What was he doing there? He should go. To Carina? Something inside him lurched at the thought. Something rebellious and altogether untamed. Why did his heart have to jump that way at just the thought of her? What if he went back to Crystal and found her gone?
But he couldn’t stay away forever. For better or worse he owed her something. If only her freedom. That thought hurt. Seeing the conciliatory care the reverend gave his wife these last weeks had shown Quillan a sort of love he didn’t understand. A giving with no return, an accepting with no sense.
Quillan shrank from the thought of so exposing himself. To be so vulnerable . . . And he said unto me, my grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Quillan sat straight and stiff, showing nothing of his thoughts. What if he returned to Carina. Asked her to love him. After their last encounter! Not a chance.
But what if . . . He thought of his mother’s diary, the despair he’d read in those pages. But she’d found Wolf. And whatever his father’s story, he, too, had found joy with Rose. An image of them charred and entangled filled his mind, but Quillan fought it back.
If only he could purge it forever! But maybe that was his cross. Maybe the pain was what he needed to embrace. The loss. The sorrow he felt for two ill-fated lovers too damaged to survive. Quillan closed his eyes and lowered his jaw. Let them think him in prayer. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Maybe he was.
SEVENTEEN
My heart aches for the lives that were lost in my husband’s venture. What more can I do but bring succor to the wives who no longer have a man to call their own?
—Carina
CARINA WALKED FROM SHACK to shack. Seven of the men were unmarried, but six had wives, and five of those had at least one child. Carina entered the sixth house when the thin blond woman opened the door.
The woman stared as though Carina weren’t real. “I heard you were coming, but I didn’t believe it. Why would you do this?”
“You are Mary Billings?”
“Yes. My man was killed last night. But what’s that to you?”
Carina reached into her velvet purse for the last packet of bills. “I’m very sorry for your loss. My husband would want you to have this. Mr. Makepeace has authorized it.” She held out the bills. “To see you through the winter, until the roads are passable.”
Dazed, Mrs. Billings took the money. Then, her legs collapsing, she landed on a crate beside the door that held a saddle and some blankets. “I always knew it would end like this. When I married him I knew.” She began to sob.
Carina ached for her. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Billings.”
The woman raised her eyes doubtfully. “Why? Why are you sorry? You don’t even know me.”
“You came last Sunday to my restaurant.”
“You know that? There were so many all through the day.”
Carina stopped before her, took Mary Billings’ hands between hers. “I didn’t know your name. Or your husband’s. Not before Mr. Makepeace gave me the list. But I remember your face.” She was ashamed that she couldn’t recall Mr. Billings’ features. But the men were so many.
Her throat tightened painfully. “I know the money cannot replace what you have lost.”
The woman gripped the bills to her chest and cried again. “Nothing can, nothing will. But at least . . . at least I won’t starve.”
“If you need anything . . .”
“When I walked into that fine dining room of yours and saw you all petite and sparkling . . . I despised you. I thought you made us look bad. Your fine cooking making what I put on the plate every night seem like dirt.” She swiped her sleeve across her face. “But now this.”
Carina lowered her face. “It’s little enough.”
“It’s more than anyone else would do.”
Carina stood up. “Please accept my deep regrets.”
Mary Billings also stood. “If you’ll accept my apology.”
Carina embraced her. “No apology is needed.”
Carina then left, her own eyes tired from sharing the tears of these women. Mary Billings had been the only one to speak her resentment, but they had all been wary. Had they, like Mary, resented her efforts toward their husbands? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that now they would have what they needed to live.
Carina tried to imagine Mary’s grief, knowing that each day her husband left for the mine might be the last she would see him. And then to receive the word that yes, her husband was killed in the mine, and to be all alone. Carina drew herself up, staunchly defending in her own mind this small kindness.
No, she hadn’t known their names, perhaps had never spoken to them personally. But she felt these deaths. And she wished there was more, much more she could do.
Alex Makepeace looked at the dozen men assembled before him, their scowls and fierce disapproval no more than he’d expected. He’d lost thirteen men to the mine, yet these men were not here to protest the loss of life. One burly thug with a cauliflower ear shouted, “It’s not done, Makepeace. You’ll have our men jumping ship, expecting favors, demanding what we can’t give.”
Alex held himself straight. “It wasn’t my decision.”
“Since when does a bleeding-heart woman run your mine?”
“Since her husband owns it.”
“Partially!”
“Partially,” he conceded. He could have thwarted Carina, could have denied her the funds, the names, the access to the families. If his personal involvement had not gone beyond the bounds, he might have.
“Our investors won’t stand for it. You’ve set a precedent we won’t allow.”
“It’s only once.” Alex knew the argument was feeble. He’d told Carina from the start how her actions would be perceived. No eastern investors would stand for a mine taking responsibility for the accidental deaths of workers. No mine could afford to insure against the mistakes and misjudgments of its workers. He knew it! He had no quarrel with their thinking. So why was he standing there, defending Carina’s actions toward the families of those killed in his cave-in?
“Once is all it takes! They’ll be clamoring for restitution all over the district! Take it back, man, or there’ll be trouble.”
