“Are you sure about that?” Frank said. “Some of the women say you’ve been nosing around, asking a lot of questions.”
“I’ve talked to women at the store,” she said. “And I’ve talked to the children too. Is there a law against being friendly?”
“Emma!” Aunt Ida said. “Watch your tongue, young lady. Captain Bannister works for Mr. Flint, and he is a guest in my home. I won’t have you disrespecting him. Now apologize!”
“No harm done, Mrs. Shawcross,” Frank said. “But if it’s all the same, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Mr. Flint sent me to fetch your niece. He has a few questions he’d like answered.”
Emma’s blood ran cold. What did Mr. Flint want with her? “This is ridiculous!” she said, trying to sound annoyed instead of scared. “Those boys have minds of their own. If they left, it was of their own accord. Nothing I could say would make them leave their families and everything they’ve ever known. Maybe they’re just hoping for a better life than the one they have. Did Hazard Flint ever think of that?”
Aunt Ida rolled her eyes to the ceiling, her face red with anger and shame. “Lord in heaven what a mouth she has. I’m so sorry, Captain Bannister. Emma will be more than happy to cooperate.”
“Do you really think it’s necessary to take her in?” Percy said. “I mean—”
“You hush, Percy Shawcross!” Aunt Ida said, wagging a finger at him. “If Mr. Flint wants to see Emma, she’s going to go see him. If she’s done something wrong and they need to take her down to the jailhouse to teach her a lesson, they’re welcome to do that too! Lord knows, I’m not getting anywhere with her.”
Sweat broke out on Emma’s forehead. “You can’t expect me to go with Frank alone,” she said. “What would people say? Besides, do you want the whole town to see him take me away?”
“She’s right,” Percy said. “We can’t let her go alone. I’ll go with her.”
“That’s not how it’s going to work,” Frank said. “Mr. Flint wants to talk to Emma alone.”
“Why?” Percy said. “Because she’s been talking to the miners’ families? I don’t understand how that—”
“Stay out of it, Percy,” Aunt Ida said. “We know Captain Bannister and Mr. Flint personally, and that’s all that matters. Emma will be fine.” She went to the hall closet, got out a coat and umbrella, and handed them to Emma. “You’re lucky your uncle had business to attend to this afternoon and isn’t here to see this.” She spit out the words as if they tasted bad.
Emma took the coat, trying to keep her hands from shaking. At first she wasn’t going to take the umbrella, but she changed her mind. If Frank tried anything, she could use it to defend herself. Frank pushed his hat back on his head and opened the front door. She shoved her arms into the coat, pulled the collar up around her neck, and stepped out onto the front porch. He ran ahead, hurrying down the front steps toward a touring car with enclosed windows, a hand on his hat to keep it from blowing off. Emma followed, the driving rain like tiny bullets on her skin. Frank opened the rear passenger door of the vehicle, waited for her to climb in, then jumped in and started the engine. Raindrops dripped from her lashes and drizzled down the collar of her coat, making her shiver. She tried to relax, hoping she looked more angry than terrified. Then the car lurched forward and bumped along the road, bouncing her around on the seat.
“What’s going on?” she said. “Why does Mr. Flint want to see me?”
Frank kept his eyes on the road and said nothing. The rain drummed on the windshield and roof, filling the silence inside the vehicle.
Ten minutes later, the clouds had burned black, and a thunderstorm was creeping out of the Northeast, turning the sky the color of coal. When Flint Mansion came into view, Emma swallowed the sour taste of fear in the back of her throat. Frank drove across the front of the building, then pulled around the back and parked the car beneath a stone archway. From this side, the mansion looked even bigger, with half a dozen balconies, two oversized wings, and a double staircase leading up to the back door. The cupola looked enormous, about the size of Aunt Ida’s dining room, and electric lights shone behind the tall windows.
