Oh, for pity’s sake! For so long, she’d pushed away any thought of God. Why was He now coming to mind over and over?
And why did she feel a strong desire to go back to Him? To understand the heavenly Father her mother loved. Perhaps ...
She nodded. The only way to resolve this confusion was to do her research. Ask questions.
It seemed that the Ashburys were God-fearing people. Perhaps she could have a conversation with Marvella and gain some sort of insight into what the older woman thought about God. She’d undoubtedly be as expansive on her thoughts about Him as about the other topics she discussed.
Eleanor approached the Ashbury mansion and startedup the long circular drive, compelled to press on toward the answers she needed. Father said each man was responsible to make his own destiny, so she supposed it made sense that she would desire to speak to the older woman or anyone else who might afford her understanding.
As for this ridiculous sense that she had no control whatsoever over her life?
Well, that was absurd. And she’d soon prove it.
Grant stirred the pot of beans and bacon, then put the lid back on. He added wood to the stove, then took a seat, hands circling a cup of coffee. The melancholy and gloom at work still pressed in on him. Many of the men had bought houses in Kalispell and were now faced with selling them and moving to Whitefish, where they’d probably have to live in tents for a time. The housing was so limited in the smaller town that no doubt the influx of two or three hundred men would stretch the available resources well beyond the ability to provide.
Houses would go up in rapid order. They already did. Most would be slapped together at first. Probably little better than shanties.
But here in Kalispell, the town had grown ... nice. Nicer than anywhere else he’d ever lived. There were well-manicured lawns and tree-lined avenues. Stumptown, as many of the railroad workers referred to Whitefish, wasn’t at all pretty. Grant had been up there a couple of times on railroad business, and they had a long way to go to make something out of it. With all the stumps left behind from felling the abundant varieties of evergreen trees no wonderfolks called it Stumptown. Those stumps were being pulled, but the land was still so unsettled.
Alvin finally showed up saying he’d found work on building the rail line from Columbia Falls to Whitefish and beyond. He came back on his days off to the small apartment he shared with Grant, but things weren’t the same. His brother was moody and unhappy with the prospects of moving north. Especially since he’d just found a girl he liked to spend time with and she called Kalispell home.
Grant glanced up at the clock. Alvin should be home any minute. Not that he was looking forward to listening to his brother’s grumblings all night. His own attitude was bad enough. He didn’t need to be worrying his brother would go off and do something stupid.
Alvin had always been a complainer, but of late, he seldom did anything else. Still, he’d bring news from the line, so Grant would face his brother’s ire to find out what was happening. Anything to know what was being discussed among those planning out the death of Kalispell.
He rubbed his pounding temples. He’d been left to care for Alvin when their ma died. At twelve, he had done what he could to keep his five-year-old little brother from harm, but there’d been only so much he could do. He’d been a kid himself.
Alvin grew up with a mean streak and sense of dissatisfaction. It was a wonder he’d found a girl to put up with him. But he’d probably made grand promises and was pouring on the charm. For now.
The door opened and the object of his thoughts—filthy as usual—stomped through. The stench of him filled the kitchen. Grant couldn’t disguise his distaste.
“I know. I know. I need a bath. And I intend to have one before I go see my gal, but right now I’m starvin’. You can live with the smell. What’s for dinner?”
“Beans and bacon. Cornbread.” Best not to argue over something as unimportant as a bath. “I’ll dish it up. Go ahead and sit down. Any news?”
Alvin was already halfway into the seat. “A few of the boys and me have been talkin’. We figure the only way to get Hill to listen to reason is to threaten what he cares about.”
“What are you talking about?” Grant spooned their dinner into bowls.
“Keepin’ the railroad in Kalispell, you idiot.” Alvin frowned. “We figure if we threaten Hill’s son that we can get him to change his mind or at least keep both lines open. We haven’t come up with a plan yet, but Hill will be in town soon, and we figure that’ll be the time to strike.”
Grant stopped what he was doing to give Alvin a hard stare. “You could go to jail for the rest of your life if you do something like that.”
Alvin shrugged.“IfI get caught. Either way, it’d be better than living in Stumptown.”
6
THURSDAY, MAY12, 1904—KALISPELL, MONTANA
Driven by her thirst for answers and some way to rid herself of this weird melancholy and restlessness, Eleanor parked her bike on the porch and entered the Ashbury mansion, hoping it was time for tea. Perhaps a conversation with her hostess would help ease the weight in her chest. She needed to talk to someone. Her thoughts felt like a tangled ball of yarn. Every string she pulled seemed to make the tangle into a knotted mess. The butler bowed ever so slightly. “May I take your things, Miss?”
She removed her gloves and hat. “Is Mrs. Ashbury in? I’d like to speak with her.”
Tobias shook his head as he held out his hands for her hat. “My apologies, she’s not available at the moment.”
“Well, this is a fine kettle of fish.”
“Pardon, Miss?”
