by Carol Henry
“Did your pie win this year, Catherine?” Seth asked.
“It sure did,” Maggie chimed in, beaming just as bright as Catherine.
“And who won your basket?” Seth asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t bother to find out. I told you I didn’t care.”
“If you say so.”
“It was Jimmy Leonard,” Timothy snitched.
“Come on, everyone, let’s get going. We have a dinner to go to.” Catherine urged everyone along, taking the spotlight off her for the time being.
The sun had been bright overhead all day and had recently descended over the hillside toward Spencer. The smell of fresh baked ham circled out through the church’s kitchen window and lingered down the street
Seth’s stomach rumbled.
He did a quick sweep of the church lot as he drew the wagon alongside the street looking for a place to hitch the horses. Anna Louise was nowhere to be found.
“She’ll be here,” Catherine whispered in his ear. “I’m sure she’s inside helping in the kitchen, as usual. This is her family’s church.”
Seth gave Catherine a withering look. His sister’s smile firmly in place, he turned to concentrate on finding an area wide enough to hold both horses and wagon. When he found one, he maneuvered them into place, then jumped from the buckboard to hitch the horses to the post.
Seth threw on his finest church-going jacket he’d tucked under the front seat of the wagon and slicked back his hair to make sure it hadn’t come undone during the afternoon. Satisfied he looked presentable for Anna Louise, he proceeded to help everyone down from the wagon. Together they filed into the church’s side entrance.
Catherine was right, Seth noted as they paid for their dinner and found a seat. He spotted Anna Louise through the pass-through window in the kitchen. She wore a crisp white apron over her day dress. He was even more surprised when she was the one who waited on their table after they were seated. And even more pleased when Anna Louise and her family sat behind them during the reading of the Declaration of Independence held in the church meeting room after dinner.
He could smell her sweet fragrance and wanted to turn around to drink in her beauty. He held himself back from wanting to do nothing more than run his hands through her magnificent blonde ringlets which bounced every time she shook her head. If they weren’t sitting in the middle of the church with everyone surrounding them, he would love to untie the red bow in her hair and let those wispy strands hang loose. He didn’t even feel an ounce of blasphemy because they were in a church and he was thinking such thoughts. Being this near to the love of his life was driving him mad. Like a kid, he fidgeted in the pew, his long arms dangling between his knees.
Dear Lord. He should be praying. Instead, he wanted to cuss his father out for sending his mother west and putting him in this difficult position. Anna Louise was right. Who in their right mind with dreams within their grasp would want to take over the running of a ready-made family, run a household, and deal with a nobody farmer like himself?
Seth had hoped to make strides with Anna Louise today. Instead, she was right in many respects. Perhaps he wasn’t the person she needed. She needed someone like Mr. Linsky who could take care of her, pay for daily help, and even a nanny when the children came along. Seth pictured her, a leader in the community, walking down the street and being held in high respect in many social circles. If she were to marry him, he could only see her as someone who would grow bitter with lost opportunities. But it didn’t stop him from loving her and wanting her to love him in return. They could work something out. He was sure of it.
Bowing his head and closing his eyes, Seth sent up a prayer. “Dear God in Heaven, please forgive me for asking for your help with Anna Louise, but I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’m sure you mean for her to be my wife only she don’t know it yet. Please help her to see the light.”
Seth opened his eyes. Guilt washed over him, and he bowed his head again. “Please look out for Ma way out west and help her heal so she can come home and be with her family. Oh, yes. And help Catherine to pass her exams. Amen.”
By the time the oration ended, Robert and Sarah had fallen asleep. A gentleman in the back row snored to beat the band, and his embarrassed wife nudged him in an effort to make him stop. Mrs. Flanagan and Catherine carried the kids and herded the others from the church into the cool evening. Seth lingered near the vestibule to have a word with Anna Louise before she left. He caught her arm and drew her aside.
“Do you have a minute, Anna Louise? I’d like a word, please.” Seth held his hat in his hand, his shoulders slumped.
