by Carol Henry
Marybelle put her arms through Emily’s, and together they walked through the sun-dappled forest of redwoods. The fresh scent of evergreen mingled with the breeze from the ocean as the two strolled along. Emily proceeded to tell her cousin about moving to Candor. In the distance, the sound of lumberjacks cutting down trees filled the air. Men called out ‘timber’ and trees pounded the forest floor, reverberating clear to her bosom.
A train whistle blew as it chugged to a stop at William’s mill. She spotted it as she and Marybelle strolled over the crest of a small knoll overlooking the logging camp.
“Oh my,” Emily exclaimed. “This is a much bigger lumbering operation than I expected.”
Marybelle smiled. “William has fifty men working for him. As you can see, they all have different tasks. My William don’t need to tell them what to do, neither. They’re reliable. William don’t keep anyone who ain’t reliable.”
Men trimmed, cut, and loaded logs onto the small lumber train. Others cleared the area and stacked logs. As Marybelle said, not one man stood about waiting to be told what to do. And William and the boys worked right alongside his men.
“How do they do this day after day? It must take all their energy to cut such large trees.”
“They do eat a lot at meal time. They need to keep up their strength. But it’s a skill they’ve mastered. And with everyone moving west these days, there’s a big demand for lumber to build homes. It is hard work, to be sure, Em, but it’s provided us a very good living, as well as for the lumberjacks. No sir, you won’t hear a one of them complaining.”
“Maybe you should have kept panning for gold. Wouldn’t it have been much easier?”
“Panning for gold is even harder work. Sometimes with little results. We panned for a short time and made a bit of money. We needed to be more financially secure with the children. And dredging day after day was long, hard, dirty, and tiring work, Em. I started cooking and doing laundry, and made more money than we made from our gold. We didn’t have much to spend our earnings on in them days, so we put aside every penny we didn’t need. When William figured out there was more money in logging, what with everyone moving in and needing a place to live, he gathered up a few of the down-trodden gold busted families and offered them a job. Within a year, we had more than enough to build our own home and expand William’s business venture. In the meantime, we lived in a tent until the first winter. The nights got mighty cold. We about froze to death. Before the first snowflake fell, William built us a small shack with a fireplace. The other families did the same.”
“You’re so brave to have gone through so much and keep on going.”
“We’re not so different. Why, I bet you’d follow Charley-boy anywhere if he asked. You moved to Candor and survived, didn’t you?”
“You’re right. But I think my Seth is the true survivor there. He adapted so well to farm life, the rest of us just followed along.”
“I’m sure you had a hand in making things easier. Think of your stay here as a much needed holiday. Everyone will be so happy to have you home. They’ll bend over backwards to help you out from now on.”
“I hope you’re right. Just surviving the trip out here showed me how strong I really am. Poor Mrs. Aderley and Mrs. Young, they’ve had a much worse time traveling out here then I have in so many ways.”
“Stop worrying about other people. You need to learn to take care of yourself first. You’re going to be fine. Now, let’s get back before William and the boys come home for dinner.”
****
Seth arrived in Candor, walked inside the Town Hall on Main Street across from the train depot, and found a seat next to Mr. Strang. He nodded a quiet hello. The farmer returned the silent greeting. Many already seated were dairy farmers; others raised poultry or sheep. A few grew hops, while a good number grew buckwheat. The meeting had been called by several of the more prominent farmers concerned about the railroad strike and how it would affect them.
“If the strike continues for several more weeks, even a month, our harvests will be in jeopardy of going nowhere,” Mr. Meadows said, after he called the meeting to order.
“What are we going to do about it?” someone from the back yelled. “If this here train stops running, we’re gonna have to haul our goods to market by wagon again.”
The room erupted. Seth sat silent, taking it all in, waiting to see if someone had a solution to the problem.
“We’ll have to go back to the old ways of keeping our milk and cheese cold,” one of the dairy farmers stated.
