Embers of Love Read online

  “Though she didn’t love Mr. Albright, Lizzie felt she had no recourse but to go through with the wedding. That is, until just a little while ago, when she finally admitted that she didn’t want to be married. Her father agreed with her and with my idea that she should come to Texas with us.”

  “And what of your groom?”

  “I didn’t feel that I could . . .” Lizzie began to offer before Deborah could speak again. “Well . . . you see . . . he’s not one to take bad news easily. I was, quite frankly, afraid. Call me a coward if you must, but that’s the simple truth.”

  G. W. shook his head. “I wouldn’t be one to call you a coward, Miss Lizzie. I don’t rightly know you well enough.”

  “Well, she’s no coward,” Deborah announced. “She’s very brave, in fact, to put an end to this farce before it became final.”

  “So she’s just gonna live with us?” G. W. asked.

  Lizzie blushed again and looked out the window. Deborah nodded. “She needs time and distance so she can better think of what she’d like to do next. Her father will be in touch with her.”

  “Don’t seem like her father will be the problem,” G. W. said. “What about that mother of hers? What about her groom? He don’t seem like the kind of guy to take to this kind of thing.”

  “Maybe not, but he won’t know where she is.” Deborah turned to Lizzie. “Once you’re settled in with us, we’ll see to it that no one can harm you. Never fear.”

  “It may be a moot point to worry ourselves anyway,” Lizzie replied. “After all, what man would want to chase after a woman who has clearly rejected him?”

  G. W. laughed. “If she looked like you, I know I wouldn’t let her get away.”

  Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. G. W. might have roared in laughter, but he felt pretty sure it would only serve to offend her further. Leaning back in his seat, he pushed his hat down over his eyes. He needed to have a think, and it would be just as well if the ladies thought him to be sleeping.

  Of course, he’d much rather spend his time looking at Lizzie Decker. My, but she was a fine figure of a woman. She was all genteel-like. In fact, she reminded him of the stories his ma had told about the Georgian women before the war. Ma had been every bit as genteel before going west with their pa. She said Texas took the elegance right out of a lady, but Pa always said she was still the most elegant woman he knew.

  G. W. frowned at the thought of his pa. Three years had passed since the logging accident that took Rutger Vandermark’s life. G. W. had been right there when a huge pine log had crushed his father. The memory never faded. It was only made worse by the fact that G. W. blamed himself for the accident.

  G. W. had relived the day of the accident over and over at least a thousand times. The guilt ate him alive and, try as he might, he couldn’t shake off the horror of his father’s mangled body. He’d been killed instantly by the two thousand–pound log, so at least there had been no suffering. But neither was there time for goodbyes or to tell him how much G. W. loved him – how he needed him to live.

  There was just no time.

  CHAPTER 2

  On the final leg of their journey nearly two weeks later, Deborah found G. W.’s general state of mind to be worrisome. “I don’t know why he frets so – the worst is behind us,” she confided to Lizzie. The train car shifted and pitched right, and Deborah braced to keep from slamming into her friend.

  The Houston East and West Texas train, affectionately called “the Rabbit” because of its tendency to jump the narrow gauge track, was not at all a pleasant experience. Having connected from another line in Nacogdoches, they were riding the Rabbit into the heart of the Piney Woods. Deborah would have just as soon ridden horseback, but she knew Lizzie was not experienced.

  Paul Bremond, well known among Houston businessmen, had a vision to create a rail line from Houston to Shreveport, Louisiana, and the HE&WT was the reality of that dream. Poor Mr. Bremond had died just the month before, unable to live long enough to see his railroad completed. Folks had chided him for the narrow gauge creation, telling him he would rue the day, as standard gauge lines were bound to take over the country. But Mr. Bremond had continued with the line and now it was rumored that by next year, it would be complete.

  Deborah thought it sad that the man had worked so hard for his dream, only to die before it was ever realized. Of course, sometimes she felt the same might happen to her. The only problem was, she wasn’t entirely sure what her dream might truly be.

