Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Modern industries are handling the forces of nature on a stupendous scale. Woe to the people who trust these powers to the hands of fools.”
The whistle of the Cambria Iron Works shrieked through the hills, announcing its first operating day since the flood.
The men working in the church glanced at one another and cheered.
Everything inside the mill had been cleaned, repaired, and replaced, and all shifts were running.
Business meant work, and work meant money.
An honest day’s wage made a man able to rest his head peacefully on his pillow at night.
“Boy howdy, that’s a good sound.” Irving Thibault, a middle-aged chap whose accent bordered on Irish and southern twang, clapped his hands in two staccato beats.
The man’s place in Woodvale had been destroyed, and the water had thrown him several feet into the air before tossing him on top of a root cellar built into the hillside.
Tree trunks and debris had piled up around him, making a cave of safety from the worst of it.
He’d been trapped for four days, drinking rainwater from his cupped hands from where it dripped between the trees.
At last, someone heard him yelling, and a crew had worked to free him.
“How close is the woolen mill to opening?” Monty asked, running his hands over the smooth, sturdy pulpit Robert had fashioned. His friend had a fine talent for wooden craftsmanship but had returned to his position at the Cambria mill.
“ ’Nother month yet, I’d say.” Irving lifted a wooden cross and held it steady while Monty directed to assure centeredness. Once set, Jim nailed it to the wall behind the pulpit.
A thing of beauty.
A shuffling sound behind him caught Monty’s attention, and he turned cautiously as to not disturb the muscles around his ribcage. Ernie walked in, appearing more human than the day before.
“Join us, friend.” Monty gestured him over. “Isn’t it perfect?”
Ernie’s nod was exaggerated by his trembling. If the man remained sober for a year, Monty doubted the tremors would stop.
Removing his cap, Ernie wiped sweat from his temple, wafting the smell of his unwashed body. “I was on my way to the commissary for coffee and walked past the train station. I saw that doctor fellow of Miss Annamae’s boarding with bags in hand. Thought I’d better tell you straight away.”
Ernie had such a tender heart for others. If only the man would stop destroying himself.
“Thank you.” Monty patted the man’s shoulder, knowing how much Ernie needed to nurse a mug of coffee right now instead of matchmaking.
Jim laid the hammer on a board they used as a makeshift table. “You’re going to go talk to her, aren’t you?”
Monty wasn’t sure why his congregation was invested in his romantic attachment.
He supposed it was because Annamae had captured pieces of their hearts too, as Robert had said.
Robert had also confessed to Monty that after all they’d gone through, if he found a good woman and blazed a new trail, it would give the rest of them hope they could too.
Stalling, Monty rolled his sleeves to his elbows. “I may see her around sometime soon.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Go now. It’s not like you can do anything to help here anyway.”
“Sure I can,” Monty said. “I can supervise and make sure you hang the cross up straight.”
Besides, he didn’t want to make a declaration of love sporting a black eye. Well, more greenish yellow now, but still.
“We just hung it,” Jim huffed. “For a man wise on righteous living, you’re still a boy in knee pants when it comes to women. Haven’t you ever read the Song of Solomon?”
Monty headed for the exit.
“I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder.
He didn’t know what he’d say to Annamae, but he knew he was not discussing the Song of Solomon inside the church.
Summer was upon them now, bringing oppressive heat that would mix with the thick smoke produced by the iron works.
He understood the South Fork club’s intentions.
The air on the mountain was as pure as the landscape.
Much different from Johnstown and Pittsburgh and Philadelphia where the factories produced round the clock.
Enjoying the nature God had created and balancing work and pleasure wasn’t a sin in and of itself.
But when nature became one’s God, that was a different story.
The club members valued recreation and luxury above human life.
They had sinned against mankind, but more so against God.
Monty trusted the Lord would fight for the people of the valleys.
Activity in town hustled as usual. Now that the railroad had replaced most of the lines, transporting cargo to and from the town kept the railroad workers busy. Construction on the new roundhouse was progressing, but the temporary turn track worked fine.
It took longer to reach the Red Cross tents than Monty bargained for.
He walked at a snail’s pace as to not jar his abdomen and ribs.
