by Pam Crooks
ELEANORA
Copyright © 2019 Pam Crooks
Cover © Charlene Raddon, https://silversagebookcovers.com
Edited by: Linda Carroll-Bradd of Lustre Editing, www.lustreediting.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This ebook may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.
ELEANORA is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by, the trademark owners.
Version 2019.01
41,218 words.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Author’s Note
About Pam
April 4, 1884
My dear Grace,
Have you heard of the horrible disaster that struck our little town? Mr. Bridges, our telegraph operator, sent word out on the wire just as soon as Mr. Crane allowed him to share the information. Perhaps it has already reached the Denver newspapers. If not, then I must inform you the Gold King Mine suffered two explosions and collapsed.
It was terrible, Grace. The first was so monstrous the windows of our little cabin cracked and its foundation was shaken, though we are most of three miles away. I prayed for days that Darvin had somehow escaped from the instant tomb the mine became. He would have been nearly ready to come home, finished for another day. Surely he’d been close enough to the surface to make it out. Oh, how I prayed that he was merely lying somewhere, injured, confused, and if I and everyone else would just keep looking we would find him, but I no longer have hope. Dr. Spense has frankly declared to all of us it wasn’t possible. One hundred and seventy-five souls, Grace. Innocent men, women and children gone. If not for Tessa, I would surely be numbered among the dead, too, for I would have gone to help when that first explosion erupted through the mine. Those who did go were caught in the second one and any still alive below were lost to us forever.
So many widows, Grace, most with children and no visible means of support. We will share with each other what we can, trying to keep body and soul together. A funeral will be conducted for all the victims on the twelfth of April. Few remains were found, and those that were I regret to say were not identifiable. Oh, to not even see his body one final time, which makes so much harder to accept that he is gone. He wasn’t the best of husbands, but he was mine. I feel disloyal writing those words, but you already know my true feelings. I still don’t know how to explain to my little Tessa that her papa isn’t ever coming home again, that he won't see her grow up.
Those who survived are managing, though the children are running a bit wild in the streets as their mothers continue to search for any sign of their loved ones.
Now you are going to ask why I don't just leave? Come home to Denver, to Mama and Papa, to you? In truth, this is still my home. The reason I came here is gone, but I don’t want to leave yet. Only time will tell if I can remain.
Beloved Grace, tell Mama and Papa not to worry, and please don’t worry either. We are managing for the time being. I continue to hang onto hope that life here in Wildcat Ridge will improve. I will write again soon.
Your devoted sister,
Ellie
Prologue
April 12, 1884
Wildcat Ridge, Utah Territory
Eleanora Cavender couldn’t hear the preacher’s voice from where she stood in the back of the mourning crowd. It didn’t matter what the man said, anyway. Prayers didn’t change a thing. His words, though lifted to the heavens and the Almighty, would do nothing to bring back the 143 miners killed at that awful Gold King Mine.
Including her husband. Darvin died instantly, they said, just like all the other men, none of whom were given the chance to tell their wives and children good-bye. No opportunity to settle their affairs. No possibility to change their circumstances and prevent what happened.
Tears prickled her eyes. At least Darvin hadn’t suffered. In that, she found comfort. He wasn’t a particularly loving husband, or a passionate one, but he had big dreams, and he worked hard. It wasn’t his fault bad luck was always on his trail.
But then, who was she to point fingers? No one had worse luck than she did.
“Mama, I’m cold.” Tessa pulled on her arm, again and again. “When can we go home? I’m tired.”
Eleanora had been so caught up in her morose thoughts she didn’t realize her child tried to get her attention, and she buried her self-pity. There’d be time enough in the coming days and weeks to wallow in it, but now she had her daughter to think of. A three-year-old didn’t understand what happened or why they were here, even though Eleanora had gently explained to Tessa her papa died and was never coming home again. Eleanora drew the line at explaining Darvin’s body was buried with scores of other men— at least, what was left of their bodies—in caskets crammed side by side inside a big hole. Nor did she explain how he wouldn’t have his own burial service or even a gravestone, and likely never would, and that’s why they were here on such a chilly day with practically the entire population of Wildcat Ridge.
The few that were left.
Blinking against a new sting of tears, she lifted the collar of Tessa’s coat more snugly around her little neck. “What happened to your scarf?”
Tessa shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Eleanora sighed. Spring in the Uinta Mountains carried a bite that reminded everyone winter wasn’t far gone. The lengthening days assured summer was coming, however, and her favorite season promised hope. God knew she could use some.
She pulled off her own scarf and wrapped it around Tessa’s collar twice before tying the ends into a knot that wouldn’t come undone. Eleanora could ill afford losing the one scarf she owned.
“Warmer, my sweet girl?” She tugged the miniature blue hat she’d knitted last Christmas lower over Tessa’s ears, too, all but covering the blond hair so much like her own.
