by Lisa Bingham
No. She’d wanted—needed—to offer the world something more. That’s why she’d gravitated toward medicine.
Her eyes skipped toward Jonah Ramsey again. He sat with his knees on his elbows, his fingers laced together, his head bowed. His eyes were half-closed, as if he were concentrating on the words and allowing them to fill his heart as they had her own. For some reason, the sight was more touching than she could have ever anticipated. She sensed that he was a good man—one who was trying to follow his orders and his conscience to the best of his ability. She mustn’t lose sight of that fact when they skirmished again—because she had no doubt that they would find something else to disagree upon. Probably quite soon.
Closing her eyes, Sumner listened raptly as a passage from Luke in the Bible was read aloud.
“‘Give, and it will be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be measured to you again.’”
With the verse reverberating in her heart, Sumner joined in the singing of another hymn and listened to the sweet words of a final prayer that asked for the safety of all the men who would soon be descending into the mine. Then, all too soon, the Devotional was over.
“What should we do now?” Willow whispered.
“Let’s stay in our seats. Then they can’t accuse us of fraternizing.”
Willow quickly passed the message down the line. Although the women whispered among themselves and cast glances at the miners heading for the back door, they didn’t move.
“How long should we sit here?” Willow murmured, surreptitiously peeking over her shoulder.
“Until most of the men have left.”
Sumner didn’t know about the others, but she wasn’t anxious to return to their imposed isolation, and the music being played by their impromptu organist was a balm to weary, frazzled nerves.
At one point, it looked like Batchwell might descend upon them, his face as thunderous as a storm cloud. But surprisingly, Jonah intercepted him and exchanged a few words. Whatever he said must have been important because the men strode from the building, heading toward the mine.
After the church was nearly empty, Sumner reluctantly stood, signaling to the women that their return to the Miners’ Hall was inevitable. Even so, Lydia lingered over the last few notes before her feet stilled and the organ’s sweet voice disappeared in a sigh.
“Come along, ladies,” Sumner called out. “Hopefully, we’ll have some food waiting for us on our return.”
The women stood and began moving toward the exits.
Willow and Iona lingered with Sumner, the older woman saying, “I don’t know if we should be grateful or fearful. Seems to me, they’ve been feeding us the scrapings from the mush pot for most of the week. I don’t know how much more of that our constitutions can take.”
“We’re eating the men’s winter supplies,” Willow said. “In light of their generosity, we probably shouldn’t complain.”
Lydia shrugged into her coat. “In my opinion, what they’ve sent us isn’t fit for hogs. I don’t know how the men get any work done if that’s what they’re used to eating.”
A host of ideas began to spin in Sumner’s brain, inspired by Wanlass’s sermon and the events of the past week. If she could only grasp the threads and weave them together.
“We’ve already survived an avalanche,” Iona offered as she tightened the ribbons of her bonnet. “We should be able to come up with a way to offer some suggestions without appearing ungrateful.”
“After all, the miners came to our rescue.”
“And retrieved our things.”
Sumner’s lips lifted into a smile.
“Perhaps that’s what we should do.” The women regarded her curiously, so she added, “We should show them our gratitude.”
“Have you lost your senses?” Lydia asked. “Since the avalanche, they’ve locked us up like criminals.”
“Which is why we’re going to smother them with kindness. We’ll show them just how thankful we are. We’ll be sweet as honey and ever so helpful.”
“Because...” Lydia prompted.
“They might not know it, but these men are in dire need of the more...refined effects that the fairer sex brings to a society. We’ll show Batchwell and Bottoms that they don’t have anything to fear from allowing us to associate with their residents. They might even discover that, when the time comes, they won’t want us to leave.”
Chapter Six
Sumner’s brain was still whirling with ideas when they arrived at their temporary home. There had to be a way to ease the women into the mining camp’s routine.
“Maybe we shouldn’t push things yet,” Willow said, her voice so soft that Sumner doubted anyone else could have heard. “We’ve managed to go to the Devotional—which is already against their orders. Maybe we should leave things as they are for the time being.”
“Perhaps. But I’ve never been much good at following orders,” Sumner mused.
“Dr. Havisham.”
She started, a frisson of sensation skittering down her spine when Jonah Ramsey’s voice slid out of the darkness. She turned to find him standing not too far behind her, a low-burning lantern swinging loosely from his fingers.
She waited until all of the women had disappeared inside the hall before acknowledging him. “Mr. Ramsey.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a hint of a smile.
“Come now... Sumner. We agreed that, in private, we would call each other by our first names.”
She glanced around the boardwalk, noting for the first time that Mr. Ramsey was the only man in sight. Even the Pinkertons were absent.
“Don’t get too excited. They’ll be back,” Jonah murmured. “Since the Devotional is over, Stumpy and his men will be run off their feet feeding the men who have just finished their shift. I asked your guards to take charge of bringing the food to the other ladies.”
