Spirit of the Valley (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Jeremy scooted from the seam he'd been working in and stretched as he looked for Timmy or whatever driver was going to show up. Liam had gone for a rest break some time ago, but he wouldn't be coming back this late. Jeremy's left shoulder was sore, so he massaged and rotated it until a deafening explosion and a shaking of the earth around him made it difficult to remain upright. Rock walls and ceilings began collapsing with a terrible booming roar and a noxious odor permeated the air. He was used to explosions, they all were, but nothing like this. This was a death quake.

He ducked back into the seam he'd been working and fumbled for the cloth he wore as a mask after blasting. He held it to his face, knowing that certain gases in a mine could kill a man but quick. Of course, so could tons of rock, but he couldn't fight against that. He went for the ground cover he sometimes used, to cordon off the area from the fumes, but the earth was shaking so, he could hardly move. He finally got the cover and maneuvered to the entrance of the seam. He was coughing and fighting nausea as he found a shelf at the top wide enough to support a steel wedge. He lifted the cover in place, making, in effect, a curtain, and placed the wedge to hold it. He found another place a wedge would fit and lodged it in. His pick held one side in place, his tamping bar the other. It wasn't a perfect seal, but it was the best he could do.

He scooted back to the far side and waited, his heart beating unmercifully. The irony was painful. He'd sentenced himself to die in this mine years ago, and only now had it happened. Now, when he'd decided to get out and live. When he'd found happiness with Lizzie. Did it mean this was the end he truly deserved? The seam suddenly felt like his coffin.

Chapter Thirty-Four

T. Emmett Rice looked up from his desk at the sound of continually ringing church bells. He rose and stepped from his office and saw he wasn't the only one who was confounded.

“Explosion at Number Six,” someone called. The cry came from a miner who'd been at his labor today; face and body were covered with soot. “We need help!”

People were already mobilized. Emmett locked his office door and hurried to the livery for a horse. He wasn't sure if the sound of the bells would carry to Howerton's place or to Tommy and Em's, and they would want to know. Every able-bodied man would be needed, and the Triple H had a lot of them. So did the Martin-Medlin farm.

“How bad is it?” he asked Joseph Schultz, the brawny owner of the livery. “Do you know?”

Mr. Schultz had a substantial enough handlebar mustache that his upper lip was hidden. “Bad,” he answered as he readied a horse for Emmett. “Only a few men had come off the shift.”

“Do we know what happened?”

“An explosion and a raging fire. That's all we know.” He handed the reins to Emmett. “You know they did a slapdash job of building that place.”

Emmett mounted and rode out. He was not even halfway to the Triple H when he encountered a bunch of Howerton's men riding in, with Sam Blake, the foreman, in the lead. “What are the bells ringing for?” one of the men called.

“There's been an explosion at Number Six,” Emmett replied, reining in his horse as the others were doing. “A fire, too. I was riding out to tell you fellas and Tommy's men. I wasn't sure if you'd hear the bells.”

Sam Blake looked grim. Somewhere between forty and fifty years of age, Sam had a strong jaw, a watchful gaze, and a cool head. He wielded power over the men through respect and authority granted by Mr. Howerton, who relied on him heavily. “Stop in and tell Mr. Howerton, will you?”

“I will.”

“Tell him we're going on to see what we can do,” Sam said, already spurring on his horse.

The group rode on in one direction, Emmett in another.

 

 

Rebecca looked out the window as April May and Cessie drove up, looking upset. She'd been seated at the table by the window in their bedroom, practicing her penmanship, but she popped up and hurried to the front door to let them in. Jake came right behind her, as usual. Cessie and April May had gone in through the kitchen, and by the time she got there, they were saying something to her mother, who looked upset, too. Rebecca had a terrible fear that Papa had found them.

“Jeremy's mine,” her mother uttered.

April May nodded. She too looked near tears, and April May never looked near tears.

“Is that why the bells are ringing?” Rebecca asked. “Because there was an accident at Jeremy's mine?”

“Yes, honey,” Cessie answered. “It's to call out to folks to come help and to pray. You and Jake get some things together. You'll come to our house.”

“What about Mama?”

