“Mollie’s son-in-law . . . his name is Clive?”
Fin nodded. “Yep.”
“Jane wrote that Clive wanted to encourage workers to leave the timber. He said to tell others he’d help them get jobs, so long as they can read and write.”
Fin chewed thoughtfully. “Most cain’t.”
“I thought the lumber companies needed workers.” Lumber was king, her father always said. Other eastern Kentucky counties had coal reserves, but for Rowan County, their treasure was their trees. She waited for him to chime in, but he was peering up at the treetops.
“Fin?”
He dropped his chin and gave her a long, steady look, and she caught a fleeting glimpse of the man he would become, strong-willed and determined. “Yor paw owns Valley View Lumber? Ain’t that so?” Then he glanced away, as if deciding not to say more.
She hadn’t realized he had made the connection to her father and Valley View Lumber. Father rarely traveled to Morehead because a foreman managed the timber crews. More significantly, there was a sales agent, Andrew Spencer, who handled the contracts to harvest lumber from privately held properties. Her father spoke highly of Andrew Spencer; Hazel was, Lucy thought, overly eager for her to meet him. Just a year or so ago, Valley View was going to abandon Rowan County. Its lumber heyday in the 1890s was long gone, its virgin timber harvested. According to Father, Andrew Spencer had foreseen the demand for pitch from loblolly pines, a natural resource for Rowan County, and talked Father into the concept of selective harvesting. It had been a tremendous success for Valley View, and Father felt beholden to Andrew Spencer’s farsightedness. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Jest ask yor paw ’bout it, then.”
There was an edge to his voice that startled Lucy, making him sound older than his years.
“Where else is Miss Cora sendin’ you today?”
Lucy pulled out the next envelope and held it up to him.
Fin peered at it, scowling. “Cain’t read that chicken scrawl.”
“It’s not chicken scrawl. It’s an elegant cursive, as clear as can be—” and then she had a startling revelation. Oh my stars and garters. Fin couldn’t do Cora’s reading and writing errands because he couldn’t read or write. Lucy tried to hide the shock she felt. This boy—a bright, clever, funny boy edging up to manhood, a boy full of potential—couldn’t read. It must be humiliating for him to be stuck with a primary grade in a one-room classroom. No wonder he didn’t want to go to school.
“Sally Ann Duncan.”
Fin smiled and jumped to his feet. “Duncan place be right over yonder. Let’s go.”
“Oh good,” Lucy said, laughing weakly with relief. Over yonder was about all her aching legs and bottom could handle.
OVER YONDER, Lucy was quickly discovering, meant anything from a few feet to a dozen miles. She rode silently behind Fin for another half hour or so of plodding through vines and branches, crossing creeks, twisting around shrubs, before they reached a clearing in the woods.
This property was vastly different from Miss Mollie’s. The log cabin with stone chimney sat not on stilts but on the highest point, sheltered by a strand of tall pines. The yard and garden were tidy and cared for; even the henhouse had a cheerful coat of red paint. Firewood was neatly stacked on the porch. A cow and two sheep grazed in the pasture behind a whitewashed rail fence. Long ago, someone with experience had chosen this site with care.
The empty hillside in front of the cabin had been plowed sometime in the past, though the field looked fallow as if waiting for spring. The remnants of last autumn’s cornstalks littered the field like broken arrows.
“Shouldn’t the corn be plowed under by now?” Lucy asked, but Fin only frowned at her. She didn’t know much about farming, but on the train ride here, she’d seen farmers plowing and planting their fields. She waited for him to answer her, but he only shrugged.
“Lots of things should be different, but that don’t make it so.”
What did that mean? Lucy couldn’t figure out half of what Fin was talking about, or not talking about.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hallo! It’s me, Fin! And I brung someone!”
Almost immediately, a young girl came out of the cabin. Shielding her eyes to peer at the visitors, she waved and shouted to come on up.
As the horses walked toward the cabin, Lucy noticed two baskets of flowers hanging from the porch. The girl looked as neat and tidy as her house and yard, with thick coils of brunette hair wreathing the back of her head. Drawing near, Lucy was shocked to discover this girl had a very round belly. Why, she couldn’t have been much older than Fin!
He swung a leg behind him and slipped to the ground next to Sheila. “Sally Ann, I brung along Miss Cora’s new letter writer. This here’s Miss Lucy. She’s kin to Miss Cora.” This time, he came to the left of Jenny and helped Lucy down.
The look on Sally Ann’s face was like Christmas had come. “Have you got a letter for me from Roy?”
“I do believe so,” Lucy said. Seeing the pure delight in the young woman’s eyes made the long ride almost worth it. “You’re Sally Ann Duncan?”
Her face lit with joy. “That’d be me.”
Lucy opened the saddle bag and took out the letter from Cora’s big envelope. “Roy Duncan. Is he your husband?”
“Shore is. He’s real good about sending word to me.”
“He’s got fine penmanship.”
Sally Ann gave a shy smile. “He shorely does.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s looking for work in Lexington, seeing as how we gotta move.” She pointed to the open door. “Would ya have time to come in? Sit a spell?”
“Naw,” Fin said, his tone a bit doleful. “We can’t stay, Sally Ann. Jest the letter reading and writing and then we gots to be on our way.”
Happily, Fin’s dolefulness did not have any impact on her. “Come on, Fin,” Sally Ann said. “You can spare a few minutes. Besides, I jest made some fresh bread.”
Fin brightened. “Oh, well, that changes things.”
Suddenly famished, Lucy’s stomach rumbled at the sweet aroma as it wafted through the door. Following Sally Ann into the cabin, Lucy was transfixed by the feeling of welcome she received. The cabin was bright and cheery, the light streaming through the windows and open door, shining rays onto the oak floor. A wooden floor! Not dirt.
She took a few steps inside and saw a corner hutch was filled with china. A small lantern sat in the middle of the tabletop, surrounded by pieces of bright cloth. When Lucy looked closer, she saw that Sally Ann had been working on a quilting project when they interrupted her. Spread over the table were small cut pieces of fabric, shades of pink and blue, arranged like puzzle pieces. “What are you making?”
Sally Ann reached out to gently caress a triangle cut of pink cloth. “A crib blanket. Jest a little somethin’ for the baby.”
When Lucy spotted the needle and thread Sally Ann had been working with, she felt an urge to sit down at the worktable, to pick up where Sally Ann had left off and complete the seam. Such a thought astonished her. Never, in Lucy’s entire life, had she wanted to do needlework. It was always a dreaded chore, something she considered to be a tiresome social pastime. Her gaze swept in the tidy little cabin, filled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread. “How could you bear to leave this home? Why, it’s charming!”