Page 8 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

Disorderly and unsystematic. The only way to describe Mr. Jorgensen’s office. William glimpsed the mess of papers and ore samples as he sat in the chair across from the man’s desk. He didn’t even bother to fan the dust motes away as he took off his wool flatcap and balanced it on his knee.

“Well.” Jorgensen fumbled a few corners of a paper stack. “I s’pose it’s time for us to negotiate.” Behind him, a scale of ore tipped in the mine’s favor. “Thank you for being willing to be the last man I met with today.”

William nodded, preferring it that way.

“And I apologize that the other meetings went longer than planned.”

“It’s not a problem.” He wasn’t intimidated by that or by how much money the other coal barons Mr. Jorgensen had invited might lay on the table.

Only one would walk away as the owner of the New River Coal Company.

Would it be him? It still depended.

While he kept on the lookout for new business endeavors, he never pitched an offer until he was absolutely certain the deal would benefit his personal holdings and the existing employees.

William rubbed at his freshly shaven jaw, and while his wool vest and coat were overstated for the surroundings, he squared his shoulders, meaning to present himself as the potential owner of this entire establishment.

Just beyond the office, a hundred men worked and toiled, both above ground and beneath as they carved out a scant living.

They would all be observing the newcomers, including him.

Would William be able to improve their lives?

He had to, or he had no right tossing his hat in the ring.

William glanced around again. To show weakness was catastrophic in his line of business. As it stood, Jorgensen’s cup of pallid coffee and cluttered desk told a story of desperation. Exhaustion. A void William was here to fill.

“I’ve studied the ledgers you offered and they’ve been very helpful,” William began.

“Good. Good.” Jorgensen leaned back in a scuffed leather chair. “I’m here to answer any questions you might have.”

“I appreciate it.” William’s wooden chair creaked as he leaned forward.

He’d read for hours and still hadn’t found much advancement for the company’s procedures.

As for updates to the mine? Nothing in the last thirty years.

Not even a mention of introducing electricity here in this office as he had back at his Chess Creek mine.

Then again, it was hard to fathom electricity this far removed from any major city.

William had a growing sense of how to view Jorgensen.

The man didn’t seem negligent but rather out-of-date in his practices, here, far removed from modern society.

Jorgensen seemed like a man doing his best but who lacked vision beyond what was right before his eyes.

Common in businessmen looking to sell. William had seen it many times before and that’s where he came in—always with a new vision of some kind.

“I’d like to begin with any recent improvements or systems that I should be aware of,” William said. “I didn’t find any in my reading.”

“Oh, we get by.”

“And the fifty-four mules in your stables? I read in the record books that you’ve obtained about six new mules a year and that quite a few passed away before old age.

” Lack of sunlight? Nutrition? He didn’t know the reason, but the animals cost Jorgensen dearly, to say nothing of their quality of life.

“Sadly the way of this business.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. The day steadily neared when electric energy could replace mule power and electric bulbs make carbide lanterns obsolete.

As such developments had happened elsewhere in the country, William had grown more and more intrigued by the possibilities.

These cards he meant to hold close to his chest just now.

Jorgensen opened a tin of tobacco and stuffed pungent leaves into his pipe.

“I’ll tip you off and say the other businessmen have asked about the state of the underground timber and the like, which we can discuss.

” He slid forward a document. “These are the ways we’ve worked to minimize risk and danger over the last few years. ”

William accepted the document. “I’ve had some success with the bolt and timber method at my Pennsylvania operation thanks to the guidance and innovation of some engineers.”

Jorgensen nodded, looking more tired than intrigued.

“I’d like to go down in the hoist soon, sir. Could we arrange that?”

“You don’t reckon on joining the men down there? Donning a headlamp?”

“I do.” Friends often chided him for being too quiet, so William threw more words into the pot. “I’m willing to roll up my shirtsleeves, sir.”

“A fine boy like you?”

“I’ve done such regularly along the Chesapeake and in Osage and Crumpler, where I did some recent scouting. I see it as part of the industry, even as an owner.”

