“I-I do,” he said, stuttering. “It’s just . . . I’ve never waltzed with anyone but Mother.”
“You’re pulling my leg, right?” she said. “Well, don’t you think it’s high time you danced with someone your own age, even if I am your cousin?” She started to sway back and forth, practically pushing him across the floor. Once he gave in, she did her best to move them toward the middle of the room, away from Frank.
At first, Percy stomped in circles like a marionette, his arms and legs stiff, his lips moving as he counted steps. Then he loosened up, and they were whirling around the floor, the other dancers a blur beside them. Frank disappeared into the crowd, and Emma breathed a sigh of relief.
Just as she was beginning to think she had avoided a second run-in with Frank, she and Percy bumped into another couple and lost the tempo. Percy stopped dead on the floor and released her hands, stepping backward. Out of nowhere, Clayton Nash appeared beside them. The rumored troublemaker stood six inches taller than Percy, which meant he towered above Emma. If they stood face-to-face, the top of her head wouldn’t touch the bottom of his chin.
“May I cut in?” he said.
Emma gasped and took a step back. Despite the fact that she found him striking, a jolt of apprehension quickened her heart. Everyone had warned her that he was dangerous—even Percy—and she could tell he was the type of man who didn’t give up on what he wanted. And right now he wanted to dance with her.
Percy frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “My parents . . .”
Ignoring him, Clayton stepped in to take Percy’s place. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s no harm in us taking a turn on the dance floor. If your uncle doesn’t like it, he can take it up with me.” He put a hand on Emma’s lower back, ready to usher her away. Despite her hesitation, a warm quiver ran up her spine.
“No,” Percy said, grabbing Emma’s wrist. “Step away from her, Clayton.”
Beside them, the couple they had bumped into stopped dancing and turned to face them. The man was good-looking, with a square jaw, a pencil-thin mustache, and auburn hair parted on the side. He wore a three-piece suit of the highest quality, with a high white collar and satin ascot. A pretty, rosy-cheeked woman linked her arm through his, smiling and batting her eyelashes. She looked to be about Emma’s age.
“What seems to be the problem here?” the man said.
Percy blanched. “Mr. Flint!” he said. “Excuse us, sir. Please forgive us for bumping into you!” At first Emma was confused. Surely, this handsome young man couldn’t be Hazard Flint. Then she remembered the dark-haired boy she’d seen when she went inside the mansion to rescue Albert. This was Mr. Flint’s son, Levi, all grown up. Regardless of Percy’s astonishment, he held fast to Emma’s arm. Clayton released her but kept one hand on her lower back, burning the skin beneath her dress.
“Percy!” Levi said. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Levi?” He gripped Percy’s thin shoulder, shaking him back and forth like a long-lost friend. “How are things at the Company Store?”
“Fine,” Percy said, nodding. “Everything’s just fine, Mr. Flint.”
Levi directed his attention toward Emma, and noticed Percy’s grip on her wrist and Clayton’s hand on her back. “Is this man bothering you, miss?” he said. He gestured toward Clayton, then raised his arm above his head to motion someone over.
“No, not at all,” she said. “We were just heading back to our table. I think Aunt Ida is looking for me.”
Levi’s face lit up. “Why you sly dog, Percy,” he said. “Is this lovely young woman your cousin, the infamous Emma Malloy?”
Heat crawled up Emma’s cheeks. Even Levi Flint was talking about her.
“Yes, sir,” Percy said, nodding eagerly. “Emma, this is Levi Flint. Remember I told you—”
She nodded once, ignoring Levi’s outstretched hand. “Good day, Mr. Flint,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I really must be going.”
“Please,” Levi said. “Call me by my first name. Any friend of Percy’s is a friend of mine.”
The rosy-cheeked woman gripped Levi’s arm tighter, as if afraid he would get away. “I’m Beulah,” she said, beaming and reaching for Percy’s hand. Her delicate fingers were bejeweled with rubies and emeralds.
“Pleased to meet you,” Percy said.