“I’m sure the women will be delighted to have more than one meal today,” she grumbled under her breath.
Jonah’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”
“Come now, Mr. Ramsey. I’m sure you’re more than aware of the miniscule amount of nourishment we’ve been receiving. I’ve sent you at least several dozen notes to the effect.”
There was a beat of silence. Then two.
“You’ve sent me notes?”
“Yes. Via those Pinkertons. Probably a dozen or more a day.”
His brows creased and he eyed her with such a blank expression that she wondered how on earth he could summon such a sincere look of puzzlement.
“You sent them to me. Personally.”
“Yes! They were taken by the Pinkertons to the mine offices.”
He sighed suddenly, staring down at the toes of his boots.
“Miss Havisham. Sumner. I’ve spent the past few days working belowground in the mine. We’ve been opening up a new tunnel and...” He broke off, then shook his head. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, I fear that—since I wasn’t in the office—your letters may have gone directly to Mr. Batchwell.”
Sumner’s frustration swelled at the owner’s interference, but it was quickly followed by a wave of relief. Over the past few days, Jonah’s seeming indifference had filled her with such...disappointment that she’d known she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye the next time. Not without being tempted to say something she shouldn’t. And now, all that resentment rushed from her soul with a soft, “Oh.”
“I assure you, I haven’t seen any of your letters.”
He lifted his arm and the lantern cast a warm puddle of light onto the frosty boardwalk.
“If you have the time, I wondered if you’d walk with me.”
Her brows rose.
�
��This isn’t a social call, Sumner. Merely a means to a mutual understanding.”
She’d been expecting a confrontation, so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
She fell into step beside him, breathing easier when they moved away from the mine offices. She might have forgiven Jonah for the issue with the letters, but she didn’t know if she could be so generous with Ezra Batchwell.
The night air was crisp and cold, causing their breaths to hang in front of them in gossamer clouds.
“I apologize for not being more mindful of your needs. I assumed that you’d been taken care of and the little luxuries could be seen to later.”
She opened her mouth to insist that the items she’d requested were far from frivolous, but he stopped her.
“I now understand that I should have checked with you in person.”
Sumner thought back on the snippy progression of her letters and her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. It was bad enough that Batchwell had been privy to them. But she prayed that Jonah would never read them.
He frowned.
“Have you really only received one meal a day?”
“Most days.” She hesitated before saying, “If I were to hazard a guess, I would think we’re offered whatever remains after the miners have finished eating.”
Jonah’s jaw clenched. When he spoke, his voice cut through the night like a blade. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll assign a couple of men to gather what you need. I can’t guarantee that we’ll be able to supply everything on your list, but we’ll do what we can.”
“I appreciate that.”
“In the meantime...” He withdrew a set of keys from his vest pocket and paused in front of an unadorned squat building. Holding the lantern higher, he unlocked the door, then swept it wide. “This is the infirmary. Our previous doctor lived and worked out of here.”
She stepped inside, eager to explore. If things had been different, she would have been shown to this place on the first day. It would have been her living quarters, her infirmary. Her patients could have been made comfortable on the half dozen cots she could see in a room to the left, rather than the pallets in the Miners’ Hall.
“There’s an examining room through there.” Jonah gestured to an area on the right. “Back there are the doctor’s private rooms.” He pointed to the rear of the building. “I’m not sure what kinds of medicines and such the previous doc left when he moved on. If you’d like to have a look around and identify what you can use, I’ll have things moved to the Miners’ Hall some time tomorrow afternoon.”
Discouragement caused Sumner’s excitement to flag. Despite being shown the building, she wouldn’t be able to work here. She would merely be allowed to collect items from the shelves and return them to her jail.
Her chin tilted. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to move the wounded here?”
Jonah met her gaze, his expression glinting with a thread of steel. “Perhaps. But it’s not going to happen. The owners insist that you stay with the other women. That means that you’ll need to work from the Miners’ Hall.”
“But—”
“Don’t push it, Sumner. Your little stunt tonight wasn’t appreciated by Mr. Batchwell and Mr. Bottoms.”
She stiffened. “Stunt? Our appearance at the Devotional wasn’t meant to be a protest. You gave me your assurances, Jonah, that the women would be allowed to worship. You even promised to help us in that regard by sending Mr. Wanlass to the hall.”
“And that oversight was my fault,” Jonah hastened to explain. “I thought I’d sent him a note, but after speaking with you tonight, I realized that I’d meant to talk to him in person. When we had problems with the new tunnel... I’m afraid I didn’t follow things through.”
His mouth tightened and her fingers twitched with the need to smooth them into a softer line.
“You promised, Jonah.” The words emerged as little more than a whisper. “You can’t blame us if we took matters into our own hands.”
