June (9 page)

"Mr. Sentell!"

He lifted an imperious brow, his eyes issuing her a challenge. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Eli. There are far greater needs, Miss Kallahan. Open your eyes and look around you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't believe we have anything more to discuss. I have work to do-unless, of course, you can't find your way back to Inman's camp, in which case I'll have one of my men drive you."

Why-the man had more gall than starched long johns! June straightened, refusing to let him shake her. "I am perfectly capable of driving myself back, thank you."

"I'm sure you are." Parker turned and walked off. Seething, she watched him disappear into the office and shut the door.

So that was it. He was mad at Reverend Inman. Eli had said as much, but if Parker thought for one moment his mean spirit would deter her work for the tabernacle, he had another think coming. His obstinacy only made her that much more determined to succeed. She would start Sunday services for women and children-if not at Pine Ridge, then at some other camp-with or without his approval.

Logging camps were all alike. The needs were the same, and she felt now, more than ever, that leading a morning worship service was something she needed to do. The Lord said to pick up the cross and follow him. He didn't say it would always be easy to carry or that she wouldn't meet any Parker Sentells along the way.

Climbing back into the buggy, she spotted a lumberjack leaving Parker's office. Springing to her feet, she called out, "Sir? Excuse me. Can you help me?"

The man glanced up, smiling. June shivered. All the men in this camp were giants. This one was even taller than Parker Sentell, if that was possible.

As the logger approached, she encountered a pair of earnest brown eyes. When he spoke, the manly rumble made her think of rich, warm honey. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Where's the next nearest logging camp?"

He paused, glancing toward the west. "Tin Cup, about a mile up the road."

Smiling, she turned the buggy. "Thank you!"

"Ma'am," he called, "you don't want to go there! It's no place for a lady-"

"Thank you," she called gaily. "But it's exactly where this lady wants to go!"

Chapter Five

THE buggy rattled along the rutted road, jarring June's skull. Surely the kind lumberjack had pointed her in the wrong direction. Might as well turn back. But ... perhaps it's just around the next bend....

As she debated with herself, she finally spotted an obscured, weathered sign reading "Tin Cup."

Breathing a sigh of relief, June trotted the horse through the crudely built log arch.

The difference between Pine Ridge and Tin Cup was shocking. A foul odor met her nose and stung her eyes. As the buggy rolled farther into camp, she was sickened by the deplorable living conditions.

Moldering garbage dumps fouled the air with a rotting stench. Trash littered the ground-slivers of broken bottles, discarded tins, and pieces of broken furniture. Pigs and dogs ran loose. Chickens roosted on housetops.

Houses consisted of ragged tents and unkempt shacks. The area reminded June of the aftermath of a bad storm that had once torn through Cold Water.

The buggy rolled deeper into camp. June saw a small, barefoot boy dart out, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Stranger's a-comin'!" The child quickly ducked back into one of the shacks, where a woman peered curiously from behind tattered curtains. When June looked her way, she quickly allowed the material to drop back into place.

The camp was eerily quiet for a Monday. No piercing saws or rattling chains, or logs rolling toward the river. June glanced over her shoulder as the sound of men's laughter, tongues thick with drink, floated from a nearby tent.

She swallowed. What was this place?

Whirling to look behind her, June considered turning the buggy in search of a more civilized camp.

A man's head suddenly appeared in the opening of the tent flap. His frowning glance swept the camp, coming to a halt on June and the buggy. His eyes narrowed.

June's heart pounded. Gripping the reins, she ran her tongue over her dry lips. She had made a huge mistake. She should have listened to the logger who had warned her not to come. She jumped at a surly voice.

"You want somethin'?"

The tall, skinny man, his beard thick with tobacco spittle, studied her. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Where had he come from?

He stepped closer. "I'd be more than happy to accommodate."

A second logger approached; he was almost as big around as he was tall. Five or six huge, dirty men drifted out of the tent. Their eyes greedily assessed her.

Please, God, June prayed silently. Make my words bold.

"Well, sir, I'm ... I'm here for a purpose." She cleared her throat, trying to think of it. "I've come to bring you good news!"

Please, God, let them consider Sunday services good news!

"What good news?" The skinny man eyed her up and down, then bent at the waist to hawk up a wad of tobacco.

"Very good news." She tried to smile confidently. "Wonderful news."

A man pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He was so slovenly that the smell of him reached the buggy before he did. "What do you want, woman? Spit it out."

