Chapter 4 – Summer 1909 – There's always a scapegoat

When she thought back on this time years later, on the rare occasions when she tried to forgive herself, she would decide that things had started to change the first day Peter came home covered in coal dust.

"Oh, would you look at the two of you!" she cried, wiping her own hands on a rag as she stepped out of the kitchen.

Noah stopped her with a knowing look. "I'll take him out back to wash up, but I figured you'd want to see him coming in from his first day on the job."

It was a nice thought, even if it would leave a particularly stubborn track in her entryway. She stood back, taking in the sight of her husband and son as they presented themselves. Though the same green eyes peered out from both of the dirty faces, there was a world of difference in what they expressed. Noah's hand was slapped proudly against Peter's back, his joyous smile daring anyone to find a better moment than this one. But Peter, trying his best to stand tall, looked exhausted and disoriented. No amount of Noah's stories or seeing how his father returned home each day had prepared him for the daily reality of the mine.

With a gentle smile, Abigail reached out and touched her son's stained cheek. "You look like you worked hard today. Let's get you cleaned and fed and then I want to hear all about it."

At dinner, Noah prompted Peter to tell his mother about everyone he'd met and what he thought of them, with Noah excitedly filling in his own anecdotes here and there. Even though he didn't need to work deep in the mine himself now, as superintendent, he couldn't pass up the chance to personally show his son the ropes on his first day.

"And Mr. Montgomery – I mean, Joe – he was very kind to me. He and pa taught me how to keep an eye on my tonnage." Peter was scooping up sweet potatoes like it was the first food he'd seen in months, and Abigail sensed his eagerness had as much to do with home as it did with hunger.

Noah caught her attention back with a wave of his spoon. "Gowen came out just before his lunch break too, told Peter he was doing a fine job," he said.

"What do you think of working for Mr. Gowen then? Any worries?" Abigail asked across to Peter.

"Abigail, I keep telling you he's no Terence Walker," Noah cut in.

"Well, that's fine, but I'm interested in what Peter has to say."

"He's okay, I guess," her son answered. "Pretty, um… what's the word? Aloof?"

Abigail turned to Noah with a questioning look.

"He's gotta keep himself a bit apart from the men, that's how it's always been," Noah shrugged. "That's why I'm the superintendent. I'm the one who knows these guys and how they operate and I can try to work things out with them first. The Director has to be able to step in when things go bad."

Abigail supposed that aloofness could have some advantage to it. And after all, she had never run a business. But for some reason, Henry Gowen's distance from everyone else in the town, and how little the rest of them knew about the man who controlled so much of their lives, continued to be a source of unease for her.

Then again, what wasn't? Later that night, she sat up in bed, trying to understand what her life would look like now. Peter was still the same age today as he was three days ago when they'd walked over to his school graduation, but today she didn't go into his room to say goodnight. It felt like the wrong thing to do. Instead she kissed him on the cheek in the small hallway between his room and theirs and let him separate from her. She knew, rationally, that no matter what job he had taken, or even if he had decided to go on to high school, that this was always going to happen. She'd seen her friends' children grow up and watched the women bite back tears as their sons went into the mines, or to other dangerous jobs in other dangerous places. But these were things they didn't fret about, not to all the others. They were women of the frontier. Wives of the coal workers. Mothers of the laborers. Keepers of the homes. It was all hard, but it was all life. Every one of them had their own troubles, but they were supposed to be proud of their sacrifices, not resentful of them. Still… it hurt so much.

She turned to Noah beside her, but he was already fast asleep. She settled into a curled position on her side, facing away from him. The thoughts remained heavy in her chest for hours, but she kept herself quiet so as not to disturb his peaceful dreaming.

ooo


Over the next few weeks, three things happened. The first was that it became obvious to her that Peter's fingernails would never be clean again. The second was that she noticed herself becoming more and more a peripheral participant in Noah and Peter's evening conversations, when they even had the energy for conversation. The third was that she came upon Henry Gowen once again while running errands in town.

This time she saw him exiting the saloon, Silas Ramsey in tow. At first she was pleased he had found someone to talk with, but she quickly realized from the twist of his body and the stiffness in his gait that the mayor might be more of a necessary nuisance than a friend.

Silas soon split off to go back to his office, but Henry continued walking in her direction. She bit her lip, trying to decide whether it would be rude to approach him, but he saw her before she'd made up her mind.

"Mrs. Stanton," he tipped his hat, "how's your day going?"

"Perfectly well, Mr. Gowen, and yours?"

"As I said, please call me Henry."

"Well, then, you should call me Abigail. I take it you were having lunch at the saloon?" she asked, nodding toward the White Stallion.

There was a murmur of confirmation. "In Hamilton, I made a habit of going out for lunch. Good for seeing people. Although I'm pretty sure I've already rubbed all the elbows there are to rub in this town."

He'd meant it lightly, but she felt the edge in it. "Mr. G–… Henry. May I offer some advice?" He gestured for her to continue, so she did, speaking as diplomatically as she could. "Don't try to compare Coal Valley to Hamilton. We have a value all our own. We're proud of how we work together here, and how we help each other out. It can be a rough life sometimes, but it's ours and these are good people."

He rocked back and forth, hands in his pockets as he considered her words. "I'm no stranger to hard work, Mrs. Stanton."

"Abigail," she reminded him.

"Abigail," he smiled. "I suppose I've been giving the wrong impression, that I've been somehow looking down on you."

"Weren't you?" she echoed. His face opened into a genuinely delighted expression, a new development she was pleased to have caused.

"See there! How could anyone cast aspersions on your intelligence! Believe me, I know how much you and the others do to keep this all going. My mother was just as diligent – a tough, admirable woman. And the men, the workers, I see their characters every day."

She nodded, appreciative, but coaxing him for the rest of the explanation she knew was there. He recognized it and sighed.

"It's just that I didn't come here under the best of circumstances. Leaving home wasn't easy and it's still something I'm sorting through. So please, don't take any brusqueness in my demeanor personally."

"I understand, and thank you for your honesty," Abigail offered sympathetically, unwilling at this point to pry further than she already had. "If there's ever anything we can do to help, please let us know."

"I'll take those biscuits of yours any time you're offering."

Abigail laughed. "It's a deal."

They said their goodbyes and she turned to watch him head back up to the mine. He had a distinctive stride, wide and determined, his suit coat flapping up behind him as the light wind caught it. The image stuck in her head as he faded into the distance. It wasn't that she was wholly unaccustomed to seeing businessmen; there were a few that made their way to Coal Valley. Besides Mayor Ramsey and the previous Directors, there was Mr. Jenkins at the bank, Mr. Landis who came by once a year to check on the school, and the occasional judge or lawyer. But Henry was not like any of these. Josiah Chambers, while more friendly than Terence Walker, was a man of many indulgences who had spent more time in the saloon than with his family. Though Abigail did not make a habit of hanging around the saloon, she was fairly sure Henry was not there on the weekends making a fool of himself. From what she'd seen so far, he was thoughtful and shrewd, with a dark intensity that belied the presumed ease with which he lived his life. She didn't know what to make of him.

"Abigail!"

Molly Sullivan's sing-song call broke into her thoughts, beckoning her over from down the street to make their way home together. Abigail walked over to greet her friend, shaking off the enigma that was Henry Gowen.