Ribbons of Steel (28 page)

“What about getting the fertilizer and feed we need for our cattle and dairy herds?” Mr. Tallow asked.

“If the trains don’t come into town,” Jerome Little spoke up, “then we have a problem making sure our livestock survive the winter. It will sure cut down on milk production.”

Harvey Strang stood up. “It’s not just livestock. The womenfolk are concerned they won’t be able to buy the necessary dry goods to keep their homes running. I say we meet in small groups to discuss the situation. Designate one from each group to be a spokesman who will report back for the group. Maybe we’ll come up with a solid plan.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Meadows said. “In the meantime, please try to remember this is only a contingency plan in case the strike continues. We aren’t in a pickle yet.”

“We’re at least sure of one thing; we’re all concerned about what effect this strike is already having around the country.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Meadows replied again. “Form your groups. See what you come up with. Report back.”

Seth was disappointed his group was unable to come up with a single solution. When the various groups got back together, the outlook was dismal.

“I can’t believe not one of you was able to come up with a single suggestion.” Mr. Meadows shook his head.

Harvey Strang stood again. “At least we all agreed we can help each other. If we work together, we’ll get through the worst of it. That’s got to count for something.”

Several nodded, others shouted out ‘he’s right, we’ll work together.’

Seth agreed.

An hour later the meeting adjourned. The farmers filed out of the building. Several crossed the street to the depot to find out if Mr. Benson had any news about the strike.

“Seth, hold up a minute.” Harvey Strang stopped him before he could cross the street to his wagon. “I want you to meet my daughter, Cassandra. Cassandra, this here is Seth Carmichael. His pa owns the farm up over the hill from us. He’s been running the farm while his father works the rails in Philadelphia. Made a real nice job of the farm, too.”

Seth hadn’t seen Mr. Strang’s daughter join her father; he’d been too busy thinking about Anna Louise. He tipped his hat to Cassandra. He remembered her from the fair. Up close she appeared taller, not too thin. Her eyes were a deep chocolate, almost black, and her dark auburn hair was combed up on top of her head in a riotous array of curls. She wore a pretty pink frock. Her well-worn boots sticking out from under her skirt added to her appeal. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Why, hello, Seth. Pleased to finally meet you.”

Her soft voice, like a caress, stirred his insides. If he wasn’t already in love with Anna Louise, he might just be mesmerized by this young lady.

Miss Strang batted her eyes in his direction.

Seth stood motionless, transfixed.
Holy cow
. Was the woman boldly flirting with him so openly in front of her father?

Hands held behind her back, she swayed back and forth, her curls bouncing all about her sassy face.

“It’s a…it’s a…my pleasure,” he stuttered. He gave her a brief nod and stepped back.

“Seth was just telling me his sister will be attending teaching academy starting in September,” Mr. Strang said, breaking the spell.

The man’s face was deadpan, but Seth was sure he’d noticed his reaction to his daughter’s flirtatious manner.

“Cassandra, maybe you should be thinking about what you’re going to do when you’ve finished your studies next year,” her father said.

“I have no designs to work at teaching, Daddy dear.” Her beguiling smile never left her animated face. “I’ve told you before. I simply love helping you out on the farm. Why, the young baby chicks, lambs, cows, and horses are simply the best. Just the best. Don’t you think so, Seth? Aren’t baby animals adorable? Just adorable?”

Seth nodded. He wasn’t sure about adorable. Cute, maybe. Harvey Strang was one of the more wealthy dairy farmers who also raised beef. He could afford to indulge his daughter in her every whim. Even horses. If she wanted nothing more than to play with baby animals, who was he to care?

“Come, Daddy, we must be going. Mother will be wondering where we are.” She turned her radiant smile and sparkling eyes toward Seth again. “Mr. Carmichael, it’s been simply wonderful meeting you. Perhaps you will drop by for dinner some Sunday. It would be our pleasure.”

“Thank you for the invite, Miss Strang,” Seth managed, his throat restricted. He fingered his tight collar in an attempt to breathe. “I’m rather busy at the farm this time of year.”

