Miner's Daughter

by Duncan, Alice

  Enough money to go to the doctor when she was sick would be nice. Doc Crabtree didn’t mind being paid with chickens, but Mari really needed the chickens for herself, to eat and to sell to the Mojave Inn. She knew, because she read extensively, that most middleclass families in America had at least one person to help with the housework. She wouldn’t need that, since she lived in a one-room cabin, but she sure wouldn’t mind being able to buy a meal at the Mojave Inn every once in a while.

  She chided herself for being stingy with her fantasies. Heck, if she was going to imagine, she might as well do it big. So she imagined a real house with more than one room. It would be nice to have a separate kitchen. And a bathroom. And electricity! The weather in this desert might almost be tolerable if one could stir the air a bit with an electrical fan.

  By the time she knotted her still-damp hair into a bun and pinned it in place, Mari had succeeded in expanding her daydream to include a house with a green lawn and a motorcar, so she could take trips to pretty places like, say, Pasadena. It was lovely there, near the mountains. And so green. Mari wondered if everyone who lived in deserts craved green as she did.

  She felt almost decadent as she slipped into Tony’s robe. She’d never worn silk before. It felt like heaven against her skin. With a sigh, she opened the door and stood there, slightly taken aback when a room full of men turned to stare at her. She frowned and turned to Dr. Crabtree. “Where do you want to do this examination, Doc?”

  Her prosaic question seemed to jolt the men out of their trance. Dr. Crabtree cleared his throat and said, “I suppose we can carry it out here, if these gentlemen will kindly leave us be. I don’t think you want an audience.”

  He smiled at her in his kindly way.

  “Good Lord, no.” Mari shuddered. This was going to be bad enough without Martin and Tony and Ben and everybody else in the world watching.

  A knock came at the door before the men could get themselves organized and depart. Martin was closest, and he opened the door. Frowning and clearly upset, George entered the room with a graceless lurch. He held his hat in his hand, and his face was so pale, Mari wondered if he, and not she, might benefit from a medical examination.

  Martin took George by the shoulder, his face expressing concern over his colleague’s state of mind. “What is it, George?”

  George, whose brown eyes held an intense expression at the most relaxed of times, now appeared almost maniacally fervent. “Sabotage,” he declared, his voice rasping and sharp-edged. “Deliberate, cold-blooded sabotage.”

  All talking ceased. The only discernible noise in the room was Tiny’s tail as it swished back and forth across the floor. Nothing, not even deliberate sabotage, could get Tiny down.

  Finally, Tony broke the silence with a short, brutal curse. The men swarmed around George. Dr. Crabtree shooed them out of the room to discuss the matter elsewhere, and directed Mari to sit on the bed so he could test her reflexes and eyesight, and judge for sure if she’d been concussed by the falling wall.

  Mari wanted to rush off with the men and hear what George had found out. Darn it, she hated being left out.

  It was a glum group that gathered in a corner of the Mojave Inn’s dining room. Understanding the needs of men, Mr. Nelson dismissed his wife’s objections and carried over a tray of mugs, frothy with beer foam. Tony tipped him handsomely, grateful for the proprietor’s consideration.

  “My old man’s going to have to know what’s going on here,” he said to Martin unhappily. “I haven’t called him yet and was hoping I wouldn’t have to; but if somebody’s seriously trying to undermine the picture, he’ll have to be told. I’ll try to get a long-distance trunk call put through before the end of the day.”

  “I suppose you’d better.” Martin took a swig of his beer, looking more grim than Tony could remember seeing him. “It’s his money, after all.”

  Feeling apologetic about it, Tony agreed. “Right. I’m sorry, Martin.”

  Martin waved away the apology. “It’s all right, Tony. This is serious, and our backers need to know about it. I’ve already placed a call to Phin. I’m hoping the long-distance operator will ring back soon with the connection.”

  “Yeah, he ought to know what’s going on, too.”

  Martin uttered something between a growl and a snort. “I’m going to ask him to send out two or three private detectives. And maybe a couple of other men to work as guards at night.”

