by Alison Hart
Thomas stares at him, stunned. “Hundreds?” I wriggle in his lap, feeling the tension in his arms around me.
“The news is not good, Thomas. Are you sure you are strong enough to hear it? You are but a boy.”
“I saw miners dying all around me down there, Doctor Howe. I am a boy no longer. Do not spare me,” Thomas says.
“All right then.” The doctor glances in the direction of the tower. “After you were brought up, the rescue party went down two more times. Nine more miners were saved. But during the last attempt, the rescue party was killed by the fire. The bell signals got mixed up and Cowley hoisted them up too late.”
“Mr. Norberg? Mr. Dovin?”
“Thirteen of them.” Mr. Howe clears his throat as if he can’t go on. “I would have been one of them, except I was needed here.”
“And the others—my uncle—are still trapped down there?”
“They sent the cage down unmanned in case anyone else made it to the big bottom. No one got on.”
Tears fill Thomas’s eyes. I nuzzle his neck. A crowd hovers near the entrance to the tower. I hear weeping. Even though I am too big, I curl into his lap and hide my head under his arm.
I hear a weak voice. “Howdy, friend.” Alex blinks his bleary eyes. He’s so black and dirty, he looks like a lump of coal. Scooting off Thomas’s lap, I lick Alex’s face and he chuckles.
“I’m glad to see you made it,” Thomas says. “Most of Dr. Howe’s news was bleak.” He hesitates, then asks, “Your brother Bobby?”
Alex nods. “He and Alex Rosenjack made it out, but Alex is badly burned. And your uncle?”
Thomas shakes his head, then declares, “I can’t sit by and do nothing.” He stands up, his legs wobbly.
Dr. Howe grasps his elbow. “There is nothing you can do,” he says. “Firefighters from Chicago and Ladd are sending streams of water down the main shaft. After that, the supervisors have ordered it sealed.”
Thomas gasps. “That is sure death for anyone below!”
“They have no choice. The air being drawn down the open shaft is fueling the fire. Sealing it will suffocate the flames. Then a fresh rescue team with special equipment can get down there. Your uncle is a smart and brave man. Perhaps he will find a way to survive.”
“But I have to do something to help,” Thomas repeats. Alex sits up on his elbows to listen. I can tell by his drawn face and Thomas’s unsteady stance that neither boy is ready to go back into the mine.
“You can do something. Go to your aunt, Thomas. And you, Alex, go to your sister. Her husband is missing below as well. Both have been helping the injured. And they are both frantic with worry.” Dr. Howe gestures toward the hospital door. Aunt steps out onto the stoop, her face drawn and tired.
I bound over to her, ignoring my burnt paws. Her face lights up when she sees us coming to her, and she envelops both of us in her arms with a thankful cry.
CHAPTER 15
Back into the Mine
November 20, 1909
I am useless,” Thomas says in disgust. He’s sitting on the porch in a rocking chair, barefoot and bareheaded, staring at his bandaged hands. I am lying in a warm patch of morning sun. I can’t get enough of the fresh air, the frosty grass, and the blue sky.
“Look, Finder.” He thrusts his hands toward me. His fingers stick up from the bandages like bent claws. “I can’t tie my boots or use a fork. Aunt has to button my britches, for heaven’s sake.” He sinks back in the rocking chair and gazes forlornly across the field.
Sitting up, I wag my tail. I am not forlorn. Every day I am happy that I no longer have to go into the mine and pull the cart.
The front door squeaks open and Aunt steps onto the porch. She is wearing a black dress. In one hand she holds a basket of bandages and ointment. The other hand is behind her. Does she have a treat for me?
“I don’t know why you are going to the mine,” Thomas says. “It’s been seven days. Fires are still breaking out in the tunnels.”
“I can help in the hospital,” Aunt says. “And there is still hope.”
I am hoping for a bone filled with marrow. Ever since Thomas and I escaped, Aunt has been generous with scraps. And no one has mentioned training or the rifle.
“How can you believe there’s hope? All the rescuers bring up is more dead bod—” Thomas looks away.
Sadness fills Aunt’s face. “It is more than one can bear, I know.”
