The Peculiars (36 page)

“A criminal who colludes with Peculiars is trying to interpret the law.” Saltre turned and spat on the ground. “Arrest him and send this batch of vermin away. The mine will
be shut down.” He turned to Lavina. “Get the rest of your kind up here, old woman. Production stops immediately.”

Something was building inside Lena, a fierceness that was not familiar. Legs trembling, she surprised herself by stepping forward. “The Mattacascar mine has been deeded to Tobias Beasley unconditionally. As a citizen, he has every right to own and operate this mine. Give me a pen.”

Mr. Beasley reached into his jacket pocket and then handed over the papers and a pen to Lena. He looked at her. “Are you sure, my dear? This mine has been in your family for generations.”

“I have never been surer about anything.” And as she said the words, she realized they were true. With a few quick strokes, she signed the deed to the mine into Mr. Beasley’s ownership.

“And I wish to add a codicil.” She hoped that was the correct term. “That ownership requires Tobias Beasley to keep the same workforce and that any profits from the mine will be distributed at Tobias Beasley’s discretion. Will you agree to that, Mr. Beasley?”

He nodded solemnly.

Thomas Saltre exploded, “Peculiars cannot sell property, because they can’t own property! And there’s no doubt what she is—look at her!” His eyes raked her body. “Such a waste!”

Reflexively, Lena moved her hands to the folds of her skirt. Then slowly she pulled them back out and held them up on display. “Half Peculiar, Mr. Saltre. My mother is a citizen and
not a Peculiar, despite what you see here.” Then she lifted her hands and wiggled her long, spidery fingers.

“Will you look at that!” The second marshal, whose mustache was a few sparse bristles on his upper lip, leaned forward. “I ain’t never seen nothing like them before.”

“These things are criminals. He colluded with Peculiars and broke federal law.” Thomas Saltre, his finger shaking with rage, pointed at Mr. Beasley. “And arrest the old bags, too.” He gestured inclusively at Mrs. Fortinbras and Mrs. Fetiscue.

“Excuse me, sir.” One of the marshals had been shuffling through the papers Mr. Beasley had passed to him. “But everything here seems to be perfectly legal, even if we don’t like it. Mr. Beasley now does legally own the mine, and we can’t arrest them for crimes as long as they’re here in Scree.”

Lena let a small breath escape. She was aware of Jimson, hands clenched, by her side, of Lavina on her other side standing as tall and proud as her four feet eight inches would allow, but Lena never broke contact with Thomas Saltre’s ice-blue stare.

“I believe everything is in order, then.” Mr. Beasley’s words were more statement than question. “As sole owner of the mine and as a citizen, I have the right to choose my own workforce.”

“The minute you step foot on federal ground again, you’ll be under arrest. I’ll be waiting. And you”—the marshal turned to Lena—“will be deported to whatever service I see fit.”

“I’m afraid we’re all remaining here,” Mr. Beasley said. “Except young Jimson, who will be accompanying an injured
girl back to her mother in Knob Knoster. Her mother works for Jimson at Zephyr House.”

“You crafty bastard.” Thomas Saltre stepped toe to toe with Mr. Beasley. “Are you going to tell me that you sold that big house of yours?”

“I didn’t sell it. I gave it free and clear, as a gift for services rendered.”

Lena heard Jimson suck in his breath, but she didn’t turn her head.

“He was in on the whole thing, harboring Peculiars,” the marshal protested.

“Prove it, Marshal Saltre. Jimson was employed as my librarian. His parents are store owners in Northerdam. His work was solely in my library.”

Thomas Saltre raised his pistol, pointed it at Mr. Beasley’s head, and cocked the trigger.

One of the other marshals put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Come on now, Thomas. We need to leave before there’s trouble.”

He shrugged him off. “I’m not going to be taken in by a bunch of Peculiar-loving vermin.”

Lena could see beads of sweat on his brow. His left eye twitched, but the hand that was pointing the gun held steady.

