Last Chance Wife

by Janette Foreman

  Her eyes flew wide open. “There’s a hole there!”

  “That’s a mine shaft. It leads to another drift.”

  Continuing forward, she struggled to tear her gaze away from the shaft. “When did these rumors start?”

  “A few months ago, when Mr. Burke announced he was going to look for an investor.”

  “But seeking an investor doesn’t mean a business is failing. Sometimes an operation just needs a little more capital to move from well-functioning to thriving. And investors won’t put in their money unless they believe their investment will turn a profit. So, really, if he believes he can get an investor to come onboard, it would be a sign of good things for the company, not bad.”

  Adrian glanced over his shoulder, the dim candlelight catching a playful glint in his eye. “Where’d you learn so much about financial matters?”

  “I don’t know much, believe me.” She smiled, unsure if he could really see her face. “What little I know I picked up from my uncle, who invests in entrepreneurs. Do you think some will quit because of the rumors?”

  “Some might. Plenty of the men have families to feed. We need to know our jobs are secure.”

  “Might some be angry enough with Mr. Burke to do something drastic?”

  “Drastic? Like what, Miss Sattler?”

  “Like...like...”

  As she fumbled for an example that wouldn’t immediately suggest sabotage, a faint light around a corner caught her attention. She nearly cried in relief. It was as if they’d been rescued.

  “The men are just ahead.” Adrian led the way around the corner. More questioning would have to wait. When Winifred followed, she found herself in a small but cavernous room in the presence of several workers eating their lunches. Some she vaguely knew, but Rogan and Walt were also among them.

  “Hey.” Rogan looked up from his sandwich. “Thought you’d never get here.”

  “What’re you doin’, burning a candle?” Adrian stopped beside a spike in the wall and fed one of his unlit candles into it. “I thought we agreed to save yours and just use mine to lead Miss Sattler in.”

  “We didn’t want to scare her by sittin’ in the dark,” Walt explained, following his sentence with a laugh that echoed off the walls.

  Bracing herself against a timber column, Winifred coughed, her lungs squeezing. She looked back the way they’d come and felt sweat collect on her brow. “The air is thin down here, don’t you think?” And to be under several tons of mountain, where no sunlight could reach...

  “You get used to it.” Rogan put his lunch away. “Nice drawing in my pail today. Got a tree, just like Adrian, but at least I’m thankful for mine.”

  “Aw, quit your foolin’.” Adrian puffed his chest. “How ’bout you draw me first, Miss Sattler?”

  “Shouldn’t she get all of us at once?” Walt questioned around a bite of sandwich.

  “What’re you numskulls talkin’ about?” another miner piped in. “She’s drawin’ you?”

  While the men squabbled about the idea, Winifred leaned to the side, staring down the long tunnel—drift. Even with the flames’ light thrown that direction, the end of the tunnel looked black. Endlessly black. Displaying an emptiness she had never seen before. Her clammy fingers slicked along her pencil.

  “I’ll find a place to sit.” The statement came out sounding a little breathless. She turned to the back of the stope. Against a slippery wall, she found a flat surface where she could sit. Or, kneel, really. She didn’t want to ruin the back of her dress.

  As the men finished their meals, they set aside their pails and started their work for the afternoon. And Winifred began to sketch. The dimness of the room had her squinting, but she didn’t dare ask for a candle. Knowing these fellas, one would sacrifice the only one he had left for her. Chills ran up the back of Winifred’s arms. What would happen if their candles ran out before they finished working?

  The men worked as partners, exactly as they had explained to her. Rogan and Walt chiseled holes into the walls near her—one holding the chisel and the other holding the hammer—while others built up the end of the drift where it met the opening of the stope. Vertical columns had been sunk into the ground along either side of the drift to support the low beam ceiling. Behind the columns was the dirt wall of the mountain. Adrian and another miner drove planks of wood behind those columns with wooden mallets, sandwiching the planks between the columns and the dirt wall. Each plank lay side to side up the wall, creating a paneled effect until the dirt was completely hidden.

