Miner's Daughter

by Duncan, Alice

  As they walked over to the set, Mari had to admit that George’s conception of a rugged western mining town was much more picturesque than Mojave Wells. That made her a little sad, although she couldn’t have said why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this is the way most people in the world were going to view her life forevermore, and it was false.

  On the other hand, what did she care? She scolded herself for getting sentimental and prayed for the umpteenth time that the good Lord rid her of her too-ready emotionalism. She had to live a hard life. She needed be tough minded and hardy, not slushy and weepy.

  By the time she and Martin reached the set and Martin showed her the mark on the ground where she was supposed to begin her scene, Mari had herself more or less under control. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t collapse or fall into a crying fit or anything. Besides, this first scene was easy. All she had to do was sit on chair beside a table, both of which were supposed to be inside a miner’s cabin, and carry on a silent conversation with Reginald Harrowgate, who was playing her father. She’d met Harrowgate since her first unfortunate introduction to him, and she knew he’d not forgiven her for Tiny’s behavior, but she was willing to make the most of it.

  Ten thousand dollars, she told herself. You can do this for ten thousand dollars. In fact, ten thousand dollars, served as her mantra during that first scene.

  Harrowgate let her sit in the hot sun for a full five minutes, and Mari had begun to fear she’d slide right out of her chair because of how much she was sweating, before he strode onto the set like a king to his throne. He peered down at her as if she were some disgusting species of fungus. “All ready here, Martin,” he said, and he, too, sat.

  Mari dared to smile at him and say, “Hello,” but he merely scowled and put a finger to his lips.

  As if it mattered. The pictures were silent. Nobody’d know if they spoke to each other. With a sigh, Mari let it ride. She didn’t care if this silly man liked her or didn’t like her. She only hoped she wouldn’t make a complete fool of herself.

  “All right. And, ready? Action!”

  Martin had explained the language of picture-making to Mari, so she knew these esoteric commands meant the camera would now start to crank, and she and Harrowgate would assume the roles of father and daughter. Given the strength of the actor’s animosity toward her, Mari didn’t feel any too confident about her first foray into the realm of fantasy, but she gave it her best shot.

  “All right now, Miss Pottersby, as you know, I’ve just come home from a hard day’s work in the mine.”

  Right. A single glance at the actor’s soft, elegant hands put the lie to that assertion. Mari reminded herself she was acting, and said, “Right. And I run to the stove to pour you a cup of coffee.” She did so, rising from the table, smiling at the man who was supposed to be her father, and going to the potbellied stove sitting in a triangle of wooden walls representing the cabin. This particular cabin had only two sides, so the camera could capture all the action going on indoors.

  Speaking of the camera, it sure did make a racket. Even if speech could be recorded, nobody in an audience would be able to make out the words due to the ratcheting noise the camera made. And the sprockets made big chunking sounds when they flew out onto the ground. Mari thought how silly this all was and almost smiled.

  She caught herself in time. As her father, Harrowgate was supposed to be recounting the miserable luck the day had brought him. She turned at the stove, as Martin had told her to do, put on a doleful expression, and thought to herself, I’m sorry, Pa. She didn’t say it aloud, because she’d have felt too darned stupid speaking the words to the actor.

  “Wonderful! You’re doing a great job, Mari!”

  Mari had to remind herself not to smile at Martin’s encouraging words. But it was very nice of him to treat her so well.

  “All right, Miss Pottersby, bring the coffee to me,” Harrowgate prompted. No one would be able to see his lips move, because he’d sunk his head into his hands in a pose eloquent of despair. Mari was impressed.

  She’d have been glad to bring him a cup of coffee too, but the pot was filled with water. She brought him a cup of water instead, and decided it was going to be fun to see the end product of all this pretense. Already she expected it would look authentic, even though everything going. into its creation was as phony as a three dollar bill. “Here’s the coffee, Pa,” she said, and then had to stop herself from grimacing. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

  “Thank you, Gloria.” Gloria was the name of Mari’s character in the picture. “You’re a good daughter.”