Jumping up, I bump my muzzle against her hand.
“But for your uncle’s sake,” she goes on, “I cannot give up.”
Uncle. There has been no sign of him, and now his name is spoken with as much sadness as Ma’s and Pa’s.
Aunt gives Thomas a faint smile as she brings her hand from behind her back. It’s not a bone for me—it’s Thomas’s camera.
“There are many stories to tell about this disaster,” she says quietly, and after setting it on his lap, she hurries down the steps to the lane.
“Stories?” Thomas sighs when Aunt has moved away. “I don’t want to tell stories about the fire or the missing. It’s too sorrowful. Besides, how can I take a photo when I can’t move my fingers?”
I poke my head under his arm. Come on. Take a picture of me. But he puts down the camera and pushes me away, then starts rocking the chair again, his thoughts distant.
Giving up, I trot off the porch. My burnt paws are still tender, and sometimes I cough up black gunk like Mr. McKinney used to do. But I don’t want to think about the smoke and flames. I’d rather chase a chicken or roll in the dirt or…
“Buongiorno, bel cane.”
…or kiss Lucia!
I race down the lane and prance in front of her. She stoops and hugs me tightly and I feel her body shake as if she is crying. But she gives me a kiss, swipes at her eyes, and says, “I have come to thank you and Thomas.”
Running back to the porch, I bark, Look who’s here! Look who’s here!
As Lucia walks up, Thomas pushes himself out of the rocker, holding his bandaged hands behind him. “I want to thank you, Thomas, for saving my brother,” she says. “My family is in your debt.”
“Dominick would have done the same for me. I only wish I had been able to rescue more men.”
“As he wishes as well.”
“Is he doing all right?”
“The doctor says his lungs may never be strong again. Dominick asks for you, and hopes you will visit him.”
Flushing, Thomas looks down at his feet. “I haven’t felt like—”
“I know,” Lucia says softly. “The whole town is mourning. The Quartaroli, Armelani, and Cresto families have no word of their loved ones either. Please, come and visit. It would mean much to all of us.”
Thomas nods. “I will.”
She gives him a shy smile and then walks away. I trot after her, not wanting her to go, hoping she’ll play. She stops to give me a pat on the head, then whispers, “Get him to come, Finder.”
With a sigh, I watch as she hurries down the lane. Thomas is back in the rocking chair, so I take the path to the stream to cool my paws and get a drink.
I’m standing in the water, lapping, when something rustles on the bank. I prick my ears as the rustling grows louder. Rabbit. Perhaps I can scare up some dinner.
Leaping from the water, I pounce, then hear a hissss as a paw bats my nose. Startled, I fall halfway down the bank. There’s a cat in the brush arching its back. Snow White!
I charge back to the lane yapping, Snow White! Snow White!
Thomas jumps off the porch to see what the commotion is about. Again, I dart down to the stream. Snow White must recognize me, because she lets out a faint meow. I give her a lick. Her coat is brown and dirty, and I can feel her ribs under her matted hair.
“What is it, Finder?” Thomas asks as he strides down the path. The camera hangs from one strap on his shoulder.
Snow White! Snow White! I yelp.
He stops in his tracks. “Is that the cat from the mine? By golly, I th
ought she was dead.” He slides down the bank and sloshes through the stream. Snow White flattens herself on the ground but doesn’t run. He picks her up with his bandaged hands and gently holds her in his arms. “Amazing! Come, Finder. We must take her to Dominick.”
When we reach the Tonelli’s house, Lucia is sweeping the front porch. Her eyes light up when she sees us. “Dominick!” she calls into the house. “Mamma, Babbo!” She keeps the door open for Thomas, who returns her smile.
I bound in first, greeting Dominick’s mother and father with loud woofs. Then I charge into a small room, where I find my friend sitting in bed under a thick quilt. His head is wrapped in gauze and his skin is raw on one cheek. When I jump onto the bed he begins to cough and laugh at the same time.
Dominick’s mother charges in after me, flapping her hands. “Shoo, shoo!”
“No, Mamma,” he says as he pulls me closer. “This is the best visitor I could have wished for”—His gaze lands on Thomas, who’s standing sheepishly in the doorway—“except for my friend, Thomas.”
