Chapter 2 – Summer 1909

My father told me to stay away from complicated men

"… twice as much as Noah, I just don't understand…"

"Good morning, ladies!"

Abigail smiled as Florence Blakeley and Carla Noonan turned from the general store counter to face her.

"Oh good morning, Abigail," Florence said brightly. Abigail had heard enough to know that Florence's envy over Noah's promotion had yet to die down, though she would need to remain in the dark over what had prompted it this time because she had no desire to ask. She could, however, offer her friend the grace of announcing her presence.

Her hemline swished across the floorboards as she ambled through the store. The items on her list were where they always were, but she let her eyes search the shelves anyway. There might be a little something Noah enjoyed that wasn't normally in stock, and though Peter was well past the age for most of the small wooden toys, she had never known him to say no to some penny candies.

She was in the process of pulling down a sack of sugar when Florence's face appeared beside her.

"Well?" the other woman asked expectantly.

"Well, what?" Abigail echoed back. She knew exactly what her friend wanted to ask about, but sometimes the days needed their small amusements.

"Oh Abigail, you're terrible," Carla said with a playful swat. "How was dinner with Mr. Gowen?" she pressed.

In the two days since Henry Gowen had joined them for supper, she'd seen him once more, exiting the café alone. He had not seen her where she was turning on the road, headed back home after bringing Noah yet another forgotten lunch. Most of the time, Abigail would grab her husband's hand as he started to leave and deposit the pail directly into his grip. However, there were occasions when she was in the middle of another chore or occupied in the toilet, and on said occasions, Noah appeared to be incapable of remembering that he was a human being who might later require food.

But the insistent faces flanking her were still waiting to hear about Mr. Gowen, not Noah's lunch. The Mr. Gowen who had taken his own lunch alone, at an outside establishment.

"It was a pleasant evening and we all got on well. He is a man of the city, there's no doubt about that, but I hope he can make himself a good home here."

"He'll need a good wife first."

"Florence!" Abigail hushed her, embarrassed. Ned Yost's head shot up to look at them, and the women tucked themselves further behind the back shelves.

"I'm just saying, I understand he's brought no one with him, but we don't know any more of the situation. Was he married? Widowed?"

"What if he's divorced?" Carla guessed, to which Florence clutched her chest. "He's not made an attempt to court anyone here yet. Maybe he had a bitter separation from his wife."

"Or he's a heartbroken widower. Doesn't that make more sense, Carla?"

"Stop it, the both of you!" Abigail interjected. "If you're so curious, why doesn't Paul ask?"

"Men don't ask these things, Abigail. And besides, it may be a sore subject," Florence pointed out. "Noah's already got the superintendent job; you should have asked at dinner."

Abigail blew out a breath. Florence was an awful busybody, but what was even more irritating was how badly Abigail had indeed wanted to ask. But it was one thing to ask whether a man had a wife – which they all knew Mr. Gowen did not – and another to ask whether a man had ever had one. And she could not have done so to her husband's new boss, a guest in her home and a wealthy man who now ran the town, without feeling quite impertinent.

"Let's just be courteous and friendly and welcome him to Coal Valley the way we would any new family. In time he'll see what a wonderful community this is and maybe we'll learn more about him."

The women looked at each other, nodded in defeat, and shuffled back out into the open space like sufficiently scolded children. Abigail was rifling through her coins at the counter when Ned leaned over.

"You know... I heard he'd taken up with a married woman in Hamilton."

Abigail stopped, pointedly cocking an eyebrow. "'Where there is no wood, the fire goes out', Ned."

She left the sheepish shopkeeper behind with her coins and his shame, though both remained only until she was out of earshot and the other two women had rushed up to the counter to listen excitedly to this latest speculation.

ooo


The next open meeting of the town council appeared to Abigail to be the biggest event since last year's Founders Day Festival.

While women generally did not sit on the council, they did sometimes take an interest in the public proceedings. Given the size of the town and the tendency of the residents to work things out amongst themselves, it was also not uncommon for the meetings to turn into more social gatherings than business ones. However, on this particular occasion, it was the novelty of Mr. Gowen's first appearance in his public capacity that had brought out more than a few curious spectators.

Noah pulled Abigail gently along a row of seats set up in the saloon, where they settled next to Cat and Joe Montgomery. They exchanged hellos with the other couple, looking up to where the council had set up at a table perpendicular to the bar. Tom the saloon owner looked on from behind the mahogany counter, not bothering to seat himself since at least some of this large crowd would be sidling up to where he stood just after the meeting adjourned.

"Good evening, everyone," Mayor Ramsey began, the always-frazzled tenor of his voice cutting into the crowd conversation. "I want to start today by introducing our newest council member, Mr. Henry Gowen, the Executive Director of Coal Valley Operations for the Pacific Northwest Mining Company."

Applause greeted the introduction. From where he sat, Mr. Gowen offered a short nod and the barest hint of a smile. It was a forced politeness – the distant affability of a man whose wife has surreptitiously kicked his ankle and reminded him to be friendly. Abigail stifled a chuckle at the image of Silas Ramsey as Mr. Gowen's beleaguered spouse.

"Many of you have, of course, already met Mr. Gowen in the course of mine operations and business, but I wanted to take this time to formally welcome him into the Coal Valley community. On the record," Mayor Ramsey joked lightly, to little response. "I have the utmost faith that Mr. Gowen will continue to cultivate the prosperous relationship we have always had with the Company here, and that we will benefit from his excellent leadership on the town council."

Tipping his head toward Mr. Gowen a bit too rapidly and fervently so that it almost became a bow, Mayor Ramsey finally replaced himself into his chair as the other man stood to speak. Abigail watched as Mr. Gowen tucked his hands into his pockets and let his previously stoic face stretch into a charming grin.

