Chapter 3 Trinli
Magnus Mining Patch Town,
Let it never be said that I am not adaptable. Cheese is not the same as coal. Development, production, sales, employees, customers, wages, living conditions…not the same at all.
In the two years since we arrived, I have turned an unfortunate situation into a blessing.
I miss the friends I made in the tenement, but the women in the patch town are a family.
We are a community of strength, support, and love.
And it’s that community that keeps us going day after day, despite our husbands.
Adapt. That is the key word to surviving life in a coal patch.
Careful to follow the rules of the company, I wasted no time learning the lay of the land and working it to my advantage.
Behind our row of houses, I dug, tilled, planted, and harvested a modest garden providing medicinal herbs, fruits and vegetables to supplement the meager offerings in the commissary.
I pooled our resources, and befriended the women closest to our home and spread out from there, assigning each of them tasks that were well within their skill set; knitting, tailoring, childcare, cooking, apothecary, cleaning, and general repair.
We help one another, but we also provide these services to residents of the local town beyond the patch.
I have a thriving seamstress business that brings in real money.
And I hide it all from Darragh. In fact, I’d say about 50% of the husbands have no idea what goes on while they are digging underground or sleeping. There are a few good ones, though, who help us out and keep our secrets. I am not married to one of them.
Darragh is a frequent customer of the town whores and the patch tavern.
The shops in town learned quickly not to sell to him, and he has been subsequently banned from all of them.
He eats after he pays or he doesn’t eat at all.
He seems content to drink his meals. I do prepare daily meals, but he tends to head into town after his shifts, so I stopped setting a plate aside for him.
The family I’ve cultivated here are so very important to me; however, my babies are the reason for everything I do.
I refuse to allow the circumstances of their existence to affect them in any negative way.
Jakob, Riordan, and Gabriel are sweet boys who love “assisting” their mutti and tantes, even while I have Gabriel strapped to my chest or back.
He loves leaning his head back and soaking up the sun when I tend the garden.
Jakob and Riordan play peek-a-boo with him when I’m cooking.
My boys and I are our own family unit; we are a team.
I want them to be the best of friends, a lifelong support system… something I never had growing up.
I glance up sharply at the sound of our front door banging off the wall. I purse my lips to stop the sneer Darragh’s presence usually invokes. It’s midday, he should be in the mines, not home.
“WOMAN!” He bellows unnecessarily as I’m less than 20 feet from him.
I drop my head back on my shoulders and release a heavy sigh when Gabriel’s startled cries rend the air.
I just got him down for a nap, he’s been teething and crankier than a bear with a thorn in his paw.
The patter of little feet heralds the arrival of my other two as they come barreling in from the back yard.
“Present yourself, Trinli, or there will be hell to pay. We have company.”
Without a word, Jakob and Riordan crawl under my skirts and wrap around my legs.
They fear their father and for good reasons.
He’s naturally unpleasant, but he’s a touch violent when he’s been in the drink or after a shift.
I’ve spared them as best I can, taking the brunt of his ire.
Our dynamic is not unique in the patch, or anywhere for that matter.
I’ve lived by the whims of men my entire life, and I will continue to do so until the good Lord calls me home…
another man who forces me to operate on his schedule and never my own.
And nothing gets a man riled up more than a threat to his pride, real or imagined.
I wipe my hands on the towel looped through the tie of my apron at my waist and step further into the room, so my dear husband does not believe I’m ignoring him.
A bland expression is all I can offer him as I forcefully put one foot in front of the other.
Walking when you’ve got wee ones stuck on you like molasses is a trying endeavor.
I glance up and the expression falls from my face, my lips parting on a soft and sharp inhale. Head and shoulders taller than any other men I’ve met here, and Darragh who is only an inch taller than me at 5’6”. Sharp nose and stubbled jaw, dark brow and short trimmed hair.
But his eyes, crystal clear blue like I’ve never seen before, stun me speechless.
