That first night, Nellie appeared with a few bedtime necessities, along with Luke’s rifle propped over her shoulder. She greeted Hope’s look of disbelief with laughter. “I’m a good shot, and Luke says if there’s anyone lurking about at night, I should shoot first and ask questions later.”
Nellie had taken her brother’s admonition seriously. On two separate occasions she’d fired the weapon. On the first, she killed a raccoon; on the second she scared the daylights out of Mr. Jeffries, one of the railroaders who’d attended a late-night meeting and had forgotten his cap inside the chapel car.
His hands were shaking when Hope handed him his hat. “In the future, it would probably be best to holler out to us if you come around after the meeting has ended. You might tell the other men, as well.” She inclined her head a little closer. “Nellie doesn’t hesitate to use that rifle.”
“So I noticed. I’ll be sure to tell the others, and if I forget anything else, I’ll wait until morning to fetch it from ya.” Then he’d hurried off toward the flickering lanterns at the railroad station while she and Nellie quietly giggled for at least half an hour.
In spite of the incident, Luke had convinced Mr. Jeffries and a group of other railroaders to continue working on the church building during their time off in Finch. They were men accustomed to hard work, and most possessed carpentry skills they were willing to put to use. They’d said it was the least they could do after all the late-night meetings he’d preached just for them.
Her eyes remained fixed on Luke’s work-worn hand, enjoying the warmth of his touch. “I talked to Dr. Burch this morning. He thinks Papa is continuing to make good progress, but I’m not as confident. There’s still so much he doesn’t remember, it’s frightening.” An unexpected tear slid down her cheek.
Luke gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. “He’s going to be all right, Hope. He just needs more time.”
“After my mother died, I was so lost. If my father . . .” Her voice trailed off.
He stroked her cheek. “You’re not alone.”
“I know I have the Lord.” She lowered her chin. “I should have more faith.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He lifted her chin. “I meant you have me.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and his eyes seemed to darken to a deeper shade of green. Did his eyes always change like that or was it this tender moment?
“Hope.” Luke’s voice was husky. “May I kiss you?”
Words refused to form. She nodded, then closed her eyes and waited.
It seemed like forever before his lips met hers. The first kiss was everything she dreamed it might be—sweet, breathtaking, and reverent. But the second kiss surprised her. Their friendship had caught on fire, and her father would certainly not approve of kissing like this inside his chapel car.
But since he wasn’t here, maybe it would be all right just this once.
CHAPTER
14
Mr. Daniels rounded the marred desk, his face the purplish-red shade of a beet. “Weeks ago, when you insisted on changing the time of our morning meetings, I thought we’d come to an agreement.”
Kirby gestured to a chair. “Sit down. You need to calm yourself.”
“Don’t tell me to calm myself, and I don’t need to sit.” His jaw twitched. “Do you even recall our agreement?”
Kirby shook his head. “Not really. What did we agree?”
“You promised that if I scheduled any future meetings with you at eight o’clock, you would be in my office at the appointed time.” Mr. Daniels pointed to the clock. “It’s almost noon and you’re just arriving. I don’t know anyone whose workday begins at noon.”
“You do now.” Kirby dropped into a chair, stretched his legs in front of him, and crossed his ankles. “What was so important that you need me here at eight o’clock? Looks like things are operating just fine.”
“Does it?” Henry glowered at him. “They may appear to be just fine, but they aren’t. There are mine inspectors due here later today. I got a telegram yesterday after you left the office.” He paused, then added, “Early, as usual.”
Kirby bristled. “I can leave any time of day I want. I’m not a miner who’s been assigned a hangtag.”
Daniels might be the manager of this mine, but he sure wasn’t going to force Kirby to maintain scheduled work hours. Each miner was assigned a number that was engraved on a metal disk attached to a thick piece of chain. The tags were picked up from a board inside the office when the miner arrived for work and returned when they left in the evening. The method allowed Mr. Farragut to keep track of the men’s arrivals and departures each day. More important, in case of an explosion or cave-in, Mr. Daniels could tell at a glance which men were in the mine.
