Chapter Twenty-Five

“Modern industries are handling the forces of nature on a stupendous scale. Woe to the people who trust these powers to the hands of fools.”

~Major John Wesley Powell, director of the U.S. Geological Survey, North American Review, August 1889

MONDAY, JULY 15

The whistle of the Cambria Iron Works shrieked through the hills, announcing its first operating day since the flood. The men working in the church glanced at one another and cheered. Everything inside the mill had been cleaned, repaired, and replaced, and all shifts were running. Business meant work, and work meant money. An honest day’s wage made a man able to rest his head peacefully on his pillow at night.

“Boy howdy, that’s a good sound.” Irving Thibault, a middle-aged chap whose accent bordered on Irish and southern twang, clapped his hands in two staccato beats.

The man’s place in Woodvale had been destroyed, and the water had thrown him several feet into the air before tossing him on top of a root cellar built into the hillside. Tree trunks and debris had piled up around him, making a cave of safety from the worst of it. He’d been trapped for four days, drinking rainwater from his cupped hands from where it dripped between the trees. At last, someone heard him yelling, and a crew had worked to free him.

“How close is the woolen mill to opening?” Monty asked, running his hands over the smooth, sturdy pulpit Robert had fashioned. His friend had a fine talent for wooden craftsmanship but had returned to his position at the Cambria mill.

“ ’Nother month yet, I’d say.” Irving lifted a wooden cross and held it steady while Monty directed to assure centeredness. Once set, Jim nailed it to the wall behind the pulpit.

A thing of beauty.

A shuffling sound behind him caught Monty’s attention, and he turned cautiously as to not disturb the muscles around his ribcage. Ernie walked in, appearing more human than the day before.

“Join us, friend.” Monty gestured him over. “Isn’t it perfect?”

Ernie’s nod was exaggerated by his trembling. If the man remained sober for a year, Monty doubted the tremors would stop.

Removing his cap, Ernie wiped sweat from his temple, wafting the smell of his unwashed body. “I was on my way to the commissary for coffee and walked past the train station. I saw that doctor fellow of Miss Annamae’s boarding with bags in hand. Thought I’d better tell you straight away.”

Ernie had such a tender heart for others. If only the man would stop destroying himself.

“Thank you.” Monty patted the man’s shoulder, knowing how much Ernie needed to nurse a mug of coffee right now instead of matchmaking.

Jim laid the hammer on a board they used as a makeshift table. “You’re going to go talk to her, aren’t you?”

Monty wasn’t sure why his congregation was invested in his romantic attachment. He supposed it was because Annamae had captured pieces of their hearts too, as Robert had said. Robert had also confessed to Monty that after all they’d gone through, if he found a good woman and blazed a new trail, it would give the rest of them hope they could too.

Stalling, Monty rolled his sleeves to his elbows. “I may see her around sometime soon.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Go now. It’s not like you can do anything to help here anyway.”

“Sure I can,” Monty said. “I can supervise and make sure you hang the cross up straight.”

Besides, he didn’t want to make a declaration of love sporting a black eye. Well, more greenish yellow now, but still.

“We just hung it,” Jim huffed. “For a man wise on righteous living, you’re still a boy in knee pants when it comes to women. Haven’t you ever read the Song of Solomon?”

Monty headed for the exit.

“I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder.

He didn’t know what he’d say to Annamae, but he knew he was not discussing the Song of Solomon inside the church.

Summer was upon them now, bringing oppressive heat that would mix with the thick smoke produced by the iron works. He understood the South Fork club’s intentions. The air on the mountain was as pure as the landscape. Much different from Johnstown and Pittsburgh and Philadelphia where the factories produced round the clock. Enjoying the nature God had created and balancing work and pleasure wasn’t a sin in and of itself. But when nature became one’s God, that was a different story. The club members valued recreation and luxury above human life. They had sinned against mankind, but more so against God.

Monty trusted the Lord would fight for the people of the valleys.

Activity in town hustled as usual. Now that the railroad had replaced most of the lines, transporting cargo to and from the town kept the railroad workers busy. Construction on the new roundhouse was progressing, but the temporary turn track worked fine.

It took longer to reach the Red Cross tents than Monty bargained for. He walked at a snail’s pace as to not jar his abdomen and ribs. Last night when he’d awoken to sneeze, he’d thought a steel beam had plowed into his face. Stars had filled his vision, and the pain in his broken nose and ribcage had stolen his breath. Moments later, blood had oozed from his nose, and he’d soaked two handkerchiefs trying to get it under control.

It was probably a good idea to have a doctor look him over to make sure his nose was healing properly and that the break wouldn’t disfigure his face.

“Can I help you?” A grandmotherly nurse approached him, carrying a clipboard.

Monty tucked his hands into his pockets. “I was treated last week for a broken nose and other injuries. I was told to come back for an examination.”

“Follow me, please.”

