Why don’t you come with me?” James asks me later that evening. “To my homestead. We’ll break land a lot faster if there’re two of us. Obviously I can’t pay you in the beginning, but I can provide you with a place to live, and food. If we share duties, put together everything we know, it will surely be successful. And it wouldn’t be nearly so lonely. You and me, Charlie, we think the same.”
We are walking back to camp after exercising Cody. It’s dark, and despite a good scrubbing down in the wash house, calcium dust still shimmers in James’s hair.
It’s a mighty tempting offer and I think about it, but if I work for James, I won’t be able to save for my own land. “I appreciate the offer,” I tell him, “but I’ve got to save money to get my own place. I don’t want to be in debt to anyone again. I learned that from living with the Brooks.”
I can hardly believe I’ve said it out loud. This is what I’ve been turning over in my mind since speaking with the McKays. But James is the first I’ve had the nerve to voice my ambitions to.
He frowns a little but quickly brightens again. “You could purchase close to me and we could help each other out. It would be as good as having kin close at hand.”
“Yes, it would. I think that is a brilliant plan.”
We are making our way through the camp when we are drawn to a conversation around Tom Roberts’s fire. Most of the fellows who work in the mine, as well as camp in the valley, are gathered around. They sit on overturned buckets and drums, sip tea from tin cups, chew tobacco or pull on pipes in the hot blaze of the fire. Tom has a roaring one going—the weather has taken a turn and it’s cooling off. It isn’t a merry conversation; the men are discussing conditions in the mine. Tom Roberts kindly offers James and me cigarettes he’s already rolled.
“We’ve been feeling tremors more and more frequently,” he says to all those gathered. As he lights our smokes, the concern on his face shows in the flare of the match. “I’m told it’s nothing new and they’ve always been there. Still, when you’ve got thousands of feet of rock over your head, you don’t like to think that mountain’s going to take a mind to shift.”
“I’ve only been working there two weeks,” says Evan Kostos, “but Mr. Chestnut says the tremors have been building over the past seven months. I myself can attest to the fact that coal falls without much encouragement.
I’ve never come across anything quite like it in all my years in a pit.”
“I hear men have left because of it,” adds Tom. “Scared the pants off them when they felt it move and they wouldn’t go back.”
I turn to the fire while pondering what Violet Love had told me. How she was glad her husband, Peter, was on the picking table and out of the pit.
Mr. Bruce Stewart stands up. Drawing his pipe from his mouth, he moves next to the fire. “I’m not sure what you fellows are getting all worked up about. I’ve been working the pit since I was a boy of ten. There’re natural movements, we all know that. The manager says it’s in first-rate condition; the walls and roof are kept shored and solid, and there’s nothing different here in Frank than there is in any other coal mine in this stretch of the Crow’s Nest Pass.”
Niko the Finn spits on the ground. “Well, Mr. Stewart, I’m inclined to disagree. Joe Chapman, foreman on the night crew, agrees they’re occurring more often and they’re concerning him. Says it’s mostly between one and three in the morning. He likens it to a ship shuddering when it hits a big wave. I don’t know, but that don’t sound all that natural to me. There’s got to be some reason the timbermen’s work is splintered and twisted like twigs less than twelve hours after they’ve been put in.”
“Well, we all need the jobs,” says Evan. “Nobody can deny that. And we can’t be put off by the accidents and what happened today. Let’s all here tonight agree to keep our eyes and ears open. We know what we’ve heard and what we’ve been told. Let’s talk again in a few weeks and determine then if the situation has changed.”
The fellows agree it’s about all that can be done. James and I finish our smokes. He stays on to talk, but I turn in. I’m chilled to the bone and could kick myself again for leaving my mackinaw at the stopping house.
I lie awake for some time, thinking about the conversation and the collapse of the raise. I begin to wonder if working in the mine is a wise decision. But I don’t know of any other job where I’ll be able to make wages of up to three dollars a day. Besides, if it’s true what James said—that the Indian miners were complaining about the tremors thousands of years ago—then miners will still be complaining about them in a thousand more.
Maddie is getting on well looking after Violet Love’s children. She says they’ve settled down since the worst of their sickness is over. “Course it also helps that Mr. and Mrs. Love have got some sleep.” She laughs a little. “They’re not making their miserable children even more miserable by minding them when their own nerves are frayed.”
Maddie has also calmed down with some food in her and a decent place to sleep, although she is still very worried about her mother, Little Crow and the baby. She has no way of getting news. But she has received a speck of hope—Peter Love works with a fellow who is acquainted with a man by the name of Father Albert Lacombe. Maddie tells me the Indians know him as Ars-Okitsiparpi, “the man of the good heart.” He’s helped many Indians in the northwest with their troubles, and Peter’s friend hopes he can interest him in helping Maddie’s dad.
