by Teresa Rae
Ida puts down the bowl of soup and follows Clara from the room.
“You are not going to change my mind,” I say as Ida shuts the door behind them.
“How is it possible you are ignorant in regards to the fret you have caused today?” His tone is very severe, like that of a father scolding a very naughty child. “I went to bed last evening, assured of your safety. Gabe woke me this morning with news he had found you walking into town, and you had insisted on going to St. Mary’s School and then Sunday service. Due to his concern for your welfare, Gabe missed his appointment with William Bird to inform me of your escapades.”
“I am perfectly capable of seeing to my own affairs,” I argue, annoyed by his arrogance.
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? Then, perhaps, you can explain why it took an Indian tribe to rescue you? You are a magnet for trouble.”
“That is a very impolite thing to say!”
“Good manners are not going to keep you alive,” he retorts calmly. “Your naiveté is a danger to you. You are far too trusting for your own good.”
I angrily sit up. “And you are far too self-absorbed! The world does not revolve around you!”
My words seem to bounce off him. There is no anger or retaliation of any sort.
“Time for you to eat,” he says in his usual soft-spoken tone.
I regain my senses, picking up my soup spoon.
“Colonel Blair, I will visit Chun’s father.”
“I will see to the boy’s father in your stead, giving you ample opportunity to rest. I will have Rose send you some biscuits and pie to go with your meal.” He goes out the door as calmly as though he’s taking a stroll through the park.
After two bowls of soup, four biscuits, and a large piece of mince pie, I am stuffed. Clara and Ida saw to it that I ate properly, not that I needed much encouragement – I was starving. I lay on the bed, grateful to be in a nightgown instead of a dreadful corset. Unfortunately, a full stomach isn’t the only side-effect of the large meal. I really need to visit the outhouse.
Grateful Clara and Ida have gone to help Rose in the kitchen, I kick off the quilts, grab a shawl and sneak out the door. I tiptoe down the stairs and out the front door. The frozen ground hurts my feet, but it’s just a quick trip.
As always, the outhouse stinks. I kick empty whiskey bottles out of the way so I can shut the door. When I finish, I wish I had a whole bottle of antibacterial gel to clean my hands and feet. Outhouses are just plain nasty!
I am sneaking back to the Mansion when I hear raised voices near the Paiute wikiups.
“Colonel Blair, you have utterly failed at protecting Miss Harris,” White Cloud says in a surprisingly condescending tone.
“Miss Harris is none of your concern,” Colonel Blair snaps. “You are fortunate I have patiently endured your lodging situation!”
“Endured? Had it been left to you, Miss Harris would have met her demise in the alleyway. Her safety is far too important to be left to a drunkard Confederate soldier!”
In a flash, Colonel Blair pulls a pistol out of seemingly nowhere. Cocking it, he points it in White Cloud’s face.
“As I said before, Miss Harris is none of your concern,” he says frighteningly.
The Paiutes draw their own weapons.
White Cloud begins laughing, completely unconcerned about the gun aimed at him.
“See! You are capable of her protection! It is time you behaved like it.” He lifts his hand, pressing the pistol to the skin above his nose. “If anyone threatens her, shoot them between the eyes. Always aim to kill.”
“You are insane.” Colonel James lowers his weapon, easing the warriors. They also lower their weapons.
White Cloud shakes his head. “No, I am completely sane. It is the world which is insane.”
“I will not dispute that fact. However, you will tread lightly while as my guest. I have allowed your tribe to camp here for Miss Harris’s benefit, but this is a short-term situation.”
White Cloud simply smiles as though Colonel Blair has said something cute.
I decide I’ve eavesdropped long enough. It’s cold, and I find I’m rather tired after my adventures. I sneak around one of the wikiups, waiting for the men to leave. While I’m waiting, I hear voices coming from inside the wikiup. I’m not exactly the smartest girl around, but whatever is being spoken in the wikiup doesn’t sound like Paiute. I slink around the structure, peeking in through the doorway.
