Read Online The Friends of Meager Fortune by David Adams Richards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Adams Richards
Ads: Link
motivated by his own wounds to wound as well.
Reggie said nothing to this blunt, provocative statement.
“I have no loyalty to the Jamesons except for Will,” he said, feeling the note in his pocket that Sonny Estabrook had sent him.
That very night (the same night she spoke to Owen), Reggie received a long-distance phone call from Camellia. She sounded so joyous, it was as if he had suspected another person, in another world.
It was also a luxury to phone Saint John, and she cherished the moment.
She told him to come home. She told him Owen Jameson needed him back, never to mind the townspeople or what they said. It would all be good again.
“You will be foreman.”
“I will be foreman anywhere, it’s my job,” Reggie said.
“Well, Mr. Jameson says he needs you with him—for Buckler is old and his mom is—well, a little dizzy,” Camellia said. He could hear her voice hesitate because she wanted so much to convince him. He could tell she thought this much greater news than he himself did.
“Please come home,” she whispered.
There was a long and desperate pause over the line. He wanted her to say, “Because I love you.” But for some reason she did not.
“So you saw Owen—is he still there and you still working there?”
“Of course, but—well, that’s why I’m phoning.”
“And Owen—will Owen be staying?” he said.
“Yes.”
He sat silent in the chair. For he knew something about himself now. He was frightened. He was not the same man he had been, and that was simply because people no longer respected him as they once had. And he already knew thatJameson was forced to cut on Good Friday Mountain—the one place more than any in the province he and Will feared. This was where they wanted him to be foreman, and he didn’t know if he could do it.
When he hung up, his face had turned ashen, his lips looked bloodless.
“Bad news, eh?” His frivolous young cousin smiled, hearing only Reggie’s questions about Owen.
“Eh?” he answered, deep in thought. “No—good news all around.”
ELEVEN
The next night Mary Jameson and her brother Buckler showed Owen the letter they had kept from him.
It was the final decision on the stumpage bid on the thousands of acres they had wanted to cut, discovered by Will all those years ago.
The letter told them what they had known for three months. The Jameson bid had not been accepted. The reason was simple. The initial bid had been delayed, until another bid had come in and made it moot.
Why the bid had been delayed until moot was ancient history. But it had taken this long for the timber Will had scouted to mature.
Now that the time had come, now that Buckler had ordered new saws, the government had accepted another bid. This letter told Mary and her brother it was no longer their timber.
This decision cut their board feet down by two-thirds. The men had built camp and hovel and store, and for what? They were by this letter soon to cross into an illegitimate cut. That is, it was now Sonny Estabrook’s cut. They could have what wood they had yarded, but they must leave now. Mary left most of this up to the men she hired, and some were unscrupulously taking advantage of her—some were stealing her wood and selling it over to Estabrook, who pretended he did not know where it had come from. Buckler himself tried to figure this out but could never catch them. Their mill was in desperate shape.
The section that Will had found in the middle of Northumberland and claimed when juvenile would reap a great harvest of wood for the great Estabrook mill now.
Mary Jameson felt that she had been cheated out of this timber that the family felt always belonged to Will.
She had told Camellia about this just before they heard Owen was coming home.
That was one reason why Camellia asked the men to bring Owen from the train. This, in fact, was how those wheels had stopped. She wanted Owen back to save the mill, to save her husband, and her husband to save
Reggie said nothing to this blunt, provocative statement.
“I have no loyalty to the Jamesons except for Will,” he said, feeling the note in his pocket that Sonny Estabrook had sent him.
That very night (the same night she spoke to Owen), Reggie received a long-distance phone call from Camellia. She sounded so joyous, it was as if he had suspected another person, in another world.
It was also a luxury to phone Saint John, and she cherished the moment.
She told him to come home. She told him Owen Jameson needed him back, never to mind the townspeople or what they said. It would all be good again.
“You will be foreman.”
“I will be foreman anywhere, it’s my job,” Reggie said.
“Well, Mr. Jameson says he needs you with him—for Buckler is old and his mom is—well, a little dizzy,” Camellia said. He could hear her voice hesitate because she wanted so much to convince him. He could tell she thought this much greater news than he himself did.
“Please come home,” she whispered.
There was a long and desperate pause over the line. He wanted her to say, “Because I love you.” But for some reason she did not.
“So you saw Owen—is he still there and you still working there?”
“Of course, but—well, that’s why I’m phoning.”
“And Owen—will Owen be staying?” he said.
“Yes.”
He sat silent in the chair. For he knew something about himself now. He was frightened. He was not the same man he had been, and that was simply because people no longer respected him as they once had. And he already knew thatJameson was forced to cut on Good Friday Mountain—the one place more than any in the province he and Will feared. This was where they wanted him to be foreman, and he didn’t know if he could do it.
When he hung up, his face had turned ashen, his lips looked bloodless.
“Bad news, eh?” His frivolous young cousin smiled, hearing only Reggie’s questions about Owen.
“Eh?” he answered, deep in thought. “No—good news all around.”
ELEVEN
The next night Mary Jameson and her brother Buckler showed Owen the letter they had kept from him.
It was the final decision on the stumpage bid on the thousands of acres they had wanted to cut, discovered by Will all those years ago.
The letter told them what they had known for three months. The Jameson bid had not been accepted. The reason was simple. The initial bid had been delayed, until another bid had come in and made it moot.
Why the bid had been delayed until moot was ancient history. But it had taken this long for the timber Will had scouted to mature.
Now that the time had come, now that Buckler had ordered new saws, the government had accepted another bid. This letter told Mary and her brother it was no longer their timber.
This decision cut their board feet down by two-thirds. The men had built camp and hovel and store, and for what? They were by this letter soon to cross into an illegitimate cut. That is, it was now Sonny Estabrook’s cut. They could have what wood they had yarded, but they must leave now. Mary left most of this up to the men she hired, and some were unscrupulously taking advantage of her—some were stealing her wood and selling it over to Estabrook, who pretended he did not know where it had come from. Buckler himself tried to figure this out but could never catch them. Their mill was in desperate shape.
The section that Will had found in the middle of Northumberland and claimed when juvenile would reap a great harvest of wood for the great Estabrook mill now.
Mary Jameson felt that she had been cheated out of this timber that the family felt always belonged to Will.
She had told Camellia about this just before they heard Owen was coming home.
That was one reason why Camellia asked the men to bring Owen from the train. This, in fact, was how those wheels had stopped. She wanted Owen back to save the mill, to save her husband, and her husband to save
Similar Books