She’s telling me all this as we stroll down Dominion Avenue late in the afternoon. It’s turned bitterly cold, and Maddie pulls the thin shawl she wears tighter about her shoulders.
“Mr. Love’s friend is going to see if he can get word of my mother and brothers. They’ve been awfully kind to me, Charlie, and it’s all thanks to you.”
I’m about to deny this when a familiar voice comes bellowing from behind me. “Charlie Sutherland!”
It instantly causes me to cringe. I don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. When I turn around, there stands Buck Brooks, leaning up against the Imperial Hotel, just watching traffic pass by.
“Well, now, ain’t it a twist of fate that I’d come across you here.” Buck shakes his burly head, straightens and spits a wad of tobacco juice on the boardwalk at his feet. Duke, the dapple gray, stands at the hitching post.
Of course I want to run, but I stay put. Not that it has anything to do with me being courageous; it has everything to do with being frozen to that spot with fear. “I don’t believe it is a twist of fate. I believe you found I was in Frank by asking around.”
By the way he is gaping, I can see that Buck Brooks is shocked at my being so bold. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve shocked myself even more.
“Well, listen to you. Haven’t you got some lip in the past month.” He looks at Maddie. “And cavorting with the savages too. I should expect you’d be drawn to your own kind. But I suppose I have to give you credit for being right. Funny thing is, I’ve been asking around and nobody in this town has run into a no-good, deceitful Home boy.”
“Buck, I’m telling you flat out—I had nothing to do with Albert’s death. My guess is he was so filled with liquor he got turned around and couldn’t find his way back to the house. You know he was capable, and that’s what he did. I’m sorry I slept through it. It was a terrible thing and I wouldn’t have wished it even on someone as mean-spirited as him.”
Buck only nods before taking another step forward. “Well, I’m glad you can find some sympathy for Albert in your heart. But I haven’t come to bring you up on a charge of murder. As it turns out, the Mounted Police see no cause. They seem to be in agreement with you when it comes to how Albert met his end. What I’ve come for is simply to collect what’s due. That would be the work you still owe me for taking you in and keeping you sheltered and fed for coming up three years. The snow’s about gone from the fields and they’re nearly ready to start tilling, and you, Charlie Sutherland, have got a legal contract to fulfill.”
Maddie steps forward. “Mr. Brooks—”
But that’s as far as she gets because I grab her arm and tug her back. I pull her close to me. I don’t trust what Buck might say or do to her any more than I’d trust the response of a rabid dog. To my surprise, he waves us on. “That’s all right now, you and your Indian go about your business. It’s too late to leave tonight. It’s nearly dark, it’s cloudy and cold enough it might snow. We’ll start out first thing in the morning. I’m staying right here at the Imperial Hotel.
Nobody seemed to know the Home boy I was describing, but they did say a young fellow by the name of Charlie worked here. He’d be back working tonight. Just be sure when you return you bring your belongings. We’ll start out at first light.”
Buck follows what he says with one of his grins. It’s as spiteful as I remember it to be. My mind and heart are racing as I take Maddie’s hand, and she hurries along next to me.
“Charlie, what are you going to do? Maybe you should talk to Constable Leard.”
“I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I can’t because Buck is right about one thing: by the contract of the Home, I have to go back. You go back to Violet Love’s cottage now. I’ve got to figure this out my own way. Don’t worry, Maddie, I’m not going anywhere. I can’t. I have a decent job and I have friends in the camp and nowhere else to go.”
Maddie is reluctant, but she kisses my forehead before heading back to the Loves’ cottage by a different route.
Francis Rochette is working outside the mine livery, currying a horse, when I turn off the wagon trail headed toward the camp. “Charlie,” he calls.
I’ve been lost in my pondering. I look up and see him wave.
“There was a fellow looking for you.” He continues brushing the horse as I approach. “A couple of hours ago. A big hairy fellow on a gray shire. He said he was your uncle, although I can’t say he looked or talked even a bit like you. But he did say you’d be surprised to see him because it had been such a long time. Anyway, I gave him directions to your camp. Did you meet up with him?”
There is no point getting angry with Francis. He couldn’t have known who he was directing. “Yes,” I say. “I ran into him in town.”
I turn and head back toward my tent. At the same time I hear Francis stop brushing the horse. “Are you all right, Charlie?”
I lift a hand to let him know that I am.
“No, I mean in your camp. Are you warm enough? It’s dreadfully cold today. It’s got to be colder than any day this past winter. Nearly May, and I’ll be breaking ice for the horses in the morning.”
He must have seen me shivering despite the three shirts I’m wearing. “I’m fine. I’m indoors all night, and Violet Love passed on an eiderdown that was too tattered for hotel guests. But I thank you for your concern.”
He waves.
