by Pam Hillman
“Pleeeaaasse.”
Livy sighed. “I don’t know, boys. You’ll have to ask Mrs. Brooks. But come on, let’s go in. It’s too cold to stand out here talking about it.”
She moved aside, and the boys filed past her. She picked up the bucket and hustled them inside, smiling as they immediately begged Mrs. Brooks to let them keep the cat. Livy didn’t doubt the outcome as soon as she saw the woman’s face.
“Boys, boys. Hush now. I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”
“Can we keep her? Miss Livy said we could.”
“Seth, I never said any such thing. I said you’d have to ask Mrs. Brooks.”
The cat jumped from Seth’s arms, made a beeline to the stack of old newspapers piled in the corner beside the stove, completed three turns, and bedded down as if she’d found a home at last. The scrawny cat looked ready to drop a litter of kittens any minute. Apparently Mrs. Brooks noticed the cat’s predicament too.
“Well, I guess we can let her stay at least until the weather clears up. It’s too cold for man or beast out there.”
The boys whooped and raced out of the kitchen.
“Poor thing. Looks like she’s in a bad way.” Mrs. Brooks looked a mite sheepish. “I just couldn’t say no.”
Livy hugged her. “Of course you couldn’t. And she won’t eat much. We should have plenty of scraps to keep her fed. And we could use a good mouser anyway.”
“You’re right.”
Livy reached for the bucket. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—the coal bin is full again.”
“Thank You, Jesus.” Mrs. Brooks raised her hands heavenward. “God is so good to us, isn’t He?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The two put the finishing touches on supper, and Livy smiled when Mrs. Brooks replaced the old newspapers with a pile of rags she’d saved to make a string quilt. The woman’s heart was softer than butter left too close to the stove.
Half an hour later, Livy called the children. Over the meal, they named the cat. Or at least they tried to. Seth and Georgie insisted on calling her Tiger. The girls settled on Ginger, except for Grace, who could only be induced to say kitty.
“Well, we don’t have to name the cat today. Once we get to know her a little better, one of the names will stick, and that’s what she’ll be.” Mrs. Brooks leveled a stern look at all the children. “I don’t want her upstairs in your bedrooms, do you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused.
A knock silenced everyone. Livy hurried to answer the door. Jake stood on the porch, her black scarf covering most of his face. His green eyes sparkled beneath the brim of his hat. “Evening, Livy. Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
Georgie hopped up and ran over to him. “Hey, Mr. Jake.”
Jake took off his gloves and unwound the scarf, revealing a day’s growth of stubble on his cheeks. He ruffled Georgie’s hair. “How you doing, pardner?”
“Look, we’ve got a cat.” Georgie took him by the hand and led him over to the stove. The cat dozed on her bed of multicolored rags, seemingly unaware of the attention.
Jake hunkered down and dutifully admired the cat. Livy’s heart squeezed as he squinted at Georgie and asked with all seriousness, “What’s her name?”
“I want to name her Tiger, but the girls all like Ginger.”
Livy laughed at the disgusted expression on the little boy’s face as she motioned to the stove. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks.” His gaze slid to hers, and a lopsided smile tilted up a corner of his mouth. He leaned closer, and Livy’s stomach somersaulted. “I need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere a little more private?”
She nodded, then turned to fix his coffee.
“Jake, I think someone likes you,” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice filled with laughter.
Livy sloshed coffee over the rim of the cup, and she made a pretense of wiping it up. What was Mrs. Brooks thinking, saying such a thing?
Jake laughed. “I think you’re right.”
Livy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Grace stood at his feet, gazing straight up at him. Jake held out his arms, and the toddler let him lift her high, her eyes never leaving his face.
Jake quirked an eyebrow at Livy. “That talk?”
She rubbed her hands down her apron, relieved that Mrs. Brooks hadn’t taken leave of her senses. “Mrs. Brooks, I’ll be in the parlor if you need me.”
“Take your time, dear.” The woman winked at her. Actually winked!
