The Union (17 page)

The union was worthy and good. Good for the men, good for their families. Without it the owners would surely exploit them. After all, who were they but uneducated men with brawn and bravery enough to haul ore in damp, dark tunnels? Men foolhardy enough to play with dynamite for a living. The mining engineers and managers would always be well respected and well paid, but the men who did the work? Well, there would always be plenty enough of them willing to work for whatever petty price. At least that's how she imagined the owners thought.

The union on the other hand fought for fair pay and honest, decent treatment of its members. But it was more than a labor union. It was a fraternity, a brotherhood. The union held dances and sponsored social events. The union used dues to pay medical expenses for its members. A lump swelled in her throat. She remembered a cold winter day and a wooden marker on the hill under the pines. The union even paid for funerals. She swallowed. It had paid for Michael's, despite the feelings of some that with his talk of peaceful negotiation with the owners he had turned traitor. Without the union, Michael would have been buried without a funeral. She could not afford one. She wiped a tear away and tossed the sheets next to the door.

Last autumn a few violent men had infiltrated the union. Now they gained power fast and furious. She couldn't let them frighten her. Steeling herself, she walked around the bed and stared at the clutter on the floor. Shards of glass glittered in the sunlight, the broken edges reflecting brilliance like the facets of a diamond. In the center of the destruction lay a naked gray basalt rock, like any other that littered the surrounding hills. She half-expected to find a note wrapped around it, some definite warning. But it was bare, hideous and sinister only by virtue of its use.

She tread cautiously across the floor, broken glass crunching under her boots, and picked up the rock. Suddenly reviled, she stood and impulsively hurled it with as much strength as she possessed out the hole it had made in her window. She watched it fly through the air and disappear into the dense woods behind the building, satisfied only when she heard the thud of its landing. Her eye caught sight of footprints in the small, soggy, flat patch of ground between the house and the hill. Her gaze followed them from around the corner of the building, back around to her window, and then to where they disappeared up the hill.

She began to tremble, first with fear, then with anger. Whatever the rock meant, she wouldn't let it defeat her. She retrieved the broom and swept up. The dustpan trembled as she filled it, matching the meter of her tremulous thoughts. She loathed whoever had meant to ruin her wedding night. On her way out of the room, she picked up the sheets. She dumped them into the washtub to soak, emptied the glass into the garbage, and spun around to nearly collide with McCullough.

"Hello, lass."

"Oh, McCullough!" He smelled good. He looked good. She dropped the dustpan and fell into his arms.
 

"You've been cleaning up, I see. You should have left it to me."

She pulled away enough to look up at him. He watched her with an intense expression.

"You're upset," he said.

"Footprints," she said somewhat cryptically, but McCullough seemed to know what she meant.

"I know, lass. I tracked them up the hill to an empty whiskey bottle. After that, I lost them in the underbrush."

"So our vandal was just a drunk?"

He pulled her back against him and cradled her head against his chest. "Seems so."

McCullough didn't sound convinced. Though she wanted to know if Mr. Waters had said anything about the incident, she didn't press McCullough for information. Whatever he thought, he preferred to keep to himself, and she preferred not to think about. Not at this minute. Not while pressed against McCullough.

"What are you about this morning?" she asked.

"I thought I'd go upstairs to the room. I've got some thinking and planning to do. I'll fix the window later."

"The bed's not made." She didn't know what had made her say it. It seemed more than that she didn't want him thinking she wasn't a fit housekeeper.

"Isn't it, lass?" His eyes sparkled and his voice went thick. She blushed. "Seems a shame to waste an unmade bed."
 

"Aye, it does."

"What are we waiting for, Mrs. McCullough?"

"For you to lead the way."

Dietz acted the role of new husband too well, feeling the strong desire to repeatedly bed Keely. He didn't understand his powerful feelings. He was no virgin, nor had he ever been particularly deprived. And he knew full well the consequences of his actions. If he didn't restrain himself, he would get her with child, and soon. Yet, consumed with desire, he could not stop himself.
 

Naked, Keely rolled away from him, and sat and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Dietz propped up on an elbow and admired her shapely rump, the curve of her back, the smooth, unblemished skin of her shoulders. Keely did, indeed, believe in giving him an eyeful. She turned to look back at him over her shoulder. As she did so, the point of one breast peeked past the arm at her side. He always had loved breasts. Her smile sent him over the edge. Though he had exploded inside her just minutes before, he became aroused again and reached for her.

She laughed and slid out of his reach, coy thing. "I've work to do, McCullough."

"You do indeed."

She turned to face him, standing boldly before him. "Not that kind. Not again until the night. What will the men think of all the thumping going on in here in the middle of the day?"

"You don't want to know."

She stooped to look for her underthings in the jumble of discarded clothes on the floor. Her breasts bounced nicely as she did. She found her chemise, poised it over her head, then dropped it abruptly as something on the floor caught her attention. "Oh, I hadn't even noticed before. Your saddlebag spilled." Her frown turned to a laugh. "We must have bumped the table it rested on as we wrestled our clothes off." She giggled. "Funny what can distract one's attention so they don't notice things." She knelt. "I'll just straighten it up."

He couldn't let her see the photograph of McCullough he'd stuffed in the bag after leaving Waters. He hadn't wanted Waters showing the blasted thing all over town. He may have been able to fool Waters, but how many others would notice the differences between the two men? Dietz felt certain Keely would. Damn. Why hadn't he hidden the thing?

Dietz rolled out of bed, and had her by the hand, stopping her in seconds. Heart pounding, he shoved the paraphernalia back in as she watched him, curious, and bemused. He'd aroused her suspicions.

