My Only Love (35 page)

"I
need volunteers to go in!" he shouted. "There are five men—"

"I
ain't goin' back," someone replied.

"Nor
me!" came another voice.

"Ain't
enough men died in yer bloody pits?" cried a voice. "Would ya make
ever wife a-widow before yer satisfied that these shafts ain't safe?"

Miles
flung the pail to the ground. "That was a new level. Every measure had
been taken to guarantee its safety."

'The
damn levels are cursed!"

Swearing,
Miles spun on his heels and moved toward the portal, rolling up his sleeves as
he stepped along the discarded tips.

"Miles!"
came Olivia's voice. She grabbed his arm from behind. "You're not going in
there," she said.

"Someone
has to."

"You
can't do it alone."

"There
could be men alive in there."

"Then
I'll go with you."

He
stopped and looked around. Her face was smudged with dirt and sweat, her dress
stained with blood. "The hell you say."

Jake
Delaney stepped from the shop, a pickax gripped in one abraded, massive hand.
"I'll be goin' in with ya, sir," he announced, then glanced among the
miners' tense, watchful faces as he moved toward the portal. "That'll be
our fathers and brothers and friends buried in there," he shouted.

A
big man with a bandaged forehead stood up. "Y've certainly changed yer
tune, Jake Delaney. It weren't so long ago that you were espousin' the closin'
down of these deathtraps."

Delaney
took a stance beside Miles and Olivia. "It weren't twenty-four hours ago
that ya were slappin' each other on the back and makin' toasts to Warwick,
regrettin' the mischief ya caused him those months back, and praisin' his
determination to open these new levels." Lowering his voice somewhat, he
added, "I admit I was one of the loudest protestors, but the fact of the
matter is, we're lookin' at a vein that could guarantee us all, and our
children, employment for the rest of our days. Think of what it will do for
Gunnerside."

Janet
Hooper stood and looked from man to man, and the wives who huddled near their
injured husbands. "My own husband and son were killed in these mines. They
knew the risks. You all do."

The
men grumbled among themselves, and shifted restlessly.

"Bill
Foster!" Janet called, pointing to the man who had earlier stood.
"Your cousin died working for the London Lead Company. Riley Davis, your
brother and father-in-law died in Boltsburn Mine in Rookhope when the damn
stopes gave way."

"So
what's that prove?" Davis responded angriLy.

"That
all mines are dangerous." Janet faced Miles and Olivia. "I'll be
going in with you."

A
woman slowly stood up by her husband. "If that were my Quinton down there,
I'd surely be frantic to know for certain if he were dead or alive."

Little
by little, the men who were not incapacitated stood and moved toward the mouth
of the mine, leaving their weeping wives. Olivia turned her eyes on her husband,
her heart climbing her throat with fear. "Please," she said as
quietly and as calmly as possible. "Don't go."

Miles
gave her a twisted grin, and touched her cheek. "Dear heart, if you keep
looking at me like that I just might begin to believe that you really love
me."

He
bent his head and kissed her mouth lightly, then pressed his lips to her
forehead.

And
then he was gone.

The
hours passed. Olivia paced the grounds, doing her best to offer aid to the
wounded miners, or to the grieving families of the men who had died. All the
while, her fear mounted, and her eyes continued to return to the mouth of the
mine, hoping against hope that she would soon see her husband emerge from the
damnable, dangerous pits.

Why
had no one heard from the men who ventured into the level in hopes of finding
survivors?

Rumors
ran rife concerning the cause for the explosion. But no one knew for certain.
It wasn't until Bob McMillian returned from Newbiggin that the shocking and
ugly suspicion began to formulate in Olivia's mind. McMillian did not return to
Gunnerside alone.

Josiah
Lubinsky was with him, and he wasted little time in rousing the battered,
frustrated, and angry workers from their state of lethargy and shock. He stood
before the two hundred miners and their families, the shopkeepers, farmers,
and the scattering of clergy who had been feverishly praying over the dead,
dying, and injured. "I can promise you that this sort of thing won't
happen if you work for me," he announced to the tension-charged crowd. T
can happily say that my company hasn't recorded a solitary accident attributed
to explosions or cave-ins in three years, due, I might add, to the utilization
of the most modern safety devices available today."

Olivia
watched the miners' intent faces as they listened to Lubinsky's blatant
propaganda against her husband's company, then made her decision.

Olivia
worked her way down the level by following the iron cart rails. For six hours
those up top had heard nothing from the excavating group. Some had predicted
that gas had killed them. Others argued more cave-ins. Since Lubinsky's arrival
all hell had broken loose.

Breathing
hard from exertion and the lack of oxygen, Olivia paused long enough to catch
her breath. There didn't seem to be a dry thread on her body; her feet ached
from stumbling over stones. The dripping tallow from the candle she carried had
raised burn blisters on her fingers. Where was her husband?

Had
she, possibly, taken a wrong turn in the dark? Were there offshoots in the
level?

Was
she, as many up top maintained, already too late?

Briefly
closing her eyes, she refused to believe her husband had perished.

She
looked back the way she had come. Darkness; silence loomed back at her, as deep
and seemingly impenetrable as the darkness and silence stretching ahead.
Closing her eyes briefly, she did her best to force back the panic threatening
to overwhelm her and rob her of logic.

A
sound.

Olivia
caught her breath. Her senses surged to a pinpoint, and for an instant her
pounding heart crashed like cymbals in her ears, drowning out all else.

Candle
held before her, she ran along the rail, eyes searching, ears straining, her
mind struggling to remain rational—to think clearly. Again! a noise.

