by Mary Davis
“Every one?”
“Yes, sir. Is that right?”
“Show me.”
The boy pointed out error after error. Every one of them so small they were easily overlooked.
Were these just simple mistakes? Or was someone adjusting the books for their benefit? If so, who?
A knock on the door.
“Come in.”
A miner covered in dirt entered. His shoulders were slumped and his head was down as if he wasn’t good enough to be in the office. “I brung my boy his lunch.” He held up a pail.
Lindley stood and offered his hand. “You must be Mr. Morrison.” He didn’t remember meeting the man when he worked a week underground. He must have been on a different crew.
The man stared at his own grimy palm.
Lindley stepped closer, his arm still outstretched. “It’s only a little dirt.”
Mr. Morrison rubbed his hand vigorously on his dirty trousers and then shook Lindley’s hand. “Call me Tom.”
“Tom, pleased to meet you.”
“Can my boy come back to work now?”
Lindley knew what the man was really asking. “No need to worry. He’ll receive his full day’s wage for working in here with me today.”
Tom blinked in disbelief. “You can do that?”
Lindley nodded. “Troy has been very helpful already.”
“All right, then, I’ll leave you be.” Tom backed out the door.
“Troy, take a break and eat lunch with your father and return here afterward.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy jumped up and followed his father.
“And, Troy.” Lindley pointed to his arms and face. “Finish washing up.”
The boy nodded and left.
Maybe helping Troy would make Bridget see him more favorably. Maybe she would forgive him for whatever transgression she thought he’d committed.
* * *
After dismissing her pupils, Bridget followed them outside. Though it had rained off and on all day, at present, the clouds only spit out the occasional drop.
She hoped to catch a glimpse of Lindley again. Instead, Cilla came to retrieve his children. Bridget wondered where the rest of the “scouting party” was. His sisters probably didn’t want anything to do with Bridget after her fight with Lindley. But to Bridget’s surprise, Cilla walked toward her after hugging Gabe and Dora.
Cilla patted the children on the back and said, “Run along and play for a bit, but stay where I can see you.”
Bridget eyed the darkening sky. “It looks like it could start raining again any moment. Would you like to come inside?”
Cilla smiled. “We’d like that.” She turned to the children. “Inside.”
Gabe spun back around. “May we write on the chalkboard?”
“Of course,” Bridget said. “Try not to break any chalk.”
Gabe and Dora ran inside.
Bridget let Cilla enter ahead of her. “You came alone?” She stood at the back of the room away from the chalkboard and children.
“The others returned home this morning so Emmett could get to work.”
“I see. And you’re staying to look after Lindley’s children.” He probably didn’t want Bridget watching them again.
“Yes.” Cilla hesitated and then continued. “I don’t know what Lindley and you fought about last night, but he is torn up over it. I’ve never seen him so happy and so devastated all in the span of one day.”
Bridget shifted her gaze to the children’s chalk drawings. A horse and a scribble. ’Twould be inappropriate to talk about this matter with anyone except Lindley.
“I understand if you don’t feel right confiding in me.” Cilla adjusted the cuff of her pink shirtwaist. “I just thought you should know Lindley is quite upset.”
Though his sister might be able to give her some insight, she shouldn’t. “I don’t know.”
“It’s Doreen, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t.” Cilla shrugged. “But it was a logical guess. You think he can’t love another woman, and he’s just after a mother for his children. Well, he’s not.”
Bridget never thought Lindley was seeking someone to merely care for his children. Cilla had to have been quite young when her brother married. Was she even aware his marriage was arranged? Bridget had best keep that to herself. It wasn’t her place to tell Lindley’s sister.
“Cilla, you are very sweet to have come, but I don’t think I should talk about such things.” Now that she thought more closely, this wasn’t about Doreen at all, but forced arrangements.
Chalk squeaked on the board, sending a shiver down her spine.
The children laughed and tried to make more squeaks.
Lindley’s sister slid into a back-row desk and folded her hands on it, apparently planning to stay awhile. “We can talk about something else.” She seemed to just want to visit.
Bridget sat at the desk across the aisle. “Tell me about Winnie and Emmett. Were they very much in love when they married?”
“Oh, yes. But it wasn’t always so. Winnie didn’t want anything to do with him when he first started coming around. But he was persistent. After two years of Emmett following her around and her ignoring him, Papa finally told her to stop being petty and foolish.”
Oh, dear. “He didn’t force her to marry him, did he?”
Cilla shook her head. “He told her to give the poor man a chance or cut him free to find someone else. Someone who deserved a fine young man like him. I think she was always secretly in love with him. She just wanted to see how deep his devotion was. A week later, they were engaged.”
“Would your father ever force any of you to marry someone you didn’t want to?” This was treading dangerously close to Lindley’s arranged marriage. She hoped Cilla didn’t make the connection.
“No. Papa threatens he will, but he won’t.”
“So if he said you had to marry someone and you said you didn’t want to, he wouldn’t force you?”
Dora screeched. “Give it back!”