  How sweet. And he sounded so natural, as if he didn’t really hate her at all. Mari decided it was a darned good thing she didn’t intend to make a career of acting, or she’d be confused all the time instead of just most of it. She found life difficult enough already, living among people who meant what they said.

  “So, tell me what happened in the mine today.” She almost tacked on, another “Pa,” but caught herself in time. The very word, Pa, reminded her of her own deceased father and made her sad. Her father had been ever so much jollier than this bag of puff.

  “It’s bad, Gloria. We’re almost played out.”

  Mari knew the feeling well. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.”

  Harrowgate shot her a scowl from between the fingers of his cupped hands. “You can do better than that. Wring your hands or something.”

  “Okay.” She began to wring her hands and look distressed. “That better?”

  “Don’t move your lips so much They’ll be able to tell what you’re saying.”

  Mari scarcely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. He was probably right. He knew a whole lot more about this business than she did.

  “Great, you two. Mari, press a hand to your heart. Your emotions have been wrung by the picture of your father in so dire a circumstance.”

  “Right.” She stopped wringing her hands and pressed them both to her heart. What the heck. If one was good, two were undoubtedly better.

  Martin confirmed her assumption by shouting, “Wonderful! You’re doing great!”

  Harrowgate stood up suddenly. Mari was expecting it, because she’d studied the story line carefully, but she still jumped back a pace. She hoped that was all right, because she couldn’t help it.

  “Great!” hollered Martin through his megaphone. “Wonderful! This is going to be a truly powerful scene!”

  Powerful, eh? Well, Mari guessed it might be. She reached out and clutched Harrowgate’s arm, as she was supposed to do. He shook her off, as he was supposed to do, and headed for the door set into the wall.

  “No!” she cried. “Don’t go!” Then she thanked her stars for makeup, because she knew she was blushing.

  “Fantastic!” shouted Martin. “Perfect! You two are wonderful. Run after him, Mari! Try to stop him.”

  She did so. Again Harrowgate shook her off. Then he flung the door open, turned around and, with one hand on the latch and the other splayed over his heart, said, “I’m going, child! I’m not going to let that foul fiend steal my mine from me!”

  That foul fiend? Mari had heard of overacting, but she’d never seen it until this instant. Since it seemed appropriate, she decided to do some emoting of her own. She clasped her hands in a gesture of prayer and cried, “No, Pa! Please don’t go to that dreadful place!” According to the script, Harrowgate was now going to visit a saloon, where he was going to get drunk and gamble away his mine—and his daughter.

  Harrowgate didn’t speak again, but wrenched the door shut with a slam that wobbled the scenery. Trying to imagine what a girl in this circumstance might do, Mari clapped her hands over her mouth, opened her eyes wide, and tried very hard to appear both horrified and anguished.

  “Perfect! You captured the emotion brilliantly, Mari!”

  As well she should, having lived it over and over again in her few short years on earth. Still, she appreciated Martin’s approval.

  “Keep
it up for another couple of seconds. Walk dejectedly back to the table, Mari, and sink down as if your legs won’t hold you any longer. That’ll be great!”

  She did as Martin directed and, with dragging feet, went back to the table. She looked up once, caught sight of the terrible expression on Tony’s face, and had no trouble at all dropping like a rock into the chair.

  “Perfect! Splendid!” Martin shouted. “And . . . cut!”

  The cameras stopped grinding, the sprockets stopped chunking, and Martin ran over to where Mari sat, blinking against the sun and wondering what was wrong with Tony. Then she remembered her dog. Because there was no way she’d ask Martin about Tony, she said, “Where’s Tony? I mean Tiny?” Drat. She wished she’d stop doing that.

  You were wonderful, Mari ! Great! You—I beg your pardon?”

