The sawmill was already running at capacity. To meet the demands of the growing community, Blake would need to install a second saw and hire a crew to run it—maybe add a couple more delivery wagons and another team of horses as well. A more reliable supply of prime logs would also be needed. It might be possible to lease the timber rights to a tract of land and hire his own crews to cut and haul the logs.
But he was letting his ambition get ahead of him now. Getting a second saw was a sound idea. He’d be smart to order it early, to have it ready for operation in the spring. But first he needed to slow down and make plans. Those plans would include talking everything over with his father.
The new saw, along with the boiler, the rails, and other hardware, as well as adding on to the work shed, wouldn’t come cheap. He might want to talk to the bank about a loan. Dollarhide credit was golden. But the idea of asking Doyle Petit for money left a bad taste in Blake’s mouth. Maybe if Mason were there things would be different. But Mason was little more than a front man for the bank. Blake had yet to catch his brother at work. He’d be better off dealing with the bank in Miles City.
Blake put his ideas on hold as he reached the bustling main street of Blue Moon and set about his errands. At the blacksmith’s, he inspected the repair, paid for the work, and, with help, loaded the heavy circular blade onto the cart and lashed it into place. At the new hardware store, he bought some spare bolts for the saw and half a gallon of machine oil.
He was looking forward to wetting his dry throat in the saloon when he remembered that his father had mentioned needing a couple of salt blocks for the south pasture. There should be some in the general store. If he didn’t get them now, he’d be apt to forget later on.
Leaving his purchases on the cart outside the hardware store, he crossed the busy street, sidestepping buggies and wagons, and entered the general store. Inside, the place was crowded with shoppers, but he didn’t plan to wait in line.
“Put a couple of salt blocks on our account and point me to them, Ollie,” he told the proprietor. “I’ll just carry them out.”
“Back there in the far corner, Mr. Dollarhide. Two, you say?”
“That’s right.” Blake was already headed in that direction. He could see the blocks of pink rock salt stacked behind a row of shelves. They were solid and heavy. It would take two trips to carry them outside and load them on the cart.
He was bending to lift the first one when he heard a voice behind him—a familiar voice with an appealing note of shyness.
“Hello, Blake. What on earth are you doing back here?”
He straightened and turned around. Ruth Stanton, in a delicate lilac dress, was standing an arm’s length away, smiling at him.
He groped for a clever reply and came up empty. “I’m buying rock salt for our cows. The question is what are you doing back here? I don’t see anything in this corner that would interest a lady like yourself.”
“Then you’re not looking hard enough.” Her smile broadened, showing small, pearl-like teeth set in shell-pink gums. “I saw you going back here and thought I’d take a chance. We haven’t talked in a while.”
“No, we haven’t.” As he recalled, the last time he’d seen her had been at the Calders’ house, and she’d pretty much ignored him. But he wasn’t about to bring that up. If Ruth wanted to be friendly, who was he to complain? “How’ve you been, Ruth?”
“About the same as usual. My father needed some things in town, so I asked to come along. When he’s done with his errands, I’ll be meeting him for dinner at the Roadhouse. Until then I’m just passing time. How’s your sister?”
“Fine. I don’t know if you heard that she wants to study medicine. She’s mostly sending off applications for school and waiting to hear back.”
“Medicine? My goodness, that’s ambitious. But she always was a smart girl.” She paused, her sky-blue eyes gazing up at him from beneath golden lashes. “Will you be at the big harvest celebration that’s coming up? There’ll be dancing.”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but if you’ll promise to save me a dance, I’ll do my best to be there.” Blake studied her, wondering what was behind this friendliness that bordered on flirtation. Had she fallen out with Webb Calder—maybe lost patience with his attentions to a married woman? Or was she just using him to make Webb jealous? Whatever was going on in her pretty head, he wasn’t above taking advantage.
She was Webb’s girl. Everybody knew that, including Blake. But she deserved to be treated better. If she’d give him a chance, maybe he could convince her of that. At least he could try. After all, what did he have to lose?
CHAPTER TEN
ALVAR HAD COME HOME ON FRIDAY. ON MONDAY, THREE McCormick-style reapers, a massive steam-powered thresher, and a crew of rough-looking men to run the machines arrived by rail to harvest the wheat.
Knowing what to expect, the local wheat farmers were waiting with teams of horses ready to tow the machinery out to the fields. They had signed together for a bank loan against this year’s crop to pay for a job that only seasoned harvesters with machines could do efficiently.
In the week that followed, the whole farming community was flung into the harvest—the men and big boys driving the horses and loading the bundled sheaves onto wagons to be hauled to the thresher, which would separate the precious kernels from the chaff and funnel them into waiting burlap sacks.
The women and older girls were kept busy cooking an endless supply of food for the hungry men, some of it prepared in home kitchens and brought together for the huge meals. There were breads and biscuits, beans and potatoes, roasts, sandwiches, and stews, pies, cakes, and buckets of coffee—a feast for giants, eaten at long plank tables.
The pace of the work was exhausting, but it was a joyful time—a time to come together as a community, to share and to celebrate the fruits of a long season’s backbreaking work.
Hanna moved among the women—their sure hands chopping, stirring, and slicing while they gossiped and chatted. As she carried dishes to the table, she felt isolated from the others, as if she were a stranger who’d wandered into this close-knit group by mistake. A few girls near her own age had formed a giggling cluster—probably talking about boys. They waved and beckoned, inviting Hanna to join them. She shook her head and went on working. There could be no more innocent girl talk for her. In her own mind, at least, her secret sin had set her apart.
Someone handed her a platter of fried pork sausage to carry to the table. The rich, greasy aroma triggered a roiling sensation in her stomach. The September sun was hot, the air hazy with yellow dust from the crushed chaff spat out by the threshing machine, whose deafening bellow could be heard a mile away. The noise, the dust, the heat, and the mélange of food smells were making her head swim. She needed a break, just to sit down and drink some cold water. But she knew her mother would scold her for slacking.
The men ate in shifts. Alvar was in the group just coming off the field, dusty, sweating, and hungry. Over his mother’s protests and Hanna’s, he had wrapped his injured leg and gone to work with the other men. Hanna was glad to have him nearby. But since he’d returned from his time with the Dollarhides, she sensed a change in him. He was distant and withdrawn, given to long silences in which his thoughts seemed far away.