A clump of men stood in the light, talking to Michael Morgan.
Howie recognized the visitors.
Their arms were crossed, voices low and solemn.
Must be a serious topic. With a cramp of his stomach, Howie wondered if it concerned Bertha. Howie leaned close to her. “You go on in now. Circle around the men and stay in the shadows. They’re deep in a discussion and might not see you. I’m going to find out what’s going on. But I’ll keep an eye on you until you’re inside.”
She smiled and nodded, reaching up to unbutton his coat.
Howie slid the coat from her shoulders, wishing he could press a kiss to her neck. “Go on, now. He motioned with his chin toward the meeting hall.
He watched her make her way into the building, admiring the sway of her hips, and then donned his coat and sauntered toward the group around Mr. Morgan.
They turned toward him.
The boss frowned. “I want you to hear this, too, Howie.” He gestured to Jonah Barrett. “Please repeat what you just told me.”
Jonah ran a hand over his head. “As I think you already know, Gid’s been seeing some signs in nature that told him we’re in for a cold winter. So Lina and I paid a visit to the Indians to gather more information. My first wife was a Blackfoot, and I wanted to see if they had the same concerns. Brought them some extra food just in case.”
“Do they?” Howie asked.
“They think this may be as bad as the long winter of eighty.”
Howie sucked in a breath, remembering the rolling blizzards, snowdrifts over his head, their ever-tightening belts as food ran low…. “Good to know. Half the problem of that winter was the train not coming through.”
“We’ll need extra supplies, food and fuel,” Mr. Morgan said.
Howie nodded. “Additional feed for the mules and the horses.
“Right. We’ll plan as if we won’t have access to Sweetwater Springs or anywhere else until spring….”
A couple of the men grunted approval.
The boss’s face showed lines of concern. “I didn’t own the mine in eighteen-ninety, but I’ve heard tales. One time, when a blizzard hit, two men were lost between the mine and the town.” His jaw clenched. “I don’t want that happening to my miners.”
“We can string a wire along poles.” Howie raised his hand shoulder high. “Yay-high. I don’t think the drifts will get higher than this.”
Mr. Morgan rubbed his chin. “Good, good. The wire can go from the mine to my place. As long as you keep your hand on it, you’ll find your way home.”
“That will work. Maybe ropes from house to house as well.”
Seth unfolded his arms. “Keep extra food and blankets in the mine, so if a blizzard hits, your men can hunker down for several days if need be.”
The boss let out a slow breath. “Good idea, Seth. This is going to be one expensive winter. But if we get through it without loss of life, including the livestock, then it’ll be worth it.” Mr. Morgan laid a finger on the side of his nose, signaling for secrecy. “Let’s keep this quiet tonight. No sense worrying everyone here. Tomorrow’s soon enough.” He held a hand out to Jonah. “Thanks for bringing word. I owe you.”
Jonah shook hands. “You just take good care of my Lina’s two friends, and that’ll be good enough.”
Mr. Morgan’s grin chased away the lines of concern. “Already planned to.” He slid a sideways glance and raised eyebrow at Howie. “And I won’t be alone in that endeavor.”
Howie stood straighter, knowing the boss referred to his responsibility toward Bertha. But he couldn’t help wondering if Mr. Morgan suspected more was going on than just him watching over her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning after a breakfast of flapjacks, sausage, and stewed prunes, Howie, the Morgans, and their guests had a serious conversation about the upcoming winter weather formulating plans to help Morgan’s Crossing survive the season.
After the somber discussion concluded, Michael glanced at Prudence. “I believe there’s the little matter of installing our new cook—” he winked at Bertha “—in the boardinghouse.” Do you want me to go with you to give Gabellini his marching orders, my dear? Or would you prefer to handle this on your own?”
Prudence wore a purple shirtwaist and skirt that made her eyes turn lavender. Her warm smile at her husband softened her face to prettiness. “On our own.” She looked at Bertha. “I want you to establish your authority and be obeyed by the men not just because Michael is standing beside you.”
A pit opened in Bertha’s stomach.
