Wishes on the Wind (24 page)

    There had been no way out, what with short wages and empty stomachs, and summer had been no better there, with the one-room patch house turned into an oven where six sweaty bodies bumped into each other, trying to keep out of each other's way. Lenny's Grandma had not lasted through the first year, and his sisters had both died of consumption within the next five. His Ma's spirit had broken then, and she died shortly afterward. For a long time after it was just Lenny's Da and himself, but the mine got Michael Dunne in the end. It was weeks before his body was brought up from the cave-in that buried him.

    Lenny moved to Shenandoah shortly after that, hatred deeply engrained. He had sworn to change the face of things for the Irish in the mines, whatever it took to do it. Revenge had become the driving force in his life.

    Sean gave a hard laugh. Just like himself.

    As if reading his thoughts, Lenny glanced toward him before slapping Pat Casey's broad back, and sauntering away from the bar with a pleased smile. Sean didn't have to wait long before Lenny was standing beside him.

    "Well, Sean, me boyo, I'm thinkin' matters here in Shenandoah are beginnin' to come to the attention of a few important men."

    Sean's dark brows rose and Lenny nodded knowingly. "Aye, very important men." Lenny's smile flashed unexpectedly. "Word is out that orders are coming from the very top now. The King."

    Startled, Sean shook his head. "You can't be meanin' Black Jack himself?"

    "None other."

    Sean released a slow, whistling breath. So Jack Kehoe, undeclared King of the Mollies, was taking a personal hand in the ordering of the men. That meant word of the town's doings had traveled out of Shenandoah to Girardville where Black Jack abided, a fair distance down the line. And although no one knew anything about the Mollies, to hear them tell it, Sean knew Kehoe was reputed to be the man who directed local Molly body masters throughout the coal region.

    A shiver passing down his spine, Sean remembered the one time he'd seen the big Irishman. Black Jack had gotten off the train and was walking down Main Street as big as life. A giant of a man the fellow was, standing at least two inches over the mark of six feet, with a broad expanse of shoulder and chest that stood him out in a crowd. His hair was jet-black and curly, his jaw firm, and his teeth white and even as he'd grimaced unconsciously in their direction. He had never forgotten those piercing blue eyes that cut to a man's soul, and he remembered Da's soft oath at the sight of the man.

    Sean gave a low laugh.

    "I see ye know the full significance of this, me dear Sean that we've drawn the attention of a great man to our troubles here, and that we've but to show him we stand behind him to keep his interest keen."

    Pausing in response, Sean raised his clear eyes to Lenny's flushed face. His expression sincere, he spoke in a tone calculated not to be overheard by those nearby.

    "The truth of it all, Lenny, is that I envy you more each day."

    Lenny's light brows rose in surprise. "Ye envy me, ye say?"

    "Aye, for you're of an age to become a part of it all now, while it matters most, while I must spend my time waitin' for the necessary years to pass."

    Unexpectedly sober, Lenny returned his stare. "We've all done our share of waitin', Sean. But I give ye me promise now. Ye may count on me to be with ye when yer waitin's over, for I saw the anger and the courage in ye from the start. I'll not let the power of it be wasted."

    Unable to speak for the emotion Lenny's promise raised inside him, Sean nodded. He knew the fellow was as good as his word. It gave him heart.

    Raising his glass, Sean offered softly, "Here's to the day I can be counted on to make the difference." Tossing down the contents within, Sean turned to place his empty glass on the nearby table. "I'll be gettin' home now. There's some things I must take care of while I'm still of a peaceable frame of mind. And I'll say goodbye, and thank you."

    Out the door moments later, Sean turned in the direction of home, satisfaction keen within him.

Chapter 10

    Shuddering as the cool breeze lifted her hair from her neck, Meg attempted to ignore the chill as she dipped her hands into the wash tub once more. A day had passed since Ma was put into the ground, and she was back to work on the hill, much to the apparent surprise of all. She knew she'd never forget the silence of the three women in the kitchen when she walked through the doorway. She had seen a tear in Cook's eye, and in Margaret's and Mabel's as well, and she knew their sympathy was sincere.

    John Law appeared at the door a short time later, and in full view of all spoke his regrets again. She had felt a soaring of affection for the fellow and touched his hand his face had flushed. She had regretted her actions momentarily then, although she knew John was pleased by her response.

    Shortly after her arrival, she was called to the morning room where Mrs. Lang expressed similar sympathy. The mistress's pale eyes were glazed with emotion, which had surprised her as she hadn't thought the woman would be touched so deeply.

    Things had drifted rapidly back to the norm after that, with taking up her chores in the usual way, although she sensed a new consideration behind the requests made of her. But through it all, she had not reacted much one way or another to the kindnesses shown her. She was numb in a way she had never been before.

    As for David, she had not seen him at all since her return. Cook had taken care to mention that he left for the colliery early that morning with Mr. Lang because of an emergency that had come up during the last shift. The dead weight in her heart had increased, and she had almost been relieved when the laundry was collected and she went out to the wash tubs in the yard. She had needed some time to herself.

    Now, still scrubbing the spotless linens, Meg wondered how many more times she'd wash clothes that showed no trace of soil, and linens that were far whiter than those on her own bed at home.

    In answer to her own silent question, she knew it was easy to demand things that were fresh when hands other than your own did the work and there was nothing else to occupy your day but such simple details.

    Recalling Aunt Fiona's perspired brow and callused hands that were never still, she saw the image of Mrs. Lang's gracefully aging face and well-tended hands, and she frowned at the fine material she scrubbed so diligently. For the first time in many months, a sense of futility at the inequity of life soared within her.