"Mayor Ramsey, thank you for that warm welcome. And thank you to the people of Coal Valley here this evening who take such an interest in this town. Pacific Northwest knows how hard the men here work, and how much they give of themselves every day, and we in turn are glad that we can provide employment and other services here. I and the Company continue to be open to your concerns as well, so why don't we go ahead and hear those, Silas?" He nodded back to the mayor and sat down as the crowd clapped again.

Small matters were voiced throughout the meeting – whether the stop for the stagecoach ought to be changed, and the approval of a repair on the bridge – and through all of it, Abigail watched Henry Gowen listen. He sucked at his teeth and tilted his head, his eyes shadowed and dark. He would answer any questions posed to him in a matter-of-fact way, neither friendly nor unfriendly. Occasionally he would tap out a rhythm on the table, though not enough for her to ascertain whether it was a pattern or simply one of those impatient tics that men so often seemed to have.

It wasn't until Noah stood up beside her that she realized she'd been so lost in her thoughts and observation that she had not heard the meeting adjourn. Joe Montgomery decided to stay behind at the saloon, as he did most times, so Cat accompanied Noah and Abigail back to the row homes.

"That wasn't as interesting as I'd expected," Cat said, feigning a sigh of disappointment.

"Really?" Abigail looked surprised. "Didn't you notice how he spoke as if he was essentially the Company rather than a person? What if he turns out to be another Terence Walker?" she said fretfully. Terence Walker had been the executive director of the mine before Josiah Chambers. An arrogant man with an equally disdainful wife, Mr. Walker had once announced at a town council meeting – without a drop of sarcasm or humor – that the local children behaved terribly and parents ought to be putting more coal in their stockings.

Cat considered this, but Noah again shrugged off their concerns. "He doesn't know anyone yet. No one wants to socialize with the boss. People have even started avoiding me now that I've been promoted!"

Abigail cooed and patted her husband's cheek sympathetically.

"So far we've been working well together, and I have no fear of another Terence Walker," he continued reassuringly. "You just have to give it some time, that's all."

ooo


Noah had one day off a week, and on that day, he usually slept until breakfast. Abigail understood this and didn't mind much. She was used to doing the early morning chores alone, though here and there she wondered if there might be a day that she herself might get some extra rest. Peter helped in the mornings when he was up for school, getting the well water or heating the stove, but the Stanton home had no other children for him to tend to nor was it a farm he needed to work. Any extra money came from her crafting, sewing, and baking. And the only time Noah took time off was when he was ill (in which case she was playing nurse) or during the holidays. Peter was always so excited for Christmas, though, and there was always a feast to put together such that those days provided no respite for her either.

But how could she complain? If Noah was going to put himself in harm's way and work to the point of exhaustion to provide for their family, the least she could do was get up early and have a hot meal and clean clothes waiting. He was a good husband, never cross with her, and now he was bringing in even more money for them. She was very fortunate.

And she did get time to herself during his workdays for socializing or a bit of reading. Once in a while she might even go fishing, though Noah had never been too keen on that. If the town had an event planned, they might participate as a family, but most times Peter would be with his friends. If Noah didn't have some heavy chore she'd saved for him, he might take a nap after church, or gather with some of the other men to talk over the Sunday paper. Abigail had friends of her own, of course, but they saw each other during the week. It was generally understood that on their husbands' days at home, they were meant to be available at home too, even if their husbands weren't there themselves. Plus there was always a meal to make.

That Sunday morning - the last before Peter would finish up school and the second-to-last until he would start at the mine - passed much like the others. Abigail woke, took care of her morning hygiene, did her hair, and dressed. Noah did not stir, having always been a deep sleeper. She stoked the fires, then went to the back to tend to the garden, picking out some potatoes for breakfast and taking in the clothes that had dried on the line. She lit the kitchen stove, then went back outside twice more to fetch water and retrieve the other preserved foods. By the time the men appeared, she had scrubbed and peeled and carved and boiled and was ready to serve up a breakfast of ham, eggs, potatoes, and oranges.

"Good morning," Noah said, kissing her head.

"Morning, mom," Peter called, bounding down the stairs.

"Good morning to you both," she said brightly, carrying the dishes to the table. "Peter, I brought in your shirt for church. Be sure to change after you eat."

"I know." Though she gave him the same reminder each week, he had stopped arguing after a while, accepting that there were certain things she needed to do as his mother.

"Maybe I'll finish that one today," Noah said, mostly to himself. He had lifted his chin to indicate a canvas leaning against the wall, decorated with the partially painted image of the church house and its surroundings. Abigail nodded. He'd been saying that for a few weeks. She didn't know if the change from one hour to the next was because he sometimes became shy about the hobby or simply that he got distracted, but this was one thing she didn't push anymore.

She didn't mention the rumors about Henry Gowen either, or the speculation about his marital (or extramarital) situation. If Noah knew anything, he would have told her, and she also didn't want to put him in a bad position, spreading baseless gossip about his boss' personal life. Instead Peter told them that the teacher, Mrs. Appleton, had decided to keep on at the school next year even though she was now married. And Noah said some of the men had seen in the newspapers that there was talk of a new, more affordable type of car being developed. Abigail didn't ask what a "more affordable" car had to do with them, as it would only make her seem ungrateful for all that Noah did provide, which wasn't the case. But her husband was a dreamer; she'd known that when she married him.

After Abigail had cleared and cleaned the plates, and Peter and Noah had split some firewood and freshened up, they headed out to church service. Noah's paints stayed behind after all, but as Abigail walked in the real-life scene from his canvas, she took it all in: the light summer breeze off the water, the woodlands against the bright blue backdrop, the streak of chimney smoke that promised warmth, and a crowd of friends laughing as they called to their children or sought out each other's hands. What more could she want?