Down payment? Did the man think he was daft? Didn’t he know how little miners made for working long hours?
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Farland, but the land in question won’t long be on the market. I must act today or risk losing the perfect property.” Finn turned his attention to Victor McClintock.
Grandpa nodded. “I’d like to see you and Dallas in business together. I haven’t forgotten you saved his life and that of my son Austin against those rustlers. And I know how hard you’ve worked to help Dallas build his growing reputation.”
He leaned forward. “Tell you what, you help Wally and I’ll advance you the cash you need.”
The load of worry that weighed down Finn lightened so suddenly he felt giddy. Could he be hearing right? “I’m that grateful, Grandpa McClintock. Can we work out the terms?”
Wallace Farland pulled out his pocket watch and frowned. He replaced it in his vest. “Excuse me, Uncle Vincent, but I have to get back to Lignite.” He speared Finn with a look. “You and I need to work out details before I leave.”
Again, Finn schooled his features. Did the man always interrupt instead of deferring to his elders? “What would you expect o’ me?”
“You’ll need to dress in work clothes. You have work boots instead of those of western style?”
“Aye, I have an old pair that looks fit for the dustbin but I wear them to muck out the stalls. And I have old clothes. We throw nothing away.”
“Good. You’d hire on as any other miner. Once a week, you need to walk to the next town of Spencer and mail me a letter to the name I give you and he’ll send it on to me. You should tell me what you’ve learned.”
“And do you suspect any men so far?”
“I do but I’ve no proof. Council Clayton, Aleski Karpinski, and Johan Swensen are under suspicion. But they may be innocent and others guilty. That’s why I need a man who works with the miners every day.”
“Are there lodgings nearby where I can sleep and eat?”
The mine owner puffed out his chest. “You’ll stay in the single men’s longhouse where you can sleep for a dollar a week. A dining room is attached and your food will be furnished at a small charge. In addition, there’s a store where you can find any supplies you want.”
Finn had a bad feeling about the whole set up but his desire for Lippincott’s land and house overrode his misgivings. “And will I be paid in cash or scrip? When I traveled through some states, I saw miners cheated out o’ what was due them by low pay in scrip and them having to use it at the company store.”
Farland’s face turned red. “Now see here, I’m fair to my workers. The scrip is simply a way to keep track.”
He couldn’t risk killing the chance to get his loan. “Sure and I meant no accusation. I only made an observation from my time passing through West Virginia.”
“Harrumph. I have nothing to do with the people there. You have any other questions?”
“What if I can’t find proof o’ who’s causing trouble?”
“Someone is guilty. I’m sure a smart man working among the miners can discover who’s to blame. All you have to do is mingle with the men and keep your eyes and ears open. That shouldn’t be hard, now should it?”
“No, Mr. Farland. I understand what you’re asking and ‘tis me best I’ll do.”
“Fine, fine, O’Neill, report to the mine and act as if you’re any other man looking for a job. You can send me reports by mail.”
Finn stood and shook the mine owner’s hand. “I’ll be there as soon as I can work out departure with me brother in law. He won’t keep me overlong since he’s that anxious for me to get the ranch next to his.”
When Farland had supplied a mailing address to his contact and left, Finn resumed his place in front of McClintock’s desk.
Grandpa leaned back in his chair. “That’s settled, then. Now tell me about this ranch.”
“Yesterday Lippincott said he’s selling out and offered Dallas first refusal because the ranches adjoin. Lippincott and his wife are moving into town. His children don’t want to carry on the ranch, which must be a great disappointment for the man.”
Surprise spread across Grandpa’s face. “Lippincott’s selling? That’s news, but I know his wife’s in bad health. Good set up there. What’s he asking?”
Anxiety clutched at Finn’s throat. ‘Twas a princely sum, but ‘twas a grand place. He named the price and held his breath while he waited for Grandpa’s decision.
Grandpa masked his opinion, but drew a sheet of paper toward him and took up his pen. The older man pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow in concentration as he jotted figures.
