by Janine McCaw
“Matey, you mind the wee ones for a moment. I’ve got to set de record right,” said the Captain, bursting through the door and passing the infant to his First Mate who had followed him on deck.
“Lucy,” he said, “if I tole ye once, I tole ye twice, I spit on de man named McMichael. One time, a mate of ours, one-eyed Rusty McKay, ‘e tried to sneak back some whiskey for ‘is own ‘ome, but ‘e ‘ad de misfortune of takin’ a wee tumble as he got off me ship. De bottle in ‘is ‘and, it broke on de wharf. No big problem. But McMichael, ‘e got wind of it, and checked Rusty’s footlocker. ‘E ‘ad some good stuff in der, some rye, a little vodka, may be even some Mexican tequila, I dunna, I forget. But I will ne’er forget what McMichael did next. ‘E took all the bottles and ‘e broke dem on de dock. Said der would be no “outside” liquor in ‘is town. ‘E told Rusty dat if ‘e e’er cot ‘im again, it’d be Rusty’s bones e’d be breakin’ and dat it was lucky ‘e didn’t fire ‘im on da spot and send ‘im packin'. But ye know what it was? It was because ‘e makes a profit on all de booze dat dey serve at de hotel, cuz ‘e owns it, and der was no way ‘e would let anyone cut into dat profit. And Rusty was a good customer of de bar, so it would cost ‘im a good worker and a good drinker if ‘e really got rid of ‘im. Worked doh, scared the liven’ bejeeses oudda Rusty, I’ll tell ye. Never tried smugglin’ again. Well, not booze anyway. No Misses Lucy, ‘e’s no friend of mine. Non. Ye be wantin’ to stay awee from ‘im, Misses Fitz. Trust me. Now gadder up ye belongings, like yer kiddies Lucy, as we’re pullin’ inta de ‘Couve to pick up a few supplies before we go up ta ‘owe Sound.”
“It’s your last chance to jump ship Liv,” Lucy said. “We’ll be in Vancouver for about an hour.”
“No, it’s been almost a month since I’ve seen Frank. They only gave him the weekend for our honeymoon. I can’t wait to see him.”
“A weekend? Hmm. McMichael was feeling generous,” Lucy commented. “Why don’t you go upstairs and try to get a bit of sleep before we arrive? We can’t have the young bride all worn out before she gets there. I have a feeling you’re in for a few sleepless nights.”
“Oh, you’re terrible,” Olivia laughed, “but thanks for the suggestion. I think I will. That is if you don’t mind, Captain.”
“Ye can take over my cabin just like Lucy does,” the Captain offered.
Olivia smiled and headed inside leaving the two old friends on deck.
“Getting’ a liddle cheeky der, eh Lucy love?” the Captain commented.
“When I said she’d be having a few sleepless nights, I was not speaking of the lust of a newlywed couple,” Lucy assured him. “You know all too well Frenchie, that poor woman is in for the shock of her life.”
“Aye, I suppose ye are right der.”
The Captain looked at Lucy and winked. “Ye know Lucy, it might be best ye give me yer flask o’ whiskey fer safe keepin’ before you land back at de Beach and dey start askin’ questions. I dunt want them to ‘ave to start callin’ ye one-eyed Lucy.”
“Aye Frenchie,” Lucy sighed. “It might be at that.”
She handed him the silver flask.
Chapter Three
The air-compression wood drills, weighing over three hundred pounds, and taking two men to operate, were running at capacity inside the secondary tunnel, but Frank could still hear McMichael’s vocal blast through the noise.
“Do you like working at the Royal Columbia Mining Company, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
Frank nodded.
“They why the hell did I see you riding up the skip car yesterday? You take the stairs up, all three hundred and seventy-five of them, just like everyone else does when you’re inside the mine. And shut that damn drill down when I’m talking to you,” McMichael yelled.
Frank and his partner complied, but with the other ten men still drilling into the ore around them, it wasn’t much help. McMichael ushered Frank into an enclave. It was slightly quieter and provided them with a bit of privacy.
“Now explain yourself.”
