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A Family Arrangement
Gabrielle Meyer


Makeshift FamilyAbram Cooper has ten months to turn rough Minnesota country into a vibrant town, or his sister-in-law will take his three sons back to Iowa with his blessing. Until then, Charlotte Lee has agreed to keep house and help raise his children as part of their bargain. But can the single father fulfill Charlotte’s requirements in time to make sure that she and his boys don’t leave—and take his heart with them?Charlotte is convinced that the wilderness is no place to raise her nephews. But as she watches the community slowly develop, she sees that Abram just might be able to make it blossom. With three little matchmakers bringing her and Abram together, Little Falls could become not just a flourishing town, but the perfect home for their patchwork family.







Makeshift Family

Abram Cooper has ten months to turn rough Minnesota country into a vibrant town, or his sister-in-law will take his three sons back to Iowa with his blessing. Until then, Charlotte Lee has agreed to keep house and help raise his children as part of their bargain. But can the single father fulfill Charlotte’s requirements in time to make sure that she and his boys don’t leave—and take his heart with them?

Charlotte is convinced that the wilderness is no place to raise her nephews. But as she watches the community slowly develop, she sees that Abram just might be able to make it blossom. With three little matchmakers bringing her and Abram together, Little Falls could become not just a flourishing town, but the perfect home for their patchwork family.


“I know if I succeed, it means you’ll have to go back to Iowa alone,” Abram said.

“I just want someone to talk to. Women tend to look at things differently than men. I’ll have some important decisions to make soon, and I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”

“I wish I could help you make your decision—but you’re right. If you succeed, I’ll fail—”

“You won’t fail.”

“I’ll fail at my reason for coming.” And she would have to go back alone—which was the last thing she wanted. The boys deserved to be raised in a proper place, with good schools, and hospitals, and comfort—the frontier was far too dangerous a place to grow up.

“You’ve already accomplished a great deal since you’ve been here, and all of us are grateful,” he said. “I’m hopeful about Little Falls, but I’m also realistic. I’ve been involved in several town prospects that have failed, even when they looked this hopeful.”

He was trying to make her feel better, and for that she was thankful. But she must not allow her heart to soften toward him. There would be nothing but heartache and devastation if she did.


Dear Reader (#uffee4b19-0fb5-5d0f-bb42-4ff425329d66),

Sixteen years ago, when I was a college intern at the Charles A. Weyerhaeuser Memorial Museum in Little Falls, MN, I discovered the incredible history of my hometown. I began to dream of writing stories that would follow the rise and fall of a unique American community on the banks of the Upper Mississippi River.

This story was born from that dream. It is a work of fiction, but it’s strongly influenced by true events. The cast of characters is closely related to the original founders, but these men and women are the work of my imagination. It is my hope that through this story you will be intrigued to learn more about the real people who sacrificed everything to build Little Falls. Please visit www.gabriellemeyer.com (http://www.gabriellemeyer.com) to discover more.

God Bless!

Gabrielle Meyer


GABRIELLE MEYER lives in central Minnesota on the banks of the Mississippi River with her husband and four young children. As an employee of the Minnesota Historical Society, she fell in love with the rich history of her state and enjoys writing fictional stories inspired by real people and events. Gabrielle can be found at www.gabriellemeyer.com (http://www.gabriellemeyer.com), where she writes about her passion for history, Minnesota and her faith.


A Family Arrangement

Gabrielle Meyer






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.

—Psalms 37:3


To my sister, Andrea.

You were the first person who had to put up with my vivid imagination and my unusual love for history. Thank you for always playing along.


Contents

Cover (#ubeaff0ee-ef21-5f81-a505-31cecc6760b9)

Back Cover Text (#u8fec2a07-213d-5d9d-91ea-4ecbfc5c0656)

Introduction (#u01c625e4-7c9f-5300-9135-3c032892089c)

Dear Reader (#uc118d530-1fc7-552f-a1a9-8260eb7110d8)

About the Author (#u62b32c90-bedd-5e6a-9b3a-e4a93eb44286)

Title Page (#u05ba8f55-6bba-52d8-8912-2f54a4c5fcc7)

Bible Verse (#ud576376d-36ee-560d-8f46-2565d7a50020)

Dedication (#u1591dcb5-09fd-5fc3-b66a-d16e2f5536b6)

Chapter One (#u6a347907-eeda-582c-9c9b-cf77ea6a0340)

Chapter Two (#u4d47605f-5c86-5cb8-be36-0d5c0a8dfb43)

Chapter Three (#uaaf20155-1f4f-5aa8-bd01-b511c1800ff2)

Chapter Four (#u54b8b969-8689-53bf-a93b-4306d920262b)

Chapter Five (#ud294fef1-d3bb-5621-a253-25522faa95c3)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#uffee4b19-0fb5-5d0f-bb42-4ff425329d66)

Little Falls, Minnesota Territory

November 1, 1854

What had her sister been thinking when she followed Abram Cooper to the wilds of Minnesota Territory? Charlotte Lee shaded her eyes as she surveyed the sawmill, the two-story home and the barn on the banks of the Mississippi. The rough-lumber buildings were the only structures to mark the crude settlement.

This was the town Abram and Susanne had built out of the wilderness? Seeing it now, Charlotte realized Susanne had been exaggerating in her letters. This was not a town. It could hardly be called a farm.

The dust from the departing stagecoach settled around Charlotte as she let out a painful sigh. “Oh, Susanne.” She whispered her sister’s name, her breath puffing out into the cold evening air. If only Susanne had listened and stayed in Iowa City, where everything was safe and civilized, maybe she’d still be alive.

The pale November sky boasted a pink sunset, which did little to warm her shivering body. Charlotte strode down the single-wagon road toward the sawmill. The brown grass and bare branches of the oaks, elms and maples attested to the coming winter. Thankfully the snow had held off long enough for her to travel. Hopefully the clear sky would continue to hold for just a few days more until the stagecoach returned to take her back to Iowa.

Water rushed past the wing dam in the river, down a narrow sluice, and pushed the waterwheel into motion on the side of the sawmill. Charlotte balanced across a narrow plank and opened the door into a dimly lit room. Large cogs whirled to her right and a bulky rod pumped up and down, creating a loud grinding noise. Piles of rough-cut lumber littered the floor and cobwebs crisscrossed the rafters. Seeing no one on the main level, she lifted the hem of her gown and started up a set of stairs just ahead.

A tall man stood with his back toward her, a clipboard in his hand, while two shorter men stacked lumber in the corner of the large room. A thick log advanced through a sash saw, and with each up-and-down thrust of the blade, the log moved a fraction of an inch forward. One of the men stacking lumber noticed her and stopped his work, causing the tall man with the clipboard to turn.

His startled blue eyes looked crystal clear amid his shaggy brown hair and beard.

Was this Abram Cooper? The handsome young man Susanne had eloped with six years ago? It couldn’t be. This man looked much older and much tougher around the edges.

Recognition slowly dawned in his eyes. “Charlotte?”

Yes, this was Abram Cooper. Charlotte recognized the determination and focus in the set of his shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She swallowed her nerves. “I’ve come to collect my nephews and take them back to Iowa.”

Abram stared at her for a moment.

She stared back, trying not to falter under his intense gaze.

He glanced at the loud saw and then reached over and pushed a lever forward. The sash immediately stopped and silence filled the dusty room. Pale sunshine streamed through the large cracks in the plank walls and bathed him in bars of pink light. The two other men stopped working and watched in quiet fascination.

“What did you say?” Abram asked.

Charlotte stood taller than most women, but Abram was taller still. She was forced to look up into his face as she cleared her throat. “I’m here for the boys. The stage will return for us in three days.”

Incredulity widened his eyes. “You’re not taking my children.”

“Susanne asked me to take them if—”

“She never said anything to me—”

“After Robert was born,” Charlotte said quickly, “she told me if anything ever happened to her, she wanted me to take care of him.”

Abram glanced over his shoulder at the two young men and then looked back at Charlotte, indicating the stairs. “Let’s continue this conversation downstairs.”

She almost sighed in relief. It was difficult enough to confront her brother-in-law, but to do so with an audience was far worse.

Charlotte descended the stairs and waited at the bottom.

Abram strode down, irritation—or was that fear—emanating from his countenance.

“Do you honestly think I would send my children four hundred miles away—with you?” he asked through clenched teeth. “After the way you treated me, I’m surprised you’d show your face here at all, Charlotte.”

She blinked several times, her mouth parting. “The way I treated you?” The pain and loneliness she’d felt for the past six years seeped out in one breath. “You stole my sister. I told Susanne it was a mistake to marry you—”

“Susanne was a grown woman.”

“She was hardly grown! Seventeen is practically a child. And now look. She died, just like our mother, and her three sons are left in this wilderness—”

“It’s not a wilderness.”

She waved her hand in the air, desperation and fear squeezing her chest. “What do you call this place? There is no town, no neighbors. Nothing for miles but this sawmill.”

He leaned forward, his voice tight and defensive. “You’re right—there is no town, but, God willing, there will be. There is a mission four miles north of here, with a military fort just beyond that. There are trading posts—”

“Where are the boys, Mr. Cooper?” Nothing else mattered to her at the moment but the welfare of her nephews.

“They are safe and well cared for.”

“How could they be safe here...?” She paused, realizing how fruitless her argument was. “I’m here to rescue them—”

“They don’t need rescuing.”

“I disagree.”

“I can see that.”

The river rushed past the building as Charlotte took several deep breaths.

Sawdust floated in the air and stuck to Abram’s wild hair. He looked so different than the man she had met seven years ago at the Fireman’s Ball. Why had Susanne fallen in love with him? Why hadn’t she learned her lesson from Mama’s ordeal? Mama had followed Father from the safety of New York State to pioneer in Iowa when Charlotte and Susanne were young girls. The hard life had taken a toll on Mama’s health. Instead of listening to the doctor and going back to New York, Father had chased one scheme after another, and their mother had succumbed to an early death—just like Susanne.

