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been working so hard out here. I thought you might welcome a snack.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Cooper. How thoughtful,” Jonah said.
    Mrs. Cooper pushed the tray of milk and cookies at him.
    Meredith and Jonah perched on crates to enjoy the snack while Mrs. Cooper shuffled through boxes and rattled off instructions.
    â€œThis must be hard for you,” Jonah said.
    â€œIt is. James was as good of a man as they come. But this needed to be done sometime, so don’t worry about it.”
    Jonah nodded.
    By early afternoon, the mopped-down shed was as clean as it would get. Meredith rubbed her palms on the skirt of her gown. “It looks real good, Jonah.”
    â€œDid you want to go to the mill with me?”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œAfter I locate that hired wagon. That’ll give you time to change clothes and freshen up.” He brushed a cobweb from her hair.
    â€œThink I need it?”
    Jonah gestured with a small wave. “I won’t venture a reply to that. But if you wish, meet me here after I get things loaded, and we’ll go to the mill together.”
    Meredith sneezed. “Oops. I’ll be here.”

    Cooper’s sawmill backed up against the Mad River a mile from where it spilled into the ocean. Buckman’s Pride situated itself with its right arm resting along the river and its left arm embracing the ocean. The river produced the power to run the giant circular saws. They cut the large logs that came downriver from the logging camp. Because these redwood logs dwarfed any trees on the East Coast, the saws loomed bigger than any Jonah had ever seen.
    â€œLook at those,” Jonah pointed. “I’ve never seen anything so huge.”
    â€œI’ve never seen anything so fearful,” Meredith said. “It all looks so dangerous.”
    The operation mesmerized them until a mill worker passed nearby, shouldering a bundle of leather straps. He shouted out, “Need some help?”
    â€œYes sir,” Jonah answered. “Have some business with the owner.”
    â€œYou’ll find him in there.” The man nodded toward a nearby building, then continued on.
    Jonah took Meredith’s elbow and directed her toward the place the worker had indicated. Inside the warehouse, shingles were stacked in pallets along the wall. Beyond that was another door. They went to it, and Jonah knocked. Meredith straightened her hat.
    â€œCome in,” a deep voice drawled.
    They entered. Two men occupied the room; one sat behind a desk and the other stood in the middle of the room.
    Jonah strode to the desk. “I’m Jonah Shaw, New York photographer.” The gray-haired man leaned over his desk and shook Jonah’s offered hand. Meredith rushed forward. “Meredith S. Mears, journalist with
McClure’s
magazine.”
    â€œClement Washington,” The owner said, also taking Meredith’s hand. He settled back in his chair. “Seems to be my lucky day. You reporters know something I don’t?” His question lumped them together like so much dead wood. “As if I don’t have a business to run around here. Why don’t you just talk to Ralston, here, so I don’t need to repeat myself.”
    Deep furrows edged Frederick Ralston’s frown. He introduced himself as a reporter for the Buckman’s Pride newspaper.
    â€œI don’t mind people nosing about my business, exactly,” Clement Washington said in his southern accent, “but I’m a busy man.” He rose as if the matter was settled, and they were all dismissed. “Maybe some other time.”
    â€œMrs. Cooper sent us,” Jonah said. Clement jerked up his head and listened. “I’ve set up a studio in her shed, and in the process, we’ve cleaned out some of Mr. Cooper’s belongings. She asked me to bring his things to you. They’re crated up,” he motioned, “outside in a wagon.”
    â€œOh? Well, that’s a