Conemaugh

3.

May 1889 – Cambria County, Pennsylvania

It had been raining constantly for nearly a week. The residents of the Conemaugh Valley had started moving possessions to the upper floors as water seeped into their parlors and the roads became fast moving, muddy streams. Up the mountain at the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, the water behind the South Fork Dam had risen a few feet, but the resort was otherwise unaffected by the constant downpour. Off-season work installing indoor plumbing continued and the few staff on hand at the clubhouse catered to a very small number of club member. Only the very wealthy could afford to come in the off-season for a short stay away from the city over the weekend.

Rachel Mosely was strolling the damp, wrap-around porch of the clubhouse with her fiancé, Clark Singleton. Her younger brother, Quinn, trailed behind the couple. He was a somewhat reluctant chaperone on this weekend inspection of the venue for his sister's upcoming summer wedding.

"It doesn't look any more impressive than Lake Conneaut," Rachel was saying as she gazed out over the expanse of rain-roughened water.

"You must realize, darling," Clark said, "that this is not a natural lake like Conneaut. It is a marvel of human ingenuity. A dam created to trap and hold back nearly three square miles of water is not something to be scoffed at." He turned to look at Quinn over his shoulder. "Your sister is much too hard to impress, young man."

Quinn looked up and caught Clark's eye without meaning to. The gentleman pursed his lips slightly and favored the 19-year-old with a flash of lasciviousness before gentling his face back into lines of bored good humor.

"The porter said the entire valley would be washed away if the dam fails," Quinn said blandly, his gaze dropping quickly back to the polished boards beneath his feet.

"Never happen," Clark said authoritatively. "It rains like this every spring and water has never topped the dam. The engineering that went into the spillway won't allow it."

"What about the fish-guards?" Quinn interrupted, indignation in his voice and color rising into his cheeks as he looked up again, angered by Clark's imperious tone. "If too much debris clogs the spillway, where will the water..."

"Quinn!" Rachel said sharply, turning to glare at her younger brother. "I am sure Clark knows far more than you about such things. Please refrain from speaking in that disrespectful way again or I shall send you home immediately."

"It's quite all-right Rachel," Clark said smoothly. "The boy has been without a figure of authority in his life for some time." Clark fleetingly caught Quinn's gaze again. "We will soon correct that."