Wishes on the Wind (54 page)

    "Don't tell me how to run the colliery, Captain!"

    "I'm doing my duty by explaining the dangers of the situation to you, sir."

    "There's no need to explain anything to me. You forget, I'm not a novice here. I know what's going on in those shafts. I know why there have been two cave-ins within the last two weeks. I know why load after load has been spilled in the yard"

    "You're coming down on the men too hard, sir."

    "Not hard enough, Captain!"

    His frustration soaring, David walked around the desk and ran his hand through his hair as he paced unconsciously. It had been a hell of a month. The strike had come to an end in the miners' minds, but not in their hearts, and rebellion continued. Every corrective measure he had taken had been opposed, and it had not taken him long to become aware that it was the intention of some to force him into the position where he would fail.

    Stupid fools! Didn't they realize that if he failed, they would suffer, too? The sabotage in the shafts had been the ultimate stupidity. Thirty men had been put out of work for an indeterminate time because of the grievances of a few, and he had not been inclined to let it go. There had never been a shortage of informers below. It hadn't been difficult to discover the name of the troublemakers, and although Terry Donovan's name had been conspicuously absent, Sean O'Connor's had been prominent each time.

    Captain Linden cleared his throat, and David turned his attention back to him, glaring. "Did the Mollies really expect me   to take all this lying down? Didn't they expect that those responsible would be found out and fired?''

    "No, sir, they didn't." Linden surprised him with his response. "You see, there hasn't been direct retribution by management of late. The Mollies have been successful in forcing almost every corrective measure to be rescinded since your uncle sold the mine. They expected the same success with you."

    "Well, they were wrong."

    Captain Linden paused in response, his thick brows knit, his craggy face drawn into serious lines. "If you'll forgive my saying, sir, now's not the time for the action you're taking."

    "The hell it's not!"

    "You're stirring the Mollies up at a time when there's already agitation enough. An assassination attempt on Bully Boy Thomas in Mahanoy City failed, and they're in an uproar. They're embarrassed by their ineptitude. They feel it weakens their position at a time when they should be showing strength. They're in the mood for blood. The killing of Patrolman Yost in Tamaqua has put fear back in many minds and silenced protests against them. They're going to have to regain their status in the eyes of the people here, too, and there's only one way to do it."

    "Mahanoy City and Tamaqua have nothing to do with Shenandoah."

    "The Mollies are a tightly knit organization, sir. They react to situations as a unit."

    "So you're telling me that I can't fire the men who everyone knows are responsible for the trouble in the shafts simply because they're Irish? You're telling me that I must modify my policies and bide my time so the arrogant bastards can walk over me as if
they
're running operations."

    Linden's frown deepened. "I'm telling you, sir, that you're asking for trouble. You've fired five Irishmen within the last two weeks, and there are grumblings below that your policies are just another version of the old 'Irish Need Not Apply' postings. There's talk that you're trying to drive the Irish out of your mine completely."

    "That's nonsense, and you know it. I fired troublemakers incendiaries, every one of them. That they're Irish has no reflection on my decisions." David gave a short laugh. He leaned over his desk, snatched up a folded slip of paper and placed it in Linden's hand. "I suppose you'd also say I should let them intimidate me with
this
."

    Captain Linden unfolded the paper, his head jerking back up at seeing the crudely drawn coffin and the succinct message below it: "Heed Molly's warnings or you're dead."

    "When did this arrive?"

    "Yesterday morning. The first one arrived last week."

    "Last week? I should have been notified immediately, sir."

    "I thought your agent would keep you informed of what was happening, Captain, and I wasn't about to let the Mollies think they had put a scare into me by moving about with an armed guard trailing behind. They're bluffing. Gowen's back is up. He'll come down on them with both feet if they try anything against me again, and they know it."

    "Our man in the organization knows nothing about these threats, which means the Shenandoah chapter leadership is becoming suspicious enough to take precautions. And I tell you, you're underestimating these men. They're not afraid of Mr. Gowen or anyone else. You're taking your life in your hands, sir."

    David shrugged off Linden's warning, only to be struck by his own cavalier attitude. When had he become so casual about his own life?

    The answer was blatantly clear, and David went still. His less than admirable conduct toward Captain Linden was also suddenly clear, and his regret was instantaneous.

    "I'm sorry, Captain. I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you. You're a professional a man of principle and you're doing a difficult job. Although we disagree, I appreciate your dedication. I'll consider what you've said, but I don't think anything will be gained by prolonging this discussion. Thank you for coming tonight."

    Linden frowned at the abrupt dismissal. "You don't seem to understand the seriousness of your situation, sir. You received this 'coffin notice' yesterday, and fired another Irishman this morning. Whether you realize it or not, you're deliberately provoking them. They won't let this pass. You need protection. I can station additional guards with you within the hour."

    "Your men are already guarding the colliery and manor house grounds."

    "You should have a personal guard, sir."

    "No."

    "But"

    "I said, no."

    Speaking quietly into the silence that followed, David extended his hand. "I appreciate your concern, Captain. Thank you."

    The door closed behind Linden a few moments later and David was alone in the paneled room once more.

    Alone it all came down to that.

    Meg's image invaded his thoughts, and David unconsciously resumed his pacing. It had been a month since he had talked to Meg, but he now realized his efforts to evade thoughts of her were driving him to a fanaticism that nearly equaled that of the Mollies. He had ignored Elizabeth's letters and invitations to return to Philadelphia, and he had been deliberately remiss in extending an invitation for her to visit him. But the truth was that he wanted no woman but Meg, and a solely physical satiation of the aching need building inside him held little appeal.

