Forgiven? Liberty gulped. And then some. “I suppose that depends on the interview, Mr. McShane,” she said, her voice a little too breathless to suit.
“Call me Finn, please, Miss O’Shea.” The dimples made an encore appearance, all but guaranteeing consent to anything he asked. “Unless, of course, you allow me the ‘liberty’ to use your Christian name?”
She strove for casual despite the white-knuckled chokehold she had on the purse and pad in her lap. “Certainly, Finn. As long as there’s no bell attached, we should be golden.” Releasing a shallow breath of air, she willed her body to relax, taking a stab at humor. “Or maybe that should be silver, given the wealth of mines tunneling through our hills.”
“Exactly,” he said, his demeanor suddenly more serious as he settled back in his chair with a loose fold of arms. “Which neatly brings us back to your original purpose, I believe—an interview about the proposed railroad?”
Just the sound of the word “interview” pumped adrenalin into Libby’s veins. She retrieved a pencil from her purse and placed the pad of paper on top, ready to record the truth of what the V&T Railroad had in mind for the welfare of their laborers. “So, Finn, can you tell me a bit about the ambitions of the Virginia & Truckee Railroad?”
His pause was barely noticeable, so smooth was his presentation, elbows now propped on the arms of his chair while he watched her over the clasp of his hands. “Certainly, Liberty. The V&T Railroad Company was incorporated in March of this year to serve the mines of the Comstock. As you are no doubt aware, a railroad was deemed necessary due to the exorbitant cost of freighting goods by wagon, as well as the transport of ore to the mills along the Carson River.”
“Of course,” Libby said with a solemn nod, well aware a railroad would be a huge boon to Virginia City, even if her father’s bank hadn’t won the business.
“We hope to break ground next February, with grading crews beginning two miles below Gold Hill on American Flats. Completion is slated for the end of the year.”
Libby’s ears instantly perked at the mention of grading crews, and scooting to the edge of her chair, she fixed him with a penetrating stare, pencil poised over her paper. “You mention crews. Can you tell me what provisions are being made for the safety and care of the men you employ?”
His eyelids narrowed almost imperceptibly, barely noticeable with the polite smile that stole over his chiseled features. “The V&T Railroad Company is committed to the safety and well-being of its workers, Liberty, I can assure you of that.”
“And fair pay, Finn? Is V&T committed to that as well, or do they plan to follow in the footsteps of the Central Pacific Railroad? Where, as you know, Chinese workers were paid a dollar a day without room and board while the Irish workers”—she inclined her head to underscore her point—“such as yourself, were paid two dollars per day, plus room and board.”
Despite his calm demeanor, Libby saw a storm brewing in eyes that seemed to darken along with his mood. “The V&T Railroad Company is not Central Pacific, Miss O’Shea. As one of the shortest independent lines in the world, we have a vested interest in Nevada. We are Nevadans, just like you, whether Chinese or white, and our pay scale will reflect that with honesty and integrity, unlike Central Pacific.”
“And yet I was told you were in Central Pacific’s employ, rising through the ranks while crews were worked from sunrise to sunset, six days a week, were you not, Mr. McShane?” Her temper thinned along with his eyes, their gazes going head-to-head. “Can you assure me it won’t be the same for the crews of Virginia & Truckee?”
He leaned in, the tic in his cheek keeping time with the throb of her pulse. “I can assure a solid wage for a solid day’s work, Miss O’Shea, for any man willing to give his all during a fairly short but very lucrative period of time.”
She jutted a brow. “His ‘all,’ Mr. McShane? Or his life? I’ve read about corpses of Chinese laborers found in the spring after horrendous snowstorms during tunnel construction, frozen solid like marble, tools still in their hands.”
She noted a dangerous shift in his jaw but didn’t care, too incensed over the vile racial inequalities in which the high-and-mighty railroads indulged. “Tell me, Mr. McShane, can you ensure Chinese laborers won’t be forced to sacrifice their lives on the altar of greed and the almighty deadline?”
“Even the almighty railroads cannot control the weather, Miss O’Shea,” he ground out, teeth milled tight.
Her blood began to boil. “No, but safety precautions can be put in place, sir, can they not? To help protect the very workers who are putting money in your pocket?” She leaned in like he had, the tension between them sparking more than the static electricity from the handshake they’d shared. “Will you assure me weather safety provisions will be implemented even though Central Pacific failed to do so when you were on their payroll?”
