Carla Kelly (62 page)

“I'll see them in my dreams,” he whispered.

“Not if I can help it,” she whispered back. “You wrote on my blackboard, ‘Marry me.’ My answer
now
is yes, and I expect it to be soon.”

“I'm unemployed,” he reminded her. “No house in five days.”

“Not for long. We're going to Provo, and you have work there,” she told him. “Stand up now. I'm going to help you into the kitchen, where you're going to strip and get in that tin tub. I'll scrub your back and wash your hair and the rest is your problem.”

He smiled a little at that. “Good enough. I'll wake Angharad in the morning.”

“You'll wake her once you're clean and in your nightshirt!”

“Della …”

She hauled him to his feet and looked him in the eyes. “Owen Davis, I will never again put a little girl to bed with tears drying on her face because she thinks—knows!—her da is dead! You two will sleep together in your bed, close and tight, for the rest of this horrible night. And you are
not
going into the mine again, not to pull out one more friend.”

“I am not. Miners from Clear Creek have already arrived to help. Miners from Castle Gate and Sunnyside will be here by sunrise. The state inspector might be here now.” He sounded so grim. “I am no longer a miner. I am now a coffin maker.”

In the gloom of the kitchen, he stood still while she unbuttoned his filthy shirt and started on the ties to his garments.

“Turn around and pour in the water. I'm a modest man, Butterbean, at least for another week and a wedding in Manti Temple.”

She laughed when she had told herself after Angharad slept that she would never laugh again. Life was going to go on, even if the mountain had blown up and everything had changed.

He settled in the tub with a sigh that went all the way to the bottom of her heart. She scrubbed his back, singing to him, then humming because her tears flowed again. She cried onto his back and scrubbed away the coal dust with her tears.

“I have something to do tomorrow,” he told her, when they both could speak. He took the washrag from her and soaped up his front. “You're going to help me take everything out of my great-grandfather's chest and take the bedding off my bed. I'm going to use them both to make a coffin for Richard Evans. A pine box furnished by the Pleasant Valley Coal Company isn't good enough for the sweetest singer in Israel.”

“Save the lid, my love,” she said. “You can make another box for it later.”

He nodded. “I'll have enough if I can use your bed too.”

Della thought of her red dragons, Richard's soon. When Owen's beautiful coffin went into the ground in Scofield's cemetery, only God would see it.

“I'll keep Angharad by me tomorrow. She's seen enough. She'll want to carve something on Richard's coffin too. Will you send a telegram to the Knights? Tell them you and Angharad will arrive in Provo on Thursday. You'll probably want to telegraph Mr. Auerbach, since he'll be worried. Today, there are widows for you to attend to in this canyon: Martha Evans, Annie Jones, Tamris Powell. Oh, Della …”

She closed her eyes to hear the names of her friends. She also sighed with relief, savoring the decisive sound to his voice. Owen was back.

“I have some money saved with all the boxes I have carved.”

“I have money saved too.”

“Good. Find us a place to live in Provo. I'm sure the Knights will help. I think the funerals will begin on Saturday. I'll stay through Sunday, then come to you and Angharad on Monday. Maybe by next Friday, we'll be in Manti at the temple, for our wedding.”

He was silent a moment, as though gathering his feelings. “I have the strongest feeling that Angharad is already your daughter. Am I right?”

“She became my daughter the moment I thought you were dead,” Della said, decisive too. “I was going to move to Arizona with her and start over. She would have my constant love and never, ever have a tag around her neck, sending her to a distant relative. Angharad is
mine
.”

You'll have me too, Della Olympia? We're a matched set, Angharad and I.”

“If you'll have me, Owen.”

“Aye, then.”

Angharad gaped at her father for a long moment when he woke her, doing what Della had done, staring at him, feeling his face, then wrapping her arms around him. He carried her into his room and climbed in bed with her, holding her close as she sobbed in relief, murmuring to her in the musical language of his birth. Della tucked the covers around them. She kissed them and turned to leave. Owen took her hand.

“Not yet,
m cara
,” he whispered. “I'm afraid. Sing to me.”

She sat on the bed. “You pitch it.”

He hummed her note and she sang. It was ragged, but she did her best. “ ‘Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night …’ ”

She sang the lullaby all the way through, even though they were both asleep by “my loving vigil keeping.”

Her heart calm in the middle of this disaster, Della sat beside them all night, keeping her vigil. The eye of God was on them.

The Winter Quarters Mine Disaster remains Utah's worst catastrophe. At the time, it was the worst such disaster in the United States. It now ranks fifth. At least 200 men and boys died, although some figures place the total as high as 246. The only one who knew for certain how many men were in the Number Four that day was foreman William Parmley, and he died.

The explosion in Number Four set off a perfect storm of disastrous consequences. Because the Number Four and the Number One mine connected, the deadly afterdamp that was a by-product of the explosion raced from Four to One, killing quietly and instantly. Some of the miners far back in the Number One tried to escape through the closer exit in Number Four, only to run right into the afterdamp.

Before May 1, 1900, Winter Quarters Mines were often referred to as the married men's mines because they were considered so safe. Family groups—fathers, sons, nephews, cousins, brothers—gravitated to Winter Quarters. Because of this, the tragedy was compounded. Of the more than 1,300 people living in Scofield and Winter Quarters, no family was left untouched by the events of May 1, because so many were related.

