THE IMPERIAL ENGINEER

by Judith B. Glad

  Still speechless, Tony let Eagleton lead him along Main Street to the Nevada Chop House. In between being introduced to half the businessmen in town, he even got to eat his dinner.

  Each time Eagleton introduced him as "My new engineer, Mr. Tony Dewitt," he felt some of the burden of shame and guilt lift from his soul.

  * * * *

  "I have a letter here from Mrs. Duniway, in Oregon. She says both Idaho and Montana Territories will be applying for statehood in a few years and reminds me that we need to be working to get women's suffrage written into the state constitutions. She is very optimistic about the possibility, particularly since Washington Territory's enfranchisement of women this spring." The woman behind the desk turned to the next sheet and paused, reading ahead. She seemed to be undergoing an internal debate, for she was silent for a full five minutes.

  Lulu forced herself to sit quietly. She desperately wanted there to be a place for her with the American Woman Suffrage Association. Unfortunately, like most organizations, there were few paid positions, and she simply could not afford to dip into her investment principal for living expenses.

  "Our organization is short on women who are familiar with the West," Mrs. Ainsworth said, "women who can go there and speak to the women who haven't come East to school, who may not understand that suffrage is as important for a farm wife or a seamstress as it is for a single woman in a career."

  Lulu had to smile. "But I came East to school, and I am single, with a career."

  "Of course, but you didn't grow up here. And you still sound as if you came from the West. Your speech will not put off women whose only schooling was in one room in the wilderness. I'm sure they have very peculiar ideas about those of us who live in the great cities of the East." She leaned back in her chair and gazed across the desk at Lulu. Her expression showed some disquiet.

  "I admit I have some reservations about offering you this position, Miss King. I realize your appearance speaks nothing of your heritage, but still..." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug that said she hoped Lulu understood her dilemma.

  Lulu did. She had encountered it before. "I cannot believe I would be in any danger. After all, I've worked in the South for the past four years, and my race was never an issue." She wasn't about to admit the nightmares she still had of pointing fingers and taunting voices. And worse.

  "Yes, but by your own admission, your work was behind the scenes. This position would require you to make frequent public appearances. I don't know--"

  Lulu decided to push. "It seems to me that denying me a position for which I am qualified simply because of my race goes against every principle the Association stands for."

  "Well, of course you do look as white--" Mrs. Ainsworth's cheeks flamed. "That was thoughtless of me, wasn't it? Let me tell you what the situation is, Miss King. Perhaps you will find it more than you want to take on."

  Lulu crossed her fingers and listened.

  "Apparently the woman who has been in the forefront of The Movement in Idaho Territory is expecting a baby." A moue of disapproval clearly showed Mrs. Ainsworth's opinion of such poor judgment. "She asks us to send someone who can assist her until such time as she is able to resume her normal activities, a period of a year, at least. Her assistant will be required to live in the same area as she, a rather isolated part of Idaho Territory. An apartment will be provided, and a small travel stipend. All speaking fees will be yours to keep. Are you still interested?"

  Excitement bubbled inside while Lulu strove to appear composed. "Absolutely."

  Ever since the episode in North Carolina, when she had narrowly escaped with her life, she had dreamed of going home, but had not admitted it to anyone. The nightmares that tore her sleep asunder with increasing regularity were a secret she chose to keep. Now Mrs. Ainsworth was offering her what she most wanted.

  Three weeks later, on June 1, 1883, she boarded a train for Hailey. Her task was to muster support and funds for the suffrage movement in Idaho and Montana Territories, and to give Mrs. Duniway whatever assistance she could in Oregon and elsewhere.

  It was like a dream come true. Abigail Scott Duniway was one of her heroes.

  * * * *

  Tony had taken to meeting each days' train, hoping the equipment he'd ordered would arrive. Until it did, he couldn't get a start on the telephone system. Of course, Eagleton kept him so busy on other projects that he probably wouldn't have had time, if he'd had the wire and the batteries.

