Olivia's Mine (23 page)

“Sarah, there are three things I’d like you
to do today, in this order.”

“Yes, Mr. McMichael?” she answered. He had
never come to meet her before.

“Get Les Ferguson’s papers in order. He
doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to be leaving town. Then call
Christina’s school in Vancouver and get my daughter back up here.
Frenchie’s already on his way down to get her.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Sarah sighed. “And
the third thing?”

“Don’t you dare say a word, to anyone, do you
understand?”

“Yes Mr. McMichael?”

“I want you to go into Olivia’s store, and
order a new red wagon for Jimmy from that blasted Eaton's
catalogue.”

“Oh, Mr. McMichael!” Sarah said, hugging her
boss for the first time in all the years she had known him.

“Not a word Sarah. Not a word.”

A fortnight later, on a warm night, McMichael
sat on the porch with a cigar and some fine cognac. He could hear
the laughing voices of the re-united sisters in the background. He
had relented and given Mrs. Schwindt’s old room so that Christina
could have some privacy. She didn’t have to share a room with Lara
anymore. She was a young woman now, and was going to be a handful,
he admitted to himself. How he was going to handle her without Mrs.
Schwindt he didn’t know. Joe from the general store was coming over
later that night give the room a fresh coat of paint. Christina had
picked some yellow paint and some floral paper. Quite a contrast
from Mrs. Schwindt’s stark white room, he thought. Much more like
her mother would have chosen.

Les was gone and Frank was going to have to
step up to the plate if he wanted to keep his job. He wasn’t sure
Frank had the muscle he needed, but Frank had slowly but surely
become his yes man over the past few months, which is why he didn’t
fire him when he landed in jail and the business of his wife’s
store first came up. How fortunate that had turned out to be.
McMichael had not had any idea that Frank was William Bower’s
son-in-law.

He turned his eyes to the Vancouver paper
that had arrived by boat earlier in the morning but he had not yet
had a chance to read. The headline sent a bone-chilling shiver
through him.

Influenza Claims Twelve At Private
School

The night air that evening in 1921 was thick
with smoke, the air echoing of the wail of sirens as Frank and Rudy
made their way across the main roof of the mine plant, testing each
beam gingerly before taking a step. The flames were already
scorching several of the timbers, their fiery tongues licking
through the cracks of the beams.

“I’m going to try to get to the far turret
nozzle,” Frank said, pointing towards one of the two rotating water
pumpers mounted as a fire precaution on the roof.

“Let’s get this one going first,” Rudy
indicated to the closer water fire extinguisher. “Let’s try to get
some of that wood dampened before you try to cross.”

On the ground, all available men were aiding
the fire department as they battled a fierce blaze burning through
the mine’s concentrator building. Starting in the crusher, the
flames quickly caught a draft blowing through the building. In no
time the building was engulfed in flames. It was the first time
since Rudy threw Frank in jail that the men were talking to each
other.

Olivia and Lucy stood on the porch of the
Beachcomber store, shocked by what they saw before them.

“Not again,” Lucy whispered, her hand
covering her mouth. “Not another disaster.”

“Let’s get some food and water for the men,”
Olivia replied. “We could use someone to run it over to them.
Where’s Jimmy when we need him?”

“Probably already there,” Lucy admitted,
heading into the store.

Although emotions were running high in Lucy’s
mind, she shook her fears aside. It was her turn to try and help
the community.

McMichael stood back from the firefighters
and surveyed the situation.

“Frenchie,” he called. “Can you cross Howe
Sound and bring some men from the wood fibre plant?” There were
able men just a short distance across the water. McMichael could
see them gathered upon the shore, watching the scene at Britannia
unfold. The flames were so high they could be seen for miles.

It was a desperate situation.

“Aye,” Frenchie said. “Merde, it’s going ta
be a struggle ta keep de fire from de powerhouse.”

“Mon Dieu,” McMichael answered, taking
Frenchie aback. Frenchie had never heard McMichael utter any French
before. But by God, McMichael thought, the Frenchman was right. If
the fire spread to the powerhouse, the whole town could go up. The
rows of wood framed bungalows had been built in very close
proximity.

