The Daughters of Jim Farrell Page 21

  She scurried past the small ladder, pail and rags positioned near the large hall window, and prayed her subterfuge would work. It was doubtful anyone would check on her while she was supposedly washing the window, but if they did, hopefully they’d think she had taken a brief trip to the outhouse.

  She walked cautiously along the thicket of trees ringing the cleared yard. After a brief pause to see that no one observed her, she scurried down the path toward the Mattson Colliery. Earlier, she had slipped into town hoping to get a message to Patrick through Michael O’Malley. But the grocer, Antonio Carbonetti, had told her Michael had not been to Sweet Air for days. So she would have to contact Patrick herself. And she needed to get there before the breaker whistle blew. She would also have to keep her meeting brief. Just a few minutes. But that’s all she needed, just a few minutes.

  Virginia was certain the coffin notice was meant for her, and not Kate. And she was certain that Patrick O’Brien would know who sent it. She had not told her family of Patrick’s claim concerning Mr. Blakely’s killer. It would only bring the law down on him. No. She needed to give him time to work this out, but she also needed to tell him of this new threat—this danger to her and perhaps her family. As far as Virginia was concerned, the coffin notice meant the killer had no intention of turning himself in. That meant Patrick would have to, and he needed to do it before things got out of hand.

  The deserted path, with its thick clump of rustling trees on either side, made her quicken her pace. Why was she so skittish? She had walked this path a thousand times. Had one coffin notice really reduced her to a trembling female? The kind of female she so disliked? Still . . . wasn’t it on this path . . . yes, along this very path, right at the bend ahead, where Superintendent Foley was found nearly dead? She hugged her chest as she passed the bend, then laughed. If only Kate could see her now!

  She just wished her errand was more pleasant. She so wanted to tell Patrick the exciting news; how this morning she had gotten a letter from his friend, Davin MacCabe at the Monitor; news she hadn’t even told her family since she wanted him to be the first to hear. Patrick had been right all along. It was better to write for a paper than start one. She still couldn’t believe her dream was really coming true. And she was grateful to Patrick for his part in it and wanted to tell him that.

  But this news would have to wait. There would be no time to discuss Mr. MacCabe’s offer to come work fulltime for him as a salaried reporter. Oh, what this could mean for them both! For their future! And she needed to ask Patrick what he thought of her moving to Tamaqua, to be closer to the newspaper office as Mr. MacCabe suggested. It was only sixteen miles from Higgins Patch, not the end of the earth. And her salary could mean leasing that doghole Patrick mentioned. But that discussion could take hours, and this unpleasant business of the coffin notice needed to be resolved first.

  At last she saw Higgins Patch, and just beyond that, the dark hulking breaker. Only a handful of women milled about; some carrying crying babies, others gathering vegetables from their small gardens. Most of the women were inside heating bath water for their men and preparing supper.

  She ignored the stares of the outside laborers as she entered the colliery and positioned herself near the giant pulley and head frame. Within minutes the breaker whistle sounded and the creaking of the pulley could be heard. When the large wooden cage finally broke the surface and its gate opened, more than a dozen men filed out, their faces blacked, their shoulders stooped.

  It took another four trips before Patrick emerged. He was as grimy and weary looking as the others. Virginia almost wished he was coming home to her and the wash tub he so prized. And these thoughts reminded her of the conversation she and Mother had had after they bound Patrick’s broken ribs; the only one they ever had concerning her shameless display of hugging and kissing the man Virginia was finally willing to admit she loved. Now, Virginia tried to dispel her mother’s words, but they rang, as shrilly as any breaker whistle, in her ears. “A miner’s life is hard. And many young wives become old before their time.” And then the blow: “And you, Virginia, haven’t been conditioned for such a life. How then will you be able to bear up under it? Think carefully. Don’t let your emotions take you where you’re not equipped to go.”

  What would Mother say if she knew Virginia’s emotions had already taken her to a place she never thought possible; a place of danger and deception that involved murder and a cover up? But it was too late. Here she was. And there was no turning back.