Daniels continued to glare at him. “Believe me, I know you’re not one of the miners. If so, you would have been fired after your first week.”
Kirby returned Mr. Daniels’s harsh look with one of his own. He’d listened to about as much of Daniels’s denigrating talk as he cared to. “You may be in charge, but you need to remember my name is Finch. I don’t—”
Henry jerked forward. “I know your name is Finch. But you? You don’t seem to care about this mine. You can’t even get outta bed before noon.” Daniels curled his lip and leaned back against the edge of the desk. “I don’t have time to wipe the snot from your nose, Kirby. Truth is, you don’t care about no one except yourself. You can go ahead and tell your pa whatever you want. I got real problems that need my attention. If you’re supposed to be sniffing out talks of strikes or unions, you haven’t told me one thing I don’t already know. But I’m guessing there’s gonna be a lot more talk since the inspectors found we had those problems in number four.” Daniels pushed away from the desk and nodded toward the door. “Go on and get outta here. When you write your pa, be sure you tell him I kicked you out of my office, ’cause I’ll be telling him the same thing the next time I see him. ’Course I’ll be telling him why, too.”
Kirby grasped the arms of the chair and tucked his chin low to his chest. He’d gone too far. He loathed the idea of an apology, but sometimes that was the only option. His father valued Henry Daniels and would heed the manager’s words.
Kirby lifted his chin and forced a contrite expression. “I am very sorry, Henry. My behavior is inexcusable. I knew I was in the wrong. Instead of immediately offering an apology, I attacked you with a lot of bluster. Please forgive me.” He’d used his most conciliatory tone and was pleased to see the stiffness slowly disappear from the older man’s shoulders. “I’m here now, so let’s quit arguing and talk about the inspectors. What’s the big worry?”
“What’s the big worry?” Daniels’s words oozed contempt.
In any other circumstance, Kirby would have taken the offensive, but right now he had to remain calm and appear mollified. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the arms of the chair. Otherwise he might jump to his feet and punch Daniels in the nose.
“The worry is that we’re not going to pass the inspection. I’ll be surprised if they don’t close us down. And while we’re closed down, you can be sure union men will be sneaking into town, telling the miners the union can protect them in the future.”
“I can keep an eye out for strangers coming into town and let you know about any meetings the miners might have with union organizers.” Kirby didn’t know how he’d learn of any such meetings, but he’d let Daniels believe there were a few miners who would confide in him.
Instead of acknowledging Kirby’s remark, Daniels massaged his forehead. “We need better ventilation in the number-four shaft, but the miners don’t want to quit digging since they get paid by the pound. Working on the ventilation means no pay.”
Kirby frowned. “That’s easy enough. Have Mr. Farragut average out what they make an hour and go ahead and pay them to get the better ventilation put in.”
Daniels shook his head. “Already tried that. Your pa won’t agree. He says nobody pays miners fo
r anything except the coal they dig, and he’s not going to do any different. Truth is, those men would rather go out in the woods and hunt or work their cornfields than go into the mines and work for nothing. Gotta say I don’t blame them, but not having proper ventilation puts their lives in danger.”
Kirby considered Mr. Daniels’s comment for a moment. “So they’d rather go in there and take their chances of an explosion than work for a few days without pay?”
“Yep. And your pa would rather take a chance of being shut down than pay them for their hours putting in the better ventilation that’s needed.” Daniels folded his arms across his chest. “Your pa didn’t think the inspectors would ever show up here. I didn’t either, but I think someone wrote a letter and stirred things up.”
“Does my pa know the inspectors are coming?”
“I sent a telegram, except that don’t matter. He’ll just tell me I’m being paid to handle any problems that come up in the mine.”