The powerhouse itself was one of the
best-equipped waterpower plants in Canada, it’s nearest rival being
located in Mexico. The lakes and streams located high in the
mountains above Britannia provided a constant source of water for
it, which in turn provided more than enough energy to power the
mine. The pressure created from the water would provide the fire
nozzles with tremendous power. If only Frank and Rudy could reach
them.

From below, McMichael could only see the
faintest outline of the two men through the thick smoke.

High on the rooftop, Rudy had cautiously
managed to make his way across beams to get the first water nozzle
going. The force was tremendous, and Rudy barely had the strength
to manoeuvre the stream of water in the direction of the
powerhouse. He prided himself that he was physically fit, but the
elements were giving him a workout today even he had not prepared
for. The heat was intense, and he felt himself sweating
profusely.

“I’m going to try to start up the east
nozzle,” Frank said.

“I don’t know Frank, that part of the roof
looks like it’s going to go any second. You’re too heavy, you’ll go
through. There’s no point. Let’s keep this under control and keep
the water directed towards the powerhouse.”

“I’ll go,” a little voice said from behind
the men.

Frank and Rudy turned to see Jimmy Yada
behind them.

“How the hell did you get up here?” Frank
asked.

“I shimmied up the drainpipe,” he said matter
of factly.

“Son, shimmy yourself back down,” Rudy said.
“Right now!”

There was a commotion on the ground as
firemen tried desperately to put out a new raging fire, which had
broken out when flames reached the sully oil from the third floor.
The oil was an elixir for the fire.

More of the women had come to the store to
assist Olivia and Lucy. Olivia had heard someone mention that it
was Frank and Rudy on the roof, but she refused to look in that
direction, focusing on the task on hand and saying silent prayers
to God that her husband would be all right.

A portion of the first floor caved in, and
Frank and Rudy tried to take another look at the water nozzle on
the other side of the roof. The smoke was now so thick they could
no longer actually see it.

“Forget it Frank,” Rudy said. They had been
up there almost an hour and could see Frenchie’s boat coming with
more men and equipment.

“Let’s get out of here while we still can.
We’ll let this wheel keep going as long as it can manage on its
own.”

The men heard a loud crack as part of the
roof gave way.

“What was that?” Frank asked. He had thought
he heard a scream through the rumble of falling timber.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Rudy asked.

“Oh God no,” Frank said. “The shouts from the
ground distracted me when the third floor went. I didn’t see him go
back down, did you?”

Rudy shook his head.

The wind took a slight shift, momentarily
giving the men a line of sight.

Beyond where the roof had caved in, and still
out of reach of the west nozzle, the men could see the collapsed
frame of the boy.

“What are we going to do?” Frank asked
helplessly.

Rudy took off his shirt and drenched it with
water from the hose, tying it around his nose and face. He motioned
for Frank to do the same. He tore a portion of his pant leg, and
wet it down as well, placing it around his wrist.

“We’re going to have to make a bridge,” Rudy
said, “see if you can pry loose some of those timbers. We’ve got to
wedge them under that cross beam that’s still intact for
support.”

Frank moved over to a section of the roof
that appeared to still be sturdy, except for a couple of weather
worn planks which freed themselves easily from the frame.

“Lay them across this portion of the roof,”
Rudy instructed. “We’re going to have to crawl across the two, like
a balance beam, dispersing our weight. We don’t know what condition
he’s in, but needless to say we’ll need to cover his face with this
wet wrist cloth to keep him from inhaling any more smoke. If he’s
still breathing.”

Frank thought about it.

“Okay,” Rudy continued, “I’ll go first. Throw
your weight on the end of these two beams and I’ll do the same for
you when I get on the other end.”

“What do we do when we get to the other
side?” Frank asked.

“Pray,” Rudy announced.

McMichael watched the silhouettes of the two
men on the roof.

“What are they doing?” he asked.

Harry, who had been manning a hose line
between the main power plant and the mill, offered an
explanation.

“I think someone is trapped up there.”

“Who went up?” McMichael asked. “I see two
men. That would be the buddy system. Who would be fool enough to go
up there on his own?”

