the mountain, with a bluebird on the window sill, and now–now," she finished, the words breaking, "we won't have any bluebird!"
Biddie considered. "I could ask Corky to catch you a bluebird," she ventured.
Candy hurled herself back onto the pillow, lost in another rush of tears. Biddie patted her head by way of apology. Definitely not the right thing to say, she thought.
The beer was not drowning any sorrows, Lottie reflected. Clancey was the only one in the house who did not look morose. He looked fighting mad. Only a close acquaintance could have ignored the fire in his eye as his fellow loungers were doing.
"Y' know what I should do?" he asked nobody in particular. "I should punch that Mr. Stempel in the nose. Knock the scoundrel to the ground. Yank his gizzard up through his gullet and toss it to the bottom of the briny."
"Here's your chance, Cap'n Teach." Clancey looked from Lottie to the figure who was just stepping up beside him, regarding him dryly.
"Ah, mornin', Mr. Stempel," Clancey said. "I was just sayin'–ah–" Lottie slid him a beer. He seized it gratefully and stopped his mouth with a long swallow.
"Surprised to see you here," Lottie said as she served Aaron his usual. "I thought you'd be out foreclosing on a widow."
Aaron smiled. "I take it you've heard the good news?"
Lottie looked more sad than angry. "That was settled long ago. Why not let it rest?"
"Come on, Lottie. It's business."
"'It's business,'" Jason repeated, looking at no one. "Beware those two words, brothers–they pollute a man's soul."
Aaron pretended not to hear. "I do need your advice on one thing, though," he said to Lottie. "Can't make up my mind which sounds better–Mount Aaron or Stempel's Peak." Growling again, Jason stirred. Each of his brothers laid a restraining hand on one shoulder. After a moment he subsided.
Aaron heard himself addressed by name. He turned to face a dude in a pinstriped suit. "The bad penny," Clancey observed.
"I'm told you were the founder of this community," the dude said. The Bolts and some other people lifted their heads. Aaron assumed the humblest look of which he was capable. "Well," he allowed, "not all by myself."
The dude extended his hand. "Pringle, Samuel L."
Aaron took it. "Stempel, Aaron G."
Jason shook his head. "Vanity, all is vanity."
Pringle described the history he intended to produce. He was gratified to be informed that he was about to witness a historic event. Aaron turned to the room. "Gentlemen!" he called. A few of them lifted their heads to see who the speaker was. Seeing, most returned to their drinks.
"As the new owner of the Bolt Lumber Company," Aaron continued, "I'm finally in a position to give you the kind of treatment you deserve. I've always said you were overworked and meanly underpaid. Assuming no one does anything foolish, like wreck the camp"–he looked in Jason's direction–"you can keep on like before. Except I'll raise your wages by"–he stopped in spite of himself, and lowered the figure he had meant to offer–"twenty-five cents a week."
Corky's was not the only skeptical face. "That ain't what you said this mornin'."
Aaron shook his head. "Corky, Corky–what's your Christian name?"
Corky looked blank. "Corky," he said.
"Corky–you should know when I'm joking. Twenty-five cents–what about it?" No takers. "All right, fifty." The Bolts, who had been deliberately ignoring Aaron, were now listening closely. "My last offer," he said. "A dollar raise for any man who stays with me." The loggers stared at one another, but were too busy working it out to reply immediately. "You have till Thursday to decide," Aaron said.
Turning back to Pringle, Aaron asked whether he had found a place to stay. Pringle had not. Aaron offered to put him up. He asked whether Pringle had seen the local landmarks. He had not. Aaron offered him a tour.
"What's his game?" Joshua asked after the pair had left.
"To make us look bad," Jeremy guessed.
Jason shook his head. "He needs loggers and hasn't got 'em."
"He's got Simon," Jeremy said innocently. They all laughed.
The laugh was cut off sharply as Candy entered. She was trembling as she walked over and, almost inaudibly, requested a soda pop. The Bolts' eyes were fixed on their reflections in the mirror opposite, although Jeremy's strayed once to that of the sweetly curved figure beside him. As she left he moved to follow her, but after a moment's indecision turned back to his brothers.
Lottie looked severe. "Whatever Candy did," she said to them, and especially to Jason, "I'm sure she had a good reason."
Jason's face was hard. "What's that they say about good intentions? Josh?"
"What a tangled web we weave," Josh answered and then stopped himself. "–oh, no, that's deceitfulness."
The two half-smiled, but Jeremy did not. He felt Lottie's eyes on him but did not dare meet them. A casual bystander might have thought he had a guilty conscience.
