by Jody Hedlund
Jeremiah had been the best of friends, even when everyone else had deserted him, because they believed he started the fire at the mill. Jeremiah had been the one to lower him down into the sewers when the constables had come to arrest him. And his friend had been the one to hide him in a dung cart and drive him out of town so he could leave Manchester undetected.
He owed Jeremiah his life. The very least he could do was watch over Kate like he would a sister. Jeremiah would have wanted it, especially here in this lawless town when men could get away with almost anything, including attempted murder.
’Course, Herb was adamantly denying he’d tried to murder Zeke, saying he’d only meant to scare him off. Without the proper authorities and justice system in place, Herb would spend the night in the makeshift lockup behind the livery before going free.
Kate didn’t belong in such a town. And yet, hadn’t Zeke just recently complained at one of the mining board meetings that they needed more wives and families for Williamsville to prosper and grow more civilized?
If Kate stayed, not only would he make sure she had everything she needed, but he’d oversee the men who came calling on her, discouraging away the unfit and only allowing the best to have access to her.
With the pain in his arm making him nauseous, he returned to his shop. Wendell once again stood behind the counter, poring over the ledgers.
“The day’s done, Wendell.” Zeke dropped wearily into a chair. “Take a break.”
Wendell finished writing down several numbers before raising his head and peering at Zeke through his spectacles, which doubled the size of his eyes along with the concern there. “You should take a break too.”
“Can’t. I’m too worried about Kate.”
With his forefinger, Wendell delicately slid his glasses up his nose and then cleared his throat. “If I recollect the incident correctly, you’re the one with the injury, not her.”
Zeke leaned back in his chair, propped his boots on the table, then closed his eyes, wishing he could as easily block out the throbbing in his arm. “I’ve decided I’m gonna personally take charge of her courtship process.”
Wendell didn’t say a word, which usually meant he didn’t like Zeke’s suggestion and didn’t know how to respond.
Zeke lifted his lids. The young man still watched him, his glasses having slid back down his nose. “Spread the word that nobody’s to seek out Kate’s attention or court her unless they get permission from me first.”
“That’s rather dictator-like, don’t you think, boss?”
Zeke had once told himself he wouldn’t use his money or position of power in the town to lord himself over others. But this case was different. “Tell them I’m the closest thing she has to family—that I’m like a brother. And that I have her best interest in mind.”
“And you don’t think they’ll see through your threat to the fact that you want her for yourself?”
“No. I mean, yes.” Zeke dropped his feet and let the legs of his chair hit the floor. The jarring reverberated up his torso to his arm and down into his wound.
Wendell’s pale eyebrows rose.
Zeke drew in a deep breath to stave off the pain. “You know what I’m trying to say. Nobody’s gonna see anything, because I don’t want Kate for myself.”
“Ninety-five percent of the eligible men in town will see exactly what I have, that you like her and think she’s beautiful.”
“Ninety-five percent?” Zeke couldn’t keep from teasing his assistant. “Are you sure it’s not more like ninety-six?”
Wendell gazed off into space and silently mouthed several calculations, as though mentally tabulating, before shaking his head. “No, I’m quite certain the total is ninety-five percent.”
Zeke pushed back from the table and stood. “Even if one hundred percent object, I don’t care. I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not allowing anyone to call on Kate unless I give permission.”
Zeke crossed to the door, exhaustion and pain making each step feel like a dozen.
Wendell sighed. “Very well, boss. I’ll make sure the ninety-five percent knows.”
“Good answer.” Zeke opened the door.
“There’s just one problem.”
Zeke paused halfway out. “What’s that?”
“Miss Millington. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who will take kindly to having a man meddling in her business.”
“Then we won’t give her any reason to suspect we’ve meddled, will we?”
Wendell pushed his glasses up on his nose and swallowed hard. “No, boss.”
Zeke continued on his way. “Night, Wendell.”
