Accidental Courtship

by Lisa Bingham

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” She lifted her fork, gingerly prodding her food. “Your meals are...hearty.”

  “Mining is hard work.”

  Dr. Havisham continued to stare at her plate with such ferocity that Jonah took another look himself. He was forced to admit that the food wouldn’t win any prizes. The portions were large, not pretty. Because Stumpy and his men were often needed in other areas of the Batchwell Bottoms enterprise, they’d taken to cooking all the food once a day, then serving things warmed up until the pots were empty. This often meant that the men were forced to eat leftovers until the food was completely gone. Then Stumpy and his crew would begin preparations all over again.

  Unfortunately, Stumpy didn’t have a wide repertoire of menus, so after a time, the meals all started to look the same. This morning, overcooked beans had been slopped next to a mound of scorched eggs and a greasy pile of fried potatoes. The fare didn’t taste much better than it looked, but it was hot and filling and stuck to a man’s ribs during a hard day’s work.

  “It must be difficult to feed all your men.”

  “The shifts break things up so we don’t have to accommodate all of the miners at once. They’re given a hot meal at daybreak, another in the evening, then cold meats and biscuits in their buckets midway through the workday.”

  She nodded, poking at the beans, which had begun to congeal into a lumpy brown pudding. Then she looked up, concern gleaming from the depths of her eyes. “We women will tax your winter stores of food, won’t we?”

  Jonah considered offering her a blithe denial, but he knew she would see through his subterfuge. “We prepared for the men on hand until the end of April. Perhaps, we’ll have an early spring.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “I’ve already appointed a hunting party. We’ll enhance our supplies with whatever meat they can obtain—rabbit, venison, elk. Hopefully, it will tide us through. If not, we’ll have to cut the rations.”

  “Which means that if enough game can’t be acquired, your men may end up going to work hungry.”

  Hungry and ornery, Jonah thought. But he didn’t bother to say the words aloud. He could only pray that the winter would be milder than usual or that spring would arrive before expected. He didn’t want to think about the tensions that could arise if their rations became critical.

  “These men on the hunting party,” Dr. Havisham said slowly. “Is that their usual job?”

  Jonah shook his head, concentrating on his food again, knowing that he had only a few minutes’ time to eat before someone came looking for him.

  “No.”

  She sighed. “So we have inconvenienced all of you yet again.”

  He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he shrugged. “Part of living successfully in the Uinta Mountains is making the best of the hand you’re dealt.”

  Her lips thinned and that little shadow of a dimple briefly reappeared. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to realize what a burden we would all become.”

  The word burden stuck in Jonah’s craw more than it would have done even a few hours earlier.

  “With the Good Lord’s help, we’ll find a way to make do.”

  Dr. Havisham eyed him before saying, “You’re a God-fearing man, Mr. Ramsey.”

  He’d been in the process of scooping food into his mouth and her remark surprised him so much that his fork hovered in the air. But her keen gaze made him uncomfortable so he mumbled, “I try to do my best.”

  She nodded, shuffling her potatoes from one side of her plate to the other.

  “And the other men...are they of a similar mind?”

  “I believe so.”

  He thought he heard Sumner’s stomach grumble in hunger, but she had yet to take a bite.

  “Do you have clergy here on the premises?” she asked.

  “Not currently. We have a meetinghouse on the hill. For a time, we had a formal preacher, but he left us a few months ago for a posting in California. As of yet, we haven’t managed to find a paid preacher willing to mix mining with ministry. But we have a lay pastor we rely on. Charles Wanlass. He’s a good man with an understanding heart. He leads us in a daily Devotional, which is held in the evenings between shifts, then in a shorter morning prayer service, as well.”

  “Would it be possible for him to tend to the needs of the women?”

  “I could ask him to drop by the Miners’ Hall.”

  “Thank you. I’m relieved that you won’t stand in the way of their spiritual needs.”

  “Dr. Havisham. Although we may not have seen eye to eye on every point so far, I would never deny anyone the opportunity to worship.”

  Her brown eyes softened and a sweet smile touched her lips. “Thank you for that reassurance, Mr. Ramsey. I’ll pass that on to the other women.” She placed her napkin next to her plate and stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I get back to my patients.”

  He frowned. “I thought you had something you wanted to discuss?”

  She nodded. “I did. But I think you already know how...loathsome your Pinkertons are to us. I’m leaving it up to you to do the right thing.”

  Her gaze, when it fell on him, was full of meaning—and for some reason, it reminded him of the way his mother could level a glance on him and make him squirm when he’d been caught doing something he oughtn’t. Then Sumner slipped from the room in the soft rustle of skirts, leaving the faint scent of orange blossoms hanging in the air behind her.

  Jonah stared down at his plate, his appetite completely gone. The food was horrible and there was no disguising the fact. But that wasn’t the reason why he felt as if a giant hand had reached in to squeeze his stomach.

  I’m leaving it up to you to do the right thing.