Tears gathered in Charlotte’s eyes and her chin quivered. She swallowed several times, trying to compose herself. “My sister left civilization, despite my objection, and she met an inevitable fate. I refuse to let you destroy her children in your plan to get rich quick—or to make a name for yourself—or...or whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

The tension fell from his shoulders and he looked at her as if she had struck him. “Is that what you think this is? I’m trying to get rich quick?” He raised his large hands, cracked and bleeding, and indicated his work-worn clothing and his scraggly beard. “Do I look like a man out to make an easy dollar?” His voice shook with an emotion as strong as hers. “I’ve poured my life into this mill, not to mention every last penny I’ve earned. Susanne and I mortgaged everything—”

“Including her life!” The words came out before she could stop them and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Pain filled his eyes—but at the moment her grief was so raw and fresh, she couldn’t stop herself from continuing. “You’re just like my father. You’re filled with an insatiable desire for adventure and challenge. You don’t finish anything you start, because you’re always moving on to bigger and better things—to the detriment of your family—”

“This time is different.” Abram ran his hand through his long hair, causing the sawdust to drift down to his shoulders. “Little Falls will rival any town on the Mississippi. Susanne believed in my vision—”

“Of course she believed in you. She saw the best in everyone—” A sob choked off her words and she turned from him lest he see the tears she could no longer contain. How could her sweet sister be gone? Her short life was snuffed out far too soon and her babies had lost their mama. Robert, the oldest, had just turned five, Martin would be three, and the baby, George, was not quite a year old. The boys had been without a mother for three months. Though Charlotte could never replace Susanne, she would honor her sister’s wishes and do her best.

She finally looked back at Abram. Susanne had been sick for months before she died. She should have gone to a city doctor, yet he had failed to leave his scheme behind to take her. That thought strengthened Charlotte’s resolve. “You can do what you will with your life, but Susanne’s boys deserve better than this, and I intend to give it to them. It’s what she wanted.”

Abram was still a young man, not much older than Charlotte at the age of twenty-five, yet the weight on his shoulders and the anguish in his eyes made him look much older. The fight was gone from his stance as he studied Charlotte. “Do you have the letter she sent you?”

Charlotte nodded and opened the door. Susanne’s wishes were as plain as could be. As soon as he saw the letter, he would agree, and Charlotte could get the boys ready to move.

She left the sawmill and walked across the board plank to the riverbank. Her trunk sat next to the house and she quickly opened it and found the stack of Susanne’s letters bound in red ribbon. She had put the letter on top, knowing Abram would want to see it, and rightfully so.

“Here.” She stood and handed it to her brother-in-law. “This is the letter she wrote right after Robert was born.”

He took the letter and scanned the paper, his brow furrowed.

Charlotte had the words memorized by heart. “�Now that I’m a mother, I understand how much you sacrificed to provide for me after Mama and Father passed away. If anything ever happens to me, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to take care of my children.’” It was quite common for a family member to take over the responsibilities of child care when a father was widowed—especially when there was no one else to help. Surely that was what Susanne had had in mind.

Abram handed the letter back to Charlotte. “She didn’t ask you to take them to Iowa—”

“Of course she did.” Charlotte glanced at the letter to make sure she had given him the right one.

“I’m afraid this trip has been a waste of your time.” He closed the lid of her trunk and effortlessly hefted it to his shoulder before she could stop him. “You’ll have to wait here until the stagecoach returns. Until then, you’ll sleep in my room and I’ll bunk with my employees in the room across the hall.”

He turned to grab the doorknob but she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Please, Abram. Let me take them back to Iowa.”

He stopped and glanced down at her gloved hand. It looked pristine next to his dingy work shirt. “The children are staying at the mission. I will take you to see them before you leave.” His eyes were filled with a warning. “But I will not let them go to Iowa.”

Charlotte’s chest rose and fell with her disappointment, but she wasn’t surprised by his declaration. Somehow she would convince him that sending the boys to Iowa was the best thing for all of them.

Somehow.

* * *

Abram pushed open the door to his home, cringing at what his sister-in-law would think of the dirty interior. It had been three and a half months since Susanne had died and she’d been sick for several months before that. The house was in need of a good cleaning—especially since five men now occupied the premise.

“I’ll haul this up and put it in the room you’ll use.” He stepped over the threshold and couldn’t help but look to see her reaction.

Charlotte’s brown eyes trailed over the main room and she lifted the hem of her fancy green traveling gown, as if she didn’t want it to get soiled.

He didn’t blame her. It was filthy—but when Susanne was alive, his home had made him proud. A large fireplace dominated one wall and modest furniture was spread around it. Four glass windows, a rare treat in Minnesota Territory, looked out at the river. Susanne had kept them shining, just for him—yet now they were dull with grime, just as his soul felt dull with grief. A shelf with Susanne’s books was near the desk in the corner and several muddy rugs were tossed about the room in no particular order.

A chicken ambled in from the kitchen and he winced. Caleb must have left the back door open again. It cackled at them and Charlotte squealed.

Abram balanced the trunk on his shoulder as he pushed the chicken toward the door with his boot.

“I was under the impression that this was the house.” She glanced around the room once again, a wrinkle wedging between her eyes. “Have we mistakenly entered the barn?”

He couldn’t help but goad her. “Hopefully only the chicken wandered in. We’ve been known to attract a few skunks and weasels, too.”

Her eyes grew wide and he tried not to smile. Instead he cleared his throat. “As soon as I get your trunk to your room, I’ll rustle up some supper.”

“Aren’t we going to see the boys?”

“It’s getting too late tonight.” Abram started up the stairs.

“Why did you wait?”

He paused and turned. The agony on her face twisted his heart. “Wait for what?”

“To tell me Susanne had died.”

He frowned. “I wrote to you immediately.”

She pulled a letter out of the pile she still held in her hands. “This didn’t arrive until three weeks ago—almost three months after she died.”

He readjusted her trunk on his shoulder. “Look at the date at the top of the letter. You’ll see it says July sixteenth, the day after her death.”

She glanced at the piece of paper and shook her head. “There is no date.”

He hadn’t put a date on the letter? She couldn’t blame him for the oversight. Right after his wife had died, he’d barely been able to put two thoughts together. “It must have been lost in the mail.”

“Didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t come until now?”

“Frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Charlotte—and neither did Susanne. Not after the way you treated us when we said we wanted to marry.”

Anguish passed over her brown eyes yet he couldn’t help but say what he had wanted to say for the past six years. “You broke Susanne’s heart when you didn’t give us your blessing and when you never once inquired about our marriage in your letters. Until her death—” He choked on the word and didn’t have the heart to tell her that Susanne had wept on her deathbed over their broken relationship. “She carried the pain with her until the end.”

Tears fell down Charlotte’s cheeks but Abram didn’t wait for her response. Instead he continued up the stairs.

He stopped at the top and took several deep breaths. He had always hoped to convey to Charlotte how much she had hurt Susanne, but it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.

With a sigh, he opened the door to his left and stepped into his modest-size bedroom. It had a large bed, a bureau, a rocking chair, the boys’ cradle and a washbasin. He had packed up all of Susanne’s things, except her Bible, and put them in a trunk, which sat at the foot of the bed. It had been too painful to have the memories surrounding him.

Abram set down Charlotte’s trunk and then rubbed his whiskers as he surveyed the dust in the corners and the bedding that hadn’t been washed for weeks. Dirty clothes hung from the back of the rocker and the foot of the bed.

The room needed some fresh air. He went to the single window looking toward the river and opened it, thankful for the mild November weather.

With another sigh, he gathered up his clothing and piled it near the door and then threw the bedcovers over the sheets, hoping Charlotte wouldn’t come into the room until after dark.

He stood for a moment, rolled his shoulders and looked toward the ceiling. “Lord?” It was more of a question than a statement. “Why did you let Charlotte come? Don’t I have enough trouble to deal with already?”

He snatched up his clothing and strode out of the room and downstairs.

Charlotte stood with her back to the stairs, a handkerchief hovering near her face.

He moved past her and went through the kitchen and into the lean-to, where Susanne had kept her washtubs. He dumped his clothes in the corner, planning to get to them later. After Susanne’s death, Abram had devoted almost every waking moment to his business. It had been the only way to deal with his pain, but the housework had slipped.

Charlotte entered the kitchen as he came back in. She was out of place with her extravagant dress and perfectly styled hair. She looked nothing like Susanne, who had been short and blonde. Charlotte had dark brown curls and she was tall and slender—almost too thin for his tastes. Her face would be pretty if it wasn’t scrunched up in disapproval all the time.

He went to the cupboard and pulled out the coffee beans and grinder. “Feel free to take off your hat and gloves. We’re not going anywhere soon.”

She didn’t move but her eyes roamed this room, as well.

Abram assessed it as he ground the coffee beans, trying to see what she would see. The kitchen was a generous room with a long table, a cookstove and a large cupboard. Susanne had spent hours in this room preparing meals for him and the children. She hadn’t been a very good cook, but she had tried—he’d give her that. When he was able to hire his first laborer, she had taken on the extra responsibility without complaint. She had often told him she’d learned her work ethic from her sister, who had been forced to provide for them after their parents had died.

He continued to turn the grinder, uncomfortable with Charlotte’s perusal. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee boiling and then fry up some bacon.”

She took a handkerchief from her handbag and wiped the bench.

He tried to ignore her as he fried the bacon and tended to the coffee—but it was almost impossible. Her presence filled the room, just as it had years ago when he’d first met her and Susanne at the Fireman’s Ball in Iowa City. He had actually noticed Charlotte first, with her tall, dark looks—but as soon as he had met the sparkling Susanne, his attention had been stolen.

Neither one spoke as he prepared the simple meal. When it was ready, he went to the front door and clanged the large triangle dinner bell.

The waterwheel was no longer spinning, which meant Caleb and Josiah would hear the call. Harry and Milt were delivering lumber to Fort Ripley, so they probably wouldn’t arrive back until after dark.

He went into the house and found Charlotte had finally removed her hat and gloves and sat with her back rigid as she waited for the meal to begin.

What would his laborers think of the pretty young woman in his home? Single females were so scarce, having one at his table would be a rare treat. If this one wasn’t so unreasonable, maybe they’d enjoy having her.

Caleb and Josiah rushed in through the back door, as if they had been waiting for the call—and they probably had been. Both men drank up Charlotte’s presence like men dying of thirst.

“Boys, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Lee.” Abram set four mugs on the table. “Charlotte, this is Caleb and Josiah.”

Caleb bowed and offered her a dimpled smile, his green eyes shining with appreciation. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lee.” If his easy demeanor and gregarious personality couldn’t charm Charlotte, then nothing would. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met such a lovely woman in my life.”

Charlotte dipped her head ever so slightly with embarrassment. “Thank you.”