“Chun,” I say, seeing the little boy next to his father. A lovely Chinese woman sits with him and his little sister. I go into the wikiup, unseen by White Cloud and Colonel Blair.
“How is he?” I ask, inspecting the unconscious man. Both of his eyes are black, he’s wrapped in bandages, and there is a large laceration on his head.
“Sleep,” Chun answers.
“Good,” I say with relief. I pat the little boy’s hand. “Have you had something to eat?”
He doesn’t get a chance to reply. The cloth covering the doorway is push aside, and Rose appears in the doorway.
“Miss Rebecca!” she yells, nearly dropping the tray of food she’s carrying. She takes in my appearance. “You ain’t never dressed decent!”
“I’m sorry for startling you,” I begin.
Colonel Blair suddenly appears behind her. He frowns deeply. Wordlessly, he picks me up and starts for the Mansion.
“I can walk,” I say.
He doesn’t respond. In mere moments, I’m back in bed.
“Colonel Blair, I must object,” I say. “You cannot just carry me around like a doll.”
He behaves as though I haven’t said anything. He takes a seat next to the bed. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for a lecture. He doesn’t say a word.
“Massa James, Ida and Clara been helpin’ in da kitchen,” Rose explains, dashing into the room.
He nods in understand. “Miss Harris is more trouble than they can be expected to deal with. Have my work brought here. I will serve as her nursemaid.”
I fight back a yawn. He is absolutely infuriating, but it’s not worth the argument. I turn over. “Do what you want. I’m just going to take a short nap before dinner.”
* * *
I awaken and open my eyes. The only light in the room comes from the flickering fire in the fireplace. Turning over, I find Colonel Blair, fully dressed, sleeping on top of the quilts next to me. There is no pain or grief on his face. In all the time I’ve known him, I have never seen him so at peace. I poke him to make sure he’s still alive. He groans and turns over, but he doesn’t wake up. It is obscenely inappropriate for us to be in the same bed together. I should totally kick him out! However, I can’t get myself to do it. Knowing his uncle will try to kill him in about a week, I don’t want to take away what little peace he has. I close my eyes and let the man rest.
13
Chaos
Monday, March 15, 1875
“Where is that man?” I snap, limping down the stairs, half dressed.
“Is there a problem, Miss Harris?” James steps into the foyer wearing a fine suit. He removes his top hat and raises an eyebrow, scanning my lack of clothing. In his time, seeing a corset may be risqué, but I model bikinis in mine.
“Yes there is a problem. I don’t care how much money you have, you can’t buy me any more things! You have nearly filled that new wardrobe with clothes for me! Tell Ida to go get my dress and return the dress in my room to the store!”
“I am afraid I cannot do that. You ripped your dress during the attack, and Ida must mend it. As a good host, I am simply providing you with appropriate clothes.”
“And as I do not have anything to wear, I am going to bed!” I would stomp my foot if my ankle didn’t hurt so badly.
He laughs behind me. “Miss Harris, I have accepted an invitation for us to dine with Bishop Ozi Whitaker and his lovely wife, Julia. We are leaving in five minutes. Put on the dress, so we do not cause the poor woman to fret.”
“I do not care if she do
es fret!”
He frowns. “That is very inhospitable of you, especially since she has been more than gracious extending an invitation and will be slighted and embarrassed if you do not attend. Mrs. Whitaker will be affronted.”
I glare at him. “You are the most insufferable pain in the…”
“Miss Harris, that kind of language is hardly lady-like,” he reprimands. “You have four minutes to finish dressing before I take you to lunch, and I will take you, even if you kick and scream the entire way.”
“I dare you…”
Before I can even finish the sentence, he has picked me up and thrown me over his shoulder, taking the staircase two steps at a time.
“Put me down!” I pound on his back as he enters my room. Ida stands quietly in the corner.
“Do I need to dress you, or will you come willingly?” he asks, placing me on the bed. “I refuse to hurt a good woman’s feelings because of your pride. You now have three minutes to finish dressing.”