“I can’t take it back. Those families and widows need some way to survive until winter breaks. Then they’ll be gone.”
The man bristled. “And what of the powder blast at the Iron Horse? Three men dead.”
Alex swallowed the tightness in his throat. “That’s their business.”
“Their men are shouting for fair treatment.”
Alex understood the fear behind their objections. It would be chaos if the mine owners took responsibility for every mishap. It would be ruin. The miners accepted employment knowing the risk. They were paid to take the risk. “The accident at the New Boundless was the worst to date. Minor errors will not be treated with severance. No severance will be offered again.” He slumped with the weakness of his argument, but he determined he would stand against Carina if she ever suggested as much again.
“Our own men say they’ll go directly to her.”
Alex turned to the voice. James Mires, his foreman. Alex saw the concern there, knew its depth. Yes, their own miners would be the hardest of all to deal with, wanting for their families what the others had already received.
A short redheaded engineer called out, “I had one man who was crippled last month by a falling Burleigh come today demanding compensation for his family.”
“You hear that?” The first man raised a fist. “We’ll have every rocked-up hacker demanding justice!”
Alex sagged. It was true. He would be reprimanded by the investors, maybe replaced. He rubbed his face with stubborn resolve. “What’s done is done. It won’t be repeated.” It was the best he could do. He couldn’t ask Carina to take back what she’d given, couldn’t demand it back from the women and children who could starve before they made it out of Crystal. It wasn’t his responsibility, but Carina had made it so.
He heard the grumbling, knew these foremen and engineers were not satisfied. They had the same responsibilities as he. Their jobs, their reputations were at stake. They’d be required to handle the situation so the investors didn’t lose revenue. And he’d just made their lives very difficult. They were caught between his generosity and their quotas. So was he.
In his mind he cursed Carina. Then he cursed himself. He should never have listened, never have allowed, even for a minute . . . Had he thought with his head instead of his heart he would have squelched her plan, no matter the hurt he saw in the depths of her eyes. His responsibility was to his employers, not his employer’s wife!
“It’s on your shoulders, then.” The burly man raised a finger. “If the New Boundless takes on one of Charity Jane’s men, you’ll be dealing with me.”
“I won’t take on any of your men.” Which meant he’d be running short through the entire winter, having lost thirteen workers. He saw the dismay on James Mires’s face. But what else could he do? The other mines would lose men the minute they thought they could find a better deal at the Boundless. He’d rocked the boat, and the ripples were spreading.
“You’ve not heard the last of this. Trouble will come of it.” Grumbling, the crowd dispersed. They’d accomplished nothing. Alex could only hope that, like the snows, this would melt away come spring when the families left Crystal and the memory of a misguided generosity was forgotten. It was a faint hope, and when he met Mires’s eye, he knew it would be a long time until spring.
Carina sensed a change in Alex Makepeace when he came in for dinner that night. Was he angry with her? Had she overstepped his consideration for her? Had he lost face because of her? He hadn’t looked happy when he turned over the funds, even though they came from the monies Quillan would have counted profit.
Now he looked miserable. She wanted to ask him, to make him tell her what weighed on him so heavily. Maybe it was losing the men. Maybe it had nothing to do with her. Either way she couldn’t ask. Mae’s suspicions had warned her not to display a relationship beyond the accepted courtesy.
But it ate at her while she worked, cooking the hare with wild onions, tomato paste, and the last of the anchovies, and continued as she served the laden plates to the tables. Alex had seemed discouraged and almost hostile. Had she once again alienated someone who mattered to her? First Flavio, then Quillan, now Alex. No, it wasn’t the same with Alex. It couldn’t be. She had loved Flavio, loved Quillan still. What she felt for Alex Makepeace was . . . what? Oh! She slapped the towel on the stove.
Mae glanced her way. “What’s flustering you?”
“Am I trouble, Mae? Do I . . . do I give people trouble?” Even as she said it, she recalled the bullets thumping into Mae’s body, bullets meant for Carina Maria DiGratia. “Oh!” She threw up her hands and stalked across the kitchen and back. “I don’t mean to cause trouble. But somehow I end up in it.”
“What trouble are you in now?”
“What trouble? My husband won’t stay home. You think I’ve taken up with another man, and he—” Carina gripped her hands together and faltered under Mae’s gaze. “He looks like the devil walked over his grave.”
“I thought maybe you were coming around to that.”
Carina rushed to her, caught her hands together. “So you saw it, too? Do you know what it is? Why is he so angry? So miserable?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“But you guess.”
“Whatever I guess I keep to myself.”
“Mae!” Carina gave Mae’s hands a shake. “Now is not the time to mind your business. Tell me!”
“You’ve stirred the kettle.” Mae sighed. “I know you meant well. But you don’t understand how things work in a mining community. You’ve put Mr. Makepeace between a hammer and an anvil.”
“How?”
“Setting precedent with those miners’ families.”
Carina stared a moment. “Thirteen men were killed. In my husband’s mine.”
“It’s not his mine. And even if it were free and clear his alone, it would still be a dangerous precedent. You can’t go taking responsibility for accidents that no one else can or will pay for. The other mine operators are up in arms, and Mr. Makepeace is their target. That’s all.”
