The Lumberjacks Shamed Their New Camp Cook Before Supper — Then the Camp Owner Threw a Telegram on the Table

Chapter 26

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Someone shut door.

The woman was perhaps thirty.

Very large-bodied.

Her coat torn at shoulder.

Hair frozen in strands along face.

One boot missing.

Mary knelt.

“Can you hear me?”

The woman made a faint sound.

Alive.

Clara appeared beside her.

“Cold exposure.”

“Get Doctor Harris.”

“Road’s blocked.”

“He’s upstairs.”

Of course.

A physician had been stranded at lodge three hours earlier.

Within minutes the woman was wrapped in dry blankets near stove.

Not hot water.

Not too quickly.

Audra had taught that.

Warm gradually.

Watch breathing.

Don't force drink until fully awake.

The doctor checked.

“Likely exhaustion.”

“Some frostbite toes.”

“Nothing severe yet.”

Mary looked toward door.

“Where was she?”

The young man who carried her answered.

“Half mile south.”

“Her wagon?”

“Overturned.”

“Horse?”

“Gone.”

“Anyone else?”

“I didn't see.”

Mary stood.

“We need search.”

Clara caught her sleeve.

“Not you.”

Mary looked.

“Why?”

“Your knee.”

“I can walk.”

“Barely in deep snow.”

Mary bristled.

Then stopped.

Audra had spent a lifetime teaching people that capability was not measured by pretending pain did not exist.

Mary exhaled.

“Fine.”

She organized instead.

Six men.

Ropes.

Lanterns.

Blankets.

They searched.

No one else.

The woman woke near midnight.

Mary sat beside.

“Where am I?”

“Blackwater Lodge.”

The woman’s eyes widened.

“Blackwater?”

“Yes.”

She began crying.

Mary leaned closer.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“I…”

Her breath hitched.

“I was trying to reach here.”

Mary stared.

“Why?”

The woman looked around.

“Is Mrs. Mackay here?”

Mary’s chest tightened.

“No.”

The woman looked confused.

“I wrote.”

Mary’s throat closed.

“When?”

“October.”

“From Victoria.”

Mary swallowed.

“What’s your name?”

“Evelyn Hart.”

Mary knew.

The letter.

She had seen it among Audra’s final correspondence but never read completely.

Audra had already become ill.

There were dozens.

Mary had sorted by urgency.

One from a woman asking for kitchen work had seemed less urgent than medical bills, legal papers, lodge accounts.

She had placed it aside.

Then Audra died.

The letter remained.

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The Lumberjacks Shamed Their New Camp Cook Before Supper — Then the Camp Owner Threw a Telegram on the Table

41 Part