Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two (4 page)

“Of course not, sir.”

“Never thought I’d hire a Yank from Boston, but I guess that sort of thing don’t matter so much here in Butte,” Jeffers said with a long intense glance. “I’ll show you ’round.”

They approached a small group of men who were reviewing plans.

“Morgan, Niall and Larry, this is Gabriel. He’ll be working with you.” Jeffers glared at all three before he spun on his heel and moved to another area.

“I’m Larry,” one of the men said, his russet-colored hair and brown eyes inquisitive as he studied the newcomer.

A man with a commanding presence and dull blond hair turned toward Gabriel. His faded light-blue work shirt strained at the shoulders, emphasizing their breadth and strength. “How’d you talk him into giving you a job? He’s miserly as hell and would rather work us to death than hire anyone new.”

“I’m not sure. I just asked for a job.”

“How do we know he’ll be able to do the work? Just shows up with no proof he can actually do anything. We can survive until Harvey comes back,” hissed the third man with raven-black hair and green cat-colored eyes. He was nearly as tall as Gabriel although lankier. He prowled around Gabriel as though examining him for any defect.

“Niall, we should at least give him a chance,” Larry said.

“Where are you from?” Niall demanded. He stood in front of Gabriel, almost eye to eye.

“Boston.”

“Boston! Listen to the likes of that, lads. We have a rarefied one from Boston,” Larry said trying to mimic what he imagined to be a Bostonian accent.

Gabriel smiled as he murmured to Larry, “Too many
R
s,” before he turned away from Niall and included Morgan in the conversation. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble. I’d just like some work. And I am skilled. I think I will be an asset to this project.”

“You are a true cabinetmaker?” Larry asked. At Gabriel’s nod, he asked, “Why work here with us? Why not on your own?”

“I was told there was a lot of work to be done, and I didn’t want to have to search for work or clients over the winter,” Gabriel said, answering part of the question.

“Smart man,” Morgan said with a small smile and a nod to Niall. “My friends call me Mete-It-Out Morgan.”

“Why the nicknames?” Gabriel asked.

“Everyone has a nickname of sorts here. You’ll have one after a while,” Larry said. “Even if you don’t earn it.”

“Don’t believe him,” Niall said. “He’s earned his ten times over. He’s Loose-Lipped Larry,” he said in a lilting Irish accent with a tap on his nose. He reached out his hand to shake Gabriel’s. “I’m Never-Enough Niall.”

Gabriel shook his and the others’ hands feeling like he had passed a secret test. “What exactly are we building?”

***

THAT EVENING GABRIEL LAY on the cotlike bed in the room he shared with Matthew, thinking about the day. Trying not to think about Clarissa and the fact that there had been no letter again from her. He had written every day for the past two weeks, and her continued silence worried him. As he lay on the narrow bed in the cramped room staring at the ceiling, all he saw was Clarissa. Her beautiful, expressive blue eyes, her chestnut-brown hair falling out of its pins. Her exuberance as she spoke about her day. An insistent ache settled in a small corner of his heart. In the beginning the letters she had hidden in his trunks with his brother Richard’s help had aided in soothing the pain of their parting, but now he needed news of her.

The pounding on his door snapped him from his reverie. He rose from the bed and in one stride opened the door. “Larry, nice to see you. I didn’t know you boarded here.”

“I don’t, but I learned that you do and wanted to invite you down to the pub with the rest of us.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel said as he turned to reach for his jacket. It hung on a peg to the side of the door, at the foot of his bed. His bed lay along the same wall as the door, while Matthew’s was separated from his by a small table. A shared bureau stood at the foot of Matthew’s bed. A miniscule window over the bureau let in a faint light.

When Gabriel turned back to leave, he found Larry peering around his room, studying everything he could see. “Who’s the fancy piece?” Larry asked, his gaze focused on the only adornment in Gabriel’s part of the Spartan rented rooms. It was a picture of Clarissa propped up on his side of the nightstand, taken in all her finery at Savannah’s wedding. She looked the part of a haughty and unapproachable society woman, a woman who would never notice him, unless someone looked closely at her eyes. He saw a hint of the vivacious woman he loved in those eyes.

“A friend from home,” Gabriel said.

“Seems a bit above the likes of you,” Larry said with a good-natured snort.

