by Zina Abbott
A movement against the far wall caught Annie’s eye. She glanced that direction long enough to observe another man standing next to a shelf of books.
That one wore a black wool suit, a maroon vest over a dress shirt, and a string tie. Wind-blown locks of medium brown hair stuck out from beneath a black bowler. He held an open book in his hand. His blue eyes, set in a thin face with angular features, stared at her until he realized she had spotted him.
He turned his back to her and focused once again on his book.
Annie returned her attention to the Irishman who had asked about her name. Suspecting he spoke to her in an attempt to flirt with her, Annie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That it is. And who would be wanting to know?”
The man yanked the dusty brown slouch hat off his head. “My apologies, miss. My name is Michael O’Hare. I’ve been writing to a Miss Flanagan in New York City.”
Annie immediately relaxed and smiled at the man. With a little bit of luck, he might turn out to be a good match for her sister. He might soon be her brother-in-law. Annie held forth her hand. “Michael O’Hare. You’d be the one from Jubilee Springs writing to my sister, Kate, now wouldn’t you? I’m her sister, Annie.”
Michael smiled and awkwardly shook her hand. “Yes, I’m writing to Katherine—Kate, I guess she goes by.”
“We call her our Katie, but Kate will do.”
“Katie. I’ll be sure to remember that. She said her sister intended to come here to work for the man who owns the furniture store in town. She mentioned you used to work for his new wife’s family.”
“That would be me.”
“Here you are, Miss Flanagan. I do have one letter for you but none for the Nighys’ today. Perhaps tomorrow.”
Annie turned to the counter with an expression of delight. “Sure it is you have my thanks, Mrs. Brinks. Yes, I’ll be calling for the Nighys’ mail tomorrow unless Delly—I mean, Mrs. Nighy—is wanting to check for herself.” Annie held the letter with both hands as she studied it. “It’s from my sister, Kate. I recognize her hand.”
“Recognize her hand? Couldn’t you tell by the return direction who it was from? On my letters, she includes her name as well as where she lives.” Michael held out his letter he had received that day.
The man who had been reading, the book still in his hand, approached. Annie turned to him in time to see him nod to Michael.”
“Mr. O’Hare.”
“Mr. McAllister. How is the train business these days?”
“S-still rolling. Never know when a s-storm is going to blow in and bury the tracks with s-snow, though.” Annie leaned away as the stranger turned to face her. “I’m Garland McAllister, miss. I work as the t-ticket agent for the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. I s-saw you come in the t-train the other day.”
Annie felt a shiver of unease course through her. Delly’s warnings about men in Jubilee Springs being hungry for wives flashed through her mind. “That I did. I was coming at the request of Mrs. Nighy. I’ll be working for her.”
“Ah, yes. The furniture s-store owner’s new wife. Will you be working in the furniture showroom?”
Annie lifted her chin. “I’m in service, sir. I’ll mostly be working upstairs, although I might be doing some cleaning downstairs. Mrs. Nighy isn’t one to be sweeping floors and dusting the furniture, now is she?”
“I s-see. We have had so many women come in as mail order brides this year, I thought that might have been what brought you here.”
“It’s my sister wanting to be a bride. She’s been writing to two men—Mr. O’Hare, here in Jubilee Springs, and…” Annie clamped her lips shut, belatedly realizing she had no business discussing her sister’s affairs with strangers, especially with an obviously interested Mrs. Brinks leaning on the counter as she listened. “I was working for Mrs. Nighy’s family in New York City until she told her da, for a wedding gift, she would be wanting me to come here and work for her. Pleased I was she was asking for me, so I’ll not be looking to marry, now will I?” Annie kept her face expressionless, even though the abruptness of Michael O’Hare’s voice surprised her.
“Mr. McAllister, if you’re interested in meeting women, I suggest you contact Mrs. Millard or get one of those matrimony newspapers and start up a correspondence with one or two women.”
