The union, p.9
The Union, page 9
Waters' true nature emerged with the smile that spread across his face, the power hungry, egotistical son of a bitch. "You would if they wanted you to."
"And why wouldn't they?"
"They are now, which, I assume, is why they let the rumor fly. And because you're one of their own, they're giving you an out, McCullough."
Dietz cocked his head. Just what game did Waters play? "How so?"
"I've heard it said that they'd never hit McCullough's wife."
Dietz thumped back in his chair trying hard to keep the astonishment from his face. "You're implying that I marry Miss Byrne. Isn't that what I meant to do by coming here?"
"Very slowly, my friend. Too slowly for their tastes, and those of the men who hired them." Waters cleared his throat. "There's some who are beginning to think that McCullough's got cold feet."
"And if he does?"
Waters shrugged. "Too bad for Miss Byrne, I suppose."
Dietz cursed mentally but tried to mask his outward expression and sound light and easy. "Look, what should she matter to them? What kind of a threat could she be?"
"She's been mucking around in union business."
"You mean like out at the old miner's last night?" Dietz fought hard to effect a scoff and keep the fear and frustration from his voice. "That's innocent, womanish meddling. Petty, insignificant."
"There's some who fear Miss Byrne is turning turncoat like her brother did shortly before his death."
"Mick Byrne?" A new fear burned in Dietz. Had the Clan been responsible for Michael Byrne's death? Was Keely right in thinking that someone was to blame, that Michael had been murdered? And was she merely misguided as to the source?
Waters laughed. "I'd heard the two of you were somewhat estranged shortly before he died. Judging from your shocked expression I guess he didn't tell you how he was suddenly for compromise, what we call giving up the fight and kowtowing to the owners." Waters picked up his whiskey and took a gulp. "Mick had plenty of friends. Guess some feel that his sister could influence them. The last thing the union needs so close to our final victory is to be divided. The owners are powerful, too strong a foe to be easily dismissed or to fight with an army not of one mind. Civil insurrection requires a rather broad base of support." Waters took another drink of whiskey. "Surely you agree?"
"Certainly."
Waters sounded like a military strategist, and what he said made sense from that standpoint. But did he tell the truth about the Clan? If Dietz were really McCullough there might be a way to find out. But Dietz had no direct ties to the Clan. Worse still, the Clan-na-Gael members back East knew McCullough by sight and could recognize Dietz as the fake he was if he started nosing around. Trying to make contact by mail or telegram seemed too damned risky. Waters would intercept anything that went out of Gem and Dietz couldn't risk trying Wallace, not without jeopardizing his ability to mail out reports. Dietz had known that the Clan operated all over the country, but he hadn't heard anything directly about their involvement in Idaho. McCullough had been amazingly tight-lipped about it. Just another reason for Dietz to be looking over his shoulder. What if someone from the local Clan recognized him as an imposter?
Dietz wondered further about Waters. Just how deep was his involvement with the Clan-na-Gael? If he spoke the truth at all, was he a member or merely teaming with them to get something he wanted? Or was he innocently repeating idle gossip? How would he benefit from Dietz marrying Keely?
"Look, McCullough, I've seen your written protestation of love for our fair Miss Byrne. Surely you weren't lying to the lady?"
Dietz tensed. How had Waters seen the letters? Keely wouldn't have shown them to him. Had Waters had Keely's room searched? That gave some validation to his claims. And put Dietz on greater alert. The union knew how McCullough should act. And who was to say that they weren't still keeping Keely under surveillance? "Absolutely not."
"Then marrying her should be no hardship."
"Not at all, not on my own schedule. A man likes to woo a woman in his own time. We've only just met in person. Miss Byrne has her own right to be certain of the match."
Waters laughed. "From what I hear, she doesn't need any convincing. You know, McCullough, it would be convenient for everyone if our schedules for this wedding were compatible."
"What's your stake in this Waters? What do you gain?"
Waters looked surprised. He set his glass down suddenly. "Very perceptive. I have my own reasons. Miss Byrne distracts one of my men."