“W—well then.” Jorgensen fumbled in the desk drawer for a match. “We’ll make preparations. Give me a few days, and I’ll see that you get boots on the ground.”

William knew the drill. Mine owners didn’t like prospective buyers to see the trenches untidy. Like a housewife flitting from windowsill to curtain rod, men like Jorgensen preferred to keep the cobwebs under wraps. This owner no doubt intended to tidy up.

Which meant William ought to extend a warning. “Each level if possible.” According to the map of the mine, operations plunged some five hundred feet down. That meant five levels to explore. A nearly endless number of tunnels branched from the shaft.

Mr. Jorgensen blanched. “Th—that we can do.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I must say, none of the other coal barons intend to go down into the mine. In fact, two are already assembling offers.”

Based on conversations alone? Perhaps some men didn’t care about the details, but William had no interest in purchasing a mine he hadn’t taken careful stock of from top to bottom.

Not only had he pored over the latest figures of the company, but he’d delved into its history.

As for the lives lost in New River—both man and beast—he took each into account.

He didn’t mean to have more lives on his hands without knowing he’d done all in his power toward safety.

He might not be born of backwoods earth, but his soul was made from dust just as everyone else’s.

Shaped by God’s hands and held to a measure of conscience that stretched into eternity.

William valued the lives that toiled to keep this land alive.

Lord help him, he would ensure that no one had cause to curse him come his own final breath.

William watched through the window as workers filed from the hoist barn with dinner pails. “I’m interested to learn of the adjacent land as well.”

“As were the others.” From a drawer, Jorgensen pulled out yet another map. “Which leads me to a slight complication with the arrangement. I confess, I originally planned to sell the mine alone. But most of you men have come here with lawyers in tow.”

William nodded.

“Well, one of those lawyers has unearthed an issue that may complicate the ownership of several of the surrounding farms. More will come to light soon and I’ll be sure and keep all the prospective buyers up-to-date.”

“Of course.” In the meantime, William would do some searching on his own. All the more reason he needed Callum’s skill with law.

Mr. Jorgensen offered over another document.

This one William had in his care, but he considered its duplicate.

Every detail placed before him—from the way a man moved his eyes, to the tone of his voice, to the scars on his hands—held information.

Valuable information that William committed to memory.

He did the same with women, though they were much harder to unravel.

Like Miss Lizbeth Bennet who called this plot of land home.

An encounter William had completely muddled.

With the map spread out now, William leaned forward. He’d long since memorized the borders of the adjacent farms, which planted more questions. Now to harvest the answers.

“Tell me of this plot here.” William touched the edge of a fifteen-acre farm just west of company lines.

“Leased to a family by the name of Webb.”

“And the reason?”

Jorgensen cast him a curious glance. As though he’d never encountered a man who had so many questions about a matter.

William saw such inquiries as windows into truth, and he knew just how far to push. There was a reason his coffers brimmed full and his capital spread across the nation. He’d never made a poor business deal in all of his twenty-eight years. No reason to begin now.

“Webb works as a sheep farmer. Going on twenty years now. Leases the land from the mine in exchange for easy access to the railway.”

Interesting. “And this one? McMahon?”

“Owned the land outright since the war so it no longer needs to be part of the dispute. It’s protected ground. Mass graves—soldiers and the like.”

“Of course.” May the poor souls rest in peace. William intended to inquire next about the Hatcher farm, but slid that inquiry aside, opting for one that he was most curious about. “And how about this one?”

Jorgensen squinted as he angled the map. “Ah, the Bennets. They’re quite the conundrum. Bennet was the geologist who helped survey New River from the start. We’d been friends for years. In exchange for his work with establishing the mine, he claimed a twenty-acre plot that was out of the way.”

“That was his payment?”

Jorgensen nodded.

“And what of coal?”

“He claimed there were no minerals of value there.”

“And you believed him?”

“I believe an honest man.”

“What of the deed?” William adjusted the flatcap still balanced on his knee.

Jorgensen hesitated. “That’s the catch. It was done on a handshake.”

“A handshake.”