The Hosanna Shout

by R. R. Irvine

  “Come to me, Angel,” Ida said. “Your father’s tired.”

  “I want a good-night kiss,” the girl said.

  Tempest made no move until Odegaard tapped him on the shoulder. Only then did he lean down to Angel’s level. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his unshaven cheek. He didn’t look at her.

  As soon as the children had gone upstairs with Ida, Traveler sat opposite Tempest while Odegaard, unasked, filled a bowl with soup and set it in front of Traveler.

  “What about you, Garth?” Odegaard said. “It’s time we got some hot food in you.”

  Still staring down at his hands, Tempest shook his head. “The cramps have let up some, but my gut still feels like it’s on fire.” He’d spoken slowly, with a pause to catch his breath in the middle of the sentence.

  “Have they found out what made you sick?” Traveler asked.

  Tempest raised his head. “This town’s full of poison. The mines have been polluting us for years, so it’s no wonder the water’s unsafe.”

  “No one else got sick,” the mayor pointed out.

  “I don’t care what you say, the company’s to blame. There’s no one else.”

  The mayor shook his head. “They were still using outhouses when I was a boy, some of them draining right into the creek beds. But there was never any disease, not even cholera in the old days. You know why? The runoff from the mines killed all the bacteria.”

  Tempest said, “We didn’t get a chance to vote, me and my family, so the election isn’t legal.”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference, Garth. We lost by more than four votes. Otherwise, I’d ask for a new election myself.”

  “They didn’t know they’d win in advance. We all thought it would be a close one. You said so yourself. You said we all had to get out and vote. You said one yes or no could make the difference.”

  “I wanted to believe it, Garth, but . . .” The mayor spread his hands.

  “Refresh my memory,” Traveler said. “Who led the fight to sell the town, besides the company?”

  “You played football with them,” the mayor answered. “Father Bannon and Frank Murdock. Murdock owns a lot of shanties in this town. From what I hear, the company offered him a lot more than they’re worth. God knows what they offered for Father Bannon’s church.”

  “He wouldn’t get the money.”

  “He’s always wanted a big church in a big city.”

  Tempest rose abruptly, his arms crossed over his stomach. “I’d better go. The cramps are starting to act up again.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” the mayor said.

  “You’ve done enough already, taking care of Angel. Besides, when I’m sick I want my own bed.”

  “I’ll see you home if Mr. Traveler doesn’t mind.”

  “I was about to leave anyway,” Traveler said.

  “You’ll have to answer to my wife if you don’t finish your soup.” Odegaard retrieved his revolver on the way out.

  Traveler was about to follow them when Mrs. Odegaard returned to the kitchen, sat opposite him, and supervised his every spoonful.

  “I don’t know what’s going to become of the children,” she said when he’d finished eating. “Right now, they don’t quite understand what’s happened to them. When I think back to my own parents, how important they were to me and how much I loved them, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost them at such an early age. It makes me want to—” Abruptly, she stopped speaking and stared beyond Traveler.

  He turned around to see Angel standing in the doorway, clutching a ragged doll and looking frightened.

  “It’s all right, dear. Come to Aunt Ida.”

  The girl stopped next to Traveler and looked up at him, blinking. “Daddy says Mommy isn’t coming home anymore.”

  Traveler looked to Ida, who sighed deeply and said, “It’s God’s will, honey.”

  “Mommy doesn’t love me.”

  “She loves you more than you’ll ever know,” Traveler said.

  “Daddy doesn’t love me.”

  “Of course he does,” Ida said.

  Angel shook her head. “He told me so.” She handed her doll to Traveler. “Mommy said you were a nice man, so you can take care of Dolly. She’s all alone now.”

  Traveler accepted the offering but didn’t know what to say.

  “She wants you to hold her,” Ida said as if sensing Traveler’s uncertainty.

  Traveler offered a hand, which Angel used to pull herself onto his lap. She took back the doll and held it in her arms just as Traveler was holding her in his. He rocked them both while Ida sang.

