“I’ve had about enough of you telling me what’s going to happen in the future.” Her words came out in a hiss. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we lesser mortals live in the here and now, and try to cope with things as they are instead of the way the will be.”
She began to gather up the dishes, viciously scraping the remains of the food into the chicken bucket.
Tom, too, got to his feet, leaning his hands on the back of the chair. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, Eli isn’t a little kid anymore who’s going to do what you tell him.” His voice was cold with anger. “I’ve been trying to get that through to you for months now. Maybe what you want for him isn’t what he wants for himself, you ever once think of that? For God’s sake, Zelda, live your own life and let Eli live his.” He gave the chair an angry shove and walked off down the hall. “I’m going to bed.”
Furious tears rolled down her face as she poured boiling water from the kettle over the dishes in the basin. So his advice to her was to live her own life, was it?
What kind of life did he think that was going to be after he left? Because in spite of his declarations of love, Tom was still doing his level bet to leave her behind forever. The fact that he wanted to do so hurt her even more than this business with Eli. Reason told her it was hopelessly romantic to think that he loved her enough to choose to stay in an age in which he didn’t belong, but she wished it all the same. God, how she wished it.
And if the effort failed and he had to remain here? With the dishtowel she swiped angrily at the tears on her face. She’d spent a lot of time thinking it over. Would she be waiting for Tom the morning after the Slide, ready to resume their relationship where it had left off, if, by some miracle, he was still around?
She sniffed and straightened her shoulders. “Pride, Zelda Ralston,” she muttered. “Your pride in yourself as an independent, self-sufficient woman must get you through this.”
And one thing was certain, she decided as she slammed dishes from one basin to the other, sending soapsuds cascading down the front of her apron and onto the floor.
She was not going to be any man’s humble consolation prize, no matter how much she loved him.
The dishes weren’t finished but she ignored them. She dried her hands on her apron, and on legs that felt like blocks of wood she turned and went down the hall, into her studio.
There, amidst her work, she felt stronger. Here was evidence that she was independent, a career woman, more than just a pathetic old maid who’d fallen in love with the wrong man.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. She felt so betrayed by Eli, by her father, but most of all, by Tom.
He, more than anyone, knew of the hopes and dreams she’d had for her brother. She’d confided in Tom, allowed him to see how much it meant to her to have Eli make something of his life. Now he’d conspired against her, encouraged her brother in this course of action that he knew would hurt her irreparably.
Her eyes went to the calendar on the wall. April 29 was circled in red crayon, a scant five weeks away. She’d been scoring off the days, not because of the coming Slide and the need to evacuate the house---she’d long ago come to terms with that---but because it would mark the end of her time with Tom. She walked over and ripped the calendar from the wall, tearing it into small bits and letting them fall to the floor.
At least that part of the waiting was over.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She didn’t remember going up the stairs, although she must have climbed them.
Tom’s bedroom door was open, and she was relieved to see that he wasn’t yet in bed. He was sitting on the chair by the dresser, his dark, curly head bent, seemingly lost in thought. He looked up at her, and she steeled herself against the naked appeal of his blue gaze.
“I want you to pack your things and leave, immediately,” she said, keeping her voice flat, devoid of any feeling. “I’ll return the remainder of this month’s rent, of course.”
Her tone of voice and her impersonal words brought him slowly to his feet. “So you figure this whole thing is my fault, is that it?”
She turned away from him and wouldn’t answer, but with one quick step he moved up behind her. He took her shoulders and forcibly turned her, so she had to look at him.
“You’re making a big mistake here, Zelda.”
“I made a mistake, yes, but this isn’t it. Now take your hands off me. Whatever there was between us has ended, and I think it best you leave as soon as possible.” She reached up and tried to remove his fingers from her shoulders, but they were like iron clamps. She’d have bruises, some detached part of her reasoned.
