Inventions of the Heart, page 21
“We did it.” Jilly slung an arm around Michelle’s neck. “Now a few windmills and we can turn our attention to hooking up the hot water boilers to all Zane’s cabins.”
There was already one in the house and one in the bunkhouse, but there were five other cabins that needed running water. They all now had to go to the bunkhouse, the ranch house, or the spring that flowed cold out of a rocky stretch near the ranch yard. That’s where the ranch house water was piped from, but a windmill would be much more efficient.
“Jarvis is really headed for San Quentin.” Michelle watched the water but thought of the letter they’d gotten just today from Marshal Irving.
“I can’t believe his father didn’t find a way to get him out of it.” Jilly let go of Michelle to run her hands up and down her arms as if she had goosebumps. “Ten years. That’s brutal for a man as used to comfort and wealth as Jarvis.”
Standing silently side by side, each with her own thoughts, they watched the wheel turn and the water pump.
With a firm shake of her head, Michelle said, “He brought it on himself. He was so arrogant, he thought he could assault a woman, break into a man’s house, even kidnap me, and steal a horse and walk away from it.”
“His father did him no favors raising him in such arrogance. It sounds like Horace shares the same attitude. To think you might have ended up married to him.”
“Laura described Carlisle. You had a lucky escape from him, too.” Michelle didn’t mention that Jilly hadn’t fully escaped. And wouldn’t until she was married.
Michelle hugged Jilly tightly, then stepped away. “I want you to build my workshop before you start with the boilers.”
“Have you gotten Zane to stop calling it an invention shed yet?”
“No.” But talk of Zane put a smile on her face. “He wasn’t even listening when I said laboratory, but I’m hoping workshop will stick in his mind.”
“I’d rather build the workshop anyway.” Jilly jerked her head at the waterwheel. “Watching that water flow is really satisfying, though.”
Michelle rested her eyes on that beautiful cool flow. “I can feel the grass taking a big drink and imagine the cattle drinking deeply. It is satisfying.”
“This workshop is going to be pretty complex. I mean, sure, the building itself will go up fast, but you’re going to need things like a forge and a supply of steel, things like that.”
“I used to go down to the ironworks and use their equipment. It’s going to be much harder to set it all up here.”
“Is it worth it?” Jilly studied the water.
Michelle considered the question. She really did want to create a four-stroke cycle engine. Then she wanted to hook that engine to everything that moved. Maybe even a sewing machine.
“Should we put it off? Or should I focus on inventing something else? I have some ideas for springs under the carriages of train cars that will make the ride smoother. They already have them, but I can make them better. I think.”
“And brakes. You’ve got the patent on that. You could do a lot more work there.”
“When the traction engine comes, I can use that engine to modify machines to work with it, but it’s still too large. The key to true progress is making the engine smaller.”
“I’ll get started on the invention shed tomorrow.” Jilly grinned, and the two of them headed for the horses tied nearby.
“SO YOU DON’T THINK IT’S SELFISH to want my workshop built before we put running water into the cabins?” Michelle was peeling potatoes for dinner and talking to her two sisters-in-law. She was getting better at it, peeling potatoes, that is. She’d always been good at talking.
It was simple enough, making the potato and its peel part company, but not very interesting. And she did have a tendency to nick her finger a bit too often. Annie and Beth Ellen never did. She was forced to admit that, boring or not, there was skill to this job. And since everyone had to eat, there was importance to it. Add in that Annie and Beth Ellen would almost certainly someday marry and leave Michelle to run the house. Beth Ellen was rather testy on the subject of marriage right now, and Annie mourned her husband. Still, chances were good they’d each eventually find a man and move into their own homes, so she’d better learn.
“What you’re doing sounds so interesting.” Annie filled a pot with hot water with a look of delight on her face. “I know you have big ideas, about trains and tunnels and powerful machines that have not yet been invented, but there is so much you could do in little ways. Things to make running a home easier. I’m not sure what, but having the water run into the house, already hot, well, it’s just a wonder. Washing clothes is backbreaking work. Maybe you could find a way to hook an engine to a . . . a . . .” Annie stopped and turned with a smile and pink cheeks. “I can’t even quite imagine hooking an engine to laundry. Foolish idea.” She turned back to her pot and hefted it to the stove.
“No, don’t be embarrassed. All inventions start with an idea. I’ve thought about washing clothes somehow using a waterwheel. A smaller one, powered by the force of the water that flows in hot through our pipes. If we had a little tub with the wheel in it, threw the clothes in that tub, then let water flow in and turn the wheel . . .” Michelle shook her head. “I’m stumped, but it’s a good idea. Waterpower, steam power, these are the underlying forces that drive most engines. I’ve ordered the parts for a shower bath. You’re going to love that.”
But her mind was caught. Michelle thought everything small needed that small of an engine. And she believed the four-stroke cycle was the foundation of that. But was that wrong? Even the smaller waterwheels they’d used to pump water in the pastures were huge, and of course, the company she ordered them from made them. But what if—
Michelle set her potato and paring knife down and darted out of the room, frantic to get her ideas down on paper before they slid away.
