by Lisa Bingham
And food. The women are unaccustomed to eating one meal a day.
SEH
“I’m beginning to believe that the men in charge are ignoring us.”
Lydia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We’re all getting restless. If we’re cooped up much longer, we could have trouble on our hands. Some of the women are beginning to squabble over petty issues. It’s only a matter of time before someone really loses her temper.”
Sumner nodded—but short of ordering the women to climb through a window, she didn’t have many options.
Unless...
“When I spoke to Mr. Ramsey, he mentioned that he would send the company’s lay preacher to tend to the women’s spiritual needs.”
Lydia snorted. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of the man.”
Which meant that both their temporal and spiritual needs were being shunted to the rear of the line, despite Jonah Ramsey’s assurances.
Sumner’s spine stiffened. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve given Jonah Ramsey more than enough time to do the right thing. I think it’s time for us to stand up for ourselves.”
“Hear, hear,” Lydia agreed wholeheartedly. “What do you have in mind?”
Sumner strode to the center of the room, clapping her hands to gather everyone’s attention.
“Ladies!”
Gradually, the chatter ceased and the women turned to face her.
It was amazing what a little hard work had done to the Miners’ Hall. Although the quarters were still cramped and the means to heat water and wash were primitive at best, at least the floors gleamed from a fresh scrubbing and the air had lost the stink of wood smoke, and the mustiness of being closed up for far too long.
“We’ve been in Bachelor Bottoms for nearly a week, and I think we’ve made great inroads into making our situation as comfortable as possible.”
There were murmurs of agreement and a soft, “Amen to that!”
“However, I feel that there has been one portion of our stay here that has been sorely neglected. And even more than the need for fresh air and sunshine, I believe that the means to worship and draw upon our Heavenly Father’s Spirit is vital to our well-being.”
A hush settled over the room. Although they had tried to hold a nightly reading from the Bible, they all longed for the sense of community and devotion to be found in more formal worship.
“I don’t know about all of you, but I find myself at a point where I need the opportunity to revel in the strength of the Lord. As you are well aware, the miners hold an evening Devotional as part of their shift changes. For those of you who wish to attend, we will walk to the meetinghouse together at—” she glanced down at the fob watch pinned to her shirtwaist “—five forty-five.”
The women glanced at one another in confusion. “How are we going to manage that? The Pinkertons won’t allow us to go to the necessary without an armed escort, let alone the Devotional.”
Sumner nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But I have Mr. Ramsey’s word that he will not interfere with anyone’s wish to worship, and I think it’s time that we hold him to his promise.”
In truth, Mr. Ramsey had made that promise with the understanding that the lay preacher, Charles Wanlass, would come to them rather than the other way around. But she was counting on the fact that the man wouldn’t make a scene in a house of God.
Because if these women didn’t have some fresh air and spiritual sustenance soon...
The men of Bachelor Bottoms could have an all-out brawl on their hands.
* * *
By the time the evening shadows began to creep into the hall, Sumner knew that the women were tired, hungry and out-of-sorts. But they also appeared resolved. And a little excited. They were about to venture outside.
Never had a frozen winter’s evening looked so inviting.
“Is everyone ready?” Sumner asked at the door.
She received a chorus of affirmative answers.
The women had spent the last hour tugging on corset strings, arranging their hair and helping one another to change into their Sunday-best attire. Then, in anticipation of the cold, they’d donned their coats, scarves and mittens. Except for Jenny Reichman, who had volunteered to stay with the injured who couldn’t venture out, every woman was in attendance.
“Remember, there may be some resistance to our presence at the Devotional. But our intent is to worship. Don’t let anyone provoke you into behavior that you wouldn’t display in your churches at home. We need to show the men that their precautions are unnecessary. We are upstanding women of faith, and the men have nothing to fear from allowing us to mingle with their group.”
She turned to sweep open the door.
Immediately, a cold rush of air swirled into the hall. Almost as quickly, a pair of Pinkertons moved to block her way. However, a quick glance assured Sumner that the rest of the brigade was absent. Perhaps they had been sent to dinner.
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
She was answered by the taller of the two, a man with dark muttonchop whiskers and a mustache that drooped halfway to his Adam’s apple. “Dr. Havisham.”
“Good evening, Mr....”
“Winslow, ma’am.”
“Mr. Winslow. I believe it’s time for the evening Devotional.”
The man’s brow creased. “Yes, ma’am, but—”
“I obtained permission for us to attend when I met with Mr. Ramsey earlier this week. Indeed, his exact words were, ‘I would never deny anyone the opportunity to worship.’”
Before the man could respond, Sumner pressed forward and the rest of the women followed suit. Although the Pinkertons rushed to stop them, the force of several dozen women couldn’t be held back by so few men, and within a few minutes, the Pinkertons were overwhelmed. Sumner couldn’t contain a smile as she saw the Pinkertons trailing in their wake like a confused pair of lapdogs.