  “The other night I had a dream,

  I dreamt that I had died;

  I flapped my wings like an eagle,

  And flew into the skies.

  And there I saw Moroni,

  A-sitting on a spire;

  He asked me up and said we’d sup

  On this most humble fare:

  Oh—carrot greens,

  Good old carrot greens,

  Cornbread and buttermilk

  And good old carrot greens.”

  Angel’s eyelids closed. Neither Traveler nor Ida spoke for a long time. Finally, Ida whispered, “If you don’t mind sleeping on the screen porch, you’re welcome to stay the night with us.”

  “It will be easier if I go back to Emma Dugan’s boarding-house.”

  “Emma left this afternoon, I’m afraid. She said there was no sense sticking around to see the place die. She left the key with a neighbor so the movers can come next week and take everything away. Besides, you can’t leave now. You’ll wake Angel.”

  Ida’s smile seemed to say she didn’t want to be left alone either, at least not until her husband returned.

  Angel whimpered in her sleep.

  “I hate to say this,” Ida said softly, “but I wish I could keep Angel for myself. Did you hear her, Mr. Traveler? Did you hear what her father said to her?”

  “She may have misunderstood.”

  “Don’t you believe it. Even if children don’t understand what’s being said, they can sense things.” She laid a hand on her breast. “Inside, I know that child needs someone to love her now. I wish it could be me, but Almon and I are going to live with our daughter and her husband up in Heber Valley. That’s the most beautiful place on earth, Mr. Traveler, and the best place I can think of to raise a child like Angel, but . . .”

  “Have you suggested adoption to Garth Tempest?”

  “At our time of life Almon doesn’t think we can afford it. Our daughter has young children of her own to worry about. Besides, we’re not about to ask a man like Garth Tempest for favors.”

  Traveler’s arm grew numb. When he tried to shift Angel’s position she whimpered again.

  “Do you remember when you were a child, Mr. Traveler, when you were sick and your mother would make you feel better by just touching your brow?”

  “It was my father who had the magic touch.”

  Ida looked at the little girl and shook her head.

  “What kind of a man is Garth Tempest?” he said.

  “You’ll have to talk to my husband about that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go make up the bed on the screen porch for you.”

  By the time the mayor returned, Traveler, with Ida’s help, had tucked Angel beneath the down comforter that covered the sofa.

  “There’s whiskey in the kitchen, Mr. Traveler,” Ida said. “We keep it for medicinal purposes normally, but this is one time we’re all in need of a stimulant. You and Almon go on in and get to know each other better. I’ll stay here for a while and make sure the child settles down.”

  As the men left the room Ida began singing. For a moment Traveler thought it was “Oh, Susannah,” then realized it was the same “Handcart Song” that Martin had once used as a lullaby.

  In the kitchen, with the door closed behind them, Odegaard said, “I hope my wife hasn’t been telling tales.”

  “She insisted that
you were the one to tell me about Garth Tempest.”

  Odegaard went up on tiptoe to snare a whiskey bottle from the top shelf over the sink. From an adjacent cupboard he took jelly glasses and set them on the table.

  “If you want to lighten your sin,” he said, smiling, “you’ll have to use water. Say when.”

  Traveler stopped him at half a glass. Odegaard followed suit. Neither of them added water.

  “We discussed adoption,” Odegaard said. “Did Ida tell you that?”

  Traveler nodded.

  “In the end personal considerations made the decision for us, and that’s probably for the best, because I don’t know how Garth would take to such a proposal.”

  “I could talk to him,” Traveler said.

  “On whose behalf?”

  Traveler was still thinking that over when Odegaard continued. “Do you know what they call him? Temper Tempest. He got that nickname when he worked the mine, though he’s never shown that side to me. My wife, though, she claims clairvoyance at times, and she says he gives off bad vibrations. She says he’s a violent man.”

  “What do you think?” Traveler asked.

