2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Oliver

Oliver woke up late. Well, not late, really, but much later than he had intended for his first shift at the mines. Glancing at his watch, Oliver supposed he could still make it to work on time if he left without eating breakfast. But that wouldn't be smart, would it? He needed the energy. Especially since he hadn't ever worked before. Helping his father with finances barely constituted a job. Not when compared to something like coal mining, anyway.

Sitting up, Oliver stretched his arms over his head and looked around the bedroom—mostly bare, save for the full-size bed, a small desk, an empty bookcase (which he had every intent of filling sooner or later, even if it required a couple of trips to Charleston), and half of his luggage (the other half was still piled up in the main room).

As Oliver walked to the living space, he remembered that he'd have to venture outside to relieve himself. He'd had indoor plumbing back in New York City, but there weren't many homes like that in Rock Creek. Well, even if his home was lacking in plumbing, it was still probably better than the boarding house. Good thing James Donohue was a businessman. Oliver hadn't been able to reach Frederick, but James had been able to be convinced, with the help of a bit of money, to follow Oliver back to the company store and have Charlie set him up in one of the recently vacant single-family homes.

After Oliver finished relieving himself, he fetched some water from the water pump to wash up in the basin and then changed into what would have to be his temporary work clothes—an old pair of tan slacks and his least favorite button-up shirt.

Even though Oliver had remembered to buy everything else he'd need for his first shift—blasting caps and powder, a pickaxe, an oil lamp, and a shovel—he had forgotten to purchase more suitable work clothing. He'd have to visit the company store later to find a pair of overalls, maybe, and some better work boots. He still had plenty of money left. Too much, probably, for him to need to be a miner, but he liked the idea of earning money for a change. Coal mining would be such an adventure, too. And Rock Creek was the perfect place for him to try it. Since the town was unincorporated, his parents would have a harder time ever finding him. God, he couldn't stomach the thought of his father someday contacting him, only to shame him for not wanting to follow in his footsteps.

After eating a simple breakfast of puffed rice cereal—sans milk—Oliver packed up his work tools and headed toward the mine. During his short walk, Oliver tried to enjoy the wildflowers—sporadic patches of blueish-purple flowers and bright yellow ones behind the rows of houses.

Unfortunately, Oliver's pleasant walk was followed by a very unpleasant elevator ride into the mine. God, the shaking was scary. During the descent, Oliver kept wondering if it was safe. When Oliver reached the bottom, he was surprised to see that no one else was around. Well, no one except for a boy who was manning the tunnel entrance, one who couldn't have been more than ten, which was kind of strange. Wasn't the legal working age fourteen? Or maybe thirteen? Whatever it was, it sure as hell couldn't have been ten . Oliver put on his friendliest smile and approached the boy, who was eyeing him with suspicion.

"Hi," Oliver said, feeling woefully unprepared for this interaction. "I thought I might find a fellow miner or two out here, but it seems like everyone is already hard at work. Not that you aren't a miner, too, of course. Shit. Sorry."

"You ain't one of Chafin's men, are you?"

"Who?"

"Good," the boy said, seemingly satisfied with Oliver's non-answer. "You need to take your tab off the brass board."

"Tab?" Oliver asked before suddenly remembering. "Oh!" Frederick had mentioned the brass board when Oliver had eaten lunch with him in Charleston. Oliver tried to remember his number. One hundred thirteen? Thirteen was a fairly unfortunate number to have been assigned, especially since Oliver knew he'd need all the luck he could find to make a life for himself out here, but hopefully the "one hundred" would make the "thirteen" matter less. He walked over to the board and found the hook with brass circles numbered 113, but for some reason, there were two little tabs, not one. He walked back over to the entrance. "Why are there two?"

When the boy subsequently smacked his forehead head with his palm, Oliver realized what a monumentally na?ve question that must have been.

"Before you head inside, you take one tab with you. When you come back, you match it with its twin."

"Oh, I see. Clever. Gotta keep tabs on everyone."

Silence.

Feeling a little silly for what had apparently been a misplaced attempt at humor, Oliver walked back to the brass board, took his tab, and shoved it into his pocket. After the boy opened the door, Oliver crept inside. Anxious excitement buzzed beneath his skin. As soon as it shut behind him, he realized that he had no idea where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to do. Hopefully, he could find someone who would be willing to show him the ropes.

