by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May
“You can’t make the time for some coffee and a bit o’ shortbread, Mr. Gailbraith?” Rosalind’s clear, cool voice washed over him.
“I am powerful fond of shortbread,” he admitted. “And I wanted to ask about something before I left.”
“Yes?” Arthur’s undivided attention seemed overly intent. “What can we tell you?”
“When and where is Sunday meeting held hereabouts?”
“It moves around,” Luke MacLean said.
“Oh?” Ewan smiled at the lad. Had Arthur not already mentioned his son was twelve, Ewan would have estimated the slight lad to have reached only eight or nine years. Perhaps his small stature explained his absence from the smithy. He’d need to gain more height and breadth to do a blacksmith’s work. “And where would a man be finding it come this Lord’s day?”
“That’d be at the Freimonts’ place, just north of us.” Kaitlin passed him a mug of strong, hot coffee as Rosalind placed a plate of shortbread on the table.
“We meet at nine o’clock sharp,” she advised. “Now, the Albrights hae the largest house hereabouts, but all the same we’ll be on benches under God’s own Montana sky. If you’re late, you won’t manage a seat.”
“ ’Tis glad I am to hear that you’re a God-fearing man, Gailbraith.” Arthur gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “If the railroad brings more like you, I’m thinking we’ll hae no need t’ regret its arrival.”
“I can’t speak for the others.” Ewan felt the need to be honest. “They’re rough men. They all work hard, eat as much as they can, as fast as they can, and seek diversion where they may. Some have been following the railroad for so long they can’t be held to the same standard as city folk.”
“All men should be held to the standard of God,” Rosalind spoke up. “So long as they’re honest and treat others as they’d like to be treated, we’ll get along fine.”
Ewan’s heart sank. How can she be so naïve? I just warned her that they’re hard men who lack manners and don’t care for niceties. There is no way to be plainer wi’out being too blunt for delicate female ears. Lord, please see to it that her parents discuss the matter wi’ her!
“Unfortunately,” he began cautiously, “the law of the railroad camp seems t’ be more along the lines o’ every man for himself. The men hold certain loyalties to their work crews and such, but in the long run, they’ll take what they want as long as they think they can get away wi’ it.”
“We’ll all be sure to keep that in mind.” Kaitlin sent her daughter a meaningful look, and Ewan rested more easily.
“How came you to be out in the Montana Territory?” He reached for a piece of buttery shortbread that melted almost as soon as he tasted it.
“Ah, now there’s a story for those romance novels my daughter has a way of sneaking.” Arthur’s words made Rosalind blush as pink as the flower for which she was named, but it seemed only Ewan had noticed. “I trekked out here nigh on two decades ago wi’ naught but a pair of friends and a heavy load of determination.”
“Aye. Naught else on account of him leaving his bride behind wi’ her folks.” Kaitlin’s glance held more love than reproof, but the revelation that Rosalind’s father had left his wife to travel across America struck a horribly familiar chord. The shortbread turned to sawdust as he tried to force it down his throat, and he slugged some coffee to wash it down. The bitter memories were harder to swallow. As long as he lived, Ewan would never understand how the promise of a new land could call a man away from his loved ones, leaving them alone and unprotected. That’s not fair, he amended. Arthur left his wife with her parents, so she wasna alone.
“Imagine my surprise when I discovered I was wi’ child.” Kaitlin beamed and hugged her daughter close. “Our own wee lassie came into this world loud and strong. She would hae made you proud, Arthur.”
“She already has, Katy-me-love. My only regret ’tis that I could not share the moment.” Arthur’s smile dimmed. “ ’Tis a petty sorrow in the face of so many blessings, but one I will take to my grave regardless.”
“Now, Da”—Rosalind left her mother’s side to kiss her father’s cheek—“you may not hae been there for my first months of life, but your provision and love hae seen me through the years.”
“Ah, I love you, Rosey-mine, just as I loved you when I caught my first glimpse of you being held in the arms of your mam, fresh from traveling thousands of miles to my side.” He patted his daughter’s delicate hand. “The Lord safely delivered two blessings that day.”
