Olivia's Mine (12 page)

The disaster of the spring began to be less
painful as the months passed. The rains of winter finally let up,
and the summer months were warm and dry. The townspeople were moved
from what used to be the upper camp, to a safer spot on the sister
mountain next to the peak that had cracked. New buildings sprang up
where the demolished ones had once been. McMichael had seen to it
that temporary dormitories were built first, to house the women and
children who had no where to go. The men were housed separately,
sometimes sharing a bunk, until the individual homes could be
re-built. Neighbours helped out neighbours with gifts of shelter,
food and comfort. They finally had a church, that all the
denominations shared and a second hospital had been built. It was a
steep climb up several hundred stairs from the Beach town, to the
upper town, so McMichael tried to make the new upper town as
self-sustaining as he could. There was a second school and a second
community swimming pool. There was even a second general store that
stocked the same goods as the lower Beach store. By autumn, things
were getting back to normal for most of the people.

Christina McMichael walked past the mine
entrance on her way to school, pausing to wait for her girlfriend
as she did every morning. There was a balmy breeze, and she took
off the knitted sweater coat Mrs. Schwindt had insisted she
wear.

The fact that she was a beautiful maturing
teenage girl did not pass by unnoticed by the group of men,
including Frank, standing out side the mine, preparing to start
their shift. They took a little extra time gathering their helmets
that morning. Her blonde hair was done up in a pony tail that
reached below her shoulders.

Peter Renister, the new arrival from the
city, who was barely out of his teens himself, let out a low
whistle.

“You looking for a honey pot to tend to?”
Frank asked. “There’s a whole honey wagon waiting in a secret shaft
in the tunnel.”

“Maybe,” Peter said with bravado.

“Well, seeing as you’re new and all, I’m
going to set you straight. That’s the boss’ oldest daughter,” Frank
explained. “She’s just girl, and she’s off limits.”

“And if you like your job and value your
life, you’ll remember that.” Les Ferguson said approaching the
crew, his voice eerily threatening.

Peter’s jaw dropped.

“Ah, good morning Les,” Frank said. “Working
with us today are you?”

Les glared at Frank. Then he turned and
looked at Christina and stared. He couldn’t take his eyes off
her.

“We’ve got another honey pot for you down the
shaft, if you’re man enough,” Frank said, attempting to break the
tension.

“Oh, I’m man enough,” Peter boasted. “I can
do the whole wagon.”

“John,” Frank called out to the foreman John
Cruickshank, “take Peter down to meet the honey pot, and leave him
alone with her for a while.”

“Okay,” John nodded. “Take the diamond drill
today Frank. I want you doing some core samples.”

Peter glanced at Frank and back at Les. Les
was still pre-occupied.

“It’s okay,” Frank assured him, “and John
will make sure your time is covered.”

As John led Peter down into the shaft, Frank
and the remaining men broke into laughter.

“I remember the day you met the honey,
Fitzpatrick,” an older man said. “You, a married man and all.”

The men laughed some more. It had been a
time-honoured ritual for the new man in the mine to be lured to the
charms of the honey pot, the not so affectionate nickname of the
toilet bucket.

The men reached for the candles to clip onto
their helmets, stuffing a few extra ones in their pockets. It gave
them the light they needed to work down the dark shafts. About five
minutes later, Peter came up the shaft carrying the honey pot as
far away from his body as he could. His sense of bravado had
vanished.

“Oh come on Peter, get closer to her,” Frank
shouted, causing more laughter.

The shift whistle blew, interrupting the
joviality and finally breaking Les’ concentration on the girl.

“What are you laughing at?” Ferguson asked.
He had been so obsessed with Christina that he was oblivious to the
conversation that had gone on around him.

“Give it a rest Les,” Frank said. “Come on
boys, let’s get to work.”

The men picked up their tools and headed into
the mine. Les made no effort to move as again, he stood and watched
Christina, assuming all the men had gone into the mine. However
Frank had an uneasy feeling about the whole situation and stayed
behind. Frank didn’t like the way Les was staring at Christina,
who, unaware of all the fuss, was still innocently waiting for her
friend.

