Sweet Boundless (31 page)

Cain had told Quillan God wasn’t condoning hate, only drawing a line beyond which no one could raise someone or something before God. So vast should be the difference in reverence that it was like love and hate. For Quillan, the two had seemed hopelessly entwined.

“ ‘But whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.’ ” The reverend rested his gaze gently now. “Must you die for the Lord to know His salvation? No. You must only die to yourself. How? By taking up the cross daily. What is the cross in your life? Take it up. Bear it bravely as Simon bore the cross of our Lord.”

Quillan fought the scowl. What was his cross? Ignominious birth. Loveless childhood. Rejection. Shame. Fear. Not fear! Yes. Fear to risk his heart, fear to love. That was why he hurt Carina. Not because he’d failed Cain. But because she might fail him.

“Take up your weakness, your pain, your failing. Be weak that God might be strong. ‘For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.’ ” The reverend seemed to shrink, though his eyes remained firm. “He has accomplished your salvation. But He has not yet perfected your circumstances. Do not be confused in the two.”

Reverend Shepard stepped down from the pulpit, and Quillan saw the quivering in one leg. Almost stumbling, the minister took his seat as another hymn filled the church. Quillan drew a slow breath. In the old man’s weakness, did he see God’s power? He’d ignored the fiery sermons easily enough, but it was in the gentle moments, when the reverend was at a loss, that Quillan had been most perilously close to seeing God.

He shook his head. He hadn’t intended to listen, certainly not to ponder the words of this man. Maybe they weren’t just the reverend’s words. Maybe they were God’s. But he and God were not on speaking terms. Quillan wet his lips and swallowed the dryness from his throat. Cain had believed he refused to surrender. Maybe he feared to.

What was he doing there? He should go. To Carina? Something inside him lurched at the thought. Something rebellious and altogether untamed. Why did his heart have to jump that way at just the thought of her? What if he went back to Crystal and found her gone?

But he couldn’t stay away forever. For better or worse he owed her something. If only her freedom. That thought hurt. Seeing the conciliatory care the reverend gave his wife these last weeks had shown Quillan a sort of love he didn’t understand. A giving with no return, an accepting with no sense.

Quillan shrank from the thought of so exposing himself. To be so vulnerable . . .
And he said unto me, my grace is sufficient for thee:
for my strength is made perfect in weakness
. Quillan sat straight and stiff, showing nothing of his thoughts. What if he returned to Carina. Asked her to love him. After their last encounter! Not a chance.

But what if . . . He thought of his mother’s diary, the despair he’d read in those pages. But she’d found Wolf. And whatever his father’s story, he, too, had found joy with Rose. An image of them charred and entangled filled his mind, but Quillan fought it back.

If only he could purge it forever! But maybe that was his cross. Maybe the pain was what he needed to embrace. The loss. The sorrow he felt for two ill-fated lovers too damaged to survive. Quillan closed his eyes and lowered his jaw. Let them think him in prayer. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Maybe he was.

SEVENTEEN

My heart aches for the lives that were lost in my husband’s venture. What more can I do but bring succor to the wives who no longer have a man to call their own?

—Carina

CARINA WALKED FROM SHACK to shack. Seven of the men were unmarried, but six had wives, and five of those had at least one child. Carina entered the sixth house when the thin blond woman opened the door.

The woman stared as though Carina weren’t real. “I heard you were coming, but I didn’t believe it. Why would you do this?”

“You are Mary Billings?”

“Yes. My man was killed last night. But what’s that to you?”

Carina reached into her velvet purse for the last packet of bills. “I’m very sorry for your loss. My husband would want you to have this. Mr. Makepeace has authorized it.” She held out the bills. “To see you through the winter, until the roads are passable.”

Dazed, Mrs. Billings took the money. Then, her legs collapsing, she landed on a crate beside the door that held a saddle and some blankets. “I always knew it would end like this. When I married him I knew.” She began to sob.

Carina ached for her. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Billings.”

The woman raised her eyes doubtfully. “Why? Why are you sorry? You don’t even know me.”

“You came last Sunday to my restaurant.”

“You know that? There were so many all through the day.”

Carina stopped before her, took Mary Billings’ hands between hers. “I didn’t know your name. Or your husband’s. Not before Mr. Makepeace gave me the list. But I remember your face.” She was ashamed that she couldn’t recall Mr. Billings’ features. But the men were so many.

Her throat tightened painfully. “I know the money cannot replace what you have lost.”

The woman gripped the bills to her chest and cried again. “Nothing can, nothing will. But at least . . . at least I won’t starve.”

“If you need anything . . .”

“When I walked into that fine dining room of yours and saw you all petite and sparkling . . . I despised you. I thought you made us look bad. Your fine cooking making what I put on the plate every night seem like dirt.” She swiped her sleeve across her face. “But now this.”

Carina lowered her face. “It’s little enough.”

“It’s more than anyone else would do.”

Carina stood up. “Please accept my deep regrets.”

Mary Billings also stood. “If you’ll accept my apology.”

Carina embraced her. “No apology is needed.”

Carina then left, her own eyes tired from sharing the tears of these women. Mary Billings had been the only one to speak her resentment, but they had all been wary. Had they, like Mary, resented her efforts toward their husbands? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that now they would have what they needed to live.

