Jasper Mountain (39 page)

Holding her close, in his heart, Jack Buchanan lit the match.

M
ilena, are you sure?” The doctor’s eyes snapped to life. The man could rise to a disaster, that much was certain.

“I am. Jack Buchanan is in terrible trouble. And others.” “You get this from a feeling?” “A knowing. He is buried alive.”

Lines of pondering etched Ambrose’s face, and he rubbed his chin. “Quite honestly, I’ve never seen anything like you flying back in the air. I’d swear on my mother’s grave something actually threw you into me.” He glanced over to Cassandra, his eyes growing weary. “You knew I loved her before I did. Or before I’d admit it to myself.” He returned his attention to Milena. “If I listened to you and had told her, at least she’d know it, too.”

“Doctor.” She gently touched his arm. “Cassandra is at peace. At rest. She does not wander, does not follow you in a shroud of sadness. She has moved on. She knows.”

“By God, Milena, I’m not going to let another tragedy go unanswered.” A bit of the old fire of adventure jumped into his eyes. “To the mine!”

They turned. Isabella St. Claire leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms. How long she’d been listening was anyone’s guess.

The proprietress lifted her eyebrow in amusement. “And how do you think one well-meaning but, forgive me, slightly melodramatic doctor and an eccentric Gypsy are going to make any difference? Who will even listen, let alone believe what either of you have to say?”

The doctor and Milena exchanged looks.

“Well, I didn’t think ahead that far,” Ambrose answered. “I suppose we’ll need to gather up the sheriff.”

“You are a fine doctor, but a miserable tactician. The sheriff is not the most brilliant of men. Most likely, he is on Victor’s payroll.” She pushed away from the door and strolled over to them. “No, our best hope comes in numbers. Miners’ families will be interested in what you have to say, Milena. That is, if you are correct and this isn’t a bad dream or a way to garner attention.”

Milena studied the proprietress, wondering what manipulations the madame practiced now. No matter, Jack was in trouble, and any help was acceptable. Although the proprietress made a dangerous ally. Milena would not soon forget Beth, locked away in a dark room, unable to do anything except cry. Still, Isabella was, as always, correct.

“No one will believe me,” Milena admitted.

“Beg your pardon, Isabella, if people won’t pay heed to Milena and myself, why do you think they will listen to a madame?”

“Because, Doctor,” the proprietress smiled with a knowing expression, “the madame is me.” She turned back to the main room and clapped her hands. “Ladies, ladies! We have a very important job at hand. Please, if you are not seriously hurt, ready yourself to follow me.” She whirled back to Milena and Ambrose. “Who needs facts? Emotion and fear are the most effective way to convince ignorant masses. You two, watch how it’s done. Joan of Arc has nothing on me.”

Candlelight flickered, enough to turn the chamber into a murky netherworld of shadows. Jack didn’t know how long they’d been buried underground, but even such a small flame burned his eyes. Silence roared in his ears while he took stock.

The space was smallest where Digger lay, his legs pinned. The rock wall had collapsed and reformed, right on top of him, the mountain half-swallowing him.

Pete sat next to Digger, his eyes sunk into dark hollows, the candle in his hardboil long gone. About five feet away and down a jagged slope, Rolf rocked back and forth, curled into a ball. The dead man Jack mistook for Rolf in the dark was actually Zebulon, one of the original prospectors and a miner who’d worked the mine since the first shovel of ore was removed. He’d been killed instantly, the side of his head and his entire left shoulder and arm torn off. Jack finally recognized the smell over dirt, the one making him nauseous. The rich metallic stench of blood.

Five out of eight accounted for, the mountain claiming one victim. So far. No sign of Mouse, Gentleman Bill, or Josef.

Jack tried not to think about the little boy.

Face it, Buchanan. Your little boy.

Jack vowed that if God got them out of this mess, he’d take Mouse in. For good. Raise him as his own son. Although, knowing Mouse, the boy would be the one to teach Jack how to get along in this miserable world.

Jack refused to consider that a deal with the Almighty might be too late.

In the murk he couldn’t tell much of anything. The ground was too chopped up to see if any supplies or tools remained. They’d have to feel their way in the black.

“This is the only candle. We’ve got to save it. Take a good look. I’m snuffing it out.”

“No!” Rolf suddenly unfurled into a sitting position. “No!”

“Rolf, goddamn it, get a hold,” Pete said.

“Here goes.” Jack extinguished the candle. Darkness once again closed in. “This isn’t so bad. Wasn’t really much light.”

At least Jack knew there were no pits or holes to fall through, not an entirely good situation. They were hemmed into a small pocket. There might be feet of rock between them and a way out. He wished that thought hadn’t just darted through his mind and decided to keep it to himself.

And what about the others? Jack shuddered at the thought of Mouse and Bill, buried alive. And Josef, the final member of his team. A quiet man who reminded Jack of Duke; Josef had a sort of hound-dog face and sad eyes. He was father to five children, but no wife, not since last year. She’d died giving birth to their youngest.

Jesus, this was all so unfair. Nothing new in that sentiment, especially in Jasper. Jack needed to hear Pete’s voice cut through the pressing dark and help him hold to his sanity.

“Pete, what do you think?”

“‘Bout what? Our chances? I’m guessin’ none.” “We’ll get out of here.” Jack tried to lighten the heaviness of his voice.

“How? We both know this was on purpose. Creely means to kill us. Just wish it’d been a shot in the back of the head when I didn’t see nothin’ comin’.”