“Well, he can tell them it was my doing.”
Mae snorted. “That’ll go a long way in saving him face.”
Carina threw up her hands. “Has the world gone mad? Is everyone pazzo? What are the women and children to do if their men are dead?”
Mae was silent.
“What!” Carina demanded.
“It wasn’t your place, Carina. Not as your husband’s spokesman or in any capacity in the mine. Especially not through Alex Makepeace. Now he’s as culpable as you.”
Carina swallowed her indignation. So that was it. Her innocence had once again caused trouble. But why was it so wrong to help people in need? Quillan would have done the same. But he would have done it quietly. Not as an ultimatum to Alex Makepeace that set a precedent to the other mine owners.
She sank to the chair. “Will I ever get it right?”
“I don’t know about that.” Mae smiled. “You act with your heart, Carina. Maybe that’s how it should be.”
Carina forked her fingers into her hair. “If Quillan were here, he would have handled it better.”
“But he’s not.”
Carina met Mae’s eyes. That was the first time Mae hadn’t defended Quillan outright or excused his absence as a matter of course. It was almost a criticism, and it so took her by surprise Carina couldn’t answer. No, he was not there, and she had acted as she thought best. What more could she do?
Carina stood and checked the stewing hares in the oven. If she had put Alex in a bad place, the best thing now would be to let him handle it. If it strained their relationship, well, that too should rest awhile. Grabbing a pair of hot pads, she pulled the pan of stewed hare from the oven.
Celia came in with a tray and Carina loaded it with steaming plates, then did the same with Elizabeth’s tray. Carina would stay in the kitchen until Alex had gone home. No sense making him more miserable with her presence. She fought a deep loneliness that was becoming chronic. Resting a hand on her abdomen, she wondered why thoughts of the child inside didn’t comfort her now.
Quillan watched Leona Shepard stare out the window as though something vitally important might appear at any moment. The startled intensity of her gaze had twice made him look to see if something truly had frightened her, but there had been nothing but the neighboring houses and perhaps a passing carriage.
The white cords of her hair were fuzzy with inattention, and her skin was like softly veined wild rose petals. Maybe she’d been lovely once. She could have been now, but for the distorting of the features, the sagging mouth, the bloodshot, terrified eyes. And her lack of flesh that lent the overall skeletal appearance.
He felt uneasy scrutinizing her so, but he had to reconcile this creature once and for all with the image he carried of her in his mind. He wanted that much at least to come from this time. He’d intended to leave after the service Sunday morning, but snow had kept him from starting out. Even if he could have traveled, it wasn’t fair to Jock and Jack and Sam. Now it was Tuesday, and the reverend was out and about his charitable duties.
Once again Quillan waited in the room of the woman who had made his youth a torment. Understanding her illness had removed some of the sting, but he was uncertain what more was left to do. If the weather cleared today, he would go. Or tomorrow or the next day. He had already determined it was time.
The reason he had come no longer existed. He couldn’t confront her with his mother’s journal and demand an accounting of the lies Mrs. Shepard had told. He couldn’t even lay the blame to her account. All he could do was put it behind him. He knew the truth now.
His mother had loved him. Enough to put him into hands she thought would be safer, stronger than her own. Safe from Wolf and their entangled pain. He
no longer saw Wolf as a monster. Knowing, as Rose hadn’t, that Henri Charboneau had been the killer, even that taint was removed from his parentage. Yet what did it change?
Mrs. Shepard gripped the shawl around her shoulders and made a pitiful mewling.
Quillan leaned forward and held her shoulder. “It’s all right.” But it wasn’t right. Nothing was right, not for Leona Shepard, not for the reverend, not for Quillan. And, he thought, certainly not for Carina. Why had he embroiled her in his life?
Because he loved her. He didn’t know how to show it, but her incessant presence in his thoughts confirmed it. From the time he dumped her wagon and she’d waved her hand furiously in his face, spitting fire, she’d captured more of his thoughts than anyone before.
Every time he’d passed her in the street, when he had looked at her with smug, taunting indifference, she’d made a new impression on his mind, the sunlight shimmering in her hair as on a crow’s wing, her willowy waist, her hands so expressive. When he’d seen her broken and in pain and drawn her up from the mine shaft of the Rose Legacy, feelings had stirred in him too powerful to address.
When he’d told her he’d marry her to keep Berkley Beck from the privilege and first entertained the idea of taking her into his arms as his wife, those feelings had proved as potent as he feared. When he’d seen her on her knees and spoken cruel words to break the terrifying closeness they’d shared, he’d known the feelings could destroy the defenses he’d built over years of rejection. When she’d stood teary eyed after Cain’s death and promised to wait for him, he’d almost given in.
What if he had? Would they be snuggled up warmly in that little house of hers, sharing a meal of some fantastic creation that only her hands could prepare? There would be no hallway to Mae’s. No hordes of men seated at tables enjoying her rich and savory fare.
He dropped his face in regret. Mrs. Shepard looked away from the window. One clawed hand gripped his, and her mouth worked, the tendons straining in her throat.
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