Frank thought about what he was about to say. He wiped some sweat from his brow, beneath his helmet. You had to watch what you said to McMichael, especially the tone you said it in. Don Smith had been told to vacate the premises and the town after he had raised his voice to the boss. Frank wasn’t about to lose his job.
“I wouldn’t normally do that Mr. McMichael, but my leg was sore. It was the end of a double shift for me, and I needed to get up there, because Lloyd needed some help fixing the concentrator.”
“What the hell’s wrong with the concentrator now?”
“Nothing serious, a bolt had come loose and Lloyd couldn’t find where it belonged, so I gave him a hand. Like I said, it was after my shift. I wasn’t wasting any company time.”
McMichael sighed. “Okay Fitzpatrick, thanks for helping out. I admire men who give a little extra. You should think about taking that management test we’re doing. I could use someone with a little initiative.”
McMichael liked this man Fitzpatrick. He was young and strong and did what he was told. He had a good head on his shoulders and never took risks in the tunnels, which is why it had angered him to see him doing something stupid.
He glanced down at Frank’s leg.
“So what’s wrong with you? I noticed you limping earlier. Have you been to see the doctor?”
“Yes. I went over to see him before I started today. He said it’s just a sprain. I twisted it the wrong way or something.”
“A sprain? What did you trip on? Did John Howser leave those God-blasted rods lying about again? Because if I found out he did, there will be hell to pay. What the hell’s going on in there? Those tools are worth hundreds of dollars and he’s just tossing them around and leaving them wherever he damn well feels like it. I told him last week to smarten up or he’d get his cards.”
“It’s nothing sir, really.”
“Nothing? You’ve been injured on the job. That’s a safety concern. But you know what’s a bigger safety concern? You. Riding up the bloody skip! Really Frank, did you stop to look at the angle that flatbed car goes up? There’s no way to strap yourself in. It’s designed for mineral transport. It’s not a commuter tram. You could have fallen hundreds of feet straight down. Blood would have been splattered all over the place and your brains would have wound up in the ore. Not a pleasant thought now is it? Don’t be so stupid next time. I won’t have another accident here like the time that kid doctor smashed his head on the tower. On his first day here at the mine! Young man, about to be married, and he meets his maker because he’s too busy gawking at the scenery. And it wasn’t his fiancée he was gawking at either. It really was the scenery. Stupid man.”
“Yes sir,” Frank said quietly.
The whistle blew to signal the end of the shift.
“Isn’t your wife arriving this afternoon?” McMichael asked.
“Yes sir, she is.”
“Then you’d better go home and bathe. You stink man, you stink.”
McMichael turned to hop in the exiting commuter tram, taking the miners back up to the beach site. The workers were allowed to ride the commuting tunnel trams only. There were no seats left, so Howser, a young gangly man, gave up his own.
“I want to see you in my office Howser, in a half an hour,” McMichael said.
“Yes sir,” Howser said with dread in his voice.
The tunnel tram had been McMichael’s brainstorm. Getting in and out of the mine had been a time consuming ordeal. The old ore transport cars were constantly breaking down. By the time the men had come to the end of their physically demanding shifts, they were too tired to carry the raw materials out. McMichael decided it would be far more efficient to run a small steam powered train through the tunnel to move both the people and the ore. He did efficiency studies, and provided the owners with a budget for the transportation tram. Within the year they had given him what he wanted. McMichael was able to move twice the loads and gave them back twice the profit.
John Wesley McMichael was a Canadian, and proud of it. A comparatively short man, standing five foot seven, he was none the less solid enough that although the men had many good reasons to hate him, they never dared raise a fist to him. There was a story that his wife had died of physical violence, which McMichael probably started himself to keep everyone in line. But the truth was she had a brain aneurysm that took her life quite suddenly one summer night. He never got over it, and those who knew him before her death said that was when he had turned cold hearted. Some men die of broken hearts, some sink into deep, dark depressions. McMichael just got mean. His only signs of outward compassion ever sighted were for his two young daughters, Lara aged eight, and Christina, aged twelve. He had hired a nanny, an older German woman with grown children in Vancouver, to help look after his children after his wife’s death.
