Chapter 6

The weeks passed and with it came the snows. St. Anthony’s construction was finished and the church was dedicated just before the first of December. Everyone was excited to celebrate the Christmas season in their new building. Chantel was more relaxed now that the cold weather kept Isabella closer to home. She knew her sister still planned to marry Orlando Calarco, and she’d done her best to encourage Isabella to confide in their mother. Even so, Isabella was hesitant. She knew there were few secrets between her parents, and she feared how her father would respond.

“He won’t understand at first,” Isabella had told Chantel. “But maybe if I marry and then let him know, he’ll realize that he has to accept it.”

Chantel disagreed, but Isabella begged her to remain silent on the matter. In time, she promised, she would tell their mother.

Working at her tatting in the warmth of their front parlor, Chantel couldn’t help but notice her mother’s busy hands. Mother delighted in making Chantilly lace and could fetch quite a price for it if she’d been inclined to sell it. Usually, however, the lace was given as gifts or sewn into new clothes for her daughters.

Isabella worked across the room in silence. She sewed pleats on a buttercream-colored bodice. The piece was to be part of a new gown, and Chantel wondered if it might become her sister’s wedding dress.

A knock on the front door sent all of their gazes in search of the source. Chantel was the one nearest and got to her feet. “I’ll answer it.” She made her way to the door and opened it to find a delivery boy.

“This here is for Miss Chantel Panetta,” the boy declared, holding up a small wooden crate.

“You may place it on the hall table,” Chantel said, pointing. She reached into her chatelaine and procured two pennies. She smiled and handed them to the boy. “Thank you.”

He grinned from ear to ear and pocketed the coins. “Thank you, miss.” He doffed his cap and hurried from the house.

“What is it?” Mama called from the parlor.

Chantel lifted the wooden box and brought it to show her mother and sister. “Apparently I am the recipient of a gift.”

“Oh, do open it!” Isabella said, looking quite excited. “I love surprises.”

“Who is it from?” Mama asked.

Shaking her head, Chantel pried at the wooden top with her fingertips. “I have no idea.”

“You need a hammer for that,” Mama advised.

Nodding in agreement, Chantel went to the kitchen and retrieved her mother’s household hammer. “I can’t imagine who would send me a gift,” she said as she returned.

“Yet there it sits,” Isabella said with a grin. She had cast aside her bodice to hover near the box. “And it is the holiday season. Why, before we know it, Christmas will be here.”

Mama laughed and continued twisting her threads to make lace. “Sí, we’ll have a grand celebration with everyone home. We missed you very much last year, Chantel. It didn’t seem like Christmas with you gone.”

The box yielded with a creaking groan. Chantel pushed aside the lid and maneuvered through the packing to find a card. She opened it and read it aloud. “‘It’s good to have you home again. From an admirer.’”

“And that’s all?” Isabella said, looking over her sister’s shoulder.

“That’s all,” Chantel admitted. She put the card atop the lid and dug back into the packing. One by one she pulled a dozen oranges from the crate. It was a rare and expensive gift to have in the dead of winter—especially this far north.

“Oh my!” Mama stopped her work. “Oranges?” She gave an exclamation in Italian. “What a fortune those must have cost.”

“And we don’t even know who sent them,” Isabella declared. “But someone certainly has strong feelings for you, Chantel.” She gave her sister a nudge. “Maybe there will be more than one wedding to come.”

“What do you mean more than one?” Mama asked.

Isabella bit her lip and hurried back to her chair. She picked up the bodice. “Well, I’m sure there are weddings being planned in the community. I heard something just the other day about Margaret McGuire and her beau getting hitched.”

Chantel could see her mother was less than convinced. She replaced the oranges in the crate, certain that the only man who could afford to send them was Leo. “Perhaps the time has come that you should let Mama know what’s on your heart.”

She took her seat and picked up her tatting shuttle. “After all,” Chantel continued, “I believe you would have an advocate.”

Mama eyed her daughters with great curiosity. “What is this? You are keeping secrets from your mama?”

Isabella looked wide-eyed at Chantel as if to question her sanity. Chantel gave her the slightest nod of encouragement. “She’s right, you know. Let’s just have this out.”

Isabella fidgeted with the bodice for a few seconds, then tossed it aside. “I’m in love.”

“But why should that be a secret from your mama?” The older woman looked deeply wounded. “I thought we were closer than that.”

Isabella came to kneel beside her mother. “We are, but you may not like what I tell you, and I wanted to spare your feelings.”

Mama looked to Chantel. “But your sister, she knows?”

“Sí, Mama.”

“Then you had best tell me.” Mama let the bobbins rest against the small pillow where she’d pinned her lace pattern.

“I am in love with Orlando . . . Calarco.”

Mama’s mouth fell open in a silent O. Isabella took hold of her mother’s hands. “I cannot bear to hurt my family, but this feud between us and the Calarcos is ridiculous. Who cares that a silly mule was accidentally killed fifty years ago? Orlando and I believe that if we marry, we can put this matter to rest once and for all.”

“I santi ci preservi!” Mama whispered. Saints preserve us.