Josiah pushed Caleb to the side in a great show of aplomb, his curly black hair falling over his forehead and into his dark eyes. He also bowed, unwilling to be outdone. “Lovely does not do you justice, Miss Lee. Gorgeous would be a more appropriate description.”

This time her cheeks filled with color—yet still she did not smile. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said.

Undeterred, the young bucks took a seat across from Charlotte at the table, still vying for her attention with compliments.

They were in their late teens and had come to Abram fresh off their family farms back East. Eager and energetic, they reminded Abram of himself when he’d left his parents’ home in Michigan eight years ago. He had been full of confidence and invigorated with optimism. Raised by a man who had founded the successful town of Cooper, Michigan, Abram had set out to make his father proud and start his own town. But it had been much harder than he’d realized and the reality of the obstacles had almost crushed his spirit as he went from Michigan to Iowa to Minnesota Territory.

Father had died before Abram could prove himself—and then Susanne had died. The only two people who had ever believed in him, and he had disappointed them both.

Now he must succeed for his sons.

“Shall we say grace?” Abram asked.

Charlotte closed her eyes and inhaled a slow breath. Her face lost all trace of grief and became almost serene.

Abram dipped his chin to pray. “For this meal, and our lives, Lord, we are eternally grateful. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed the others.

Abram opened his eyes and watched as Charlotte opened hers. Their gazes met for only a moment before Caleb and Josiah nabbed her attention again. They reached for the platter of bacon at the same moment and then handed it to Charlotte as one, grins on their faces.

Charlotte suddenly seemed quite interested in them. “Maybe you gentlemen can help me.”

They looked at each other, their grins growing.

“We’d love to help,” Caleb said.

Abram picked up the coffeepot and poured the steaming brew into his blue-speckled mug. The aroma filled his nose and made his stomach rumble. He had stocked the pantry and cellar with a bountiful harvest, but he had little time to prepare a decent meal. For weeks all they had eaten was bacon and coffee. But with his appetite, he hardly cared.

“Could one of you take me to Susanne’s children?”

The coffee sloshed out of Abram’s cup and pooled on the table. “What?”

Josiah and Caleb grinned. “Yes,” they both said at the same moment.

“No,” Abram said with force. “I’ll take Miss Lee when I’m ready.” He wanted to be there when the boys met their aunt for the first time, and it would be impossible to go this evening.

Charlotte let out a sigh and then took two pieces of bacon off the platter.

The woman was definitely determined.

Here, at least, was something they had in common.

Yet a niggle at the back of his conscience suggested Charlotte wasn’t completely out of line in asking to take his boys. Susanne had never spoken an unkind word about her sister, and it didn’t surprise him that she’d want Charlotte to help raise the boys—but surely she didn’t want Charlotte to take them away from Abram. She wouldn’t want them separated by four hundred miles—which only left one solution.

If Charlotte wanted to help care for the boys, she would have to stay in Little Falls.

He hated to even contemplate such a thing, but the idea was there nonetheless.


Chapter Two (#uffee4b19-0fb5-5d0f-bb42-4ff425329d66)

Charlotte walked up the steep stairs, a lantern in hand, ready for bed. She was exhausted from a week of travel, but she didn’t know if she would sleep. The house her sister had written about was not what Charlotte had anticipated.

She could overlook the filth and the farm animals roaming about, but it was the sparse furnishings and lack of amenities that had surprised her. Susanne had boasted about how well Abram provided for her—yet Charlotte had not seen anything other than the bare necessities.

Charlotte pushed open the door on the left and shone the lantern into the interior. It was just as filthy as the rest of the house—and cold.

She set the lantern on the bureau and crossed the room to close the open window. If Abram thought he could mask the stale smell, he was wrong. What the house needed was a thorough cleaning, and no amount of fresh air would change that.

The room looked toward the west, where the Mississippi flowed under the light of a brilliant moon. Charlotte leaned against the window frame, hugging her arms about her waist, and allowed the weight of her grief to sting her eyes with tears. Would the pain ever subside?

She glanced around the room. A small cradle sat in one corner and Susanne’s Bible lay on a table next to the bed, but nothing else marked her sister’s presence.

Charlotte put her hand over her heart and sank down to the mattress. “Susanne, you had so many hopes and dreams.” She had written to Charlotte about their plans for Little Falls and their growing family. They had been living in Little Falls for three years, yet what did they have to show for their work? Had Susanne really believed Abram would build a town? How long would she have waited for him to succeed?

Forever, because Susanne believed in her husband and his vision. That was why she had left with him even though Charlotte had begged her to stay. The day they’d left Iowa City, without saying goodbye, Charlotte had mourned as if Susanne had died.

It had been just as painful as the day Charlotte’s fiancé, Thomas, had left Iowa City to go west in pursuit of gold. He had gone without saying goodbye and she had never heard from him again. She had half expected Susanne to never write, but thankfully her sister had kept up a steady correspondence.

Charlotte didn’t bother to change into a nightgown.

She locked the door and lay on the bed, curling up in a ball. Tears wet her cheeks and hair, and stained the pillow beneath her head. The last thing she recalled before falling asleep was the scurry of mice along the floorboard.

* * *

A rooster’s crow pulled Charlotte out of a fitful dream. Thomas had been calling to her, and when she’d raced toward him, he’d run away, taunting her to catch him if she could. She opened her eyes slowly and blinked several times before she recalled where she was.

A knock came at her door.

“Breakfast is ready.” Abram’s voice sounded just as stiff this morning as it had yesterday.

She wished her stomach wasn’t growling so she could stay in her room and not face him. Instead she got out of bed and looked at her reflection in the dusty mirror above the bureau. Her hair stuck out in disarray, her eyes were still gritty from the late-night tears and her dress was wrinkled. She tried to smooth down her curls and tucked some wayward strands behind her ear, but it was no use.

She checked inside her shoes for uninvited critters and, finding none, slipped them on and then unlocked the door. The smell of fresh bacon and coffee wafted up the stairwell. Was that all these men ate and drank?

Charlotte descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. This time there were five men at the table instead of three.

Two older men glanced up at her arrival, their coffee cups halting midway to their mouths. One had stringy gray hair and was missing all his teeth. The other had thick red hair and a freckled complexion.

The one without teeth stood and then the other followed, their eyes a bit round.

“Milt and Harry, this is Miss Charlotte Lee.” Abram set the coffeepot down on the table.

The men nodded a greeting as she found her seat.

Caleb and Josiah immediately began to tease her and try to draw her out, while Abram sat at the head of the table, his attention on his meal. His hair was in need of a cut and his beard should either be trimmed or shaved completely. She could hardly remember what he looked like without all that mangy hair. She did recall that he was handsome, and she clearly remembered the first time she’d seen him at a ball in Iowa City.

He had walked into the hotel with an air of confidence few men his age possessed, and he had immediately caught her eye. It had been a year since Thomas had left, and she had been wary of romance, but when he had asked her to dance, she had accepted. The moment he spoke of his dream to prospect a town, she knew right away that he was like Thomas and her father, and couldn’t be trusted. After the dance she had tried to forget him, but it was impossible to ignore him when he came to call on Susanne.

Yes, he was handsome, but that was the only thing she had understood about Susanne’s infatuation, though it wouldn’t have been enough for Charlotte to make her heart vulnerable.

The meal finished and Abram rose. For the first time since she’d entered the room, he offered her his full attention. “I’d like a word with you outside.”

“Are we going to the boys?”

He put on his hat and coat and then stepped toward the back door. “I’d like you to see something.”

She didn’t bother with her own hat or coat, which were in her room, but followed him out the door and into a barren yard. The bright morning sunshine almost blinded her with its brilliance—yet the air was much colder than she had thought. She wrapped her arms about her waist and allowed her eyes to adjust.

Goats grazed nearby, munching on brown grass, while chickens waddled around and a pig snorted from a pen closer to the barn.

Abram walked with a steady purpose up a gentle hill toward the east, away from the river and sawmill. A small grove of leafless birch trees stood off a ways with a white picket fence nearby.

As soon as Charlotte realized his destination, her feet slowed. “Are you taking me to Susanne’s grave?”

He continued to walk. “Yes.”

Part of her wanted to see her sister’s final resting place—but the other part wanted to run in the opposite direction.

Abram entered the small graveyard and stopped beside Susanne’s headstone. A clump of wildflowers, wilted, yet not completely dry, lay on the grave. Had he brought them recently?

Charlotte slowly walked through the gate and stopped just inside the fence.

“It isn’t much.” He swallowed, putting his hand on the dark granite. “I had to send away for the stone, but I was pleased when it arrived.” It had Susanne’s name, birth and death recorded in simple letters. Nothing more. But it must have been expensive.

A lump gathered in Charlotte’s throat and she put her hands to her lips, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

Abram turned to her, his shoulders slumped. “I know what you’ve always thought of me, but despite my shortcomings, Susanne somehow found a man to love.” He looked back at the headstone. “I never deserved her, and I told her that often. But she treated me like a king and made me very happy.” He put his hands in the pockets of his tattered work coat. “Maybe Susanne didn’t dream of settling a town before she met me, but she wanted it as much as I did when we came here.”

Her sister had been just as optimistic as Abram—even if misguided and unrealistic. If Susanne hadn’t been in love, maybe she would have understood the dangers of life with a man like Abram.

“As her husband, you should have taken better care of her.” Charlotte’s voice caught as she looked at the lone grave. “When she became sick, you should have brought her somewhere with a competent doctor, instead of leaving her here to die.” Father had done the same thing and they had lost Mama.

“The military doctor came from Fort Ripley and he said there was nothing left to do.”

“A military doctor? What does he know of female complaints?”

“I did the best I could—”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” A sob escaped her throat and she turned her face away from Abram, clutching the picket fence for support. “Not when she left Iowa and not when she died.” Her body trembled from the cold and grief.

He was quiet for several moments and then his coat enveloped her shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed as the weight of his compassion weakened her knees. She longed to share her grief—yet years of heartache and disappointment forced her to bear it alone.

She wiped her tears with her handkerchief and slipped his coat off her shoulders, handing it back. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

He took the coat and draped it over his arm but didn’t put it on. “Susanne and I wanted to build this town for our sons,” he said softly. “She wanted them here—”

“But don’t you realize things have changed—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “I know it seems impossible, but I believe this place will one day be a great city. It’s a legacy Susanne and I wanted for our sons.”