“How wonderful for you,” Ewan choked out, his own loss harsher in the face of their shared love. “So many never make it t’ the promised land or to the waiting arms o’ their loved ones.”
“Too true.” Rosalind’s eyes held a compassion that seemed to sear his soul. “What of you, Mr. Gailbraith? Where is your family while you follow the railroad to provide for them?”
“I cannot say where my da is, the Lord took my mam o’er a decade ago, and I hae no wife.” Ewan, aware of how gruff his voice sounded, summoned a semblance of a grin. “ ’Tis good to see that you value what you’re so blessed to have.”
He shoved away from the table and strode to the door, plunking his hat on his head. “Thank you for your welcome and hospitality, Mrs. MacLean. I’ve much work to finish this day, so I must be going. I look forward to working wi’ you, Arthur. Luke, Miss MacLean.” With a tip of his hat, he walked out without a backward glance.
“Mr. Gailbraith seems nice enough,” Rosalind ventured as she and her mother cleared the dinner table. Luke had volunteered to go to the Albrights’ place and see about arranging an apple bee. The tree branches drooped, heavy with the weight of ripe fruit, but Rosalind felt the weight of unanswered questions.
“Aye.” Mam’s short agreement made Rosalind relax for but a moment. “Seems is just the right word to be using to describe him.”
“His manners ’tweren’t off-putting, he showed Da proper respect, and he asked after Sunday meeting.” Rosalind stopped wiping down the board. “What concerns you?”
“What type of man does not know where his own kith and kin lay their heads?” Mam stoked the fire with more vigor than was strictly necessary. “A good son looks to his father in his twilight years, and that’s a fact.”
“We cannot know his reasons, Mam. There could be a perfectly good explanation.” Why am I defending the man? I’ve barely met him, and yet he’s the first new man in town. Will Mam be so suspicious of everyone, or is it Mr. Gailbraith in particular?
“Will you be telling me that a man with an honest explanation would all but bolt from the table?” Mam shook her head. “There’s something amiss there.”
“Mayhap.” Rosalind went silent as she gathered the trenchers and pot to scrub by the brook.
“Be sure to fetch Luke afore you make your way to the stream.”
“Yes, Mam.” She stopped at the threshold when she thought of another question. “Is there aught else you find to dislike about him, or are we to be wary simply because he’s not our neighbor?”
“I’ve already spoken wi’ you, Rose. A young miss cannot be too careful around men, especially strange ones.” Mam shooed her out the door, but Rosalind caught the statement made under her breath. “Particularly ones as handsome as Mr. Gailbraith.”
Ah, so I’m not the only one to notice his fine looks, Rosalind mused. And I suppose Mam saw the dark storm in the deep green of his gaze when he spoke on his family. No mother, no wife, no father in his life. ’Twouldn’t surprise me a bit if ’twas pure loneliness as made him pull away, after hearing all about our happy family. It takes strength of a different sort than a blacksmith usually needs to live such a solitary life.
“Rose!” Luke’s voice made her look around sharply. Her little brother loped down the path toward her, cutting her search short.
“Hello, Luke. I’ve come to seek your escort to the stream.”
Her brother caught on to her joke and replied with an exaggerated bow. “Of cour
se I will escort you, miss.” He took the heavy pot from her hands and walked beside her, the top of his head barely reaching her elbow. At twelve years, he should have come close to his petite sister’s shoulder.
Rosalind shoved the worry aside and listened to her brother’s uneven breathing, noting a hint of a wheeze creeping into the sound as they passed the hayfields. “How are you?” She tried to keep her tone light.
“Now then, you wouldna be fussing o’er me, would you?” He teased a smile on to her face. “Surely not, on account of how you know of my hay fever. ’Twill ease when we near the brook.”
And so it did. The harsh, raspy sound Rosalind so dreaded had faded away by the time they knelt by the cool, clear water. She watched as her brother scooped up some damp sand and scrubbed enthusiastically.