McAllister glared at Michael. “Not that it is any of your concern, but I have no intention of doing business with Mrs. Millard until she finds wives for all you miners. She does not impress me, considering how long she is t-taking. There were t-ten men originally before you, and s-several are s-still waiting.”
Michael shrugged. “It’s not her fault. She can’t force people to agree to marry. Look at Nathan Price. He’s the nicest, hardest-working man a woman could ask for in a husband. Yet, he’s had several women turn him down. It’s almost as if…” Michael cut his words short as he looked around the store, resting his gaze the longest on Mrs. Brinks.
Garland snorted. “Almost as if s-someone warned them about his no-account brother, is what you’re t-trying to s-say. I don’t visit the Corner Saloon very much—don’t care for the food they s-serve—but I’ve been there enough to know about him.”
“I’d prefer to not say anything about Herbert Price, Mr. McAllister. When you work in the mines deep underground like I do, it’s best to be surrounded by friends, not those with a grudge against you.”
All eyes turned to Desi Brinks as she interjected herself into the conversation. “Since you gentlemen are friends with Mr. Nathan Price, you will be happy to know he is exchanging letters with a young lady. Hopefully, this will be the right woman for him.”
Annie raised an eyebrow at the tone of forced patience in Michael’s voice as he responded.
“I knew from living at the miner’s boarding house with him, he’s getting mail. Nothing is private in that place. That is why I hoped to get my mail here, so not everyone would know my business. I’ve found the best way to avoid problems with Herbert Price is to avoid spending too much time with Nathan.”
“I s-see your p-point. However, I was at the dance, Mr. O’Hare. I watched those miners almost get in a brawl over that woman Mrs. Millard found for that ranch foreman.” Garland paused and inhaled deeply before slowly releasing his breath. He resumed speaking with a calmer voice. “Fortunately, the sheriff and the mayor, along with Mr. Bainbridge, did not allow anyone to bring weapons inside or there could have been gunplay. It is one thing to read about a shootout…” Garland paused and held up the book he was reading. “It is another to get caught in the middle of one at a t-town s-social.”
Annie stepped away, her gaze darting back and forth between the two men. “Jubilee Springs is sounding like lower Manhattan, now isn’t it? I was hoping to get my sister away from the like.”
Annoyed that Garland had possibly turned Annie Flanagan against Jubilee Springs—not to mention she might discourage her sister from considering him for a husband—Michael turned to Annie and shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Jubilee Springs might have its rough times, but that’s true of any town. I was at that same dance. It was only the one man, this Herbert Price Mr. McAllister mentioned, who started hollering about no one else getting brides until all the miners got brides first. He’s not in line for one himself, but his brother, Nathan, is.” Michael, a grimace of disgust on his face, shook his head. “Herbert will use any excuse to cause trouble, especially when he’s been drinking. He’s no doubt behind the punchbowl having been spiked.” Michael turned and offered Annie what he hoped she accepted as an encouraging smile. “You change your mind about looking for a husband, Miss Flanagan, I’d advise you to remember this conversation.”
“Certain it is I’ll not be needing a man for a husband who’d be liking his whiskey, now would I? There’s those at home who be liking it too much.” Realizing she had volunteered far too much negative information about her family, Annie clamped her lips shut.
Garland studied her for a few seconds before he turned h
is gaze back to the pages of his book. “We all make our choices. As for me, I’d still rather see how things p-pan out with the miners getting wives—if they all get wives—before I consider s-something like that for myself.”
Frowning, Michael folded his arms as he glared at Garland. “You can’t blame Mrs. Millard for it taking so long to find brides for everyone. She figures out possible matches and put men and women in contact with each other. However, she can’t force women to move to an isolated mining town high in the mountains if they don’t want that kind of life.”
“T-True. If the Prosperity Mine and the others around here pull all the s-silver out of the ground and shut down, I may not wish to keep living here. If I eventually get t-transferred to a larger city…” Garland looked up and scrunched his face into an expression of disgust, as if thinking of something unpleasant. He next focused on a page of his book as if reading, his expression, once again, bland. “Well, let’s just s-say, in other cities there may be more women to choose from. Then, if I decide to s-search for a wife, I wouldn’t need to worry about writing back east for one.”
