“Are you all right?” he said. He helped her up.
She touched her burning cheek, her chin trembling, and nodded.
Percy gazed at his father, contempt flashing in his eyes. “It’s just a camera,” he said.
Uncle Otis ignored him. “I told you to be careful!” he snarled at Emma. “Now go wait in the car! And for Christ’s sake, don’t touch anything! Just get in and sit still!” He handed the camera to Cook, then stomped back up the steps. Cook took the picture, gave the camera back, picked up the crate, and disappeared around the side of the house. Otis took the camera inside, and Percy and Aunt Ida climbed into the Tin Lizzie.
“I don’t know what it is with your father and that camera,” Aunt Ida said to Percy. “I swear one of these days I’m going to sell it and buy myself something useful, like a bolt of satin or a new brooch.”
“I heard he won it playing poker down at the Pennsylvania Hotel,” Percy said. “Sally Gable’s husband, Grover, had to ante it up when he ran out of cash.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Aunt Ida said. “Those two always had an old rivalry. Never understood that either.”
“They say it’s because Grover proposed to Sally before Pa had the chance,” Percy said.
Quicker than a whip, Aunt Ida spun around and slapped Percy across the face. “Don’t you ever talk about your father like that!” she shouted. “He wouldn’t be caught dead with that whore. And he never proposed to anybody but me!”
“Sorry, Ma,” Percy said, rubbing his cheek.
Now, up ahead on the village green, Uncle Otis waded through the crowd, waving and nodding as if he were royalty surrounded by his loyal subjects. Percy walked beside him, carrying picnic baskets filled with fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, and Aunt Ida’s famous angel food cake with strawberries. Cook had made all the food, but Aunt Ida had instructed Emma ahead of time that if anyone asked, she’d been slaving over a hot stove since five that morning.
As they headed toward the pavilion, Emma searched the gathering for familiar faces, hoping the boys who’d tormented her brother all those years ago had moved away. She couldn’t remember their names, but she could still see their curled lips and spiteful grins when they taunted Albert. She could still see their blanched cheeks and frightened eyes when he fell through the ice. Did any of them regret what they’d done? Did they ever give Albert a second thought? Or did they just go on with their lives, forgetting the innocent boy they killed? Over the years she’d pictured different reckonings for each bully. One grew up to be a sweaty drunk, living out his days in a saloon. One was a criminal, in jail for robbing a bank. A third was a panhandler living out on the streets, everything he owned lost in poker games. The worst scenario belonged to the boy who threw the locket out on the ice. She pictured him locked away in a state asylum, driven mad by nightmares and guilt.
But now that she had seen Percy face-to-face and knew firsthand that there had been no repercussions for what he’d done, the thought of seeing his friends at the Fourth of July celebration filled her stomach with dread. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the boys responsible for Albert’s death playing croquet in cuffed trousers and panama hats. She didn’t want to see them escorting wives or girlfriends toward the picnic pavilion, or holding their children up so they could see the band in the gazebo. Albert never had the chance to do any of those things. And he never would. How in God’s universe would it be fair for the boys responsible for his death to be happily living out their lives? How would it be just that they never had to pay? She took a deep breath and pushed the thought away, wishing she’d brought the vial of laudanum with her instead of leaving it hidden beneath her bedroom mattress.
They passed an open expanse of grass, where groups of breaker boys were playing football and tag. Other boys sat on the sidelines, cheering on the teams. Briefly, Emma wondered if the boy who looked like Albert’s twin was over there, observing her, hidden among the others. Then she noticed that the majority of the boys on the sidelines were either missing entire limbs, a hand, or part of an arm. A young boy with no legs and a scarred cheek sat on a wooden crate, watching the others run and play. His face was filled with misery. A lump formed in Emma’s throat, and she looked away. There are so many. Maybe, when it came to innocents dying and suffering, there was no such thing as fair or just.