“And our slaughtered meats, we’ll have to be doing animal drives again. I can just see it now, herding cattle, pigs, and hens cross country.”
Several snickered.
“Order,” Mr. Meadows called out. He pounded the gavel on the table to gain the men’s attention in the back. “We have a potentially serious problem on our hands. Now, let’s try to settle down and come up with a solution instead of bemoaning what might be.”
“Biggest problem is spoilage,” Mr. Tallow spoke up.
The entire room, including Seth nodded. Seth looked around at those assembled. Twenty farms in all were represented. His farm was small in comparison to the other’s operations. He had a long way to go before he was in sharp competition with any of them, despite his large acreage. There weren’t many who raised goats, so no competition there. Tobacco had become big in the area, but it required a fair amount of work. He wasn’t sure he was going to continue growing the crop. Potatoes were easier, and except for having to dig them up by hand, he had a more ready market for them locally.
“What about getting the fertilizer and feed we need for our cattle and dairy herds?” Mr. Tallow asked.
“If the trains don’t come into town,” Jerome Little spoke up, “then we have a problem making sure our livestock survive the winter. It will sure cut down on milk production.”
Harvey Strang stood up. “It’s not just livestock. The womenfolk are concerned they won’t be able to buy the necessary dry goods to keep their homes running. I say we meet in small groups to discuss the situation. Designate one from each group to be a spokesman who will report back for the group. Maybe we’ll come up with a solid plan.”
“You’re right,” Mr. Meadows said. “In the meantime, please try to remember this is only a contingency plan in case the strike continues. We aren’t in a pickle yet.”
“We’re at least sure of one thing; we’re all concerned about what effect this strike is already having around the country.”
“You’re right,” Mr. Meadows replied again. “Form your groups. See what you come up with. Report back.”
Seth was disappointed his group was unable to come up with a single solution. When the various groups got back together, the outlook was dismal.
“I can’t believe not one of you was able to come up with a single suggestion.” Mr. Meadows shook his head.
Harvey Strang stood again. “At least we all agreed we can help each other. If we work together, we’ll get through the worst of it. That’s got to count for something.”
Several nodded, others shouted out ‘he’s right, we’ll work together.’
Seth agreed.
An hour later the meeting adjourned. The farmers filed out of the building. Several crossed the street to the depot to find out if Mr. Benson had any news about the strike.
“Seth, hold up a minute.” Harvey Strang stopped him before he could cross the street to his wagon. “I want you to meet my daughter, Cassandra. Cassandra, this here is Seth Carmichael. His pa owns the farm up over the hill from us. He’s been running the farm while his father works the rails in Philadelphia. Made a real nice job of the farm, too.”
Seth hadn’t seen Mr. Strang’s daughter join her father; he’d been too busy thinking about Anna Louise. He tipped his hat to Cassandra. He remembered her from the fair. Up close she appeared taller, not too thin. Her eyes were a deep chocolate, almost black, and her dark auburn hair was combed up on top of her head in a
riotous array of curls. She wore a pretty pink frock. Her well-worn boots sticking out from under her skirt added to her appeal. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Why, hello, Seth. Pleased to finally meet you.”
Her soft voice, like a caress, stirred his insides. If he wasn’t already in love with Anna Louise, he might just be mesmerized by this young lady.
Miss Strang batted her eyes in his direction.
Seth stood motionless, transfixed. Holy cow. Was the woman boldly flirting with him so openly in front of her father?
Hands held behind her back, she swayed back and forth, her curls bouncing all about her sassy face.
“It’s a…it’s a…my pleasure,” he stuttered. He gave her a brief nod and stepped back.
“Seth was just telling me his sister will be attending teaching academy starting in September,” Mr. Strang said, breaking the spell.
The man’s face was deadpan, but Seth was sure he’d noticed his reaction to his daughter’s flirtatious manner.
