The Union (7 page)

Dietz sat facing the judge in a cramped room in the temporary Gem Union headquarters building located just down the street from the boardinghouse. He, Judge Brown, President O'Brien, Joe Poynton, Gem Union President Sam Waters and several other dignitaries crowded around a circular table going over plans to hold up the next scab train.

"How do we know Waller told us the truth?" O'Brien asked.

"For cripes sakes, he was trying to save his own skin. Why would he lie? He didn't have enough wits left at that point to think to try." The judge was as gruff and impatient as always.
 

"What if Waller talked to his fellow scabs, and told them what he told us?" Waters looked pointedly at Dietz, like he should be blamed for this new worry.

"What if? What does it matter? We've got scouts everywhere and the canyon blockaded. How are the scabs going to get to town to wire and warn the owners?" The judge glared at Waters, his disgust for the man evident.

"We still don't know the time," Waters argued.

"Doesn't matter," Dietz said. "We'll place lookouts down the canyon to watch for the train. The men need something to keep them occupied and out of trouble, even if it's just twiddling their thumbs on lookout duty."

"McCullough makes a good point," O'Brien said. "It's best to keep the men busy. But whatever the plan, it's got to be legal, or at least look legal, or we risk turning public sentiment against us."

"We arrest and turn back them blasted scabs in Wallace, just like we planned to the first time. It's still just as illegal to import armed thugs today as it was last month," said Poynton without the slightest trace of irony.

"The owners ran their train through Wallace without stopping last time. Why would they change their minds now?" The judge drummed the table.

"Let's blockade the entrance to the Gem and get them there," Waters said.

"Nah. Too risky. The scabs have that place armed and guarded like a fortress."

"Ambush them between Wallace and the Gem," Dietz said.

"How is that legal?" O'Brien asked.

"Have the Sheriff's posse waiting, blocking the tracks ready to arrest them. If they don't submit, we get them for resisting, or firing at an officer of the law." Dietz stared at the intense faces around him.

"Where?"

Dietz pointed to the map spread out in front of them. "You men know the area better than I do. You tell me." The men around him smiled.

"What if they don't stop?" Waters asked. "How do we know they won't just plow over our men?"

"It won't be our men on the tracks. We'll stage a small landslide. They won't risk derailment to go plowing over that, but they won't suspect us either. From what I've heard, you've had a wet spring. Lots of hillsides eroded and gave way earlier this spring, giving the railroad fits. It's rained heavily off and on over the last week. It's not beyond the imagination that an already weakened hillside would collapse now." Dietz stretched back and tapped his pencil on the table. "We'll need to select a spot near a hillside but with plenty of cover. And we need someone with dynamiting experience. We'll have to blow the hill tomorrow night. Either that or we get a crew of men to dig it out. We must move quickly, under cover of darkness."

"I don't know. It sounds risky." Waters hedged again. "Those damned owners are bound to be suspicious of just about everything. Won't the engineer be warned to be cautious?"

"Sure. He'll be nervous about slowing, but we'll be well-concealed. Besides, what option will they have? Our main concern will be the scabs. They'll be heavily armed this time around," Dietz said.

"And so will we," the judge said. His smile reached ear to ear. "So will we."

Waters finally smiled, looking pleased with himself. "See why I hired him, boys? McCullough knows his stuff."

Keely wrapped the leftover biscuits from the night before in a clean cloth and set them in the basket she’d prepared for Lacy Hardrow. She pulled the cookie jar to the front of the counter, lifted the lid, and peered in. Three cookies stared back at her. She scooped them out and wrapped them with the biscuits. Time to bake again. The men got fussy if they didn't get their sweets, but Lacy and the children needed the cookies more.

She frowned at the basket. What she'd packed looked like a pitifully small amount, but she couldn't afford more. Then, as she had agreed to with the owners of the boardinghouse, she dropped a nickel into the cash jar to pay for the food before covering the basket with another cloth and removing her apron.