Touching one hand to his shoulder strap to reassure himself that his pack was still present, Oliver started down the corridor. It was fascinating the way it was laid out like a little city. Some roads were wider than others, some branched off in one direction only to circle back to the main avenue, and some were occupied while others were empty. Oliver passed several men who were hard at work shoveling coal into cars, which looked like something he would be capable of, even on his first morning, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to try to talk to them.

Remembering how helpful that man Floyd had been the previous evening, Oliver tried to find him instead, but even after a half hour of searching, he wasn't able to.

Determined not to be completely useless, Oliver continued to traverse the underground city, exploring the various caverns and corridors, all the while trying to find someone who could teach him how and where to extract the coal. He wondered when everyone else had learned. Perhaps as children?

The thought entered Oliver's mind like a revelation. Children! Back at the entrance, the boy manning the door had been helpful (though a bit of a bastard about it). Maybe there were other children working in the mines, too. Oliver felt a little nauseated thinking about that. Mining wasn't exactly safe. He hoped none of the children were ever forced to participate in tasks that could lead to serious bodily harm.

After a moment, Oliver forced himself not to linger on those thoughts. He needed to fit in here, not criticize these people.

Holding tight to the horrible hope that other children might be working somewhere, Oliver continued to search. Sure enough, Oliver soon came across a whole room filled with children, most of whom looked to be between eight and twelve, seated on wooden benches near the coal chutes, their legs stuck inside piles of coal. One of the oldest boys was walking between the rows. He seemed to have some kind of authority.

"Hello," Oliver said, coming closer. "I'm new." He paused to consider if it would be possible for him to say what he needed to say without sounding completely inept. Probably not. "And I have no idea how to mine coal yet. You see, it was kind of impromptu, me moving here, and, well, I think Frederick—the, uh, coal company operator—only hired me because... well, probably because he thought that I'd lost my mind and, so, you know, maybe he felt sorry for me. Or maybe he thought it would be funny if I failed. I paid his son James, too, which I realize now sounds pretty strange, because you're not supposed to pay your employer, are you? But uhm..." The boy was looking at Oliver like he had sprouted an extra head. He'd better jump to the point. "Anyway, I want to be useful while I'm waiting for someone to show me what I need to do in there. Maybe I can work here for now instead? Do you need some help?"

"Can you sort coal?"

"Probably," Oliver answered. "Uhm, how, though?"

"Just make sure you remove the rocks and slate and such. Break up some of the larger chunks, too."

Oliver answered with more confidence than he actually possessed. "I can do that."

When Oliver sat at one of the benches, it was immediately apparent to him that he was much too large for the spot. In order to reach the coal, he had to hunch over in a ridiculous way. Besides that, his knees were sticking out far enough to intrude on the spaces of the boys beside him. He probably looked very silly. Worse, he would probably be uncomfortable soon. Oh well.

For the next couple of minutes, Oliver watched the boy next to him. He came to the conclusion that he could, in fact, sort coal. It looked easy enough.

Within the hour, Oliver realized he had been mistaken.

It wasn't that the task was particularly complicated, but holy hell, was it tiring. Not only tiring, but painful, too. By lunchtime, Oliver's hands were completely cut up, his fingers swollen, his skin a fiery red. He supposed this was why most boys had been wearing gloves.

When it was finally time for a break, Oliver realized that in his morning haste, he had completely forgotten to pack something to eat. He wondered what the other miners even brought with them to the coal fields. Back in New York, Oliver's favorite lunch had been pineapple upside-down cake, which his mother liked to have their cook bake every couple of weeks. Remembering the tangy-sweet taste was making his mouth water.

Deciding that it might be best to head home early, Oliver left the mine. At the surface, he spotted Floyd sitting in the shade of a sugar maple with two other men. Before Oliver could figure out whether or not he wanted to approach, Floyd laughed a big, boisterous laugh, one that was so enthusiastic Oliver found himself smiling a little. Yes, he would try.