    He needed to see Meg. He needed the comfort of her presence, her reason, her friendship if, indeed, he could have her no other way.

    Terry leaned against the bar, his brawny frame hunched over his drink as the conversation progressed around him. The heat of the day had settled in Lawler's saloon without allowing a breath of evening air to cool it. Stripped down to his shirtsleeves, as were most of the saloon patrons that night, he was still uncomfortable to the point of distraction.

    A bead of perspiration ran down the side of his face and Terry pushed back his cap and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. He surveyed the room circumspectly. The scraping tones of Tom Donnigan's fiddle were getting on his nerves, and he cast the fellow a veiled glance of annoyance. Had he his choice, he would stride over there and dispense with
Donnigan
and his creaking instrument with one swipe of his hand. But he did not have his choice, and
Donnigan
fiddled on. Aye, it had come to appear that he had little choice in many areas of his life of late, and he was growing impatient.

    Another look at the clock on the wall, and Terry shifted. It had been a hell of a month in many ways, but he was only too aware that his private hell was filled with the beautiful face of his darlin' Meg. His eyes closed briefly with the thought that he had lost her, but his next thought was sharp denial as he reminded himself that he had had little time during the past month to devote to closing the distance between Meg and himself, with the work he had been pressed to do for the Brotherhood.

    Terry's face drew into an unconscious frown. David Lang was the cause of his problems on both fronts, and it gave him little comfort to know that he had been right about the fellow from the first. Arrogant, heavy-handed, Lang had taken over the colliery with an unyielding stance that had immediately started the men grumbling. Reduced pay reduced hour she had used every manner of underhanded tool to bring the men to heel, while refusing to hear the complaints of the union with the excuse that his changes were needed for the solvency of the mine.

    Solvency. Hah! All but a fool would not realize that Lang waged a personal vendetta against those who sought to oppose him in his all-powerful position. He had forced the Mollies to acts of retribution, and had then worked hand-in-hand with Linden to fire the men most strongly suspected of being guilty. There had been no need for proof, just a claim of drunkenness on the job, or accusations of making threats of violence.

    Complicating the matter further, Lang had made certain to spare Sean and him even the slightest harassment, and the reason was clear in the minds of all. Aye, had Lang posted signs around town, the bastard could not have done a better job of reminding Shenandoah of Meg's former association with him. Wagging tongues were having a time of it, and with each whispered word Terry's hatred of the man grew.

    As if the turmoil in his own personal life was not enough, the attempt on Bully Boy's life had proved a disaster, and the Shenandoah Division had not heard the last of it. Kehoe had been incensed, claiming the organization's reputation had suffered an enormous blow. The assassination of Patrolman Yost in Tamaqua had followed seven days later, but it was an act of retribution long overdue, and Kehoe was not satisfied that the Shenandoah chapter had restored its credibility.

    The final straw was Lang's display of contempt for the Brotherhood by answering the delivery of a second coffin notice yesterday with the firing of Michael O'Malley in the morning. The thought of it tied his stomach into knots. He was not ready to move against Lang, with affairs between Meg and him still unsettled, but the matter had been taken out of his hands. The rumor of an informer in their midst had prompted Kehoe to handle the matter personally, with the knowledge of a chosen few, but the hour was fast approaching when it would be brought to the general membership in a most decisive way.

    Another glance at the clock and Terry straightened up. A quick      assessment of the room revealed it was time to make his move. Casually downing his drink, he turned to Sean who was still deep in conversation with McKenna.

    "It's time for me to leave ye, friends, for the snow's deep in Tipperary."

    "And the rains'll not wash it away."

    Noting the correct response given to his signal, Terry sauntered toward the door and out onto the street. A short time later, Terry's circuitous route through the back streets of town returned him to Lawler's back door. Upstairs within minutes, he took a deep, fortifying breath before walking into the familiar sitting room.

    The kerosene light hanging over the circular table reflected a golden circle of light on the twelve men seated below. A mumble moved among the men at his appearance, and Terry's eyes caught Sean's as he mentally counted. All were present. Turning to the man standing in the shadows, Terry nodded and Kehoe stepped forward to toss a derby onto the table, his small blue eyes pinning each man in turn.

    "Dig deep, me brothers, for we've a hard score to settle here."

    Moving around the table to signal the draw, Terry waited until all had drawn before reaching in to again take the last slip. The sound of scraping chairs broke the silence as the men prepared to leave in the prescribed manner. It was not long before the door had closed behind the last of them and Terry was alone with Kehoe.

    Kehoe laughed unexpectedly and slapped his shoulder, and Terry frowned. As Kehoe moved closer, Terry saw that the laughter had not reached the man's
eyesthat
the bright blue was surprisingly void of life as he grated, "That farce is over, so buck up, me boyo. By this time tomorrow David Lang will have breathed his last."

    Ill at ease with his thoughts, David walked toward the mount awaiting him outside the colliery office. He snatched up his horse's reins and mounted, turning the animal automatically onto the trail that led to the top of the hill.

    The late- day sun burned against his back and perspiration trailed past his temples as he spurred his horse to a faster pace. At the top of the trail at last, he drew his horse to a halt, aware for the first time of the strain he had placed on his laboring animal. He cursed under his breath.

    Pausing, he looked down on the colliery, aware that the huge,     sprawling monster that consumed the earth on which it stood was so much a part of his problem that it could hardly be separated from it. He had tried to take Meg out of its reach and failed before finally making his own escape years earlier. Then, despite all efforts to the contrary, he had allowed its writhing tentacles to entangle him again and draw him back.