Читать книгу Accidental Sweetheart - Lisa Bingham - Страница 16
ОглавлениеGideon hurried into the Meeting House with only seconds to spare—which meant that the only seats available were toward the front. He could feel the heavy weight of dozens of eyes settling upon him as he dragged his hat from his head and did his best to finger-comb his hair into place.
He probably looked a sorry sight. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, and his clothes were spattered with mud. His hand rasped against the stubble at his jaw and his stomach gnawed with hunger. After a fruitless morning where he’d been able to discover little more than the still-warm ashes of the fire he’d seen the night before, he’d needed the steadying influence of the morning Devotional to begin his day.
Leaning back in his pew, he allowed the prelude music to soak into his tired muscles. Around him, sunlight streamed through the windows of the Meeting House, forming bands of warmth that highlighted the crowded pews. Since the hours at the mine had been extended, there were only two shifts, rather than the usual three, which meant that more of the miners attended the early services. The benches were filled to capacity with men who’d finished their work. Their weary, dusty faces butted up against those miners who were clean and eager to get to their posts.
Gideon had always thought that the Devotionals were a symbolic leveler. Here, there were no rich men, no poor men, no handsome dandies or ugly mutts. They were simply children of their Heavenly Father seeking the influence of the Spirit.
His eyes skipped from row to row, stopping at the front pews on the opposite side of the room.
No, not just men. The women came as well. Since Ezra Batchwell had been sequestered in his house with his injury, the women had stretched the boundaries of their freedom—and he supposed that it was to their credit that they’d sought out the spiritual venue. This morning, they sat in two rows, wearing their best Sunday bonnets. Some of them glanced over their shoulders to smile shyly at the men behind them. But for the most part, they seemed lost in their own thoughts, enjoying the music being played by their leader, Miss Lydia Tomlinson.
Gideon would have been the first to admit that Lydia was a fine organ player. She managed to coax sounds out of the old pump instrument that he never would have believed possible. This morning, she was playing something lyrical, classical. Gideon had heard the melody before, although he wasn’t schooled enough to know its name. He only knew that the melody seemed to chase itself from high to low then back again, bringing to mind soaring birds. Or playful cherubs.
The moment the thought appeared, Gideon pushed it away. Honestly, the lack of sleep was making him quite fanciful—yet another sign that the time had come for the women to leave the valley.
But even as he told himself to keep his mind on his job, he couldn’t help watching Lydia as she bent over the keys. She seemed lost to the music, her fingers flying, her eyes slightly closed as she played from memory. She’d removed her bonnet before sitting down and the sun wove among the coils and curls, gilding her hair until it seemed to glow.
So beautiful.
Stop it!
He tore his gaze away, focusing resolutely on his hat, running the brim through his palms. But just when he’d begun to control his thoughts, the congregation rose for the first hymn, and without thought, his eyes strayed back to Lydia again.
He couldn’t account for the way he felt a sense of...peace when he looked her way, as well as a heady anticipation. He had no doubts that within moments of meeting up with her again, the verbal sparring would begin—and the thought gave him a jolt of energy that seemed entirely inappropriate.
Once again, he yanked his thoughts—and his gaze—away from Miss Tomlinson. With all his might, he concentrated on the benediction, then on the sermon being offered by Charles Wanlass.
Unfortunately, his friend chose today, of all days, to speak about love, commitment and faithfulness.
Gideon fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man had it bad. It was there in the way he gazed down at his wife, Willow, who sat on the front pew with her friends. Charles was completely and irrevocably in love with his bride and thoroughly besotted with the twins they’d adopted as their own. It was enough to make a body wonder what he was missing.
Almost.
Gideon would have to be blind not to see the transformation which had occurred in his usually taciturn friend—and in Jonah Ramsey as well. But that didn’t mean that such ideas of marital bliss would provide the same happy ending for Gideon. Much as he might want a sweetheart someday, he had to be realistic. He had nothing that he could offer a woman save an uncertain future. He could never settle down enough to make such a woman happy. Not when his nights were still often haunted by dreams of Andersonville and the savagery he’d witnessed. There were times when he woke screaming, his body trembling, his skin icy with sweat.
