The older woman nodded. “I will be praying. Just remember, Chantel: God is still God even when all hope seems lost and nothing in the world is going our way. He may not always do things as we think He should, but He is perfect and holy and His ways are, as well. As Job said, ‘The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away.’”
“Blessed be the name of the Lord,” Chantel murmured.
Giovanni Panetta was uncertain this rescue could work, but he felt it necessary to try. He knew his daughter dearly loved this man. He knew as well that Dante Calarco loved his daughter. A man could not want for more than a successful marriage for his children and God’s blessing on their future. Now as he studied the depth of the sinkhole and Dante’s barely visible head and shoulders, Giovanni pushed aside a wave of doubt. He could fear that this might never work, or he could remain positive and trust God to intercede on their behalf.
“Are you ready?” the mine foreman asked his men.
“We’ve got the rope tied fast to Panetta,” one man declared. “We’ve secured it to the winch. He won’t get away from us.”
Giovanni nodded and answered in heavily accented English. “Has Calarco set the charge?”
“It’s set, and he’s awaiting our go-ahead. The boys and I will lower you down. You secure the rope around Dante, and when you’re ready, let me know, and we’ll pull you back up.”
“No,” Giovanni declared. “That boy may need my help. I will stay with him. When the charge goes off, pull us both up. There’s only gonna be one chance.”
The foreman frowned. “Are you sure that’s the best way to go about this?”
“I’m sure. He’s unconscious and cannot help himself.”
The foreman considered the matter a moment, then turned to the other miners. “All right, this is how we’re going to do it.”
With everyone duly instructed, Giovanni was lowered into the sinkhole. He was careful to avoid disturbing the sides, but rock still came loose, tumbling below and hitting Dante. Giovanni cringed with each release of debris. The poor man. If he hadn’t been killed already, he could still be mortally wounded by the falling rock before they could pull him from the pit.
When Panetta finally reached Dante, he realized that the man was still alive, but barely able to breathe. Giovanni hurried to secure the rope, but it was impossible to get the coil around Dante. Part of his shoulder was exposed, but his arms were buried.
“This won’t work,” he called up. “I cannot get the rope around him. I’ll have to pull him out myself and hold on to him. When the blast comes, just pull me with all of your might.”
“Panetta, we could lose you both that way. Are you sure this is how you want it to be?” the foreman called down.
“Just do what I say.”
Giovanni moved several larger pieces of rock and was able to get a better hold on Dante’s shirt. “Go ahead and tell Vittorio we’re ready.”
They gave the signal and waited for the men to call up that the fuse had been lit. Giovanni prayed silently and thought of his wife and children.
“The fuse is set, it’ll take about ten seconds,” the foreman called.
Giovanni tightened his hold and counted backward. “Nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . .” He closed his eyes, tucked his head closer to Dante’s, and held fast.
The charge went off seconds later, and in a flash the rock moved all around Giovanni. He pulled hard against the sucking force crushing Dante’s body. His right hand slipped and Giovanni fought to regain a hold. He buried his hand in the younger man’s hair and held fast as the miners above him worked to pull both men upward.
It wasn’t until he felt someone’s hand on his ankle that Giovanni opened his eyes. Dante’s body was free and hung limply from where Panetta held him fast. The miners worked quickly to take Dante from Giovanni.
“You’re bleeding,” the foreman told him.
Giovanni reached up and felt the warm wetness. “I’m fine. See to the boy.”
“We’ll see to you both,” the foreman insisted. “Take Panetta on the other stretcher.”
“No, I’ll walk. I’m not gonna scare my daughter that way. She’s already beside herself.” Giovanni pushed away from the foreman and looked to where they were securing Dante on a stretcher.
By the time they moved out of the drift to a larger area of the shaft, Vittorio Calarco had joined them. He stood beside the still body of his son, watching and waiting. Giovanni put his hand on the man’s shoulder.
