A sick feeling pooled in Chloe’s gut, and she tried without success to banish the thought from her brain. Holly was very close to her mother. She might have walked the back trail down from the upper property and approached Polperro’s second-story entrance. If she’d overheard Yvonne being mean to Claudia … would she have acted? If Yvonne had been standing at the top of the steep staircase, with her back to the door, it wouldn’t have been difficult for an angry nine-year-old to send the woman tumbling.
Was that what had so troubled Claudia? Why else would she ask Chloe to keep her ears open? Investigator Higgins had already interviewed the staff members. Since he’d asked about Claudia’s disappearance, if anyone had seen Holly, they surely had already mentioned it.
Chloe clasped her elbows. Should she break her promise and contact the investigator herself? Should she try to convince Claudia to talk to him again? But this theory about Holly is pure speculation, Chloe thought. And she did believe that Claudia had told her all she knew. Claudia might wonder if Holly had been involved, but she didn’t know for sure. No way, Chloe thought, am I introducing Holly into a police investigation without more to go on.
Besides, what had happened to Yvonne’s ever-present green journal? She’d had it in the root cellar. If Yvonne had tripped and fallen down the stairs, her journal would have either fallen down with her or been found in her briefcase.
Was there something in that journal that had worried someone? If so, who? And what on earth had that person been worried about?
Evelyn had left for the day when, at four thirty, the phone rang. Chloe let it ring three times, hoping Loren was still around and would pick up. On ring four she snatched the receiver. “Pendarvis Historic Site. May I help you?”
“I’d like to leave a message for Chloe Ellefson.”
Chloe recognized the voice. “Midge? It’s me, Chloe.”
“I’ve got a list of property owners for the old Bolitho place.”
Chloe’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Really? That was fast.”
“My friend at the courthouse owed me a favor. It’s not a long list, and all I’ve got are names and dates, but it’s a start.”
“Names and dates will be great.” For now, anyway.
“Switch the machine over to take a fax and I’ll send it over.”
After hanging up Chloe struggled for several minutes to figure out how to make the switch. She held her breath and punched a button, hoping she hadn’t just erased all phone service to the site or something. Almost immediately the printer began to purr, and a curling, shiny piece of paper emerged.
She snatched the page and scanned it quickly. Well, Midge was right. It wasn’t a long list. But awesomely, the first date was 1836, when the US government began selling mineral land to the miners and their families.
Eighteen
february–march 1836
Since sinking their first shaft, Jory and Andrew had mined enough mineral to pay their expenses and invest in a few tools, but little more. One raw day in February, however, the brothers came home from their digging elated.
“We hit what looks like a good drift this afternoon!” Jory reported. He dropped in front of the small fire and fanned raw fingers toward the flames.
“We have no way of knowing how far it runs,” Andrew cautioned, although even he was grinning. “But we’ll have a sizeable haul just from the pocket we found.”
“I hope it runs a long time!” Mary exclaimed. “I don’t want to spend another winter here.”
“We won’t,” Andrew promised.
That night, Mary and Ida shivered as they finished washing dishes. “I’ll fill the warming box with hot chirks from the firepit,” Mary said. They huddled together beneath their blankets with the warmer Ruan had made wrapped in her shawl and nestled between them, but the temperature was plunging. Still, Mary couldn’t help smiling. “Next winter will be better, Ida,” she whispered. “We won’t have to live in a cave anymore.”
“Are we going to get a house?”
“Yes,” Mary said firmly. “We are going to get a house.”
March brought days when water dripped from the stones, and the diggings turned to a sea of mud. A bilious fever swept through the mining camps, hitting those without adequate shelter or food especially hard. Mary helped nurse some of the nearby families through the worst of it, all the while praying she didn’t take the illness back to Ida. “You’re an angel, Mary,” whispered a gaunt mother who had watched one child die, but three more survive.
“No, I’m just a neighbor.” Mary pulled a blanket more snugly over the woman’s shoulders. She was bone-weary but tried not to show it. “You’d do the same.”