Tessa nodded, paying no mind to Eleanora’s fussing and appearing more interested in their horse and wagon parked along the road. “Can we go now?”
“Let’s. I think the preacher is almost done.” She lifted her daughter up, hugging her close to keep her warm.
The service showed no sign of winding down, but Eleanora had had enough, too. Standing at the back of the crowd enabled her to leave without drawing attention to herself.
Tessa hooked her arm around Eleanora’s shoulder. “Can we stop at the bakery and get a doughnut, Mama?”
“Hmm. I’m not sure they’ll be open, Tessa. Most everybody in town came out here to listen to the preacher say his prayers.”
“But, Mama, I’m so, so hungry. A doughnut will make me not be hungry anymore.”
“Is that what Papa used to tell you?” she asked, knowing he
did.
“Yes.”
“Well, too many doughnuts aren’t good for a little girl’s tummy, you know.” Of course, Darvin didn’t buy Tessa that many treats at the Sugar and Spice Bakery. Not only could they barely afford it, he hadn’t been home enough to run errands in town, a task which usually fell to Eleanora. On those rare occasions when he did, however, Tessa always got her doughnut, and didn’t a child remember those things?
How could Eleanora refuse her on the day they laid her papa to rest?
Their buckboard appeared in view, lined up with scores of other rigs parked alongside the narrow road. Eleanora halted, set Tessa down and took her hand. Goodness, the child was getting too heavy to carry these days, especially over uneven ground.
She straightened, her gaze caught on movement a short distance off to her side. Someone had separated from the crowd and strode toward her with such purpose, Eleanora’s stare lingered. The moment her vision identified a plaid suit, a cane and muttonchop whiskers beneath a fashionable, no-doubt-expensive-bowler, recognition hit hard.
Her shoulders squared. Mortimer Crane was the last person she wanted to see, and today of all days.
She tugged Tessa’s hand and lengthened her stride, forcing the child to practically trot beside her to keep up. Eleanora couldn’t get to the wagon fast enough.
“All right, sweetie. A doughnut for you, but only if the bakery is open. Which it might not be, remember? Mama will drive by and see if it is, though, just for you.”
She was rambling and talking fast, but Tessa didn’t seem to notice. Eleanora swung her up into the driver’s seat, and her daughter scurried to the other side, clapping her hands. “Thank you, Mama!”
“Mrs. Cavender!”
Eleanora’s eyes closed. Dare she ignore him? The man owned most of the town. He owned the Gold King Mine, too, and as far as she was concerned, it was his fault there were two explosions and so many men died. If he’d taken better precautions to protect the miners, there might not have been such a horrific disaster, and she blamed him for her loss, just like every widow in Wildcat Ridge did.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t ignore him, but she didn’t have to talk to him, either. She couldn’t imagine what he’d want with her, and whatever it was shouldn’t take long.
Chin high, she faced him. “Mr. Crane.”
“Might I have a word with you?” He halted in front of her, all five-foot-six-inches of him, his height a match to hers. And those blue eyes, boring into her like he’d drill her into little pieces, gobble her up and spit her out.
“I’m afraid my daughter is cold,” she said in a stiff tone. “I intend to get her out of this godforsaken cemetery to a place much warmer and infinitely more pleasant. If you’ll excuse me.”
She pivoted, but his pale hand clasped her elbow, pulling her back to face him.
“I will not excuse you,” he said in a tone smooth as ice.
Eleanora sucked in a breath. The man was positively wretched. He ruled over Wildcat Ridge like a tyrant, without a kind word to anyone. Ever. Now, he clearly intended to have his way, like he always did, without a care that Eleanora had been thrust into widowhood with great prematurity or that Tessa was close enough to overhear.
“Fine.” Eleanora strode farther down the road, away from the wagon where she could keep a close eye on her daughter. “Please speak quickly. I have matters to attend to.”
He withdrew a fat cigar from inside his coat pocket. “Were you aware your husband,”—he inclined his head mockingly—“may he rest in peace, owes me a debt? Quite a large one, I might add.”
Whatever Eleanora had expected him to say, it wasn’t this.
“Debt? I most certainly was not aware. Has he borrowed from you?” Her mind raced to find a shred of truth in the accusation but failed. Darvin made a decent wage as a miner. They weren’t wealthy, but a life of strict frugality left them with money enough for food and supplies when they needed them. Why would he borrow from the mine’s owner? “If so, he would’ve told me.”
“‘Borrowed’ is not the word I would use, my dear Mrs. Cavender.” A match appeared from inside his pocket, too. “‘Stolen’ would be much more accurate.”
She blinked. “That’s preposterous.”
“Hardly.”
“You’re lying.”
“Why would I? My information is credible.”
