Chapter Twenty-Four
“It was through their indifference that this great disaster was precipitated upon the residents of the peaceful valley. Remorse, if nothing else, should lead them to alleviate to the fullest extent of their wealth the suffering they have caused.”
~New York Daily Graphic
THURSDAY, JULY 11
Two days had passed with no word from Monty. Annamae wanted to go to him, to see how his injuries were healing and talk candidly about anything and everything the way they’d always done. She wanted to be near him. To bask in his wisdom and learn all the things that made him the man he was. She’d thought they’d crossed the threshold from friendship to something more the day he’d taken her on that picnic outside Kernville, on the forested hillside.
Apparently, she’d been wrong.
Or the danger she’d gotten him into had changed his mind about getting involved with her. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been battling the Carnegie corporation on her own for years now. Why would anyone else want to join her crusade? The survivors of Johnstown certainly had good reason to, but that didn’t mean her fight was theirs.
Monty was the first person since her father died she felt she could trust with every part of herself. That trust had encouraged her to open her heart and her life. He’d seemed intent on protecting her, and it was nice to have someone looking after her well-being for once. Matthew’s efforts left her suffocating, while Monty’s made her feel cherished.
But fighting for justice was her cross to bear.
Alone.
She hated the men at the Edgar Thomson Steel Works for taking her father from her. She was furious that they put the lives of their workers in jeopardy every day so each spare coin made in profit could further fatten their coffers. Livid at their negligence to repair the dam because the time they spent in leisure meant more to them than the thousands of people who lived below. Enraged that they valued their empires so much they would send a thug to beat the life out of a humble pastor.
The culprits needed to pay for all they’d done, and she was going to see that they did.
She removed her nurse’s apron and folded it into a neat square on her bed. She used the small mirror on the only bureau in the tent to smooth the stray hairs in the braided coil at the back of her head. The gray shirtwaist, though worn, was presentable, and she figured Mr. Colt from the newspaper office wouldn’t care what she wore as long as she shared her gossip.
After checking to be sure none of the other nurses were dressing, she pushed the tent flap to the side and stepped into the afternoon sun. She hadn’t made it twenty feet when Matthew stopped her. “There you are. Are you hungry? I thought we could eat lunch at the commissary and then tour the new opera house. They’ve yet to place all the seats and curtains, but they’ve finished the basic construction. It boasts to be nicer than the original.”
Shame puddled at her feet. Matthew was trying hard to court her, and her apprehension before she left Washington had kept him tethered by a string of hope. Now that she was certain they could never have a future together, she needed to cut the string.
Matthew had known the companionship and intimacy of marriage, and he wanted that again. He wanted—no, deserved—a woman who was certain of her affection for him and who would enter a marriage with joy.
No matter how Monty felt about her, or she him, Annamae knew without a doubt that she wasn’t the woman for Matthew. “Let’s start with lunch.”
After she told him the truth, touring the opera house would most definitely be cut from his plans.
Her palms beaded with sweat as they walked along, their steps unequal. They didn’t sync in any way. Surely he saw it too.
“I can tell you have something on your mind, and it’s far from lunch.” He gave her a sad smile. “You’re going to tell me we have no future together and send me home, aren’t you?”
Annamae’s mouth dropped open, and she faced him, shadowing her eyes from the sun with her hand.
Matthew gazed at the distant mountains. “Or have I misread you? If I have, I’ll be relieved.”
How she hated to be the killer of the hope lighting his eyes. “You’re not mistaken.”
Her words were barely above a whisper.
He let out a breath. “I thought so. I’ve suspected it for a while now but thought for sure I could win you over. After seeing the mournful longing in your face the day that pastor walked out of the infirmary, I knew.”
“Knew what?” She swallowed.
“That he had completely captured your heart.”
Emotions swirled inside her, making her eyes water. Her feelings for Monty weren’t just something she’d secreted in her heart. They were real and strong enough that others saw them too.
“I’m sorry, Matthew.” She gripped the folds of her skirt like a vise.
He nodded, looking at the ground. “Me too.”
As if seeing the world differently now, he lifted his head and gazed at his surroundings. “Sometimes it takes tragedy to open our eyes to what the Almighty has for us. Getting through the tragedy and onto the other side is the hard part.”
“Don’t.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, watching her. “Truth is, I can’t fault you, Annamae. From the first moment I met you, I saw the screen of aloofness you live behind. Never letting anyone get too close. Never letting others know the Annamae that lives beneath the surface. I’d hoped that one day I would get the privilege of tearing that screen away, of knowing what had caused that solitary part of you to dominate.
“The way you looked at the pastor that day, the tender way you touched him and spoke to him … It was the first time in all the years I’ve known you that the screen was gone.” He sighed. “It was beautiful.”
A tear snaked down her cheek. Her rejection cut him deeply, and she hated herself for it.
“If you’d still like to join me for lunch, I’d be honored to eat with my friend,” he said. “Though I admit my appetite has waned considerably.”
“I’m not much hungry anymore either.” Her voice wavered.
Matthew brushed her damp cheek with his thumb. “We’ll both be all right. I’ll go back to the hospital, and you’ll finish your work here with the Red Cross. Then we’ll see what life brings us next.”
“You’re a good man. I’m not sure I deserved you anyway.”
“Let’s hope this pastor fellow endeavors to deserve you.”
Matthew dropped his hand, gave her one last curl of his mouth, and walked away. She watched as he grew smaller in the distance then blended into the crowd altogether.
