Chapter 6 - The Winter Bargain
Cyrus Vale was not what Harriet expected.
He was neither loud nor physically imposing.
He did not need to be.
Men hurried ahead of him.
That told her enough.
At sixty, Vale was lean, silver-haired, and perfectly dressed in a dark wool suit beneath a fur-lined overcoat. His gloves were black leather. His boots were polished despite the muddy station road.
Edwin Price followed him.
So did two men Harriet recognized from the county courthouse.
Vale removed his hat when he entered the boarding-house dining room.
“Miss Bell.”
“Mr. Vale.”
His gaze traveled over the worn wallpaper, patched curtains, and scratched tables.
Nothing in his expression suggested contempt.
That somehow made him worse.
“You run a respectable establishment.”
“I wasn't aware you came for breakfast.”
A faint smile.
“Your father said you were direct.”
“My father spoke to you?”
“Several times.”
Harriet gestured toward a table.
“Then let's continue the tradition.”
Vale sat.
Harlan stood near the kitchen doorway.
Vale noticed him.
“Mr. Jessup.”
“Vale.”
Another tiny smile.
“I had wondered when you'd involve yourself.”
Harlan said nothing.
Harriet sat opposite Vale.
“Why do you want Bell Creek?”
Price shifted.
Vale did not.
“Because water is valuable.”
“To a railroad?”
“To everything.”
Harriet waited.
Vale crossed one leg.
“The silver discovery north of Jessup Ridge is substantial.”
“How substantial?”
“Enough.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is the only one you require.”
“I require a reason for your contract claiming my water forever.”
Vale studied her.
Then perhaps decided truth would intimidate her more effectively than secrecy.
“The mining settlement will grow.”
“So?”
“Men require water. Engines require water. Processing ore requires water. Timber operations require water.”
Harriet felt her stomach sink.
Bell Creek remained strong through winter because underground springs fed it from the ridge.
“Your creek is the most reliable source within several miles.”
Harlan stepped forward.
“The headwater crosses my property.”
“Yes,” Vale said. “Which is why I will eventually require yours as well.”
Harlan's expression became dangerous.
“Try.”
Vale smiled.
“I intend to.”
Harriet looked between them.
“This isn't just a railroad.”
“No,” Vale said.
“How much is the water worth?”
Price frowned.
“Miss Bell—”
“How much?”
Vale's smile faded.
“More than twenty thousand.”
“How much more?”
“Potentially considerably more.”
Harriet leaned back.
“You tried to buy it for five.”
“I made an offer.”
“To a sick man.”
“Your father was fully competent.”
“And when he refused, you increased it.”
“Yes.”
“Then threatened condemnation.”
“I informed him of legal realities.”
Harriet stood.
“You can leave.”
Price opened his portfolio.
“Miss Bell, perhaps you misunderstand—”
“No. I understand perfectly now.”
Vale remained seated.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward Bell Creek visible through the rear window.
“You're not buying four acres and an old house. You're buying control of every person you plan to bring north.”
Vale's eyes sharpened.
Harriet continued.
“You want water. You want railroad access. You want Harlan's timber. And you're offering just enough that frightened people might call you generous.”
Silence.
Vale stood slowly.
“You're intelligent.”
“People are often surprised.”
“I imagine they are.”
For the first time, something almost like respect entered his voice.
“That makes what follows unfortunate.”
Harriet's skin chilled.
“What follows?”
“County commissioners meet Friday.”
Harlan swore softly.
Vale buttoned his coat.
“The spur has been designated a public transportation priority.”
“You bought them,” Harlan said.
Vale looked genuinely bored.
“You make corruption sound necessary when incompetence usually accomplishes the same work.”
Harriet wanted to throw him out physically.
Instead she asked, “What happens Friday?”
“A petition for easement.”
“Through my land.”
“And Mr. Jessup's.”
“You could route south.”
“Adds nineteen miles.”
“So?”
“Money.”
Harriet laughed.
There it was.
Vale paused at the door.
“Twenty thousand remains available until noon.”
“No.”
“Your father's doctor bills might encourage reflection.”
Harriet went cold.
Harlan moved so fast the chair behind him toppled.
Vale's two men stepped forward.
Harriet blocked Harlan with one arm.
“Don't.”
His chest rose hard.
Vale watched.
Harriet looked directly at the older man.
“You investigated my family.”
“I investigate every investment.”
“My father is not an investment.”
“No. But his illness influences your negotiating position.”
The casual cruelty of it took Harriet's breath.
Then she understood something.
Cyrus Vale believed everyone had a pressure point.
Money.
Fear.
Need.
He had found hers.
Her father.
Harriet smiled.
Vale seemed surprised.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For?”
“Showing me what kind of man I'm dealing with.”
He left.
The door shut.
Harlan kicked the fallen chair.
“Easy,” Harriet said.
“I am being easy.”
“I'd hate to see difficult.”
“You might.”
Samuel had heard everything from the stairs.
Harriet found him gripping the railing.
“You should be in bed.”
“I'm sick, not dead.”
“Debatable.”
He smiled weakly.
Then his expression turned serious.
“You should consider the money.”
Harriet stared.
“Papa.”
“Twenty thousand could take you away from this.”
“I don't want away.”