  She stood up and smiled. “Thanks, Martin. I appreciate your words, although I’m not sure I should believe them. I only asked where Tiny was. I don’t see him.”

  Martin laughed heartily. “Oh, Tiny! He’s okay. I’ve got one of the crew holding his leash. And you ought to believe me, because I’m telling the truth. You were wonderful. Wait until you see yourself. You were great! Perfect!”

  Wonderful, great, perfect. Mari’d never been any of those things before, at least not that she could remember. Her teachers used to complain all the time about her daydreaming. A couple of them had even whopped her knuckles with their rulers. She’d never thought of herself as anything but a no-account whose head drifted perpetually in the clouds. Except when her body was in the mine.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome. I think we got that in one take, too. Now comes the scene where your father comes home after spending all night in the saloon. He’s even more miserable than he was when he left, you’ll recall, because he’s not merely drunk, but he’s gambled away everything he values, including you.”

  Mari shivered involuntarily. It wasn’t because of the weather, which was searingly hot, but because of the abysmal portrait Martin had just painted in words. Powerful things, words. She thanked her stars her father hadn’t been a drinker. She said, “Okay.”

  “Super. I’m so glad you agreed to work with us.” Martin strode off, tapping his bullhorn against his leg and looking happy as a clam.

  Mari thought he had a very pleasant nature, and one that was easy to be around. She wished some of the other people connected with this picture were more like him. She shot a glance at Tony, but he still looked like he wanted to kill something. Mari had a hunch it was her whom he wished to slay, but she had no idea why. She’d not done anything wrong that she could remember.

  With a sigh, she settled in the chair ready to assume the pose of the anxiously waiting daughter whenever Martin gave her the signal.

  Tony scowled at the cabin set and beat himself up inwardly. For the love of God, why had he lost control of himself this morning? If he did that again, Mari was sure to get scared and back away from him. Unless she ran off screaming, which was another possibility.

  He glowered at the broiling-hot set and called himself every vile name he could come up with. What had he been thinking of when he’d grabbed her like that?

  He hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d been so damned glad to see her, all thought had fled, and he’d reached for what he craved. That what he craved was Mari and that he had no right to embrace her hadn’t entered into the equation.

  She was damned good as the leading lady in this picture. Tony didn’t know how he felt about that. He feared she might be too successful for him. Hell, if she got to be famous and sought after as an actress, what would she need him for?

  Not, of course, that she needed him now At least she didn’t think she did. But that was only because she hadn’t stopped to consider how much better her life could be if she’d allow him into it.

  Blast, there he went again, thinking about permanence. Permanence meant marriage for a woman like Mari. He sincerely doubted that he’d ever be able to persuade her into a more casual alliance, because such affairs weren’t considered proper in her realm of society. They weren’t considered proper in his, either, but that didn’t seem to stop a whole lot of people from establishing illicit alliances. Mari was too obstinate to go for anything like that.

  It occurred to him that a Mari without her strict values wouldn’t be the Mari he wanted, which was a moderately discouraging thought. He wasn’t sure where that left him, but he feared it might be without Mari.

  Something on the set caught his eye, and his gaze zeroed in on the left cabin wall. Was it swaying slightly? Maybe it was rocking in the wind.

  “Balderdash,” he growled. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze today, much less a wind. He started walking closer to the set.

  Martin had given the command, Ben had begun cranking the camera, and the god-awful noise of filming filled the air. Harrowgate staggered through the door, slamming it behind him, and Mari ran to meet him, then backed away as if his condition horrified her. As well it might, Tony thought cynically. Harrowgate was a pompous old bore and nearly always made Tony feel horrible.

  He did a pretty good job as Mari’s sodden father, though. When he faked a slap that was supposed to send her to the ground, it looked so real, Tony almost objected. He didn’t, thank God. Then Harrowgate staggered back out the door and slammed it behind him again.

  “Good God!”

  He wasn’t imagining things. That damned wall was going to collapse—and it was aimed straight at Mari.

