by Jane Porter
“Ellie, I cannot leave those men down there. They are my men—”
“They’re not your men! It’s not your mine.”
“I know that mine. I built that mine. I cannot leave those men to perish.”
“It’s dangerous!”
“Yes, it is. The living could be suffocating even now.”
“Listen to yourself. It’s far too dangerous, I can’t risk losing you. Let the men who own the mine manage the rescue—”
“You can’t seriously be that selfish. Those are family men. Husbands, fathers, brothers.”
“And what of your life? Have you thought of that?”
He pulled her hand from his coat. “Yes.”
“Sinclair, look at me. Look.” She pulled on the lapels of his coat. “You will do those men far more good if you organize the rescue from here. Stay here—”
“Stop!”
“You can’t save everyone. It’s an impossible thing. Think of us. Think of our future.” She smiled up at him but there were tears in her eyes. “We have a wonderful future, so, please, please, my darling, come back inside, come back to our party.”
He peeled her hands from his coat and pressed them together. “Party?” he repeated.
“Yes. Our party, darling.”
He made a rough mocking sound as he set her firmly away from him. “Then do go back inside and enjoy the party, darling, but I have more important things to do.”
He broke free and headed into the street, where men were hitching horses to wagons and organizing rescue teams. Marietta’s fire department had already hitched their horses and was ready to go.
Sinclair was just about to climb up on the nearest wagon when yet another hand caught at his sleeve. “Sinclair,” a soft voice said urgently.
He stiffened as McKenna stopped him. “Not you, too,” he ground out.
Her chin lifted, her eyes almost black in the moonlight. “Take me with you. Let me go help.”
“There is nothing you can do there. Stay here with the women.”
“I might not be a nurse, but I know basic first aid. I might be able to help. I want to help.”
“You don’t belong there. You’ll just get in the way.”
“Maybe, but it’s my father’s mine, and I’m still a Frasier. I am responsible for those men.”
He cursed beneath his breath, but wasn’t about to argue, because she was more right than she knew. Sinclair lifted her into the back of the wagon, placing her on top of a stack of blankets and sheets donated by Graff housekeeping, next to a rapidly growing pile of picks, axes, and shovels.
He flashed to other mine disasters from Butte. He remembered the tragedy from last summer. It was going to be a long night, and he wasn’t thinking of himself, but the families of the men trapped below.
The fire wagons raced ahead of them. Marietta’s doctor had been attending the party at the Graff, and he was in one of the wagons, while a member of the clergy was in another. Even in downtown Marietta, the glow of fire could be seen and anyone who could help was racing to the Frasier mining operations on Copper Mountain.
McKenna’s teeth chattered during the ride up the mountain. She could smell the acrid smoke in the air and see the fiery glow ahead. She was cold, but more than that, afraid, worried for the wives who must be trying to stay calm since there was nothing else they could do.
In Butte, her father had sheltered his family from the accidents but, of course, she knew they happened. She’d avoided reading the newspaper accounts, not wanting to know the grisly details, not wanting to be more afraid for Sinclair than she already was.
The wagon wheels bumped across the railroad tracks. Empty railcars lined the track where it ended. The cars carried the ore to the smelters in Butte but no trains ran this late.
Sinclair was deep in discussion with the men in their wagon during the trip up. One of the men riding with them was the same person who’d burst into the ballroom to summon Sinclair. He was an Irishman in his mid-thirties, and he’d worked in the mines his entire life. He was supposed to work today but his wife had been in labor for over forty-eight hours and he’d stayed at her side, and because of that he’d escaped the blast.
“I would have been there otherwise,” Patrick Sullivan said.
“Your wife?” Sinclair asked. “How is she?”
“The babe’s arrived. It was a difficult delivery but she’ll recover.”
“She’s not alone, is she?”
“No. Our oldest is with her. Mary’s six. She’s a good help.”
Sinclair suddenly glanced at McKenna and she knew what he was saying. This is how it is here. This is how they live.
The roar of the fire grew louder as they got closer. In the distance she saw the mine’s two headframes. One of the massive structures burned, while the wooden gallows and winding tower of the second was still untouched, and silhouetted by the moon. Her stomach cramped as she looked to the half dozen men gathered at the work site.
They were, she realized, waiting for Sinclair. He took charge immediately, too, directing the fire department to focus on the burning headframe while he organized a rescue party.
A big map of the Frasier mine had been spread flat on several planks of wood. Sinclair was gesturing to different places on the map, asking questions about the location of men at the various tunnels and for updates on the drifts themselves. When he’d managed the mine, the drifts weren’t connected, which meant the men might survive if the rescue team acted quickly, because any smoke penetrating the tunnels could find an outlet, the draft drawing the smoke and gas out.
But if the drifts had been connected since he’d left, the smoke and gas would be pulled deeper into the mine and smother the men.
Patrick Sullivan said the drifts had not been connected.
Sinclair nodded. “Good. We need to get the fire out, and then we need to figure out exactly how many men are in each drift, and then I’m going in.”