Pleasant Valley Coal Company managers purchased burial clothes from Zions Cooperative Mercantile Institution in Salt Lake City. The dead men who were endowed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were buried in temple robes consistent with LDS funeral rites.

The tragedy was of such unprecedented dimension that only 125 coffins could be found along the Wasatch Front. Another 75 coffins had to be sent from Denver, Colorado, to meet the need. Some 150 miners were buried in Scofield Cemetery. Others were transported to Utah towns and cities and buried in family plots. A smaller number of miners were buried in other states. Most of the Finnish dead and other foreign nationals were buried in Scofield.

There was a great outpouring of monetary assistance from many organizations in Utah and in all parts of the United States. Pleasant Valley Coal Company officials canceled the April debts that the miners owed to the Wasatch Store, amounting to $8,000. Eventually each widow was awarded $500, minus $33 for taxes. Some fatherless families remained in the area; others drifted away. The 1900 US Census, conducted six weeks after the mine disaster, lists many widows and children still in the canyon.

Even before all the miners had been brought to the surface, Gomer Thomas, Utah's state mine inspector, began his investigation. While no one will ever know for certain just what happened, Thomas, an experienced Welsh coal miner, was able to reach likely conclusions. A common belief at the time was that coal dust—ever-present in mines—was not likely to explode in the absence of flammable gases. Winter Quarters mines were not gassy, so the presence of coal dust was not a particular worry until May 1.

Miners bought their own black powder and giant powder (dynamite) and stored much of it in One and Four. They shot down the coal while in the mine, a common practice. Gomer Thomas's conclusion was that miners working with giant powder accidentally set off a blast that exploded some of the stored powder. In turn, this created even more coal dust, which ignited and raced through the mine, touching off more of the stored explosives. Death in Number Four was violent and fast, by explosion, searing heat, and cave-in. Death in Number One was less violent, almost peaceful, as miners dropped dead from afterdamp. Photographs taken of these miners show men who appear to be asleep. There are no photographs of the dead from Number Four. Indeed, identification of these miners was problematic, although Clarence Nix did his best.

As is often the case with tragedy, change comes. Following the disaster, more emphasis was placed on watering down mines to keep coal dust at a minimum. Superintendents and foremen worked to improve the skills of men handling explosives. In Utah, at least, tag boards were placed in mine offices, with a man's number stamped on a metal tag that was clipped to his belt. The simple system is still used today to denote who is in the mine at any particular time.

More change came in the form of strikes. An early strike in Carbon County took place at Winter Quarters in January–February of 1901. Poorly organized, it petered out. Strikes in 1903 and 1904 were more violent, with labor organizers, including Mother Jones, advocating better pay, better working conditions, and an end to the scrip system of payment, which forced miners to buy from company stores. By the 1930s, the United Mine Workers of America had unionized most, if not all, of the mines in Utah. The battle was hard fought and continues.

Scofield Cemetery might be the saddest place in Utah. Rows and rows of weatherworn headstones all bear the same date: May 1, 1900, which is disturbing enough. Wind, rain, and snow continue to scour Pleasant Valley. This is not a lush and green resting place. Time has not erased any of the tragedy from that cemetery and never will.

As Welsh Owen Davis and Richard T. Evans, English Thomas Farish, and Finnish Heikki Luoma understood, it was their children who laid full claim to America's great promise. Many thousands of their descendants thrive in Utah and other parts of the United States. Many of those descendants return to that little cemetery to honor their ancestors who left the Old World to seek a better life in the New World.

May they rest in peace.

This is a work of fiction, based strongly on fact. I have woven true stories in with fiction. Many thanks go to friends and colleagues who helped in my research for this historical novel. Stephanie Fitzsimons, director of the Western Railroad and Mining Museum in Helper, Utah, provided photographs, insight, and camaraderie. Danny Price, in his nineties, remembers what his father told him about the disaster. Danny's father and grandfather ranched in Pleasant Valley and ran to the mine to help in recovering bodies. Danny's comments were about as close as it is possible to come to eyewitness history. I owe a particular debt to Delon Hardy, section mechanic in a mining crew in Deer Creek Mine. He answered my amateur's questions and read the manuscript to help spare me from stupid mistakes. Thanks, Delon. Thanks also to Brad Timothy, a fire boss in Deer Creek Mine. Brad is a seventh generation miner whose family came from those coalfields in Wales. His father, Perry, also taught me about mines. His mother, Carol, is a good example of the resilience of miner's wives. So is Brad's wife, Margaret. A big thanks to Dennis Gibson, surface superintendent, who kindly gave me permission to spend some interesting hours in the Rhino Mine in Huntington Canyon. That experience was more useful than I can ever say. Clyde Davis, an LDS seminary teacher in Eastern Utah, is a direct descendant of John T. Davis, Welsh coal miner who died with two of his sons in the Winter Quarters Disaster. Mary Ann Davis was left to raise eight children. Clyde is the perfect Welsh descendant—he has a wonderful singing voice. Special thanks to Leena Herlevi Dawson, my own dear Finn, who told me about sauna. And thanks to you, Debbie Balzotti, for your advice, photographs, and knowledge. In a work where some of the details remain sketchy because of circumstances, I have probably made mistakes. They are mine alone.