“I see.”
Annie glanced as Michael who had responded. The confused look on his face told Annie he didn’t understand what Mr. McAllister’s meant by his words any more than she did. The ticket agent who stuttered struck her as a person with his secrets, although people’s negative responses to his stuttering had perhaps fostered his defensive attitude. He certainly was not a man who appealed to her personally, even if she was interested in looking for a husband.
“Well, then, Mr. McAllister, allow me to introduce you to Miss Annie Flanagan. She may end up being my sister-in-law. Considering she might soon become part of my family, I’ll be looking out for her interests.”
His expression once again neutral, Garland focused his attention on Annie. “I’m happy to meet you, Miss Flanagan. Welcome to Jubilee S-Springs.” He once again inhaled deeply before he continued. “If you have any questions about the t-train schedules, feel free to come by the t-ticket office at the depot and ask for Garland, or Gar, as many of my friends call me.”
“Thank you, Mr. McAllister. A pleasure it is meeting you.” Annie refused to drop her gaze from the man until he turned toward Michael once more.
“I’d be careful t-talking much about the women you’re writing to, Mr. O’Hare. First of all, from what Miss Flanagan s-said earlier, I believe her s-sister is also writing to p-prospective husbands elsewhere. The locals won’t be happy to know Mrs. Millard set up the other Miss Flanagan to write to men other than the miners here. Also, they may not be too happy if a late-comer like you gets married before the others who have waited longer.”
Annie studied the hardened expression on Michael O’Hare’s face and saw when he finally spoke, he did so through clenched teeth.
“I can see to my own business, McAllister. You stick to taking care of railroad business.”
Garland shrugged. “Just making conversation. Of course, unless you convince her to come here s-soon, she might have trouble getting up the mountain due to s-snow closing down the t-tracks. She might not be able to get here until s-spring thaw. By then, there might be wives for all the men who are s-still waiting.”
Doing her best to suppress her anxiety at the thought that snow on the railroad tracks might prevent her sister from coming west until the following spring, Annie watched Garland McAllister turn and saunter a few feet down the merchandise aisle closest to where she stood.
He turned his back to Annie and leaned against the shelf support as he resumed his reading.
Annie attempted to put aside her annoyance over Mr. McAllister hovering close enough to eavesdrop on any future conversation with Mr. O’Hare.
Although she had been away from home only a couple of weeks, already she missed her family—particularly Kate. She hoped for one of the men writing to Kate to offer for her soon so she could get away from lower Manhattan—away from New York City and the dead-end jobs in service to which the Irish women seemed to be limited. Once Annie knew Miss Delphinia—er, Delly—lived in Jubilee Springs, she felt disappointed that the bridal agency had only given Kate the name of one prospective husband from this town. She desperately hoped it would be Michael O’Hare who asked for Kate. She wanted Kate in Jubilee Springs, happily married. The sooner, the better.
Annie turned her attention to Michael and studied the outside of his letter. Except that she could tell that her name was not on the envelope as it was on her letter, they looked almost the same to her.
“Would you like me to leave you to read the letter, Miss Flanagan, since it is from your sister?”
She leaned back as a pink glow blanketed her face. She shook her head. “I’d not be knowing how to read and write. I’m knowing Kate’s hand, and my own name I can usually make out. Beyond that, it’s nothing but scribbling to me.”
“How is it your sister can read and write, and you can’t?” His forehead wrinkled, Michael glanced at his letter, and then he turned back to Annie. “Is this her handwriting? Or did someone else write it for her?”
