Into the Whirlwind (32 page)

22

M
ollie couldn’t believe her ears, but Moose confirmed it with his usual blunt efficiency as he stood in the doorway of the new workshop. “Colonel Lowe says Declan McNabb is to come with us to Milwaukee,” he growled. “We need every able-bodied man we can get.”

But Declan wasn’t able-bodied! He jumped at the sound of a slamming door and descended into quaking anxiety the moment he was under stress. Mollie glanced around her brand-new workshop. It was after dinner, and most of the employees, including Declan, had left more than an hour earlier. Gunner was mopping the floor and waiting for the kiln to cool so he could retrieve the last of today’s enameled dials. This wasn’t the kind of conversation she wanted anyone to overhear, so she snatched her coat from its hook and gestured to the door.

“Can we discuss this outside, please?”

Frigid wind pierced her clothing as they stepped into the darkness and she wrapped her arms around her middle. “What in heaven’s name is Richard thinking, dragging Declan into a war zone!”

“It’s Milwaukee, lady. Not a war zone.”

She lifted her chin a notch. “I was in the church that night.
There were at least five men, and it felt like a war zone to me. I doubt they will gladly follow you back to Chicago to face the hangman.”

Moose grunted, although it may have been a laugh. She couldn’t tell the difference with Moose. “I suppose you’d better take that up with Colonel Lowe, then.”

Which was what she intended to do. She knew exactly where he would be at this time of day, and it was going to be a fair distance. Her lace-up shoes were not the best for walking, and she wobbled a little on the delicate heels as she scurried toward Randolph Street.

The pharmacy on the corner of Jefferson and Randolph Street had escaped the flames by less than four city blocks. Within days of the fire, Western Union had set up a temporary telegraph station at the rear of the pharmacy. Ever since the fire, so many telegrams had been sent in and out of Chicago that Mollie was surprised the wires had not burst into flame. Most telegraph stations were operating around the clock, and even so, the line at the Randolph Street Pharmacy stretched out the door.

Mollie scanned the crowd, grateful for the glow of a nearby gaslight. When she didn’t see Richard, she pushed inside the warmth of the snug pharmacy. Sure enough, he was getting near the front, the next in line to send a telegram. He came here at the close of every day to check on the progress of a new train interchange his company was overseeing, picking up the day’s telegram and then sending back instructions.

Mollie shouldered her way past the counter of medicinal syrups and herbs, her skirts brushing against the wet wool of others waiting in line. Richard was stooped over a notepad, making calculations with a stubby pencil, oblivious to her presence.

“Richard.”

He looked startled to see her. “Mollie, aren’t you a fetching surprise!”

Her feet ached, and the crowded pharmacy smelled unpleasantly of wet wool and menthol paste. “Is it true?” She clenched her teeth, praying to hold on to the edges of her frayed nerves.

“I certainly hope not, given your ferocious expression. Is what true?” Richard folded the notepad closed and put on a pleasant face.

“Are you taking Declan with you to confront those murderers?”

Richard glanced around the pharmacy, a look of confusion on his face. Other people in the line cocked their heads to listen, and Richard angled his body in a vain attempt to provide a little privacy. “Yes, we could use another pair of hands. You object?”

“Object!” she blurted out. More heads were turning their way, and she lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “I will lie down in front of Declan to prevent him from leaving! He isn’t ready for that sort of confrontation.”

“He seemed perfectly willing to go when I put the idea to him this afternoon.”

That was because Richard had no idea of the hold he had over Declan. From the moment Declan had joined the 57th, he had idolized Colonel Lowe, and now he continually berated himself for failing to live up to Colonel Lowe’s expectations of what a man should be and do. She drew a steadying breath. “Declan worships you. He would follow you over a cliff if you asked him to.”

Richard’s mouth compressed into a hard line, but the man in front of them completed sending his message, and Richard turned away from her to set a few coins on the table. Mollie stepped back so he could send his message. “Commence laying
track to old Cheney Pass,” he dictated. “Send diagram of bridge for approval.”

How confident he sounded. And how grateful she was that he had taken more than a month out of his life to come to her rescue, yet here she was, confronting him in a public pharmacy like a harpy.

The staccato click of the telegraph machine tapped Richard’s message while she waited. Richard would never be deliberately cruel to any of his men, but did he understand how frail Declan was? How little resilience remained beneath that strong exterior? Mollie had never fully understood Declan’s uncontrollable terrors until the fire, but now she had personal experience with the irrational anxiety that could descend upon an otherwise healthy person. Her nightmares had worsened after Frank’s death, and she knew what it felt like to constantly be on edge, waiting for the ground to crumble beneath her.

Richard had endured the awful three days at Winston Cliff. He had first-hand experience of staring down death and emerging from the trauma. Perhaps he understood more than she gave him credit for.

How did one ask a man if he had ever snapped awake in the middle of the night, shaking and drenched with sweat, so frightened it was difficult to draw a breath? Half the time, Mollie could not even remember the specifics of her dream, but the terror lingered, holding her in its grip for hours and leaving her restless and exhausted the next day.

If Richard was the man she was destined to marry, he had a right to know she suffered from such a thing. And given Richard’s extraordinary past, he might even know how to cope with it.

Richard paid the telegraph operator and stepped away from the table. He gestured toward the front of the shop, where the wall was lined with shelves of medicinal bottles and cans of
liniment. “I need to wait for a reply,” he said. “It can take anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour. Now, what was it you were so concerned about?”

He remembered very well, but the pleasant tone of his voice made it clear he was giving her the opportunity to start over with a clean slate. She swallowed hard and met his eyes. “Do you ever suffer from nightmares?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” He looked curious, but not insulted.

