The Peculiars

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  “Here, Lena.” Merilee thrust the air rifle at her. “I’m no good with guns. It’s already loaded.”

  With shaking hands Lena gripped the long rifle, butting the stock into her shoulder as Mr. Beasley had shown.

  She watched as Mr. Beasley stepped out of the tent, a revolver grasped in two hands. At her side, Merilee trembled. The wolves were just yards from the tent now. As Mr. Beasley raised the gun to fire, a streak of orange flew from the tent. Mrs. Mumbles launched herself at the head of the lead beast.

  Lena heard the crack of a shot. The second wolf faltered, but the others didn’t slow. Mrs. Mumbles clung to the wolf’s head. Lena sighted down the rifle, knowing she had little chance of hitting the wolf and that if by luck she did, she might hit Mrs. Mumbles as well. Her arms shook. Then she remembered Mr. Beasley’s demonstration. As the lead wolf shook Mrs. Mumbles from his head, jaws snapping, Lena rammed the lever on the air rifle forward. An earsplitting squeal pierced the night. As if they had hit an invisible wall, the wolves tumbled to a stop, turned, and fled into the distance.

  Lena’s own ears felt as if they might bleed. Mrs. Mumbles lay like a cast-off fur coat in the snow. Jimson rushed from the tent to scoop her up. Lena turned to see Merilee’s lips moving, but her ears were not working. Instead of words, Lena heard a strange whining.

  With a blanket wrapped around her, she struggled from the coach. Had the cat really tried to defend them? And had she survived? The cold bit at Lena’s cheeks as she ran forward, trying not to stumble over the draped blanket. Jimson cradled the cat. As Mr. Beasley reached his side, Mrs. Mumbles stirred in Jimson’s arms and then leapt nimbly to Mr. Beasley’s shoulder.

  “Brilliant! You were brilliant!” Mr. Beasley had to shout before Lena could hear him above the persistent whine. “I never would have thought of that solution!”

  “I’ve never shot anything before, and I was afraid of hitting Mrs. Mumbles. This seemed the easiest thing to do!” She didn’t add that there had been something exhilarating about using the gun, even if she hadn’t actually fired it. Nana Crane’s face rose in her mind, nodding smugly. Lena felt her heart sink, but when she looked at Jimson, his face was split by a crooked grin.

  “You are the bravest girl I have ever met!” Jimson’s words spread a rush of warmth through Lena, and she felt her face flush with pleasure.

  “And I’ve never seen a cat do anything like that. Aren’t normal cats supposed to be afraid of dogs and wolves?” Jimson asked as he reached to scratch Mrs. Mumbles behind her ears.

  “She’s not your ordinary cat,” Mr. Beasley said, a note of fondness creeping into his voice. “She’s a Scree-cat. One of my patients at Zephyr House left her as a parting gift when Mumbles was still a juvenile. I’m not sure I appreciated it at the time.”

  Merilee cocked her head and squinted at Mrs. Mumbles, who was pressing her head into Jimson’s scratching fingers. “Scree-cats don’t tame easy. You can’t pick them; they have to pick you. We tried to tame one once when I was little. Wouldn’t have anything to do with us, and then we found it living with a family down the road. They’re fierce, loyal, and not afraid of anything.”

  “We’ve always had cats to keep the mice away. Never paid much attention to them,” Jimson confessed. Mrs. Mumbles pulled her head away from his hand and twitched as if she understood everything that had just been said.

  “It’s only two a.m.,” said Mr. Beasley. “I suggest a bit more sleep for us all. We’ll need to be well rested for today’s journey.”

  Back in the Aeolus, Lena was sure that she was done with sleep. The Girandoni lay on the floor within easy reach. Merilee’s breathing grew easy and regular, but behind Lena’s closed eyes, wolves snarled. She bunched her shawl into a makeshift pillow under her head. She never felt brave, but Jimson’s words made her smile in the dark.

  Overhead a crow clicked from the branches of an Austrian pine. A burst of pounding echoed off the mountains. Lena leaned out the coach window. Scree was silver in the early-morning light. Snow crusted the pine boughs and capped the boulders on the lake shore. Mr. Beasley and Jimson were bent over the loose wheel, whacking it back into place with a large rock.