"I always said we should have a church," Aaron was telling a furiously scribbling Pringle when he heard his name shouted. Someone was running toward them across the square. In a moment Aaron recognized him as one of his hands.
The shouting was heard inside Lottie's. Heads filled the doorway. The Bolts pushed through them to see Aaron and his man in anxious conversation, of which they caught only a few words. One of them was "disaster." The man was waving toward the mill. A few seconds later the two of them left at a run.
The Bolts all voiced the same thought at once. Simon.
The axe last seen in Simon's hand had somehow become buried in the middle of the log table, which was ripped through diagonally. The blade of the big saw, normally a plane, now described a U. In reply to Stempel's questions the foreman just nodded toward Simon, who was standing apart, shamefaced. "How long will it take to fix?" Stempel asked. "This order's due Saturday." The foreman shook his head.
Stempel cursed under his breath. His temper worsened when he saw the Bolts advancing through the crowd. Jason had sized up the situation immediately. Stempel or no, charity demanded that he offer his help. "And let you wreck my equipment, too?" Stempel answered. "Get out!" Jason was prepared to insist, but Stempel was busy shouting orders. At Joshua's touch, Jason finally turned away, and the brothers headed home.
The work at the mill continued into the night. The saw was irreparable. They would have to send someone for another, maybe as far as Olympia. Jobs would have to be given to the Everett mill, at a cost. Stempel, in vest and shirt-sleeves, took a breather at the rail fence. The foreman joined him. "Beggin' your pardon, sir," he said, "we could sure use help from the mountain." Stempel reluctantly lifted his gaze toward it.
The chopping woke Jeremy first. He had been awake for a long time, as Candy had in town, and for the same reason. Jason always slept soundly, but in a few seconds he was sitting up, too. "Where's it coming from?" Jeremy asked.
"Not far," Jason said, listening. Then a foreboding hit him. Stempel!
The two raced each other outside. They did not have to look far for the source of the sound. A mammoth spruce stood in the middle of a clearing. Joshua was hewing fiercely at it with a broadax. Neither brother had noticed his absence from the cabin. His blade, huge as it was, had made only a tiny gouge in the tree's enormous width. It would take weeks for one man to cut through it. Josh persisted, balmed with sweat. His brothers made no effort to stop him. As he swung, he spoke in a kind of singsong. "This–is where–Jason carved–his name–then me–after that–then Jeremy–after that. Don't want–Stempel's name–on here."
Just beyond the clearing, Aaron Stempel heard. Following his foreman's advice, and in his company, he had come to beg aid from the last people he would have chosen to. As the chopping ceased, he heard Jason speak. "Stempel?" he said contemptuously. "What's he compared to this? Let it stand" –not that there was any danger of his brother's preventing that–"it'll be here long after Stempel's a bad memory."
"Doesn't feel the same here now," Jeremy said. "Not like home."
"Home's more than a place," Jason said. "You carry it with you inside. Stempel can't take that away from us." The voices receded and then were heard no more.
Even if there had been enough light to see Stempel's face by, the foreman would have been unable to read it. Several seconds passed before Stempel spoke. "Let's go back," he said. He did not speak again all the way down the mountain.
One trouble with being tyee, Jason had learned, was that times arose when you could not back down from a stand you had taken. This was one of those times. The crew was assembled, axes ready, waiting for orders. Jason told them what they already knew: that the judge would be arriving the next day and then the camp would have to be turned over to Stempel. They had heard him promise he would smash it up before he would see that happen.
"You know what you have to do," Jason concluded. "Best get started." He walked to the flume, raised his axe, held it in the air for a moment–and buried it in a corner post. He looked an apology at his brothers. "I–you see to it," he told them.
The loggers watched Jason go. No one moved, even after he was out of sight. "You heard him," Joshua said. The men looked at the ground.
Someone nudged Corky. He stepped forward reluctantly. "Josh," he said, "the boys've been talkin'–"
"Hold it right there, Mr. Bolt!" Jason looked up to see his way blocked by one of the last people he had expected to see up there.
"Biddie, I'm not in the mood–" He stopped as the belligerence of her tone, and stance, came through to him. "–Biddie?"
"I don't care a little pin for your mood. Candy's been in there crying a river all day on account of you and your two awful brothers, and she doesn't deserve a bit of it, not one little bit."