Dominick grins, and then starts coughing again. Mamma fusses over him, speaking in a rush of words, but he waves her away. “It is good to see you, Thomas. What is in your arms?” he asks, raising one brow.
Snow White pops up her head.
“That cannot be…?” Dominick’s eyes grow wide. Jumping off the bed, I bark at Snow White, who only blinks.
Thomas nods. “It is. She looks almost as bad as you,” he jokes as he sets Snow White on the quilt. “Her whiskers are singed and parts of her tail have no hair.”
Dominick strokes her matted fur, and she begins to purr. Mamma and Lucia cluck and coo over the cat.
“May I?” Thomas holds up his camera. “The town newspaper could use a photo showing hope.”
Mamma and Lucia huddle close to the injured pair. I put my paws on the bed, wanting to be in the picture too. Thomas fumbles with the camera and awkwardly presses the button. He tells everyone to stay in place while he turns a dial on the side of the box. “Let me try once more.” I see him wince and grit his teeth, but finally we hear a click and he says, “Got it.”
“Now Snow White must eat,” Lucia says. “I will bring her a small bowl of milk. And a treat for you, Finder,” she says, tapping me on the nose with one finger.
“I can’t believe it.” Dominick shakes his head when his sister and mother leave. “So many have died. The Chicago and Ladd firemen have put the flames out and cleared most of the tunnels. They’ve brought many bodies up—Ole Freiburg’s body came up two days ago—but they cannot even identify most of them. For the cat to escape—it was a miracle.”
“It was a miracle any of us escaped,” Thomas says solemnly. “Alex and Bobby Deans made it, but the rest of their family did not.”
“I heard the mine authorities spirited Bobby and Rosenjack out of town.”
“Why?” Thomas asks
“Folks are saying they were responsible for the fire. That they didn’t put it out quick enough.”
“That’s not true!” Thomas exclaims. “I saw how hard they tried. They thought they were doing the right thing by pushing the hay cart down the shaft to the third vein. Frieburg and the others put the fire out with the hose. But by then it was too late—the second vein timbers were already on fire.”
There is moment of silence, then Dominick adds, “Yes, it was a miracle we escaped. A miracle—and Finder. He rescued us both.”
Their gazes land on me, and I wag my tail. Thomas furrows his brow, as if thinking. He is quiet for a moment before he abruptly says, “I will visit again, Dominick. We’ll finish Treasure Island. But there’s something I must do now. Come, Finder.”
There is urgency in Thomas’s stride as he hurries from the Tonnelli’s house and through town. When I realize where he is heading, my heart plummets. We have not been back to the mine since the day we were rescued. I had hoped never to return.
Crowds are still clustered around the buildings, which are guarded by men in uniforms. We walk past the hospital to a white tent, where men are carrying stretchers covered by blankets. The smell of death is thick.
The tower still rises in the sky, but now parts of it are crumpled. Gas and smoke belch from beneath it. Men wearing helmets are stationed near the mouth of the air shaft.
Thomas heads for the hospital, where he finds Aunt tending to a man sitting in a chair. He pulls the camera off his shoulder and hands it to her. “Pa wanted to tell stories. But that was his dream. Me, I need to do something different. Will you keep the Brownie safe for me?”
“Of course.”
“Finder and I have a job to do.” Thomas heads toward the tower, slipping past a guard whose back is turned. I stay on his heels as he hurries up to a man holding a clipboard. “Who is in charge of the rescue?” he asks.
“That would probably be Mr. Williams from the Life Saving Station,” the man replies, nodding toward two men wearing sooty coveralls and helmets. “He and Mr. Powell, the superintendent of Braceville Mine. But they’re busy.”
Thomas walks away, and I trot close by his side. Several bodies covered with canvas lie on the ground. Smoke and gas spew from the air shaft hole, and I shiver.
“Mr. Williams, I’ve come to help the rescuers,” Thomas says. “My uncle is still below. My aunt believes there is still hope.”
The man heaves an exhausted sigh. His face is as black as a miner’s and his hands are cracked and red. “Son, there is naught you can do.”