Seconds seemed like hours to Finn. The mantel clock ticked away with a monotonous sound. Sweat gathered under his arms and on his brow. What would he do if Grandpa changed his mind?
“Here’s what I worked out. I’ll go see old Lippincott today and seal the deal. I’m sure you and my grandson can square your time off to work at the mine. You can pay me back over fifteen years.”
He turned one of the pages toward Finn. “Here’s what the payments will be each January. Since it’s so late in the year, you won’t owe a payment until 1887.”
Finn gulped. “Sir…Grandpa, these are generous terms. What if I can’t figure out who’s causing the trouble at your nephew’s mine?”
Grandpa waved away his concern. “All you can do is your best. But I reckon you’ll do it, Finn. I have confidence in you.”
Feeling as if his heart would burst, Finn left the McClintocks. He peered at the puffy white clouds floating in the bright blue sky overhead. Didn’t he feel he was floating on one of those?
He reined the horse toward home. Not his precisely, but where he lived with his sister and brother in law. He couldn’t believe his dream was within reach at last. How long before he could move into his own place?
Chapter Two
Lignite, Texas
Finn extinguished the candle on his hat as he emerged from the coal mine’s inky interior with his six-man crew. They worked in a section of the mine with five other crews. Each crew raced against the others. How he hated this backbreaking job and he’d only been here a week.
He was that grateful his time here was temporary. Nothing except the Lippincott ranch dangling in front of him could persuade him to continue. A man had to be truly desperate to scratch out such a poor living.
So far, he had few leads and several suspects. If displeasure with the work was an indicator, every man here was guilty. Only a few openly talked of unions or against the owner.
He cleaned up as best he could and went to dinner in the longhouse he shared with other unmarried men. He didn’t think he could ever scrub away all the coal dust. Every crevice of skin carried a black line as well as around his fingernails. A strong brush and a long soak in a tub of hot water might rid his skin of the grime.
“Gettin’ used to the work yet?” James Llewellyn asked as he sat next to him. The Welshman was in Henessy’s crew same as Finn and had proven to be a helpful friend who offered advice without belittling Finn.
He dug into his food and shrugged. “But still not liking it overmuch.”
The other man laughed. “Who does, lad? We’re doomed to be the pawns of the men who own us.”
He sent a puzzled glance at his new friend. “No one owns me. Sure and I’m a free man.”
The other man gestured to his food. “And that’s why you pay twice what this meal’s worth for the privilege of eating slop.”
Finn laid his fork on his plate. “The charge is more than the food’s worth, that’s true, but the quality ‘tis not that bad.” Nothing like he ate while at Dallas and Cenora’s, that was certain. But hadn’t he had far worse and much less growing up?
The Welshman’s mouth twisted in apparent disgust. “Wait until you’ve had to buy things at the company store. Prices are almost double. The scrip we’re paid won’t buy much.”
Finn picked up his coffee cup. “And you’ve said no one in the next town will t
ake the scrip.”
From his other side, a brown-haired boy no more than seventeen or eighteen said, “Right you are. We’re same as prisoners here. Unless you starve yourself, you’ll owe more than you can earn. But a job is what I needed and a job is what I found.”
“Can nothing be done? Have you complained to the owner?”
Everyone within hearing distance laughed.
The boy rolled his eyes. “Old Farland is the one sets the store’s prices and our salaries. He cares naught for us, only for the coal we dig from the ground.”
Finn nodded. “I remember hearing miners talk in West Virginia about the same problems.”
James narrowed his eyes. “Thought you were from Ireland.”
Finn hadn’t intended to give away much of himself. “Can you not hear the old country in me voice? But I came several years ago and wandered a bit on the way to where I am. ‘Tis a wondrous country.”
The boy’s eyes lit with interest. “Yeah? What did you do to earn your way?”
“Worked with horses mostly. You know, mucked out stalls and such. I’ve smelled enough shiite for me lifetime.”
James appeared surprised. “You’ll likely be doing the same with the mine’s animals if they know you’ve the knack. They have to be cared for.”