  “See, Miss Sattler?” Rogan’s voice traveled from behind her. “We chisel twelve holes into the rock wall in one place. Then we fill them with explosive material and blast.”

  She whipped her head around. “But you won’t do that now, will you?”

  “No, ’course not, ma’am. I already told you I wouldn’t while you’re here. Besides, all blasting happens at the end of our shift, so the dust settles before the next shift starts.”

  “We promise we’ll keep you safe, Miss Sattler.” Adrian shot her a grin from across the small stope, candlelight outlining one side of his young, beardless face. “Just make sure you capture me in a strong, hardworking pose. I want Mor to be proud, you know.”

  Another miner snorted. “That’ll take some imagination on Miss Sattler’s part.”

  Walt guffawed.

  Hammering echoed throughout the room, ringing in her ears worse than the stamp mills did outside. Winifred watched the men work, far enough removed that she could sketch without getting in the way. She tilted her head to one side as she drew Adrian’s mallet connecting with the wood. Were those planks used for decoration, or did they serve a purpose?

  She opened her mouth to ask, but a rumble interrupted her. A deep rumble that reverberated in her chest. It paused for an instant, then began again. Louder. Her pulse spiked. Something wasn’t right. She moved to stand and saw the men turn. Shouts came, and a shower of debris broke forth from the ceiling, raining down, hitting her in the face and along her shoulders. A pelting like hail.

  Winifred winced, backed up. More shouts came from farther away. Her scream lit the stope as the candles went out.

  Chapter Nine

  A broken stamp. Exactly what Ewan didn’t need.

  Inside the mill, he shook his head, stifling a cough as the dust caked his lungs. He couldn’t believe the mess a busted cam could make. When he’d rushed inside, workers had already begun scrambling to stop the machinery before it tore the battery apart completely. In the wake of the breakdown, chunks of quartz and gold lay everywhere, scattered across the floor and shot up atop the stairs and supplies lying around the room’s perimeter. Dust mixed with gold on the mercury-coated tables. The mangled machinery had finally been put to rest before it destroyed anything else—though a considerable amount of damage had already been done. Not to mention the drop in production they would see while this equipment was nonoperational.

  “We’ll have to send for a new part. Maybe a few,” Marcus said beside Ewan. “I’ll be honest, it probably won’t be cheap.”

  Ewan looked away. “I know.”

  Thankfully, no one had been hurt. He glanced at George, who couldn’t have heard the disaster happening and might have unknowingly moved in the wrong way at just the wrong time, and Ewan’s mind replayed Winifred’s worry of sabotage. He hadn’t wanted to believe her, but what if she was right? Sabotaging the machinery would be easily accomplished—someone might have loosened a bolt or thrown something into the machine...but who would go to such great lengths to hurt his company—and the people who worked here?

  One thing was certain: Ewan couldn’t handle another injury to his workers, the people under his care.

  “I’ll look into buying a part,” he replied, though he knew it would be too expensive to purchase right now. Unfortunately, without the repair, he was down to one five
-stamp battery. How could he hope to increase his earnings and fix his second machine if his production would now be cut in half? Especially if more unexpected breakdowns popped up around the mine.

  The men dotting the room didn’t speak, but Ewan could read their thoughts anyway. In their minds, this was one more disaster, one more tick mark, against the Golden Star Mine. And as surely as he stood here, they were losing their faith in their jobs faster than he could restore it.

  Lord, how can I turn their faith around? First thing was figuring out why so many problems had arisen in recent months. He clapped one of the workers on the shoulder and turned to leave. “Heading to my office. Thanks for all you do.” Maybe it would be enough, but maybe it wouldn’t. Winifred’s advice had never been so true. Tell them you care. Encourage them to continue working as hard as you do. You’re only as strong as your weakest link, and if you don’t change something, weak links will start popping up all over the place.

  He stepped outside and started for the office building.

  Shouts caught his attention up the hill. Slowing his walk, Ewan raised his eyes to the mine. Miners dashed in and out of the adit like frantic ants, carrying shovels and rocks, shouting to each other.