Carina tried to imagine Mary’s grief, knowing that each day her husband left for the mine might be the last she would see him. And then to receive the word that yes, her husband was killed in the mine, and to be all alone. Carina drew herself up, staunchly defending in her own mind this small kindness.

No, she hadn’t known their names, perhaps had never spoken to them personally. But she felt these deaths. And she wished there was more, much more she could do.

Alex Makepeace looked at the dozen men assembled before him, their scowls and fierce disapproval no more than he’d expected. He’d lost thirteen men to the mine, yet these men were not here to protest the loss of life. One burly thug with a cauliflower ear shouted, “It’s not done, Makepeace. You’ll have our men jumping ship, expecting favors, demanding what we can’t give.”

Alex held himself straight. “It wasn’t my decision.”

“Since when does a bleeding-heart woman run your mine?”

“Since her husband owns it.”

“Partially!”

“Partially,” he conceded. He could have thwarted Carina, could have denied her the funds, the names, the access to the families. If his personal involvement had not gone beyond the bounds, he might have.

“Our investors won’t stand for it. You’ve set a precedent we won’t allow.”

“It’s only once.” Alex knew the argument was feeble. He’d told Carina from the start how her actions would be perceived. No eastern investors would stand for a mine taking responsibility for the accidental deaths of workers. No mine could afford to insure against the mistakes and misjudgments of its workers. He knew it! He had no quarrel with their thinking. So why was he standing there, defending Carina’s actions toward the families of those killed in his cave-in?

“Once is all it takes! They’ll be clamoring for restitution all over the district! Take it back, man, or there’ll be trouble.”

“I can’t take it back. Those families and widows need some way to survive until winter breaks. Then they’ll be gone.”

The man bristled. “And what of the powder blast at the Iron Horse? Three men dead.”

Alex swallowed the tightness in his throat. “That’s their business.”

“Their men are shouting for fair treatment.”

Alex understood the fear behind their objections. It would be chaos if the mine owners took responsibility for every mishap. It would be ruin. The miners accepted employment knowing the risk. They were paid to take the risk. “The accident at the New Boundless was the worst to date. Minor errors will not be treated with severance. No severance will be offered again.” He slumped with the weakness of his argument, but he determined he would stand against Carina if she ever suggested as much again.

“Our own men say they’ll go directly to her.”

Alex turned to the voice. James Mires, his foreman. Alex saw the concern there, knew its depth. Yes, their own miners would be the hardest of all to deal with, wanting for their families what the others had already received.

A short redheaded engineer called out, “I had one man who was crippled last month by a falling Burleigh come today demanding compensation for his family.”

“You hear that?” The first man raised a fist. “We’ll have every rocked-up hacker demanding justice!”

Alex sagged. It was true. He would be reprimanded by the investors, maybe replaced. He rubbed his face with stubborn resolve. “What’s done is done. It won’t be repeated.” It was the best he could do. He couldn’t ask Carina to take back what she’d given, couldn’t demand it back from the women and children who could starve before they made it out of Crystal. It wasn’t his responsibility, but Carina had made it so.

He heard the grumbling, knew these foremen and engineers were not satisfied. They had the same responsibilities as he. Their jobs, their reputations were at stake. They’d be required to handle the situation so the investors didn’t lose revenue. And he’d just made their lives very difficult. They were caught between his generosity and their quotas. So was he.

In his mind he cursed Carina. Then he cursed himself. He should never have listened, never have allowed, even for a minute . . . Had he thought with his head instead of his heart he would have squelched her plan, no matter the hurt he saw in the depths of her eyes. His responsibility was to his employers, not his employer’s wife!

“It’s on your shoulders, then.” The burly man raised a finger. “If the New Boundless takes on one of Charity Jane’s men, you’ll be dealing with me.”

“I won’t take on any of your men.” Which meant he’d be running short through the entire winter, having lost thirteen workers. He saw the dismay on James Mires’s face. But what else could he do? The other mines would lose men the minute they thought they could find a better deal at the Boundless. He’d rocked the boat, and the ripples were spreading.

“You’ve not heard the last of this. Trouble will come of it.” Grumbling, the crowd dispersed. They’d accomplished nothing. Alex could only hope that, like the snows, this would melt away come spring when the families left Crystal and the memory of a misguided generosity was forgotten. It was a faint hope, and when he met Mires’s eye, he knew it would be a long time until spring.

Carina sensed a change in Alex Makepeace when he came in for dinner that night. Was he angry with her? Had she overstepped his consideration for her? Had he lost face because of her? He hadn’t looked happy when he turned over the funds, even though they came from the monies Quillan would have counted profit.

Now he looked miserable. She wanted to ask him, to make him tell her what weighed on him so heavily. Maybe it was losing the men. Maybe it had nothing to do with her. Either way she couldn’t ask. Mae’s suspicions had warned her not to display a relationship beyond the accepted courtesy.

But it ate at her while she worked, cooking the hare with wild onions, tomato paste, and the last of the anchovies, and continued as she served the laden plates to the tables. Alex had seemed discouraged and almost hostile. Had she once again alienated someone who mattered to her? First Flavio, then Quillan, now Alex. No, it wasn’t the same with Alex. It couldn’t be. She had loved Flavio, loved Quillan still. What she felt for Alex Makepeace was . . . what?
Oh!
She slapped the towel on the stove.