  He didn't mind. Every new task his boss set him was a challenge, and he was enjoying it. Eagleton was talking about building a steel truss bridge across the Wood River to replace the existing wooden structure on the Croy Creek road. He had suggested that in his spare time Tony find a site for it and draw up some initial plans.

  A far-off whistle told him the train was coming. He folded his newspaper and tucked it into his coat pocket. Along with half a dozen others, he went to the platform to wait. Since its official arrival three weeks ago, the coming of the daily train was an event. He supposed eventually folks would stop coming to the depot, just to see it pull into town. For now, though, it was the day's biggest excitement.

  "Mornin', Dewitt."

  Tony turned to see Frank Correy, one of the clerks at the bank he patronized, approaching. "Morning, Correy. Meeting someone?"

  "Mrs. Axminster has been down to Denver, visiting her sister. Mr. Axminster is in a meeting with some fellows from the smelter up in Ketchum, so he asked me to meet her."

  Tony smiled. One of the more important things he'd learned in his first job was that junior members of the firm--any firm--were expected to be messenger boys, chauffeurs, and all-round handymen for their bosses. And their bosses' families.

  He and Frank exchanged opinions on the day's news, the possibility of rain on the weekend when the Miners' Union picnic was to be held, and the fire alarm that had sounded in the wee hours of the previous night. "I heard it was the stovepipe at the Bon Ton," Frank said, "but when I came by, they were open, so it couldn't have been serious."

  "A good thing it wasn't worse." A shiver stole up Tony's spine. He didn't like to even think about fires in wooden buildings like so many of Hailey's were. "Here it comes."

  The train, its brakes squealing and steam hissing from its boiler, eased into the station. Tony stood where he was, for he couldn't retrieve his equipment--if it had arrived--until all baggage and freight was unloaded.

  "There she is," Frank said. "I'll see you later." He went to meet the imposing woman in black silk. Tony had never met the banker's wife, but he imagined she'd be a force to be reckoned with, if looks were any indication.

  Then his gaze was caught by the woman who was revealed as Mrs. Axminster stepped down from the railcar. Her dress was a demure navy blue, with rich purple trim and an extravagant bustle. A silly little feathered hat in matching colors perched on a cluster of curls the color of old bronze. A wide mouth with full lips, a pert nose, and eyes he knew would be the color of winter rain all fit together in a face that, while not classically beautiful, was charmingly feminine. An old yearning flooded through him, a yearning he'd thought long banished.

  What is she doing here?

  She stepped daintily to the ground, smiling at the Conductor who had lent his arm to support her. For his own peace of mind, he wished he could pretend he hadn't seen her.

  Instead he stepped forward. "Miss King, welcome to Hailey."

  Her eyes widened when she recognized him, but she said nothing. After a moment's hesitation, she tucked her hand into his proffered elbow and let him lead her into the depot. Only when she'd sat on one of the wooden benches did she demand. "Did Mamma tell you I was coming?"

  "I haven't heard from your mother since Christmas. I thought she was off to Australia."

  "She is, but I wrote her as soon as I knew...of course she couldn't have gotten the letter and written to you. It's only been three weeks."

  "Why would she tell me anyhow? Why not one of the Lachlans?"

  "Bec
ause she's worried...oh, never mind. It was just a thought. Maybe I should ask why you are here? Hailey isn't exactly the sort of place I'd expect to find an up and coming young engineer."

  Tony was rescued from making a reply by a wave from the station agent. He said, "Excuse me a moment."

  "There's a big coil of wire for you Mr. Dewitt. Looks to me like it got misshipped to somewheres in Texas." The agent scratched his head. "Houston? That don't sound anywheres near like Hailey, does it?"

  Tony followed him into the freight office. The spool of wire sat in the middle of the big room. He read the label. "Tarnation! This is the wrong gage. And it's iron, not copper. How do I send it back? And I'll want to send a telegram to the supplier, to see if they can ship the right wire before they get this." He looked into the lobby, to tell Lulu he'd be a few minutes, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Just as well. Maybe they wouldn't have to fraternize during her visit. He sure hoped it was to be a brief one.

  As soon as his back was turned, Lulu went to the baggage claim counter and picked up her small valise. Until she knew where she would be lodging, there was no sense in bothering with the rest of her luggage.