  “Patrick,” Virginia called when he passed her. “Patrick!”

  He glanced around, then seeing her, smiled broadly, his large white teeth flashing amid his blackened face. He broke from the other men and hurried over, the tin lunch pail swinging like a toy in his oversized hand.

  “Jenny!” Dropping his pail, he wrapped her in his arms. “Oh, lass, how I’ve longed for the sight of you! But poor little Michael O’Malley is down with the bloody flux and I’ve had no means of askin’ you to meet me at the church.” With that, he kissed her. When Virginia pressed against him, she heard him moan.

  “What’s wrong? It is your ribs? Oh, Patrick, you haven’t done what Mother said, and rested!”

  “The Company don’t pay men to rest, darlin’. And I’m a man on a mission. I’m determined to save every penny I can for that doghole I talked about gettin’. You’ll be marryin’ a man who’s on his way to becomin’ an independent miner. I plan on makin’ you proud of me, lass.”

  “You won’t be much of a miner if you puncture your lungs, and I’ve not agreed to marry you yet, so . . . .”

  “Ah, how sweet that word ‘yet’ is. ‘Tis the word before ‘yes’. I see your heart, Jenny, and how much you love me. But don’t worry over me so.”

  “Patrick, be serious. I haven’t much time. I must get home. But before I say why I’ve come, tell me what can I do for Michael O’Malley? He must be terribly sick to miss work. Can I bring him healing herbs or perhaps a thin soup?”

  “Poor wee one. I fear this has taken the stuffin’ out of him. But there’s nothin’ for you to do. His mum is a good woman and has things well in hand. But ‘tis kind of you to ask. Now . . . tell me, lass, why are you here?”

  Virginia reached into her bodice and pulled out the crumpled coffin notice. “Is this the work of your friends?”

  Patrick read the note, then crushed it in his hand. “When did you get this?”

  “Three days ago. Do you know who sent it? Is it from one of your Mollies? I haven’t told my family what you said about Mr. Blakely’s killer. I wanted to honor your confidence, and I didn’t want to cause you trouble. But if you know something, you must act before someone gets hurt.”

  The look on Patrick’s face was frightening. It was hard and cold, and there was violence in it. “Come Jenny, I’ll walk you home. It’s gettin’ dark.”

  “No. You can’t. My family doesn’t know I’m here, and how can I tell them without betraying you? But please take care of this.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you . . . do you know who sent it?”

  “I know.”

  The way he said it made Virginia shudder. “Is it the man who killed Mr. Blakely?”

  “I’ll take care of it, Jenny. Go home now.”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish. Just turn this man over to the law before it’s too late.”

  “Go home, Jenny, while you still got some light.”

  She nodded, then turned and headed for the path, all the while thinking she shouldn’t leave him, not with that look in his eyes.

  When the wind kicked up, Virginia wished she had taken her cloak. The days were still pleasant, but the nights were getting cold. And though the sun was barely setting, there was already a sharp chill in the air. Many were predicting another harsh winter. Judging by these early fall nights, it seemed a certainty. Would their new gaggle of geese make it t
hrough? They couldn’t afford to lose any more. Mother had saved for months to replace those lost last winter. Virginia would have to make a good shelter for them in their basement. What would she use? She tried keeping her mind on the geese . . . on how she’d construct their shelter . . . on anything other than that look on Patrick’s face. It still frightened her.

  She hugged her chest trying to keep warm as her mind shifted from Patrick to her family. Had she been missed? Would she be able to convince anyone she had never left the yard; that all this time she had been washing her last window . . . in the dark?

  Everything was shadows now. Higgins Patch glowed with lamps flickering in house windows. Inside, she knew men were bathing, and women were putting supper on the table. It made Virginia’s thoughts return to Patrick and what he might do. Would he see his Molly friends and get their help? Or would he go on his own and force the killer to turn himself in? But what if the man refused, and they fought? What if someone got hurt? And if the police found out that Patrick had known about this man, what would happen? Would that make him an accomplice? Compromise him in some way? Oh, stop! Better to spend time thinking up a story for those back home. It was more necessary than ever to shield Patrick until he could resolve the matter.

