by Tanya Stowe
He watched her go, disappointed, but a little consoled.
Penny hadn’t told the truth. Her emotions weren’t dead, she was just afraid of living. Living hurt too much. So she gave it up.
All of her heart and soul went into the care of their daughter and the little family she had gathered.
Singing gave her joy, so she stopped using her beautiful voice. She kept herself deep in mourning, unconsoled, and wore the color brown to remind her of a dead man.
But that dead man was alive. With God’s help, Alex intended to prove she was, too.
****
Winter arrived early in Bodie and seemed determined to stay. Roads, passes, wells, everything froze. Penny’s fingers seemed to have joined the frozen landscape as she slowly uncurled them from around her pen.
Her little office beneath the stairs was the coldest spot in The Copper Penny. She hated shutting herself into the icy room each morning, but she refused to risk encounters with Alex.
She tallied up the figures from last evening. Another poor night’s take. Men didn’t want to venture out of their homes into the frigid night.
Holloway had been conspicuously quiet of late, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still working against her. It just meant he didn’t have to work as hard.
Nature was doing enough damage on its own.
Her latest shipment was two days late, held up by bad weather. Just as well. She wasn’t sure she had enough money to pay for it, having used the last of her budget to purchase back Tom’s piano…which sat silent in the corner of the saloon.
The only time he touched it was when Jewel was out, and that was not often. His struggle to wean himself off the liquor took its toll. His fingers shook and lost their dexterity.
On one occasion, Penny had a glimpse of what Tom’s talent had been like before.
He seemed calm and confident as he sat down at the piano. The melody that flowed out was famous, detailed, classic.
She didn’t know the name of the song, but she’d heard it somewhere. It was incredibly beautiful.
But then he’d stopped. Not because his fingers didn’t work, but because he couldn’t remember the notes. He closed the piano and didn’t go back for days.
Penny had hoped once Tom felt better and played, the addition of music at The Copper Penny would be enough to help her business pick up, and it wouldn’t be necessary for her to sing.
Christmas was only a few weeks away. If Penny wanted to have any kind of celebration for Lexie and Jann, she needed the extra money.
And Tom needed the help. So, she’d agreed to meet with him this morning to practice.
Certain Alex was gone for the day, she rose stiffly from her desk, put her books away, and hurried into the outer room. Peeling off her gloves, she threw more wood into the stove and warmed her hands as it fired up.
Tom came down and they chose a few songs, “Turkey in the Straw” and “Buffalo Gals.” Simple songs. Easy enough for Tom to play and even easier for Penny to sing. Less than an hour into their rehearsal time, a shrill whistle rent the air.
Both of them had been in mining camps long enough to recognize the long blast and three short whistles of an accident. They hurried to the window to look down the street.
Inga joined them from the kitchen, her hands covered in dough. “It is the Standard’s whistle, ja?”
“It’s close by.”
Jann and Lexie tromped down the stairs, followed closely by Jewel.
They all stood at the window as men spilled out of the neighboring saloons and ran down the street in the direction of the Standard Mine.
“I’m going to see.” Jann hurried towards the coat rack.
“I’m coming with you,” Tom said.
“Me, too!”
“Not on your life, Lexie!” Penny was horrified. The look on her face must have scared Lexie into silence because her daughter didn’t argue.
But she stayed by the window, her elbows on the sill, her gaze fixed on the street as Inga bustled back to the kitchen.
Jewel polished glasses and Penny cleaned the mirror behind the bar with vinegar and old news sheets.
Sometime later, Lexie called out, “They’re coming back!”
Jewel and Penny met them at the door.
Inga came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
The look on both Tom’s and Jann’s faces was enough to tell the tragic story.
“Was it a cave-in?” Jewel asked.
“No. A bolt worked itself loose from the elevator platform, fell down the shaft, and struck a miner as he waited to go up.”
The adults were silent.
“But a bolt is little.” Lexie looked confused. “How could a bolt kill a grown-up?”
“Even I know the answer to that, Lexie,” Jann said. “When a bolt falls hundreds of feet down the shaft, it goes faster and faster.”
“It’s called velocity,” Tom added.
“Yeah, it gets velocity. When it hits, it’s like a bullet. It went all the way through his helmet and his body.”
Velocity. Cave-ins. Explosions. The extreme fatigue that caused illness. So much danger, day in and day out. Penny’s thoughts were somber.
“Who was it?” Jewel asked.
“A man by the name of Spinetti, Anthony Spinetti.” Tom rubbed his face with a weary, worn out motion.
“I don’t know him.” Jewel shook her head.
“I do.” Jann’s voice was quiet. “He has a boy, Angelo. We talk once in a while. He says they come from Italy. He doesn’t know English so good, like me and Ma when we lost Pa. He’s got four little brothers and sisters.”
Penny felt a familiar, sharp pain close to her heart.
Five children Anthony Spinetti left behind. Five children, and a wife. She took a slow, calming breath, but still the memories rushed at her like a speeding train.
Endless days with no news. Constant doubts and worries. A past she desperately wanted back. A present not worth living. No future at all. Watching the money disappear, like grains of sand slipping through her fingers.