  Tao Ni! What on earth was he doing here? And how was she going to avoid him in a town this small?

  Not that it mattered. Now that she'd seen him, all the old memories had come flooding back, making it impossible for her to go on thinking of him merely as one of her almost-cousins. Now she'd have to start all over again, teaching her unruly heart not to yearn for him.

  Outside only a small dogcart remained at the hitch rail. An elderly Chinese sat dozing in the seat. She went to the side of the cart and cleared her throat. He looked up. "I'm supposed to be met by someone who will take me to the home of Mrs. Jacob Teller. Are you he?"

  He woke with a start, then jumped down to bow before her. "Yes, Missie. I take. You have trunk?"

  "No, not at this time. I have everything I need in here." She handed him her valise. Shortly she was on her way to meet the woman who'd arranged for her to come to the Wood River valley. She wasn't sure living here was a good idea. Hailey seemed awfully out of the way, and she'd been told to expect to travel extensively.

  "I am Miss King. You are?" she said to her driver as they rode along a bumpy road heading north.

  He glanced sideways, but said nothing.

  "Oh, come now, sir. I'm sure you understand English very well. All I asked was your name."

  Again that sideways glance. In a soft voice he said, "Lee Shi Dan. But Missus call me John."

  "Some people call everyone of your race 'John.' But I will not, Mr. Lee. You are as entitled to your name as I am to mine."

  This time the glance that came her way held just a hint of friendliness.

  She spoke little to her driver on the hour-long journey, for he was plainly uncomfortable to be conversing with her. Just as well, because she was busy gazing at her surroundings. This long, narrow river valley was nothing like Cherry Vale, where she had grown up. The mountains here were sagebrush-covered, for the most part, although she could see pines on the higher slopes. The river meandered through the bottomlands, swerving from side to side, now cutting away at the foot of a mountain, now splitting to create a cottonwood-covered island. As the valley narrowed, they crossed the river and its tributary streams more often, on echoing wooden bridges often made of unpeeled logs paved with rough-cut planks.

  The Teller holding, some miles north of Hailey, was near a little settlement named Gimlet. As they approached, she noticed that most of the pastures along the road held sheep, instead of cattle. Her mother had written, some while back, of the growing sheep industry in Idaho Territory and the importation of Basque herders to tend them. She wondered if the Basques were any more welcome than the Chinese. Or the Negroes.

  If this were a perfect world, there would be no work for me to do. How wonderful it would be to live in a world where every human being was valued equally and accorded the same rights.

  "There pretty quick," Mr. Lee said, as he turned the cart off the main road and into a winding lane leading toward the west. They forded a creek and passed along a drive lined with young Lombardy poplars. Obviously the sheep industry was profitable.

  The Teller house was not ostentatious, being constructed of logs, with a plank roof still half devoid of shingles. Five or six rooms, she estimated, with glass in all the windows. Despite its size and touches of extravagance, it somehow reminded Lulu of the first home she had known, bringing a sentimental lump to her throat.

  The woman who came to the door as the dog cart drove into the yard was about her age, with braided blonde hair and a body rounded with pregnancy. She waved, but waited at the top of the steps for Lulu to climb from the cart. "Welcome, Miss King! I'm so happy you're here. I am Imajean Teller."

  "I'm happy to be here." Lulu took her valise from Mr. Lee's hands and gave him a dime. "Thank you very much," she told him, smiling at his look of surprise.

  "You shouldn't tip him," Mrs. Teller told her as she ushered Lulu inside. "His salary covers all he does for us."

  "He provided the same service that the porter did," Lulu said, keeping all emotion out of her voice. "I felt he deserved the same tip."

  "That was very nice of you." She led the way into a large parlor, furnished with modern sofa and chairs and several skirted tables. "I have water hot. Would you like some tea?" When Lulu admitted she was thirsty, she clapped her hands. A young Chinaman came to the door. "Tea, John. For two."

  He bowed and disappeared.