"Oh, doesn't–"
Biddie stamped her feet. "You be still till I'm finished!" she shouted. Jason obeyed meekly. "In the first place," Biddie went on, "it wasn't her idea, which if it was that would be fine because it was a good idea, but it was Hetty's and Candy just went along with her. And in the second place–"
"Biddie–"
"Shush! Now where was I? Oh, yes, in the second place how was she to know that Mr. Stempel would find out, even if he always does find out things that make more money for him, not that he needs any more, goodness me–" Jason opened his mouth. Biddie glared him into silence. "And in the third place, which should be the first place really because it's the most important, the only reason she did it was to save a man's life. Oh, and in the fourth place it did save his life, so it certainly was worth it and–and–" Biddie searched for a suitable stopping place. "–and she doesn't deserve to be treated the way you all are doing to her," she concluded.
Jason waited a few seconds before venturing to speak. "You done?" he asked timidly.
"That's right, don't pay me any mind–"
Jason quickly corrected her. "I want to know–whose life did she save?"
"Her intended–Walter, that was. Didn't I say so?" At Jason's nudging, Biddie revealed the whole story. Hetty's fiance, who was neither a logger nor a miller, had gone to mine for quartz on the Coeur d'Alene, hoping for just enough luck to be able to bankroll their homestead. In February he had contracted pneumonia–"I think it was pneumonia," Biddie said, "it might have been the grippe"–but was able to get a wire for Hetty delivered by a passing rider to a telegraph office. Walter feared it might be his last message. But he had underrated Hetty. With astonishing pluck, she had journeyed to his side and nursed him back to health. "–which she couldn't have," Biddie finished, "if Candy hadn't let her go."
Jason could be mulish about admitting blame. "Why didn't Candy come to me? Doesn't she know I'm always here to talk to when there's a problem?"
"As I heard it," Biddie said mildly, "you weren't talking to her at all."
The logic was unanswerable. "I'll make it up with her," Jason said. He started off.
"She's not there," Biddie said. "She's out figuring out a way to get your mountain back." Jason's eyes showed his alarm. Not one of her schemes, he thought, please, Lord. "You'll see," Biddie assured him, "she'll make everything righty-tighty." Jason asked where he could find her. "In the woods," Biddie said.
Jason surveyed the forest that stretched all ways as far as the mountains. "Thanks," he said, "that narrows the search mightily."
Joshua and Jeremy were sitting side by side, faces creased with worry. The men were arrayed in a variety of sitting and leaning postures, axes resting beside them. To a man, they had refused to tear up the camp. Corky was still trying to explain. "It's not like we ain't grateful to Jason," he said, "but it's like Stempel said–if we wreck this stuff, we ain't got a job."
"So you're taking Stempel's offer," Joshua said. "All of you?" The silence that followed was answer enough.
"Jason'll sure be sore," Jeremy said to Joshua. The comment was unnecessary. The two brothers sat pondering what he might do on his return.
Candy was seated on a felled log, head in hands. Eleven months is the same as twelve, she thought. Ninety-nine brides is the same as a hundred. Idaho is the same as Seattle. The contract was illegal: you can't barter a mountain. She was repeating these and other arguments aloud to see how they sounded when she heard a voice behind her. "Don't try to reason like a lawyer, Miss," it said gently. "You might succeed, then we'd have to tar and feather you."
The voice was full of kindness. Candy turned hopefully. Jason had somehow found her. Everything must be all right now–he was smiling. The two of them began identical apologies at the same time. They stopped and smiled again. Jason came and sat beside her. He told her he knew the story and assured her she had done right, he would have done the same himself. But why hadn't she told him? "I was scared," she said.
"Scared? Of me?" It was almost a shout. "When in blue blazes did I ever give you cause–" He stopped, hearing himself. Then he laughed, and Candy joined him. "I don't know how you kept it from us," he said.
Candy wrinkled her nose. "Oh, men are easy to hide things from," she said. Jason started to contest the point but let it drop. "The hardest part was keeping Francie quiet," Candy went on. For a moment Jason pictured one of the brides' mouths with Candy's hand muzzling it. Then he remembered that Francie was Hetty's terrier–had been hers till Hetty got married, when she had given her to Molly. "At first she whimpered all the time," Candy was saying, "but–"
Jason was wearing a look of awe. "I believe I've never seen that creature properly before," he said.
"Why, you know you have," Candy said. "A million times.
"But never bathed in the light of blinding glory!" Jason cried, leaping to his feet. His thoughts were leaping, too. "Circuit judge–what's his last stop before Seattle?" Candy knew. It was Port Orchard. "Perfect! You're coming with me–as a witness." He pulled her to standing. "But first we–" He stopped, remembering. They were tearing up the camp! He left at a run.