April May answered. “Your mama and I are gonna go see what we can do to help.”

Lizzie seemed too stunned to move.

“Get your coat and hat and gloves,” April May said to Lizzie. “It's going to get cold.”

Lizzie nodded rigidly, then turned and left the room, looking unsteady.

“Is Jeremy stuck down in the mine?” Rebecca asked worriedly.

“We don't know that yet,” April May replied. “But if he is, he'll need help, and if he's not, he'll be helping and we'll help, too.”

“Get your things, honey,” Cessie urged. “You too, Jake.”

Rebecca and Jake turned and went to their room with heavy hearts. Rebecca's eyes filled because she wished she'd been nicer to Jeremy.

“Is Jeremy going to die?” Jake fretted.

“Shut up, Jake,” she said, wiping her eyes so he wouldn't see.

“You're not supposed to say shut up.”

“Just get your pajamas and leave me alone!”

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Oh, my God,” Charity Howerton said under her breath as the mine came into view. Her hand unwittingly tightened on her husband's leg. She was a physician trained in the city of Philadelphia and used to crises, injury, and death, but she had not happened upon many disasters, certainly none of this magnitude. Whatever explosion had occurred, it had been big and it had caused a chain reaction. Smoke billowed from the opening where the lift had been and from the smoldering remains of the breaker, the several-story structure above the mine where coal was sorted.

Gregory couldn't tear his eyes from it. This mine's breaker had been smaller than the ones at his mines, which housed some hundred or so workers at a time—but how much smaller? Could any of them have survived? He'd built a fire escape on each of the six levels of his breaker, but he knew damn well that Landreth hadn't. This one had been built directly above a main shaft, not away from the mine as most owners chose to do. It was likely it had gone up like a powder keg.

He thought he'd been prepared, but this was much worse than he'd imagined. A crowd had already amassed, many of them the frantic family members of miners, and there was a terrible smell in the air, a combination of sulfur, smoke, and death. “Be careful,” he said before climbing down.

Charity followed and hurried to get to the wounded, clutching her medical bag. She saw badly burned boys and broke into a run to get to them. The burns looked fatal. The skin, where there was skin, was black and red. Clothing had burned away, as had hair. Their own families might not have known them at first painful glance.

Gregory walked over to join his men, who were engaged in a heated conversation with Darnell Landreth, a hardhearted son of a bitch if Howerton had ever seen one.

“—what kind of loss this will be?” old man Landreth was saying.

For a moment, Gregory thought he meant in terms of life. Then Sam turned to him, his face full of disgust. “Worried about the goddamned cost.”

Landreth glared at Howerton accusingly, resenting his presence. There was no great love between any of the mine owners, but the two of them had a particularly mutual dislike.

“You have any goddamn idea how dangerous it is, going into a mine full of firedamp?” Landreth demanded, directing the question to Sam. “It's not like anyone can be saved.”

“You don't know that,” Sam shot back.

“Thirty years in this business,” Landreth retorted furiously, “says I do know that.”

“We will damn well try.”

Landreth scoffed. “Not unless I say—”

“You think you can stop us?”

Howerton shouldered in. “You don't want to take this position,” he warned Landreth. His voice was dispassionate, but his eyes held contempt.

“Why don't you mind your own damn business, Howerton? Case you don't know it, this could happen to you same as it happened to me.”

“It didn't happen to you,” Sam cut in, “you son of a bitch. It happened to the men down there.”

“If it's the cost you're worried about—” Howerton started.

Landreth threw up his hand in disgust. “Do what you want, but it's on you. And I mean all of it. These people die here today trying to be heroes when ain't no one can be saved, and it's on you.”

“Look around,” Howerton replied angrily. “Men are dying. Right now. Right over there,” he said, jabbing a finger toward the chaos, “and down there,” he exclaimed, pointing straight down. “While we stand here arguing about trying to save them or not.”

Landreth shook his head and walked away, and his men followed.

Sam was livid. “You were despised before this, Landreth,” he called after the man. “I wouldn't count on sticking around too long after.”

Landreth turned back, red faced in his fury. “That a threat?”

“A prediction. I got a pretty good talent at predicting.”