“Just call me Cassandra. Miss Strang is way too formal.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you…Cassandra,” Seth relented.

“I’ll see you at the next meeting, Seth.” Harvey Strang offered his hand in farewell.

Seth shook his hand, and then once again tipped his hat to Harvey’s daughter.

“Miss.”

Cassandra battered her eyes at Seth once more before she turned away to leave. Her father took her arm and together they walked across the dusty street. Seth turned toward his own wagon.

Darn.
He had things to pick up at the mill before heading home to do chores. There was no time now to stop by and see Anna Louise as planned.

Seth drove into town several days later to stop at the telegraph office. Mr. Benson looked up at him with a wide toothy grin when he stepped inside.

“Saints preserve us; the strike has been put down. Just got word this morning. The lines are just a clacking with the news.”

“That is good news,” Seth agreed. “The Agricultural Society will be able to breathe a sigh of relief.”

Now that the strike had ended, there would be no problem with transporting his produce.

“Just in time, I’m a-thinking,” Mr. Benson said. “The mills in these here parts will be starting to gear up for the harvest season soon. We’ve dodged a near disaster in our farming community, I tell you. This calls for a celebration.”

Seth couldn’t agree more.

Chapter Nineteen

Though the strike hadn’t been as bad in Philadelphia as in other towns such as Pittsburgh, a flare up might happen again. Donahue was still as elusive as ever, and Charley didn’t trust him any more now than he did when he was working for Aderley and Scott. He was a weasel of the first degree. He’d been seen smiling his heart out at the edge of many of the strikers’ crowded rallies. The rat had been pleased to see the men riled and defying not only the company, but the local police and militia as well. Charley hadn’t seen him around much since things had finally quieted down.

Word from Aderley confirmed the strikes were under control on the B&O, the New York lines, the Fort Wayne & Chicago, the Illinois lines, the Alton & St. Louise, and the Canadian Southern lines, as well as those in Pennsylvania.

“The Committee of Safety has successfully kept law and order and the strikers at bay,” Aderley said. “And the businessmen in San Francisco who had banded together to take down those anti-Chinese rioters are under control as well. The U.S. Naval fleet was called in to guard their harbor.”

“What about New York City?”

“The Working Men’s Party was surrounded by over a thousand police and the National Guard in Tompkins Square. Thankfully many of the strikes were put down before they got underway.”

Charley knew the militia and United States troops had forced open many of the roads to Pittsburgh, and some were operating with one passenger and mail car per train, per day, and freight was starting up again.

“Are they still striking in Harrisburg and Altoona?”

“No. Governor Hartranft stepped in and broke it up. The strike may have been broken by force,” Aderley said, “but wages stay the same.”

Charley left Aderley’s office to tell Seamus the latest news. To be put down by force with a decree from the President of the United States was a far cry from being a successful strike for the working man. Even though the wage cut was rescinded, the strikers would have to reapply for their positions, along with others who were already out of work needing a job. There were too many needing work. Seamus included.

Seamus waved at Charley from across the rail yard on the other side of the tracks past the roundhouse. The evening was cool for the beginning of August, and Charley wondered at the sweat beading down Seamus’ forehead and upper lip as it glistened under the lamp light. His friend kept looking over his shoulders; first to the left, and then to the right as if someone was following him. After the incident at Seamus’ home, Charley didn’t blame him one bit for being nervous. No sir.

“What’s wrong, Seamus? You look sicker than a dead man,” Charley asked as Seamus drew near.

“God Almighty, Charley. The man was crushed between the couplings like he wasn’t even there. A miserable way to meet your maker, I can tell ya. They left him there to bleed to death. The blood drained out of him and lay like a pool beneath his dangling feet between the ties. I had to get the others to help me uncouple him. Lord, his innards were retched clean right out of him. Whoever did this had to be making a point, cause it sure was no accident.”

“Who? Seamus. Who was it?”

“Donahue. God, Charley, even in the dark the scene was hard to look at. I left the men back there to deal with it. Said I’d go get the police.”

“I can’t say he didn’t deserve what he got.” Charley cringed. He rubbed his hand over his face, shook his head in disbelief. “He’s been nothing but trouble. Still, it’s a hell-of-a-way to die.”

