by Jane Porter
McKenna didn’t know what to say, because Johanna was right. Her father was happy to put the poor Irish immigrants to work, but he didn’t want them in his home.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t hurt him.”
But she had, hadn’t she?
No wonder Johanna didn’t want to pretend to be friends anymore. McKenna didn’t blame her.
Chapter Eight
On November eighth, Montana became the forty-first state and part of the union. Montana’s governor proclaimed the day a holiday and all banks and schools closed so that the public could celebrate.
McKenna was eager to join in the festivities planned in downtown Marietta, and happily accepted an invitation from the Hoffmans to ride in their large wagon. The Hoffmans had a big family, and four of their six children were McKenna’s students. The boys teased her most of the way to town, saying that a New York lady shouldn’t be so excited about Montana’s statehood. She teased them back saying she’d been born in Montana and had more Montana in her little pinky then they did in their entire body.
Mr. Hoffman laughed, and Mrs. Hoffman asked about Butte, saying she’d heard it was such a beautiful city, and she hoped to go there one day. They were all in great spirits when they reached town. Red, blue, and white fabric arches ran the length of Main Street, with patriotic ribbons wrapped around the tree trunks and any available pole. Flags hung from the second story windows while red, white, and blue bunting decorated the windows of businesses on Main.
At the courthouse an enormous flag flew, the flag proudly bearing the forty-first star for the brand new state. The forty-first star was not an official count, and they’d all been warned it wouldn’t be an official count as Washington was to become a state three days later, but the forty-first star meant something to everyone in Marietta that day.
It seemed that the entire community had gathered downtown for the coronation of Miss Copper Mountain, parade, and speeches. McKenna wanted to buy a bag of warm nuts from the man at the corner of the courthouse, but she didn’t have five cents to spare and shook her head regretfully when he held the treat out to her.
In the distance a trumpet sounded, followed by the rat-a-tat-tat of a drum, and the crowd enthusiastically shifted from the park to Main Street, lining both sides of the road to enjoy the parade.
McKenna smiled and cheered with everyone else as the band marched down Main Street, followed by a buggy with dignitaries, and then a handsome gleaming carriage decorated with paper flowers and filled with the pretty girls who were princesses in Miss Copper Mountain pageant. Marietta was celebrating statehood in style, and McKenna could only imagine the celebration in Butte. The world was changing. Four new states were being added to the union from the Northwest Territory, and the possibilities were endless.
Suddenly aware that she was being watched, McKenna turned her head, her gaze scanning the crowd. No one was looking at her, all eyes seemed to be on Marietta’s fire department’s horse and wagon decorated in red and blue ribbon. And then she saw them—Johanna and Mrs. Douglas and another young woman that looked to be a few years younger than McKenna and Johanna. They were standing just a few feet from her on the same side of the street, and as soon as Johanna saw she’d drawn McKenna’s attention, she looked away without acknowledging her.
McKenna felt a pang, but then admonished herself. What did she expect after the visit on Saturday? That she and Johanna would be close friends? That was clearly not going to happen. She shouldn’t be surprised that she’d been rebuffed.
But she was curious about the fashionably dressed young woman standing arm in arm with Johanna. The girl was tall and slender, with mounds of gleaming auburn hair, and dazzling, light-colored eyes. In her fitted green coat and stylish hat, she was far more beautiful than any of the young ladies in today’s Miss Copper Mountain pageant.
Was this the Ellie that Sinclair was courting?
McKenna’s heart fell at the thought, and yet she could see why Sinclair would be attracted to her. She was young and exceptionally pretty and she drew the attention of several men around her.
Suddenly McKenna didn’t want to be standing on Main Street watching a small town parade. She was surrounded by people and yet she felt impossibly alone.
She slipped to the back and walked along the wall, escaping the crowd, having no destination in mind but just desperate to move.
It was a great deal of work pretending not to need people. It was exhausting trying to appear content with her life.
She wasn’t content. She wasn’t at all happy living alone. This wasn’t the life she’d ever wanted but it was the life she had now and she was determined to make it work.
She would make it work, and trust that one day it would be different, and that she would have… more… again. A husband. Children. Family. Love.
Love.
Her eyes burned and she lifted her chin, blinking hard. She focused on the shining dome in the distance, the dome capping the handsome new courthouse that served Crawford County. She could just make out the patriotic swags of red, blue, and white bunting at each window of the second story windows.
“Hello, pretty little miss.” A man who’d clearly enjoyed too much to drink at Grey’s Saloon tipped his hat at McKenna and fell in step next to her.
She ignored him and kept walking, knowing conversation would just encourage him.
But the man needed no encouragement, not when he had whiskey on his breath. He walked closer, pressing almost against her. McKenna tried to walk faster but the parade had ended and the crowds were now shifting on the sidewalk making movement more difficult.
“You’re not very friendly, are you?” The man slurred, his hand going to her elbow.
She shrugged him off and tried to step around two elderly woman but couldn’t manage to get past before the drunkard reached for her again.