“Naw, Creely wants us to suffer good afore we die,” Digger said. “What this mine is. A whole load of sufferin’.”

“He’s not getting the best of any of us. And this damned mountain isn’t eating me for breakfast,” Jack answered when inspiration struck. The mountain, latticed with delicate tunnels just waiting for a chance to collapse and break.

Insane and unreasonable danger. And their only hope.

“Collapse in the mine” slithered through the town with ungodly speed, spoken by every mouth, reaching every street, building, corner, every dark and closed place.

With each step, the crowd grew, swelling with fear and anger. Men trapped. The mine officers denying a problem. Husbands, fathers, brothers, sons discarded by the cruel and callous officers of the mine and the supreme indifference of Victor Creely.

Isabella St. Claire marched in front, between the doctor and Milena, and followed by her ladies calling the citizens to arms. She appeared even more beautifully tragic given her smudged and torn finery and the bruise on her cheek. Despite her own personal loss, the people needed her. A heroine of note. Heavens, this was almost too easy. Even the pinched nose bitch in the bonnet—the woman who’d spouted sludge about Jesus and divine retribution during the Boarding House fire—even she became part of the crowd marching behind Isabella St. Claire.

Whores and wives. Sisters and mothers. Daughters and paramours. For today, the women of Jasper marched side by side. Isabella relished the moment of women standing united. Surely Victor Creely would know, the moment he saw her leading the mob to his doorstep, he’d made a serious mistake by burning down her world.

She could not wait to see the look on his face.

No one bothered to ask how they knew about the collapse or if anyone actually saw or heard it.

“Milena, dear,” Isabella said, leaning in to be sure no one else might hear, “do keep your mouth shut. If you say anything, make it some of that mysterious mumbo jumbo you spout. Leave all the lying to me.”

Milena narrowed her eyes.

“Well, I am the expert,” Isabella said.

The Gypsy still did not look certain.

“And men’s lives depend on how we present ourselves.”

Alarm flashed across Milena’s face. There. That convinced her.

The good Reverend McShane, in all his sensual beauty, emerged from the rectory. The fat woman in charge of all the orphans ran after the little rats as they poured from the orphanage. The doctor scurried up the church walk, jabbering at Reverend McShane while the tide of Jasper’s ordinary and underprivileged swept by, Isabella leading them all. She turned her attention to the road ahead. It simply wouldn’t do to have someone catch her gawking at the preacher.

The mob began the climb up Gooseneck Road. Isabella had actually never been up this far. She looked down at the gathering of shacks and buildings making up Jasper, and below the town a smoldering hole that used to be her beautiful Boarding House. Her stomach cringed at the sight. At the thought of Victor, so smug. Amused. Sure he ran this town. No matter. The tide was about to change and, with any luck, it would sweep him away, and he’d see her smile while he drowned.

Above them and behind the main gate of the Jasper Mining Company, men spewed onto the wide porch of a brick building. She didn’t recognize many of them; it was too far to see clearly. One thing she did notice. Rifles.

Oh, dear. This march might get ugly. And, unfortunately, she walked in the front line.

“Do you see them?” the doctor asked, puffing out of breath from catching up. Isabella wanted to turn and search for the minister, see if he’d joined them. Pride required she continue to look straight ahead.

“See what? The men? Or the guns?” she answered. “Yes, they are ready to defend their miserable piece of the mountain. Why is it men always resort to instruments of violence when faced with anything they can’t handle or control?”

“I’ve never fired one, myself,” the doctor answered.

“Really? You are a rarity, dear doctor. Especially in the West.”

“I am a healer. I do no harm.”

“Pity. I have no such compunction,” Isabella answered, and thought of the derringer strapped to her thigh. In the mêlée, she might not have time to retrieve it. How she despised overt action. She much preferred subtlety behind closed doors, not an option as of the moment.

“God help us,” the preacher said, joining the front line. “All of us.”

Isabella’s heart skipped faster. She hid her bothersome emotion deep within. “Why, Reverend McShane. How good of you to join us.”

“Nothing good about this, any of it, Miss St. Claire. I pray I’m not needed, but I sincerely doubt the outcome of this day. God only knows what you’ve started.”

Oh, he had no idea.

The officers moved off the porch and formed a line stretching across the gate. Isabella made out faces now, Edmund, Charles, George, twenty or so men standing with rifles, including the hideous troll called, what was it? Oh, yes, Bear. It professed to be a man. Rumors circulating claimed he came from a line of ancient cavemen lost in the Rockies for generations. Seeing him now, his sloped forehead and mean, beady eyes, Isabella found the rumors absolutely believable.

But no Victor. At least, not yet. She wondered when he might decide to show. He probably began scheming and planning the moment he glimpsed the crowd coming his way.

Isabella cast a sidelong glance at the minister, walking at her side. This had really turned into the most interesting day. Originally, she’d planned to gather the ladies and start going through Boarding House rubble, even though the mess still smoldered. This mob, particularly the minister beside her, made for a far more fascinating afternoon.

She sensed the crowd losing momentum behind her as they approached the gate. The officers and men stood, shoulder to shoulder, several of them obviously nervous.

“We demand entrance,” Isabella said proudly, mostly for the crowd. She had no illusions about actually gaining access to the mine.

“Doctor, Reverend, we ask that you and your, um,
friends,
all stay back or we will be forced to do something we’d really rather not,” George Barger said, ignoring Isabella. Naturally, he would address the men and not her. She made a note not to indulge his fantasies in the future. He’d worn his last set of lacy drawers and corset in her establishment.