When Oliver reached the edge of the tree shade, Floyd looked over and the two of them locked eyes. Oliver found himself admiring the way that the light sparkled in Floyd's baby blues.

"Hello," Oliver said. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"We're finishing up, but I can stay and keep you company while you eat your lunch," Floyd said.

Oliver let out a little puff of air. "Well, funny thing, I forgot to bring one."

"Do you want the last bites of my sandwich?" Floyd offered.

One of the other miners spoke up, too. "I ain't eating the rest of my strawberries. You can have 'em if you want."

"Thank you," Oliver said, the rush of gratitude making his chest swell as he settled next to them. "That's very kind of you." He held out his hand to the middle-aged man who had offered him the fruit. "I'm Oliver."

"Roy Johnson."

When Roy took Oliver's hand, a tiny zip of pain shot up the length of Oliver's arm, causing him to wince, though he tried his best to hide it behind a smile.

As soon as Oliver released Roy's hand, the other miner offered his. At least Oliver would be prepared for the sting this time.

"John Straub."

"Nice to meet you."

Oliver couldn't stop himself from looking longingly at the ripe red fruit resting on a cloth at the bottom of Roy's copper-colored lunch pail. Roy scooped up the cloth, folded it closed, and handed it to Oliver.

"Strawberries are my favorite," Oliver said, hoping to communicate how thankful he was, except, as usual, he couldn't seem to stop himself from babbling. "Or boysenberries. Or blueberries. All fruit is delicious, really. Except pears." He suddenly became worried he might have inadvertently insulted one of the others. "I'm not trying to offend anyone who likes pears, of course. I'm sure it's only me who thinks they're terrible."

Everyone laughed. Oliver forced a laugh, too, though he was worried about whether or not these men found him funny in a ha-ha way or funny in a wow, take a look at this fellow kind of way. Embarrassed by his rambling, Oliver started on the strawberries.

"We'll see you inside, Floyd," Roy said, turning to leave.

Floyd responded with a wave and then reached for the scraps of his sandwich.

"I only eat the crust if I skip breakfast," Floyd explained, placing the pieces on the cloth next to the strawberries. "Don't tell Effie. She'll poke fun of me for it. I like to throw the leftovers to Roy's pigs on the way home."

"Is Effie your wife?"

"Yup, she is."

"How long have you been married?"

"Almost eight years."

"I can't even commit to a favorite fruit, and you've been married for eight years."

"You were plenty certain about your least favorite."

"Oh, I have no trouble identifying things I don't like," Oliver said. "I only have trouble figuring out what I do like. I've always been that way." He tossed the strawberry stem into the bushes. "I'm sorry if you enjoy pears, by the way. Right after I said they were terrible, I realized that I probably sounded like an ass."

"Mmm, a little."

"I think I came across that way yesterday, too. At the store, I mean, when I was looking at hats."

"Yeah, you did," Floyd confirmed, though he shrugged like he wasn't bothered by it.

Oliver was surprised that even though Floyd was agreeing with him so readily and openly about his previously horrible behavior, he hadn't tried to make Oliver feel bad about it, nor had he reassured Oliver that it was fine. It was like Floyd had only been stating a fact. Strangely enough, there was some comfort in that—in honesty for honesty's sake.

When Oliver moved to pick up one of the sandwich crusts, Floyd sucked in a breath through his teeth and the sound startled Oliver out of his thoughts.

"What?"

Floyd's face was screwed up with what looked like revulsion. Oliver realized that Floyd was staring at his hands.

"Red tips," Floyd answered.

Which was probably what this lovely ailment was called. Oliver's face warmed. It had probably become even redder than his pathetic, swollen fingers.

"I spent the morning sorting coal."

"Is that what Fred Donohue told you to do?"

"No, but I couldn't find anyone to show me what else I was supposed to do. For some reason, I thought that when I came in today, there would be someone who would be paired up with me or something," Oliver said. "Very na?ve, I'm sure."

"You ought to have come found me."

"I walked around for a while, but I couldn't really tell Dick from Harry in the mine."

Floyd continued to look at Oliver's hands, and Oliver's face continued to burn. Oh, he was so embarrassed about them.

"Goose grease'll help," Floyd said. "If you can come over to my house later, I'll make sure Effie fixes you up."

