by Cassie Hayes
“Any chance there will be leftovers?”
Nolan’s stomach took that opportunity to growl so loudly it startled a little girl waiting for a bowl of food. She covered her mouth and giggled, then ran back to her own stall when Tilly served her.
“I’ll save you some, unless they all want seconds. I won’t have any of them going hungry.”
She felt Nolan staring at her as she served up another bowl of food, but didn’t take the time to see if he looked angry or impressed. His opinion of her mattered more than she’d ever thought possible, but her desire to help these poor souls felt so much more important.
The gratitude they showed her over a simple bowl of rice and fish stew broke her heart. The handful of Prince Rupert residents who’d volunteered to help cheered her, but most of the men seemed so angry and she simply couldn’t understand why. They hated these people so much they spit on them. She’d even heard whispers of ‘frontier justice’, which made her sick to her stomach.
As she watched another poor soul shuffle back to his prison cell — a barely habitable horse stall — she couldn’t stop the shame that nearly overcame her. When Mrs. Arnette had shown her the humble cabin she and Nolan would be sharing, she’d thought the accommodations completely beneath her. She’d wondered how anyone would be able to live in such squalor for more than a few days, much less any longer. They’d have to be desperate.
Now she understood the meaning of desperation. Fleeing a country that no longer wanted you and bravely sailing across the treacherous seas to start a new life in a new land…bowing your gratitude for such a simple meal after being starved by your captors…happy to sleep in hay meant for animals…that was desperate.
She’d have the comfort of sleeping in a real bed with a full stomach tonight. Nolan would no doubt start a little fire in the stove to keep the coastal chill at bay, and she’d spotted two extra wool blankets they could use to stay warm. If she wanted to stretch her legs, all she had to do was walk out the door. How lucky was she to have been born in a country in which others were desperate to live?
Nolan moved off to the main entrance to speak with Mr. Arnette and a guard. The two other men wore subservient expressions, nodding and smiling at everything Nolan said, and she was struck dumb at her luck in marrying such an honorable and respected man.
Hopefully, after her confession on the train, he’d want to stay married, but she wasn’t entirely sure. He’d barely said two words for the rest of the train ride, and they’d been separated the moment they’d disembarked. So far, she’d been so busy she hadn’t had time to even think about it, but now Tilly couldn’t help wondering if he already regretted his decision to marry a stranger. Hopefully not, but no one would have blamed him.
If he did, she decided she would agree to an annulment, though it would shatter what remained of her heart. If that happened, she’d be no better off than the poor immigrants — homeless in a land where no one wanted her.
Chapter 8
Nolan’s red serge coat kept him warm against the chilly dampness in the midnight air as he trudged across town to the tiny shack he’d be sharing with Tilly. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so exhausted. His night had been spent trying to calm down the frustrated and angry mayor. Then he’d had to run off several groups of hostile locals wanting to crowd the shipwreck survivors into a boat and shove them off into open water.
Worst of all, after the survivors had been fed, there’d only been one small scoop of rice left. Tilly had apologized, but apologies didn’t fill his stomach. He didn’t blame her for the shortage — he’d have gone back for seconds, and even thirds, if he’d gone so long without eating — but the rice had barely made a dent on his bone-deep hunger.
The hatred flowing through the community stunned him beyond words. Several men had complained about how the Chinese worked for half of what white men charged, but Nolan wondered if any of those men had complained as Chinese men slaved away on the Canadian Pacific Railway for pennies. Back-breaking work in wretched conditions that had led to the deaths of hundreds of workers. Of course, now that the railroad was complete, the Chinese were expected to simply disappear. Strange thinking.
But it wasn’t Nolan’s place to argue politics with anyone, it was to uphold the law. Not only would he hold the Chinese until the appropriate authorities could collect them, he’d ensure none of the locals harmed a hair on their heads. Only the courts could dispense justice, and he’d do everything in his power to get those people in front of a judge rather than a lynching mob.