Although Sumner knew little more than the meetinghouse was on the hill somewhere, it wasn’t hard to find. A steady tide of men was heading that way—some with freshly washed faces and hands, and others who were muddy and dirty, probably because they’d come directly from the mine. As soon as they saw the women, they stepped into the slushy street, allowing the females to clatter over the boardwalks unhindered.
Within a few blocks, their goal came into sight. The meetinghouse was a whitewashed structure with an elaborate spire that looked like it had been welded together from curled and hammered pieces of metal. Although Sumner suspected that the materials were made of leftover mining hardware, the effect was so delicate that the spire looked like fine lace against the vibrant red-and-gold sunset.
From inside, the wheezing gasps of a pump organ broke the silence. The unknown organist seemed to be attacking the melody with determined vigor. But his enthusiasm was marred by a distinct lack of skill. So much so that Sumner couldn’t pinpoint the hymn.
At the foot of the stairs, Sumner paused for a moment. “Remember, ladies, as onerous as our last few days have been, this is not the time to air our grievances. We are here to partake of the Spirit so that we can be strengthened by the Lord’s love.”
A soft murmur of agreement flowed around Sumner, giving her the courage she needed to move up the shallow flight of stairs and through the double doors beyond. As she stepped inside, making space for the other women, a cool gust of wind swirled around her ankles and into the chapel beyond, bringing a welcome relief from the overheated air that shimmered around the potbellied stove in the center of the room.
The interior was simple. The rectangular room held long benches that marched up either side from a center aisle. At the far end, there was a raised dais with a lectern, a pair of padded chairs and, beyond that, more benches that were presumably reserved for a choir.
Taking a bracing breath, Sumner squared her shoulders and searched for spare seats where she and
the other women could sit. But most of the places had been filled with men of all shapes, sizes and ages.
Despite the prelude of sorts being pounded out on the organ, the meeting hall was filled with the low murmur of men’s voices. But as Sumner and the other women traversed the length of the aisle, the low rumble of conversation stilled and the occupants turned en masse to stare.
The weight of their gazes was so intense and heavy that Sumner felt her skin prickle, and she could feel the heat seep into her cheeks. But she refused to meet their gazes head-on or allow even the slightest sign of discomfort. The next few minutes would prove to be vital for the women. Sumner wasn’t sure what would happen if they couldn’t have some form of fresh air—or the prospect of leaving the hall on occasion—to look forward to.
Sweet Father in Heaven, please find a way to soften their hearts so that we can stay. We all need to feel of Thy love during these trying times.
Forcing herself to remain cool and calm—despite the pounding of her heart—Sumner nodded vaguely toward the men on either side of the aisle. She was able to pick out Mr. Creakle and Mr. Smalls, and the two men from the mining offices. There were faces she remembered from their sporadic deliveries, and a few of the men who passed their window each day on their way to the mine.
Sumner’s knees began to tremble, knowing that if the group decided to force them back to the hall, there wouldn’t be much the women could do to prevent them. So, adopting a benign, placid expression, she pretended that she was stepping into one of her stepmother’s much-hated social-climbing garden parties, folded her hands meekly together and closed the distance to the empty pews.
“So far, so good,” Lydia murmured near her shoulder.
If only Sumner felt as cool and collected as her friend seemed to be. While Lydia looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of a fashion plate, Sumner wasn’t nearly so calm. Her throat grew dry and her fingers began to tremble because she knew that this daring invasion into the miners’ territory would not remain unchallenged. It simply remained to be seen if they would be allowed to partake of the Word first.
Lord, please help me hold my temper whatever may follow.
After what seemed like miles, she led the women to the first four rows, stepping to one side. Lydia ushered the women into the pews, taking her place at the far end. Then Iona, Stefania and Marie helped the rest of the group find a place to sit.
Sumner allowed herself a small sigh of relief. So far, there had been no real resistance to their presence, and for that she was grateful. But even as the thought entered her head, she looked up to find Jonah Ramsey glowering at her from the doorway.
A jolt raced through her body when she met his narrowed gaze—and she couldn’t help noting the way his fingers curled and relaxed in open frustration. When he stalked toward her, his eyes intent, his body tensed, she was reminded of her grandmother’s old tomcat. The creature was more wild animal than domesticated feline and it used to lie in wait among the daisies, waiting for a bird or mouse to appear before it would creep close enough to pounce.
“Dr. Havisham.”
She was beginning to detest the way he pronounced her title.
He took her elbow, pulling her slightly to one side as the rest of the women settled into their places.
“Yes, Mr. Ramsey.”
“May I ask why you and your women are here, rather than safely ensconced in the Miners’ Hall under the watchful eye of your guards?”
“Oh, we are more than adequately guarded, Mr. Ramsey.” She pointed to the Pinkertons, who were sheepishly standing at the rear of the church.
“I asked you to keep your women in the Miners’ Hall for the time being.”
“My women have been through quite an ordeal, Mr. Ramsey, and they have expressed a wish to worship.”
“And I sent word to Charles Wanlass to visit you each evening.”
“You may have sent word to the man, but he has yet to appear. After several days, we decided that it wasn’t necessary to burden your lay pastor with extra duties when we can walk a few scant blocks to offer our prayers. Or were you spinning me a pretty tale when you stated that you would never deny anyone the opportunity to worship?”