“You don’t really think you’ll succeed—”

“I do.”

She closed her eyes, tired of the unabashed optimism in his gaze—so like the look her father and Thomas used to have.

He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you stay here to help raise them?”

She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Here? But I have a business and a home in Iowa City.” She had made a living as a seamstress for eight years, since her father had died.

“You could be a seamstress here.”

“I have friends there.” Though not many since she devoted so much time to her work and had resigned herself to being an old maid.

“You could make new ones here.”

“There isn’t even a town here.”

“I’ll have one built soon.”

“How soon? A year, five years, ten? By then the boys will be grown, if they survive this place.”

“A year,” he said. “This place will be a real town in one year’s time.”

She shook her head. “A year?” There was nothing but trees, and hills, and tall, dead grass. “How will you build a town in one year?”

“More settlers are coming into the territory and speculators are arriving in droves at St. Anthony Falls, which is only a hundred miles southeast of here. If I had one or two investors, we could begin construction on more buildings immediately.”

“Buildings do not make a town.”

“What does?”

“People. Teachers, preachers, doctors—”

“There are teachers and a preacher at the mission, and the military doctor is at Fort Ripley—”

“No. Here. To make this place a town.”

“If I had a teacher, a preacher and a doctor living here, would you consider this a real town?”

“Not just a teacher, but a school. And not just a preacher, but he must have a church—a separate building from the school. And there must be at least one doctor in town.” She looked at the empty woods. “And then, yes, I would say it is a town—or at least a good start.”

Abram took a tentative step toward her. “Then this is what I propose. Stay for a year and help me take care of the children. I’m confident I’ll have a teacher, with a school, a preacher, with a church, and at least one doctor by November first of next year. But if I don’t—” He swallowed. “You may take my boys back to Iowa City with my blessing.”

Charlotte stood speechless.

He studied her closely. “It’s my only offer. If you refuse, you will have to return to Iowa City alone, immediately.”

“Why?” She shook her head. “Why are you giving me this option?”

“Because.” He paused and looked down at his weathered hands. “I know how much you want to be with the boys. And—” he let out a sigh “—I’m sure Susanne would want it, too.”

“But I can’t stay here for a year.”

He looked up, a challenge in his eyes. “Why not?”

“I already told you. My business.”

“Is there no one to do the work for you—at least for now?”

Of course there were people who could take over for now—but one year? More important, could she survive in a place like this for one year? Her sister hadn’t, and her mother hadn’t. What made her think she could? Charlotte never took risks. She had learned long ago that nothing good came from taking risks. She was content to stay in Iowa City, unmarried, and be a seamstress for the rest of her life. It was safer that way.

“Why can’t I take them with me and bring them back if you succeed?”

“I have no desire for them to leave Minnesota Territory. If you’re worried about a living, I would pay you to keep my house.” He studied her as if gauging whether or not she could do the work. “If you think you could manage.”

Manage? Hadn’t she been the one to care for Susanne all those years? “Of course I could manage.”

“Then you’ll stay?”

Charlotte wrung her hands. “Why a year? Why not six months?”

“That’s impossible.” He shook his head. “Six months from now is the first of May. I couldn’t build a town over the winter. I need the spring and summer—at least until September first of next year.”

Charlotte quickly calculated. “Ten months.”

He rubbed his beard, as if in thought. “If I found the right investors, I think I could do it in ten months.”

Was she mad to say yes and take a risk? But what choice did she have? She wanted to care for Susanne’s boys. They were all the family she had left. Her house in Iowa City was locked up and her customers could find other seamstresses until her return. There was nothing to stop her but fear.

She spoke quickly, hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision. “Yes.”

He became still. “Yes?”

She glanced at Susanne’s grave. She wasn’t doing this for Abram; she was doing this for her sister and her nephews. She could give up ten months of her life to ensure that Susanne’s boys returned with her to Iowa City.

And maybe, just maybe, she could make Abram realize how foolish his dream was and she’d return to Iowa much sooner.

* * *

Abram stared at his sister-in-law, suddenly unsure of the agreement they had just made. He had set out to convince her to stay on as his housekeeper, yet now he had agreed to send the boys with her if he couldn’t build a town. What had he been thinking? What if he didn’t succeed? How would he live without his boys?

Yet the truth had been evident since Susanne had died and he had sent the boys to live at the Belle Prairie Mission. This settlement was no place for growing boys without a woman to care for them. Charlotte’s sudden appearance seemed like an answer to an unspoken prayer—even if it meant living under the same roof with her.

No matter what, he would have a teacher, a preacher and a doctor living in Little Falls within ten months. Miss Charlotte Lee would go back where she came from, and at that point, the population would boom and there would be other women available to hire as a full-time housekeeper. If he succeeded.

“Are we going now?” she asked.

“Going where?”

“To get the boys.”

He shook his head, still a bit unsettled by the sudden shift in his plans. “Not today. I have another lumber order I need to deliver to Fort Ripley on Monday and I only have today to work on it. We’ll go for them tomorrow.”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body.

“You should get back inside,” he said, leaving the graveyard.

“I’ll go after them,” she said, keeping up with his long-legged stride. “I’ll hook up the wagon and fetch them myself.”

“No. The boys have been through enough change these past few months already. I want to be there when you meet them.”

“Abram, I’ve waited five years to meet the boys—”

“And you can wait one more day.” He hated to sound so heartless but she had to understand that there was work to do, and only so much time in a day to get it done. “Use today to get the house ready.”

By the set of her shoulders he could see she didn’t like his answer, but she had little choice.

“See that dinner is ready by noon,” he said. “And then bring us a light lunch in the midafternoon. We’ll work until dark, so have supper ready at eight. You’ll find everything you need in the pantry and root cellar under the lean-to.” He inspected her fashionable gown and recalled how she had responded to the chicken and the dirt yesterday. “Do you think you can manage all that?”

She didn’t respond but set her mouth in a firm line and veered off toward the house like a soldier marching into battle.

Susanne claimed she had learned how to work hard from Charlotte, but he wondered if his wife had been stretching the truth. From her neatly pinned hair to her polished boots, Charlotte didn’t look as if she had ever lifted a finger in her life. Could she keep his home and provide care for his children?

There was only one way to find out.

Abram put his hands in his pockets and walked with determination to the mill.

On Monday morning he would make a trip to St. Anthony Falls and talk with several men who were interested in investing in his town. There had been dozens of men who had come to look over the area since Abram had bought the sawmill and property in 1851, but he had turned each one down, determined to make a go of it himself. After three years of barely getting by—and now his deadline to produce a town in ten months—he had no other options. He needed to find financial partners whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

Charlotte opened the lean-to door and entered the house. After five long years she had hoped to meet her nephews. One more day felt like an eternity.

She stood just inside the lean-to with her hands on her hips and looked at the stack of dirty clothes, the cobwebs in the corners and the dirt on the floor. The housework loomed in front of her like a battlefield. She must strategize an attack or it might overwhelm her—and that was the last thing she could allow. She would prove to Abram that she was more than capable of taking care of his home.

She walked into the kitchen and inspected the greasy stove, the stack of dirty dishes and the mouse droppings. Her mother’s chore rhyme ran through her mind: wash on Monday, iron on Tuesday, mend on Wednesday, churn on Thursday, clean on Friday, bake on Saturday and rest on Sunday. Since today was Saturday, and she would never think to bake in such a filthy kitchen, she would spend the remainder of the day cleaning and then start fresh on Monday morning with the wash.

She went to her room, changed into a work dress and apron, tied a red handkerchief around her hair and then set to work pumping water into a large kettle. At least she didn’t have to sit around all day and fret about Susanne’s boys. She enjoyed staying busy. It was a way to feel in control.

She scoured every surface in the kitchen, including the ceiling, with hot water and lye soap. When that was done, it was time to prepare dinner. She did a quick inventory of the pantry and was surprised at the abundance it contained. Flour, sugar, coffee, dried apples and dried beans. The root cellar was just as impressive with fresh eggs, milk, venison and a barrel full of salt pork. There were several bins of recently harvested vegetables, as well, so she picked out some potatoes, carrots, rutabagas and radishes.

She could make a nice stew with biscuits and dried apple pie for supper. But for dinner she didn’t have time to produce much, so she decided to fry up some bacon. If it was good enough for supper and breakfast, then it should be good enough for dinner, too.

Charlotte removed the last piece of bacon from the grease when the back door opened and Abram walked in with his crew.

All five men stopped and looked around the immaculate kitchen. The root vegetables were sitting on the worktable, washed and waiting to be diced up for the stew, while the dried apples were soaking in a bowl of water on the cupboard.

Charlotte’s hands were chapped from being in soapy water all morning, but she met Abram’s gaze with a bit of triumph. Of course she could manage a house!

He glanced at the handkerchief on her head and then his gaze traveled around the room once again. Disbelief showed on his face. “It hasn’t looked this clean in here since before Susanne became sick.”

The reminder of her sister brought a stab of grief to Charlotte’s heart and her moment of triumph evaporated.

She placed the heaping platter of bacon on the table.

All five men looked at the platter, their faces sagging in disappointment.

“Ah, Miss Lee! Bacon again?” Caleb asked.

“I thought we’d have us a real meal now that you’re here,” Josiah said, pushing his curls out of his eyes as he slumped against the door frame.

Abram’s appreciation dimmed and his eyes filled with irritation. He glanced at the vegetables, but before he could say anything, she grabbed the coffeepot and nodded toward the table. “There will be stew, biscuits and hot apple pie for supper. This was all I had time to prepare for now. Sit up to the table and eat the bacon while it’s still hot.”

They started to come into the kitchen but she held up her free hand. “Clean your boots off in the lean-to. I won’t have you tracking up this floor with mud. And wash your hands in the basin I set up out there.” She offered them a challenging look. “If I’m to serve food in this house, I’ll be serving it to clean hands.”

“You going to let her talk to you like that?” asked the one with freckles named Harry.

All the men looked at Abram to see what he would do. He stared at Charlotte for a moment and then nodded for them to do as she said. “It’s Charlotte’s kitchen for the time being, so we’ll abide by her rules.”

She suppressed an urge to smile as she filled his mug with coffee.

The men came back into the kitchen, each taking their seat, no one saying a word.

They ate their bacon in silence, though Caleb grimaced a time or two and looked at the waiting vegetables fondly.

