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  O’NEILL’S TEXAS BRIDE

  By

  Caroline Clemmons

  O’Neill’s Texas Bride

  Caroline Clemmons

  Copyright 2015 Caroline Clemmons

  Cover Graphics

  Lilburn Smith

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for choosing my book from all the millions available. I love, love, love my readers and am so appreciative of your loyalty. I write for you. If ever you have comments or suggestions, I would love to hear them at mail to: [email protected] If you want to stay current on when I release a new book, please sign up for my newsletter. I hope you enjoy this book. If you do, please leave a review when you’ve finished at wherever you purchased the book.

  Again, thank you,

  Caroline

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to my wonderful husband, Hero, for his encouragement now and in the past. Also to my lovely daughters for their help and support.

  What a wonderful critique group I have. I couldn’t have completed this book without your encouragement and nudging/dragging me forward.

  Thanks to my editor, Stephanie Suesan Smith, PhD at http://www.edit.stephaniesuesansmith.com

  Chapter One

  September 1885

  Lignite, Texas

  Stella Clayton grabbed her brother’s shoulders. “What’s happened?”

  Lance gasped out, “Cave in. I can’t find Papa.”

  Grabbing her shawl, Stella joined her mother and sister as the women and boy ran to the mine’s mouth at the base of a hill.

  Other families from the small town gathered, the females standing silently while men milled around or worked to free those trapped. The shriek of a whistle and shouts of men swarming the rock strewn work area created an atmosphere like another world.

  She pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “What happened? Does anyone know?”

  Her brother shrugged. “When I couldn’t find Papa, I asked but no one would answer me.”

  Grace tugged the foreman’s sleeve. “What crew was caught?”

  Wiping sweat and grime from his face, the foreman turned impatiently. “Calm yourself, Mrs. Clayton. Your man is helping dig through to them.”

  He waved abruptly at those crowded around him and spoke loudly. “Stand back and let us do our jobs.”

  Stella exhaled her relief and thanked God her father had been spared this time. Small groups of crying and praying women huddled as she and her mother and sister did now.

  She whispered to her sister, “How many times have we stood with Mama like this?”

  Brushing a stray lock of blond hair from her face, Nettie sighed. “I’ve lost count. I’ve no wish to marry a miner and live with this kind of fear every day.”

  “I won’t marry one. I’ll not sentence me or my future children to this sad life. No man but our sweet Papa is worth the worry and sacrifice. Every day he goes into that mine is torture for Mama.”

  Nettie shook her head slowly. “But where will we meet such men? All we know are miners.”

  She met her sister’s gaze. “We could teach school elsewhere. I know we could pass the exam.”

  Sorrow tinged blue-green eyes so like her own. “We already teach school. What will happen to our students when we go elsewhere? And what will Mama do without us?”

  Stella had no answer for Nettie. She’d asked the same questions of herself many times. Convincing the mine’s owner to let them set up school in a vacant building had been difficult. Even though he’d reluctantly agreed, he didn’t provide any supplies except a stove and coal to heat the school in winter.

  She paced in front of her mother until Mama told her to sit down. Pulling her shawl closer, she joined Mama and Nettie on the ground. Lance stood far behind them with two friends.

  Behind them a few hundred yards up another rise stood rows of the clapboard houses furnished for married workers. To the right loomed the equipment to crush and convey the coal to the railroad cars. To the left were the company store and single men’s dormitories, called longhouses. Nearby, a train carrying coal pulled out of Lignite headed west.

  Six long hours later, four filthy men emerged from the mine. Six had been in the crew. Eager women and children crowded around the men. Behind them, the tall figure of her father bent under the weight of the limp body he carried over his shoulder. Behind him, Mr. Karpinski carried a second body. As four families rejoiced in relief, two sobbed in sorrow.

  The Claytons rushed to Council Clayton as soon as he was free of his sad duty. Almost unrecognizable from the coating of black dust and grime, he led them silently home. Eager to escape the scene, they restrained their questions until out of sight of those whose men hadn’t survived.

  Brown, gray, and black dust covered everything this near the mine and equipment. Laundry could only be hung on the line when the breeze was from the southwest or the clean clothes became gray with soil carried in the air. Stella hated the dismal looking town.

  Once in the simple frame home provided by the mine company, Papa slumped near the stove, coughing in his usual evening attempt to clear his lungs. Slowly, he rose to wash the grime from his face and hands.

  Mama set the pot of stew on the table while Stella put out the bowls and spoons. Nettie fetched mugs of cider. Lance brought the bread and knife then watched as if torn by indecision.

  Between bites of stew, her father looked at his wife. “Someone was careless and caused the cave in. Or, it was done deliberately. There was no structural reason for the walls to give way. I’m as sure as I know my own name.”

  Mama grabbed his arm. “Not an accident? Oh, Clayton, you could have been one of those trapped.”

  He clasped her hand and kissed her palm. “I wasn’t, love. Haven’t I worked coal since I was ten? I haven’t reached the age of forty-five by being careless.”