"You mean Gaffney."
Waters nodded and smiled. "His obsession has become all too obvious lately. I don't need my men distracted. I want peace in the ranks. And," Waters paused, seemingly searching for the right words, "I want Miss Byrne safely away from trouble. All kinds of trouble."
Waters' none too subtle hint about Gaffney and the union slammed Dietz right in the stomach. Waters knew something about Gaffney, something Dietz did not. A warning? Maybe Waters did mean some good, or maybe it all just suited his purposes. The man proved an enigma.
"How soon?" A few more weeks of stalling, that's all Dietz needed.
"This afternoon." Waters sounded uncompromising. The mere conviction of his manner carried an implicit threat.
Dietz hated being backed into a corner. But there seemed no escape now. Guilty as he felt over the whole damned situation, he had to marry Keely. He knew no other way to save her.
"She won't be married by anyone other than a preacher. And we need a license."
"I can arrange that. Bring your bride and meet me back here at four."
"Know where I can pick up a ring quick and cheap?" Sometimes a man had to make a decision in an instant. Dietz hoped he'd made the right one.
"Oh, yeah. We've got us an amateur goldsmith and jewelry maker in town. I'll introduce you." Waters poured himself another glass of whiskey and raised it in toast. "To married bliss."
Dietz matched him. "To a good time tonight."
Dietz left Waters' office, silently cursing and musing. The whole damned thing could blow up in his face. He'd have to be doubly careful about his cover now. Right after the action McCullough would have to disappear from Gem. Later Dietz would have to send his things and a note of condolence, along with a healthy dose of cash, back to Keely. He'd have to create some honorable end to McCullough, which was better than the man deserved. If all went well, Keely would never discover the truth about Dietz and McCullough. But his noble deception proved poor salve on his bleeding conscience.
He turned his thoughts to the immediate present. For now, other more immediate matters pressed him. What could he say to Keely to convince her of their urgent need to marry this afternoon? Did she have any hint of the danger? What would serve him better, honesty or deception?
Patterson, who was sweeping the boardwalk in front of his store, called out a greeting. "Quite a show you put on last night, my friend."
"Think so?" Dietz barely heard him.
"Nice bit of fireworks, and I'm not speaking of the cabin." Patterson chuckled, then grew suddenly serious as he lowered his voice. "I've been waiting for you. This boardwalk's cleaner than it's ever been. I stay out here much longer and folks are going think I've turned fastidious."
"You are fastidious, Patterson."
"Yeah, but not generally about boardwalks." Patterson looked him straight in the eye and asked bluntly, "You going to marry Miss Byrne?"
"What have you heard?"
"Quite a lot while I was out drinking last night. Rumors about the Clan-na-Gael and Miss Byrne's safety. Rumors that the union wants to run her out, or I should say, a certain faction of the union wants to run her out, the militant fringe."
"So Waters wasn't lying."
Patterson shrugged. "He's a smart man. He could just as easily have started the rumors himself."
"You don't think they're true?" Dietz hoped Patterson had some answers.
"Maybe, maybe not. There's no way of knowing."
"How do we find out?"
"How much time did they give you to get hitched?"
"This afternoon."
"Then we don't find out. You haven't answered my question—you marrying her?"
"I am." Dietz might have amended his statement to say he had no other choice, but he hated sounding weak and out of control. He expected Patterson to censure him, but his fellow agent masked his expression. Patterson was too damned good at hiding his thoughts.
"What is going on between you and Keely?"
Patterson surprised him with the question. "Going on? What do you mean?"
"Don't play games with me, Dietz. I have two eyes. Either you're one fine actor, or you're falling in love with her."
"You've got yourself two blind eyes, Patterson." Dietz shook his head.
"Need I quote the rules to you? Never jeopardize an operation by falling in love on the job. A woman will make you lose your objectivity, especially a woman in the enemy camp."
"I'm not in love with her, but I am going to marry her. I have to."
