12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Oliver

By the time Oliver woke, it was nearly noon. He hadn't been able to fall asleep until three or four in the morning. For hours, he had tossed and turned, unable to move past the strangeness of the previous evening. Oliver couldn't understand what might have happened to make Floyd want to leave in such a hurry.

Normally, whenever the two of them needed to part for a while, Floyd liked to take his time before leaving. In the mornings, before Floyd left to see Josephine off to school, he liked to hold Oliver's face in his hands and plant tiny kisses over his cheeks and nose and forehead, as though he needed to provide Oliver with enough of them to last until they could be alone again. God, how he missed those kisses now. He hadn't even realized how much he had been treasuring them before they had been taken away. He hoped Floyd would still kiss him like that the next time they saw each other. Which, Oliver hoped, would be that very afternoon.

After washing up, Oliver cooked himself some eggs for breakfast. While they sizzled in the skillet, he prepared an extra strong batch of coffee. He couldn't wait to see Floyd again. Hopefully, spending time together would help Oliver see that he had been overthinking everything. Ever since waking, Oliver had been telling himself that Floyd was allowed to spend evenings with his family. Besides, it had been an especially long night. Dancing had been tiring. Chatting with the townsfolk had been tiring. Oliver could hardly blame him for wanting to have a proper night of rest before church in the morning. Everything was probably fine.

When the eggs were finished, Oliver scooped them onto a plate and practically inhaled them, his body pleading for the energy. As soon as the coffee was cool enough, Oliver chugged it down (mildly scorching his tongue in the process). He left the dishes on the counter to clean some other time. Now buzzing with nervous energy, Oliver shoved his arms into his blue suit jacket before throwing on his new blue fedora, and then he hurried over to Floyd's house.

Nearing Floyd's, Oliver could see Effie sitting outside on the porch on a rocking chair. Josephine was kneeling in front of the steps, sketching with a long stick. Oliver caught Effie's eye and waved. Effie waved back.

"Hi, Oliver," she called.

Josephine looked up and smiled. "Hi, Mister Oliver!" She hopped to her feet and rushed over. "Why didn't you sit with us in the pew today?"

"I slept late," Oliver said sheepishly. "I missed church altogether, I'm afraid."

Josephine's brow furrowed as though this was very upsetting news.

"I'm never allowed to miss church."

"Yes, well, I think it's probably best if you follow your parents, not someone like me."

Effie started down the steps. "Josephine, let's not pester Mister Oliver about church."

"Fine," Josephine sighed with a slight roll of her eyes.

"Where's Floyd?" Oliver asked as Effie approached.

"Napping. He couldn't sleep much last night for some reason."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," Oliver said, trying not to sound too bothered by the news.

"He fell asleep sitting in the pew this morning. Snored and everything 'til I woke him up."

Oliver wished he had witnessed the scene.

"I may have had something to do with it," Oliver admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Did something happen last night? I was surprised that he came back so early."

"I'm not really sure. I think I must have upset him somehow."

"Well, I'm sure you'll fix things soon enough."

"I hope so." Oliver cleared his throat. "I should probably head back home, then, if Floyd is asleep."

"You can stay if you want."

"Yeah?"

"Why not? I was thinking of making a skillet cake."

"Oh, but, uhm, I'm not sure I'd be much help with that. I haven't ever tried to make one before."

"All the better. I can teach you."

Her kindness was already helping him feel a bit better about the situation with Floyd. Surely Effie wouldn't want him to stay if Floyd had hinted that something was wrong with their relationship.

"I'd love that," Oliver said, a wonderful warmth spreading through his chest. He was so touched that she wanted to spend time with him.

Effie bent down to talk to Josephine. "I think enough time has passed since you tried to find the circus. If you'd like, you can play with William today."

Josephine's face lit up. "Really?!"

"Really."

Josephine made a funny squealing sound and started running off.

"Bye, Mama! Bye, Mister Oliver!"

"Bye, Josephine!" Oliver hollered back, now smiling again. He looked back at Effie. "Well, let's cook, then."

Together, Oliver and Effie walked back to the house. Then Effie took out everything they'd need—a skillet, a mixing bowl, a whisk, and a bunch of ingredients from the cupboards.

"Have you ever had applesauce cake before?" Effie asked, setting the applesauce on the counter.

"Can't say that I have."

"It's one of Floyd's favorites. Mine, too."

Oliver thought he'd better pay extra close attention, then.

Over the next half hour, Effie helped Oliver measure out the various ingredients, and then Oliver mixed them in the bowl. All the while, Oliver's whole body buzzed with happiness. It felt like Effie was really becoming his friend. How incredible it was! Oliver could hardly believe that in the span of a few months, he had not only found a boyfriend, but a few friends, too—Roy, with whom Oliver still liked to play pool sometimes; Effie, who seemed to enjoy playing chess with him; and Aunt Betty, with whom he had been corresponding through letters. Life in Rock Creek was so much better than life in Cleveland or New York had ever been.

