Chapter Three

A man in a railroad uniform plopped Haven's trunk at her feet with a smile. She thanked him, and then resumed her perusal of the town and her search for Emery. Buildings, in various stages of construction came into view, proof of the rapid growth she'd read about. The Eastern Railway of Minnesota or The St. Paul and Duluth transported travelers on a daily basis to Cobb's Grove, some merely passing through, others looking for permanent or seasonal work in the booming town.

From her vantage point, she noticed Main Street boasted two general stores, three hotels, a handful of churches, a lumberyard and sawmill, and the new school Emery wrote about. Sprinkled throughout, private houses occupied the lots between buildings.

People bustled past her on the wooden sidewalk, most oblivious to her presence. Countless dialects reached her ears—the familiar Scandinavian vernacular, the distinct guttural sounds of the Germans, and the unmistakable brogue of immigrants from Northern Ireland. Bandanas were abundant when it came to the men, including several in red. Not one acknowledged her with more than a nod or a tip of their hat in passing. She decided Emery had a perverse sense of humor if he thought the red bandana would reveal his identity.

An image of her parents, Dawson and Rory, saying goodbye surfaced. Her father attempted a false bravado when she kissed him on the cheek, and her mother swiped tears from her face with the back of her hand as she boarded the buggy. Willie, her eldest brother, drove her to St. Paul to catch the train, his demeanor sullen.

She'd said farewell to Uncle Jon and Aunt Isabelle the day before, another painful goodbye.

Uncle Jon had drawn her into his strong arms. 'Your heart be broken now, lass, but the sun will shine again for ye one day. When you're ready to come home, we'll be waiting with open arms.'

Aunt Isabelle took a more practical approach. 'Write us as soon as you get settled, dear. We want to know you arrived safe and sound.'

Jon, Isabelle, and her mother had settled in Minnesota in fifty-eight, soon after the territory became a state.

Her grandparents and parents referred to that time as the turbulent years—the outbreak of the Civil War in sixty-one, the Dakota Uprising in sixty-two, and the unusual circumstances surrounding her own birth that same year. Neighbors and friends, even people from neighboring communities, arrived at the homestead seeking her grandmother's and mother's midwifery skills.

And then something went horribly wrong, as they often do with deranged mad men.

After a young bride of seventeen died in childbirth, one Jane Giles, her husband lost his mind over the tragic incident. Blaming his wife's death on the midwives, Jane's husband, Nathan, concocted an elaborate plan to kidnap Haven's mother when she was full-term with her first child. That child had been Haven. A daring rescue had ensued, and in the end, both mother and child had survived, an event retold a thousand times throughout Haven's childhood.

At twenty-two, Haven met Matthias Morgan. His parents purchased the farm adjoining theirs shortly after emigrating from Ohio. At twenty-four, she and Matthias had pledged their hearts and souls to one another before the entire town of Guilford. Six blissful years together. She counted them on her fingers one-by-one, running through a vignette of memories in her mind for every year they'd been married. Her heart fractured all over again now, her grief so consuming that even seated on a bench with the pitiless sun beating down, she lost the ability to draw a full breath.

A shadow blocked out the sun. Haven lifted her chin to a male standing before her. Light brown hair, tied with a thin leather strap at his nape framed his face. Aqua-blue eyes sparkled behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and the infamous red bandana hung loose about his neck. Handsome in a bookish way, the neck scarf looked out of place on this scholarly individual.

He extended his hand. "Mrs. Morgan, I hope?"

She rose and took the offered hand. "You must be Emery Woodward, and please call me Haven."

"Welcome to Cobb's Grove." He nodded and stooped to grab the handle of her trunk. "The buckboard's several buildings down."

Haven followed him while he dragged her baggage down the sidewalk, and soon after hoisted it into the back of the wagon and assisted her into the seat.

After bemoaning the heat and smoke, she changed the subject and asked about the guest cottage she'd be living in.

"I think you'll be pleased with your living quarters, and the creek running through the backyard."

She wiped her forehead with the hanky. "I'll be ready to jump in when we arrive."

A laugh left his lips. "I often dive in on days like this."

"You live on the property, too?"