“I say we tell the inspectors we’re starting to put in the improved ventilation and that we’ve decided to pay the men to do the work. I can talk to them if you’d like. I think I can convince them.” Kirby smiled, feeling like he’d redeemed himself. “I’ve been told I’m good at the art of persuasion.”
Mr. Daniels didn’t return the smile. “These are seasoned men who won’t be fooled by groundless promises. If you tell them we’re going to upgrade the ventilation, you can be sure they’ll either have one of their inspectors remain behind, or they’ll come back within a month to see if we’ve done what we promised. If we agree to upgrade and don’t carry through, we’ll be in even more trouble.” Henry stroked his jaw. “Be honest with me. Do you really think you can convince your pa to pay the men so we can get the job done?”
He’d burned a lot of bridges with his father before coming to West Virginia. Right now, other than news of strikes or unions, Kirby wasn’t sure his pa would listen to anything he said. Yet one thing was certain. He wouldn’t divulge that fear to Henry Daniels.
Henry arched his brows, still waiting for an answer.
Kirby gave a firm nod. “I do. I wouldn’t suggest telling the inspectors we’d begin work unless I was sure I could convince him.”
Henry blew out a long sigh. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Both of us will meet with the inspectors, and you can tell them we have a plan. In the meantime, I need to meet with some of the men and tell them what we’ve decided. They’ll need to know in case the inspectors question them.”
Kirby nodded. “You do that.” He was willing to meet with the inspectors at the office, but he sure wasn’t going to go down into the mineshaft to spread word among the miners—or for any other reason. He’d never venture into those shafts. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Had his father ever gone into one of those dark, dangerous mines? Probably not. The Finch men called the shots. They didn’t get their hands dirty.
Several hours later, Kirby leveled his gaze at the inspectors sitting across the desk from him. Henry had been correct in his assessment. When the inspectors returned to the office, they’d already posted signs in front of number four. Both men insisted the shaft be closed until the ventilation was upgraded and inspected again. Henry had accompanied them to the mine, yet it was Kirby who took the reins upon their return.
“We completely agree that the ventilation is insufficient, and I’m sure Henry told you we’ve already agreed to pay some of our men to begin work on the upgrade. We would have started by now, but we thought we’d reach some kind of agreement with the men before now.”
Mr. Summers, one of the inspectors, removed a pipe from his pocket and filled the bowl with tobacco. Using his thumb, he packed the tobacco tighter into the bowl before he looked up and thrust his chest forward. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I don’t entirely believe you, Mr. Finch. We hear that same story from all the mine owners and managers when we appear for our inspections. Unfortunately, nobody actually agrees to get things done until we arrive and close them down.”
Kirby jutted his jaw and decided to use his college debate skills. “I won’t forgive you if you’re insinuating we are liars, Mr. Summers. I find such a notion repugnant. We care about the well-being of our men and their families. Even as we speak, this company is financing improvements to the homes where our miners live. You can’t lump all owners into one category any more than we can lump all inspectors into one group.” Kirby glanced toward Mr. Daniels. “Why, I’m sure there are many inspectors who have been paid off to forget what they’ve seen at a mine. Would you be offended if I insinuated you and Mr. Wayfair would remove that Closed sign if I handed you a sum of money?”
Mr. Summers took a backward step. “It wasn’t my intention to insult you, Mr. Finch, but I take my position as an inspector seriously. If I fail to require necessary corrections and men die, I must bear the guilt for those deaths.”
“And we take our position as owners seriously, as well. Without good men willing to go into those shafts and bring out the coal, our land is useless. Finch Mining and Company is going to correct the ventilation problem immediately. You have my word.” He patted the man on the shoulder. “I’d be happy to drive the two of you over to the next town in our company truck. You’d be able to catch the train there.”
Mr. Summers nodded. “I’ll take you up on that offer, but Mr. Wayfair will be remaining in town until the work is completed on that shaft.” He tucked his pipe into his pocket. “We know you have good intentions about getting the ventilation in, but we know what they say about that road and good intentions, don’t we, Wayfair?” Mr. Summers elbowed his partner, who nodded.