Nolan could barely keep his eyes open by the time he opened the door to their shack. The scent of something delicious hit his nose and he took a deep breath. Something similar to what the Chinese had eaten, but different.
Tilly lay snuggled under two blankets on the bottom bunk bed, and Nolan was overcome by an urge to lay beside her. Not for lascivious reasons, but because he was so tired, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to climb in the upper bunk. Besides, the idea of snuggling close to such a warm-hearted woman sounded comforting to his weary soul.
At least the tiny cabin was warm. Tilly must have started a fire because the little stove in the corner crackled and glowed. A pot with a lid sat on top, steam escaping the lid. Nolan looked at it longingly, then shifted his gaze to his bed. Not once in his life had he chosen sleep over eating, but there was a first time for everything.
Shrugging out of his wool coat, Nolan hung it on a peg and crawled into the upper bunk. He didn’t even have the energy to pull the covers over himself. His head swam as he drifted off to sleep.
“Don’t you want dinner?”
Nolan snapped awake at the sound of Tilly’s sleepy voice.
“Too tired,” he mumbled, immediately falling into a semi-dream-state again.
Images swirled behind his eyelids, fading in and out of focus. Emaciated Chinese children, grumbling fishermen, running moose, Tilly smiling, a wooden boat awash at high tide. Behind the images, a strange sound invaded his dreams, a sound that almost sounded like crying. Peace finally overcame him…but a moment later, he was being shaken awake.
“Nolan! Wake up!”
He bolted upright, knocking his head on the exposed roof beam that ran across his bed. “I’m up! I’m up!”
Massaging the growing bump on his skull, he looked around and tried to remember where he was. Right, Prince Rupert. Protecting illegal immigrants. In a shack. With Tilly.
Tilly!
“Nolan,” she whispered, and even in the dim light of a lone oil lamp, he could see the fear in her red-rimmed eyes. “I hear shouting.”
“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I’m not sure, but you got home an hour or two ago.”
Home. This wasn’t his home. His home was in Squirrel Ridge Junction, and he longed to return. But he wasn’t there, and something had scared Tilly to the point she’d woken him up. If such a brave woman was so frightened, it couldn’t be good. Especially not so late.
He listened hard and heard some men shouting vulgar insults, no doubt at the immigrants. He couldn’t be sure, but there were definitely more than two or three voices in the chorus. The guards would be no match for a gang of rabble-rousers. Suddenly fully alert, Nolan jumped down and shrugged into his red serge coat. Grabbing Tilly by the shoulders, he gave her a stern look.
“Don’t open the door to anyone but me, you hear? Lock it and wedge that chair up against the door handle. I don’t know what’s going on out there, but I don’t want you anywhere near it.”
Without another word, he ran from the shack, noting the sound of the lock sliding over before he’d jumped off the small doorstep. That’s my girl, he thought as he sprinted toward the ruckus, which just so happened to be in the same direction as the stable.
Rounding the corner of a cannery, Nolan skidded to a stop. At least ten men surrounded the stable, all carrying blazing torches. The horses in the corral whinnied and pranced around, agitated by all the noise and fire. Nolan
couldn’t imagine what the people inside must be thinking.
“Why don’tchya go back where ya come from!” shouted one man.
“We don’t want ya here!” called another.
“Cain’t no one save ya now!” screamed another.
Judging by the way the men slurred their words and how they staggered around, they were at least three — if not four or five — sheets to the wind. Nolan sighed heavily. Angry men were hard enough to deal with, but angry, drunk men were nearly impossible…especially a group of angry, drunk men.
The light from the torches didn’t show if the men also carried guns, so Nolan pulled his revolver from its holster and approached cautiously. He’d never shot a man before, and he didn’t want to start…but he also wasn’t going to approach such a mob unprepared.
“All right!” he shouted when he was about ten feet from the closest man. “Enough of this nonsense! Everyone needs to disperse!”