  The mayor toyed with his glass for a moment. “Hannah never looked at another man, not around Garth. The men around here knew better than to let him catch them looking at her, that’s for sure.”

  The kitchen door opened far enough for Ida to show herself without actually entering the room. Obviously, she’d been listening. “Stop beating around the bush, Almon, and say it right out.”

  “Now Ida.”

  “I fear for the child, Mr. Traveler. We both do.”

  “He’s never hit her,” Odegaard said. “Those houses down on Hagland Alley are so close together the neighbors would know if he had.”

  Ida pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen. “Those so-called neighbors never did anything about Hannah’s black eyes.”

  “Things happen between a husband and wife.”

  Ida flicked her wrist, dismissing the comment. “Hannah tried to leave him once, but ended up coming back. If she’d stayed away, she’d be alive now.”

  Odegaard reached for his drink but Ida beat him to it. She sipped, made a face, and added water from the tap before handing it back to her husband.

  “Ida’s right. Hannah, God rest her, tried to get away. She went to live with her sister Hattie. We didn’t know them back then, but Ida heard about it from Hattie, who said Hannah only went back to Garth because of the child.”

  “I’ve seen too many people try to stick together for the sake of the children,” Ida said. “The children always get hurt. That’s why I worry about Angel. Maybe I don’t know the whole truth about why she’s named for you, Mr. Traveler, but if you ask me, you’re her only hope.”

  31

  A DISTANT whistle, probably something to do with Kennecott, woke Traveler the next morning. Smelling coffee, he rose from the bed though it was still dark, donned yesterday’s clothes, and went into the kitchen where Ida was setting the table. The warmth from the open oven made him realize how cold the screen porch had been.

  “We keep Postum if you’d rather have it.”

  “I could use the caffeine,” he said, answering her unspoken question as to whether he followed the church’s Word of Wisdom.

  She filled two mugs from an old-fashioned metal coffeepot and handed him one. He was about to drink when another whistle blew, this one sounding a long time.

  “Hold on to your hat,” she said. “Kennecott’s blasting early today.”

  Traveler heard the rumble first, a moment before the house shook violently. Dust, erupting from every joint and joist, immediately filled the air. Somewhere outside, power lines arced, charging the kitchen with an eerie blue light that brought the dust motes to life.

  Holding his breath, Traveler went to the back door and opened it, half expecting to see the landscape littered with collapsed buildings. But a heavy mist, barely shy of rain, shrouded most of Bingham Canyon.

  Ida touched his shoulder.

  “They have steam shovels that scoop up fifteen tons of ore at one time,” she said. “They’ll gobble this whole place up before you know it. Soon, there won’t be anything left to show we were ever here.”

  She edged past him, still holding her coffee mug, and led the way around the side of the house. Out front, half a dozen pickup trucks lined Main Street, where people were already loading their life’s belongings.

  Hugging herself, Ida said, “Half the town will be abandoned by this evening. A week from now there won’t be anybody here. You’d think Kennecott could have waited until we’re gone.”

  “I was planning to talk to someone from the company.”

  “It’s too big,” she said. “They pass you from one to the other. The buck never stops and no one’s accountable. Besides, why would you want to bother now that everything is decided?”

  “When people die someone should be held accountable.”

  “Don’t go believing rumors now, or Garth Tempest either. Something got into the lemonade by accident, that’s all. An act of God. Anyway, the election was only a formality. The company was never threatened.”

  “I’d like to hear that from them.”

  “The man to see, if you can get to him, is Oren Lathrop. He’s overseeing the expansion of the mine. He’s not one of these lawyer types either. He started in the smelter and worked his way up.”

  From inside the house came the sound of Angel’s wailing.

  Ida shook her head. “I don’t know if you heard her, but she kept waking up with nightmares. Finally I had to take her into bed with me.”

  ******

  Oren Lathrop’s office was a portable metal shed overlooking the world’s largest open-pit copper mine. It was featured on postcards and admired daily by hundreds of bus-borne tourists. A man-made wonder of the world, Kennecott called it. Seen from the shed’s small casement window, the mine reminded Traveler of a canker eating away at the Oquirrh Mountains.