While Oliver and Effie waited for the cake to finish cooking, the two of them started chatting about their childhoods, keeping their voices low so as not to wake Floyd.

Effie told a few stories about her life back in McDowell County, reminiscing about how she and Floyd had become friends. Apparently, their families had owned farms next to each other's, and so, it had been natural for them to play together. In their second year of school, Floyd had become friends with Matt. And then, of course, Effie had become friends with Matt, too.

"When the three of us became friends, there was a time when we all wanted to marry each other," Effie said, shaking her head and chuckling. "Ain't that something?"

Oliver smiled a little. "It is."

"But then, when we were eight or nine, Floyd came up to me one day and said, ‘Effie, I think I only want to marry Matt now. I hope you ain't mad.' I was a little hurt by it, but of course I never told Floyd that. Days later, I was still a little upset when Matt came up to me to ask the same thing, but about Floyd. I think that was the moment that I realized they were in love or something and so, I wasn't really bothered by them not wanting to marry me no more."

"In love? At nine?" Oliver asked, having trouble imagining such a strange occurrence.

"Yup, very," Effie said, as though this wasn't the most extraordinary thing in the world. "It was a child-like kind of love for a while, with them secretly pecking each other on the cheek on occasion and squabbling about marbles and fishing and other petty things, but that love never faded. It matured with them. Years later, when they were both working in the mines together, they were as in love as ever. Or probably more in love than ever."

"Wow, that's incredible," Oliver said. "Very romantic."

Why hadn't Floyd talked about Matt this much? Sure, Oliver had been a smidge upset over the fact that Matt had been more of Floyd's equal in the mines, but had Oliver's reaction really been enough to make Floyd feel like he couldn't ever talk about someone who had obviously been so important to him? Who still was important to him?

Effie's hand came to settle on Oliver's shoulder.

"Something wrong?"

"Uhm, not really, but..." Oliver sucked on his bottom lip for a few seconds, trying to work out how to phrase what he wanted to say. "Does Floyd ever talk about Matt with you?"

"Not much," Effie said, sadness in her voice. When Oliver looked over to meet her eyes, his chest tightened. It seemed like every ounce of her earlier happiness had vanished. He wanted to say that he was sorry for prying, but then Effie continued on. "Oh, Oliver, Matt's passing hurt Floyd so much. I never even know how to bring it up with him. When I try, he becomes so tight-lipped. I'm not sure if he's ever even let himself cry over it. I reckon that's my fault, in a way, because only a week or so after Matt's passing, I came to tell him that I was pregnant. We left for Rock Creek so fast and..." She let out a long sigh. "Life has been a whirlwind ever since. I mean, I know we've had time to ourselves once Jo is in bed, but I haven't ever pushed him to try to talk about Matt in earnest. We've certainly talked around Matt plenty, but..."

Oliver took Effie's free hand and squeezed it.

"Don't blame yourself, Effie. I can't even imagine how scary everything must have been for you back then. You had to focus on yourself. And on Jo."

Effie squeezed back before letting go.

"Thank you."

Both of them became lost in their thoughts as the cake finished cooking. Oliver's heart hurt for Floyd, but truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure how to help Floyd through his loss. He thought maybe he ought to try to bring Matt up himself, to encourage Floyd to talk about him again. Maybe that was what Floyd needed.

Oliver turned to Effie and asked, "Would you mind if I went to see Floyd? I know it's your bedroom and everything, so I completely understand if you're uncomfortable with it."

"Go ahead."

Oliver crept into the bedroom, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet as he shuffled across toward the bed and carefully sat on the edge of the mattress. Floyd only stirred. For a few moments, Oliver sat completely still, trying not to wake him. He wanted to admire Floyd for a little while—the way the side of his face was smushed into the pillow, the way some of his brown locks had fallen to cover his forehead, the stubble upon his chin—and then finally reached up to sweep the hair off his face. Floyd's eyes fluttered open.

"Ollie?" Floyd asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"I was making a cake with Effie, but I wanted to visit you."

Floyd hummed and said, "Applesauce cake?"

"Yeah," Oliver said softly.

"I like that one," he said through a yawn.

Oliver's smile broadened as Floyd turned and rubbed his face into the pillow before rolling back over to face him. Even with bags under his eyes and his hair a mess, Floyd was so handsome.

Oliver's stomach fluttered from nervousness as he readied himself to try to bring up Matt.

"While Effie and I were cooking, we, uhm, we talked about Matt a bit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Oliver reached for Floyd's hand, which was sticking out from beneath the thin brown blanket. "If you ever need someone to talk to about—"

"Nah, I'm... I'm fine, Ollie." Floyd let go of Oliver's hand and then started to stretch. "Actually, I want to be by myself for a bit. Just feeling so tired right now."

"Oh." Oliver's throat tightened. "Of course."

