Page 41 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow
William ducked beneath the doorway of the cottage, which was as white walled and welcoming as the church itself.
“Please make yourself at home, Mr. Drake.” Surrounded by her humble home, Hattie pulled off a bonnet and touched her hair. “Lizbeth and I’ll put on some tea. Soup’s been simmerin’ and I’ll put some biscuits in the oven.”
“It sounds perfect.” He pulled off his cap.
Mr. Jorgensen waved him over to a pair of wingback chairs near the hearth. “Come sit. Warm yourself by the fire. Let’s hear of your findings and hope it’s moral to speak of business on a Sunday.”
William claimed the chair opposite him while Lizbeth followed the other ladies into the kitchen. Through the front window, he saw Reverend Coburn detaining a few parishioners in the churchyard in what appeared to be a one-sided conversation.
This was his chance.
William slid his briefcase to the floor near his high-laced boots and unclasped the straps.
“I’ve been doing some research and have a few final questions for you.
” He retrieved a folded map and splayed it on the small table beside them.
“I’ve been examining this ventilation tunnel here, some hundred yards beyond the main shaft of the one-hundred level.
The tunnel runs to the outside, just behind the hoist house, correct? ”
Jorgensen studied the drawings. “Correct. It’s an old slant tunnel that hasn’t been used in years.”
“Which would leave both space and access here for an electric generator.”
Jorgensen’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. “Electricity?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Impossible.” Jorgensen examined the tunnel again with a slow shake of his head. “It’s unfathomable.”
“It would seem that way, but it’s being done elsewhere.
” William slid a newspaper article over that described the very miracle in another mine.
“I believe electricity is the key to not only keeping New River afloat, but to improving the town and living conditions entirely. Additionally, it would allow me to contract out further work to the surrounding farms and cultivate income for local farmers.” He would need timber, water, and new employees.
Work for farmers such as Bennet and the like.
“How so?”
William offered a rare smile. “That would be for me to coordinate.”
Mr. Jorgensen chuckled. “Fair. Keepin’ your cards close to your chest. That’s the way of business. And what of Bennet?”
Braced by his forearm, William leaned forward and kept his voice low.
“I’ve been trying to think of a way that Bennet’s land could be put to good use in a way that might satisfy everyone involved.
It’s good land and could benefit the mine in a way that doesn’t have to hinder the Bennets’ future, but could actually secure it. ”
Jorgensen’s brows rose.
“It’s possible there could be ways for him to summon up the final funds needed to pay the taxes.”
In a rush, Lizbeth stepped from the kitchen carrying a stack of plates. Her eyes drifted to William. Had she heard?
He longed to watch her, but instead, waited for her retreat before continuing in a softer voice to Jorgensen.
“If you can verify that these findings are correct, I’m prepared to make an offer.
” William handed over a list of inquiries that he’d written up.
One by one, they detailed all that would be required to bring electricity into the region.
From road conditions and accessibility to labor skills and availability and even the population of the town as it was now. Each detail mattered.
Mr. Jorgensen examined the list. “These inquiries will take me some time to compute.”
“Of course.” William snapped his briefcase closed.
“The deadline is approaching quickly. Only a month off.”
“I understand, sir. I’ll be ready.” He nodded again to the paperwork. “If you could oversee that end of the bargain, I’ll have an offer on your desk by the end of the month. If you can get me these findings, I’ll have cash in hand.”
“Don’t you want to know what the other offers are?”
“I don’t need to.” His offer would be higher. More importantly, his vision broader. No—crucial. The more confident he was now, the more likely Jorgensen would delay.
And he desperately needed him to stall. If the other coal barons were willing to lay down money without a plan, then they had the advantage of speed. But he meant to have the advantage of intent. Not for himself, but for those who were reliant upon this sale going well.
“I mean to ensure the welfare of the town and its people with these developments,” William continued. “I mean to keep New River a place on the map. To give it a future.” This was more than business to him. “I believe electricity could do this but I need to be certain.”
“Electricity.” Jorgensen examined the list again. “It’s unprecedented.”
“That’s how I do things, sir.”
“So I see.” He ran a weathered hand over his mustache.
“All right then. I’ll see that I have all of these answers for you by the end of the month.
” With Jorgensen intending to retire in the summer, he could only hope this was enough time for everything to fall into place.