"A witness to what?" Candy asked the space where Jason had been. She took off after him.
At the sight of Jason, his brothers rose and began their excuses, each drowning out the other. Jason's voice rose above theirs. "Thank heavens you haven't started," he said. Relief filled their faces.
Candy ran up behind Jason. She stopped shyly, seeing Jeremy. He hurried to her and took her hand. "Candy, I–I–"
"Apology accepted," Jason finished.
Candy's eyes were moist again, this time for the right reason. "Jeremy, I–"
"She's sorry, too," Jason said. He grabbed her hand out of Jeremy's. "Come on." As he dragged her off, he called back to his brothers, "Meet me at Stempel's mill come sundown." Then he was gone.
The activity of repair at the mill was still unabated well after dark. The men were wearing a war paint of grease, grit, and sweat. The new saw blade had not arrived, but they had cleared a place for it. Aaron was in the middle of the fray, pry bar in hand. No man could accuse him of shunning hard work. He was too busy to notice Joshua and Jeremy watching from the outskirts. They were beginning to wonder whether they should not return home when Jason and Candy appeared. Candy was still in her long traveling cape.
Jason walked up to Aaron and requested a word. Aaron's mood was different from what it had been last evening. His crossness now was due to impatience with delay. He interrupted Jason with an upraised hand. "Don't," he said. "I haven't time for it."
"For what?" Jason said in his most innocent tone. That was always the giveaway.
"Whatever fancy dance you've dreamed up to wriggle your way out of the mess you're in." Jason opened his mouth in protest. "Not this time," Aaron said. He returned to work.
Jason leaned casually on the stair rail outside the office. "Just came to offer a word of friendly warning," he said.
Aaron bit despite himself. "Warning?"
"Don't know why I didn't think of it before–you'll recall that according to our agreement I was to deliver one hundred females–" Jason laid a slight stress on the last word.
"Marriageable females," Aaron corrected.
"Marriageable," Jason agreed, "of course. Fact is, I not only filled the order, I over-filled it. It was one hundred and one–"
Aaron stopped, staring at him. "It was not," he said.
"–so," Jason continued, as if he had not heard, "even without Hetty Oliver–"
"It was one hundred brides," Aaron said, rising, "one hundred exactly." He crossed to him, carrying the pry bar like a weapon. "I was there, remember? I counted heads."
"And very embarrassing that was," Jason said with regret. "Like a cattle auction. Still–one hundred and one."
"It was one hundred!" Aaron insisted. "I have the list. Shall I show you?" He started up the steps.
"Ah," Jason said, "but you missed one."
Aaron halted. "Impossible!" he said.
"Soon as she came ashore, she caught sight of a likely male and frisked off after him. She's mighty high-spirited," he said with a grin. Aaron, his suspicions roused, demanded the name. Jason shrugged. "What's in a name?" he said. "You asked for one hundred females, I delivered–"
"Marriageable females," Aaron said. "You keep leaving that out."
"Yes, now, about that," Jason said, "your standards being so almighty high–"
"They are not!" Aaron insisted.
As the level of their voices had risen, the sounds of work had died out one by one. Most of the men had stepped closer to listen. Jason's last remark had been directed to them as much as at Aaron, who noticed that some had suppressed grins at his reply.
"Female has the tiniest thing wrong with her, you think she's not marriageable. Say, an older brother that scares off all her suitors. Mercenary devil, only interested in how much money they can bring in–"
Aaron tried to decide whether the dart he had just taken had been deliberately aimed. "Mercenary older brother," he repeated slowly, his grip tightening on the pry bar.
"You wouldn't call her marriageable? Not you, no, sir. Or a dance hall female, like that bunch that came through last spring. The kind respectable folks look down their noses at." From the look in Aaron's eye, Jason knew enough to pass on quickly. "Marriageable? Not in your book. Or, now, someone like Lottie–"
"What about Lottie?" Aaron said angrily. She was his friend–and Jason's. He was shocked to hear him speak so of her.
"Well, a saloon keeper." Jason made a gesture as of brushing dirt away. "Not half good enough for high and mighty Aaron Stempel. Have to be a decent female, a proper female, a Sunday-go-to-meetin' fe–"
Many of the men were grinning openly now. Aaron felt he was being made a fool of. "Bolt, you produce any female, besides those on the list, that you brought to Seattle. And if she's marriageable–"
"What's 'marriageable'?" Jason quickly asked.
Aaron struggled to find words. He sometimes wished he had Jason's fluency. "Marriageable," he said, and then, after further struggle, "Marriageable."