He obeyed, and she took him two tents over where only one other person sat waiting for a nurse. With the rise in disinfectant use, patients at the Red Cross tents had thinned considerably over the last few weeks. Monty recognized the man as Phillip Lowman, one of the streetcar conductors. The man raised a hand in greeting, as did Monty. The grandmotherly nurse assured him she’d fetch the doctor.

As Monty waited, he thought about what he wanted to say to Annamae, but nothing sounded right. Then, as if he’d conjured her before him, she sidled past the tent, forehead scrunched in thought, carrying a small crate with bottles poking out of the top. “Miss Worthington.”

She jerked to a stop. Then her shoulders lowered. “You scared me.”

The conductor chuckled, and Monty smiled an apology. Had her wandering thoughts involved him?

Appearing less amused than the men, she ducked beneath the angled tent flap and relinquished the crate to a nearby bed. Hands on hips, she assessed Monty. “You’re looking better. Are you here for an examination or to strike fear into the staff?”

While he preferred her unruffled, that spark that lit her up when riled made his blood pump harder. “I came to ask if I could court you properly.”

Her pretty lips parted and almost curled into a smile before they closed again, and she shrugged. “You and every other unwed man who sweeps through here. Except Mr. Lowman.” She hitched her thumb at the conductor. “He’s about the only gentleman in this town with his wits about him.”

Lowman cackled.

A warm sensation trickled down Monty’s upper lip. Annamae rushed to a bureau, pulled out a rag, and told him to hold it against his nostrils without adding pressure. The doctor walked in and informed Mr. Lowman the nurse was fetching the salve he needed and that once she returned, he’d be free to leave.

The tall doctor focused his attention on Monty. “Ah, I remember you. Mr. Childs, is it?”

Monty offered his free hand, and Doctor Rose shook it with a firm grip. Monty tried not to wince from the jolt that shot through his ribcage.

“Mr. Childs came in to have his head examined,” Annamae said.

This earned yet another chuckle from Mr. Lowman and a questioning look from the doctor. “His broken nose and other injuries,” she clarified.

Her narrowed gaze and incensed attitude told him she wasn’t going to make this easy. She was angry with him for being flippant about her explanation of Matthew’s arrival. As well she should be, he guessed. He could have acted more graciously.

Annamae left to continue her duties while the doctor poked and prodded until Monty wanted to punch the guy. About the time he felt like he couldn’t take another second of the examination, the doctor straightened up.

“You’re healing as well as you can be at this point. I’m confident the threat of any serious internal injury is over. Nasal bleeding is common after a break. Unfortunately, you will sneeze as you continue to heal. It’s your body’s natural way of cleaning and clearing the nasal passages. I understand it hurts. It will get better, I promise.”

All Monty could do was grunt.

“Keeping your ribs bound tight will not only help with pain but also healing. Let me collect a roll of bandages large enough to do the job. I’ll be back.”

While Monty waited, a nurse brought Mr. Lowman his salve. She steadied the older man as he maneuvered from the bed to the ground. Once he stood fine on his own, she left the tent.

Mr. Lowman shuffled past Monty. “Good luck, son.”

His cackle followed him outside.

Now if he could keep Annamae from laughing him away as well.

Annamae’s head spun with Monty’s declaration. He wanted to court her? Surely he was jesting. No, that wasn’t Monty’s way. He was all truth and gravity with the perfect amount of humor, but never at another’s expense.

Guilt slithered around her throat and squeezed.

She had betrayed his confidence.

Alone in the warehouse, she reached inside a crate stacked with clean, folded blankets and clenched the cotton with all her strength. Why did this war continue blasting inside her? She’d done what she had for the right cause. Mr. Colt had assured her he would check her list against the records in Allegheny County and would see to it the breaking story would end up in the correct hands once the information was verified. The rulers of industry would be exposed, justice served, and she could finally have peace.

Tears filled her vision. All she wanted was peace.

She also wanted a future with Monty. Was it possible to have both?

“Miss Worthington, do you know where the rolls of bandages are?”

The voice startled her. She didn’t see anyone else but recognized Doctor Rose’s voice.

Embarrassed to be seen in such a state of agitation, she shook herself into action. “They’re here, sir.”

She fumbled on a top shelf and gripped the roll.

Doctor Rose rounded the corner. “Wonderful. Will you assist me in binding Mr. Childs’ ribs, please? Mrs. Heimlich has admitted another patient. Infection in the leg that will need drained.”

“I’ll be right there, Doctor.”

He left with the bandages.

Taking a few cleansing breaths, she stepped into the sunlight and prepared herself for whatever Monty had to say. She would not feel guilty about what she had done. She was a juror in the court of human life, and she was seeing to it that the club members paid for their crimes.

The air seemed thicker than it had been before. Her nerves stood on edge as she ducked beneath the tent flap. Mrs. Heimlich was speaking with the other patient, and Doctor Rose was assisting Monty in removing his shirt. Annamae halted abruptly. Monty’s gaze met hers over the doctor’s shoulder.

Her mouth went dry.

Blood, vomit, death—she took it all like a good soldier. Monty’s naked chest made her want to run the other way. Actually, it made her want to stay and appreciate his male form, which is why she should run the other way.