  Tony lifted his eyebrow. “Good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Martin grinned at him. “It’s not your baby. You’re only minding your daddy’s money. My career and the future of Peerless might rest on this venture.”

  George, who had remained silent and seemed shrouded in gloom, shuddered. “Career?” he muttered. “I don’t even have a career yet, and it’s being ruined as we speak.”

  That put everything in a disagreeable light. Tony frowned into his beer mug. “You’re right. Blast it, I sure hope your detectives can find out who’s behind all of this vandalism, Martin. This whole series of malicious acts is an outrage.”

  With a sigh, Martin said, “It’s gone beyond vandalism, I think. It looks to me as though whoever’s doing this is seeking outright ruin for Peerless.”

  “Hmm.” Tony eyed Martin. “You don’t think Edison has anything to do with this series of . . . mishaps, do you?” They weren’t mishaps, but Tony couldn’t think of another word to describe them.

  For a moment; Martin gazed off into the gloom of the dining room; luncheon was still a couple of hours away, and the lights hadn’t been turned on. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know Edison’s more likely to use the courts and claims of patent infringement to undercut his competitors. I’ve never heard of him doing overt malicious mischief to a rival’s production.”

  Tony downed the rest of his beer. “Yeah. I never have, either.”

  “And if whoever was behind today’s villainy had succeeded in killing Mari, you can be sure that would be the end of Peerless.”

  Tony’s heart contracted so suddenly and painfully that he couldn’t have responded even if he could have thought of words to say, which he couldn’t.

  George didn’t speak either. He only moaned softly.

  When Tony looked up at last, he beheld Mari standing and blinking at the door to the dining room. She’d come from the light-infused lobby area, and probably couldn’t see the men in their corner. She was dressed in the clothes she’d worn to town that morning. He rose abruptly, and his chair scraped the floor with a noise that made Martin and George jump and Mari turn toward the sound.

  He hurried over and took both of her hands in his. She appeared a little shocked by this intimacy, but Tony didn’t care. She might have had the life crushed out of her this morning, and it had scared the bejesus out of him. Although he still wasn’t able to put words to his innermost feelings, he did know he wasn’t going to let her get away from him without putting up a damned good fight first.

  “What did the doctor say?” he asked before she’d had a chance to find her wits. “Are you all right? Is anything broken? Was there a chance of concussion? What about bruises? Are you sore? Do you need medication? Carbolic? Headache powders? Bandages? Anything?”

  She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Which he might well have done. He’d never experienced this desperate need to protect another human being before he’d met Mari. Not only that, but the need extended only to Mari, although it encompassed her and everything she was, did, owned, and thought. Even her stupid dog.

  “Um, I’m fine, thanks.” Glancing at the table, she squinted for a moment then said, “Oh, is that Martin? And George? Is he there? What happened?”

  “What happened? The damned wall fell on top of you!” Modesty was all right in Tony’s book, but this was pushing things. She knew damned well what had happened to her, and this pose of coy timidity didn’t wash with him

  She gave him an “oh-for-goodness’-sake” look. “I know the wall fell, Tony. What I was a
sking was, did George discover why it fell.”

  “Oh.” That made sense. He guessed he was being slightly aggressive about his protector’s mode. He took her by the elbow and guided her to the table he’d lately left. “Yes, he did find out. I’ll let George tell you about it.”

  He pulled out a chair for Mari to sit upon and asked her, “Would you like something to drink? We’re having beer, but—”

  “Beer?” Mari’s eyes opened up as wide as platters, and she grinned. “Good heavens, however did you persuade Mrs. Nelson to serve you beer before four o’clock?”

  Martin chuckled. Tony, who was too worried about Mari’s health to find much of anything amusing, answered her question seriously. “Mr. Nelson thought we could use it to calm our nerves.”

  “That was nice of him.” Mari thought for a second. “I could use some lemonade, if there’s any made. I’m awfully thirsty. If there’s none made, I’ll just take water.”

  If there’s any made? Tony would see to it that Mari got lemonade, if Mrs. Nelson and her whole tribe had to grow the lemon trees, harvest the lemons, grind the sugar beets to powder, and dig a well to get water for it. “Be right back,” he said. Before he’d taken more than a couple of steps, he turned and asked, his brow furrowed, “Do you need anything else? A bite to eat? Crackers? A sandwich? Something to settle your stomach? Anything?”

