Far Away Home (19 page)

Moran’s harsh
voice taunted, “You’ve never been down the mine. It’s dark, wet and very
dangerous. What with drilling and blasting, gas can explode, fires can start,
timbers can cave.” 

Aislynn chewed
her lip and nodded, her eyes riveted on his.

“I shut down the
mine!” he shouted.

Aislynn nodded
again, baffled by her role and his rage.

“I can’t have
men down there who can’t communicate with each other.” Moran took a step toward
her. Her heart raced and she backed into the closed door. A blush burned her
face, expressing her bewilderment. Moran dropped into a chair behind the
nearest desk, leaned on his forearms and folded his hands.

His voice
seethed. “You posted an advertisement up here, written in English.”

“Yes,” she
whispered, not venturing closer.

“I have only
three Chinamen who can speak and read English, one supervising the Coolies on
each shift. One!” he pointed a finger. His volume increased with his command.
“You tell Sung Lee to get his butt back up here and down that hole, pronto!”

She would not
allow tears or even blinking; she wanted to see him clearly. Her hand felt
behind her for the doorknob. Sidestepping, she flung the door open. She
stumbled past Murphy standing on the stairs. Hurtful, angry tears came as she
raced down the hill to deliver the message.

“I know you
didn’t mean any harm,” Tim said when he found her curled on her cot in the dark
cabin.

“No one has ever
been so mean. I hate him. I will never speak to him again!” she cried.

Tim sat next to
Aislynn and surrounded her with his arms. He rocked her and petted her hair.
“He’s a hard man sometimes.”

“He has no
feelings, so he doesn’t have any idea what it’s like to be hurt,” she sniffed.

Tim waited for
her tirade against Moran to extinguish. “He’s insensitive, inconsiderate, just
plain hateful. I can’t imagine him being nice to anyone for more than a few
minutes, unless he has something to gain from them.” When her words were
exhausted, he pulled away and looked for her eyes.

“The mine’s open
and running again.” He paused and squeezed her. “I know he yelled at you, but I
think he was more scared than anything else. I’m sure he was concerned that men
could die, and the mine could close, and people would be out of work.” Tim
paused. “I think he’s sorry.”

Aislynn scoffed
at Tim, disagreeing.

Tim tried again,
“I do. Everything is fine, nobody was injured, but I can see he’s still
troubled.”

“Probably pining
over losing a few dollars while the mine was closed.”

“No, I think
he’s feeling very sorry.”

“Good! I hope
he’s so miserable he leaves town.”

Tim tilted his
head and smiled at her, “Not likely; he does own the place.” He rubbed her
cheek with his knuckles. Aislynn grinned at his tenderness. Tim added, “Aislynn?
You know we do all have to work together.”

Aislynn’s smile
snapped into a frown. She straightened and faced him, “Don’t you dare! I will
not apologize! He was wrong!”

After
considering Tim’s opinion, Aislynn found herself dragging up the office stairs,
repeating her mantra, “This is for Tim.” Her strength was waning, and she could
hear her stomach churning as she rapped on the door. With Moran’s, “Come in,”
Aislynn stepped gingerly through the door.

Evening had
darkened the room, but she could see him sitting in a cloud of cigar smoke. She
crossed her arms, shifted her weight and locked her eyes on his. Moran snuffed
out the cigar. He walked to the front of the desk, leaned against it, his hands
resting by his hips. Aislynn edged back toward the door. She saw his face fall.
For the briefest moment, she was conflicted, she felt sorry, but she believed
she was not at fault.

“I came…” she
began, determined to have it over.

He held up his
hand. “You should have waited; I would have come around … eventually, and …
apologized.”

Her sorrow was
lost, and her anger was found, although its direction was not clear. “That’s
what I told Tim,” escaped from her lips.

His eyes
flashed, and his lips curled with suspicion. “What brought you here?”

She tried to
recover, “I came to apologize.”

“Why?” His
narrow eyes burned into her.

“I don’t have to
explain, I just have to apologize.” She could feel her cheeks burning.

He reached
behind him for a cigar and a light. “At least my attempt was sincere.”

Aislynn
remembered the morning’s humiliation and stood indignant, “I said I was sorry.”

“Wasn’t it you
who intimated men weren’t honest?”

She spun and
pulled the door open. Moran called to her, “By the way Rebecca, Ivanhoe ran
home to Rowena the first chance he got.”

Aislynn slammed
the door.

Chapter 19

For Christmas,
Aislynn placed a tree in the restaurant and asked her customers to adorn it
with any decorations they wanted to contribute. Rings, pocketknives, pieces of
ribbon and a variety of trinkets the men held special hung on the little pine.
Johnny wrought an iron star that presided over the room from the treetop.

Following their
mid-day celebration, Aislynn, Tim, Johnny and No Nose were invited to attend a
party at Moran’s ranch with Murphy, the Spittlehouses and the Franks. Johnny
had outfitted the wagon with runners, turning it into a sleigh. They herded
into the bed, huddled on the low side benches, sang carols and pulled cider
from a jug while No Nose steered them down the mountain to the ranch.