"In a room on the second floor of Charlotte and Pratt's farmhouse. You'll not find better landlords, good people, the Sinclairs."

Haven stretched her neck to study the view. Here the road angled to the left as the wagon turned north out of Cobb's Grove. On the right, the saw mill and lumber yard she'd noticed earlier anchored the end of the village proper. Straight ahead, railroad tracks drifted for miles. Like the ones she'd spied on the train, small fires blazed along the ditch, sending ribbons of black smoke skyward. A pungent odor reached her nostrils and throat, forcing a cough from her lungs.

"You get accustomed to the smoke after a while, and the smell of pine residue burning."

"Perhaps I should have purchased a bandana before we left town." At the moment, she couldn't imagine adjusting to the acrid smoke or the distinct, sharp odor of pine trees smoldering, but trying to be optimistic about her new surroundings, she put the hanky over her mouth and offered a feeble nod.

"If you're fortunate enough to live in town," a dramatic roll of his eyes belied his sincerity, "you spend your days beating back fires and live beneath a gray shroud. Once we get past the outskirts, we might even see a bird or two in the sky."

The horses strained against the weight of the wagon as they struggled up a tall hill.

He pointed to the railroad tracks. "During winter, a pusher parks on the tracks here, an engine that shoves the train from behind to get it over this knoll."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Emery sneak a peek at her now and then. Apparently, he was sizing her up in the same manner she was him. For a brief moment, she wondered how long he'd been standing over her at the depot before she'd looked up. An astute person might have noticed her distress, her temporary lapse into past memories.

"Listen to me blabber on about the weather and birds when you're no doubt missing your family and wondering why you decided to take this position."

"I do already miss my family but came to terms with leaving home some weeks ago." In an attempt to dismiss sullen thoughts, she turned to him with a smile. "I'm looking forward to meeting the children."

"Good, because Charlotte's planned a welcome-to-the-territory-Haven affair, and you'll meet the little firebrands soon enough."

A feigned groan left her lips. "Firebrands, huh? Now I am having second thoughts."

A mischievous gleam shone in his eyes. "You'll be teaching in the room above mine, so if they set the curtains on fire or try to toss you out the window, stomp on the floor three times and I'll come running."

"I stand reassured…somewhat. A two-story schoolhouse. Don't believe I've ever heard of one."

"At one time, it was one floor, but when lumberjacks moved to Cobb's Grove in droves, Pratt saw a need for a bigger country school and added another story."

Visions of Ticky and Biff surfaced. "Is that the main industry here?"

"It's the only industry, for the most part. During winter, hundreds of loggers occupy over a dozen camps scattered throughout the forests."

"Mister Kincannon said," she saw him then, standing under the doorway of the coach, his gray eyes penetrating and cool, "many lumberjacks have already arrived."

"You met Cade?"

She nodded. "I guess you could call it that. He came to my rescue when I left the coach for fresh air."

"You went outside alone?"

She emitted a chortled cough, from the smoke in the sky or her foolish decision, she didn't know. "I had no idea some men riding the train had a propensity toward…well, had bad intentions."

"Blue smoke and black daggers. What a great title for a story about your journey to Cobb's Grove."

"That sums it up perfectly. Mister Kincannon must have seen the misfits follow me out."

"Let me guess." He clucked to the team between chuckles. "He tossed them over the railing."

She smiled at the remembrance. "Not entirely. He offered them an alternate way to leave and they shuffled past him without looking back."

Emery tossed his head back with a guffaw. "That's Cade. The man doesn't mince words or make false threats."

"He mentioned you were acquainted."

"He's chief foreman at Brennan's Lumber Mill. Everyone knows Cade Kincannon."

Heat rose in Haven's cheeks at the mention of the man's name. It mystified her. And yet, Cade's gaze had been like a lingering caress when he'd asked her if she'd been harmed. The crisp scents of sandalwood and pine had permeated the air when he leaned in and placed his hand on her forearm before she fled through the door.

Thank goodness a whirlwind of activity and work awaited her in the weeks ahead. Settling in to her new accommodations and preparing lessons for school would occupy her thoughts, not a casual encounter with a stranger on a train.

But why did the brief moments they'd shared pique her curiosity?