But David was already running toward the chute and the main gangway.
“David!” It was Sean. “Cum back. Ya cahrn’t leave yur shift wit oot permission.”
David only increased his speed, reaching up with one hand to hold his head as he ran.
Chapter 9
Friday, May 14, 1869
“No!”
At the sight of her son rushing into the small infirmary ward, Anne Dickinson pulled herself up on one elbow. “Oh, David! No!” She fell back, face as grey as the sheets that covered her.
“Mum. Are you all right?”
She shook her head, but not in response to his question. “Did you get permission to leave?” she demanded weakly.
He dropped into the chair beside her bed, anger flaring. “I didn’t ask.”
“David, they’ll—” But when she saw the set of his face, she decided to try another tack. “David, I took out the box this morning and counted things very carefully. We have seventy-two pounds. It’s not enough. We can’t afford a fine right now. We’ll never get to America.”
David was flabbergasted. She had collapsed on the street. She was in the infirmary too weak to sit up, and she was worried about him losing money?
“Mother . . .” A movement out of the corner of his eye caught David’s attention. He turned. The company-owned infirmary served both the mine and the village. There were eight beds, and all but two had patients in them. A doctor and a nurse were working with a man just two beds down from David’s mother. The doctor was staring at them. It had been him jerking around that had caught David’s eye. When he saw that David was watching him, he quickly turned away.
“Shh, Mum,” he whispered. “There are people who can hear you.”
It was if he hadn’t spoken. “You could lose your job. You know how Rhodes is.”
“They’re not gonna fire me,” he soothed. “And you’re sick, Mum. They said you fainted in the street. I wasn’t gonna wait until the end of the shift to find out how you were.”
She waved that away. “I didn’t faint. It was a momentary wave of dizziness.”
He just shook his head. This woman was incredible. And maddening. He swept off his hat and kissed her on the cheek.
“David!”
He reared back quickly. “What?”
“What happened to your head?”
He swore inwardly. In the rush, he had completely forgotten about the throbbing wound in his scalp. He put his cap back on quickly. “Uh . . . it’s nothing, Mum. I was bringing in a string of cars and bumped my head on the ceiling. Fortunately, I had my cap on.”
“Call the doctor over here right now,” she said.
“Mum! Will you forget about me? Tell me how you are feeling.”
“I’m fine. Just need a little rest.” She reached out for him, taking his hand. She could barely hold on to it. A wave of sorrow washed over him. “Go back now, and it will be all right.”
“Mother!” Again that won him a piercing look from the doctor, and he quickly lowered his voice. “I am not leaving. You are very sick. Stop worrying about me.” He took a quick breath, then smiled down at her. “And you wonder why I’m so stubborn.”
Her eyes filled with love. “You got it all from your father.”
He laughed aloud. He couldn’t help it. She was hopeless, cheering him up even as she could barely lift her head from the pillow. “The constable went looking for Dahd. He should be here any minute. When he comes, we’ll talk to the doctor, see what he says. Then I’ll go back.”
Thankfully, just then he heard a door open and close. His father, still wearing his lantern and tool belt, rushed in. David stood, leaving the chair for his father.
John dropped down and took both of his wife’s hands in his, oblivious to the fact that his own hands were grimy with coal dust. “Annie, do ya be awl reet?”
There were sudden tears in her eyes. “Yes, luv. I knew you would come.”
“What happened?”
“She says she was only dizzy.” David shot him a look that told him how likely that was.
“I was feeling good this morning,” she said, “and it was such a beautiful day.”
His voice became very gentle. “Ya promised me, luv. No walkin’ wit oot me or Davee.”
The door at the other end of the ward slammed open and Jonathan Rhodes stormed in. His cigar was trailing smoke and his eyes were spitting fire. Seeing the two men beside the bed, he started straight for them, boots clumping loudly on the tile floor. Then he saw the doctor and did a sharp right turn. The doctor visibly jumped to attention and said something to the nurse, who fled.
