Secrets of the Heart (13 page)

“That’s the way I look at it, Hank,” Tom said. “But until then, I plan to keep on working for Mr. Comstock. He pays us better than a lot of silver mine owners pay their men.”

“Yes, he does,” spoke up Harold Sheetz. “He’s been plenty fair with me.”

“We can all say that,” said Hank.

The quintet reached the edge of town, and Carstairs, Sheetz, and Tobias veered off and headed toward their humble shanties. Soon the two friends were on Main Street on their way to the other side of town. As they drew near the Silver Plume Hotel they noticed a crowd gathered in front of the newspaper office next door.

Chuck Ramsey, the editor of the
Virginia City Sentinel
, was standing on the boardwalk, talking to the crowd, as his assistant sold papers.

Two of Comstock’s miners were in the crowd. They each purchased a copy of the day’s edition and headed up the street toward Harned and Mitchell.

“Hey, guys,” Hank called, “what’s all the excitement about?”

“Big fire in Chicago,” one of the men replied, holding up his folded newspaper. “Chuck was just telling us that a third of the city has been destroyed. About three hundred people burned to death. Bad. Real bad.”

Moving on, Tom said, “Guess I’d better buy a paper, Hank. Loretta’s got two cousins who live in Chicago. She’ll want to know about this.”

L
ORETTA
H
ARNED WAS AT HER KITCHEN
cupboard preparing supper when she looked out the window and saw Tom and his friend Hank Mitchell. They were walking down the alley from the main street, their usual route to and from the mine.

The two men paused to finish their conversation when they reached Toms place, then Hank moved on and Tom angled across the backyard toward the porch.

Loretta smiled to herself as she peered out the kitchen window with the white starched curtain and watched Toms approach.

The small shanty where she and Tom lived with their little son was typical of other miner’s shacks. Loretta kept it spotlessly clean, but it was drafty, with ill-fitting doors and windows.

There was a rough-hewn table and two chairs in the tiny kitchen area, and a handmade high chair that Hank Mitchell had made for Caleb when the boy was about nine months old. Loretta had put a cloth with embroidered blue flowers on the table and matching blue cushions on both chairs.

In the parlor there were two old rocking chairs in front of the fireplace and a rag rug of many colors on the uneven floor. Loretta had made a cozy home for her family, though she had very little to work with.

Behind a curtained doorway off the parlor was a double bed in the corner, covered with a calico quilt. A large trunk sat at the foot. Caleb’s crib was on Loretta’s side of the bed piled high with a mound of small blankets to keep Caleb warm on cold nights at the 4,600-foot altitude.

Loretta glanced into the parlor where her little son was playing on the rug and said, “Caleb, Daddy’s home.”

The one-year-old, with golden blond hair like his mother’s, looked up and smiled. His blue eyes glinted with excitement.

Caleb had been walking only a short time, and it took him a few seconds to get on his feet. In the meantime, Loretta opened the door at the same moment Tom stepped up on the back porch. “Well, who’s this man with the dust all over his face?” she said. “He sort of resembles my husband!”

Tom folded her in his arms. “Do I get a kiss before I wash off the dust, or do I have to wait?”

When they heard the pitter-patter of feet on the kitchen floor and a tiny voice cry, “Da-Da! Da-Da!” Loretta laughed.

“Go ahead and pick up your son, Da-Da, and I’ll kiss you in a minute!”

Tom laid the newspaper on the table and grabbed the baby, who was lifting up his arms. Tom hugged Caleb, then nibbled on his ear, saying, “Mm-mm-mm, Mommy! Caleb’s ears sure are good! Mm-mm-mm!”

While the fun was going on, Loretta opened the folded newspaper and read the headlines. “Oh, how awful!” she gasped.

Tom shifted Caleb to one arm and put his other arm around Loretta’s waist. “Can you imagine, honey? A third of Chicago burned to the ground, and three hundred people dead!”

“Oh, Tom! I hope Marianne and Samantha and their families are all right!”

“I read just a little of it. Seems the fire started in a barn on the west side. A cow kicked over a lantern. Since your cousins live on the north side, maybe their homes weren’t burned.”

“I’ll write to them tomorrow and hope for the best.”

Tom nodded. “Now can I have that kiss?”

Loretta turned within the crook of his arm and raised up on tiptoe, kissing him soundly.

“Thank you,” Tom said, gazing into her eyes.

“You’re entirely welcome,” she replied softly. “Now you get washed up.”

Tom set Caleb on his feet and the little boy followed his father to the washbasin and watched carefully while Tom washed the dust from his face, neck, and hands.

When Tom had finished and Loretta was still working at the stove and cupboard, he sat down at the table and lifted Caleb to his lap, then read the entire story of the Chicago fire aloud while Loretta finished preparing supper.

When she was ready to sit down for the meal, Tom put Caleb in his high chair and kept him close at hand. Their food wasn’t fancy, but it was filling and plentiful.

Tom fed Caleb bites from his own plate, and Caleb smacked his lips with relish. He would say “Da-Da” when he wanted more food, and both parents found themselves laughing at the little boy’s antics. When Caleb caught on that what he did was making them laugh, he did it all the more.

Finally Tom gave Caleb a piece of bread to gnaw on and said, “Honey, I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but one of these days we’ll put together enough money to stake our gold claim, and things will get better for us.”

“I’m not complaining, darling. We’re happy with things as they are. Sure, I’d like to have more money so we could live in a real house, and we could have more clothes and more variety in our meals, but as long as I have you and Caleb, I’ll get along fine.”