Blinking back tears, she followed her aunt past a group of children having a sack race, then tried to keep up as they made their way around a gathering of men holding a weight-lifting contest. The ground near the men was soft and wet underfoot, soggy with tobacco juice and spilled beer. Lifting her skirt to keep the hem from getting soiled, Emma stepped around beer bottles and empty peanut bags. In the center of the circle of men, a bearded man in a gray shirt and red suspenders lifted a huge barbell over his head, his face dripping with sweat. The other men erupted in cheers, their fists in the air. Emma flinched, startled by the sudden commotion. She walked faster.
She was nearly past the group of men when a beer bottle dropped at her feet, gurgling dark stout into the grass. A man stepped out of the crowd and bent over to pick it up, blocking her way. He snatched up the bottle before all the beer ran out, then straightened to his full height and turned to face her. He was big as a draft horse, his grimy jersey and bib overalls stretching over his chest as if they were two sizes too small. He grinned at her, revealing crooked, tobacco-stained teeth, then took off his wool cap and ran plank-thick fingers through his stringy hair. His hairline was stained black with coal dust.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said in a thick Irish brogue. “Sorry for blocking yer way.”
Emma nodded and lowered her eyes, making a move to skirt around him. He grabbed her arm with a beefy hand.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “Ye too fancy to talk to a poor bloke like me?”
Emma’s heartbeat quickened. She shook her head. “No,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp. “I’m just trying to keep up with my aunt.” She searched the crowd for peacock feathers.
“Yer aunt?” he said. “Shouldn’t a pretty lass like you be with a handsome fella at a nice party like this?”
Several of the other men turned around to watch the exchange. One of them called out, “She wouldn’t ride ye to battle, ye big dolt!” Everyone laughed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Emma said. “I must be on my way.”
The giant Irishman took a long swig of stout, grimaced, and wiped his chin with the back of his wrist. “Ye know,” he said. “The higher a monkey climbs a tree, the further up its arse ye see.”
“I’m sorry?” she said.
“Ye think you’re too good for me. With your fancy clothes and all your money.”
Emma started to turn away when someone called out, “Leave her alone, Nally!”
A tall young man pushed his way toward them through the gathering of onlookers. The Irishman squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, ready for a fight. But when he saw who had spoken, he relaxed and grinned.
“We were just having a wee chin-wag, Mr. Nash,” he said. “It’s all in good fun.”
“Better let the young lady be on her way,” the man said, stopping beside them. “We don’t need any trouble.” He looked to be in his early twenties, with a straight nose and pale green eyes, a full mustache and dark beard the color of blackstrap molasses. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing his muscular forearms. He stood with one hand in his pocket and his sturdy legs rooted to the ground as if he belonged to this place. As much as the roiling river belonged, the low, sooty clouds, and the coyotes in the hills. Despite the fact that his clothes had seen better days, he was handsome and rugged-looking, a miner dressed in his Sunday best, all cleaned up for the celebration. He took Emma’s breath away.
Nash, she thought. The name sounded familiar. Then she remembered Percy and Uncle Otis talking about a man named Clayton Nash. A troublemaker, they’d said.
A member of the Coal and Iron Police appeared, one hand on his truncheo
n. He was broad-shouldered, with a ginger mustache and dark rings under his eyes. A gold badge on his cap read: CAPTAIN.
“What’s going on here?” he said.
“Nothing at all, officer,” Clayton said.
Nally raised his hands in concession.
“You better be telling the truth,” the captain said. “We don’t want any trouble today now, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” Clayton said. “Least of all from you.” He glanced at Emma and nodded once. “Good day, miss.” Then he strolled away, signaling Nally to follow him.
The giant Irishman did as he was told. “Cheers,” he said, grinning at her as he moved away.
“Are you all right, Emma?” the captain said.