The emotions of her own loss overwhelmed her. She turned away so her family wouldn’t see the pain, the panic those memories created.
Everyone went back to their chores.
With stilted, awkward movements, Penny finished the mirror, but the ache inside her wouldn’t go away.
It cut into her…like someone had stripped her naked and left the place where her heart was supposed to be a raw, festering wound.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Penny didn’t know. A pit had opened, and she’d slipped down into it, into a deep, dark chasm.
“I’m…I don’t feel well.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m going to lie down until dinner.”
Grabbing her skirts, she rushed up the stairway and barely made it to the other side of her closed bedroom door before a sob escaped. She pressed her fingers to her lips, sealed them. She tried to muffle the cries, to stop weeping, but it seemed endless. The pain overwhelmed her. How long had she stored up this hurt, this sorrow? She lost track of time.
Lexie knocked on the door, called her to dinner.
“I’m not hungry.” Penny took several hitching breaths. “I’ll be down later.” It was all she could manage without sounding strangled. Penny rolled against the wall, hid her face in the corner to hide the cries of desolation.
Lexie’s footsteps moved away.
The door opened, but she didn’t see light fill the room or hear the click of the latch as the door closed.
“Oh my love, my love.” Strong hands lifted her from the floor where she’d slid down. Alex wrapped his arms around her. He held her in, brought together all her splintered pieces. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, the tears on her cheeks. Then he cupped her face against him.
With her check pressed to his chest, she could hear the rhythmic beat of his heart. It was that sound, the steady pulse, regular and strong, that finally calmed her.
He was alive…alive�
��alive.
She released a long, shuddering sigh and was silent.
“You need to rest.” Alex loosened his hold and led her to the bed. He tugged back the covers, lowered her onto the mattress and unlaced her boots. The twist at the back of her head had tumbled down and now he threaded the few pins loose from the strands of hair and placed them on the stand. As she curled into a tight ball, he covered her with the blanket.
“Rest now, my love. It’s over.”
“Not for her! It’s not over for Mrs. Spinetti. I know what she must go through. It’s torture, a living hell.”
“What can we do?” He stroked her hair back. “How can we help?”
“There’s nothing we can do.” She spat out the words. “Not unless we can bring her husband back.”
Alex’s gentle strokes on her hair stopped. He rose to his feet. When he spoke, his tone was rough and ragged. “That won’t help, either. I came back and it didn’t help you.”
It was true, all true.
Moments ago, the sound of his heartbeat had calmed her. He had come back for her and Lexie.
Mrs. Spinetti’s husband would never come back.
Alex was here, alive and well, and Penny couldn’t rejoice in the fact, couldn’t allow herself to appreciate his kindness, his concern, or his love for their daughter.
Part of her was dead, and she didn’t know how to go on living. She’d tried to explain that to Alex, but he wouldn’t believe her. What more could she say?
Alex sighed and rose.
Something tinkled and she opened her eyes. Her missing hairpins fell from his hand onto the stand beside her.
He pulled more out of his pocket. “I was saving these, hoping…” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He blew out the lamp he had carried in and crossed to the door.
“Maybe it would be best if you stayed up here tonight. Jewel and I can handle the downstairs crowd.” He walked out and left her in the dark.
****
When Penny woke from an exhausted sleep, it was late. Downstairs, she could hear activity.
Jewel and Alex were handling the evening clients by themselves, just as Alex had said.
Penny didn’t want to get up, to face them or the crowd, but she couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on. So she rose from her bed, washed her face, and dressed her hair.
As she pushed the tortoise pins into her customary tight knot, she didn’t have to think much about why Alex kept them. He loved to see her hair down. Giving them back to her was a sign, an indication she was winning their battle. Why did that indication of victory make her sad?
She left her room and slipped in to check on Lexie. Her daughter was tucked in, fast asleep.
Alex had probably read the child her bedtime story. It was disconcerting how easily he fit into everyone’s life…except hers.
She couldn’t seem to find a place in her life or her heart for her husband. She walked downstairs and listened to the subdued murmurs.
Most of the customers, miners themselves, stood at the bar. They were talking about Anthony. He’d been well liked by most of his coworkers.
Penny stepped off the stairs.
Alex was busy, but he knew she was there. He seemed as aware of her as she was of him, but he said nothing. As he poured another drink, a tall miner named Bart held up his whiskey. “Here’s to Anthony, a fine man.”
They all raised their glasses, and then tossed them back.
“You got something against Anthony, barkeep? You can’t toast a good man with the rest of us?”Brady Calhoun, in his usual troublesome frame of mind, stared at Alex.
“All the toasts in the world won’t bring Anthony back, Brady.” His tone was low, but it carried. “Nor will it make me feel any better.”
“Ain’t nothing gonna make it better.” Brady shot back. “All you can do is numb the pain.”
“Then we’d have to stay numb all the time because we’re one step away from death every day of our lives. The war taught me that.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the men.
“Well, ain’t you a ray of sunshine!” Brady frowned. “And here I thought you were a better barkeep than the last.”