Seamus sat down on the end of one of the railroad ties he’d been walking on and put his head in his hands. He rested his elbows on his knees.

“May God forgive me. Yes. After the shock of seeing the man dangling there like a hog on a spit, I was relieved. I gotta tell ya, Charley, I’ve done nothing but look over my shoulder since the attack at my house.”

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about now. Donahue was the one who had it out for us, not his cohorts.” Charley clamped his hand down on Seamus’ shoulder in a reassuring grip.

More than a friend, Seamus was like a brother. Now that Maggie had settled in Candor, perhaps he could talk Seamus into making it a permanent move. Candor had two trains running through town, now. Maybe Seamus could find work on one of them. The New York lines hadn’t suffered as much as the Philadelphia or the B&O lines had. Still, the strike had all caused considerable damage.

Aderley owed him for his loyalty. He was damn well going to call in a few favors for Seamus, as well.

“Listen, friend. I’ve been thinking. Why not go on up to Candor with your wife and daughter. You can start all over again up there. Get out of Philadelphia.”

“Sure, and what would I be doing there? Living off my wife? Her sewing won’t be worth much.”

“You’re not thinking straight. You’re still in shock over seeing Donahue’s gored body.”

Charley wasn’t sure he was up to witnessing such a death.

“Let’s find our way to The Blue Bottle. Donahue isn’t going anywhere. We’ll get you a pint to warm you and get the blood flowing. Put some color back in your white hide. I’ll get someone else to fetch the police. You need to get home and get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Charley helped Seamus to his feet. Getting his friend out of Philadelphia might just ease the man’s memory of what had taken place here. Whoever Donahue had been working for, they weren’t worried about taking his life, or how they accomplished the deed. Only a sick mind would think of doing such a thing.

Charley took Seamus to The Blue Bottle, ordered him a couple rounds of ale, set him up at a table in the corner, and left him there while he returned to the bar.

“Hey, Mac. I’ve run across a slight problem back at the yard. You want to find someone to get the police to take care of the body? Donahue didn’t survive a gruesome accident.”

Mac would know how to deal with this situation before it got out of hand. He had his own contacts. Charley didn’t ask any questions.

“Got himself in a fix, did he? Seen him talking to Salina The Pig just the other day. The man was getting sloppy being seen with that Italian. Just how did Donahue die?”

“Can’t say he met his maker at all. More like the other way around, now I think about it. God may have been his maker, but the devil took over right after, far as I can see.”

Mac poured Charley a drink and handed him the frothy glass.

“Here. This one’s on the house. You look almost as bad as poor Seamus over there. He find the body, did he?”

“Yes, he ran across Donahue dangling between the cars; seared straight through. I’d appreciate it if you’d send someone to get the police while I take Seamus on home.”

Mac was already calling in his help as Charley walked toward Seamus.

“Come on, friend. Let’s finish this pint and get you home.”

“What about the police?”

“Mac’s taken care of the situation. We don’t have to worry.” Charley wrapped his arm under Seamus’ shoulder and hefted him to his feet. The guy was short and weighed nothing at all. By the time Charley half carried him down the street to his house, the man was ready to drop from exhaustion and drink.

Charley put Seamus to bed, then made the necessary rounds, locking everything just to be sure. He checked the rooms, behind the doors, inside the closets, made sure all the windows were shut and locked, the curtains closed, and the back door locked. He checked under beds and every other little hiding spot even an ant could find refuge in. Once satisfied all was in order, he made himself comfortable on the sofa and slept with one ear uncovered so he wouldn’t miss a sound. By now he recognized almost every night sound inside and out of the house; a tree branch rubbing against the window pane or a mouse scurrying across the floor. He hadn’t gotten much sleep himself, but tonight he would. He was confident Donahue’s cohorts wouldn’t be back.

Now that the strike was over, Donahue had become expendable.

No man should have died the way Donahue had.

****

Charley had the coffee ready when Seamus woke early Saturday morning.

“How you feeling?”

“My head’s spinning,” Seamus muttered splashing cold water on his face.