O'Neill's Texas Bride

by Caroline Clemmons

  The redhead named Stella helped her mother carry food while her sister Nettie carried bowls and cutlery.

  His hostess proudly took her seat. “You’ve come on a good day. We have fresh butter for our bread.”

  Although he’d grown used to the plentiful bounty of his brother in law’s ranch, he remembered the lean days before his sister wed Dallas.

  “I’m that grateful you’ll have me, Mrs. Clayton. If your dinner smells even half as good as the aroma teasing me nose, I’ll be in heaven.”

  Stella sent him a glance that appeared filled with skepticism.

  Mrs. Clayton laughed. “Sounds as if you’ve the taste of Irish blarney on your tongue.”

  Council chuckled and patted his wife’s hand. “My Grace’s food is every bit as good as it smells.”

  She ladled thick stew into their bowls. Stella sliced a round loaf of bread and passed the tray around. Next came the butter. Finn took a spare amount for he realized the spread was a precious commodity.

  He couldn’t help glancing at the gorgeous Stella. What was wrong with him? He’d vowed he’d never let himself be attracted to a woman with hair like his sister Cenora’s. Didn’t he know well enough the fiery temper that accompanied that color? Hadn’t he experienced how the rough edge of his sister’s tongue cut into a man?

  What was he to do? Da always told him to ‘never say never’ about anything. Now he realized how true the saying. Something about the lovely redhead called to his soul.

  Stella had mesmerized him with her sparkling blue-green eyes and skin as smooth and delicate as the finest cream. Her voice carried a musical lilt that had him aching to hear her speak more. She might as well have trussed him up like a fat goose for he was same as cooked.

  Nettie was just as pretty, maybe prettier, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from straying back to her sister. He forced himself to look anywhere else. He’d best gather his wits and get on to the business of learning what he needed.

  Although he knew the answer, he addressed a question to Lance, “And do you work in the mines as well?”

  Lance looked at his food. “Not yet.”

  Stella scowled. “And he never will if I have my way.”

  Council stared at her. “Remember we have a guest, daughter.”

  “Sorry, Papa.” But she didn’t appear sorry. Instead, her pretty face set in determination.

  Finn figured this was an old argument he’d best not join.

  “Mrs. Clayton, the stew is even better than the glorious aroma promised. Don’t know when I’ve tasted better bread either.”

  His hostess beamed. “Why, thank you. Only simple fare, but you’re welcome here.”

  Nettie smiled mischievously at him. “Stella baked the bread.”

  Stella gaped at her sister. “Because it was my turn. You bake just as well.”

  “No, she don’t.” Lance shook his head and shoved more food into his mouth.

  Didn’t he remember that lads that age were always hungry? Grasping at another subject, Finn asked, “How long have you lived here?”

  Council set down his spoon. “If you mean America or Lignite, the answer’s the same. I was hired by Mr. Farland from our home near Newcastle, England a year ago. He needed experienced miners to work here and I fit the bill.”

  Mrs. Clayton smiled proudly at her husband. “We’d always talked of coming to America, you see, so the offer seemed a godsend because Mr. Farland paid our fare. Mr. Farland even offered my husband a job as night foreman. Thankfully, he chose to work days.”

  Stella opened her mouth as if to speak, but apparently changed her mind. He understood that she didn’t like mining. Darned if he didn’t agree with her.

  His hostess continued. “Stella and Nettie teach school here. Mr. Farland lets them use a building up the hill. Stella takes the older students and Nettie the youngest.”

  Finn raised his eyebrows. Didn’t he admire anyone able to teach others? “Good to know there’s a school. Reading and writing are valuable tools for life.”

  Stella sent him a puzzled glance. “Yes, and most of their parents can’t teach them because they don’t know how themselves. Many don’t speak English.”

  “’Tis a fine job you’re doing then. But I thought many o’ the boys went to work early in the mine. How old are the students you teach?”

  “Nettie takes those aged five to seven and has to teach most of them to speak English. I have those eight and older. Mainly the older students are girls because many families don’t value education and let the boys stop school at age ten.”