My eyes drift down his impossibly broad shoulders and…
why is my scoundrel husband standing there obstructing my view of paradise on Earth?
My eyes narrow involuntarily on the scourge of mass disappointment before darting to the handsome man behind him.
Darragh’s posture changes, visibly stiffens and I swallow hard at the implication.
He did not miss my reaction and I will be punished. The only questions are how and when.
I shake off my dumbfounded response and step forward as best I can with two little ones attached to my legs. “Husband.” I dip my chin respectfully, my stomach churning with acid at his hard glare.
“Excuse me missus, boyo, she’s a right hussy with no culture or manners.
” My head tilts while I try to figure out why his accent is stronger.
“I rescued her from a cheese shop, if ye can believe it. Her da spent more time waxing his wares than he did teaching her anything of benefit.” I grind my teeth together and breathe through my nose.
My fingers itch with the overwhelming urge to hurt him.
My boys cling to me tighter and I push it down, not for the first time, remembering that I have three mouths dependent on me and cannot afford a murder charge.
I peer up at the stranger from beneath my lashes and my chest tightens at the angry slash of his brows aimed at my husband. I bite my bottom lip to quell my growing smile.
“Perhaps you could introduce us properly.” The man speaks with a heavy Irish brogue, smooth and deep, sending a lovely thrill down my spine, despite the way his jaw clenches.
“Trinli Byrne.” Darragh claps the larger man on the shoulder with an affable grin.
“Padraig Fitzgerald. Paddy here is our new overman.” Darragh’s smile drops as he looks at me.
“Treat him right, woman, he’s a fellow Irishman.
” He steps toward me and I brace myself for whatever he plans.
I will not cower to him or any man. He curls some loose strands of my hair around his finger.
“Not too right, yer no’ whore. Whores are useful.
” He pulls hard on my hair, causing me to stumble slightly from the uneven weight around my legs.
Padraig reaches out to catch me, but I wave off his assistance.
“Paddy will be staying with us until his own home is ready. I’m starving. Fetch me some food.”
Padraig leans down to whisper, “Are ye alright, cailin?”
“I am well, thank you for your concern.” I smooth down my skirts and tap the boys to release me.
“Welcome to our home, sir. Our boys Jakob and Riordan. And that creature caterwauling is Gabriel.” I urge the boys to move along and turn to retrieve Gabriel.
“Make yourself comfortable. I was not expecting company, so supper will be a little while yet, but there are small foods in the kitchen pantry if you are hungry. Excuse me.”
I rush up the wooden stairs to the second level of our home.
Gabriel sits up in our bed, red-faced and crying, his little fists shaking.
I scoop him into my arms and sit down on the edge of the bed.
With practiced ease, I slide down the shoulder of my dress and shift, positioning Gabriel to latch on to my breast. His body shudders as he slowly calms, his eyes drooping shut as he drinks his fill.
I hear Darragh stomp up the stairs, my back to him. I wait for him to yell, to berate. Instead, he yanks my hair and drags me off the bed. I hold Gabriel tight and force myself to remain quiet.
“Ye think ye can make eyes at a man and not pay fer it? I am yer husband! It’ll do ye well to remember it, aye, Trinli?
How about a reminder of who owns ye?” With his hand in my hair, he forces me to bend over the side of the bed.
Gabriel whimpers, but I shush him and switch breasts while Darragh rucks up my skirts.
I hold myself up with one hand and pat Gabriel’s bottom with the other.
I vaguely hear Padraig’s deep timbre as he directs Riordan and Jakob outside.
At least they will not be in the house this time while I’m used.
I close my eyes tight to fight against the sting of useless tears and sing softly to Gabriel.
Padraig Fitzgerald is dangerous. I run this patch like a military general, providing food and medicine for its inhabitants, and keep it running as smoothly as possible.
No matter what I accomplish outside of this building, I am still a prisoner in my own life.
Padraig’s mere presence caused me to forget, even if only for a moment.
How grateful I am to Darragh to remind me that I am nothing but a hole.