After placing a soft kiss on Floyd's forehead, Oliver left. Out of politeness, he stayed with Effie for a little while so that they could share some of the cake in the kitchen, but his mind was elsewhere.

Why was it that Floyd suddenly seemed so... so far away? Even though he was only one room over, Oliver felt as though there was a whole chasm between them. It had to be because of Matt. Or well, because of Floyd's feelings for Matt. Oliver had offered his ear. But Floyd hadn't seemed to want it.

If Floyd wouldn't talk about Matt, then what was Oliver supposed to do? Maybe Floyd had been keeping Oliver away on purpose ever since they had confessed their feelings for each other. Floyd still hadn't let him work with the explosives. Floyd still hadn't initiated more with Oliver in bed. And now...

No, Floyd wasn't pulling away, was he?

While Oliver munched on the cake, he tried to consider the possibility. If Floyd's love for Matt had been—or, hell, still was—one with the sort of passion and timelessness that could usually only be found in the most fantastical of storybooks, Oliver couldn't understand how he was ever supposed to compete. Whereas Floyd and Matt's love had been, from the sound of Effie's stories, as deep and everlasting as the earth's oceans, Floyd and Oliver's brief entanglement seemed, in comparison, as transient and shallow as a rain puddle. It made Oliver wonder when Floyd would tire of him. Because eventually, Floyd would realize that Oliver wasn't Matt and that he would never be Matt and, well, that would be that, wouldn't it?

Oliver set his fork back on the table.

"Effie, I think I'll head home. I'm feeling a bit tired myself."

"Alright, well, feel free to come back for some more cake later, if you want."

Oliver faked a smile. "Thank you."

Oliver walked home, kicking a rock as he traveled, each swipe of his foot sending it tumbling ahead on the path, creating little clouds of brown dust. His pant legs became messier with each step, the plumes of brown clinging to the fabric. Along the way, Oliver tried to tell himself that the slight transformation he sensed in Floyd was merely a trick of the mind—the result of his insecurities making him extra sensitive to even small changes in Floyd's behavior. He and Floyd were fine. Floyd was tired. Everyone felt tired sometimes.

By the time Oliver reached home, his muscles were completely spent from being so constantly tense. Weary and nervous and sad, Oliver collapsed onto the bed without even first removing his shoes.

***

One week later, Oliver was standing in front of Aunt Betty's house praying to whoever might listen that his relative would have some advice for him. Because Oliver had truly become lost. Over the week, Floyd had rejected every single invitation Oliver had extended for the two of them to spend time together without Effie and Jo present. Sure, the two of them still worked together, but Floyd went straight home once they were finished with their shifts. One time, Oliver had eaten supper with Floyd's family and even then, Floyd had been more reserved than ever, barely showing Oliver even the tiniest bit of care. It wasn't that Floyd had been unkind to him. No, Floyd was never unkind. He was still sweet, but that sweetness had been tempered for sure.

Somehow, Oliver must have messed everything up back at the summer party. He wasn't sure how, but it was clear to him now that Floyd's interest in romance had vanished—poof!—like magic. Oliver nearly smiled at the irony of that. Presenting Mister Oliver, Master Magician: he can make people's love for him disappear. God, he hoped Aunt Betty would have some wisdom to offer him. It wasn't as though Oliver could talk to anyone else. Roy? Effie? Not a chance.

Nervousness continued to percolate inside him, bubbling in Oliver's veins, causing him to fiddle with the buttons on his sleeves. Figuring that he'd better head inside before he inevitably ruined his suit, Oliver started up the walkway.

This time, when Aunt Betty answered, she seemed more pleasantly surprised than merely confused.

"Hello, Oliver," she said, the faintest hint of a smile on her face. "I thought I requested that you provide some notice when you wanted to visit next."

"Yes, I know, but it was a last-minute decision to come here. I need some... help." Oliver smiled meekly while Aunt Betty looked at him with skepticism. "May I come in?"

"You may, but I need a couple of minutes first."

"I can wait."

Aunt Betty closed the door. Five minutes later, she opened it again.

"Come in."

Oliver followed her to a small sitting room, and they both sat in chairs in front of an unlit fireplace. She had two small tumblers filled with what looked to be illegal brandy waiting for them. It was curious that she seemed not to have a servant. Oliver's own family had always had hired help—a nanny, a maid, and a woman who cooked and cleaned and helped out in various ways. Clearly, Aunt Betty had the money for servants. It seemed strange for her not to have one. But then, Aunt Betty had always been strange.

Oliver reached for his drink and took a couple of sips in rapid succession. He and Aunt Betty sat in a comfortable-enough-yet-still-a-bit-awkward silence for a few minutes.

Finally, Oliver said, "Do you remember that the last time I came here, I hinted that I might have been messing up my life?" Oliver asked. "Well, I'm pretty sure I've somehow managed to make everything even worse now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.