Father, mother, and son all watched this nervously. Rhodes’s back was turned to them, but his raspy voice boomed through the hall. “Tell me aboot the Dick’nson woman!” he demanded.
The doctor’s reply was inaudible. “’Ow bad?” Rhodes shot back. More murmurings. “Ya shure?” The doctor nodded, his face almost twitching in fright.
Rhodes spun around and started toward them again.
“Mr. Rhodes! Please! The cigar,” the doctor cautioned.
Rhodes stopped long enough to glare at him, whip the cigar out of his mouth, and stomp it out on the floor. Then he came on, bearing down on them.
He pulled up in front of David, thrusting his jaw forward. “Who in the—” He glanced down at David’s mother, checked himself, and started again. “Who in the grahnd kingdom of Hades gave ya leave ta cum oot of the mines in the middle of the day?”
His father came between them in a flash. Rhodes was at least two stone lighter and a good inch shorter than David’s father, and he had been boss too long. For a lean man, he had a sizable beer gut, and his nose glowed from too many nights in the pub. One flight of stairs winded him. Yet to Rhodes’s credit, he didn’t back down so much as half a step.
“The constable cum fur me,” David’s father said. “Tole me my Annie ’ad collapsed an’—”
“Dunna tell me what Ah I awreddy know,” he snapped. “Who do ya think sent the constable lookin’ fur ya?” He went up on his toes and looked at David over his father’s shoulder. “But who said you cud leave yur shift?”
David stepped forward, wanting to smash this man’s face, but his father’s hand shot back and grabbed his arm. “Me son wuz wurried aboot ’is mum,” he said, the words tight and clipped.
“She naw be that sick,” Rhodes sneered.
“How would you know?” David cried. “You don’t know about people. You don’t care how sick she is. All you care about is meeting the quota. Filling the tubs.”
His father swung on him. “David! Shut yur trap. This be b’tween me an’ Mr. Rhodes.”
But Rhodes pushed him aside, thrusting his face into David’s. “’Ow do Ah know? Ah’ll tell ya ’ow Ah know.” The bulldog face turned. “Doc! Git over ’ere. Reet noow!”
Again David’s father inserted himself between the two. When he spoke, his voice was low, filled with menace. “Rhodes, ya naw be spekkin’ ta me son. Ya be spekkin’ ta me an’ me alone.”
The doctor hurried up, head jerking back and forth as he took stock of what was happening.
“Tell ’em what ya joost tole me, Doc,” Rhodes growled. “’Ow be Missus Dick’nson?”
The doctor licked his lips. “She is very weak. Tired. She needs lots of rest.”
Rhodes cuffed him on the arm. “The rest, ya lunkhead. Tell ’em. Is she dyin’?”
David’s father shot a quick look at his wife and saw her alarm. “That’s e’nuff, Rhodes.”
“Is she?” He grabbed the doctor’s shoulder and shook him. “Is she dyin’?”
“Uh . . . no. Not in my opinion. With some rest she should—”
Rhodes shoved him aside and he almost sprinted away. “Thare,” he said to David’s father. “Whad Ah tell ya?” Then to David, “Ya ’ave five minutes ta be oot of ’ere, or ya can furgit ever workin’ fur me agin. Ya got that?”
“I ain’t going,” David answered, suddenly calm. “Not �
�til I’m sure she’s all right.”
“No, David,” his mother cried.
“Four minutes,” Rhodes snarled.
What happened next was so astonishing, so stunning that it would live forever in David’s memory. John Dickinson was thirty-six years old. He had started in the mines at age five. Blessed at birth with a gentle and stoic nature, he had accepted what life had dealt him without resentment or bitterness. He had none of his wife’s fierceness nor her dreams of a better life. He simply endured—the cold, the misery, the backbreaking work, the vast injustices of the system and indeed of life itself. But now, something snapped. The dam broke and it all came pouring out.
John lunged forward, grabbed Rhodes by the lapels of his jacket, and slammed him up against the wall, screaming into his face. David could scarcely believe what came out. Mixing in a generous stream of profanity, his father called Rhodes a stupid ox, a pig-headed mule, something not fit for the dung heap, a man with coal dust for brains, and a lazy pile of lard.
