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He cocked a brow and swaggered into the room. “Just fine?”
At that, she did turn back to the stove, taking a deep breath to steady her thoughts. “Where will the men sleep while you’re away?”
“The men?”
She looked back at him—she couldn’t help it. “Yes.”
He raised his hand to stroke his beard, but finding it gone, he rested his hand on his chest instead. “Why can’t the men sleep in the house?”
“It wouldn’t be decent.”
“But it’s decent when I’m here?”
“As my sister’s husband, you’re an acceptable chaperone. With you gone, tongues could wag.”
“What tongues?” He looked around, a bit bewildered. “No one is close enough to care.”
“I care.” She flipped the sausages one at a time with a fork. “They’ll need to sleep in the barn or somewhere else while you’re gone.”
“I doubt they’ll like that idea.”
“That may be so—”
The door opened and Harry and Milt walked into the kitchen.
Harry ignored Charlotte, while Milt nodded a halfhearted greeting. They both stopped when they caught sight of Abram.
“What’d she do to you?” Harry asked, his eyes filled with horror.
Abram touched his jaw and paused. “I thought I’d get cleaned up to go to St. Anthony.”
Harry shook his head and exited the house, Milt behind him.
“I don’t think Harry will be happy with the idea of sleeping in the barn,” Abram said.
Charlotte indicated a plate sitting on the cupboard counter. “He can eat out there, too.”
Abram groaned. “Maybe I’ll take him with me to St. Anthony. Let the two of you cool off a bit.”
Charlotte glanced outside, where Harry and Milt were entering the barn. Harry appeared to be just as stubborn as her. She doubted either one would cool off soon.
* * *
Abram stepped into the office of Cheney Milling Operation and inhaled the familiar scent of pine. The office stood on the eastern banks of the Mississippi at St. Anthony Falls, where dozens of men had built sawmills on wooden stilts in the water. Numerous mills crowded the piers and sawed thousands of feet of lumber a day. Mill owners were bringing in a fortune as the population increased, making St. Paul, St. Anthony and Stillwater thriving towns.
Over the years several prospective investors had traveled through Little Falls and longed to harness the power at the largest waterfall north of St. Anthony, but Abram had said no. One of those men had been Liam Cheney, owner of a successful sawmill here in St. Anthony.
Abram nodded at a clerk who stood behind a high counter. “Is Mr. Cheney available?”
The mousy clerk peeked at Abram behind his round spectacles. “Whom shall I say is asking?”
Harry had stayed outside, having no desire to sit in on the meeting, so it was just Abram. “Mr. Abram Cooper.”
The clerk looked him up and down and then turned to walk into an office behind the counter.
A few moments later the office door opened and the clerk stepped out, followed by Mr. Cheney, a tall, slender fellow with a large mustache. “Mr. Cooper, what a pleasant surprise. Will you come into my office?”
Abram took off his hat and walked around the counter. “Thank you for seeing me.”
Cheney slapped Abram’s back. “Always willing to meet with a competitor.”
Abram glanced around the large office overlooking the Mississippi and the dozens of men Cheney employed. He would hardly call himself a competitor with his four employees and simple sawmill.
Cheney took a seat behind a large oak desk and indicated a chair for Abram. “What brings you to St. Anthony, Mr. Cooper?”
Abram found it hard to ask for help. Seeking investors made him feel like he was admitting defeat—but he had no choice. He would do it for his children’s sake. “I’ve reconsidered your offer to invest in my sawmill.”
Liam Cheney didn’t say anything right away. Instead he studied Abram from behind heavy brows. He indicated his office and the mill outside. “As you can see, I invested here—and I must say I’m not disappointed.”
Abram’s chest felt heavy at the news. “So your offer is no longer good?”
“My initial offer is no longer valid. However...” He leaned forward and placed his forearms on the desk. “I just met a man who is interested in investing in a sawmill. Since he was too late to invest in St. Anthony, he asked if I knew of any other promising locations.”
Abram leaned forward. “What did you tell him?”
“I said the territory is very big and there are several prospects, but I did not mention Little Falls, since you had so adamantly refused my offer.” Cheney leaned back again, this time steepling his fingers together as if sensing he held the upper hand. “He and I are planning an exploratory trip next week—but I didn’t plan to stop in Little Falls.” He paused. “Should we?”
“Who is this man?” Abram had devoted three years of his life and all his worldly possessions to his endeavors at Little Falls. He didn’t want to hand it over to just anyone.
“His name is Timothy Hubbard. He and his wife just arrived from Moline, Illinois, with their three children. He told me he has several friends and family back home waiting for him to send for them. He’s not only willing to invest, but he’ll bring ready-made citizens in the bargain.”
Abram sat for several moments, feeling like a poor beggar. Just looking around at the success Cheney had found at St. Anthony made Abram frustrated that he had turned down Cheney’s offer two years ago. The sounds of men shouting orders and saws cutting lumber seeped through the walls in a muffled taunt.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could have the same success.
“Well?” Cheney asked. “Is it worth our time to stop and look around Little Falls?”
Abram stood and extended his hand. “I believe it will be.”
Cheney also stood and shook Abram’s hand. His face became serious. “I feel it only fair to tell you we’re looking at several possible locations to invest, and more than one has already caught our eye. I don’t know if it’s too late to convince Hubbard that Little Falls is the place to invest.”
Abram was proud of Little Falls, as humble as it was, and he was convinced it was the best place to build a town on the Upper Mississippi. “You get him there and I’ll do the convincing.”
Cheney offered a shrewd smile. “I like your attitude.”
Abram slipped on his hat, not wanting Cheney to think he was desperate. “And I feel it’s only fair to tell you I’m meeting with several prospective investors while I’m in St. Anthony. I just hope you and Hubbard aren’t too late when you come.”
Cheney’s smile fell and Abram nodded farewell. “Good day.”
Abram turned and strode out of the office, his back straight and his head high, though inside he was shaking. He did plan to meet with several investors, but none had shown the avid interest that Cheney had.
Harry stood outside Cheney’s office building, leaning against the wall. He was almost twice Abram’s age and the deep lines in his