No woman should be asked to share such burdens.
Especially not one so refined as Lydia Tomlinson.
“Is somethin’ wrong, buddy?”
Gideon started at the whisper. Beside him, Gus Creakle eyed him with rheumy eyes.
“No. I’m fine.”
Creakle grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing beneath a lifetime’s worth of wrinkles.
“She’s a pretty little filly, ain’t she?”
“Shh!” Gideon glanced around to make sure the man hadn’t been overheard. But other than Smalls, who sat to Creakle’s right, the other men seemed tuned to the sermon.
“She’d make a fine little wife.”
“I’m not looking for a wife, Creakle.”
The man chortled, the white tufts of hair surrounding his bald pate quivering as if from an unseen breeze. “I don’t suppose a man is ever really lookin’. Most times, the notion falls in his lap.” He laughed again. “Either that, or the notion smacks him upside the head.”
“This is Aspen Valley, Creakle. A man can’t stay employed if he entertains such thoughts.”
Creakle huffed dismissingly. “Some things is more important than a job, you mark my words.”
“I happen to like my job.”
“But it don’t make you happy.” Creakle gestured to Charles who had paused in his sermon again to wink down at Willow. “Look at yer buddy there. He was a big ol’ lump o’ misery until that little gal came along.”
Gideon didn’t think he would go so far as to call Charles a “big old lump of misery,” but he had to admit that Creakle had a point.
“And Mr. Jonah. Well, now. That man has had his life handed back to him—and I’m not talkin’ about the way the doc operated on him. He’s finally lookin’ toward the future instead of the past.”
“I’ll admit that Charles and Jonah have found something special, Creakle. But I’m not shopping for what they’re selling. And even if I were, Miss Tomlinson would be the last woman I’d pursue.”
Finally, Creakle sat back, his eyes twinkling. His only response was, “We’ll see.”
But Gideon wasn’t paying attention any longer. He’d happened to glance toward Lydia, only to find that she was looking at him.
And there was something about her too-innocent expression that made his heart pump a little bit faster.
* * *
Lydia waited until the last miner had left the Meeting House before allowing her feet to still at the organ. The final chord died with a sigh, leaving a moment of heavy silence. Then, the women began gathering their things.
Iona brought Lydia her coat and bonnet. A wrinkle of worry had settled between the older woman’s brows.
“It’s only a matter of time before someone starts noticing that there are men missing from their shifts.”
Lydia had spent the night mulling over the problem and had finally come up with a temporary solution.
“I know, but I think I’ve come up with a way to prevent anyone from pinpointing our involvement for a little longer. I assigned Myra and Miriam to make some quarantine placards. With Jonah already diagnosed with measles, it’s not a stretch that there could be other cases.”
Iona’s eyes crinkled at the corners in delight.
“Not a stretch at all.”
“And we wouldn’t want the new cases to infect the rest of the population.”
“No. That would be horrible.”
“Make up a list of the men we have so far. As soon as we have the quarantine signs in place, we’ll take it to the mine. Who’s running things now that Jonah is being kept at home?”
Iona’s gaze sparkled with amusement. “Charles Wanlass.”
Lydia grinned, knowing that they had an ally who would take their list at face value, no questions asked.
“Wonderful. And you’ve arranged to have lunch with Phineas Bottoms?”
Iona’s cheeks grew pink. “Yes.”
“I know you’ll charm the socks off the man.”
The older woman offered a sound that was very near a girlish titter. “I doubt that, but I’ll do my best.”
“So that leaves...”
Lydia walked to the windows, watching as Gideon Gault strode across the street to the Pinkerton offices.
“What are you going to do with that one?” Hannah asked, nodding in the man’s direction. “The other men have been easy to sway to our cause, but he’ll never willingly concede.”