“I think Frank and Wolanski were up
there.”

“Then who are they saving?”

Akiko came around the corner with a look of
terror in her eyes. In Japanese she explained to Harry that she had
found Jimmy’s new wagon by the drainpipe.

“My son,” Harry said, his voice choking.

McMichael put his fist through the plaster
wall in his inner office.

“That woman,” he exclaimed, “will be the
death of me.”

“Is he talking about you?” Sergeant Wolanski
asked Sarah.

“Oh goodness no,” Sarah laughed. “Haven’t you
heard?”

She leaned over to speak with the sergeant in
a low voice.

“It’s the concentrator.”

“He refers to the concentrator as a
woman?”

“Heavens no,” Sarah began, “you know how it
was destroyed in the fire last week...”

“Of course I know about it. The mine’s been
shut down ever since.”

“Well,” Sarah said, barely able to contain
her excitement. “They say the fire happened under suspicious
circumstances.”

“I know,” Rudy admitted, “that’s what I want
to talk to him about.”

“My Jason, he’s Olivia’s brother you know,
well he thinks he saw Les Ferguson standing in the rear walkway
just before the building went up.”

“That’s what I’ve heard too,” the sergeant
said with interest.

“Oh, but that’s not the best part. The best
part is that Mr. McMichael has found a man in San Francisco who
says he can build him a new concentrator, a fireproof concentrator,
and he can do it faster and cheaper than any competitor.”

“I would have thought that would make your
boss happy,” the sergeant said.

“Oh it did, it did. But the man in San
Francisco said he wanted to put one of his relatives in charge of
the installation and running of the operation to make sure that his
interests were protected financially until it was fully paid for.
That seems understandable, you know, since we’ve had to temporarily
shut down and all,” Sarah continued.

“It does seem reasonable.”

McMichael came out of his office.

“What are you staring at Sarah?” he
bellowed.

“Nothing sir, would you like some ice for
that?” she asked, nodding towards his hand.

“What do YOU want?” he asked the sergeant. “I
thought we went over everything last night. I don’t know what the
boy was doing up on the roof, and the doctor says he is going to be
fine. He suffered smoke inhalation, but with bed rest should make a
full recovery.”

McMichael stormed out of the office.

“The man in San Francisco,” Sara giggled, “is
named Aaron Bower. He’s a partner with William Bower, the railroad
man who’s negotiating a meeting for McMichael and the Canadian
Pacific Railway people.”

“Olivia’s father?”

“Yes. And the relative his brother wants to
put in charge of the concentrator operation, is his niece, Olivia
Fitzpatrick.”

Sarah and Rudy snuck into the inner office to
look at the hole in the wall.

“I wouldn’t be calling Joe to fix it yet,”
Rudy said letting out a whistle. “I have a feeling he’ll only be
patching it up again real soon.”

McMichael went hunting for Frank Fitzpatrick.
It wasn’t much of a hunt, since he always knew where Frank was, but
this time, he was looking for him like a missile looking for its
target.

Frank was sitting at a picnic table having
lunch.

“Get over here Fitzpatrick,” McMichael
yelled.

Frank almost choked.

“What is it sir?” he asked.

“It’s that damned family of yours. Your
uncle-in-law, or whatever the hell he is to you, Aaron Bower, is
the only man who can get us a new concentrator on time and on
budget and he wants to put your wife in charge of the operation.
Not you. Not your brother-in-law Jason. Your wife! Get on the phone
and talk some sense into him.”

Frank began to stammer.

“I’m afraid he won’t listen to me sir. He
doesn’t like me much.”

“Well, I’m not liking you much now either
Fitzpatrick. I have a bit of a problem. When your wife opened that
confounded store, you suddenly had a father-in-law who is standing
between me and my railroad. When my concentrator burns down half
the town, your wife, out of nowhere, has an uncle who has his hands
in just about every business imaginable including fireproof
concentrators. Her brother, the realtor, gets them whatever land
they need. Good God man. What other relatives do you have hiding in
your closet? Is her cousin the President?” he said
sarcastically.