  Jonah recognized the remark for what it was: an attempt to get him to cave in to the women’s demands and allow them to run willy-nilly around Bachelor Bottoms. But what they couldn’t see was that Jonah was already doing what was best for everyone involved. The Batchwell Bottoms mine was one of the most successful silver enterprises in the territory. Productivity and morale at Bachelor Bottoms were high—due to the rules that were in place. To allow the women free rein would set a precedent that would be difficult to erase once they were gone. Because of that, keeping the sexes separate was of vital importance.

  Even if it meant a show of force.

  Chapter Five

  By the time Sumner returned to the Miners’ Hall, a knot of women had already gathered on the boardwalk. Somehow, in the scant hour that Sumner had been gone, the number of guards had grown from four to nearly ten. With their rifles held diagonally across their chests, they attempted to herd the women back into the building, without much success.

  From the corner of her eye, Sumner could see Mr. Batchwell and Mr. Bottoms exiting the mining offices, so she quickened her step. The last thing she needed was for the owners to use this incident as proof that the women should be kept to their quarters.

  Unfortunately, as soon as they saw Sumner hurrying toward them, the women sensed an ally. They turned toward her, gesturing wildly and talking all at once—garnering even more attention from the miners walking to and from the cook shack.

  “Dr. Havisham!”

  “Can you believe the gall!”

  “It’s outrageous. Simply outrageous!”

  Sensing that Batchwell was about to lose his temper, Sumner called out, “Ladies, ladies!” After a few moments, the noise died down. “As you can see, the owners of the Batchwell Bottoms mine have provided a few men for our...protection.”

  Unfortunately, that had been the wrong thing to say, because they all began talking at once again. Over the din, Lydia Tomlinson shouted, “Our imprisonment, you mean!”

  Sumner shot a look toward Batchwell and Bottoms, knowing that the
next few minutes would prove vital to the women’s cause. As much as Sumner might like to lead the women in a march on the mining offices, she sensed that such an action would be disastrous. She needed to talk to the ladies first, to allow them to air their grievances. Only then would it be possible to look at this problem in a clear, levelheaded manner.

  “Ladies, I know that you’re upset. Rightly so. But I also know how trying the past few days have been for you. So before we do anything rash—” she paused, meeting each of their gazes, trying to silently cue them into her line of thinking “—I believe we should take a few moments to talk among ourselves, get to know one another. Our hosts will be delivering our breakfast soon, so let’s step inside. I have a few things I’ve talked over with Mr. Ramsey that I need to pass on to you.”

  To their credit, Willow and Iona, Lydia, Stefania, Ruth and Marie appeared to understand at least a portion of what she was trying to convey and they quickly began to shepherd the other women inside. Although Sumner heard some grumbling, they began to move toward the hall, disappearing inside, one by one.

  Nevertheless, as soon as Sumner stepped through the door and closed it behind her, the shouts rose up again and it took several minutes for Sumner to calm them enough to make it clear that she wasn’t folding under the pressure of the armed guards, but that she was urging a cautious retreat.

  “Gather ’round, please. Find whatever chairs you can, or sit here on the staircase. We need to have a civilized discussion.”

  The hall echoed with the sounds of female voices, the rustle of skirts and the scraping of chairs, but finally, the women all seemed to find a seat and an uneasy silence shimmered in the drafty room.

  “We have such a large group here—and many of us haven’t had a chance for a proper introduction, so I’d like to keep this meeting as orderly as possible. If you’ll raise your hands, I’ll call on you one at a time. Please be so kind as to give us your name and a little bit about yourself, then continue with whatever comment or question that you might have. Agreed?”

  There were murmurs of assent and several women echoed, “Agreed.” Then the room grew quiet again.

  “Is there anyone present who is still missing belongings from the train?”

  A few hands lifted and Sumner bent toward Lydia, who was seated to her left. “Do you think that you could find paper and pencil and write down their names?”

  “Of course. I have a correspondence portfolio in my belongings.”

  “While Miss Tomlinson is taking notes, if any of you require something above and beyond your own supplies, let me know. Once we’ve finished with our chat, we can send a request to Mr. Ramsey. We already know that we’ll need hip baths, pots for heating water to bathe and to wash clothes, but I’m sure we’ll think of other things along the way.”

  For a time, the original intent of the meeting was waylaid as the brides introduced themselves and discussed the items they needed to feel more comfortable. She discovered that Willow Granger had traveled all the way from Manchester. She was supposed to marry a widower with twelve children once she arrived in San Francisco.

  Jenny Reichman had traveled all the way from London to reunite with the husband she’d only known for a few weeks. He had traveled ahead of her to San Francisco, and the rounded shape of her stomach conveyed that she would not be arriving there alone, but would have a babe in arms sometime soon.

  Most of the women had similar stories of a hopeful future, of meeting up with husbands-to-be that many of them had never met. Sumner tried her best to remember all their names—Louisa Wilkes, with her soft, golden hair; Emmarissa Elliot with the unfortunate hooked nose; Greta Heigl, who spoke no English but had a big booming laugh. Soon, their identities began to run together in her brain and she had to reassure herself that she would eventually get to know them all.