As the days lengthened, some of the sucker miners returned from their winter haunts. Mixed among them were inexperienced but eager new diggers, dreaming of quick and easy riches. Mary got back to baking, and business picked up accordingly. The fresh scents of spring mingled with the stink of burning sulphur as smelters increased their firings.
“Can I carry the basket to Jory and Andrew?” Ida asked late one afternoon, when she and Mary were almost finished with their rounds.
“Just be careful in this sucking mud.” Mary didn’t want her lovely bread and biscuits to land in the muck.
As they made their way, she heard an angry shout. Several newcomers had been digging test pits downslope of her brothers’ mine. One of them, a red-haired, barrel-chested man, was advancing on a boy who couldn’t have been more than ten. “You’re going to have to do better than that!” His speech was harsh American English. “Why should I waste money feeding you?”
The boy was skinny as a gad. He stood with hunched shoulders, arms hugged across his chest, head bent.
“Did you hear me?” The man backhanded the boy across the face so hard he landed on his bottom in the ooze. As the boy staggered to his feet, two miners who’d been digging nearby laughed uproariously.
“Ida, go to Jory and Andrew’s mine and wait for me there,” Mary whispered. The men were likely underground, but she trusted Ida to follow her instructions. Ida nodded and hurried away.
Then Mary marched toward the group. “Here now! Surely there’s no need to beat the boy.”
“This ain’t your concern,” the red-haired man growled. He had a thin scar running from the end of his left eyebrow to his chin.
Mary thought of how Mrs. Bunney had ordered Boss Penhallow about, and tried for the same tone. “I have a baking business.” She removed the cloth in her basket to reveal what was left of her offerings.
“Not interested,” the man said, although his gaze lingered on her treats.
“Newcomers get a free sample,” Mary said. “If you’re satisfied, you can buy tomorrow. I make the rounds almost every day.” She gave him a biscuit, light and tall and golden brown. Then she grabbed a second and thrust it into the boy’s hands. He was barefoot and shivering.
“None for him,” the man began, but the boy was already cramming the biscuit into his mouth.
Mary struggled against the urge to snatch the boy’s wrist and drag him away. “Has your son misbehaved?”
The man turned his head and spat on the ground. “He’s my sister’s boy, not mine. She died and I got stuck with him. Will ain’t worth nothing, far as I can tell. I got the expense of feeding him with nothing to show for it.”
“It doesn’t appear that he’s been fed well,” Mary observed. “And perhaps you should try encouraging Will instead of—”
“Don’t meddle!” The man’s eyes narrowed.
Another digger tossed down his shovel and joined them. “What’s going on?”
Mary struggled to tamp down her anger—at these man for abusing a child, at herself for pushing too hard. Should she retreat now, or stand her ground?
Then footsteps sounded behind her. “Good afternoon!” Ruan stopped so close to Mary that their shoulders touched. “I don’t
believe we’ve met. Ruan Trevaskis, skilled blacksmith. I’m well accustomed to making what diggers need.” His words were pleasant, but his tone held a note of warning.
The miners eyed him. Anyone digging lead was strong, but they were new to the work, and Ruan—who could shoe the most stubborn ox with ease—was brawnier than any of them. Neither moved.
“Mary, Ida’s waiting for you.” He took her arm and led her away. He waited until they were out of earshot before muttering, “What was that about?”
“Did you see that boy with them?” Mary said indignantly. “His uncle, the man with a scar, knocked him to the ground. That poor child has no shoes. No warm clothes. Not enough to eat.”
Ruan stopped walking. “What do you want to do about it?”
Something inside of Mary squeezed tight with gratitude. There was no one else she’d rather build a future with. “I want to help Will. Take him in, if I can.”
“Taking in a boy is no small thing. And the uncle may not be willing to let him go.”
“His uncle said Will wasn’t worth anything. He begrudged the boy food. Maybe he’d be that happy to give the child away.”
“Do you need to think about it?” Ruan’s face was serious. “This child is a boy, and American. Do those things matter to you?”
