CHAPTER
4

Kirby Finch stood in front of the building in downtown Pittsburgh that housed the offices of Finch Mining and Company. From an early age, Kirby had known he was expected to become the “and Company” portion of the business. Back then he hadn’t aspired to fill the position. He still didn’t. While he enjoyed the benefits that his father’s business afforded him, Kirby had no interest in the company. Or in work of any sort, for that matter.

He much preferred to spend his days and evenings partaking in amusements of various sorts, primarily gambling—an illegal activity, yet one at which Kirby excelled. At least most of the time. He cared little whether it was horse racing, playing cards, or wagering on fisticuffs.

Kirby turned to the policeman, who remained close to his side. “You sure we can’t work something out? If you wait down here, I’ll be back in no time with the money to cover my fine.”

The officer shook his head. “The only reason you were released is because your father is Milton Finch. If it was my son who’d broken the law, he’d be in jail until I put up the money to bail him out.”

There was enough bitterness in his voice that Kirby didn’t argue further. Side by side, the two of them ascended the marble steps leading to his father’s office. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. Kirby’s last escapade had resulted in an ultimatum from his father. If he couldn’t convince his father otherwise, Kirby would be on a train to Finch, West Virginia, in the very near future.

The policeman knocked on his father’s office door, then nodded to Kirby. “Don’t just stand there. You heard him say ‘come in’ and so did I.”

Kirby turned the brass doorknob and forced a broad smile. His father’s expression of pleasure swiftly turned to one of surprise and then anger. He pushed away from his desk and closed the distance between them in record time. His eyes burned with rage. “What have you done now, Kirby?” His attention moved from Kirby and lingered on the policeman.

The officer released his grasp on Kirby’s arm. “Your son was among a group of men who were gambling in the back room of an establishment on Penn Avenue. We got a tip there were some high-stake games taking place most every afternoon. Guess they thought we wouldn’t suspect anything illegal was going on before dark.” He shook his head. “We’re not as uninformed as most criminals think we are.”

Milton Finch’s jaw twitched. “So you were arrested? For gambling? Again?” He punched each question like an angry boxer going for a knockout.

“So long as I pay the fine, the judge says he’ll release me to your supervision. I assured the judge he won’t see me in court again. I’ve learned my lesson. I promise it won’t happen anymore, Father.”

“I’ve heard that promise before. I’ll pay the fine, but this time you’ll pay the consequences of your behavior.” He turned to the policeman. “How much? I’ll write out a check to the court.”

Minutes later, the policeman tucked the check into his pocket and strode past Kirby on his way out the door. Kirby hesitated, uncertain whether he should sit down before being invited.

His father shoved his large leather-clad checkbook into the center drawer of his massive desk. “Don’t just stand there staring out the window. Sit down. We’re going to have a long talk about your future.”

Kirby dropped into one of the chairs opposite his father. “I know it’s time for me to take hold and do my part.”

“Stop right there, Kirby. You’re not going to smooth-talk yourself out of trouble this time. The last time you got yourself into trouble, I told you to be prepared to make a move to our coal mine in West Virginia. I plan to keep that promise.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands across his midsection. “I’m going to send you down there to work. There’s unrest brewing among the miners. Maybe you can help discover who’s causing the problem. We can’t afford a strike, and I sure don’t want the union coming in there and organizing the men. You’ve proved you’re talented in sniffing out illegal activity. Let’s see if you can use that same ability to find out who’s causing the trouble in Finch.”

Kirby drew in a sharp breath and prepared to battle the decision, but his father immediately waved him to silence.

“I’m not changing my mind. You can argue as long as you like, but you’ll be on a train to Finch by week’s end.”

“Since I’m being forced to leave home, I’m sure you’ll want to increase my wages.”

His father laughed. “Quite the opposite. You’ll be paid only enough to cover room and board with a little extra to purchase necessities, but not enough to bankroll your gambling habit.”

“That isn’t a fair exchange. I’m being sent off to live in a boardinghouse with strangers in a town where I don’t know a soul, and now you tell me you’re going to pay me next to nothing.”

“What isn’t fair is the way you’ve squandered every cent you’ve been given since coming to work for the company. You’ve never given me an honest day’s work, and now you complain I’m being unfair.” His father shrugged. “If you don’t like the arrangement, you can go out there and make your own way in the world.”

Kirby winced. He couldn’t carve out a place in the world. He didn’t even have enough money to buy his dinner. If only he’d saved a portion of the wages he’d been paid since coming to work for his father. But he hadn’t—not a cent. And now he’d pay the price for his careless choices and illegal activities.

“How long do I have to stay there?” Kirby rubbed the kink in his neck.

His father stood. “Until the problems are solved.”

