Emma held Uncle Otis’s gaze. “My father was a hard worker,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “And so was my mother. They were artists, painting scenes and making costumes for the theater. They loved their jobs, and they were putting every spare penny into my education. They wanted to live in Manhattan because there were more opportunities. . . .” Her throat closed and she dropped her eyes, blinking back tears. Then she swallowed and found her voice again. “Just because my father didn’t want to spend his life in a hole in the ground making someone else rich, doesn’t make him lazy. If anything, it makes him smart.”
Uncle Otis’s mouth fell open, anger darkening his brow.
“I’m sure that’s not what your uncle meant,” Aunt Ida said quickly. “It’s just . . . well . . . it always seemed like what we had to offer was never good enough, even though we had more than your parents ever dreamed of. And now. Let’s just say we must all remember to bow down before the Lord and be grateful for what we’ve been blessed with instead of looking elsewhere for satisfaction. Otherwise . . .” Aunt Ida shook her head.
Emma pushed back her chair and stood. “May I be excused?” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”
“What is it?” Aunt Ida said. “You’re not taking sick, are you?”
Percy leaned away from Emma, his napkin over his nose and mouth. “She did just come out of a hospital,” he said. “You don’t suppose you caught something, do you?”
Emma shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s nothing like that. It’s probably just the heat. Or maybe it’s the small-minded people in this room.” She wrapped her arms around herself and headed toward the door. Behind her, Aunt Ida started crying.
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to bring her here,” Uncle Otis said. His tone was withering, and there was no doubt it was directed at Emma. She walked out, feeling his burning eyes on the back of her head.
CHAPTER 4
The day after Emma’s arrival in Coal River was payday for the miners, and the Company Store stayed open later than usual. After supper, when most of the miners’ wives would be finished shopping, Aunt Ida took Emma down in the wagon to get the weekly supplies—flour and sugar, lantern oil and lye soap, buckwheat and salt. She had a list, and Emma was to learn it by heart.
The evening sun was hard and bright, baking the earth and turning the already brown grass brittle. The motionless air smelled of warm wood, burning culm, and horse manure. Emma’s acorn-colored skirt soaked up the heat, roasting her inside.
Last night, Aunt Ida’s seamstress, Maggie, had taken apart and reconstructed Emma’s secondhand clothes, shortening the hem of the broadcloth skirt and taking in the bodice of the shawl-collared blouse. Today Maggie was making her some new outfits, including an everyday housedress, a visiting costume, and a flowing pink tea dress. On one hand, Emma didn’t want the new clothes, knowing everything she took from her aunt and uncle would need to be repaid with interest, one way or another. If she could get by without eating, she would. On the other hand, she looked forward to having something cooler to wear.
Since this morning, she had pinned three loads of clothes to the line, snapped green beans on the back steps, patched and ironed trousers, and mopped the summer kitchen floor after Cook tracked in mud from the chicken coop. Aunt Ida supervised her every move, giving her instructions on how to work faster and more efficiently. On the ride into town, her aunt delivered a sternly worded lecture after Emma left her gloves at home, snapping the horse with a whip when she wanted to stress a point.
“Gloves are to be worn at all times on the street, at church, and at other formal occasions,” she said. “Unless one is eating or drinking.”
“My mother never made me wear gloves,” Emma said.
“Well, you’re my responsibility now that your mother is—”
“Don’t,” Emma said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t ever speak of my mother again.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Aunt Ida said. “How many times do I have to tell you your uncle is sorry for last night? He didn’t mean to upset you. You know how he gets sometimes. And it’s even worse when the miners are restless.”
“And you?” Emma said. She unbuttoned her collar and rolled up her sleeves, ignoring her aunt’s disapproving glances. The horse was moving at a good clip, and she wanted to take advantage of the breeze. “Are you sorry for what you said?”
Aunt Ida pulled back on the reins and brought the wagon to an abrupt halt. Emma had to grab the edge of the seat to keep from falling out.
“Me?” Aunt Ida said, her voice high. “What have I done? I only want what’s best for you, can’t you see that?”