  Again, her expression told him she doubted his sanity. “Um, no, thanks I’m fine. Lemonade would be nice.”

  Tony wheeled around and beat a retreat to the kitchen, where he barged in, thus surprising Mrs. Nelson and Judy, who were making preparations for lunch. He demanded and received a whole pitcher of lemonade and then went to the icehouse behind the hotel and chipped out a bucket of ice in case Mari wanted it.

  When he returned to the table, he stopped in his tracks when he observed Martin patting Mari’s band. He was about to roar over to the table and demand satisfaction from Martin—what kind of satisfaction, he didn’t know, since men no longer fought duels over women—when he caught Martin’s words.

  Laughing softly, Martin said, “No, he’s not crazy, Mari. I think he might be developing some tender feelings for you, though.”

  Now Mari looked at Martin as if he’d gone mad. Dammit. Tony tromped up to the table, annoyed that Martin should be talking about him behind his back. Although, he had to admit, he was glad Martin seemed to have no designs on Mari. He’d hate it if he lost Martin’s friendship or had to shoot him or anything

  “Here’s your lemonade,” he growled, and plunked the pitcher on the table.

  Mari jumped back a bit startled. “Oh! Thank you, Tony. I’m not sure I can drink all of that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he grumped. “Here’s some ice.” He put the bowl of ice down with a loud clunk.

  “My goodness, thank you. This is a real treat, getting to drink ice-cold lemonade. Maybe I should have a wall fall on me every day if I get rewarded with such luxuries.”

  All three men stared at her, and Mari blushed. “I didn’t mean that.” She fixed herself a glass of lemonade, liberally cooled with chipped ice, and smiled at Tony, who’d resumed his chair. “Thank you very much. I really appreciate this.”

  Tony nodded and tried not to look like a lovesick schoolboy. Martin’s words had horrified him. Was his attraction to Mari so obvious? He turned abruptly to George. “Did you tell her about the wall?”

  George nodded gloomily. “Yes. I told her about the crosspieces that had been sawed nearly through.”

  Martin took up the theme. “It’s as though whoever did it didn’t want anyone to see what he’d done. It was very subtle. The wall might hold up during several rehearsals or even several scenes, but sooner or later, when Harrowgate slammed the door, the crosspieces would break, and the set would collapse.”

  Mari set her lemonade glass on the table and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, which had apparently sprouted gooseflesh. Tony clenched his jaws. He wanted to do that. The rubbing of her arms part.

  “That’s . . . that’s really awful,” she said in a small voice. “I guess whoever’s doing these things doesn’t care if people get hurt.”

  “Obviously,” snarled Tony, feeling excessively crabby. Dammit, he wanted to be alone with Mari. He needed to ask her every detail of her doctor’s examination, to learn exactly what Crabtree had told her, to find out if she was supposed to be resting, or sleeping, or what. Dammit, she ought to have a specialist look at her. He wondered if he could get someone from New York.

  When Mari and Martin glanced at him briefly, Tony realized where his thoughts had flown and concentrated on the conversation. A flicker of a smile crossed Martin’s face before he said to Mari, “We’re not going to resume work on the picture until detectives arrive from Los Angeles. That will probably be tomorrow, depending on how quickly Phin can get them here.”

  “Detectives?” Her eyes opened wide, and for a split second, Tony wished he were a detective and could have such an effect on her. Then he mentally slapped himself and told himself to get a grip.

  “I’m going to post guards, too,” Martin told her. “I’m sick of this. It’s getting dangerous. We’ve got to protect our investment, but even more important, we have to protect our people. We all nearly had heart attacks this morning when we saw that wall fall.”

  Mari shivered. “You’re not alone. I couldn’t believe what was happening.”

  Suddenly, Tony stood. “I’m taking you home in the motorcar, Mari. Do you have to get anything together first?”

  The three people still seated at the table gaped up at him. Blast. He frowned at them. “We’re not doing any more filming today, and Mari needs to rest.”

