The Captain's Christmas Homecoming, page 7
That never happened and she doubted that it ever would.
After their father had died, both she and Sharon vowed to get out. To move away as soon as possible.
Sharon had known Eddie from school. They had graduated the same year and he’d promised that as soon as he completed college, they’d get married. Eddie hadn’t lived in their neighborhood and he’d gone to a different high school than they had, but he and Sharon had met at a school event when they’d been seniors and taken a shine to each other.
Sure enough, the day he’d graduated from college, Eddie had shown up at their apartment, ready to marry Sharon, just like he’d promised.
Sharon had said it was a good thing that she loved Eddie, because love him or not, she would have to marry a man who kept a promise like that.
Emma sighed. No one had promised to come get her. She’d had to get out on her own.
There had never been a boy in school or anywhere else that she’d taken a shine to, either. Rightfully so, because even back then, she’d had no intention of getting married. She’d been hated her entire life and wasn’t about to take the chance of that happening all over again. Of being hated by her husband’s family like her mother’s family had hated her father.
Her shifting thoughts returned to George, and she wondered why he’d laughed and hadn’t answered if Martha’s family had liked him. Nor had he explained if that was why he no longer wanted to get married.
“I’ll get the door for you ladies,” Willis said.
Emma glanced out the window, not having realized the car had stopped at their apartment building.
A few moments later, after Willis had walked them to Beverly’s apartment, with Beverly gushing over him and the party the entire time, Emma closed the door behind him.
“Oh, my, wasn’t that just the most delightful party?” Beverly asked while removing her coat. “The roast beef was so tender, it just melted in your mouth, and I’m sure they used both butter and cream in those whipped potatoes. Had to have. They were so creamy. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes.” Emma took Beverly’s coat to hang it on the hook near the door, as well as her hat with the daisy still pinned on it. “The meal was delicious.”
“You and George certainly made a lovely couple on the dance floor.”
Emma flinched slightly at the way her breath caught and had to wait until it was ready to leave her lungs before she hung up the coat and hat and turned about. “I had no choice but to dance with him. My aunt and uncle were approaching the table.”
“Yes, well, about that. I now know why you’re so afraid of that woman. Your aunt Jill is a spiteful broad if I ever met one. Rude and spiteful!”
A shiver rippled her spine. “You didn’t say anything to her, did you?”
“Of course, I did.” Beverly plopped down in her rocking chair. “When she finally stopped waggling her tongue.”
Emma had never felt faint in her life but did at that moment. She was so light-headed she had to grasp ahold of the chair in front of her. Terrified to ask, yet knowing she had to, she muttered, “Oh, Beverly, what did you say?”
“I didn’t tell her who you were.” Beverly set her chair rocking with a kick of one foot while simultaneously picking up her knitting needles from the basket beside her chair. “But I wanted to. I really wanted to. Wanted to say a whole lot more than, that, too, but I held my tongue. Mostly.”
Chapter Five
George wasted no time in getting to work on creating a logging division for Weston Lumber. It was time. Beyond time. There was no reason for their company or the Kings to depend so heavily upon one another. Especially when working with other companies would be good for many others.
He’d thought of little else after Emma had left the party the other night, especially due to the way Jill King had drilled him as to who he’d been dancing with and where he’d met her. His replies had been vague, which irritated Jill even more. He’d also laughed when he learned about how Beverly had quite abruptly put a stop to Jill’s questions about Emma while the two of them had been dancing. Per his cousin Janice, Beverly had told Jill that she was a snoop and should mind her own business.
He hadn’t danced with anyone else because he’d known he’d have compared the experience to dancing with Emma, and truthfully, he’d have found anyone else lacking.
If it had been possible, he’d have left the party when she had, then he wouldn’t have had to listen to Jill telling him that he needed to go to New York, find Martha and bring her home.
He wasn’t about to do that. Early the next morning, he’d packed a suitcase and headed north, out of the city. Jake Turner had been a logger all his life and George had found him exactly where he’d thought. Deep in the woods, felling trees, limbing and bucking them, and hauling them into camp.
George had expected to be put to work and began helping limb trees upon arrival.
Loggers worked from sunup to sundown, and it was hard work, physically and mentally, because they had to be aware of his surroundings at all times. George didn’t mind any of that.
The long hours and hard work aided him in getting Emma off his mind. Keeping her off was another issue. Thoughts of dancing with her filtered into his dreams as soon as he’d fallen asleep in a spare bunk that first night, and each night since.
He’d dreamed of a woman before, while overseas and exchanging letters with Beverly. That’s who he’d dreamed of then. Beverly. Before he’d met her. Ironically, Emma had fit the image of the woman he’d dreamed about, and try as he might, he couldn’t change that. She was there, every night.