Milt, Harry, Caleb and Josiah all stood when they were finished and waited for Abram, who took a final swig from his coffee mug. He tilted his head toward the door. “Go on without me. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Caleb glanced at Charlotte. “Thanks for the meal.” He dipped his head. “I mean no disrespect, but I hope it’s the last bacon we see for a long time.”

Charlotte appreciated his candor. “I’ll bring you a special treat this afternoon at the mill. Do you like doughnuts?”

His face lit with a grin. “Boy, do I!” With a holler and a jig, he made his way out of the house, followed by the others.

Abram set his coffee mug on the table and stood.

Charlotte began to clear the dirty dishes and tried to ignore him. Why hadn’t he left with the others?

“There’s something you need to know.”

She stopped stacking the plates and looked at him.

He swallowed and glanced down at the table, adjusting the fork near his plate. “I don’t exactly know how to tell you this.”

Apprehension wound its way around her heart. “What?”

When he finally looked at her, deep sadness etched the corners of his eyes. “Right after Susanne died, a sickness went through the area and Robert became ill. The military doctor was sent for, but Robert’s fever became so high, he—” Abram swallowed and looked down at the table again. “When he got better we realized the fever had taken his hearing.”

Charlotte clutched a tin plate. “He’s deaf?”

Abram nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s been over three months now, and the doctor said if he was going to regain his hearing, it would have happened by now.”

Her legs became weak and she took a seat. “What does this mean?”

“It means we’ll need to learn how to communicate with him.”

“You mean sign language?”

Abram nodded.

“Who’s teaching him? Are you learning—”

“Just leave it be for now.” He put up his hand to silence her questions. “You’ll learn more tomorrow when we see him.”

Charlotte sat in silence, though the questions continued to whirl in her mind.

Deaf. Five-year-old Robert.

“I need to get to the mill. I just thought I should tell you so you’re prepared.”

Charlotte looked up at him but had nothing to say.

Abram walked out of the kitchen and left her to mourn yet another loss.


Chapter Three (#uffee4b19-0fb5-5d0f-bb42-4ff425329d66)

On Sunday morning Abram rolled out of the bottom bunk while it was still dark. He shivered in the cold and glanced out the window at the end of the long room.

Snow fell gracefully from the black sky, brushing against the windowpane and gathering in the corners.

Winter always frustrated Abram. Once the river stopped flowing, his saw would stop, too, and so would his income. Of course the snow and cold would come eventually, but he had hoped and prayed it would hold off a bit longer. At least until he had come back from St. Anthony. The trail would be difficult to travel now and the drop in temperature would make it more uncomfortable. But it wouldn’t stop him from going. He’d leave before the sun was up the following morning.

He pulled his cold denim pants over his long johns. They felt grimy against his skin, but he had nothing else to wear. They would have to do for now.

The other men continued to snore, so he tried to be quiet as he pulled on his shirt and buttoned up the front. He didn’t want to disturb them on their one morning off. All four of them had gone to Crow Wing village, about twenty-five miles north on the river, the night before, and they had crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning. He wished they would come to church with him at the Belle Prairie Mission, but none of them had any interest—especially after a night of carousing.

Abram grabbed his boots from the end of his bed and tiptoed toward the door. He would see to the Sunday morning chores, like he did every week, and leave the rest of the afternoon and evening chores to his men so he could spend the day with his sons.

The hallway was dark and no light seeped from beneath Charlotte’s door. She had worked hard yesterday and had gone to bed as soon as the dishes had been wiped after supper.

He slid past her room and down the stairs, hoping not to wake her, either.

He’d never seen someone clean the way she had. No wonder she’d gone to bed early. There was not a nook or cranny of the main floor that had not been touched. She had even taken Susanne’s books off the shelves and hand-dusted each one. The place practically glowed. While he had sat next to the fireplace the evening before, after Charlotte had gone to bed and the men had left for Crow Wing, he had admired the way the firelight danced on the shiny windows again. She had outdone herself—and he sensed it was to prove him wrong.

But that didn’t bother him one bit.

The kitchen door was outlined with light and Abram could smell the first hint of coffee on the cold morning air.

Charlotte?

He pushed open the door and found her standing in front of the cookstove in a fresh yellow dress, snug against her slender waist and belled out around the bottom. She wore a large apron and had her hair done up in a fancy knot. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other flipping a flapjack in a frying pan. Her right foot was tapping and he heard the soft sound of her humming “Oh! Susanna.”

A smile teased his lips as he paused over the threshold, surprised at how nice it felt to have a lady in the house again. The breakfast table was already set with a butter dish, a pitcher of cream and a little bowl of white sugar. Six plates were set with a fork and a mug beside each.

Everything looked homey and snug. Warmth curled inside his chest—but then a pang of guilt rocked him back on his heels, stealing the smile from his face. What was he thinking? This was Susanne’s kitchen. How could he feel good about another woman in her place?

Charlotte grabbed the plate of flapjacks and turned to put them on the table. She glanced up and her brown eyes registered surprise at his appearance. “Good morning.”

He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Morning.”

She turned back to the stove and flipped another flapjack, glancing over her shoulder. “Eat up while they’re hot.”

He took his place at the head of the table, his mouth watering at the smell of fresh coffee and the sight of steam rising off the flapjacks.

“Will the others be down shortly?” she asked.

“They’ve only been asleep for a couple hours. I don’t think we’ll see them anytime soon.”

She brought the coffeepot from the stove and set it on the table. “They’re not going to the mission with us today?”

He shook his head and reached for the flapjacks. “No.”

She put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Where were they all night?”

It felt strange to have her hand on his arm, so he pulled out of her grasp. “They went to Crow Wing. It’s a trading center north of here.”

“What do they do there?”

“I don’t ask and they don’t tell.” Crow Wing had a reputation for being lawless. It was a mecca for transient fur traders, trappers and Indians. At any time, there were usually about two hundred people living there and very few things were off-limits. He was sure his men had enjoyed themselves.

Charlotte crossed her arms and looked at him with disappointment. “You let them do this?”

“They’re grown men. What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell them to stop.”

He took a flapjack off the top of the stack and put it on his plate, his stomach growling. He almost closed his eyes to inhale the warm scent but refrained—only because she was watching. “I can’t tell them what to do.”

Her foot began to tap again but this time she wasn’t humming. “Well, I can.” She marched around the table and out of the kitchen, her skirts swaying.

Abram scrambled up from the table. “Charlotte!” He raced out of the kitchen and through the dark room just as she opened the front door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m reforming your employees.” She reached for the triangle dinner bell.

His eyes grew wide. “They’ll skin you alive! They’ve only been asleep for a couple hours and this is their one morning to sleep in.”

She closed the door and marched across the room to the stairs. “This is the Lord’s Day and I won’t live in a house with four men who don’t honor Him.”

He reached for the dinner bell but she pulled away. Instead of grab the bell he grabbed her wrist. “I’m warning you, Charlotte. I don’t know what they’re capable of if woken up right now. They won’t be happy.”

She pulled her arm away and raced up the steps. He chased after her, but before he could stop her, she charged into the room and began to clang the bell.

“Everyone up! Wake up!” The bell drowned out her words and echoed in Abram’s ears. “Breakfast is on the table. Get dressed and ready for church.”

Caleb jumped out of his bed as if there was a fire, his eyes enormous. He stood in his red long johns and stocking cap. “What’s wrong?”

Josiah groaned and threw his pillow across the room. It hit Charlotte right in the head. Her eyes registered surprise—and then anger. The bell stopped clanging for a moment and Abram thought for a split second that Charlotte would throw the heavy dinner bell at Josiah’s head in return.

“Wake up!” Charlotte said instead, this time with more force. “I’m surprised at you men. Is this how you spend your hard-earned money?”

Harry sat up, a scowl on his weathered face, while Milt looked at Charlotte through the hair hanging in his eyes.

Caleb sank back to his bed, holding his head between his hands and moaning.

Charlotte crossed her arms and glared at the men. “I made breakfast and it’s still hot. If any of you ever expect to eat a warm meal at my table again, I’d advise you to get dressed and come down immediately.”

Harry stood and fisted his hands. “Last I heard, you were an employee of Abram’s, same as us. Seems to me that he should be the one making the rules around here.”

Charlotte turned and faced Abram. “You said it’s my kitchen for now. Therefore, I make the rules. I say they eat now or I don’t serve them again.”

Panic swelled in Abram’s gut. If he wanted Harry to stay, he couldn’t take Charlotte’s side—yet, if he wanted Charlotte to stay, he had to give her power over her domain.

“I say we show the lady some respect,” Caleb said, grimacing as he reached for his shirt and pants off the floor. “If she went to the trouble of making us breakfast, the least we can do is come to the table on time.”

Abram sighed in relief.

Caleb nudged Josiah. “Get out of bed and come eat Miss Charlotte’s breakfast.”

Josiah’s black curls were in a mess on his head. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. The look he cast Charlotte suggested she had lost all appeal in his eyes.

Milt didn’t say anything but he also started to fumble for his clothing.

It was Harry who narrowed his eyes and glared at Charlotte. “I won’t let no woman tell me what to do.” He flopped back into his bed and pulled the covers over his red hair.

Caleb, Josiah and Milt all looked at him—and then at Charlotte—but none of them went back to bed.

Charlotte turned from the room, the dinner bell firmly in hand.

Abram was thankful a disaster had been averted—though for how long, he wasn’t sure.

He followed Charlotte down the stairs, admiring and disliking her backbone all at the same time.

When the men were assembled around the table, and Abram had said grace, Charlotte poured each of them a cup of coffee. Their eyes were bloodshot and they didn’t bother to hide their yawns. No one said a thing as Charlotte picked up Harry’s plate, cup and fork and put them back in the cupboard.

“I’ll expect each of you to join us at church today, too,” Charlotte said, taking her place at the table.

Josiah’s black eyes filled with horror. “Now, look here, Miss Charlotte—”

“What would your mothers think if they knew you weren’t attending church?” Charlotte took a flapjack off the platter and put it on her plate. “I want you to make your parents proud.”

Caleb, Josiah and Milt ate the rest of the meal in silence.

Abram did, too.

Charlotte was the only one who seemed to have something to say.

* * *

The wagon rumbled over the uneven road toward the north and the long-awaited meeting with her nephews. Charlotte huddled inside her coat, a cloud of air escaping her mouth.

