Читать книгу Accidental Courtship - Lisa Bingham - Страница 10

Chapter One

Utah Territory

Batchwell Bottoms Silver Mine

December 1873

“When’s the new doc getting in?”

Jonah Ramsey looked up from the ore reports he’d been handed and sighed. “He was supposed to arrive on the U an’ P passenger train last week. So...”

He took a gold watch from his vest pocket—a watch that had once belonged to his father. Absentmindedly, he brushed his thumb over the dents and scratches that proclaimed the timepiece had been through a battle or two—quite literally—then depressed the plunger so that the cover opened. It was already past noon.

“You think the doc’ll be on the fool thing today?” Gus Creakle looked up from his scribbling to squint against the brilliant December sun streaming through the office windows. “Because I got me a toe that’s plum mortified, I’m tellin’ you. I done dropped that idiot filin’ cabinet on it, an’ I’m afeard it’s gonna have t’ be cut off if’n it don’t get no doctorin’.”

Although there were daily locomotives that came through Batchwell Bottoms, a passenger train was more of a rarity. Once a week, it brought fresh miners to the valley, or took away those who were injured or who’d had enough. But even those were more infrequent now that winter was settling into the Rockies. It wouldn’t be long before the pass would become completely sealed off, and the miners would have to wait until spring for any contact with the outside world.

He worried what would happen if the doctor didn’t arrive before they reached that point.

Creakle scratched his chin with a stubby finger. “So what do y’ think, boss? Think the man will be on this week’s train?”

As if on cue, a faint whistle broke through the usual din of the mining camp, followed by the distant pant of the locomotive as it struggled to pull its cargo the last few yards of an uphill grade.

“You should have your answer within the next fifteen minutes, Creakle. Think you can hang on until then?”

Creakle considered the idea, his eyelids blinking, the tufts of hair on his balding pate poking out at odd angles until he gave the appearance of a ruminating owl. “Maybe. If’n I ain’t got no other—”

Creakle’s words died the same instant that a muffled boom echoed through the valley. Jonah felt a jolt through the soles of his boots. He threw the files onto the desk, snatched up his hat and coat and ran outside toward the yawning entrance to the mine.

From the corner of his eye, Jonah noticed he wasn’t the only person racing to find the source of the shudder. But even as he did, an uneasiness slid through his veins. Any man worth his salt knew what to expect when there was a “bump” in the mine. But somehow, the vibration that had sent him running hadn’t been quite right.

The other miners had come to the same conclusion. One by one, they stopped in their tracks, their breaths hovering in the frigid winter air.

From his spot a few yards ahead of them, Jonah turned in a slow circle, his eyes narrowed to near slits against the uncomfortable sheen of sunlight bouncing over newly fallen snow. From far away came the eerie whistle of the Union Pacific passenger train. Jonah could see the puffs of steam and soot as the stack of the locomotive emerged from the canyon, a pair of brightly painted passenger cars snaking along behind it.

“What’s going on, boss?” one of the men called out.

Jonah shook his head. “I don’t—”

But his words were drowned out by a loud crack. Then a rumble swelled up through the soles of his feet, vibrating his whole body.

“Would you look at—”

Jonah’s eyes skipped from the mine entrance to the two-story office, the Miners’ Hall, the livery, the company store and beyond to the row houses that were scattered like children’s blocks in front of the steep mountainside, then up, up, past the snowy cornice of Seesaw Point. At that moment, an entire wall of ice separated from the precipice and snow roiled down the slopes like a tidal wave, building up steam as it raced toward the valley.

“Avalanche!” someone shouted just beyond Jonah’s shoulder.

The men dived toward the shelter of the mine, the Miners’ Hall, the main offices.

Jonah instinctively leaped for the cover offered by one of the ore cars. Ignoring the stab of pain in his back, he hunkered low as a cloud of snow and vapor swallowed him whole. Gasping for air, he covered his head and his face while an icy blast of wind swirled around him, kicking up dirt and sleet and pine needles that pelted his cheeks and hands with such force they drew blood.

Then, just as quickly, the noise stopped.

Jonah waited, dragging cold, wet air into his lungs. His senses, keener than they’d been only a few moments earlier, picked out the slightest sounds: a plop of snow, the crack of a branch. A whimper.

For a moment, Jonah found himself lost in a wave of memories.