Rhodes’s face went a chalky grey. His eyes were bare slits. David couldn’t tell what the man was feeling more: terror at the fury in his father, or shock at the insults being hurled at him.
David glanced at his mother, whose face was utterly white. That galvanized him. He leaped forward. “Dahd! Don’t!” He grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back.
The torrent of invective stopped, but John wasn’t finished. He dug his fingers into the supervisor’s lapels and lifted the mine boss clear off his feet. He shoved his nose within half an inch of Rhodes’s face. “My son sez ’e’s naw goin’ back,” he shouted. “’Is mum be sick. Can ya git that throo yur thick skull?” He gave him a hard shove and stepped back, chest heaving. “An’ if’n ya ever spek lek that in front of me wife agin, Ah’ll brek yur skinny neck. Do ya ’ear me?”
For a moment, Rhodes was frozen in place, eyes bugged out, staring at this raging fury before him. John took a menacing step forward. “Noow git outta ’ere an’ leave us alone.”
Rhodes stumbled away, gasping for breath. Suddenly David became aware that the entire infirmary was dead quiet. The doctor had his back to the wall and looked like he might throw up. Some of the patients were sitting up, gaping at them. Others were up on one elbow, trying to see what was happening.
Rhodes never lifted his head as he stalked away. It was to his credit that he didn’t break and run. As he neared the end of the ward, his head finally came up, and he went out the door with it held high. He slammed the door so hard that the whole room reverberated with the noise. That broke the doctor’s trance and he ran out after Rhodes, slamming the door a second time.
Still half dazed, David looked down at his mother. If she had worried about him losing a day’s pay, what had this done to her? Evidently, the same thought hit his father. Ignoring the approbation around him, he went slowly back to the chair and sank down into it. “I’m sorry, Annie. I dunna know what got—”
Tears were streaming down her face now. She reached out her arms, and he bent to her embrace. “I love you, John Dickinson,” she whispered, clinging to him with a fierceness that matched what they had just witnessed. “Thank you, my dear, sweet luv.”
By five o’clock that afternoon, David knew that his mother was dying. And he was sure that she knew it too. After things in the infirmary had finally calmed down, she had fallen into an exhausted but fitful sleep. David held one hand, his father the other. About half past seven, his father stood and went looking for the doctor.
As soon as he was gone, David looked around. The other patients were either asleep or staring up at the ceiling. He lowered his head and began to speak in a bare murmur.
“Dear God. I don’t know if You know me. Or if You can even hear me. But. . . .” He wasn’t sure even what to say. He closed his eyes now, searching for the words. “My mother is . . . she’s very sick. I don’t want her to die, God. She is so good. She wants to go to America.”
He cracked open one eye to see if anyone was watching, then continued. “By the way, my mum’s name is Anne Dickinson, but my dahd calls her Annie. I just call her Mum. Please, God. If You have to take her to heaven, could You wait until we get to America? She would rather die there than stay here in Cawthorne. By the way, Cawthorne is close to Barnsley. I know you know where Barnsley is, because I saw your house there one day.”
He felt a slight movement of the bed as his mother stirred. He clenched his eyes even more tightly shut and hurriedly finished. “Please, God. If you’re there, don’t let her die. Please!”
When he raised his head, her eyes were open and she was watching him steadily. Her lower lip was trembling, but her eyes were soft and filled with love. “Were you praying, David?”
He looked away, embarrassed. She took his hand. “It’s all right. Were you praying for me?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t want you to die, Mum. Please don’t die.”
She reached up and tousled his hair, then jerked back when he winced and drew away. “Oh, David, I’m sorry. I forgot about your head.” Her hand moved down and caressed his cheek. “I don’t want to die either, Son. Especially now, when we’re so close. And oh, how I would like to be around and see you grow into a man.”
She stopped, her hand falling back to the bed. Her breathing now was short, labored.
“Mother, don’t try to talk. You need to rest.”