“For you, Seth, I can make time. Shall we go to the alcove near the stairs,” Anna Louise said with a hint of concern.
Her eyes hooded, she followed him.
He didn’t want her pity.
Seth cleared his throat. He looked down at Anna Louise. She was so beautiful; he almost lost the courage to speak. But this was important, and he had to get through it.
“I, um…,understand why you can’t see your way clear to consider my proposal, Anna Louise. So, I want to put your mind at ease. I won’t pester you to reconsider my proposal I made the other day.” Seth squeezed the hat in his hands while he gazed into Anna Louise’s brilliant blue eyes. This was goodbye. He had to let her go.
“Seth…,”
“No. Let me finish,” he said. “I know you have dreams, and they don’t include me. I’m sorry. I want you to know I do love you, not because I need someone to help me out with my sisters and brothers, or the household, or the farm. The situation at the time prompted me to act irrationally. Too soon, as it turns out.”
“Seth…”
Seth didn’t give her a chance to speak. He drew her behind the alcove and wrapped his arms around her, pulled her in close, and kissed her full on the lips. He let her go, turned, and walked out of the church.
And wiped at the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He was glad the sun had disappeared behind the hillside. He unhitched the rope from the post and got into the wagon where his family had already settled. He was thankful everyone was tired on the ride home and no one was up to talking as the night grew more dim. Even Maggie Flanagan. He didn’t think he could keep up a conversation, his heart ached so. He’d likely bite their heads off if they started.
Is this what loving someone did to you? Turned you into a sorry sap?
Seth moaned, clicked on the reins, and drove the wagon into the night.
Chapter Fourteen
It’d only been a week since the oil car incident, and Charley’s attempt to pacify the workers had no effect whatsoever. Meeting with the trainmen and the engineers did little to defray their concerns. Fight after fight broke out among the men once again. Sides were taken. It was time to talk to Seamus and find out just what the hell was going on, why the men were still all worked up.
“Donahue’s been seen at the rails sparking the rift again,” Seamus said, combing his fingers through his hair. “He’s keeping the men agitated. Now he’s nowhere to be seen. The coward. He hasn’t been near his office, neither, far as I know.”
“I told Aderley he should have fired him a long time ago. The weasel uses his position to fuel the fire. I think he keeps Aderley in the dark about a lot of important facts in regards to the true situation on the other rail lines and the strike. I’ll eat my hat if they’ve really given out pay raises anywhere in the entire nation.”
Charley clutched his fists at his sides. It was getting harder and harder to keep his loyalties on both sides of the matter. Fact was, he sympathized with those whose wages were next to nothing already. The entire strike could have been prevented if Scott and the other big bugs hadn’t cut wages in the first place.
“How can I tell Aderley he hasn’t gotten anywhere with those talking Union?” he asked Seamus. “I have to go in there now, report to the man himself, and see what I can do.”
“Good luck to ya. I pray he listens this time, or we’ve go
t big trouble heading our way.”
“I don’t like this one bit, Seamus. Not one bit. I’ve been nothing but a sorry friend to the men. I’ve been stupid to stand by and let things go on without standing up for you and the others.”
“You’ve been in a hard spot. Can’t be easy.”
“No. But I plan to tell Aderley, and even Scott if necessary, where my true loyalties lay. More than half the city of Philadelphia’s moral majority has already figured out where their loyalties fit.”
Charley walked along the tracks leading to the station and Aderley’s office. Damn the rails. Child labor issues had surfaced during the last meeting. Nothing had been resolved. No way in hell did he want his children working in such dangerous conditions alongside him day after day. The other poor Joe and their sons busted their hides for the number of hours needed to earn a respectable wage. And in the end, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference in their everyday lives. Working conditions were bad enough, and many of the young boys ended up injured. Still, he understood why men let their children work. They needed the wages. But it still didn’t make it right. Or safe.
But dammit, Seamus was right. If they didn’t stand up for what they believed in, then the corporations would win. Again.