“It seems to me like you only want free help,” Emma said before she could stop herself.
Aunt Ida gasped. She dropped the reins in her lap and fished a white handkerchief out of her sleeve, her eyes filling. “Lord almighty,” she said. “I’ve never been treated so poorly for trying to help someone in my entire life. Don’t you know you’re like a daughter to me? The daughter I never had?”
Emma sighed. There was no point in telling Aunt Ida anything. She was too busy seeing the splinter in everyone else’s eyes while being blind to the beam in her own. Emma tried to swallow her anger, but it got stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing the words out. “Please, just forget I said anything.”
Aunt Ida wiped her nose, sniffling. “I know we’ve got some adjusting to do,” she said. “So I’ll accept your apology. But please, consider others’ feelings before you speak. And button your collar and roll down your sleeves before someone sees you.”
Emma ignored the request. Instead she picked up the reins and flicked them lightly, clucking her tongue to get the horse moving again. “I thought you were going to teach me how to drive?”
Aunt Ida took the reins. “Not yet,” she said. “When you start working at the store, you can walk and Percy will bring you home, along with any items on my list. I need this wagon at my disposal at all times. I never know when I might need to run into town.”
When they reached the Company Store, Aunt Ida stopped the wagon on the edge of the dusty road, then waited for Emma to tie the horse to a hitching post. When she had finished, Emma helped her aunt down from the seat and followed her along the plank sidewalk toward the entrance. Two women came out of the store, talking and laughing. The younger one carried a wicker basket covered in a red-checkered cloth, and the older woman held a brown paper package beneath one arm. There was no mistaking they were mother and daughter, with matching upturned noses and rainwater blue eyes. The daughter wore her blond hair in long ringlets that spilled over her shoulders like a yellow mane. The mother wore her mouse-colored hair in a Gibson girl bun, gray streaks running up from her temples and the middle of her forehead. They both wore pastel-colored dresses, the mother in baby blue, the daughter in lavender.
“Good evening,” Aunt Ida said.
The women began to respond, then gaped at Emma as if noticing her for the first time. They looked her up and down as if a girl with an open collar and bare forearms were someone to fear. After a short, awkward silence, they came to their senses and said hello.
“Emma,” Aunt Ida said, smiling a little too hard. “You remember Sally and Charlotte Gable, don’t you? Sally is a dear, dear friend of mine from way back. Her husband, Grover, is the inside boss over at the mine. And pretty Miss Charlotte was one of Percy’s childhood playmates.”
Emma didn’t remember either of them. The last time she was here, she was only ten, and back then the only thing she cared about was when her parents were coming back to get her and Albert. Not to mention the fact that most of my memories are buried beneath the horrible specter of my brother’s death, she thought. But nothing good would come from contradicting her aunt. “Nice to see you again,” she said, extending her hand.
Charlotte took a step back, and Sally gripped her package tighter, her face going dark. They stared at Emma’s bare, ou
tstretched hand as if it were a poisonous snake.
“Oh,” Sally said. “You’re the one who . . .”
Emma withdrew her hand. So it was true. The whole town was talking about her.
“You know,” Charlotte said. She leaned toward her mother and lowered her voice. “There was another accident up in the breaker yesterday.”
“Oh my,” Aunt Ida said, anxiously fingering her cameo brooch. “I heard. Isn’t it the most dreadful thing?”
“Ripped a boy’s arm and leg clean off,” Charlotte whispered. “Bled to death before anyone could get help.”
Emma’s stomach turned over. What was a boy doing inside the breaker? Is that what Aunt Ida meant when she said the breaker boys? She opened her mouth to ask, but Sally interrupted.
“Hush, Charlotte,” Sally said, a flash of warning in her eyes. She looked at Emma, her face a mask of feigned pity. “We’re terribly sorry about your parents. What a horrible way to—”
“I think the breaker accident happened at the same time Emma’s train pulled into the station,” Charlotte interrupted.
“Enough!” Sally snapped. “You’re tempting fate by talking like that!”
