you.â He held out a simple white envelope. âI guess they forgot to deliver it with the mail earlier.â
She smiled her thanks, but wondered why Daniel had written to her. It had to be from the companyâs owner. No one else would write to her here. Had he guessed Adam might end up in her kitchen?
Bidding Bert good night, she went into her bedroom. She lit the lantern by the door and set it on a brad hooked to a rafter. Light spread to reveal the plain room she called home. A simple rag rug between the potbellied stove and the bed was the only bright spot on the rough floorboards. By the roomâs one window, her plain iron bed waited to enfold her in sleep. The worn counterpane was one of her few connections with the place which had been home before she came to the north woods. This was home now. After nearly three years, she had set aside her dreams of living anywhere else.
Gypsy tossed the envelope on the bed. She would read it after she had slipped under the covers. Slowly she unbuttoned the pearl buttons along the back of her blouse. She yawned as she hung it on one of the pegs behind the door. Undoing her skirt, she let it fall to the floor. Her petticoats dropped on top of the black wool.
Only when she had pulled on her flannel nightgown and buttoned it into place did she reach for the envelope. Daniel owed both her and Farley an explanation of why he had sent Adam to the camp under such strange circumstances. With a laugh, she thought about not telling Farley for a few days and watching him squirm with curiosity. That would repay him for his high-handed insistence that Adam work in her kitchen.
When she opened the letter, her smile vanished and her breath caught in her throat. She slid to sit on the mattress as she read:
Gypsy Elliott,
I know who you are. I know what you did. I know you should pay. Death is about to overtake you, just as it has the ones you love.
Sleep well by your icy river before I send you to burn in hell.
âNo,â she whispered as her trembling fingers turned the envelope so she could see the postmark. Saginaw!
Who in Saginaw wanted her dead? Why? She knew no one in Saginaw. She had spent less than an hour there on her way to the logging camp.
She looked back at the letter. It was written in large square letters. The childish handwriting added to the insanity of such a threat.
I know who you are. I know what you did.
âWhat did I do?â she cried. She searched her memories. She had teased the other children she had grown up with and been teased back. Once, when she was six, she had stolen half a sweet potato pie from Mrs. Mulligan next door. Papa made sure she paid for that. Just childish crimes. What had she done to deserve this?
Nothing!
Then why was someone sending her this? Hadnât she suffered enough already? Her parents dead, her brother dead, her sister far from her. She had left everything that was familiar to come here and build a new life. She had put that grief behind her.
Cursing, she leaped to her feet, grabbed a thick cloth, and opened the small door of the woodstove. The stoveâs hot breath reddened her face as she crushed the page and threw it in. Her breath burned in her chest as she watched the letter disappear in the fire. Whirling, she scooped up the envelope and sent it to the same end.
She dropped to her knees and hid her face in her hands. She had thought the terror was over ⦠dead and buried along with those she loved.
She had been wrong.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gypsy fought not to shift on the hard bench in the dining room. Reverend Frisch had brought an endless supply of parables with him this afternoon. With a sigh, she folded her hands in her lap. She should be grateful he had come after midday. She and her crew had had time to serve breakfast and clean up before the dining room was altered into a makeshift church by the sky pilot.
A smile teased her lips. The loggers had a vocabulary of their own. Not a man in the
She smiled her thanks, but wondered why Daniel had written to her. It had to be from the companyâs owner. No one else would write to her here. Had he guessed Adam might end up in her kitchen?
Bidding Bert good night, she went into her bedroom. She lit the lantern by the door and set it on a brad hooked to a rafter. Light spread to reveal the plain room she called home. A simple rag rug between the potbellied stove and the bed was the only bright spot on the rough floorboards. By the roomâs one window, her plain iron bed waited to enfold her in sleep. The worn counterpane was one of her few connections with the place which had been home before she came to the north woods. This was home now. After nearly three years, she had set aside her dreams of living anywhere else.
Gypsy tossed the envelope on the bed. She would read it after she had slipped under the covers. Slowly she unbuttoned the pearl buttons along the back of her blouse. She yawned as she hung it on one of the pegs behind the door. Undoing her skirt, she let it fall to the floor. Her petticoats dropped on top of the black wool.
Only when she had pulled on her flannel nightgown and buttoned it into place did she reach for the envelope. Daniel owed both her and Farley an explanation of why he had sent Adam to the camp under such strange circumstances. With a laugh, she thought about not telling Farley for a few days and watching him squirm with curiosity. That would repay him for his high-handed insistence that Adam work in her kitchen.
When she opened the letter, her smile vanished and her breath caught in her throat. She slid to sit on the mattress as she read:
Gypsy Elliott,
I know who you are. I know what you did. I know you should pay. Death is about to overtake you, just as it has the ones you love.
Sleep well by your icy river before I send you to burn in hell.
âNo,â she whispered as her trembling fingers turned the envelope so she could see the postmark. Saginaw!
Who in Saginaw wanted her dead? Why? She knew no one in Saginaw. She had spent less than an hour there on her way to the logging camp.
She looked back at the letter. It was written in large square letters. The childish handwriting added to the insanity of such a threat.
I know who you are. I know what you did.
âWhat did I do?â she cried. She searched her memories. She had teased the other children she had grown up with and been teased back. Once, when she was six, she had stolen half a sweet potato pie from Mrs. Mulligan next door. Papa made sure she paid for that. Just childish crimes. What had she done to deserve this?
Nothing!
Then why was someone sending her this? Hadnât she suffered enough already? Her parents dead, her brother dead, her sister far from her. She had left everything that was familiar to come here and build a new life. She had put that grief behind her.
Cursing, she leaped to her feet, grabbed a thick cloth, and opened the small door of the woodstove. The stoveâs hot breath reddened her face as she crushed the page and threw it in. Her breath burned in her chest as she watched the letter disappear in the fire. Whirling, she scooped up the envelope and sent it to the same end.
She dropped to her knees and hid her face in her hands. She had thought the terror was over ⦠dead and buried along with those she loved.
She had been wrong.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gypsy fought not to shift on the hard bench in the dining room. Reverend Frisch had brought an endless supply of parables with him this afternoon. With a sigh, she folded her hands in her lap. She should be grateful he had come after midday. She and her crew had had time to serve breakfast and clean up before the dining room was altered into a makeshift church by the sky pilot.
A smile teased her lips. The loggers had a vocabulary of their own. Not a man in the
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