“He’s going to catch on and raise the alarm,” Sophie added with a note of doom.
“Then we’ll have to take him by force.”
The other women regarded her with wide eyes. So far, the men had been easy to catch—a blanket thrown over their shoulders or an invitation to the Dovecote. After a quick explanation from the women, they’d been willing to play along. But Gideon Gault would not prove to be so biddable. Even if they managed to kidnap the man, they would have to find a way to keep him hidden and under their control.
“We’re going to need those iron manacles we saw in the Pinkerton office,” Lydia said slowly. “And some of Sumner’s sleeping powders.”
Sophie gasped.
Hannah smiled.
“When will you make your move?” Iona whispered, despite the fact that none of the men were nearby to overhear them.
“As soon as we can gather our supplies and I can get the man alone. Get everything ready and bring it to the Dovecote. I’ll arrange to have the Pinkerton join us for a meal.”
* * *
Gideon’s stomach rumbled as he pored over the latest ore reports from the mine. With the rails damaged, there would be no trains arriving at the warehouse near the station in town. Batchwell Bottoms Mine employees were going to have to haul the ore through the pass, then far enough overland to hook up with the railroad. They would have to use teams and wagons for at least ten miles, maybe more. On Gideon’s end, that meant double the guards, double the headaches.
The entire situation wasn’t completely new to Gideon. He’d come to Aspen Valley a few years before the railroad had been completed, so he knew the challenges and dangers involved in shipping the silver by wagon. But with everything so unsettled in the mining community, and his morning spent looking for whoever had spent the night in the pass, his gut warned him there would be trouble ahead. Trouble with a capital T. Trouble with—
“Problems?”
He started, then burst to his feet when he looked up to find Lydia watching him with arched brows.
“So sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She offered him an innocent smile, but he wasn’t buying it. This woman managed to set off his inner alarms more than the thought of hauling a warehouse full of silver out of the valley.
“Miss Tomlinson,” he murmured, wondering how she’d managed to sneak up on him without a hint of warning. “I thought you promised me that you’d stick to your guard today.”
“He was busy helping Iona in the cook shack, and I knew I’d only be gone a few moments.”
She set a plate on the blotter of his desk along with a mug of coffee.
“I didn’t see you come into the cook shack after the morning Devotional, so I figured I’d bring the food to you.”
She lifted the napkin from the plate to reveal potatoes, ham, biscuits and two fried eggs with their glistening yolks staring up at him like eyes. Although Gideon wanted to tell her that her concern was unnecessary, his stomach rumbled in response. Too late, he realized he hadn’t eaten much the night before and nothing this morning.
“A man can’t work properly on an empty stomach.”
To Gideon’s consternation, she sat in the chair opposite, and it was clear from her posture that she didn’t intend to move anytime soon.
“Go ahead. I’ll keep you company while you eat.”
Gideon was pretty sure that her suggestion was a bad idea, but after she’d been kind enough to think of him, he supposed it would be churlish to send her out the door.
He reluctantly returned to his own seat.
“Would you care for a biscuit?” he asked, gesturing to the pair upon his plate.
“I’ve already had my breakfast, but thank you all the same. Go on.”
He bowed his head for a quick, silent prayer, then took up his knife and fork, but still couldn’t bring himself to wolf his food down in front of her. “You’re sure you don’t want anything?”
“Positive. But I’ll be a little put out if you don’t taste things while they’re hot.”
With that admonition in mind, he gingerly cut his meat. Within minutes, the savory goodness of the meal banished the rest of his reservations and he began to dine in earnest.
“Where are you from originally, Mr. Gault?”
He looked up, but sensed no guile behind her question, merely a casual interest in keeping him company as she’d originally stated.
“Ohio.”
“Really? When I think of Ohio, I picture rolling pastures and fertile farmland. Were you raised on a farm?”