Vittorio met his gaze, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. Giovanni could see the anguish and gratitude in the other man’s expression.
Chantel heard someone exclaim that the men were coming up from the shaft. She held all the tighter to Alfredo’s arm, praying that God would keep any real harm from befalling the men she loved.
By the time the first of the miners appeared, she was very nearly beside herself. Of all the things in life that she wished she could fix, this one eluded her in every way. There was nothing she could do to right this situation. Prayer was all that she had to offer.
Father, I know I’m a weak woman when it comes to trust. I want to be steadfast, but sometimes I am not. Please help me. Let me keep my trust in you, no matter what this day delivers.
“There’s the stretcher,” someone in the crowd called. “They must have got him free.”
Chantel let go of Alfredo and pushed through the gathering of men. She saw Dante’s bloodied face and forced herself to be strong. The caked-on dirt and blood against the grayish pallor of his skin made her wonder only momentarily if he might already be dead.
They cover the faces of the dead, don’t they? He must be alive, or they would have hidden him from view.
She reached his side and touched his cheek as the men maneuvered the stretcher onto the back of a buckboard. His face was icy cold. Fighting back tears, Chantel looked to one of the miners who’d carried him out.
“I’m going with him,” she told him.
He didn’t argue, but lifted her into the wagon beside the stretcher.
Chantel saw her father and Mr. Calarco approach. She could see that her father was bleeding. “Papa?”
He smiled and whispered in Italian, “I’m not hurt all that bad. Don’t be worried.”
“We’ve room for you both,” the driver called. “Climb aboard, and we’ll head over to Dr. Shipman’s.”
She lifted the edge of her skirt and spit on the hem, dampening the material just enough to wipe some of the blood from Dante’s face. It didn’t help all that much, but doing something rather than nothing made Chantel feel as though she had helped.
When Chantel glanced up, she found Mr. Calarco watching her quite intently. She had no way of knowing if Dante had managed to tell his father of their engagement. She had no way of knowing if her father’s gesture of sacrifice had softened the man’s heart. She could only pray it had, and pray that Calarco would find her worthy of loving his son.
Chapter 27
Chantel waited impatiently while Dr. Shipman and one of his nurses took charge of Dante’s still-unconscious form. They allowed Vittorio Calarco to accompany them, but no one else. Though this grieved Chantel, she understood. I’d only be in the way. She twisted her hands together and tried to calm her nerves.
With her father’s minor wounds treated, Chantel thanked him for what he had done. “Papa, there are no words for what I want to say. I love you so much, and to know that you would risk your life for the man I hope to marry . . . well . . . I just don’t know what to say.”
He hugged her close. “I understand. No words are needed.” He held her tight. “I know you love him dearly. I can see it in your eyes, just as I could see his love for you in his. It is the same kind of love I hold for your mama.”
“Oh,” Chantel put her hand to her mouth. “Someone should go to Nonna Barbato and let her know what has happened. She’ll want to be here.”
Papa nodded. “Will you be all right if I go?”
She nodded and
withdrew from his arms. “I will be fine. It’s better that you get Dante’s grandmother. If he doesn’t . . . if it’s really bad . . .” She still couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not long ago she’d stood in this very room only to hear that her brother was dead. Chantel knew full well she couldn’t bear to hear similar news regarding Dante.
“I will go, then. I will bring her back.” He kissed her on the forehead and left without further ado. Chantel began to pace the room, feeling terribly alone.
Glancing toward the ceiling, Chantel sought God’s comfort. “I need you, Lord. I cannot bear this by myself. Please, Father . . . please save Dante. Let him be all right.”
The waiting seemed to drag on and on, and after nearly twenty minutes there was still no word from the doctor. Nonna Barbato arrived with Papa, but he had quickly returned to the house so that Mama wouldn’t be alone.
“We will bear this together,” Nonna told Chantel. “Together with our precious Savior.” She took hold of Chantel’s hand, and together they sat and waited for news.
