White Pine Read Online Free PDF

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when a tree is coming down. This here’s the clerk’s office.”
    Bart knocked and a gruff voice called out,
“It’s open.” So, we strolled right in.
    “Shut the door. You’re letting in the winter
with you, boyo.” The voice was kindly with an Irish lilt to it.
    My eyes slowly adjusted from the brightness
of the out-of-doors to the dim lamplight and I saw two men. One
wore spectacles, had a kindly face, hair that was near white,
though he looked to be about Pa’s age, and was seated at a desk on
which was set an opened ledger. The other fella who was standin’
was tall, thick and broad with a dark head of hair and with a no
nonsense air to him.
    Dropping my bag, I took my hat off to show
respect, the way that my ma had always taught me.
    “Mr. Lynch,” Bart spoke up. “This fella’s
come to be a lumberjack.”
    “My name is Sevy Andersen.” I supplied.
    Lynch looked at me real hard. He didn’t smile
and his eyes were cold. “You Gus Andersen’s boy?”
    I nodded.
    “You have the look of him.”
    I nodded again.
    “The boy doesn’t have much to say.” The
Irisher observed.
    “Talked just fine in the cookhouse,” Bart
mumbled.
    “Some of these Norwegian fellas can be tight
lipped. Why one of the fellas from last winter, I don’t think I
ever heard five words out of his mouth. Showed up one day with a
`Hello,’ and then left six months later with a `Goodbye.’” The
Irisher commented, as if that explained it.
    “I ain’t full Norwegian. I’m half really, and
there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. My Pa’s was one of the best
sawyers at this camp or at any of the other logging camps around
the Chippewa and he’s a full blooded Norwegian.” My voice cracked
on the last words.
    “Well, you do talk,” the Irishman said with a
smile, as he put his pipe back between his yellowed teeth. “I
didn’t mean any disrespect, Sevy.”
    Even Lynch was smiling now. But on his face,
a smile looked hard, like rock breaking. He nodded to me. “I’m Joe
Lynch and you can call me Mr. Lynch or Push. Your father said you
can do a man’s work in his letter. Is that true?”
    “He looks kind of scrawny to me,” the Irisher
commented with his head tilted as he assessed me. “Tall, but
spindly.”
    I began to panic. What if they didn’t give me
a chance? What if they decided that I was too young to draw a man’s
wage? My whole family was relying on me. I had to convince Joe
Lynch to let me stay on.
    “I may be skinny, but I’m strong. And I’ll
work hard. Harder than anyone else here. I promise you, Mr. Lynch,
you won’t regret hiring me.”
    “That’s quite a promise,” Lynch commented.
“And, I’ll hold you to it.” He held out his hand to me. “Your
father said much the same, and his word’s like gold to me. Welcome
aboard, Sevy.”
    I took his hand. His palm was callused and
hard and he gripped my hand the way he might hold onto an axe. But
I gripped him right back, the way I’d been taught. The way a man
would. And even though he squeezed mine real hard, I didn’t flinch
or try to beat him. Pa had taught me to have a firm grip, but he’d
also warned me that a man who tries to win a handshake wants to
show you who’s the boss. I already knew that Joe Lynch was the
boss, and I didn’t plan on giving him any grief.
    “This trouble-making Irishman,” Lynch said
once he’d released my hand, “Goes by the name of Dob O’Dwyer. He’s
our clerk here. You’ll get your pay from him come spring.”
    “Just call me Dob.”
    Not sure how to take him, I nodded to him
resisiting the urge to shake my hand to get the blood back in it.
Dob grinned right back at me, showing a big gap between his two
front teeth.
    “Bart’ll take you over to the bunkhouse. You
can settle in for a bit and then it’ll be supper time... You boys
get going, Dob and I have some business to take care of.”
    Once we were back outside, Bart looked at me.
“So that wasn’t just talk about you being a