Beulah grinned and nodded once at Emma.
Just then, Frank appeared and stopped beside Levi. He stood with his legs apart, his thumb hooked over his belt near his truncheon. An older man with a white beard limped up beside him, scowling and leaning on a gold-headed cane. Like Levi, he wore an expensive suit, with pinstripe pants, an ascot tie, and shiny leather shoes. Despite one crusty eyelid and liver-colored lips, the remnants of a younger, handsomer man lingered in his high cheekbones and dishwater blue eyes.
“Everything all right, Mr. Flint?” Frank said.
“What’s going on?” the older man said. He eyed Clayton, then addressed Levi. “Is Mr. Nash causing trouble again?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Levi said.
“Is there a law against dancing now?” Clayton said.
“Not yet,” the older man said. “But maybe we should start banning miners and their families from the village celebrations. Half the time they’re nothing but a bunch of drunks causing trouble for nice folk like Percy and his lady friend here.”
“I’m not Percy’s lady friend,” Emma said. “I’m his cousin. And Mr. Nash is not causing any . . .”
Clayton patted her back, and she fell silent. “Nice to see you as always, Mr. Flint,” he said. Then he saluted the older man with two fingers and walked away.
The older man laughed as he watched Clayton walk away. “Corner a rat and they always run,” he said.
“Emma Malloy,” Levi said. “This is my father, Hazard Flint.” He gestured toward the old man with an upturned hand, then did the same to Emma. “Father, this is Otis Shawcross’s niece.”
Mr. Flint gazed at her, but made no move to shake hands. “I’ll ignore what just happened because you’re new in town,” he said. “But from now on you might want to think about who you’re keeping company with.”
“Mr. Flint is right,” Frank said. “I warned you about Clayton. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“We’re only looking out for you, that’s all,” Levi said with a smile.
“She wasn’t encouraging him,” Percy said. His voice was anxious.
“I can assure you,” Emma said. “I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.”
“Emma is helping out down at the Company Store,” Percy said. “If that’s all right with the two of you, of course.”
Mr. Flint considered Emma, his white, bushy eyebrows knitted together. “But isn’t this the young gal who’s bringing the curse of death to Coal River? You don’t suppose she’ll scare off the customers, do you?” He laughed grimly, the hairs of his mustache curling around his lips.
“Of course she won’t,” Levi said. “Please, excuse my father, Emma. He’s only joking.”
A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her forehead. “I won’t scare the customers off,” she said. “But from what I’ve heard, you fire people who shop elsewhere. So what choice do your customers have whether they’re scared of me or not?” The words were out before she could stop them.
Percy’s face went ashen. He latched onto her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Please, forgive my cousin, Mr. Flint. She’s been through a lot and sometimes speaks without thinking. My apologies for disturbing your celebration.”
“You don’t need to apologize for me, Percy,” Emma said.
Mr. Flint scowled. “Maybe your cousin is bringing bad luck to Coal River after all. For some people anyway. Try to remember I’m the man who puts food on your uncle’s table, young lady.”
Levi shook his head as if embarrassed by his father’s behavior. Beside him, the rosy-cheeked woman held a pale hand to her lips, concealing a smirk. Emma turne
d and stormed across the dance floor, her hands in fists, her face on fire. Who did Hazard Flint think he was, making fun of her and telling her what to do? Was this a mining town or a dictatorship? She fought the urge to go back, to tell Mr. Flint to apologize, to make him understand that her entire family was dead and her heart had been shattered into a million pieces. The last thing she needed was an entire town against her, or someone else running her life. Then she remembered he was the man who made it nearly impossible for the miners to feed their children while they risked their lives making him rich. He was the man who allowed young boys to get hurt and killed in the breaker. It wouldn’t do any good to explain anything to someone like him.
Fuming, she fought her way through the crowd and looked for Clayton, squeezing between steaming bodies, getting knocked about by drunken men and laughing women. She didn’t see him anywhere. Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe he didn’t believe in anything. Why else would he let Mr. Flint tell him what to do? Why else would he just walk away?