Poor Lacy—ever since Jim had died in the mines, she'd had a hard time supporting those children. Taking in wash brought in too little money. Keely sighed. Lacy should have had this job, but the owners didn't want a woman with children. Too unreliable. That was silly, of course. Mrs. Shipley ran Mr. Allison's rooms and store smooth as you please and she had that cute little five-year-old boy. Providence smiling on Keely meant greater deprivation for Lacy. Keely felt obligated to help her out. But then, she felt called to help out whomever she could. And without the men working, many families needed help.

Soon Lacy would be forced into marrying again. There were few women and plenty of men, but with the mines shut down not many men felt like marrying. And with no income for two months, most men were liabilities anyway.

Times couldn't be stranger. Usually, men had the great hankering to get married. Marriage improved a man's life, but doomed the woman to a baby every other year and with it more and more work. A man got a housekeeper, cook, and companion, with the immeasurable bonus of easy, frequent access to sex. Around these parts, a wife and a set of children didn't cost much more than a whore. Marrying was a sight more convenient than standing in line down at the Lux Building in Wallace on Saturday night, waiting for a turn with a fancy lady. But a man could rid himself of a whore easier than a wife. Rumor had it that even the Lux suffered in the face of the strike. Men had no spare change, and what they did have, they spent on whiskey.

Of course, women had their own reasons for marrying—survival being chief among them. At least men had a means of providing for themselves, but women had few options. You took in wash, or cooked, and survived at the poverty level, or you ended up on your back at the Lux. And most presumably died early, either of disease or shame. Keely shuddered. None of them pretty options.

How grateful she felt for McCullough. He stirred in her a deep, earthy longing. As silly as it sounded, when she looked into his eyes or listened to his deep voice, she knew she'd found her mate. With their shared beliefs and goals, and the strong attraction she felt to him, how could their union be anything but perfect?

Her only concern—McCullough's stalling. Earlier in the morning, she hadn't missed his reluctance. She watched him struggle to come up with some plausible excuse to delay the wedding—why? She saw desire when he looked at her. Was it as he'd said, devotion to duty and union business? It had to be, and she had to admit that was what she most admired about him. Well, it used to be. Now she wasn't so sure it wasn't his fine, tall physique and nearly violet eyes.

Forgetting she'd removed her apron, she wiped her damp palms on her skirt. Oh, blast! Thinking about McCullough was making her daft. She picked up the basket and headed for Lacy's.

Lacy's small, unpainted cabin sat at the edge of the camp. Her children played on the solitary step out front. When they saw Keely coming, they ran to meet her. She pulled the cookies from the basket and handed them out. Watching their joy warmed her.

Lacy must have heard their happy squeals. She appeared in the doorway. Plain , round-faced Lacy Hardrow had a florid complexion, red hair to match, and a stout build. Not a beauty by any stretch, she was nonetheless a kind woman and good friend to Keely.

"Hello, Keely. What's this? You haven't even set foot in the yard and you're feeding my children cookies?"

"I had to, Lacy. They expect it."

Lacy waved Keely into the house. "Come on in and tell me all the news. I hear your man McCullough arrived yesterday."

"He did. Who told you?"

"Mrs. Shipley."

"And what did she say about him?"

"You know Mrs. Shipley. She doesn't run on or gush. But she did say he's not bad to look at."

"Not bad! He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen!"

Lacy laughed. "He's gotten to you already, has he?"

"Oh, Lace, I can't tell you. I shouldn't tell you. But you know how I worried before that I wouldn't be attracted to him. Well, it seems it was all for naught."

Lacy laughed again. "Poor Lunn. I imagine his hopes are dashed. I think he wished McCullough would turn out to be ugly."
 

"Too bad for Lunn. McCullough's looks wouldn't have stopped me from marrying him. I'm a person of deeper honor and convictions than that. Now I don't get a chance to prove it, is all."

