Unending Devotion (Michigan Brides #1)(41)
They made their way to the swampy clearing where the cookee, the cook’s helper, had brought them flaggins on his pung sleigh. He’d started a fire, and the men gathered around it to warm their hands in the bitter air that had poured in from the north and chased away every last hint of an early spring.
And while they did their best to stay warm, they ate the meal cookee served them. Some sat on logs and others stood, balancing their tin plates and pannikins in one hand and utensils in the other. They gulped the usual fare of beans, salted pork, and steaming tea, working fast to inhale the meal before it lost its heat.
Connell stood back and watched, knowing Duff would have a special mincemeat pie for him when he finally made his way back to the kitchen. He supposed it was one advantage of being the boss man. But it couldn’t offset the fact he had to be the bearer of bad news. And from the scowls of some of the men, he figured they’d already guessed why he was there.
Once everyone was served, Connell moved to the front of the group. There was a part of him that wished he could walk away and let the men do their work. What difference would a few more thousand feet of board make? Especially when McCormick Lumber already had so much?
But the other part of him knew he had to stay and make sure McCormick came out on top of all the other companies. That was his job. Dad had trained him to work hard. And Dad was relying on him to help make McCormick Lumber successful. How could he do anything less?
“I’ve done an inspection of the camp,” he started, drawing more frowns. “And from what I can tell, you’re all doing the best you can.”
Even after his investigation, he still hadn’t been able to figure out why all his camps were falling behind on the logs they were delivering. From the reports his foremen were giving him for the trees felled and logs cut, they should have had more logs arriving in Harrison.
“But the fact is we’re behind what we were producing last year, so now, especially after last week, we’ve got to pick up our pace.”
A round of grumbling wound through the group as they huddled near the fire, the raw January wind blowing down their necks.
“Yes, it’s going to require some extra hours in the woods,” Connell continued, pulling the collar of his coat closed to fight off the chill. “But I’m promising a bonus to whichever McCormick camp gets out the most logs over what the contract calls for. A nice bonus.”
At the word bonus, the men stood taller and their faces glimmered with what Connell hoped was excitement. They tossed out suggestions and questions.
He did his best as always to present himself as a capable leader. But inwardly he exhaled a tense breath. Apparently dangling the possibility of a bonus in front of them had worked.
In a matter of minutes the foreman called the men to return to their duties.
“I sure wouldn’t mind a woman for my bonus,” one of the men said under his breath as he picked up his ax.
Another shanty boy mumbled back, “Yeah, and I wouldn’t mind being stranded alone with a half-naked woman for a couple days. That’d be the best bonus I could think of.”
The muscles in Connell’s shoulders tensed. So the news was out. Ever since the rescue party had discovered them the previous morning, he’d kicked himself over and over for not doing a better job protecting Lily’s reputation. He could have at least made sure she’d had her dress on, couldn’t he?
He’d been secretly hoping that by some miracle he could spare her the gossip that was sure to get around. But from the snickers and sly glances the men were giving each other, the rumors had obviously spread as fast as typhoid fever.
The best thing was to ignore the insinuations. If he acknowledged them, he would only degrade Lily more.
The road monkey, the youngest of the shanty boys at Camp 1, stopped and joined the other two. “Heard his woman is a real looker.” One of the teamsters yanked the young man and shook his head in warning.
But the youth wasn’t paying attention to the old teamster or to the fact that Connell could hear every word he was saying. Instead the young man grinned at his friends. “Maybe when the boss man is done with her, the rest of us will get a chance to have a little fun.”
There was something about the young man’s comment that sent a hot slice of anger through Connell’s gut. Out of instinct, his hand lifted to his knife. The heat pulsed through his fingers and he gripped the handle. For a long moment, all he could think about was throwing the blade into the youth’s arm and making an example of him.
If he did, no one would dare speak about Lily that way again.
The teamster tugged the youth, his eyes fixed on Connell’s hand and the knife that had somehow made an appearance.
The young man followed the gaze of the old teamster, and his grin froze faster than tobacco spit.
“Come on now,” the teamster urged, pulling the youth along.
Connell had no doubt they’d also gotten word about how he’d killed the wolves.
The shanty boy stumbled after the teamster, casting frightened glances over his shoulder at the blade and tripping over his feet in his haste to get away.
The others disappeared just as quickly, and in a moment Connell was left standing with only the cookee and his foreman.
The cookee collected and dumped the dirty plates with a clatter into the pine soapbox fastened to the pole runners on the pung sleigh. He hustled about with an extra burst of energy that contrasted with his usual methodical trudge.