The Union (8 page)

It was always possible she'd hid them somewhere else. But he couldn't risk searching the public area in the middle of the day.

Dietz dug a notebook and pen out from his bag. Within minutes he'd detailed the union's plan of attack for Thursday. Time to make a trip into the big city of Wallace, Idaho.

Chapter 5

As far as towns went, Wallace wasn't much. To the extreme north, just across the river, the long flat railroad depot dominated the landscape. Trains pulled in and out on tracks located on the north side of the building. Beyond that the wilderness crept in. Conveniently located just across the river, on the opposite side of the street, the local brothel beckoned to the mostly male clientele who rode the trains down from the mining camps. Farther up the street several woodplank buildings, including the general store and the post office, faced off across a patch of mud.
 

Dietz went directly to the combination post office and general store that Patterson had told him about. As he walked in, a bell tinkled over his head. An old man behind the counter looked up from a newspaper and adjusted his glasses for a better look at Dietz.

"Help you?"

Dietz smiled. Always appear friendly. "I need to mail a letter."

"And who might you be?" the old man asked.

Suspicion ran deep in these parts. "Ian McCullough."

"McCullough, you say?"

"Arrived yesterday. I'm staying in Gem. Going to marry Miss Keely Byrne. Know her?"

"Miss Byrne? Why didn't you say so? So you're the fellow she's been waiting for." He scrutinized Dietz before nodding to himself in apparent approval. "You treat her nice, young man. That little gal is poor as a church mouse, but the biggest angel of mercy I ever seen. Always working at the union hall, serving food to them that's got none. Bringing baskets of supplies to others. Nursing those that get sick." He winked at Dietz. "And she's mighty pretty to boot."

Dietz's laugh boomed through the building. "That she is."

"Well, you got a letter. Hand it over."

Dietz gave the old man his letter and followed him from the counter to the barred mail window. The old man let himself into the post office through a door on his side of the counter. He glanced at the address. "California, eh?"

"Got friends down there." Before leaving Denver, Dietz had been instructed to mail all reports to an operative in California, who then forwarded them to the owners. Mailing them directly to the owners would have been foolhardy and dangerous.

The old man weighed out the letter. Dietz handed him the postage due. "You got a telegraph office in town?" he asked. The report wouldn't reach the owners in time. In case of an emergency, like now, he could wire the New York office in code. He had to chance it.

The old man pointed to a telegraph machine at the back of the office. "There it be. But it won't do you no good. I don't know how to run the blasted thing. My assistant postmaster is sick, didn't come in today."

"Oh."

"You need to wire someone right away?"

"No, no hurry. Got friends back East. Just want to let them know I got here safely."

The old man nodded.

Dietz took a chance. "I know how to run those things."

"Do you?" the old man said. "Then help yourself." He lifted the hinged counter and let Dietz through. "The rate schedule is on the board. Leave the money in the till beside the machine."

Dietz barely contained his amazement. Keely's reputation spoke for itself. He couldn't have picked a better cover. No one came in while he telegraphed his message and the old man didn't seem to pay any attention to it. Not that the innocuous sounding code words should alarm him. When Dietz finished, he left the money as instructed and went to the counter. He cleared his throat and tried to act self-conscious.

"You know, I came to town for more than to just mail a letter. That's the excuse I gave Keely for leaving."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I actually came to buy her a present. I meant to bring one from back East with me, but I couldn't see hauling one across the country. So I came in to buy her something. You have anything nice and pretty? Something that would make her happy?"

The old man laughed. "Fair wages and decent mining hours would make Miss Keely happy. But I'll see what we have."

Half an hour later Dietz walked out of the store with one of just about every feminine, dainty thing the store carried. The old man was a salesman, that was certain. Dietz laughed to himself. Presents for today, presents for the wedding. And it was all on the mine owners. What the hell? They owed her a little something.

Keely hummed as she came down the hall, her hand full with a fresh bouquet of ladyslippers for McCullough's room. She'd stopped by the flower patch on her way home from Lacy's. Picking flowers always calmed her nerves. Poor Lacy. Keely couldn't get her out of her mind. To have to marry someone she could barely tolerate! Keely came around the corner into the hall. McCullough's door was closed. She didn't think much about it, just turned the handle and stepped inside.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She stammered over herself. "I thought you were out."

McCullough sat on the bed reading some letters. In that brief moment, she recognized her own handwriting and stationery. He shoved the letters aside, looking like a boy who just got caught sneaking his daddy's whiskey.

Seeing the look she gave him, he smiled and cleared his throat. "Just doing a little light reading." He picked the letters up again and showed them to her.

"My letters to you?" she asked.

"Yeah. Come in."

She walked in slowly.

"Just trying to put the beautiful woman you are together with the intelligent woman of the letters." He sounded sincere enough.

"Do compliments always drip off you like warm honey off a spoon?"

His laugh filled the room. Such a pleasant sound. "Just around you."

She smiled back at him. "You kept my letters?"

He looked sheepish. "Every one." He held up a stack large enough to account for two years’ worth of correspondence.

He began reading aloud. "April 23, 1891. Dear McCullough, I went out flower picking today to get away. The pressures of running the house and the always present strain swirling through the Valley kept my dreams weighted down.
 

"I found the first purple birdbills of spring and a few lingering buttercups—"

Keely sat down next to him. She hated to stop his mesmerizing voice, or draw attention back to herself, but embarrassed, she pulled the letter from him. "You shouldn't be reading these again. You'll embarrass me."