    Still puzzling over her thoughts a few moments later, Meg paused, a sixth sense turning her around to meet pale eyes that studied her with unspoken resentment. Grace Lang's appearance behind her was unexpected, and Meg remained silent under the girl's scrutiny, studying her in return.

    "Mama thought you'd be in mourning for another few days. She didn't expect you to return to work so soon."

    Meg averted her eyes as the young mistress spoke, uncertain how to respond. She could not tell this privileged child that with apology ripe in his voice and with unspoken shame in his bright O'Connor eyes, her dear brother had advised her to return to work so she'd be safe from her uncle's drunken rages while he wasn't there to protect her. She could not tell this pampered heiress to the Lang fortune that the relief on Aunt Fiona's face had been far more revealing than words when she had agreed to her brother's suggestion. She could not speak aloud the words that, with Ma gone, Sean and she were drifting, belonging nowhere, and meaning no more to strangers and kin alike than an accumulated debt without hope of payment in full. She could not tell this girl who had never known a deprived day in her life any of this. She would never understand.

    Instead she offered simply, because it was true, "My Ma wouldn't want me to grieve."

    The tears that filled Grace Lang's eyes at her response startled her. She had seen naught but coldness in those pale eyes when they touched her in the past, although they had glowed at David's most casual word. She was at a loss for a response when the young mistress sniffed and spoke in an uncertain voice that bore no resemblance to her usual, self-possessed tone.

    "I… I'm sorry that your mother passed away, and for all the trouble you've had. It must be very hard… I mean, I don't know what I'd do if Mama…" Once more the tears welled threateningly, and the young mistress swallowed with visible     difficulty. "When you first came, I didn't like you because you were different from all of us. You're Irish, and you're a Catholic, and Papa…"

    Pausing, Grace took another deep breath and tried once more. "I just wanted to tell you that if you come to live here, I won't care. David's right. You're not like the rest of them. You don't hate us or mean us any harm, and you gave David back to us when there wasn't anyone else here who could bring him around."

    Halting abruptly as her mother called her from the front of the house, Grace turned with a frown. "I have to go now. Mama's looking for me, and she wouldn't like it if she knew I was back here loitering with the servants."

    Turning away without another word, Grace raced around the house in a circuitous route obviously conceived to conceal the direction from which she came.

    Still standing motionless where Grace Lang left her, Meg slowly shook her head, bewildered. She recognized an apology and an expression of sympathy in the girl's muddled words, but as for the rest, what had she been talking about?

    Another cool breeze touched Meg's perspired face, and shivering once more, she dipped her arms back in the tub and resumed her scrubbing. She hadn't taken offense at Grace Lang's departing words because she knew none was intended. Her only thought was that she supposed some people became confused when they had nothing to do but amuse themselves all day. She supposed it sometimes addled the brain.

    She sighed. The poor girl.

    His eyes eerily bright in his coal-blackened face, Sean faced Jim Langly's unyielding expression. The ticket boss stood four inches taller than he, and carried thirty more pounds of muscle on his frame, but Sean saw none of those threatening elements as he faced the man across the coal buggy he had filled to brimming.

    "Bastard! You've shorted me again, and you've done it to me for the last time."

    His lined face unrevealing, Langly shook his head. "I've done nothing of the kind. I've given you a fair estimate, and I won't change my mark."

    "Fair! The meanin' of the word is lost on the likes of you!"

    The coal yard seemed unusually silent as Langly darted a look at the men standing nearby. The others held themselves aloof, avoiding trouble. Their silence appeared to fortify Langly as he spoke again. "I've been doing this work for twenty years, and I know my job."

    "Twenty years of bein' a company man and stealin' from the Irish who break their backs in the mines! Twenty years of paddin' your employer's pockets with money that's due honest men!"

    "There's not a better ticket boss in the field than myself, O'Connor! Your father knew that. It's a fact you'd better accept if you want to continue working here. And while you're at it, you'd better remember that you're no better than the other miners' helpers. You'll suffer the likes of me to use my experience to estimate the amount of silt and waste in the coal you load, and like it or not, you'll be paid only for the amount of tonnage that I record on the ticket. That's the way it's always been, and that's the way it's going to stay."

    "I'd have no complaint if your figures didn't lean so heavily toward the Langs' side of the ledger! A thief, that's what you are, stealin' the livelihood of good men, and food from the mouths of their babes!"

    Langly's lean face flushed in his obvious struggle to maintain his control. "I'll have no man call me a thief, no matter the losses he's recently suffered. So I tell you to shut your mouth now, or suffer the consequences."

    "Aye, and now come the threats!" Turning a sharp glance around him, Sean gave a harsh laugh. "Do you hear that, boys? We work the day long until our shoulders ache and our arms are about to fall from their sockets, only to have our tickets grow lighter each day. And this fella here tells me he's the most honest ticket boss in the fields!" Sean's harsh laughter again punctuated his bitter dialogue. "And more's the pity, it may be true, so poor and damnable is our situation here!"

    "I'm warning you, O'Connor. I haven't reported your grumblings before, but you're agitating trouble now that'll fall on your own head if you're not wise."

    "Aye, warn me, and warn me again, for I've a need to be reminded that I must suffer injustice or be banned from the fields if I speak my mind like a free man."

    His anger aroused, Langly paused a long moment before replying in a warning growl. "If you have a brain in your head you'll listen to what I say now, O'Connor, and remember it. You've pushed me as far as you will. It's only my respect for your hardworking father and his boys that's kept me from reporting your grumbling complaints before. And what I have to say about it is this. From this day on you'll do your work and take the ticket I give you without complaint, or you'll be out on your ear. And remember, there'll be another man in your spot before the dust settles around you. So think over what you'll toss away because of a need to blame others for the hardships of life that can't be controlled. And remember you have a sister who depends on you to"