  “If I’d had a chance, I’d have gone to school as long as I could.”

  She sent him an inquiring stare. “Oh, and just how long did you go?”

  He set down his mug. “Miss Clayton, when I was a boy in Ireland, the Irish weren’t allowed to attend school. What I know, me father and brother in law taught me. I practice me reading whenever I can.” He smiled to soften his words.

  She blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and find that horrid. No one should be denied an education.”

  “I agree, but no one consulted me.” She might be English, but ‘twas not her who forbid him a chance to learn. Anyway, he wouldn’t have had many years in school before his family was tossed off their land. Best not to dwell on his past.

  His host clapped him on the shoulder. “Come sit in the parlor a spell.”

  The men rose while the women cleaned the kitchen. Finn took a ladder-back chair near the unlit stove. The sparse furnishings had only one chair with arms, a bench, and the chair in which he sat.

  He asked, “Did I take your wife’s chair?”

  Clayton waved away his question. “No matter. Lance, bring a chair from the kitchen.”

  The boy rose quickly to do his father’s bidding.

  Finn stared at figures on a shelf. “Did you make those?”

  Figures depicting children and animals formed a line. The figures had features and details the attested to the creator’s skill. His favorite was a girl with flowing hair and twirling dress. Finn could picture Stella as a child in that pose.

  His host gestured to them. “Carving the coal is a way to pass the time of a Sunday afternoon. Several of the men do the same.”

  “You’ve talent. Do you sell them?”

  Clayton appeared surprised at the question. “Never considered anyone would want one.”

  “I’d like the one o’ the little girl and o’ the dog.”

  A broad smile split Clayton’s face. “The girl is my wife’s favorite. She thinks the girl looks like one of ours. Since we aren’t supposed to have pets here, I gave Lance the dog.”

  Lance laughed. “I call him Spot.”

  Finn considered his words. “I understand there was an accident in the tunnel recently. The men say you saved lives that day.”

  Council took his pipe from the shelf, sat in the high-backed chair, and filled it. “Some say so. Others say I jinxed them by being nearby.” He lit the tobacco.

  “You work twice as hard as most. Perhaps they speak from jealousy.”

  Resting his head against the back of his chair, his host puffed and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I’ve been nearby when three accidents happened but haven’t been caught in the debris. Apparently that’s enough to cause the talk.”

  “Rumor can slaughter a man’s reputation. Have you tried to combat the claims?”

  The other man met his gaze. “How? Once the story starts, it has a life of its own.”

  “You have a point. ‘Tis a problem and that’s the truth o’ the matter.”

  The women came in and settled their skirts around them. With the limberness of youth, Lance sat cross legged on the floor.

  Mrs. Clayton gestured to the mandolin in the corner. “Papa, why don’t you play us a tune?”

  “Ah, I’ve not the strength tonight, love.”

  Finn gazed at the instrument. “If you’ve no objection, I’ll play. ‘Tis yearning I’ve been to have a chance. I miss having m
e own instrument.”

  With a nod from Council, he took the mandolin and strummed the keys to tune them. Then he launched into a cheerful tune and sang along. The family appeared pleased at his efforts. On the next tune, the sisters joined in.

  After four songs, he stood and set the instrument aside. “Thank you. ‘Tis the finest evening I’ve had in many. Good food, good company, and good music. What more can any man ask?”

  Pushing up from the chair, Council stretched, bones popping in the process. He extended his hand. “You must come again sometime.”

  “’Twill be me pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow before the sun has a chance to show its face.”

  What an evening. He’d had a fine dinner with two beautiful women present, though ‘twas the redhead Stella that set his blood pumping. He laughed at himself for his foolish thoughts. Cocking his hat on his head, he shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled a tune on his way to the longhouse.

  After his time on the ranch, he thought of the place as a bunkhouse. The building housed twenty bunks for as many men with a dining hall at one end. Another like it stood nearby for the single men who worked at night. As much as he hated his job, he thought the night crew would be worse.

