Louisa Rawlings by Forever Wild Page B

iron.
    It was a beautiful day. As the small train chugged out of Crown Point, Willough admired the view from the window, the way the evergreens stood out darkly against the clear blue of the sky. The trees here—farther north—were taller than in Saratoga; taller, darker, more mysterious. She felt a sense of serenity that was surprising. Drew had often spoken of the awesome beauty of the North Woods, had tried to persuade her to venture beyond the manicured prettiness of Saratoga; for the first time she began to understand what he had been talking about.
    It might be nice, she thought, to run among those trees, to tear off her clothes and her constraints, to lie down in those tantalizing green meadows she glimpsed so briefly as the train hurtled along.
    Then she frowned. Here and there she began to see bare patches, large tracts where the forests had been cut, acres of nothing but jagged stumps. The grassy meadows, unsheltered from the sun, had already begun to turn brown, though it was only the beginning of June. After a while there were no trees at all, only the ravaged landscape, naked and ugly.
    She’d never thought of it before: The lumber had to come from someplace. She’d spent the spring at the sawmill with Daddy. But that was at the town of Glens Falls. The logs had simply been there. Hundreds of thousands of them, floating on the Hudson River. Branded with the markings of a hundred different mill owners. She’d never stopped to think of the living forests that supplied those mills. It really was quite awful, what was happening to the forests.
    No. She shook off the unwelcome thoughts. The land had to be bent to a man’s will. That’s what Daddy said.
    Brian Bradford stirred and sat up, leaning forward to peer out the window. He pulled his gold watch from his waistcoat and snapped open the case. “We should get there right on time.”
    “Will Mr. Murphy, your clerk, meet us at the station?”
    Brian snorted. “Not likely! He’ll be packing right about now. I told Mr. Clegg to sack him today. I’m fed up with his spendthrift ways. I didn’t break my back building up this business for some Paddy to throw my money away with both hands!”
    Willough held her breath, scarcely daring to hope. “Today? Did you mean it for me? As a surprise?”
    “A surprise?” Brian frowned.
    “Was it in your mind to let me take over as clerk…with Mr. Clegg’s help? Was that why you let Mr. Murphy go today?”
    He grimaced in disgust. “You as clerk? Are you daft? You’re just a girl!”
    “But…but you promised…”
    “Don’t tell me what I did,” he snapped. “It’s my business, and don’t you forget it! You’re my daughter. You’ll be my partner someday. But I’ll not put you in as clerk until you’re ready.”
    She stared at her gloved hands, fighting back the angry tears. “And who’s to be clerk?” she asked.
    “One of my founders. Nat Stanton. Been with me four years now. He’s a hard worker…with a head on his shoulders. He can do a man’s job.”
    A man’s job. Willough stared sightlessly out the window while the words tore at her insides.
    Brian patted her knee. “Come now, lass,” he said gruffly. “Don’t look so down at the mouth. You can work under Stanton and learn the ropes from him.”
    She felt betrayed. How could Daddy do this to her? “And I’m to take orders from a founder?” she asked bitterly.
    The train screeched to a stop. Brian lumbered to his feet, his face purpling in indignation. “Take orders? No, by God! You’re a Bradford! And my daughter. I don’t expect him to forget that. And you damn well better not either! You can learn from the man, but I expect you to put him in his place if he gets out of line!”
    She stepped off the train, feeling numb. She scarcely noticed the conductor handing down their baggage; or Mr. Murphy on the platform nodding icily to her father as he boarded the train; or the whistle and chug of the engine as it continued its journey.