Page 30 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

A gray evening haze draped the sky as Lizbeth trudged down the road toward town.

Along with the sounds of the colliery came sight of the tall roof of the breaker as she hurried along, basket in hand, toward the coal office and its open door.

Filled with the treats she’d baked for the mules all afternoon long, any sweet aroma her basket might have given off was drowned out by the smell of coal and grease.

Train tracks curved along the right side of the mine, and smoke spewed from a pipe in the ground.

A shrill whistle split the chaos in two and she fought the urge to cover her ears.

The day shift finished, men spilled from the hoist house and beyond. Lizbeth wove through them and out of habit, her eyes scanned a distant hill for sight of the Jorgensens’ house, where Hattie lived, and where Reverend Coburn had been dwelling since his arrival. She hoped to avoid the man today.

Finally reaching the office, Lizbeth ducked within.

Mr. Jorgensen stood at his desk with his back to her. At his side stood a man who cut a much finer figure in his tailored shirt and waistcoat. A man she recognized even before he turned. William Drake. Splayed-out maps and documents sat on the desk between them. They looked at her in unison.

Mr. Jorgensen’s mustache tipped up in a friendly smile. William looked mortified. The younger of the pair turned a map upside down and braced his fingertips against the desk’s surface, the tension beneath his shirtsleeves as taut as the room now.

Her courage tripping over itself, Lizbeth forced herself to speak. “Good evening.”

“Evenin’, Lizzy. I figured I might be seein’ ya soon. I’d say I smell those apple treats you make.”

She held up the basket. “Yes, sir.” This time around, she’d perfected the recipe by stewing apples along with carrots. She’d flavored it all with cinnamon and baked the dough in pans before cutting the results into squares. “I hope I’ve counted right. I made fifty.”

“On the dot. I’ve got forty-seven mules stabled in the mine.”

Lizbeth breathed in the number more bittersweet than encouraging. All those lives... so far from the sun and clean air.

William’s eyes followed her every move as she placed the heavy basket on the corner of the desk.

Lizbeth wet her lips again. “Sir—”

“You can leave that with me.” Mr. Jorgensen waved toward her handiwork. “I’ll see that one of the spraggers takes it down tomorrow morning. I’ll nab a fella who can deliver it straight to a mule driver to distribute them.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lizbeth nudged the offering farther onto the desk, taking care not to muss the paperwork already in place. “I was wondering if...”

After laying aside the rest of his maps, William pulled off his flatcap. He cast a glance at her and she couldn’t tell if it stemmed from interest or annoyance, so sound was his stare. It was a gaze stronger than a lantern flame, and she alone the air that kept it lit.

Words tripped on her tongue. “I—I was wonderin’ if I might be able to give these to the mules myself.

” Lizbeth gulped. “It’s been so many years since I’ve seen any of them.

Since they’ve been on the farm and I could check on them.

Even help with their care. I wouldn’t ask for anything in return.

..” Her voice trailed off, muted to silence by the shock in both men’s faces.

“Well, I... I don’t know.” Mr. Jorgensen stammered.

William straightened. The light in his eyes snuffing out.

“I understand that girls haven’t been allowed in the mine but...” She straightened her spine even as her hands, still clutched in front of her, trembled. “You see, I was thinking that—”

“It’s out of the question.” William rolled up a map.

“I promise I’m not afraid.” She brushed past the desk to face both men more easily. “I was just thinkin’ that I could—”

“No.” William used the rolled-up map to point at her basket, which appeared lowly and ridiculous sitting in this place now. “And I’m sorry, but Mr. Jorgensen will see the goods delivered as promised. Or I will myself. You’ve no need to trouble yourself.”

Her heart raced. “It’s no trouble. I was thinking that I could—”

He spoke without looking at her, flashing only his profile. “As Mr. Jorgensen just said, consider your goods delivered. And please...” He looked at her again. “Think no more on it.” His voice held an edge that sliced the conversation to an end.

Flushed, Lizbeth stepped back. The nerve of the man to make such a decision.

New River did not belong to him. And neither did she.

Mr. Jorgensen’s expression held regret but she sensed his decision was the same the longer he remained silent.

Lizbeth backed farther away, nearly tripping over a cluttered hat rack.