  “This train ride is so uncomfortable,” Lizzie declared, squirming. “I can’t imagine people using this as a main means of transportation.”

  A smile crossed Deborah’s face. “They don’t. Well, that’s not exactly right. The railroad is the main means for bringing supplies into the Piney Woods region. However, it is expensive and most folks never travel more than twenty miles from home – if that.”

  “I can certainly understand why,” she replied, gripping the armrest.

  “Most would stay whether the train was a luxurious ride or not.” Deborah looked at her brother’s empty seat and continued. “Take G. W., for example. He loves Texas, and the only reason he ventured out was to escort me back and forth. Oh, he goes occasionally to Houston or Lufkin for supplies, but he has no desire to leave the area. He loves his forest and the people here.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “Seems a mundane existence.”

  “I suppose to some.” Deborah looked out the window and noticed several dilapidated houses. “Some don’t get a chance to choose. Folks here are far from rich. Most work for sawmill or logging companies. Some raise cattle and cotton, others farm. But the war was very hard on the South, you must remember.”

  Her friend turned and put her hand on Deborah’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Oh, Lizzie, you could never offend me. But you must prepare yourself for somewhat of a shock. Perkinsville is not Philadelphia. Many of the people who will be your neighbors have had very little education. They can’t read and write much. They really don’t understand why it’s important, but my hope is to show them. I truly want to encourage education in our area.”

  “Is there no school?”

  Deborah thought of the tiny school. “There is, but education is not valued – hard work is. The important things of life take on a different appearance in Perkinsville. Here, folks count themselves lucky to have a roof over their heads – never mind a floor.”

  “What do you mean?” Lizzie appeared to forget about the roughness of their ride.

  “Many folks have only dirt for floors – although it’s the cleanest dirt you will find.” She laughed. “It’s always strange to see women sweeping their earthen floors. Mama told me that she used to do the same until Papa put in a wood floor for her. She said my uncle and father worked day and night for months to put together enough scrap lumber. She cherished it until they moved into the new house shortly before Papa died.”

  “What happened to your father, Deborah?”

  “He was killed when a log rolled onto him.”

  “A log? How could that kill a man?”

  Deborah pointed at the passing trees. “See those? They’re short-leaf pines. They are much like the pines we saw in the East. We log longleaf pine.”

  “Isn’t one pine tree pretty much like another?”

  The question was innocent enough, but Deborah laughed. “Hardly. Stick around for a while, and you’ll learn the difference soon enough.”

  “But what happened to your father?”

  “G. W. and my brother Rob were helping Father bring the week’s harvest to the rail. They were pole rolling logs onto the train cars. That’s where they hook the mules up on one side of the railcar and run a series of chains and cables to the log they are bringing up on the other side. Several sturdy poles are positioned so that when the mules are driven forward, the log rolls up onto the train car. Usually it works very well, but this time the chain snapped and the log rolled back onto my father. It
weighed about a ton, and he couldn’t get out of the way in time.”

  “A ton? That’s hard to imagine.”

  “This particular log was a huge butt log – one taken from the very base of the tree.” Deborah looked once again to the passing scenery. She hadn’t been home when her father was killed. Word came to her through her beloved Aunt Wilhelmina – the same woman who was responsible for seeing that Deborah received an education.

  “My father’s skull was crushed, and he died immediately. Mama said he knew the dangers and would have wanted it that way. A quick death was always desired over a painful lingering. . . . I was traveling with my aunt at the time, and we didn’t get word until nearly a month after the accident. By the time I learned of his death, school was nearly ready to begin again, and my father was long past buried.”

  Lizzie nodded. “That was the year we met.”

  “Yes. And what a godsend that was.”

  “But, Deborah, you’ve never talked much about this before. Why?”

  She considered Lizzie’s question for a moment. “I suppose because of the pain in remembering. But I also learned that G. W. blamed himself for our father’s death, and I suppose I buried it deep within to hide from both his pain and my own.”