“Good night, boss.”
FIVE
PERSPIRATION TRICKLED BETWEEN Kate’s shoulder blades, down her spine to her hips, making the waistline of her skirt stick to her skin. Even with the front and back doors of the laundry open, the air was stale without a breeze. The strong odor of dirty linens mingled with the pungency of lye.
She blew at the hair hanging limply in front of her face. The effort only served to plaster the strand to her damp forehead. She paused, lifting the heavy iron from the shirt spread out on the worktable, and rolled her shoulders to ease the ache there.
In the back of the room, Mr. Chung scrubbed at one large tin sink while Becca stood over another steaming tub, plunging garments in and out of the water to rinse them. Sweat dripped like sprinkles of rain from her friend’s face, plopping into the water.
Earlier in the day, Kate had protested when Becca insisted on giving her the easy tasks, like hanging the laundry to dry on the long lines outside, or drawing water from the well to refill the tubs, or adding more fuel to the ovens that kept the wash water hot.
But now with the onset of evening, Kate couldn’t object, not even if she’d found the energy to do so. The laundry tasks were more exhausting than anything she’d ever done before, even her work in the mill. She’d started there at age twelve as a doffer, replacing the bobbins as fast as she could to keep the spinning frames from stopping for long. After that, she’d tended the power loom as its thread-bearing shuttle rocked dangerously back and forth.
She’d been content enough with the work, until she’d been let go from the factory two years ago when the cotton supply had diminished at the outset of the War Between the States in America. Since then, she’d struggled like all the other unemployed women, relying on charity to keep hunger at bay.
After the hardships of those years, she ought to be grateful for employment in the laundry, no matter how difficult it was. Stop complaining, she inwardly chastised herself as she returned the heavy black iron to the shirt and pressed it along the rumpled hem. But her efforts were to no avail, because the iron had grown too cold to take away the creases and smooth the fabric to perfection the way Mr. Chung liked it.
With handsome features, Mr. Chung was younger than she’d expected. He’d warmly welcomed Becca since they were friends from the days when he’d lived and operated a laundry in Victoria. But upon meeting Kate, he’d narrowed his eyes and spoken sharply in Mandarin before walking away, shaking his head in disgust.
Later, Becca had informed Kate that Mr. Chung didn’t think she was strong or sturdy enough for the hard labor of the laundry. And all day, Kate had been attempting to prove her new employer was wrong.
In some ways, she was also trying to prove to herself that she hadn’t made a mistake in turning down Herbert’s proposal. She tried not to think about the fact that if she married him, she wouldn’t have to work in the hot laundry. And she wouldn’t have to stay in the drafty cabin out back, which was every bit the shack Zeke had declared it to be. Though tidy, the hastily constructed building was hardly big enough for one person, much less both her and Becca.
With a sigh, Kate returned the iron to the hot stovetop and reached for the spare one that had been warming. Her fingers accidentally brushed the handle before she remembered to use a rag for lifting it. Heat and pain pricked her skin, already burned in several
places. Hissing, she stuck her fingers into her mouth to attempt to cool the newest burns.
“Evening,” came a voice from the open front doorway.
She jumped away from the stove and hastily dropped her fingers. Throughout the day, a steady stream of customers had been visiting until Mr. Chung said, “These men coming to see you. Maybe you be good for my business.”
The men had been polite but curious, some making small talk with her, others simply staring at her while she worked. Whatever the case, Mr. Chung never allowed them to linger for long before shooing them out.
This time, as she turned to collect a bundle of dirty laundry, she halted in surprise at the sight of Zeke standing in the doorway. He was wearing the typical dusty woolen trousers and flannel shirt of miners, and his boots were caked with mud. He swiped off his hat, revealing his dark hair, flattened with the hat’s imprint. His jaw and chin were shadowed with stubble. Even so, he was starkly handsome, so much that her breath caught.
