to where Evie and Naomi stood watching the tableau unfold. Some men shrugged and looked about to set to it. Others responded to Draxley in low tones, even going so far as to nod in their direction. It looked, Evie decided, like a mutiny about to break loose.
“What is it about men and luggage?” She huffed the question to Naomi, recalling her ire over the stove that morning. “These are big, strong men who’ll gladly swing sharp blades at massive trees threatening to crush the life from them, but a few boxes and bags inspire revolt?”
And they claim men are more logical
.
“Not to suggest anything but complete agreement with your sentiment,” Naomi murmured, eyeing the colossal heap of baggagethey’d hauled along, “but in all fairness, it’s more than a few.”
“Many hands, Naomi.” Evie grinned. “Division works wonders. But where mathematics fails to persuade, a woman has her ways.” With that smile still in place, she swept toward the men, adding the last part under her breath so only Naomi could hear her. “After this evening, Draxley will have to fire the whole lot.”
“Agreed. They lack a proper work ethic.” Naomi beamed and raised her voice as they reached everyone. “Good afternoon.”
The transformation almost stunned Evie as, to a man, they straightened up. Literally. Gone were the slouches, sullen glances, and idle hands shoved in pockets. In an instant, grins appeared, shoulders went back, and chests puffed out for all the world as though imitating prize peacocks. Expectation lit their gazes, which remained absolutely riveted on herself and Naomi.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” A rumble of voices responded with a haphazard chorus to make even the strictest schoolmarm proud.
Evie blinked. She looked at Naomi, who looked back, as disconcerted as she. They looked again at the men, just to check and see if they were all staring in the same transfixed, expectant fashion.
Yep
. She blinked again—and suspected Naomi did the same, though she couldn’t tell.
Maybe I’ll ask later
.
Dedicated workers were hard to come by—
devoted
workers almost indescribably rare. Here, before her, stood a dozen men looking at them with the sort of regard she’d only seen reserved for … supper.
Or possibly dessert, if a man harbors a sweet tooth
. Her plans to bribe them with the information that some of these boxes held what
could
be a spectacular dinner evaporated in the face of this strange turnaround. Things grew more awkward every moment they stood without speaking.
What on earth is going on here?
“We sure is glad to see ya,” one of the horde spoke up.
“No’ expectin’ the lassies yet, aye?” another added.
“Leastways, not till the seventeenth,” one man said finishing the thought so that the picture began to grow clear.
“But, as someone first mentioned, we’re mighty glad you ladies came early!” This reiteration set off a round of nods.
“You’re—you’re not loggers?” The squeak came from Naomi, but Evie almost would have believed it sprang from her thoughts.
Why wouldn’t my thoughts sound squeaky? They’d almost have to right now, since my brain’s all but screeched to a halt, and any thought worth its salt would have to be squeezed out
.…
“Most of us are loggers, some buckers, and Bob and Dodger back there”—the huge man speaking jerked a thumb over his shoulder—“are even high climbers.” Hearing his name, one waved as the spokesman completed his recitation. “But we’re timber beasts, one and all—just like you asked for in that ad of yours.”
Somewhere amid those nonsensical terms lay one simple truth Evie grasped. She hadn’t wrestled it into submission yet—most likely never would—but the fact remained fairly obvious.
“Mr. Draxley didn’t hire any of you?” She verified, “Everyone came in response to the advertisement we placed, asking prospective grooms to reply
in care of the postmaster general
?” Surely she could be forgiven
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley