The Miner's Lady

by Tracie Peterson

  “Papa?” They were alone, and Dante hoped his father might talk to him about what had happened. Everyone in the mine knew by now. In fact, the captain had sent the Panetta men home, telling them they didn’t need to be concerned with work that day or the next.

  Dante’s father refused to even look him in the eye. He felt his anger rising, and he quickly crossed the distance between them and took hold of his father’s shoulders.

  “I’m talking to you, Papa. The least you can do is acknowledge me.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled away from Dante’s grasp and threw a punch. Dante ducked to the side. His father’s fist made a whooshing sound as it narrowly missed his ear.

  He’d rather hit me than speak to me. The truth of it only served to make Dante angrier.

  “I found him, you know? Marco Panetta? I found him bloodied and dying after three men beat him.” His father said nothing, but neither did he look away. “His blood was all over me by the time I carried him to the doctor. It could have just as easily been my blood or Orlando’s. Is that what you want?”

  His father refused to reply, and Dante could only shake his head. “You shame our family name.” The older man’s eyes widened, but still he said nothing.

  “Someday you’ll regret not making peace with me . . . with Orlando. Someday you’ll realize that you’re all alone, and the sorrow will tear you apart.” Dante started to walk away, then paused to look back. “I hope you know that I’ll always love you, but I won’t live a lie. Orlando was right to marry the woman he loved. I plan to do the same thing.”

  He walked away, unable to tell his father that the woman he loved was Chantel Panetta. Let him think on what I’ve said, and then he can ask me what I meant.

  Reaching the work site, Dante scanned the area. The explosion that had been set late Saturday left loose ore scattered about, now ready to be loaded onto trams. Dante knew some minor charges would need to be set here and there as the debris was cleared away. It was his job to check the drift and see just where those charges should be placed to further the caving of ore. But his mind wasn’t on work at all.

  Marco Panetta wasn’t even as old as I am, and now he’s dead. Dante remembered the devastating wound and all that blood. Jesus shed His blood for my sins. Prayer wasn’t so foreign to Dante these days, but he still felt awkward in his relationship with the almighty God of the universe.

  I’ve long ignored you. Forgive me. Dante checked one of the charge sites and made a mental note to have the muckers clear some of the rock away so that he could better assess the situation.

  God, I need you to help me in this . . . this . . . division between me and Papa. There has to be a way to make this right.

  Words that Father Buh had spoken the week before went through Dante’s mind. “The Bible tells us that if a man will not forgive, neither will he be forgiven. We make for ourselves the choice of how God will deal with us.”

  Dante moved across an unstable bit of ground near the center of the caving. Without warning, the rock and ore shifted, and Dante found himself sucked into the debris. Like water pouring out of a funnel, the debris swirled around him and pulled him deeper. Dante called out for help, but the nearest miner was some twenty feet away.

  I’m going to die. I’m going to be buried alive. The rock continued pulling him down—ripping at his flesh—crushing the life out of him.

  God, save me!

  Chantel was glad the mine captain had sent Papa and Alfredo home. She knew there was little they could do but sit and contemplate all that had happened, but it comforted her to have them at home.

  “I sent a wire to Isabella and Orlando. I let them know about Marco, but told them not to try to come back for the funeral, as it would no doubt occur before they could reach us.”

  Papa nodded. “I think that’s best.”

  She kissed his wrinkled forehead. “More coffee?”

  He held up his cup without answering. Chantel poured the coffee for him, then looked at Alfredo. “More?”

  Alfredo shook his head. “No. I think I’ll go to where it happened and look for clues. I know that Leo was behind it, even if he didn’t do the deed himself.” He stood and looked at Chantel and Papa. “I’ll find a way to even the score.”

  “You could have ten more deaths, and it wouldn’t even out our loss,” Papa said. He contemplated his cup of coffee. “Marco is gone. I’ll not lose you, as well.”

