“You sound like you speak from experience?” Carmel asked, curiosity lighting up her eyes.
“Professional not personal. Before you came here, we had a young girl arrive who was addicted to laudanum. Wasn’t her fault, her guardian was behind it. Anyway, long story short, Cookie, Mick Quinn’s friend, was a tremendous help in her recovery. You might want to speak to him.”
“I wouldn’t want everyone knowing. Clover Springs is a small place as we both know.”
“Cookie is a good man. Bit rough around the edges but no better person to have on your side.” She smiled thinking of how years previously she wouldn’t have condescended to share two words with Cookie.
“You seem lost in the past.”
“I was just thinking about when I was a stupid, ignorant woman. There was a time when I wouldn’t have given a good man like Cookie the time of day. Thankfully, Wilma, the Irish girls, and the magic of Clover Springs have changed this old woman.”
“Old! Nonsense. You’re younger than me.”
Chapter 18
Gabriel Dawson looked around the camp. It was the same as usual. The women bent over the fires making dinner and catching up on their chores, the little tykes running around screaming and hollering, while the men who hadn’t ventured into the town played cards.
Satisfied nobody was paying him any attention, he ducked into his tent, dug the box out of the small hole he had made under his bed. He used his gloves to wipe the last of the dirt away before opening it. Taking his gloves off, he let the notes fall across his hands. He’d soon have enough money to put a payment down on his own place. Not around here. Maybe down Texas way. Hearing something, he quickly pushed the cash back into the box and hastily covered it.
“Dawson, you in there? We got company,” Seamus Heaney called.
Dawson reacted quickly, the last man he wanted to see his money was Seamus. He didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him even if the man had worked for him for years. Seamus was a thug, a hired hitman wanted for murder in various places. He was useful to have around, taking orders without question. In return, he ignored the man’s penchant for violence.
“Just coming,” he replied as he stamped the earth back into the hole. The last thing he needed was someone stealing his hard-earned cash.
He poked his head out of the tent, catching sight of the sheriff and his deputy. The sight of the Indian wearing a badge turned his stomach inside out. He had to quell his anger. Clutching his hands by his side, he walked toward the men who had yet to dismount.
“Afternoon, Sheriff, what can I do for ya?”
“Need to speak to you, Dawson. Got time to come into town?”
Tempted to say no, he decided that wouldn’t be wise. Although it sounded like an invitation, the sheriff wasn’t asking. That much was obvious just by the disapproving look in his face. He wondered if the sheriff hated all Irish or just him in particular.
“Will it take long? I got plans this evening.”
“That depends on you, Dawson. Mount up and let’s get back to town.”
Dawson went to his horse half regretting he hadn’t cleared out of town before now. He had enough money, but the pickings were so easy. Maybe his greed had caught up on him. But, then again, maybe not. He had been able to charm his way out of similar situations before.
“Lovely time of the year isn’t it. Now the snows have gone, and the weather is turning warmer. Nice to see a bit of the Colorado scenery you hear about.”
Neither man answered him. He shut up. The last thing he wanted was to rile these men even more.
Chapter 19
Sheriff Willis gripped the reins tighter. He wanted to lean over and shut the Irish man up. He didn’t seem to have a worry in his head. For the first time, he wondered if Little Beaver was wrong. His deputy was an amazing tracker and usually a great judge of character, but Dawson had made his feelings about Indians in general, Little Beaver in particular, clear. Maybe his deputy had let the other man’s hatred influence his thinking process.
Yet, racism wasn’t a new experience for Little Beaver, so that theory didn’t make sense either. He hadn’t realized he sighed aloud until he felt his deputy’s eyes on him. Little Beaver rolled his eyes as if saying Dawson’s constant chatter was wearing thin for him too.
They got to town fairly quickly without interference from anyone. Robbie and Zack were waiting by the Law office.
He thought he saw Dawson stiffen but he couldn’t be sure. Robbie called out to him, distracting him.
“Afternoon, Sheriff, Little Beaver. Dawson? What are you doing here? There hasn’t been more trouble has there?”
“No, sir, not in our camp. The sheriff wants a word with me. That’s all I know.”
Robbie glanced up at him, but he wasn’t about to answer the questions in his eyes just yet. He let Little Beaver take care of his horse while he ushered the men inside. Thankfully, Murphy had finally sobered up and gone home to his long-suffering missus, so the cells were empty.
“Coffee?”
“No thanks, Sheriff. What are we doing here?”
“Why don’t you take a seat. Little Beaver will be in a minute.”
“He’s a party to our chat?” Dawson asked, his lips curling slightly.
Sheriff Willis ignored him. “Thanks, Robbie, for coming in this afternoon. I know you are a busy man. You too, Zack.”
“I gathered this was important,” Robbie replied,
As little Beaver walked in and closed the door behind him, Robbie continued. “Can you tell us why we are here now, Sheriff?”
“There have been some accusations made and I wanted to see if they held any truth.”
“What those blacks been saying now?” Dawson sneered.
Zack took a step forward, but Sheriff Willis put his hand up to warn him to stay back.