“Is there something I can do for you Miss
Christina?” Les leered, noticing her young forming breasts from
beneath her school issued blouse.

“No,” Christina said, “my friend’s just a bit
late.”

“Well maybe you can spend some time with your
Uncle Les,” he sneered.

“You know Christina,” Frank said, his voice
causing Les to jump out of his skin, “I think maybe your friend
might be sick today. You’re going to be late, you should go on off
to school. Our whistle has gone off, which gives you about ten
minutes to get there.”

“Okay Mr. Fitzpatrick,” she said, thankful
for an excuse to leave.

“Knock it off Les,” Frank said, and turned
back towards the mine.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Les
sneered.

“I think I’m talking to a man who’s way out
of line. She’s well more than half your age. I don’t care if she’s
the boss' daughter, she’s just a child, and the way you’re looking
at her isn’t right.”

“She’s no child.” Les said. “Peter looked at
her. You all looked at her. You can see that she’s no child.”

“
She’s a pretty young thing Les, I’ll
grant you that.” Frank said. “But there’s a difference between
grown men acknowledging she’s a pretty young thing, making a few
good natured comments that she’ll never hear, and what ever is
going on in your head. You watch her every day. I’ve seen you.
We’ve all seen you. We see you looking at her from behind the shed.
We see you following her home. So I’m telling you straight, I don’t
care if you’re McMichael’s little henchman or not, if you ever lay
a hand on her we’ll find you. I will personally find you and make
you pay.”

“Oh, you think so?” he growled. “You better
watch your back Fitzpatrick, you’re a marked man. I’m going to
watch you. Any wrong move you make, McMichael is going to know
about. You so much as walk home with a drill bit in your pocket,
and he’s going to know about it. Your days are numbered here, I
promise you that.”

McMichael came from around the corner.

“Is there a problem here boys?” he asked.

“No sir,” Frank said. “Les was just telling
me I’d better get my ass down the shaft. I’m a few minutes late
sir, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

McMichael looked at Les.

“Good man Les,” he nodded. “Fitzpatrick, I
want to see you end of the day. Come straight to my office. I’m
going to hold your cheque, this being payday.”

McMichael walked off in the direction of his
office.

“What the hell does that mean?” Frank asked
Les.

“One Irishman to another?” Les mocked. “Have
a nice life.”

Frank spent the morning drilling for core
samples. The conversation with McMichael had unsettled him, a fact
that hadn’t gone unnoticed by John Cruickshank.

“Something wrong Frankie?” John asked.
“You’re not yourself today. The wheels in your head are turning,
but the drill’s going pretty slow.”

Frank told John about having to go to
McMichael’s office after work.

“You’re a good worker Frank, most days. I
wouldn’t worry too much about it. Tell you what, after lunch, I
want you on the widow maker with the new kid, Peter. Teach him how
use it. That’ll give you something different to focus on.”

John was referring to the wood drill that
weighed 300 pounds and took two people to move. The machine was
loud, and the old timers all became sick after years of use. They
developed silicosis, from breathing the tiny, sharp silica shards.
Silica is a common component of the earth’s crust, and the
fragments were released by the constant drilling. Over the years,
miners lungs had been known to become full of scar tissue from the
constant cuts, and in some cases, it had proved fatal, hence the
name of the drill. Peter turned out to be a good learner, taking
direction and keeping an eye for safety. Frank was happy to work
with him. His constant questions helped keep Frank’s mind off the
meeting he was destined to have later that day. At three o’clock,
John came around with the pay cheques and handed them out. All
except Frank’s.

“Sarah must have dropped yours,” John said,
offering an excuse to the men who had noticed Frank didn’t get one.
“You know how she is. She did that to me a few weeks back. Tell you
what, drop by the office and check, then come meet the boys and me
down at the tavern for a beer. The beer is on me if she can’t find
it.”

“Thanks John, I’ll do that,” Frank said, and
headed over to the mine office, his feet heavy with a sense of
dread.