  The hairs on the back of his neck bristled.

  Someone followed him. When he slowed, so did the person behind him. Sure and he was glad Dallas had insisted he conceal a knife in one boot and an ankle gun in the other. But if someone knocked him in the head, what chance would he have to use either?

  With relief, he reached the longhouse and paused near the door to peer around. He saw nothing untoward, so he slipped quietly inside. From the loud snores and coughing, he figured most were already asleep except for a few who played cards at one end of the long room.

  He slid off his clothes and sprawled out on his bunk. Stacking his hands beneath his head, he stared at the inky shadows. A few minutes later James and Mick stumbled in. Mick was in his cups and leaned on James, who appeared sober.

  When he’d dumped Mick on a bed, James undressed. As he plopped on his bed next to Finn’s, he asked, “Where were you all day?”

  Finn explained about the change in crew. “Had a nice evening at his house, too.”

  “You’re brave to risk working with Clayton. Most think the man’s a jinx.”

  “So I’ve heard, but I don’t believe in such. A man makes his own luck when he can.”

  James turned his head to meet Finn’s gaze. “Exactly. Which is why others wonder if he’s a bit too lucky because he’s helping the ‘accidents’ happen.”

  “You think he’s causing them? Why would he do that?” He asked in spite of the same thoughts in his mind.

  “He could be on the side of the unions. Or he could be working for a rival mine company.”

  “I’ll have to see evidence before I believe either claim.” After an evening in the man’s home, he felt honor bound to defend him.

  “By the way, Finn. I’ve my eye on Stella Clayton, so don’t get ideas in that direction.”

  “Meanin’ no offense, James, but ‘tis her place to warn me off. I’ll stay away when she tells me.”

  Chapter Three

  On Sunday, his day off, Finn walked the two miles to the next town, which was Spencer. The weather was fine with a cloudless blue sky and the hint of fall in the air. After a week underground, he took pleasure in the breeze that cooled the sun’s rays and the soft earth that cushioned his feet. This was his first time to stroll around Spencer.

  He found a butcher right away and saved the spot for later, grateful that several places were open today. Last night he’d penned letters and now he dropped them at the tiny post office area of the general store and bought stamps. One was his report to Farland, one a letter to Grandpa McClintock, and the other he’d written to his sister.

  She’d share the news with their parents and his brother Mac and Mac’s wife Vourneen. ‘Twas a grand feeling to be able to write his thoughts to Cenora and know she could read them all those miles away. Her marryin’ Dallas had opened up a world of opportunities for the O’Neil family. Learning to read was only one of many.

  Trying to remember the prices he’d seen in the Lignite company store, he compared them to those here in Spencer. The outrageous difference in charges made him angry. Farland should be helping his employees instead of skinning them of their meager pay. Finn was grateful he had with him a portion of his earnings paid by Dallas.

  Whimsy overtook him and he couldn’t resist a length of green ribbon that matched the color of Stella’s blue-green eyes and one of blue for her sister Nettie. To keep things even, he purchased a length of lavender for Mrs. Clayton. He found a package of pipe tobacco he thought the senior Clayton would enjoy. What would he get Lance?

  A book called Tom Sawyer caught his eye. For himself, he bought a sarsaparilla, a length of red licorice. As he paid for his purchases, something caught his eye behind the owner.

  “Is that concertina for sale?”

  The owner, Mr. George, turned and took the dusty instrument off the shelf. “Took this thing in exchange for food six months ago. If you’re interested, I’ll make you a good price.”

  “Aye, unless the bellows have holes or the keys don’t work, I’m interested.” He unfastened the strap binding the concertina closed and played a tune.

  He closed the instrument and fastened the leather that held the bellows closed. “Appears to work fine even though ‘tis dusty and the bellows are old. What’s your price?”

  When he and Mr. George struck a deal, Finn laughed at the dusty concertina, thinking of the music still left in the old instrument.