“I don’t think even the saints can help this, Mama,” Chantel replied. She wrapped the thread around her left fingers and worked the shuttle to make a ring.

“I love him, Mama. And he loves me. We want to marry but figure we’ll have to elope.”

For several minutes their mother said nothing, but Chantel could see that she was deep in thought.

“Your papa and brothers will be . . . ah . . . surprised,” Mama finally said.

“I’d rather not tell them just yet, Mama.” Isabella got back to her feet and smoothed out her gown. “Orlando and I figure to elope after the New Year. We didn’t want to cause problems for anyone over Christmas. I love you all so much.” Isabella turned to Chantel. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

She took her seat again and picked up her sewing. “I’m making my wedding dress.”

Mama looked at the piece and then back to her lace making. For several long minutes she said nothing. Chantel could see the troubled expression on her mother’s face, however. She knew this would not be an easy matter to deal with.

Finally Mama looked at Isabella. “This black lace I’m working on would hardly be suitable for a wedding gown. Chantel, you brought back a good deal of tatted lace, did you not?”

“Sí, mama.”

Her mother nodded. “You’ll need some lace for your gown,” she said, continuing to nod. “A wedding dress should have lots of lace.”

Isabella grinned. “Thank you, Mama.”

Chantel understood this was their mother’s way of accepting the news—perhaps even approving it.

“And you’ll say nothing to Papa and the boys?” Isabella asked hopefully.

Mama nodded. “I say nothing for now. But, Issy, you know in time you will have to tell your papa.”

Isabella nodded. “I know, but I’m praying for just the right time.”

A long and mournful blast from the mine’s whistle sounded and continued to do so for far longer than any noonday lunch signal. Chantel saw her mother’s face pale, and Isabella jumped to her feet.

“Something’s wrong at the mine!” her sister exclaimed. “We must go.”

She threw the bodice aside once again and ran for the hall. Chantel put aside her tatting, tucking it into her chatelaine before helping their mother to her feet.

“I’m sure Papa and the boys are fine.”

Mama’s eyes met Chantel’s. “We must pray for the men.”

“I’m already praying, Mama.” She helped her mother into her woolen coat and then retrieved her own while Mama secured her bonnet. Isabella waited anxiously, wringing her gloved hands nervously. Chantel knew she was worried about her father and brothers, but she was also concerned about Orlando. What if the young man had been killed? What if Papa or Marco or Alfredo had suffered injury or death? What would any of them do?

They hurried with hundreds of other people to make their way to the mine. The mass confusion did nothing to reassure Chantel that everything would be all right. The dust in the air seemed far thicker than usual, she thought, and when someone mentioned a premature explosion, she couldn’t help but fear the worst.

“Does anyone know if there are miners trapped below?” she asked as they joined a crowd of women who had gathered close to the problem shaft.

“They say a half dozen or so,” one of the women responded. She held a rosy-cheeked baby on one hip, while a small girl held tightly to her skirt. “Nobody knows yet what happened.”

As the minutes ticked by in agonizing slowness, Chantel began to search the crowd for her brother and father. When she spied Dante Calarco, she breathed a silent prayer of thanks that he was all right before she even realized what she was doing. Uncertain of why the sight of him caused her to react in such a way, she shook her head, then scanned the faces about her once again. When she finally caught sight of her brothers, she shouted to them.

“Marco! Alfredo! We’re over here!” She waved and pointed to them. “See, Mama, the boys are fine.”

“Where’s your papa?” Mama questioned as her sons closed the distance between them.

“He’s . . . he’s trapped, Mama.” Marco’s expression was grave. “I don’t know how bad it is. Alfredo and I had just headed up the shaft to see a load of ore to the top. Then the explosion came. We don’t know what happened.”

Mama’s eyes remained dry, but Chantel could hear the sorrow in her mother’s voice as she pounded her fist against her breast. “Cuore del mio cuore.” Heart of my heart.

It was something Chantel had often heard her mother call their father. She put her arm around Mama’s shoulders and looked to Marco. “What are they doing to get them out?”

“There’s a whole team down there digging.”

As if to offer proof, someone called out, “They’re bringing one up!”

The crowd fell silent. It was a heavy, eerie silence that wrapped itself around the gathering like a shroud. Chantel gave a shiver, but not from the cold. Father Buh moved toward the shaft opening. When the man’s lifeless body was brought out of the mine, the priest knelt beside him.

“I cannot see who it is,” Mama said, gripping Chantel’s arm hard.

“It’s not Papa,” Alfredo said. He moved away from them to draw closer to the dead man. In a moment he returned. Across the way a woman began to wail in anguish. “It’s Paulo Conti,” he said, meeting Chantel’s eyes.

The painful waiting continued, punctuated by the sobbing of several women. As the women figured out which of their family members were safe and which were unaccounted for, the crying grew louder. Many of the Panettas’ dear friends gathered around the family to offer Mama and the family comfort. Each knew it could well be their loved one buried beneath the rubble next time.

“They’re sending another one up.”

Marco and Alfredo hurried toward the shaft opening. Machinery hummed and the ground even shook a bit. Chantel knew her brothers would let the family know if it turned out to be their father. She saw her sister, who was busy scanning the crowd for Orlando.