“Miss Worthington,” Doctor Rose called, sensing her presence. “Can you stand behind him and hold the end of the bandage below his armpit while I wrap? Be mindful of his bruise.”

She did as the doctor asked, careful of the angry knot on his side, and nearly jumped to the ceiling when her fingers touched his bare skin. Goose bumps fanned across the cord of muscles on his back. The sight would be perfection if it weren’t for the blotches of purple and yellow covering his flesh.

Wounds she was responsible for.

What if releasing the club membership to Mr. Colt put Monty in danger again? This time, they might aim to kill. Oh, why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?

Doctor Rose wound the bandage across Monty’s front then handed it to Annamae for her to continue the circle around his back. They exchanged the ball of rags four times before they ran out of fabric. Mrs. Heimlich called the doctor over to her patient while Annamae crossed to the front of Monty, holding the end of the bandage tight. She tried to avoid his gaze, but cat-like curiosity had always been one of her weaknesses. She raised her eyelashes to look at him.

Monty watched her, a smile touching his lips. He knew this affected her, and it amused him.

Clamping her teeth over her lower lip, she concentrated on tucking the end of the bandage inside the coil around his ribs.

“You seem flustered,” Monty whispered.

“I’m a professional,” she whispered back. “I don’t get flustered.”

Affection and desire flared in his eyes. Annamae glanced at the others in the corner to see if they were paying attention.

“Your face has turned a lovely shade of pink.” He brushed his fingers over hers.

She stiffened. “Then explain the redness in your cheeks as well. And don’t give me the excuse of being in pain or I’ll pull this bandage even tighter.”

He laughed softly. “I’m not sure whether to be embarrassed or flattered.”

She handed him his shirt. “Be both and get dressed.”

Busying her tingling fingers with whatever she could find to distract them, she waited—back turned—for Monty to cover himself.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Monty brushed past her.

“Return in two days, and we’ll give you a fresh bandage.” Doctor Rose raised his hand in farewell then returned to the patient with the leg infection.

Monty strutted from the tent.

Annamae trailed after him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the church.”

“I thought you had something to ask me.”

He feigned ignorance.

She slapped his arm.

“Ouch.” Monty snickered. “I guess I came for a purpose, didn’t I?”

She waited while he stared at her. “Well?”

“Come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

He’d likely want to show her the first train back to Washington if he knew she’d spoken with Mr. Colt. The story hadn’t gone to print yet, and even when it did, Mr. Colt had assured her she would remain anonymous. Therefore, people would think that anyone could have provided him the information. Or that a reporter investigated deeply enough to discover it. So why let it spoil the moment?

If Monty ever asked her, she’d tell him the truth. Otherwise, they could move on in their relationship.

“Let me change out of this apron and tell the administering nurse I’m leaving. I’ll meet you outside the new general store in fifteen minutes.”

Monty agreed, and she rushed into her tent to freshen up. Small ringlets of damp hair burst from beneath her cap but would dry soon without it on. She wiped her face, neck, and chest with a wet cloth, then applied a splash of rosewater. How she wished she had one of her nicer dresses for the occasion. But she had left anything impractical back at her apartment in Washington.

As promised, she met Monty outside the general store. Insecurity filled the space between them as she walked beside him toward the church. Finally, he spoke. “I heard Doctor Martin left. Did you give him a reason to go home, or had his time away from Washington expired?”

She cut him a sidelong glance. “If you’re asking if I rejected his offer of courtship, the answer is yes. I told you weeks ago that I wasn’t married because I hadn’t yet met a man I could tolerate spending the rest of my life with. That comment included Doctor Martin.”

Monty’s hands fell into his pockets. “Do you still feel you haven’t met a man you could tolerate spending the rest of your life with?”

Her irritation grew by the second. His confidence had filled the infirmary, and he had blurted his intentions in front of Mr. Lowman. Why was he being coy now?

“Yes,” she answered.

His steps halted, and his brows creased.

“I mean, yes, you can court me.”

He blinked. “You made that easier than I thought you would.”

She wrapped her hand around his arm, careful not to hurt him. “There’s no point in dragging this out. It won’t be long before the Red Cross will pack up and return to whence they came.”

“What about your life in Washington?”

She thought for a moment as they walked along. “I’ve grown fond of my life there, but after coming here, after meeting you, I’ve come to realize I’m not exactly happy living an independent life of solitude.”

“Neither am I.”

They neared the church, and amazement filled her at how much progress they’d made since her last visit.

“This disaster has reminded me how short and precious life is,” Monty said. “I want the days I have remaining to be spent with a good and honest woman by my side. Someone who loves the members of my congregation as much as I do. As much as God does.”

He stopped in front of the open doors of the church, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close without touching his bruised side. Job trotted toward them and greeted Annamae, rubbing against her skirt. Monty bent, and he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “You’re the woman I need, Annamae.”

Remorse attacked her conscience like a hungry lion. Would he still feel that way about her when he discovered what she’d done?