Thundering cannon.

Distant drums.

And pain, so much pain...

Opening his eyes, he took quick, shallow breaths, forcing the images away and ignoring the searing pain that traced down his spine—an injury forged in battle. Then he grabbed the rim of the ore car and hauled himself to his feet.

Around him, the mining camp looked as if it had come through the back end of a blizzard. The air was heavy with a gray mist, and several inches of ice and snow covered every surface. If it weren’t for the glitter of rocks and the dark green bits of broken evergreens, Jonah could have believed that they’d emerged from a storm.

Whirling, he blinked against the moisture and dust. Mine offices...fine. Mine opening...fine. Miners’ Hall, row houses, blacksmith shop, cook shack...check, check and check. They’d be digging themselves out of a few drifts, but there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage. As long as the timbers had held underground...

From far away, Jonah heard a plaintive, bleating whistle. It wavered, then trailed off completely.

“The train!” Jonah called out, already running toward the livery. “The snow must have pushed it off the tracks! Grab anything you can find—pickaxes, shovels, tools. Creakle!”

The daft man must not have taken cover when the avalanche hit, because he hovered in the office doorway, completely covered in white, bits of ice sparkling from his face and beard. If not for the blinking of his eyes, he could have been a children’s snowman.

“Head into the shaft, and make sure everything’s okay. Let them know that the encampment is fine, but the passenger train may be in trouble.”

Creakle lifted one snow-encased arm to offer a halfhearted salute. “Will do, boss!”

Jonah flung open the doors to the livery, rushing to the far stall where he kept his own dappled gelding. He didn’t bother with a saddle, but slipped the bridle over his mount’s head, then drew him into the center aisle.

As the men streamed in behind him, he gestured to the other stalls. “Harness all those mules. We may need them to pull the carriages out of the drifts. And get a couple of sledges hitched up, as well. God willing, there’ll be plenty of passengers needing a ride back into town.”

Then he was swinging onto the back of his mount and galloping toward the canyon.

* * *

Sumner Havisham blinked against the darkness, willing herself to focus on something—anything—that would reassure her that she was alive.

Dear Heavenly Father...help me...please...

Black dots swirled in front of her eyes and a wave of faintness threatened to swallow her whole, but she forced the dizziness away.

She would not pass out. She would not. She’d learned that lesson long ago, when she’d had a bout of scarlet fever as a girl and had collapsed in the nursery. She could still hear her step-brother’s scornful words.

Only girls get the vapors, Sumner. Only good-for-nothing, silly girls. How will you ever catch a husband if you act like that?

Her hands curled into tight fists, her jaw growing tight.

She hadn’t been a silly girl then, and she didn’t plan on being one now. Nor had she set her sights on marriage. She was a doctor, and she needed to behave like one. Especially when people’s lives might hang in the balance.

Inwardly, she took stock of herself, noting the bumps and bruises, the stinging pains. When she felt sure nothing was broken, she lifted a hand to the sticky wetness trickling down her forehead. Blood seeped from a cut near her hairline, and just below that, she found a lump on her forehead the size of a goose egg.

Go on, cry. Girls always gotta cry cuz they’re weak.

But she wasn’t weak. Never had been. Never would be.

“Ladies? Is everyone okay?”

Silence pressed against her, accompanied by odd creaks and groans. But finally, there was a faint cry.

“Here. I’m here.”

Sumner thought she recognized the voice of Miss Willow Granger, the shy woman who’d sat in the seat behind her. She hadn’t said much on their cross-country journey, but when she had, Sumner had recognized the broad vowels of Manchester’s working class and it had reminded her of home. “Willow?”

“Yes, miss?”

“Are you hurt?”

It was quiet for a moment, then, “No. I don’t think so. But I’m pinned by some fallen trunks.”

Another wave of light-headedness threatened to overtake her, and Sumner squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been so close to her destination! Only that morning, the train had left the fertile farmlands of Utah Territory to thread through the last mountain pass. The grade had become steeper there. They’d followed that course until the canyon had abruptly opened into a narrow valley, and she’d been sure that finally she’d reached Aspen Valley.

And then...

There’d been a roaring noise. A wall of snow slammed into the car, throwing them from their seats. Then they were tumbling...

Sumner opened her eyes again. As she finally began to focus, she could make out the confines of the railway car—unfamiliar now, with blackened windows and seats hanging giddily above her. Around her lay a flotsam of bags, loose articles of clothing, books...

