Light to the Hills: A Novel (33)

“I hope you’ll go on,” she replied. “Now you’ve made me curious how the horses get on.” The way he told the tale was captivating. Amanda convinced herself it was the tale that held her attention, not the one telling it.

“They’re something,” he continued. “Robbie and old Joe were my favorites. Robbie’s a big bay draft.” Finn raised his arm to show his size. “Has a white stripe down his face, and old Joe was a flea-bitten gray. This one time, on my way out of a tight squeeze, I hopped off the cart to lead Joe on, but he wouldn’t move his feet no way, no how. Right then I heard the creaking and knocking in the walls. Not two minutes later, a ceiling timber splintered and collapsed in the tunnel ahead, sending a ton of slate down onto the men there.”

“Land,” breathed Amanda, her eyes round.

“I was just a’shaking and holding on to Joe to keep my knees from buckling. Backed up and found another route out. Two men were crushed, and old Joe had known it was coming.” Finn shook his head and shuddered. “After that, as often as I could, I’d keep a peppermint in my pockets for the ones on my shift. They’re God’s creatures, after all, stuck under there day after day, only seeing the sun and grass for short bits of time.”

“I’m sure your small kindness eases their burden,” Amanda said, her voice soft. A man who went out of his way to be kind to animals was gentle in most other ways, too.

“I hope so. To get to the deeper pits of the mine, you got to travel down an open elevator cage, with the pulleys just a’shrieking. Course they also need horses down in those pits, and no horse with sense between its ears would walk willingly into a contraption such as that.”

“I don’t imagine they would.” Amanda thought of Alice and her tale about Turnip bolting from the mine shaft.

“My eyes bugged outta my head the first time I watched a crew bind a horse’s legs, cover his eyes and ears with a length of cloth, and fit him to a harness that lifted him off the ground until he dangled from a chain above the pit shaft. They lowered him down, down, down, that chain swinging and spinning, knocking the horse into the walls as he was lowered, every flight instinct in him buzzing like a nest of hornets. Least I could do was offer a peppermint and a soft word.”

Amanda let her hand lie on top of Finn’s as he rested from his tale. Neither one of them seemed surprised.

“I ain’t talked this much in a month of Sundays,” Finn said, his cheeks coloring.

“Please,” said Amanda. “I wish you’d go on. You’re a fine storyteller.” She smiled in encouragement.

Finn ran a hand over his mouth, and Amanda thought she detected a grin hiding beneath it.

“One time,” he went on, “we showed up to work, and men were crawling all over the place like a hill of ants someone had kicked a boot into. Just before shift end, they’d blasted near a new seam, and the whole room buckled. We dug out five men and a crushed canary cage.”

The sting of tears burned Amanda’s eyes and she looked down at the quilt, studying its pattern and willing the drops not to fall. She didn’t want to appear pitying, but it broke her heart what the miners—what Finn—had to endure. She was grateful that either he was too polite or too caught up in his story to notice its effect on her.

“I caught sight of one of the mule skinners coming out, but his cart wasn’t full of coal.” Now it was Finn’s turn to swipe at his eyes as the tears rose. “It was good old Joe. Feller spoke up and said it must’a been the knockers, that they’d got in a good lick. I didn’t know then what the knockers were.”

“Oh, Finn,” breathed Amanda. “Poor old Joe. I’m so sorry.”

“I nicked off a lock of mane and stowed it in my pocket. I imagined Joe rolling in a field of Kentucky bluegrass like the horses my daddy used to work with, and ’fore anyone knew better, I lifted Joe’s lip and palmed one last peppermint into his mouth. Felt like the whole weight of that night sky had settled on my heart. Now, I know any given day is dangerous.” He patted his leg. “Obviously. But I tell you right now, losing Joe was like being filled up with wet sand. Pulling rock out of the earth just to burn it up is sometimes a bitter tonic to swallow.”

Amanda’s eyes shone, and it took all her strength not to lean across the distance and hug Finn close to her. “I wish I could do something to ease your sadness,” she whispered. “It’s more than seems right for a person to bear.”

“You already did,” he said. “Just by being here.”

“Dinner’s ’bout ready,” Rai announced, her voice ringing bright.

Amanda stood in a rush. “I best be going,” she said. She hadn’t meant to stay this long, but it was as if she’d been caught up in a spell. “It was right nice talking to you, Finn.”

“If you can make it sooner’n two more weeks, we wouldn’t complain.” Finn’s mouth curved in an honest-to-goodness smile.

Amanda returned it, with the corners of her mouth crinkling. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised. “Now, when the magazines and papers get worn out or too out-of-date, I’m allowed to give them to folks to use for wallpapering against the cold. We don’t have any extra right now, but maybe directly.”

“We’re fine,” said Rai. “Lots of folks worse off.” Amanda nodded. Every family on her route said that, down to the most hangdog of them all.