  Alfredo started to speak, but his gaze met Chantel’s and he stopped. She gave him the slightest smile and nod. It would be pointless to carry on this conversation—especially now. There was simply too much pain. Too much anger. Alfredo sank back into the chair.

  “I’ll go check on Mama.” Chantel returned the coffeepot to the stove, then went to peek in on her mother.

  Mama had awakened shortly after Papa and Alfredo had left for the mine. But she had refused to talk, and only called for Chantel to ask for more medicine. It was heartbreaking to see her mother’s grief.

  I’ve never lost a child, so I cannot know how great that pain must be. But he was my brother, and that void can never be filled. Chantel saw that her mother was sound asleep. Perhaps it was for the best.

  Chantel had just closed the bedroom door when a loud whistle blast filled the air. It wasn’t yet time for lunch or the end of the shift. The blast continued, signaling trouble. She hurried into the kitchen, relieved once more to see her father and brother safe and sound.

  The whistle continued and Papa and Alfredo got to their feet. “We’d better go see what’s happened,” Papa declared.

  “They may well need our help,” Alfredo said, pulling on his boots at the back door.

  Chantel didn’t want them to go but knew this was how it worked in their community. The miners would help each other in these life-and-death matters. It was a brotherhood not easily ignored. Unfortunately, those who went to help were often killed in the effort.

  “Please be careful,” she said. “I love you both so much.” She tried not to sound as frightened as she felt.

  “We will be fine,” Papa said, seeming to understand her feelings. “I’ll try to get word back to you as soon as we know something. But don’t fret so. I’m sure nothing has happened to Dante.”

  Her hand went to her mouth. Dante! She hadn’t even considered that he might be in the middle of this. Her stomach churned. What if Dante had been hurt? She wanted to go with her father and brother, but knew that someone had to remain at the house for Mama.

  The minutes seemed to drag by. No one came to the house to bring news—not even the neighbor women. Maybe the accident hadn’t been that bad. Chantel could only pray that whatever had taken place had resulted in no injuries to the men. Not long after her father and brother’s departure, Nonna Barbato arrived at the house to offer her assistance. Chantel had never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

  “Do you know what’s happened at the mine?” Chantel asked, ushering the old woman into the kitchen.

  “No. We heard the whistle at the boardinghouse, but no one had news. Do you know anything?”

  Chantel shook her head. “Papa and Alfredo went to see. Marco . . . he’s . . .”

  “I heard about Marco,” Nonna said, patting Chantel’s hand. “I know your mama will need consolation, and that is why I have come. I want to help. I know what it is to lose a son.”

  Chantel nodded. “He was badly beaten, Nonna. Dante said he was barely recognizable.”

  “I know. He told me the same.” The old woman pulled off her shawl and head scarf and placed them over the back of a chair. “How is your mama doing?”

  “She’s been sleeping. The doctor gave her medicine to help her rest. That’s all she wants to do.”

  Nonna considered this for a moment. “That won’t be healthy for her to do for long. She will need to face what has happened. We will pray for her, sí?”

  “Sí, Nonna. And for Dante and his father, and all the other men working at the mine.”

&nb
sp; “I have been praying for the men,” Nonna admitted. “I am always concerned for Vittorio and the boys. I’m glad my Orlando is gone from there. I wish they could all leave the mines and work elsewhere.”

  Chantel twisted her hands together. “I can’t stand not knowing. Would you . . . could you wait here with Mama while I go to the mine?”

  Nonna smiled and it lit up her face. “Of course. Your heart is so full of love for my Dante, you must know what has happened.”

  “Did he tell you that he proposed to me?” Chantel asked.

  “He did. I was so glad to hear the news. You two are perfect for each other. You go now and see what you can learn. Then you come back and let me know.”

  Chantel quickly agreed and made her way from the house. A sense of urgency caused her to break into a most unladylike run as she hurried through the town streets to the west side and the mines.

  She rounded the depot, not at all concerned with the large number of men who had gathered on the roadway to the mine. She had to find her father and brother and learn what had happened. She had to see Dante and know that he was unharmed.