He shot to his feet, palms knuckle-white on his desk as he bent forward with fire in his eyes. “I can assure you, Miss Bell, that I will do everything in my power to safeguard our crews, including the implementation of safety measures that CP failed to do. And for your information, ma’am, the management at Central Pacific and I did not see eye to eye on a number of points, which is why I took my leave to work with V&T.”
Oh.
She slowly sat back in her chair while he did the same, somewhat taken aback he wasn’t the money-grubbing company man she’d assumed him to be. She swallowed some of the fury in her throat, a fury that always rose like bile over the injustices men inflicted upon those they deemed inferior. Like women. Avoiding his piercing gaze, she promptly wrote his response on her notepad. Even so, he had been a company man during some of the most outrageous atrocities perpetrated against Chinese laborers during the construction of the transcontinental railroad. “Well,” she said with a less pointed heft of her chin, “I’m certainly glad to hear that, Mr. McShane—that possibly comforts me somewhat.”
“Possibly?” He stared, mouth hanging open. “Somewhat?” He suddenly laughed and shook his head, steepling his fingers. “You know what, Libs? You’re all grown up now, and yet college hasn’t changed you much at all. You’re still that prickly little girl I could never seem to please, so I just gave up and teased you instead.” His smile was stiff. “Well, don’t be offended, please, but your ‘comfort’ level is not all that high on my priority list, Miss Bell.”
“Really.” She studied him with a calculating squint while she tapped the pencil against her chin. “Well, how about the comfort level of the people of Virginia City, Mr. McShane?” She arched a brow, her sweet tone unable to mask the threat of her words. “Where are they on your so-called priority list?”
“For the love of sanity,” he muttered, the words coming on the heels of a low chuckle as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want from me, Libby—blood?”
“I want assurances, Director McShane, as do the people of Virginia City, that as a representative of Virginia and Truckee Railroad, the lives of our Chinese residents will be protected at all costs.”
A loud sigh parted from his lips as he stared at her, a trace of resignation in the crook of his half smile. “All right, Miss O’Shea, you have my complete assurance.”
“I have your word on that?” she emphasized with a duck of her head, gaze pinned to his. “That as Director of the Virginia & Truckee Railroad, you and your railroad will take every precaution to eliminate fatalities, be they from weather, poor working conditions, or blasting?”
His smile faded. “I am not God, Miss O’Shea, no matter how exalted your opinion of me may be. I can certainly promise I will do everything in my power to safeguard the lives of my men, but I’m afraid nitroglycerin is not as compliant.”
“Then don’t use it,” she said with a sudden plea in her tone, the challenge in her eyes daring him to break with the ranks of greed. “Use gunpowder instead, like they used to, before nitroglycerin murdered hundreds of Chinese workers.”
He bent forward, voice clipped and low. “They-were-accidents, Miss O’Shea, not-murders, and you have no idea how many casualties there were.”
“No, because Central Pacific didn’t bother to keep records of”— she sat up straight on the brink of her chair, fingers gripped to the edge of his desk—“and I quote—‘coolie casualties.’”
His jaw hardened as a nerve flickered in his temple. “The Chinese weren’t the only casualties in the building of the railroad, Miss O’Shea—”
“No, only the majority of them …” She eased back in the chair, her eyes never leaving his. “And the most violated.”
He slammed a fist to his desk, his voice rising several octaves. “They were well-compensated, blast you, and fully aware of the risk.”
“Tell that to their starving widows and babies!” she hollered back, both of them on their feet now, faces flushed and tempers high. They glared at each other for several seconds before her body cooled along with her tone, shoulders squared. “Promise there will be no nitroglycerin,” she whispered, purse and pad to her chest.
He loomed with palms propped, eyes all but cauterizing her to the spot as he bit out every single word. “The only thing I’ll promise is that no pampered, upper-crust daddy’s girl with more feathers in her head than her hat is going to march in here—”
She bludgeoned a lacy glove to his desk. “Promise or I will launch a campaign to make you comply, and I-will-win!”
Slowly rising to his full height, he stared, arms slack at his sides while his jaw dropped in disbelief. “This never was about an interview, was it, Libby? This is about you winning—over me, over the railroad—isn’t it?”
“I want a guarantee, Mr. McShane, now, and I want it ironclad.”
“Well you got it, Miss Bell.” He jerked his jacket off his chair and slashed it on, storming around his desk. She was rendered speechless when he ripped the pad and pencil from her hand and shoved them in her purse. Pushing it at her, he dragged her to the door with a hook of her elbow, voice as tight as his hold. “I guarantee you one thing for dead sure, ma’am—this interview is over.”