  Feeling a fool for his purchases, he stopped by the butcher and bought a smoke-cured ham. He was being foolish, but he appreciated the kindness the Claytons had shown him. ‘Twas more than anyone else in Lignite had done.

  Or, perhaps he was paying off his conscience in case he found Council Clayton guilty of accusations he’d heard.

  Lugging his purchases back to Lignite, he pondered his findings. One, many were suspicious of Clayton. That could be partly because of him being English. Sure and the Irish and Welsh were never overly fond of the English.

  Three cave-ins were a puzzle. Clayton had been inside but had been spared while other crews were injured or killed. But he hadn’t actually been in the fall. Was that coincidence or by devious design? Either way seemed just as risky.

  Two, someone had followed Finn after he’d left the Clayton home. The person couldn’t have been Clayton or one of his family members. Three, there was mischief afoot yet he hadn’t made enough headway to satisfy himself or Farland. No doubt there’d be a terse letter waiting for him on his next trip to Spencer.

  Back in Lignite, he stopped by Council Clayton’s home. Lance opened the door.

  He handed over the ham, book, tobacco, and ribbons. “I wanted to thank your family for the fine evening I had the other night.”

  “For us?” Obviously perplexed, Lance gathered the gifts to his body.

  “Aye, I went to Spencer with a few coins in me pockets and felt the need to spend them. I hope you enjoy the result. The book’s for you. Tell your kind mother the lavender ribbon is for her and the other bits are for your sisters.”

  He walked toward the longhouse, whistling a fine ditty. Didn’t he feel like dancing a jig on the way? To prove it, he broke into a few steps.

  He could picture the green ribbon against the red of Stella’s hair. Sure and her eyes were more green than blue. But what if she chose the blue ribbon? No matter, ‘twould look as lovely.

  The next morning, he showed up at the usual time of six.

  Clayton pulled him aside, a frown marring his brow. “What were you thinking to be wasting your hard earned scrip on others?”

  “Sure and I meant no harm. I’ve missed eating at a table with family. You were kind to me and I saw a few things in the Spencer store that I bought to repay your kindness.”

  Clayton appeared surprised. “Spencer? You
had cash then?”

  “Aye, I’d a bit put by before I came here. Spending it gave me pleasure and I hope you received the small gifts the same way.”

  His supervisor nodded. “Your generosity pleased us all. Maybe you’ll come to dinner on Sunday and we’ll have the ham.”

  A chance to see Stella again, just as he’d hoped. Plus mayhap he could find out more about his crew boss. “Sure and ’twould be a treat.”

  “After church about one then. Now we’d best get busy.”

  The other five men on the crew sent pointed looks his way, so Finn worked even harder to prove he was no slacker or boot licker. Aleski Karpinski was the crew member whose black looks concerned Finn. By the end of the day, he could barely stagger to his longhouse but darned if he hadn’t helped set a record for the day. The others should be happy to have him for he’d done his part to insure them their bonus.

  ***

  Stella held the green ribbon in her hands. “What sort of man spends his money on people he’s just met? Why isn’t he saving for the future?”

  Her sister tied the blue ribbon around her hair. “Can’t you take pleasure in the gift instead of questioning the giver?”

  “Harrumph. I suppose you’re sweet on him?”

  Nettie’s eyes sparkled when she glanced at Stella. “You’re the one he couldn’t take his eyes from that night. I wonder what James Llewellyn would think of that?”

  As if she cared. She supposed Mr. Llewellyn was nice enough, but she was standing firm in her beliefs. “What Mr. Llewellyn thinks is not important to me. I’m not marrying a miner, and that’s final. I’d rather be an old maid.”

  Nettie examined her image in the mirror and adjusted the bow on her ribbon. “Too bad. Considering our current lack of non-miner suitors, that may be your only choice. Unless you’re interested in the reverend, and he’s over sixty if he’s a day.” She giggled.

  Standing behind her sister, Stella smoothed her own dark red hair. “I’m serious, Nettie. I simply have to find a better life than this.”

  The other woman twirled away. “You could be starving on a dirt farm somewhere with a dull farmer and six kids.”