She bought the dress and also another set of white ceramic dishes and two serving trays. As she walked beside Èmie carrying their goods, she said, “I’ve been thinking. Your idea of a list is a good one, but it would be better for me to plan if I knew already how many wanted to eat. I think I’ll have people sign up in advance for a table. And I’ll only seat the room twice in a night. I can’t cook for more than that. Not yet anyway.”
“Twice twenty-four is enough.”
“There might not always be four to a table.”
Èmie pulled her shawl close against the chilly breeze. “Why not?”
“Some people might want to dine as a couple, or alone, or three.”
“You won’t join them up with someone else?”
Carina rolled her eyes. “That was a risk.”
“They enjoyed it.”
Carina reached the door and quickly stashed the dishes and trays inside. “How do you know?”
“I saw Mrs. Masterson in conversation with the miner all through the meal. Mr. Makepeace and the mayor got downright cozy. It was the same at all the tables.”
Carina stopped and turned. “Do you think I should?”
Èmie shrugged, and they made their way around the side to the washroom. Lucia must be thoroughly clean by now, but Carina would make certain she was more than clean. She must be checked for lice, and though she cringed at the thought, she did it herself. Surprisingly the girl’s head was free of vermin.
Carina left her the dress and went out. When Lucia came out herself, hair pulled back and face scrubbed, she looked like a new person. Clothes might not make the man, but they did a lot for the woman. Especially in the way she was viewed in a place such as Crystal.
Carina nodded her satisfaction. “What did your father earn in the mine?”
“Three dollars a day.” Lucia dropped her eyes as she spoke, as though three dollars was so much.
It was less than Carina charged for one plate. No wonder the miner who sat with the mayor and Mr. Makepeace was the only one of his ilk among the business owners and mine owners, engineers, and managers. Could the discrepancy be so great between those who had in Crystal and those who didn’t?
But then, she’d worked for Berkley Beck for room and board and a dollar a week. And his honest earnings had amazed her, even without the forgeries and extortion. Those with education and know-how didn’t suffer in Crystal. Not unless they cheated and lost. Like Berkley Beck.
“I’ll pay you three dollars a day while you’re learning and four starting next week.”
Lucia gulped back tears and dropped to her knees. “Oh, grazie. Papa called you Lady Luck, and now I know it.”
Joe Turner had started that, claiming she’d made his fortune by putting him out of his room. And his Carina DiGratia Mine, named for her and bringing up the richest ore yet, was halfway to making him a millionaire if the rumors were correct. Though she’d almost been hung by vigilantes not so long ago, it seemed plenty still believed her a legend in the making.
“I’m not Lady Luck. I just need your help. So come inside and we’ll see where to start.” Now that Carina was working out of Mae’s kitchen for more than her own meals, she set about scrubbing it clean. Mamma had been insistent about that. Cleanliness was godliness. No self-respecting woman would allow her kitchen to be any less.
She didn’t judge Mae, or at least she tried not to. It would be difficult—if not impossible—for Mae to get down on her knees and scrub the floor. But that didn’t mean the floor needed it less. While Lucia scrubbed, Carina decided her menu. Then she went to the stationery store and bought a pad of paper.
On the first sheet of the pad she wrote the date. Then she divided the page into first seating and second seating. Second seating would begin as soon as each table cleared from the first. Then she numbered down the page one through six with room for four names at each table. She filled in the names of those who hadn’t been served the night before, as well as Joe Turner, who had.
There were still two names left over. These she put at the first seating for tomorrow’s dinner. She hoped this would bring some order to things. She borrowed a hammer and put in a nail to hang the pad outside the restaurant door. As she did so, Alex Makepeace rounded the corner.
He removed his hat and nodded. “Good morning, Mrs. Shepard.”
“Good morning.”
“That was a delicious supper you served last night.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced at the pad hung on the wall. “What would I need to do to have my name on your list every night?”
She raised her brows, surprised. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought past tomorrow.”