“Why would you think they said anything?” he answered, piercing Dawson with his gaze. The Irish man was good, he was barely breaking a sweat, yet he could see he was nervous. The tick in his left eye was a giveaway.
“They are always complaining. Never known a crowd of them not to be whining over something or other.”
“Shut up, Dawson,” Zack said coldly, the look of distaste on his face mirrored in his tone.
“You use respect when you address me,” Dawson retorted.
Zack made to move but a glance from the sheriff stopped him.
“As I was saying, we have had a complaint. It appears not all laborers are being paid the same rate for their efforts. This is causing bad feeling.”
“What? That’s not true. Every man gets paid equally for the same job regardless of age, color, or race. The only differences in pay are those based on the level of experience or the risk factor associated with a certain job.” Robbie glanced at Dawson, but the Irish man didn’t move.
“Dawson, you got anything to add?” he asked.
“Mixing laborers doesn’t work. We told you that from the start,” Dawson replied. “Our lads want to get on with the job. They are hard workers and don’t need to be held back by lazy—”
“Shut up, Dawson. Zack’s men are good workers. He handpicked them.”
“That says it all, doesn’t it?”
The sheriff could see Dawson regretted speaking in anger. He tried to backtrack,
“Look, every group has its bad eggs. The men are whining. So, what? We know they get paid as they should. That’s all there is to this.”
“You saying my men is lying?” Zack’s tone was laced with contempt.
Dawson didn’t answer.
Robbie glanced from Dawson to Zack and back again.
“Zack, can you bring in a couple of your men to talk to me. I want to get to the bottom of this right here, right now. You okay with that, Sheriff?”
“Sure. I don’t want any more trouble. I got issues with your lads drinking too much, Dawson. Ladies from this town aren’t used to being treated like saloon girls.”
The sheriff could see Dawson was fighting
his temper not to respond to his comments. His neck was red, and his hands fisted into balls by his sides. Wouldn’t take too much to push him over the edge.
“I told the barkeep not to serve more than two drinks to anyone.”
“You can’t do that, Sheriff.
“I can, and I will. Little Beaver has spent more nights in that saloon since your guys came to town than he had in his previous lifetime. It’s too much. Don’t know how they expect to get their work done drinking so much.”
“They work hard, play hard. That’s our way. You fought with the Irish during the war.”
“I did. Some of the finest men I knew were Irish, but I would have put them in the stocks if they turned up for duty worse for wear. Don’t compare those boys in that saloon to the men who served with me. The only thing they share is their nationality.”
Dawson glared at him but for once he kept silent. Zack returned quickly with a couple of his men behind him.
“This be Sherwood and Benjamin. Both good men, hard workers. We all worked together back in Alabama.”
“On a plantation was it?” Dawson asked.
“Dawson!”
“Sorry, just curious.” Dawson’s apology was as false as the smile on his face.
“Mr. Sherwood and Mr. Benjamin, can you tell me what you got paid last week?”
Sheriff Willis watched as the men cast a fearful look at Dawson.
“Come on men, tell Robbie. He’s a good man,” Zack implored them, but they remained silent.
“See, they have nothing to say. You are just wasting my time. I got things to do. Unless you are going to charge me with something, I guess I am free to leave?”
The sheriff looked at the men, but it was clear they were terrified. He nodded to Dawson and watched reluctantly as he strolled out of the law office whistling I wished I was in Dixie.
He wished the man was in Dixie too, anywhere but in Clover Springs. But you couldn’t arrest a man for whistling, no matter how inappropriate the tune.
Chapter 20
The atmosphere lightened as soon as Dawson left the jailhouse.
“You men want to say anything now?” Sheriff Willis asked them.
The men exchanged glances but shook their heads.
“Can we go, boss?”
Zack nodded in response and everyone watched the two men walk back out of the office, their shoulders slumped in defeat.
“They are scared,” Little Beaver said quietly. “They have families and, somehow, Dawson and his friends have got power over them.”
“I don’t like Dawson any more than you do, Little Beaver, but we don’t have any proof he’s done anything.”
“He has. I can smell it,” Little Beaver responded sharply. “Sorry. I should keep my tongue controlled.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard worse.”
“I go do my rounds now.” Little Beaver walked out the door without saying goodbye to Robbie or Zack.
“He is furious, but our hands are tied. I can’t charge Dawson without an accusation never mind proof.”
“So, what can we do? My men are not lying.”
“But I pay the same amount to everyone,” Robbie insisted.
“You pay Dawson. He gives it to the men. If they are not being paid correctly…” Zack didn’t finish his sentence, the implication being clear to everyone.
“I can change that today. From now on, I will give you the money for your laborers and Dawson the money for his men. I should have done that from the start. I am sorry, Zack.”
“You don’t got nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Robbie.”
At Robbie’s cough, Zack corrected himself quickly. “Robbie. You gave my friends jobs. You pay them properly. They got pride again. That has no price.”
“Robbie, I think that’s wise, but have you thought about replacing Dawson. I agree with Little Beaver. The man smells bad. He’s trouble, and from what I can see we haven’t seen the worst of him yet.”