Even though her words were sweet, her tone seemed off. Cold, even. Even though Oliver tried to himself that he was imagining it, he couldn't help but wish for some kind of throw blanket to pull over his shoulders.

He continued, "Yes, well, now I'm confused as to what I'm supposed to do. I'm in a relationship with someone, but I'm worried I've messed up somehow because, over the last week, they've become so..." Oliver looked over to see that Aunt Betty was tapping her foot. Once again, he tried to ignore the potential hint that she was completely uninterested in hearing what he had to say. "Distant. I think my friend might not care for me the same way that I care for them."

"Mmm..." Pursing her lips, Aunt Betty looked at her tumbler. Oliver fidgeted in his seat while he waited for her to respond. "Well, I hope it works out."

God, her voice was practically dripping with disinterest. He hated this. She was talking to him as though it was a chore. It was how everyone had always talked to him. Everyone except for Floyd. And Effie. And Jo. Roy and John weren't bad either. Actually, most everyone in Rock Creek was fairly lovely. Why on earth was he trying to cultivate a relationship with this woman? Because she was family? Oliver supposed he should have seen this coming.

"Christ, why'd I have to mess everything up?" Oliver set his tumbler back on the table and stood. "And I shouldn't have come here. It's obvious how little you care." He started back toward the entryway, muttering, "No one in our family has ever cared for me. I have no idea why I thought you'd be any different."

He took another two steps before Aunt Betty spoke again.

"Oliver," she called out. "I'm sorry."

He stopped and waited.

She continued, "Long ago, I told myself I wouldn't ever put myself in a position to be pushed around by one of our family members ever again. So, yes, I was set on keeping our relationship fairly superficial, but Oliver, I seem to have forgotten that you left, too. I think that merits a second chance."

"I'm not either of your brothers. I promise."

"You're right." She gestured to the empty chair beside her. "Sit."

So Oliver sat. Aunt Betty studied his face for a few seconds before setting her tumbler on the side table.

"Alright, Oliver, I'd be happy to try to offer you some wisdom if I can," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "Tell me a bit more about this woman you're seeing and what happened that may have caused her to start pushing you away."

"I think they might have realized that I'm not... enough."

"Not enough?" Aunt Betty asked with a slight tilt of her head.

"Not when compared to his—" Oliver sucked in a breath, his eyes widening in horror before he clapped a hand over his mouth. "Fuck," he cursed, the swear word muffed by his palm.

Surprisingly, Aunt Betty's expression remained relatively stoic—her mouth a straight line, eyes boring into him. Oliver was too scared to even move. Damn, she would probably throw him out of her house as soon as she found her voice.

Instead, Aunt Betty raised both her eyebrows and said, "His?"

Oliver swallowed thickly as he tried to recover.

"Come on, be... be scandalized," he managed to say. "I know you're probably struggling to hide your shock and awe. Not, you know, the happy kind, either."

With a shrug, Aunt Betty said, "I'm not scandalized."

Oliver crooked a suspicious eyebrow. "Why not?"

Aunt Betty pursed her lips ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes flitted over to the stairwell outside the room.

"Do you know why I left New York?" she asked, looking over at Oliver again.

Oliver shook his head. "No. Not that I haven't wondered."

"Tell me, why'd you choose Rock Creek?"

"Well, uhm, I knew that you lived in Charleston, and I knew that our family friend Frederick Donohue owned the town so—"

"I'm not sure if you remember this, but I was supposed to marry Frederick."

Oliver's mouth fell open.

"Oh my God," he said. "No, I hadn't remembered, but now... wow, I can't believe I had forgotten."

"Well, you were young. I can hardly blame you for not being interested in learning who one of your relatives was supposed to marry," she said with a wave of her hand. "Obviously, that never came to be. I fell in love with Mary, Frederick's sister. Our families tried to keep us apart. You may remember that I came to New York for a little while. Meanwhile, Frederick was upset with his parents for how they reacted, and he left for West Virginia, taking Mary with him. Mary and I kept writing to each other. I wrote to Frederick, too. It wasn't long before he felt secure enough in his business to help Mary and I start our life here."

Oliver took off his hat, raked a hand through his hair, and put his hat back on again. He was so stunned he nearly repeated the nervous tick a second time.

"I can't believe it," he said after a moment.

"So, you see, you having a relationship with a man isn't so scandalous to me."

"Wow, I..." It felt as though Oliver's tongue had become knotted in his mouth, preventing him from forming normal sentences. Aunt Betty had fallen for a woman! No wonder she had run from the family. "I'm so sorry you had to run."

"Yes, well, I have my own little family here. Mary and Frederick and James."

"And me?"

She smiled warmly. "And you."

"I wish I could explain how much that means to me."

"I know how much it means to you," Aunt Betty said. "Remember, I'm an Astor, too."

"Yes, that's true," Oliver said before heaving a sigh. "I thought I had created a little family, too, but... God, I'm so worried I'll lose Floyd."

"Floyd is the name of the man you're seeing?"

