The banker’s office looked about as cluttered as Jake’s desk at the jail. They shook hands and Stillman gestured to a chair. “Thanks for coming over.”
Jake held his breath and carefully lowered himself into the roomy leather chair. Stillman eyed him over his spectacles. “You all right?”
“I’ll be fine in a week or two.” He winced, inching to a more comfortable position. “Abner said you wanted to see me? Is it about the mine?”
“Yes.”
Jake sighed and closed his eyes. “What is it this time? Brown sell out? Or has the new owner upped his offer?”
Stillman laughed softly. “Both, actually.”
Jake cracked open one eye. “What?”
He waited for the familiar ache, the worry that plagued him knowing control of the mine where his father, Seamus’s sons and brothers, Emma’s husband, and others had died. But it didn’t come, only a weary realization that there was nothing he could do about it. “Why? Not that it matters, I reckon.”
“Brown didn’t say.” Stillman leaned back in his chair. “So where do we go from here? As it stands, there are now two owners, you and—” he riffled through some papers on his desk—“somebody named J. T. MacPherson. You can either sell your shares to MacPherson or agree to operate the mine with him. With fifty-fifty ownership, you’re at a stalemate.”
Jake leaned his head against the high back of the leather chair, trying to think. He could sell the shares he owned and easily pay off the loan against the farm. But could he do that knowing that MacPherson planned to reopen the mine? Could he live with himself knowing that any day, the whistle might blow, and dozens of men might die because of him?
He couldn’t. “There’s nothing else to be said, Mr. Stillman. I won’t open that mine back up, and I won’t take money for my shares knowing the new owner plans to open that death trap up again.”
“I see.” Mr. Stillman folded his hands together on his desk. “Jake, I understand your dilemma, but there’s your family to think of. If I have to, I’ll call in that loan, sell the shares, and settle the debt myself.”
Jake eased to his feet, clutching his cracked ribs with one hand. “You do what you have to, then. But put the farm in Ma’s name. I don’t deserve it.”
* * *
Luke took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“You sure about this, Luke?” The others fidgeted behind him.
“No.”
But he’d follow through.
He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath. His clothes hung on him in rags, and his shoes were falling apart. The others were in just as bad a shape as he was. Some were worse. They couldn’t battle the cold much longer, especially the younger ones. If it didn’t work out, they could take off anytime they pleased. From what he’d seen, Miss Livy didn’t keep anybody under lock and key.
When she opened the door, he almost bolted.
“Luke.” She smiled. “Come in.”
They filed in, Luke leading the way. The others bunched together close to the door, unsure about becoming part of the orphanage family. Mrs. Brooks stood at the stove, a wide smile on her face.
“Are you here to stay?” Livy grasped him by the shoulders.
Luke glanced at the others, then nodded. “If you’ll have us.”
“Of course we’ll have you.”
And she hugged him to her, dirty, stinking clothes and all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jake spotted the stranger a stone’s throw from the jail.
His gaze narrowed. No, not a stranger. He’d seen the man at the train station the day he’d inspected Gibbons’s railcar.
The man limped toward him, dressed in a suit and a wool overcoat with a cane clasped in his right hand. They met at the jail. A jagged scar raced down one side of the man’s face. A pair of pale-blue eyes flickered to the sign over the door and back to Jake.
“Afternoon. What can I do for you?”
“Jimmy Sharp. Victor Gibbons’s lawyer.”
Jake jerked his head toward the door. “Come on in, then. He’s inside.”
Sharp insisted on seeing his client alone. Sheriff Carter gave them ten minutes. Twenty minutes later, Sharp came out, his gaze spearing Jake before settling on Sheriff Carter. “I need to see the judge about making bail.”
He was soft-spoken, but Jake could sense the steel that lay beneath the words. Maybe such steel made the man a good lawyer. But if Gibbons was guilty of everything Jake suspected him of, Sharp would have a hard time proving