by Carol Henry
Table of Contents
Ribbons of Steel
Copyright
Praise for Carol Henry
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Forward
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Ribbons of Steel
by
Carol Henry
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Ribbons of Steel
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Carol Henry
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Mainstream Edition, 2013
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-958-2
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-959-9
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Carol Henry
SHANGHAI CONNECTION
Voted #2 Best Book/E-Book Romance Novel
in the 2012 Predator’s & Editor’s Reader’s Poll
Rich with setting and suspense: “Shanghai Connection is a fast-paced romantic suspense. Carol Henry brings the setting alive with vivid descriptions that transported me to a place I’ve never been.”
~Alicia Dean, author of romantic suspense
A Connection You Want To Make: “One hot, sexy, ex-military hero, one emotionally wounded heroine, and an action-packed plot. Plenty of edge-of-the-seat thrills, along with the romance in this story—that’s why this is a connection you want to make!”
~Mal Olson, author of adrenaline-kicked
romantic suspense
~~*~~
AMAZON CONNECTION
Voted Best Book Cover in 2009
Predator’s & Editor’s Reader’s Poll
“Ms. Henry is an imagery wizard, creating scenes and characters who make you believe the danger... Wonderfully sensual and intriguing.”
~Between the Lines (WRDF Review)
“Henry fully utilizes the exoticness of the Brazilian rain forest as the backdrop to her story. It is the perfect setting for romance and adventure.”
~Romantic Times
“[AMAZON CONNECTION] is a fast paced suspense book...the description of the Amazon jungle will make you feel like you are actually there.”
~You Gotta Read Reviews
Dedication
To my husband, Gary—a model train enthusiast,
with whom I share all my wonderful adventures.
And to all those who worked those great ribbons
of steel, and the families who stood beside them.
Acknowledgements
Special appreciation to Dennis A. Williams, who taught an Adult University summer writing class at Cornell University. Assignment—take a current event and fictionalize it by saying ‘what if’.
That assignment, and my love of history and research, resulted in Ribbons of Steel, an assignment I couldn’t let go. If not for taking this class, and Dennis’ encouragement, I would not have had the confidence to pursue this historic fiction novel.
~
To the Write Now writer’s group, thanks so very much for your continued encouragement, friendship, and support—this one’s for you.
~
To my early critique partners, Thea McGinnis and Teri Walsh, your continued support and friendship means the world to me.
~
To my editor, Allison Byers, thanks for your support and professionalism while working on this project.
~
To my initial editor, Ally Robertson, thanks for your support and friendship.
~
To the ladies at The Wild Rose Press, thanks for opening your doors to general fiction, giving me the opportunity to finally share Ribbons of Steel…
~
And, to all my family, friends, and fans…
the wait is finally over.
Forward
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
In 1877, the railroads flowed with America’s blood. The nation almost postponed the centennial celebration the year before due to poor economic conditions caused by the war between the North and the South. Families had a hard time making ends meet. The railroads had a stranglehold on the nation.
Charley Carmichael moved his family out of the rundown tenement houses of Philadelphia to his wife’s family farm in the pristine hillsides of New York. But Charley isn’t a farmer. Railroading is in his blood. And now, the nation’s trunk lines threaten to cut wages by another ten percent.
Everyone is talking strike.
Charley’s boss demands his loyalty, his co-worker his trust, and his family his love and attention. With his wife’s health deteriorating and his family split apart, will the family ties be strong enough to keep the ribbons of steel from pulling them apart?
Prologue
John Donahue looked over his shoulder. Great. No one within earshot. He approached the group of Irishmen who had stopped to take a break.
“Hey, Michael, I hear they’re paying fifty cents more a day up the line in Baltimore,” Donahue said as he strolled up to the men leaning against the building having a smoke. “Seems to me you guys would want more yourself, seeing as you’re working your butts off for nothing in this hell-hole.”
“Watch him, Michael,” Johann Westmüller spoke up. “He’s trying to rile you, that’s all. Pay him no never mind. You’d be better not listening to his kind, I tell ya. Charley would have kept us informed.”
“He does make sense, Johann. Why should we be slaving away for pittance when those blokes in Baltimore have all the good luck? Fifty cents more a day’s nothing to be sniffing at, mind ya. I say we do something about it. Now! Why wait on the boss man to try and fix things on his own.”
“I agree,” said Patrick. “I don’t want to be slaving away for nothing, neither. My ma’s not well, and we sure could use the extra dough. I say we get this strike underway. Be ready for them big bugs the minute they cut our pay.”