James rushes right over as soon as he sees me arrive. “I tried to stop him,” he spits out, “but he was a big chap and he wasn’t about to listen. I wasn’t going to tell him which was your tent. Niko and Tom wouldn’t tell either, but then he asked Bruce Stewart, who pointed it out. He didn’t take anything. I watched and there was no way I would budge. He just went through your belongings and commented on what he recognized.”
James’s words all come out in a rush. After hearing them, I push back the loose end of my tarp. Buck had rummaged through everything. I let the tarp fall in place again. So if I don’t show up at the hotel, he knows where to find me. No wonder he didn’t care if he let me out of his sight. I sit down on a stump next to my cold campfire. It’s getting dark and I have to be at work in an hour.
“It was that fellow Buck Brooks, wasn’t it?”
I nod in reply to James. “I ran into him at the hotel.”
I then explain Buck’s demand that I return and work his land or be accused of breaking the law.
James sits across from me. “Can’t you just use reason with him? Can’t you just tell him you’re on your own now and responsible for yourself?”
I shake my head. “There’s no reasoning with Buck Brooks. Besides, it’s not as simple as that. He only sees the work that needs to be done, and I am still legally bound. If I don’t go, he’ll force me by law. I know he will. There’s nothing to do but stand up to him on my own. Maybe if he sees that I can’t be bullied—that I’ve grown some backbone since I left—maybe then he just won’t want me around.” My teeth feel close to chattering. I’m not certain what’s plaguing me more—the drop in temperature or Buck Brooks.
I don’t feel like eating, although James insists on making me a cup of tea. “It’ll warm you up.” He leaves to attend to his fire, returning with the kettle. “It’s as cold as an icehouse tonight. Look at this, even the ground’s crisping up.” He demonstrates by crushing a clump of He nods faintly in the dusk. brittle quackgrass with his foot. James sits across from me, watching me sip my tea, scraping a small ridge of dirt with his boot.
“Do you remember Ling Yu?” I ask.
James frowns a little. “Who?”
“The Chinaman?”
“I’m not going to end up like that.”
“You mean with your throat slit by your own hand?” James makes a small spluttery sound. “Of course you’re not going to end up like that.”
“No, what I mean is, I’m not going to get in a position where I have no options. I heard of boys from the Home who ended up that same way. Poisoned or hung themselves because they couldn’t see their way out of terrible circumstances.”
James leans forward. “Charlie, there’s always options. They may not always be staring you in the face. And you might have to make them for yourself, but you’ve always got a choice in how you live your life. The problem with those fellows you’re talking about was they were too young to know the choices were there. Or they were too miserable and confused by the time they needed them to see what they were.”
“What about Mr. Ling Yu’s, then? What were his?”
“Ling Yu’s options?” James ponders this a moment.
“Well, okay, maybe he’s a case where they ran out. But it wasn’t for lack of trying, from what I heard.”
Despite the tea, I can’t stop shivering. I clasp the cup with both hands to draw in more warmth.
James suddenly brightens. “I’ll tell you what—you take my coat. You haven’t stopped shivering since you sat down, and I’m not going to need it. I’ve got the stove in my tent, and you’ll be back before I leave for the mine.”
James removes his heavy duck coat as he is speaking.
He now wears only his flannel shirt in the chilly night air.
He pushes the coat toward me.
“I can’t do that. What if you need it later?”
“I’m not planning on going anywhere. Take it, Charlie. I’m insisting.”
It suddenly occurs to me that this is James’s way of apologizing for not preventing Buck from rooting through my tent. Not that he could have stopped him.
So I stop refusing. I take his coat and pull it on. It hangs loosely on my skinny frame, but I haven’t been so warm since I’d worn John’s old mackinaw. “I truly appreciate it. I’ll get it back to you first thing in the morning.”
James collects his kettle before starting toward his tent. “Good luck to you, Charlie. Good luck sending Buck Brooks on his way once and for all. If you start losing your nerve, just keep in mind I’m counting on you to be my neighbor and kin.”
I acknowledge him by raising a hand. I sit on the stump and finish my tea before starting back into Frank.
I walk the familiar route, following the wagon trail once I pass the temporary miners’ shacks. It’s cold, but it’s a clear, windless night. I head past Thornley’s Shoe Shop—the lights are out—and the mine livery. I then pass the seven miners’ cabins on Alberta Avenue. Standing on the bridge spanning Gold Creek, I look back to where I’ve come from. They are humble circumstances I’m living in—even more humble than what I had at the Brookses, if that’s possible. But I have friends, which I’ve never had in my life. And now that I do, I don’t want to go back to the way it was.
I will speak my mind to Buck Brooks, and if he isn’t reasonable, I’ll take my chances on him turning me in.
