Chapter 32

L

Della didn’t take the time to get Angharad out of her long black pilgrim dress with the starched white collar and into her own clothing. She clung to her stepdaughter when the bishop’s wife and Mrs. Tate tried to convince her to let Angharad stay with them. “You know, until you find out what is going on,” the bishop added.

“No,” Della said. “We stay together, don’t we, Angharad?”

“Aye, Mam,” came her child’s quiet voice.

She held Angharad tight on her lap as they rode the special train to Silver City. Wearing his overcoat, Saul Weisman waited for her by the tracks, his face as white as she knew hers was.

“I’m riding with Mrs. Davis to the Banner,” he told Bishop McIntyre, who had the good sense not to argue.

She looked for Saladin, and heard a mournful, wolfish howl from the assayer’s office.

“He’s in my bedroom,” Saul told her. “I don’t know what he would do.”

To her relief, the whistle stopped its unholy shriek. She looked around for other wives of miners, and saw none, which chilled her heart. Bishop McIntyre was talking to a man she recognized from the Knightville Ward who also mined in the Banner. Desperate to know what was happening, it was all Della could do to stand still beside Angharad, who shivered uncontrollably, even after Mr. Weisman took off his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders.

After what seemed like an epoch or two, the bishop joined her. “Here’s what we know, Sister Davis. The men came out of Level Two after setting a charge, which Owen was to set off after they finished on Level Three, and came out.” He took a deep breath. “For some reason, that charge went off as the Level Two men started up the hoist.”

Della gasped, remembering that Bishop McIntyre’s first counselor was a Level Two man. “Brother Cable?”

He shook his head. “The blast caught him.”

Della bowed her head, thinking of Sister Cable and her three children and then of Martha Evans at Winter Quarters with her three children and Annie Jones and Tamris Powell on and on and on.

Bishop McIntyre visibly collected himself. “The Level Two brought Brother Cable up and then took the hoist down as far as they could, but Two is blocked now and they can’t get to Three. The hoist was weakened, but they’re repairing it.”

“Dear God,” Della whispered. She knelt beside Angharad, who was weeping openly, her whole body shaking. She grabbed Owen’s daughter and held her close until the shaking stopped. Someone gave her a handkerchief for Angharad’s face.

“Angharad, we’re going up to the Banner,” she said.

“Stay here,” Bishop McIntyre said. “I insist.”

“Insist all you want, Bishop. We’re going up to the Banner. Don’t even try to stop me. We’ll walk the slope if we have to.”

She stared him down, even as her heart broke into a million pieces.

“Very well,” he said, wise enough to know when he was defeated. “Hop on the flatbed with Angharad. Here’s what they’re going to do, after the rubble is off the hoist: clear the rubble inside Two up to a winze between the Two and Three. Owen and his crew will be tunneling toward the winze, most likely, so they can come out on the Two, above the blockage.” He put his hand gently on both her shoulders. “And we will wait.”

“I’m coming too,” Saul Weisman said. “Saladin and I.”

“There’s no arguing with you people, is there?” the bishop said.

“No, nein, nyet,” Saul said cheerfully. “Pick a language, any language.”

In silence, hanging on to each other, they rode the flatbed to the Banner Mine, tucked in the side of the mountain, not far from probably the only remaining stand of trees where the slope leveled out. Someone had built a fire and placed folding camp chairs around it. Bishop McIntyre usher them toward the blaze.

Della resisted, looking toward the headframe, which was still some distance away. “I’m going there,” she insisted.

“No, you’re not,” the bishop said, and she heard no hesitation this time. “The miners are going up and down and spelling each other as they dig out. You’ll be in the way, and I won’t allow it. Don’t argue this point with me, Della.”

“Very well,” she said.

He handed her several blankets and gestured for one of the miners to bring over a cot. “If you get tired, lie down. Maybe Angharad can sleep. The men have soup and bread. I’ll see that you get some too. We’ll keep the fire going.”

He put his hands on her shoulder again. “Kneel down, both of you, and I’ll give you a blessing.”

Without a word, they did as he said. With one hand on each head, he blessed them with comfort and serenity. When he finished, he helped them up, kissed the top of Angharad’s head, and walked up the slope to the headframe.

Della handed back Mr. Weisman’s overcoat. She wrapped Angharad in one of the blankets and led her to the cot. “Lie down now,” she said. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“Will they get Da out?”