“I was thinking of tonight.” He laughed.
Carina spread her hands helplessly. “I have too many names already.”
“Have you considered an expansion?” His brown eyes shone with mirth.
“Expansion! I’ve only just built. Besides, how could I serve more? I can hardly keep up as it is.” She shoved the hair back from her face. “It’s pazzo.”
He laughed. “A very descriptive word. Meaning?”
“Crazy. Insane. Ridiculous. Do you suppose it was curiosity? Will they stop coming once they’ve tried it?”
Makepeace took the pencil that hung with the pad and wrote his name on the next night’s list. “Mrs. Shepard, once they’ve come, they’ll keep coming.”
“But there’s the hotel and all the saloons and—”
“What Crystal wants is the sophistication you’ve brought it.” He flipped up a page, numbered it as she had, and wrote his name again.
“Mr. Makepeace.” She couldn’t help laughing.
“You could make it exclusive. Like a men’s club. Double your prices.”
“Impossible. Who would pay eight dollars for a meal?”
He flipped another page and started numbering. “There are men here making more money than they know what to do with.”
“And others making three dollars a day.”
He glanced sideways as he added his name to a third page. “Which is more than they’d earn in any other unskilled position anywhere in the country. A factory worker in the East makes one dollar a day with hours as long as the hard-rock miner’s. These men are glad for what they get. Why else would they be here?”
“What does my husband earn a day?”
He dropped the sheets and hooked a thumb in his vest. “You’ll have to ask Quillan that.” He turned back to the pad. “Isn’t there another way besides my filling in every page you have? Why don’t you keep three of the tables permanently reserved for those of us who intend to come every night. Then keep the others open for sign-ups if you like.”
She stared at him. Was he serious? Did he think men would come night after night, pay so much for a meal and the privilege of sitting at her tables? She looked at her pad. She could keep three tables for the first seating at her discretion. Joe Turner would need a place and maybe more than one if he brought his men with him.
“All right. Stop signing every page. I can’t help tonight, but starting tomorrow, you may have a place kept for you.”
“Madame, you’re an angel.”
“Oh sì.” She waved her hand. “It’s your stomach talking. But as you’re managing my husband’s interests, I suppose I should keep you happy.”
“Mrs. Shepard, you know well enough what I have to face every other meal of the day.” Again his eyes lit with humor as he saw her silent acknowledgment.
She was a traitor to let him speak so of Mae’s efforts and offer no more than understanding. But it was true.
“Now I’m off to the mine. By the way, we’ve made tremendous headway on the shaft and started a lateral level on a very promising vein.”
Carina smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” But she didn’t have time to think about it. The mine was Quillan’s business, if even he cared. She took down the pad and began renumbering the pages to reserve three tables from each first seating. She would see if th
ey filled and stayed that way.
By evening she had no doubt they would. Joe Turner applauded her idea of keeping his place, and told her he wanted an entire table held for him and the managers and engineers he would have with him. The mayor spoke for a full table every Tuesday and Friday night and promised to fill four seats. His wife had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Mr. Makepeace was only one, but the other seats were quickly spoken for. As he said, too many men in Crystal had money and no one to cook for them.
And now her main concern was how far she could stretch the ingredients she’d bought in Fairplay. How in heaven’s name would she get more?
Carina stepped out into the brisk morning air. She felt cleansed and exhilarated after celebrating Mass with Father Charboneau and Èmie and even Dr. Simms. She watched the two of them now, walking with heads together, Èmie’s hand lightly on the doctor’s arm. It couldn’t be argued that he courted her with anything less than the utmost propriety.
It was obvious to every eye that he esteemed and honored her, Èmie, the niece of the demented murderer Henri Charboneau. But then, she was also the niece of the priest. They were two brothers who started out on the same wrong path until God intervened. Carina drew the air deeply into her lungs. One could do so on Sunday, when much of the mining activity was diminished.