  “Mr. Burke!”

  The voice came from Ewan’s left. He flicked his gaze toward the office building, where one of his workers emerged.

  “Mr. Burke!” he called again. “I just came from your office, looking for you.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Ewan faced the young miner, his heartbeat ratcheting up a few notches. “What is it, man?”

  “There’s been a cave-in.”

  The news fell with the weight of a thousand pounds of rock. “What?”

  “A little one,” the man assured him, wheezing as he drew closer, obviously exerting himself. “But some people are trapped inside.”

  No. Chest tightening, Ewan turned his quickened steps toward the mountain.

  “Which men?” He needed to know who to look for. Lord, this can’t be happening. If anything bad befell them...

  “Rogan, Walt, Lloyd, Roger...” The man coughed as he tried to keep up with Ewan’s swift gait. “And that girl, I think.”

  Ewan’s eyes shot open wide. He whirled to face the miner, nearly knocking the man back with his glare. “What girl?”

  Before he answered, Ewan knew. Knew at the core of his bone-cold being.

  “The talkative one—brown hair? Helps Granna Cass in the kitchen.”

  Lord, please, no.

  Ewan pushed himself even faster toward the mountain. Removing his coat, he crossed the ground with the power of a locomotive. He climbed the outcropping. Rocks scraped against his hands, slipped beneath his shoes. When he reached solid footing, he unbuttoned his wrist cuffs and rolled his sleeves, barreling ever closer to the sight he didn’t want—couldn’t bear—to see.

  A couple men paused in the adit as Ewan approached. “Which drift?” he asked the nearest man before yanking his lantern down from the rock wall.

  “Follow me.” The miner lit Ewan’s lantern, then led him into the darkness. “I don’t know what happened,” he said over his shoulder. “There weren’t many on that excavation.”

  “What was Miss Sattler doing in here?” He pushed through the tunnel with his heartbeat pumping against his chest. The man answered, but Ewan heard nothing. Thought about nothing. Except saving his men and Winifred.

  His powerful light cast dark shadows across the drift. He choked on dust as the air grew hazy from the fallen rocks and soil. Turning a corner, he nearly collided with a crowd of workers clogging the way. The miner with him shouldered a path through the men. As they realized their boss was present, they began to back out of the way on their own. When Ewan finally reached the front, his heart nearly stopped.

  Rubble strewed the former opening to a small stope. He lifted his lantern higher. Black soil and rocks rose to the drift’s ceiling. Men scrambled to pull debris out of the way, shouting to one another and to those on the other side to see if they were alive and to tell them they were coming. Except no one could listen for their replies because of the ruckus.

  “Everyone be quiet!” His voice rang up and down the narrow drift, and in a ripple effect, people silenced. Never had he raised his voice to his workers before, but if these people kept him from properly assessing this situation for one more moment... “I’ll give the orders on how to proceed, so everyone better listen closely.”

  He began doling out responsibilities, sending some men to fetch the doctor. Others to inform the rest of the miners currently working that a cave-in had occurred and that for safekeeping, they needed to evacuate. Still more were asked to help dig out the victims.

  The victims. Oh, Lord, please help.

  Taking his place by the rubble, he helped Adrian Birkeland ease a large rock from the pile. All the while, he tried not to imagine Winifred’s face. The man, bleeding and covered in dirt, worked harder than any to remove the rocks. A haunted shadow had fallen across his face and he refused to let anyone guide him away, even as a gash on his arm turned his sleeve red. “I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Ewan’s throat felt like broken glass.

  The young man shook his head, digging faster. “I almost got trapped under all this, too. I should have! Why’d God spare me? Honest, Mr. Burke, I had no idea this would happen. If I’d known, I never would’ve asked her to come.”

  The man’s words pinged through Ewan. “You asked her to come?”

  “God, please forgive me,” the man prayed, his voice shaky with a sob. “I had no idea this would happen, really.”