  Stella couldn’t resist another attempt to reason with her father. “We left England to start a new life, Papa. Please try to find a different line of work. Something safer.”

  “And cleaner.” Nettie smiled and eyed their father’s blond hair tinged black beneath the line that had been covered by his hat.

  He met Stella’s gaze and pointed his spoon at her. “Stella Grace Clayton, don’t start that again. Mining is all I know and you’ll say nothing else on the matter.”

  Papa using her full name silenced her for now, but she had no intention of giving up her quest permanently.

  She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “I’m sorry, Papa. I meant no disrespect. You’re the best father in the world and you know we love and look up to you.”

  He smiled at her.

  Mama shushed her daughters. “Leave your father be, girls. Can’t you see he’s exhausted from saving lives and toiling to put this food on the table?”

  Why wouldn’t Papa try to find another job? His excuse of knowing only mining rang hollow in her ears. This was no way to live, risking a cave in or explosion daily. There had to be a better, safer job somewhere. He’d learned to mine, so why couldn’t he learn a new trade?

  She turned her attention to her brother. Lance must never give in and become a miner.


  After they’d finished the meal and cleaned the kitchen, Stella spoke low to her brother. “Meet me outside by the corner of the house.”

  She slipped out the door and waited for Lance. When he joined her, he appeared distressed.

  “What’s upset you?”

  Hands in his pockets, he looked at the ground. “Some of the fellows have been giving me a hard time. I’m branded lazy and a mama’s boy because I don’t work with Papa or anyone else.”

  “Tomorrow, go to the store and ask if they need help sweeping and such.”

  He sent her a stony glare. “I’ve already been there. They hired Mr. Haney because he’s too injured to work in the mines since that beam fell on him two weeks ago.”

  She patted his shoulder. “We’ll think of something else then.”

  His face darkened in anger. “Don’t you see? I’ll have to go into the mines because there’s no escape for the likes of me. There is nothing else. We’ve been over this before. Soon, I have to start doing my part for the family.” He strode off into the dark.

  There had to be another way. In her head, she realized someone had to pick the coal from the ground because everyone needed the fuel. Yet in her heart, she refused to see her intelligent brother sacrifice his dreams to futility. What could she do to help Lance?

  ***

  Texas Hill Country

  Finn O’Neill guided the chestnut gelding around the corral, offering the animal encouraging murmurs.

  He halted the animal and smoothed a hand along the neck before grabbing the pommel. “That’s right, boy, you can do this. See, Dominic, I’m just swinging me leg over your back now. Steady.”

  Dominic swung his head, but tolerated Finn’s weight added to the saddle. After three times around the ring, Finn dismounted and walked the horse into the barn for cool down and brushing before feeding him.

  Smiling, Dallas McClintock, Finn’s brother-in-law, strode toward them. “Great work. You have the gift, Finn. Sure glad you’re here.”

  Finn basked in the praise, but he wanted more. “Sure and ‘tis glad I am to work with a fine horse like this. He’ll be as good as his father, Dominion, you mark my words.”

  No matter how much he appreciated all Dallas had done for the O’Neill family, Finn yearned for more. His own land. His own horses. His own home and family.

  He admired and respected his brother-in-law and the fine husband he’d made for Cenora. He’d been more than kind to the O’Neill family. But living as a hanger-on didn’t suit Finn.

  As if reading his mind, Dallas clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll have your own place soon, or I miss my guess.”

  Finn looked up from brushing Dominic. “And how would I be doing that? I’ve no money except the wages you pay me. While you’re a generous man, I’ll be old as Da before I can buy me own land.”

  “Nonsense. You’re a hard worker and resourceful.” Dallas leaned against the stall. “Say, I just learned the Lippincotts are selling their ranch. He stopped by this morning to give me first refusal. Told him you’d likely be interested.”

  News of the availability of the fine place ignited a longing strong enough to taste. Hadn’t he admired that ranch since he’d seen it? Hadn’t he dreamed of owning such a place?

  “And did a miracle occur that I suddenly have money? Just to torment me, tell me how much they’re asking?”

  Dallas named an amount. “Believe they’d come down a bit to get a good buyer they could trust to carry on as they’ve done. Lippincott’s proud of the set up he’s built and hates that his sons don’t want any part of ranching.”

  Stepping into the shade of the screened-in back porch, the men lingered near a table that held a bucket of water. Finn filled the dipper and took a drink. He dipped the ladle into the bucket again, this time letting the cool water flow over his head, plastering his hair and drenching his shoulders.

  “Though the price is reasonable, I’ve no way to raise that much.” Knowing the perfect place was out of his reach hurt his pride. He should have spared himself frustration and not asked about the cost.

  “Have you thought of asking Grandpa to back you? Or Austin? They both think a lot of you and the way you’ve helped Cenora and me.”

  As he handed the dipper to Dallas, a spark of hope exploded in Finn’s chest. “I’ve nothing to offer as collateral against me failure, man. Why would they trust me?”

  Dallas copied Finn’s actions on himself then returned the dipper to the pail. “Why wouldn’t they? Never know unless you ask.”