She started down toward the livery just behind Alan Tavish. Quickening her step, she caught up with him, then slowed to match his painful amble. “Good morning, Alan Tavish.”
“Good mornin’ to you, lass.”
“I’d like to ride today, if you’ll allow me to take Daisy.”
He cocked his head. “Quillan didn’t tell ye, then.”
“Tell me what?”
“The mare’s yours, darlin’. Quillan bought her for you.”
Carina tried not to look surprised. How would it seem for her not to know? Could Quillan not have told her? Would it have been so much? But then she would have thanked him, and he would have to admit he’d done something thoughtful, something good to her.
“I forgot.” It sounded foolish even to her. She should be pleased, grateful. Instead she was confused. Why had Quillan bought the mare? In hopes she’d saddle up and leave him? Probably. She stopped the direction of her thoughts. Instead she hailed Mr. Makepeace coming from the cabin that served the Presbyterians. So he was a God-fearing man.
He turned at her call and smiled. “Mrs. Shepard, you’re a balm to the eyes.”
“Thank you, Mr. Makepeace. Isn’t it a lovely day?”
“It is. I’d thought to see somewhat of the countryside, but I’m not sure where to go.” He dropped into step with them.
“Perhaps you’d like to ride with me.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, except that a nagging loneliness was starting to creep in. Mae and Èmie were dear, but having grown up with five brothers and Papa, her uncles and old Guiseppe, she hungered for male companionship as well.
“I’d like that very much. Where would we go?”
“There is Wasson Lake.” Again she wasn’t sure why she suggested that. It was where she and Quillan had first ridden together. But that had been Quillan’s instigation, to teach her how to shoot the gun he’d provided her. She hadn’t shot it since the night the vigilantes tried to hang her.
“That sounds bully.”
She glanced at Alan Tavish and caught a sour look on the old ostler’s face. Did he read more into their adventure than either of them intended? Would others think the same? Carina hesitated only briefly. If Quillan cared two figs, he wouldn’t leave her alone in a place like Crystal.
“I’ll pack us some lunch. It’s two hours to the lake.”
Mr. Makepeace tipped his hat with a slight bow. “I’ll fetch our mounts.” He continued on with Alan Tavish while she veered off for Mae’s kitchen. Perhaps she shouldn’t be riding off alone with Mr. Makepeace. Perhaps she should ask Èmie and Dr. Simms along. She turned and searched the street behind her, but they were not in sight.
Surely she was making more of this than necessary. It was a friendly overture on both their parts, and Quillan would expect her to entertain his partner. He would do it himself if he were there, which of course he wasn’t. She reached the kitchen and went inside. Quickly she assembled bread spread with pesto and sprinkled with parmigiano, a jar of olives, and a small salami. For drink they would have the lake itself, which was so clear she could see to the bottom for a great distance.
It was not connected to Cooper Creek, therefore was uncontaminated by the mining debris and city waste. She remembered her first sight of it as she rode her old mule Dom along the road after Quillan had tossed her wagon. The beauty of the lake with the snowy peak behind had made her breathless, quickened her spirit, and had given her courage to go on.
She was eager to see it again as she met Mr. Makepeace outside with the horses. She looked at the small red mare. So the horse was now hers. Grazie, Quillan. He may have meant the gift as a hint, but she would take it as a gift. With a light hand from Mr. Makepeace, she mounted. He had already hung the food sack from his steeldust stallion’s saddle. With little interest from anyone, they headed out.
The ride seemed longer than she remembered, and Carina felt more awkward than she had expected. How could it be any worse than the ride she’d shared with Quillan? Especially the ride back, when he was so furious at her insulting his parentage. How was she to know his parentage was worse than she could have imagined?
Not truly, though. Wolf was not a savage, and Rose not a harlot. How would she let him know that? Carina shook her head. From the start her connection to Quillan had been fraught with fury and dismay. Would that ever change?