"Right."

"Did you try to talk to him about how you feel?"

"Not . . . yet."

"I think that might be a sensible first step, then," she said with a playful look in her eye, one that suggested that she was teasing him a little. Oliver huffed a laugh. Aunt Betty had teased him! What a strange visit this was.

"Yes, well, I can try, but I haven't been able to convince him to spend time alone with me for the last week or so. Not that I let him know how important I think it is or anything, but..." Aunt Betty raised an eyebrow in response to what he had said, making Oliver feel a tiny bit foolish. He supposed that maybe he had been too busy catastrophizing to make a real effort to talk to Floyd about the changes he had sensed in their relationship. Maybe Floyd really had only been missing his family. Oliver threw his head back and sighed very loudly. What a nincompoop he was! "Alright, maybe things aren't that bad. Or maybe they are?"

"But you aren't sure."

"No, I'm not. It's... well, we were spending so much time together and then, suddenly, it stopped. We still see each other in the mines—he's my butty, which is like a mining partner—and we still talk and laugh and everything, but you know, we're basically always in public. I can't kiss him in public. I can't try to have some kind of lengthy, intimate conversation while we're shoveling coal. Fuck, I need to try to talk to him. Maybe tomorrow. Once we're through with work, I'll... I'll tell him that it's important. Maybe everything is fine between us."

"I hope it's nothing," Aunt Betty agreed.

"Do you mind if we chat for a little while longer? Take my mind off everything temporarily?"

"Not in the least," Aunt Betty said. "But... would you like to meet Mary?"

"Really?" Oliver asked, lifting a hand to his chest. "I'd love to."

Aunt Betty excused herself and left for the stairs. Oliver picked his nails nervously while he waited for her to return. Glancing around the room, Oliver caught sight of himself in the mirror and his eyes found his beautiful blue fedora—the one Floyd had purchased for him. Even though Oliver was terrified of Floyd's potential rejection—petrified that the man with whom he had fallen in love would tell him that he simply couldn't love him back—Oliver knew he had to confront him about the recent changes in their relationship. But, God, how he hoped Floyd loved him, too.

Floyd had awoken something in him, something that he had never felt before, something he hadn't even thought he was capable of feeling. For years, Oliver had read Shakespeare and Austen and Tolstoy and so many other writers, finishing (or, well, nearly finishing) each love story only to be left wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Love? Romance? What in God's name were those? He may as well have been reading a foreign language. But Floyd—Floyd was his Goddamned Rosetta Stone. And now Oliver understood love and passion and romance and, fuck, how could he ever live life without them again? He could move one thousand miles away and part of him—maybe even the most important part of him—would still be back in West Virginia with Floyd.

He had to try to make Floyd see that they belonged together. Oliver wasn't Matt, but...

But maybe he was enough.

***

While Oliver took the coal elevator into the mine the following morning, his stomach started rolling like he might throw up. In only a few hours, Oliver would press Floyd to talk. And then he would know the truth. God, it was terrifying to be vulnerable like this, to know Floyd was holding Oliver's heart in his hands.

Floyd was waiting for Oliver by the brass board.

"Hey, you," Oliver said with as much tenderness as he could muster, hoping he could somehow silently communicate the word "sweetheart" in public.

"Hey, Ollie," Floyd said with a sigh, one that maybe suggested that he was tired of Oliver's presence already.

Jesus.

"Uhm..." Oliver swallowed, pushing past the feeling of unease. Maybe, before they talked, Oliver could try to remind Floyd of his commitment to their relationship. And his commitment to Rock Creek, too. He could show Floyd how far he had come. "Do you think you could show me how to work with the black powder today?"

"Ollie—"

"Please," Oliver begged. "I want to try. Let me try."

Floyd rubbed his chin in that way he always did when he was thinking something over.

"Yeah, you can try."

Oliver let out a breath, relief washing over him. Even though this offer would have probably seemed inconsequential to others, Oliver knew how important this was. Until now, Floyd had been so resistant to Oliver working with the black powder. Oliver could hardly believe that Floyd had finally relented. He had to be careful not to let Floyd down.

After they reached their workstation, Floyd let Oliver make the holes in the coal seam, and once Oliver was finished, Floyd showed him how to roll the black powder into the paper cartridge before helping him insert the copper needle. Oliver's hands shook the entire time. Even though Floyd must have noticed, he never let on, neglecting to offer even one word of comfort or encouragement, which was so completely unlike him that Oliver had to bury the urge to cry.

Later, once the needle had been removed and the fuse had been set, Floyd let Oliver be the one to call out "fire in the hole!" three times and then light it. He and Floyd took cover. Ears covered, Oliver braced himself for the blast, every single second seeming to stretch on into eternity. He couldn't wait for it to be over, like maybe the blast would not only obliterate the coal wall, but whatever barrier Floyd had erected between them, too.

BANG!

After the smoke cleared, Oliver looked to Floyd for approval.