“Zelda.” Her father stood in his bedroom doorway just across the hall, concern evident in his face. He’d obviously heard what had been said. “You mebbe want to think this over, lass. It’s not Tom’s fault Eli quit school, now is it? No sense doin’ somethin’ you’ll be sorry for later.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing, Dad. I want Tom out of here, now.” She turned on her heel and marched back down the stairs and along the hallway. She snatched her old brown coat from the peg by the door and walked out blindly into the mocking sunshine of a splendid spring morning.
Tom made a move to follow her, but Virgil put a restraining hand on his arm. “Best let her go, son. Sorry this had to happen. I tried to talk to her before you got home, but I didn’t get no further than you did. When women get an idea in their noggin, there’s no changing it sometimes.” His shoulders sagged. “Poor old Zel. She’s real broken up over Eli quittin’ school, and she’s vexed with me fer signin’ the paper so’s the lad can join the Mounted.” He looked into Tom’s eyes. “And you’ll be leavin’ her, too, most likely. That’s what this is all about, I reckon.”
Tom knew it was the truth.
Half an hour later Tom shoved the last of his belongings in a box and tucked it under his arm. One thing about it, he hadn’t amassed a whole pile of stuff, so moving didn’t involve much packing.
“I’m off now, Virgil.” Tom stood in the older man’s doorway, awkward, wondering what in hell to say that would convey even some of his feelings.
Virgil was lying down, the patchwork quilt pulled over him. He struggled to a sitting position, punching the pillows into a backrest behind him. “Well, son, I’m right sorry to see you go. Where you thinkin’ on stayin’?”
“The Miner’s Hotel, probably. I’ve heard they have pretty decent rooms, meals included. Won’t be anywhere’s as good as here. As soon as you’re on your feet, come on over for a game of poker.” The muscles in his throat felt tight, and he forced a smile.
“I’ll surely do that.”
“Good.” Tom set the box down on the bed and scrubbed his face with his hand, weary to the very bone. “I love her, Virgil. I’d take her with me if she’d come, but she won’t.”
Virgil shook his head. “She can’t leave, you can’t stay. That’s the sum of it. It’s a damned shame, but nothin’ to be done. I’ll miss you, son.”
Tom knew Virgil wasn’t talking only about now. Suspicious moisture gathered in the older man’s eyes.
“I’ll miss you, too. These have been some of the best months of my life, living here with you and your family. I can’t thank you enough.“
“Get away with ya. It’s been a two-way street. You’ve worked like a navvy around here, and paid us hard cash into the bargain. Made me ashamed sometimes, lollygaggin’ around in this bed the way I do these days. But won’t be long now till I’m better, what with spring comin’ on.”
Tom was certain that they both knew it wasn’t going to happen.
Day by day, Virgil was growing weaker. He still managed to get dressed and come downstairs, but the effort was greater every day. The struggle to make it back up the steps to his bedroom was more and more painful to witness.
“Take this, lad.” Virgil was holding out a crumpled dollar bill, probably the last one he had. “You’ll need a mite extra, what
with payin’ rent an’ all.”
Tom’s heart swelled up in his chest, and he wanted to weep. “Thanks, Virgil, but I’ve got enough.”
“Long as you’re sure. Don’t be scared to ask, if ya come up short.”
Tom took the calloused miner’s hand with its broken nails and myriad scars tight in his own, trying wordlessly to convey all that he felt in that simple clasping, afraid that he was failing dismally.
“Thanks so much for everything, Virgil.” The words were inadequate, but in the end they were all he could find. “I’ll be back to move you out before the end of the month. You need anything, send Eli for me.”
“Right you are.” Virgil sank back on the pillows as the interminable coughing started, waving Tom out of the room when he hesitated at the door.
Tom made his way down the stairs, pausing in the kitchen to stoke the stove with coal so the fire wouldn’t go out. Zelda was nowhere around, but he hadn’t expected her to be. There was nothing friendly about this parting, and nothing he could say would make it easier.
