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"The crew's on 2200?"

"That's what Joe says. They're still monitoring the pumps. Do you think you should wait in town?" she added, worried about Daisy standing out in the cold.

"No." Daisy's tone of voice didn't allow for discussion.

"I had hot coffee and food brought out. It's been set up in the engine house. Why don't you wait inside," Blaze offered.

Daisy shook her head to all the offerings. "I'm warm. I'd like to go down."

"George isn't letting anyone down. On your father's orders," Blaze added as Daisy's expression turned obstinate.

"I'll talk to him."

But George Stuntz was adamant… polite, but firm. Hazard would have his skin if he allowed his daughter underground in the existing circumstances. He'd skin him first and then kill him. "Sorry, Miss Daisy," he repeated. "Your pa won't allow it."

So the three women waited at the mine entrance together with the families who still had men underground.

The inactivity was wearing on emotions, as was the uncertainty—not knowing what was going on thousands of feet underground. Not knowing if the rising water was gaining on the pumps. The unrelenting rhythm of the huge motors set up near the shaft was at least reassuring, as was the steady flow of water pouring out of the large pipes into the drainage ditches.

Since Joe Sherwood, the night foreman, and George stayed with them, the conversation centered on aspects of the salvage efforts. Daisy paced, unable to sustain the composure of Blaze, or the polite conversation of Empress. A more volatile personality, she balked at her uselessness. With her background, she understood mining operations as well as her father and brothers; she could help if George weren't so intractable. A sense of frustration augmented the anxiety gripping her senses, driving her restless tread. With long strides of her leather-trousered legs, she crossed and recrossed the area in front of the entrance to the mine, the skirts of her coat swinging out behind her as she traversed the rough ground.

Although it seemed an eternity, less than an hour had passed when the skip bell rang and the steel cables began humming—indication of an ascending cage. An interminable interval passed—each second stretching endlessly as the hoist brought the lift up the shaft.

Steam rose from the wet clothes of the men exiting the cage as they walked out into the brisk autumn air, their faces barely recognizable beneath the grime, their shoulders sagging with weariness. Seven men, immediate calculation computed in dozens of brains. As though the counting brought everyone up safely.

"The water stopped," the first man said, "just short of the pumps." Oddly, his voice held no elation.

He was too tired, Daisy thought, to show enthusiasm. But where were the rest? Where were their men?

"Where's Hazard?" Blaze demanded, her composure shaken, her voice taut with terror.

"He'll be up soon," a man answered.

"And Trey?" Empress queried, her voice equally fearful.

"He's with him."

Empress sagged against Blaze's shoulder.

Daisy's eyes met those of the man answering Empress, and her own words of inquiry caught in her throat.

He avoided her gaze after their initial contact, his glance sliding away.

"Etienne?" Daisy's voice barely carried over the sound of the motors, a suffocating dread already filling her throat, closing off her breath.

"They're looking for him."

Only sheer willpower kept her standing.

Hazard and Trey came up to the surface twenty minutes later, after a new crew had gone down to man the pumps, after they'd carefully explored the Alaska shaft at the 2200 level—a futile exercise under the circumstances with four hundred feet of water flooding the mine. But they had to make the effort, however futile, against the remotest chance.

When they stepped out of the cage, the people remaining outside were subdued. Word of the tragedy had spread.

Daisy stood with Blaze and Empress, her red wool coat a splash of color against the earth tones of the mine landscape, a contrast as well to the dark fur wraps of the other women. At the sight of the men, she immediately rushed toward them, tears glistening on her cheeks, the only sign of emotion in the controlled mask of her face.

"Tell me what happened," she said, hushed and low, wanting to know, wanting an accounting after the awful hours of waiting. "How?" she asked, and then quickly, "Where?" As if knowing the details would bring some relief, as if the knowledge would allow her to reach out to him one last time.

Daisy was very like the first time he'd seen her after her mother's death, Hazard thought. Composed, too quiet, grave… all her feelings held in check.

And when Trey fully explained the sequence of events, she only quietly said at the last, "Can Etienne's body be recovered?"

Hazard shook his head, the movement minimal. "We don't know," he said, his voice subdued. "So much depends on how long it takes to pump out the mine… or if we
can
pump it out. We don't know where the water's coming from or the extent of the reservoir behind it. Come back to town with us," her father suggested, "until we…" He fell silent, knowing the recovery of the body might take days or weeks. The state of the corpse would be gruesome by then.

"I'd rather go home." She felt empty suddenly, and alone, in the midst of her family. Clear River Valley was home… hers and Etienne's.

"I'll drive you. We'll come with you. You shouldn't be alone."

She couldn't bring herself to rudely tell her father she wished to be by herself, so she allowed her family to accompany her to the ranch. But after suffering through what seemed an interminably agonizing period of restrained and solemn conversation, she finally said, "I'm going to sleep. Please…" She hesitated, understanding her family meant well but unable any longer to abide company. "I'd like to be alone."

"Of course," Blaze said, taking Hazard's hand, her eyes filled with tears at Daisy's suffering. "We'll come back later in the day to see if you need anything."

