Annie Proulx - Barkskins

“That is no grieving. That is fury, that is a fiery rage. That is a mad-dog rage.”

“Grieving occurs in different ways,” said Mrs. Trame.

• • •

The next morning, dressed in black, Lavinia came down to breakfast table very quietly, drank three cups of coffee and ate toast and an apple.

“Mrs. Trame, I shall be going to the Duke offices today. I will be home at noon and would like something simple for lunch — whatever you have on hand. And please ask Mr. Kneebone to repair the lights in my bedroom window. I had a bit of difficulty yesterday but am quite all right today.” That moment, she told herself, had been her last emotional expression; from now on she would reject sympathy and condolences as evidence of weakness. She would feel nothing for anyone.

• • •

Cyrus came into the office smoking one of James’s cigars (he had taken the box from James’s desk after the funeral) and stood gazing at Mrs. Duncan, who sat at her desk, pin-neat in a black woolen dress with a modest collar.

“Who might you be?” His tone was offensive.

“Mrs. Annag Duncan. Miss Duke took me on as office manager. And you are—?”

“Hah? Hah?” At last he understood. “Office manager! I was not consulted. Where is she?”

Mrs. Duncan nodded at Lavinia’s door. “May I announce you, sir?”

“What! Hah! Foolishness!”

Cyrus began at once. “Who gave you leave to hire that woman?”

She shouted in his half-deaf ear, “Every member of the Board save you and me has passed on. I need permission from no one. I am the head of Duke and Sons, the heir to James Duke’s estate and business interests, and I shall do as I feel necessary.”

“Well that is blunt enough, ma’am.”

“Now, about your own place in this company. It is better if you leave.” Cyrus would bluster, make a scene — but he surprised her.

“Lavinia, I, too, think it is a time for a change. I have wanted my own lumber brokerage for some years. I have contacts with several logging companies, not just Duke and Sons. And every day sees a dozen new logging concerns at work in the woods. Of course I would hope Duke and Sons would be my prize client.” Annag Duncan in the outer room heard every word.

Lavinia smiled. “Cyrus, I congratulate you. I intend to shift this company to Chicago. And rename it Duke Logging and Lumber as there are no extant sons.” Cyrus started to say something but she put her finger to her lips and pointed at the door to the outer office. She took up her pen and wrote: “Company outgrown Detroit. Center shifting. Chicago ideal. Double population in 2 yrs, forest, lakes, rivers easy transport logs. Gal. & Chi. Railroad and more building. Ill & Mich Canal connect Miss.” She waited until he had read this and then shrieked into his hairy ear, “The flow of business is shifting from north-south to east-west with the railroads going where no rivers flow. Chicago the center. No business can ignore this.”

“Hah!” said Cyrus, impressed by this rounding out of Chicago’s situation. “Gad, it’s true.” Men all over the country, all over the world had caught the arousing scent of Chicago, the city of the century, already a central hub, everyone coming to it with a common hunger, coming to take and take and take again. Chicago was raw greed and action, and would perhaps become the most important business city in the world. He decided to shift his own enterprise to Chicago immediately.

Lavinia wrote again: “Board meeting, you formally step away. Please remain on Board of Duke Logging. Likely we incorporate.”

He read this, gave her a sharp, surprised look and said, “In many states the legislatures hamper the activities of corporations.”

“Duke Logging is in a favorable situation as far as the Michigan legislature is concerned.” Cyrus said nothing and she took his silence for understanding. “I want you to start your new venture without acrimony. Are Breitsprechers one of your clients?”

“That is for me to know, not to say. Ha ha.” He might as well have written it on the wall.

• • •

In another year she was settled in Chicago in a lakefront house topped by a glassed-in copper-roofed cupola, but Mrs. Trame was gone, a victim of dropsy that made her legs swell to the size, shape and color of Boston harbor seals. She had suddenly fallen dead on the floor while kneading bread dough. The new cook, Mrs. Agnes Balclop, was proficient enough. And old Kneebone kept things in repair, tended the horses and yard, got drunk and roared on Saturday night. Lavinia had a companion, Goosey Breeley, a distant New Brunswick cousin of Posey, who had found her way to Chicago. She looked somewhat like Posey and her voice and accent were very like. She became official sympathizer, consulting physician, favoring critic and errand runner. She managed the household, everyone in fear of her wicked New Brunswicker tongue. And she explained freely and often that nothing in Chicago could compare with the virtues of New Brunswick.

• • •

Lavinia, Lawyer Flense and Accountant Pye met in the new boardroom, a perfect square of white plaster walls with seven windows looking onto Lake Michigan, for a discussion of suitable candidates for the company’s positions. Annag Duncan put a steaming coffeepot and a plate of cookies and cakes on the long table under the windows. Although James had hired four new landlookers and their assistants before his fated trip east, they needed more; the Breitsprechers were buying vast tracts of land on credit — they were pulling ahead. Someone had to take on Lennart’s old job.

“In my current situation I cannot serve as company head and still manage the landlookers, jobbers and mills.” Lavinia tapped on a stack of papers. Flense bit into a crisp lemon cookie. Mr. Pye made a note. “You want a production manager,” he said, and she nodded. “Let me suggest Noah Ludlum — a Maine man familiar with everything from beans to boomage. He is subject to occasional fits of epilepsy so cannot work in the woods as a logging contractor, but he has great knowledge of all operations and a talent for working well with men and choosing good ones to carry out what he cannot.”

“Can I meet with him next week? Is he in the region?”

“He is currently working for the Breitsprechers, but I know he is not happy with their odd ways. Shall I contact him?”

“Yes, do so. And transport — do we not need someone responsible to oversee all our transport means whether rafts, barges, wagonloads or railcars? And ships? Should we build our own lumber barges?”

“Miss Duke,” said Flense, “wherever you can cut out the middleman you will profit. Reduce the number of hands through which your product must pass before it brings you income. Your company would do well to build its own ships and barges in its own shipyards.” Lavinia made a note but an idea was stirring. Flense got up and went to the cookie plate. He took two with lemon icing.

Pye spoke again. “And even small actions will make a difference in your bottom line. A question: do you have stores at the jobbers’ camps? Places where the axmen can purchase clothing, tobacco and other necessaries?”

“No. Is that not the business of the jobber?”

Flense leapt in. “Ah, precisely my point. You must directly employ camp overseers and run your own crews. Pass over the jobbers.”

Pye again, “Yes, pass over the jobbers, operate Duke Logging crews under strong-minded salaried overseers. Hire the best camp cooks at the lowest wage. At each camp introduce stores stocked with trousers, boots and socks, knives and axes, galluses and candy, tobacco, maybe even papers and candles, combs and such. Get these things at the lowest price. I can take on a buyer’s duty if you wish. Then charge a little higher than the merchants in town and you will get back a considerable part of what you lay out in wages.”