The Trees Remember
A Trilogy of Historical Novels by Joyce L. Kieffer
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Excerpt
CHAPTER 26. . .
The shack where the men slept looked drafty and cold. A cast iron wood stove rested near the back of the room, but like camp Whitetail, there was only a single woolen blanket on each double bed. Dirty clothes sat on the beds and floor.
A mangy dog with one ear missing lay on the floor near the woodstove, frantically scratching its neck with a hind paw and raking its teeth through matted fur. Rebecca’s first thought was: fleas, probably everywhere.
As Foxy led them from the bunkhouse to the kitchen, they walked close to where woodhicks were cutting hemlock trees, leaving stumps about three to four feet high. Rebecca watched as the workers peeled bark from the fallen trees and piled the bare trees near a slide, or rollway, where they were hurled down the mountains. The slides were troughs made of hallowed-out logs and located at very steep places on the hillsides.
Doc Headings pointed toward the slides and said, “These troughs are dangerous, especially because snow makes them more slippery and likely for a log to jump out and injure or kill the man it struck. I’ve treated more than one man for serious injuries from the log slides.” He took his hat off and scratched his head. “One man was brought to me with a crushed skull and died shortly after arriving at my office.”
After staring wide-eyed at Dr. Headings for an instant, Rebecca caught herself, changing her expression from fear to calm disinterest. She hoped Mr. Foxy didn’t see her.
They followed Eastman, who motioned for them to keep walking. Hemlock branches littered the ground like green arms reaching to the heavens asking for mercy. They picked their way over the branches until they reached a small clearing where they saw wood hicks with shoes that had small metal spikes protruding from their soles.
Thinking the spikes might give the men more footing on the slippery logs, she asked Foxy. “I guess the spikes on their shoes make them safer, don’t they?”
He howled, stomping his foot on the cut branches crisscrossing the forest floor, snapping them as he spoke. “These ‘r for stomping on snakes.”
This was a very quirky man. Rebecca liked him.
Foxy continued to describe the shoes. “Them corked shoes are worth a month’s wages, Miss Wagner. You won’t find a wood hick without his corked shoes, or a log peeler without his bark spud to peel that bark like a banana. Just stay out of their way if you don’t want to get hurt!”
“I intend to do that, Mr. Foxy. I can see these camps are no place for someone who doesn’t know the dangers of logging. However, if someone is injured I hope operations stop while I help tend to your woodman. I grew up on a farm so I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”
The foreman looked at Rebecca with hooded eyes, then nodded to Mr. Eastman. “Humph. We’ll see about that. And my men aren’t woodmen, their wood hicks.” Then he pointed toward the next building. “Kitchen’s down here a way. We’ll look at it next.”
Two muscled men stood leaning against the doorway when the visitors and Foxy approached.
“May I come in to see the kitchen?” Rebecca asked. The two cooks, dressed in dirty canvas aprons, quickly made room for her to pass. Foxy, Doc, and Eastman remained outside, talking.
The kitchen was stocked with the usual staples: flour, sugar, dried beans, potatoes, onions and corn meal. Shelves lining the large room were stocked with many of the same canned vegetables and fruit as she saw at Camp Whitetail, but there were tins of spices and seasonings on a shelf above a large six-burner wood stove with an oven below. A table with a bloody cutting board stood in the corner. Pieces of beef were stacked on one side and cut up potatoes, carrots, and onions on the other.
“Fixin’ beef stew for tonight’s supper. Men‘r getting tired of pork. Mighty nice of Eastman to get us some beef now and then. We pret’ near eat a whole side of beef in a week as long as long as we pack it in a tub of snow and keep it in the storeroom and away from the varmints. This here’s Anson and I’m Leroy. We cook for fifteen or more men ev’ry day.”
Rebecca smiled and extended her hand. “Mr. Leroy, pleased to meet you. I’m Rebecca Wagner. I’m a nurse and I’ll be visiting the lumber camps for Mr. Eastman and Dr. Headings. If there is anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.”
The cook wiped his dirty hand on his apron. “Thank you, Miss. He slapped the man standing next to him on the back and said, “Come on, Anson, stop your gawking and get back to work.” They both tried to follow Rebecca through the door at the same time. Rebecca couldn’t help but smile at their awkwardness, but she was cold and exhausted, and glad the day was almost over.
The journey back to McAlisterville was arduous. A light snow that covered the white hillsides made their boots slip when they walked. When they reached the buckboard the snow turned to sleet. All three sat wrapped in heavy blankets as the horses plodded through the forest into the valley below. When they reached town the sun began to break through angry clouds. Rebecca mounted her horse and started for the farm.
As she rode home, she saw how beautiful the valley and surrounding mountains looked with snow blanketing everything, even where the trees had been cut down. Ice formations had formed in Tennis Run as the water tumbled down the rocky streambed. Tree branches froze just above the water, creating ice formations that looked like lacy curtains hung in sunlit windows. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled like cold water in a tin cup on a hot summer’s day. A pair of cardinals flew in front of her giving vibrant contrast to the snow that still clung to the fence posts.
It was dusk when she got home. After supper she went to her room, the letter from Christopher heavy on her mind. She couldn’t delay answering it any longer. It had to go to the post office the next morning on her way to Dr. Heading’s office. She sat motionless on the chair near her desk. Doubt plagued her. Why couldn’t she decide? What if she said no to Christopher? What if her emerging feelings about Ben were just nostalgia for things the way they used to be?