Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two (8 page)

“It would be to you,” Ronan said. “It’s based on miner’s wages. You’re making a little more than half what we do, I’d imagine.” At Gabriel’s nod, Ronan sighed. “Well, hopefully you’ll make more soon.”

“Once I’ve been here a few months and Jeffers approves of my work, I’ll earn fifty cents more a day,” Gabriel said.

“You seem preoccupied, Liam,” Amelia murmured as she moved to sit. She stroked his shoulder in an attempt to ease his tension.

“I am. One of the men from another level, Brian O’Shaughnessy, didn’t pick up his tag today.”

“His tag?” Gabriel asked.

“When we go down the mine, we put a metal tag in a bowl to show we are working. When we end shift, we pick our tag out of the bowl so everyone knows we are…”

“Safe,” Amelia murmured with a gentle squeeze to Liam’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Liam said as he reached up to grip her hand. “When we left, they were looking for him.”

“All we can do is pray they find him, healthy and whole,” Gabriel said.

“Aye, ’tis all we can do. But it always makes me wish there was more I could do other than go to the wake and pay my respects.”

After an awkward pause, Gabriel spoke. “Amelia, can you tell me about the upcoming fall dance at the Hibernian Hall?”

She smiled as she settled into her chair. “Yes. We will have the McNamara band, and there should be plenty of dancing. I have heard that there will be a number of eligible women there, Matthew.” At Ronan’s snort, Amelia arched an eyebrow at him. “And what has you amused, Ronan? You just might find a woman who interests you.”

“Set your trap for wee Matthew here,” Ronan said as he attempted to mimic Liam, “but I have no interest in a wife and responsibilities. I am too young to contemplate anything so drastic as marriage.”

“Many would argue you are nearly decrepit at twenty-eight,” Liam said.

“Seeing as I’ve used up half my mining years, yes, I can see that,” Ronan said with a laugh.

“Half your mining years?” Gabriel asked.

“Most say our work expectancy is short. We’ll only ever put in about fifteen years in the mine. It’s part of the reason we’re paid so well. Besides, there are too many women I have yet to meet on a certain street,” Ronan said with an impish smile as he referred to Mercury Street and Butte’s Red Light district.

“Don’t you dare mention that name in this house,” Amelia said with a tap to his hand.

“In fact, maybe my unencumbered friends would care to join me tonight? Matthew? Gabe?” Ronan looked toward them as he finished his stew.

Gabriel shook his head in denial, but Matthew jumped up to join Ronan. “I thank you for a delicious meal, Amelia,” Ronan said.

“Ma’am,” Matthew muttered, flushing red. They left, allowing in a blast of cold air.

“Liam, talk some sense into that partner of yours,” Amelia demanded as she washed the dishes.

“He’s young and unmarried in a city filled with ample opportunity for … adventure, love,” Liam said with a roll of his eyes toward Gabriel. “How d’ye expect him to act?”

“More like Gabriel!”

“Now, ’tisn’t fair, as the man’s got his woman,” Liam said with a nod in Gabriel’s direction. “She might be across a great continent. But sure, he’s still got his woman.” When Amelia opened her mouth to argue, Liam set Nicholas down, rose and covered her lips with his fingers. “What Matthew didn’t tell you is that the ore cart that got Johnny Fitzgerald was meant for him. He jumped out of the way just in time. The lad needs somethin’ to take his mind off of nearly dyin’ today.”

***

GABRIEL LEFT THE EGANS and decided to go to the local pub. He had no desire to sit by himself in the small room at the boardinghouse. As he entered, he noted that a button accordion player had joined the fiddler tonight with most conversation at a low din out of respect for the music.

Gabriel collected his pint and found a seat at an empty table a short distance from the music. Round tables and chairs scattered around the room were filled with off-duty miners. Spittoons sat near the foot of each table. Men leaned against the long wooden bar. Knicks and scratches from the multitude of drinks and patrons scarred the oak wood surface. The burly barman had a towel tied to his waist, and he washed glasses in a sink behind the bar when he was not busy serving customers. Gabriel settled in, absently listening to the men around him marvel at the ongoing coal strike in Pennsylvania. They grumbled at the rising price of coal but seemed to support the miners’ efforts.

“I’d like to think they’d support us if’n we ever had need of a strike,” one man muttered. A hearty round of ayes followed that comment.