Emma bit down on her tongue. Are they blaming me for the boy’s death?
“That’s nonsense,” Aunt Ida said, chuckling nervously. “It was a coincidence, nothing more. My niece has had a streak of bad luck, that’s all. But now that she’s here with us, I finally have the chance to lead her down the right path. Everything is going to be fine from here on out. Isn’t that right, Emma?”
So this was how it was going to be. Everyone was going to act like she had typhoid or yellow fever. She forced a smile and gave Charlotte’s wrist a friendly squeeze, pressing her fingers into the exposed skin between her sleeve and white glove. The blood drained from Charlotte’s cheeks, and Sally made a small gasping sound, like a dying mouse.
“It was lovely to see you again,” Emma said. “Perhaps we can get together for tea and girl talk soon. You too, Mrs. Gable.” She let go and went around them, brushing a hand along Sally’s arm as she passed. Then she hurried through the store entrance, humiliation burning like a fever in her cheeks.
The bell over the door jingled, and the screen slammed shut behind her. She stood on the other side of the threshold for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the murky interior. The dark-chocolate aroma of coffee mixed with the underlying tang of aged cheese and old wood reminded her of the corner bakery in Manhattan where she and her father used to buy bread every Saturday morning. Along with the bread, her father always bought two petits fours, one for her and one for her mother, a special treat for the women he loved. Thinking about it now, a gnawing ache filled Emma’s chest. She thought about turning around and waiting in the wagon, but she’d have to pass those dim-witted women. Besides, Aunt Ida had brought her here to help.
Percy looked up from behind the cash register on the far side of the store. He wore a white apron over a dark suit and a sleeve garter on his right bicep, like the barber who used to cut Emma’s father’s hair. A spindle of twine hung from the ceiling above his head, and a stack of wrapping paper sat beside the register, along with a wheel of cheese under a glass lid, and a coffee mill. On this side of the counter, a woman stood with her back to Emma, a mewling baby on one hip, a little girl with bare feet and dirty legs at her side. The hem of the woman’s floor-length skirt was threadbare and worn, her mutton-sleeved blouse stained and wrinkled. Her short hair was dirty and matted, making it hard to discern the color. The girl turned to look at Emma, her wide eyes like miniature oceans in her pale face, her blond hair stringy beneath a muslin bonnet turned gray with age. Her dress was two sizes too big, its waist held up by a soiled rope. Just looking at her, Emma could feel the girl’s misery—year after year of doing without, month after month spent shivering in the winter cold, night after night of trying to sleep with a stomach filled with nothing but hunger pains.
On the other side of the room, three boys in patched knickers and dog-eared caps stood in front of the candy counter, counting their coins and eyeing the glass jars filled with horehound drops, licorice, peppermint sticks, and Necco Wafers. Soot blacked their faces, and their hands were the color of mottled stone. The oldest boy looked to be seven or eight. He reached over to remove one of the candy jar lids.
“You boys, wait until I’m finished here!” Percy shouted.
The boy replaced the lid and turned his back to the register, putting his hands in his pockets and mumbling to his friends. He scuffed his boot on the floor and eyed Percy over his shoulder.
Emma wandered down the first aisle, the oiled floor groaning and creaking with every step. She remembered coming here as a girl and wishing for more time to look at the plethora of goods, but her aunt had always warned her not to dawdle. Now it seemed as though the store’s inventory had doubled.
General merchandise and household goods filled this side of the room: clothespins, floor wax, buckets, brooms, ironing boards, mixing bowls, wooden spoons, coffee mills. The other side held groceries: bins of flour, sugar, salt, dried beans, spices, and canned goods. The center of the store was lined with counters and racks of men’s work shirts and trousers, women’s stockings and blouses, children’s jumpers and underwear. Near the back was a wall of draperies and bed linens, a corner section of soaps and lotions, and another corner for sewing notions like pins, thread, and material. Teakettles and dishpans, pots and iron skillets, funnels and hurricane lanterns, coffeepots and buckets, washtubs and washboards, pitchers and baskets hung from the ceiling. A potbellied stove sat in the middle of it all, surrounded by chairs, spittoons, and wooden barrels filled with pickles, salt herring, various seeds, and potatoes.