“I understand it is not uncommon for people who have endured great terror to be haunted by it. Sometimes I am troubled by dreams of the fire. The feeling of being trapped with no way to escape. I think this sort of thing torments Declan. In the years since the war, he breaks down over the smallest things. I never know what is going to trigger his demons, but they are real, and they won’t go away. I merely wondered if you . . . if you have ever battled such an enemy.”

For the first time since she had met him, Richard looked ill at ease. He inched back a tiny bit and braced his elbow against the hickory countertop, looking somewhere over her left shoulder. The clattering of the telegraph machine clicked away in the background and an awkward silence stretched between them, but finally Richard took a breath and met her gaze. “Mollie, if I had such . . . torments, you must understand . . . this is not the sort of thing a man would ever choose to revisit. With anyone.”

Zack did. She didn’t think less of him for sharing his anxiety over the ringing of bells. Actually, it had drawn her closer to him, allowing her to share her own shortcomings without feeling any judgment from him. But Richard was a different man, perhaps even a better man. He would not foist these burdens on her.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just need to know if you can understand what Declan is up against. If you
can help him. I fear he may go to Milwaukee and break into pieces at the first sign of real danger.”

Richard kept scrutinizing her with that perplexing stare. Finally, he spoke. “Declan is a man. He will rise to the occasion. It is hard for him to do that if you keep hovering over him.”

“I don’t
hover
over Declan.” But even as she spoke the words, the skepticism on Richard’s face deepened. She knew Declan felt like a failure, and perhaps he would never be able to rise above that harsh self-assessment in the safety of her watch factory. It was wrong of her to try to stand in his way if he wished to follow Richard to Milwaukee.

She tugged on her gloves, dreading the long walk home when she was already exhausted. “If Declan wishes to accompany you, of course I can spare him,” she said stiffly. “But I think you are being shortsighted and, frankly, a little bit cruel to play on his hero worship of you like this, but it is Declan’s decision. I need to get back home.”

Richard glanced to the back of the pharmacy. “I should hear back from Waukegan soon. Wait a few minutes, and I’ll walk you back to the women’s barracks.”

She just wanted to be alone. She wanted to fall into bed and pray for a decent night’s sleep, however unlikely that was. She tied the strings of her cloak, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ll be fine.”

“Mollie . . .”

“It’s nothing. I am a foolish woman. . . . I’m sure you know best.”

She angled her body to negotiate her way through the crowded shop. Richard made no effort to follow, for which she was grateful. On some level, she knew he was right, but it still bothered her that Richard had sought out Declan without asking her.

The cold air hit her in the face. Why should he ask her
permission? Declan was a grown man who was free to make his own decisions. She had been hovering over him like a mother hen for years, shielding him from any hint of distress. Was she part of the reason he still had a crippled mind?

By the time Mollie arrived at the women’s barracks, her feet ached and her spirit dragged. The snow was a slushy mess on the plank walkways, and the air carried tiny flecks of sleet on the wind. Mercifully, the braziers were lit and the oversized room was warm. Mollie shook her cloak, flinging off the ice crystals.

“I hear there was quite a ruckus at the workshop this evening.” Alice had rolled into a sitting position from where she lounged on the bottom bunk.

“How did you hear that?”

“Word travels, Mollie. We will be lucky if it doesn’t get back to Declan.”

The strength drained from her limbs and she sank down onto the straw mattress beside Alice. “Maybe I am just terrified at the thought of them all going to confront those terrible men. I can’t endure another loss.” She didn’t want to dwell on her troubles. So many of the women crammed into this crude barracks did nothing other than enumerate their losses, and she did not want to become like them. Sometimes it was disheartening to even be in the same room with all the complaining.

Alice produced a checkerboard, and Mollie did her best to concentrate on the game. A few other women gathered to watch, but as it grew colder, Mollie longed for the nights the refugees had gathered around the brazier at the church, where people shared stories and laughed at their troubles. Everyone at the 57th accepted that they would be in for a long, difficult slog toward
rebuilding their lives, and that attitude made Mollie grateful for their triumphs, rather than dwelling on her losses. She needed to work harder on recapturing that attitude.

There was a pounding on the door. “Mollie!”

Her heart leapt to her throat. It was Richard’s voice.

“You can’t have any men in here,” the barrack’s matron growled from the front of the room. Mollie sprang off the mattress. He must be freezing outside!

She unlatched the metal hook and cracked the door open. Richard stood outside, a smile on his face and a handful of licorice sticks in his hands. “I came to say I am sorry.”

Her brows rose. “You did?”

“Close the door!” a woman hollered behind them.

Richard reached through the opening and grabbed her hand, his strong and warm despite the chill outside. His cheeks had bright red flags of color on them, but his eyes were brimming with excitement. “I’m sorry I implied you are anything less than the most caring, generous woman I have ever encountered. I am sorry I gave you one moment of needless anxiety.”

She couldn’t believe he was apologizing to her. Apologizing! Zack would have marched across town to rip into her, to continue their argument out on a public street. Mollie was pretty sure she was in the wrong about what had happened in the pharmacy and didn’t know how to respond now that Richard was offering her complete and total surrender.

“Lady, if you don’t shut that door, I’m going to set your mattress on fire!”

Alice rushed to her side, pressing her cloak and gloves into her hands. “Take it outside, Mollie, or these women will be gearing up for a public execution!”

Mollie wrapped the cloak around her. Her boots clattered on the plank steps and it was freezing outside, but at least the
sleet had turned into gentle snowflakes, and she could be alone with Richard.