“I would in a second but if he goes the men go too. I know some of them are hard drinkers, but they are, in the main, good workers. We have to get the hotel finished or Mr. Prentice will lose a lot of money. Can you give me some time, Sheriff? I will speak to Dawson and the men.”
He nodded. He couldn’t really drive Dawson out of town. Innocent until proven guilty. He knew other town sheriffs may not always apply that rule in the same way he did. But he had almost lost his leg, not to mention his life, fighting for the American way. He was not about to compromise it now much as he wanted to.
Chapter 21
“Aunt Lorena, are you home?”
“In here, Isabella, what’s all the fuss?”
“Sorry I didn’t mean to upset you, but I got my first wage. Look I earned it all myself.”
Isabella put the coins on the table in front of her. It was a pitifully small amount, and it wouldn’t have bought the material for one sleeve of the dresses her niece was accustomed to wearing, but she didn’t say a word. The look of pride on Isabella’s face was telling.
“Well done, Isabella. I only found out today you were working in the restaurant. I am very proud of you.”
“You are?”
At the faltering confidence in her niece’s voice, she felt awful. The poor child was a product of her upbringing.
“Of course I am. You went out and got a job all by yourself. You have earned your own money and learned a lot in the process. You have also made some good friends. How could I be anything but proud?”
She saw her words had the desired effect.
Isabella took off her gloves. Lorena winced at the raw, red hands but said nothing. Isabella glanced down before raising eyes filled with tears.
“Mama would kill me if she saw my hands. She always said white hands were the sign of a lady.”
“Oh, my darling girl.” She surprised herself as much as Isabella by pulling the girl into a hug. “Ignore your mother. She never had much going on between her ears. You are more of a lady today then you have ever been. Now sit and I will ring for some tea. You must be exhausted.”
“I am. I don’t know how those women can work so hard and keep smiling. I never heard them complain. Not once. It made me think”
“About what?” She didn’t look up at her niece until the silence lingered.
“Aunt Lorena, all those people who worked for mother and father. The former slaves. They do the same work as they did when they were slaves. Their hours are just as long, and I know they get paid but it’s not a lot. Some told me they were better off as slaves. I think I understand what they meant now.”
She groaned inwardly. She didn’t want to think about her old home. Her father had given it to Isabella’s husband having no sons left to inherit. She didn’t begrudge her sister. She had no interest in owning the plantation, but she had hoped it would be divided between the former slaves. That was about as likely as it would start raining gold coins from the sky, but one could hope. She had wondered from time to time who had remained at the plantation. So many of the people had left to go North believing the rumors that black people could do better and would face less prejudice. From what Zack’s friend had told herself and Wilma, this wasn’t often the case.
“You do?”
“Yes. I mean nobody wants to be owned by another person, their property. But when it comes down to it, if you are still doing the same work, in the same conditions, you are worse off if you have to use your pitiful wages to pay for food and lodgings, aren’t you?”
“I guess in many ways you are. But I am sure if you asked Zack or Frank, they would tell you their freedom is what matters most?”
Their conversation was interrupted by Annie who arrived with tea and some sandwiches.
“Cook says dinner will be slightly delayed, ma’am. There was some trouble in town and Sheriff Willis told her to wait until he could escort her back.”
“Sheriff Willis is here?” She didn't want to admit to her stomach having butterflies. She wasn’t a child.
She looked at the maid blankly.
“It is alright about dinner being late?”
“Of course, don’t worry so much, Annie. “
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid muttered as she left the room.
“Anyone would think I was going to eat her for breakfast,” she commented, making Isabella laugh. She liked the sound.
She poured the tea while her niece ate her fill of sandwiches. Judging by her appetite she must have skipped lunch and breakfast. She waited for her to finish without making a comment not wanting to embarrass the young girl.
Chapter 22
Once Isabella had finished eating, Annie started clearing the dishes. Mrs. Grey gestured for Isabella to join her on the porch. It was a beautiful evening now the heat of the sun had simmered down.
“Zack is Wilma’s husband. He is a nice man. But Frank? I don’t think I have met him yet.”
“He is a free man, who married Little Beaver’s stepmother, Nandita,” Mrs. Grey explained. “She is a fine lady, very knowledgeable on herbal remedies—What? You are staring at me with a funny look on your face.”
“Sorry, but when I look at you I see Mama. You two look so alike but you couldn’t be more different. I can’t imagine Mama knowing an Indian, never mind saying one was a valuable member of the community. You really are different, aren’t you?” Isabella asked, her eyes dancing.
“I wasn’t always. I was just as spoiled as your mother. Until I met David. He opened my eyes.” Only briefly though. If she was honest, she’d become more racist and bigoted when she’d lost David. She didn’t care about anyone or anything and only saw the blackness in everyone. Thankfully, she had seen the light.
“I don’t agree. I think he helped but I spoke to people back on the plantation that remember you. Old Sally for instance.”
“Sally? She is still alive. She was an old woman when I was a young girl.”
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