His head dipped. He was willing to concede that point. “Be that as it may, you directly defied the owners’ wishes about leaving the hall. And I’ve been asked to relay their...displeasure, along with a warning that any further resistance to their orders could result in more...serious consequences.”
Her brow furrowed. “Is that a threat, Mr. Ramsey?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I am merely repeating their message.”
“Am I permitted a rebuttal?”
“Somehow I don’t think I could stop you. But we’re using first names, remember?”
“Mr. Ramsey—”
“Jonah.”
“Mr.—”
“Jonah.”
“Jonah, I—” She paused, then found herself unable to continue. As the light of the lantern coated his features, she became aware of deep lines of weariness fanning out from his eyes and bracketing his mouth.
Perhaps it was a trick of the lighting, the silence of the dark Uinta night, or merely the fact that Jonah appeared as ill at ease in reporting the message as she did receiving it. But suddenly, she didn’t want to argue.
“You look exhausted, Jonah.”
Her comment clearly surprised him. “It’s been a long few days.”
“And I’ve managed to complicate them even further.”
In the lamplight his eyes were darker, warmer. Almost...kind. And even though she tended to bristle in his presence, tonight she couldn’t summon the energy or the animosity. Instead, she became aware of the stillness of the night and the fact that the two of them were alone.
Completely and totally alone.
* * *
Jonah watched as the fire seeped from Sumner’s expression, leaving something softer, gentler and so much harder to decipher.
“You work too hard,” she murmured.
Jonah could have sworn that the sweet huskiness of her tone brushed down his spine like a silken finger.
“Some days are like that. But not all of them. There are other days when the work is slow and we’ve got too much time on our hands.”
“What do you do then?”
“I...uh... I like to read. I do a little carving.”
He could tell that he’d surprised her. Not so much with the reading, but with his carving. He wondered what she would say if he told her that he’d once poured his energies into making beautiful furniture. He’d even built a snug little house and filled it with the handcrafted pieces.
For Rebecca.
But it hadn’t been enough for her to consider taking a chance on him.
Jonah broke away from those dark thoughts, dragging his attention back to the present and a different woman.
Rebecca would have been shocked by Sumner’s pursuit of an education—and even more appalled by Sumner’s choice of career. Rebecca had always been one of those overtly feminine types who dressed in ruffles and wore her hair in ringlets. To her, a lost glove was a tragedy and a good meal a triumph. He’d been so sure that she would make the perfect wife and mother.
And she had.
Just not with him.
But as he unconsciously compared his former betrothed to Sumner, he couldn’t find fault with the different path that this woman had taken. She glowed from her sense of dedication and the passion she felt for her causes. If anything...
He admired her for that.
Knowing that to stay any longer, alone with her, in the dark, would open the evening to a temptation that he couldn’t allow himself, so he set the lantern on a nearby table.
“I’ll leave the lamp with you. Take whatever time you want and inventory what you can use. In the meantime, I’ll let the Pinkertons know that you may need to make several trips in the coming days. Don’t worry about locking up tonight. I’ll send Creakle by with a key in a few hours, then have him unlock it again early in the morning.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Jonah.”
He’d nearly made it to the door when she spoke again.
“Jonah?”
He couldn’t resist turning to look at her one more time. She was wearing the same coat and hat that she’d worn earlier that week when they’d shared a meal. In the dim lamplight, her face was framed by a delicate halo of fur.
“Make sure you get some sleep tonight.”
Jonah couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept more than a few fitful hours. It had been even longer since someone had cared about his welfare. Sure, Creakle tended to nag. But that was a male fussiness that had more to do with making sure that the “boss man” could do the job rather than anything else.
But Sumner Havisham’s concern seemed more...real.
“I’ll do my best.” He lifted a finger to the brim of his hat. “You make sure to do the same.”
Then he strode from the office knowing that it was past time that he beat a hasty retreat.
* * *
Sumner listened to the sound of Jonah’s footfalls as they disappeared into the night. Strong. Sure. Steady. His gait told her as much about the man as the man himself.
She waited for some time, wondering if he’d pause or come back. But it soon became clear that she’d been left alone with her thoughts—a luxury of sorts, after the women had all been living in one another’s pockets.
Taking the lantern from the table, she held it high, allowing the buttery glow to seep into the corners of the room. In the waiting area, there were a half dozen chairs and a small writing desk. In her mind’s eye, she could imagine what it would look like bustling with patients.
She moved into the examining area where she found a proper physician’s chair made of oak with an adjustable headboard and little drawers and cubbies underneath where she could have stored her instruments. Along one entire wall, there were more bookshelves and drawers, and a glass-fronted display cabinet with an apothecary scale and a half dozen bottles of various compounds that could be mixed into medicines. Unfortunately, most of the vials were nearly empty—which meant that the previous physician had probably taken everything of value.
