Accidental Family

by Lisa Bingham

  Since it became apparent that it would be impossible to refuse, Willow reluctantly complied. When the door to the spare room closed behind her, she discovered that the cot had been made with fresh linens and a quilt that smelled faintly of lavender. A carpetbag lay on the floor by the bed. On the dresser there were towels and flannels, a new bar of soap, and Willow’s own brush, comb and hair box. A few feet away, Lydia’s trunk had been propped open, revealing garments that hung suspended from an iron bar and metal hangers, like a portable wardrobe.

  Willow’s eyes prickled with unshed tears at the kindnesses that had been shown to her by the other women. She had made more new friends after being stranded here than she’d ever had in school—perhaps because the charity school had not encouraged relationships. Instead, the girls had been given fundamental instruction in reading and writing, then were trained for service, and sent out into the work force as soon as possible. The more incorrigible cases—those who learned too slowly or were considered to have “improper temperaments” for service—would be employed by the school. Willow had fallen in that category due to her “incorrigible shyness.”

  The thought made her sigh. But since the children were downstairs, and Charles would be returning soon, she didn’t dawdle. Instead, she took advantage of the hip bath, donned clean undergarments, her corset and a petticoat. Then she stood in front of Lydia’s trunk in indecision.

  When she’d agreed to accept the gift of a few dresses, she hadn’t realized that Lydia would send her so many. She’d assumed her friend had been exaggerating about the excesses of her wardrobe. There had to be at least a dozen gowns inside, if not more—and except for one set of drawers, there was no place to keep them.

  Until now, Willow would have supposed that no one other than royalty would have so many pieces of clothing to wear. She couldn’t possibly accept them all.

  But she didn’t want to offend Lydia by giving them back, either.

  In the end, Willow decided that she would explain to Lydia at some later date that she had been far too generous. Until then...

  She closed her eyes and reached out. Her hand fell on an ivory cotton day gown printed with brown fern fronds. She quickly dressed, using the same pink ribbon as the day before to secure the waist, then smoothed a hand over her hair and stepped into the hall.

  The house seemed strangely quiet. Willow frowned, wondering if the women had all left.

  The babies.

  She rushed down the staircase. But when she reached the bottom, her breath left in a rush. The women were there—seated at the table or by the fireplace. Someone must have gone to the cook shack to retrieve more chairs, because everyone had managed to find a seat. Drinking fragrant cups of tea, they spoke in low murmurs, probably in deference to the sleeping babes held by Myra and Miriam.

  “We found the milk, the bowls and the dishcloths, and cobbled together how you’ve been feeding them,” Myra whispered.

  Emmarissa reached to squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry that you don’t have milk enough. Not all women are able to nurse. My own mama had sixteen children, and she had some she could feed herself, and some she couldn’t.”

  The whisper could have been heard halfway across the camp, but the children remained oblivious.

  “Sit right here,” Lydia murmured, patting a spot at the table. “Oh, and this came for you.”

  She gestured to a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a ribbon.

  “What is it?”

  Lydia shrugged. “We heard a knock at the door, but when we answered, there wasn’t anything but that package sitting on the stoop. We assumed that it was a wedding gift from one of the miners.”

  Willow felt her heart bump against her ribs. Could a person ever get used to receiving so much attention?

  She carefully removed the silk ribbon. A green one, much like the one Jenny had often worn. When she removed the paper, an ornate silver baby rattle fell into her hands.

  “How precious!” Lydia exclaimed.

  The other women clamored for a closer look. Only Willow seemed to feel unsettled.

  She’d seen this rattle before. With Jenny’s things.

  The women’s chatter washed over her like a wave, seeming to become muffled and indistinct, and Willow warred with her thoughts.

  Had the rattle been found at the Dovecote and brought here by one of the brides? If so, why hadn’t the person come in to visit?

  But if it hadn’t been left on the doorstep by someone Willow knew...

  Who had been going through Jenny’s things?

  And why had the rattle been brought here?

  As a gift?

  Or a warning?

  “Too bad the twins are asleep. We could have seen how they liked their new toy.”

  Realizing that the other women were looking to her for an answer, Willow quickly pinned a smile on her face. “Yes. You’re right. But they’re probably too small to play with it yet, anyway. I—I’ll just put it over here for safekeeping.”

  She crossed to the shelves and hid the rattle inside a covered vegetable dish. Then, even though her hands trembled, she returned to the table.

  The other women seemed bemused by her behavior, but they quickly resumed their chatter.

  “Come along,” Lydia said. “We’ve warmed up your breakfast, so eat.” She shot a disapproving glance at the two dark shapes outside the window. “We’ve already been warned that we’re getting close to overstaying our welcome, at least by Mr. Batchwell’s standards.” She sniffed in open disapproval. “But I suppose we can give you and the children a little bit of quiet time.” She grinned. “At least until the supper shift at the cook shack. Then who could fault us for taking a little detour to come see the twins again?”