“Not at all.”
“Then you best talk to Andrew. And Jory. But I expect they’ll agree, at least to the asking.”
She looked up at his startling blue eyes, trying to understand beyond the words. “What do you think?” It seemed terribly important.
Ruan smiled. “I think it’s a fine idea.”
Next evening, as twilight smoothed over the hillside’s scars, Mary, Ruan, Andrew, and Jory presented themselves at the Americans’ worksite. Three men sat hunched by the fire, shoveling cooked beans from tin plates. A raw wind made the campfire flames writhe and whipped smoke this way and that. It took Mary a moment to spot Will, who sat alone in the deeper shadows.
“Good evening!” Andrew said in a friendly voice. He introduced himself and Jory. “We’ve claimed a mine site just up there.” He waved an arm. “I believe you’ve already met my sister Mary and our friend Ruan. Welcome to the Mineral Point diggings.”
The man with the scar got to his feet. “Hiram McCreary,” he said in a grudging tone. “Them two are my cousins.” The other two men nodded.
“Well, I’ll get right to it,” Andrew said. “Jory and me, we know how hard it is to get started here. Maybe you’ll hit a good vein tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe six months from now. The digging’s hard and the money can be scarce.”
“What’s all that to you?” McCreary asked.
“My sister says you have a boy that you took in to … ” Andrew searched for the right word. “To honor your sister’s memory. That’s a good, Christian act. But she also says the boy isn’t up to the work. That you have to feed him and tend him, which can’t be easy in a place like this.”
Mary stood rigid, hands clenched in the folds of her cloak. She and Ruan and her brothers had agreed how to handle this. But it was hard to listen to Andrew sympathize with Hiram McCreary.
“So,” Andrew continued, “we’re wondering if you’d let us take the boy off your hands.”
McCreary widened his stance. “Why would you want to do that?”
Andrew shrugged. “Truth is, my sister took a shine to the boy. We’re better settled. One more mouth to feed won’t make much of a difference. Don’t worry, I’ll put him to work.”
McCreary snorted. “He’s a lazy thing.”
Andrew shrugged again. They all waited. A distant shout of “You cheated!” rose from a poker game at a nearby camp.
“I’m Will’s only living kin,” McCreary added. “He wouldn’t want to go off with strangers.”
Mary couldn’t listen any longer. “Will,” she called. “Would you like to come with my brothers and me?”
Will, who’d been listening intently, stood and moved closer. In the flickering firelight his eyes were wary. His cheekbones were sharp angles above hollow cheeks. “Come with you to … to live?”
“That’s right. You’ll have plenty to eat and warm clothes. No one will ever hit you—”
“Listen, you can’t just take a man’s blood nephew away!” McCreary scowled. “Get away from that boy, or I’ll call the law.”
One of his cousins got to his feet and kicked the other cousin, who reluctantly stood as well. McCreary’s hands curled into fists, and he shifted his weight as his kin came to stand with him. Mary’s mouth felt dry.
Then Ruan stepped closer to the men. “You’re new here, so let me help you understand something,” he said softly. “There’s not a whole lot of law in the territory. Sure, you steal a man’s horse or shoot somebody, you’re going to end up in jail. But out here in the diggings, men mostly take care of things themselves. And the men here aren’t likely to sympathize with anyone who mistreats a child.”
Tension built in the air, as if flames were racing down a fuse toward a pocket of gunpowder. “Come along, Will,” Mary said.
Will didn’t even look at his uncle, just scurried past and joined Mary. She turned and led him away. After a long moment of silence she heard her men follow.
Back at their stone hut, Mary introduced Will to Ida. The two children stared at each other silently. Jory built up the fire. “I’m going to heat up some supper,” Mary told Will. “You’ll feel better after you eat. We’ll find you some warm clothes too.”
Will didn’t answer. But he accepted the plate of beans she offered and began to eat.
After the children were settled down for the night, Andrew cocked his head toward the entrance. “We all need to talk.”
