Olivia's Mine Read Online Free PDF

Howser said with dread in his
voice.
    The tunnel tram had been McMichael’s
brainstorm. Getting in and out of the mine had been a time
consuming ordeal. The old ore transport cars were constantly
breaking down. By the time the men had come to the end of their
physically demanding shifts, they were too tired to carry the raw
materials out. McMichael decided it would be far more efficient to
run a small steam powered train through the tunnel to move both the
people and the ore. He did efficiency studies, and provided the
owners with a budget for the transportation tram. Within the year
they had given him what he wanted. McMichael was able to move twice
the loads and gave them back twice the profit.
    John Wesley McMichael was a Canadian, and
proud of it. A comparatively short man, standing five foot seven,
he was none the less solid enough that although the men had many
good reasons to hate him, they never dared raise a fist to him.
There was a story that his wife had died of physical violence,
which McMichael probably started himself to keep everyone in line.
But the truth was she had a brain aneurysm that took her life quite
suddenly one summer night. He never got over it, and those who knew
him before her death said that was when he had turned cold hearted.
Some men die of broken hearts, some sink into deep, dark
depressions. McMichael just got mean. His only signs of outward
compassion ever sighted were for his two young daughters, Lara aged
eight, and Christina, aged twelve. He had hired a nanny, an older
German woman with grown children in Vancouver, to help look after
his children after his wife’s death.
    The women of Britannia Beach were generally
of two minds about McMichael. He was, despite his temperament, a
handsome man. He kept his sandy blond hair well barbered and he was
always clean. Due to the amount of physical activity he got each
day, his body was as lean as it had been when he was a teenager.
His smile, when he actually smiled, could warm the chill out of the
northerly winds. There were those who lived in fear of his every
step, of what he could and would do to the welfare of their
families. There were those who craved a piece of him, and were
secretly hoping that one day, he would look at them and become
bewitched by their charms. And of those women, some wanted to marry
him and take a new position in society, but some simply wanted to
lie with him, and feel the blood pulsing through his veins, somehow
absorbing his power within.
    McMichael walked into his office.
    “Sarah, I want you to take a letter,” he
began, “Stuart J. Collin, Vancouver Police Department. Dear Stuart,
I have come to discover that just outside the town limits of
Britannia Beach is a home that houses ladies of questionable
repute. This den of sin is temptation for the many hard working
single men employed here at the Royal Columbian Mining Company. The
moral disintegration of their virtues and the loss of integrity of
my employees aside, I fear that the gambling parlour that is also
housed illegally at this address is merely a ploy to rob the men of
their hard-earned cash. I trust that you will send a constable up
to take care of this matter, or I will be forced once again, to
take matters into my own hands. I know we had talked about
re-stationing a constable permanently here in Britannia, but you
know I don’t feel we need a full time officer. Save your money.
However if I can borrow one for a day to remove this woman and her
‘staff’ it would perhaps scare the fear of God into her and cause
her never to return. She obviously has no regard for the law here
in Britannia. Sincerely, J.W. McMichael.”
    He ended his dictation.
    “Get it out in this evening’s post. Oh wait,
you can’t. It’s Sunday. I had forgotten, what with the extra shifts
needed this weekend. I’ll give it to Frenchie Cates to drop off in
Vancouver when he leaves again on Monday. That will do Sarah.”
    It would also teach Ruby a thing or two about
not