“How should I get them to you? I’ll be back in New River by then where there’s no phone service. ”
Right. “I’ll be in touch.”
“And if not?”
“Then please consider our dealings peacefully nulled by then and proceed with one of the current offers in good conscience.”
Surprise deepened the lines of the mine owner’s forehead. “Then we have a deal.” The man held out a hand and William shook it.
“Thank you, sir.”
Seeing Reverend Coburn passing through the cottage gate, William straightened.
“Perhaps tuck that aside.” Jorgensen thumbed toward William’s briefcase.
“No sense shocking the poor minister.” He pocketed the list as the women emerged from the kitchen with tea and fixings.
In the commotion, William slipped a copy of his travel itinerary from his briefcase along with a fountain pen.
He uncapped the pen and turned the paper over, using the table’s edge to scrawl a note.
He’d managed the first burden he needed to address and only a few lines beyond before Mrs. Coburn beckoned them to the table.
“Thank you.” William added one final request, signed his name in haste, and pocketed the note. He rose and joined everyone at the table near a nine-paned window.
“Please have a seat,” Mrs. Coburn bid him.
Lizbeth returned with a basket of bread and a crock of butter.
“May I help in any way?” William asked as Mrs. Jorgensen emerged with a tray of sweets. He’d never carried a tray in his life but was eager to start now.
Lizbeth looked surprised. “We just need the pot of soup.” She set her own offerings down. “It’s on the stove.”
“I can help with that.” He followed her into the adjoining kitchen to where a pot of soup sat simmering.
While he’d spent little time near a stove, it didn’t take his college degree to warn him about hot handles. William touched them gingerly then searched for a solution.
Lizbeth moved to his side and nabbed two thick cloths. “These should do the trick.”
William dropped his gaze to her face and saw the spark of amusement in her eyes. “Thank you.” He thought of the note in his pocket. Should he give it to her now?
His hands were already filled so he lifted the pot instead and followed her to the table where he placed it in the center.
With Mrs. Jorgensen at his right, William pulled out the chair for her and the woman sat, thanking him.
William took his own seat and had to labor not to notice Lizbeth, who sat directly across from him.
Reverend Coburn prayed a blessing, then Hattie dipped a wide spoon, filling each bowl with broth and vegetables.
Small talk ensued. Of the sermon. Of their journey by train.
Time to address Lizbeth directly. She was busy speaking with her friend, so William waited for a brief lull.
It settled as she reached for the butter.
William cleared his throat. “Have you enjoyed reading Jane Eyre , Miss Bennet?”
She looked surprised as she lifted the small lid and dipped a knife. “Lizbeth, please.”
A sweet relief. “Lizbeth.”
“I’ve enjoyed it so much. I nearly finished it on the journey here. Just a few pages left.”
He nodded. “I admit to having never read it before, but I’m inspired to now.”
The surprise he saw only increased. As for the rest of the table? They were stone silent. Even Reverend Coburn’s constant mutterings had ceased. Everyone stared at them.
William needed to somehow get her alone. “Might I... might I check the publication date when you have a moment?”
“Of course. I can fetch it when we’re done.”
He nodded his thanks and turned his attention back to his food, relieved when Mrs. Jorgensen started in on how fine the weather was, and there he sat, his moment with Lizbeth ahead, all the while having absolutely no idea what he was going to do with the publication date of Jane Eyre .
William waited in the upstairs hallway just outside of Lizbeth’s room where a small alcove offered a reading bench and a view of the churchyard across the way.
Downstairs, Mr. Jorgensen had drifted off, the ladies were occupying themselves with tea, and Reverend Coburn was reading the first lines of a sermon aloud.
As for William, he stood there, hat in hand, clinging tighter to the wool the moment Lizbeth appeared.
“Please.” She waved toward the cushioned window seat in the alcove. Lizbeth moved an embroidery hoop with dangling thread aside. “We can sit.”
“Of course.” He felt her nearness as he did and kept his focus on his hands, only to grow more distracted by her own, which now clutched his novel.
A scrap of cloth, the same colors as her skirt, marked what must have been her page. She offered the novel over and William cracked the cover, more engaged by her presence than anything else.
She leaned nearer and read from the title page. “Written in 1847.”