Floyd's offer made Oliver's stomach feel a little funny. He wasn't used to being cared for. Even in small ways.

"Thank you."

"If you want, you can be my shadow from here on out. I won't mind. I was working with a kid named Billy, but now that I been with him for a couple of weeks, I think I'm realizing that he ain't really ready to work with me yet. Still too young."

"So, can you teach me how to be a proper miner then?"

Floyd smiled in what looked to be a playful manner. "Well, maybe not a proper miner, but I can learn you how to be a regular one."

"Regular is fine," Oliver said, now smiling, too. "Preferable, even."

Oliver marveled at how wonderful it was to connect with someone so easily. He hadn't expected that when he'd set up the meeting with Frederick in the city. He had only been hoping to escape from his past. And his future.

Truthfully, Oliver had assumed that he'd never really bond with anyone in a coal town, which had been part of the appeal. He was tired of rejection. Over the years, Oliver had been rejected by his parents so many times, in so many ways, whether they had been cold to him when he had needed comfort, even from something as simple as a skinned knee, or whether they had been completely unsympathetic to the struggles he'd sometimes faced with his schoolwork, like his inability to finish his assignments.

Oliver's heart simply hadn't been able to take it anymore.

But maybe he'd been wrong about not bonding with anyone here. Floyd seemed to be friendly enough, at least. And Oliver was plenty happy about that.

Floyd tapped Oliver's foot with his own.

"Hurry up, slow poke."

"Right." Oliver picked up another strawberry. "Sorry."

Throughout the afternoon, Oliver followed Floyd around the mine. Floyd showed him how to blast the coal seams (though Oliver hadn't touched the blasting powder himself) and break the coal. While they worked, Floyd taught Oliver about some of the other roles that were fulfilled by children, too—like spraggers, who controlled the speed of the coal cars, and mule drivers, whose task was obvious from their title.

By the end, they hadn't collected much coal—maybe only half a car's worth—which had Oliver worried, especially when Floyd informed him that they weren't paid by the hour, but by the weight of their coal car, but Floyd told Oliver that it was fine. Still, Oliver's stomach sank when he saw everyone else's coal cars and compared them to Floyd's. He offered that they not split the money and instead, Floyd could keep the entirety of their earnings, but Floyd refused.

While walking to Floyd's house, Oliver's stomach continued to feel full in a nauseating sort of way, though he tried not to let it show. He couldn't help but feel horrible that Floyd had taken the time to train him and had made less money as a result. Having someone show him such kindness still felt so foreign.

Around ten minutes later, they arrived, and when they walked through the threshold, Oliver's heart practically leapt up into his throat from the surprise presence on the other side. Oliver was very much not prepared to be confronted with a little girl's high-pitched shriek.

"Baby girl!" Floyd exclaimed, throwing his arms around her. "How was school?"

Seeing the way she beamed up at Floyd had Oliver's heart melting, even while he was still frozen in fear from having been completely frazzled by the child's scream. While Oliver was listening to Floyd's child tell him about school, a very pretty woman approached.

"Hi, I'm Effie," she said. "Are you Oliver?"

"Oh, Floyd already told you about me?"

Effie smiled. "Yes, last night."

"I must have made an impression. Hopefully not a bad one."

Floyd pushed himself to stand. "I had to explain why I was late coming home."

"So, yes, a bad one," Oliver lamented in a playful manner.

"Effie already started on the ‘Wanted' posters," Floyd teased.

Before Oliver could respond, Josephine piped up.

"What happened to your hands?"

Oliver looked at them. God, they really were nasty looking, weren't they? They were still hurting, too—throbbing uncomfortably, warmth radiating from the skin.

"I hurt them when I was working," Oliver explained.

"I thought you could fix him up, Effie," Floyd said.

Oliver said, "Floyd said you might have—"

"Goose grease," Effie finished before turning toward the kitchen. "I remember Floyd's mama treating his hands with it when we were kids."

Oliver smiled at Floyd. "You were a breaker boy?"

"Uh-huh," Floyd confirmed. "I started work when I was ten."