“Why are you acting like that? Why not be a bit friendlier on such a special day?”
McKenna turned her head, stared down the man. “Leave me be, sir.”
“Wait, I know you.” He grabbed her arm, holding her still. “Aren’t you Frasier’s girl? You’re that one who—”
“I do not know you. Unhand me immediately!”
Suddenly Sinclair was there at her side. She hadn’t seen him in the crowds, but his deep voice was unmistakable. “Let her go, Finch, before you permanently lose that arm.”
Finch obeyed without hesitation. He stepped away, quickly, hands lifting. “Hey now, Mr. Douglas, no need remove that arm from my body. I’ll never get any work done that way.”
“It won’t be much of a loss,” Sinclair answered. “You don’t get much work done with it.”
“Now that’s not fair, Mr. Douglas. You know I work hard—”
“When you’re sober, and that’s not often. Go home. Stop accosting ladies or I promise you, I’ll be at your door and you won’t like that.” His voice roughened. “Nor will your wife.”
Finch mumbled a garbled apology and turning around, fled.
McKenna’s heart was still pounding as Sinclair focused on her. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Because if he did—”
“I’m fine,” she answered, and she was.
Her pulse wasn’t just racing out of fear. Yes, Mr. Finch had been a nuisance, but he hadn’t frightened her as much as irritated her. Her heart was beating double fast because Sinclair was here, at her side. “And you were magnificent.”
His blue eyes gleamed, creases fanning at the corner of his eyes. “You obviously do not get enough entertainment here.”
“I don’t,” she admitted with a wry smile, “but you were impressive. And, tell me, if he’d manhandled me much more, would you have removed his arm?”
“Yes, absolutely. Just glad I didn’t have to. He has five little Finches at home and I feel for them.”
“He worked for you?”
“He did. I fired him for intoxication after repeated warnings.”
“
So he’s unemployed now?”
“No, the new mine manager rehired him, at half of what he made before, but why not? Cheap labor.”
“I hear your sarcasm.”
His broad shoulders shifted. “You can’t be weak when you’re managing a mine, and you’re not there to be a friend. You’re responsible for every life in that shaft and those tunnels. The men down below are dependent on management to ensure that machinery and equipment are in excellent condition and that safety protocols are being followed. You have to timber correctly, you have to muck correctly, you have to mine correctly. You hire a drunkard and he makes a mistake—and the men he’s working with pay the price.”
“Mr. Finch made a mistake,” she said, understanding now where he was going.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
He shook his head, expression grim. “It’s bad. It’s tragic. You don’t want to know.”
“But I do. It’s my father’s company, and even if my father has disowned me, my last name still is Frasier.”
“No one died that day, but one man lost a leg, and the other was blinded. Neither will ever work again.”
“And my father? What does he do in those situations?”
“Nothing. He’s not responsible.”
“Did he provide anything for the families?”
Sinclair laughed shortly, no humor in the sound. “Come, sweetheart, you know your father better then that.”
“What of the families?”
“You’re the most intelligent woman I’ve ever known. Stop asking questions you know the answers to.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or not. “I’m sorry, and I apologize for my father—”
“They are all like that, McKenna. And not just the mine owners, but the industrialists across the country. There is no protection for the men that labor, and there is no help for the families that lose their husbands to due work injuries, or diseases like miner’s consumption.”
“That’s what killed your dad, wasn’t it?”
He shot her a sharp look. “Who told you that?”
“Johanna.”
Sinclair shook his head, and exhaled. “The crowds are maddening. Shall we walk?” He held out his arm.
She took his elbow, relishing his warmth, and close proximity. She felt almost guilty for feeling so happy. He’d just told her terrible things and yet she was with him, walking with him, moving away from the crowds, west down Second Street. McKenna wasn’t sure where they were going, not did she really care. It just felt so good to feel good.
“How did you get into town?” he asked, as they approached Front Street. They’d left the worst of the crowds behind. It was easy to walk now. No one was there to slow their progress or overhear their conversation.
“The Hoffmans brought me. Not sure if you know the family.”
“They are one of my neighbors,” he answered. “A nice family.”
“They are,” she agreed, “and they are one of the families that look after me. Mrs. Hoffman is always sending a bit of butter or cheese with the boys to school. I’m grateful for—” She broke off as Sinclair’s arm flexed, muscle bunching beneath her hand as he stopped abruptly and lifted her from the street and onto the wooden sidewalk just as a horse and buggy turned the corner sharply, nearly running them down.
Sinclair muttered something about women drivers and McKenna clucked disapprovingly. “Just because she was a woman it doesn’t mean women can’t be excellent drivers.”
“Can be, yes.”
“Men aren’t always better.”
“When it comes to driving—”
“No. It’s not a skill connected to one’s gender.”
“A certain degree of strength is required.”
“Not as much as you’d like to think. Maybe if you have a runaway horse, then yes. But otherwise, its skill and control, and women can be masterful drivers.”
His lips curved as he smiled down at her. “Are you one of those feminists, Miss Frasier?”
She smiled up at him. “Would it shock you to know I was, Mr. Douglas?”