She’d ensnared him with his own words, and he knew it—and she feared that he might insist that the women leave, but at that moment a clean-shaven gentleman stepped onto the podium, lifted his hands and said, “If we could all take our seats.”
When she met Jonah’s gaze, it was clear that he would like to pull her out of the meeting hall to continue their discussion, but to his credit, he released her, then gestured for her to take the last empty seat next to Willow Granger. Then he moved a few rows away to take his own place.
As Charles Wanlass waited, a hush fell over the spacious building. The meetinghouse was filled to bursting with all of the people who had come for the evening services, but somehow, they all managed to find a place to sit. Nevertheless, as the last of the men moved inside, they chose to sandwich themselves tightly together, leaving a full empty row between the women and the miners. Sumner wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to demonstrate their adherence to company rules, to shun the women altogether or because they feared the women might bite.
However, the gentleman at the pulpit didn’t share the other men’s reticence. Instead, he offered the women a wide smile and gripped the lectern on either side with strong, slender fingers.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you for joining our services. For those who don’t know me, my name is Charles Wanlass, and I’ve been asked to conduct our meeting.”
Wanlass was by no means an imposing figure. He was probably a few inches shorter than Jonah Ramsey, and so slim and rawboned that he could use a good feeding. But his blue-gray eyes were piercing and his voice low and commanding in a way that demanded instant attention, even as a faint Scottish burr added a note of gentleness.
“We would like to welcome our guests to our worship services,” Wanlass said, gesturing to the women. “Please ensure that you make them feel at home among us.”
Sumner shot a glance in Jonah’s direction, wondering if he would jump to his feet and negate everything Wanlass had said, but he sat with his gaze pinned to the floor so she couldn’t read his reaction.
“Before we offer up a word of prayer, we would like to begin our meeting with a song. Please turn to page twelve in your hymnals. ‘Blessed Be the Tie That Binds.’ George, if you please.”
The man seated behind the organ began to pump furiously. But as the man pounded out a discordant semblance of a melody, the women glanced at one another in confusion.
Offering a pained sigh, Lydia suddenly stood and hurried to shoo the man aside. Then, taking his place, she took only a moment to glance at the music before playing.
A hush fell over the room as the familiar strains filled the meetinghouse. Indeed, the miners were so stunned that only the women sang the first few measures. But soon they were joined by tenors and basses until the structure resonated with the sounds.
In that moment, the tone of the Devotional was struck—so much so, Sumner knew that even Jonah would be unable to fault the women’s presence or their sincerity. She watched beneath her lashes as his shoulders eased from their rigid line and he sank deeper into his seat.
For the first time, Sumner was able to breathe more freely. But she soon discovered that she’d relaxed too soon. As they began the last chorus, Batchwell and Bottoms appeared at a side door.
“Oh, dear,” Willow whispered.
Sumner tensed, regarding the men from beneath her lashes as she feigned interest in the hymnal. Her voice wavered and her pulse pounded. Batchwell opened his mouth—probably to demand their expulsion. But at the same moment, Bottoms grasped his partner’s arm and leaned to murmur something in the portly man’s ear.
Instantly, Batchwell’s lips snapped shut, and although his eyes burned like t
wo dark coals as they scoured the pews filled with the women from the train, he and his partner moved to settle into the two ornately upholstered chairs that were located to the side of the podium.
Thank You, Heavenly Father, thank You.
Sumner’s eyes flickered closed and she sang the final measures of the hymn with renewed fervor, knowing that, at least for now, the women would be allowed to stay. Perhaps, they could make their worship a nightly occurrence.
Willow squeezed her hand, offering Sumner a small smile.
Finally, finally, Sumner felt the tension seep from her body like sand draining from an hourglass, and she was able to enjoy the meeting.
After the song was finished, a prayer was offered by a miner named Theo Caruso. Then Charles Wanlass returned to the lectern where he spoke briefly about the importance of humility.
The words pricked Sumner’s conscience and her gaze shot toward Jonah, then away again. She really hadn’t put her best foot forward where he was concerned. She’d been quite proud, even boastful. But for some reason, it had been important to her that he knew the depth of her training and her willingness to work hard. It shouldn’t matter to anyone that she was a woman as long as she did her job properly, and he needed to know that.
She shied away from the reason why it was so important to her. She didn’t need Mr. Ramsey’s approval of her character, only her professional capacity. He was a fellow employee, the superintendent of the mine. Other than that, their paths didn’t need to cross.
If only things were that simple.
Yanking her gaze and her thoughts back to Charles Wanlass, Sumner caught the tail end of the man’s sermon. He was underscoring the importance of showing gratitude to God by serving one’s fellow man.
The words struck Sumner to the core. All her life, she’d longed to be the kind of person who could make a difference in the world. But most of the roles available to women had felt so limiting. She didn’t have the temperament for teaching. The thought of being a shop clerk or a woman’s companion had bored her to tears. And she had no desire to marry a man and provide him with a brood of children for no other reason than to have something to do.
