Chapter 15 #2
Monty rocked from heels to toes, considering Elder’s point.
“I won’t deny that. It doesn’t explain the crumbling structure of the dam, however.
There are witnesses who say streams of water were shooting out twenty feet above the bottom of the dam days before the collapse. Why wasn’t warning given then?”
Elder chuckled sarcastically. “Witnesses who didn’t have authority to be on that property to begin with?
Yeah, I’d take their words as gospel.” He rubbed his temple, revealing the dirty cuffs on his shirt.
“Benjamin Ruff put on record after he purchased the property that those shoots were natural springs.”
A lie, but even if it were true, what imbecile would have an earthen dam surrounded by natural springs that would saturate and weaken the structure? That alone would be grounds for restructuring the dam.
Elder sighed. “Rumor of the dam breaking was a boy-who-cried-wolf tale repeated for decades. Robert Pitcairn of the Pennsylvania Railroad sent numerous warnings the morning of the flood, giving everyone plenty of time to flee to the hills. Few took it seriously until it was too late.”
He choked on the last word.
The man made valid points, but he still hadn’t addressed the club’s negligence. “Fulton is saying—”
“I know what Fulton is saying.” Elder shuffled his feet. “We’ve always stood strong together. But not on this.”
Elder turned to go inside the bank.
“Cyrus—”
“Look.” Elder swiveled and poked a finger at Monty’s chest. “The club didn’t build the dam.
The Pennsylvania Railroad did. From there, it changed hands before Benjamin Ruff sold shares to the club.
The collapse could be the fault of many poor decisions made over time or an act of God.
Sometimes we don’t get answers to our questions.
Sometimes God takes good things from us.
Allows things to happen. This event certainly didn’t take Him by surprise. You, of all people, should know that.”
Elder went into the bank, and Monty let him go. Elder was right. God knew this disaster would happen before He created the earth. It was a difficult and sobering thought. However, it didn’t negate the consequences if human action was at fault.
Monty stalked away. He’d come back and wire for his money another day.
Elder was a good man who’d done many great things for this town over the last generation. Shame washed over Monty for attacking him in that manner. Perhaps he’d let his passion for helping others see what was right overtake his sensibility and compassion.
Surely none of the club members had intended for the dam to break.
But they’d also failed to improve its structure.
Earthen dams were centuries old and should work fine for holding back water.
If the dam had collapsed, it was due to water seeping internally and weakening its structure.
The amount of rain shouldn’t have affected its strength if the spillway and sluice pipes worked properly.
Monty knew that Ruff had removed the sluice pipes upon purchase and sold them for scrap and that the control tower the Pennsylvania Canal built for raising and lowering water had burned years earlier as well.
Even so, the spillway, if working properly, should have been enough to keep the lake from cresting over the dam. So what had happened that day?
The answers were out there, and someone needed to find them.
Annamae sipped tepid coffee from the tin cup and relished the warm sun blanketing her shoulders.
The activities at the commissary buzzed all around her.
There were two things that kept a steady delivery to Johnstown for which she was grateful—coffee and newspapers.
One kept her connected to her faculties while the other kept her connected to the world outside the valley.
Currently, she was reading about the new cable car service in Los Angeles, California, and a new structure called the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France.
She was ignoring the telegram from Matthew burning a hole in her pocket.
PAPERS PRINTING THE WORST STOP PLEASE SEND WORD OF YOUR SAFETY STOP DOCTOR MARTIN STOP
Matthew’s concern was sweet. After all, she didn’t have family left to care about her safety.
Though she had friends, none of them were close enough to worry about her.
She should quit procrastinating and reply instead of occupying her mind with the news, which wasn’t working as much of a distraction anyway.
Various good feelings bubbled inside her when she was around Matthew—respect, awe for his ability not only to diagnose a patient correctly but to know how best to treat them even if the method wasn’t conventional, and laughter.
He had a wonderful sense of humor. But were any of those things strong enough to build a marriage with? She doubted it.
Annamae was certain Matthew would soon declare his desire for a courtship, which made a marriage proposal nearly guaranteed. Her coffee turned acidic in her stomach.
A heavy weight lowered onto the bench beside her. She looked up in surprise.