But the men were too loud, drunk, and oblivious to hear him. They continued to hurl insults at the people inside the stable, threatening them. When one man waved his torch near a pile of hay, Nolan realized they weren’t playing. Raising his gun in the air, he pulled the trigger.
Every man in the unruly mob jumped about three feet off the ground at the sound of the blast and spun around to face him. Nolan breathed a sigh of relief when none looked to be carrying guns, but he wasn’t ready to holster his just yet.
“I’m Constable Wheeler of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police! If one of you so much as looks at me wrong or takes a single step closer to that stable, I’ll cut you down where you stand! Is that understood?”
Half the men ducked their heads in obedience, but several remained steadfast in their defiance. One stepped toward Nolan, his face blister-red with rage.
“How dare you threaten the lives of Canadians! You’re sworn to protect us!”
Nolan spoke so quietly the man lowered his torch and leaned closer to hear him. “I’m sworn to uphold the laws of our great nation, and that includes protecting anyone from the likes of you.”
A shout came from one of the men — Nolan didn’t know which — that sent a ripple of fear up his spine. “Burn it down, boys!”
Three men had moved toward the stable before Nolan shot another round in the air.
“Do it and I’ll drop you in your tracks!”
Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and if anyone had looked too closely, they would have seen the gun in his hand shaking ever so slightly. He was down by three bullets. No way would he be able to reload quickly enough to shoot them all before they overcame him. Thankfully, after they stared at him for a moment, each man stepped away from the stable and lowered his torch.
“Now, I know you all have been drinking tonight — I can smell it on you all the way over here. So here’s what we’re going to do. It might be a trifle cozy, but I’m pretty sure all eleven of you will fit in the town jail.”
A couple of men grumbled, but the others shushed them. Nolan’s heart rate slowed to where he was sure it wouldn’t beat right out of his chest.
“You’ll sleep off whatever rotgut you’ve been guzzling tonight, and in the morning, my wife will serve you breakfast. After that, I expect each and every one of you to stay as far away from this stable as is humanly possible. If I smell even a whiff of mutiny, you won’t see me coming. Is that understood?”
He received only muffled grumbles in reply.
“Is that understood!” Nolan shouted, glaring at the man who appeared to be their leader.
“Yessir,” was repeated around the circle.
“Stuart, James, you okay?” Nolan called to the men who’d been guarding the stable, doing their best to keep the rioters at bay.
“Yessir!” they both shouted from their posts.
“Good,” Nolan said, waving the guards toward him. “You’re both going to herd these gentlemen to the jail, got it? I’ll be along in a moment. I just want to check on the prisoners.”
The men glared at the mob and stood proudly next to Nolan, as if assisting a Mountie was the greatest honor of their lives.
“Yessir!”
Tilly woke in the morning to the sounds of Nolan stoking the fire. She knew he must be exhausted, because she certainly was.
After he’d left the night before, she’d paced the tiny room, wondering what was going on outside. She’d jumped when the first gunshot had gone off, and when all the shouting had died down immediately afterward, she’d started to worry.
One explanation would have been that Nolan had shot into the air to disperse the troublemakers. Another explanation, and one she hadn’t been able to stop envisioning, was that the troublemakers had shot Nolan and were trying to cover it up.
Unable to stay in one place any longer, Tilly had snuck out and edged up to the corner of a cannery to see if her husband — the man she could no longer imagine living without — was still alive. She’d nearly screamed when the second gunshot sounded. Then she’d dared to peek around the corner and there he was! Her knees had almost given out from relief.
Once she’d seen he was still alive and in control of the situation, Tilly had hurried back to the cabin to get ready for bed. She’d barely pulled the covers over herself before he’d opened the door quietly.
Pretending to be asleep had seemed the best course of action. He’d be tired, and she hadn’t been ready to hear what he might have to say about their marriage. She’d cried quietly when he’d come back the first time and went to bed without eating. Nolan never passed up the chance to eat, so she’d taken it quite to heart. It was her one talent, the one thing by which she defined herself.
