The Miner's Lady (25 page)

Dante prayed that he might be worthy of her newfound trust in him. He prayed, too, that he might help her family to learn the truth of what had happened to Marco. There were far too many unanswered questions to allow any of them a chance for rest.

“Help us, Father,” he prayed aloud. “Help us to find the truth.”

The next morning Chantel awoke to a silent house. The usual aroma of coffee and pastries was absent. Her mother had no doubt remained in bed, thanks to the medicine provided by the doctor.

Chantel got up and dressed, then made her way to the kitchen. She made a fire in the stove and watched it for a few moments to make sure it grew stronger. Poking at the pieces of wood, she watched the dancing flames.

By the time her father and Alfredo stumbled into the kitchen, she had a plate of fried bacon waiting, along with a pot of strong coffee. She poured them each a cup, but said nothing. There didn't seem to be anything they could say. It was still impossible to believe that Marco was really gone.

Chantel pulled a pan of fruit pastries from the oven and set them to cool on the windowsill. She smiled. Marco and Alfredo used to sneak around the outside of the window to snag a pastry or two on their way to the mine. She would
always chide them for their actions, then laugh at the game.
Will we ever laugh again?

Papa and Alfredo finished eating while Chantel packed their lunch boxes with bread, cheese, and thick slabs of ham. This was their usual fare as it was easy to take to the mine. Chantel added a few of the extra pastries, hoping they might find comfort in the treat. How strange it seemed that they should head off to work as if nothing had happened, but Chantel knew they had no choice. The mine captain would expect them.

“You will take good care of your mama?” Papa asked her as he made his way to where Chantel stood in the kitchen.

“I will, Papa.”

He handed her the bottle of medicine. “The doctor says if she needs this, she can have two teaspoons.”

Chantel took the bottle and read the word
Laudanum
on the label. She looked back to her father and nodded. “I'll see to it.”

Her father drew in a long breath, then let it go in one heavy sigh. “I think it will be the hardest day of my life.”

Chantel hugged him tight. “I know, Papa. I was thinking the same thing.”

He pulled away. “You will get word to your sister, won't you?”

She felt bad that she'd been so focused on her own grief that she hadn't even thought of Isabella. “I will, Papa. I'll get word to her immediately.”

He looked at her for a good long moment. “Thank you, Chantel.” There were tears in his eyes—something Chantel had never seen before this moment. “This is just so hard.”

“I know, Papa. I know.”

Alfredo looked into the room. “We'd better go, or we'll be late.”

Chantel went to retrieve their lunch pails. “I've packed your lunch. It's ready to go.” The two men took the pails without another word and walked from the house, shoulders bent as if the load were far too heavy to bear.

No one came to the window to steal a pastry.

Dante saw his father, and for a moment he just watched him.
How would you feel if it had been me killed, instead of Marco Panetta? Would you regret disowning me? Would you even care?

“Papa?” They were alone, and Dante hoped his father might talk to him about what had happened. Everyone in the mine knew by now. In fact, the captain had sent the Panetta men home, telling them they didn't need to be concerned with work that day or the next.

Dante's father refused to even look him in the eye. He felt his anger rising, and he quickly crossed the distance between them and took hold of his father's shoulders.

“I'm talking to you, Papa. The least you can do is acknowledge me.”

The older man's eyes narrowed, and he pulled away from Dante's grasp and threw a punch. Dante ducked to the side. His father's fist made a whooshing sound as it narrowly missed his ear.

He'd rather hit me than speak to me.
The truth of it only served to make Dante angrier.

“I found him, you know? Marco Panetta? I found him bloodied and dying after three men beat him.” His father said nothing, but neither did he look away. “His blood was all over me by the time I carried him to the doctor. It could have just as easily been my blood or Orlando's. Is that what you want?”

His father refused to reply, and Dante could only shake his head. “You shame our family name.” The older man's eyes widened, but still he said nothing.

“Someday you'll regret not making peace with me . . . with Orlando. Someday you'll realize that you're all alone, and the sorrow will tear you apart.” Dante started to walk away, then paused to look back. “I hope you know that I'll always love you, but I won't live a lie. Orlando was right to marry the woman he loved. I plan to do the same thing.”

He walked away, unable to tell his father that the woman he loved was Chantel Panetta.
Let him think on what I've said, and then he can ask me what I meant.

Reaching the work site, Dante scanned the area. The explosion that had been set late Saturday left loose ore scattered about, now ready to be loaded onto trams. Dante knew some minor charges would need to be set here and there as the debris was cleared away. It was his job to check the drift and see just where those charges should be placed to further the caving of ore. But his mind wasn't on work at all.

Marco Panetta wasn't even as old as I am, and now he's dead
. Dante remembered the devastating wound and all that blood.
Jesus shed His blood for my sins
. Prayer wasn't so foreign to Dante these days, but he still felt awkward in his relationship with the almighty God of the universe.

I've long ignored you. Forgive me
. Dante checked one of the charge sites and made a mental note to have the muckers clear some of the rock away so that he could better assess the situation.

God, I need you to help me in this . . . this . . . division between me and Papa. There has to be a way to make this right
.

Words that Father Buh had spoken the week before went through Dante's mind.
“The Bible tells us that if a man will not forgive, neither will he be forgiven. We make for ourselves the choice of how God will deal with us.”

Dante moved across an unstable bit of ground near the center of the caving. Without warning, the rock and ore shifted, and Dante found himself sucked into the debris. Like water pouring out of a funnel, the debris swirled around him and pulled him deeper. Dante called out for help, but the nearest miner was some twenty feet away.