"Oh
God oh God," she whispered aloud, running faster as the noise grew louder
and she recognized it as men's shouting voices and the clink and clatter of
picks on stone. At last, up ahead, a dim light began to show, growing brighter
the nearer she came, until the shadows on the walls took shape, and finally became
men.

"Miles!"
she cried. "Are you there?"

Suddenly
Miles materialized before her, his dirt- and sweat-covered face incredulous as
he watched her stumble toward him out of the dark.

"What
the bloody ... Olivia?"

Laughing
in relief, she flung herself against him, dropping her candle to the floor. He
held her fiercely against his wet body.

"They
all said you were dead," she said.

'Tired,
but not dead." He pushed her to arms' length. His face looked haggard, but
relieved. "They're alive. We should be breaking through any minute."
Frowning, he looked beyond her. "Are there others?"

She
shook her head.

"You
came down here alone?" he demanded angrily.

"I
had to. There's trouble." Olivia swallowed and did her best to catch her
breath. "McMillian's returned from Newbiggin, and he's not alone . .. he's
brought Lubinsky with him."

*     *     *

By
the time Olivia and Miles reached the surface, her lungs were burning from
exertion—her ears ringing with Miles's silence. She was well aware of the
thoughts running through his head. Their future hinged on the outcome of this
confrontation.

The
crowd, apparently divided by loyalty, applauded and hissed, then fell silent as
Miles moved from the mouth of the adit, and directly toward Lubinsky. A woman
leapt to her feet and screamed, "My husband, sir? Have you found my
husband?"

A
man grabbed her and dragged her away while she wept, frantic for some word on
the trapped miners. Lubinsky slowly turned, his eyes widening as Miles, dirty,
sweaty, and bloody, advanced on him in a slow, confident, and threatening
swagger. For an instant Lubinsky appeared stunned, then'confused, then
frightened.

Then
Bob McMillian stepped from the night shadows and placed himself protectively
between Miles and Lubinsky, stopping Miles short. Standing face to face with
his manager of seven years, Miles glared into Bob's eyes and said through his
teeth, "Why, damn you? You've worked for my family for eight years. We
took you from the mines and put you in control."

"It
ain't nothin' personal, sir. You've been more than fair to me. But a man's got
to think of his future, and Mr. Lubinsky is offerin' me a share of this
operation."

"A
share of nothing is nothing, McMillian. I don't intend to sell. Why should I
when we've just hit a new vein? Lubinsky doesn't have enough money to pay me
what this company is worth now."

"Unless
ya got the men to bring up the bouse, sir, yer company is worthless."

Olivia
moved up beside Miles, and took his arm. Miles looked at her briefly before
shifting his gaze to Lubinsky. "So that's the way of it. You turn my men
against me and force me to take a pittance of what the mine is worth."

Lubinsky
shrugged and smirked with an exaggerated air of importance. The gray
mutton-chop whiskers growing low on his jaw made his beefy face appear all the
wider. He hooked his thumbs in the vents of his waistcoat, and smiled.
"It's not as if you'll be left penniless," he said. "After all,
you have your wife's money."

Miles
lunged at him, only to be grabbed from behind by McMillian, who hauled him off
his feet and slammed him to the ground hard enough to knock him breathless. He
heard Olivia cry out, then a pressure buried into his back, and he gritted his
teeth and tasted dirt.

With
his knee in Miles's back, McMillian said, "I think we should let the men
decide who they want to work for. Don't you, sir?"

"Bastard,"
Miles said through his teeth. "If they walk I'll simply hire new
men."

"I
don't think so. Not with these mines' reputation for cave-ins and explosions—at
least, not until Mr. Lubinsky can take over and guarantee their safety."

Closing
his eyes and doing his best to breathe, Miles tried to focus on something
besides the pain and sense of hopelessness and frustration pounding at his
temples. He'd come so close—so goddamn close, not only for himself—proving to
himself that he was capable of succeeding—but for Olivia and Bryan. For a few
short hours he had experienced the exhilaration of looking forward to a future
of giving to his loved ones ... as opposed to taking.

"Now,
Kappen, sir," came a voice from the dark. "Is that any way to be
treatin' a fine gentleman like Mr. Warwick? And after he risked his life to
save our friends here?"

The
crowd fell silent as Jake Delaney stepped from the portal of the mine, his
pickax gripped like a weapon in one hand. Behind him came the battered and
bruised survivors of the cave-in.

A
woman screamed in joy and burst from the pressing crowd, tripping and stumbling
her way to her smiling husband, who grabbed her in his weakened arms and did
his best to spin her around. For a moment, disbelief maintained an electrified
silence that shattered into a great roar of fervor as realization set in. The
miners were safe! Men, women, and children poured forth, sweeping around the
survivors like a tide.

Lubinsky
frowned and slowly dropped his hands to his sides. McMillian eased off Miles
and moved away, watching Lubinsky, then the men, uneasily. Olivia elbowed her
way through the crowd and fell to her knees beside Miles, taking his face in
her hands.

He
sat up as Delaney leapt upon a stack of timbers and waited until the last
hurrah had fallen silent, and all eyes were locked on him.

"I
ask ya, what other owner would have risked his life to go in there and save
these men? Lubinsky? I don't think so. He'd have forced the lot of ya down
there before him, I wager. Need I remind ya that the rest of ya were willin' to
write these men off? If it weren't for Warwick they'd have died there."

"But
the accidents," someone shouted.

Herbert
Wallace limped his way over to Delaney. Delaney offered his hand and helped his
obviously weak and injured friend up beside him. "Maybe you'd like to talk
to Wallace here about accidents," Jake said.

Herbert
held up a blackened, ragged fragment of some object. "This weren't no
accident," he announced. "We come across this as we were diggin' our
way out."

The
men pressed closer.