  With a surge of strength, Ewan heaved more rocks away. His back strained against the weight, his fingers aching as they scraped against the rough edges, but he continued to pull. Rock after rock. Others pitched in alongside him. All the while, he begged God to preserve them. A by-standing woman who had no business being inside the mine was now trapped in their newest stope. Exactly where Ewan had told her not to go.

  A pile of debris gave way near one side, so he pawed to create an opening. Had they broken through? Blinking to allow his eyes to see through the dust, he lifted his lantern for extra light. Beyond a sliver in the wall of rubble, he spotted a small room—a pocket behind the cave-in. Holding his arm up to signal that no one was to follow him, he began to climb inside, shoving loose rocks and dirt out of his way.

  Any minute, the pocket could collapse.

  Inside, Walt heaved his shoulder against a boulder, trying to move it while nursing a wounded arm against his chest. As Ewan stepped over a timber support beam snapped in half like a twig, he spotted Rogan hunkered along the opposite wall, a figure lying sickeningly still in his arms.

  Winifred.

  “God, please, no.” His lantern teetered as he set it down, then he crawled to the man beneath the low ceiling. “Is she breathing?”

  “Yes. But barely conscious.” The man got to his knees with Winifred in his arms and Ewan scooped her up into his.

  “Help me get her out of here,” he murmured.

  Others helped him clear the rubble wall enough to walk through, then the men parted sides as he made his way down the drift toward the opening with her close to his chest. One of his men led the way with Ewan’s lantern, while others held up their candles to light his path. Winifred’s body was snuggled against him, warm but hardly stirring. He nearly tripped on the railroad ties, stumbling along as if he didn’t know this place like the back of his hand.

  Emerging into sunlight, he squinted, cradling her closer as he slid down the rocks and shale. Dirt streaked her face, or at least what he could see of it, nuzzled against his shirt. Had he felt her move? He couldn’t tell against the rapid pounding of his heart.

  Where was that doctor? Straining to fill his lungs with enough air, Ewan called to a miner who followed him, “Tell the doctor I too
k her to Cassandra’s.” The man ran with him and opened the office building’s side door. Ewan pushed inside and forced his way down the corridor. “God, don’t let me lose her,” he whispered.

  He glanced at Winifred for a better look. Dark hair fell haphazardly across her face, accentuating the cuts and scrapes scattered across her high cheekbones. Had it only been this morning that she had smiled at him from across the kitchen?

  Her lashes fluttered slightly at the jounce of movement. “Hang on, Win,” he murmured a little louder. “Hang on. Don’t leave me.”

  * * *

  Winifred heard a voice overhead. Far away at first, then closer. Something heavy covered her. Heavy and soft. Blankets? Something cradled her head, and she could only guess it was a pillow. But when had she gone to bed? She couldn’t remember...

  The voice came again. Quiet, nearly soundless. Squeezing her eyes farther shut for momentum to open them, she finally found the strength to lift one to a slit.

  The room spun a half circle. When it righted, she focused on a blurry figure sitting beside her pallet in Granna Cass’s quarters. No, not her pallet—Granna Cass’s bed. It was higher off the floor. How did she get here?

  She wanted to move, but her limbs wouldn’t work. White haze coated everything, and her eyelids grew heavy again.

  The figure shifted. White shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Certainly wasn’t Granna Cass. Or Delia. The person lifted his head over folded hands, suddenly coming into focus.

  Ewan.

  But what business did he have sitting at her bedside?

  “Please,” she heard him whisper. The rest remained inaudible, but evidently he was praying. Hair disheveled, dirt smudging his knuckles, forearms and sleeves—the always-fastidious man looked like he’d been hurled about by a cyclone, but he didn’t seem to notice as he was deep in the throes of prayer.

  Winifred breathed in. The mine. She remembered now. The rocks falling down around her. The men’s shouts. Her scream. Yet somehow she’d made it out alive. How had that happened? Aside from her splitting headache and inability to think clearly, she wouldn’t know anything had happened at all if she hadn’t seen the aftermath on Ewan’s attire and expression.