He stared down into the flames in the firebox. Deep inside, he’d always known he was incapable of sustaining a loving relationship with a woman. He’d never planned to hurt her, but he’d succeeded anyway. He replaced the stove lid with an impotent bang and shoved his arms through the worn sleeves of his coat.
At the kitchen door he turned and looked around the kitchen.
He’d spent such happy hours in this room, in this house. It was the first house he’d ever lived in that felt like home, but that was due to the people who lived here with him. He loved them, all of them, each in different ways.
Virgil was the father he’d never had.
Eli had somehow eased the guilt over the brothers he’d lost long ago.
And Zelda…Oh, God, when he thought of Zelda, the sense of desolation in his gut was so vicious and powerful he wanted to double over and retch.
Instead, he made his way to the Miner’s Hotel and paid for five weeks’ room and board, the five weeks he had to get through somehow before he left Frank forever.
Two weeks passed, then three. Lars Olsen sought Tom out to say goodbye. He’d been hired by the owner of a construction company in Fernie, a town sixty miles west of Frank, to build a hotel and a number of houses. He was taking Isabella and the children with him, and he was elated.
“Now I vill have steady vork, and near Fernie, I have found a farm. The house is not good, but I vill build a new one for Isabella and me. You vill come and wisit, Tom, our honoured guest.”
Tom had never been able to convice Lars that the town of Frank was doomed. He was immeasurably relieved now that his friends wouldn’t be around to witness the Slide when it happened. Tom had spent hourse trying to plot a way of making certain that Lars and Isabella and the children would be safe when the time came, and it seemed that fate had taken over for him.
The two men grapsed each other’s hand. “Except for our friends, Isabella and I are glad to be leaving this place,’ Lars confessed. “Still there is no vord of this swine Isabella is married to, so from now, in this new place, ve vill use my name and forget all about him. She is my vife now, common law, yah?”
Tom nodded approval. “That’s the best way to go, Lars. Vandusen will likely never show up. He’s propably gotten himself shot or something. Unless the law’s changed from what I know, you can have him declared dead legally after a certain amount of tome goes by. I wish you a lifetime of happiness, my friend.”
“And you, Tom.” A shadow passed over Lar’s cheerful face. “I am sorry about you and Zelda. I had hoped to dance at your vedding, yah? Can you not take her some daisies, say you are sorry for vatever it is between you? Vomen, they need petted, now and aghain, Tom. She is a fine voman, Zelda. I vould marry her myself if I did not love my Isabella.”
Tom’s smile was stiff. “Thanks for the advice, buddy. Tell Isabella good-bye from me, and hug those kids, okay?”
“And you vill come and wisit, yah?”
“If I can, I will.”
Tom watched Lars stride off. H’e become a good friend, and Tom would miss him.
Tom went to the Ralston’s house three times during those weeks, desperate to see Zelda, talk with her, and if possible, mend the breach between them. Each time, she met him at the door with a cool hello, her manner polite and formal.
Twice, Virgil was sitting at the kitchen table, pitifully glad to see Tom and gossip with him for an hour, and Zelda immediately put on her coat and left, saying she had errands to run.
The third time, Tom deliberately arrived late in the evening.
“I’m afraid Dad’s in bed already,” she said, standing in the doorway, barring his way. The lamplight behind her turned her hair to flame, and he couldn’t see her features clearly, but just the sound of her voice fulfilled an aching need in him.
“I figured he would be. It’s you I want to talk to, Zelda. Can I come in?”
“No. I’m sorry, Tom. No. Nothing’s changed between us. As far as I’m concerned, we have nothing more to say to one another.”
“You may not have, but I do.” It was all he could do to stop from reaching out and dragging her into his arms. As if she sensed it, she took a careful step back so that she was out of his reach.
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.” The steely note in her husky voice was suddenly gone, and she sounded close to tears. “Please, Tom,” she begged in a ragged whisper that broke his heart. “Please, please don’t come here anymore. I can’t bear it.”