Charley entered Aderley’s office to find him at his desk, head held between clenched fists. An eerie keening noise filled the room. Charley stood just inside the doorway a moment longer, not sure what was going on. He’d never seen the big man in such bad shape. Had Westmüller died? Had there been more bloodshed he didn’t know about? What had happened to put Aderley in such a pathetic state? Charley wasn’t aware of anything happening involving the strike that would cause such a reaction. But for sure, it had to be something big.
Charley cleared his throat and entered the room as if nothing was amiss, hoping to catch the man’s attention. Aderley didn’t bother to lift his head or hide the tears streaming down his ashen cheeks. Instead, he gave a great sniff, cleared his throat, and wiped at his face with large trembling hands.
“He’s dead,” Mason Aderley keened. “Oh, my God in heaven, Charles. He’s dead.” The big man’s voice shook with the news.
“The man made it through the fire,” Charley said, sure Aderley referred to Westmüller. “I was sure God would’ve saved the man’s soul after all he suffered through.”
“No. Not Westmüller, dammit,” Aderley yelled, pounding his fist on the table.
Charley jumped back at the outburst.
“Not Westmüller. If only it was. No. God almighty, Charles, my son. I just got a telegram from some god-forsaken place called Silver Springs. There was an accident. The train my wife and boys were on got detained on the other side of the Rockies. A damaged train trestle, of all things. A buffalo stampede. Indian hunting party chased them across the plains. My son. My son, Jason, was trampled in a buffalo stampede. He’s dead. I sent them away from harm, but instead, I sent them right into it.”
The man bowed his head in his hands again and sobbed deep gut-wrenching sobs. Charley rushed to the desk, opened the bottom left-hand drawer, and took out the bottle of whiskey. He detached the cork and handed it to Aderley.
“Here, drink up.”
Aderley didn’t need to be told twice. Oblivion was the only way to handle this kind of news on the back of the oil car disaster. Right now Charley didn’t give a damn about the railroad or the strike. It was all a big poisonous cauldron anyway. Aderley’s pain went much deeper than any of those problems.
Charley sat down on the other side of the room and waited as Aderley drank himself into unconsciousness.
Charley jumped from his chair and started pacing. Holy Mary, Mother of God. Emily had been on that train, too. Her telegram hadn’t said anything about a stampede. As soon as he took care of Aderley, he’d head on over to the telegraph office and contact Seth and find out just what had taken place. Find out if Emily had been hurt.
Damn trains. Damn strike.
Aderley’s head lolled forward, then hit the desk with a thud. Charley grabbed the bottle of whiskey, took a long eager swallow, plunked the bottle on Aderley’s desk, and walked out.
Strike be dammed. He prayed Emily was okay.
****
“Mrs. Aderley is asking for you,” Mrs. Shay said. She rushed into the parlor, her face flushed with concern. “I assured her I’d fetch you right quick.”
“Oh, my, is she okay? Is something wrong?” Emily followed Mrs. Shay down the hallway to Marian Aderley’s room where she and her son had been cloistered since they’d arrived in Silver Springs. Emily prayed the poor woman wasn’t on her death bed.
The afternoon sun was hot and the air dry. Emily shuddered as she entered the dark room, humid and musty from lack of fresh air. Marian’s still body lay hidden under a heavy handmade quilt of muted shades of blues and greens from many washings and hangings in the sun. Emily approached the bed as quietly as possible, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d tapped her heels across the bare hardwood floor. Marian looked to be dead to the world. Emily’s heart raced.
“Marian?” Emily put her hand on the woman’s forehead. Despite the hot room, it was cool to the touch. “Marian. It’s Emily Carmichael,” she tried again. “Mrs. Shay said you were awake and calling for me. How are you feeling?”
Marian opened her eyes to mere sunken slits. Emily sighed at the effort it took for Marian to focus her tired, pain-filled eyes. The woman was much too frail. The once vibrant woman, glowing with health, now gazed at the ceiling in the dark, wasting away.
“Let me open the curtains to let some sunshine in so you can enjoy this glorious day.”
Not waiting for a reply, Emily rushed to the window and drew back the heavy curtains. She was surprised the doctor’s wife hadn’t already opened them on such a bright warm afternoon. Within seconds the room glowed with warmth.
