Chapter 13 - When Harriet Did Not Come Home
Pearl's father was named Amos Whitaker.
He had retired from the railroad two years earlier.
He also disliked Cyrus Vale.
Apparently this was becoming a qualification for friendship.
“The freight engine is company property,” Harriet said.
Amos nodded.
“Correct.”
“So we cannot take it.”
“Also correct.”
Harlan crossed his arms.
“What can we do?”
Amos smiled.
“Lease it.”
“From whom?”
“The company.”
“Who owns the company?”
“Not Vale. Yet.”
Pearl produced papers.
“My father arranged it before we came.”
Harriet stared.
“You knew we were here?”
“Josephine sent a telegraph message.”
Of course.
Harriet was beginning to understand that once women stopped spending energy competing with one another, they became alarmingly effective.
The locomotive could travel only as far as the washed bridge.
From there, Amos knew a stage route west that connected to another rail line.
They could reach Denver by midnight.
Maybe.
Harriet climbed aboard.
Harlan followed.
Pearl did too.
“You're coming?”
Pearl looked offended.
“I arranged the train.”
“Fair.”
The engine roared south.
For the first time in Harriet's life, she rode inside a locomotive cab.
It was hot, deafening, dirty, and magnificent.
Amos handled the machinery with practiced ease.
Snowfields blurred past.
At the broken bridge they transferred to a stagecoach.
At sunset a wheel broke.
Harriet laughed.
Harlan stared.
“You find this funny?”
“If I don't laugh, I will scream.”
They repaired it.
At eleven thirty they reached the western rail station.
The Denver train had left ten minutes earlier.
Pearl stared at the empty track.
“No.”
Harriet closed her eyes.
They had failed.
Then Harlan said, “When's the next?”
“Six in the morning.”
“That reaches Denver at ten.”
Harriet calculated.
November twenty-ninth.
One day.
They could still do it.
They slept in the station.
At ten sixteen the next morning Harriet entered the marble lobby of Western Continental Bank.
She felt every inch the frontier woman.
Mud on boots.
Old blue dress.
Flour permanently beneath nails.
Bankers stared.
Harriet stared back.
A clerk approached.
“May I help you?”
“I need to speak with whoever manages Vale Consolidated financing.”
His smile chilled.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Then I'm afraid—”
Pearl stepped forward.
She looked perfectly at home beneath chandeliers.
“My name is Mrs. Pearl Hollister, daughter of Amos Whitaker, former senior engineer for Western Continental Rail.”
The clerk hesitated.
Pearl continued smoothly.
“We have evidence concerning fraud tied to an active loan.”
The smile vanished.
They waited twelve minutes.
Then a banker named Charles Wentworth received them.
He listened.
Harriet showed the ledger page.
Wentworth's face gave nothing away.
“This proves little.”
“It proves Vale paid county officials.”
“Allegedly.”
“You sound like Gideon.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Harlan placed Samuel's old deed on the desk.
“Vale's financing deadline involves Bell acquisition.”
Wentworth looked at him sharply.
“How do you know?”
Harriet saw it.
The reaction.
She leaned forward.
“So it does.”
Wentworth realized the mistake.
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't need to.”
He sighed.
“Miss Bell, banking relationships are confidential.”
“My house was burned.”
“I am sorry.”
“My water is being taken.”
“I understand.”
“No. You understand money.”
The room chilled.
Harriet continued.
“Then understand this. Vale told your bank he could secure Bell Creek by November thirtieth. He cannot.”
Wentworth's fingers tapped once.
Harriet saw confirmation again.
“He promised you the water rights as collateral.”
Silence.
Harlan looked at her.
She kept going.
“The silver mine isn't enough, is it?”
Wentworth said nothing.
“Without water, processing costs make the mine less profitable.”
His jaw tightened.
“You're speculating.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“And you're sweating.”
Harlan looked away to hide a grin.
Wentworth stood.
“This meeting is finished.”
Harriet remained seated.
“Then tell Cyrus Vale his financing is finished too.”
“Miss Bell—”
“I will never sell him the water.”
Wentworth froze.
“Never?”
“Never.”
Now the banker looked concerned.
Harriet stood.
“And if he claims otherwise, ask to see my signature.”
They left.
Outside, Pearl exhaled.
“Did we accomplish anything?”
Harlan said, “We scared him.”
Harriet looked back at the bank.
“Not enough.”
A messenger rushed out.
“Miss Bell!”
They turned.
“Mr. Wentworth requests another meeting.”
Harriet smiled.
“Enough.”
The second meeting lasted two hours.
The bank would not share Vale's documents.
But Wentworth asked questions.