To those who didn’t know of the difficulties Luke suffered from hay fever, running, smoke, and cold weather, it would be all too easy to see a healthy young boy. In truth, Luke’s weak lungs made it so he could never take up blacksmithing, run with other children, help with the haying, or play overlong in the snow. At those times, his fight to breathe was nothing short of terrifying for those who loved him. And love him she did. Rose would do anything to see her brother happy and healthy.
“Hey!” Luke glowered at her in indignation, his scowl made comical by drops of the water she’d just splashed him with. At her grin, his anger disappeared, replaced by a crafty gleam. “Rose, if you mean to splash someone, you really should try to do a better job.”
“Oh, now?” Rosalind shot to her feet, thinking to back away before her brother could retaliate. Too late. She blinked and sputtered after he doused her with an impressive splash. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at her brother. “And who’s to say I meant to splash you, Lucas Mathias MacLean?”
“Ah.” Luke didn’t look at all repentant as he gave his thoughtful reply. “Then I suppose it serves you right for your carelessness.”
Rosalind, unable to think of a suitable rejoinder, gave in to her brother’s logic. “Why, you may have a point.”
“Most usually I do.”
“In that case, may I suggest you work on the virtue of humility”—Rosalind gathered the wooden trenchers—“so that others don’t think poorly of you when you use your intelligence.”
“Yes, Rose.” His downcast eyes and soft voice made him the very picture of a humble young man—until he peeked up at his sister. “How was that?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. He joined in. Still laughing together, they started for home. Rosalind’s merriment dried up when they passed the freshly cut hayfields and Luke’s breathing grew raspy once more.
Chapter 4
This is the patent forge supplied by the Montana Central Railroad Company.” Ewan gestured toward the heavy equipment. “Thank you again for letting us set up near your forge. ’Tis a good location for the work we’ll be doing in the area, and ’twill simplify things whilst we work together.”
“Aye, ’tis no trouble.” Arthur circled the “portable” forge, a monstrosity of cast iron. “Grand, the way you don’t have to build a new forge every time you pick up and move. Comparatively, this sets up right quick.”
“True enough,” Ewan agreed. “But no one will convince me that a good stone or brick-built forge ’tisn’t the very best to work wi’.”
“I’ll not even be tryin’.” Arthur straightened up. “All the same, ’tis an incredible piece of modern machinery.”
“Sure as shootin’.” The young man named Johnny cast a fond eye on the forge. “She’s a beaut, that’s what I say.”
“There’s work enough to go around.” Ewan looked to the makeshift hitching posts where dozens of horses were tied, waiting to be inspected for shoeing.
“Let’s get to it.” Arthur walked confidently over to chestnut mare, running his hand over her withers and crooning for a moment before inspecting her hooves, one by one.
While Johnny worked to make the fire hot enough to temper iron, Ewan began with a tall bay. Not a day too soon. The gelding’s hooves had overgrown the shoe by a long shot and would certainly begin to crack painfully if let go any longer.
He removed the too-smooth shoes one by one, cleaning each hoof before trimming it down. He fetched one of the shoes Johnny had heating over the fire and set it on the hard wall of the hoof, cautiously using hammer and tongs to shape the pliable metal to the best fit possible before nailing it in place.
Ewan worked efficiently, his job made simpler by Johnny’s aid. All the same, he remained careful to soothe each horse and keep a wary eye on the back legs as he worked. Many a blacksmith, overconfident in his expertise, had become careless. Such men received a harsh kick to the ribs or skull and were often fortunate to survive at all. Ewan noted approvingly that Arthur showed the same awareness and appropriate caution. Things were going well.
“What say you to a bite of dinner?” Arthur spoke up only after Ewan had finished shoeing a strawberry roan. “My wife and daughter packed enough for all of us.”
“Aah!” Johnny straightened out. “I was beginning to fear you’d hear the rumble of my stomach between the blows of the hammer.”
They settled in the shade of a large tree whose leaves, in bright shades of orange and deep red, covered the ground more than the branches. Arthur passed around cold bacon sandwiches and apples.
“How long have you worked wi’ the railroad, then?” Arthur took a mammoth bite, almost halving his first sandwich.
“Just started a few days back.” Johnny swallowed audibly before he reached for his canteen. “Ewan’s been training me.”