“Cassandra, maybe you should be thinking about what you’re going to do when you’ve finished your studies next year,” her father said.
“I have no designs to work at teaching, Daddy dear.” Her beguiling smile never left her animated face. “I’ve told you before. I simply love helping you out on the farm. Why, the young baby chicks, lambs, cows, and horses are simply the best. Just the best. Don’t you think so, Seth? Aren’t baby animals adorable? Just adorable?”
Seth nodded. He wasn’t sure about adorable. Cute, maybe. Harvey Strang was one of the more wealthy dairy farmers who also raised beef. He could afford to indulge his daughter in her every whim. Even horses. If she wanted nothing more than to play with baby animals, who was he to care?
“Come, Daddy, we must be going. Mother will be wondering where we are.” She turned her radiant smile and sparkling eyes toward Seth again. “Mr. Carmichael, it’s been simply wonderful meeting you. Perhaps you will drop by for dinner some Sunday. It would be our pleasure.”
“Thank you for the invite, Miss Strang,” Seth managed, his throat restricted. He fingered his tight collar in an attempt to breathe. “I’m rather busy at the farm this time of year.”
“Just call me Cassandra. Miss Strang is way too formal.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you…Cassandra,” Seth relented.
“I’ll see you at the next meeting, Seth.” Harvey Strang offered his hand in farewell.
Seth shook his hand, and then once again tipped his hat to Harvey’s daughter.
“Miss.”
Cassandra battered her eyes at Seth once more before she turned away to leave. Her father took her arm and together they walked across the dusty street. Seth turned toward his own wagon.
Darn. He had things to pick up at the mill before heading home to do chores. There was no time now to stop by and see Anna Louise as planned.
Seth drove into town several days later to stop at the telegraph office. Mr. Benson looked up at him with a wide toothy grin when he stepped inside.
“Saints preserve us; the strike has been put down. Just got word this morning. The lines are just a clacking with the news.”
“That is good news,” Seth agreed. “The Agricultural Society will be able to breathe a sigh of relief.”
Now that the strike had ended, there would be no problem with transporting his produce.
“Just in time, I’m a-thinking,” Mr. Benson said. “The mills in these here parts will be starting to gear up for the harvest season soon. We’ve dodged a near disaster in our farming community, I tell you. This calls for a celebration.”
Seth couldn’t agree more.
Chapter Nineteen
Though the strike hadn’t been as bad in Philadelphia as in other towns such as Pittsburgh, a flare up might happen again. Donahue was still as elusive as ever, and Charley didn’t trust him any more now than he did when he was working for Aderley and Scott. He was a weasel of the first degree. He’d been seen smiling his heart out at the edge of many of the strikers’ crowded rallies. The rat had been pleased to see the men riled and defying not only the company, but the local police and militia as well. Charley hadn’t seen him around much since things had finally quieted down.
Word from Aderley confirmed the strikes were under control on the B&O, the New York lines, the Fort Wayne & Chicago, the Illinois lines, the Alton & St. Louise, and the Canadian Southern lines, as well as those in Pennsylvania.
“The Committee of Safety has successfully kept law and order and the strikers at bay,” Aderley said. “And the businessmen in San Francisco who had banded together to take down those anti-Chinese rioters are under control as well. The U.S. Naval fleet was called in to guard their harbor.”
“What about New York City?”
“The Working Men’s Party was surrounded by over a thousand police and the National Guard in Tompkins Square. Thankfully many of the strikes were put down before they got underway.”
Charley knew the militia and United States troops had forced open many of the roads to Pittsburgh, and some were operating with one passenger and mail car per train, per day, and freight was starting up again.
“Are they still striking in Harrisburg and Altoona?”
“No. Governor Hartranft stepped in and broke it up. The strike may have been broken by force,” Aderley said, “but wages stay the same.”