Hope fretted for the five additional days that she and her father remained in Brookfield. With each passing day, her fears had deepened. If her father learned of her encounters with the local hooligans, she had no idea what he might decide about her future. Every time she taught the children, she felt more assured that she belonged at her father’s side doing the Lord’s work and she didn’t want that to change. Two days ago, the railroad company offered to hook the chapel car onto a train going to Finch, but her father had refused. He’d promised to complete the much-needed repairs at the schoolhouse before they departed. And her father wasn’t a man who would break his word.

Today the chapel car had been moved from the spur and coupled with a train going to Finch. Hope wouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until the train had departed the station. Her father exited their car and stepped to the rear platform. He gestured to several of the workers and called out his thanks for joining their car to the train. One of the men chuckled and shook his head. “You shoulda let us hook you up to the train going to Finch a couple days ago. This here locomotive couldn’t pull a settin’ hen off her nest. Gonna take you a lot longer to get through the mountains.” He tipped his cap. “Good luck to ya. Enjoyed your sermons and hope to hear ya preach again. You maybe oughta whisper a few prayers afore you head up those mountain passes.”

Another trainman nudged his friend in the side. “Stop trying to scare him, Henry. Ain’t no snow this time of year, so they’ll get through the passes just fine. Maybe a little slower than most, but just fine.”

The men’s banter could be heard through the open windows of the chapel car. Hope winced. She had hoped to relax once the train left Brookfield, but now she wondered if they’d ever make it to Finch.

The train belched a cloud of black smoke that slowly drifted to the rear of the train and through the open window. A long whistle signaled their departure as the chapel car lurched, jerking Hope forward. Her father held tight to the iron railing while he stepped inside and dropped into his chair. “Well, we’re on our way.” As the train chugged away from the station, he shot her a bright smile. “I thought you’d be singing for joy.” His smile faded. “Something troubling you?”

“Didn’t you hear the men at the station? It sounds as though the locomotive on this train is far from reliable. What if we get stuck in the mountains?”

“Those trainmen were joking. We may not arrive in Finch as quickly as we might have with another locomotive pulling us, but we’ll arrive safe and sound. You can use the time to prepare some new lessons. We’ll be in Finch for some time, and you won’t want the children to tire of hearing the same stories over and over.”

Hope opened the desk and flicked through the folders her father had received from the ministry headquarters. She clasped her hand around a bulging folder labeled CHILDREN and lifted it from the drawer. Along with the preprinted tracts and lessons, there were designs to make crafts as well as short skits for children to perform. Unlike their other stops along the way, they’d be in Finch long enough to make use of these ideas. Her excitement mounted as she considered the possibility of the children performing a Christmas pageant, or the joy they’d experience giving their mother or father some special gift they made in her Sunday-school class.

Images of the success she would have once they were able to establish a routine in the mining town flashed before her. She pictured towheaded boys and girls dressed in their Sunday best, flocking to the chapel car. Or maybe there would be a church like the one in Brookfield that was in need of a preacher to fill the pulpit. Wouldn’t that be grand! Folks wouldn’t have to squeeze into the chapel car for meetings, and she might even have a special room where she could teach the children.

The train slowed and panted for new life before gradually chugging up another steep incline. With each ascent, Hope’s breathing turned shallow. When they finally arrived at the top, she blew out a breath. “I hope that’s the last mountain. I don’t think this train will make another climb.”

Her father gestured for her to turn and look out the window. “I believe we’re coming down into Finch right now.”

Hope twisted around in her seat and peered out the window during their descent. “Look at those houses. They look like they’re clinging to the side of the hill. I’m amazed they don’t topple over and wash away in a rainstorm.”

Her father closed his Bible and put it inside the desk. “I’m sure they’re quite safe. Some of them have probably been on that hillside for many years.”

No doubt he was right, but the ramshackle wooden houses looked no stronger than a row of matchsticks. There was nothing appealing about the sight, and she now wondered if the main portion of the town would be any more attractive. Their earlier stops had been in small towns, most of them somewhat impoverished, but they’d all had access to the main rail lines and weren’t so isolated. This coal camp was serviced by only one railroad trunk line, which catered to the coal company rather than to passengers. Of course, the coal camp was the end of the line and they’d come through only one other small town on the way. Still, Hope hadn’t expected to be surrounded by nothing but wilderness. Her father had assured her there were other small communities to the north and south, yet she wondered if he was merely attempting to appease her worries.

Hope smiled weakly. “Looks like we’re in for quite an adventure. Somehow it feels as though we’ve departed civilization.”

Her father chuckled. “I wouldn’t go quite that far. I’m sure we’ll both have a bit of an adjustment, but I think folks here will be much the same as those we’ve encountered since leaving Pittsburgh—glad to have a preacher and his daughter arrive in town.”

