Accidental Sweetheart

The word evacuation seemed wrong, somehow. As if the ladies were being taken somewhere better. Safer. But even though he knew they had to go—for the miners’ sakes as well as their own—Gideon couldn’t help thinking that, given the chance, the men of Bachelor Bottoms would have done everything in their power to make them feel at home.

* * *

The sky was growing dark before Lydia had a chance to relay the information she’d gathered from her trip up the mountain. By the time she’d helped Mr. Smalls take care of her mare, checked in with the women preparing and serving the evening meal, then played the pump organ for the evening Devotional, her brain was a-swirl with the myriad tasks that still needed to be accomplished. Only then could she and the other mail-order brides announce their demands and begin a proper protest.

Did they have enough time?

As she hurried toward the Dovecote, she could see the glow in the windows caused by the myriad lamps. She’d probably missed dinner with the other girls, but she had no doubts that one of the women would have placed a plate of food in the oven for her. Hot tea, coffee or cocoa would be waiting on the stove.

She stumbled, coming to a stop. Now that the sun had dipped below the mountains, the air was brisk, and her breath hung in front of her like a gossamer cloud. Overhead, the skies had become cloudy again and a light misting rain was swiftly turning to sleet.

For a moment, Lydia peered at the Dovecote, seeing the building for what it was—an old equipment shed that had been converted into a haphazard dormitory. The outer boards were rough and peeling. The yard was a series of puddles and matted brown grass. Planks had been stretched over the worst of the mud to give the brides a walkway to a front door that looked like it belonged to a feed store more than a residence.

But the Dovecote had become a home. Even from yards away, Lydia could hear female voices, snatches of singing, laughter.

For a girl who’d never known the company of sisters—or young women at all, for that matter—the dormitory had proven to be an adventure. Lydia had learned so much about herself—how to have patience and understanding, to share the burdens and accomplishments of others. It was for that reason that she’d been persuaded to organize their current plan.

Had they started too late? Would they be able to do enough to disrupt the routines of Bachelor Bottoms and its owners? Would Batchwell and Bottoms realize the extent of the sacrifices they demanded of their men? Could Lydia get them to see that denying their employees of their wives and sweethearts didn’t just lessen the man, it lessened the entire community?

The door opened and Iona Skye, a regal widow in her sixties, poked her head out. “Is something the matter, Lydia?”

“No! No, I’m coming.”

Lydia hurried the last few yards, dodging into the warmth of the Dovecote.

As she’d anticipated, she was immediately inundated with the rich scents of perfume, baking bread and a hint of cinnamon.

Iona reached to help Lydia with her coat. “Let’s get you out of those wet things. You’ll catch your death.”

“It started drizzling as I turned down the lane.”

“Come here by the fire.”

Before Lydia quite knew what had happened, she found herself ensconced in a comfortable chair, a quilt draped over her lap, and a steaming cup of tea cradled between her palms.

“I’ll have your dinner ready in no time!” Marie called from the small kitchen area.

“No rush. Really.”

Lydia knew that her friends were trying to give her enough time to unwind from her busy day. Although they pretended to be involved with their own tasks, there was no disguising the way they hovered nearby. She saw no reason for prolonging their misery.

“I have news, so gather round.”

Immediately, the brides grabbed their chairs, upended crates, and even a few barrels—using the seating arrangements they’d managed to cobble together in the past few months.

“As you probably all know by now, I rode with Gideon Gault up the mountainside to check the pass.”

“And?” Stefania asked breathlessly.

“It’s worse than we thought. The snow has been beaten down by the heat and the rain. According to Mr. Gault, we have only a week—maybe ten days—until he and his men will organize a wagon train to force us out of the valley.”

“He said those very words? That we’d be forced out?”

Lydia held up a hand. “No. He didn’t say that exactly.” She sighed. “But I did manage to ascertain his true feelings. He thinks that we should all leave as soon as possible.”

“So, we can’t count on his becoming one of our allies,” Myra Claussen said mournfully. Her identical twin, Miriam, gripped her hand.

“I don’t see how we can change his mind. He seemed very adamant.”

“Which means we’re going to have to proceed very carefully. If Mr. Gault stumbles across our plans before we can get everything into place...” Iona murmured.

“He will do his best to stop us,” Lydia confirmed.

“What should we do?” Emmarissa Elliot asked from the opposite end of the room.

Lydia thought for a moment, her finger unconsciously rubbing at the ache between her brows.

“We’re going to have to step things up. In my opinion, we need at least a hundred men to join sides with us. Anything less won’t cause a pinch in the staffing of the mine.” Lydia pointed to Anna Kendrick. “Were you able to talk to Sumner?”

“Yes, but only briefly. She said that Jonah’s getting restless and it’s only a matter of time before he ignores her insistence that he remain quarantined from the rest of the men.”

Lydia turned to Millie Kauffman. “What about Charles Wanlass?”

“Willow said that he’s behind us a hundred percent. He’s even willing to talk to his own crew once we’re ready.”

“Good. What about Phineas Bottoms?” She turned to Iona and was surprised when the older woman blushed.

“I have tried to develop a...rapport with the man at the cook shack.”

“And...” Lydia prompted encouragingly.

“Do I have to?” Iona whispered.

“You know how important this is to us all.”

Iona shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but nodded. “I’ll ask him to join me for lunch tomorrow.”

“And...”

“And I’ll arrange to dine with him...alone...in the private room in the cook shack.”

“Do you think you can keep him occupied?”

Lydia didn’t miss the way Iona’s hands trembled before she gripped them in her lap.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Excellent. That means the rest of us will need to strike the storehouse tonight.”