The lake came into view, and she realized she’d been lost in her thoughts most of the two-hour ride. It was deplorable manners. “I apologize, Mr. Makepeace. I’ve not been a friendly guide.”
He smiled easily. “I’ve no quarrel with quiet, Mrs. Shepard. That two individuals can share a companionable silence is friendly enough for me.”
She searched his face a moment, then directed his attention to the lake. They were not coming toward it from the most dramatic angle, as she had, but it was lovely enough. On the lakeshore, they shared the lunch, which Mr. Makepeace praised profusely.
“It’s the mountain air, Mr. Makepeace. It adds God’s own seasoning.”
“I believe you.”
“Now tell me about this vein you’re following.” It was a safe enough subject, and as she guessed, Alex Makepeace held forth at length while they finished their meal and wandered a short way along the lake. She listened with more interest than she’d expected. He made the operation sound fascinating, and she could hear his pride in the endeavor. She felt herself relax and even questioned him.
“But isn’t it dangerous for the men with the thermal instability of the giant powder?”
“Every aspect of mining has its hazards, Mrs. Shepard. Not just the powder. Machinery failure accounts for more accidents than powder explosions.”
“What sort of machinery failure?”
“Oh, for instance, the winch that lets the basket down the shaft. If the chain breaks, as all too frequently they do, the basket hurtles down the shaft sometimes sixty feet or more. Men are thrown out or hit bottom with such force . . .” He shook his head. “No, there’s nothing safe about the mining trade. But men don’t do it for safety or they’d be pushing a plow instead.”
“Why do they do it, Mr. Makepeace?”
He formed a solid smile. “There’s nothing like it, Mrs. Shepard. You against the very earth with only your wits, strength, and fortitude. You face the danger every day. And when you conquer . . . ah, there’s no feeling like it.”
There was a sort of fire in his eyes when he spoke, and Carina felt a shadow of the pride he exuded. “Is that how it is for you also, Mr. Makepeace?”
“Now?” He looked surprised. “No, not now. When I went to Cornwall to learn the trade, starting from the bottom up, yes. But that was only the start for me. I went to unive
rsity and learned engineering. Now I oversee the operation. I’m not involved in the nitty-gritty anymore.”
Carina smiled. “You sound disappointed.”
He smiled back. “No. But I must admit I miss the fraternity. When your life lies in the hands of your fellow workers, there’s a bond with them you won’t find outside of it.”
“But why is it so dangerous? Aren’t there ways to make it safe?”
He hunched his shoulders and dropped them. “There are too many unknowns, and our technology can’t cover them all. Hit a pocket of bad air, the canary dies, and all you can do is run. If a fire starts, you better pray you’re first to the basket. If a mule backs a cart over you, if a winch chain breaks, if the fuse on the powder explodes before you’re clear . . . How could we cover all the contingencies?”
“But what happens to the injured men?”
“Some buy insurance against mining accidents that render a man unable to continue the trade.”
She waved a hand. “Such as limbs blown off, blinded eyes, or broken necks.”
He turned from the lake to face her. “Mrs. Shepard, life holds no guarantees. Men do what they must and take responsibility for the dangers therein. Even the law says as much. It’s called contributory negligence and fellow servant liability. I can’t be responsible for every action of every man underground that might contribute to an accident risking the life or health of the others.”
Carina considered that. She supposed the men did share the responsibility for their own safety. “What happens to those who are rendered unable to work?”
“They’re let go.”
She stopped, one foot on a crisp, grassy clump beside the softly lapping water. “You mean dismissed?”
He looked slightly uncomfortable. “Yes, if they’re no longer able to hold the job, they’re dismissed.”
“But are they able to hold another job?”
Mr. Makepeace rubbed the back of his hand up his cheek. “Not always.”
“Then how do they live?”
“Mrs. Shepard, there are cripples and unfortunates in every part of the world. They beg, they borrow, they steal. I don’t know how they live. Even the Lord said we’d have the poor with us. The churches care for them.”
Sweet Boundless Page 12