Emma nodded and started walking again, her heart still racing. The last thing she needed was another enemy, or to draw attention to herself in public again. Sally and Charlotte Gable had certainly already started gossiping about her, spreading the details of their encounter among the upper class of Coal River, talking in hushed voices about how she touched Charlotte’s arm to hex her with a curse. Emma didn’t need the miners against her too. She just wanted to be left alone until she could find a way out of this place. Thank God Clayton Nash had come over to interrupt the exchange.
Then Clayton’s handsome face flashed in her mind, and she wondered if her pounding heart was caused by fear, or something else. Certainly, she had seen other fine-looking men, but there was something about Clayton that made him especially attractive. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it—a mysterious, dangerous air perhaps, or the way he projected confidence with just the lift of his chin. Right or wrong, he was the sort who knew what he believed in. And somehow, in those few short moments she had spent with him, she felt like he was a man who could have ruled nations. Maybe that was why Uncle Otis saw him as a threat.
“Are you here with your aunt and uncle?” the captain said, following her.
“Excuse me?” she said, coming out of her trance.
He grinned. “I asked if you were with your aunt and uncle.”
“Oh yes,” she said. “And Percy.”
“How is good old Percy?” the captain said. “Still as prissy as ever?”
Emma stopped and looked up at him, suddenly realizing he had called her by name. “Do I know you?” she said.
He squared his shoulders and put his hands behind his back. “Of course you do,” he said. “I’m Frank. Frank Bannister. Captain Bannister now. Don’t you remember? I spent time with you and Albert the last time you were here. I’m very sorry to hear about your parents.”
She tensed. Was he one of the boys responsible for her brother’s death? She looked at the policeman’s face, searching his eyes for something familiar. Then an image came to her: Percy and the other boys laughing and pointing at Albert’s urine-stained pants. A thin, ginger-haired boy pushing Albert down in the snow, his lips curled in anger and disgust. It was Frank Bannister.
Bile rose in her mouth, and she nearly choked. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to go.” She started walking again, as fast as she could without running. How she longed for a sip of laudanum.
He followed. “It’s all right if you don’t remember me,” he said. “It was a long time ago. Just let me give you a little friendly advice. Stay away from Clayton Nash. He’s a liar and a thief, possibly worse.”
Then the two of you should get along well, she thought.
She was getting ready to tell him to stop following her when Aunt Ida appeared, wheezing and fanning her sweaty face. “There you are!” her aunt said. “Is it too much to ask for you to keep up? I didn’t come here to spend the day looking after you!” She grabbed Emma’s wrist and pulled her along. “Now, stay with us, will you, please?”
“Yes,” Emma said. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“Save your excuses,” Aunt Ida said. Then she stopped and looked back at the police captain, as if noticing him for the first time. “Oh! Good day, Captain Bannister! Be sure and tell your mother I said hello, will you?”
Frank tipped his cap in her direction. “Will do, Mrs. Shawcross. Perhaps I can stop by to call on Emma sometime soon? With your permission, of course.”
“Of course,” Aunt Ida said with a laugh. She hooked her arm through Emma’s and started away, calling over her shoulder. “You can come by anytime you’d like!”
When they had left him behind, Emma said, “Why would you say that?”
Aunt Ida scanned the crowd as if searching for someone, a forced smile on her face. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Stop acting like a scared little girl. If Captain Bannister comes to call, you’ll visit with him in the parlor. After that, you can get to know each other at church suppers and holiday dances. Of course, if you were to marry, you’d continue to work for us until you repaid your debt.”
A knot of anger twisted below Emma’s rib cage. “I won’t see him if he comes to call!”
“I understand you don’t know him very well,” she said. “But he was Percy’s best childhood friend. And in your situation, dear, it doesn’t matter if you know a potential suitor or not. As long as a man has the means to put a roof over your head and food in your mouth, you’ll take what you get and be grateful for it. Most girls would feel lucky to be wooed by Captain Bannister.”
“But I do know him,” Emma said. “He was with Percy the day Albert drowned.”