  Lena seemed to be the last one up, even though the sun had barely breached the horizon. As she made her way to the lake shore, she was stopped by the sight of giant paw prints. A surge of adrenaline brought her fully awake as she recalled the wolves’ fearsome howls. But there was nothing to be seen in the distance now, save for the snow-draped mountains of Scree. Running a tortoiseshell comb through snarls of hair, Lena clipped the locks back away from her face. Then she cupped icy water in her bare hands and buried her face in it. A crow landed overhead, dislodging a tumble of snow. It fell in an icy clump on her neck and Lena straightened, shaking it off like a dog rising from the water.

  “There’s hot water for tea and some bread and jam. But we need to move quickly. I want us to be on our way before the sun’s completely up. And it will take some work to get the Aeolus into the right positioning for takeoff.” Even though Mr. Beasley had stayed awake the rest of the night watching over their camp, he now moved with energy and purpose.

  “We’ve enough kerosene to get us some miles east by nightfall. One more night and we should be nearing the location on your map, Lena. We’ll stay well away from the outposts.” He dipped a chunk of bread in his tea. Lena noticed that even though their conditions were primitive, his eyebrows were again carefully painted in place.

  “What if the mine is being watched?” Jimson tipped the tin cup high to drain the last of his tea.

  “That’s a chance I’m prepared to take,” Mr. Beasley replied. “I believe it’s remote enough that even the Pony Express would have a difficult time making it there before us. I seriously doubt anyone knows exactly where we’re headed. They’re more likely to search the outposts.”

  “But what about the marshal, Lena? Does he know about your father’s mine?” Merilee’s faced was scrunched with worry.

  Lena considered before answering. “I’ve wondered about that too, but I don’t think so. At least, he never let on that he did. He seemed genuinely surprised I was going to Scree. Even my mother and Nana Crane never mentioned a family mine. I don’t think my father ever told anyone about it.” She absently rubbed one hand down the length of her thigh and stared into the distance. “There’s a chance the marshal’s father knew. The marshal said his father tracked mine for years. But there’s no way to know for sure.”

  As they finished the makeshift breakfast, Mr. Beasley described the process they would use to launch the aerocopter. “We have enough open field and slope to build up the necessary speed for launch. If we can reposition the Aeolus near the top of the meadow facing southward, we can take advantage of the natural slope of the land.”

  Lena eyed the hill above them and noted how close they were to the edge of the hillside. If the Aeolus didn’t stay on course, they would never be found among the sharp rocks below. Jimson was on his feet in an instant. “If we all help push, we can be off right away, before we have to worry about the Pony Express. We’ll have to push her at least a hundred yards.”

  With the four of them pushing and tugging, they managed to move the aerocopter higher up the hillside and then stood panting in the thin meadow grass. Below them the small lake sparkled, reminding Lena of one of Nana Crane’s glittering rings.

  “All aboard!” Mr. Beasley called as he donned his top hat and goggles.

  Despite a healthy dose of fear, the journey secretly thrilled Lena. Looking at Jimson, she suspected he felt the same way. Of course, no normal woman would relish sleeping in her clothes or flying in a homemade contraption into a land of criminals and opportunists. She tried to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. Jimson hadn’t once tried to catch her eye that morning. Perhaps being brave was not highly desirable in women. Normal women would have fled, like Pansy. And that, she was sure, was exactly why Jimson was engaged to Pansy. She was dainty; she was conventional; she would make a f
ine wife. She was everything Lena was not.

  Lena stepped into the coach and dropped onto the bench. Already the boiler pipe was putting out a comfortable amount of heat as water gurgled into steam. She watched from the window as a V of black-throated geese glided onto the lake, sending up a spray of silver. The rotor whirred faster. Mr. Beasley checked the steam-pressure gauge and adjusted the tilt of the top rotor.

  Jimson climbed in last, settling next to Mr. Beasley. Mrs. Mumbles sat upright at his side, her long tail switching slowly back and forth.