"Christ," Oliver said, inadvertently letting the profanity slip, which he then swiftly tried to cover it up with more commentary. No one else in Rock Creek seemed to curse or take the Lord's name in vain. "Before this, I had never even had a single callous."

"Well, that's... something," Floyd said with a simpering smile.

Likely translation: Well, that's pathetic.

"Very something," Oliver agreed, shame coloring his cheeks.

Effie returned with the goose grease—off-white in color, like the pork fat he had seen his family cook save from time to time. Even though the thought of rubbing it on his skin made his stomach turn, Oliver knew he had to soothe his hands somehow, which only seemed to be worsening the more time passed without care.

"Thank you," Oliver said, taking the jar. "I'll try to be quick."

"No need," Floyd said.

"Do you want to stay for supper?" Effie asked. "I'm serving breakfast foods tonight. Corned beef hash and peas. Well, the peas ain't really a breakfast food, but we had a can."

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Alright, yes, I'd love to."

After Oliver washed up, he came back out to the living room to smear some goose grease on his injured hands. Effie and Josephine set the table while Floyd sat on the sofa nearby, looking a bit lost in thought. Oliver thought he should try to make conversation with him even though he hadn't the slightest idea what the two of them might have in common.

"So, what'd you end up buying yesterday? Strawberry or peach?"

Floyd cocked an eyebrow. "Uh, strawberry."

"Good choice," Oliver said before realizing that it seemed like he thought Floyd needed his approval or something. "I've never liked either that much, to be honest. Fresh fruit is tastier. Have you ever had frozen fruit?"

"Frozen fruit?"

"Yeah. We had a Domelre where I lived before."

"What's a . . . Domellery?"

"Domestic Electric Refrigerator. Just a new kind of appliance. Keeps things cold." Oliver wondered if he was sounding like a pretentious asshole. "It wasn't that impressive, honestly." Did that make it better or worse? "But it had a little compartment for people to make ice, if they wanted to. I thought making ice seemed a little boring, so I liked to stick fruit in there instead. Strawberries and blueberries mostly. Cherries once, but that was a mistake, what with the pits and everything."

"Oh."

Jesus, what a flop that was. While Oliver was busy trying to think of something else to say about it, Floyd stood up and clapped him on the back on the way to the kitchen.

"You're an interesting man, Oliver Astor."

Well, it was a compliment at least, which was better than the "oh."

Oliver followed Floyd to the kitchen table. Halfway through their meal, he remembered that he should have complimented their home.

"I like the wallpaper," Oliver said, looking over at the closest wall. All of them were lined with newspapers. "I haven't seen that before."

"Effie likes to put up the happy stories," Floyd explained. "Like if someone has a baby, she'll paste up the newspaper clipping. Lots of families hang up newspapers for insulation. But Effie is picky about which stories she chooses."

Effie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's probably silly."

"Not at all," Oliver said. "I should try that, too. Or maybe the opposite. Lining my kitchen with the obituaries wouldn't ruin my appetite, personally, but perhaps other folks could benefit. If someone wanted to feel sad, they could simply come over and read my walls." Floyd snorted a laugh, cocking one eyebrow in a curious manner and looking at Oliver like maybe his head had fallen off. "Sorry. I've been told that I have an interesting sense of humor."

Josephine cut in. "Can I have some cake? I ate my peas."

Effie and Floyd looked at one another, both of them pursing their lips to temper their burgeoning smiles. Effie flashed two fingers, and Floyd flashed one back. Effie raised both of her eyebrows, and Floyd flicked his wrist. It was incredible. Oliver couldn't even fathom what it would be like to be that close with someone—to communicate vaguely complex ideas without even speaking a single word.

Watching the scene unfold, Oliver's chest twinged with a sense of longing, one he hadn't let himself feel for many years. Oliver had never liked someone else romantically. It seemed impossible that he'd ever find what Effie and Floyd had with each other.

"One more bite of corned beef first," Effie finally said.

Josephine's face lit up. "Yay!"

Both Floyd and Effie shook their heads as they watched Josephine practically inhale her last forkful of supper, and then Effie cut a slice of pound cake while Floyd reached over to playfully tickle Josephine's side.

And all the while, Oliver's chest continued to ache.