His green eyes swept over her. After the long hours on her feet in the overheated shop, she had no doubt she looked her worst. A part of her wanted to turn away and hide until she had time to freshen herself. Her more practical nature held her in place. Being kind was more important than looking pretty.
“Hello, Zeke.” She offered him a smile. “Is today your wash day, too?”
“Too?”
“From the business we’ve had, it would appear this is wash day for most men in town.”
Zeke’s dark eyebrows slanted together. “Most men?”
Mr. Chung had paused in his washing and now stood facing Zeke with dripping hands. “They come to see the missee.” He nodded in her direction.
Kate wanted to deny Mr. Chung, but after her experiences in Victoria as one of the bride-ship women, she would be naïve to believe otherwise. “Mr. Chung hasn’t let anyone stay for long.”
“Good.” Zeke exchanged a long, hard glance with the young man.
Only then did she notice Zeke wasn’t carrying a sack or pile of linens. His arms were empty. Did that mean he’d come to the laundry to see her? What if he hadn’t felt the need to have an excuse like the other men?
Her pulse hopped at the prospect. She couldn’t deny that her thoughts had strayed frequently to him throughout the day—mostly because she was concerned over his wound, although a part of her still held her girlish infatuation.
“How’s your injury?”
He moved his arm gingerly. “It hurts like—” He clamped his mouth closed.
She guessed he’d been about to curse but then thought better of it around her, which was a reminder he still was a wandering soul, a man living for his own pleasures rather than God’s.
Of course, she shouldn’t rush to judge him. After all, no one was perfect, and she could only pray he’d made his peace with God over the past year.
“Did the doctor examine the wound today?” she asked.
“Aye, he cleaned and bandaged it again.”
“And is everything looking alright?”
“As well as can be.”
“It’s probably due for another cleaning and more salve.”
“He gave me the supplies to do it myself. They’re back at the store.”
“Then I’ll help you.”
“First, I’ll treat you to dinner.”
He was asking her to dinner? She’d always dreamed of Zeke asking her to do something together but had never expected it to be a reality. She wanted to jump up and down with a little squeal but forced herself to respond calmly as she started toward him. “Sounds perfect.”
“Not right now, missee.” Mr. Chung paused in his scrubbing and glared at her. “We finish work first.”
Kate halted, an iron still in her hand. “You’re right.” What had she been thinking? She couldn’t just walk out.
She offered Zeke an apologetic smile. “I’ll finish, then meet you later.” Her gaze slid to the piles of dirty laundry yet on the floor waiting for washing, and her shoulders sagged. At the rate they were going, they’d be working halfway through the night at least.
“How many hours have Kate and Becca been working?” Zeke directed his question to Mr. Chung.
“Does not matter. We keep going until work is done.”
“You might be able to work all day and night.” Zeke crossed his arms. “But don’t expect it of the women.”
Mr. Chung cocked his head slightly as if he was mentally translating. Then he glanced sideways at Becca.
She hadn’t paused and was still plunging linens up and down in the steaming tub. The sweat continued to drip from her face, and the back of her shirt was plastered to her skin.
“Once the women have worked eight hours,” Zeke continued, “let them be done for the day.”
Mr. Chung’s eyes widened. “Eight?”
“No more than ten.”
Becca stopped working to stare first at Zeke, then at Mr. Chung. Her expression contained none of the usual wariness, only curiosity. And something else. Was it admiration?
Kate lifted fingers to her mouth to hold in a gasp. Did Becca like Mr. Chung? She studied her friend’s face with more care. Kate had no doubt Becca had told her the truth about coming to Williamsville for safety. But was it also possible she’d traveled to the mountain town to be with Mr. Chung? Had Becca already developed feelings for the handsome Chinese man when they’d known each other in Victoria?
“They need time to rest, Lee.” Zeke gentled his tone. “You have to allow them breaks throughout the workday as well as the evening.”