Annie flushed an even deeper red and shook her head. “It’s her handwriting, sure. My da put me work to selling apples or flowers and the like when I was still a young girl. Ma wasn’t liking it, but we were needing the money. Katie started selling when she was a wee girl, too. Then Ma went back into service for a time. Sure it is, she put her foot down with Da, telling him, along with our brother, Patrick, our Katie was needing her learning—reading, writing, and doing her figures. Da was not liking it, but let her have her schooling for several years. Already in service, I was, so there was no schooling for me. After deciding our Katie had enough learning, he said it was time she was bringing in a wage.”
“I see. Kate did say she works as a scullery maid but doesn’t like it very much.”
Offering a hint of a smile, Annie shook her head. “Sure it is she was wanting a job in the kitchen. But she was hoping to be cooking—baking, especially, is what she’s liking best—not scrubbing pots and pans.”
“It’s good to know she likes to cook. A man always looks for that in a wife.” Michael paused and glanced at the letter in Annie’s hand. “Would you like me to read your letter to you, Miss Flanagan?”
Annie’s breath hitched. What if Kate wrote something about Michael that she would not want him to know? “It’s a kind offer, sure, but I’ll not be troubling you to read it. I need to be getting to the boarding house.”
“I understand. Out of curiosity, though, you hinted that she was writing to others besides me, but I’m the only one in Jubilee Springs. How many names and addresses of possible husbands did Mrs. Millard send to her? She sent me three, although one of the women broke it off right at the start once she figured out I’m Irish.”
Annie glanced to the side at Mrs. Brinks, whom she knew listened with interest. Then she looked in the opposite direction to where Garland McAllister had not moved from his perch in the merchandise aisle. She felt the situation closing in on her. Her arms akimbo, she stretched to her full height. “Well, sir, it’s not for me to be talking about my sister’s business, now is it? It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Michael O’Hare, but I need to be going. Mrs. Howard’s not one to be suffering latecomers to supper, now is she?”
Before anyone could comment or ask another question, Annie spun on the ball of her foot and rushed out the door. Grateful for the light coming from both the mercantile windows and those from the boarding house next door, she hurried home, hoping she did not slip on a patch of ice in the dark.
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Chapter 4
~o0o~
G arland McAllister waited until Annie Flanagan left the mercantile, followed shortly afterwards by Michael O’Hare. He turned and approached Mrs. Brinks at the counter. “I’ll t-take the book, along with the other s-supplies I gathered earlier.”
“With these herbs and vegetables, you look like you are planning to coo
k quite a feast, Mr. McAllister.”
Garland offered a wry smile and shook his head. “No, just everyday fare. I do like to experiment at t-times by adding different combinations of flavors. I need to go and let you close the shop up.”
His food and new book in a canvas sack with a handle he slid on his shoulder, Garland picked up his lantern from the shelf next to the door. Using the flame on a kerosene lamp Mrs. Brinks had not yet extinguished, he flared a match and lit his own. Knowing the dampness on the boardwalks could freeze into black ice now the sun had gone down and the temperature dropped, he kept the light in front of his feet and stepped with care as he made his way home.
Garland emitted a sardonic grunt as he reflected on the irony of referring to his abode as a home. It was nothing more than a hovel, a broken-down cabin with a low roof and walls constructed of warped boards. He had first rented the structure with one of the rail maintenance workers, but soon two others— “friends” of his roommate—leeches, to be more precise—joined them. Although he and the roommate claimed the two beds, which left the other two sleeping on the floor, it did not make for a good living situation, especially when collecting the rightful portion of rent from the other pair of men was like pulling teeth.
The only thing that made the place livable was the stove—a large one with an oven and water reservoir. Garland had purchased it with his own money when he first moved in. At first, the men had teased him about his love of cooking, a task they felt to be too feminine for a true man to enjoy. However, each time his patience had reached its limit with their heckling over his stuttering and he threatened to toss them all out, each one backed down and offered his apology.
Garland knew there was more to their reluctance to leave other than it meant they must find another place to live which would cost them more money; it was the supper dishes he prepared that kept them there. Even if his roommate’s friends were not always forthcoming with their share of the rent money on time, they always managed to help provide the cuts of meat and part of the food staples. Garland served the finished meals most nights of the week.