  The hush in the room dissolved beneath a wave of laughter and chatter, and Willow sank into her chair, feeling unsettled. But as the familiar camaraderie surrounded her, she drew strength from the companionship, knowing that, in the group of women around her, she had a wealth of knowledge and experience that could come to her aid should she need it. More important, with so many women and so many eyes, someone, somehow, must have clues to Jenny’s disappearance and murder. If Willow were subtle, she could ply them all for information, one by one.

  But for now...

  She would forget about the rattle, forget about the gooseflesh that still peppered her arms, and enjoy her meal and the company.

  * * *

  Charles waited impatiently as Marty Grooper, the head clerk at the company store, gathered the requested supplies and began packing them into an empty dynamite crate.

  “I hear tell you an’ the little redhead got married last night,” the man said, peering at Charles over his spectacles.

  Charles wasn’t sure how to answer. According to the story he’d told the bosses, he and Willow had married months ago in England. He didn’t know how the other miners in the camp were going to take the news. He supposed that to some, it was neither here nor there. But others might resent the fact that Charles was currently living with his bride, while they had been forced to live apart from their own loved ones.

  “We, uh, restated our vows. Yes.”

  “Lucky man. She’s a pretty little thing. A bit on the quiet side, but judging by what I’ve tasted at the cook shack, she can sure make her some hot cocoa.” He cackled in delight, then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “I put some o’ the cocoa I order special for Creakle an’ a few o’ the men in a bag, and tucked it in a corner of the box. I’m sure yer missus will be wantin’ somethin’ sweet one o’ these nights. It’s a little gift from me an’ the boys who stock my shelves.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Grooper.”

  “Don’t you be getting formal on me. It’s Marty. You know that. Just cuz Batchwell forced you t’ resign ain’t no reflection on all the good you’ve done fer us, so don’t think you need to tr
eat none of us no different than you did before.”

  “Thank you, Marty.”

  The wizened man winked and moved to one of the rear bins to begin ladling flour into the center of a large square of brown paper that he’d set on the scales. As soon as he reached the proper amount, he folded the paper into a neat package and secured it with twine. Then he reached for a wheel of cheese and began the process all over again.

  “You don’t need to be buying your own supplies, Charles.”

  Charles glanced behind him to find Jonah Ramsey at his shoulder.

  “I’d be more than happy to send someone over from the cook shack with a meal for you and Willow both. Or you could stop by and get it yourself. We’ve used the same arrangement for the other marooned families.”

  Charles stiffened slightly. He’d always been a man who worked for his living, and he wasn’t about to take anything for free now.

  “I’d rather take care of myself and my own.”

  Ramsey eyed him carefully. “I can’t find fault with that. But keep in mind, you’ve only been out of work, so to speak, for a few hours. I’m doing my best to find a way to get you reinstated. I can’t afford to have my blasting foreman off the job—and I’m sure Smalls will need your help shoeing the mules. It might take a little time...” Jonah’s eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the corners. “But I hope to have something worked out by the time your...honeymoon is over.”

  Before Charles could speak, Ramsey held up a hand. “In the meantime, if you insist on accounting for everything, feel free to use the cook shack anytime you want. You can give Marty a tally of the meals you use, and I’ll have him deduct them from your credit. The arrangement might come in handy, with a couple of babes rearranging your schedule.”

  Jonah placed a penny near Marty’s receipt book and reached over the counter to take a half-dozen horehound drops from a glass jar. “Marty, I’ve left you some change for the sweets,” he called out.

  “Thank you kindly, boss man. You be sure t’ give the doc my regards.”

  “I’ll do that, Marty. And pass on my fond regards to your family in your next letter.”

  The bell over the door jingled as Ramsey stepped outside, but just as quickly, Gideon Gault came in. Since he was without his Pinkerton blues, Charles surmised that he was off duty.

  “Hello, Charles.”

  “Gideon.”

  “I thought I’d let you know that there’s no need to rush through your errands.”

  Charles grimaced, wondering when his every move had become the main entertainment of Bachelor Bottoms. “Why’s that?”

  “Well, the girls brought an extra large contingent to the cook shack this morning. But rather than all of them working on the food, half of them peeled off to your place. Near as I can tell, they enlisted the help of my men to help bring Willow’s belongings to your house. Right now, it looks like they’re giving your place a thorough cleaning, so you might want to avoid all the ruckus for a while.”

  Gideon gestured toward the door. “How about you join me at the cook shack? I haven’t eaten yet. If you have a minute, I’ve got a thing or two that I need to discuss with you.”

  Charles was ready to insist—again—that he didn’t need to be eating anything provided by the company. But Marty waved him away. “This is going to take me a bit of time, Charles. You go on ahead and I’ll start a tally for your meals, just like Mr. Ramsey said.”

  One last time, Charles opened his mouth to object, but a glance in Gideon’s direction made him realize that the other man’s features were carefully schooled. Clearly, the invitation hadn’t been completely social.

  “Thanks, Marty. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Take your time. I’m going to have to go to the storehouse to collect the flannel you need. I’m plumb out here at the store. Give me at least a half hour or more.”