Prudence gave her an understanding smile. “As hard as this task will be, Bertha, I think it’s best you begin as you go. I’ll be there to back you up.”
She swallowed, not liking the idea of confrontation at all.
“I’m not asking you to fire the cook.” Prudence wrinkled her nose. “That’s my responsibility—one I’m not looking forward to. I want you to look around and tell me what needs to be done.”
Bertha could feel herself shrinking in her chair, realizing she wasn’t ready to do this. She grabbed at straws and waved at the table. “But we have to do the dishes first.” How ridiculous I sound.
Lina slid Adam off her lap and watched him run to his toys in the corner. She leaned forward. “Darcy, Trudy, and I will take care of things here,” she said in a bracing tone. “Then, you can come back and tell us all about it. And if I can get the young girl Juanita to watch Adam like she did yesterday….” She glanced askance at Prudence.
Prudence smiled. “Juanita loves little ones. She will be glad too.”
Lina glanced at Adam and back to Bertha. “I’ll be glad to help clean the boardinghouse. Apparently, the place needs scrubbing.”
“Try shoveling.” Shaking his head, Howie took a sip of his coffee.
Darcy and Trudy exchanged glances. “We’ll help,” they said, almost in unison.
Howie folded his napkin and laid it by his plate “Miss Bucholtz, I’ll go with you and Mrs. Morgan. Be around if needed.”
Bertha nodded, relieved by the offer, and then glanced at Prudence to see if she approved.
Prudence set her silverware on her plate. “I think that is an excellent idea, Howie.” She pushed back from the table and picked up her plate. “The miners will have left the boardinghouse by now. So let’s get this over with, starting with everyone carrying their dishes into the kitchen.”
Everyone obeyed, even the men, carried their plates and silverware into the kitchen, which still smelled of sausages, and set them on the counter.
Prudence gestured toward the stairs. “I’ll just go and get my coat.”
As his wife left the kitchen, Michael called after her, “Don’t forget your parasol!”
“Very funny, dearest. But come to think of it, that’s not a bad idea after all.”
Puzzled, Bertha glanced out the windows. The morning looked gloomy. Prudence had no need for a parasol.
Howie chuckled.
Glancing around the room, Bertha didn’t understand the undercurrents.
Michael must have seen the uncertain look on her face. “One of my foremen is an excellent worker but beats his wife, but try as I might, I can’t get him to reform. A few days after our marriage, the woman went into labor. The man found Prudence and Mrs. Tisdale in his cabin and threatened them. My wife ended up breaking her parasol—the original one—over his head and chasing him from the house. Having dealt with the brute, she then helped Mrs. Tisdale deliver the baby.” He looked around at the flabbergasted faces. “I guess she didn’t tell you that story.”
“She omitted that part of the narrative,” Darcy said dryly.
“Later, Prudence demanded a new parasol. You can be sure I replaced it, although I first made her promise never to use it on me.”
Bertha wasn’t so sure Prudence would keep that promise if she lost her temper.
Michael gave her a teasing smile and held up a hand. “But to be safe, I’ll make sure to only have
a disagreement with her when there’s no parasol in sight.”
“Watch out for projectiles,” Bertha joked, liking Michael very much, indeed. Prickly Prudence has found a man who respects her thorns—although, thank goodness, she doesn’t have as many as before.
“I heard that,” Prudence said, walking into the kitchen. In addition to carrying a purple parasol that matched her dress, she had on a black coat. “Luckily for Michael’s ongoing health and safety, I still have a bad aim.”
And since your biscuits are so divine, he might not mind eating them off the floor it you do throw them in his direction,” Bertha added.
They all burst into laughter.
“They’re too soft to make good weapons, anyway. Cookie Gabellini bakes ones more suited to that purpose,” Howie said, ambling toward the back door. As he passed, he said in a low voice to Bertha, “You’ll be just fine.”
She looked after him, wondering why he had so much confidence in her. But she was grateful for his encouragement, nevertheless.