The women of Britannia Beach were generally of two minds about McMichael. He was, despite his temperament, a handsome man. He kept his sandy blond hair well barbered and he was always clean. Due to the amount of physical activity he got each day, his body was as lean as it had been when he was a teenager. His smile, when he actually smiled, could warm the chill out of the northerly winds. There were those who lived in fear of his every step, of what he could and would do to the welfare of their families. There were those who craved a piece of him, and were secretly hoping that one day, he would look at them and become bewitched by their charms. And of those women, some wanted to marry him and take a new position in society, but some simply wanted to lie with him, and feel the blood pulsing through his veins, somehow absorbing his power within.
McMichael walked into his office.
“Sarah, I want you to take a letter,” he began, “Stuart J. Collin, Vancouver Police Department. Dear Stuart, I have come to discover that just outside the town limits of Britannia Beach is a home that houses ladies of questionable repute. This den of sin is temptation for the many hard working single men employed here at the Royal Columbian Mining Company. The moral disintegration of their virtues and the loss of integrity of my employees aside, I fear that the gambling parlour that is also housed illegally at this address is merely a ploy to rob the men of their hard-earned cash. I trust that you will send a constable up to take care of this matter, or I will be forced once again, to take matters into my own hands. I know we had talked about re-stationing a constable permanently here in Britannia, but you know I don’t feel we need a full time officer. Save your money. However if I can borrow one for a day to remove this woman and her ‘staff’ it would perhaps scare the fear of God into her and cause her never to return. She obviously has no regard for the law here in Britannia. Sincerely, J.W. McMichael.”
He ended his dictation.
“Get it out in this evening’s post. Oh wait, you can’t. It’s Sunday. I had forgotten, what with the extra shifts needed this weekend. I’ll give it to Frenchie Cates to drop off in Vancouver when he leaves again on Monday. That will do Sarah.”
It would also teach Ruby a thing or two about not cutting him in on the action, he thought. He leaned over and tapped on Sarah’s desk.
“When I told Ruby Dalton to pack up her girls and move on out, I didn’t mean she could set up shop just north of here, outside the town limits, and she damn well knew that. And another thing, that John Howser, you pay him up today until the end of the month. I’m sending him out of here tonight. He’s a walking disaster area.”
His thoughts momentarily left his business.
“Is my tuxedo ready for the wedding?”
“Of course Mr. McMichael,” Sarah sighed. Sarah Lieboldt was one of the few women at Britannia to have a job, and as such, she found herself indebted to McMichael just like the men at the mine. She was a frail thing, almost twenty, lived at home with her parents, and had no boyfriend in sight. She was quite adept at exasperating McMichael with her constant inane questions and tendency to be clumsy. But when it came to math, for whatever reason, she was a genius, which more than made up for her lack of typing skills. What he was getting for a junior secretary’s wage was actually a skilled junior accountant, which saved him considerable time and money.
“Isn’t Sunday an odd night to have a wedding?” she asked hesitantly, knocking over her cup of tea.
McMichael glared at her. He liked to see the panic in her eyes.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Sarah?”
“Nothing sir,” she replied. “I was just making a little friendly conversation.” She reached for a rag to clean up the mess. McMichael grabbed some papers on her desk just before the runaway tea spoiled them. The tea had managed to nick the corner of some papers despite his efforts.
“Sorry sir,” she blushed.
“I didn’t realize we were friends, Sarah. I thought you were my employee.”
“Sorry again sir, it’s just that some of the ladies were asking…” Sarah regretted saying that as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“Then tell the ladies, Miss Lieboldt, that my niece wanted to get married this weekend, before she sets off for Winnipeg. I had previously promised the dance hall on Saturday, last night, to the Harper family wedding party, who had as their guest, among other people, the Premier of British Columbia, who, after all that, didn’t even bother to show up as you are well aware. Not much gets by you, does it Sarah? Still, it could have been a social faux pas, not to mention a political fiasco, to have bumped them out for the evening. People in this town don’t always appreciate what I do for them, you remember that, Sarah. Remember to tell the caretaker at the hall I want everyone out tonight by midnight and by God the men working tomorrow had better watch themselves. That’s all I need is drunk and disorderliness at a McMichael family function.”