Last night when he’d awoken to sneeze, he’d thought a steel beam had plowed into his face.
Stars had filled his vision, and the pain in his broken nose and ribcage had stolen his breath.
Moments later, blood had oozed from his nose, and he’d soaked two handkerchiefs trying to get it under control.
It was probably a good idea to have a doctor look him over to make sure his nose was healing properly and that the break wouldn’t disfigure his face.
“Can I help you?” A grandmotherly nurse approached him, carrying a clipboard.
Monty tucked his hands into his pockets. “I was treated last week for a broken nose and other injuries. I was told to come back for an examination.”
“Follow me, please.”
He obeyed, and she took him two tents over where only one other person sat waiting for a nurse.
With the rise in disinfectant use, patients at the Red Cross tents had thinned considerably over the last few weeks.
Monty recognized the man as Phillip Lowman, one of the streetcar conductors.
The man raised a hand in greeting, as did Monty.
The grandmotherly nurse assured him she’d fetch the doctor.
As Monty waited, he thought about what he wanted to say to Annamae, but nothing sounded right. Then, as if he’d conjured her before him, she sidled past the tent, forehead scrunched in thought, carrying a small crate with bottles poking out of the top. “Miss Worthington.”
She jerked to a stop. Then her shoulders lowered. “You scared me.”
The conductor chuckled, and Monty smiled an apology. Had her wandering thoughts involved him?
Appearing less amused than the men, she ducked beneath the angled tent flap and relinquished the crate to a nearby bed. Hands on hips, she assessed Monty. “You’re looking better. Are you here for an examination or to strike fear into the staff?”
While he preferred her unruffled, that spark that lit her up when riled made his blood pump harder. “I came to ask if I could court you properly.”
Her pretty lips parted and almost curled into a smile before they closed again, and she shrugged. “You and every other unwed man who sweeps through here. Except Mr. Lowman.” She hitched her thumb at the conductor. “He’s about the only gentleman in this town with his wits about him.”
Lowman cackled.
A warm sensation trickled down Monty’s upper lip.
Annamae rushed to a bureau, pulled out a rag, and told him to hold it against his nostrils without adding pressure.
The doctor walked in and informed Mr. Lowman the nurse was fetching the salve he needed and that once she returned, he’d be free to leave.
The tall doctor focused his attention on Monty. “Ah, I remember you. Mr. Childs, is it?”
Monty offered his free hand, and Doctor Rose shook it with a firm grip. Monty tried not to wince from the jolt that shot through his ribcage.
“Mr. Childs came in to have his head examined,” Annamae said.
This earned yet another chuckle from Mr. Lowman and a questioning look from the doctor. “His broken nose and other injuries,” she clarified.
Her narrowed gaze and incensed attitude told him she wasn’t going to make this easy. She was angry with him for being flippant about her explanation of Matthew’s arrival. As well she should be, he guessed. He could have acted more graciously.
Annamae left to continue her duties while the doctor poked and prodded until Monty wanted to punch the guy. About the time he felt like he couldn’t take another second of the examination, the doctor straightened up.
“You’re healing as well as you can be at this point.
I’m confident the threat of any serious internal injury is over.
Nasal bleeding is common after a break. Unfortunately, you will sneeze as you continue to heal.
It’s your body’s natural way of cleaning and clearing the nasal passages.
I understand it hurts. It will get better, I promise. ”
All Monty could do was grunt.
“Keeping your ribs bound tight will not only help with pain but also healing. Let me collect a roll of bandages large enough to do the job. I’ll be back.”
While Monty waited, a nurse brought Mr. Lowman his salve. She steadied the older man as he maneuvered from the bed to the ground. Once he stood fine on his own, she left the tent.
Mr. Lowman shuffled past Monty. “Good luck, son.”
His cackle followed him outside.
Now if he could keep Annamae from laughing him away as well.
Annamae’s head spun with Monty’s declaration. He wanted to court her? Surely he was jesting. No, that wasn’t Monty’s way. He was all truth and gravity with the perfect amount of humor, but never at another’s expense.
Guilt slithered around her throat and squeezed.
She had betrayed his confidence.