Gabriel grunted his agreement, not wishing to test the accuracy of Larry’s nickname. “Let’s go,” Gabriel said, pushing him out of the room.

They headed down the hill toward the Uptown section of Butte. “Why in God’s name do you live in Centerville?” Larry asked.

“I made a friend on the train, and he lives up here because he works in one of the mines. And it’s cheap.”

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it. You should think of moving to Dublin Gulch. That’s where we all live.”

“Why would I want to live in a gulch rather than at the top of a hill? I like the view.”

“As if you can see the mountains or the valley below through the smoke. Besides, it’s where the Irish live without having to put up with the Cornish. You’d feel at home, I would think,” Larry said with a raised eyebrow. “Think about it, Gabriel.”

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders by way of response.

“We decided to meet at a bar nearer to you rather than our local,” Larry said as they entered the Owsley Bar, pushing into the crowd. Announcements for the latest vaudeville shows were tacked in a haphazard display behind the barman. Off-duty miners made up the majority of the men who stood jammed along the long mahogany bar, sipping pints. Tables sat to the side and back of the room, spittoons scattered about and in frequent use. Mirrors on the back wall reflected light, making the room seem brighter and longer. After Larry and he collected their drinks, they made their way to a small side table where Morgan and Niall sat with pints in front of them.

“What do you think of the work, Gabriel?” Morgan asked after Gabriel took a sip of his drink.

“It seems an ambitious project, although I don’t know how Jeffers thinks it’ll be completed in time without more carpenters.”

“As you aren’t the foreman, I don’t see how your opinion holds much sway,” Niall said with a frown.

“I know if you want quality, you don’t attain it by hoping rough carpentry can take the place of finish work.”

“Who are you to imply…?” Niall began with flashing green eyes but was cut off by a severe look from Morgan.

“Whatever you might think, we are finish cabinetmakers,” Morgan said as he nodded to the three of them around the table.

“But the others aren’t,” Gabriel argued. “Four of us will be unable to complete all of the fine carving and finish work by May.”

Morgan sighed. “I fear you are correct. If Harvey hadn’t been so high-strung as to get in a bar brawl…”

“What was it over?” Gabriel asked.

“Politics,” Niall said. “The
eejit
doesn’t know to keep his mouth shut. Why in God’s name go into a bar in Butte promotin’ McKinley? We’re all W. J. Bryan men.”

Gabriel suppressed an amused grin. “Is that a requirement for me to work with you?”

“No, though don’t go talking to us about it if you aren’t. I can’t stand another four more bloody years with that man,” Niall said with a long sigh. “Promotin’ the likes of Amalgamated and big business over the common man.”

“Did you see what they did in Pennsylvania?” Morgan asked as he flicked a copy of the day’s newspaper,
The Anaconda Standard
, onto the table.

Gabriel read the headline proclaiming the strike of ninety thousand coal miners in rural Pennsylvania. “That’s a lot of men! How long do they expect the strike to last?”

“No one knows. But it’ll be winter soon, and more expensive coal is not something that any of us needs,” Larry said.

“Though we should support them,” Niall argued as he leaned toward Gabriel to read the article. “Who would’ve thought that many men could organize?”

Morgan nodded. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Would the miners here strike?”

“Who’s to say? But they make a good wage. Much better than most.” Morgan picked up the paper and folded it on top of the table. “What I hope is that actions like this will help Bryan. Show the American people that the likes of McKinley and his ‘full dinner pail’—”

“What a bunch of malarkey,” Niall muttered.

“—is nothing more than a slogan. That the majority of Americans aren’t any better off than before, and his support of the trusts is only hurting the common man.”

“Some would argue McKinley and his policies have led to economic stability,” Gabriel argued. “Folks aren’t making runs on the banks like they were back in the mid ’90s.”

“Are you saying you support the man?” Niall demanded.

“No, I’ve no love for the man who’s sent my brother to the Philippines. Nor for the man he’s chosen to run with.”

Larry snickered. “There are many who like Teddy Roosevelt and his expansionist views.” He, Morgan and Niall watched Gabriel’s reaction closely.

Gabriel merely studied them.

“What brings you here from Boston, Gabriel?” asked Larry.

“A change in circumstance,” Gabriel said.

