Coal River

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  “Yes,” she said. “But I didn’t know Nally then. It was just a coincidence that we were on the same train.”

  “Was it also a coincidence that you were living with Clayton Nash, the very man who hired Nally O’Brian to murder Levi and Hazard Flint?”

  “No,” she said. “I mean, yes! My uncle kicked me out and . . . Clayton didn’t hire anyone!”

  “Did you, along with the help of Nally O’Brian and Clayton Nash, put coffin notices on Hazard Flint’s door the night of September second?”

  “No!” she said. “We were as surprised by them as everyone else!”

  “Did you cause the explosion in the mine?”

  She shook her head. “It was an accident. There was a cave-in, and Nally dropped a torch.”

  “The torch he used to start the fire?”

  “No,” she said. “I mean, yes, the torch started the fire, but we didn’t mean for it to happen. Nally only had the torch because I needed the light to take pictures.”

  The prosecutor gripped the railing in front of her. “You expect us to believe that Nally had a torch because you were taking pictures inside the mine?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The prosecutor chuckled. “Then where is the camera? Why hasn’t it been entered into evidence?”

  She nodded once toward Frank, who was standing at one end of the judge’s bench. “Frank Bannister has it,” she said. “He was supposed to—”

  Just then, the man in the suit and tie started up the center aisle, a newspaper in his hand. The trio of police followed. “Your Honor,” the man said. “If I may address the court, please!”

  The judge scowled, the corners of his mouth pulling down his fleshy cheeks. “What’s the meaning of this intrusion?”

  The man held up a copy of the New York Times, its front page filled with grainy black and white photos. “I’m Lewis Hine, a photographer with the National Child Labor Committee,” he said. “I’m looking for the woman who took these pictures of boys working inside the coal breaker. Emma Malloy?”

  All eyes turned toward Emma.

  CHAPTER 30

  The judge banged his gavel on the desk. “I insist you leave my courtroom this instant!” he said. “Miss Malloy won’t be speaking with reporters until after the trial.”

  “Let’s hear what Mr. Hines has to say!” one of the reporters in the front row shouted. He stood and went over to Mr. Hines, his note pad ready. “You said Miss Malloy took pictures of breaker boys and they were printed in the New York Times?”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Hines said. “She also sent the Times a letter. The people outside on the courthouse steps said we could find Miss Malloy and Hazard Flint in here. We’d like to speak to them and find out what’s going on in this town.”

  The judge pounded his gavel again, harder this time. “Do as I say, or I’ll hold you in contempt!”

  The man in the black uniform and bobby helmet moved past Mr. Hines and stopped between the lawyers’ tables in the center of the room. The state policemen followed and stood beside him, one at each shoulder. The man in the black uniform pulled out a badge.

  “I’m the state constable with the Pennsylvania Office of Factory Inspection,” he said, addressing the judge. “Miss Malloy has brought it to our attention that Hazard Flint and the Bleak Mountain Mining Company have violated the state child labor law, which states no child under the age of twelve is allowed to work in the breaker, and no child under the age of fourteen is allowed to work inside the mines. We’ve also been informed that the mine owner is not following mining laws, and has covered up several deaths.”

  The judge glanced nervously at Mr. Flint, then stood. “Mr. Flint is not on trial today,” he said. “Now exit my courtroom at once, or I’ll have you all arrested for obstruction of justice!”

  Everyone started talking at once. The judge beat his gravel on his desk again, demanding order in the courtroom. No one listened. The judge motioned the bailiff forward, his face boiling red.

  In the front row, Mr. Flint shifted forward in his seat and pushed himself to his feet, using his cane for leverage. His face and hands shook as he steadied himself and gripped the railing in front of him. He sighed heavily, then looked around, his lips pinched as if to keep them from trembling. Several people noticed him standing and, one by one, they stopped talking. They nudged their neighbors and pointed at him. Little by little, the crowd settled and stared at Mr. Flint, wondering what he was going to do. The judge banged his gavel two more times, then noticed Mr. Flint looking at him and sat back down. He instructed the bailiff to hold back. The room grew quiet.

