Far Away Home (17 page)

Chapter 17

“Sunday morning
is hardly the time for whores to be parading up Main Street,” Aislynn mumbled.
She watched Madame Stella and four of her girls with their flashy dresses and
highly furbelowed hats huff up to the mine office. In Aislynn’s mind, they were
five hot-air balloons spewing gas.

Throughout the
day, Aislynn's customers buzzed with the story. One of the whores had turned up
dead, and the others wanted Moran to deliver justice in his camp. Moran asked
two Wells Fargo men, dozing at the Express Office, to investigate the murder
and if possible, locate the culprit. By late afternoon, Jake Johnson, one of
the mine’s timbermen, quaked in the Express Office while a gang of men planned
a hanging outside.

Moran stood
behind the bar of The Claimjumper Saloon, banging a tin cup on the hard wood,
calling the general meeting to order. When the crowd quieted, he began, “As you
know, Mattie is dead. Jake Johnson stands accused of this very serious crime.
Now, I don’t want any miscarriage of justice in my camp. You’re goin’ to vote
to elect a council of men who will decide how to proceed and henceforth,
they’ll serve as your representatives in our community matters. We’re goin’ do
this all democratic and orderly. Any questions?”

Between Johnny
and Tim, Aislynn’s hand rose. Moran’s brows arched. “Miss Denehy?”

Aislynn stood
between her surprised companions. “I was wondering; do I get to vote?”

The gathering
gasped. She could feel Tim and Johnny exchanging looks behind her as she
studied Moran’s amused bewilderment. “Well, Miss, I don’t rightly know.”

“It’s your
camp,” she pressed.

“Yes, but you
know women aren’t enfranchised.”

“They have been
in some local elections, and this is just a camp vote.” Moran shook his head,
but she added, “Wyoming is considering allowing women to vote in territorial
elections, and Brigham Young has said he may allow women the vote here in
Utah.”

Moran sighed,
“Let’s consider the question.”

Comments were
shouted out. “You can’t give women the vote, just ain’t proper.” “Why women
ain’t capable of votin’, don’t got the brain for such things.” “Gives ‘em too
many ideas. Then they wants to change things, no drinkin’, no gamblin’, no…”
“Votin’ ain’t what women are good at.”

The dissent grew
loud. Aislynn bit her lip and started to tremble under the force of the
objection.

Tim pulled her
down into her seat and stood. He turned and addressed the crowd, “If we are to
allow fifteen-year-old muckers to vote, I do not see why Miss Denehy should be
disqualified simply by virtue of her sex. She owns land, a traditional
qualification for voting, while most of the men in this room don’t. She can
read and write; most of these men can’t. She has completed the full seven-year
course of schooling required by the great City of New York. And I believe if
you asked any man in this room to recite the Bill of Rights, he would be hard pressed
to do so, yet Miss Denehy knows all thirteen amendments and the two which are
pending.” Tim paused and looked over the frowning men. “I do not believe the
democratic process will be threatened by allowing her to vote. In fact, I
believe it will be enhanced.”

A rumpled man
stood in the back of the barroom and stated, “It ain’t right, look at the
Bible. Woman are ‘pose to follow their men, be submissive, ‘cept seems to me
like she’s leadin’ you.”

“Well, sir, I
wouldn’t say she leads, but she has her own opinions, her own thoughts. She has
a mind, and she is capable of using it. Right now, she’s simply asking to vote
in a camp election, not run for president.” Most of the men laughed, but the
man would not be silenced.

“Yeah, well we
been wonderin’ ‘bout your sitcheation. Three men living with one woman, and she
ain’t related to one of youse.”

Johnny rose to
his feet, seething. “What are you sayin’?” he hissed at the man.

Tim and Aislynn
grabbed him, trying to coax him down. Moran banged his cup hard. “I will not
allow you to besmirch Miss Denehy.” Clearly angry, he spoke with vehemence. “We
all know she is an orphan. Mr. Nolan is Miss Denehy’s guardian, and Mr. Maher
is her intended. She was kind enough to take in poor Mr. Goodman. No one can
question the morality of these people.” Moran’s voice grew stronger, “I will
not permit you to sully her reputation simply because she has asked to vote.”
The cup loudly met the boards again. He took a breath, and, in a calmer voice,
stated, “Now, the question is political not personal. If you cannot address the
issue, keep your comments to yourself.”