  As he started running toward the set, Tony called out, “Mari! Get out of there! The set’s falling!”

  Tony was vaguely aware of other people, at first startled, then appalled, and then in motion. Mari herself looked up, surprised, blinked and glanced around, obviously wondering what this interruption had to do with the scene being filmed.

  “Move! Get the hell out of there!” Tony bellowed.

  Damn, he wasn’t going to get to her in time. He skidded to, a stop that churned up a mountain of dust when the wall toppled, his heart in his throat. “No!” he thundered.

  That did no good at all, naturally. He heard Mari scream when she finally understood what was happening. He thought, but he wasn’t sure, that he saw her lift her arms to cover her head. The wall went down with a crash like two locomotives running into each other at full speed. The cloud of dust was so huge it blocked out the sunshine.

  George Peters, the set designer and builder, raced past him, and Tony shuddered once then sprinted to catch up with him. If George had built a faulty set, Tony would kill him with his bare hands. Since meeting George, he’d been under the impression that the young man was both a brilliant set designer and a careful carpenter. But this . . . God, if Mari was hurt, Tony didn’t know what he’d do.

  “Mari!”

  Nothing answered his shout.

  Tiny bounded onto the scene from somewhere and ran directly over to the crash site. He began snuffling around the fallen wall as if he, too, were trying to reach Mari.

  “Help me lift this thing,” George said. His voice was so full of consternation that Tony decided to wait a while before killing him

  Martin joined them and reached out to grab hold of the massive structure. “Good God, what happened?”

  George’s voice trembled when he answered. “I don’t know. If it’s something I did, I’ll . . .” He didn’t say what he’d do, undoubtedly because he didn’t know. It didn’t matter; Tony’d do it for him

  “Everybody grab a side,” Tony commanded. “I’ll give the signal. When I say ‘three,’ lift the damned wall.”

  A variety of grunts and noises signified agreement to this proposal. Several other crew members had joined Tony, Martin and George.

  With his heart pounding out a death march, Tony said, “One. Two. Three!”

  Putting all their strength into it, the men raised the fallen wall. Whining piteously, Tiny dashed underneath, presumably to get to his mistress.

  Straining because th
e wall was heavy, Tony managed to call out, “Mari? Mari, are you there?”

  Again, no answer came forth. His whole being cried out in agony. “Mari! Dammit, answer me!”

  Tiny emerged first, dusty but unbowed, grinning and wagging his tail. Tony blinked, sure he was imagining that grin.

  His heart leaped almost out of his chest when a bedraggled Mari crawled out from under the wall. “There’s no need to swear at me, Tony,” she said tartly. “I’ve just been through an ordeal. I don’t need people swearing at me, too.”

  As soon as she was free, from the wall, Tony let go, wheeled around, and grabbed her to his chest. “Mari! Thank God! I thought you’d been crushed.”

  Tiny jumped on them both in an ecstasy of doggy delight. Tony scarcely noticed. He figured Mari’s dog had as much right to be happy as he did.

  She wriggled in his grasp, and he realized they were in a very public place. From all over town people were rushing toward the scene of the big crash. The huge noise made by the wall when it fell had been heard throughout Mojave Wells.

  “I’m all right, Tony,” she said. “Please don’t make a big scene. It’s embarrassing.”

  “A big scene? Good God, Mari, that wall fell on you. I was afraid you’d be crushed.” It went against the grain, but he let her go.

  Dust covered her from head to foot. It clung to her white makeup like frosting on a cake. She tried to brush it away from her eyes. “I must look awful.”

  “What you look like doesn’t matter. How in the name of glory did you manage to come away from that, wreck unscathed?”

  Martin, George, Ben, and at least three dozen other people had run up to the two of them and were now hovering around. They didn’t completely invade their space, but left a smallish circle of empty ground around them. Tony wondered if his inner ferocity was helping to hold them at bay, but he didn’t dwell on the notion.