Jasper Mountain (29 page)

“Don’t you start blamin’ me for this mess,” he said, sharpness creeping into his voice. “You’re the one who got yourself fired.

You’re the one who opened your legs for Creely in the first place. I loved you, Beth, and lookit you. You ended up a whore.”

Something started to crumble, deep inside. She gasped, not able to speak.

“I loved you so much, and there you were, one of Miss Isabella’s fancied-up whores, and layin’ under Victor Creely, no less.”

A dull noise roared in her ears. She finally found her voice. “I had no choice. Victor was determined to take me, no matter what. The Boarding House was my only way to ever see you again, give us some time together. You never managed to figure out anything better.”

“You didn’t give me a chance!”

The roar grew to a frenzy and she felt something she hardly ever did. She was hurt, yes, but something else foreign to her. All these past years of pleasing Victor, pleasing Digger bubbled up and sharpened to fury. “I worked for the Creelys for years! Scrubbing their filth until my fingers bled, trying to stay hidden from Victor’s looks. What choice did I have? What choice did you give me? Other than taking my money and losing it at poker? How dare you blame me for any of this? Miss Isabella was right, I was insane to have anything to do with a dirt-hound.”

Shock registered on his face. The look of a man hurt in his pride. He slapped her. Turned his back to her. Walked away.

A miner grinned at her, leered, and waved as he passed. “Hey, girlie, don’t cry. If he ain’t buyin’, I sure will!”

“Jack, let go.”

Jack held tightly to Mouse’s hand, as he’d done for, Jesus, how long? The evening and night, anyway. He watched and counted each breath the kid took, in, out. Seventy-six. In, out. Seventy-seven. He needed to be sure.

Ambrose shook his shoulder, gently. Jack ignored him; he had to count. In, out. Seventy-eight. In, out. Seventy-nine.

“Jack? There’s nothing more you can do.”

“How the hell can you say that?” Jack barked, talking for the first time in several hours. The doctor had finally broken through the fog he’d pulled into place when he took the post by Mouse’s bedside. He willed himself to not feel anything, to just be there, with the boy. Save all his thoughts and emotions for another time, when Mouse didn’t need him. He’d begun counting, to keep from screaming, ranting, punching the wall. As long as he counted, Mouse was fine.

“Jack?”

“What time is it anyway?” His voice sounded raspy to his own ears.

“Four,” Ambrose answered. “In the afternoon.” “Missed my whole damned shift.”

“Jack, he’s doing fine. I think rest is probably the best thing for him. You could use some yourself.”

Sounds interrupted from the room next door. Victor’s room, where throughout the night and into today, an endless parade of people passed. Jack finally realized what Edmund meant when he said Victor was “indisposed.” Someone had attacked the mine president.

Ambrose nodded to the wall separating Victor’s room from the main clinic space. The doctor had given up his quarters for Victor to have privacy. “I don’t think anyone will care you took the day off. Especially not your boss.”

Jack was ashamed at the feeble smile playing around his lips. It disappeared when he looked down at the tiny miner in the bed before him. Mouse’s hand. It was cold. So cold.

He felt the familiar knot of frustration, the one he got every time he thought about Jasper Mine. “Ambrose, please tell me he’ll be all right.”

“Jack, I just don’t know. He might be fine. He may never wake up. The next twenty-four hours are important.” “Not the answer I asked for.”

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed and looked straight into Jack’s face. “I’ll always tell you God’s honest truth.”

“And I do appreciate that, Doc. You’re one of the few who do.”

Jack resumed his watch over Mouse, silently asking God to keep the boy with them. If there was a God. Jack wasn’t sure he believed anymore. He watched the boy who dodged death in the mines. Twice. Death was a jealous mistress who insisted on taking Mouse’s hearing with her the first time they danced. He hoped this time she’d leave him intact.

Gently, Jack tucked Mouse’s arm back under his blanket.

“Thank God the lip of the tunnel jutted out.” Jack shook his head. “Even so, it was only a few inches. I can’t believe Mouse ever hit that and hung on.”

“Miracles, Jack. They happen all the time,” Taryn Mc-Shane’s voice said from behind.

Jack shifted around at the sound. The preacher stood in the doorway, his brown eyes rife with understanding.

“Miracles?” Jack said, turning back to the boy. “None in the mine, Reverend.”

“There’s one, sleeping right in front of you.” Taryn came forward and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. He found it amazing, how Taryn’s presence made him feel better. Calmer. Like things might work their way back to right. No wonder the man was a preacher.

“You think you can put a word in for him?”

“God is always watching us, Jack. Always with us. Whether we realize it or not.” Taryn pulled up a chair beside Jack and sat down. “Shall we pray together?”

Jack figured praying for help at this point would make him the biggest hypocrite in the world. He shook his head. “Nope, but you feel free.”

Disappointment weighted down Taryn’s sympathetic expression.

“Actually,” Jack said, “I’d really appreciate it if you do it. I’m not good at anything like that. My faith’s shaken loose. I guess I need proof God gives a damn at all.” Jack thought of the image—Jo? Standing above Mouse. Making sure Jack reached him. “Tare, I’m sorry. Been a long day. I was up all night before last working out a proposal for the mine and planned to talk to Victor yesterday. But the platform collapsed.”