“Do you think you can get yourself free, Willow?”

Sumner heard a rustling noise, then, “No. I’m wedged in tight.”

“Are any of the other women nearby?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s too dark to tell.”

This time, as Sumner gazed around her, she was able to make some sense of what she was seeing. The world wasn’t as dark as she had at first supposed. Instead, packed snow was preventing the light from shining inside.

Sumner tried to find the other women in the dimness, but since the railway carriage had tipped on its side, she couldn’t discern anything in detail. Instead, she saw a hand here, a foot there, a ruffled flounce.

She had to help them get out.

There was no telling how tightly the snow had sealed off the car. The women would need fresh air before Sumner could assess their injuries.

Sumner rolled her head to investigate, and there, just a few yards away, she could see a thin shaft of light piercing through the gloom.

“Willow, I don’t think I can make my way back to you, but if I can get outside...”

When the avalanche had struck, Sumner had seen a quick glimpse of a town in the valley. She’d even smiled when the other women had teased her about disembarking from the train at the famed “Bachelor Bottoms”—the nickname given to the mine for its peculiar regulations: no drinking, cussing, smoking, gambling or women.

How the mining community had decided on hiring a female doctor had been the source of speculation for most of their journey from Denver—especially since the passenger train had been reserved, primarily, for a handful of small families, a few widows and a group of mail-order brides heading for Salt Lake City, San Francisco and Seattle.

“If I can get out, I can get help from the mine.”

“Go, miss. The others are bound to rouse soon enough and I can tell them where you’ve gone.”

Behind her, Sumner heard a muffled moan, and she knew that she didn’t have any time to waste. The other women could be injured—perhaps seriously. But she couldn’t care for them in the dim light of the ruined carriage. And if there was a possibility of the car shifting or another avalanche thundering down upon them...

“Hold on, ladies,” she called out to anyone who might be conscious enough to hear her. “I’ll be back soon with help.”

Fighting the tangle of her skirts and the debris that littered what had once been a wall of windows, she crouched low and crawled toward that beam of light. Thankfully, she’d been seated near the front, so once she’d wriggled over the seats, she was able to brace open the ruined door and dig her way onto the mangled outer landing. Although most of the space had been compacted with snow, there was a small gap. If she could use the decorative railing to hoist herself up, she could probably push her way to the top.

Sumner rued the fact that she’d removed her mittens and heavy coat soon after boarding the train. Her fingers already throbbed with cold, but she refused to be cowed by the discomfort. As a physician, she knew that time was of the essence.

Help me, Dear Lord. Please.

Burrowing like a mole, she finally managed to maneuver her hand up to the gap above her. Biting her lip, she wedged the toe of her boot into the twisted iron railing and clawed at the ice, gradually making the aperture large enough for her head, her shoulders. Then, as she reached up, something snagged her wrist.

A squeak of surprise burst from her lips before she realized that it was another hand that gripped her. A very strong, masculine hand crisscrossed with faint scars.

She thought that a low voice called out, “Over here, boys!”

Relief swept through her. “Help is already here, everyone. Just hold on!” she called out to the gloom behind her.

A deep voice came from above. “Can you grab me with your other hand?”

“I—I think so.”

She wrapped her fingers around the broad, tanned wrist.

“I’m going to try to yank you out. Don’t let go.”

“Yes. O-okay.”

“You ready?”

“Yes, I’m—”

Sumner didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence before she was wrenched from her nest of ice. For a moment, her body seemed weightless, flying through the air, before she felt herself falling, landing over the body of her rescuer.

Sputtering, she struggled to catch her breath. Then her gaze latched on to a masculine face, dark wavy hair, a beard touched with threads of gray and eyes the same mix of brown, green and blue as the river that wound through the canyon gorge.

He regarded her with an equal measure of surprise before it became quite clear to her that he’d just figured out that she was a woman in a camp famed for its lack of females.

Sumner’s cheeks grew heated and she scrambled to stand up. But with the tangle of her skirts and the slipperiness of the ice, she wedged herself more tightly into the stranger’s embrace.

She could feel her cheeks growing hot, but every time she put a hand down to brace herself, she touched his arm, his shoulder, until—finally—two sets of fists grabbed her and pulled her upright.