Yes, all inventions started with an idea. Maybe she didn’t need a four-stroke cycle engine to change the world. Maybe she needed a really small waterwheel.
A knock at the door drew her out of her frantic note-taking and sketching. She lifted her head to see Zane.
“What time is it?” The office where she worked had north-facing windows, and she could see by the slant of the sunlight that time had passed. She looked down to see pages and pages of writing.
“Annie sent me to call you to dinner. Can you get away from your work?”
Work.
Peeling potatoes.
Learning the skills a woman needed to run a ranch house.
She’d failed again. Sheepishly, she rose from the desk. Zane’s desk. She’d taken it over. She followed him to the kitchen to be waited on by two women who were bright enough, but Michelle realized she harbored inside her the firm notion that she was much smarter. But all the smart in the world wouldn’t feed this family. And these two seemed to have more common sense than she did.
MICHELLE, THRILLED TO BE WORKING in her new laboratory that Jilly had built, finished the small waterwheel and faced the moment of truth.
She had a long morning ahead of her to get the water flowing, make sure it hit the paddles just right, had enough force to turn the axle at a high enough speed to give the waterwheel power. She’d studied Archimedes. She knew about the physics and mechanics of torque and how it brought force to rotation. She needed force, torque, linear momentum, and angular momentum. By adjusting all those factors, she could get a stronger force or a milder one as needed.
It worked with large waterwheels. Of course it would work with a smaller one.
About ten jobs in all, and everything had to be done and work just right. She was so excited she was giddy. Surely someone else was using the power of water for little jobs, but she’d never heard of it, and if she was copying other work, she didn’t know it. This was all her own.
She looked forward to a long quiet morning that might lead her exactly where she wanted to be.
Then Zane stopped in to see if she wanted to get out of the shed and ride out to check the cattle with him.
After she politely but firmly said no, Rick came to see if she needed help. Michelle thanked him and sent him away.
Beth Ellen came to see if she wanted to come in to coffee and cake.
Knowing she should be learning how to make coffee and cake, Michelle urged the sweet young woman along.
She was almost afraid to try to focus on her work. It was as if she were inviting interruptions.
Finally, silence reigned.
Silence. Blessed silence.
ZANE KNEW HE’D LEFT PLENTY of people around the place. He and his men mostly rode out every day. But Neb, the cowhand cook, was in the bunkhouse, and Rick was around. Besides all the women. And anyway, no one would bother them in the middle of the day.
And Zane hoped there was no one left to bother them.
Jarvis would spend years in prison. Marshal Irving had written them that there was an intensive search for Horace Benteen, now officially wanted for murder. The man hadn’t been seen by anyone in the places he regularly frequented.
Irving wanted him but admitted in the letter that it was possible the man had left the state.
The marshal’s office had made up wanted posters and offered a reward. Either they’d catch him, or he’d be on the run. Either way, he should be out of the area, and it was safe for Annie to go home.
Which Annie seemed to have no interest in doing.
“Something’s moving up there, Zane.” Shad pointed to a rugged stretch that the cows usually avoided.
Zane studied the rough, steep stretch. It wasn’t bad to get in there from the north, but the cattle were to the south. He could see a patch of fur and some motion through the heavily forested hillside. “We get calves up there once in a while.”
“They might’ve gotten to running or been spooked by a wolf.”
Zane couldn’t see enough to be sure. The coat wasn’t quite red enough for his Herefords, but the trees cast shadows that could make it look darker.
“We’ll need to take him out to the north,” Shad said. “It’ll be hours bringing a calf around the hills. But it’s gotta be done. I doubt it’ll make it on its own.”
“I’ll hike in there. I don’t want a horse breaking a leg on those boulders.” Zane reined his horse toward the spot Shad pointed to.
Cattle rarely went into that tight stretch of steep woods, but a calf or two made its way in once or twice a year. Zane considered that it might be worth the work to put up a fence so it wouldn’t happen again.
He hitched his horse low so it could graze, then climbed over boulders, around massive tree trunks and downed logs, and pushed through bramble that he’d’ve never tackled if he didn’t have a calf to save.
He broke through the heavy woods only to see a horse tied up, tucked back here where no saddled and bridled horse should ever be.
And he saw the brand on its flank. Horace Benteen’s brand. A man with no good intentions toward Zane’s wife and maybe downright evil intentions toward his sister.
A man who was missing. A man who’d left the area . . . or gone into hiding.
And here was Benteen’s horse hidden on Two Harts property.
Zane forgot caution. He turned and ran.
IT WAS STIFLINGLY HOT IN THE WORKSHOP.
Michelle unbuttoned the top button of her shirtwaist, rolled up her sleeves, and, beyond that, accepted the heat as part of summer life in California.
Instead of fretting about what she couldn’t change, she tightened the water pipe and turned a valve. Water gushed in with great force, and the wheel spun.
A smile bloomed on her face. She dipped her hands in the cool water, splashed her face, and enjoyed the dribble of water that went down her neck. The dampness turned cool as the fast-spinning wheel created a bit of a breeze.
Could she make a fan of some kind? To cool a house down?
What else?