Her stomach tight, she lifted her apron from where she’d left it hanging on a hook beside the door and left the kitchen, walking down the hall to the parlor. Earlier, she’d brought her hat and coat with her, laying them on the sofa. She perched the navy blue felt hat on her head—the color went nicely with her gray coat—tying the ribbons underneath her chin. With her coat on, she checked the pockets to make sure she had gloves in case the weather became colder.
Prudence joined her. She’d donned a hat that matched her purple gown. She raised the parasol as if it were a sword. “Into battle we charge, my dear Bertha.”
Bertha didn’t want anything to do with a battle, but Prudence’s endearment made her smile and bolstered her courage.
“Come along,” Prudence said in an exaggerated English accent.
Carrying the apron, Bertha followed her out the two sets of front doors. Once on the street, she looked around for Howie but didn’t see him. “Where’s Mr. Brungar?”
“He’ll be there, even though we might not see him. You’ll notice, he moves quietly and always is in the shadows.”
As they strolled down the dirt road, passing log cabins and a saloon, Bertha thought about Howie. Is he shy? Then Bertha remembered how he’d flirted with her. No, he can’t be. “Do you know why he’s that way?”
Prudence shook her head and sent Bertha a speculative glance. “Are you interested in Mr. Brungar?”
Taken aback, Bertha glanced away. But she was sure the red rising in her face betrayed her sentiments.
“Howie’s a good man.” Prudence pursed her lips. “Michael thinks the world of him. They’ve been through a lot together. Michael’s been pretty closed-mouth about his life after he left home, and I haven’t pressed him, figuring I’d have plenty of chances in the future. But I can push if you want me to….”
What an embarrassing conversation. “No, no,” she hastened to say.
They reached the boardinghouse, a two-story clapboard building with peeling yellow paint. “We’ll do something about the outside,” Prudence promised. “But probably not until the summer.”
As they stepped onto the porch, Bertha gave the bench a fond look, remembering last night and the intimacy of Howie rubbing her feet. Such a thoughtful gesture.
“The windows are filthy.” Prudence frowned in a disapproving tone. “Brace yourself for what you’re about to see. I’m almost glad we live in this out-of-the-way place,” she said in a teasing tone. “You can’t abandon me when you find out what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“You mean what you’ve gotten me into,” Bertha teased.
They crossed the threshold. The dining room was big enough to hold two long wooden tables. Benches flanked each side. When they walked, the soles of their shoes stuck to the floor, making sticky noises with each step. The tables looked equally grimy. I’ll certainly have my work cut out for me. “Nothing a little elbow grease won’t fix,” Bertha said in a cheerful tone. “You did warn me the place was filthy.” She pointed at a cylindrical stove by one wall. “I’m glad this room has heat.”
“The kitchen’s in the back.” Prudence strode straight across the room, Bertha on her heels. “Mr. Gabellini!” she called, walking through the swinging doors.
Bertha’s first impression was of space, and she let out a relieved breath, categorizing her new domain—large rectangular table, huge six-burner stove badly in need of blacking, a pie safe, large ice box, long counter and wide sink, with an old-fashioned pump. Open shelving held pots, pans, serving dishes, coffeepots, and scattered utensils. I can take charge of this.
On the far side of the stove, a potbellied man in a dirty apron lay sprawled in a worn leather chair fast asleep. His head lolled back, and he let out a snore.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Prudence exclaimed, walking up to him.
Bertha stopped at the stove and peered into two large dented pots to see beans simmering. She sniffed the rising steam, but she couldn’t smell any sort of seasoning.
Prudence poked the man’s knee with the tip of her parasol. “Mr. Gabellini, wake up!”
The cook startled awake. “What?” He stared at them blurry-eyed.
“The time has come to depart this pigsty you’ve created. Your replacement has arrived, and you are no longer needed. My husband’s miners will soon live in clean surroundings and be fed tasty food.”
He surged to his feet. “You can’t—”
Bertha gasped.
“Oh, yes, I can.” Prudence stiffened, obviously not about to back down. “You have a choice, Mr. Gabellini. You can be a miner, or you can leave town.”
