“How do I look?” she breathed, realizing that she’d already fussed over her preparations long enough.
Iona reached out to squeeze her hand. “You appear very calm, cool and collected. Every inch a lady.”
If only that were true.
“You’ll do fine, Sumner,” Willow offered quietly.
Sumner nodded, then opened the door and slipped outside while the rest of the brides were distracted with instructing Mr. Smalls where to move their trunks.
The frigid air against her hot cheeks was welcome as she turned toward the mine offices. But she’d only taken a few steps when she was halted by one of the Pinkertons. He even had the utter gall to brandish his weapon in warning.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’ve been asked to keep you here.”
“Your name?” she asked abruptly.
“Lester Dobbs.”
“Am I under arrest, Mr. Dobbs?”
The guard’s brows creased, his mustache twitching in confusion.
“Ma’am?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then you can get out of my way or you can trail along behind me. But those are your only two choices because I intend to talk to Mr. Ramsey.” When the man didn’t budge, Sumner allowed a portion of her frustration to tinge her tone. “Now.”
To his credit, the Pinkerton tried to stand his ground—he even attempted to meet the blazing intensity in her gaze. Before long, Dobbs sighed, lowered his rifle and allowed her to pass. Even so, as she stormed toward the mining offices, he trailed along behind her, clearly embarrassed with the assignment he’d been given.
Sumner balled her hands into fists and increased her speed. What fueled her anger wasn’t the fact that she’d had to fight—tooth and nail—to gain an education and a career, that she’d been thrown the scraps of opportunities lavished on men with half the talent and dedication that she’d displayed in her chosen profession. No, what infuriated her was that these women—women who had been injured, stranded and placed in her protection—were to be so cavalierly mistreated just because someone had deemed them “inconvenient.”
No, no, no.
Since obtaining her diploma and emancipating herself from her father’s overbearing rule, she’d pledged that she would never allow a man to control her again—and that she would fight for the same rights for other women, as well.
But even as the frigid gusts of wind stung her cheeks, common sense managed to wriggle its way into her brain. After last night’s confrontation with the owners, Sumner knew she was walking a fine line. As much as she might rail against the men in charge, there was also a part of her that wanted—needed—to make a good impression.
After completing her medical training, she’d found it nearly impossible to find a position. The best she’d managed to scrape up was a midwife’s assistant’s job at a woman’s hospital in Bristol. She’d spent over a year scouring every advertisement she could find for work. So, when, on a whim, she’d applied to the Batchwell Bottoms mine and they’d offered a five-year contract, it hadn’t occurred to her that a mistake might have been made. She’d wanted this job so badly. When she’d realized the owners had assumed she was a man, she’d been so sure that she could impress the owners with her skills and make a place for herself in the wilds of the US Territories.
Unfortunately, during her first real meeting with Batchwell and Bottoms, they’d made it clear that she would never work as the company doctor.
But Sumner wasn’t about to give up without a fight. First, she had a signed, notarized, five-year contract. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Even more importantly, now that the avalanche had marooned her in the valley, she was the only physician available. All she needed was a little time to prove her talent for medicine.
As she clutched the doorknob to the office, her heart pounded, her knees trembled and all the energy drained from her.
She couldn’t storm into Mr. Ramsey’s office in a fit of pique.
Closing her eyes, she offered a quick prayer for guidance. Lord, please show me how to proceed. Help me to help others.
Feeling calmer, she took a deep breath of icy air.
Tact. That’s what the situation required. Tact and diplomacy.
Sumner glanced behind her to see that Pinkerton Dobbs had kept pace with her the entire way.
Lord, help me stay calm.
Knowing that if she waited another moment she might lose her nerve, as well, Sumner twisted the knob and plunged into the warmth of the mining offices.
In an instant, she was inundated with the scents of hot coffee, wood smoke and pine shavings. Homey, manly smells that swirled around her along with half-forgotten memories of her grandfather.
There had been a time when she’d been accepted for who she was, when Poppy had let her climb on his knee and chatter about her dreams of being a doctor. She’d been ten when Poppy had bought her a book with anatomical drawings. To her, the muscles and bones had been more beautiful than the fashion drawings found in the periodicals her stepmother tried to get her to read. But when her father had discovered the book hidden beneath her bed, he’d thrown it in the fire, then had made her stand and watch it burn.
Behind her, the latch snapped back into place and a brass bell offered a muted jingle. In that instant, all eyes swung in her direction and the three men in the office froze.
If the reaction hadn’t been so disheartening, Sumner might have laughed at the trio of comical expressions. Mr. Creakle, the only man she recognized from the previous day, sat slack-jawed from behind his desk. Another gentleman with sad, basset-hound eyes and jowls, was half-bent toward the fire, a chunk of wood held toward the blaze. The third fellow—who was little more than a gangly teenager—stood blinking at her from where he sat on a high stool, a collection of miner’s lanterns laid out on a table in front of him in various stages of completion.
The combined weight of their gazes was nearly overwhelming, but she managed to say, “I’d like to see Mr. Ramsey, please.”
They didn’t move, and Sumner resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. Honestly, she didn’t see a need for the Pinkertons. So far, what few miners she’d encountered at Bachelor Bottoms appeared completely tongue-tied in the presence of a female.
The young man suddenly sneezed, and that seemed to break the odd trance because the two other gentlemen shouted out simultaneously, “Boss!”
A moment later, Sumner heard boots clattering down the steps on the other end of the building. Then Jonah stepped into view.
Sumner had forgotten how tall he was. Tall and broad-shouldered. He filled the doorframe. In the sunlight streaming through the mullion windows, she could see the circular impression in his hair where his hat had been. The bright rays picked out threads of silver at his temples and in his beard. He wore a dark leather vest with a soft linen shirt beneath.
After so many years spent in schools and hospitals where men took great pains with their grooming, there was something almost...wild...about his appearance. Nevertheless, Sumner couldn’t fault Jonah’s casual disregard for current fashion. If anything, his lack of formality echoed the ruggedness of the terrain that surrounded them.
Sumner tipped her chin at an angle. “Mr. Ramsey, may I have a word, please?”
His lips thinned. “Miss... Dr. Havisham. There’s no need to thank me for your belongings.”
She had been about to thank him, regardless of the fact that it had taken an ultimatum to get him to oblige. But his tone was so...so...dismissive that she choked on the words, her spine stiffening to a rod of iron.
“A