  She really does call them all 'John.' How very peculiar. Obviously Mrs. Teller did not view the Chinese in the same light of equality as she did members of her own sex. "I understand you have been active in the suffrage movement for some years. Tell me more about it," she said, putting aside the urge to educate the other woman in the doctrine of equal rights for all. Many of her sister suffragists were incredibly short-sighted and narrow minded.

  * * * *

  Knowing he would brood about the past if he stayed in his room that evening, Tony went downstairs to the Kansas Headquarters Saloon. Frank Correy was there, sipping at a beer and watching some checker players. When he saw Tony, he waved.

  Tony went to join him. The two checker players were obviously well matched, for neither could gain an advantage, and they cogitated for long minutes between moves. After a while Tony grew bored. "How about a game of cribbage?" he asked Frank. "I believe the bartender keeps a board."

  "As long as we play for points. I'm not much of a gambler," Frank replied in a soft Scots burr.

  "Me neither." He fetched the board and they took a small table near the back wall, far enough from the piano to be able to talk without shouting. For a while they played quietly, speaking only to count points.

  Then Frank said, "Who was that ravishing young woman who got off the train today? She didn't seem happy to see you."

  "She's..." He wasn't sure how to describe Lulu. As children they'd been family. Until one night everything changed. "She's just someone I knew as a child. I think she was more surprised than unhappy that I was here."

  "So she's not your sweetheart?" Frank moved his peg twelve holes, putting him almost thirty points ahead.

  "Not at all." Carefully Tony picked up the cards Frank had dealt. Before he could decide on a winning strategy, someone spoke behind him, "Hello, Frank. I've been looking for you."

  The young man who, uninvited, pulled an empty chair from the next table and sat at theirs was a stranger to Tony. Frank introduced him.

  "Pleased to meet you, Dewitt," Patrick Newell said, holding his hand out. From his tone of his voice, he was anything but pleased.

  Tony took it, wondering what it was the fellow found distasteful. In the next instant, he told himself he was imagining things. Newell's smile seemed genuine. "You must be new in town."

  "I arrived just last week, and am already feeling at home. Hailey is an up-and-coming little burg."

  "Are you another banker, li
ke Frank, here?"

  "Not on your life. I'm in mining. Great future." Newell waved the waiter over and asked for a beer. "Join me?"

  "I've had enough," Tony said.

  Frank nodded, and Newell ordered for the two of them. Tony and Frank played the hand with Newell looking on. Tony found his presence distracting. Glumly he laid down his cards, knowing he'd played poorly. "Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, fifteen six, and a pair for eight." Frank pegged fourteen points. Tony was skunked.

  As they gathered up the cards, Newell said, "Frank tells me you work for Eagleton. My boss calls him a sharper, always coming up with get-rich-quick schemes." There was a note of challenge in his voice.

  "I've found him honest and straightforward. So far the schemes I've seen seem to pay off, so maybe your boss is wrong."

  Newell didn't quite sneer.

  If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trying to pick a fight. Tony pushed his chair back and rose. "I've got a big day tomorrow, so it's time for me to turn in. Good night, Frank, Mr. Newell."

  He had the strangest feeling Newell had deliberately set out to make himself disliked.

  Chapter Two

  The Committee of Arrangements of the Fourth of July celebration...have concluded to hold the literary exercises at Dorsey's Grove...Mr. Dorsey has agreed to have a seating capacity of at least 1,000, to enlarge the music stand, and to have the grounds in apple pie order...The distance to the grove is hardly more than half a mile...

  Wood River Times

  ~~~

  "The vision of our founding fathers was of a nation free from tyranny, free from oppression," Lulu said. "A woman who cannot vote is a slave, subject to the whims of her master. She has no rights, save what her father or her brother or her husband grants her. She has no say in her fate, no choice of residence, no opportun--"

  A tomato hit her on the cheek. A very ripe, somewhat spoiled tomato.

  She gripped the edge of the lectern and forced herself to remain outwardly calm. This was not the first time she'd been a target of assorted missiles thrown by less sympathetic members of her audience, but the experience was one she'd never grow used to. After a couple of deep breaths, she pulled a lacy handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped away the dripping juice with a shaking hand.