“They know what to do. So does Da. They’re digging on their level too.” If they’re alive to dig, Della thought, but you don’t need to hear that.

“Sit close, please, Mam.”

“I’m right here. I’ll never leave you.”

“I know that. Do you think Da is singing the miners’ song?”

Break my heart some more, Della thought. “I don’t know,” she managed to say.

“If he won’t, we must. We have to.” Angharad started to cry. “He’s not here to pitch it just right. Oh, Mam!”

“I can pitch it,” Della said, as her mind, heart, and soul murmured no more. No more. No more mines, Owen. She gave a faltering note and wiped her daughter’s face again. “Is that close?”

Angharad frowned, concentrating, thinking, her mind on the note now, to Della’s relief. “No. This.” She gave a note, the right one, just as her father would have.

“Very good,” Della said, impressed. “I’ll sing if I can. Might just have to say the words.” She closed her eyes. “ ‘Lead kindly light, amid the encircling gloom; lead thou me on,’ ” she sang.

“ ‘The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead thou me on,’ ” Angharad added, joining in.

“ ‘Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see,’ ” they sang together, “ ‘the distant scene—one step enough for me.’ ”

Della glanced at Saul, hoping she hadn’t embarrassed herself in front of this much more sophisticated man, even if he did live in a mining town. She saw his struggle and touched his hand.

“That’s all the hymn we need,” Angharad said. She pillowed her head on her hands and closed her eyes. “I think I want to pray in my heart now.”

Della leaned against the cot and bowed her head. No more. No more.

L

The night wore on as men took turns going down the shaft, working, and then trading off with other miners. The squeak of the hoist made Della want to find an oil can and grease the darned thing, and so she told Saul, who chuckled.

She started talking to Saul, who had wrapped himself in another blanket and leaned against the cot too, where Angharad slept. She told him about the Molly Bee, and that her father had died there when she was twelve. “I’ve wanted to go back to Hastings and leave something on my father’s grave,” she said. “I have just the thing too.” She hesitated, wondering if she could even say Owen’s name out loud.

“Owen … Owen carved me a plaque with ‘Anders’ on it,” she said, her eyes blurring with tears again. For the last two hours tears had slid down her face with no effort at all. Her eyes were beginning to burn. “I would like to leave it on Papa’s grave. His birthday is March 10. That would be a good time to go to Hastings.”

“I think you should,” Saul said.

She rested her face in her hands, weary beyond belief. In another moment, she was asleep.

It was poor sleep, or maybe it wasn’t sleep at all. She was sitting in a classroom, her braids too loose because Papa wasn’t any great shakes with hair. She knew she was supposed to be paying attention because they were parsing sentences, something she liked to do, except all she wanted now was to see Papa. But why?

She opened her eyes, puzzled, vexed, irritated with herself, wondering why she couldn’t remember. Half awake, half asleep, she sat up with a gasp, wondering at a woman who would worry about something years ago when her husband was fighting for his life right now, or maybe dead like her father. What was the matter with her?

Silent, she looked around. Saul had wrapped himself into a tight ball and slept beside the cot. Angharad was insulated well against the cold. Her even breathing was peaceful.

One step enough. Della stood up quietly, unwilling to disturb anyone. She stared up the slope toward the headframe. Someone had rigged a row of battery-powered lights now. Men came and went, and the hoist squealed.

She wrapped the blanket around her like a shawl, wondering for the first time that evening why the sound of this steam whistle had not set her screaming. She wondered if she was getting good at pushing away thoughts that frightened her, and shook her head over what Saul’s friend Sigi would think of her. Maybe Sigi could explain why she was dreaming of that classroom. To her surprise, she suddenly remembered the sentence they were parsing when the Molly Bee whistle blew.

“ ‘The angry man whistled to his dog, who came to his side obediently,’ ” she whispered and started walking toward the headframe. The night is dark, and I am far from home, reverberated inside her skull as if it wanted out. To her fright, it wasn’t music this time but an insistent voice getting louder and louder as she walked steadily toward the lights, one step at a time.

The miners had gathered around the hoist, looking down. Mindful of nothing except the urge to stand with them, she came closer, not even slowing down when a rescuer yelled at her to stop.

Della ignored him. As she shouldered her way through the crowd, the hand in her mind opened up finally, and released a tangle of thoughts and images.

She was twelve again.