June turned away from the stench and silently implored God to give her strength. "I've come to offer you services-Sunday services-for you and your families-"

The men's laughter overpowered her faint voice. She glanced from man to man. Scraggly beards, dirty hands with nails bitten and broken to the quick, clothes that reeked of unwashed bodies. Should she turn around and leave?

She summoned the courage to continue. Her voice rose. "I want to come to your camp on Sunday mornings and share with you and your families preaching, prayer, Bible study, singing-"

The rounded man approached the buggy, fingering the hem of her blue wool skirt. He leered at her. "What is it you're offering to share, little lady?"

The men broke into laughter, elbowing each other.

June reached out and firmly removed the man's fingers, determined to keep her head. She had done a foolish thing. She couldn't afford another mistake. Staring straight ahead, she reiterated her intent. "I am with the Isaac Inman Crusade. I'm here this morning to see if your camp is in need of Sunday services-"

"You're one of those preacher women? One of those crusaders?"

The men roared. "That's a good one!" someone called.

"She's here to see if we need any churchin'! What say, men?" A man held out his suspenders, winking. "Do we need any churchin'?"

Leaning back in his chair, Parker stared out the office window. For some reason he couldn't shake the thought of the morning's visitor.

He was surprised at how quickly June had given up. He didn't know her well, but he did know she was pushy and somewhat naive. He'd gotten the feeling that she wasn't easily swayed from a purpose. So why hadn't she tried harder to persuade him to hold services at the camp? His gut feeling told him that deep within June Kallahan there burned a fire that would not easily be extinguished.

"Parker, I need your signature on these documents. There's a shipment of new saws due out of Seattle first thing tomorrow morning." Simon Hendricks handed his boss a stack of papers.

Drawn from his thoughts, Parker looked up. "What?" he asked absently.

Parker's clerk rattled the sheaf of papers. "Your signature? On these?"

"The new saws?"

"The new saws. Where's your mind today?"

Parker leaned across the desk and took the papers. His mind was on June Kallahan, Eli's mail-order bride. With Eli gone, she should go back to Michigan. His jaw tensed when he thought about her declaration that she wanted to see Eli's dream realized. He mentally snorted. Eli's dream building that tabernacle was Isaac's dream, a dream to glorify Isaac's work. If Inman wanted a cause to promote, he need look no further than the poverty in the area. Families going hungry, the orphanage where children were going without proper food and clothing. That old woman, Angeline, who was trying to raise a houseful of kids with no help except that old Indian. Inman's "tabernacle" wasn't going to put food in folks' bellies, or shoes on those orphans' feet.

"Is something wrong, boss?" Simon eyed him with a concerned frown.

Parker leaned back, stretching. "Nothing's wrong. Just a little tired, I guess." But something was wrong. Something nagged at him.

Simon's hand was on the doorknob when Parker stopped him. Something told him not to ask, that he didn't really want to know. Common sense dictated he'd better.

"Did I see you talking to the Kallahan girl earlier?"

"The woman in the buggy?" Simon nodded his head warily.

Parker's heart sank. Simon had a heart of gold. If he was worried, Parker's instincts were on target.

"She wanted to know where the nearest camp was. I told her she didn't want to go there, but-"

Parker slammed his fist on the desk and got up. "Blast that woman!"

"Trouble, boss?"

"Saddle the horses, Simon."

"Right away." Simon hurried out the door, pulling on his coat.

Parker took a deep breath. June was naive, but was she crazy? Riding into Tin Cup, spouting the gospel? They'd have her for supper. For a moment he considered letting her learn the hard way. Going off, half cocked, to a camp known for its ...

Reaching for his coat, he shrugged into the fleece lining. Regardless of his aggravation, he couldn't allow anything to happen to her. Loyalty to Eli, as well as his own judgment, forbade it.

"Gonna preach to us, girlie?"

Trying desperately to hide her fear, June swallowed hard. Intent on drowning out the suggestive words of the vulgar men, she turned Papa's words over in her mind. The Lord will take what the enemy has intended for harm and turn it to good.

"Well, now, yo're a purty li'l thing, ain't ya!" A burly man grinned up at her, showing rotting teeth. "All dressed up and smellin' so fine!"

Fear is not of God. Fear is not of God, June told herself. Springing to her feet, June pointed a commanding finger at the man as he closed in. "You stop right there!"

"Fiery, too!"

In her mind Papa's voice, clear as a bell, shouted, Sing, June! Sing!

June opened her mouth and belted out one of the songs she'd sung in front of the saloon yesterday.

The words tumbled out crisp and clear. From the corner of her eye she saw the men were listening.