They could see
the ranch from two miles down the canyon. The sky glowed golden from the light
of lanterns lining the drive. The house was on fire with lamps perched on porch
rails and candles in every window. When the group pulled up to the front door,
everyone spilled out of the sleigh. Tim, Murphy and No Nose bounded up the
steps. Tim held the door as Mr. and Mrs. Spittlehouse and Frank and his wife
entered the lodge. Johnny guided Aislynn over the snowy walk. She stood in the
doorway and took in the room.

It was a vast
space with several, immense stripped tree trunks balanced on the floor,
supporting the roof and the balcony skirting the second floor. A huge staircase
twisted down from the story above and hugged the Christmas tree in its curve.
The huge pine was trimmed with red ribbons and candles. Streamers of silver,
red and green were swagged among the rafters. Fireplaces stood in each side
wall. One end of the open room held two long tables dressed in white linens,
while the other had chairs and sofas arranged for conversation. Although the
house was a spectacle, Aislynn’s attention immediately fell on the women posed
around the room. They wore satins, brocades and velvets fashioned into lovely
gowns.

Aislynn heard
Moran greeting her party at the door as she returned to the sleigh.

“Where’s she
goin’?”

Johnny replied,
“It’s her clothes.” He motioned toward the sleigh. “She prefers this fine,
frigid weather to your party.”

“I’ll get her,”
Tim sighed.

“No, it’s my
fault,” Moran assured them, “I’ll speak to her. You two get a drink and warm
up.”

Aislynn heard
footsteps crunch across the snow and turned her back to the sound. Moran
hoisted himself into the sleigh and took an opposite seat. She tried to avoid
his scrutiny by pointing her nose in the air. He leaned forward about to speak
when she snapped at him, “Why didn’t you tell me this was a fancy dress party?”

“Would you have
come?”

“No.” Aislynn
shook her head at him.

“That’s why I
didn’t tell you.”

“So you have us
come to be humiliated like poor relations?”

“Is that what
you think?”

Aislynn looked
away from his eyes and focused on his hands, ungloved and gripping the bench.
She twisted the ends of her scarf in her fingers. “No,” she whispered
contritely.

“I considered
buying you a gown, but you couldn’t accept it.”

“Of course not.
There are rules.”

Moran laughed,
“And Tim knows all of them.”

Aislynn had to
smile, “Yes, he does.”

“I wanted you
here to host one of my tables.”

“What does that
mean?”

“It means you
make sure everyone has a full glass and food on their plates. You direct the
conversation and bring everyone into it; particularly a discussion to get them
interested in buying stock in Brother Brigham’s railroad.”

Aislynn gaped at
his suggestion. “You want me to help Mormons, after they left Johnny and me to
die?”

“Aislynn, I told
you; you can’t judge all people by the acts of a few. Besides, you’re perfect
for the job. After all, you know all about the Utah Central. And, you have such
a smart mouth; I think it’s time to put it to good use.”

Aislynn’s hands
flew to her hips, “How very thoughtful of you.” Aislynn jibed as she wagged her
head, “But where’s Miss Fairbanks?”

Moran frowned,
“I didn’t invite her.”

“So you’re
offering me her job?”

Moran moved
closer to her, “One aspect of it.”

“You’re crude.”

“I am just
offering you an opportunity to use your talents.”

Skeptical,
Aislynn asked, “What’s it pay?”

“Would you
accept the same remuneration I gave her?”

“I don’t know
what it was?”

Moran rested his
hands on her bench, surrounding her. He brought his face close to hers. “Would
you let me show you?”

As a flash of
warmth spread through her, Aislynn pulled back, wrinkled her nose and shook her
head. “Absolutely not.”

“Good, it’s too
cold to get undressed out here.”

Aislynn pushed
him away. “You say the most improper things to me.”

“If I stopped,
you wouldn’t have any reason to object to me.”

“Ha, I’m sure I
could find something.”

“Come inside. We
can debate my finer points where it’s warm.”

Aislynn was
freezing but she was still feeling drab.

“Please, Miss
Denehy.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “It’s very cold, and if you catch
a chill and die, I’ll never have the opportunity to take advantage of you.”

She followed him
to the back of the wagon. “I don’t have to die to make that an impossibility.”

Moran jumped
down and reached up for her. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and he
grabbed her waist. He lowered her slowly, holding her body against his. “I can
hope,” he laughed.

Aislynn squirmed
out of his grip. “I hate it when you win,” she grumbled.

“Well, that’s
encouraging, I thought you hated me.”

Aislynn started
to pick her way through the existing footprints in the snow. “I don’t dislike
you; I just don’t trust you,” she retorted.

“You are a very
smart young lady.”