All Floyd said was, "Well, then, time to shovel."

He walked away, leaving Oliver by himself in the darkness, save for the light of his own headlamp. For a few painful seconds, Oliver considered leaving. He wondered why he was bothering to fight for what they had—or what they had once had—when Floyd clearly wasn't willing to do the same. He wondered how and why he would ever fight alone.

But then, when Oliver looked over at Floyd, Floyd paused his shoveling and looked back at him, and thanks to the focused light of Oliver's headlamp, Floyd was the only thing Oliver could see in the darkness. And, Christ, he was beautiful. He was standing there, illuminated, his small smile shining like a beacon of hope. Oliver's breath caught. He knew, then, that he couldn't stop fighting for their relationship. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

"What are you waiting for?" Floyd asked, sounding a little like his old self again. "Come help me with this."

"Sorry," Oliver said, walking over. He came next to Floyd and leaned in close, heart hammering, unsure how Floyd would react to what he was about to say because who the hell knew what had been running through the man's mind for the past week. "Guess I lost myself in you."

"Yeah," Floyd said, his sweet smile broadening the tiniest bit. "I know how that is."

Just like that, everything seemed perfect again.

Their lovesick stares were broken by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hey, Floyd. Hey, Oliver," Roy said, John following close behind.

"Hey," Oliver said, scooping up his first shovel's worth of coal.

Roy asked, "Did you hear what happened over by the county line?"

"No, what?" Floyd asked back.

"Some of the union miners from outside of Charleston were marching over here."

Oliver's stomach seized. Jesus, not now, not when it seemed like he and Floyd were finally mending their bond. Wasn't there a better time for Roy and John to spread this news? Or, well, maybe not considering the subject matter. Underground, they were out of earshot from the folks who might have been Chafin's spies. Still, the timing was terrible. Couldn't they talk about this tomorrow?

"Over to Logan?" Floyd asked.

"Yup."

"Why?"

Roy rocked back on his heels. "Well, I heard they were trying to free them strikers who're behind bars in Mingo County, but first, they thought they'd hang Chafin, probably because they'd have had to cut through our county to reach the poor miners over there, anyway."

" Hang him?! " Floyd spluttered.

"Yup," Roy said with a shrug. "I'd have probably helped if I had known sooner."

Floyd shook his head in bewilderment. "What happened?"

Meanwhile, Oliver's stomach was in knots. Hopefully, Donohue Coal and Steel wouldn't be impacted by this. Floyd had made it crystal fucking clear that he'd more or less implode if faced with some kind of change for his family.

"Chafin stopped 'em. Of course."

John chimed in. "Roy's making it sound easy, but our fellow miners put up a struggle."

"Oh yeah, there was a huge battle."

Oliver couldn't hold back a scoff. "Battle?!"

Roy nodded. "Yup. People shooting at each other and everything."

"I heard Chafin's recruits had even set up machine guns," John said.

"Where'd this happen?" Oliver asked.

Roy clicked his tongue before answering, "Over at Blair Mountain. Not sure if you've been there yet. It's a mountain ridge between Boone and Logan Counties."

"People are saying that Chafin even had bi-planes. Dropped bombs on people."

"God, that's horrible," Oliver said.

"Yep. Federal troops came, though, and put a stop to everything," Roy said. "I wonder if them miners'll try again. Heck, I reckon I'd fight, too. Everybody in Rock Creek ought to."

Oliver opened his mouth to say something—something about how every single miner everywhere deserved better—but then he caught sight of Floyd.

Poor Floyd was standing there completely frozen, staring off into the nearest tunnel. While Roy and John kept up their back-and-forth, Oliver continued to watch Floyd, and only seconds later, he realized that Floyd's hands had started to tremble.

Oliver knew he'd better shoo Roy and John away before they noticed, too. Damn. Floyd was probably worried that his family might have to leave—leave the coal company, leave the coal industry, or hell, even leave West Virginia.

Oliver spoke up. "Uhm, say fellas, we have a lot more coal to shovel. We've barely even started filling our car. Do you think we could chat about this a little later?"

"Yeah, sure," Roy said. "We ought to find our butties anyway, but we thought you'd want to hear the news."

"Definitely," Oliver said through a strained smile. "Thank you for always taking the time to relay information from your relatives, Roy. Lord knows Donohue wouldn't want us miners knowing about the struggle."

Luckily, Oliver's comment must have seemed sincere enough because Roy and John left after they had exchanged a few parting words. Floyd waved to them half-heartedly as they left for one of the other tunnels. Once Roy and John were out of sight, Floyd flung his shovel to the side and placed his hands flat against the rocky black wall, finally surrendering to whatever it was that he was feeling. Oliver rushed over, throwing his shovel off to the side, too, and placed a hand on Floyd's back.