"Shy?"

"No. You ought to know that." She squirmed. Did he notice? "They're not worth repeating."

"Aren't they?" McCullough nodded to the bedside table where she'd laid the ladyslippers. "I think you bared your soul more than you know. I see you stopped to pick wildflowers today. Something bothering you?"

She imagined herself staring at him with her mouth popped open. But she managed to keep it shut. It was like the man read her mind. "I told you yesterday I'd get you fresh flowers."

He laughed. "My coming bothered you. Or were you dreaming out there? Maybe about me."

"Maybe." She looked down, afraid of further inspection.

"I did the best I could to represent myself accurately in my letters. At least, the essence of who I am. I hope seeing me didn't disappoint you?"

His words startled her into looking up. How could he imagine any woman would find fault with his looks? She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"Don't answer that." He laughed in a self-deprecating way. "I'm always sticking my foot in my mouth. That wasn't any kind of question to ask a woman. What I meant is, are you having second thoughts?"

"Oh, no!" Her words rushed out faster than she intended. She felt a blush flash over her face.

"Good." He was still smiling and those fabulous violet eyes of his were dancing with what? Amusement? Joy? She didn't care, as long as they were happy. She looked down again.

"So, were you daydreaming out there among the flowers? Or is something else bothering you?" He stood up. She watched him remove the old flowers from the vase and replace them with the new. "No use letting these die." Bless him. He was trying to put her back at ease.

"It's my friend Lacy."
 

He sat back down beside her. She told him the story.
 

"Sounds to me like she made the right decision. Isn't that what marriage is about? It isn't always love and romance. Sometimes it's just survival. Isn't that part of our reasoning, too?"

She must have looked shocked.
 

"Part, I said. It's part of any marriage. In some a larger piece than others. Your friend Lacy might have a bigger slice of it than you'd like, but she'll make out all right, I think."

"You're probably right."

He covered her hand with his, and squeezed. His simple touch, so caring and innocent, sent a current of warmth over her. Before she could fully savor or understand it, he pulled away and reached across the bed. An instant later he held a paper wrapped package out to her. "Brought you something." His eyes twinkled.

"You're full of surprises, McCullough."

"I am. Open it."
 

She pulled a dainty lace hanky from the paper and a pair of lace gloves to match. "Oh, McCullough! How beautiful. Thank you."

He nodded. "Thought the hanky would look pretty tucked in your apron pocket. Add glamour."

She laughed to hide her self-consciousness. "You got these in Wallace, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Caught."

What a rogue! "Mr. Blakely is quite the salesman. What else did he talk you into buying?"

McCullough laughed. "Give me some credit. I had the idea of buying you something in the first place." He nodded toward the package in her lap. "How'd you recognize them?"

"I've had my eye on them awhile. Just never could afford them myself."

His smile lit his eyes. "Then I did good. You can wear the gloves in the flower patch. To fuel your dreams, Keely." His voice broke with tenderness.

"Is that what Mr. Blakely told you?" Men—they'd never understand feminine things. "I can't wear these picking flowers. I'll ruin them."

"Sure you can." He sounded emphatic.

"No, I can't."

He looked resigned. She didn't understand his exasperation. "Then I'll get you a pair of gardening gloves and you can wear these whenever you want."

Stupid little sentimental tears of happiness piled up in her eyes. Wide-eyed, she tried to blink them away before he noticed.

"You know, all those years of reading your letters, I had an idea of what your voice sounded like. Sweet and feminine. I heard that same voice every time I read them. But it wasn't your voice. Yours is much sweeter." He handed her a letter. "Read your letters to me, Keely. Let me hear them as you thought them."

She shook her head and laughed at her own emotionalism.
 

"Come on." His voice was low and coaxing. "No? I would read mine to you, if I could. I'd lay my soul bare to you, Keely. I want you to know me, and I, you."

"You can read them to me, McCullough. I kept them. I'll let you read to me but not now. I've got to pull myself together and get downstairs and start cooking." She forced herself to stand, clutching her gifts to her bosom like children.
 

"Thank you for the gifts." She hurried from the room, closing the door behind her. She paused in the hall to take a deep breath and still her heart. What a man McCullough was! Reading her letters in secret like a sentimental fool. He couldn't have touched her any deeper if he'd planned to. She sighed and headed downstairs to start cooking.

So she had kept the letters, Dietz thought, as he watched the door swing closed behind Keely. Where? Did it matter? She'd read them to him.

For a moment, when she surprised him by walking in, he thought he'd been found out. But he read people with innate skill and his smooth tongue had prevailed, like always. A man who couldn't think fast, and lie with equal speed, didn't last long in his occupation. How could it have been so easy?

All he'd had to do was turn on the charm. He didn't even need to lie much. He did want know who she was, and he did want to hear those letters. But this time something gnawed at his conscience. He didn't like examining the reasons, but his inner voice shouted at him just the same. He, John Dietz, wanted to know who she was.

Dietz crouched in the underbrush surveying the railroad tracks. The train would be coming from the south. He hadn't seen the site before. The union boys had picked a good one. The train would round a bend and have just enough time to see the slide and halt.

The landslide looked good, natural. Whoever the dynamiter had been, and the union brass were keeping it secret, had talent. Dietz smiled to himself, remembering the previous night. The blast had sounded just after dark as he, Keely, and the other boarders he'd been playing cards with were about to call it a night.