  “On the count of three.” Mr. Beasley looked over at Jimson. “One . . . two . . . three.”

  Jimson released the brake lever, and the coach began to move, wheels bumping over the uneven ground.

  Lena hung her head outside the coach window. They picked up speed, faster and faster. The air stung her cheeks. Mr. Beasley clenched the steering rudder with two hands as they clattered down the shallow grade.

  “There’s someone in the trees!” The words had barely left Merilee’s mouth when the geese lifted from the lake flapping and honking.

  “Two someones!” Jimson leaned across Merilee to the window. “And they’ve got—” A shot cracked the air, followed by another.

  “Get down!” Mr. Beasley held tightly as the coach shuddered. “We’re almost up. Are they in uniform?”

  “No, they’re in buckskin coats and—”

  Again the crack of gunshots as the coach wobbled into the air with a great roaring.

  “Bounty hunters, most likely,” Mr. Beasley stated.

  Crouched down, Lena snuck a look out the window. They were eight or ten feet up; already the lake was yards behind them. The two men were quickly diminishing. But something was pouring from the side of the Aeolus. “We’re leaking!” A smell strong enough to make Lena’s eyes water filled the coach.

  “We’re what?” Mr. Beasley leaned over her. “Drat! It’s kerosene. Our fuel barrels have been hit!”

  The liquid continued to rain down at an alarming rate.

  “Can’t we do something?” Lena’s voice rose to a squeak.

  “I’m afraid there is nothing we can do unless we want to land and have the bounty hunters upon us. If they hit the boiler, it would explode, boiling us all like lobsters.”

  Merilee held a handkerchief over her nose.

  “Maybe I can patch it if I can climb out and if you hold me—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jimson,” said Mr. Beasley. “We need to move to our alternate plan.”

  “We have an alternate plan?” Jimson asked.

  “We always have an emergency plan. But it’s risky.” Mr. Beasley consulted the map. “We have enough fuel in the tank to make it to the Ducktown outpost.”

  “But I thought we had to stay away from outposts.” Lena’s mouth was dry.

  “It is the best we can do under the circumstances. I just hadn’t counted on exposing ourselves so soon.”

  For a while no one talked. It was too easy to imagine landing at the outpost and being greeted by the sheriff or marshals. Just what was the penalty for assisting a Peculiar to escape and for attempting to shoot a federal marshal? Lena wondered. Could it be worse than being sentenced to work the mines? She glanced at Merilee, who looked even whiter than usual and was worrying her lip with her teeth. Jimson began to whistle to himself as he looked at the map.

  Whistling, Lena thought, must be a very useful habit. One could do it anywhere and it could express so much. Of course, no lady would ever whistle. Lena puckered her lips and blew a tentative puff of air. Nothing.

  “Ducktown”—Mr. Beasley broke into her thoughts as if he was starting a history lesson—“is one of the first outposts established by our government in Scree. It’s called Ducktown because the government provided settlers with ducks and geese for food if they were willing to come and work the mine. Each family that came was given a house, rented from the mining company, a brood of ducklings, and a small stake in the mine.”

  “What kind of mine is it?” Lena asked.

  “Coal. One of the largest coal mines now operating in Scree. The settlers who came are mostly foremen, while most of the workers are Peculiars or felons.”

  Merilee perked up. “I’ve heard of Ducktown before. That’s not where our family lived, but it isn’t far. They said that if you married a girl from Ducktown, her babies would hatch out of eggs. That there are more ducks than people in the town.”

  They were dipping low over the trees now and Mr. Beasley was checking the fuel levels more frequently. “It’s one of the best-producing and deepest mines, with a six-hundred-foot vertical shaft and tunnels that run horizontally under the outpost.”

  When Lena tried to imagine being more than six hundred feet belowground, a bubble of panic rose in her throat. She turned to Merilee. “How far down did you go?”

  “Our mine was only four hundred feet, but the littlest kids like me didn’t go down. We’d follow the coal trains with gunnysacks and pick up any coal that dropped. Our families needed it for heat and cooking.” She looked at Lena’s drawn face. “That part wasn’t so bad. It was like a treasure hunt. We were always squabbling to see who could find the most. I only went down in the mine itself a time or two. But that was enough for me to know I never want to do it again.”