“And you’ve mostly been up the entire night with Mouse,” Ambrose said. “I’m trying to convince our hero to get home and get some food and sleep.”

Jack shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. Damn it, I’m so mad, I can’t think straight.”

“Could be you’re so tired you can’t think straight,” Ambrose countered.

“Proposal?” Taryn asked.

Jack put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, just one of my idiotic ideas.” He lifted his head to look at Taryn. “I made a list of everything the mine needs and ideas to implement different things. Mapping, safety procedures, working procedures. Rescue and search procedures. I even managed to show cost benefit to the mining operation in case Victor tries to summarily dismiss the whole idea.”

Taryn smiled. “I think it hardly sounds idiotic.”

“Well, I thought it was a good idea at the time, but Victor will never listen.”

“Which is why you wrote it down. He can read it at his leisure.” “That’s pretty much next to impossible to hope for.” “How do you know that?”

Jack laughed. “Well, minister, what do you think the odds are?”

“The odds? Victor, I’m not sure about, but if you don’t ask, you will never receive. You say these miners don’t trust you, but I’d wager if they don’t already, they will soon. Especially when they realize what you are doing for them.”

“Now, I didn’t think preachers were the wagerin’ type.” Jack found himself relaxing. And after the last few days, it felt good. “You’re right. I can do so much for the men, or at least try.” Talking made him feel so much better. Gave him the illusion he was doing something. Gave him hope. “You’re one hell of a preacher, Taryn McShane.”

Taryn laughed. “The perfect immortalization. Be sure to remember it for my tombstone. Why don’t you go have a meal and then you might feel like sleep. You’ll do much better for Mouse if you aren’t worn down. I’m happy to stay, and Ambrose and I can take good care of him.”

“What about your orphans?”

“Mrs. Beauchamp has them well under control. I asked her to take them for the evening and tonight. I figured this little fella is in need. This is where I belong. If you don’t mind my telling you, Jack, you look terrible. I believe the doctor is correct, you need sleep. Go home for a while. It will do us all some good.”

Jack smiled weakly. “I do feel like I’ve been put through the stamping mill.”

“I’ll stay with him. We’ll do some of the praying that makes you so uneasy.”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. You go ahead and pray, Reverend. I’ll just count.”

M
ouse twisted and wormed through the blackest tunnel, so dark he couldn’t see. There was no light ahead, or anywhere. He wasn’t sure what had happened to his hat candle, which was an awful shame considering he was lost. And not only lost, but bad lost. He couldn’t hear or see either.

He felt like those children in his favorite fairy story who wanted to follow bread crumbs but the birds ate them all up. Well, some big old bird had eaten all Mouse’s light, candles and everything. He didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he would ever get back.

He had never been this lost or alone. Ever.

He felt sort of like he was floating, but that couldn’t be true. No one floated through the mine. He was being silly again. Jack seemed to like it when he acted silly, laughing or playing. He tried not to do that kind of stuff, though, because he thought he might seem a simpleton. He was already deaf and if they thought him a simpleton, too, they wouldn’t let him work at the mine, and if he couldn’t work at the mine, then where would he go?

How did he get in this darkest place? He tried to recall—hadn’t he been with somebody? When he became the boss, Jack paired everyone up, and Jack was his team-buddy so where was he? Mouse couldn’t figure out why he was down here alone.

He remembered. Jack hadn’t come into work today.

He remembered more. The platform. It broke. He fell.

He must be dead.

But if he was dead, where was Da? Where was Ma and Rachel and Annie and little Bill? They should all be here. Not this dark. One thing Mouse knew for sure, he didn’t much like the dark. Especially not this dead-dark. And he was floating but he couldn’t move his arms or legs; someone had tied him up. Or maybe he was petrified because he was dead.

This sure wasn’t fair.

He didn’t like this dead. He squirmed. Nothing. He started to panic and squirmed more. Nothing. He tried to break free. He couldn’t. At least someone was holding tight to his hand.

Hand?

Did the dead have hands, because someone was holding his, awful hard. He wriggled again. One thing he knew for sure, he wouldn’t be dead quietly. No, sir.

“Did you see that?” Ambrose jumped to his feet.

“He’s squeezing my hand,” Jack said. “Talk to him, Ambrose. I think he’s coming around.”

“Jack. He’s deaf.”

“Oh, yeah. Seems I can’t get it through my head. It’s just this kid is …”
Special. Incredible. He doesn’t seem at a disadvantage at all.

He clutched Mouse’s hand, and the boy squeezed back. “He’s coming around, Ambrose, I’m sure of it.”

Suddenly, Mouse sat up. He blinked, looked at the doctor, at Taryn, and finally, at Jack. He let go of Jack’s hand. Jack wondered if he’d held to the boy for Mouse’s sake, or for his own.

It didn’t matter. What did matter was the existence of miracles in Jasper after all.

Beth swiped tears from her cheek. Even through walls and stacked supplies, she heard everything. She stayed quiet, what she was best at, she supposed. But she wanted to clap when Mouse woke to face the world again. Wanted to hug Jack for having the tender, kind heart he did, even though he did his best to hide it. The doctor, who diligently stayed with Jack and Mouse, and who took her in when she had nowhere else to go. The preacher. Such a kind, kind man.