Tom reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You’re the best, Loretta May Harned. You’re the absolute very best. A man couldn’t ask for a wife any better than you.”

Loretta’s face tinted. “I’m glad you feel that way about me.”

“Caleb feels the same way. He’s been telling me what a fortunate boy he is to have such a wonderful mother.”

Loretta laughed softly and looked at her little son, who had bread crumbs stuck to his face with butter. Light from the lantern above the table glowed on his golden hair.

When supper was over, Tom played with Caleb on the rug in front of the fire while Loretta cleaned up the kitchen. Caleb squealed with delight as Tom tickled him on his tummy and under his arms.

After a while, Loretta stood over father and son and said, “Okay, boys. Play time is over. Time for Caleb’s bath.”

As she spoke, Loretta gathered the boy into her arms and took him to the kitchen table, where she had laid a large towel and a basin of warm water.

Tom rose to his feet. “Are you going to bathe me next, Mommy?” Loretta giggled. “Nope. Big boys have to bathe themselves.” “Oh, all right. Then I guess I’ll read the book I started last night.”

While Tom picked up a book from the small table by his rocking chair and started reading, Loretta removed Caleb’s soiled clothes and tenderly washed his little body. He squirmed and fretted a little, but all in all he was a good boy. Once he was clean and dry and in his sleepwear, she carried him to her rocking chair next to Toms and sat down.

Caleb immediately snuggled close and popped his thumb into his mouth. Smiling around the wet thumb, he reached up with his free hand and patted his mother’s cheek. This was Caleb’s routine, and as always when he did it, Loretta’s heart swelled with love. She rocked the chair slowly and began crooning a soft lullaby.

Tom looked up from his book and smiled.

Soon Caleb’s eyelids began to droop, and his sturdy little body relaxed in sleep.

While Loretta carried their son to his crib, Tom made the house ready for the night by throwing more logs on the fire and stirring the flames. Moments later, Loretta appeared in her flannel nightgown, carrying a hairbrush. Husband and wife also had their routine.

Loretta sat down on the floor in front of Toms rocking chair, facing the roaring fire, and handed him the hairbrush. Tom laid aside his book and began taking the pins from her hair. When the last pin was removed, her golden hair cascaded down her back, and Tom
took up the brush. Her long blond hair crackled with electricity as Tom drew the brush through the entire length.

“Loretta, I really am serious about staking our own gold claim.”

“I know that, sweetheart,” she said, bending her head against his gentle strokes. “We’ve been putting a few dollars in the cookie jar almost every payday.”

“Yes, but there’s got to be a way to come up with more money faster. All the gold will be dug out of the hills before I can get started.”

Loretta reached back and patted his hand. “Don’t you fret, darling. It’ll be all right. Our day will come.”

When Kathleen O’Malley pillowed her head on Wednesday night, October 11, she was tired but happy. Her first day at the Ralph Massey home had been a good one. Mrs. Massey welcomed her with a smile and was quite helpful to her all day long as she broke in on the job. Mr. Massey had come home only minutes before Kathleen’s workday was done, and he had treated her kindly.

She was a bit nervous about tomorrow. Mrs. Stallworth certainly had treated her well when hiring her, but she was nervous about meeting Peter Stallworth. She thought of the day when he’d stopped the carriage. She hoped he wouldn’t hold the lie against her.

Then a roseate thought slid into her mind.
Maybe… maybe he won’t even remember me. Maybe he won’t know I’m the same girl he spoke to on the street.

Kathleen spent a rather restless night and was up at dawn. She prepared herself for meeting Peter Stallworth by arranging her hair differently than she had worn it the day he’d seen her on the street.

She was at the dining room table ahead of the other boarders, and Hattie Murphy made sure she had a hearty breakfast of creamy oatmeal with brown sugar, biscuits with strawberry jam, and plenty of hot coffee.

The cold wind off Lake Michigan put high color in Kathleen’s cheeks. As she approached the Stallworth house, she thought the Stallworth men had probably already headed for downtown to the Great Lakes Railroad Company building. No doubt she would have to face Peter at the end of the day unless for some reason he got home too late. If that happened, she would just have to face their first meeting on Saturday.

As she passed through the open gate she felt butterflies in her stomach, and for a brief instant she thought of her dead family, their faces flashing on the screen of her mind. She pushed the painful memory aside and walked past the front entrance. She had learned at the Massey home that it was considered proper for employees to enter the house at the back door. She hurried alongside the huge house, turned the corner, and stepped up onto the back porch.

Kathleen turned the small handle beside the door and heard the bell ring inside. Her mind went to her family again, but she would not allow her grief to show. When she heard footsteps she squared her shoulders, lifted her delicate chin, put a smile on her rosy lips, and waited for the door to open.

When the latch rattled, Kathleen’s lovely blue eyes glistened with anticipation and a touch of nervousness.

“Good morning, Kathleen!” Maria Stallworth said. “You’re right on time! Just as I expected. LuAnn Massey was over last night. She said you did a marvelous job on their house.”

“I’m glad she was pleased, ma’am,” said Kathleen, pulling off her coat. “I’ll do my best to please you the same way.”

“I have no doubts about that. Let’s start by taking a tour of the house; then you’ll know what you’re dealing with. I’ll explain some things as we go along.”

As Maria Stallworth guided her through the mansion, Kathleen saw that it was a bit larger than the Massey house and somewhat fancier. She knew she would have to keep moving at a good pace to get everything done according to Mrs. Stallworths instructions and wishes.