He ached to free the horses and mules kept underground. “Do they never come out o’ the mine?”
His friend said, “Naw. By now they’d be afraid of the light. Probably would blind them.”
Finn turned to the brown-haired boy who’d spoken earlier. “Finn O’Neill here. Don’t know your name.”
“Mick Gallagher from County Cork. I came to start a new life after me family died of typhus. I’m the only one left.”
“Sorry, Mick. Tough being on your own, isn’t it?” Finn wasn’t really on his own, but he’d always felt that way. He was the odd man out in his family, the one who was different, the one who didn’t really belong.
Not that his family had ever treated him that way, but he knew in his heart. Instead of the garrulous and good-natured Brendan Sean O’Neill, his father had been a lecherous nobleman who’d forced himself on his mother when she was but a servant girl in his fine manor house. When her resulting pregnancy became obvious, she’d lost her job. If not for Brendan, no telling what would have happened to her—and to Finn.
But Brendan married her, for he’d loved Aoiffe many months. And the kind man insisted Finn was his son in his heart. So, Finn called him Da and tried to fit in.
His brother in law, Dallas, treated him as an equal. From Dallas he’d learned not only to gentle horses with kindness, but also to read and write. What a gift. He rejoiced each time he saw words that no longer looked like so many squiggles to him. Though he still read slowly, he carried a book with him so he could practice whenever he had free time.
After his meal, he stood and joined the other workers. For a couple of hours, they divided into groups. Some played cards, some shot dice. Others went outside to smoke or head for the saloon for a brew. Finn was with the group who sat and talked. How else could he find the information he required?
Joking or cursing their fate, about ten o’clock most made their way to their bunks. Exhaustion lined every face. Finn laid his head on a pillow streaked with coal dust in spite of him trying to clean up each night.
Ladies came in each week to change the sheets and wash the clothes longhouse residents bundled for them. He didn’t envy the women’s chore. The wash water must turn black immediately. Their job was as bad as his but the laundresses performed theirs on solid ground.
In his quest, he’d focused on two men who might be causing the so-called accidents to hinder the mine. One was Darius Hartford, a man who often mentioned how much a union would help their lives. The other was Council Clayton, one of those suggested by Farland. Finn had learned Clayton had barely escaped being in a cave-in too many times.
Clayton had the knowledge needed to cause the so-called accidents that slowed their progress and had resulted in the death of several men this year. So far, Clayton’s own son hadn’t joined work in the mines. That fact aroused suspicion among his coworkers that Clayton planned more treachery.
Finn had no proof those or the other two suggested by Farland were up to no good. The chugging of a locomotive ferrying coal from the mine broke into his musing. Worrying about his job and whether or not he’d succeed and get his ranch, he waited for sleep to come. After a hard day’s work, the wait was short.
Daylight had yet to arrive when a pounding on the door roused Finn and his coworkers from their beds. They donned their dirty clothes, for there was no point changing into clean ones. He’d learned coal dust soon coated the freshest cloth, so why bother?
That morning, a small, dark-haired man argued with their foreman, Ben Adams. “I tell you, I no want to be in Señor Clayton’s crew no more.”
“Look, Huerta, you can’t switch crews at the drop of a hat.”
Finn seized his opportunity. “Mr. Adams, I’ll trade with him if doing so saves you trouble.”
Adams nodded at Finn. “Thanks. Consider it done.” He turned and, after a glare at Juan Huerta, he stomped off.
Finn nodded at the Mexican. “I’ve been on Henessy’s crew over there.”
Wondering if he’d made a mistake, he followed his new supervisor into the mine and a different tunnel than where he’d worked before.
Clayton called over his shoulder, “Thanks for diffusing that situation. Sorry to learn Juan believes I’m a jinx. Miners are a superstitious lot.”
Finn chuckled. “Me sister’s that superstitious, but not meself.” He hoped he was the one who was right in the matter. Otherwise, he could be dead by sunset.