Kate’s knees wobbled together, the weariness of the past long hours making her suddenly weak so that she had to fight back a yawn. In spite of her aching muscles, she wouldn’t have any trouble falling asleep in the cramped shack tonight.
Mr. Chung was silent a moment longer before nodding. “Women done work for the day. Becca and missee go rest, and I will finish.”
“I ain’t gonna leave you with all this to do.” Becca thrust her arms back into the rinsing tub.
Kate’s hopefulness evaporated as quickly as the hot water in the large pots. “I’ll stay too,” she offered quietly.
“No.” All three of the others spoke at the same time.
The quickness and certainty of their answers made Kate smile. “Are you sure?”
“As long as Zeke promise to get you a fine dinner.” Becca smiled in return, one that radiated with genuine happiness. Maybe Becca wanted some time alone with Mr. Chung. Kate would be only too happy to comply.
“What do you say, Zeke?” Kate asked.
“I promise.” Zeke spoke solemnly but with a hint of a twinkle in his eyes.
“Then how can I resist?” She set the iron back on the stove, a new lightness in her steps. It didn’t matter that she was still dirty, overheated, and perspiring. She was blessedly done and free to spend time with Zeke. She couldn’t think of a better end to the day.
As she approached him, he bowed slightly and held out his elbow, as though he were a wealthy gentleman and she a courtly lady and they were going to dinner with the queen.
Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, she relished the hard contours beneath his shirtsleeve along with the fact that she was touching Zeke. The gesture was likely only polite on his end, something he’d do for his sister, and she shouldn’t read more into it. Nevertheless, she flushed inside at the contact, marveling again that she was doing something she’d only fantasized about.
As they stepped outside, she halted at the vista that greeted them. With the sun beginning to sink behind the high peaks directly to the west, the range was a glow of every shade, tone, and tint of red and yellow possible. She’d unpacked her paints and palette last night, eager to start something new. But in the crowded and dimly lit confines of the shack, she’d stuck to her sketching.
Maybe tonight after returning from dinner, she’d recreate the glory and grandeur spreading out before them, the unyielding mountain peaks touched by the ever-changing beauty of light
.
She took in a deep contented breath.
“In all the time I’ve lived up here, I’ve never once gotten tired of this view.” Zeke stood beside her on the plank sidewalk, ignoring the gawking men passing by on horse and foot. His face was pointed in the same direction as hers, his sights set upon the mountain peaks.
She followed his lead and ignored the onlookers. “I can’t wait to paint the scene.”
Zeke swiveled so she could feel his gaze upon her. “You paint?”
“I try.” She stared straight ahead, fighting a wave of embarrassment at her admission. It wasn’t as though she’d hidden her artistic pursuits from her friends and family.
“Do you have any recent paintings with you?”
“I sold everything in Victoria before I left.”
“Then you’re good enough that people will purchase your paintings?”
“Don’t act so surprised.” She swatted his arm, glad he’d offered her the one that hadn’t been injured. “Believe it or not, some people like my work enough that they’re willing to pay for it. Not much, mind you. But every little bit helps.”
“I’m not surprised. Well, maybe I am. But even more than that, I’m proud of you.”
Pleasure welled up and spread through her body in a way she couldn’t explain. When he tugged her along, she couldn’t focus on the sunset over the mountain range any longer. All she could think about was the spectacular man walking next to her, how he was easily the most handsome and charming man in town.
She answered more questions about her painting and sketching and didn’t pay attention to where they were going until he drew them to a halt in front of a two-story house on the far end of town. It was constructed of planks rather than hewn logs and had been painted a crisp, fresh white with black shutters, reminding her of the homes in Victoria. Though the structure was simple, it was unarguably the biggest and nicest place she’d yet to see in Williamsville.
“Does the doctor live here?”
Zeke swept his gaze over the shingled roof, gabled windows, and portico over the porch. His mouth curved upward into the beginning of a smile. “I live here.”