“I didn’t mean to get you all excited about striking or nothing,” John cautioned. “Charles Carmichael was told to keep his mouth shut. The boss would have my ass if he found out I told you what others are getting. Those most affected by the cut should be better informed, is all. You’re right.” He turned to the other man standing next to Johann. “Seamus, maybe you should think on it, too, before you decide whether or not to go on strike. I won’t say nothing to the boss, mind you. You can trust me to keep my mouth shut. I d
on’t rat.”
The others nodded.
John turned, hung his head, and walked back to the office. He hid his smile as best he could so as not to give himself away. He’d set the bait, and the stupid fools believed him. It didn’t take much to start them fighting amongst themselves, either. Hell, they didn’t know enough to check the facts first. They’d head right for that pot of gold in a lightning storm. Fifty cents? Ha! The poor souls in Baltimore would love to be getting fifty cents more a day. They were lucky enough to get the ten per cent cut like everyone else and like it. Damn fools.
John couldn’t wait to meet with Mr. Rossellini later. A member of the union, the man wanted nothing more than to make Tom Scott suffer the way his family had suffered over the past three years. Mr. Rossellini promised him there’d be something in it for him if he helped stir things up down on the line.
Wait ’til he tells the big union man how he’d blindsided those stupid fools. They might be hard working men, but they weren’t any too smart. Mr. Rossellini was sure to give him an extra kickback for his troubles once he had things underway. Cashing in on the strike was a walk down the lane. Talk about a pot of gold. He wasn’t sure what Mr. Rossellini’s stake in the strike was, but he didn’t care so long as he got his cut.
John wiped the grin from his face when he rounded the station and headed back to his office. Climbing the stairs on the left, he set his hat on his desk and knocked on Aderley’s office door. Not waiting to be invited to enter, he turned the latch and walked in. Mason Aderley stood over his desk thumbing through a file—the big man looked a bit white around the eyes and mouth.
“John, glad you’re here. There’s something amiss with the latest shipment from Eckly coal mines. I can’t seem to put my hands on the shipping statements. Where the hell are they?”
“Processed and filed already,” he answered. “I can get you the books from receiving if you want to see them.”
“Good, good. You do that. And, John, I need you here tonight. Scott wants me to institute the ten percent reduction in wages in a few days. I want you to do the paperwork for me this evening. Make sure everything is in order.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stay tonight, sir. I have other plans.” Damnation. Mr. Rossellini wasn’t going to take kindly to him being late.
“Cancel them!” Aderley boomed.
John jumped back at Aderley’s tone. He swallowed hard and knotted his fists to keep his hands from shaking.
“Get those statements and give them a thorough going over. I’ve put the paperwork on your desk. I want them on my desk first thing in the morning. And John, I’m counting on you to keep this quiet.”
Aderley took his gold pocket watch from his vest and flicked the lid open to check the time. The man didn’t have an inkling of what was going on.
“I have a meeting at the bank in fifteen minutes. I’ll be going home from there for the evening.”
Aderley placed his gray top hat on his balding head with purpose and strode from the room—and the building.
Dammit. If he hurried, he could see Mr. Rossellini, get back to the office, and still have plenty of time to cover his tracks with the reports he’d padded over the last year. He’d work ’til midnight if he had to in order to make the books look as if they were on the up and up.
John shoved his chair back from behind the wooden desk in a corner of the narrow hallway. A sham of an excuse for an office, seeing as Aderley’s office was one of the finest he’d ever seen. It lacked for nothing. He waited to make sure Aderley was gone before he ran from the building. Had Aderley gotten wind of the activity going on down below? If so, then he’d know the rail workers were only interested in one thing—strike.
A strike was sure gonna happen and soon, once the pay cut went into effect. He knew, because he was the one who received the telegram from Camden Junction, just outside Baltimore. Things at the Junction were heating up real good. He had to tell Mr. Rossellini. The man would be delighted.
The Baltimore and Ohio held twenty-seven hundred miles of tracks, and Camden Junction was smack-dab in the center. Trains were switched off to Washington, D.C. or parts out west in the new territory. The poor fools had suffered a fifty percent cut in wages over the past few years and were now the lowest paid, not counting those working on the New York Central. He’d checked it out. Being Aderley’s accountant had its advantages. He snickered. Why, the brakemen on the B&O only made thirty to seventy dollars a month. There sure as hell was gonna be a strike, and not just in Philadelphia. Pittsburgh was hot, too. Damn hot, according to the union boss.