Annamae inhaled, her breath catching a time or two as she worked to steady her emotions. She certainly hadn’t expected this confrontation when she’d awakened this morning. As heavy as her rejection made her steps, peace enveloped her heart. Whether or not Monty spoke to her again, she knew she’d done the right thing in letting Matthew go. There was a better-suited woman out there for him, and now he was free to pursue her.
Scrubbing the last salty tears from her cheeks, she gathered her wits and strode around town until she was in control again.
Workers were finishing up the last of the streetcar line repairs. Almost all the telegraph lines once again towered over the city. Businesses, old and new, lined the streets. Though many weren’t open yet, inventory beckoned from their windows. The papers reported that several companies destroyed by the flood had decided not to rebuild, and entrepreneurs from other towns had purchased the properties, seizing the opportunity for success once the town flourished again.
And Johnstown would. It was evident in the way folks had banded together to clean debris, share shelter with one another, disperse supplies, and work to repair the damage. The assistance of the Red Cross wouldn’t be needed much longer. Maybe another month or two at most. Soon, she would return to Washington, and Monty would continue his life here. In the meantime, she would ensure that the folks in this town, and folks in any other, wouldn’t have to live in fear of the Pittsburgh elite anymore.
With renewed determination, she strode to the end of town where the newspaper offices clustered together in small shacks. She searched for the crude shingle that read PITTSBURGH POST. She stepped inside, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The scene was like the last time she’d visited: reporters typing furiously, cigars dangling from their lips, young couriers running in and out, and men napping with their feet propped on their workspace.
“May I help you, ma’am?” A rotund fellow with a clean-shaven face standing two inches shorter than she rounded a desk, wearing a smile.
Annamae shifted awkwardly, guilt clawing at her conscience. Revealing the list of club members would break the confidence Monty had entrusted to her. Was she doing the right thing?
Fear pushed her one step closer to the exit.
“Miss?” The reporter frowned.
She spied Mr. Colt at the back of the room, speaking with another gentleman over a newspaper, arms extended, pointing to various sections of the print.
The moment of truth. Leave or stay?
A young boy ran inside the building, brushed against her skirt, and nearly knocked her over. The rounded reporter hollered at the lad, gaining the attention of most everyone in the room. Mr. Colt’s eyebrows rose when he spotted Annamae. He set the paper down.
Panic seized her with every step he took forward. Was Monty right about letting the courts decide where the guilt lay? About allowing God’s vengeance to repay and not her own?
Mr. Colt’s pleasant face warmed with a smile. A smile on a young, robust body while Monty’s sported bruises and scabs. The members of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club deserved the vengeance of the entire world. If Monty wouldn’t fight for himself and these people, she would.
“What can I do for you, Miss Worthington?” Mr. Colt offered a small bow.
She glowered at the rotund reporter next to them, salivating for gossip, and addressed Mr. Colt. “May we talk somewhere, in private? Perhaps we could chat outdoors on this lovely day. The sky is clouding over, and the temperature is more tolerable than it has been of late.”
Mr. Colt immediately reached for a notebook and pencil on the desk behind him, slipped them into his shirt pocket, and gestured for her to lead the way.
She had no idea where the best place was to speak privately, so she walked while he made companionable chatter, all the while searching for the right spot. On the edge of town, where the stone bridge was being repaired, lay a small hill that the water had created with its forceful swirl. The dirt was dry now, and sprigs of grass popped through small cracks of earth. Work was still ongoing as they repaired the stones, but she and Colt stood far enough away no one should overhear.
Annamae shaded her eyes and pretended interest in the bridge’s progress.
“What is it I can do for you, Miss Worthington?” Mr. Colt stood casually beside her, wearing no overcoat. Only his suspenders hugged his muscular frame. He’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and ink smudges soiled his fingers and forearms.
Guilt speared her again. A flash of Monty lying half dead in the infirmary lit her memory, and she pushed the guilt aside, pressing on before she lost her nerve. “I have a list of members of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. Well, a partial list anyway.”
Mr. Colt didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Why are you choosing to share this list with me?”
She took a deep breath. “Because this isn’t the first time those men have hurt the ones I love. I want justice, and I want to see this never happens again.”
He searched her face, as if scouring for any untruth. Then he removed his notebook and pencil. “I’m listening.”
Nausea swirled in her belly with each name she spoke aloud. Five in all. She was betraying Monty. A man she was falling in love with. But she was doing it for his benefit. She couldn’t be wrong. Could she?
Mr. Colt closed his notebook and slipped the pencil behind his ear. “How do I know this is an accurate list? These are some of the most powerful men in the country. I can’t just go printing their names without proof to back it up.”
The group at the bridge stopped their digging along the bank and lifted a small body. Annamae flinched and looked away. “Corporate charter for the club wasn’t registered in Cambria County per the laws of Pennsylvania. It’s filed in the Court of Common Pleas in Allegheny County. You may check there to verify my information.”
Mr. Colt shook his head. “How do you know all this?”
She placed a palm flat against her middle to quell her nerves. “Someone I know and trust has ties to those men and has insight into their transactions.”
“Who is this trusted source?” Mr. Colt removed the pencil in preparation for writing.
“That is a tidbit I won’t be sharing with you, Mr. Colt.”
He smiled his understanding and returned the pencil to his ear. “Anything else?”
“This information is going to sell a lot of papers for your company. It may even boost your reputation as a reporter. In return, I ask that you leave my name and occupation out of your articles, present and future.”
“Done.”
Mr. Colt stuck out his hand. She eyed it warily then accepted.
They parted ways, and the entire walk back to the Red Cross, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just made a deal with the devil.