I scream in frustration before standing. Ida brings the beautiful green dress to me and helps slide it over my head. Then she helps me put on my cloak, gloves, and a pair of delicate slippers.
“Are you satisfied?” I ask snidely, readjusting my gloves.
“Yes, Miss Harris. I am satisfied – for now.”
* * *
“James!” Bishop Whitaker excitedly waves from a grand home. He rushes down the steps, taking off his top hat as he approaches the carriage.
“Good afternoon, Ozi,” Colonel Blair says. He walks around the carriage, helping me out.
“Miss Harris, how are you feeling?” The Bishop smiles warmly.
“Much better, thanks to Colonel Blair’s good care,” I reply. I gesture to my right. “Bishop Whitaker, this is Clara Egan.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Egan,” the bishop says.
“The pleasure is all mine, Bishop Whitaker,” she says while curtsying.
“It is best if we get Miss Harris out of the cold.” Colonel Blair cuts the conversation short, takes my arm and directs me into the house.
Mrs. Whitaker greets us at the door. “Miss Harris, how are you? You gave us all a terrible fright! It was only because of Colonel Blair’s message, assuring us of your safety and need for rest, that we did not storm his home.”
“His message was accurate. I should not have skipped breakfast,” I try to downplay the fainting spell.
“Julia, I am afraid Miss Harris tends to neglect her health. She should not be on her feet. She has a severely sprained ankle and is still recuperating from the incident yesterday. Perhaps she can be seated?” Colonel Blair says.
“Of course! You poor dear!” Julia takes my arm and ushers me into the dining room and to a chair.
Bishop Whitaker assembles the other guests and soon everyone is enjoying a delicious meal.
“Miss Harris, is that the dress from Bartlett’s Clothing Store?” asks Harriett Philips across from me with a wickedly sweet smile.
“Yes,” I answer with the same smile.
“It is a shame you do not have the time to make your clothing.” She continues to smile. “I have always found my favorite dresses are the ones I have made, and they are much more economical.”
“Miss Phillips, I purchased the dress for Miss Harris,” Colonel Blair interjects while sipping a drink. “She has far more important ways to occupy her time than sewing dresses.”
“It is true,” Julia chimes in. “Miss Harris is a true humanitarian, spending her days in the service of others.”
“And she has somehow found the time to learn to play the violin,” Colonel Blair adds.
Julia claps her hands in excitement. “Miss Harris, I did not know you were musical. You must play for us.”
Colonel Blair shakes his head. “Miss Harris will grace us all with her musical talents, but not today. She is so consumed with caring for others that even the compassionate Miss Harris must have time to recuperate.”
“He is right,” Clara adds.
Bishop Whitaker laughs as he stands. “Gentlemen, we should move to the next room for a drink and leave the ladies to their matters.”
The ladies also change rooms.
Although I haven’t seen her since the incident on Sunday, I don’t get a chance to speak with Julia. The other women are waiting for their hostess. They surround her and begin discussing her charity.
“… and did you see her cloak?” Harriet laughs across the room glancing at me under her brow. “Everything has been purchased for her. I highly doubt she even has a dowry.”
I know she’s talking about me, but I don’t care. I’ve met much snottier girls than her before; I am a beauty queen. I’m just trying to breathe, but my corset restricts the air flow into my lungs. I fan my face.
“Do not pay her any heed,” Clara whispers to me. “She is just jealous.”
“I doubt that,” I say. “But I don’t care what she thinks. I have less than a week before…”
I don’t get the opportunity to finish my statement.
“Miss Harris!” Colonel Blair runs into the room. I can tell by the look on his face that something is terribly wrong. I jump to my feet. “There has been a fire! I have to go to the mine!”
“I can help nurse any wounded.” Clara also gets to her feet.
Colonel Blair nods in agreement.
“I can help, too,” I offer.
“No!” he barks.
I want to yell at him and tell him that I’m not a child, but men’s lives hang in the balance. It is not the time to argue with him.