“Secure the hoist!” someone called.

Hearing this, Chantel moved away from her mother. She knew the other women would see to her and for reasons beyond her understanding, she needed to see what was happening. She drew closer to the shaft tower where earlier she’d seen Dante. He wasn’t there now, but several other men were.

Boldly, knowing it wasn’t her place, Chantel moved toward the men. “Do they know what happened?” The men looked at her oddly. “My father is down there—he’s one of them.”

Understanding instantly filled their eyes. “Premature explosion,” one of the men explained. “A charge went off in the area where the men were working. No one knows why. It collapsed the stope.”

The blood- and dust-caked body of the next man surfaced, and Chantel could see that it wasn’t her father. She didn’t know who the man was, but he was hardly more than a boy. Father Buh moved from Mr. Conti’s body to the still youth. The priest moved the boy’s arm to place it atop his body, revealing a broken bone through a huge gash in the forearm.

She shuddered and turned—right into the arms of Dante Calarco. He said nothing as she pushed away, but when their eyes met she could see his sadness. “Orlando?” she barely managed to whisper.

“He’s fine. My father, too.”

She nodded. “My father . . .” She couldn’t say anything else.

“I know,” he replied in a whisper.

She looked back to where the Conti family was lifting up the body of their fallen loved one. Sadly no one came forward for the younger man. Chantel felt a deep sorrow for the unknown boy. Surely someone—somewhere—loved this boy-man.

“Do you know him?” she asked Dante.

“He was new. His name is . . . was Samuel.”

She nodded. “Does he have no family?”

“I don’t know,” Dante admitted.

“You know that explosion could have been set early on purpose,” Chantel heard someone say behind her.

Someone else picked up the conversation, apparently not seeing Chantel and Dante. “You know them Panettas and Calarcos have been fighting for a long time, and them Calarcos handle explosives.”

“Seems a foolish gamble just to get rid of your enemy,” another man joined in. “Makes no sense to risk everyone’s livelihood that way.”

Chantel swallowed hard, then noticed Dante was watching her closely. She bit her lip to keep from asking him about the comments. It was clear he had heard the men talking, just as she had.

She gestured toward where her family had gathered. “I should get back to my mother,” she said, feeling awkward.

Making her way through the crowd, Chantel resumed a place beside her mother. “It’s a young boy named Samuel.” She then looked to Isabella. “Orlando is all right. Dante told me.” Isabella closed her eyes, relief washing over her face.

Mama took hold of her daughters’ hands. “We must keep praying for your papa.”

“I am.” Chantel turned back to where Dante stood. His dark eyes seemed to look right through her. “I am, Mama.” Her voice barely sounded, while Isabella, eyes closed, appeared to already be in prayer.

Nearly an hour later they announced they were bringing up another man. Chantel’s feet and face felt frozen, but there was nothing to be done. None of her family would leave the area until they knew the truth about her father.

Again the body was brought up from the shaft and laid out on the cold ground. “He’s alive!” someone called. “Get Dr. Shipman!”

“It’s Panetta,” someone else declared.

Chantel felt her mother tremble. “I must see him,” she said. Marco and Alfredo were nowhere to be found, so Chantel took hold of her mother’s arm. “Come, Mama. I’ll get you up there.”

She pushed through the onlookers, pulling her mother behind her. They were very nearly to where her father lay, when Marco appeared. “He’s alive, Mama. He’s unconscious, but he’s alive.”

He took over and led their mother to her injured husband. Chantel felt strangely alone. She crossed her arms and tucked her frozen fingers under her arms. She again found Dante watching her from across the way. She couldn’t explain the look in his eyes, but for just a moment, it resembled guilt. Surely he didn’t have anything to do with this accident.

Dr. Shipman ordered several men to take Chantel’s father to his office and makeshift hospital. Chantel and Isabella followed after their brothers and mother. Neither spoke, but they held each other’s hand like they might have when they were young.

“He will be all right, won’t he?” Chantel heard her mother ask Marco.

“The doctor doesn’t know, Mama. We have to be strong and wait,” he replied.

Chantel noticed how much he sounded like their father. Taking charge the way he had, she could almost imagine her father as a younger man. She thought again of young Samuel. Poor boy. It could just as easily have been Marco or Alfredo. The three of them generally worked close together. If someone had wanted to end their lives, it would be relatively simple—just wait until the trio was isolated and working alone. She felt disgusted by her thoughts and pushed aside the growing suspicion she felt.

At the doctor’s they sat in an outer waiting area while the doctor and his staff worked to save Giovanni Panetta. The family members alternated between pacing and sitting, but all the while they prayed. Chantel had never known her brothers to be overly religious, but even they were attentive to Father Buh as he spoke words of encouragement and hope.

Chantel took out her tatting and began to work at the rings and chains. She found the work helped to soothe her weary nerves. She wove the shuttle back and forth between her fingers, begging God to save her father.

When Dr. Shipman finally appeared, she had created quite a length of trim. The doctor offered a stern expression. Only then did Mama begin to sob. Marco put his arm around her shaking shoulders. “How bad is it?” he asked.