She wavered for a moment, a swirl of dizziness nearly pitching her onto the ground again. In an effort to appear calm and collected, she planted her heels more firmly in the ice and stood with as much dignity as she could summon.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she murmured.

The miners on either side gaped at Sumner like a pair of landed fish.

At her feet, the stranger winced and pushed himself to a sitting position. He grabbed for a hat that had fallen into the snow, settled it over his brow, then gingerly rose to his feet.

Had she hurt him that badly?

Self-conscious, Sumner reached to smooth her hair—only to discover that the careful swirl of braids and curls had come completely unmoored. Even worse, as she tugged at her bodice, she discovered one sleeve had torn free and she’d lost a pair of buttons in a most inopportune spot. Nevertheless, other than the bump on her head, and some scratches on her hands, she appeared to be unscathed.

At least, that was what she presumed, until she looked up to find that nearly thirty men stood amid the wreckage of the train. Every single one of them was staring at her. Even the mules in the distance seemed to be giving her the eye.

“Hel-lo?” she offered hesitantly.

Except for a half-hearted bray from one of the animals, there was no response. It grew so quiet that she swore she could hear the snow crystalize beneath their feet. Her cheeks grew hotter.

She cleared her throat, gesturing to the wreckage around her. “We’ve had an accident...”

Honestly, Sumner. They already know that.

“An avalanche...”

They know that, too.

“There are more people in the various cars. I’d say about a half-dozen crew members, a couple of families with small children. Some more women. All totaled, I’d say...fifty or sixty of them.”

Obviously, the men hadn’t known that piece of information, because their impromptu game of freeze tag came to a halt and they moved, swarming toward the exposed corners of the passenger cars, shouting out orders.

Sumner hurried to help them, but a hand snagged her elbow, pulling her away from the railway carriage she’d just abandoned.

“I need to show them where to dig!” she retorted, realizing that the gentleman who held her at bay was the same one who had pulled her from the smashed railway car.

“They know what to do.”

“But—”

“You’ll only be in the way.”

Cuz you’re a girl.

The hard set of the stranger’s jaw and the crease between his brow told her plainly enough that, even though the man wouldn’t offer the words aloud, he was thinking them. Once again, she’d been summed up in a single glance and pigeonholed as useless, simply by virtue of her sex. And that brought a starch to her spine that the avalanche had nearly knocked from her system.

She refused to let one more man tell her what to do.

“I assure you, I won’t be in the way. I’m a doctor.” She flung an accusatory finger in the direction of the hole from which she’d been tugged as unceremoniously as a turnip. “There are injured women inside.”

His eyes narrowed. “A doctor?” he murmured in disbelief.

Sumner shook herself free of his grip and pulled herself to full height. Unfortunately, she still barely reached his shoulder, but she wasn’t about to let that fact deter her. “Yes. I’m Sumner Havisham. The mining camp is expecting me. I’ve been hired to serve as their company doctor for the next five years.”

His brows rose, nearly disappearing beneath the brim of his hat.

“You’re... Sumner Havisham.”

“Yes, of course. I have a copy of the signed contract...” She automatically felt for her reticule, then sighed, resisting the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. “It’s with my things.” She waved in the direction of the train.

The stranger sighed and stared at the ground as if pained, the pad of his thumb rubbing at the crease that appeared between his brows. Then he muttered, “Give me strength,” before gesturing to a wooden sledge a few yards away. “Why don’t you wait over there, miss—”

“Dr. Havisham.”

“Dr. Havisham. As the passengers are pulled free, we’ll bring them to you.”

When she would have argued, he held up a broad hand to stop her.

“The way things are, we’ve got to tread lightly over the debris path so we don’t end up crashing through a window, or starting another avalanche. None of this is stable.”

Sumner shivered at the thought, her gaze convulsively leaping up the slopes of the mountain where an enormous gash gouged through wind-carved whiteness. Broken trees and displaced boulders gave evidence to the churning power of the forces which had already given way.

“Please, Mi—Dr. Havisham. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Although her pride still prickled at being excluded, Sumner had to concede that this was hardly the moment to prove her strength of will, especially since Willow and the other women were awaiting rescue.

“If you think that’s best.”

“Oh, yes, Dr. Havisham. I really think it’s best.”

Sumner’s eyes narrowed. The tone of the man’s voice had held an irritating mixture of condescension and vehemence.