  “I’m only kin by marriage and they owe me nothing. I’ve no right to ask their generosity.”

  “Narrow thinking, man. If Austin hadn’t helped me, I wouldn’t have been able to buy this ranch from Marston. Austin and Kathryn didn’t owe me wages because they raised me, but they paid me anyway. Frankly, I always suspected Austin agreed to pay Marston if I defaulted.”

  Finn rubbed his jaw. “Don’t know if I could ask either your grandfather or uncle for a loan, but yearning for that ranch eats at me insides. Sure and I’ll think on it.”

  He thought of nothing else the rest of the day. A dozen reasons for and against near froze him. No more shilly shallying. If he didn’t make a move, the prime ranch would be snapped up by someone else and then he’d regret not having at least tried for himself.

  The next morning when he came into the kitchen for breakfast, surprise showed on his sister’s face. “And what are you doing wearing your best shirt and britches this morning? You trying to impress one o’ the horses?”

  Dallas laughed and kissed Cenora. “Don’t be giving your brother a hard time, love.”

  Finn sat and spread his napkin across his lap while he peered at Dallas. “With your permission, I’ll be riding into town about that matter we discussed yesterday.”

  “Good to hear.” Dallas toasted him with his coffee mug. “Slàinte.”

  Cenora rested her fists on her hips, a sure sign her temper had flared. “You’ll not be keeping secrets from me, Dallas McClintock. What’re you and me brother talking about?”

  Dallas patted her protruding stomach. “Nothing to worry you, little mother. Sit down, love, and let’s eat the food you’ve prepared. I’m famished and your biscuits are light enough to float away.”

  She took her seat, but glared at both men. “Flattery won’t make up for shutting me out o’ your secrets.”

  Finn set down his cup. “Don’t fash yourself, sister. I’m only doing groundwork for a project I have in me head. You’ll know soon as I have something to tell.”

  After breakfast, Finn rode into McClintock Falls. He worried about approaching Dallas’s grandfather, Victor McClintock, about a loan. More, he dreaded seeing Dallas’ grandmother, Zarelda. That woman must have been born sucking lemons and sour pickles.

  Rarely had he seen Mrs. McClintock smile. She had no love of Dallas’ mixed Cherokee blood and even less use for the Irish. If she heard his proposal, he could count on her using all her power to block the deal.

  Mayhap he should skip the elder McClintock and seek out Dallas’ uncle Austin and his kind wife, Kathryn. No, the older man had more money than he needed while Austin and Kathryn had a pack of kids still at home. By the time Finn reached the gates of the McClintock’s long drive, his stomach was churning so he thought he’d have to dismount and throw up in the hedges.

  Buck up, boyo. This is your future on the line.

  At the front hitching ring, he gave his reins to the stable boy who raced toward him. After removing his hat and slicking back his hair, he straightened his shoulders. No turning back. Fear still gripped his gut but he forced himself to climb the steps and turn the bell’s ringer.

  He’d never begged for anything in his life. Sure, he’d watched begging members of the Irish Travelers his family had lived with for several years. But the O’Neill’s didn’t beg and now were finished with the traveling life.

  Asking for a loan wasn’t the same as begging, or so he tried to tell himself.
No matter how he argued with himself, his heart told him otherwise. A real man made his own way. Only the memory of Lippincott’s vast land and grand house could lower him to request help from Victor McClintock or anyone else.

  A starched and proper maid answered his summons and left him cooling his heels in the foyer while she sought permission for him to be seen. While he stood like a statue, he heard the rumble of men’s voices. Curse the luck. He’d counted on McClintock being alone. The maid soon returned and he followed her to the elder McClintock’s study.

  The man who insisted he call him Grandpa stood and gestured to a leather wing chair. “Come in, Finn, and have a seat. We were just talking about you. Wally, this is the man who might help you out.”

  Reclaiming his chair, McClintock said, “This is my wife’s nephew, Wallace Farland. He’s here seeking help for a problem.”

  The other man was middle aged with thinning brown hair and an elaborate mustache that curled on each end. He looked from McClintock to Finn and back. When McClintock nodded, Farland spread his hands across his paunch.

  “I own the Farland Coal Mine at Lignite, Texas southwest of San Antonio. Someone is causing so-called accidents and also discord among the miners. I need a man who can be my eyes and ears.”

  Farland waved his hand toward Grandpa. “While I came here to ask Uncle Victor about one of his grandsons, you might fit in better. I’ve several Irish miners as well as other immigrants and Mexicans. Work has slowed down and I’m losing money. Something is going on and I mean to have answers.”

  Finn struggled to hide his instant dislike of the mine owner. “I’m a rancher, sir. Sure and I came here to ask Grandpa McClintock for a loan to buy the ranch next to that o’ Dallas. We’d like to be partners in raising fine horses, you see.”

  Farland looked down his nose at him. “I’d pay you double if you worked for me. You could blend in, find out who’s causing trouble. Then you’d be able to save toward the down payment.”