“But I’m afraid you have no choice.” The voice from behind was flat, devoid of emotion. It was the sheriff from Ducktown. Beside him stood Kroll. “I heard there was a marshal overstepped his bounds. Commandeered an army
dirigible. Now I hear from a mine employee that he shot a girl and she almost died. That goes beyond the authority of the law, marshal.”

Thomas Saltre turned, still pointing the pistol, and was met by a rifle.

“Who the hell are you, a sheriff, to be telling me the law? I don’t answer to anyone but the attorney general.”

The sheriff’s voice was still calm, flat. “Seems you have a misunderstanding of the law. Marshals serve their communities and the gov’ment. They don’t shoot to kill unarmed folks, and they don’t steal army property. Isn’t that right?”

The second marshal swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Maybe we need to be going, Thomas. I think he’s made his point.”

“Drop the gun, Marshal, and I’m sure this can be resolved,” the sheriff said. “I’ve come a long way to make sure justice is being done in my territory. Some bounty hunters told me where they had last seen these missionary ladies. Though I lost them a time or two in the snow, it wasn’t hard tracking them all from there.”

But Thomas Saltre did not move. A trickle of sweat was running from his brow down the side of his face and into the curve of his mustache. “You’re no lawman, Sheriff. You’re a namby-pamby, afraid of doing your duty. We don’t need men like you.”

The distraction was enough. Lavina sprang. From behind, she threw all her weight against Thomas Saltre’s right leg. The
knee buckled. For one crazy second he wobbled, the pistol veering wildly in his hand. As he went down, he fired. The bullet echoed loudly and lodged in the rock wall.

The two other marshals held him down and, over loud curses and promises of retaliation, tied his hands behind his back.

The sheriff lowered his gun.

The second marshal straightened. “I’d like to plead guilty to commandeering a dirigible, sir.”

“No need, son. No doubt you were pressured by your senior officer.”

The sheriff looked at the ragtag group but spoke to Lavina. “Don’t ever let me hear of a Peculiar going against a lawman again.” With that, he turned to leave. “Now get this marshal out of my territory and that dirigible back where it belongs.”

Lavina leaned close to Lena. “Your father never would have given the mine away. He would have wanted to keep the profits for himself, even if it meant sacrificing his own people.” Then straightening herself as tall as she could, she took Mr. Beasley’s arm. “I think I’d like to rest.”

He led her to a bench in the eating area, where Mrs. Fetiscue brewed tea for everyone.

“I meant what I said about Zephyr House, Jimson,” Mr. Beasley said. “Someone has to take care of it, make sure the books are properly looked after.”

For once Jimson was at a loss for words.

“We’ll have to arrange transport for you and Merilee in the next few days. Lena, my dear, I’m sorry, but it looks as if you might not be able to return home for the foreseeable future.”

But her grandmother’s words were still ringing in her ears:
Your father never would have given the mine away
. “I would have chosen to stay anyway. After helping you with Merilee and after working on Jimson, well, I know I have a lot to learn, but I like medicine. I’d like to stay and learn from you if I can.”

Mr. Beasley nodded. “I suspect there are a number of people here who could use some medical attention, and I’d be proud to offer it as well as run the mine if you, Lavina, would continue as forewoman.”

“I don’t know that I’m up to the task anymore, and since my granddaughter has her sights set on medicine, I might suggest Kroll as foreman. He’s been with me a long time. It seems my granddaughter, unlike her father, has an altruistic streak. She’s becoming her own woman.”

Lena’s eyes grew bright. “Maybe being a goblin isn’t what I thought it was.”

Mr. Beasley turned to Jimson. “Your Mr. Darwin, Jimson, addresses only biological change. He never addresses bitterness or forgiveness and how that choice can change the course of a life. I was a medical man for many years. I’ve seen how people’s choices influence the course of their lives. I know some things are right and some are reprehensible, but where that sense of right and wrong comes from, I dare not think about.”

“But altruism is advantageous to the species,” Jimson said with certainty.

“Only if I help someone in my own tribe or community,” Mr. Beasley countered. “Helping someone else in a different group isn’t advantageous to me at all. And there’s another danger on this road. Random replication means there is no purpose to the emergence of humans or Peculiars. That’s the sticking point for me. I cannot live a purposeless life.”