  “Your Honor,” Mr. Flint said, “if I may, I’d like the opportunity to speak. I’ve got something important to say. A good story for all the reporters here.”

  The judge lowered his bushy eyebrows. “What’s this all about, Mr. Flint? We’re nearly finished with today’s proceedings and—”

  “I’m the one who hired Nally O’Brian,” Mr. Flint said.

  The crowd went wild, gasping and talking and yelling, and the judge picked up his gavel again. But the audience went silent before he had to use it, eager to see what would happen next.

  “You’re not on trial here, Mr. Flint,” the judge said. “And if you insist on being a witness at this point, I’ll have to declare a mistrial.” He pointed his gavel at Emma and Clayton. “Are you one hundred percent sure you want to risk letting those two go free?”

  “You’d better let the man finish speaking,” the state constable said. “We all heard what he said.”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Hines said. He jerked his chin toward the other reporters. “And it’s all being recorded. You don’t want it to look like you were obstructing justice, do you?”

  The judge opened his mouth to reply when someone in the audience shouted, “Let him talk!”

  Others joined in with demands to hear out Hazard Flint. The judge held up a hand to quiet them, then directed his attention to Mr. Flint. “Go ahead.”

  “I need to do this, Your Honor,” Mr. Flint said. “It’s my fault Levi is dead.” He hesitated, his chin trembling. Then he took a deep breath and gazed at the miners and their families, tears glazing his eyes. “And now that I know what it’s like to lose a son, I want to apologize to the parents of the deceased breaker boys, and any other boys who have died in the mine. I now know the horrible agony you’ve been living with, and I can’t say how sorry I am that my greed was the cause.” He looked at the judge. “I have to set things right, once and for all.”

  “I understand,” the judge said. “But are you sure you don’t want to save it for your Sunday morning confessional?”

  Mr. Flint shook his head, then shuffled out of the row of seats, and, leaning hard on his cane, made his way to the front of the courtroom. He picked up the Bible, handed it to the defense attorney, put one trembling hand on it, and raised the other. The defense attorney recited the oath.

  “This is not proper procedure!” the prosecutor shouted.

  The judge waved a hand to silence him, and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “The man’s son is dead,” he said. “Let him speak.”

  Mr. Flint took his hand from the Bible, cleared his throat, and began to talk in a gravelly voice.

  “Several months ago, I hired Nally O’Brian to go undercover and infiltrate the miners. I paid him to uncover murder plots and possible strikes, and pass along the information to me so I could have the troublemakers arrested. I had no idea he was a member of the Molly Maguires.”

  The judge sat forward. “That’s all well and good,” he said. “But Nally O’Brian has already been tried and hanged for the murder of your son. How does this information change anything for the two defendants? I insist you cease and desist with this public incrimination of yourself. You’re the owner of the mining company that employs nearly every citizen in this village. It will be a social and economic calamity if your company shuts down!”

  “I’m not the rightful owner any longer, Y
our Honor,” Mr. Flint said. “My late wife’s family owned the Bleak Mountain Mining Company, not mine. Viviane’s son is the rightful owner.”

  The judge’s brows shot up. “What on God’s green Earth are you talking about, man?” he said. “I’m sorry to remind you of your loss, but Viviane’s son Levi is dead. That’s why we’re here!”

  The audience mumbled and whispered behind their hands, shaking their heads in pity and disbelief.

  Mr. Flint held up a shaky hand, waiting for the crowd to go silent. “I know this is going to sound like an old man who’s gone off his rocker, but hear me out. I’m not talking about Levi. I’m talking about Viviane’s other son. You’ve all heard the story about the kidnapping of our second born. How my sweet Viviane was so distraught over losing her baby, she hung herself in the cupola.” He paused, his mouth twisting as if holding back a sob. “And now I understand why she ended her life when she lost that boy. Forgive me, Lord, I surely do. The pain of losing a child is unbearable. Except, I’m here to tell you it was all a lie. My beautiful Viviane died for nothing because the kidnapping never happened.”