She was there during the days, too, but he still managed to make his waking hours productive. Jake Turner was interested in partnering with Weston Lumber and George considered that the win he’d needed to get things started.
Convincing his father would take work, but with Jake willing to come aboard immediately, his father would understand how seriously he was in putting changes in place.
Taller and broader than any other man George had ever met, Jake had worked for logging companies from the west coast to the east. The fact that the Adirondack area of New York State had been labeled the lumber capital of the world years ago, had produced more lumber than any other state, is what had drawn Jake into the area a few years ago, and kept him here.
Lumbermen were a rare breed, and George had instantly recognized Jake as a master of his trade upon meeting him back then, and had encouraged him to go to work for North Country Logging. Jake had considered it and visited a North Country Logging camp, but ultimately declined working for them. Jake had never shared why, but George knew that lumbermen could be superstitious and set in their ways, and figured Jake had seen something he didn’t like at North Country.
It hadn’t stopped the two of them from becoming friends, and George was even more thankful for that now. Jake had started his own company, but it was small, and he wanted to make it bigger, and recognized what George was offering would do that.
Four days after arriving, with the key to making his plan work in place, George was ready to head back to the city.
Just in time, because he’d promised his mother that he’d be home for Thanksgiving when he’d left the morning after his party.
It was well over a four-hour drive, and George knew he’d be cutting it close to be home by noon due to the winding, twisting and rutted roads, but he’d been too tired to start the drive after working all day yesterday.
“I’ll be in touch within a couple of weeks,” George told Jake as he carried his suitcase to his truck, one of several trucks that Weston Lumber owned. The sun was just starting to rise, and the air had a cold bite to it along with a few tiny snowflakes.
“Good. Very good,” Jake replied with his deep northern brogue. “I like your plan.”
“Our plan,” George said. “You’ll talk to the others?”
“Yah, yah, I will. They will agree with me.” Jake pulled his thick stocking cap down over his ears. “It will be good for all of us.”
“It will be.” George climbed into the truck. “Thanks for letting me bunk here for a few days.”
Jake let out a belly laugh. “Yah. That was good. You can work for me anytime.”
George chuckled. “We’ll be working together soon.”
“That will be good.”
They said goodbye as George closed the truck door, then started the engine and gave a final wave to Jake as the other man walked back to the long bunkhouse building. Letting the motor warm up, George stared at the building. Built of logs, it was crude, but sturdy. As were the cook shack and the stables for the horses. He’d been in several North Country Logging camps, and those building were canvas shanties that had been nearly impossible to heat, which was critical because the men worked for five months straight, in the dead of winter.
The bunkhouse he’d slept in had been warm enough, and he knew he’d miss that warmth as he shifted the truck into gear and steered toward the road to start his long, cold ride home.
Bringing Jake onboard right from the start would be a signal to other logging companies and mills that working together would be good for everyone. There was room for growth in the industry and that was needed now more than ever. Wood for bridges and buildings, furniture and homes, and everything in between would always be important, as would pulp wood for paper products, and with the war over, the entire world would be looking to move forward.
George spent some time thinking about all of that, but it wasn’t long before his line of thought went down another route that had nothing to do with logging, lumber, the winding road, or the snowflakes that were growing larger and falling faster.
Emma.
He just couldn’t get her off his mind. It was as if he had a unique connection to her that he didn’t quite understand. She could have assisted Beverly in writing to him, but there was nothing significant about that.
He tried to think about other things. Weston Lumber, the trees lining the winding road, the snow that was starting to stick to the ground, if he would make it home in time for Thanksgiving dinner.
That was his goal for the day.
And that made him wonder where Emma was having Thanksgiving.
Or if she had thought about dancing with him as much as he’d thought about dancing with her.
He wondered if she’d thought of him at all. She didn’t have much reason to. It wasn’t as if they knew each other, or were even likely to see each other again.
That thought didn’t settle well, and he wondered if he might need to make a reason to see her again.
* * *
Hours later, as he arrived home, he still hadn’t come up with a good reason, but it was no longer snowing and though Uncle Walt’s car was in the driveway, there almost an hour before the meal would be served.
Carrying his bag, George made his way to the front door of the massive three-story home. Built on the banks of the Mohawk River, his grandfather had purchased the house and property after marrying his grandmother and with the idea of filling it with family. Sadly, his grandmother had died shortly after his father had been born, and his grandfather never remarried, and had died before George had been born.
Someday, that conversation would come up. Of how he was expected to marry, produce the next generation. Another way marriage was simply a means to an end. Nothing about that encouraged him to change his mind about going down that road again. He felt free, having had that weight lifted from him for now, and wasn’t interested in changing that, and couldn’t imagine that anything would change his mind. Not for a long time.