“Forget him,” Howerton said to Sam as he looked over the scene. “Let's get to work.” It was mayhem and they were running out of daylight. “Anyone with medical experience should be helping my wife.”

Already, people were approaching Howerton and his men.

“We'll need a new lift,” Howerton said. “Or at least a platform that can be used. Who can do that?”

Several men spoke up, and then began gravitating toward one another.

“We'll need supplies,” Sam said. “Bud, you and Lynn ride into town.”

Bud Vincent and Lynn Green, hands from the Triple H, nodded.

“Anything you think we might need,” Howerton said. “Wood, rope, nails. Tell them to put it on my tab.”

“There might be more than one lift.” A familiar voice spoke up from behind. Howerton and Sam turned to face Tommy Medlin and his men, who had just arrived. It was Tommy who had spoken. Greg nodded, relieved that Tommy was there. No one was harder working and no one was luckier—or maybe more charmed. Tommy had survived a gunshot wound to the head and he'd ended up with the woman of his dreams.

“Who knows this mine?” Howerton asked.

“Willie Giest,” a man replied. “I'll find him. I saw him earlier.”

“It's not going to be easy,” a black-faced coal miner said in a hoarse voice. Telltale streaks and smears down his face told of tears shed and wiped away. “The gas is bad. Real bad.”

Howerton nodded. “Landreth is an ass, but he made a point,” he stated. “Anyone who helps with this could die in the effort. I think you all know that, but it has to be said and it has to be faced.”

“Plus there's cave-ins,” another man said. “It may be hopeless.”

“It may be,” Sam agreed, “but five years ago at Rascal Pass, you remember that?” Most men nodded. It hadn't been nearly the disaster this was, but nine men had been lost in a cave-in and it had taken three days to reach the bodies. “We lost them all, but some of the bodies were still warm. Remember?”

“Yes, sir,” someone replied. “Remember it well. It was a hard pill to swallow.”

“Here's Willie,” someone said, and the crowd parted.

Willie Giest was a small, wiry man in his late forties, although he looked older. Given the soot on his face, hands, and clothing, he'd spent time in the coal mines on this day. He was visibly upset, trembling violently.

“We need a plan of attack,” Howerton said to Willie. “And you know the mine better than anyone, right?”

Willie nodded. “But the men, they're all over. A mile down. Two.”

“Are there other lifts?” Tommy asked.

“There's only one other from the surface, though we don't hardly use it no more.”

Sam laid a hand on Willie's shoulder. “We need the best three or four places to dig, and we need you to point them out.”

“Want I should fetch a map?” another miner asked Willie.

Willie nodded and started off in the same direction, and several men followed, including Sam. Tommy started to go as well, but Howerton stopped him. “We need a ground operation,” he said. “Set it up.”

Tommy's gaze sharpened. Howerton had been his boss and he had become a friend in the time since, but it didn't set right with him not to dig with the others.

“We need a medical tent,” Howerton continued. “Ask Charity what she needs. And we'll need another area set up for food and drink. This'll likely go on for days.”

“Food and drink,” April May Blue said as she joined them. “What else?”

“Construction materials in one place,” Howerton continued, still addressing Tommy. “And then get them started on the lift and whatever else is needed. Once we've got a plan from Willie, direct the men where to go.”

“Except I should be digging, too,” Tommy said.

“If this doesn't work,” Howerton said, waving a finger around the area. “That won't work like it needs to. We've got to have organization. I'll handle it over there, you handle it over here, and then we'll go to the next thing that needs doing.” Howerton turned and walked off without waiting for a response.

“How many are down there?” April May asked.

Tommy shook his head. “I don't know.”

April May turned to speak to Lizzie, but she'd walked off. No doubt hoping to see Jeremy among the men helping. “I'll see to getting tents from the reverend and I'll handle the food and drink part.”

Tommy nodded. He saw Bud and Lynn were mounting up to ride into town. “Barrels,” he called. “We're going to need barrels for water.”

The men nodded and rode out.