Detailed ones.
Was Harriet willing to sell water rights to anyone?
No.
Could Vale obtain access through Harlan?
No.
Was the old covenant enforceable?
Gideon believed yes.
Had county approval been legitimately obtained?
Under investigation.
Wentworth's confidence deteriorated with every answer.
Finally he said, “If material representations in the Vale loan prove inaccurate, the bank may reconsider financing.”
“By when?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Noon.”
Vale's deadline.
Harriet understood.
The financing agreement expired November thirtieth.
He needed control before noon.
She and Harlan boarded the midnight train west.
At dawn November thirtieth, they reached the southern junction.
The bridge remained out.
Amos's locomotive waited.
Pearl had stayed in Denver to provide testimony.
Harlan and Harriet rode north.
At ten twenty, they were six miles from Bitter Creek when smoke appeared.
Harriet's heart stopped.
Not again.
The smoke came from the direction of town.
“Harlan.”
“I see it.”
The locomotive entered the valley.
A crowd filled the Bitter Creek station.
No fire.
Instead, black smoke poured from a Vale drilling engine parked beside Bell Creek.
Men had installed a massive pump.
Harriet jumped down before the locomotive fully stopped.
“What are they doing?”
Gideon ran toward her.
“Vale filed emergency industrial access papers this morning.”
“Can he?”
“Not once you object in person.”
“What time is it?”
“Ten forty-three.”
Harriet pushed through the crowd.
Vale stood beside the pump.
He looked tired for the first time.
“Miss Bell.”
“Turn it off.”
“I have legal access.”
“No, you don't.”
He handed Gideon a paper.
Gideon read.
“Temporary order signed by Judge Peterson.”
Harriet's heart sank.
“Can we stop it?”
“Yes, but we need another judge.”
“How long?”
“Hours.”
Vale checked his watch.
One hour seventeen minutes.
He only needed to keep pumping until noon.
Why?
Demonstration of operational control.
The bank.
Harriet understood.
He didn't need ownership.
He needed to convince the bank he had secured access.
She stepped onto the drilling platform.
Vale frowned.
“What are you doing?”
Harriet grabbed the main water lever.
A worker moved toward her.
Harlan stepped between them.
The worker stopped.
Vale said, “Miss Bell, interfering with lawful industrial equipment can result in arrest.”
Harriet smiled.
“I've had an educational month.”
She pulled the lever.
The pump stopped.
The crowd cheered.
Vale's face went white.
“Start it,” he ordered.
No worker moved.
“Start it!”
Frank O'Leary called from the crowd, “Twenty percent bread discount says we don't!”
Laughter exploded.
Vale looked around.
Every wagoner.
Every miner.
Every farmer.
Women from town.
Pearl's father.
Josephine.
Samuel, wrapped in blankets.
People Harriet had fed for years.
Vale had money.
Harriet had a town.
At eleven fifteen, sheriff McKenna arrived.
Vale demanded Harriet's arrest.
McKenna read the order.
Then looked at Gideon.
“Contested?”
“Absolutely.”
The sheriff folded the paper.
“Then nobody touches the pump until a judge decides.”
Vale's voice sharpened.
“You will regret this.”
McKenna shrugged.
“Get in line.”
At eleven fifty-eight, a telegraph runner sprinted from the station.
“Miss Bell!”
Everyone turned.
He waved a message.
Harriet's hands shook opening it.
WESTERN CONTINENTAL BANK SUSPENDS VALE FINANCING PENDING INVESTIGATION.
Two minutes before noon.
Cyrus Vale read the message over her shoulder.
For the first time since Harriet met him, his control broke.
“You stupid woman.”
The valley fell silent.
Harriet looked at him.
Weeks earlier those words might have wounded her.
Now they seemed small.
She smiled.
“No, Mr. Vale.”
She folded the telegram.
“Just an expensive one.”
The crowd laughed.
Vale walked away.
Harriet turned to find Harlan.
He was gone.
She looked toward the station.
No Harlan.
The boarding house.
No Harlan.
Then a boy came running from the north road.
“Miss Bell!”
Harriet's celebration died.
“What?”
The boy gasped.
“Mr. Jessup rode for the ridge.”
“Why?”
“Somebody said Vale's men were heading for the spring.”
Harriet looked north.
Storm clouds covered the mountains.
“When?”
“Two hours ago.”
Her heart dropped.
“Harlan went alone?”
The boy nodded.
Harriet mounted the nearest horse.
Samuel shouted after her.
She did not stop.
May you like
Because Cyrus Vale had just lost everything.
And desperate men were often most dangerous after they had nothing left to lose.
