Violet was daunted by how long she would have to wait for that Callahan fellow just to find out whether her father had found metal worth selling. But she might get the answer tomorrow at the bank, if there was a decent amount in her father’s account.
“It’s incredible that you know the comings and goings of all the miners in this town,” she remarked on the way to Dr. Cantry’s office. “How is that possible?”
The deputy chuckled. “It’s not. People have come here from all over the world, Irish, Welsh, Germans, Chinese, heck, even Serbians, just to name a few. And many of the migrants who gave up mining have opened businesses instead.”
“Then why do you know so much about Mr. Callahan?” she asked.
“That’s because we know his family. The Callahans have a large ranch over in Nashart to the east. They used to herd cattle to us before the Northern Pacific Railway reached their town and new ranchers moved in closer to us over in Bozeman. When Morgan came here last year, the rumor was that he’s the black sheep of the family and finally got booted from it. But it’s just a rumor, and Morgan’s temperament is bad enough as it is, so don’t mention it if you meet him.”
If? Yes, she might not have to wait for him if there was a substantial amount in Charles’s bank account. She could then let her brothers decide what to do with their father’s mine while she returned to England.
The doctor wasn’t available when they reached his residence, he was out on a call. She decided to wait there for him to return, since she didn’t have anything else to do other than let her brothers know that what none of them had wanted to consider even a remote possibility was true—their father was dead.
Chapter Five
THE DILEMMAS VIOLET ENCOUNTEREDkept getting worse. Why had she thought she could deal with all of this alone? She didn’t even realize just how deep her despair was because she was also grieving.
The brief conversation she’d had with the good doctor had revealed what her brothers didn’t know: Charles had left home with a bad heart. He’d visited Dr. Cantry soon after he reached town because he’d been having chest pains. The doctor had warned him to avoid any strenuous activity because it could bring on a heart attack—yet Charles had gone from that visit up into the hills to mine? Something so utterly strenuous? Cantry said a heart attack had likely caused a fall and the resultant head trauma that Charles had never woken from.
She went to the claims office first thing the next morning. The man there confirmed that Charles Mitchell had staked a claim, but it was against their policy to show their maps to anyone, even relatives of claim holders. However, he did confide as she was leaving that the map wouldn’t be helpful since it included no landmarks. “Not many do. If the miner is there, his mine is there, his stakes are there, therefore it’s his place. If there’s a fight over it, whoever holds the claim with the earlier date tends to win.” She must have looked as confused as she felt, because he added, “It’s not as shoddy a system as it sounds, ma’am. We have a large map of the area, but again, it’s not for public viewing. We’re not here to help men find ore, only to record it when they do.”
She thought she understood, although she wondered how her father had managed to find ore. But at least she’d confirmed that he did have a mine in the area.
She decided to wait to send a telegram to her brothers until after she’d gone to the bank, which was where she headed next. She wanted to be able to add some good news along with the bad. But she wasn’t able to do that. Her father had no bank account in this town.
She found out a possible reason why when she asked the bank clerk to check his records twice. The man complained, “We were robbed three months ago, so I’m not surprised that your father wouldn’t trust us with his money. The miners are sending their money straight home or hiding it, and businesses are keeping their money in their own safes. It might be years before the bank recovers if that money isn’t found.”
So she had no good news to tell her brothers, but she couldn’t hold off sharing the bad any longer. And she asked in that telegram why Daniel hadn’t yet arrived in Butte as he’d promised, and stressed that she still needed him there to help find their father’s money. Then she sat in her room for two days waiting for their reply. When some of the numbness wore off, she realized she should have switched to Callahan’s preferred hotel to be absolutely sure she didn’t miss him when he came to town. After she accomplished that, she took flowers to her father’s grave and wept some more. Afterward she tried exploring the town to pass the time, but gave up that notion when she drew too many whistles and rudely inappropriate remarks from men she passed on the boardwalks.
She stayed in her new room mostly during the days, going down to the hotel dining room only for dinner. That first night in the new hotel, she met Katie Sullivan, a kindred spirit. Katie was a lively girl, red-haired, green-eyed, quite pretty. She lived with her family in Chicago and was only in Butte for a visit with her father and to introduce him to her fiancé, Thomas, who had just arrived and was staying at the hotel.
Violet guessed that Katie had invited her to sit with her and Thomas because of the way she was dressed. So little high fashion was seen in this town that she stood out, as did Katie, and they were naturally drawn to each other by apparent shared interests—at least in fashion.
But there was more when Violet introduced herself and mentioned her father’s name. “Morgan Callahan’s friend?” Katie asked.
“So you’ve met Morgan Callahan?”
“Goodness, no, I wouldn’t get anywhere near such an uncouth fellow. But everyone knowsofhim by now. They say he’s a former cowboy turned trapper, then a miner, and now he’s just crazy from so much solitude—but in any case, he’s very unsociable, by all accounts. And my father doesn’t like the man, says that he’s the most stubborn jack—er, mule he’s ever met. My father, Shawn Sullivan, will be joining us shortly. He’s always late. And we might not want to mention that you know Mr. Callahan.”
That sounded ominous. Violet assured the girl, “But I don’t, and apparently, I don’t want to. However, I’ve been informed that he might be the only one who can show me to my father’s mine. I am hoping that he will simply draw me a map to the location instead.”
“A map? Yes, that would be ideal, wouldn’t it? The less time you must spend with him, the better.”
Following Katie’s advice, Violet didn’t mention Callahan’s name after Shawn Sullivan arrived. He was a gregarious fellow once he relaxed, middle-aged, astute, portly, with a very distinct Irish brogue. Most of the dinner was spent with the parent grilling the possible future son-in-law about his family, his connections, his means. But once he gave his blessing, laughing that there still might be stipulations, both Thomas and Shawn relaxed to enjoy the last of the dinner agreeably.
Which was when Mr. Sullivan turned his green eyes to Violet and remarked, “A Mitchell, eh? The name sounds familiar.”
“My father was in the area for a few months before he died,” she explained, then added hopefully, “Perhaps you met him?”
“He might have worked for me if he was a miner.”
“No, he had his own mine, I just don’t know where it is yet.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
He did briefly look sad on her behalf, as if he didn’t think she would have any luck in finding it, which left her feeling quite crestfallen. So she only vaguely listened to the rest of the conversation that centered on his family in Chicago.
But apparently Katie must have told her father later that night that Violet intended to have words with Morgan Callahan and why. She actually got a note from Shawn Sullivan the next day, saying if she did get a map to her father’s mine, he would be pleased to supply her with an armed escort to take her there. So nice of him!