A heated flush swooshed into Livy’s face, and she pivoted, leading Jake out of the kitchen.
Mrs. Brooks acted as if Jake wanted to court, when there could be any number of reasons he needed to speak with her. Although she couldn’t imagine what they might be. She led the way, balancing Jake’s coffee cup. Jake carried Grace, her head resting snugly on his shoulder.
Once seated, Jake juggled his coffee cup and the child. Livy reached for her. “Come here, Grace, and let Mr. Jake enjoy his coffee.”
Grace shook her head, her dark curls bobbing with the movement.
He smiled. “She’s all right.”
“What did you need to talk about?” Livy fidgeted.
“Remember those carvings I promised you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve finished two or three horses—”
“Horsie!” Grace said, clapping her hands.
Jake raised an eyebrow and lifted the coffee cup high to keep the child from knocking it out of his hands. “Uh, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that in front of her.”
Livy shook her head. “She won’t know exactly what we’re talking about, so she can’t really spill the beans.”
“Good. I’ll bring them by later this week. Maybe I can make a couple more in the meantime.”
“Thank you. Don’t try to make them a whole stable. They’ll be happy with a couple of pieces, you know.”
“I know, but I enjoy doing it. But there’s something else.”
Grace squirmed, and he let the child down. She toddled toward the door leading to the hallway. Livy followed her and called out, “Mary, watch Grace; she’s headed to the kitchen.”
“I’ve got her,” the older girl called back.
Turning, Livy sat on the settee and clasped her hands in her lap. “You were saying . . . ?”
Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I reckon you know about Mrs. Brooks’s visit to the jail this morning?”
“Yes.” Only the grim look on Jake’s face kept Livy from breaking out into a grin. Jake and Sheriff Carter must have taken Mrs. Brooks’s threat much more seriously than she’d imagined.
He squinted at her. “Do you think she meant it? I mean, a jailhouse is no place for a passel of youngsters, you know.”
Livy bit the inside of her lip, trying to keep a straight face. Mrs. Brooks would never intentionally abandon her charges, but Jake and Sheriff Carter didn’t have to know that. “I really don’t think it will come to that, do you?”
“Other than Sheriff Carter, do you know who the other school board members are?”
“No.”
“Sam McIver, a man named Jesse Tatum, and Mac MacKinnion. Mac is Lavinia and Martha’s father.”
“Oh.” Livy’s heart sank. “I see. Mr. MacKinnion will have to side with his daughters, won’t he?”
“Probably.” Jake nodded, his gaze steady.
Livy smoothed her skirt. “I can’t understand why Miss MacKinnion insisted on suspending the children. They really didn’t do anything wrong. Certainly nothing worse than Billy.”
Jake took a sip of coffee, a flush darkening his cheeks.
Livy crossed her arms. “You’re not telling me something.”
“Like what?” He eyed her over his coffee cup, a guilty look on his face.
“Something. I don’t know what. But I can tell.”
He stood and turned his back to her, rubbing his neck with his hand. Looking over his shoulder, he scowl
ed. “You really want to know?”
“Of course I do.” Livy stood, placing her hands on her hips. “We’re talking about these children being denied schooling because . . . because of some woman’s prejudice against . . .” She flailed her arms. “. . . against orphans.”
“Well, that’s part of it, but it’s not all.”
“What else could she have against the children?” Livy asked, casting about for anything that could make the teacher despise not only Seth and Georgie but the girls too. Enough to suspend them indefinitely.
“You.”
“Me?” Livy gasped. “Why me?”
Jake looked downright miserable. “She’s . . . uh . . . jealous. There aren’t many eligible men in Chestnut, and she’s hoping to get her hooks into any one of them. And to tell you the truth, you’re competition for her.”
“Competition?” Livy sputtered.
Jake downed his coffee and jumped to his feet. “Look, Livy, I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it, okay? I’ll let myself out.”
And with that, he bolted for the door.