  Gasps and shocked murmurs rippled through the courtroom.

  “And what, pray tell, does this have to do with what’s going on here today?” the judge said.

  “Have patience with me, please,” Mr. Flint said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “You see, I found out all those years ago that Viviane was having an affair. When she grew heavy with child a second time, I knew right well the baby wasn’t mine. So I ordered my hired man to do away with the newborn. Then I blamed the kidnapping on the nursemaid and used the ransom money to pay her off so she would disappear.”

  More murmurs and gasps came from the audience. The judge’s face went dark. “Hazard Flint, are you confessing to murder right here in my courtroom?”

  Mr. Flint shook his head. “No, Your Honor,” he said. “God knows, I’m guilty of a lot of terrible things, and I have to live with every one of them. You can arrest me for breaking laws, taking shortcuts, and covering up the deaths of breaker boys, because that’s what I deserve. Miss Malloy was right about that. But I never murdered an innocent baby or paid anyone to do it either. I instructed my hired man to drop the infant off in the miners’ village on the porch of the most honest, hardworking miner I knew at the time, Charlie Nash.”

  A collective gasp filled the room. Emma gaped at Clayton, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Clayton’s eyes were locked on Mr. Flint, his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows raised.

  “Viviane’s son Clayton Nash is now the rightful owner of Bleak Mountain Mining Company,” Mr. Flint said. “And I’m passing the company over to him, hoping he’ll do a better job than I did.”

  Just then, the courtroom door flew open, and a young boy rushed in, breathing hard. “They found the rest of the miners alive!” he shouted.

  In a noisy flurry, the miners and their families stood and fought their way toward the door. They flooded out while the upper class of Coal River stayed in their seats, whispering behind their hands, their shocked eyes darting back and forth between Clayton and Hazard Flint.

  The judge banged his gavel on his desk one last time. “Case dismissed!” he shouted.

  Emma hung her head, tears of relief flooding her eyes.

  CHAPTER 31

  When Emma looked up from the witness stand, Clayton was on his feet, making his way toward her. The lawyers were discussing what had just happened, hands gesturing wildly, heads shaking in disbelief. Frank was helping Mr. Flint out of his seat and trying to protect him from one of the reporters. The other reporter was asking Lewis Hine and the state constable questions, quickly scribbling notes and keeping an eye on Clayton. Clearly, he planned on questioning him next. Some of the audience members had gotten up and moved closer to the main floor to hear what was being said, while others watched from the gallery. Emma stood on trembling legs and stepped down from the stand. Not wanting to draw any further attention to herself, she fought the urge to run into Clayton’s arms. In what seemed like slow motion, he drew nearer until, finally, they were face-to-face. For several seconds they stared at each other, and neither spoke. His eyes were still glassy with fever and something that looked like shock.

  Finally he said, “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and took his hand. “Are you?”

  Before he could answer, Emma saw the second reporter making his way toward them. More journalists were filing in through the main entrance and hurrying down the aisle. She scanned the room, looking for an escape. The judge was disappearing through the door behind the bench. A few feet away another door had a sign that read: Witness Holding Room. She pulled Clayton toward it.

  “No, come this way,” someone said, tugging on Emma’s arm. She turned, ready for a struggle. It was Percy. “Use the exit beside the jury box,” he said. “Follow the hall to the end and you’ll find a door that leads outside.”