Desperate to escape the noise and chaos, she lurched through a side door to get some fresh air. Once outside, she closed the door and leaned against it. The yard was empty and quiet except for the muffled thumping of music coming out of the dance hall. Several feet away, a row of evergreens lined the grass, their narrow tops like black arrows against the cobalt sky. A full moon lit up the lawn and gave the night a bluish glow. She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to slow her thundering heart. Then, somewhere to her left, a man laughed.
Toward the rear of the building, two dark figures—a man and a woman—tried to hide in the shadows. The woman leaned back on the wall while the man pressed himself against her, one hand inside her blouse. She lifted her chin and he kissed her neck, his mouth working toward her cleavage. Then she laughed and turned her head in Emma’s direction, her red lips parted. Moonlight washed across her ivory face. It was Charlotte Gable, the young woman whose wrist Emma had squeezed outside the Company Store. When she saw Emma, her eyes went wide. She pushed the man away and pulled her blouse closed.
“Get away from me!” she said, fumbling with her buttons.
The man stumbled backward, then laughed and lunged for her cleavage again.
“Stop it!” Charlotte said, pushing him away. “I told you a hundred times, you’re too old for me!”
“Oh, I get it,” the man said. “Playing hard to get tonight, is that it?”
Charlotte shook her head and jerked her chin in Emma’s direction, her face contorted with shame and fear. The man turned to look. It was Uncle Otis.
“Shit,” he said.
Emma yanked opened the door and hurried back inside, her skin crawling with disgust. How dare Uncle Otis take advantage of a girl young enough to be his daughter? Not only was he an alcoholic tyrant, he was an adulterer, and a dirty old man. And why would someone as youthful and pretty as Charlotte behave like that with him? Emma couldn’t imagine kissing Otis’s wrinkled lips, smelling his whiskey-soured breath and rotting teeth, feeling his bone-dry hands on her body. It made her sick.
At their table, Aunt Ida and Frank Bannister were standing behind the chairs, deep in conversation. When Aunt Ida saw Emma, her face lit up.
“Oh, here she is now!” she said. “Emma, Captain Bannister would like to dance with you. He’s been waiting patiently and I’ve given him permission to . . .”
She walked past the table. “I’m leaving,” she said.
“Leaving?” her aunt said. “And going where?”
“Back to the house.”
“But it’s dark outside!” Aunt Ida said. “You can’t walk the streets alone at night. It’s not safe. Or proper!”
Emma ignored her and kept going.
“I’ll escort you!” Frank called out, following her.
The band finished the last note of a song just as Aunt Ida shouted, “Emma Malloy! You turn around and come back here this very instant!”
All eyes turned toward Emma, staring as she marched toward the main exit. Women whispered behind their hands. Men grinned and swigged their beers, eager to see what would happen next. When she reached the open main door, Clayton Nash stepped in front of her and blocked her way.
“You should probably do what they say,” he said. “It’s not safe out there.”
“Please, just let me pass,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
“Trust me on this,” he said. “You shouldn’t go out there alone. And they won’t let me go with you.” He leaned in and added in a low voice, meant only for her ears. “Don’t run away with your tail between your legs. It’ll only give them more to gossip about.”
She looked at him then. His eyes were filled with kindness, his forehead lined with concern. At that moment, she felt like she finally had someone on her side. But how could she know if he was sincere?
Then Frank appeared beside her, breathing hard. “Stay out of this, Nash.”
Clayton lifted his hands in concession. “I’m only telling her to be safe, to let you escort her home.”
Behind Clayton, a towheaded boy in patched knickers wandered out of a group of miners, studying the exchange with wide brown eyes. He looked to be about four years old. His face was thin, his cheeks hollow. Another, older boy came up behind him and rested his hands on his shoulders. The older boy’s expression looked pinched, as if he had seen and experienced things too horrible to talk about. His eyes were the color of smoke, his hair the color of a tarnished penny. Briefly, Emma wondered why the boys were watching Clayton so intently. Were they his brothers? His children? They didn’t look anything like him.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Frank said to Clayton. “Now, move out of the way.”