  Hesitantly, Martin nodded his agreement. “Right. Sure.” He turned to Mari. “Do you need anything, Mari? Food? Medicine?”

  Dammit, Tony was supposed to ask her those things, not. Martin. He snarled, “I’ll take care of Mari.”

  Again, a fleeting grin touched Martin’s lips. “Okay, Tony.” He kept his tone of voice mild, as he might do if he were dealing with a lunatic.

  Tony resented it. He glowered at Mari. “Come on, Mari.”

  “I haven’t finished my lemonade,” she pointed out without rancor. “Can you wait just a minute?”

  “I guess so.” He thought of something that would prove to be an impediment if not taken care of immediately. “I’ll ask Mrs. Nelson to pack something for your dinner and find Tiny.”

  She smiled up at him, which almost made life worth living. “Thank you. That would be swell.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tiny, in the backseat of Tony’s elegant black motorcar, stuck his head out one open window while his tail churned a whirlwind out the open window on the other side of the car. Mari, who’d been through a great deal, now felt peaceful and pleasantly sleepy. She wished she could stay in Tony’s machine and have him drive her and her dog around for hours. Being a passenger in a moving vehicle could be a very relaxing experience.

  “Your dog likes the fast life,” Tony commented with a grin.

  Mari glanced first at Tiny, then at Tony. Tony was absolutely perfect for this setting. At ease, both with himself and the world, confident, young and handsome, he belonged to a future filled with motorcars, moving pictures, investments, and modern inventions.

  She sometimes believed herself to be mired in the past. And it wasn’t even her past. It belonged to her father’s generation. What’s more, it hadn’t paid off then, and it didn’t show any signs of paying off now or ever. She sighed.

  “Yes, he likes riding in your motorcar.”

  Tony slanted her a peek and a grin. “And you, Mari? Do you like riding in my motorcar?”

  Oh, boy, she loved riding in his car. She said, “Sure. It’s fun.”

  He nodded, but she noticed his grin fled. Should she have been more enthusiastic? But she didn’t want him to know how much of a crush she was developing on him, if crush it was. Crush was a safe word for a condition in which Mari fel
t not at all safe. Besides, crushes didn’t last. She feared what she felt for Tony was going to last far too long.

  Frightened by the noise of the motor, a jackrabbit sailed across the road in front of the car and sped off, sending Tiny into a gleeful frenzy. Her dog’s antics took Mari’s mind away from fruitless contemplation, and she laughed. So did Tony. She sighed again.

  If only, she thought, this day could last. Just like this. Never coming to a conclusion, and not having to start over again with all of its attendant frights and flurries. This was so . . . nice, she guessed was the right word, although it didn’t exactly capture her mood. Blissful? Sweet? Heavenly? Yeah. Those, too.

  It occurred to her that while she’d been spinning fantasies, she might have included Tony and his motorcar in at least one of them. But like a grand house in Pasadena and lots of money, Tony was so far beyond her reach that it seemed idiotic even to daydream about him.

  “There’s the old homestead.”

  Tony’s voice penetrated the fuzz of Mari’s thoughts, and she sat up straight and looked. “Oh, yes.” There it was, all right. “The old homestead.”

  How poetic a phrase for that pile of junk. And how pathetic that her whole life contained so little more than that. She took herself to task for sinking into the dismals. She even tried to convince herself that more people lived in something like her circumstances than in Tony’s.

  That was all well and good. But Mari suspected in her heart of hearts that not too darned many people were as poor as she, or as alone in the world. What a fruitless line of thought, but that didn’t make it inaccurate.

  She shook herself and reached around to pet Tiny. “We’re almost home, boy, and you can go find yourself another jackrabbit to chase.” And kill. She didn’t add that part, sensing that a reference to Tiny’s predatory habits might spoil the mood, whatever it was.

  Tony braked the motorcar in front of Mari’s door. Since Mari had lived in the cabin forever, and since she was used to it, she seldom noticed its almost perfect shabbiness. She noticed today. Turning to Tony, she said with a wry grin, “Not exactly what you’re used to, is it?”