The prairie was draped in a thin blanket of snow with patches of brown grass showing through. A large bluff rose up in the east, covered with leafless trees, now stark against the white landscape.

Caleb, Josiah and Milt sat in the back of the wagon, their heads bobbing up and down as if they had fallen asleep, and perhaps they had. None of them looked happy about going to the mission this morning.

Abram gripped the opening of his coat with one chapped hand while the other held the reins.

“Don’t you have mittens?” she asked.

He glanced at her and she was reminded again of how blue his eyes were, especially now in the bright sunshine glinting off the fresh snow.

“The pair I have are worn through. I was planning to buy a new pair in St. Anthony.”

“You don’t need to do that. Buy me some yarn and I’ll knit new ones for everyone in the house.” She loved to keep her hands busy with sewing and knitting. “If you buy some wool, I’ll also sew you a new coat to match.”

He glanced down at his threadbare coat and sighed. “I wish there was enough time to make it before I meet with investors. I’d probably make a better impression if I didn’t look so destitute.”

She couldn’t make him a new coat by tomorrow, but she could at least wash a pair of his pants and a nice shirt this afternoon so they were dry in the morning. She would have to break her Sabbath rest to do the work, but maybe this one time would be okay—though it might help her cause if he went to St. Anthony looking like a pauper. If others saw how poor he was, they would realize it was foolish to invest in his town.

As tempting as the thought might be, no self-respecting housekeeper would let him go the way he looked.

The moment the mission came within sight, Charlotte sat straighter. She didn’t realize she was clutching her hands together until her cold knuckles hurt.

A commodious house sat off to the left, with a New England–style barn just behind it. The building across the road served as a church and a schoolhouse.

“This is a manual labor school,” Abram said as he turned the horses into the mission yard. “All the children are given chores to help pay for their education and teach them about farm life. The Ayers built the mission in the late 1840s for the fur traders and Indian children in the area.”

He stopped the wagon just outside the house and then jumped down to secure the reins to the porch. He walked around the wagon and offered up his hand to Charlotte just as the front door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped outside.

“Mr. Cooper.” She looked over the group and her gentle smile turned into a look of surprise. “You’ve brought guests. How nice.”

Charlotte put her hand inside Abram’s strong grasp and their gazes met for a split second. She stepped out of the wagon holding her voluminous skirts with her free hand, but the moment her foot hit the earth, she removed her hand from his hold and began to rearrange her skirts.

“Mrs. Ayers, may I present my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Lee?”

Mrs. Ayers stepped off the porch and extended her hand to Charlotte. Her kind eyes crinkled at the edges. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Lee. Welcome to Belle Prairie.”

Charlotte shook her hand, her insides quivering. Within moments she would meet her nephews. “Thank you, Mrs. Ayers.”

“And these are three of the men who work for me.” Abram nodded toward the men climbing out of the back of the wagon. “Milt, Caleb and Josiah.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Mrs. Ayers said.

The men nodded with polite resignation.

“Miss Lee insisted we come,” Caleb said.

“Milt, will you and Caleb and Josiah take care of the horses?” Abram said quickly as he nodded toward the barn. “Meet us in the church across the road when you’re done.”

The men mumbled in response while Mrs. Ayers turned to Charlotte. “Have you met the children before?”

“Not yet, but I’m very eager.”

“Come, come, then.” Mrs. Ayers put her hand behind Charlotte’s back and led her to the front door. “Let’s not make you wait another moment. The children should be just finishing up with their breakfast.”

Mrs. Ayers guided them into the front hall and through to a parlor. The room was well decorated and held an upright piano, large woven rugs and windows looking out onto the prairie.

The sound of children’s laughter entered in from a room across the hall.

“Mr. Cooper, would you retrieve your children from the dining room?” Mrs. Ayers asked. “We’ll allow them to meet their aunt here in the parlor privately.”

Abram left the parlor and Mrs. Ayers indicated one of the sofas. “Why don’t we have a seat?”

Charlotte twisted her hands and glanced at the open door. “Thank you.” She sat on the sofa, but poised herself to rise the moment Abram returned.

Mrs. Ayers smiled and patted Charlotte’s hands. “I understand completely.”

Charlotte inhaled a deep breath and waited.

* * *

Abram left the ladies and crossed the hall to the dining room. A dozen children sat around the table while two young teachers cleared the dirty dishes.

Abram immediately located his blond-haired boys in the mix of Indian children and fur trader’s children.

While the others conversed, Robert sat quietly, his eyes focused on his plate. He didn’t look right or left, but kept to himself. And why wouldn’t he? He could not communicate with the other children.

“Papa!” Martin jumped off his chair and raced around the table.

Abram squatted and took his three-year-old son in his arms. “Hello, Martin.”

Martin pulled back and blinked at Abram with his large blue eyes. “I know how to say my ABCs, Papa. Do you want to hear?”

“I’d love to hear—but right now I would like for you to meet your aunt Charlotte.” Abram stood and walked around the table to touch Robert on the shoulder.

Robert glanced up. His blue eyes, so like Martin’s, grew large with surprise—but quickly filled with excitement at seeing his father. He stood and wrapped his arms around Abram’s waist. He spoke the word Papa, but it didn’t have the right intonation.

The teachers stopped working and glanced in Abram’s direction. The one with blond hair offered a sad smile. “Robert has been struggling this week. He’s very frustrated and he’s had several fits.”

Abram looked down at his son, pain and guilt weighing heavy on his conscience. Before Robert had lost his hearing, he had been a content, cheerful little boy, eager to please. Afterward he had become unruly and disobedient, often throwing tantrums the others couldn’t control. Abram had wanted to keep him home, but it had been impractical. Now, with Charlotte’s arrival, his son could have the individual attention he needed.

The thought brought a smile to Abram’s face as he indicated the door. “Come meet your aunt.”

Robert showed no sign of comprehension and Abram tried hard not to show his disappointment.

“Is Aunt Charlotte nice?” Martin asked, his eyes growing rounder. The small boy had found it difficult to adjust to life at the mission after Susanne’s death, and now Abram would ask him to adjust to another new person.

“She is nice.” At least, Abram hoped she would be. Most of the experiences he’d had with the woman suggested otherwise. “Your mama often talked about how much she loved Aunt Charlotte.”

The baby, George, sat in a high chair next to the table. Susanne had never fully recovered after his birth, and the military doctor had suggested that her illness was somehow connected to birthing their youngest son. They would probably never know.

George also had blond hair, though his was darker than the other two boys, and his eyes were brown—like Susanne’s and Charlotte’s. He reached for the child and lifted him out of his chair, but George looked a bit uncertain. He remained stiff in Abram’s arms and looked at his teachers for reassurance.

“I’ll take the boys to meet their aunt and then we’ll go to the church,” Abram said to the teachers. “After the service, I’m taking the boys home with me for good.”

The teachers nodded. “That will be nice for all of you.” The one with blond hair glanced at Robert, a sense of relief on her face.

Abram took Robert’s hand on instinct and motioned for Martin to follow them into the parlor.

George reached toward Abram’s thick beard and tugged on it, as if he wanted it gone.

Grief gnawed at Abram’s gut as he thought of Susanne and how much he missed her. She would never see her sons grow, and wouldn’t be there to help him navigate through the difficult years ahead. The thought was almost too much for him to bear.

His little family walked over the threshold and into the parlor. Charlotte sat with Mrs. Ayers, but the moment they entered, she stood and clasped her hands together, bringing them to her mouth. For the first time since her arrival, a smile spread across her face and her entire countenance was transformed.

The gesture made Abram stop short.

She looked...beautiful, and not just on the surface. Something deep and lovely radiated from within her at the sight of the boys.

Charlotte knelt in front of them, looking over Robert and Martin as if trying to memorize every detail of their faces. “Hello. I’m your aunt Charlotte.”

Martin buried his face into Abram’s pant leg and Robert took a step closer to his side.

“Where are your manners, Martin?” Abram asked. “Say hello to your aunt.”

“Hello,” Martin said quietly.

“Hello,” Charlotte said. “Your mother told me all about you in her letters.”

“This is Robert.” Abram indicated his oldest son. He touched Robert’s shoulder, and when the boy looked up at him, Abram raised his hand and took Charlotte’s in a handshake.

Charlotte paused for a moment and Abram caught her look of surprise.

He swallowed. “I want him to learn his manners whether he can hear or not.”

Charlotte slowly removed her hand from Abram’s and extended it to Robert.

Robert looked at her offered hand and then shook his head and stepped behind Abram.

Charlotte lowered her hand. “I wish I could tell him who I am.” She paused. “Maybe I can.” She opened her reticule and took out a thin metal case.

Robert peeked from behind Abram and watched her closely.

Charlotte unlocked a clasp on the metal square and opened the object. It was a daguerreotype.

She turned it for Robert to see.

Abram glimpsed a picture of two young women sitting side by side, their arms linked. He looked up at Charlotte. “Is that you and Susanne?”

Charlotte nodded. “It was taken about six months before—” She paused and finally looked at Abram. “Before she left Iowa City.”

Charlotte knelt before Robert and pointed to Susanne’s picture.

Robert took a tentative step away from Abram and put his hand on the picture. “Mama,” he said in his nasally voice.

Charlotte nodded vigorously and then looked at Mrs. Ayers helplessly. “Is there some sign for �mother’? Something that we can teach him?”

Mrs. Ayers held up her hands. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know any sign language. We’ve taught him some basic signs that we created, such as touching his mouth when he’s hungry, but we are at a loss to communicate further.”

“There has to be some way we can learn and teach him sign language,” Charlotte said. She looked back at Robert. “Mama.” She spoke slowly, pointing to Susanne’s image. Next she pointed to her likeness and then to her chest. “Charlotte,” she said, again slowly, as if she wanted him to somehow read her lips.

Robert looked from the picture to his aunt and back to the picture.

“Does he understand?” Charlotte asked Abram.

Abram shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Charlotte allowed Robert to take the picture out of her hands and her face filled with a longing that made Abram’s heart ache.

He quickly put his hand on the baby’s chest. “This is George.”

She looked up at George and stood straight. “The other two look like you. George looks more like Susanne.”

“I think he looks like you,” Mrs. Ayers said. “He has your eyes.”

“Do you think?” Charlotte asked, a sense of hope in her gaze.

George looked at Charlotte with his deep brown eyes and a smile dimpled his chubby cheeks. He reached for Charlotte.