Marian’s son, Jonathan, stirred. Emily turned to find him huddled in a chair in the corner, leg propped up, head lolled sideways. Even in sleep the boy looked sad, sullen, and subdued.
“Are you in pain, my dear?” She turned her attention back to the boy’s mother.
Marian blinked several times, then uttered a few words in a strained voice Emily had to draw closer to hear.
“Not if I lay still,” Marian mumbled.
“What can I do for you? A drink of water, perhaps? A cool cloth?”
Marian’s whisper was weak, as if the mere motion of forming words caused her lips to hurt. “The ache in my heart is much worse than any pain I suffer in either my ribs or my leg.”
“I’m so sorry,” Emily soothed, stroking the woman’s brow, aware there was most likely nothing she could do to alleviate the woman’s agony. There was no cure for heartache. But she had to ask just the same. “Has anyone sent word to your husband? Will he be joining you in San Francisco?”
“I’ve had word sent. But Mason is much too busy with matters of the strike back east to worry about me,” Marian uttered as tears rolled over her pale cheeks. Her thick, black lashes spiked from the wetness against her chalk-white skin. The woman resembled a waif adrift at sea.
Emily’s own cheeks were a bit damp as well. She took Marian’s hand in hers and patted it gently.
“I’m sure your husband will be concerned. As soon as the doctor returns, I’m sure he’ll give you a dram of laudanum for the pain. I pray it will be soon.”
Emily walked to the dry sink, found a large but dainty white fluted bowl with roses circling the rim. Mrs. Shay had filled it with fresh water. A pristine white cloth and hand towel lay in a tidy pile next to the basin. Emily dipped the cloth in the lukewarm water, wrung out the excess, then returned to Marian’s side. With gentle strokes, she swabbed Marian’s brow.
“Your son needs tending, as well,” Emily soothed. “I’ll check with Sheriff Coulter to see if he knows of someone who can be of help until the doctor returns. Perhaps Mr. O’Leary from the train might be willing to stop by. He was very helpful while we were at Weber Canyon.
”
“Please, if you would be so kind to take care of my son. Tend to his needs.”
Jonathan stirred, moaned at the mention of his name, and then opened his eyes. He looked around the room in confusion. Emily wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him.
“Don’t you worry now, Marian. I’m glad to be of assistance anyway I can. You rest.”
Emily drew the coverlet down to allow air next to Marian’s inert body. There was no need for her to be so bundled. She made her way around the foot of the bed and approached Jonathan.
“It must be hard for such a young active boy like yourself to be stuck in this room with a broken leg all day. I’ll see if I can find someone to carry you outside where you can get some fresh air and enjoy this sunshine.” Emily pointed to the window, but Jonathan didn’t bother to look, his eyes focused on his mother. “The Shays have a wonderful front porch.” Emily tried to coax a response from the young boy. “I’ll just go see if Sheriff Coulter can find someone to help get you outside without damaging your broken leg further.”
Jonathan looked at his mother as if waiting for her approval. Emily waited, too, and was soon rewarded when Marian nodded her head. Good. The young man needed to get out of the dark room. The sooner the better.
Emily left to search for Sheriff Coulter. Walking down the boardwalk, she lifted her freshly laundered skirts, thanks to Mrs. Shay, and stepped down to cross the dirt street to where the Bottom’s Up Saloon was full to overflowing with business already. She spotted Sheriff Coulter coming from the jail, three buildings down. She waved to gain his attention.
“Sheriff Coulter. We need your assistance, sir. Young Jonathan needs to be taken outside to take advantage of this beautiful sunshine and get out of his dark sickroom. Could you do us the honor of finding someone to help transfer him to the front porch?”
Sheriff Coulter tipped his hat. “I’d be happy to, Ma’am.” He followed Emily back to the house where Mrs. Shay stood, waiting for them on the front steps. Together they managed to get Jonathan situated in a chair tucked in a corner of the porch where they propped his foot up on a pillow.