A man leaning
against the sidewall raised his hand. “I think we need to ask why women are not
given the right to vote. I believe it is because they are not physically equipped
to do such things. I have read that using their brains too much causes women to
lose certain attributes…abilities.” He paused and gestured with his hands, “You
know what I mean; procreation, that which makes them women.”

Flashing above
the male heads, a red-gloved hand waved. Moran acknowledged Stella, who rose
and nodded at the men. Holding her head erect, she said, “Me an’ the girls
wanna vote. We ain’t got her egication,” Stella motioned toward Aislynn, who
turned bright red and diverted her eyes into her lap. Aislynn believed the nuns
when they said, “If you look at a whore, you’ll become one.” Stella continued,
“But we work, an’ we contribute,” she emphasized the word, “to the community.
Let us vote, or we’ll see who loses certain attributes.”

“Well,” Moran
laughed and looked at Tim and Aislynn, “politics really does make strange
bedfellows.” The men roared. Aislynn sneaked a grin at Stella. Moran suggested,
“Let’s take a vote.”

Stella
interjected, “Ask ‘em to raise their hands; I wanna see who votes against me.”

“Let’s make it
easy.” Moran said, “Anyone opposed, please stand.” A few men rose to their feet
to the hoots of the others. “All in favor say aye.”

Aislynn beamed
as the collective “Aye” rang through the room. Moran hit the bar with his cup.
“Now let’s elect a council.” The historic vote elected Al Bowman, the newspaper
editor, Fred Schmidt, the butcher, D. Clark, owner of the Claimjumper, and Tim.
Moran would preside and break tie votes.

With a nod from
Moran, the accused was dragged through the gauntlet of jeering men and brought
before the bar to stand in front of the assembled council. The Wells Fargo men
explained the reasons for his apprehension. They were few. Johnson was Mattie’s
last known customer, and he had blood on his clothes when they found him drunk
on the floor of his lean-to. Johnson claimed the blood belong to a rabbit he
had killed and cleaned. Closer examination revealed a freshly killed rabbit
strung up in the dwelling.

Questions and
answers volleyed between the council and the accused, who remained persistent
in his denial. The crowd howled its disbelief and cried for a hanging. Moran
polled the council for direction. Tim stated there was not enough evidence to
keep Johnson in custody and the entire matter should be referred to the federal
marshal in Salt Lake. Bowman agreed. Clark and Schmidt felt someone had to pay
for the crime. They thought Johnson capable of the crime and recommended a
quick hanging. The crowd cheered and the defendant seemed to shrink in size.

Moran’s turn had
come. His gaze traveled over the audience, and they fell silent. His narrow,
pale blue eyes scoured Johnson’s face. Heat and tension pressed in on the room
while the split-timbered walls and roof creaked with the weight of the decision
at hand. Johnson stood, eyes wild. His dry mouth opened and closed as he
searched for words to exonerate himself.

Moran banged his
cup. “The case and Johnson go to Salt Lake.” Johnson fell to his knees and
sagged against the bar. Moran was not distracted. “But, let me warn everyone in
this room, and you tell those who are absent, this is my camp. It’s not
Virginia City; it’s not San Francisco. I’ll not tolerate vigilantism. You’ve
heard the decision. Anyone who touches this man, I’ll see out of a job, out of
my camp and out of this territory.” Moran surveyed the crowd and asked, “Is
there any other business?”

Aislynn pushed
No Nose to his feet. He stammered, “I, we, uh, we think we need firemen in this
camp.” He bent down and pulled Aislynn to her feet. “You tell ‘em, yourself.”

Looking at the
bar rather than the men, Aislynn tentatively stood. “Well, we are all aware in
the past three months there have been numerous fires. Two men have lost their
lives and several others have lost all their belongings. I think all the wooden
buildings and tents are very vulnerable to fire, especially when winter comes.
Why, a fire could rip through this camp in a flash. I was just thinking the
camp should have equipment for fighting fires and some fellows who know how to
use it.”

Moran nodded.
“Thank you, Miss Denehy. That is actually a very good idea. As you may know the
mine is getting fire equipment, a water truck, a pumper, and I agree the camp
should be protected, as well. I would be willing to provide the equipment, but
we need a group of men who would be willing to learn how to use it and someone
willing to organize and lead a fire brigade.” Moran’s eyes searched the
gathering for volunteers.