He was still climbing the steps when the front door opened and James, tall, thin and impeccably dressed in an all-black suit, gave a customary bow.
“Good day, sir,” James said. “Happy to have you home.”
George laughed as he stepped inside. “I’m sure you mean relieved, James. I know my mother, and she’s been fretting all morning that I wouldn’t arrive in time.”
James cracked a smile as he closed the door. “She has.”
The butler had been with his family since before George had been born and probably knew more family secrets than anyone else ever would. “I will go say hello and then get cleaned up with plenty of time to spare.”
“Very well. Everyone is in the front room.” With a wide smile, James held out a hand. “I’ll take your luggage and lay out clean clothes for you.”
“Thank you.” George handed over his bag, hat and coat, and while James headed for the curving staircase off the entranceway, George made his way down the long, wide hallway, pausing for a moment near one of the radiators to warm his hands.
The front room, as it was called, was on the far side of the house with a row of tall windows that faced the river. When the house had been built, years and years ago, it had been miles from town and the river had been used for traveling more than roads. Since then, Albany had grown a considerable amount, and their large acreage was now part of the city limits, though it still held a privacy that he’d always found tranquil.
The tantalizing smell of roasting turkey filled the air. He left the radiator and as he passed the doorway to the kitchen, his stomach growled. The food at the lumber camp had been plentiful but had taken a good portion of salt and pepper to make it edible, much like the meals he’d had in the army. Miss Maybelle’s cooking had been one of the top things he’d missed during his time away from home.
Like James, Maybelle had been with the family since before George, and few could hold a candle to her meals and pastries.
Other than those ginger bars he’d eaten at Beverly’s house the day he’d invited her to the party. As that thought settled, he recalled that Beverly had said her neighbor had made them, and he had to conclude that neighbor was Emma.
As if his mind had conjured her up, she—Emma—was the first person he saw as he approached the wide archway leading into the front room. He paused, blinking to check his eyesight, but it was her. Sitting on the green sofa that was near the fireplace that took up a large portion of the north wall, she had a child on each side of her—Janice’s children—and was reading a story to them.
They were all so engrossed they didn’t see him, and he stood there, staring, wondering if Emma had grown prettier during his absence. Her brown hair was pinned up, with a few loose tendrils framing her face as she read, smiling, and glanced between the storybook and Nate and Nellie.
“George!”
He stepped into the room at the sound of his mother’s voice.
“I was starting to question if you’d keep your promise,” she said, raising from her chair to greet him.
He noted how Emma’s head snapped up, and he gave her a nod before turning his attention to his mother. “I always keep my promises,” he replied, meeting his mother in the center of the room and kissing her cheek.
“I know you do, but I was still worried. That’s what mothers do.” She looped an arm through his. “Come say hello to everyone, then you’ll have just enough time to get out of those lumberman clothes before we eat.”
“That was my plan,” he said, unable to stop his gaze from going to the sofa, now questioning why Emma was here.
* * *
Emma had lost her place in the book and was quickly scanning the paragraphs so she could pick up again before the children noticed. She’d been pleasantly surprised to learn that Nathaniel and Nellie Cramer were Janice’s children. Both children had instantly recognized her from school, and it hadn’t taken long before they’d appeared before her with a book. Several, actually, which she hadn’t minded.
Truth was, she was slightly miffed at Beverly for tricking her. The two of them had spent every holiday together since she’d moved into the building, and she’d assumed this year would be no different. She should have questioned why Beverly hadn’t insisted a trip to the market was in order yesterday.
It hadn’t been until this morning, when Beverly had declared that Willis would be there to pick them up at eleven, that Emma had learned Beverly had accepted an invitation to spend Thanksgiving with George’s family.
For both of them.
Emma had declined, insisting that she’d stay home, but then Beverly had shown her the written invitation, which had included both of their names and had been delivered by Willis, days before. Beverly had also assured her that her Aunt Jill and Uncle Roy would not be there; that it would only be family, besides them.
That had made Emma question their attendance even more, but Beverly had claimed it was too late to declare a change of plans, so they had arrived here, at George’s home, over half an hour ago.
His parents, Amy and Craig, were very nice people and seemed genuinely pleased to have her and Beverly join them for the holiday.
Amy had also explained that George had gone north, to visit a logging camp, but had promised that he’d be home by the time Thanksgiving dinner was served at one.
Her scanning of sentences had brought her back to the place in their story, but neither child was interested. They’d both jumped off the sofa to race across the room, where George had lifted them one at time to give them a playful toss in the air, making them squeal with joy.
After he’d said hello to the others, he then approached her, with a child tugging on each arm, and she had no choice but to set aside the book and rise to her feet.
“Hello,” he said, with that one-of-a-kind, best-in-the-world smile. “How are you?”