  No one seemed to even be aware of her presence, and for that Chantel was grateful. She searched the faces for someone she recognized. There were a few of the men her father and brothers had worked with, but she couldn’t find Papa or Alfredo. Where could they be?

  Chantel slowed her pace as she approached the shaft tower. What could she do? Who could she speak with? She gave a frantic search once more and spied her father. He had his back to her, but Chantel felt a great sense of relief in recognizing those stooped shoulders. She made her way to his side.

  “Papa?” She looked at him for reassurance. “Papa?”

  He met her eyes with a look of utter distress, and she knew in that instant that Dante was in trouble.

  Chapter 26

  “He’s stuck in a sinkhole,” Papa explained. “I’m going to help get him out.”

  Chantel looked at her father in disbelief. “What happened? Is he . . . was he . . .” The words wouldn’t come. Her emotions ran wild. He can’t be dead. He just can’t be dead.

  “We don’t know how bad it is. I’ve spoken with his father, and he told me that Dante is unconscious and barely visible above the debris. Dante’s father has an idea and I’m going to be the one to try it.” He took hold of Chantel’s shoulders and smiled. “I don’t want you to worry. Pray instead.”

  Just then Dante’s father appeared. He had a long coil of rope over one shoulder and a canvas bag in his hand. He looked to Papa and nodded. Papa patted Chantel’s arm. “Don’t worry your mama with this. Let’s just wait and see . . . what happens.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Her father shook his head. “There’s no time to explain. Just pray.”

  Chantel watched him climb into the shaft elevator and disappear. “Just pray,” he had said. Why did that seem so insignificant? I know prayer works. I know it as well as I know my own name.

  God, I’m not trying to sound doubtful, but I feel so helpless. Please save Dante and keep my father from harm. Please keep all the men safe as they work to help free Dante. She bit her lip and forced back tears.

  “I thought maybe you could use a shoulder to lean on.”

  She turned to find Alfredo. Falling against him, Chantel hugged him tight. “What are they going to do? How bad is it . . . really?” She pulled back and looked at her brother. “Tell me the truth.”

  “It’s bad. Dante stepped into an unstable area of debris—a sinkhole. It collapsed beneath him, and rock tumbled down on him and knocked him out. When the shifting stopped, it set in almost like concrete. It’s going to be hard to get him out of there without . . .”

  “Without what?” The turmoil on Alfredo’s face made it clear that he didn’t want to continue. He doesn’t think I can handle the truth. He knows I will only worry more. Chantel reached out to take hold of his arm. “I need to know.”

  Alfredo nodded. “They’ll have to set a small charge so that hopefully the debris will continue to drain down into the tram cars and open stope. Papa is going to go into the sinkhole to secure a rope around Dante so that when the charge is blown and the debris begins to loosen again, Papa can pull Dante free.”

  “Why can’t they just dig him out? I mean, couldn’t they secure themselves with ropes and just pull the debris from the sinkhole?” Chantel questioned.

  “Like I said, the rock and ore is stuck around Dante and holding him fast. It’s like the kind of hold quicksand might have. It’s pulling downward and packing tighter and tighter. Gravity, in this case, is working against us.”

  “But if they set another explosion, isn’t there a chance it will pull them both in deeper?”

  Alfredo’s expression was quite grave. “Not only that, but if the charge isn’t set in just the right location and with the exact amount needed, it could prove fatal to them and blow debris upward and into their bodies.”

  Chantel could understand why her father had been unwilling to discuss the matter with her. “But why Papa? Why not a younger man?”

  “Can’t you guess?” He looked at her and shook his head. “He told Mr. Calarco that he was willing to risk his life for Dante to prove to him that the feud needed to end.”

  “Blood for blood,” she murmured. Only this time instead of a mule, it was her beloved father’s blood they were risking.

  “Besides that, with the risk so great,” Alfredo continued, “no one else was overly eager to volunteer.”

  Chantel nodded and looked to her brother for affirmation. “This will work—won’t it?”