“I’m sure they’ll behave themselves Mr. McMichael,” Sarah offered.
“Humph,” he snarled as he left the office once more, slamming the door behind him as he went outside. He paused for a moment then went back into the office. He wasn’t quite finished.
“So tell that to the ladies Sarah, and if you want more time to tell them stories, that can be arranged as well.”
He saw her two fingering the typewriter.
“And never mind the letter, get him on the phone.”
“Now?” Sarah asked.
“In the morning Sarah. First thing Monday morning, all right?” he said exasperated.
“Mr. Michael, I was wondering, will there be any new single young men at the wedding, you know, maybe coming up for the special occasion?”
“For the umpteenth time, I don’t know, Sarah.”
The door slammed again. McMichael stood outside viewing the workers heading to their homes. He saw Howser coming down the hill towards him.
“Mr. McMichael, I can explain…”
“Into my office Howser. We’ve got a few things to discuss,” McMichael said sternly.
Frank Fitzpatrick headed over to the cabins on the west side of the beach town. He had been lucky that a vacancy had come up just before his wedding and McMichael gave him the nod to move on in. Up until that point he had been staying in one of the men’s dormitories, up on the hill. The cabin was tiny. It had only a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, a bath and a pantry area, but no one else had anything better, other than McMichael, so Frank was quite content with the place. McMichael was renting the house out to him, complete with water and electricity for five dollars a month, a bargain, even for McMichael. Frank had purchased some paint from the general store and had spent the last few weeks making the place feel more like a home. Liv's father had sent some money for Liv to buy some furniture once she got there, but Frank hadn’t done too badly furnishing the house on his own. He considered the money from William just another stab at his lack of ability to provide for a wealthy man’s daughter.
He had taken McMichael’s advice and poured himself a long, hot bath. As he stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom, he looked at himself, naked, in the mirror. One thing about the job at the mine, it kept you fit and muscul
ar. There was not an ounce of fat on his six-foot frame. His stomach was as flat as a young fighter’s. He ran a comb through his mass of dark hair, and debated shaving his day-old stubble. Olivia liked the stubble. He decided to leave it. He would ask her to give him a shave in the morning, perhaps in the bathtub, perhaps together. He supposed that if any of the men saw him primping like he was, he’d be labelled a sissy, but Frank was proud of his physique, and knew that Olivia was too. He figured something had attracted her to him, and it sure wasn’t money.
Frank made sure their engagement photo her family had insisted upon was dusted off and prominently displayed on the bureau. He thought about how much he loved her, and what he would do if any of the men got out of line and tried anything. There wasn’t a man there, he figured, that he couldn’t kill by sheer force if he had to. He hoped Olivia would be comfortable in their home. Lucy Bentall had helped him pick out a quilt for her, made by the ladies of the town, as a present from him. It took Lucy forever to do it, and he never did figure out why. Lucy was like a ball of fire headed towards a babbling brook. You were never quite sure what would happen in the end, but for sure there would be some steam. She was a bit brassy for Frank’s liking, but he hoped that Lucy liked Liv and vice versa. It would be tough for Olivia to make friends here, he knew. She would need some female company from time to time.
An angry pounding on the door interrupted his thoughts. He pulled on his pants and went to the door. It was Howser. Frank let him inside and was taken aback when Howser grabbed him by the throat and tried to throw him up against the wall, his hands clenching around Frank’s windpipe.
“What the hell did you say to him?” Howser demanded.
His adrenaline rushing, Frank gave a blow to Howser’s nose with his left fist, causing Howser to drip blood, the pain taking him off balance.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Frank replied.
Frank towered over Howser, and now that the surprise attack was over, Frank shoved Howser to the floor quite easily. He had him on the ground and was inches and seconds away from punching him again in the face when he abruptly pulled back. It might have been the look on Howser’s face, the look of a defeated man.