When Frank opened the rear passenger door, Emma climbed out and glanced down the long brick driveway, wondering if she should make a run for it. Then she remembered that Frank had a pistol. If they were going to kill her, they didn’t need to wait until she was inside. The umbrella lay on the backseat of the car. Maybe she could knock him out with it. But before she could grab it, he closed the door.
Frank hurried up the marble staircase, opened one of the double doors, and waited for her to enter, his expression unreadable. Inside, they crossed a large room with high ceilings and brass chandeliers. To Emma’s surprise, nothing looked familiar. Then she remembered that the first time she was inside the mansion, she’d snuck into the servants’ entrance on the other end of the house. It would have taken her all day to see the entire place.
But then they went into a wood-paneled hallway, through what felt like the center of the house, and it all came back to her—the smell of old wood and cold plaster, the dusty rugs and hand-painted portraits. Now, moving through the mansion felt like reliving a nightmare. This was the hallway she had tiptoed down all those years ago, past the dining room and library, toward the staircase that led up to the nursery. The walls started closing in. It was all she could do not to turn around and run. Then the final turn of the banister came into view, the carved wooden knob, the iron spindles. Goose bumps prickled on her skin.
Suddenly it was nine years ago, and she could feel Albert’s small hand in hers. They moved together in slow motion, gliding toward the last few minutes of his life, before he chased her and the boys down to the river. Then Frank took her past the staircase and kept going. Albert let go of her hand. The sensation of reliving a nightmare broke.
Glancing up the stairs, Emma half expected to see Albert and Mr. Flint’s late wife, Viviane, at the top steps, staring down at her with haunted eyes. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she saw her dead brother’s ghost, and right now she didn’t want to find out. Would his face be black and bloated, his tangled hair dripping with icy water? Or would he look more like she remembered, with rosy cheeks and a mischievous grin? She knew some people wanted to see spirits, and sought them out by holding séances and visiting graveyards, but she wasn’t one of them. Maybe she was still too fragile from the loss of her parents and the recent hard-to-believe discovery that Albert could be trying to communicate with her, but seeing her brother’s ghost felt like the very thing that would do her in. To her relief, the top of the staircase was empty. She let out a dry breath and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
Then Frank stopped in front of a set of double doors and knocked. A low rumbling voice instructed them to enter. Frank pushed open the pocket doors, slid them into the wall, and stood back, motioning for her to go through first.
Inside the tall-ceilinged room, Mr. Flint sat behind a wagon-sized mahogany desk, smoking a cigar. He stood when they entered, and offered Emma a seat in one of the padded chairs. Frank took a spot next to a row of high bookcases, his feet apart and his arms crossed. Framed photographs covered every inch of the peach-colored walls—trains, coal cars, breakers, mules, miners, and men in suits shaking hands.
“How are you enjoying Coal River, Miss Malloy?” Mr. Flint said.
She clasped her hands on her lap to keep them from shaking. “I’m not here on holiday, Mr. Flint.”
“Of course not,” he said. “I was just wondering if you’d come to appreciate all your uncle and aunt have done for you. Sometimes you have to make the best of a less than ideal situation.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she said.
“Did you enjoy the carnival?” he said.
“Is that why you wanted to see me?” she said. “To ask if I like living in Coal River and if I enjoyed the carnival? I thought this was about the breaker boys?”
He grinned. “Touché,” he said
. “I can see nothing gets by you, Miss Malloy. So let’s get down to business. I’m sure Captain Bannister has told you that ten breaker boys have run away with the carnival. Their mothers are upset, and some are blaming you for filling their heads with ideas. But that is neither here nor there. What’s done is done.”
“Then why did you bring me here?” she said. “What do you want?”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll ask the questions.” Mr. Flint leaned back in his seat, holding his cane across his thighs, one age-spotted hand gripping the gold head. “How well do you know Clayton Nash?”
Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “Why are you asking?”
Mr. Flint sat forward, banging the end of his cane on the floor. “Clayton Nash,” he said. “Tell me what you know about him.” Despite trying to hide it, he was clearly angry now. She had the feeling he was a man who hadn’t had to conceal his emotions in a very long time.