“Go,” Bishop Whitaker says, directing him and Clara to the door. “We will ensure Miss Harris is delivered safely home.”
Colonel Blair nods before swiftly leaving with Clara on his heels.
The party resumes as though nothing has happened.
“There are often cave-ins and fires in the mines,” Julia says to me, having noticed my confusion with the lack of concern shown for the miners. “This is a way of life in Virginia City. Be assured, Colonel Blair’s mines are some of the best in the Comstock Lode.”
It is frustrating to see so little attempt of compassion. Yes, cave-ins are probably a daily occurrence, but we’re talking about people’s lives! This is exactly what I was talking about when I told Colonel Blair that he made his money on the backs of others. Yes, he shows concern, but is it for his workers or his ore? I’m not sure if he even knows the answer to this question.
I stifle a fake yawn. “Mrs. Whitaker, I find myself rather exhausted this afternoon.”
“You are looking pale,” she adds, affectionately moving a strand of hair out of my face. “I will have Fred prepare the carriage.”
When I arrive at the Blair Mansion, I don’t even go inside. Instead, I dash to the stables. I’m scared to death of horses, but I need to get to the mine as soon as possible. I grab the first horse with a bit in its mouth and use a wooden stool to climb on it.
I begin a frightening ride into the canyon, trying not to get myself killed. This is a harder task than I initially thought. It’s getting dark, and I can barely see where I’m going. I’m also trembling with fear, having no idea what I’m doing on the back of a horse. When I get to the bustling mine, I quickly slide down the side of the horse. My ankle aches as I hit the ground, but I don’t let it stop me. I charge into the tunnel.
Chaos greets me. Choking smoke fills the cavern. Moaning men lay along the length of the main tunnel. Among them are the burned and battered. I immediately set to work. Grabbing a bucket of water, I begin caring for the wounded men. I close the eyes of those I’m too late to help before moving to the next. Since I don’t speak Chinese or Spanish, I can’t communicate with all the miners, but at least I can understand the Irish workers, more or less. I recognize the tenants of Colonel Blair’s. They are grateful to see me, and the least wounded of them help me get more water and supplies.
“Miss Harris, you should not be here,” Gabe says as he helps support a man out of on
e of the tunnels. “Fire is burning the support frames. The tunnels are unstable.”
“We need to get these men out of here!” I begin helping men to their feet. “Everyone, get out of the mine!”
Those who can walk, file out. I’m not very big, but I do what I can to help the men. Luckily, Gabe is there and helps to carry the most wounded to safety. We are helping the last round of men when the walls begin to shake. Gabe drops everything and dashes further into the mine.
With my hurt ankle, I am very slow while helping a particularly large Irishman. “We are almost there,” I goad him forward, despite his moans of objection.
“DAMN IT,GIRL! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” Colonel Blair screams as he catches sight of me. He, Gabe, Clara, and several men are running out of a tunnel. Dust and rocks are falling from the ceiling.
Gabe makes it to us first. He slings the Irishman over his shoulder and begins carrying him out. Without breaking his stride, Colonel Blair reaches his arms for me. Unfortunately, I don’t see the falling rock until it’s too late. It hits the back of my head.
I blink my eyes as the mine begins to spin. I open my mouth to speak, but everything goes black. I feel myself slipping into nothingness.
No, I can’t die, yet! I pray frantically. I have to save him! I have to save Colonel Blair! Please, just give me until the twenty-first!
14
Recovery
Tuesday, March 16, 1875
I feel gentle, callused hands moving the hair out of my face.
“Miss Harris?” Colonel Blair asks with the strong smell of alcohol on his breath.
My head aches excruciatingly. I force my eyes open and find I’m in my room in the Blair Mansion. I try to sit up. His hands hold me down.
“You have been very unwell, Miss Harris,” he says. His face is covered with dirt and soot. “You have been unconscious and delusional for several hours.”
“What time is it?” I ask, looking at my darkened window.
“Half past one,” he answers.
“May I have a glass of water?” I ask, finding my mouth dry.