When they’d departed Brookfield, she hoped they might move into a real house and temporarily leave their cramped quarters in the chapel car. However, one look at the wooden houses perched on the surrounding hillsides had changed her mind. Their limited space on the railroad tracks wouldn’t be as worrisome as living in one of those houses.

A loud hoot announced their arrival, and soon one of the trainmen stepped into their car. He nodded toward the depot. “Not much of a station here.” He shot them a wry look. “’Course it ain’t much of a town neither, but I guess you knowed that or you woulda gone somewhere else. Just wanted to let ya know we’ll be moving your car onto that spur before we load the coal cars and head out. If ya don’t want to suffer through all the jostling, ya could take a walk into the main part of town. Ain’t much to look at, but ya might meet a few folks at the company store.”

Hope stood and reached for her father’s hand. “Oh, please, let’s go, Papa. I need to stretch my legs for a while. We can hand out leaflets to folks while we’re walking through town.” Before her father could answer, she stepped to a storage crate near the desk and removed a handful of the flyers.

Her father pushed up from his chair, retrieved his hat, and grinned at the trainman. “It looks as though we’re going into town.”

The worker tipped his hat before jumping down from the car. “Next time the train’s in Finch, I’ll try to attend a meetin’. You folks take care.” After shouting his parting words, he scuttled off and disappeared from sight.

Hope handed the flyers to her father, then pinned her hat into place and made a futile attempt to finger-press the creases from her skirt. She sighed. After sitting for several hours, wrinkles were to be expected. Perhaps the walk into town would relax the fabric a bit. She wanted to make a favorable impression upon their new neighbors, but not enough to take time and change or press the offending creases from her skirt.

Not far from the train depot, they made a left turn onto the county road that had developed into the main street of Finch, as well. Hope scanned the crooked line of wooden structures that constituted the Finch business district. It was a far cry from Pittsburgh. Instead of bustling into the new century, Finch looked as if it had ceased progress decades ago. Her stomach tightened. The other small towns on their route between Pittsburgh and Finch hadn’t offered the amenities of a large city, but she’d observed a sense of pride in the communities and an urgency to expand and grow. Finch appeared tired and worn, like an abandoned settlement left to die a slow death.

Hope circled around a deep rut in the road. “From the look of things around here, folks don’t take much pride in their town.”

“There’s usually a reason, my dear. Perhaps folks don’t have the funds to keep their homes or businesses in good repair. My carpentry skills can be put to good use here in Finch. I think the Lord is providing me with an opportunity to become acquainted with lots of folks who need help.”

“I suppose that’s a good way to look at things, but it would take a lifetime for one man to get this town presentable.” She looked toward the houses perched on the hillside. “And another lifetime to get those houses repaired and painted.” She gave her father a sideward glance. “But knowing you, I’m sure you’ll do your best to get it all done in less than a month.”

“Oh, I think I’ll need at least six weeks.” Her father’s laughter was contagious, and Hope joined in. He lightly grasped her elbow and directed her to the other side of the street. “Let’s begin at the general store.” A wooden sign hung at a lopsided angle over the front door. Chipped white paint announced they were about to enter the Finch General Store.

Hope leaned close and kept her voice low. “I hope the inside is in better condition than the outside.”

Her father patted her hand. “We need to have a spirit of kindness, my dear. Over the years I’ve discovered that most folks do the best they can with what they’re given. We won’t win the hearts of people if we are critical, now, will we?”

Heat rose in her cheeks. With his quiet comment, he was reminding her why they’d come to Finch. For her to point out shortcomings was neither helpful nor becoming. “I’m sorry, Papa. You’re right.”

“No need to apologize. Finch can’t compare to Pittsburgh, but you must remember I warned you that life would be very different and much more difficult.”

She bowed her head in a slight nod. How could she forget the cautionary tales her father had spun as he’d attempted to deter her from joining him? Hope had initially decided his claims of a difficult life in the railcar and small towns were exaggerated and she’d quickly pushed them from her mind. While life in the railcar hadn’t been particularly pleasant, living in this town might prove to be more of a challenge. A thought she would keep to herself.

Once inside, her father glanced around the store, then turned to Hope. “Do you see the proprietor?”

Hope craned her neck to the left and then to the right before moving toward the right side of the store. “I don’t see any customers, either.” She gestured to the left side of the building. “Why don’t you go that way and I’ll look over here?”

She’d passed the canned goods and fabrics when she heard her father’s voice. Apparently he’d located the owner. She soon found the men and stepped to her father’s side. He looked at the older gentleman. “This is my daughter, Hope. Mr. Woodbine.” He looked down at her. “Mr. Woodbine owns the general store, so you’ll be seeing him when you purchase our supplies.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy doing business here, Mr. Woodbine. It looks like we’ve come at an opportune time since you’re not particularly busy.” She glanced toward the counter at the front of the store. “Perhaps we could leave some of our flyers on the counter and you could give them to your customers.”

