Orla Voss's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Orla walked away from her ex without answering. Whatever he wanted to say about her grandmother could wait. The deed was hers. But the deed did not pay for saws, or a crew, or a mule to drag logs before the first freeze. She had spent every coin she owned preparing to bid. Her purse was flat. The ridge was hers and useless. She sat on the church steps and did the math twice. Six weeks to cut the season's timber. No money to hire hands. No money for feed. If the pines stood through the wet, the trunks would soften and the buyers would walk. She went to see Frank Whitmore first. Frank had run the old sawmill with her father before his back gave out. He owed her nothing on paper. He owed her everything else. She found him oiling a bandsaw that hadn't cut wood in a year. "I need a crew and I can't pay them until spring," she said. Frank set down the rag. "How much timber?" "All of it. The whole ridge." He rubbed his beard. "I can bring three men. I can't feed them on a promise, Orla. My wife counts every bean." "I'll find the front money." "Find it by Thursday or don't come back." She walked to the Furniture Guild hall with the letter still folded in her coat. Mortimer Oakwright sat behind a bench stacked with cherrywood samples, a brass guild medallion at his throat. He had bought her father's lumber for twenty years and had never once smiled at a woman doing business. "You're the one who broke the auction," he said. "I own the ridge. I need a buyer up front. Fifty percent now, at a cut price, delivered by first snow." Mortimer leaned back. "Discount how deep?" "A third off market." "Half." "A third. And I throw in the clear grain from the south face." He watched her a long moment. "You've got no crew." "I've got Frank Whitmore." Mortimer's eyebrows moved. He opened a drawer and counted coins onto the bench in short stacks. It was less than she had hoped and more than she'd feared. She reached for it. "One thing," he said. His hand covered the stacks. "I want it in writing that the ridge is yours, clean. I've heard the rumors too. If your ex files a claim before delivery, I want my money back the same day." She pulled the letter from her coat and laid it on the bench. He read it. He nodded once. She signed his terms and left with the coins heavy in her pocket. Outside, a boy was waiting on the steps with a folded note. He handed it to her and ran. The paper was cheap. The hand was her ex's. Three lines only. Your grandmother had two heirs. Ask the parish. I'll be at the church at dusk.