  By the time the introductions had been made, it was obvious that the women came from all levels of society—factory girls looking for a life in the country; farmers’ daughters looking for a home in the city; women from large families; or those with no family at all. Their one common point was a hope for a better future.

  And all those plans had been placed on hold—could even be completely wiped out—because of the avalanche.

  As she listened to each story, Sumner felt a growing kinship with them. She wasn’t the only one who had fought for her goals and now found them threatened, and that idea merely reinforced her desire to help.

  Finally, the conversation turned back toward their cramped quarters, their longing for a breath of fresh air and the attitudes of the men in charge of the mining community.

  “I’m sure they’re all trying their best to handle a difficult situation,” Iona offered half-heartedly.

  “But we’re being guarded by Pinkertons!” Emmarissa Elliot complained.

  “Yes, that’s true,” Sumner inserted before the other women could drown her out. “And I find that fact as odious as you do. I don’t condone what they’ve done, but you have to understand the climate of this community. In order to work here, these men have agreed to follow some stringent rules.”

  “But it’s not our fault that we’re here! We shouldn’t be treated like criminals because of an avalanche.”

  “I know that, and I’ve tried to explain that fact to Mr. Ramsey. But the owners feel that your mere presence could remind these men of the wives and sweethearts that they’ve left behind.”

  “Ridiculous!” Iona said with a sniff, causing Greta Heigl to laugh.

  Thankfully, the Bavarian woman’s mirth seemed to dissipate some of the anger, and after their humor subsided, Sumner raised her hands to summon their attention again. “I know that things are difficult right now. You’ve been through a traumatic accident, and let’s face it, we’re all exhausted and hungry. But I want you to consider the fact that if we are unable to leave until the pass melts, we will also be putting untold strains on the resources of the camp. Their food stores will have to be spread farther, along with kerosene, coal and firewood.”

  The women exchanged worried glances.

  “These men came to our aid when we needed it, and I’d wager—judging by the food we’ve sampled so far—that they are just as exhausted and hungry as we are.”

  The women laughed again, and this time, the brittleness seemed to have melted away.

  “I’ve explained our views and our need for freedom, fresh air and sunshine, and I left him with a challenge to do the right thing.”

  “Hear, hear,” Lydia murmured in approval.

  “Let’s give things a few days.”

  A few of the women tried to object, but Sumner appealed to them. “Please. Just a few days. It will take us that long to wash and mend our clothing and recover from the shock we’ve all experienced. By that time, they will have seen we’re no threat to their precious rules.” Sumner paused. “Will you agree to that much?”

  There was a tense beat of silence, then Lydia stood. “All those in favor, say ‘aye.’”

  Those in agreement began to offer their “ayes.”

  “And those who disagree may state it with a ‘nay.’”

  Again, the quiet seemed to thrum with anticipation, but when no one offered a negative vote, Lydia called out, “The ‘ayes’ have it. Now, ladies. Shall we gather our supplies together and see if we can come up with some strong tea?”

  * * *

  With so much possible time on their hands—endless, empty days and long, black nights until spring could melt the pass—the women decided that their first order of business would be making the hall more habitable.

  While Iona and Willow took turns sitting with the wounded, Sumner helped to divide the rest of the women into groups. Donning whatever protective gear they could find—aprons, sheets and dishcloths—they began ridding the space of years of dust, broken furniture, and overflowing waste baskets. While they worked, Sumner kept a list
of supplies that the women would need within the next few days: linens, bedding, cots, food and milk. She wasn’t sure how many of the items would be available in Bachelor Bottoms, but she would do her best.

  It was well into midday, rather than morning, when a knock at the hall door signaled the arrival of their first meal. Pots of food were laid out on the large center table along with a pile of plates and utensils. Napkins, cups and coffee, Sumner noted, had not been provided. She heard the women begin to grumble again when they formed a line to help themselves to what was obviously the overcooked dregs from the miners’ breakfast. Most of the women refused to eat, deciding that they would wait to see what the next meal might have in store for them.

  But things did not improve.

  Days later, Sumner was irritated beyond belief.

  “Any sign of Mr. Ramsey?” Lydia asked when she found Sumner hovering near the window.

  Sumner shook her head. “I know it’s silly, but I’ve kept one ear cocked toward the door in the off chance that Mr. Ramsey might show up—or the Pinkertons would withdraw.”

  Unfortunately, rather than a relaxing of the rules, the opposite was true. As she and the other women tried to focus on obtaining water for bathing and washing, linens and mattresses, it became clear that none of them would be allowed to leave the hall, not even to make their requests for supplies.

  Lydia’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe you should write him a letter.”

  “I’ve done that already. Several times.”

  The missives began cordially enough, but when the supplies they needed trickled in at an impossibly slow rate, Sumner’s temper began to build. By the end of the week, she’d dispensed with formalities altogether and began drafting curt lists.

  Mr. Ramsey,

  We still need water to bathe properly.