"I'd put money on the UMWA not taking hold in West Virginia now," Oliver said, trying to be encouraging. "I wouldn't worry too much, Floyd. I can't imagine that there will be future unrest here in Logan. I mean, hell, federal troops were involved!" Oliver started moving his hand in small circles, hoping it would provide some comfort, though he wished he could be more openly affectionate. "I'm sure your family is safe. I'm sure your life is safe. I wouldn't think anything would change because of—"

"Ollie..." Floyd choked out, flexing his fingers and pressing into the black rocks. Oliver winced. "I can't listen to none of this right now. I can't stand here listening to you trying to make me feel better with these kind-sounding words." He turned to face Oliver, hurt in his eyes. "Not when I know how you really feel."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend you wouldn't want the UMWA coming here, changing things. I still catch them little comments of yours, the ones about the coal company cheating us."

"What, me pointing out that the price of corn at the company store is three cents higher than it is in the city?" Oliver asked, fighting to keep the frustration from his voice.

Why in God's name was Floyd trying to pick a fight right now? Oliver had been trying to help him feel better!

"What's the point of saying something like that?" Floyd asked.

"What do you mean, ‘what's the point?' It's a fact!" Oliver spat, unable to contain his fast-rising temper. "Floyd, why are you picking a fight? Why are you pushing me away?"

Floyd bent over to pick up his shovel, but before he could scoop up even one shovel's worth of coal, Oliver snatched it from him and threw it aside.

"Talk to me!" Oliver shouted.

"Not now, Ollie," Floyd said curtly, pushing past him to retrieve his shovel again.

Oliver hurried ahead to block him.

"What the hell happened over the last week, Floyd?"

"Nothing."

"You were barely yourself with me!" Oliver yelled, fury and sadness swirling inside him, making his voice shake. "And now you're pushing me away!"

"What are you talking about? No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are! Can you really not see it?!" Oliver yelled, and Floyd's only response was to curl his lip. "It's about Matt, isn't it? You're mad because I'm not Matt."

"Ollie, that's enough," Floyd snarled.

"Matt is dead , Floyd! Jesus Christ, why am I being forced to compete with someone who will never be anything less than perfect in your eyes? Matt can't ever mess up because Matt isn't here! But I am ! And, God, I am fucking trying to be with you . I'm trying to be... to be perfect for you!" Oliver felt a tear roll down his cheek and quickly wiped it away. "I am in love with you, sweetheart! I am here and I am alive and I am in love with you." Another couple of tears escaped. "And I think you love me, too."

Covering his mouth with his hand, Floyd turned away. Oliver could tell that he was fighting to hold something back—whether crying or yelling, Oliver wasn't sure.

More tears tumbled down Oliver's cheeks. He let them. He let them because they kept coming, one after another, and there wasn't any point in trying to hide them anymore.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, Oliver stepped forward and said, "Floyd, sweetheart, please stop pushing me away."

After a moment, Floyd turned to face him, tears in his bright blue eyes.

"I need you to leave."

"What?"

"I can't . . . I can't . . ."

"Sweetheart, please—"

"Go home, Ollie."

Oliver wondered what exactly Floyd meant by that.

Floyd turned to pick up his shovel. Oliver stood frozen for a few seconds, still trying to accept what Floyd had said.

And what Floyd hadn't said.

After retrieving his pickaxe and shovel, Oliver started down the corridor. Fuck. Floyd was hurting. Oliver knew he was hurting. Why wouldn't he let Oliver comfort him? Why was he putting up these Goddamn walls?

When Oliver reached the elevator, he froze, Floyd's words echoing in his mind. Go home, Ollie. Christ, that would be the easier route, wouldn't it? Head home. Hell, head back to New York. Embrace the future that was supposed to have been his and forget Rock Creek had ever happened. But...

But Oliver loved Floyd.

Leaning against the wall, Oliver let out a sigh. Maybe Floyd would come around. Maybe once he had some time to himself, he would want them to make up, like he had wanted them to make up after they'd had the fight in the music store.

Oliver called over to the boy manning the elevator.

"Do you know Floyd Bennett?"

He tilted his head a bit. "Maybe?"

"Huge man. Taller than I am, even. But broader, too. Strong as a, well, as a mule. Stubborn as one, too. With brown hair and blue eyes." Oliver scrunched up his nose when he realized that the boy wouldn't be able to see Floyd's hair color or eye color very well here in the mine. He shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out every bit of scrip he had in there. "Here," he said, handing the boy the money. "I need to know when he's leaving. Try your best to spot him. Ask men their names when they leave, maybe. If you find him, I want you to tell him to wait for me up near the entrance and then I want you to come and find me. I think I'll be sorting coal. Not my favorite thing, but..." Oliver shrugged. "What do you think? Can you help me?"

Eyes wide with what looked to be a mild form of shock, probably because Oliver had shoved the equivalent of seven or eight bucks in his hands, the boy nodded furiously.

"Yes, sir!"

"Good."

Oliver turned to find the breaker room. Once he was there, the kid-boss turned to him, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Why're you back?" he asked.