“From whom?” Her heart pounded, like the questions demanding answers in her head. “Who told you my husband stole? Even if he had, what could he possibly have taken from you, and why would he, besides?”
“I pay my man well to provide information to me, and he would not dare inform me wrongly.” His eyes narrowed. “Since you asked, Mrs. Cavender, gold nuggets. The ‘why’ part of your question is obvious, isn’t it? The gold is worth a goodly sum, and now, in his untimely passing, your husband’s obligation to repay me falls to you.”
He smiled, like a snake.
The words circled in her head, chilling her skin in a way that had nothing to do with the cool mountain air. “That’s ridiculous.”
Wasn’t it? Mortimer Crane would have no right to force her to pay him back. Even if he did, she had little money, not nearly enough to reimburse a large amount of gold.
“Should you refuse to honor your husband’s obligation, let me warn you I will personally see to it that your possessions, what few you have, are confiscated. In addition, all funds withdrawn from your account at the bank will be transferred to me.”
She nearly choked. “You can’t do that!”
“I do believe I can. I’m the owner of Crane Bank, am I not?” He flicked the end of the match with his thumbnail, and a flame flared. “You will be thrown into the street, a destitute woman with a child to raise.” He touched the flame to the end of the cigar, puffed and blew out a plume of smelly blue smoke. He smiled, without mercy. “Is that what you want, Mrs. Cavender?”
She swayed. Her lungs strained to pull in air, but failed, leaving her numb and unable to think, let alone speak.
He knew where to strike, to make her bleed the most.
Tessa. Her precious daughter. Her reason to live.
“I didn’t think so,” he said. “It’s good that you’re a reasonable woman. Meet me at the Crane Hotel at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. At that point in time, repayment of your husband’s debt will begin.”
Chapter 1
May 28, 1884
“I can nigh set my clock by you, Eleanora,” Diantha Ames said in her soft Southern drawl, looking up from the Ridge Hotel’s counter where she could be found most any time of the day. “When you walk in, I know it’s either a Wednesday or a Saturday.”
“It’d be a shame if I missed the Wells Fargo.”
Holding Tessa’s hand, Eleanora strode across the lobby. Diantha was Wildcat Ridge’s newest postmaster, a job she’d taken over from her husband, Eugene, after he was killed in the second Gold King Mine explosion. In addition to her postal duties, she’d assumed ownership of the hotel in his place, too. Managing the establishment was something she had in common with Eleanora and had become the foundation of their newfound friendship.
“I wouldn’t let the driver leave without your letters,” Diantha said, with utmost seriousness. “I know how important they are to you.”
Eleanora halted at the counter and released Tessa, who had done this often enough to know she must stand quietly until Mrs. Ames spoke to her. Reaching into her handbag, Eleanora pulled out an envelope, a match to the dozen others she’d sent since Darvin’s burial. Each letter contained the same message, and each envelope was made out to the same Denver address.
Dressed in black, like Eleanora and most of the other husbandless women in town, Diantha stamped the missive with her usual efficiency, hardly glancing at the words anymore, but certainly, she was curious. Any widow who read the letter’s destination would be. Diantha was just too well-mannered to ask.
Eleanora made sure her friend laid the letter on the stack of assort
ed others waiting to go out later this morning, which, of course, she did with unerring care.
Diantha clasped her hands on the polished counter. A moment passed before she gestured behind her to the almost empty, dark oak, pigeon-hole case she used for sorting the town’s mail.
“I’ve received no letters for you since the last time you came,” she said quietly. “It must be frustrating they haven’t seen fit to give you a response. I admire your perseverance.”
Eleanora managed a tight smile. This was the first time they’d conversed outright about her letters. Perhaps Diantha’s curiosity had gotten the best of her, after all. “I’m not giving up.”
“The Miners Association is doing you a great disservice, Eleanora. They’re sequestering themselves in their big city offices and completely ignoring those who need them most.”
“We’re just a small mountain town in Utah Territory, and the Gold King Mine has been permanently closed.” Eleanora chose her words with caution. It wouldn’t do to get anyone riled up about what had been, so far, a failure. She must remain diplomatic. Hopeful, most of all. “I’m certain the Association is much busier than we can imagine, especially with the high number of mines operating in the western states. They haven’t had time to attend to me just yet. But they will.”
“Hmm.” Diantha’s pretty mouth tightened, as if she needed to hold back her disagreement.
“Besides,” Eleanora said before the disagreement won. “The Association doesn’t represent us, you know. The widows. As a union, their purpose is to protect the miners.”
“Of whom most are dead, and their wives and children are all that’s left. Struggling to survive, I might add.”
Which was exactly the point of Eleanora’s letters, but she declined to tell Diantha so. Not with Tessa standing right next to her, with ears that tended to hear more than a three-year-old’s should. Eleanora smoothed the blond wisps that escaped her daughter’s braids.