The mine captain showed up some ten minutes later to get a report on the situation. He was sympathetic and kind, but his words felt hollow, giving little comfort to Chantel.
“He’s a good, strong man,” the captain said. “I’m sure he’ll pull through this.” He smiled at Chantel. “Your father was quite heroic to go in after him. You should be proud.”
“Of course I’m proud,” Chantel replied. “I’ve always been proud of my father . . . my brothers, too.”
The captain nodded. “I was sure sorry to hear about Marco. He was one of my best workers. Have they found out who killed him?”
Chantel shook her head. “My brother Alfredo intends to learn the truth . . . but I fear it may cost him his life, as well.”
The captain frowned. “I hope he won’t do anything foolish to further grieve your folks.”
“He’s determined to find the men responsible,” Chantel replied. “I can only imagine the harm that might befall him in doing so.”
“But our heavenly Father, He can protect,” Nonna interjected in English, then switched to native Italian. “Just as He has protected my Dante. You’ll see. Our Father will provide all that we have need of—including answers.”
The captain shrugged in confusion. Chantel could see he hadn’t been able to follow Nonna’s Italian. She quickly translated for the man.
He shook his head. “I’ve not known God to worry overmuch about giving me answers, but I do know how the determination of a man can work to his benefit. Alfredo will want a reckoning for what’s happened to his brother. That will be enough to get the answers.”
Nonna waggled her finger at the mining captain and again rattled off a rebuke in Italian. Chantel turned to the man and repeated the older woman’s words. “God alone will reveal the hidden things. You might not have answers from Him because you do not think to ask. I have put Dante and all that has happened into God’s hands. He will provide for our needs.”
Dante opened his eyes, and a white-hot stab of pain flashed through his head. He couldn’t keep from moaning aloud and tried to raise his hand to his head. Dante’s arm refused to obey as weakness washed over his entire body.
“Don’t try to move, son,” a voice commanded gently.
Dante fought against his blurry vision to make out the features of Dr. Shipman.
“What . . . happened?”
“There was an accident at the mine.” This time the voice came from his father. Dante turned his head slightly to the left and located the older man. He blinked hard to clear his vision.
“You stepped into a sinkhole,” his father explained. “You were pulled down. Very nearly killed.”
Dante tried to remember the accident, but he had no memory of it. The last thing he remembered was trying to speak to his father. He had wanted to tell him something, but for the life of him, Dante didn’t know what it was.
“Giovanni Panetta saved your life,” Papa continued. “He pulled you out after I set another charge to dislodge the rock.”
“A Panetta helped a Calarco?” he asked, barely able to voice the question.
His father shrugged. “Miracles do happen.”
Dante smiled and attempted to nod. The pain in his head stilled his actions. He closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, the doctor was standing directly over him.
“I believe you have several broken ribs, but it doesn’t appear they’ve punctured your lungs as I originally feared. Other than that, you have a broken collarbone and a concussion with multiple contusions and lacerations. It will be best for you to remain completely still.”
“I believe you,” Dante whispered. “Does Chantel know?”
His father spoke up. “She’s waiting in the other room.”
“Let her know . . . I’m alive.” He closed his eyes and grimaced from the pain.
“I will, but first you need to know something, son.” He touched Dante’s hand.
Dante opened his eyes again. “What is it?”
His father frowned. “I was a fool. I treated you wrong.”
Was Papa truly repenting or was this all a dream?
“I was wrong to hold on to my grudge. You were right about ending the feud, and Giovanni . . . well . . . he made me see what a stubborn fool I’d been. Almost losing you made me realize . . . well . . . I love you, son. I was wrong to send you from me. I was wrong to disown your brother. I guess I’ve been wrong about a great many things.”
Dante could see the sincerity in his father’s eyes and hear it in his voice. His father had never been a man of apologies, and Dante knew the words hadn’t come easy. He risked complicating the situation. “I’m in love with Chantel Panetta.”