She stopped and
turned suddenly meeting his chest with her face. “Get out of the way,” she
fussed. “I forgot your present.” She reached under the wagon seat and produced
a bottle tied with a ribbon. She handed it to him, pride beaming from her cold,
white face.

“What is it?” he
asked.

“Huckleberry
brandy.”

“Where’d you get
huckleberries?”

“They grow
everywhere.”

“In December?”

“You are so
silly. I made it in September.”

He looked at the
bottle, and his eyes returned to hers. “I … I can’t remember anyone ever making
me a gift,” he stammered. He looked down at her and softly said, “Thank you.”

She thought it
was the Christmas spirit taking hold of her heart, but she was willing to
accept he might be capable of tender feelings. She took his arm and said, “Now
we can go in.”

He led her to a
room off the huge hall. “I have something for you,” he said handing her a small
box. Aislynn opened immediately. It held two silver combs. “I can’t accept
these.”

“Yes, you can.
I’m giving one to each lady as a party favor. Not even Tim’s sensibilities
could be offended if it’s a collective gesture.”

“You’re giving
me two.”

“You’re earning
it. Now, run upstairs. There’s a bedroom to the left, at the end of the hall,
with a full-length mirror. You can put in the combs.”

Aislynn looked
at the beautiful combs in her hand. She wavered. She wanted to wear them among
these women who were so grandly decked, but she considered Tim’s reaction.

Moran convinced
her, “I’ll explain it to Tim and Johnny.” With his hands on her shoulders, he
turned her about and pushed her to the door. “Now get going. I have guests to
attend to and so do you.” He held her for a second and whispered close to her
ear, “By the way, there’s a box on the bed. It’s a jacket for my goddaughter.
You might try it on. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you wearing it tonight.”

Aislynn wheeled
around and faced him. A sheepish smile spread across his mouth. Aislynn bit her
lip and giggled. She became a willing conspirator. “Thank you.”

The bedroom was
twice the size of her cabin. In the center of the room, a huge oak bed stood
flanked by nightstands and plush chairs. Against an interior wall, a
gentleman’s dresser with full mirror sat adjacent to a massive armoire
competing with the bed for dominance of the space. A corner room, it had two
exterior walls with large windows staring out into the night.

Standing before
the mirror, Aislynn donned the jacket. It was bright green velvet with silver
braiding running along its hems, collar and cuffs. Little silver stars,
crescent moons and suns were randomly embroidered and shiny silver buttons held
it closed. It covered her worn shirtwaist and the frayed waistband of her black
skirt. She stuck the combs in her hair and twirled before the mirror, thinking
of Cinderella. Laughing out loud, she imagined Moran’s response to her fantasy
of him as a fairy godmother.

Aislynn took her
place opposite Moran, who sat at the head of a long table. Looking down at the
array of silverware, a feeling of panic began to rise in her. She remembered
her job-seeking experience in New York City and her inability to identify the
purpose assigned to each piece. As the first course was being served, she
searched for guidance. Moran held a small fork over his place as he waited for
his meal. Aislynn found its match, waved it at him, smiling. She asked the
guests around her to introduce themselves. With her questions about their
origins and professions, the conversation flowed. Attempting to give the
impression of wealth, she spoke about her business and her land.

She steered the
discussion to the railroad spur Brigham Young wanted to build from Ogden to
Salt Lake. Aislynn explained she and her people were fully invested in the
territory and giving their complete support to the railroads.

After the meal,
the women gathered by the couches for coffee and tea, while the men remained at
the tables with cigars and brandy. Aislynn attempted to keep everyone involved
in the conversation by introducing women and talking about common bonds they
might share. When she brought up the subject of children, she discovered some
of Moran’s female guests were not married to the men who escorted them. They
had arrangements Aislynn could only speculate. She shifted the conversation to
books and plays she had read, attempting to diffuse the awkwardness. She
quickly had them all debating the greatest love story. Aislynn found she could
extend this discussion by suggesting additional titles until the men arrived.

Music began to
play, and the chairs were pushed aside. Aislynn abandoned her job and sought
out Tim and Johnny. She waltzed with Tim, reeled with No Nose and Johnny
insisted she step dance with him. It was nearly 4:00 A.M. when Mrs. Frank
pleaded for her bed.

As Moran bid her
friends goodnight, Aislynn slipped up the stairs and returned the jacket to its
cardboard home. She pulled her coat closed and stepped down the stairs, half
expecting the see the sleigh transforming into a pumpkin. Tim and Johnny were
waiting with Moran. He bowed. His voice was hushed, “You did a fine job. I
believe we’ve sold a great deal of stock tonight.”

Aislynn curtsied
and said, “Happy Christmas.”

While Tim took
her hand, Moran swung his arm around Johnny. “She’s quite a saleswoman. I’d
like to borrow her again sometime.”

Johnny grinned,
“That's up to her; Aislynn makes her own choices.”

“You two seem to
get her to do what you want.”

Johnny nodded
and started down the stairs, “She loves us.”