His laugh was soft and low and sent a delicious shiver through her. “No. I fully expect you to be marching one day for the vindication of women’s rights.”
If she hadn’t already loved him, she would have then. “You don’t sound horrified.”
“I suppose I would, if it was Johanna. But you… that’s always been you.”
“So I can have rights, but Johanna shouldn’t?”
“I didn’t say that.” He was moving again, and they stepped off the curb and crossed the street. “I just don’t see it being a cause that Johanna would fight for right now. But you, you’ve always looked for a cause.”
“Have I?” she asked, glancing up into his face. He was so handsome it made her heart hurt a little bit.
“Wasn’t I your very first cause?”
“You were never a cause, Sin.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
They were next to the train depot with the railroad tracks behind. Sinclair paused and asked, “Are the Hoffmans taking you home?”
“Yes. I’m to the meet them in front of the courthouse at half past four.”
“It’s not yet three now.” He glanced across the street, frowned, and then looked back at her. “Have you had anything to eat?”
“I’m waiting until I get home.”
“Which means you do not have money to eat.”
“That’s not what it means. It means I had a substantial breakfast and I’m able to wait until evening for my dinner.”
“So soup, roast, vegetables and what not, are unappealing?”
Her mouth watered. Her stomach had been growling for hours. “I could probably eat a light bite.”
“Soup and roast and vegetables?”
“And cake, if they had it.”
He grinned. “McKenna, you haven’t changed. Come. Let’s see if The Graff can seat us.”
*
As Sinclair escorted McKenna over the railroad track on the way to the Graff Hotel, Marietta’s grandest hotel, the wind picked up, tugging at McKenna’s bonnet, and pulling at the dark coat that covered her simple tweed walking dress. She laughed as her bonnet flew back, and laughed again as her coat flapped open over her skirts.
“A storm is moving in,” he said, seeing the clouds gathering over the Absarokas. “I don’t mind as long as the rain holds off until we get home.”
A paper wrapper scuttled past, and then they were climbing the steps to the hotel’s entrance. He’d been to the Graff numerous times for a meal or a drink in the bar, McKenna was the first woman he’d ever brought here. It somehow seemed appropriate that she be the first as there was no place finer in Crawford or Park County. German businessman Albert Graff had purchased the land five years ago and almost immediately broke ground, but the catastrophic winter storms of 1885 slowed progress, as the heavy, wet snow accumulated too quickly on the roof, bringing the roof down, and destroying the handsome lobby and elegant ballroom.
But Albert had the hotel repaired, finished, and open in time for the summer tourists three years ago, and it continued to be a popular draw for tourists craving a bit of luxury after a visit to Yellowstone.
The hotel management knew Sinclair, but then nearly everyone in Marietta knew him, and he was immediately given a table in the handsome bar as the main restaurant was closed for the holiday.
Sinclair had noticed that people watched their progress across the hotel lobby, and now they were drawing attention in the bar. He wasn’t surprised, though. Even in her severe brown coat and sturdy tweed walking dress, McKenna glowed. Maybe it was because the dark colors contrasted with her pale ivory skin, or maybe it was because whenever she looked up at him, her eyes sparkled. Or maybe it was because she was simply breathtakingly beautiful.
“Am I imagining it, or are people staring?” she whispered, as he helped her coat.
“They were awar
e of you at the Brambles, too.”
“Yes, but that was disapproval. Do all these people disapprove of me, too?”
“Some might.” He held her chair for her, and assisted the chair forward once she was seated. “Others just might find you dazzling.”
She laughed. “Dazzling? Have you looked at me lately? I’m a proper spinster now.”
“A spinster?”
“Yes. I’m twenty-five, and still single, and since I can’t marry and teach, it seems I’m destined to remain a spinster.”
“You could marry.”
“I’d have to give up teaching, then, and I need income.”
“You don’t need income if you marry.”
“I’m not sure I’d trust him to provide.”
He lifted a brow but couldn’t reply as the waiter had arrived at their table. Sinclair wanted to get back to the conversation so he instructed the waiter to bring them whatever they were serving for lunch, adding that he’d like a cider as well.
Sinclair glanced at McKenna. “Would you care for a cider or something sweeter? Sherry, maybe?”
She gave her head a slight shake. “Tea, please,” she answered. “I’m still a little chilled from that wind.”
She didn’t look chilled, he thought, as the waiter moved on. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright and she looked impossibly alive.
“What did you mean that you wouldn’t trust your husband to provide?” he asked.
She shrugged and began taking off her gloves. “Not all husbands are good providers, and not all husbands are generous with their wives, making it difficult for women to manage the households properly. Most of my friends from school have married good men, but there are two who should have done better. One husband can’t keep a job—”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid he’s like your Mr. Finch.”
“I see. And the other?”
“He’s…” Her voice faded and her expression darkened.
“Yes?”
“Not who he pretended to be. He’s not a kind man. He’s quite mean-spirited and all think Frances should leave him, but she won’t.”
“Has she spoken to her father?”