“Uh-huh,” she said.
“All right,” he said, “I exaggerate. But not by that much.
“I need someone in the office to take the orders and send them down to the mill and then accept payment when the order is fulfilled. I think if you ask the men around here they would agree you were needed, and not just because they would enjoy seeing you here.”
“We are just talking about a job, are we not?” she queried.
“For now,” he said, “for now I will make it just be about the job. That doesn't mean I won't keep trying to court you, but I will not tie the job to the courtship.”
At that moment a large log started going through the sawmill and the scream of the saw started reverberating through her. Her eyes grew quite round.
“You have to listen to that all day?”
He looked chagrined.
“Actually, although I am keeping the books in here for now, this really isn't the office; it has just been a convenience for me while I was trying to run everything. The business office is on the far side of the complex, near the road. While there is still a fair amount of noise from traffic, the sound of the mill is quite muffled by that distance.”
“If you don't mind, I think I'd rather check it out first before accepting your job offer.”
“You haven't even asked how much I'll pay you.”
“As long as it is enough for me to have an establishment and plenty to eat for me and Samantha, I am really not too concerned.”
“I thought you were a businesswoman,” he said.
“I will give you the credit of my already understanding that you would never cheat someone deliberately. You made that clear when the first thing you told me was that you were not the author of the letters.”
“I could not start out a marriage on a lie.”
The Name Game
He had taken to throwing names out at her, trying to guess what hers was.
“I will even love you if it's Prudence or Penelope!” he said.
“There's nothing wrong with the names Prudence or Penelope; they just don't happen to be mine.”
“Well you may be a prudent woman, but you have too much fun in you to be a Prudence. Josephine, Juliet, Jennifer, Sabrina, Rachel, Antoinette.”
“Do you actually know women with these names?”
He grinned. “Most of them live here in town—I went to school with them.”
“Then it is a good thing mine is not one of those names. I like to think of myself as unique.”
He placed a finger upon his chin.
“That would tend to rule out Agatha, Agnes, Mary, Charlotte, Sarah, Susan, and Serena.”
“Stop, stop it, I'm none of those.” She was laughing so hard her sides were starting to hurt.
“Agnes, Agatha, Agamemnon . . .”
“You already used Agnes—and—Agatha,” she said.
“And you remembered that?” he queried.
“Of course!” He looked at her with new respect.
“Kathryn, Christopher . . .”
“And Christopher is a boy's name!”
“Well, I actually knew a girl named Christopher. She went by Chris and everyone thought it was for Christine, but she confided in me one day that her father had had her christened Christopher without bothering to find out her gender. She was a mighty pretty little thing.”
She quirked an eyebrow.
“Her paw decided it was too civilized around here and put them on a wagon train heading further west. He was an ornery old cuss but he actually took very good care of his family. He just didn't like people a whole lot.”
They shared another laugh.
“Oh, my Celestial Angel,” he sighed.
She jumped, startled.
“I've come close,” he crowed. “Angel, Angela, Angelica.”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Sorry, Charlie, but no!”
“Please call me Chip! Charlie was the guy who gave me the dog I told you about.”
“So you're as pleased with your uniqueness as I am,” she laughed at him. “You are, in fact, the only Chip I know.”
More Counseling
Pastor Joe had notified Father Francis of the arrival of “some of your flock” as mail-order brides and they had used the news as an excuse for a visit at the rectory where, over coffee and cigars, they had discussed matters religious and secular and agreed, as they’d each known they would, to work with the couples when, or if, they decided to move forward. They both had a good laugh at the confusion caused by the proxy letters.
Chip had brought Celeste over to meet her new spiritual advisor and she’d had the counseling session Pastor Joe had mentioned, with Father Francis, after bringing him up to date on the various members of his rather large, and rapidly expanding, family.
“And what do you think of my great nephew Pius Aloysius?” the good Father had wanted to know.
“You know your mother insisted upon it.”
“Yes,” he sighed, “for all the good it will do him. My brother Ignatius had to suffer under such a name, and look how he turned out!”
“You mean Bridget’s Uncle Nate? His letters are passed around until they fall apart. What an adventurous life he’s leading!”
“All because of his name! Mother meant him for the church.”
Celeste nodded. “Yes, that’s why Pius is called Peanut. Although I think that might prove a harder name to live with! Chip had a dog named Peanut.”
They moved on to more serious matters.
“Since you are making the effort to talk to me about Chip, I am guessing you harbor some interest in his proposal.”
“He seems to be quite a wonderful man, and he makes me laugh. For awhile I didn’t think I’d laugh again. I am rather recently widowed and were it not for my home situation, which I gather Pastor Joe has shared with you, I would still be quietly mourning for
