Light to the Hills: A Novel (34)

“I’m gonna leave you with this reader. Each page has a picture with its name under it. See here? Dog. Cat. House. I bet if you study on it enough times, you’ll be able to recognize the words without the pictures. Try it.” Amanda casually placed it on the table within Sass’s reach. “I’ll see what I can do about making my way up here sooner. Meantime, you take care, Finn.” She buttoned her coat and wrapped her woolen scarf snug around her neck. “And, Sass, if you see my folks again, be sure and tell ’em I said hello.”



Sass didn’t meet Amanda’s eyes, and the book woman turned and quickly slipped through the cabin door to prevent the cold from creeping in.

Once she’d gone, Finn patted the spot beside him in the bed. “C’mon over here, Sass, and let’s have a look at that reader. Between you and me, I bet we can figger out the words.”

Sass climbed under the quilt with her brother, careful not to jostle his leg or wake up her little sister on his opposite side. It had been a nice visit with the book woman, and Sass had tried to ruin it with meanness. Miz Rye had brightened up the place for certain, lifting Finn’s spirits better than anything else had over the past weeks. That was just it, Sass realized. The green vine of jealousy had crept in and soured Sass’s mood. She’d wanted to be the one who coaxed Finn’s old spirit out. Goodness’ sakes, happy was happy, she scolded herself, no matter who brung it. Sass broke one of the fried pies Amanda had brought in half and handed one piece to Finn. Together they opened to the first page as the sweet tang filled her mouth.

“Apple!” she pointed, tasting and smelling and seeing it all at once. A wonder, how letters strung together could mean all the things she sensed: the tart crunch, the sweet juices, the red peel, and the ripe smell that spoke of blue fall skies and crisp leaves. And could apple mean this, too? The feeling of her heart floating in her chest as she sat beside her brother, his arm around her shoulders, a piece of him come back to life.





Chapter 11


“I don’t ’spect you to lay down any wagers, but you gotta be there to tend ’em and have ’em ready.” Gripp was exactly where he was meant to be—in a management role rather than day laboring on someone else’s schedule. He’d learned to keep an eye peeled for men who’d grown skittish of the mines, and after the last cave-in, he believed he’d found one to fit the bill.

Gripp had met Finn MacInteer by accident, run into him outside the mining office one frigid day, a couple of months after the unfortunate cave-in. The boy was skittish as a colt. Gripp had raised a hand to Finn outside in the road and invited him to share a sandwich near a trash barrel someone had kindled for warmth. He’d unraveled his whole story before Finn had taken his third bite. Folks had always pegged him a talker, catching hold of a story by the tail and following after it every which way it led.

“Name’s Spider,” he said by way of introduction. A name was a slippery thing, changing as need be, depending on your whereabouts or what served your purpose. He was many years past being Gripp Jessup, and he’d never liked the name anyhow. “Been in the mines for years,” Gripp had told him. “In and out.” He’d held up his left hand and wiggled three fingers and two nubs. “Lost two fingers down in a mine somewhere in West Virginnie. Knockers prob’ly strung ’em into a necklace. Never did find ’em. Fellers up thataway give me this name and it stuck.” He shook his head. “Could be worse ’uns, I s’pose. That leg of yourn? That from the last trouble here?”

Finn had nodded, rubbing his knee. “They say I was lucky.”

“What happened?”

“Ceiling fell. I was pinned, an arm and leg held under rock, stuck there with my lantern making shadows on the ceiling, listening to the knockers banging and knowing the next sound might be the last thing I heard before being squashed flat.”

Gripp whistled low, his conscience not stirred a bit. The collapse had been his own doing, to settle a score with someone who’d crossed him, but he wasn’t about to own up to that fact.

Finn continued. “After the dust cleared, fellers came pouring in like ants, hitching up the horses to pull the big rocks off and pounding in timbers to shore up the ceiling—what was left of it.”

“Shoot. And they call that lucky?”

Finn had barked a bitter laugh. “Every time I think about it, panic bubbles up like a creek fixing to flood.”

“Lucky ones weren’t anywhere near the mine that day, I’d wager. Now that’s what I’m thinking is a smarter move.”

“I don’t follow.” Finn had shoved the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and chewed.

Spider had leaned in closer, looked over his shoulder, and lowered his voice. “I’m fixing to get heavy into a new venture, see? One that don’t leave me black as the ace of spades at the end of the day and that don’t have a chance of dropping any more fingers. Seems to me you might be the kind of feller who’d be interested in the same.” He let his gaze linger on Finn’s leg.

“Say as I might?” Finn had answered. “What are we talking?”

“I learned one thing from the big crash a few years ago. Diversify! In other words, it ain’t no good to put all your eggs in one basket. One tumble down the hill, and them eggs is broke and running ever’where. You ever heard of Humpty Dumpty? Well, that won’t be us.” Gripp nudged Finn with an elbow and winked.