“I wonder what the wee buggers are eatin’,” another said. “They can’t have enough put by to last weeks with no pay.” The men around him continued to murmur.

“You new around these parts?” A small man with powerful shoulders sat next to Gabriel. “I don’t remember seein’ you at the Mountain Con.”

“I don’t work there, but I’m bunking with a friend who does. I’m Gabriel.”

“Nice to meet you. My name’s Red.”

Gabriel stared at him for a few moments, taking in the man’s pale complexion and raven-black hair.

“Ah, a man who doesn’t ask too many questions. I like that. No, I’m Red ’cause I have a fiery temperament.”

Gabriel nodded.

“Some say I should work in a smelter so my work would match my spirit.”

“But then you wouldn’t live in Butte.”

“Exactly. I have no desire to live in Anaconda, although Daly built a beautiful town there.” He said Daly’s name with reverence.

“If Daly built Anaconda, the smelters there must only be for his mines. Where do the other mines send their ore?” Gabriel asked.

“The non-Anaconda? They send theirs to a smelter in Great Falls. There’s plenty of water there from the Missouri River, though it’s a fair distance from Butte.”

Gabriel nodded. “I haven’t had the chance to travel to Anaconda yet, although I know it’s close. Great Falls seems too far away.”

“Aye, that it is. Now, Anaconda might be a place to visit on a free day. It’s only about twenty-five miles from here. All the ore from Anaconda mines are brought there to the smelter. One of the lads has a brother-in-law who works at the smelter, and he told us about this long process of separating the copper from all the other metals. Sounded like magic when he talked about it, conjuring the copper from the other metals.” He snorted once. “Though he used fancy scientific terms, something to do with gravity. When it’s all over, they have a nice copper pig.”

Red raised one black eyebrow at Gabriel’s snicker.

“Copper pigs?” Gabriel repeated.

“Yeah, bars of copper,” Red said. He took a sip from his pint, his toe tapping to the lively reel.

“From what you say, it sounds like working in the smelter would be an easier job than working belowground,” Gabriel said as he took a long swallow from his pint.

“I wouldn’t start thinking like that, Gabriel. Working in a smelter is hard. That machinery is tough. Any small accident and…” Red shook his head. “They’re as tough as any of us.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “You sure you have no interest in mining? You’d make better pay, and you seem strong enough for it.”

“No, I do well enough right now.”

Red nodded in agreement and sat for a few minutes, listening as the musicians moved from a reel to a slow waltz.

“Ah, the music’s lovely tonight. Glad these lads have chosen our pub to play in,” Red said as he rose to move to another table. “’Twas nice meeting you, Gabriel. I hope to see you again.”

Gabriel nodded, enjoying the rest of his pint and the music.

CHAPTER 6

WE SAT IN THE PARLOR, the room illuminated in a soft glow from the gaslights. A small fire crackled in the marble-topped fireplace, the new filigreed fire grate preventing wayward sparks from singeing Mrs. Smythe’s recently purchased oriental rugs. The orange in the rug clashed with the rose wallpaper, although I had seen enough wallpaper patterns around to know that it, too, would soon be altered.

“Richard?”

“Yes, Miss Sullivan?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I began, biting my lip. I played with the buttons adorning the skirts of my navy dress.

“But you still want to tell me something,” he said with wary amusement. He sat across from me in the chair Da usually sat in. The plush red velvet wingback chair with wooden wings and woven cane work had recently been reupholstered.

“Yes.” I sighed. “I want you to come to my school. I have a good friend there who I think once used to be a … an acquaintance of yours.”

“I highly doubt a school marm is any friend of mine,” Richard contradicted with a laugh.

“Her name is Florence Butler,” I whispered, watching him. He stilled, as I imagined an animal becomes motionless to prevent detection from its prey. His eyes betrayed him, a deep flash of emotion sparking in their icy-blue depths at her name.

“Florence?” he murmured.

“Yes, I thought you should know…” I stopped speaking when he held up a hand, silently asking me to desist.

“I would think she hates me,” Richard said, a deep note of mourning in his voice.

“I can’t answer for her, Richard. But from what I do understand, from what I have heard from her and pieced together from her interactions with Gabriel…” I paused for a moment as his eyes narrowed. “I believe you should speak with her. Try to overcome what happened in the past.”

