Chapter Twenty-Six

“The lesson of the Conemaugh Valley flood is that the catastrophes of Nature have to be regarded in the structures of man as well as its ordinary laws.”

~New England newspaper, as quoted in The Johnstown Flood by David G. McCullough

SATURDAY, JULY 20

Annamae had betrayed his trust.

Monty slammed the newspaper on the commissary table, fuming. The reporter had described that an anonymous source revealed the names of the most prominent club members, as well as the location of the charter filed at the Court of Common Pleas in Allegheny County. Judge Edwin H. Stowe approved and signed the charter. Several days of investigation proved the source was true.

From there, it listed the names of the four most prominent members—Andrew Carnegie of Carnegie Steel; Henry Clay Frick, the “King of Coke”; Philander C. Knox, assistant district attorney for the western district of Pennsylvania; and Robert Pitcairn, superintendent of the Pittsburgh Railways.

That anonymous source exposed details too specific for anyone outside of the club to know. Details like the ones he’d shared with Annamae.

He’d confided in her. Trusted her.

Trusted that she would trust him.

When had she done it? Why?

He already knew the answer to his last question. She’d done it to avenge her father’s death.

Monty got up from the table and dumped the rest of his coffee on the ground. He stalked to the washtub and tossed the tin mug in with the other utensils. Soapy water splashed against the side of the building. Pain zinged across his middle. Though he was healing well, when he pushed himself too hard, his body reminded him he had yet to make a full recovery.

Right now, his adrenaline ran high enough to power the B&O all the way to Pittsburgh.

He could no longer protect her. Uncle Henry would not only finish him. As promised, he’d go after Annamae too. The stench of Knuckles’ whiskey-coated breath filled his memory, along with his deep-throated threat. “Any more lessons you need teachin’, I’ll be teachin’ on that pretty little nurse of yours.”

Heaven help him. If Knuckles or any other man laid a violent hand on her, Monty would kill him. And that would go against everything he stood for.

He needed to compose himself before confronting her. Their past week of courtship had been wonderful. Picnics around Kernville, savoring baked goods from the Ladies Aid Society, walks along Millcreek and the Stony Creek River, both nearly dry from little rain and the summer heat. He’d even rented a horse and buggy so they could check the progress of the nearby towns of Sheridan and Sang Hollow.

She’d told him what it was like growing up in the tenement houses, about her Scottish neighbor who’d taught her how to make haggis, and when she’d first discovered her talent for nursing. He’d shared about life with his parents, about the difficult transition after their deaths, and his experience getting to hear the great D.L. Moody preach in London when he’d accompanied his aunt and uncle to Europe at sixteen. How that sermon had opened his heart to Jesus, latched on to him for the next six years, and drove him to discover God’s calling.

All the while, they’d been building certainty in one another. A confidence that, in their honest and open exchanges, their lives were being knit together.

And then this.

His gut churned with disappointment and frustration the entire way to the church. They were setting the new pews today, and Mrs. Rollins and Mrs. Bixby had volunteered to “clean God’s house to a shine.” Monty had planned to show Annamae the progress he and the crew had made to his home this evening.

Now he wasn’t sure what to do.

The hot day passed like molasses through a funnel. The tension in his neck and shoulders wound tighter with each passing hour. In late afternoon, clouds overcast the sky and the dark gray hue on the horizon promised rain. One thing was certain. No matter how much it poured, they wouldn’t have to worry about the dam breaking anymore.

At half past four, thunder crackled above the hills and the work crew called it a day. Monty escorted Mrs. Rollins and Mrs. Bixby safely home before the storm unleashed. They promised to come back tomorrow, and Monty tracked the short distance to his newly built home.

The earthy scent of fresh lumber welcomed him. His boots thumped on the plank floor and echoed in the hollow space, save for a small table and two matching chairs. The window glass sparkled, and the rooms were divided by walls, but the detail work had yet to be finished. The one-story structure sat on a stone foundation much taller than his previous home. It had a small attic, and multiple steps led to the front door under a covered porch. Job had already made himself at home by curling into a ball on the hearth.

Lightning flashed, bringing momentary light into the dim space. Annamae was supposed to meet him at the church at five, but the Red Cross would be busy securing the tents from the wind. It was doubtful she’d come now. Just as well. He didn’t know how to best handle the situation.

Monty scooted a chair in front of the barren fireplace, sat in the growing darkness, and prayed.

Sometime later, frantic knocks beat against his door. Annamae’s muffled voice called his name from the other side. He crossed the room and opened it as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. Rain slapped against the roof and blew across the porch. The dirt roads had turned to mud. Annamae’s hair was in disarray, the wind having fought against it on her walk. Cheeks flushed and appearance imperfect, she’d never looked more beautiful.

His heart had never throbbed so painfully.