She shook her head, trying to hide the tempest of thoughts whirling inside her mind. “Nothing,” she said. “I mean . . . I just met him. We’ve barely said two words to each other.” Thunder crashed outside, rumbling like a train above the mansion.
“Do you have a habit of riding the Ferris wheel with men you hardly know?” he said. Then he winked, one crusty eyelid lowering. His swift change of mood was bewildering, and she wondered if it was intentional. She wanted to grab his cane and knock the self-satisfied grin off his face.
“You must be confusing me with someone else,” she said. “I can’t ride the Ferris wheel. I’m afraid of heights.”
“Lying won’t help your situation.”
“My situation?” she said. “Excuse me for asking, but what exactly is my situation? And why would I have any reason to lie?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m afraid you’re wasting your—”
“There’s unrest in this town, and it’s not a waste of time to warn newcomers to watch themselves. I’m a family man, and my workers are part of that family. So I’m especially concerned when a member of my supervisor’s family gets involved with the wrong man.”
“I’m not involved with anyone,” she said. “So as you can see, you are, indeed, wasting your time. And I don’t see how the unrest in Coal River has anything to do with me.” Outside, the storm rumbled and crashed, lighting up the rain-streaked windows.
“Clayton Nash is a dangerous man. And we have reason to believe he might be bringing in members of a fraternal organization called the Ancient Order of Hibernians, which is a cover for the cutthroat gang, the Molly Maguires.”
“Like I said, you’re wasting your time. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Forgive me,” he said, forcing a smile. “Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me ask you this. Did Captain Bannister tell you what’s been happening in Coal River since you arrived?”
She shook her head.
Just then, someone knocked on the door behind her.
“Enter!” Mr. Flint shouted, making her jump.
The doors slid open and Mr. Flint’s son, Levi, came into the room. “Excuse me for interrupting,” he said. “But I’m afraid we’ve got a problem over at the—” Then he saw Emma and stopped short, his forehead furrowed in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company. Hello, Miss Malloy. It’s nice to see you again.”
She nodded once to acknowledge him, wondering briefly if he could help her.
“What is it?” Mr. Flint said, irritated.
“There’s a problem with one of the engines in pump house number nine,” Levi said.
“I’m aware of it,” Mr. Flint said.
“So it’s been taken care of?”
“No,” Mr. Flint said. “I told you yesterday, we’ll run her until she shuts down.”
“I know what you said, but the engine house foreman is worried.”
“Do you have any idea how much it costs to replace a pump house engine?”
“Yes,” Levi said. “But if we don’t, someone could get injured or killed.”
“If there’s anything I understand,” Mr. Flint said, “it’s the machinery in the colliery. That old girl has a lot of life left in her, and I plan on getting every penny’s worth.” He shook his head. “As usual, you’re just like your mother, thinking with your heart, not your head. Now stick to the payroll and selling our coal, and let me take care of the rest.”
“Yes, Father,” Levi said. “Good day, Miss Malloy.” He nodded once at Frank, then left the room.
Again, Emma wondered how Levi could be Mr. Flint’s son. From everything she had heard and seen—his polite demeanor at the Fourth of July dance, his apology for his father’s behavior, his generosity at the carnival—it was hard to believe they were related, let alone father and son. Briefly, she thought about Mr. Flint’s second boy, the newborn who had been kidnapped. If he was still alive, had he grown up to be more like Hazard, or like Viviane? And if he hadn’t been taken all those years ago, would he be here now, helping run the mines? Would he have tried to change things, or would Levi have been outnumbered? Maybe if he hadn’t been kidnapped, Mr. Flint would have stepped down and she wouldn’t be sitting here.
With Levi gone from the room, Mr. Flint directed his attention back to her. “As I was saying,” he said. “In a span of three days, one of my mine bosses was found in the woods with his throat cut, a missing miner was found dead in an abandoned mine shaft, and another man, a good man, was found shot to death behind a saloon. In the last two weeks, two more men have come up missing.”