  Emma gave Percy a quick smile of gratitude and rushed toward the exit with Clayton. Together they raced down the hall and slipped outside, where they stopped on the landing to get their bearings. To their right, a set of flagstone steps led down to a walkway that followed along the side of the building, then turned right across the front of the courthouse. Beside the walkway, the land gradually sloped downhill to a slow-moving brook, then climbed back up to a granite cliff. From the top of the cliff, a waterfall cascaded down the rocks, filling the air with the soothing sound of falling water. Above the waterfall, a pine-covered swath of Bleak Mountain soared into the blue sky. A breeze had come up, temporarily clearing the smog from the valley. Emma felt as if she were seeing the natural beauty of Coal River for the first time. Her breathing slowed, and she turned toward Clayton, who looked like he was waking from a nightmare.

  “I can’t believe what just happened,” she said. “I thought we were both going to . . .”

  He wrapped his good arm around her, crushing her to his chest. “Shhh, I know. But it’s over now. We’re going to be all right.” Afraid she was dreaming, she pressed herself into him, to feel his heart pounding against hers. He kissed the top of her head. At last, the long days of fear and grief melted away beneath his strong embrace. He held her tighter. She smiled up at him, tears in her eyes, and then his lips were on hers, kissing her long and hard. After a few moments, she pulled back and gazed up at him.

  “I’m so sorry Nally shot you,” she said. “Are you still in a lot of pain?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Getting better every day.”

  “Thank God.”

  “What about you?” he said. “How’s your arm?”

  “It’s practically healed.” She reached up to caress his face. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “But if I hadn’t insisted on going inside the mine. If I hadn’t—”

  “If you hadn’t insisted, Hazard Flint would still be in charge, and everything would have stayed the same.”

  “But the other miners would still be alive if . . .”

  He put a finger over her lips to quiet her. “There was a cave-in,” he said. “That wasn’t your fault either. Things are going to get better around here, and it’s because of what you did. If you hadn’t sent those pictures to the Times, Hazard Flint never would have confessed to anything. He knew he was cornered. Every man who died would be grateful to you for that.”

  She laid her head against his chest, her throat tight, praying what he said was true. After a long moment, she straightened and searched his face. “Did you have any idea you were Viviane Flint’s son?”

  He shook his head. “No. I thought my mother and father were . . . my parents.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. But the people who raised you were your parents. They’re the ones who loved you and taught you right from wrong. They’re the ones who made you the man you are
today. That’s all that matters, and nothing will ever change that.”

  He smiled and put a gentle hand on her cheek, his eyes filled with love and gratitude. “I love you, Emma Malloy.”

  With gentle fingers, she combed his hair back from his forehead. He was by far the most striking man she had ever known. Even now, pale and feverish, he was beautiful to her. While every contour of muscle and bone was purely masculine, his face was so sensitive, his eyes so caring. “I love you too.”

  “I just have one question,” he said. “Are you going to stay in Coal River and finish what you started?”

  She gazed up at him, pondering her previous determination to leave after helping the breaker boys. So much had happened since then, and so much was about to change. Maybe she should stay and see how things turned out. Clayton might need her help. Besides, how could she leave the man she loved? She nodded and he grinned.

  But the moment was ruined when a group of journalists came around the corner of the courthouse and sprinted toward them.

  “What does it feel like to find out you’re Viviane Flint’s missing son?” one of them shouted.

  “How soon will you take over the Bleak Mountain Mining Company?” another one said.

  Clayton and Emma kissed again, then sighed and turned to face the questions.

  CHAPTER 32

  Emma stood at the ballroom window of Nash Mansion, formerly known as the Flint Mansion, holding back the red velvet curtain. It was early May, nearly a year since her return to Coal River, and the snow in the high forests was finally gone. From here, she could see the river, a silvery gray ribbon cutting through the land between the surrounding mountains and the east edge of town. Now when she looked at the roiling water, she was no longer overwhelmed by a sense of grief and dread. The river was nothing more than a powerful waterway, surrounded by rocks and wildlife and trees, their branches filling with buds. It was just part of the earth, as vulnerable to the will of man as any human. Coal River wasn’t to blame for the death of her brother, any more than the surrounding mountains or this village. It was the people who lived and worked here who were the forces behind what had happened in the past, and they would be responsible for what would happen in the future.