As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, though, she realized her exhaustion, along with the late-night ruckus, had heightened her emotions to the breaking point. She was so much more than just her cooking, and hopefully Nolan saw that too. If not…well, she’d started over before and she could do it again. This time it would be nursing a broken heart, but she had no doubt she’d survive.
“Good morning,” she said quietly, enjoying watching him set a pot of water to boil for coffee. She certainly hoped to see such domesticity for many years to come.
“Morning,” he said, stifling a big yawn.
“What happened last night?”
He glanced over at her, and for a brief moment she wondered if he knew about her little late-night expedition, but then he shrugged and sat down to pull on his polished oxblood boots.
“Just some drunkards trying to make trouble. I suppose spending the night crowded into a small cell sobered them up right quick.”
“How many were there?”
“Eleven, all told. Probably feeling pretty poorly this morning, I’d wager.”
Tilly propped herself up on one elbow, allowing her blanket to slip down a little. Nolan was her husband after all, so allowing him to see the top of her nightgown couldn’t be considered unseemly.
Tilly’s heart clenched when he turned his eyes away and a fiery blush rose up his cheeks. A hangover couldn’t feel anywhere near as terrible as discovering your husband didn’t want to see you in your nightclothes.
“I promised them breakfast if they all came along quietly,” he said, keeping his eyes averted until she pulled the blanket up to her chin. Only then did he look in her direction — but he still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Would you mind whipping them up some Cream of Wheat or oatmeal or something before you start cooking for the others?”
“Sure,” she chirped, hoping to hide the pain and uncertainty stabbing her in the heart.
“Alrighty then,” Nolan said, standing but not moving toward the door. He bounced from one foot to the other awkwardly before finally reaching for the handle. “See you later.”
Tilly sat in bed staring at the closed door for ten minutes, wondering what her future might look like. Clearly, Nolan had lost any interest he’d had for her. Well, she had no one to blame but herself. She’d wanted to tell him about her scandal from the very beginning, bu
t Miss Hazel had talked her out of it. Maybe if she’d just…
No, what-ifs wouldn’t change anything. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she took a deep, bracing breath and made a decision. After feeding the men in the jail, she’d search out Nolan and have a talk with him. She would give him the chance to be free to find someone more worthy. He shouldn’t feel obliged to hold true to his vows after discovering she’d hidden an important part of her past. Then she’d scrape together train fare to Vancouver so she could start her life anew.
Again.
The next half-hour passed by in a bit of a haze while she cooked up some bacon and oats, a meal she’d made a hundred or more times. It had been a favorite of her old employer, especially after a night of revelry. Bile rose in her throat at the memory of his hands on her. For a brief time, she’d almost been grateful because that scoundrel’s actions had sent her straight to Nolan, but now…
“You feeling well, dear?” Mrs. Arnette asked as she pulled a stack of bowls down from a shelf. “You’ve been terribly quiet this morning.”
No, Tilly wasn’t feeling well at all, but she’d learned people didn’t really want to know the truth when they asked such things. They simply wanted to be reassured they wouldn’t have to deal with whatever was bothering you.
“Fine,” she said, trying on a smile. It felt wooden, but as she suspected, Mrs. Arnette accepted it without question.
“That’s good. Now shall we go feed those rascals?”
Tilly couldn’t hold her tongue. “I’d hardly call grown men who threatened to burn people alive ‘rascals’. Criminals, definitely, but not rascals.”
Mrs. Arnette flapped a hand at Tilly’s comment as if it was a bothersome gnat. “Oh, they didn’t mean any harm, I’m sure of it. I know most of them personally, and they’re good Christian men. They just got a little worked up is all.”
Tilly stared at the woman’s back as she hustled out of the kitchen with bowls and utensils, leaving Tilly to carry the pot of oats and tray of bacon. How could anyone who threatened to murder innocents also claim to be a Christian? It was beyond her…but they also needed to eat, so she’d do her duty and keep her mouth shut. No need to make Nolan’s job even harder.