  He looked away. “I don’t know. It’s unlike anything we’ve ever tried before. I just don’t know.”

  Chantel looked at the shaft tower and then back to her brother. “How long will this take?”

  “They’ll have to move quickly, but they will also have to be very precise. I really don’t know.”

  “I need to run home and tell Nonna Barbato. She came to help with Mama, but she needs to know that Dante’s life is in the balance.” She bit her lip momentarily and added, “Papa’s too. I must tell her what’s happened, and then I’ll return.”

  “Why don’t you just stay at the house? I’ll come tell you when . . . I know something.”

  She shook her head. “No. I need to be here. If the worst happens, I want to be here.”

  Chantel left Alfredo and hurried through the crowd of men. She saw several other women gathered—friends she knew who would also pray. “My father and Dante Calarco’s father are working to free Dante from a sinkhole. You must pray,” she told them. “They will need to set off an explosion.”

  Mrs. Nardozzi nodded. “We will pray, Chantel. Tell your mama we will pray.”

  “Mama doesn’t know anything about this. Marco was . . . killed last night.” Several of the women gasped and covered their mouths with their hands. Anna Nardozzi reached out to grasp Chantel’s hand. “He was beaten to death, but we don’t know who did it. The doctor gave Mama laudanum to help her sleep. She doesn’t need to know about this until it’s over and done with. I was just heading home to let Mrs. Barbato know what’s happened. She’s there now with Mama.”

  “We will pray for your mama, as well,” Anna replied. “Won’t we?” She looked to the other women. They nodded and closed in around Chantel.

  “We will,” one of the women said, patting Chantel on the back.

  “I have to hurry. They’ll soon be setting the charge, and I want to be here . . . no matter the outcome.” Chantel broke away from the group of women and continued her race against the clock.

  At the house, Nonna Barbato sat knitting in the front room. She looked up with a smile when Chantel burst through the door. Chantel flew to the older woman and knelt at her side. Breathless, she related what had happened as best she could.

  “I knew you would want to be praying.”

  Nonna paled at the news. “I have been praying. I didn’t need to know who the men i
nvolved were. I only knew that prayer would be the only thing I could offer.”

  “I’m so afraid,” Chantel admitted. “I do believe in God’s power to make this right—to save them from further harm . . . from death. But Nonna, what if . . . what if . . .” She couldn’t say the words.

  “What if it is God’s will that they die?”

  Chantel met the older woman’s eyes and nodded slowly. “What if it is?”

  “Then God will also make provision for our loss and grief. We cannot know when a man’s appointed time might come. Your brother Marco could not realize that when he walked home he would be killed. We live in a world full of evil, Chantel, and bad things will happen. Jesus said there would be many trials and troubles. We must have faith, however.”

  “I don’t think I could bear it if Papa and Dante were taken from us.” Tears began to drip onto her cheeks. “Oh, Nonna, I can’t lose them. I just can’t.”

  “There, there.” Nonna touched Chantel’s damp cheek. “We mustn’t speak as foolish women. We will ask God for His help with confidence and trust in Him. No matter what happens, Chantel, God is still in control. He won’t abandon us.”

  “No,” Chantel acknowledged, “but bad things still happen, Nonna. You and I know that. Marco died, though I prayed for him. Bad things happen all the time.”

  She gave a sympathetic smile. “Yes, they do. Do you remember Job in the Bible? He had bad times come to him. He lost everything he had, with exception to a wife who told him to curse God and die. But Job trusted God and knew that God had given him all that he had, and that God had the power and right to take it away. But through it all, the Bible says that Job did not sin, nor did he charge God foolishly.”

  She had known the story of Job since she was a little girl, but Chantel couldn’t say she truly understood it. After all, God could have prevented all of the bad from happening to Job, and yet He hadn’t.

  “Job perplexes me,” Chantel admitted. Realizing the time was getting away from her, Chantel decided the conversation could wait. “Nonna, I need to get back. I want to be there when they bring Dante out.”