Livy stared after him, amazed anyone could be jealous of her. Livy never intended to marry, so Lavinia could set her mind at ease. She bit her lip, trying to think of bachelors she’d met at church or at the mercantile whom Lavinia might have her heart set on.
There was Victor Gibbons, but he wasn’t exactly young. He was wealthy, though. Or so she’d heard. Maybe Lavinia had her heart set on him. She could have him as far as Livy was concerned. There was something about him that Livy didn’t quite trust. And then there was Jake.
Livy’s heart somersaulted.
“Oh.”
Jake.
Chapter Eleven
Jake stomped the snow off his boots and entered the bank. Mr. Stillman motioned him toward his office in the back. All the shareholders would be there except Seamus. The weather was too bad for the old man to get out. If it came to a vote whether to reopen the mine, Jake could only pray that Seamus would be lucid enough to make the right decision.
Jake squeezed Alton Brown’s hand. “Alton.”
The older man met his gaze briefly, then looked away. Jake didn’t ask about his family. What could he say? Have you gotten over losing your only son in that mine accident? How many days go by that you don’t think of him?
None, just like when you lose your father in the same accident.
No, it was better to keep the meeting all business and not ask questions.
Mr. Stillman ushered in Ike Sturgis and shut his office door. “Gentleman, glad you could make it.”
“What’s this all about, Stillman?” Alton asked, hands fisted tight against his hips. “It looks like it’s gonna snow again, and I need to get on home.”
Stillman cleared his throat and glanced at Ike. “May I?”
Ike stood near the door, arms folded across his chest, face like granite. “Go ahead.”
Dread pooled in Jake’s gut. Was Ike selling out? Had the man who’d contacted Stillman about buying the Black Gold mine gotten to Ike?
“Ike has agreed to sell his shares of the mine.”
“He can’t do that!” Alton Brown shot to his feet. “We all agreed not to sell.”
“There’s nothing in writing.” Stillman shuffled some papers on his desk. “I’m sorry, Alton.”
Alton grabbed his hat and stalked out of the bank.
Jake studied Ike. He hadn’t lost family in the mine, and he’d worked the day shift himself. Two years had passed, and he was ready to recoup his losses and move on. Jake could read the truth in his face like a deposit of coal in bedrock.
Ike Sturgis could sell, and he would.
And there was nothing Jake or the others could do about it.
* * *
When Luke touched the toddler’s forehead, heat burned the backs of his fingers. Freezing wind slammed against the cracks of the tumbledown shack, the drafts forcing out the small amount of heat from the fire.
He wrapped a tattered blanket around the child and held her close, trying to share his body heat with her. Paper-thin eyelids fluttered against her cheekbones. He’d risked his life to save her and lost his chance to rescue Mark.
And now she lay in his arms dying.
The other children gathered around the fire, sharing their warmth. Gradually they dozed off, one by one, huddled together like a litter of puppies.
Fresh tears burned his eyes. She didn’t deserve this. None of them did. But what could he do? They had no one, nothing. Except themselves.
Had he saved her life only to let her die because he didn’t know how to take care of her? He didn’t have food, water, medicine. Even if he had those things, he was just a kid. He didn’t know how to take care of a child in diapers.
The woman from the orphanage would help. Wouldn’t she? Or did she want them to come to the orphanage so she could sell them to men like Grady and Butch and the man they called the boss?
Luke stared at the fire, frowning. She wouldn’t give the child back to Butch, would she? He’d watched the children who lived at the orphanage on their way to and from school. He’d watched the two little boys playing in the snow. They’d looked full and happy, not like children forced to do work in a sweatshop.
The child in his arms drew in a shuddering breath, then grew still. Luke clutched her against him, pressing his ear against her tiny chest, his heart pounding. He heard a sound like a tiny mouse squeaking. Then nothing. Then again. He jostled her in his arms, relieved when she drew another raspy breath.
How long before the faint movement of her chest stopped?
He couldn’t let her die. Not if there was a chance she could live.