“Oh, my!” She took him in her arms and offered a surprised giggle.

The sound made Abram lift his brows. A giggle? It suited her.

Charlotte snuggled George close, closing her eyes as she placed her cheek against his soft hair.

Realization dawned on Abram. These were Charlotte’s only living relatives. She had no one else.

“Mrs. Ayers,” Abram said, clearing his throat. “Miss Lee has agreed to stay on as my housekeeper for the time being. I plan to take the children home with me this afternoon.”

Mrs. Ayers smiled. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“We’re going home, Papa?” Martin asked.

Abram nodded.

“Is Mama there?”

The question felt like a kick in his gut and he had to speak around the wedge of emotion clogging his throat. “Mama’s in Heaven, remember?”

Martin dropped his chin to his chest and Abram made the mistake of looking up at Charlotte. She still cuddled George but pain glinted in her eyes.

It was hard enough shouldering his grief and that of his children—could he also shoulder the grief of Susanne’s sister?

It was a task he was willing to take if it meant having his boys at home.


Chapter Four (#uffee4b19-0fb5-5d0f-bb42-4ff425329d66)

It would be hours before the sun rose on another cold November morning, and hours before the boys woke up expecting breakfast. Charlotte sat at the kitchen table, a kerosene lamp making a small halo of light for her to work by. She held Abram’s best trousers in one hand, a needle and thread in the other. Last night, after everyone had gone to bed, she had washed his clothing and set it out to dry.

The potbelly stove radiated heat and boiled the pot of coffee percolating on the burner. Susanne’s irons sat next to the coffee, drawing heat from the fire beneath.

“Are you always an early riser?”

Charlotte jumped at the sound of Abram’s voice. He stood in the doorway wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday, his hair a mess and his beard just as shaggy as before.

She snipped the loose thread and set the pants on the table to be ironed. His sudden appearance left her heart pounding a bit too hard. “Yes.”

“Are those my clothes?” His sleepy eyes grew wide and he took one pant leg in hand. “They look brand-new, Charlotte. I don’t know what to say.”

She slipped the needle and thread into her sewing basket. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m only doing my job.”

“No. You went above and beyond your job.” He studied her, as if gauging whether or not she had done it out of kindness or duty. “Either way, thank you.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes but simply nodded and closed her sewing box.

He rubbed his beard for a moment and then walked over to the stove, where he closed his eyes and inhaled. “There’s nothing like waking up to the smell of coffee. Before you came, I was the one who made it every morning.”

“Even when Susanne was alive?”

Abram glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “Unlike you, Susanne was not an early riser.”

Charlotte smiled to herself. How could she forget? She had practically dragged her sister out of bed every morning of her life...until she had eloped with Abram.

A stilted silence fell between them.

Abram reached for a speckled mug as Charlotte stood and took a clean towel from the drying rope she’d strung over the stove the night before. She folded it on the table, laid Abram’s pants on top, then hooked a wooden handle to one of the heavy irons and lifted it off the stove.

“Would you like me to do that?” Abram reached for the iron, his hand covering Charlotte’s on the handle. “Susanne’s arms used to get tired when she ironed.”

Charlotte didn’t let go, too stunned to move. She was so used to taking care of herself, the thought of someone else easing her burden made her feel helpless, which she tried to avoid at all cost. “That won’t be necessary.” She gently tugged the iron out of his grasp. “My arms are strong from my seamstress work.”

Abram awkwardly turned to the stove and filled his mug. He walked around her and took a seat at the table.

She swallowed and glanced at him, her insides feeling a bit shaky with him watching her. “I’ll have breakfast ready within the hour. I imagine you have work to do in the barn and then you’ll want to get an early start.”

He took a slow sip of his coffee, apparently in no rush. “The men should be up soon to take care of the animals.” He paused. “I actually came down early to make a request.”

She ran the hot iron over the first pant leg. “Oh?”

“I could use a haircut before I go.”

Charlotte stopped ironing. “You want me to cut your hair?”

“Would you?”

She had cut her father’s hair, after her mama passed away, but she had never touched the head of another man, not even Thomas’s. Somehow it felt...intimate. “I don’t know—”

“I haven’t had a cut since Susanne died.” He put his hand to his head and tugged on a long strand for emphasis. “I want to make a good impression in St. Anthony—and I’m afraid George might be scared of me with all this hair.”

“You do look a bit like a bear.”

He smiled at her and she returned the gesture. It was the first time they had ever shared a lighthearted moment.

Their smiles disappeared, as if they had the same thought at the same time.

“The boys’ hair is in need of a trim, too,” Abram said quickly, toying with the handle of his mug. “Do you think you could add it to your list of duties?”

Speaking of the boys reminded her of the idea she wanted to discuss with Abram.

“I have a request of my own.”

He took a sip of his coffee and looked at her over the rim of his mug. When he set it down he let out a contented sigh. “This is good coffee, Charlotte.”

His compliment made her blush, though she couldn’t understand why. She turned from him and set the cool iron on the stove, unhooked the handle and then hooked it to the other hot iron waiting. Maybe her cheeks were warm from the stove.

“What kind of request?” he asked, taking another sip of coffee.

She cleared her throat and set to work on the other pant leg. “This past year, two men began a school for the deaf in Iowa City. I read an article in the Iowa City Reporter about their school. It sounds very promising.”

Abram set down his mug. “What are you getting at?”

“I believe Robert is too young to attend, but someday I hope to send him there—”

“Of course I want the best for Robert, but I think the best is to be had here, at home.”

“And I think he needs an education.”

“I would never deny him an education.”

She stopped her work. “How will he get it, if you don’t send him?”

“He’ll get it right here, when we have a school.”

“But how will a teacher communicate with him?” Helplessness weighed down her shoulders. “How will we communicate with him? He must be terribly frustrated and alone right now.”

Abram ran his hands through his hair. “We’ll learn sign language.”

“How will we do that?”

“We’ll make it up if we have to.”

Charlotte set the iron on the stove. “Wouldn’t it make sense to teach him the same signs they use at the school in Iowa City? Maybe they have a sign language book. I’ll ask them to send one if they do.”

“That’s fine—but I have no desire to send my son away. I’ll find a teacher who uses sign language if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him here.”

“Like build your town?”

“Exactly.” He indicated his head with a bit of frustration. “Will you cut my hair now?”

She exhaled an exasperated breath. “Only if you shave your beard.”

“Why do you always have conditions and counteroffers?”

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“I don’t want to shave my beard when it’s getting cold. My face is liable to freeze if I don’t have a beard.”

“I’ll knit you a scarf.”

“Why don’t you like the beard?”

Why not, indeed? Was it because a small part of her wanted to see if he was still as handsome as he had been the night of the Fireman’s Ball? The thought sent heat coursing through her—heat of embarrassment and guilt. She shouldn’t think that way about her sister’s widower. “You can trim it, can’t you?”

He rubbed his beard, as if sad to see it go. “I suppose I could give it a little trim. I’ll go get my comb and shears.”

While he was gone, Charlotte quickly ironed his shirt and folded it next to the trousers.

Abram returned, set the comb and shears on the table, and then began to unbutton his shirt.

Charlotte put up her hands, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shirt.”

“Why?”

“I always took off my shirt when Susanne cut my hair.”

She shook her head quickly and grabbed the towel from the table. “Please keep your clothes on and put this around your shoulders. I have no interest in seeing you without your shirt.”

His blue eyes twinkled with mischief and Charlotte was reminded of how charming he had been when he’d courted Susanne.

He sat at the table and set the towel on his broad shoulders with a chuckle.

Maybe it wasn’t just his good looks that had attracted her sister to him.

Charlotte forced the thoughts from her mind and stepped up to the job. Her hands hovered over his head. Father’s hair had been thin and greasy. Abram’s hair was thick and wavy. It looked as if he had washed it recently, too.

She took a deep breath and ran the comb through his hair. She allowed her fingers to slip through the thick waves and assess how she wanted to cut them.

He sighed and his shoulders relaxed.

Charlotte paused, aware of how her touch had just affected him.

“Nothing too short,” he said. “I like to keep a bit of insulation on top.”

She picked up the shears, and with a quick snip, the first lock of hair fell to the floor.

Charlotte worked for several minutes, combing and cutting until she was satisfied. When she was finally finished, she stepped back and admired her work.

“Well?” He turned his head this way and that. “What do you think?”

“I think your beard looks even worse now.”

He grinned and stood, holding the towel so the hair clippings stayed inside the fabric.

“Here—” she reached for the towel “—I’ll take care of that.”

“Then I’ll go see what I can do about my beard.” He grabbed his clean clothes and left the kitchen.

After she swept and threw the cuttings outside for the birds, Charlotte came back into the kitchen and began to make scrambled eggs and sausage for breakfast. Everyone would soon be awake and they’d want to be fed.

She set the table for seven—recalling that she would not be serving Harry at her table. If he couldn’t come down for Sunday breakfast, she wouldn’t serve him the rest of the week. He could take a plate to the barn.

The door opened and Charlotte turned from the hot stove.

There, standing in the doorway, was a handsome stranger—or so she thought for a brief moment. Abram looked like a new man. He had kept his beard but trimmed it close to his face. He wore his clean pants and shirt, tucked in, and had wet his hair and combed it into submission.

He smiled and the effect was stunning.

“I look that good?” he teased.

The room suddenly felt overly warm. She realized she was staring and wanted to spin back to the sizzling sausages, but if she didn’t acknowledge his transformation, she suspected he would tease her incessantly. “You look fine.”

He cocked a brow and swaggered into the room. “Just fine?”

At that, she did turn back to the stove, taking a deep breath to steady her thoughts. “Where will the men sleep while you’re away?”

“The men?”

She looked back at him—she couldn’t help it. “Yes.”

He raised his hand to stroke his beard, but finding it gone, he rested his hand on his chest instead. “Why can’t the men sleep in the house?”

“It wouldn’t be decent.”

“But it’s decent when I’m here?”

“As my sister’s husband, you’re an acceptable chaperone. With you gone, tongues could wag.”

“What tongues?” He looked around, a bit bewildered. “No one is close enough to care.”

“I care.” She flipped the sausages one at a time with a fork. “They’ll need to sleep in the barn or somewhere else while you’re gone.”

“I doubt they’ll like that idea.”

“That may be so—”

The door opened and Harry and Milt walked into the kitchen.