His father nodded. “It’s just as well, because that little girl loves you dearly. She’s not been willing to leave your side until the doctor forced her to wait outside.”
“I didn’t intend to fall in love.”
The older man chuckled. “I didn’t intend to fall in love with your mama, but she wrapped me around her little finger with a single look. I was never the same after that.”
“She’s a good woman, Papa.”
He chuckled again. “For a Panetta?”
Dante felt his strength fade even more. He was so tired. “I hope you won’t mind another Panetta in the family.”
His father’s expression became serious. “I prayed while you were trapped. I haven’t prayed in years, but I prayed then. I told God that I would give anything for your protection and recovery. The one thing He wanted from me was to end the feud and forgive the past wrongs. I intend to hold up my end and bury the past, rather than a son.”
Dante let out a pain-filled breath and smiled. “Thank you, Papa. I don’t think you’ll ever be sorry.”
“I need to clean and stitch this gash in your head now,” Dr. Shipman interrupted. Dante saw a blurred image of the doctor holding up something. “It won’t be pleasant, so I want you to drink this. It will ease the pain.”
“I’ll go speak to your Chantel,” his father declared. He gave Dante’s hand a squeeze and was gone.
Dante fought back waves of pain and nausea as the doctor helped to lift his head. He drank the bitter liquid, feeling it burn slightly as it trickled down the back of his throat. The doctor lowered Dante back to the table. “That should take effect rather quickly.”
“Was anyone else hurt?” Dante asked as the doctor began scrubbing the wound. The pain was blinding, but Dante did his best to focus on other things.
“Mr. Panetta was banged up a bit, but nothing all that bad. You’re lucky to be alive. You know that, don’t you?”
Dante tried to smile. “My nonna would say that luck had nothing to do with it.”
“In this case, I believe she would be correct,” the doctor replied. “You were clearly in greater hands. Your father told me you were mere inches from being buried alive. Obviously God has another purpose for you.”
“Chantel,” Dante whispered the name.
“As soon as I finish up with you here, I’ll allow her to see you, but right now we have work to do.”
When Mr. Calarco appeared in the waiting room, Chantel felt the wind go out from her. She gripped the back of the nearest chair to keep from collapsing to the ground. Nonna Barbato got to her feet and went to her son-in-law.
“How is our Dante?”
“He’ll survive,” Calarco declared.
Chantel forced herself to take in a deep breath. He was alive. He would live. She looked up to find Calarco and Nonna watching her.
“You aren’t gonna faint, are you?” Dante’s father asked.
She shook her head, but took a seat nevertheless. “Is he conscious?”
“Sí, and the doctor, he is stitching up his head.” Mr. Calarco came to where Chantel sat and squatted down beside her. “Dante asked me to let you know that he’s all right. He told me, too, that you plan to marry him.”
Chantel nodded and could see by the look in the older man’s eyes that a miracle had taken place. Not only was Dante going to live, but Mr. Calarco had obviously come to terms with the Panettas being a part of his life.
“I love him so very much,” she said in a near-whisper.
Mr. Calarco nodded. “Brothers married to sisters. It will make for a very close family, no?”
“That is my hope,” Chantel replied. “There’s nothing quite so important as family.”
He smiled. “I agree. Of course, there’s a good number of Calarcos who won’t agree with this blend of families.”
Chantel shrugged. “Then they’ll just miss out on the best of what each family has to offer, because I intend to have a great many children with Dante, and I’m sure Isabella feels the same way about Orlando. We will bring the Panettas and Calarcos together in such a blessed way that no one will ever again feud over mules or women or anything else.”
Nonna laughed. “Ah, you paint such a pretty picture, but you forget one thing.”
Chantel frowned. “What? What did I forget?”
“We are Italian,” Nonna reminded and laughed all the more. Chantel joined in, a sense of relief flooding over her.
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