Cilla clapped her hands. “Gabe. Dora. If you two don’t behave and play nice, I’ll make you sit in a desk.” Without missing a beat, Cilla continued the adult conversation. “No. He really just wants us each to be happy. But if he tried, all I’d have to do is threaten tears, and he’d relent.”
Being the youngest girl, her father probably gave in to her far too often.
Though Lindley’s marriage was arranged, it sounded as if he could have gotten out of it if he’d wanted to. Did he know that?
His cavalier attitude on the subject still vexed her. It was easier. No worries. No broken hearts. Don’t be silly.
Posh.
He was the silly one.
If he thought forced marriages were reasonable, how could she be sure he truly loved her?
Chapter 13
At noon on Tuesday, Lindley strode toward the area where the men ate lunch when it wasn’t raining. Loud voices and boisterous laughter met his ears. As he approached, the men fell silent one by one. No one would raise his gaze to meet Lindley’s.
He’d expected as much. They now knew he wasn’t really one of them. “Marcus, may I have a word with you?”
The big man froze, no doubt contemplating what he should do. He tossed his boiled egg into his lunch pail and straightened to his full height of six foot four. Toe to toe with Lindley, he glared down. “That’s Mr. Cooper to you.”
Lindley knew Marcus was trying to intimidate him. It was working, but he mustn’t show it. With one word from Marcus, they would all attack him. Both he and Marcus knew that. Lindley also knew that Marcus was a fair man with a caring heart who didn’t normally hurt others, but he felt betrayed. “Mr. Cooper, the lumber, shingles, nails and other supplies have arrived for the repair work on the houses.”
The minutest shift in Marcus’s expression told Lindley that the big man hadn’t expected supplies to really be provided.
“I want you to be in cha
rge of seeing that they are distributed to those who need them.”
Marcus took a half step back and relaxed his shoulders. “I’ll see to it right after work.”
“I’d like for you to choose three or four other men to do the work and start straightaway.”
The big man’s shoulders stiffened again. “There isn’t a man here who can afford to lose a day’s pay.”
Marcus had missed Lindley’s meaning. “You and the others will be paid your regular wage to repair the company’s houses.” He had made sure the men wouldn’t have to do the work for free.
Marcus just stared.
So Lindley said, “At the end of the lunch break, come to the office and let me know who will be working on the repairs with you.” He walked back to the office, not waiting for an answer.
Before long, he heard a knock on the door. “Come in.”
Marcus stepped inside. “I have the men you wanted.”
Lindley debated which name to call him. Marcus had told him to refer to him as Mr. Cooper, but it didn’t suit the big man. Too formal. His given name was friendlier, but he’d been ordered not to use it. Clearly wanting Lindley to know they were no longer friends. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you my real reason for being here. But I am going to do what I can to help improve things for you and the other workers. The supplies to repair the houses are only a start.”
“We appreciate that.”
“Friends, Mr. Cooper?” He held out his hand.
The big man clasped Lindley’s hand. “Friends. And call me Marcus.”
Lindley smiled. “Very well, Marcus. I had the supply wagons taken to the company houses. They need to be unloaded.”
Lindley and Marcus led the small band of men to the housing. He motioned toward the three freight wagons. “I will leave it to you to decide where to unload.”
“The men want to work on their own houses. Would it be all right if we rotate different men working each day?”
“Marcus, I am putting you in charge of this whole project. You run it as you see fit. If you want to have one group of men in the morning and another in the afternoon, so be it. Report your progress to me at the end of each day, and let me know if you have any troubles.” He gave Marcus a nod and strode away.
Behind him, Marcus barked, “Let’s get this unloaded.”
One relationship repaired. Lindley gazed in the direction of the schoolhouse. Now he just needed to figure out how to fix things with Bridget. That would be a lot more complicated.
* * *
On Thursday afternoon, Lindley stood over Troy’s shoulder at the mine office. The boy sat at the desk, going over the summary of the ledgers he’d been working on all week.
Lindley had resisted the urge to ask. Until now. “Was Miss Greene pleased that you have started your lessons with her?” He had insisted the boy go straight from work.
“Right pleased.”
He had hoped for more information about Bridget. “Did you tell her you’re working in the office now?”
“Oh, yes.”
Still not much of an answer. “Was she pleased about that, as well?”
He nodded. “She smiled real big.”
Lindley pictured her smiling, and a smile pushed at his mouth. He missed her. He’d ruffled her sweet disposition and gentle nature, and wondered how to get them back. Hopefully, Troy working in the office would soften her toward him.
“What in tarnation’s going on?”
Lindley jerked his head up and saw Mr. Keen standing in the doorway. He hadn’t heard the manager enter.
Mr. Keen glanced around the room and let his gaze fall on Troy. His satchel thudded to the wooden floor. “What is the meaning of all this?”
As Lindley came around the desk, Troy scuttled out of the chair and backed into the farthest corner from the manager. Lindley stretched out his arm. “Good to have you back.”
Mr. Keen shook his proffered hand. “When I said you could tidy up, I thought you’d straighten a few stacks of papers. I had no idea you’d go to such an extreme.”
Lindley looked around the clean office. Everything had a place. Neat and orderly. A place someone could actually get work done in.