Emma made her way to the back room and saw it was filled with hardware, farm and garden tools, kegs of nails, horse collars, horseshoes, harnesses, ax handles, shovels, stovepipe, wire fencing, and a kerosene tank with a hand pump. Another room held chickens, chicken feed, bags of fertilizer, egg crates, and coils of rope, along with an assortment of machine and carriage bolts, wood screws, garden plows, stoneware crocks, and cases of Ball canning jars. Mining supplies filled a fourth room—augers, blasting powder, squibs, shovels, picks, kerosene, and oil. Even in Manhattan, Emma had never seen a store with such a wide variety of goods.
After exploring a bit, she headed toward the front counter, past shelves filled with bread and rolls.
“I’m sorry,” Percy said to the woman at the register. “You’re still short ten cents.”
The woman bounced the baby on her hip, trying to stop him from fussing. “Can’t you carry it over ’til next week? It’s not that much.”
Percy shook his head. “Your deductions are already more than your husband’s paycheck. And you still owe money from last week.”
“But I’ve got a passel of hungry mouths to feed,” the woman said, “including three more at home.”
“Sorry,” Percy said. “But that’s not my problem.” He wiped the top of the register with a cleaning rag, avoiding the woman’s eyes. To Emma’s surprise, he looked pained.
Emma edged closer, trying to see what the woman wanted to buy. A loaf of bread and bottle of milk sat on the counter.
“How about takin’ a few cents off the bread?” the woman said. “I swear I’ll pay the difference next time.”
Percy shook his head again. “If you still owe at the end of the week, I can’t start a new bill until the old one is paid in full. Sorry, but that’s the way it works.”
The woman rocked back and forth, digging at the nape of her neck with dirty fingernails, as if trying to puzzle out a solution to her problem. “Can I do something to change your mind?” she said. “Maybe I can come down after closin’ and—”
“No!” Percy said, cutting her off. He glanced nervously at Emma. “Now, either pay up or leave.”
The woman stopped rocking. “Well, I hope you can sleep while my babies cry themselves to sleep tonight ’cause of their empty stomachs!”
&
nbsp; Percy’s features softened. “You know I don’t make the rules.”
The woman turned to leave, urging her daughter forward by the shoulder. The baby started wailing, his face purple. The woman saw Emma and stopped, her eyes blazing. “If your husband don’t work for the mining company and you can buy your goods elsewhere, you better do it!” she said. “They don’t call this the pluck me store for nothing!”
Behind Emma, the boys tore the lids from the candy jars, grabbed handfuls of licorice and lemon drops, then bolted out the side door. Percy raced around the counter and chased them outside. The woman watched him leave, then considered Emma with narrow eyes. She hesitated for just a moment, then grabbed the bread and milk, put it in a cloth bag hanging from her forearm, and hurried out of the store. Less than a minute later, Percy stormed back inside, red-faced and panting.
“Those good-for-nothing scoundrels!” he said.
Aunt Ida came in through the main entrance, her forehead lined with concern. “Heavens to Betsy!” she said, fanning herself with a paisley fan. “What’s all the commotion?”
“Those damn breaker boys!” Percy said. “Every payday they come in here and cause trouble.”
“Well, why do you let them get away with it?” Aunt Ida said. “You’re in charge, remember?”
“I try not to, Ma,” Percy said. “But I don’t have eyes in the back of my head. That’s the other reason I need help. I can’t watch everybody!”
“When Emma is done learning what I need her to do at the house,” Aunt Ida said, “I’ll send her over to help you out.”
“The sooner the better,” Percy said. He stomped around the counter, stopped at the register, and noticed the bread and milk were gone. “Shit!”
Aunt Ida’s eyes went wide. “What now?” she said.
Percy shook his head, the veins in his forehead bulging. “Nothing,” he said. “I just remembered something I forgot to do. Do you need anything special today?”
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