Aunt Ida shook her head, clucking her tongue. “We’re not going to talk about unhappy things today,” she said. “Now wipe that frown off your face and smile. People are watching.”
Later, in the dance hall, Emma sat in a folding chair beside Percy at a linen-covered table decorated with American flags and red bunting. Aunt Ida and Uncle Otis were dancing to “Everybody Two-Step.” Despite the open windows and double doors, the lumber-walled building was stifling hot and airless. Every table and seat was taken, every wall and leaning spot filled with miners and single men. The band was from Wilkes-Barre, and the townspeople took every opportunity to dance to the latest songs. Men in expensive suits and women in flowing tea gowns two-stepped beside miners in patched trousers and worn shirts, their wives in faded cotton dresses and scuffed shoes. A group of miners, including Nally the giant Irishman, stood near the main entrance, swigging beer from tin growlers, spitting tobacco juice through the windows, and watching the young women.
Emma scanned the gathering for Clayton Nash but didn’t see him. Maybe troublemakers didn’t have time for something as frivolous as a dance. She plucked a red carnation from the vase in the middle of the table and leaned back, twirling the wet stem between her fingers and thinking about her parents. They loved to dance. After every Saturday night show, the stage manager would play the phonograph while everyone cleaned up. When they finished, her parents would waltz, fox-trot, and tango across the empty stage, much to the delight of the rest of the workers. Everyone said they could have been ballroom champions, if only they’d grown up under better circumstances. Emma’s eyes filled. Maybe the townspeople were right. Maybe she was cursed. Everyone she loved was gone.
“Are you feeling all right?” Percy said, pulling her from her thoughts.
She blinked back her tears and sat up. “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Would you like to dance?”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” he said. “I don’t usually dance at these things, but it can’t be much fun for you just sitting here.”
“I’m sure,” she said. “You don’t want to be seen dancing with me anyway. I’m cursed, remember?”
“That’s nonsense, and you know it. Besides, I’m not everyone’s favorite person around here either. I don’t care what they think, and neither should you.”
“You’re not? How come?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “The regular miners hate me because I work at the Company Store, and the higher-ups think I’m spoiled.”
She shrugged. “Well, you kind of are.”
“Thanks,” he said. His lip twitched, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. “It’s my mother’s fault.”
Suddenly, she had an idea. Maybe Percy was her way out of Coal River. Maybe the two of them could go back to New York. “Did you ever think of doing something about it?” she said. “Why don’t you leave? You’ve been working at the store a long time. You must have some money stashed away.”
He looked at her and gave a cynical laugh. “My mother gives me a weekly allowance and puts the rest of my paycheck in the bank under her name. Besides, it would break her heart if I left home.”
Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head. There was no doubt about it; Percy was a momma’s boy. He’d never leave unless something drastic happened. Or he fell in love. She could only imagine Aunt Ida’s reaction if Percy started caring about someone more than her, especially if she didn’t like the poor girl. Emma stuck the carnation back in the vase and glanced around the hall, searching for someone to dance with him. Maybe the person to help Percy gain his independence was in this very room. Across the way, a young woman in a red dress sat sandwiched between her father and mother, looking bored.
“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” she said. “She was eyeing you earlier.”
“No, she wasn’t,” Percy said.
“Yes, she was. What are you afraid of? Go ask her to dance!” She looked over at the young woman again and saw Frank standing next to the wall. He was staring back at her. She lowered her eyes, then checked again. He was squeezing around a table, threading his way across the room and making his way toward her. She stood and grabbed Percy’s hand.
“You’re right,” she said. “If you’re not going to ask someone else to dance, we might as well make the best of it.” She pulled him onto the dance floor just as the two-step ended and the first strains of a waltz began. Percy let go of her hand and froze, color rising in his pale features. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Frank drawing closer.
Despite her reluctance to get close to Percy, she put his arm behind her back and lifted his other hand in the air. But Percy stood immobile, his feet stuck to the floor. “What is it?” she said. “I thought you wanted to dance?”
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