"Meaning she can be married," Jason assisted. "Wedded, joined, spliced with a timber hitch–"
Aaron put a stop to the catalog. "But where is she?" he demanded. "Show her to me!"
Candy, who had stepped up beside Jason during the last few words, reached into her cape and pulled out a small white terrier. "You're looking at her," Jason said, smiling.
"That–that's a dog!" Aaron sputtered.
"Any female, you said."
"Marriageable female. A dog isn't marriageable."
Cradling Francie with one arm, Candy reached into her cape with the other and drew out a scrolled paper tied with a ribbon. She handed it to Aaron. "Here's the certificate," Jason said, "the first canine marriage executed in Washington Territory. I'd introduce you to the groom, but he–" Jason searched the crowd and at last spotted a grey whippet worrying someone's leg–Simon's, as it happened. "There," Jason said, pointing. "Has a keener sense of his duties than a lot of 'em."
Aaron glanced over the paper. "This isn't legal!" he said.
"Judge's signature's at the bottom," Jason said. "Writes a fine hand, too," he added.
Aaron's jaw trembled. He was obviously struggling to control himself. "Inside," he said shortly. He gestured to Jason to shut the door, paced to the far end of the room, and stood with his back turned. "This–" he said. "This–" He turned around–and, to Jason's dismay, exploded in laughter. It was several seconds before he had recovered sufficiently to speak. "This," he said finally, "is the damnedest trick you've ever pulled!" He wiped his eyes. "How many whiskeys did it take?"
"Impugning the dignity of the court?" Jason asked.
Aaron stepped to the desk, where Hetty's affidavit lay, and tore it in half. "All right," he said, "you can keep your mountain."
Jason's guard went up at once. "You acknowledge I'm right?" he said doubtfully.
"That marriage paper? No judge in the land would recognize that–sober." He opened his ledger. "No, I've been doing some figuring. I can't afford it."
For once Jason felt dull-witted. He could not seem to grasp it. "You don't want our mountain?"
Aaron explained that with the repairs to the mill, the rebuilding of the lumber camp now that Jason had leveled it–
"We didn't," Jason interjected.
"No," Aaron admitted, "I didn't suppose you would." Still, he continued, with the doubling of the payroll–more than double, counting the raise he had promised the loggers–"and the loss of what I charge you for milling," he added, before thinking (Jason made a mental note to ask for an elaboration of that point some time), Aaron was timber-poor. Yes, the land was worth four times any other in the territory, but only if he sold it to outsiders. "Better it stays in the family," he said, and then added, somewhat embarrassed, "You know what I mean."
"Yes," Jason agreed, "better that way." His eyes met Aaron's. Neither man smiled, but for a moment both felt a shared warmth.
Aaron did smile then, but his grin was a private one. "The mountain I'll grant you," he said, "for a price." Jason's guard went up again. He asked what that might be. "For you, a hard one," Aaron said. He was still grinning.
When Pringle's history of the Northwest territories was published, Joshua was the first to grab a copy from the bundle that had been dropped at Lottie's. He ran all the way back to camp with it. "Man, you won't believe this," he said.
Jason appeared strangely indifferent. He simply glanced at the book and passed it to Jeremy and then walked to the rim of the ridge and stood with his arms folded, staring up with a dreamy expression at the cloud-mantled summit of Bridal Veil Mountain.
Jeremy's response was more what Josh had hoped for. Leafing through, he came to passage after passage that provoked whoops of incredulity, and he insisted on reading each aloud. All were of a certain sameness. Aaron Stempel had cleared the wilderness to create Seattle. Aaron Stempel had arranged to have a hundred women imported from the East at his own expense. Aaron Stempel had bankrolled the Bolt Lumber Company and managed its operations. Aaron Stempel– "He's all over every page," Jeremy said.
Joshua looked over at Jason. "Didn't you talk to Pringle, too?" he asked.
"Aaron did most of the talking," Jason said. "I just sat and nodded agreement." He paused. "It was an–arrangement we had."
As Jeremy embarked on another passage, Jason came over and took the book out of his hands. With a force that neither of the others expected, he hurled it across the valley, where it disappeared in the sea of treetops. "Doesn't matter," he said. He clasped each of his brothers on the shoulder and drew them close. "That's what matters," he said, nodding up at the peak above.
"And it's ours," Joshua said. "Forever."
Jason shook his head. "We're only the caretakers." But there was more than a hint of satisfaction in the whiff of pine air he took before adding, "–the caretakers of paradise."
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