If Bertha hadn’t been so afraid, she would have smiled, seeing Prudence use her mean face on someone else for a change. And in a good cause.
The cook snarled. “I didn’t think you were serious.” Crossing his arms, he glared at Bertha.
She shuffled back, bumping against the edge of the table and saw movement from the corner of her eye.
With a slow click of boot heels, Howie walked over to stand in front of Bertha, shielding her from the man’s ire.
Where had he come from?
He leaned toward the cook. “Don’t take this out on Miss Bucholtz, Gabellini. You have no one to blame but yourself. Mrs. Morgan warned you. I was there.” He pointed his chin to the door. “Now you get on out. We’ll pack up your things and leave them outside by the back door.”
Bertha peered around Howie’s back at the red-faced man.
Mr. Gabellini untied his apron strings, bunched up the garment, and threw it on the floor. “I’ll speak to Mr. Morgan about this, see if I won’t!”
“Go right ahead,” Prudence offered in a cool tone.
Like a child having a tantrum, the man stomped his foot on the apron and stormed out the door, not bothering to shut it behind him.
Prudence leaned out the door. “Mr. Morgan’s at the mine,” she called after him. “Enjoy the walk. You could use the exercise.” She straightened and turned to Bertha, her eyes sparkling. “Well, that was fun.” She brandished her parasol. “And I didn’t have to use my sword…much.”
Howie turned to Bertha. He rolled his eyes, making her smile. “I don’t think Miss Bucholtz shares your excitement about vanquishing your foe.”
Nor seeing some of the old Prudence return—jabbing at the man about needing the walk.
“Bertha doesn’t have any foes,” Prudence corrected him.
Wincing, she remembered the cook’s angry glare. “I might have just made one.”
“No.” Howie gazed into her eyes. “Gabellini’s fat and lazy. He has a temper, but he cools down. He won’t stick around here. Mining’s too hard. So don’t you worry, you hear?”
“I hear you.” And I trust you. If Howie believed the problem of Mr. Gabellini was over, then she’d accept that. She had much bigger problems, such as how to whip this place into shape and turn out a decent dinner this very noon, followed by supper.
“Let’s look around, shall we?
” She walked over to a side door, turned the knob, and opened it, finding a large bedroom with two windows—the only furnishings an iron bed and a rickety side table. A row of pegs held clothes. She stepped inside. The room smelled stale, as if the bedding hadn’t been washed in a while, and it probably hadn’t. Holding her breath, she moved to a window and pushed it open to air the place out.
“We’ll buy you a new bed and furniture,” Prudence promised, standing in the doorway. “There’s room here for a wardrobe and a desk. You could even arrange a little sitting area by the window.”
Howie looked over Prudence’s shoulder. “I’ll pack up Gabellini’s things. There are plenty of empty crates out back.”
Prudence grimaced. “Bertha, you won’t sleep here until the place is completely clean and painted, and with new furniture. Howie can escort you to our house every night.”
Bertha liked the idea of being escorted, at least by Howie, but she didn’t want him to regard the task as a bothersome chore.
Prudence gestured behind them. “Let’s inspect the pantry. When I saw it last on the day after I arrived, there seemed to be a great deal of provisions.”
Howie moved out of the way, and Prudence strode across the kitchen to the other side, swinging her parasol. She thrust open a door, revealing a spacious pantry with covered crocks on the floor and cans and jars of food along the shelves.
Pleased at the sight of the supplies, Bertha moved aside a can of corn to see one of spinach. “I’ll have to make an inventory, figure out what to cook today, and see what else is needed. I brought a lot with me, but if we’re needing to take into account a difficult winter….”
Prudence looked around. “I don’t know where those Oriental boys are—your young helpers. Howie, can you track them down? I’ll go get our friends at home and round up the ladies from Morgan’s Crossing. With all of us working, we should have this place clean by nightfall.”
“You said you plan to teach school?” Bertha asked, scooting a few cans into better order.
Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha: A Montana Sky Novella (Montana Sky Series) Page 8
