Lauraine Snelling by Whispers in the Wind

three of them working and him and Chief alternately shoveling the dirt back into the holes and tamping it solid with the rod, they caught up with Micah by the last hole. Once all the posts were set, again they stepped back. Well done—at least adequately done.
    “Start the rails?” Chief asked.
    “We should let those set for a few days, but we’re under the gun here. I was hoping to start the sawmill on Monday.” Already he’d been out at the pine trees before daylight, ready to continue lobbing the branches off as soon as it was light enough to see. Daylight was needed to limb logs, or one was liable to lose a couple of toes.
    He’d been out to the mine today too. He practically had it memorized, but still he wanted to look at it, to assay the first steps he must take. Once upon a time the path between the cabin and the mine had been beaten bare by many wheels and many hooves and feet—his father’s feet and sometimes even his mother’s in their youth. Now the trace was barely discernible in the brown grass. Ransom’s feet had followed that path.
    “Will you need us at the sawmill?” Micah’s question brought him back to the moment. “If not, we can nail the rails up.”
    Ransom thought a moment and glanced up to see where the sun was. “We could go down to the trees and get a lot of the limbs off before dark. Let’s let the poles settle until Monday.”
    “What about tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow is church. We honor the Lord’s Day here.” Sometimes only because Mor was adamant . . . but he didn’t bother telling them his secret feelings. Yes, he wanted to do as the Word said, but surely God understood when there were things that had to be done before the snow flew.
    “You have more axes?”
    “There are two down there. You have one?”
    “Needs sharpening.”
    “Two can chop and one can pile the branches out of the way.”
    “I can haul branches.” There stood Cassie at his side.
    Ransom stared at her. She’d been working right beside them without slowing down, but . . . He shook his head. “Mor would have my hide if I let you do that.”
    “Let me?” Her eyebrows raised and she straightened. Othello, who’d been supervising their efforts, returned to stand by her side, keeping Ransom in his sights.
    Ransom stared from Cassie to her dog and then to Chief, who might almost be laughing if Ransom was reading him right. Micah coughed into his sleeve to cover the snort that escaped. Obviously, she was going to be coming along with them.
    “Bring the wagon, please.” He and the two men started down the hill. He could feel her glare but ignored it. He should have offered to harness the team.
    “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Micah turned and headed back. Ransom glanced over his shoulder to see him and Cassie sliding the horses’ bits into their mouths. What was there about her that made him act like he’d never learned any manners? If Mor caught wind of this . . .
    He looked back again. Micah was riding with Cassie on the wagon, and when she stopped the team beyond the felled trees, he unbridled them so they could graze. Animal handler, huh? These people sure weren’t ranchers. They didn’t even speak the right kind of English.
    Chief and Ransom set to splitting the branches off the downed trees, tossing the limbs aside as they worked.
    “Where do you want the branches piled?” Cassie asked.
    “Out of the way. We’ll drag the logs down to the sawmill, so off to the sides would be better.”
    “One pile, or does it matter?”
    He shrugged. “We’ll probably burn them after they dry some, so a couple of piles.”
    “Some look good for firewood. Can we cut and use them?”
    “If you want. But you should know that oak and maple burn longer and don’t soot the chimney up like pine does. Alder’s good too. Hardwood. Not pine.”
    “I see. But why waste this?”
    Now she sounded like Mor.
    “Do what you want.”
    “How about I chop for a while,” Micah said to Chief, and