  Jimson broke his silence. “Were those bounty hunters after anything they could find, or did they know to expect us?”

  “That’s the question now, isn’t it?” Mr. Beasley rubbed his face, removing a section of eyebrow. “I expect we’ll know if we have a welcoming committee.”

  Great flannel clouds had gathered in the west, turning Scree into a gray, shadowy land. The mountains were steeper here and the hidden valleys darker. Snow had not yet softened this part of the landscape but soon would by the looks of the sky. Lena sat wrapped in a blanket as close to the boiler as she dared. Her thoughts had turned as bleak as her surroundings. An adventure that ended six hundred feet below the ground in Scree was a lot less appealing than the daring adventure they had embarked on yesterday. She hated close spaces, dark spaces, places where she couldn’t see the light of day. She’d be no good in the mines. And then what would they do to her? She looked at Jimson. He was still half leaning out the window of the coach.

  “I see something ahead. A building of some sort. It’s—” Jimson’s words failed him.

  Lena joined Jimson at the window. At the foot of a bare and distant hill stood a patchwork castle topped by a hodgepodge of metal rooflines. Blue and gray, streaked red with rust, they intersected with a circular tower that rose from the center like a corrugated turret.

  “The Ducktown Mine,” Mr. Beasley said. “It’s the largest building in the outpost. We’re going to land in the first open field I find just to the west.”

  Smaller buildings, fashioned from a muddle of stone and wood, appeared between the trees.

  “Last time I was here, there were thirty-two homes—all owned by the mining company, Great Northern Improvement—a general store, stables, a brewery, a warehouse, and a wash house.”

  The trees became sparse, and the landscape opened to grassy, stone-pocked fields.

  “It’s time we landed the Aeolus. The fuel’s almost out, and I don’t want to get any closer in. Look for the first good slope.”

  Jimson lowered the spyglass. “This isn’t much more than a village. Will they have enough kerosene?”

  “Oh, the only kerosene would be too scant and precious for us. We’ll need coal to fly out of here. Coal and a firebox.”

  The descent was smoother than the previous time, but the ground, more pitted with rocks, was a less hospitable landing surface. The slope of the rocky field was not ideal, but their landing area was screened from the town by a thick border of trees. Every bone in Lena’s body vibrated as the Aeolus bumped its way across the field.

  “We may have knocked a few things loose!” Mr. Beasley shouted over the noise of the wheels and rotor.

  As they trundled to a stop, Lena tried
to prepare herself for various scenarios—marshals, bounty hunters, curious miners. But she was not prepared for the total silence that greeted their arrival. Even the mine was silent.

  “Have we landed near a ghost town?” Jimson cautiously climbed from the coach. Mrs. Mumbles leapt daintily to the ground right behind.

  “There’s something not right here,” Mr. Beasley said as he drew the small revolver from the inside pocket of his coat. “Lena, take the air rifle.”

  Lena’s heart thumped so hard that it was difficult for her get her breath. Someone must have heard their descent, or at least their clattering approach across the field. Weren’t mines raucous places, loud with machinery? She crouched low in the coach, the air rifle in her hands. Merilee trembled nearby.

  “The entrance to the mine isn’t far from the outpost. There should be the sound of the headframe working, the winch lowering carts into the ground, and the pump removing water. This bears some investigation.”

  “I’ll go and scout it out.” Jimson rolled down his shirtsleeves and ran fingers through his disorderly curls. “No one knows who I am and there’s nothing to make me stand out.” He did not look at Lena.

  “Well, you’re about the right age for an adventurer. Hmm.” Mr. Beasley ran a hand over his face, considering. “It would be helpful to know what was going on, and of course we’ll need to purchase coal. But I think I should go with you.”

  “No, if the Pony Express has gotten here, it will be your picture on the notice, not mine.”

  Lena had never seen Jimson contradict Mr. Beasley before, but she was sure he was right. In a mining town, Jimson would be the most invisible of all of them.