Goose bumps rose along Emma’s arms. She wasn’t sure how to react. Was this a confession or a threat? And what was going on in this town?
She glanced at Frank. “It sounds to me like your police force is not doing a very good job.”
Frank uncrossed his arms and moved toward her, his face contorted with anger. “Clayton and his gang are a bunch of sneaky—”
Mr. Flint put up a hand to silence him. Frank returned to his place by the bookcase, blotches of color still blooming in his cheeks. Outside, the storm rumbled in the distance, finally moving over the mountains.
“We think Clayton Nash and the Molly Maguires had something to do with the murders,” Mr. Flint said. “The Mollies are a secret society of miners who use violence to undermine coal companies. We haven’t had trouble with them in a number of years, but they’re making a comeback. In other mining towns, they’ve been arrested and hanged for murder, arson, and kidnapping.”
Emma felt something shift inside her head, as if she’d found a piece of a puzzle she didn’t know was missing. Could she have been wrong about Clayton? Was that why he wouldn’t admit he was holding secret meetings? Being a miner didn’t automatically make him innocent of wrongdoing, but was he desperate enough to resort to violence? Granted, Mr. Flint was underhanded and vile, but two wrongs don’t make a right. No, she thought. I saw Hazard Flint and his henchmen murder those men. I can’t trust anything he says.
“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me any of this,” she said.
“We think Clayton is planning something,” he said. “And if that happens, there could be more bloodshed. We have to stop it before it starts. But we need help. We need someone to get close to him.”
Emma’s eyes went wide. “And you want me to . . . ?”
Mr. Flint nodded.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t do it.”
“I’ll pay you. Bring me word of any upcoming meetings or strikes, and I’ll give you fifty dollars. A hundred more after the ringleaders are arrested.”
Emma drew in a sharp breath. With that much money, she could get away from her aunt and uncle. She could go back to New York, find an apartment and look for a job, or go back to school to become a teacher. She could escape Coal River forever. Then she remembered her students, the way their faces lit up when they wrote their names for the very first time. She remembered the breaker boys, an
d how she had vowed to help them. She remembered poor Nicolas, and his grieving family. She remembered Clayton and Jack and Sawyer. If she turned her back on them for money, she’d be just as guilty as Hazard Flint.
“No,” she said again. “Absolutely not. I don’t care how much you would pay me. I’m not involved in any of this, and I don’t want to be.”
A baleful smile touched Mr. Flint’s lips. “But you’re already involved. You’re gaining the trust of the miners’ families, and you’re friendly with Clayton Nash. If you’re not on my side, I’ll consider you on theirs.”
She went quiet. Did he know she had been sneaking up to the miners’ village, asking questions and teaching the children to read? If so, why hadn’t he said something about it? Maybe he enjoyed making her squirm. Resolve solidified inside her. Somehow she had to stop this man. She leaned forward and looked him in the eyes.
“Maybe you can explain something to me,” she said. “Why are there sides in the first place? Why does it have to be you against them?” She was trying to sound tough, but it wasn’t a tough voice. It was an angry, frightened voice, cracking on every other word. “You’re all working on the same side, taking coal out of the earth to make money. The miners just want to survive, to be able to feed and clothe their families. But you’re making it nearly impossible for them. No wonder there’s unrest in Coal River. The only problem I see is you. You want it all for yourself.”
With that, his face went dark. He fixed intimidating eyes on her. “The Bleak Mountain Mining Company has been in my late wife’s family for nearly a century, long before any of those miners were here,” he said. “And it will be here long after they’re gone. Those men came to me, looking for jobs. If they’re not happy, they’re free to leave at any time. Immigrants pour into this country every day, and they’ll work for less than my miners are getting paid now.”
“And the little boys?” she said. “The boys who risk life and limb working in the breaker? Are they replaceable as well?”
“Of course they are. Miners multiply like rabbits.”
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