She closed the door softly, and for a moment he contemplated smashing it down. His fists clenched and it took moments before he had control again. Then he turned and almost ran down the steps.
She was right. Nothing had changed. Nothing could change.
He didn’t go to the house again, relying on his frequent visits with Eli to keep abreast of what was happening with Zelda and with Virgil. They met whenever Tom’s shifts and Eli’s work at the police barracks allowed, usually once or twice a week.
Eli had become equally obsessed with law and order and the forthcoming Slide. He questioned Tom about every detail, particularly the story of the miners trapped inside the mine.
“I’ve tried to tell Corporal Allan what’s going to happen, but he remembers you from when you first got here and he thinks it’s all a story you made up. He believes you’re not right in your head, Tom, no matter how I try to tell him different.”
There had been times during the past weeks when Tom himself had wondered about his sanity, but he didn’t say so to Eli.
They were sitting in the Frank Café. Tom ordered them glasses of milk and slabs of apple pie.
“How’re things with you and Zelda?” He needed to hear about her, to know that she was safe and well. He knew that she’d finally rented a house on several acres on the outskirts of Frank, in a location he was certain was far from the Slide.
He’d been appalled that she was staying in the vicinity at all. He’d advised her to move to Blairmore, when they were still talking, but as usual, she was doing things her own way. Unfortunately, the house she’d rented wouldn’t be vacant until the twenty-seventh, just two days before the Slide.
“She still mad at you for quitting school?”
Eli shrugged. “She’s still mad, all right. But not like she used to be, when she’d holler and yell, then get over it. She just doesn’t act like she used to. She’s real quiet, she never laughs like before. And she seems kind of far away all the time.”
He frowned. “I keep tryin’ to get her to start packing up to move, but all she says is that Dad’s too sick, that if she waits maybe he’ll get feeling a little better. But I think it’s her more ‘n Dad. Her eyes are red a lot, like she’s been crying. I can’t get her interested in nothing at all.” He forked up a huge mouthful of pastry, chewed slowly, and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I wish you and Zel could get back together, Tom,” he said in a plaintive tone. “She was real happy when you were there.
”
Tom had given up any pretense of eating. It felt as if a lump had lodged in his throat. “Yeah, well, sometimes these things just don’t work out. Is your dad worse, d’you think?”
Eli’s young face became somber, and he laid his fork down as if the pie had suddenly lost its appeal for him as well. “He’s not very good, that’s for sure. He mostly spends the days in bed or just sitting the parlor by the stove. He’s always cold, and his cough is worse. He can’t get his breath too good.”
Tom took several folded bills from his pocket and shoved them across the table to the boy. Eli had objected to the money when Tom had offered during their first meeting, but Tom had made him understand how much he needed to feel that he could help, in some small way.
But this time Eli shook his head. “Zel asked where I got the money the last time, and she kept on and on at me till I had to tell her. And she says to tell you we’re managing fine, and she won’t accept no more money from you.”
Impotent rage almost choked Tom. Why in God’s name did she have to be stubborn? “I’ll be over early on the twenty-seventh to help you move.”
Eli frowned. “Zel isn’t gonna like that, either. She walks outta the room if I so much as mention your name, for Pete’s sake.”
“She doesn’t have a lot of choice in the matter this time. You and she can’t do it alone, and I want her and your dad settled and safe.”
Before I go. The words were unspoken, but they were there all the same. There was silence between them. Tom signaled the waiter for coffee, and after it arrived, Eli said, “Can you draw me a map, Tom?”
“Of what?”
“You told me the miners tunneled out the night of the Slide. I need to know the exact route they used. You said seventeen out of twenty men on the night shift tunneled thirty-six feet up, to where a seam of coal outcropped. I want to know where.”
A DISTANT ECHO, PART FIVE: WESTERN TIME TRAVEL ROMANCE Page 4