Monty. With a day’s growth of beard.
Her skin flushed beneath her uniform, making the combination of her reaction and the sun beating down on her entirely too hot. She resisted the urge to fan herself with the newspaper. This man certainly ignited more ardent feelings inside her than Matthew did.
“Hello, Miss Annamae.” The blue of his eyes competed with the cloudless sky.
She smiled. Something she didn’t do often, as Matthew had pointed out on more than one occasion, accusing her of taking life too seriously.
The action of her mouth made his gaze lower there, which made her skin blaze. “Do I have coffee on my face?”
She touched her lips and found them dry. His eyes traced her every movement. “I haven’t seen you smile before. Not fully. It’s lovely. You should do it more often.”
His appreciation had a touch of confident arrogance to it, as if he was skilled in the art of flirtation. Which was ridiculous, him being a pastor and all.
One of his thick brows quirked, and his lips pursed in amusement. In that moment, he reminded her of Austen’s Mr. Darcy: aristocratic, noble, and impish in a subtle way that captured one’s fancy before they could stop it. Aware of this, she should practice caution. Yet, she didn’t.
He breathed a chuckle and leaned in as if she was going to tell him a secret. That was when she realized her head had dipped closer to him first, and she drew back with a start.
Air. She needed cool and stirring air.
“Thank you,” she squeaked.
His lips twitched beneath his mustache that hadn’t grown as thick as the hair along his jaws. “How is your work with the Red Cross?”
She cleared the desire from her throat. “Miss Barton moved me from the typhoid tents to help Doctor Hamilton with training the committees on how to properly use the disinfectants that arrived. I just finished instructing the commissary on cleaning all eating utensils and vessels. You?”
“I salvaged what I could of my belongings, and we brought my house down. We’ve been burning small piles at a time to keep the fire under control. Once finished, we’ll begin reconstruction on the church.”
“I’m sorry. It must be difficult to watch your home fade to ashes.”
“It’s not any harder than watching a wave sweep it off its foundation. Or being trapped inside when it does.”
Oh, this poor man.
She resisted the urge to reach out to him. “Where are you storing your belongings? In the church?”
“All of my worldly possessions fit into a knapsack.”
“I’m sorry again.”
He bumped her elbow with his. “Material possessions are replaceable. Besides, I have a grander home and possessions waiting for me in eternity.”
She tilted her head. “You seem in much better spirits today.”
Monty leaned his forearms on the table and clasped his hands. “I just had a conversation with a friend who reminded me that my losses don’t compare to many of those around me.”
Such things certainly brought one into perspective.
“How is Joanna?”
He looked away. “She still hasn’t spoken much to anyone since Ben died.
A few families have come from outlying areas to adopt the orphaned children, but she’s so quiet they pass her over.
She’s being cared for by the Stineys right now, but Reverend Beale plans to hold a special meeting soon, inviting anyone wishing to adopt to Johnstown.
They’ve had several inquiries and expect folks to come from as far as Indiana.
Pray for her. The children who don’t find homes will be sent to orphanages in Philadelphia and beyond. ”
Remorse leaked through every word.
“Of course.” She reached to touch his arm then snatched her hand back when she realized what she was doing.
She must heed Clara’s warning, no matter how strong her attraction to Monty.
“Maybe I could try coaxing something out of her. I would be closer to her mama’s age than Mrs. Stiney.
Perhaps we could find some common ground. ”
His forehead creased in thought. “I’ll consider that.”
“Did you hear about Jake Kilrain?” She pointed at the newspaper, changing the subject to ease the lines on his face. “He held an exhibition fight with Charley Mitchell in Madison Square Garden specifically to raise money to send to Johnstown.”
“I hadn’t heard that.” Monty sat taller and took the paper, his eyes communicating that he appreciated her attempt to lift his mood.
“And at the Metropolitan Opera House, Edwin Booth played the third act of Othello, raising twenty-five hundred dollars for the victims.”
“He plays a better Hamlet.”
She gaped at him. “You’ve seen Edwin Booth perform?”
“Uh, once.” Monty squirmed.
“Then how do you know he plays a mediocre Othello?”
“Okay, twice.” He pointed at the paper. “What else have you discovered?”