"So, handsome face aside, is he like his letters?"

Keely hesitated. Lacy noticed immediately. "What's wrong?"

"I haven't had much chance to talk with him. He had barely put his bags in his room when Mr. Allison dragged him off to some union doings. This morning he left early. So, in a way, I guess you could say he is. He's a true union man." Keely bit her lip. "Something's brewing. Something big."

"These days, isn't it always?" Lacy sounded almost sad.

Worried, Keely frowned. But Lacy cut in before she could speak. "So when's the wedding?"

"A week from Thursday."

"So long? You don't sound happy."

"I wanted to get married sooner, this Thursday. But he claims to have an all-day engagement with the union." She paused. "I can't put my finger on it, Lacy. Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems like he's stalling."

"I'm sure he does have a meeting." Lacy laughed. "Take a good look in the mirror someday, Keely. If you aren't the prettiest woman in the Valley, I don't know who is. Not like others of us." Tears welled in Lacy's eyes.
 

"Lace?"

Lacy wiped angrily at her eyes. "Didn't mean to sound self-pitying." Keely heard her draw a deep breath. "Got my own news." Her smile seemed half-hearted. "I'm getting married myself on Thursday. I was kind of hoping for a double wedding."

Keely shouldn't have been shocked, but her senses reeled. "To whom?"

"Kyle Vandergaard."

Kyle Vandergaard was dull, dumb, big, and lumbering. The best that could be said of him was that he worked ploddingly and tirelessly, like the endlessly cud chewing cows he cared for. Keely fought to keep her disappointment to herself. "How nice."

"No, it isn't. But my babies got to eat. Working at the dairy like he does, Kyle's got work. The children like him. He'll be a good father. For me he won't be like, well, like Jim." The tears that brimmed earlier spilled onto Lacy's cheeks. "I'll always miss that man." It was the merest whisper, but it choked Keely with an odd combination of sentiment and anger. The mines took so much.

"And he's got himself a nice, safe job," Lacy continued.

"A woman does what she has to do. What else could you do? Jim would understand. You'll be fine." At that moment, Keely was never so thankful to providence for giving her McCullough.

When Dietz returned to the boardinghouse, Keely was out. He strode down the hall and let himself into her room. When you were somewhere you shouldn't be, it always paid to look like you belonged. With one ear cocked to the door, he visually mapped the room, marking an escape route. Rule number two—know your exits, in case she came back unexpectedly. A window at the rear of the room opened to the back of the building and a dense stretch of woods. He tried the window latch. It swung open easily. A leap, a couple of long strides, and he'd be hidden in underbrush and evergreens before she realized anyone had been there.

Plain and sparsely furnished, her room didn't surprise him. Two dresses hung in the cupboard, both of them old and worn. He wondered what she planned on wearing to the wedding that wouldn't be taking place. He didn't see any other options.

A framed photograph of a man sat on her bedside table next to a vase of flowers that matched the one in his room. Michael—it had to be. The resemblance to Keely was striking. His gaze moved on and he went to work. Searching rooms had become routine well back in his early detective days.

The search lasted mere minutes. Nothing under the bed, no trunk of any sort. The bedside table had only the book he’d given her earlier in the morning. The chest of drawers—only two contained anything. One, a second set of undergarments too thin and threadbare to conceal anything. The next, a hanky, an embroidered pillowcase, a small purse holding a handful of change, and a sachet of dried lavender. Keely Byrne owned next to nothing. He didn't know why it should, but her poverty upset him.

He shook his head ironically. Plenty of room for McCullough to move in. Both into this room and her life. He'd buy her a few trinkets. Maybe then she wouldn't be so suspicious about McCullough's sudden cold feet. He moved toward the door.

No letters? Maybe she wasn't as sentimental as he presumed. Maybe she hadn't kept the letters. He had no way of knowing, but they weren't in her room. He slid out, latching the door softly behind him, and went back through the kitchen to his own room.