He stepped aside and let her in. Her skirt brushed his leg as she passed, stoking his indignation. What he wanted to do right now was far from confronting her about her actions, which made the situation more precarious.

“I thought we were meeting at the church, so I went there first.” She smoothed her hands over her hair. “I’m glad I found you here. I was about to give up and go back to my tent, but I would’ve been soaked through by the time I got there.”

Monty didn’t respond. Only struck a match and lit the lone lantern resting on the countertop by the sink. A well pump mounted to one side had yet to be connected to the town’s water supply.

The raising of the wick must have illuminated the stern lines he could feel slashing his face.

“What’s wrong?” She reached for his arm, and it took everything in him not to pull away.

“I read something very interesting in the newspaper this morning.”

Large, doleful eyes that usually held him captive widened. Her lips parted in shock before twisting. She released his arm and hung her head.

“It was you.” He sighed. Of course it was. How foolish he’d been to hang on to the hope it was someone else.

“I …” She pulled out the other chair and dropped onto it. “You’re angry.”

A snide and unkind comment almost slipped from his lips, but he swallowed it down. “I told you that information in confidence. Then you assured me you would put your trust in me and let the courts handle it.”

“And then I saw what they did to you!”

“Which should make you afraid of what they’ll do to you, should they discover you’re the source.”

Lightning struck again, followed by a booming crack of thunder. Job startled and weaved between Monty’s legs.

“If justice is served and those men are forced to pay for their crimes, then they won’t be able to harm anyone again.”

“Stop being naive, Annamae.” Monty paced the room, fingers running tracks through his hair. “Men like Carnegie and Frick, they have people placed strategically all over the globe, willing to do their bidding. Even from jail. Don’t think for a second your crusade for revenge will stop theirs.”

The pounding of rain filled their silence.

She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “My crusade isn’t a quest for revenge. It’s a quest to see corruption exposed and the common man not lorded over by tyrants who can silence them permanently if they so wish.”

“Then betraying my trust is all right as long as it falls in line with your crusade?”

The chair legs scraped against the floor as she stood. “It wasn’t long ago we celebrated the one hundredth anniversary of this country. A country that never would be if it weren’t for men and women willing to stand up for what’s right.”

Monty opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“Here we are, a hundred and thirteen years after the revolution, ruled by a different tyrant. The tyrant of greed and monopoly, where payment for backbreaking work is given in company scrip that can only be used at the company stores where prices are higher than anywhere else. After years of sacrificing health and family, the reward is death.”

She stopped to take a breath. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “And upon that death, they give your only family, a sixteen-year-old girl, three days to vacate the only home she’s ever known.

“Someone must fight against them, Monty. Someone must make them pay for what they did to my father. For what they’ve done to the innocent people of this town. For what they’ve done to you.”

Voice cracking, she flopped back onto the chair, plunked her elbows on the table, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

Monty watched the rain blur the view from his window. His chest burned as the answer to his prayer uttered before she’d arrived settled inside his heart. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Saying it would be hard, but as a pastor, he had to put the spiritual needs of others before his own comfort and desires. If she was ever going to have peace and joy in her life, she had to relinquish her bitterness. Only then could she be the woman he needed by his side, the woman to work beside him with his congregation. The woman with a full and open heart for God to bless the rest of her days.

He moved his chair away from the fireplace and carried it to the table. It didn’t creak with his weight like his former ones did. These were new and sturdy, all the joints secured. Like their courtship needed to be before they committed themselves in marriage.

“Annamae,” he said softly, “I’m truly sorry for what happened to your father and for the hardships you’ve endured because of it.”

She lifted her head, her face a mottled red in the flicker of lantern light.

“But it doesn’t excuse betraying the confidence of a friend. You’ve let old emotions you’ve never resolved return to haunt you.” He placed his hand over her wrist to soften the blow of his next statement. “You’re telling yourself you did it for the good of mankind, but you really did it because you think that if those men are made to pay, all the anger and bitterness you hold inside will magically evaporate and you can have peace. But it doesn’t work that way. It won’t work, because it won’t bring your father back.”

“That isn’t true.” She pulled her arm away.

“It is. Even if they’re convicted and sentenced, you’ll always burn with hatred for them every time you think of your father, if you don’t learn to forgive.”

Her lips pursed, and her chin wobbled. “I know hatred is wrong, and I’m not only doing this to avenge my father. You’re a smart man, Monty, but you don’t know everything. You can’t see inside my heart.”

He swallowed, hating what he was about to say. “I can see into your heart enough to know that if you don’t give this to God and let go of the hostility breeding inside you, there will never be enough room in there for me.”

For ten solid seconds, she simply stared at him. “I see.”

With the grace of a queen, she wiped her cheeks as she rose from her seat, walked to the door, and closed it softly behind her.