By eight o’clock there is little standing room at the bar. The miners play blackjack, while others from the construction camp stand around drinking, smoking and generally jawing about whatever comes into their minds. I overhear they’re expecting a crew of 130 men the next day, coming in to finish laying the Grassy Mountain Railway line between Frank and Lille.
And there is Buck, in the midst of it all, sipping his whiskey, just fitting right in. He doesn’t let on that he knows me, but he sure takes to ordering me around. He knows I won’t refuse and risk jeopardizing my position, so he takes advantage of it. He likes to see me waiting on him the way it used to be. He has me running for drinks, then complains I’ve left grimy fingerprints on his glass. He misses the cuspidor on purpose, and he expects I should be right there every time he lights up a smoke.
By ten o’clock the lighter drinkers have gone home. The more dedicated ones are getting louder by the second. I’ve already learned their drinking won’t end until they become insensible or get caught up in the heat of an argument and wind up in a brawl.
“Where’s that skinny helper when a fellow needs a light?” Buck booms above the general din of the bar.
I set the tray of empty glasses I’m carrying on the counter and search for the tin of matches in my apron. Realizing it’s empty, I look for another.
“Come on, you lazy limey, get yourself over here. I need a match! And bring me another drink while you’re at it. This one’s almost done.”
This time Buck’s demand silences a few voices; even a couple of the more raucous fellows turn. Buck fills his yap with his last dreg of whiskey. The fellows lose interest, turn away, and the noise level rises again.
I pocket the matches. Sam hands me another glass of whiskey to take to Buck. I’m attempting to make my way over to where he’s standing when Evan Kostos lays a hand on my arm. “That fellow over there’s been hounding you all night. If I were you, Charlie, I’d give him a little extra something for providing you with so much work.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Evan Kostos doesn’t say anything. Instead, he begins working his mouth. He spits a great wad of gob in the glass. I stare in horror at the chunk of phlegm swimming in the whiskey.
“Charlie Sutherland!”
There’s nothing else to do. I walk across the floor, whirling the glass as quickly and carefully as I can to get the contents mixed before serving it to Buck. He tosses it back in one throw. “That’s more like it. Now, light the end of your good uncle’s cigar.”
About an hour later, Rose May comes calling at the saloon. She invites fellows wanting a bit of fun to go with her. I’m relieved when Buck leaves for a romp at the sporting house, leaving me free of him for the time being. I am curious what Sam pulls him aside to tell him on his way out the door, but I’m distracted from the encounter by an urgent request from fellows wanting another round. Just before midnight, Sam sends me outside for a breath of good air. Despite the chill it’s good to clear my lungs, and I am comfortably warm in James’s coat, so I take a walk along Dominion Avenue. I nod and say good evening to Constable Leard, who is making his rounds. I figure it might be wise to leave a good impression, particularly if I’m to be pulled up on a charge of desertion by Buck Brooks.
A couple of miners stroll past on their way to the mine for the night shift. I turn back toward the hotel. As I do, I hear the approach of an incoming train—the wheeze and pant of a Mogul engine laboring up an incline—a freight train climbing from Passburg on its way from Macleod. It’s behind schedule owing to a snowstorm that I’d heard a fellow in the bar talking about.
After my lunch, I head to the laundering room. Now that I’m hidden away, I don’t expect I’ll have to face Buck again until morning. It will give me a couple of hours to think about what to say.
Maddie has told Violet about Buck arriving and what he’s demanding. “Want me to deal with him for you, Charlie?” She cranks the handle of the mangle as she feeds a sheet through the rollers.
I have to smile. She’s got her spirit back since Maddie started helping out. “No, that’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ve got to do this myself.”
“Suit yourself, but I’m here if you need me. Remember that.”
“Thank you, Violet. I will.”
We go through the routine of boiling, stirring and pounding without much talking. The room seems hotter, steamier and smaller than it ever has. I can’t seem to do anything right, particularly as the night gets further along. I dump too much bluing in the kettle, tingeing the sheets an off-color; then I overdo the starch in the next load.
“Charlie, by the time these dry out they’ll be so stiff they’ll take the hide off a buffalo. I’m sure Mr. Steeves will hear about it if his guests wake up without their skin. We’re going to have to start all over again and wash this muck out of them. Goldarn it, you’re causing me more work than you’re worth tonight. Why don’t you take over here at the mangle?”
As I start forward, I trip and fall over a washboard.
“On second thought, you’re likely to end up mangling your own arm. I’ll tell you what. This load is ready to hang. I think that’s a safe-enough undertaking, considering your state.”
I carry the load outside. It’s still dark, but a few lights shine in the hotel windows. The night clerk must have already woken the guests catching the Spokane Flyer, so I figure it must be about four o’clock. I haven’t heard the train yet, but it was probably also delayed by the snowstorm outside Macleod. After securing the last peg onto the line, I return to the steamy room.