It thudded against the wall. She balanced the rack and turned away.

William’s jaw tightened. Whether over her clumsy request or clumsy feet, she didn’t know.

And here she’d thought he meant to be friendly to her.

Opening a piece of his world to her as though to expand her own.

He, the same man who had gently laid a novel into her open hands only days ago.

A way of broadening her view of the world.

Expanding her heart and hope. Who had made her wonder if he was in fact good and kind and gentle.

The budding peace she’d had about him caved in. Nothing left but dust and rubble.

Throat stinging, Lizbeth turned away from the office, only to collide with a crew of miners. The men slammed to a halt the same instant that she did. But not quick enough for Lizbeth to avoid bumping into the miner at their helm. One who smiled at her.

“Oh! Mr. Westgard. My apologies.”

His blue eyes sparked with surprise as he caught her by the arms. “Easy there. Apologies are mine.” He released her carefully. “And please, just West.”

After nodding, she ducked her head and hurried on.

The friendly miner didn’t deserve her withdrawal, but she was in no form to attempt conversation.

Nor did she care that the coal dust staining Mr. Westgard’s uniform was now on her dress front.

She could scrub it out at home. Maybe she could be like William Drake and shut out the world.

Right now, she needed to. Lizbeth swiped at her eyes before anyone could see emotions betraying her.

Mr. Westgard matched her with his long strides. “Is something the matter, Miss... Miss...?”

She couldn’t bring herself to answer. Needed to be free of the wiles of men.

This one followed anyway. “Please help me remember.”

“It’s Lizbeth,” she stammered in a rush.

He grinned at her flustered tone. “Of course. I was just meaning to be polite.” He doffed a blackened cap and coal dust creased the soft lines around his eyes.

“Might I walk with you a ways, Lizbeth? I’m off shift now.

” His attention shot back to the mine office before settling on her face once more.

His stride continued to match hers. “Was that Drake’s voice I overheard? ”

She pressed on.

“I can see you’re upset and for that, I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “The man means well, but he can be a real brute when he wants to be.”

Lizbeth spoke without slowing. “You know him well, do you?”

“Fairly well. We’ve worked together for years.” Mr. Westgard switched to her other side as Lizbeth crossed the road toward the edge of town.

Nearby, women and children greeted husbands and fathers from the narrow yards and spindly porches of every row house. A miner picked up his little girl and tossed her into the air. She shrieked before landing back into coal-blackened hands.

“Look, I don’t want to delay you,” Mr. Westgard continued. “But would you give me just a moment of your time? I think there’s something you need to know about Mr. Drake. And your father’s farm.”

Her feet slowed.

“It has to do with the land. A dispute that Drake has with your father’s ownership.”

“I’m sorry?” Finally, she stopped.

He circled around her. “It might not be my place to say, but I believe in the truth above all else.” His masculine hand rested against his chest. “Word around these parts is that Mr. Drake is digging into legal matters about your pa’s land.

See, he didn’t come only to purchase the mine, but to obtain several surrounding properties as well.

Farms in danger of being confiscated should the sale go through. ”

“Confiscated?”

“It’s complicated, but the men like me who were summoned from Pennsylvania were all brought here for that reason.” Mr. Westgard waited at the edge of the footbridge. A few dozen paces and she’d be out of New River proper and on her way home. But what was this man saying of their property?

He crammed both hands in his pockets and leaned back with an air of confidence before taking one more step toward her.

His voice softened to a near whisper. “You see, our job here is to discover whether or not the mine is worth purchasing. Drake’s purpose here is to squash anything standing in his way. Including the local tenants.”

Lizbeth shook her head. “No. Our farm belongs to my pa now. By agreement. He worked hard for it and even Mr. Jorgensen would say the same.”

“That may be, but there’s some gray area, so the boys say. If the mine transfers to Drake, then that ownership transfers to him as well. He has no requirement to honor the understanding already in place, and from the way I’ve heard him talk, he has absolutely no intention to.”

The evening dimmed further.

“I don’t mean to bore you with business, just for you to know the type of person Mr. Drake is. The type of person that this town is dealing with. And for you to know that his goal is to make your father’s land his own. As soon as possible, I understand.”

Lizbeth tried to speak but no sound came out.