  The bell jingled hollowly as Charles and Gideon headed into the cold. Thankfully, it looked like last night’s storm had blown itself out, at least for the time being. With the shifts at the mine well underway, the offices, barbershop, laundry, cook shack and company store were open for business, and the foot traffic had picked up. A crew of men were clearing the boardwalks of snow, while a miner pushed the drifts from the main road with a metal grader hitched to the back of a converted wagon frame drawn by a pair of mules.

  The two friends walked the few yards to the cook shack. Inside, the air was moist from the warmth pouring from the box heaters and the cooking area at the far end of the building. Joining the line, Charles and Gideon filled their plates with fried venison, grits, biscuits and gravy, then used a finger to “hook” a mug of hot coffee from those waiting at the end of the counter.

  Charles fielded greetings and congratulations from some of the miners, then from the women who circulated the room with pots of hot coffee. For a month now, many of the brides had volunteered their services at the cook shack as a means to thank the miners for rescuing them from the avalanche and sharing their supply of foodstuffs with their unwitting guests. In Charles’s opinion, it was the miners who needed to be offering their thanks. Before the women had taken over, their meals had been prepared by a bunch of cantankerous men, and the food had been all but inedible. Now, the employees of Bachelor Bottoms couldn’t wait to see what delicious items would appear on their plate—and which pretty, smiling females would be there to serve them.

  “Let’s go into the private room.”

  Charles’s brows rose slightly at the suggestion. The private dining area was reserved for Ezra Batchwell, Phineas Bottoms and occasionally Jonah Ramsey, as a means to combine eating with company business. Charles could count on one hand the number of times he’d been asked to join such events.

  He entered the room, expecting to see the table covered in mining documents and littered with the remains of the bosses’ breakfasts, but the women had apparently adopted this domain, as well. The area was neat as a pin. A striped cloth had been laid over the scarred table and places were set with real silver, rather than the cheap tin utensils used in the main dining hall.

  “Have a seat.”

  Charles took a chair on the far side, then realized that the place setting included a napkin. When was the last time he’d eaten with a napkin?

  “Will you say grace?” Gideon asked.

  Charles bowed his head, offering thanks to God and asking that the miners and the food be blessed. Then, when Gideon murmured his own “Amen” and settled his napkin on his lap, Charles asked, “So what’s on your mind?”

  “Pass the salt, would you?”

  Charles handed it over, a part of him noticing that it wasn’t a simple saltcellar, but a bona fide cut-glass-and-silver piece. Then, realizing that Gideon wasn’t about to talk until he’d at least tasted his food, Charles split open his biscuit and slathered it with butter, then passed the crock on to him.

  “I spent a few hours last night and this morning retracing that woman’s footsteps.”

  “Jenny’s?” Charles’s food was instantly forgotten.

  Gideon nodded. “It took me a while, especially with the storm. But I was able to find her path.” Although they were alone, he leaned forward and said quietly, “She came from the direction of the last block of row houses to the north.”

  “The ones being used by the other avalanche survivors?”

  “Yeah. Actually, there are six houses on the block, three on each side. In that section, four aren’t being used by miners. One of them quarters the crew from the train, another the salesmen and farmers who got stuck here, and the other two are being used by the Wilmott family and the Hepplewhites.”

  “Mrs. Hepplewhite is pregnant, as well. Not as far along as Jenny, but there’s no hiding it. Maybe Jenny went to her for help?”

  “I thought of that and had a word with both the Hepplewhites and the Wilmotts, but none of them saw or talked
to Jenny—and both families have been sticking close to home on account of the weather and the fact that they have young children. Their meals are being brought to them by miners who live on the same block. They’re on shift right now, so I’ll have a word with them later tonight.”

  “You think one of our own men could be involved?”

  Gideon’s eyes became a dark, impenetrable blue. “I don’t want to think anyone was involved. I’d love to find out the whole thing was an accident. But I can’t rule anything out.”

  The Pinkerton grew silent as he ate a slice of venison, then a mouthful of grits. He offered thoughtfully, “The thing is, that woman had no business being near any of those houses. But she was gone from the Dovecote...how long? Two days? Three?”

  “I’ll ask Willow for sure.”

  “In that time, she had to have shelter. It’s been below zero since Christmas. Which means...”

  “She’s been living in one of those houses.”

  “Or she’s been staying somewhere we haven’t figured out yet.”

  Charles sat back. “I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would want to hurt that girl. Especially in her condition.”

  Gideon stabbed another piece of venison with more force than was necessary. “I learned during the war that we humans can do some horrible things. But those injuries... I’d bet my money on the fact that she knew her attacker. I can’t see her turning her back to a stranger—and I’d bet the one to the rear of her head was the first blow.”

  Charles poked at his food with the tines of his fork. “So, it has to be someone she knew well...”

  “Or someone she recognized enough to trust. And that could have been any number of men who’ve been in and out of the Dovecote.” Gideon took a bite of his biscuit, then shook the remaining half in Charles’s direction. “See what Willow can remember. I think she’d be the best person to recall who interacted with Jenny.”

  “I already spoke to her about it. She said she’d sit down and make a list sometime today.”