Her father cleared his throat, and Hope turned toward him. His forehead creased into tight wrinkles, his brows dropping low. She’d obviously overstepped.

She inhaled a deep breath. “Why don’t I look around the store while you and Mr. Woodbine finish your conversation?”

Her father reached inside his jacket and withdrew an envelope. “Better yet, take this to the post office and mail it for me.” He handed her the envelope and two one-cent coins to purchase a stamp. “Mr. Woodbine tells me the post office isn’t far.”

Thrusting his thumb toward the far wall, the older man gestured to the west. “Jest go outside, turn in the opposite direction of the train depot and keep walking until you see the sign. It’s on the other side of the street. You’ll pass the livery and hotel afore ya get there.”

“Shall I return here after I’ve posted your letter? Or perhaps I should stop at some of the other shops and ask to leave our pamphlets?” Hope tucked the change into her pocket and looked up at her father.

“That will be fine, but stay on Main Street so I can find you when I’ve finished speaking to Mr. Woodbine.”

The store owner laughed. “This ain’t no big city, Preacher. Most any business you want to visit is on Main Street.” He hesitated a moment. “’Course you might want to take your preachin’ to some of the folks who frequent the speakeasies outside of the small towns in these parts. Liquor’s not legal anymore so they say there’s only dancin’ and such going on, but I think they may enjoy a little moonshine, too.” He winked at the preacher.

“I may want to visit those establishments in the future, but I don’t want my daughter inside such places.” He turned a stern look on her. “You understand, Hope?”

“Of course, Papa.” After her problem with the hooligans in Brookfield, Hope wasn’t about to chance a meeting with men who might be drinking liquor.

Pamphlets in hand, she lifted them in a quick wave and strode outdoors. The afternoon sun was bright for springtime and warmed her back as she headed off toward the post office. Along the way she stopped at the bank, a barber shop, and several other small shops where, along with her flyers, news of their arrival had been welcomed.

Like most folks they’d met on their journey, the residents of Finch had never heard of a chapel car. She invited them to attend the meeting that evening and remained patient as she responded to the same questions she’d answered at each stop along the way. After walking farther than she’d anticipated, Hope wondered if Mr. Woodbine had played a trick on her. She’d passed the livery and the hotel, but she still hadn’t seen the post office. She was about to ask an approaching young woman when she spotted the structure tucked between a boardinghouse and a hardware store.

If her father hadn’t met her by the time she left the post office, she would stop at both places once she posted his letter. Unlike Pittsburgh, there was no line at the Finch post office, and it took only a few minutes to purchase her stamp and mail the letter. Her request to place a small stack of flyers in the business was met with enthusiasm. She departed, pleased with the reactions she’d received thus far.

She was intently counting the number of flyers in her hand when she approached the hardware store and didn’t notice the rakes and shovels leaning against several wheelbarrows outside the store. Her foot came down on the tines of a rake that instantly popped forward, hit her head, and then sent the remaining rakes and shovels clattering to the wooden sidewalk.

Her hat tipped to the side as she rubbed the lump that was now rising on her temple with one hand and reached down to retrieve one of the fallen rakes with her other.

“Trouble seems to find you wherever you go, doesn’t it?”

Hope looked up and was met by a lopsided grin and eyes the color of lush spring grass. Her head throbbed. She’d seen this man before, but where?

He stooped down, picked up the rakes and shovels, and leaned them against one of the wheelbarrows. “You met up with some trouble in Brookfield, too.”

She gasped. This was the man who had chased off the ruffians. “I remember who you are. You hurried off before I could thank you for helping me while I was teaching the children in Brookfield.”

He nodded and picked up several rakes. “Luke Hughes.”

“Hope Irvine,” she said with a slender smile.

“Nice to meet you. I rushed off because I didn’t want to miss my train. I live here.” He glanced toward the hardware store. “Well, not here. I mean, I don’t live in the hardware store. I live in Finch.”

She giggled, but her laughter caused a sharp pain in her head. She touched the tips of her fingers to her temple. “I believe I’m going to have a terrible headache.”

He leaned closer to her. “You may have more than a headache. Given the size of the lump and where the rake hit you, I think you may have a black eye by evening.”

“Oh, no. How awful. What will people think if they see me with a black eye at the meeting tonight?”

He grinned. “Your husband’s a preacher. I doubt they’ll think he’s at fault. Maybe you can tell folks what happened before you begin the singing.”

She massaged her temple and stared at him. He wasn’t making any sense. Had the blow to her head muddled her brain? “My husband? Whatever are you talking about?”