Emma glared up at Frank, her eyes on fire. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you either.” She gathered her skirt and moved to squeeze past Clayton.
“Wait,” Frank said. He grabbed her arm.
She shook it off. “Don’t touch me!”
Clayton stepped between them, squaring his shoulders. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m the law here,” Frank said. “Don’t you forget that.”
Percy and Uncle Otis appeared beside him. Percy was pale and fidgety, while Uncle Otis was sputtering and cursing under his breath, his thin hair sticking up in gray clumps.
“Break it up, boys,” Uncle Otis said. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
“You’re nothing but a yellow-bellied dog,” Clayton said to Frank, jutting out his chin. “Kicking the working man when he’s down.”
With that, Frank threw a punch at Clayton. Clayton ducked and Frank fell forward, landing on his knees. Percy gasped and scurried out of the way. Nally and half a dozen miners stormed toward them, ready to fight. Emma backed away from the men, keeping her eyes on Clayton.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Please! Stop!” No one listened.
Frank found his footing and lunged at Clayton, but before he reached him, Nally grabbed him by the collar and punched him in the face. Frank fell backward into Uncle Otis, then scrambled to his feet again and tackled Clayton, blood gushing from his nostrils. Another miner grabbed Frank’s shoulders and jerked him backward. A second policeman appeared and tried breaking up the fight. Two miners wrestled him to the ground. From all over the dance hall, police and miners hurried toward the commotion.
A strong hand pulled Emma out of the way. It was Levi.
“Please step back, Miss Malloy,” he said, worry written on his face. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” Beside him, Beulah gripped his jacket sleeve and chewed nervously on her lip.
On the outskirts of the brawl, one of the policemen drew his pistol. “Break it up!” he shouted. The men kept fighting. “I said break it up!” He pointed the gun in the air, and Emma put her fingers in her ears. He fired two shots, startling everyone. The bullets sliced a string of overhead banners in half and put holes in the ceiling. The banners silently floated down and landed on the gathering of onlookers.
The miners and policemen stopped struggling, pulling apart to separate into their respective groups. They straightened their jackets and hats and hair, many with bruised and bloody faces.
“Are you all right?” Levi asked Emma.
She ran her hands along her skirt to brush away invisible debris. “I’m fine.”
How is it possible that Levi is Mr. Flint’s son? she wondered. He seemed gentle, kind, soft-spoken even. Then she remembered he worked for his father. He had to know about the store policies and the breaker boys, didn’t he? While Mr. Flint was clearly an ogre, Levi might very well be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Aunt Ida stormed over to Emma, trembling and out of breath. “Now look what you’ve done. What on earth are people going to think?”
“What I’ve done?” Emma said. “Frank was the one who—”
Mr. Flint started shouting orders at Frank and the rest of the policemen. “Arrest Clayton Nash! And anyone else who was in on this mess!”
Clayton and Nally made a dash for the door, but the police cut them off. Three men wrestled Nally to the ground and wrenched his arms behind his back while a fourth beat him about the shoulders and neck with a truncheon. Clayton lifted his hands in surrender, knowing he was outnumbered. When Frank and another policeman cuffed Clayton’s hands behind his back, the towheaded boy burst out of the crowd, crying and shaking his head. He wrapped his arms around Clayton’s leg. The older boy followed and pulled him off, telling him to let go. The younger boy did as he was told, then crumpled to his knees, his shoulders convulsing.
“Everything will be all right,” Clayton said to the boy. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”
With blood still dripping from his nose, Frank yanked Clayton toward the exit and snarled an order for him to move.
“Behave yourself now,” Clayton called over his shoulder to the boy. “Mind Sawyer. He’ll take care of you.”
Emma went over to the towheaded boy and knelt on the floor beside him. “It’s okay,” she said, rubbing his small back “Don’t cry. Can you tell me your name?”
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