“And you are...”

He paused. Sighed. Then momentarily lifted his hat. “Jonah Ramsey. I’m the superintendent of the Batchwell Bottoms mine.”

She’d only been in the valley for a few minutes and she’d already managed to irritate one of the top officials—a fact she could ill afford.

Sumner wasn’t foolish enough to think that the owners of the Batchwell Bottoms mine had willingly chosen a female doctor. Not when the rules of the community were so strict against the gentler sex. She’d been astounded when her letters of introduction had been answered—and even more amazed when further correspondence had led to an offer of employment.

We would be honored to offer you a five-year contract at our establishment...

Sumner had hardly been able to believe she’d been so blessed. She hadn’t just received a job; she’d been offered a contract for five years.

It hadn’t been until after she’d sent her acceptance that she’d begun to feel the first needling doubts.

Why on earth would a mining community so well-known for its stringent rules—no drinking, no cussing, no women—been willing to hire her as their doctor?

She’d tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t an actual miner but a member of the support staff. Next, she’d bolstered her inner argument by reminding herself that her professors and fellow staff at Ludlow’s Hospital for Women must have offered her a glowing recommendation. There was nothing untoward about her job or her appointment as mine doctor, despite her gender.

And then she’d remembered one salient point. Although she’d answered every question put to her by Ezra Batchwell and Phineas Bottoms, neither one had ever asked her if she were male or female.

They’d just assumed that Sumner Havisham was a man.

Even now, her body filled with the same frustration that she’d felt that day. But by then, it had been too late to retrieve the letter or clarify the offer—even if she’d wanted to do so. It shouldn’t matter whether she was male or female as long as she could do the job. It shouldn’t matter if her name were Sumner or Sally or Madame X.

Weeks later, when she’d received instructions, a sum of money for supplies and the journey and her travel arrangements, Sumner had decided to give the owners of the Batchwell Bottoms mine the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe they’d be accepting of her and her skills. She would journey to Utah Territory and see what happened. True, the owners might try to force her to leave so that they could find a “more suitable male replacement.” But with the weather closing in and a signed contract in her pocket, she’d hoped she could force her hand—for a few days, a few weeks, a few months. Long enough for her to find another position somewhere in America so she wouldn’t have to return to England.

Where the men were even more unreasonable than those in the wild and woolly American territories.

She blinked, unable to keep herself from studying the man who stood in front of her. If anyone epitomized the rough and rugged men of the West, Jonah Ramsey fit the bill. He wore his hat low over his brow, and his hair exploded from below the brim in an unruly tangle of waves. His beard was full and needed a trim, and his eyes...

Those eyes could melt ice with their intensity.

And they were focused on her.

His gaze was so direct that it caused a prickling to skitter down her spine, but she ignored it. Instead, overlooking the fact that her appearance wasn’t entirely conducive to formal introductions, she held out her hand. Best to show the man at the very beginning that she considered herself his equal.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Superintendent Ramsey.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as if she were behaving untowardly. She realized that Bachelor Bottoms had a “no women” policy, which probably meant they had a “no touching” policy.

Did that include shaking her hand?

Or was Mr. Ramsey one of those incredibly stuffy gentlemen who believed that a woman shouldn’t offer introductions herself, but should wait for a male relative to do so?

If Mr. Ramsey was waiting for any kin to offer such niceties, he would wait a very long time.

He reluctantly closed her fingers in his. Her skin was icy and numb from digging through the snow, but it wasn’t so cold that it didn’t immediately absorb the warmth of his clasp. In that brief instant, she became intimately conscious of the calluses at his palms, the strength of his grip and the long, slender fingers that nearly swallowed hers whole.

Then, just as quickly, he released her and began tugging on his gloves.

“If you’ll wait over there,” he prompted.

It wasn’t a complete dismissal, but it felt awfully close. Clearly, Mr. Ramsey wasn’t pleased with her identity or her profession.

Her spine stiffened and her chin tilted infinitesimally. Ignoring the disarray of her clothing and her disheveled hair, she picked up her skirts and marched with as much dignity and decorum as she could muster. She’d been treated worse before and she supposed that she would be again.

But if Mr. Ramsey thought that she would be dissuaded from practicing medicine in Bachelor Bottoms by such aloofness alone...

He had another think coming.