And after their good-byes, Daisy had Louis turn the phones off. She wasn't capable of receiving condolence calls; she didn't want to have to politely accept well-meant sympathy. How could she possibly respond with the required courtesy when she didn't know at this moment whether she cared to live herself. After some rest, after some time to grieve alone, she'd handle all the required duties. Etienne's children would have to be notified… and Bourges.

Although Louis appeared collected, he was hushedly somber, his eyes red-rimmed. But he didn't speak of Etienne again, once he'd asked for the details of his death. Reserved as he'd always been in his master's presence, he quietly carried out Daisy's wishes.

"I hope you stay with me, Louis," Daisy said before she went upstairs to her bedroom. "I'd be most grateful." In her grief she couldn't fully express how much his staying would mean to her, but somehow the house would seem normal with Louis there. With Louis in residence, Etienne's presence would be more vivid as if he were just around the corner or upstairs or out with his horses. Louis could talk to her about Etienne… he knew infinitely more about him than she did; he knew a lifetime of detail and anecdotes. She'd have a link to Etienne and his past.

"Yes, Miss Daisy," Louis answered in French, although she and Etienne had spoken English to him since they'd come to America. He was a man of tradition and protocol, but his eyes were warm when he said, "I'd be pleased to stay."

Daisy had the maid close the drapes in the bedroom, shutting out the afternoon sun. It didn't seem right that the sun should still be shining brilliantly or the autumn leaves continue in their dazzling splendor when her world had died. And she turned Etienne's chair away from the windows before she sat in it, curling deep in the soft leather redolent with his scent.

Only last night he'd sprawled in his chair, holding her in his lap, and they'd gazed at the starry night, deciding with silliness and laughter on baby names.

Her tears began then in a slow seeping at the poignant memory, as if her grieving heart was free at last to mourn in the solitude of their room. The trickle gave way slowly to great gulping sobs and then a flood of uncontrollable weeping. How would she survive, she despondently thought, when she'd never see him again… never hear him laugh or have him tease her, never feel his arms hold her close, never see his face at the first sight of their baby? Clutching the soft leather of the chair arms with tears streaming down her face, she lay back against the warm scented contour, wanting to dissolve into the chair and feel Etienne envelop her in his arms as he had last night.

And she lay distrait and mournful for an endless time, tormented by her loss. An embittered fury, too, dwelt just beneath her sorrow and pain as she berated herself for her own folly at wasting precious months in separation because she'd been constrained by righteous principles. Because she wanted blameless perfection in an imperfect world. She should have stayed with Etienne in Paris and allowed someone else to handle the court case; she should have taken advantage of every minute of their time together.

But she'd been less perceptive than he about the rarity of love, thinking instead that one could negotiate for a style of love and marriage convenient and suitable to one's cherished beliefs. Etienne had been more willing to make the necessary adjustments. His divorce, she realized now, was the ultimate sacrifice of his entire way of life. And she'd quibbled at the time about his sincerity and fidelity or the degree of his commitment to her.

Now when it was too late, she realized how senseless and trivial her censure. Did others think with regret as she did—if only she were given another chance, she'd know better, she'd promise to treasure every moment of time together, every word, every kiss, the smallest breath, the lightest touch.

And she prayed to her benevolent spirits, asking like a child would in utter earnestness for a second chance—a wishful pathetic prayer, sent across to the spirit world.

Her sobs fell into the dark silence of the room, her heartache so intense her breath was stifled in her throat. Laying her cheek against the warm leather where Etienne's head had rested only short hours ago, she cried, wishing for a return to yesterday.

She fell asleep after some time in the softness of Etienne's chair, exhausted from crying, weary in spirit, devastated by the staggering realization she'd lost him this time—forever.

Etienne felt the air on his face first, a tenuous sensation not immediately recognizable. And then some moments later, his consciousness sent the proper signals to his brain and he realized he was still breathing. Lying in water up to his chin, his sluggish senses slowly registered that circumstance, lagging moments behind his initial observations, and panic overwhelmed him. Struggling to escape the water, he disregarded the intense pain in his lungs and in his battered body as he shoved himself in lurching, erratic terror into a half-seated sprawl.

The effort left him gasping while white flashes burst before his eyes in the total darkness of his entombment.

But he was gloriously alive!

Understanding finally clarified what his reflexive responses had already surmised.

And he smiled in the black dampness, thousands of feet underground in a labyrinth of tunnels that could swallow a man for life.

He smiled because there was infinite pleasure in the simple act of breathing and in the knowledge he could contemplate a first wedding anniversary with the woman he loved.

His shaman gods would receive a generous offering for their fateful rescue.

Or perhaps Daisy's benevolent spirits had wanted their union to last longer than two weeks.

He thanked in turn the full panoply of possible deities.

He'd been propelled by the flood up a raise into the exploration areas of the Alaska Shaft, he surmised sometime later when he'd regained his strength and faculties enough to inspect the walls and low ceiling of his entombing space. He had only to climb the ladder in the raise, he knew, up to the surface… and freedom.

He rested a brief time after his investigation, to give the agony in his lungs time to subside to more manageable levels. Then he began ascending the ladder inside the ventilation shaft, moving slowly in his weakened state, his body bloodied and raw where he'd been flung against the jagged rocks. Resting often, light-headed and unstable from the blow to his head, his upward journey took considerable time.