Five others picked up their tools and joined them. One, a brooding man whose scowl appeared permanent and who lived in his longhouse, nodded at him as if to acknowledge him. The other three crewmembers eyed him curiously but said nothing. He thought one other of the crew might be in what he thought of as a bunkhouse.
Inside the tunnel opening, water flowed toward the mouth as they walked upward through the mud then along an already worked tunnel. They reached the platform that lowered them into the newer, lower level. He’d never thought himself skittish, but he hated being closed into this place. The swaying as they descended added to his discomfort.
Standing with his new crewmates, Finn had to fight not to flee the rickety cage that jerked and rattled. Two of his coworkers cranked the wheel that lowered them downward into pitch darkness. Anyone shifting his weight increased the swinging and sense of danger. How far would they fall if the wheel slipped or the cable snapped?
Pinpricks of light shone from other crews’ lanterns and hats. Clayton carried the lone Davy lantern that illuminated a spare circle where they stood in the tunnel. After they lit the candles on their hats, their leader sloshed through the ever present water on the floor.
All day Finn stuck close to Council Clayton, but he saw the man do nothing out of the ordinary. Instead, he seemed to work harder than the others. The crew leader had the knack of breaking out the most coal from the seam that varied from three feet to wider than the tunnel. Finn tried to emulate the older man’s movements.
When they broke for a rest about noon, Finn sat beside the older man. “Trying to keep up with you is wearing me down, man, and you’re almost twice me age. How do you do it?”
Clayton took bread and cheese from his pail. “I’ve done this since I was waist high. I’d have to be a dunce not to learn by now.”
Finn had only bread in his pail, but he tore off a chunk. “Mayhap you could teach me.”
“You’re catching on just fine. This crew has the best record for the amount of ore. If we keep this up, we’ll get a bonus at the end of the month.”
“Then I’m glad I changed with Juan. I could use the extra.” He swallowed water from his canteen.
Clayton chuckled. “O’Neill, the bonus isn’t generous so don’t get your hopes too high.”
&n
bsp; “Still, I might buy me a new set o’ clothes to ruin down here.”
The other man chuckled and unfolded his lanky body. “All right, men, back to work.”
As they left the mine that evening, Finn stayed in step with Clayton. He still hadn’t learned anything that would link this man to the mine’s troubles. They walked toward the jumble of houses that made up the small town of Lignite. Everything in sight belonged to Farland Coal Mine, and that included the lives of the men.
The crew leader turned to him. “You’re welcome to come to dinner with me. Probably nothing but stew, but my wife’s a good cook.”
Surprised, Finn decided he’d been handed another gift in his quest. “I’d appreciate the chance to dine with a family.”
After they pounded dust off their clothes and washed up, Finn followed his host into a company house. Although modest in size, the clapboard structure was one of the larger Lignite homes. He imagined it had three bedrooms instead of the one or two most included.
Inside, a smiling woman greeted them. Gray streaked her auburn hair, but the few lines on her otherwise smooth face proved she smiled a lot. She came to her husband’s chin when he leaned down to kiss her.
“Grace love, this is Finn O’Neill. He’s now one of my crew and a hard worker.”
Finn greeted his hostess and turned at the sound of others entering. A teen-aged boy bounded into the room and sat at the table. Two women glided in. Resembling each other in face and demeanor, one was blonde and one a redhead.
Although both were beautiful, the one with dark red hair captured his attention. She was slim except in the right places. Her greenish-blue eyes met his and held him captive. A light sprinkling of tiny freckles danced across her nose and cheeks.
Beside him, Council Clayton said, “These are my children. Lance, Stella, and Nettie.” He repeated what he’d told his wife.
The three murmured greetings in the soft accent of Northern England. Finn didn’t know whether he should try to seat the sisters, so he stood behind the spare chair and waited.
Mrs. Clayton smiled at him. “Take your seat, Mr. O’Neill. I’ll have dinner on the table in a jiffy.”
O'Neill's Texas Bride Page 2