Patterson shook his head. His fatherly attitude irritated Dietz. "The boss isn't going to like it." He leaned against his broom. "But it may all work out in the end. Just don't say I didn't warn you about messing around with matrimony."
Dietz chose to ignore Patterson's insinuations. "I don't plan on staying married long. How soon do you expect whole scale war to break out?"
"Not before this afternoon, but soon." Patterson laughed again. "No later than a month from now. Looks like you may be right—married bliss won't have to last you too long."
"What have you heard?"
"Nothing definite."
Dietz nodded. Patterson slapped him on the back. "Treat Miss Byrne well. A month may have to last her a lifetime."
Dietz grunted. "Yeah. Don't worry. McCullough will leave this world like a hero, at least as far as Keely is concerned. Which is more than I can say for the real McCullough." Dietz looked toward the boardinghouse. "I've got to be going. I'd invite you to the wedding, but you and I aren't supposed to be friends."
Dietz found Keely in the kitchen cleaning up the last of the breakfast dishes, humming a sweet little tune. It surprised him how well he like the sound of her voice. She looked lovely all flushed from the exertion. His mind drifted to another kind of flush he expected to see tonight. She turned and saw him before he could finish his thoughts.
"McCullough." She sounded startled. "I didn't expect you back so soon. I thought you were meeting with union officials, making plans to end this strike."
It wasn't hard to look sheepish. "Lass. I've been making plans all right, plans of another nature. I hope they don't displease you." He tried to sound light and a bit hopeful.
A look of confused consternation flitted across her face. "What have you been up to?"
"Nothing evil, I assure you." Liar. "Don't sound so suspicious." He gave her a lopsided grin. "It's a fine day. You got any plans for this afternoon?"
"What do you have in mind?"
Dietz stared her down directly, trying to look devilish. He smiled and shrugged. "Nothing much. Maybe a wedding. I found a preacher who isn't busy."
Keely's mouth popped open and then she screamed. An instant later she threw herself into his arms and hugged him ferociously. So much for having to convince her. "I'll take that to mean you're available. How's four?"
"I love you, McCullough." She sounded rapturous.
"We'll see if it lasts when I tell you that I've still got a big meeting to attend this evening." He laughed and for some unexplainable reason felt some happiness along with it. "You won't be mad, will you?"
"As long as you come directly home and we get a real wedding night, I won't care."
A real wedding night—yipes! Damn guilt again. "Keely, you're one in a million."
Oh, what the hell. She looked up at him ripe for a kiss and he took it.
Dietz signed McCullough's name with a flourish to a marriage license, thereby ending McCullough's bachelorhood well after his death. Dietz copied the fancy, dandified moniker from memory, and as for the rest of McCullough's handwriting, as best as Dietz could remember—chicken scratch.
As he watched Keely sign the license with her rounded, feminine script, a sense of relief washed over him. Keely would be safe now, as safe as he could make her. Maybe he should have had regrets, doubts. Yet the only real guilt that assailed him involved lying before a preacher and God. An air of condemnation surrounded the act, despite his noble motives. But who knew? Maybe God did understand his actions. Maybe they weren't so damnable. God knew he'd done worse, with less motivation.
Alone in her room, their room, Keely sat on the bed wearing only her chemise, hugging her knees, waiting for McCullough to come home from the union meeting and consummate their marriage. A kind of abject joy filled her. How could happiness be so miserable? She hugged her knees tighter against herself. Details of the wedding and the afternoon rode through her mind.
Despite his stoic manner, and confusing air of reluctance given his earlier insistence that they marry today, McCullough married her for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sickness, and in health with a garnet and gold wedding ring more beautiful than any she could have conjured up in her imagination. It weighted her ring finger, but by no means restrained her. It freed her to love McCullough openly.
Men seemed to think women felt no physical passions. Come to think of it, she'd felt that way herself until McCullough had showed up. But McCullough set her pulse thudding and her heart hammering. Since his arrival, she had wondered at her own virtue. How much longer could she have hung onto it with him around? Now she didn't have to.