Men immediately began speaking and Sinclair silenced them. “I know everyone wants to help. These are your brothers, sons, and friends, but if you’re married, and you have a family, you’re not going with me. Only those without children will be allowed underground.”
McKenna had only heard bits and pieces of the conversation but she did hear the last part. That only those without children would be going underground.
Sinclair planned to go underground.
He walked away with several men and she watched him, feeling helpless, and heartsick.
She shouldn’t have come. She didn’t want to be here for this. But, on the other hand, would she have been happier at the Graff, helping set up a makeshift hospital and waiting for updates?
At least here she knew what was happening. She wasn’t getting reports through a secondary source.
Sinclair returned a few minutes later. He’d changed into work clothes, boots, and heavy trousers, but he was stripped to the waist, his powerful torso bare, muscles rippling beneath his skin. The men with him were all the same. Most carried heavy tools and a pack of some sort. Sinclair’s pack was filled with explosives.
She watched him speak with one of the firemen, and then he talked to the Irishman who’d come for him at the Graff, and then he had words for another, and the entire time he talked, she looked at him, memorizing every detail, wanting to remember him like this. He was everything she’d thought he was, and more.
Strong. Brave. Good.
Emotion filled her. Her heart ached with all the things she wanted to say.
I love you.
I need you.
I can’t live without you.
“McKenna.”
He’d turned to find her, and she moved through the crowed.
“I need a promise from you,” he said, calm despite the noise and mayhem around them.
If he was afraid, he didn’t show it. She, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified.
“Yes?” she said, looking at his bare chest, remembering the place she’d touched on their r
ide home Thanksgiving night, remembering the hard, even beat of his heart beneath her hand.
“You must promise me that you will have the life you deserve. No matter what happens tonight, promise me. You will marry and have a family and have the life, the full life, the one you were always meant to have. Hear me?”
She blinked tears. “I hear you.”
“No excuses. You’re not a coward. You’re to do it for me. And for you. For us, understand?”
“You’re coming back.”
“I hope. But if not, you’ve made me a promise. I expect you to keep it.”
She blinked hard, clearing her eyes. “Only if you make me one.”
“And what’s that, sweetheart?”
“When you come back, you’re to marry me.”
His blue eyes met hers and held. Thank God he said nothing about Ellie. He said nothing about broken engagements. He just looked at her and she felt the intensity of his gaze all the way through her.
“I need you,” she added. “So come back. Come back to me. Please.”
And then he was gone.
*
It was a long night. Periodically the earth shook, and rocks would slide on the hillside as explosives were set off deep underground.
McKenna paced the length of the railroad track, too agitated to sit still. Twice the rescue operation succeeded in getting trapped miners out. Over a dozen miners had been freed but there were still a dozen plus men unaccounted for.
McKenna made herself useful as the doctor and his helpers bandaged cuts and cleaned wounds and set a broken leg. She listened as the men talked, explaining where they were, and how they were rescued. Sinclair and his men had reached them by tunneling from an abandoned mine shaft. The shaft had proved useless in terms of ore, but it was perfect for the emergency excavations.
A third group of men emerged from the abandoned shaft and those outside cheered their appearance, and then moments later there was a giant explosion, and a miner was thrown across the site. Rocks went flying. The tunnel’s entrance collapsed.
Someone called for help from inside the collapsed tunnel even as the ground began to shake again.
Miners dragged the rubble away from the tunnel entrance, and two members of the rescue team emerged, carrying a limp bloodied man. McKenna rushed forward. The man’s head hung back, his black hair matted with blood.
Not Sinclair.
“How many more men down below still?” asked Patrick Sullivan.
“Four able to walk, two injured and in need of help, all at six hundred feet,” answered one of the rescue team.
“And Douglas,” added the other member of the rescue team. “But he ordered us out. It’s not stable down there. He wants everyone off the mountain and into town. We’re to leave a wagon for him, should he manage to get the others out.”
“We can’t just leave seven men six hundred feet down!”
“Not my call. Douglas is in charge. Move everyone out.”
McKenna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She rushed to the map trying to make sense of the labyrinth of shafts and tunnels, wondering just how Sinclair was going to save the last men on his own.
A hand reached out and pointed to a spot. “He’s here right now.” The man tapped a dark mass on the map. “He’s trying to get through there.”
McKenna recognized the voice and looked up into the face of Mr. Finch. “Does he have a chance?”
“If anyone can do it, it’s Douglas. He’s the king of this mountain.”
She searched his eyes. Mr. Finch wasn’t slurring. He sounded sober. But she still had to ask, “Have you been drinking?”
“No, Miss Frasier.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Keep praying.”
*
The men forced her off the mountain and into one of the departing wagons. She didn’t want to go, and fought hard to remain, but none of the men listened.
She was driven to the Graff where many of the families had gathered to wait. The hotel’s staff served coffee and tea and some of the hotel rooms had become hospital rooms for those wounded.
When needed, McKenna helped the doctor and nurse, and when she wasn’t needed, she paced the corridors until she had to step outside and get fresh air.