“We’re forming another rescue party,” Mr. Powell says. “But it’s no job for a boy with wounded hands.”
Thomas stares at his bandages. “I know I can’t shovel debris. But my dog and I can help with the search.” He places his hand on my head. “Finder is used to the tunnels in the mine. He knows how to follow a scent. He rescued my friend Dominick and me, and he would have saved more men if the miners had trusted him.” Looking up, Thomas squares his shoulders with determination. “So gentlemen, if there are any survivors trapped down there, my dog will find them.”
CHAPTER 16
Uncle George
November 20, 1909
Mr. Powell and Mr. Williams glance down at me. I prick my ears and wag my tail, but Mr. Powell frowns. “A rescue dog in a mine? Never heard of such a thing.”
“But, sir, isn’t it worth a try?”
Mr. Powell shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
Mr. Williams pulls Mr. Powell to one side. They talk in low voices, looking over at us from time to time. After a while, they return to where we are standing. “All right, young man,” Mr. Powell says. “Mr. Williams here says you are George Eddy’s nephew. He told me of you and your dog’s bravery after the fire. The rescue party will be ready to go below soon. If you believe Finder will be of use, then you can both go with them.”
Mr. Williams puts his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “We are grateful for your offer, Thomas. We are desperate for help—and hope.”
“Thank you, sirs,” Thomas says. “Finder will prove that he is worthy.”
“You know the risks?” Mr. Williams asks. “This is no adventure.”
“Yes sir. My Pa died in the tunnels and many of my friends died in this fire.”
“All right then.” Mr. Powell gestures over his shoulder. “You’ll need a special safety helmet and lantern.”
Kneeling, Thomas holds my muzzle in his hands. “We’re going below again, Finder.” His voice quivers. “There’ll be fires, poisonous gas, and falling timbers.” As he clips a rope to my collar, I see that his wounds have bled through the bandages. “But this time, we aren’t shoveling coal or pulling a cart. This time we’re rescuing men.”
My senses grow alert at the tone of his words. I circle, tugging on the rope.
Mr. Powell comes over and hands Thomas a helmet equipped with a lamp. “Are you and your dog ready?”
Thomas puts on the helmet and takes a deep breath. “Yes sir,” he declares. I hear strength and determination in those two words.
I pant with eagerness as we stride toward the air shaft. I understand that I am going back into the hated mine. A week ago, I barely made it out. But my life was saved—perhaps now Thomas and I can save others.
“You must trust Finder to lead us,” Thomas tells Mr. Powell when we stop beside the smoky opening, “even if it feels as if he is going in the wrong direction. His sense of smell and hearing are superior to ours.”
Standing on my hind legs, I place my paws on Thomas’s chest. I know he is talking about me, and I hope I can live up to his words.
“It’s up to you, boy,” he whispers as I lick his face. “Get your track, Finder. Find Uncle George.”
I drop to the ground and pull Thomas to the cage. The others in the rescue party—Mr. Castelli, Father Haney of Saint Mary’s Church, and Captain Kenney—join us for the ride down on a makeshift platform to the second vein. The stench of burning wood and earth grows stronger as we disappear into the ground.
The only light is our lantern.
The cage bumps against the sides and halts at the bottom. There is more light here, but it is still hard to see. Several men are hosing down a fire in one tunnel. Others are shoveling their way through a cave-in. The air is rotten with scorched flesh. My eagerness vanishes. How will I find the living in this horror?
Then Thomas again commands, “Get your track, Finder. Find Uncle George.”
Leaping from the platform, I follow the faint scent of fresh air. Thomas gestures for the rescue party to follow.
“We tried that way yesterday,” Castelli says.
“The tunnel was barred by decaying mules and overturned coal cars,” Father Haney adds. “We couldn’t get through.”
I lift my head and draw in a deep breath, trying to sense anything different in the smoky air. “The boy said to trust the dog,” Powell replies. “Light your hats and let’s try again.”
I sniff along the corridor, tugging on the leash. The four men are close behind us. We step over smoldering timbers and puddles of water until we reach the south entry. Ahead are bloated mule carcasses. The men hold handkerchiefs to their noses and struggle forward.