This water had a lot of force. The wind was pumping the windmill fast, and that wouldn’t always be true. The windmill was also slightly higher than the workshop, so that increased the water pressure. Maybe she could build a water tank and set it even higher. They had water towers in some cities. Then her modest little waterwheel would have even more power. She could find a way to use the waterwheel to pump the water back to the tank and circulate it over and over through the machine it was running.
What else could she hook up? What could she run?
What things could she invent that had never been invented before? Her only limits came from a limited imagination. And her imagination was excellent.
It would take time, but she had an endless supply of that. Nothing would stop her.
Her spirits soared.
ZANE’S TERROR SOARED.
He fought his way out of the steep, nearly impenetrable woods.
Shad had gone on ahead. He was within earshot but only just.
“That’s a horse from the Benteen ranch!” Without wasting another breath, Zane charged for his buckskin, tore the reins loose from the low bush, and vaulted into his saddle.
He galloped toward home, squeezing every drop of speed he could out of his stallion, and the buckskin was a game critter. He heard shouting behind him and hoofbeats coming.
Michelle wasn’t alone. Annie wasn’t alone.
Zane knew it. But Horace Benteen was a crafty man and a cruel one. Who might he kill to get what he wanted? He’d had Todd killed. Why couldn’t he slip up behind Rick and knife him in the back? Same with Neb.
Same with Michelle and Annie, any of them. All of them.
Zane had been so confident just moments ago.
All his confidence had turned to ash.
He leaned low on his horse’s neck and urged Buck on.
THE DOOR BEHIND MICHELLE clicked open and closed.
Though annoyed at the interruption, she thought whoever it was tried to be quiet. Gave them credit for that.
She continued working, focusing completely on the small waterwheel she’d built and the piped water forcing the wheel to turn. It had surprising power. She was suddenly glad to have someone to share this with.
“This is going to work. This is going to—”
A hard hand landed on her shoulder and spun her around.
Face-to-face with Horace Benteen.
JILLY HEARD A SOFT MOAN from behind the ramrod’s house. She intended to put a boiler on it today and add pipes that would carry hot water from the boiler to the house.
Wondering what she was hearing, Jilly slowed down. She’d learned caution under the cruel hands of Edgar Beaumont.
The evil men who’d paid handsomely for the right to marry the Stiles sisters were still out there. Edgar was still running around loose.
Her sisters had married and were safe.
But Jilly wasn’t. She needed to marry, but the idea of it set off a deep, shuddering dread she couldn’t control.
The day might come when she had no choice but to marry. She’d put that day off for as long as she could.
Approaching the ramrod’s house as quietly as she could manage, she peeked around the corner and saw Rick face down on the ground, stirring, moaning, as if he was just now regaining consciousness.
His head was bleeding.
Jilly rushed to his side. “Rick, are you all right?”
She helped him roll onto his back.
His eyes fluttered open. With slurred speech he asked, “Wha happ’n’d?”
She leaned over him until his dazed eyes locked onto hers.
He was asking the same questions she was. “What happened, Rick?”
“D-don’t know. I-I heard something back here. A-a noise. I came around the back to see what it was and . . .” Rick fell silent, as if speaking caused him pain.
“Someone must have hit you. To have the back of your head bleeding when you fell forward, that’s not where you’d be hurt if you tripped over something.”
“Didn’t see anyone.”
“Let me get you up.” Jilly couldn’t leave him lying here. But the last time they’d had an intruder—and she could only believe they had one now—the man had assaulted Michelle.
She got Rick to his feet as an almost frantic need to see Michelle beat against her chest like the wings of a trapped bird. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
She got him moving, got him around the corner of the house, then left him leaning against the house but on his feet. “I’ve got to go. Tell Gretel you need medical care.”
“No,” Rick said. “I’ll come with you.”
He straightened, then staggered until he fell against the building. That was the only thing holding him up.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Defeated, he said, “Go to the bunkhouse and get Neb. You need someone searching with you.”
“You go on in. I’ll get Neb.”
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Rick staggered toward the door, dazed enough to accept that she would do as he asked.
After one terrified moment when all she could think of was to get to Michelle, Jilly forced common sense to rule. She spun toward the bunkhouse.
MICHELLE CRIED OUT, and Horace slapped a hand over her mouth and cut off the sound. He’d moved too quickly. She hadn’t made enough noise.
As she twisted against the strong grip, he shoved her against the table, where she’d been working. The edge of the table cut into her back. The noise of the spinning waterwheel sounded behind her. The pressure of his hand bent her backward until she could feel the breeze created by the waterwheel.
And that’s when she smelled him.
Benteen, a wealthy, influential man. When she’d seen him in society in San Francisco, he’d always been exquisitely dressed, clean-shaven. His hair neatly trimmed.
Now he was filthy. His eyes bloodshot. Hair greasy and overlong. His face thick with gray bristles. The collar of his white silk shirt was brown with grit and sweat. His coat was worn and tattered. He must’ve been wearing it day and night for weeks.
Striking out, she clawed at the hand over her mouth.
The coat tore at the shoulder as she gripped it, until the sleeve dangled around his wrist.