  “I’m so sorry, Deborah.” Lizzie frowned. “And what of your other brother – Rob? Does he blame himself, as well?”

  “No. Rob was injured. The mules pulling the logs got scared when the chain whipped back. They took off, out of control. Rob got a good beating as they dragged him. G. W. blames himself for the accident because he couldn’t hold the log back. He felt he should have added more support. Mama said it could have happened to anyone. Others agreed – after all, they weren’t working alone. By this time, Papa and Uncle Arjan had hired another five men to help them.”

  “Were they hurt, too?”

  “No, just Papa and Rob.”

  “I hardly see why G. W. would blame himself – especially if even your mother doesn’t.”

  “I can blame myself without anyone else needin’ to help me,” G. W. said from behind them.

  Deborah watched Lizzie look away in embarrassment. “Yes, but it still doesn’t make you right,” she told her brother. She was never one to keep such thoughts to herself.

  “Doesn’t make me wrong, either,” he answered, taking his seat across from Lizzie. He folded his arms against his chest and fixed his gaze on Deborah.

  She could see the pain in his blue eyes. “No, it just makes you stubborn.”

  “Deborah!” Lizzie gasped. “Don’t be so harsh.”

  G. W. seemed surprised by her sudden support. He nodded with a smug look of satisfaction. “Yeah, don’t be so harsh.”

  Deborah rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not about to coddle him, Lizzie, and don’t you dare, either. He doesn’t need that from us. The accident wasn’t his fault, and if he’s too bullheaded to see the truth for himself, then I say it’s our job to help convince him.” Silence descended like a heavy mantle over them. No one seemed willing to challenge Deborah’s comment or to continue with the conversation.

  After several moments, G. W. finally spoke up. “We’ll be stopping in about twenty minutes.” He cast a quick look outside. “Unless the Rabbit jumps the tracks.”

  “Oh, you don’t really think it would, do you?” Lizzie asked, her hand going to her throat.

  He shrugged. “It’s been known to happen, but it shouldn’t. Not the way we’re pokin’ along. I swear I could have walked from Nacogdoches faster.”

  And with that, the tension broke and G. W. seemed to relax. Deborah closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for him. Her mother had said very little about his continued sadness, but Deborah hoped she could find time when they could be alone so that she could talk to him. She had to convince him to let go of this guilt.

  In her no-nonsense way, Deborah added such matters mentally to the list of things she already planned to see to once they returned home. She was soon to take the helm as bookkeeper and manager of the Vandermark Logging Company. It was her obligation, now that she’d completed her education. She had made a promise to her family – a promise driven by her love of learning. She remembered long talks with her father.

  “I’m going to learn all that I can to help the family,” she’d told him. “I want to make things easier for you. I can’t very well log, but I can handle the books.”

  She could very nearly recollect her father’s smile and feel his pride in her. “You do that, darlin’. You’ll be mighty helpful to me.”

  Deborah had studied as hard as possible, always keeping the image of her family before her. She might not have the stamina for heavy labor, but anything that required reasoning was right in keeping with her abilities. Her family needed her, and it was for that reason she felt she could put aside her own desires. More important – she didn’t allow for any desire that wouldn’t benefit her kin. It would only muddy the waters, and Deborah needed to stay clear on what her duties were.

  She kept her eyes closed, pondering the future and pushing aside her concerns. She found bookkeeping hopelessly boring. Truth be told, she had preferred her biology and botany classes.

  If she’d had her choice, Deborah would have remained in school for a time longer. She gave a sigh. What possible good could come from fretting over it now? Women were not expected to attend college, nor were they truly accepted as scholars. But her love of knowledge was something no one could take from her. Deborah cherished reading new books, exploring new worlds and cultures. Her intellect, however, was nothing to wear as a badge of honor. Men were offended by her, and women, intimidated. In truth, she believed it was more that the men felt stupid and the women were afraid to admit that they, too, would like to learn. But it didn’t matter. Her family needed her now, and there was some comfort in that. Well, maybe not exactly comfort.