Gideon shook his head. “My grandfather owned an ironworks, so I spent my younger days working with the smelters.”
Her brows rose. “How fascinating. Somehow, I never would have pictured you as a factory boy. You seem so...at home in the wilds of the territories.”
Gideon didn’t tell her that he’d once planned on taking over the ironworks for his grandfather, that he’d intended to double the size of the foundry and make Gault Industries a household name. During his time in the war, he’d fantasized about investing in modern machines and training their workforce with newer methods.
But he’d only been home a week before he’d realized that he couldn’t go back to the man he’d once been. As soon as he’d stepped into his grandfather’s offices, the walls had seemed to close around him, cutting off his ability to breathe. And the heat from the smelters had smothered him like a hot Georgia night. His grandfather had been forced to pull him out of the building to stop his screams.
Gideon wrenched his thoughts away from that moment. Looking up, he found Lydia watching him curiously. “I guess the wide-open spaces have grown on me.”
She opened her mouth, clearly intent on pursuing the subject, but to his surprise, she motioned to his plate instead. “Enjoy the potatoes and the ham,” she said. “We’ve used the last of them, I’m afraid. We’ve only got a few more sacks of dried carrots and onions, then we’ll be out of vegetables of any kind.”
Her words made the food all the more delicious.
“You’ve managed to stretch things to the last. You and your ladies should be congratulated. I think we ran out of root vegetables about mid-January last year.”
The compliment made her beam.
“Thank you, Mr. Gault. I’ll be sure to tell the ladies. They were worried that they hadn’t rationed things enough.”
“I daresay we can survive on meat and baked goods until the pass clears. Once we manage to get through the pass and can hook up with one of the telegraph lines, we can send for fresh supplies.”
The joy slipped from her features, and too late, he realized that his words proved to be a reminder that the women would be sent away long before such foodstuffs would arrive. He braced himself for an argument about why the women should be allowed to stay, but to his surprise, Lydia didn’t accept the bait. Instead, she rose to her feet saying, “I’ll send one of the other girls to fetch your plate in a little while. In the meantime, I wondered if you would be willing to join us at the Dovecote for a late lunch tomorrow...say three o’clock?”
His brows rose, and once again, he felt a niggling suspicion. Miss Tomlinson was up to something. He was sure of it. She was far too solicitous. Too...nice.
“Why?”
“Why what?” She blinked at him, her eyes so clear, so blue. And innocent.
“Why do you want me to come to the Dovecote for lunch?”
Again, she seemed to bat those incredibly long lashes.
“To eat?” she drawled as if he were rather dense.
“We could eat at the cook shack.”
She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “The women have some questions about their upcoming journey. I thought it would be more efficient if they could ask you themselves—without being overheard by every Tom, Dick and Harry having a sandwich in the cook shack.”
Her explanation seemed logical—making his own response seem truculent. And yet...
He couldn’t escape the feeling that he was walking into a trap.
“What are you up to, Lydia?”
She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let’s say you’re acting out of character.”
“Out of charac—”
Gideon stood. “Yes, out of character. Let’s face it, we’ve spent most of the last few months bickering with one another.” He waved to his empty plate. “And now, suddenly you’re worried about whether I’m eating enough or sleeping enough or—”
“I’m simply being polite!”
“Well, stop it!”
The words echoed in the small room, reverberating in a way that made Gideon realize he’d stomped right over churlish and marched on to childish.
“Fine,” Lydia huffed. “I’ll leave you alone—right now and for however many days I have left in this valley.”
He sighed, his head dropping. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so...”
“Suspicious?”
He conceded with a nod.
“It’s just that... I’ve got a lot on my mind and...” He met her gaze head-on. This time, she didn’t regard him with a neutral stare. Instead, her eyes glittered with a mixture of pique and irritation. “And I’d love to come to the Dovecote for lunch tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be there at three.”
After a quick nod in his direction, she strode from the room in a rustle of skirts, the door slamming behind her.