Mary didn’t like his flat tone, but she followed her brothers and Ruan outside. The dark night was raw, and she hugged her wool cloak tightly around her shoulders.
“Mary,” Andrew muttered, “I thought you were going to let me do the talking.”
“I meant to, but—”
“You’ve made an enemy,” Andrew said unhappily. “I fear you’ve made an enemy for all of us.”
“What would you have had me do?” Mary demanded in a hushed tone. “Simply leave poor Will to a life of misery?”
“No. But I might have been able to get McCreary to give up Will without infuriating the man. It’s not good to have enemies out here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I think Jory and I should start sleeping at the mine site. Keep an eye out.”
Mary fisted her hands in her skirt. Back at Hiram McCreary’s camp, nothing had seemed more important than getting Will away. But Andrew was right. An angry miner could destroy her brothers’ windlass, steal equipment, turn the smelter operators against them with a gift of whiskey or a few whispered words. “I’m sorry, Andrew. I should have left it to you.”
Andrew blew on his fingers. “It’s not just me and Jory I’m concerned about. We were on the edge of a brawl back there when Ruan stepped in. I’m grateful”—he looked at his friend, who nodded—“but unlike Jory and me, Ruan depends on the miners for his business. He can’t afford to have anyone speaking against him.”
Mary’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t mean to … Ruan, I’m sorry if I caused you any harm.”
“You didn’t,” he assured her. “And I’ve news. I’ve made arrangements to rent a building in town. It’s time I set up a proper smithy, with a proper forge. There’s more business than I can handle in town, I wager. I’ll sleep there, but … ” He looked around the circle, and his gaze lingered on Mary. “I won’t be far away.”
Some of the tension left Andrew’s posture. “Congratulations, Ruan. And I have news too. If Mary keeps insisting on bringing strays home, we’re going to get crowded out of our shelter here. I’ve hired a stonemason to build us a house.”
Mary stared at him. “Aye?”
“You’ve see
n those cottages built on the far side of the ravine? They’re the work of a Cornish mason. We’re next on his list.”
“Oh!” Mary’s heart overflowed. Ruan had not only saved her brothers from a fight they might not have won, he’d managed to turn this conversation to something cheerful. She had not one but two children to care for and keep safe. And now, a proper Cornish cottage! Besides, moving down to the bottom of the ravine and across the creek would put more distance between her family and Hiram McCreary.
She leaned closer to Jory, who hadn’t spoken at all. “Do you mind that we took in Will?” Mary whispered. “What do you think?”
Jory drew deeply on his pipe and exhaled smoke. “I think we all need to be careful, because we made an enemy tonight.”
Nineteen
Alone in the office, Chloe studied the information Midge had found.
Andrew Pascoe, March 1836–February 1858
That gives us a pretty secure date for when the cottage was built, Chloe thought. Adam would be pleased with that.
Mary Pascoe, February 1858–June 1911
Open-mouthed, Chloe stared at the short line. A woman had owned Chy Looan—and for a long time! Had she been Andrew’s widow? Had she left the emotions lingering in the cottage?
Whenever Chloe felt discouraged, she thought about the lives of women who’d lived long ago. Most of them faced challenges she couldn’t imagine, and their strength and tenacity were inspiring. It had been difficult to do that here in Mineral Point because the records were so scanty. The women who’d arrived during the territorial period had remained blurred, indistinct.
Chloe looked out the window toward Shake Rag Street, trying to imagine it in 1836. This street had been a rutted lane that often flooded, lined with stone cottages and a few log cabins. The woody growth on Dark Hill had not existed. The prairie savannah had been obliterated too, replaced by rubble cast aside by hopeful men with pickaxes and shovels. Men who thought nothing of brutal labor, of living like badgers for months on end, all for the dream of lead.
What had Mary Pascoe thought of this place? Chloe didn’t know, but having her name, knowing she’d lived in Adam’s cottage, made Mary feel more real. And with a name, she could more easily search for documentation. Claudia would be delighted if Chloe could add information about an early Cornish immigrant woman and her family to the research files.
Mining for Justice Page 17