  Father God, she prayed silently, I don’t know why you made me just this way. Is it wrong that I long for something more?

  –––––––

  Perkinsville had been built alongside the railroad to accommodate the loading of lumber and unloading of supplies. It was, Deborah said, a typical sawmill company town – whatever that meant. Lizzie wasn’t at all familiar with such a thing and definitely didn’t know what to expect. Everything, in her eyes, looked hopelessly dirty. The day was unbearably warm, and Lizzie was glad that she’d listened to Deborah regarding her attire. They had stopped at a secondhand shop in Nacogdoches and purchased lightweight blouses and skirts. G. W. had long ago replaced his wool suit with a simple shirt and trousers, and Lizzie thought he seemed far more relaxed, although he carried a coat with him and donned it as propriety demanded.

  Lizzie dabbed at her forehead with her handkerchief as Deborah showed her about the town. Philadelphia could be hot and humid, as well, but it lacked the same heaviness she felt here in the South. She longed for a bath, or perhaps a quick plunge – clothes and all – into the nearby pond. When she mentioned this Deborah laughed.

  “That’s the mill pond. We used to swim there on occasion, but now it’s much too busy and Mr. Perkins has asked folks to keep their children out for their own safety. The mill is dependent upon the pond.” Lizzie followed Deborah’s gaze. “They unload the logs from the train and dump them there. Later they use a series of conveyors and chains called a jack ladder to pull the logs into the sawmill.”

  Lizzie spotted the smoke belching from the stacks. “With the damp air and thick smoke, I can’t imagine living here.”

  “Usually there’s a breeze to move it out. We arrived on a still day, and that tends to make things worse.”

  “My mother would say it serves me right,” Lizzie murmured.

  “That’s really the first time you’ve mentioned her since leaving the wedding.” Deborah eyed her thoughtfully for a moment. “I haven’t wanted to pry, but how are you feeling toward her?”

  “To be honest, I’ve actually found myself concerned for Mother. I know she had great plans
for me prior to my wedding announcement and, no doubt, had figured out some way to use me for her purposes even after I married Stuart.”

  “And what of Stuart?”

  Lizzie grew thoughtful. “I feel guilty for having embarrassed him so publicly.” She paused for a moment. “My main thoughts are for Mother, however. I suppose now that we’ve arrived, I should send her a letter. She must surely be worried. Is there a post office here?”

  “Of course, right over here.” Deborah continued the tour. “Then this is the depot and commissary. There are many things housed under this one roof,” Deborah explained. “The pharmacy is here, the post office and paymaster for the sawmill, plus it is the main source of supplies. The commissary itself is quite large and contains most everything you could ever need.” She smiled. “Yet like I said before, it’s hardly Philadelphia.” She glanced around. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping Rob and G. W.”

  G. W. had gone off looking for their brother. Rob was supposed to meet them at the station with the wagon, but so far he’d not shown himself. Lizzie hoped he’d arrive soon. She wasn’t sure how much of the heat she could stand. She looked at the unpainted buildings and dirt roads. What in the world have I gotten myself into?

  Deborah chatted on as if the heat didn’t bother her in the least. “Across the street just there is the boardinghouse for whites. On the other side of the tracks is the black boardinghouse and quarters where the blacks live. In the South, you will find that the color of your skin determines a great deal. Folks around here try to be tolerant, but many cannot put the issue aside. And it’s not just in dealing with the blacks. Mr. Perkins hates Mexicans and Indians. He won’t even allow them to live or work here.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Something to do with the past and his family. I believe they were injured or killed by people of those races. Folks around here always have a reason for hating others – that way it seems more acceptable to them.”

  “I suppose it isn’t easy. Being a different color isn’t exactly something you can hide,” Lizzie commented. “The town is so small,” she said, casting her gaze back to the commissary. “Is this the only store?”