Kirby bit back a scathing retort and forced a crooked smile. “You do whatever you need to, Mr. Summers, but I have to say it seems wasteful to pay a man’s wages while he sits in a hotel room. Mr. Wayfair, maybe you’d like to help our men put in that new ventilation shaft? I’m sure your days will be mighty long with nothing to do.”
Wayfair glanced at Summers. “You’re right, Mr. Finch. I’d be glad to help. That way we’ll be sure it’s done right the first time.” He chuckled. “And I won’t even charge you for my work.”
Kirby gulped. He’d let his tongue get ahead of his brains. There’d be no backing out or changing plans now. Whether his father agreed or not, they had to get men into that shaft and begin work on the ventilation.
Mr. Wayfair rubbed his hands together. “I’ll go over to the hotel and get settled and report for duty first thing in the morning. What time are your men set to begin?”
Henry cleared his throat. “They report at six. You plan to be here that early?”
Wayfair nodded, then turned to his partner. “How soon are you and Mr. Finch leaving?”
Mr. Summers hiked a shoulder. “Up to Mr. Finch, but hopefully soon enough to catch the next train.” He arched his brows when he looked at Kirby.
“I have a few things I need to take care of before we leave. Why don’t I meet you at the hotel in half an hour? That should get us to Longview before the train is scheduled to leave.” He nodded to Mr. Wayfair. “And we’ll see you in the morning.”
The inspectors realized they’d been dismissed and hurried from the office. Once certain they were out of earshot, Kirby dropped into a nearby chair. “We’re going to need to move forward without my father’s approval. I’ll send a telegram from Longview, but the fact remains, we have no options.” Kirby massaged his forehead. “Let’s speak to Mr. Farragut and make certain he understands he’ll need to record the time and pay the men who work in the number-four shaft.” He jumped up from the chair and strode toward the hallway leading to Farragut’s office.
The older man didn’t attempt to hide his misgivings. “Without your father’s approval, I’m . . .”
Kirby stopped short and spun on his heel. “We have no other choice. I’m making the decision, not you, so push aside your worries. My father may write me out of his will, but he won’t fire you, Henry. He needs you to continue managing this place.”
Henry continued to fidget after they’d entered Mr. Farragut’s small office. “There won’t be a mine to manage if we spend our profits.”
Mr. Daniels’s quavering voice captured Mr. Farragut’s attention, and his eyes widened. “What’s this? You think Mr. Finch is going to close down the mine?”
“No! The mine isn’t going to close.” Kirby blew an exasperated breath and frowned at Mr. Daniels. “There are going to be a number of miners going into number four to repair the ventilation. You need to go through their records and average how much each man is paid per hour and then pay at that rate.”
Mr. Farragut gaped. “But . . . that would be a very difficult reckoning, Mr. Finch. The men’s wages are calculated by pounds of coal removed each day. Trying to—”
“Never mind.” Irritation took hold, and Kirby waved the man to silence. He shifted to face Mr. Daniels. “Go and talk to the men and offer them an hourly wage. One that’s as low as you think they’ll accept.”
Mr. Farragut shook his head and reached for his ledger book. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Finch.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Mr. Farragut. I don’t have time to argue with you and Mr. Daniels. The ventilation in number four must be repaired or the inspectors will shut down our entire operation.” Kirby clenched his jaw. “Pay the men,” he ordered through gritted teeth. He glanced at the clock, then stomped out of the room. His plans for the afternoon had been ruined, and he’d have some tall explaining to do when he got back to town.
The ride to Longview with Mr. Summers was proving dreadful. The man could talk about nothing but mining. If he wasn’t discussing the methane leaks and floods that had occurred in various mines, he was revealing the horrors of the many explosions he’d investigated over the past ten years.
The Chapel Car Bride Page 15