I'm going to die. I'm going to be buried alive.
The rock continued pulling him down—ripping at his flesh—crushing the life out of him.

God, save me!

Chantel was glad the mine captain had sent Papa and Alfredo home. She knew there was little they could do but sit and contemplate all that had happened, but it comforted her to have them at home.

“I sent a wire to Isabella and Orlando. I let them know about Marco, but told them not to try to come back for the funeral, as it would no doubt occur before they could reach us.”

Papa nodded. “I think that's best.”

She kissed his wrinkled forehead. “More coffee?”

He held up his cup without answering. Chantel poured the coffee for him, then looked at Alfredo. “More?”

Alfredo shook his head. “No. I think I'll go to where it happened and look for clues. I know that Leo was behind it, even if he didn't do the deed himself.” He stood and looked at Chantel and Papa. “I'll find a way to even the score.”

“You could have ten more deaths, and it wouldn't even out our loss,” Papa said. He contemplated his cup of coffee. “Marco is gone. I'll not lose you, as well.”

Alfredo started to speak, but his gaze met Chantel's and he stopped. She gave him the slightest smile and nod. It would be pointless to carry on this conversation—especially now. There was simply too much pain. Too much anger. Alfredo sank back into the chair.

“I'll go check on Mama.” Chantel returned the coffeepot to the stove, then went to peek in on her mother.

Mama had awakened shortly after Papa and Alfredo had left for the mine. But she had refused to talk, and only called for Chantel to ask for more medicine. It was heartbreaking to see her mother's grief.

I've never lost a child, so I cannot know how great that pain must be. But he was my brother, and that void can never be filled.
Chantel saw that her mother was sound asleep. Perhaps it was for the best.

Chantel had just closed the bedroom door when a loud whistle blast filled the air. It wasn't yet time for lunch or the end of the shift. The blast continued, signaling trouble. She hurried into the kitchen, relieved once more to see her father and brother safe and sound.

The whistle continued and Papa and Alfredo got to their feet. “We'd better go see what's happened,” Papa declared.

“They may well need our help,” Alfredo said, pulling on his boots at the back door.

Chantel didn't want them to go but knew this was how it worked in their community. The miners would help each other in these life-and-death matters. It was a brotherhood not easily ignored. Unfortunately, those who went to help were often killed in the effort.

“Please be careful,” she said. “I love you both so much.” She tried not to sound as frightened as she felt.

“We will be fine,” Papa said, seeming to understand her feelings. “I'll try to get word back to you as soon as we know something. But don't fret so. I'm sure nothing has happened to Dante.”

Her hand went to her mouth. Dante! She hadn't even considered that he might be in the middle of this. Her stomach churned. What if Dante had been hurt? She wanted to go with her father and brother, but knew that someone had to remain at the house for Mama.

The minutes seemed to drag by. No one came to the house to bring news—not even the neighbor women. Maybe the accident hadn't been that bad. Chantel could only pray that whatever had taken place had resulted in no injuries to the men. Not long after her father and brother's departure, Nonna Barbato arrived at the house to offer her assistance. Chantel had never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

“Do you know what's happened at the mine?” Chantel asked, ushering the old woman into the kitchen.

“No. We heard the whistle at the boardinghouse, but no one had news. Do you know anything?”

Chantel shook her head. “Papa and Alfredo went to see. Marco . . . he's . . .”

“I heard about Marco,” Nonna said, patting Chantel's hand. “I know your mama will need consolation, and that is why I have come. I want to help. I know what it is to lose a son.”

Chantel nodded. “He was badly beaten, Nonna. Dante said he was barely recognizable.”

“I know. He told me the same.” The old woman pulled off her shawl and head scarf and placed them over the back of a chair. “How is your mama doing?”

“She's been sleeping. The doctor gave her medicine to help her rest. That's all she wants to do.”

Nonna considered this for a moment. “That won't be healthy for her to do for long. She will need to face what has happened. We will pray for her, sí?”

“Sí, Nonna. And for Dante and his father, and all the other men working at the mine.”

“I have been praying for the men,” Nonna admitted. “I am always concerned for Vittorio and the boys. I'm glad my Orlando is gone from there. I wish they could all leave the mines and work elsewhere.”

Chantel twisted her hands together. “I can't stand not knowing. Would you . . . could you wait here with Mama while I go to the mine?”

Nonna smiled and it lit up her face. “Of course. Your heart is so full of love for my Dante, you must know what has happened.”

“Did he tell you that he proposed to me?” Chantel asked.

“He did. I was so glad to hear the news. You two are perfect for each other. You go now and see what you can learn. Then you come back and let me know.”

Chantel quickly agreed and made her way from the house. A sense of urgency caused her to break into a most unladylike run as she hurried through the town streets to the west side and the mines.

She rounded the depot, not at all concerned with the large number of men who had gathered on the roadway to the mine. She had to find her father and brother and learn what had happened. She had to see Dante and know that he was unharmed.

No one seemed to even be aware of her presence, and for that Chantel was grateful. She searched the faces for someone she recognized. There were a few of the men her father and brothers had worked with, but she couldn't find Papa or Alfredo. Where could they be?

Chantel slowed her pace as she approached the shaft tower. What could she do? Who could she speak with? She gave a frantic search once more and spied her father. He had his back to her, but Chantel felt a great sense of relief in recognizing those stooped shoulders. She made her way to his side.

“Papa?” She looked at him for reassurance. “Papa?”

He met her eyes with a look of utter distress, and she knew in that instant that Dante was in trouble.