“He’s waiting for you, go on in,” Sarah said
as Frank walked through the mine office door.

Frank found McMichael standing, waiting for
him just as Sarah had said.

“You wanted to see me?” Frank asked.

“What the hell was going on out there this
morning?”

“What do you mean?” Frank answered.

“You know what I mean.”

“Les was just on me to get back to work. The
whistle had gone, and I was a bit late like I said.”

“And…?”

“And?” Frank replied back.

McMichael took a calculated walk over to the
window and turned his back on Frank.

Frank wondered what McMichael wanted to know.
He couldn’t tell him about the conversation that had taken place
without fear of repercussion. McMichael and Ferguson were thick as
thieves, and he knew Ferguson would deny everything. Frank hoped by
being elusive, McMichael would eventually tire of him or fire him,
and be done with it.

But McMichael continued to say nothing. The
silence was gnawing at Frank.

“Les and I had a bit of an argument, a
personal matter, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” McMichael said, and then more
silence.

“Was Les out of line?” McMichael eventually
asked.

“I thought so, yes.”

“And did you set him straight?”

“Well,” Frank began, “that’s not so easy to
do. But yes, I had words with him if that’s what you’re asking.
Look, it’s not going to interfere with my work, if that’s what you
want to know.”

McMichael went to his cabinet and pulled out
two glasses.

“You like rye, Frank?”

“Yes sir. I’m normally a beer drinker, but
yes, I do like rye on occasion.”

“I think Canadian rye is the best rye there
is.”

“Yes sir,” Frank said.

McMichael poured two glasses.

“Sit down,” he said to Frank and motioned to
the seat in front of his desk. “I’m making this an occasion.”
McMichael took the seat behind.

“Frank,” McMichael began, “you are aware that
Les, from time to time, is called upon to do, let’s say, some extra
work for me. He has certain personality traits, including an
unscrupulous love of money that makes him the perfect man for the
job. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. He has no
conscience, which is why he’s so successful at what I call upon him
to do. People know he has the authority, my authority, to do these
things. And he gets a bonus, to carry out these things that I need
done.”

“Yes sir,” Frank said, sipping the rye. It
was smooth, obviously from McMichael’s private stock. He hadn’t had
rye straight up in years, but he could imagine acquiring a taste
for it.

“Well, I’d like to offer you a chance to make
a little more money.”

Frank looked nervously at the boss.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for that line of
work,” he replied. “I’ve got a wife to think about. I don’t think
she’d like me being an enforcer.”

“I didn’t know your wife was your boss,“
McMichael said. “I thought you were your own man.”

Frank took a drink and swallowed hard. His
male ego had just taken a beating. McMichael had seen him flinch
and took note for future reference. Frank’s wife might be Frank’s
Achilles heel, and that was always something worth knowing.

“Relax,” McMichael stated. “I don’t want you
to muscle in on people Frank, that’s not your style. I want to talk
to you about John Cruickshank. He’s going to retire soon. His
doctor says he has to. Throat problems. You’ve probably noticed him
coughing, wheezing, and basically getting tired really easily. Dr.
Van den Broek says he’s got six months, maybe a year to live if he
keeps working. So he’s out of here.”

Frank was shocked to hear this. John had
never let on he was sick.

“We’ll be looking into some new jack drills
that use air and water. They’re supposed to be a lot safer. They’re
being tested in the States now. If they work, we’ll get some. The
problem with silica is you can’t see it. You don’t know you’re
breathing it in. According to Dr. Van Den Broek, the silica gets
into the lungs and the body tries to fight it by building up scar
tissue. But the scar tissue doesn’t let the lungs stretch, and you
can’t breath in as much air as you need. It doesn’t happen over
night, they say it takes twenty some odd years before it gets
really bad. It’s too late for John, but it’ll give the newer guys
some time. Hopefully by then we’ll have some new protective gear,
like I said. John’s been working in this mine for over forty years.
The mine has been his life. His kids were born and raised here.
He’ll be moving back to the city at the end of the month.”