“Johnny could do
it.” She offered without asking him. Johnny was popular with the men and
agreement could be heard from the crowd as he tugged his objection on her
sleeve. “He doesn’t know anything about fire-fighting, but when you train the
miners, he and his volunteers could learn, too.” 

“Do you have
volunteers?” Moran asked Johnny.

“No, sir,” he
replied while rising, “This is the first I’m hearin’ about it. This is totally
unexpected.”

“You’re a
trusted, responsible young man, Johnny. I am sure I speak for everyone when I
say there are few men in camp more capable of leading. You get some volunteers,
and we’ll talk about the training.”

Johnny scowled
at Aislynn who beamed her pride at him.

Moran asked,
“Anything else?”

Still standing
Aislynn said, “Yes.”

The men moaned.
With one hand on her hip, she sniped, “This is for the benefit of everyone.”

“Please
continue, Miss Denehy; you seem to have the camp’s welfare in mind.”

A rough miner
added, “She wants to turn this into a decent place.”

“Well, Carter, as
long as you’re in camp, we don’t have to be concerned about getting
respectable, do we?” Moran tipped his cup at the man. “Now, Miss Denehy,
please.”

“I think we need
to clean up the trash and ashes and the animal droppings. Not only is it
becoming impossible to walk on the boardwalks, you cannot cross the street
without stepping in filth. We have to consider that we’re going to have an
epidemic in this heat if we don’t get rid of the stench and the refuse isn’t
cleaned up and carted away somewhere.”

Moran gave her a
hard, unreadable look. He turned to the council. “What do you think?”

“Dis street ees
filty. Eet come een my shop.” Schmidt offered.

Bowman said,
“She could be right about sickness. I was in a city when the cholera spread.”

Stella’s hand
shot up. “I think she’s right,” she declared as she rose. “We pay a lot a money
for our clothes, an’ they’re always gettin’ messed. You know, I like to run a
clean place, an’ these here men are forever traipsin’ filth into the girls'
cribs. I’d like to see the street clean ‘fore my new place is open.”

While Aislynn
listened to her new ally’s support, she searched Tim’s face for any indication
he knew Stella ran a clean place. “No,” she told herself. “Tim would never.” 
Unbidden, the question of Johnny’s knowledge surfaced in her mind along with an
unexpected twinge of jealousy. She looked down and his round, innocent face
smiled at her. She could feel her anger rising and her stomach sinking at the
thought of him with one of the whores. Just because she did not want to be
intimate with Johnny did not mean she wanted anyone else to be.

“Fine,” Moran
agreed. “I’ll hire two men and give them a wagon. Bowman, you get word out that
ashes and trash must be out front to be picked up. The men will take care of
the street.” He nodded at Stella and then at Aislynn, who, careful to avoid
Stella’s eyes, sent a satisfied smile in the scarlet woman’s direction. Moran
continued, “Before these women think of other ways for me to spend my money, I
am closing this meeting and offering every man here a drink.”

Aislynn turned
to Johnny and said, “I can’t wait to write home and tell everyone you are the
chief of the fire brigade.”

“Chief? Aislynn,
I don’t know anything about fightin’ fires.”

“Well, you’ll
learn.” She brushed his cheek with fingertips. “And you’ll be good at it. I
know you will.” Tim approached, and she opened her arms to him. “I’m so proud
of you, two government officials.”

“Hardly,” he
smirked.

“You’re always
so critical.”

“No, Aislynn,
realistic,” Tim corrected.

Moran came
toward them and extended his hand to Johnny and Tim.

“Aren’t they
wonderful?” she gushed.

“Yes,” he joked,
“they’re wonderful.”

“I think so.”
She tossed her head at his mocking laughter.

“I was actually
more impressed with you. I didn’t realize how civic-minded you were.”

Touched by the
serious admiration of his tone, she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Moran. I think a
public spirit is important.”

The crowd of
men, trying to reach the bar, pushed around them. She was jostled and separated
from Tim and Johnny. Moran’s arm circled her shoulders; he protected her from
the crush by pressing his body against hers. “Public spirit? Is it one of those
‘female attributes’?” His breath on her ear warmed the room. “Now that you have
the vote, I am going to make a personal effort to keep an eye on your
‘attributes,’ Miss Denehy, just in case you consider losing some.”