Strike? It was closer than the old geezer’s pair of breaches. And the entire countryside was behind those wanting it. He didn’t make much money either, but if he continued to play his cards right and keep Mr. Rossellini happy, he’d be rolling in dough and long gone before things really heated up.
Chapter One
Charley stepped away from the tracks as the six-o-five rattled down the steel rails to a screeching stop in front of the station platform. Steam screamed from around the iron wheels, and a sooty puff of smoke streamed into the air from the smokestack.
Right on schedule.
He looked up in time to see John Donahue coming toward him at a dead run. Mason’s skinny secretary never moved any faster than he had to. Matter-of-fact, he didn’t think the sneaky rat could get out of the way of an on-coming locomotive fast enough to save his own hide. He didn’t trust the man. And he didn’t understand why Aderley kept him on his payroll.
“The boss man wants to see you right away,” John Donahue gasped, drawing up next to him. “Best not keep him waiting. He doesn’t seem in the best of spirits today.”
The man wheezed, clutched his chest, and then started coughing. Charley ignored the weasel. He had a feeling deep in his gut whatever Mason Aderley was about to say couldn’t be good. Shit. He didn’t need this on top of everything else.
Not today.
Further down the track the men unloaded coal. The mining town of Eckly produced anthracite round the clock. Not only did it keep their trains running, it kept the need for them to run profitable. Wagons lined up waiting, and men scurried to do their jobs.
They looked like a pack of mad dogs let out of their kennels for the first time in weeks.
Scott had added a passenger coach to the line this past year, and people milled about down below waiting for those aboard to disembark.
Such chaos. Such chaos.
Charley shook his head and stepped back from the hot rails as a second train screeched to a stop alongside the first.
“Hey, Seamus,” he called to one of the workers. “I’m going up to the office. Take over for me, will ya? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He sidestepped Donahue and headed toward Aderley’s office. His work boots crunched into the gravel in the well-worn path which led to the station. The sun had been up for hours, and the heat had taken a toll on everyone’s nerves. The men were riled already over the talk of another wage cut.
They were talking strike.
Charley arrived at the large, three-story brick building, bounded up the cement steps two at a time, and entered the darkened foyer. He welcomed the coolness as he climbed the mahogany staircase to the left. Aderley’s office door stood open. He hesitated as the boss man slid his timepiece back in his vest pocket and reached for one of his Havana cigars, then raised the long brown smoke to his nose, sniffed at it with undisguised pleasure, clipped the end of it, and clamped it between his teeth. He leaned across his desk, took a match from a small box, struck the miniature wooden stick against the box, and lit the cigar. He drew in and let the embers simmer and glow a bright red.
The man’s bushy eyebrows were drawn in tight, and his short stocky body slouched over his polished desk, a sure indication he wasn’t happy. Charley hated to disturb the man, but then, Aderley had summoned him.
He rapped on the doorframe to get Aderley’s attention. Aderley jumped at the loud sound, turned, and looked his way. A pretense of
a smile didn’t quite match the man’s stern blue eyes.
“Come in, come in,” Aderley called, swinging his arm in the air, motioning him inside.
“Donahue says you wanted to see me about something important,” Charley said, entering the room.
“Yes. Yes. Have a seat. You haven’t been up to steam this past week. What’s going on? It’s not like you to be so distracted. The talk of a strike has me a bit concerned, I can tell you. What are those jackasses thinking? Just what do they want?”
Charley didn’t know where to start. But he had to be honest.
“To get paid for a day’s work,” he said. “They’ve heard about the cut in pay.”
Aderley jumped from his chair, paced the floor, and then settled next to the window. He stood with his hands behind his back staring out in silence. Charley wondered, not for the first time, if Aderley made it a habit to stand there all day making sure everyone did his job.
What did his boss have to worry about? The man lived in a mansion on the other side of town. What did he know about the little guys, working ten to twelve hours a day busting their asses along the rails? The firemen who stoked the fires or shoveled the coal? The engineers had to keep their eyes open as they sped along forty miles an hour over tracks where people and cows didn’t seem able to stay off. Aderley’s two young boys attended the best boarding schools, and his wife had daily help. At least she wasn’t sick like Emily.
Dear Lord. Emily had been sick with fever the last few times he’d been able to make it home. There hadn’t been anything he could do to relieve her pain. Especially when he had to be in Philadelphia overseeing men who couldn’t make ends meet.