The night seemed endless. Sometime close to dawn snowflakes began to slowly fall from the sky. There was no wind and they drifted gently, quietly, and McKenna stood in front of the hotel, holding her breath, praying.
Please, God, bring Sinclair home to me.
Please, God, you know my heart.
Please, God…
And then through the falling snow, she heard the clip-clop of hooves and the jingle of a harness as a big wagon came around the corner.
Men watching from the steps shouted. “It’s the rest of them. Get the doctor! Get the stretchers. Let’s get them in and get them warm.”
*
In the days to come, Sinclair would say he didn’t do much, but everyone on the mountain that night knew if it weren’t for Sinclair Douglas, all forty men would have died. He’d risked his life to save the shift.
McKenna didn’t yet know any of this. She just knew the wagon with Sinclair had finally reached the Graff, and Mr. Graff himself came rushing out with the medical team to carry Sinclair and the other injured men into first floor rooms.
Ellie and her father weren’t at the hotel any longer. There was no sign of the party that had taken place earlier. The only reminder of the earlier festivities was the beautiful fir tree in the lobby, its hundred candles now melted down.
McKenna paced outside Sinclair’s room while the doctor examined him, oblivious that her beautiful red gown was soiled and tattered, and then finally she was admitted to the room.
“This is quite improper,” the doctor told her, looking at McKenna over her spectacles. “You’re not his fiancée or a member of his family—”
“I know,” McKenna interrupted wearily. “It’s shocking behavior, but you can’t be all that surprised. I’m America’s most scandalous woman. So please step aside.”
Chapter Fourteen
She stayed with him at the Graff, never leaving his side, not even when Mrs. Douglas arrived midmorning and ordered her gone, stating she had no business being there when Sinclair was engaged to another woman.
McKenna quietly answered that she was staying, and the only person who could make her leave was Sinclair, and he was asleep.
“This isn’t proper,” Mrs. Douglas said.
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Have you thought about Miss Burnett’s feelings?” Mrs. Douglas added.
“I have, but Miss Burnett is young and beautiful and will find another husband, whereas for me, there is only one man. There is only Sinclair.”
“But he proposed to Miss Burnett, not you!”
“He also proposed to me first.” Despite being dirty and disheveled, McKenna felt calmer then she had in months. “I love him, Mrs. Douglas. I love him with all of my heart and soul. I know you don’t approve of me, but no woman will ever love your son as much as I do.”
“You’ve certainly made a mess of things.”
“I have, yes. Hopefully now I can make things better.”
Ellie Burnett showed up at noon with her father. She looked elegant and pristine in a forest green dress with a delicate silk collar and cuffs. “You may go now,” Ellie said, sweeping into the room, clearly not happy to see McKenna sitting on the bed. “Thank you for your nursing skills. Although I am not sure how hygienic you are.”
McKenna didn’t rise. She didn’t bother with a smile, either. “I do not wish to be rude, Miss Burnett, but I will be blunt. Sinclair Douglas and I have had an understanding since I was eighteen. I am going to marry Mr. Douglas, not you. I can’t end your engagement—only he can do that—but trust me, it is over.”
“Do you realize everyone is talking about you, Miss Frasier? Do you realize they pity you?”
“I would be disappointed if
they didn’t talk. I am beyond scandalous.”
“You will lose your job.”
“Yes, I will.”
“And you don’t care?”
“I only care that it took this long for me to realize that there is nothing, and no one, I love more than Mr. Douglas.”
Johanna arrived midafternoon. McKenna was exhausted and she squared her shoulders, prepared for another verbal skirmish.
But Johanna entered Sinclair’s room quietly, and took a seat in the available chair since McKenna was sitting on the bed next to her brother.
“They’re saying dreadful things about you,” Johanna said mildly. “You steal husbands and teach Thoreau and Walden and wear dirty dresses in the sick room.”
McKenna frowned. “That’s the worst they can say about me?”
“Well, there is the whole loss of virtue but that’s old news.”
“True.”
Johanna’s gaze was steady. “Why do you love him?”
For a second McKenna couldn’t breathe, and then her shoulders lifted and fell. “He is the best person I know.”
Johanna sighed. “You’ve made it very difficult to like you.”
McKenna said nothing.
“But you’ve made it impossible to hate you. I can’t stay angry with you. You love my brother. He loves you. You two should be together. But you can’t fight for him in that disgusting dress. It’s pathetic. You look tragic. If people are going to gossip about you, at least wear something newsworthy.” Johanna’s lips curved wryly. “I have provided a newsworthy dress. It’s in a room down the hall. I also encourage you to bathe while you’re changing. I’ll stay with Sinclair until you return.”
A lump filled McKenna’s throat. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. “You’ve been so angry with me.”
“I have. I hated that you hurt Sinclair. You disappointed him… and you disappointed me, because we were friends, and then you just forgot about us. All of us.” She paused, glancing from McKenna to Sinclair where he lay bandaged and still. “But maybe it’s time to let bygones be bygones and start fresh as I understand there’s a strong possibility that you’ll soon be joining the family.”
