The Librarian of Boone's Hollow - Kim Vogel Sawyer Page 0,56

to the new girl. “Dollar fifty for room an’ meals. You ain’t gonna get a better price’n that.”

Addie looked from Bettina to Alba, to Glory, and finally to Miz West. With her lips all clenched up tight, she kept looking at the librarian.

Miz West let out a big sigh. She put her hand on Bettina’s shoulder. “Bettina, please thank your father for his kind offer, but the decision has been made.” She turned and picked up Bettina’s pouch. “You girls have your packs. You should get going. Be safe.”

Bettina wouldn’t be safe. As soon as she told Pap this new book gal wasn’t coming, he’d beat her black and blue. She snatched the pack and stormed to the door, then scowled at the new book gal over her shoulder. “You be safe, too, Addie. You’re gonna need them good wishes if you put yourself under Nanny Fay’s roof. Wait an’ see.”

Lynch

Emmett

EMMETT PLOPPED A BATTERED METAL hat onto his head, grabbed a shovel from the half dozen leaning against the wall right inside the mine shaft opening, and followed Paw. Lit lanterns hung from the thick beams lining the tunnel and made it easy for him to keep track of his father, even though dozens of men swarmed the underground space.

Every man Paw passed got a bop on the shoulder, followed by a variation of the same proud statement. “My boy’s signed on. Startin’ work today. That’s him behind me—Emmett.”

Emmett received more smiles, nods, and greetings in the first fifteen minutes of his official employment at Mine Thirty-One than he’d gotten in his first several months at college. They were a friendly lot, for certain. Paw had said every kind of man—Italian, German, Hungarian, Irish, descendants of former slaves, and more—worked together in the mine, but Emmett had secretly questioned how well they got along. Now he saw for himself.

Their backgrounds didn’t seem to matter much. Not the way his hills heritage had been received by some of the students from the city or the way his education put off folks at home, including Paw. Shoveling coal into wagons for transport out of the mine might not have been his first choice for a job, but he felt at ease with the men. Accepted. He belonged. And he liked the feeling. He especially liked how proud Paw was of him.

The tunnel curved slightly, and they reached a hill formed by chunks of coal. Two men jammed shovels into the pile and dumped the shovelfuls into wooden carts with steel wheels. Coal dust hung in the air like a cloud, and Emmett fought back a sneeze. A third man, heavyset with a thick black beard, stood close by with a clipboard in his hand. Paw gave Emmett a little nudge toward the clipboard-holding man. Up close, Emmett realized the man’s beard itself wasn’t black, but it looked black from a coating of dust.

“Stead, this is my son Emmett. He’s gonna be one o’ your shovel men.”

The man named Stead stuck out his stained hand, and Emmett shook it. “Good to have you. Did they give you some coal checks?”

Emmett patted his pocket where a dozen round brass pieces stamped with the number twenty-seven clinked together. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, you’re set. Ain’t a complicated job. Scoop up what’s on the floor an’ put it in the cart. When the cart’s full and heaped, hang a coal check on the little hook at the front of the cart. Yank that rope good”—he pointed to a frayed rope attached to a tarnished brass bell—“an’ some fellers’ll come push this cart out o’ the way.”

Emmett touched his finger on the little hook and glanced at the bell. “Then what?”

“You fill the next one.”

Emmett glanced up the tunnel. He counted six carts, but the curve of the shaft probably hid more from view. He turned to Stead. “How many do we fill in a day?”

Stead grinned, his teeth exceptionally white against the blackness of his beard. “Seein’ as how you get paid per ton, as many as you’re able.”

Paw put his hand on Emmett’s shoulder. “ ’Member what I said about keepin’ your hat on. Fellers’ll be dynamitin’ on up the line. You don’t gotta get rattled by the booms or how the ground’ll shake, but if you hear a whistle give two short blasts followed by a third long one, hightail it for the openin’. You got that?”

Emmett nodded. “I understand, Paw. Keep working unless I hear two short whistle blasts and one long one.