“I wonder if it has anything to do with the photo of that fancy piece in your room?” Larry mused.

Gabriel took another sip of beer. “I have always wanted adventure, and Butte seemed the perfect place.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get the story out of you one way or the other,” Larry said with a laugh.

“Are you ever serious?” Niall demanded. “Here we were, about to start a good discussion on politics, and all you can think about is some photo of a pretty girl you saw in his room.”

Larry shrugged his shoulders.

Niall shook his head in disgust but not before Gabriel saw his lips quirk with a smile.

“Well, it’s a damn sight more interesting than listening to you yammer on night after night about the same thing,” Larry said as he took a swig of his ale.

“McLeod. McLeod. Hmm…” Niall said. “You claim you’re Irish, but your last name doesn’t sound Irish to me. It sounds more Scotch-Irish. Protestant. Like Clark.”

“Clark? The Copper King, W. A. Clark?”

“Yes. He’s running for US Senate again. Although if our Marcus Daly has his way, he’ll never make it to Washington,” Larry said.

“Marcus Daly. The Irish Copper King?”

“Yes. He owns the Anaconda Copper Company. Well, now it’s the Amalgamated. But we all think of it as Anaconda,” Niall said. “So, are you Irish or not?”

“Well, my da always said he came from Ireland, and I believed him.”

“Why would anyone claim to be from there when they’re not?” Larry asked, earning him a kick in the shins from Niall.

“Why don’t you write your da and ask him to clarify?” Niall asked.

“Seeing as he’s been dead fifteen years, that might prove difficult.”

“Leave off, Niall,” Larry said. “If he says he’s Irish, then he’s Irish. Just not off the boat like you.”

“Are you at least Catholic?” Niall asked.

Gabriel paused to study Niall, suddenly thankful that he had allowed Matthew to badger him into attending Mass since his arrival. “Yes,” Gabriel said.

“You don’t seem too sure on that.”

“Well, I haven’t gone to church regularly until recently.”

“Which church do you go to?”

Gabriel watched the threesome, unease filling him as they continued to pepper him with personal questions. “St. Lawrence O’Toole.”

“Ah, that’s a lovely church. Built by the miners own money, mind,” Niall said.

“Gabe!”

He looked up to see Matthew approaching them. “Matthew, I am surprised to see you here.”

“Well, I thought I’d get out, see a bit more of Butte. And tomorrow’s my day off, so I don’t have to worry about an early start.” He looked around the table at Gabriel’s acquaintances, smiling in a friendly manner, waiting for an introduction. He stumbled as another saloon patron jostled him on his way to the bar. The man weaved for a moment, slapped Matthew on the back by way of apology and continued on his way.

“Matthew Donovan, this is Niall O’Donnell, Larry Ferguson and Morgan O’Malley.”

Niall nodded, his green eyes serious, while Larry smiled and Morgan raised his pint to Matthew.

All three studied Matthew as Gabriel continued to speak. “I began working with them today at the Thornton Block.”

“That’s great, Gabe,” Matthew said with a wide smile. “Do you mind if I steal you away for a few moments? I want to introduce you to my mining partner.”

Gabe nodded to the three men as he rose to follow Matthew, carrying his pint with him. When the rowdy crowd had engulfed them, Gabriel murmured, “Is there really someone for me to meet?”

Matthew said with a knowing nod, “There is, though it seemed like you weren’t too eager to stay in their company.”

“They’re a bit too curious about me.”

“Well, most people here are interested in newcomers, Gabe. You have to accustom yourself to answering a few questions.”

“I don’t like having to work in a group,” Gabriel muttered.

“You’ll find that you’ll do a lot better in Butte if you become more social and community focused, Gabe.”

“How do you know this already? We arrived on the same train.”

“Well, you don’t have to go down a mine shaft each day and depend on others to come out again,” Matthew said. “If you did, you’d learn about your dependence on others.” He reached out to slap a burly auburn-haired man on his shoulders. “Here’s the man I wanted you to meet.”

Gabriel nodded as the short, stocky man turned toward him. Bushy eyebrows framed hazel eyes, and a thick walrus mustache tickled his nose. “Aye, Matthew?” he said in a thick Irish brogue.

“Liam Egan,” Matthew said, “this is my good friend, Gabriel McLeod. He’s from Boston.”