Though a virgin, thoughts of the marital bed didn't cause her any alarm, just a fluttery, nervous anticipation. She had only sketchy instructions, awkwardly given to her by Michael after he’d learned McCullough had proposed. But she came from generations of women with passion. They said that's what had killed her mother. That she had insisted on making love with Keely's father even though he was coming down with the fever. Mam might have escaped the fever except for that last, passionate act. Keely didn't know about that. The fever struck with apparent randomness and cruelty. What one did or didn't do, didn't seem to make much difference. Anyway, as for herself, Keely had no doubt that when McCullough caught her between him and the sheets, nature would have its way and she hers.
It wasn't that particular passion that worried her—it was the way she loved McCullough. If he walked through the door right now with a whore on each arm, she'd forgive him. She forgave him, even admired his sense of duty at attending the union meeting that kept him from her now, on their wedding night. He'd probably stay out late, go drinking with the boys after the meeting, the way Michael always had and McCullough had taken to doing. She forgave him that and waited, albeit impatiently, for his return. He let them burn Jack Catridge's cabin, and though she'd been angrier than she'd almost ever been, she couldn't go through with turning him out. She couldn't imagine anything that she couldn't forgive him for, loving him in the strange, wild way she did. That gave him a kind of frightening power over her.
But today her love brought joy, while the knowledge that she loved him more than he loved her, misery. Self-pity did not prompt the thought. Somehow she knew. His reserve, his calm, his holding back. Even his sudden capitulation and impromptu wedding planning seemed motivated by other reasons, though she couldn't imagine what. No, she loved him more than he did her.
He fought his feelings; any astute observer could see it. Yet he did love her; he had to. What else explained his jealousy over Lunn? Or the looks he gave her when he assumed she wasn't looking? Or the years of letters and their tender sentiments? But what explained his restraint? She wished she knew, or maybe she didn't. Did it matter, as long as she had him?
Chapter 8
Dietz crossed the street and stumbled toward the boardinghouse, whiskey from Dutch's Saloon hot on his breath. A man probably shouldn't go out drinking on his wedding night, but he wasn't certain he could face the night cold sober, and the opportunity to be one of the boys had been too good to pass up. Seemed like every man in camp wanted to buy him a drink and toast the bride. Everyone except Gaffney who made a point of following Dietz from bar to bar, fingering his gun, giving Dietz death looks. Sure enough, Gaffney would be trouble. But as long as he didn't hurt Keely, Dietz could handle him.
As the alcohol flowed, so did tongues. Dietz had picked up many useful tidbits. Nothing like a celebration to make quick friends of near strangers.
Dietz slowed as he came to the boardinghouse steps—a contrast to his usual behavior when a woman waited for him. He knew where his hesitation sprang from. Keely wasn't a whore, and as fickle as it sounded, that bothered him. Not that he doubted his ability to please her with his lovemaking. He was ladies' man enough for that. But he'd never had a virgin. What would she be expecting? How much pain would she feel? He swallowed.
And not being a whore, Keely wouldn't know anything about contraception. He carried a supply of those fancy French condoms with him, but how could he explain using one on his wedding night?
He wiped his damp palms against his pants. He'd never been with a woman who didn't practice some form of birth prevention herself, or not expect him to. Marrying Keely was one thing, but leaving a little Dietz behind, to be passed off as a McCullough, left him cold. A fatherless bastard. How could he do that to a child, to Keely? Hadn't the source of his problems started when his father died? Hadn't that been when he'd become a liar?
He'd have to withdraw early and hope she didn't question it, didn't know better. Being an operative was hell.
He sauntered up the steps, through the dark kitchen, and back to her room, pausing to listen at the door. All quiet. He doubted she slept. What nervous bride would? The thought of her sitting quietly, waiting for his return while he went carousing, laid him with a heavier burden of guilt. Buck up, man, he chided himself. Time to start play-acting. Time to become McCullough and forget Dietz's existence. At least for a few hours.