He winced, then slowly sank back into his seat.
* * *
Once again, Lydia had barely navigated a few yards before being joined by a pair of women from the Dovecote. This time, Iona and Marie accompanied her on either side.
“Well?” Marie asked somewhat timidly.
“He agreed to meet for lunch at three.”
Iona smiled. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Lydia tried her best to tamp down the emotions whirling in her breast—excitement, trepidation and most astonishingly, guilt. “Yes. It’s a good thing. Because the man is already more suspicious than we’d supposed.” Her mind swung to the countless things that still needed to be done. “Do we have the placards in place?”
“Yes. The quarantine is now official.” Iona’s eyes sparkled in delight. “And just in time. The ‘measles’ seem to be spreading.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, a dozen men heard about our protest and volunteered to participate.”
“Really?” Lydia’s heart thumped at the thought.
“I believe Charles is responsible. He and Willow have begun inviting a few of the married men to their home. After plying them with Willow’s cookies, they’ve outlined how they hope to persuade Batchwell and Bottoms to change the rules. So far, their efforts seem to be working.”
“Wonderful. Are you ready for your lunch with Mr. Bottoms, Iona?”
The woman’s cheeks grew pink. “I’ve made a special meal complete with his favorite dried cherry pie for dessert.”
“And you’ll remember to subtly ask him for information on his views about the effect the women have had on the community?”
“Yes. I made up a little card with possible questions which I’ll keep tucked in my pocket. If I need to, I can peek at it under the table.”
Lydia reached to squeeze the woman’s hand, knowing that Iona felt uncomfortable being thrown into the role of femme fatale. But of the two owners, Bottoms was the most approachable, and Lydia had noticed of late that he seemed to follow Iona with his eyes. In Lydia’s opinion, that spark of interest should be encouraged.
“Very smart, even if I doubt you’ll need the prompts. Somehow, I think that you and Mr. Bottoms will catch on like a house afire.”
Again, the older woman’s cheeks flushed and Lydia knew that Mr. Bottoms wasn’t the only one anticipating the lunch alone.
“Have we had any progress infiltrating Mr. Batchwell’s home?”
Marie nodded. “A few days ago. He’s been kept abed with his leg, and up to this point, the only people he’s allowed inside have been the man he’s got working as his personal servant and a few mining officials—including Charles Wanlass.”
“My, my, my. Charles has been a busy boy, hasn’t he?”
“As the temporary Mine Superintendent as well as lay pastor, Charles has had plenty of excuses to go to the top of the hill,” Marie said with a sly grin. “Anyhow, for the last few days, he’s brought Willow with him.”
Lydia’s brows rose. When Willow and Charles had impulsively claimed a pair of abandoned twins as their own, Mr. Batchwell had proved to be their most formidable foe. Although Willow had never said as much, Lydia knew that the brusque, burly man had secretly terrified her. But after Charles had openly declared he would rather lose his job than Willow, she’d gained a wealth of confidence which, apparently, had extended to her relationship with Mr. Batchwell.
“Anyway, you know Willow. At first, she tut-tutted about his leg, then about the state of his house, then about how cold his meals were once they were brought up from the cook shack. She’s been going up for an hour or so every day since then to cook and tidy things up. According to her, Mr. Batchwell is as grumpy as ever, but he does seem secretly appreciative of her help.”
Lydia clapped her hands together, then rubbed them as she thought things over.
“It sounds like our efforts are coming along much better than I’d imagined—and just in time, too.” They had over sixty men purposely staying off the job through a fictional quarantine. Mr. Bottoms was about to be courted, and a spy had been inserted into Batchwell’s home.
The entire situation was better than she could have ever hoped. But there still remained one opponent who could bring their plan down before it could do any good.
Gideon Gault.
He’d already made his views clear on the situation. He would never come to the women’s aid. Not willingly.
Which meant that something had to be done about the man.
And much as she hated to admit it, Lydia needed to be the one to do it.