  “You have that look,” Lathrop said. “A missionary who wants to save the trees or the whales, or some such thing.”

  “I don’t like seeing things die.”

  Lathrop smiled as if to say he’d guessed right. “Sit down and convert me, Mr. Traveler.”

  Traveler opened a folding metal chair that had been leaning against the corrugated wall and set it up facing Lathrop’s makeshift desk, a sheet of plywood resting on sawhorses. Blueprints and papers covered the entire wooden surface.

  “I was surprised that you agreed to see me so quickly,” Traveler said.

  “In this state it’s always wise to give priority to someone named Moroni.”

  Lathrop’s smile deepened the creases in his leathery face. He took off his hard hat, with its Kennecott logo, and ran a hand over his matted gray hair. Safety goggles dangled around his neck from an elastic cord. His tan workshirt was sweat-stained and rumpled.

  Traveler handed him a business card but Lathrop waved it away.

  “I know who you are, Mr. Traveler. A private detective from the big city, obviously here to investigate the deaths in Bingham Canyon.”

  “Only a few locals know who I am.”

  “The church isn’t the only one with security people working for it,” Lathrop said. “I’ll save you some time. The election was window dressing, nothing more. In this state the law gives mining companies the right of eminent domain. We can take what we need, Mr. Traveler. We don’t have to kill people, despite the rumors you’ve heard in town. We only held the election to keep the bad publicity to a minimum.”

  “From what I hear the dead would have voted against you.”

  “You know the count wasn’t that close.”

  “There’s talk that poison from the mine, maybe some kind of runoff, got into the water system.”

  “If that had happened, the whole town would have been affected.” Lathrop pushed a folder across the desktop. “Take a look for yourself. The water’s been tested and we got
a clean bill of health from the authorities.”

  Traveler glanced through the file. “Let me be more personal, then. Did you know the Tempests or the Snarrs?”

  “To say hello to.”

  “Did they have any enemies as far as you know?”

  “Other than us, you mean?” Lathrop shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “I don’t see how the poisoning could have been an accident.”

  “Even if I agree with you, it has nothing to do with the company.”

  “They’re saying Father Jake Bannon and Frank Murdock work for you,” Traveler said. “Maybe they got overzealous.”

  “Their motives are their own, I assure you. Just as yours are, Mr. Traveler.”

  The smug look on Lathrop’s face said he knew more about Traveler than company security, no matter how good, should have been able to provide on short notice.

  “The town’s going to be a ghost in a few days, Mr. Traveler. People will be looking for new jobs; they’ll end up scattered all over the state. Friends and neighbors may never see one another again. As for us, we’ll start demolishing the town as soon as it’s vacated, to make way for expansion of the mine. City hall, the hospital, the stores along Main Street, everything has to go. So take my advice. If you want to talk to anybody else—Dr. Snarr, for instance—you’d better get going. Who knows? The man might have some important information.”

  Traveler stood up. “I have the feeling you could save me the trouble.”

  “You’re the detective, Mr. Traveler, not me.”

  32

  TRAVELER FOUND Jesse Snarr lying on the sofa in the hospital lobby, his unshaven face grimacing even in sleep. Traveler was about to wake him when Snarr twitched violently and sat up, wide-eyed and staring.

  “Jesus,” he sighed. “For a second there, when I sensed you standing over me, I thought you were my father. I thought he’d come to fetch me home for dinner. I thought it was all a nightmare and that everything was back to normal.”

  He walked away from Traveler, stopping in front of the glass door that fronted Main Street. As soon as Traveler joined him Snarr said, “Look out there, will you?” He rapped a knuckle against the plate glass. “Most of those shacks and cabins should have been condemned years ago. Why people stayed here and lived in them I don’t know. I’ll be glad when there’s nothing left but an open-pit mine.”