The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,29
Wiley Landrum, pulled themselves up onto the wagon seat next to the driver. The five or six men from Tuckett’s Pass already in the bed shifted to the front, and the others who’d been waiting climbed over the sides.
Emmett crossed to the wagon and looked up at the driver. “Good morning, sir.”
The man, his face as wrinkled as a dried plum, squinted at Emmett. “Mornin’, young feller.”
“Do you mind if I ride along into Lynch?”
“Ain’t no never mind to me. ’Course, it’ll depend on if you c’n squeeze in. Purty tight fit back there.”
Muffled laughter rolled from the wagon bed.
Emmett pretended not to hear and tipped his hat. “Thank you.” He moved to the bed and planted his foot on an iron step screwed to the wagon’s side. He pulled himself up and started to step in, but there wasn’t even space for him to plant his foot in the bed. He froze in place, one foot on the step, the other on the edge of the wagon’s warped side, hoping someone would shift enough to let him in. No one moved.
“We need to git, young feller.” The driver’s gravelly voice seemed loud and gruff in the silence of the morning. “Climb on in if you’re goin’.”
“Well, I…” Why hadn’t he walked to Lynch instead of waiting for the wagon? He could have saved himself this embarrassment.
Shay, wedged in the back corner, nudged the man closest to him. “Git your big feet out o’ the way, Delmas.”
Delmas snorted, but he pulled his heels tight against his buttocks, and Emmett placed his foot on the floor of the bed. He wriggled his other foot in, but there wasn’t enough space to sit. So he perched on the edge, holding back a grimace when the threads of his trousers caught on the rough wood. He gave Delmas a nod. “Thanks.”
The man smirked. “Best hold tight. This thing bounces worse’n a rubber ball on a brick floor.” The others laughed.
Emmett clamped his hands over the warped length of wood. His rear end would probably be full of splinters by the time they made it to the coal mine. The wagon lurched forward. His body jerked backward, and his hat slipped. He started to straighten it, but a mighty bump threatened to throw him. Which would be worse, losing his hat or losing his seat? He chose to keep his seat, and to his relief his hat remained in place. He gritted his teeth against the bumps and jars and prayed he’d be able to hold on until they reached Lynch.
The men joked and bantered with one another, but none of them involved Emmett in their talk. He caught Shay glancing at him a time or two, but his old pal didn’t say a word to him. Same as he’d done last night. The twenty-minute ride down the mountain while the sky changed from gray to dusky pink seemed to take hours. Frustration built in Emmett’s chest, and stiffness attacked every muscle in his body.
Tomorrow he would definitely walk.
The driver guided the mules to the cave-like opening of the mine. The men leaped over the edge on both sides of Emmett’s perch, reminding him of trout escaping a net. He waited until they’d cleared the bed before straightening his stiff limbs and climbing to the ground. He reached up and straightened his hat, and a muscle in his back twinged. He groaned.
A wry chuckle rumbled. Emmett turned his head and met the driver’s grin. The man pointed at him. “Next time ya hitch a ride, don’t be so shy about it. Jest get in. Then you won’t hafta ride the edge like you was sittin’ on a fence rail.” His face scrunched into a frown, and he scratched his head, making his few tufts of gray hair stand straight up. “You ain’t goin’ into the tunnels in your funeral suit, is ya? It’ll get all mucked up.”
Emmett brushed the seat of his trousers with his palms. “No, sir. I’m going to talk to the mine directors about a job in the office.”
“Ah.” The old man nodded wisely. “Well, then, you should oughta be able to stay clean. Them offices don’t open ’til eight, though, so you’re a mite early.”
“I know. I don’t mind waiting.”
The seven o’clock whistle blasted. Emmett clapped his hands over his ears. The pair of mules pranced in their traces, and the driver double-gripped the reins and scowled, hunching up his skinny shoulders. The whistle rang for a full