Charley left Aderley’s office to tell Seamus the latest news. To be put down by force with a decree from the President of the United States was a far cry from being a successful strike for the working man. Even though the wage cut was rescinded, the strikers would have to reapply for their positions, along with others who were already out of work needing a job. There were too many needing work. Seamus included.
Seamus waved at Charley from across the rail yard on the other side of the tracks past the roundhouse. The evening was cool for the beginning of August, and Charley wondered at the sweat beading down Seamus’ forehead and upper lip as it glistened under the lamp light. His friend kept looking over his shoulders; first to the left, and then to the right as if someone was following him. After the incident at Seamus’ home, Charley didn’t blame him one bit for being nervous. No sir.
“What’s wrong, Seamus? You look sicker than a dead man,” Charley asked as Seamus drew near.
“God Almighty, Charley. The man was crushed between the couplings like he wasn’t even there. A miserable way to meet your maker, I can tell ya. They left him there to bleed to death. The blood drained out of him and lay like a pool beneath his dangling feet between the ties. I had to get the others to help me uncouple him. Lord, his innards were retched clean right out of him. Whoever did this had to be making a point, cause it sure was no accident.”
“Who? Seamus. Who was it?”
“Donahue. God, Charley, even in the dark the scene was hard to look at. I left the men back there to deal with it. Said I’d go get the police.”
“I can’t say he didn’t deserve what he got.” Charley cringed. He rubbed his hand over his face, shook his head in disbelief. “He’s been nothing but trouble. Still, it’s a hell-of-a-way to die.”
Seamus sat down on the end of one of the railroad ties he’d been walking on and put his head in his hands. He rested his elbows on his knees.
“May God forgive me. Yes. After the shock of seeing the man dangling there like a hog on a spit, I was relieved. I gotta tell ya, Charley, I’ve done nothing but look over my shoulder since the attack at my house.”
“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about now. Donahue was the one who had it out for us, not his cohorts.” Charley clamped his hand down on Seamus’ shoulder in a reassuring grip.
More than a friend, Seamus was like a brother. Now that Maggie had settled in Candor, perhaps he could talk Seamus into making it a permanent move. Candor had two trains running through town, now. Maybe Seamus could find work on one of them. The New York lines hadn’t suffered as much as the Philadelphia or the B&O lines had. Still, the s
trike had all caused considerable damage.
Aderley owed him for his loyalty. He was damn well going to call in a few favors for Seamus, as well.
“Listen, friend. I’ve been thinking. Why not go on up to Candor with your wife and daughter. You can start all over again up there. Get out of Philadelphia.”
“Sure, and what would I be doing there? Living off my wife? Her sewing won’t be worth much.”
“You’re not thinking straight. You’re still in shock over seeing Donahue’s gored body.”
Charley wasn’t sure he was up to witnessing such a death.
“Let’s find our way to The Blue Bottle. Donahue isn’t going anywhere. We’ll get you a pint to warm you and get the blood flowing. Put some color back in your white hide. I’ll get someone else to fetch the police. You need to get home and get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Charley helped Seamus to his feet. Getting his friend out of Philadelphia might just ease the man’s memory of what had taken place here. Whoever Donahue had been working for, they weren’t worried about taking his life, or how they accomplished the deed. Only a sick mind would think of doing such a thing.
Charley took Seamus to The Blue Bottle, ordered him a couple rounds of ale, set him up at a table in the corner, and left him there while he returned to the bar.
“Hey, Mac. I’ve run across a slight problem back at the yard. You want to find someone to get the police to take care of the body? Donahue didn’t survive a gruesome accident.”
Mac would know how to deal with this situation before it got out of hand. He had his own contacts. Charley didn’t ask any questions.
“Got himself in a fix, did he? Seen him talking to Salina The Pig just the other day. The man was getting sloppy being seen with that Italian. Just how did Donahue die?”
“Can’t say he met his maker at all. More like the other way around, now I think about it. God may have been his maker, but the devil took over right after, far as I can see.”