She waved that away. “Listen to me, David,” she whispered, an urgency on her now. “Don’t think I don’t believe in God. I do, Son. Everything in the world tells me that there is a God out there.” A fleeting smile came and went. “Well, maybe not coal mines.” Her smile broadened. “And certainly not Mr. Rhodes. I’m not sure just who is responsible for him.”
“But—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “No, David. I want to say this before your father returns. I know God is there. But I also know He doesn’t have time for people like you and me.” She had to stop again. He almost told her that she didn’t have to say anything, but he sensed this was important to her.
“I prayed to Him that night the Astles threw us out. I prayed to Him when my mum was dying. I begged, and pleaded, and shed a thousand tears.” Her eyes closed. “But I learned that He can’t possibly answer everybody’s prayers. Think how many more important things He needs to do. How many more important people there are besides you and me.”
“There’s nothing more important in the whole world than you, Mum.” He was fighting tears again, and not successfully. “Maybe if you prayed.”
Anger welled up inside her. “I did pray, Davee. I prayed until my knees were raw. I cried and pled and promised God to be a good girl. I prayed that He would spare my mother and curse the man responsible for her death. Then finally, I realized that God was off somewhere doing other things. That’s when I knew it doesn’t matter if you cry. It doesn’t matter if you pray. He doesn’t hear us, or if He does, He doesn’t care.”
“Please don’t die, Mum,” he sobbed. “Dahd and I need you.”
“I do believe in heaven,” she whispered. “So I won’t leave you, Son. I’ll be watching you.”
Voices sounded, and they both turned to look. David’s father and the doctor had just entered. They walked to Anne’s bed, and the doctor gave her a cursory examination—lifted an eyelid, peered into her throat, took her pulse. He turned away. “There’s nothing more I can do,” he whispered to David’s father, but loudly enough that both David and his mother overheard. “I’m sorry.”
“Then go,” his mother snapped, surprising them all. “Just go and leave us alone.”
As the doctor hurried away, David’s father turned back and knelt beside her. “Annie, I—”
She shook her head, her way of telling him it was all right. “John?”
“Yes, luv.”
“Take me home.”
“David?”
Instantly he was off his chair and on his knees beside her. She clasped bot
h of his hands in hers. “Yes, Mum?”
Behind him, his father moved in closer as well. “Joost rest, Annie.”
She shook her head. “Son, we have about seventy-two pounds.”
“Mum, no! Don’t worry about that now. Please!”
Her fingernails dug into his hands with surprising strength. “Don’t argue. Just listen!”
“Yes, Mum.” He felt the tears reappear and start to trickle down his cheeks.
She reached up and brushed them away with her fingertips, her own eyes now shining. “You only need two tickets now. That’s just—”
“No, Mum! Don’t say it.”
She laid her hand against his cheek, smiling up at him. “It’s all right, Son. I’m going to a better place.” She motioned for her husband to come closer, then reached and took his hand, too. “All you need now are two tickets. That’s thirty pounds. That leaves forty-two pounds extra to get you to America. Do you understand what that means, John?”
A sob was torn from his throat. “Ah canna leave ya, Annie. Ah canna.”
She went right on. “It means you can go anytime now, John. You don’t have to wait ’til August. You can go now!”
David reared back. He was so stricken with grief that he hadn’t thought about America, about what her dying meant for their fund. But she had worked it all out in her mind. Even as she was slipping away.
“John, it’s likely you’ll be fired. And David too.”
He shook his head. “He won’t dare. Me mates will strike.”
David turned in surprise at that. Throughout the evening a stream of miners had stopped at the door to their flat to give their condolences, caps in hand, heads bowed. There were brief whispered conversations with his father, then they would leave again. David could only imagine how fast the word of what had happened in the infirmary must have flashed through the mining community. It would become the stuff of legend. Rhodes was hated with universal passion. His father was right. Rhodes wouldn’t dare try to fire John Dickinson.
“Ah’ll naw be fire boss any longer,” his father went on, “an’ Davee ’ere will naw be a mule driver, naw fur a long time, but—”
The Undaunted Page 10