  She hurried as fast as she dared over the rutted path. Aside from the wind in the trees and the occasional shrieking of an owl, it was eerily quiet. She took a deep breath, relieved she was already half way home. Only that awful bend to pass, then it would be a straight run to her back yard. And when she got home, she’d carry the pail and rags into the house as if nothing was wrong. And if anyone questioned her she’d say . . . what? Well maybe she could say . . . .”

  Suddenly, Virginia felt a rough hand cover her face, felt a large powerful body press against her, felt a sharp blade at her throat. “I’ll cut you if you give me trouble,” came a deep, gravelly voice Virginia didn’t recognize. Then she felt herself being dragged off the path and into the woods.

  Oh, God, help me!

  She heard twigs snapping beneath her feet. Felt the branches of trees scrape her face and neck while the powerful body half dragged, half carried her deeper and deeper into the brush. She could hardly see through the darkness. And she could hardly breathe. She tried shaking off that large hand that smelled of kerosene, but his grip was too tight, and the only thing she accomplished was to nick herself on his blade. She felt her skin burn, felt blood trickle down the hollow of her neck. But if she didn’t get air . . . soon . . . . Oh, she felt so dizzy. She must get air! She could hardly . . . breathe . . . must get hand . . . away . . . need air . . . can’t breathe . . . .

  CHAPTER 10

  “Charlotte, please stop crying! I know you’re upset. We all are.” Kate was ready to scream. Her sister had been crying most of the night and all morning. How could anyone cry so much? Her eyes should be prunes by now. “We need clear heads. We need to think.”

  “That’s not helpful,” Mother said.

  Kate averted her eyes as she settled in one of the damask-covered chairs. Yes . . . she was being unkind. Still . . . Charlotte wasn’t the only one distraught over Virginia’s disappearance. They were all beside themselves. No one had slept a wink, and they all still wore the same wrinkled clothing from yesterday. Oh give me patience, Lord, and tenderness of heart.

  “It’s not helpful, Kate, because tears and emotions cannot be turned off and on like an oil lamp. And we all have our own way of dealing with calamity. You need to remember that.” Though her voice was calm, Mother’s fingers traced and retraced the edge of the fireplace mantel. The room was chilly but no fire had been lit. Virginia was to ready the hearth this morning. Even now, the two andirons, still wrapped in muslin and brown paper, lay forgotten in the corner.

  “I don’t mean to be harsh, Mother, only . . . tears and hand wringing won’t bring Virginia back. We need to expend our energies in action—scour the woods, the foot paths, the patches, the collieries, Sweet Air, and if necessary, Pottsville itself.”

  “I suppose there’s no use in just sitting around. It’s already noon. If Virginia was able to return . . . .” Mother’s voice broke and she looked away. “What should we do, Kate? What can we do?”

  “I think we should divide the neighborhood into sections, then each of us takes one. Surely, we’ll find someone who has information concerning Virginia.”

  Mother nodded. “Yes . . . a good plan.”

  Without another word, Kate went to the desk, pulled paper from the drawer and began drawing a map.

  Charlotte blotted her tears with her handkerchief. “I’ve sent one of the men with a note to Benjamin telling him about Virginia. I’m sure he’ll enlist his new security force in the search, too.” She straightened in the chair. “If only they had come yesterday! But I suppose it’s foolish to think of that now. I still don’t know how Virginia could disappear like that. She was right in back, finishing her last window. I don’t understand. What could have happened?”

  “We must consider the possibility that Virginia is hurt somewhere and unable to return home,” Kate said, reluctantly, as she turned from the desk.

  “Oh, don’t say such a thing! There has to be another explanation!”