Harry ignored Charlotte, while Milt nodded a halfhearted greeting. They both stopped when they caught sight of Abram.

“What’d she do to you?” Harry asked, his eyes filled with horror.

Abram touched his jaw and paused. “I thought I’d get cleaned up to go to St. Anthony.”

Harry shook his head and exited the house, Milt behind him.

“I don’t think Harry will be happy with the idea of sleeping in the barn,” Abram said.

Charlotte indicated a plate sitting on the cupboard counter. “He can eat out there, too.”

Abram groaned. “Maybe I’ll take him with me to St. Anthony. Let the two of you cool off a bit.”

Charlotte glanced outside, where Harry and Milt were entering the barn. Harry appeared to be just as stubborn as her. She doubted either one would cool off soon.

* * *

Abram stepped into the office of Cheney Milling Operation and inhaled the familiar scent of pine. The office stood on the eastern banks of the Mississippi at St. Anthony Falls, where dozens of men had built sawmills on wooden stilts in the water. Numerous mills crowded the piers and sawed thousands of feet of lumber a day. Mill owners were bringing in a fortune as the population increased, making St. Paul, St. Anthony and Stillwater thriving towns.

Over the years several prospective investors had traveled through Little Falls and longed to harness the power at the largest waterfall north of St. Anthony, but Abram had said no. One of those men had been Liam Cheney, owner of a successful sawmill here in St. Anthony.

Abram nodded at a clerk who stood behind a high counter. “Is Mr. Cheney available?”

The mousy clerk peeked at Abram behind his round spectacles. “Whom shall I say is asking?”

Harry had stayed outside, having no desire to sit in on the meeting, so it was just Abram. “Mr. Abram Cooper.”

The clerk looked him up and down and then turned to walk into an office behind the counter.

A few moments later the office door opened and the clerk stepped out, followed by Mr. Cheney, a tall, slender fellow with a large mustache. “Mr. Cooper, what a pleasant surprise. Will you come into my office?”

Abram took off his hat and walked around the counter. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Cheney slapped Abram’s back. “Always willing to meet with a competitor.”

Abram glanced around the large office overlooking the Mississippi and the dozens of men Cheney employed. He would hardly call himself a competitor with his four employees and simple sawmill.

Cheney took a seat behind a large oak desk and indicated a chair for Abram. “What brings you to St. Anthony, Mr. Cooper?”

Abram found it hard to ask for help. Seeking investors made him feel like he was admitting defeat—but he had no choice. He would do it for his children’s sake. “I’ve reconsidered your offer to invest in my sawmill.”

Liam Cheney didn’t say anything right away. Instead he studied Abram from behind heavy brows. He indicated his office and the mill outside. “As you can see, I invested here—and I must say I’m not disappointed.”

Abram’s chest felt heavy at the news. “So your offer is no longer good?”

“My initial offer is no longer valid. However...” He leaned forward and placed his forearms on the desk. “I just met a man who is interested in investing in a sawmill. Since he was too late to invest in St. Anthony, he asked if I knew of any other promising locations.”

Abram leaned forward. “What did you tell him?”

“I said the territory is very big and there are several prospects, but I did not mention Little Falls, since you had so adamantly refused my offer.” Cheney leaned back again, this time steepling his fingers together as if sensing he held the upper hand. “He and I are planning an exploratory trip next week—but I didn’t plan to stop in Little Falls.” He paused. “Should we?”

“Who is this man?” Abram had devoted three years of his life and all his worldly possessions to his endeavors at Little Falls. He didn’t want to hand it over to just anyone.

“His name is Timothy Hubbard. He and his wife just arrived from Moline, Illinois, with their three children. He told me he has several friends and family back home waiting for him to send for them. He’s not only willing to invest, but he’ll bring ready-made citizens in the bargain.”

Abram sat for several moments, feeling like a poor beggar. Just looking around at the success Cheney had found at St. Anthony made Abram frustrated that he had turned down Cheney’s offer two years ago. The sounds of men shouting orders and saws cutting lumber seeped through the walls in a muffled taunt.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could have the same success.

“Well?” Cheney asked. “Is it worth our time to stop and look around Little Falls?”

Abram stood and extended his hand. “I believe it will be.”

Cheney also stood and shook Abram’s hand. His face became serious. “I feel it only fair to tell you we’re looking at several possible locations to invest, and more than one has already caught our eye. I don’t know if it’s too late to convince Hubbard that Little Falls is the place to invest.”

Abram was proud of Little Falls, as humble as it was, and he was convinced it was the best place to build a town on the Upper Mississippi. “You get him there and I’ll do the convincing.”

Cheney offered a shrewd smile. “I like your attitude.”

Abram slipped on his hat, not wanting Cheney to think he was desperate. “And I feel it’s only fair to tell you I’m meeting with several prospective investors while I’m in St. Anthony. I just hope you and Hubbard aren’t too late when you come.”

Cheney’s smile fell and Abram nodded farewell. “Good day.”

Abram turned and strode out of the office, his back straight and his head high, though inside he was shaking. He did plan to meet with several investors, but none had shown the avid interest that Cheney had.

Harry stood outside Cheney’s office building, leaning against the wall. He was almost twice Abram’s age and the deep lines in his face suggested he’d had a tough life. But he was a hard worker and had been the first to come to Abram looking for a job.

“Let’s head over to Thompson’s Mill,” Abram said. “I have a feeling the answer will be no, but we need to ask.”

Harry pushed away from the wall and came alongside Abram, his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t like that Lee woman,” Harry said. “She’s not good for the mill or Little Falls.”

Abram glanced up. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to comment.”

“If she hadn’t come, you wouldn’t be here—” Harry scoffed at their surroundings “—begging for handouts.”

“I’m not begging for handouts. I’m seeking business partners—”

“Because she threatened you.”

“She didn’t threaten—”

“She’s too high-and-mighty for the likes of us,” Harry continued as if he hadn’t heard Abram. “She’ll eventually guilt the others into believing her way and she’ll do it by threatening not to feed them.”

“Harry, you have to try to see things from her perspective.” Abram could hardly believe he was defending Charlotte. “She’s doing what she thinks is best.”

“She’s going about it the wrong way.” His jaw clenched and his eyes filled with bitterness. “I don’t want her preaching to me, or threatening to make me go hungry, just because I won’t do what she says.”

“She still feeds you and in time—”

“In time, nothing. I won’t play her games.”

Abram stopped on the muddy path and looked Harry in the eyes. “Keep in mind that Miss Lee is my sister-in-law, and a guest in my home, not to mention a lady.”

“She’s your employee first and foremost.” He looked Abram up and down, disgust on his face. “You’ll let her get away with anything, because you don’t want her taking your boys away.”

“She can’t take them without my blessing.”

“No—but you’re afraid she’s right, and Minnesota Territory is no place for them, so you’ll cave if she makes demands. You’re letting her get away with too much because you’re afraid of her.”

Abram wanted to laugh at the accusation but the truth was that he had always been a little afraid of Charlotte. From the moment he had made his intentions known about Susanne, years ago in Iowa City, Charlotte had been a force to reckon with. Susanne had respected her older sister, and when Charlotte made it clear she didn’t approve of Abram, he thought Susanne would bend to her sister’s wishes. Thankfully, Susanne had found the courage to walk away from Charlotte—but there was always a part of Abram that believed Charlotte was right way back then, and he wasn’t good enough for Susanne. He had fought the fear every day of their marriage, and when Susanne died, it had slapped him in the face.

Even now he was afraid Little Falls wasn’t good enough for his boys...and maybe he wasn’t enough for them, either. Would time prove Charlotte right again?

“Harry, I want you to listen carefully.” Abram’s breath fogged the air in front of his face. “Stay clear of Charlotte. If I find out you’ve even looked at her funny, you’ll have to leave.”

Harry stared at Abram, his thoughts imperceptible within his gray eyes.


Chapter Five (#uffee4b19-0fb5-5d0f-bb42-4ff425329d66)

Charlotte sat at Susanne’s desk, her head resting on her folded arms. The letter to the Iowa School for the Deaf was half written beneath her weary arms.

With the boys taking a nap, and the clean laundry freezing on the clothesline outside, she had tried to sneak in a moment to write the letter before starting supper. But the lure of sleep had won.

It had been horrible timing for Abram to leave. The boys didn’t know her, nor did they trust her. Robert refused to eat what she had prepared for breakfast and threw a tantrum, causing George to cry. Nothing she did had soothed either of them.

Martin had eaten his breakfast without complaining, but when Charlotte had asked him to clear his plate, he refused. She had lost her patience and scolded him, and he’d begun to cry.

Charlotte had almost thrown her hands up in defeat, but she wouldn’t give in—not now, not when she had come so far and wanted so badly to be a part of their lives.

Though she and the boys were upset for the remainder of the morning, she had managed to get the beds stripped and the laundry under way before it was time to prepare dinner.

Caleb, Josiah and Milt had eaten their dinner quickly and then left the house without looking back—and Charlotte didn’t blame them. George had cried through the whole meal.

Between doing laundry, trying to soothe George, disciplining Martin and communicating with Robert, she had worn herself ragged the rest of the afternoon.

She sighed and picked up her head. The November sun was already starting to fall toward the western horizon. If she wanted to have supper ready by the time the men came in to eat, she needed to get busy. The letter would have to wait until later.

Charlotte stood and stretched her aching back. Her hands were chapped and her feet were sore. She walked across the main room and into the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t wake the boys who were sleeping in the big room above her head. She would fry up salt pork for supper and serve it with pan gravy over boiled potatoes.

She grabbed several pieces of firewood from the box in the lean-to and began to stoke the fire when a shadow passed by the kitchen window.

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder and a scream lodged in her throat.

There, standing at the window, was a tall Indian. His black hair was collected in two long braids running over his shoulders and down his chest. Though he wore a white man’s shirt and hat, he had large hoops in his earlobes and a buckskin jacket over the shirt. He stared back at her without expression, his black eyes like two dark pools of ink.

Charlotte slowly straightened from the cookstove. She was too far away from the sawmill to call for help and she had no weapons in the house, except a kitchen knife. Her thoughts immediately went to the boys who were asleep upstairs. She prided herself on being prepared in every situation—but right now she felt defenseless.

The man moved away from the window and toward the lean-to door. She raced to shove the crossbar in place to prevent his entry, but the door was already opening when she entered the lean-to.




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