"Just am," Oliver answered with a shrug. "Mind if I sit for a while?"

"Not as long as you're working."

"Yeah, I'll work."

So, Oliver sat. Hours ticked by, and Oliver continued to help sort the coal. Every time he cut his hands on the slate, his eyes teared up embarrassingly and he thought about heading home. But he wasn't so sure where that was anymore.

Shortly before four, the kid-boss approached him.

"Are you fast?" he asked.

"I have long legs," Oliver answered.

"Good enough. We need someone to help Billy."

"Floyd's old butty?"

"He's one of our spraggers. He usually works with Chester, but Chester had to leave. Must be sick or something. He was throwing up everywhere."

"Oh," Oliver said, making a sour face. "So, you want someone to be a spragger?"

"If you can. Everyone else in here's too young. They'd probably be slow. Get their fingers shorn off."

"Yikes." Oliver stood up. "Just tell me what to do. I'm sure I can manage it."

"Good."

The kid-boss led Oliver over to Billy, who explained to him how spragging worked. Apparently, he and Oliver would need to shove some long pieces of wood—called sprags, incidentally—through the wheels of the approaching coal cars, which would in turn slow the cars. It seemed simple enough. He had already had a vague sense of the task but had never seen the spraggers in action before. Typically, he and Floyd hooked their car up to some other cars when they were finished, and then they rode the elevator up the mine shaft, where they'd find their car again so it could be weighed. It would be interesting to see the entire process. Hopefully, Floyd would be impressed by Oliver's willingness to learn more about the mines. He tried to see this as one more way to prove to Floyd that he was really committed to their life here.

Oliver's first two attempts at spragging went rather well. Even though the cars were fast, Oliver's height worked to his advantage, at least in this particular area of the mine, where the ceilings weren't too low. He'd never be able to help in some of the more challenging areas. But that wasn't what was needed, for now.

But then, on Oliver's third attempt, he missed one of the wheels, nearly injuring himself when he tried to insert the sprag. Determined to fix it, Oliver snatched another wooden piece from the pile and bolted ahead toward the car, which had started rolling faster.

"Forget it!" Billy called.

Oliver ignored him. He could do this. He knew he could.

Coming up alongside the car, Oliver tried once more. Not only did Oliver miss inserting the sprag, but he tripped over his own two feet and slammed into the car, hurting his shoulder and nearly falling onto the Goddamn track. When Oliver looked up, the car was practically flying. It was traveling much, much too fast. Oliver could sense that it was at risk of toppling over. He bounded forward, unsure what he would even try to do, because how could you slow a car that weighed over one hundred tons?

Just as Oliver came close to the car, it hopped over the track.

"Shit!" Oliver yelled, stumbling backward, only barely dodging the car as it careened into the wall.

Sure enough, it toppled, and coal dumped out onto the floor.

Seconds later, Billy came up beside him.

"Jeez, Mister, you nearly got yourself crushed to death."

"I realize that," Oliver said. "So, what happens now?"

"Well, we can try to shovel it into a new car, but I think whoever's car that was will probably be real mad on account of having to wait for the weighing."

"God, the two of us shoveling? We'll be here for hours."

"Probably."

"What if..." Oliver fished around in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. He handed it to Billy. "Here. Can you ensure that makes its way to whoever's car that was? And..." He took out a five. "You can have that. I'm sorry I wasn't a very helpful spragger."

"It ain't scrip," the boy said. "How do I spend it?"

"Just take it to the company store and tell Charlie he can yell at me later."

Oliver moved to slide his wallet back into his pocket and winced. Fuck, he had really messed up his shoulder. Now that the excitement of the whole ordeal had passed, tremors of pain were rippling up and down the length of his arm. He wondered how he'd even manage to work tomorrow.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Billy asked.

"Yeah," Oliver said, sucking in a breath. "But I'll be alright."

"Should we still shovel the coal?"

"Just leave it. I'll talk to Frederick or whoever I need to."

"Who's Frederick?"

"You know, Frederick," Oliver repeated before coming to his senses. "Donohue."

"You know him?"

"Old family friend."

Billy wrinkled his nose. Oliver understood the sentiment.

"Well, I think I'll head home," Oliver said. "It has been a really challenging day."

"Alright," Billy said. "See you tomorrow, Mister."

"Call me Oliver," he said. "And yes, I'll see you tomorrow, Billy."

Oliver walked back to the elevator. He found the boy he had been talking to earlier.

"Did you see Floyd?" Oliver asked, his voice weary.

"Not yet."

"Alright, well, you can forget it, then. God, Floyd had wanted me to leave in the first place. I should have left right then and there. I should have listened!"

"Can I keep the scrip?" he asked.

"What?" Oliver blurted out, his mind foggy from pain. "Oh. Yes. Keep it. Sorry for the trouble."

Once Oliver returned to the surface, he started for home, the soreness in his shoulder torturing him with every step.