* * *
Jake grabbed his coat and hat and left the bank. Ike’s decision didn’t change a thing. He only owned 25 percent of the mine. As long as the others didn’t sell, the new owner couldn’t do a thing with his shares. And they’d all adamantly refused to sell.
He headed across town and stepped inside Emma’s Place just in case Seamus had stopped in. The old man was nowhere to be seen, but Jake didn’t really expect him to be out and about. He dreaded sharing the news that Ike had sold out.
His eyes met Emma’s across the crowded café, and she called out a greeting.
“Find a spot if you can, Jake. How about a bowl of stew?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Maybe something hot to eat would ease the frustration gnawing at his insides. He plopped down at the end of a table filled with miners.
She hurried over, a piping hot bowl in one hand and a pone of corn bread in the other. She slid the platter to the center of the table. “Help yourselves, boys.”
“Thank ye, Emma.” A grizzled miner winked at Jake and grabbed a hunk of bread. “If I wasn’t already married, I’d hitch up with that woman for her cooking alone.”
“Oh, hush up, Roger Perkins.” Emma placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder and sobered. “How’re things going, Jake?”
“Pretty good. And you?”
Emma smoothed back graying hair, the tired circles under her eyes showing fatigue. “I can’t complain.”
Jake nodded. Emma’s husband had died along with Jake’s father, but she’d been better off than most. She owned this little café and made a few extra dollars feeding miners. “Glad to hear it.”
She patted his shoulder before hurrying away to tend the rest of her customers. Jake dug in, listening to the talk about the mines.
“Discovered a new deposit in the Copper Penny today. We’ll be busy for another six months at least. Don’t know what we’ll do after that. Reckon the coal’s about petered out ’round here?”
“Hope not.”
Perkins shot Jake a glance. “You thought about opening up the Black Gold mine again, Russell?”
All eyes focused on Jake. “Reckon not.”
“Lots of pure coal in that mine, son.”
Jake pushed his food away, appetite gone. “I know, but it’s too dangerous. Perkins, you of all people should know t
hat.”
Perkins’s son-in-law had died in the disaster, leaving a wife and a couple of kids. Jake knew it wasn’t easy for Johanna to make ends meet, even with her family around.
The old miner leaned both elbows on the table. “Not for the right managers. Jake, you and your pa, Seamus, and the others had the right idea, having the workers own shares in the mine. I wish you’d reconsider. I heard Sturgis already sold out. That true?”
“News sure travels fast.” Jake took a sip of coffee.
“It’s only a matter of time before everyone agrees to sell. No telling what kind of feller will be in charge then. I’d rather see you, Brown, and Seamus running the show than some money-hungry yahoo from Chicago who don’t care about nuthin’ but making a dollar.”
The rest of the men nodded in agreement.
“I’d go to work in the Black Gold mine, given the right men opened ’er back up.” Perkins tapped him on the arm with his spoon. “Think about it.”
Jake sighed. These men risked their lives day in and day out, and he couldn’t bring himself to take one step underground. How could they respect him and the other owners enough to consider working for them again?
He pushed away from the table, then carried his bowl to where Emma stood, elbow-deep in sudsy water. “Food’s good as always, Emma.”
She looked him in the eye. “Don’t let Perkins get to you, Jake. You do what you think’s right.”
“The problem comes in knowing what’s right.”
“I’ll pray for you. I always do, you know.”
“Thanks, Emma. I appreciate it.”
The door flung open. “Russell, you here?”
Jake squinted at the dark figure outlined against the night sky. “Yeah?”
“It’s Seamus. He’s calling for you. I think he’s about to kick the bucket.”
Jake rushed for the door, his heart in his throat. He’d known this day would come, but not now. Not this soon. He wasn’t ready.
* * *
Seamus passed on kind of peaceful-like. Doc Valentine told Jake his heart just plain gave out. When the six o’clock whistle blew, the old man smiled, took a deep breath, and went home to rest.