“And who is this?” Mr. Keen pointed to Troy. “And what was he doing in my chair at my desk?”
Lindley debated which subject to address first. The office? The who of Troy? Or the why of Troy? “Mr. Keen, this is Troy Morrison.” He was the center of all the answers.
“Son.” The manager dipped his head slightly. “Didn’t I hire you to work down in the mine?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Troy has been helping me in the office. He’s your new assistant.”
Keen jerked his gaze back to Lindley. “My what?”
“You, yourself, said that this was too much work for one man. Troy and I have been organizing things, making the place more efficient.” Lindley put his hand on the back of the desk chair. “Have a seat.”
Mr. Keen cautiously circled the desk and sat. “How am I supposed to find anything if you’ve hidden it all away?”
“Troy will get whatever you need. Just ask him for something.”
The manager contemplated for a moment. “The survey report for May.”
Troy scuttled to the filing cabinet and opened a drawer.
“And last year’s,” Keen added.
Troy pulled a file, shut the drawer and opened the one below it. He added the second file to the first and set them on the nearly clear desk. He opened each file and turned to the two May surveys.
Keen glanced from folder to folder. “Numbers are up. That’s good.” Then he looked up at Lindley. “Is everything this orderly?”
“Troy still has the older papers and files to organize, but he has this year’s and most of last year’s completed.”
The boy had done well and taken to the task with vigor. He seemed to thrive on such work. The expression on his face now said he hoped to be able to continue and not go back down into the dark underground of the mine.
Lindley closed the two survey folders and set them aside so that the work Troy had been doing was visible. “We have prepared a report for you. We found multiple discrepancies. Troy, why don’t you go over it for Mr. Keen?”
If the boy was going to be working directly for the manager, he needed to become comfortable talking to him. Though Troy’s voice shook a little at first, he did a fine job summarizing what they had found. Lindley added only a couple of comments.
Mr. Keen’s shiny scalp had turned red by the end of the presentation. “Are you telling me that every single incoming and outgoing order has an error?”
Troy widened his eyes and took a step back.
Lindley spoke up. “Not every single order. But most of them this year and last year. We haven’t gone through everything. Troy is making an itemized list. The investors will be interested in this information.”
Mr. Keen flicked his hand. “Troy, leave us.”
The boy hustled out faster than a rabbit being hunted by a hawk.
Mr. Keen folded his arms. “Explain yourself.”
Lindley drew in a deep breath. “Someone is stealing from the company in such small amounts that it goes unnoticed. But the accumulation of all of it adds up.”
“Are you accusing me?”
“No, sir.” Lindley had been glad when he could rule the manager out as the culprit. “All the discrepancies are in one person’s hand. Not yours. Doesn’t your foreman log a fair amount of those numbers in the ledgers?”
Mr. Keen stared hard at the report Troy had compiled. “Brady? That wretch. Stealing right from under my nose. I’ll fire him today.”
Lindley was glad the man could see the truth and was willing to take immediate action. “You’ll be needing a new foreman.”
The manager looked up at him sideways. “You applying for the position, Thompson?”
“Not me.” He had a home to return to. An ache twisted in his heart. What about Bridget? He didn’t want to leave wi
thout her.
“But you have someone in mind.”
Lindley pulled his thoughts back to work. “Marcus Cooper. He’s a good man and a natural leader to these men. He’ll make an outstanding foreman.”
Keen rubbed his jaw while he contemplated that. “Bring him in right away.”
“I’ve put him in charge of a few men to repair the houses. He’s doing a fine job.”
Mr. Keen frowned. “What about the crew quotas?”
“I’ve adjusted the quotas. It won’t be for long. And so far, the remaining men are almost making up the difference.”
The manager nodded. “Send the boy for Cooper.”
Lindley opened the door and saw Troy pacing. The poor boy. “There’s nothing to worry about. Go get Mr. Cooper posthaste.”
Troy ran off toward the housing.
Lindley stepped back inside the office. “About the boy. I wired the investors about hiring an assistant for you. The telegram is in the center drawer.”
Keen opened it and pulled out the sheet of paper. “This pays better than breaking limestone.”
“He’s worth it, sir. He can enter the numbers in the ledgers, keep the office in order and run errands for you. But it’ll be up to you. He’ll make your job a whole lot easier.”
Keen clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair. “I like the sound of that. I suppose I’ll have to keep him around if I want to find anything around here.”
Once Troy and Marcus had officially accepted their new positions—on a trial basis—Lindley strolled home, pleased with his accomplishments. Gabe and Dora greeted him with hugs.
His house smelled of roasting chicken, fresh bread and something sweet and cinnamony. Priscilla had grown into an exceptional cook. He knew that everything would be delicious.
But the aromas left a hollow place in the pit of his stomach. And he knew why. Bridget. She wasn’t the one here cooking. Though her meals were quite tasty, Cilla was the better cook. But he didn’t care. He just wanted Bridget in his kitchen.
Cilla called the children to the table, sat and waited. Everything was delicious but left a strange, empty aftertaste in his mouth. All through the meal and afterward, Cilla didn’t speak to him. She spoke to the children and smiled at them, but not to him.