“Gabe has seen her? Knows where she works?”

“Yes. It’s why we had to write letters in the spring. I didn’t want Florence to become uncomfortable with visits from him.”

Richard sat in shocked silence, his eyes distant, unfocused. He finally raised haunted eyes to me. “After all I did to help him with you, why wouldn’t he help me?”

I reached out to grip his hand. “Richard, it was never my intention to harm your relationship with Gabriel. He has only ever wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me from the woman I love? Separate me from her?” Richard asked in an anger-laced voice.

I held onto his hand, refusing to let go. “Richard, please. You must understand Gabriel’s animosity toward your aunt Masterson. Well, try to at least. I didn’t understand how awful she was until this summer.

“Gabriel has such strong memories of your life with your parents. He would remember and compare those memories to the home, barren of love, provided by your aunt. He would dream, every day, of the life that had been lost. And feel the burden to make everything better so that you and Jeremy could have the life your parents dreamt of for you.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Richard asked, letting out a long, shaky sigh, the anger seeming to evaporate.

I nodded with a tremulous smile.

“Then why didn’t you tell him you loved him before he left?”

“He knew how I felt, Richard,” I whispered, releasing his hand and sitting against the back of my chair.

“So it would appear from your frequent letters.” Richard paused, watching me a moment. “He told me, one evening as he prepared to leave, how he had told you that he loved you, but you didn’t say it back.”

“Would he have stayed if I’d said the words?” I gasped, dread filling me.

Richard shook his head, unwilling to answer an unanswerable question. I sat, stunned into absolute silence. I looked toward Richard without seeing him, reliving scenes in my head. I quickly shook off the memories. “You’re very cunning you know,” I accused.

“Why?”

“I won’t allow you to make me forget our original topic,” I said, raising an eyebrow toward him.

He smiled. “Yes, Florence.” He patted my hand a few times. “Let me think about it a while. There’s a good chance she won’t appreciate your meddling.”

***

A FEW DAYS LATER, I prepared for a formal dinner at Savannah and Jonas’s. My maid, Mary, spent extra time on an elaborate chignon. My burgundy velvet dress was fitted through the bodice yet full at the waist and through the skirt. Although mid-October, I gave thanks to the mild weather as I glanced in the mirror at the three-quarter-length sheer lace sleeves. I bit my lip as I studied my reflection, fingering the decorative flower at my left shoulder. I turned, picked up my light wrap and took a fortifying breath that I would survive a party at the Montgomery’s home scandal free.

I arrived at Savannah and Jonas’s house a few minutes late, worried that Jonas would be annoyed at my tardy arrival. However, as I exited the hired carriage and stepped onto the cobblestone sidewalk ineffectually lit by a dim streetlight, I noted other well-dressed guests entering the house.

I followed them to the hallway, awed again by its splendor. The immense oak staircase, wide enough for three to walk abreast, was ornately carved in the decorative rococo style. I glanced toward the ceiling to marvel at the decorative plaster medallion encircling the chandelier. White wainscoting on the walls enhanced the sense of light in the windowless room.

I handed my light wrap to a waiting maid, smiling my thanks. She bobbed and turned to the guest behind me. Upon glancing into the formal parlor, I was surprised to find only a dozen or so people present. Satin-covered chairs and settees were arranged in informal clusters in an attempt to entice guests to sit and converse. However, most remained standing, moving from group to group so as to speak with all present. Waiters in impeccable formal livery walked through the room, discreetly inquiring about before-dinner drinks. I placed a hand on my stomach, trying to calm the fluttering in my belly that I would be expected to interact with the exquisitely dressed members of society.

I slipped into the parlor, hoping to speak with Savannah. She wore a stunning aquamarine satin charmeuse gown with a design of ink-pressed flowers etched into the delicate fabric. A softer aquamarine tulle border highlighted the scalloped neck of the gown and Savannah’s trim waist. Beginning at the waist, a black lace cutout overlaid the body of the dress in a delicate leaf pattern sweeping from midwaist across her hips to the floor. The dress just touched the floor in front, with a slight train in the back.

I did not wish to interrupt her, as she was deep in conversation with a tall, dark-haired man in a formal black suit with white tie. Savannah looked up, noticed me standing near the doorway and motioned for me to join her.