  “It does make sense.” Mother’s fingers stopped roaming the edge of the mantel. “But it also raises more questions, too. Virginia seemed anxious to put the window washing behind her. Is it logical, then, that she’d choose instead to take a walk, not only leaving her chore unfinished, but knowing supper was nearly ready? And if she fell and injured herself, why didn’t she call out? And why haven’t we found her? Joshua has already checked the yard and surrounding woods, and there was no sign of her anywhere.”

  “Which means she’s not nearby.”

  “What are you saying, Kate?” Mother’s face whitened. “You’re not suggesting the writer of that coffin notice has made good his threat?”

  Charlotte began to sob.

  Kate put down her pen. The truth was she had already contemplated all the possible scenarios, even the worst imaginable, but one look at Charlotte and Mother made Kate understand she needed to temper her response. Mother had been willing to skirt the edges, but even she was prepared to go only so far, and the thought of Virginia in the hands of some deranged writer of coffin notices was beyond Mother’s reach. Still, the fact remained, Virginia had been missing since supper. And from last night to now was a long time where anything could happen.

  “Joshua is a trained detective. He knows what to look for,” Kate said slowly. “He said there were no signs of a struggle. I can’t imagine Virginia going anywhere against her will without a struggle. Can you? And a struggle of any kind would have left some telltale signs: torn fabric, an overturned pail, perhaps some . . . blood.”

  Both Mother and Charlotte gasped.

  “I think a more likely scenario is that Virginia left on an errand, or went to meet someone and became injured enroute. Let’s proceed on that assumption.” Kate returned to her mapmaking and silently prayed that God would give them the strength to scour the countryside. With no sleep and everyone’s nerves on edge, they would need it. And just as she rose from the desk, the parlor door flew open and there stood Joshua and Benjamin, shoulder to shoulder, beneath the lintel.

  “We met coming in,” Joshua said, looking as harried and upset as Benjamin. He walked to the desk and stood near Kate while Benjamin went to the damask-covered chair where Charlotte sat. “I’ve just come from Main Street and found that yesterday morning Virginia was there looking for Michael O’Malley.”

  “She never went to Main Street yesterday,” Mother said, shaking her head. “You must be mistaken.”

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Farrell, she did go. Mr. Carbonetti himself spoke to her and said she appeared agitated.”

  “Agitated? I know she was troubled by that awful note, but under the circumstances, she seemed rather calm to me. And why would she go
without telling anyone?”

  Kate saw the distressed look on Joshua’s face, and sensed his reluctance to speak further. “Obviously, she didn’t tell anyone, Mother, because she didn’t want anyone to know. Perhaps if we find out why she wanted to see the O’Malley boy, it will give us a clue as to where she is now.”

  Kate handed her scribbled page to Joshua. “It’s a crude map. If we all take a section we can cover the ground faster. Perhaps we’ll find someone who saw Virginia last night.”

  “Yes, good thinking, Kate.”

  “My men can help, too.” Benjamin reached for Charlotte’s hand and held it as if cradling a robin’s egg. “And so can I.”

  “Well, that’s it then. We have a plan. Now let’s execute it.” Joshua quickly organized everyone into teams of two, which, counting Benjamin’s six men, made five teams in all. “If it’s all right with you, Benjamin, I’ll instruct your men when we are finished here.”

  After Benjamin nodded his agreement, Joshua assigned the territories and outlined the systematic method they should employ. When done, Mother approached him.

  “You’ve not paired me with anyone.”

  “No ma’am. It’s best you stay home in case Virginia returns. If she does, it’s up to you to notify the closest team in your area, and they in turn will notify the next team, and so on. You can see the need for a point man . . . ah, woman, right here.”

  Mother nodded but looked convinced, and Kate couldn’t help wondering if Joshua was keeping her home because of what he feared they’d find.

  As they were about to exit the parlor, Benjamin stepped forward. “I hope I haven’t trespassed beyond appropriate bounds, and I hope no one objects, but when I learned what had happened, I took the liberty of notifying my solicitor and authorizing him to post a five-hundred dollar reward for any information leading to Virginia’s successful recovery.” He glanced at Charlotte. “People generally dislike getting involved, and a reward might be just the inducement to make them decide otherwise.”