“Is that so?” Arthur eyed Ewan speculatively. “And how long has it been since you enjoyed the comforts of home?”
“Too long.” Ewan shifted against the tree trunk, finding a less lumpy resting place for his shoulder. “Years, in fact.”
“Years, eh?” Arthur savored a sip of cool water before popping the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and reaching for another. “Were you ever wi’ the Northern Pacific Railroad Company?”
“Aye.” Ewan frowned as he polished off his first sandwich. “I moved on after I realized the company didn’t share my priorities.”
“The Last Spike Snub?” Johnny stopped eating to stare at Ewan. “Is that whole mess what made you decide to leave?”
“ ’Twas a symptom of the overall problem, aye.” Ewan sampled his apple. The crisp fruit gave a tart but sweet flavor. Tart and sweet, the same combination offered by old memories.
“I heard tell of that about three years ago, but I don’t know the details.” Arthur poured some water into his cupped palm and combed it through his hair. “I’d like to hear your version of it.”
“ ’Twas a raging fiasco, to tell the truth.” Ewan closed his eyes, remembering the upswell of righteous anger against the company. “I know that the men had been pushed to finish the tracks before the worst of winter hit. When the two lines were ready to be joined, the owners of the company arranged a grand occasion to announce their success in bringing the railroad as far as the Montana Territory.”
“That much I know,” Johnny affirmed. “What I don’t understand is how a happy event upset so many people.”
“ ’Twasn’t the meeting of the railroads that caused problems,” Ewan clarified. “ ’Twas the way the company treated its own guests.
“Several important people, wealthy, powerful, renown, were invited to meet at the Helena depot. These particular guests were transported to the site in the finest railroad cars o’ the Northern Pacific. Sumptuous dining cars, Pullman sleeping compartments, and more were provided for these favored few.
“The bulk of the guests, however, weren’t so fortunate. Dignitaries, people prominent in only the Montana Territory, and large landowners were also invited but left t’ find their own transportation. They waited in the cold for the delayed train full of the other guests to arrive. At long last, the ceremony began.”
“So they were upset that they weren’
t given the same treatment.” Arthur mulled over his thoughts. “Since they were already in the Montana area, it stands to reason they would need to arrange their own transport.”
“Sounds to me like some uppity folks got their noses out of joint over nuthin’, if you ask me.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “Can’t imagine such a fuss over something so minor.”
“That wasn’t the end of it,” Ewan warned before continuing. “Once the event actually began, only those who had traveled on the train cars were allowed inside the pavilion area t’ hear the speakers. Everyone else was made to crowd in behind the platform, straining to hear. Even worse, the majority o’ the seats inside were empty.”
Ewan noted Arthur’s darkening frown and nodded. “After the speeches were made and the spike driven in, ’twas time to dine. Everyone expected a grand feast after traveling miles to celebrate the occasion and waiting for hours in the cold. Many had day-long trips home t’ look forward to.”
“Stands to reason,” Arthur proclaimed. “After being treated so poorly, they deserved some reward for their trouble, particularly as invited guests.”
“And so they expected.” Ewan paused to let that sink in. “The final blow was that only the train passengers, warmly ensconced in the new dining cars, were allowed t’ take part in the feast. The multitude of guests—those who had traveled so far to bear witness to this historic occasion, waited patiently through delays, and suffered a grievous slight throughout the ceremonies—were told to go home. Precious few of those guests had even thought t’ bring food, and a great many went hungry that day.”
“Shameful.” Johnny’s jaw clenched. “I knew that a lot of people felt like it was a waste of time and that they’d been insulted, but I never knew the exact particulars. I don’t read all that much, truth be told.”
“Out here the news comes slowly. When we heard about it, there were far fewer details.” Arthur turned his level gaze to Ewan. “You were right to sever ties wi’ such people. It speaks to the strength of your character.”
“ ’Twasn’t as though I were the only one who left.” Ewan shrugged. “And I’m of the opinion that Montana Central hired me more for the strength of my arm.” With that, he got to his feet. “Let’s get back to work.”