“No barkeep has the answer, and it’s not in a bottle, either. The answer is in the Good Book. It tells us plainly the way to live…like there is no tomorrow.”
Alex looked up and down the bar. “Tell me truthfully. If you knew this was your last night on earth, what would you be doing?”
“I wouldn’t be wasting time jabbering with you.” Brady laughed. “I’d finish that there bottle you’re holding.”
“How about the rest of you? Would you spend your last night sharing this bottle with Brady Calhoun?”
“Not me.” Tall, broad-shouldered Bart didn’t even pause to think. “I’d be home with my arms around my woman.”
A fair-haired youth next to Bart ducked his head and leaned over the bar. “I have a girl back home. She’s written me letter after letter, and I haven’t answered one. I’d want her to know how much I miss her.”
“I promised my boy I’d teach him how to hunt.”
Another man wanted to learn how to read.
One by one the men shared.
Penny stood in amazement as these world-weary, hardened miners talked about lost dreams, hopes, things they wanted to accomplish in their lifetimes.
When everyone had finally spoken and the room grew quiet again, Alex said, “Sounds to me like y’all have a whole lot of living to do.” His soft Southern accent peeked through. He looked at each man, one by one. “Why are you standing here?”
Brady was nothing if not opportunistic. The tide had changed and he was quick to jump on the wave. “I agree. Let’s all have one for the road.” He reached for the bottle in Alex’s hand.
Alex pulled it back. “Instead of one for the road, why don’t you pass on the liquor and put your money in a cup for Mrs. Spinetti? I’m sure she could use the help.”
Alex dumped the peanuts out of a pie tin and set it on the bar. “Let’s start living by reaching out.”
Another silence.
Then Bart plopped his glass down on the bar with a determined thud. He shoved a hand into his pants pocket, dug out coins and dropped them in the tin. One by one, the men waited their turn to contribute to the fund. Then they grabbed heavy coats off the rack by the door, quietly said good-byes and slipped into the frigid night.
Even Brady followed, anxious to be a part of the hopeful spirit that had filled the room.
When they were gone, Alex locked the door and drew the shades. With a purposeful stride, he crossed the room, picked up the tin, and carried it to Penny.
“Take this to Mrs. Spinetti in the morning.”
“I can’t take it.” Penny sputtered. “She…she won’t receive me.”
“You said nobody knows better what she needs. Don’t let your fear stop you.”
When Penny didn’t move, he grabbed her hand and cupped it around the pie tin.
“You said I always stir the pot. You’re right. I do. It’s called living, Penny, and you need to start. Sing. Wear bright dresses. Grab life by the horns and hang on. Don’t just stand there and fade away. Live.”
11
Penny held two-year-old Marco Spinetti’s wriggly little body in her arms.
Beside her, Lexie had three-year old Lucia Spinetti’s hand tucked into hers, and not far away, Jann stood with his friend Tony and the last two Spinetti children.
Across the small gravesite, their mother, Gina, clung to Alex’s arm.
The biting wind cut through their warm clothing as they listened to the priest say a blessing over the simple grave. The strong breeze picked up Gina’s black lace scarf and threatened to tear it loose.
Marco ducked his head and snuggled in closer to Penny.
Penny didn’t feel the cold. In spite of all the tragedy and hardship around her, a core of warmth thawed her from the inside, a sense of rightness she had not experienced in a long wh
ile.
Alex had been right to insist she visit Gina. The newly widowed woman had been glad to see Penny. Of all the people who reached out to help, Gina said she found the most comfort in Penny’s words. Penny had experienced loss. She anticipated what Gina needed, when to step in and when to step back.
Jewel, Inga, and Penny cared for the children, kept warm soup on the stove, and made sure Gina ate, even if it was only a little. They gathered and mended black mourning clothes for the ceremony.
The miners’ union paid for the services, but it was Alex and Penny who helped Gina choose the songs and the Scripture.
The miners’ wives prepared food and would be at the Spinettis’ little house after the funeral, but long after the crowds were gone, Penny and her family continued to provide the support Gina and her children needed.
It was that knowledge, that sense of worthiness that created the warm glow inside Penny. Nothing could take it away. She cried when Gina cried, but the sense of loss that had overwhelmed her a few days earlier no longer held her captive.
What Alex said was true. The best antidote for death was to live. She watched him steady Gina with his good arm as the widow clung to his injured one. He held it stiffly, almost as if he was in pain. But he stood straight and strong next to Gina.
His strength humbled Penny.
Alex had suffered as much as she. She had never even asked about the war or the battles he’d seen. She didn’t know what pain and suffering his injury had caused him…still caused him.
And yet, no matter how many times life knocked Alex down, he always managed to rise again.
Where did he find the strength?
Even as the question formed in her mind, she knew the answer.
He found his strength in the black book that was never far from his side. He found encouragement in the small, white church at the top of the hill where he took her daughter every Sunday, but where Penny felt she had no place.
For a short time, when she first met Alex, she believed she had a place there. If a man like Alex could love her, surely she was worthwhile, maybe even valuable. Surely she had a chance at a normal life, the right to a family and a home.