 

 

April May had gone in one direction while Lizzie kept moving forward. As she walked, she tried to shake herself from her stupor, but the sight before her was so shocking. It looked like a smoky, bloody battlefield. Women wailed before a row of corpses. They were hard to look at, although she looked at each body there to make sure Jeremy was not among them. Some were sickening to see, especially the charred remains of boys. The families of the deceased knelt over the bodies, sobbing in agony. She'd never imagined a more terrible sight. She couldn't even fully take it in. It was like being trapped in a nightmare.

“Can you help?” a lady called to her.

The woman speaking was striking, with fair hair. Lizzie moved closer, but had to swallow down bile at the sight of white bone protruding from a man's badly torn and broken leg. He was lying flat on his back, squirming and moaning in pain.

“Hold his shoulders,” the woman said. “I've given him all the morphine I can spare.”

Lizzie dropped to her knees and did as bidden. The man's eyes were on the woman tending him, fear etched heavily on his face.

“Try and lie still for me,” the woman said to him before she began pushing the bone back into the leg. Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut and held his shaking shoulders with all her might as he did a closed-mouth scream.

“Good,” the woman said. “Will you hand me that roll of bandage?”

Lizzie quickly handed it over.

“And that splint.”

Lizzie handed it over and watched the woman deftly splint the leg. She'd rarely felt so inadequate.

“Hold him again,” the woman said quietly to Lizzie. “I've got to clean the wound, Joe, but then the worst of it will be over.” He nodded and she reached for a bottle of something and poured it over the wound. It bubbled white where it made contact and the man cried out. “It's over! It's over now,” she said as she began bandaging the leg.

“Thanks, Doc,” the man said weakly when she was finished.

The woman stood, wiping her bloodied hands on her apron. Lizzie hadn't yet made it back to her feet. “I'm Charity Howerton.”

“Elizabeth Carter. Lizzie.”

“Do you have family in the mine?”

“I have . . . someone. Yes.”

“I'm sorry. I know how difficult this must be. But if you can help—”

“I can,” Lizzie said.

Charity walked to her bag and picked up a bottle. “This is chloroform. I've doused some rags that are being held close to the mouth and nose of some of the more severely wounded. If you'd go around and moisten the cloths again, that would be greatly helpful. Make sure whoever is holding it isn't too close. If they are, they'll faint.”

Lizzie got to her feet and took the bottle.

“Then if you can, come back,” Charity said as she hurried off to tend to someone else.

 

 

Willie directed men to the best places to burrow down to reach the tunnels, assuming they were intact. As the sun began setting, casting everything in an eerie pink, digging began, along with construction of a crude platform that could be lowered into the main shaft on ropes.

Lizzie knelt by a woman cradling a man's head in her lap. His shirt was torn open and covered in blood; a gash tore his middle from sternum to hip. Rags had been used to try to stop the bleeding. Her hand was on top of the wound to keep it closed. “Will the doctor be here soon?” the woman asked. “He's lost so much blood.”

“I'm sure she will,” Lizzie replied. “Here, let me—” she said, holding out the bottle.

“She said to keep pressure on the wound, but it feels wrong,” the woman said as Lizzie doused her cloth. “I can feel his blood pushing against my hand. Like a heartbeat.”

That seemed right to Lizzie and she said so. Fortunately, an older man with a doctor's bag knelt on the woman's other side. “Let me see,” he said.

“Oh, thank God,” the woman cried. “Help him, Doc.”

“He'll be all right,” the doctor calmly assured her. “You just keep that rag near his nose and he'll keep sleeping while we sew him back up.”

“His own pick cut him open in the explosion.”

Lizzie bit on her bottom lip as she rose and moved on. She was nauseated by the thought of it, by the sights all around her, and by the acrid stench in the air. She hadn't gone far when she stopped short at the sight of a burned boy who lay staring up sightlessly. Dead. He'd probably died alone and in utter agony. His remains were a pitiful sight—his skin blackened and blistered pink by flames. His scalp was burned—one ear had burned off completely.

“Miss! I need it,” a woman cried.

Lizzie tore her eyes from the boy and saw the woman who'd called to her. She also had a horribly burned boy propped against her. Half his face was unrecognizable.

“Please,” the woman said. “I don't want him to wake like this.”

Lizzie hurried to the woman, nearly tripping over her own feet in her rush. She poured more chloroform in her cloth with a badly shaking hand.