Then, because he couldn't think of anything to distract her, certainly nothing as pleasant, he caught her and made love to her again, right there on the floor. When they finished, he looked her in the eye. "I'm taking you to Spokane and soon, Mrs. McCullough, to buy you gowns that make you look as pretty dressed as naked."

She laughed. The sound, which should have made him happy, gave him only bittersweet joy.

"Waters told me to keep my wife at home." A look of concern flitted across Keely's face. Was she afraid of Waters? Did she suspect him of being involved with Michael's death? Or was she afraid he'd obey Waters? Dietz hugged her close to reassure her. "What do you say we make a show of this trip, just to prove to Waters I have no intention of keeping such a fine woman home?"

She smiled at him, looking more at ease. "Aye."

"Keely." He suddenly needed to explain. "I told him I couldn't restrain you from your charity work. I have no intention of making you any kind of hostage."

"I love you, McCullough." She kissed him, cutting off the warning he meant to issue. He'd have to tell her later.

The next day McCullough made good on his promise. Keely found herself in the big city, heart of the Inland Empire, Spokane, Washington. Electric streetcars, emblazoned with the Washington Water Power name across the side, buzzed along the roads, chasing horses and carriages out of their way. In every way Spokane embodied the idea of a modern city.

Three years earlier most of the city had burned to the ground. Now, everything was rebuilt, new, modern, and clean. Electricity illuminated shop lights and powered the streetcars. The Washington Water Power Company provided all the electricity in town. Signs and advertisements boasted its state-of-the-art service. Just the year before the company had completed the Monroe Street Station, harnessing the mighty force of the Spokane Falls that tumbled through the heart of the city, damming the once free-flowing Spokane River.

Coming from Gem, where outhouses hung over the creek comprised the city sewage system, wearing a worn, out of fashion work gown, Keely felt like she had suddenly stepped out of the previous century. She hung on McCullough's arm as they strolled down the street, clinging to him, and admiring his composure and confidence as they walked toward the dress shop.

The train ride in had been pleasant, the speed it traveled exhilarating. Keely had never had much occasion to travel, not even the distance of ninety miles to the big city. She scarcely rode the train at all, and never farther than Wallace. The short distance and the grade between Gem and Wallace didn't allow the trains to reach peak speed. Keely had felt like she was flying as the rail car sailed and bumped and hummed over the rails on the ride in, especially seated next to McCullough, who flirted and told stories she could hardly believe about life back East and truly big cities. Staring at him, hearing him speak, chased all rational thought away until she was caught up in nothing but him.

Yet, McCullough seemed enigmatic. Something, some small fear about him resided in the back of her mind. Maybe it was only that she was too happy and could not let it be, or trust that it would last. She sighed. In McCullough, she could see nothing that Michael would have been unhappy with. But there had been a rift between them, a difference of opinion. What was it?

Yesterday, after their loving when she bent to pick up the spilled contents of the saddlebag, McCullough's reaction had compounded her small sense of uneasiness. She was no fool. He didn't want her to see something in that bag. Union business? Something she wouldn't like? Or merely something not her business? She had been tempted to rifle through his things, especially the bag, but honor held her back.

She looked to him and answered his smile as they strolled along. He was too handsome, too perfect, too worldly, too savvy, knew too perfectly what to say, almost an actor playing a role. Something about him didn't exactly match the man of the letters, and Michael's perceptions. But did it follow that personality perfectly exhibited itself in writing and the impression of others? Could it be that he was simply better in person? Silly fears. Why should she worry about being too content?

He'd taken her to dinner at a restaurant with white linen tablecloths and crystal glasses, and ordered her things too rich and sumptuous to enjoy every day. Then he took her on her first streetcar ride, and now to the dress shop. They ascended the steps. He smiled and held the door open for her. A bell tinkled overhead and a woman greeted them, offering her assistance.

"What may I help you with today?" The proprietress's voice carried the proper cultured, modulated tone to indicate respect. Deitz felt grateful that despite Keely's blatantly working class dress, the shopkeeper did not choose to act superior. Well, with the mining country so near, and fortunes being made every day, maybe outfitting such women was not uncommon.

Keely turned to him, obviously hesitant. Dietz loved her innocence, her sense of wonder. Dietz answered without hesitation. "We've come to purchase a new gown for my wife. We'll also need the required undergarments to get the proper look."

"Evening or day wear?"

The woman's question momentarily stumped him. What was appropriate for Keely? What would she have a chance of wearing? "Day. Something to wear to church and special occasions, and another simpler gown for everyday wear. For wearing while attending to household duties."

The woman smiled, her attention already focused on Keely. "Hmm. Small and trim as she is, with such a slender waist, I believe your wife will look beautiful in just about anything, sir. But I have a suggestion for the special occasion gown that I think you will like, but it is not ready-made. However, I have a pattern and drawing I can show you." The woman frowned barely perceptibly. "For the everyday dress, I think ready-made should suffice. We carry a fine selection. I'm confident we'll find one you like. I also have a large stock of undergarments and accouterments."

She showed them to a desk and leafed through a pattern book, finally finding the design she sought. She turned the book around to face them. Keely had remained mute, but when she saw the drawing her eyes grew round.

"I picture it made up in emerald green glacé." The woman reached for a swatch, and handed it to Keely.

The woman knew her business. Emerald had been the color Dietz had in mind for Keely all along.

"We'll cover it in black striped drapery net, and decorate the bottom of the skirt with emerald ribbon drawn through slashes in the drapery." The woman nodded, caught up in her designing. "Bertha frills, a standing collar, ribbon to accent the vee of the yoke at the waist, a rosette ribbon at the waist, leg-o'-mutton sleeves."