Lena felt as if her head were spinning, and there was no time to sort out all of Mr. Beasley’s words. Even Jimson remained silent.

“You and Merilee must be prepared to leave as soon as she is strong enough—in the next day or so, I think,” Mr. Beasley continued.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to go back.” Jimson’s face was hidden in shadow.

“I’m asking you to go back to help Merilee get home.”

In the shadow, Lena could see Jimson’s head nod.

Jimson stood and changed the subject. “I don’t suppose I’ll have another chance to see a dirigible anytime soon. Lena, do you want to come?”

Lena looked at her grandmother drinking tea with Mrs. Fetiscue.

Mrs. Fetiscue spoke. “I just checked on Merilee. She slept through the whole commotion.”

Lena nodded and followed Jimson out of the mine.

They walked out into what should have been the afternoon
sunlight, but the dirigible cast a broad shadow as it lifted off. The sheriff, mounted on his horse, watched the ship begin its journey home. “Still listing a bit, but it looks like they can fly it all right.” He clicked his horse to a trot in the direction of Ducktown.

Lena watched the giant ship, thinking how much it looked like a whale sailing the skies.

But Jimson wasn’t watching the dirigible; he was watching her. His eyes traced her face as if asking a question.

His was the most honest face she had ever seen, Lena decided. There were so many things she wanted to say, but there were also many things she wanted to do and to learn. They all required time. When she spoke, her voice was breathless but sure. “It’s a long road home, Jimson. Take care of Merilee and Mrs. Pollet. I’ll send a letter with you for my family.” Mrs. Mumbles wound herself around Lena’s ankles.

“It looks like the cat plans to stay with you and Mr. Beasley. I’ll be back for you, Lena Mattacascar. Just see if I’m not.”

Lena imagined the snow-covered miles through Scree, the train ride from the border to Knob Knoster. She pictured Zephyr House and the library she had come to love. She would miss it all, but she had a purpose here, and there was something new stirring inside her, the wild heart Nana Crane had always feared. She scooped Mrs. Mumbles into her arms and smiled.

“You’ll know where to find me. Jimson, will you teach me to whistle?”

The Peculiars
is a work of fiction set in an alternative late 1800s. I’ve included historical references from that time period, but I’ve also taken some liberties. For example, the Pony Express was short lived—it lasted only eighteen months (although in legend it lasted much longer). The first rider traveled from Missouri to Sacramento, California, in 1860, and the last ride was made in 1861. The Pony Express delivered the mail to the West Coast in just ten days! In
The Peculiars
, the Pony Express is still operating in 1888—and traveling a much greater distance.

The following list should help sort some fact from fiction.

An
aeolipile
is an engine that spins when heated. Hero of Alexandria described the device in the first century AD, and many sources give him credit for its invention. That’s how it came to be called “Hero’s engine.” You can see a video of how an aeolipile works on YouTube.

Cayley
(1773–1857) and
Stringfellow
(1799–1883) were early pioneers of winged flight. George Cayley, a British engineer, is considered the father of aerial navigation. He encouraged his friend John Stringfellow, who designed lightweight steam engines, to build and fly three steam-powered aircraft, one of which was still flown by Stringfellow’s son, Frederick Stringfellow, in the late 1800s. Of course Mr. Beasley would have known about that!

The
Colt Peacemaker
was a .45 caliber handgun that held six rounds of ammunition. It was one of the most common guns in the West. Designed for the U.S. cavalry, it was adopted by the army in 1873.

The
Concord coach
was the finest overland stagecoach of its day. It was built in Concord, New Hampshire, by the Abbot Downing Co. throughout most of the nineteenth century. Despite its popularity, it was quite uncomfortable by today’s standards. The windows had leather curtains that did little to keep out the elements. The interior, which held up to nine people, was only about four feet in width. However, in 1861, Mark Twain traveled west in a Concord coach and said it rode “like a cradle on wheels.” The exterior of the coach was painted in bright colors with gold scrollwork.