“You've never had a choice.”
That struck.
He descended slowly.
“Your mother died and you stayed. I got sick and you stayed. The boarding house began failing and you stayed. Maybe you don't know whether you want Bitter Creek because no one's ever given you room to leave it.”
Harriet looked toward the kitchen.
Steam rose from cooling bread.
She thought of the endless mornings.
The gossip.
The loneliness.
Was her father right?
Harlan stood silently nearby.
She looked at him.
“What would you do?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“I asked.”
“I'd fight.”
“Even if you lost everything?”
His eyes held hers.
“I've lost everything before.”
Caleb.
The answer did not need saying.
Harriet looked back at Samuel.
“I won't sell today.”
“Harriet—”
“But I won't promise never.”
Her father nodded.
Fair.
She turned to Harlan.
“We need money.”
“Yes.”
“How many loaves can the camps buy?”
“Maybe a hundred per delivery.”
Samuel blinked.
Harriet calculated.
“Three hundred weekly.”
“At twenty cents.”
“Nineteen.”
“Still wrong.”
She ignored him.
“That doesn't pay a lawyer fast enough.”
Harlan nodded.
“What else can you make?”
“Biscuits. Meat pies. oatcakes. rolls.”
“Miners buy lunches.”
Harriet's mind accelerated.
“Packed meals.”
“Exactly.”
“Coffee concentrate.”
Harlan frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing. Thinking.”
By evening the dining room had become a war room.
Mrs. Grady joined.
So did Samuel.
Harlan drew routes.
Harriet calculated ingredient costs.
The boarding house cook, a widowed woman named Mae Foster, offered extra hours.
Two laundresses wanted work.
By midnight they had a plan.
Three deliveries weekly.
One hundred loaves.
Fifty meat pies.
Thirty packed lunches.
If demand held, Harriet could earn enough to retain an attorney within weeks.
Friday's hearing was only four days away.
Not enough time.
But Samuel remembered a lawyer in Denver who owed him a favor.
A telegram went out at dawn.
At nine, Harriet received a reply.
CAN ARRIVE THURSDAY. RETAINER $100.
One hundred dollars.
Harriet had thirty-seven.
She stared at the message.
Harlan reached for his wallet.
“No.”
He stopped.
“I wasn't—”
“Yes, you were.”
“I have money.”
“And I have pride.”
“Pride doesn't hire lawyers.”
“Neither does charity.”
Harlan's face tightened.
“What do you suggest?”
Harriet looked toward the cooling racks.
“Work.”
That afternoon she wrote a sign.
HARRIET BELL'S MOUNTAIN BREAD — 20 CENTS
Harlan read it.
“I thought nineteen.”
“You were right.”
He looked unbearably pleased.
“Don't enjoy this.”
“I am.”
The next three days became a blur.
Harriet slept nine hours total.
She baked until her arms trembled.
Harlan drove through snow.
Miners bought everything.
Word spread to two more camps.
A saloon ordered fifty rolls.
The assay office ordered sandwiches.
A logging crew wanted thirty loaves every Monday.
On Thursday morning Harriet counted the money.
Ninety-three dollars and sixty cents.
Seven dollars short.
The Denver lawyer's train arrived at four.
At three thirty, Harriet stood behind the boarding-house counter trying not to panic.
The door opened.
Pearl Hollister entered.
Harriet braced herself.
Pearl walked to the counter.
She placed seven dollars down.
Harriet stared.
“What is this?”
Pearl's cheeks were pink.
“I'm buying bread.”
Harriet looked at the empty shelves.
“I don't have thirty-five loaves.”
“I don't need them.”
“Then I can't take this.”
Pearl swallowed.
For once, she did not look elegant.
She looked ashamed.
“I was cruel to you.”
Harriet said nothing.
Pearl's eyes filled.
“I thought if everyone was laughing at you, nobody would look closely enough to find something wrong with me.”
Harriet's anger shifted.
“What would they find?”
Pearl looked toward the window.
“My husband left me six months ago.”
Harriet blinked.
Pearl and Nathan Hollister were supposed to be visiting his mother in Kansas.
That was the story.
“He didn't go to Kansas?” Harriet asked.
“No.”
“Where did he go?”
“With another woman.”
Harriet softened despite herself.
Pearl pushed the money forward.
“I shouldn't have said what I said about you.”
“No.”
“I know.”
Harriet looked at the seven dollars.
Then at Pearl.
She pushed three back.
“Four dollars buys twenty future loaves.”
Pearl started to protest.
“Take it.”
Pearl did.
Harriet placed the remaining four dollars with her ninety-three sixty.
Ninety-seven sixty.
Still short.
The door opened again.
Josephine entered.
Harriet almost laughed.
“What now?”
Josephine walked to the counter.
She placed three silver dollars down.
“Bread.”
Harriet stared.
Josephine avoided her eyes.
“How many?”
Josephine swallowed.
“Fifteen.”
“There isn't any.”
“I know.”
Harriet's heart tightened.
Josephine finally looked at her.
“You'd better win tomorrow.”
“Why?”
Josephine glanced toward the street.
“Because my husband sits on the county commission.”
May you like
Harriet froze.
“And last night,” Josephine whispered, “I heard him tell Edwin Price the vote is already arranged.”
