The Miner's Lady (16 page)

Orlando stopped undoing the buttons and met his father's enraged expression. “I am ashamed, as well. Ashamed that we should be such a people. People who hold on to grudges and hatred. Jesus forgave our sins on the cross, but you cannot forgive the sins of a family who were once called friends by our ancestors. Father Buh taught last week that if you will not forgive man their sins, the heavenly Father will not forgive you yours. Is that what you want?”

Dante knew his father would never stand for being spoken to in such a manner. In a flash, the older man had doubled his fist and punched Orlando square in the jaw. To Dante's surprise, his brother barely flinched. He stood silently, just staring at their father.

“You must not fight,” Nonna said. “This is not what God would have you do.”

“God is not the one in charge here,” Vittorio countered.

“That much is certain,” Nonna replied, looking at him and nodding. “You took God from His rightful place and replaced Him with yourself.”

Vittorio Calarco said nothing in response. Dante could not understand his father's impassioned bitterness. All of his life, Dante had heard the stories of deceitful Panettas—of their wrongdoings and harm. But he'd only witnessed examples of their kindness and love. Now his father had shown yet another side of this longstanding feud. It was an ugly, hopeless side that left no room for God or mercy.

“You will make a choice,” their father finally said, turning
back to Orlando. “Choose this family or theirs, but you cannot have both. In two weeks' time, I am sending you to Italy. I planned it many weeks ago now.”

“I won't go,” Orlando said, narrowing his eyes. “I won't.”

Dante could see the swelling already starting to discolor his brother's jawline, but if Orlando was in pain, he didn't show it. He had to admire his brother's willingness to stand up for what he believed.

“If you do not go as I have told you,” their father said, “I will never see you again. I will no longer call you son. I will put you from this family and you will be my enemy.” He turned to Dante and shook his fist. “And you . . . you keep him away from that Panetta woman or you'll answer to me!”

“The message says it's urgent that we meet,” Isabella told Chantel. “I can't imagine what's wrong. Orlando told me we shouldn't see each other, but now he says we must.” She held the note out to Chantel. “What do you suppose has happened?”

Chantel read over the messy note. It looked to have been hastily written. “I can't imagine. What are you going to do?”

“Meet him, of course. But I'll need your help. If something is wrong, then most likely it will mean his father and brother will be on the lookout for him to do something rash.” Isabella grabbed her wool bonnet. “There's no telling if he can slip away from them at noon, but I'm going to go to the place we used to meet and see if he shows up there. I want you to come with me and keep an eye out for Dante and his father.”

“But, Isabella, they're going to know what I'm up to if they see me near the mine.”

Isabella tied her bonnet in place. “Not if you take something for Papa and the boys for dinner.”

“But they took their dinner pails with them,” Chantel protested. She had a bad feeling about this entire matter.

“So you can take them some of those cookies you baked
this morning. A nice big sack of cookies is always welcomed by men.”

Chantel frowned. “And when did you become such an authority?”

Isabella shrugged. “I know my brothers and papa as well as you do. Now get your bonnet, and I'll fetch the cookies and tell Mama what's happened.”

Chantel realized she had no choice in the matter. Isabella was determined to meet Orlando whether Chantel helped her or not. It would probably be best if Chantel went along.

They bundled up in layers of sweaters and wore old trousers under their skirts. They topped this with their heaviest coats and mittens and tied thickly knitted scarves around their faces. With any luck, Chantel thought, no one would have any idea of who they were. Of course, with the weight of the extra clothing, Chantel thought they'd be lucky to walk even half the distance to the mine.

And the miners will still know we are women
.
They'll know we have no purpose being there at the mine. Goodness, why do I let myself get talked into these things?

Trudging through the snowy roads, Chantel couldn't help but feel oddly on display. She caught a few pedestrians staring after them from time to time and worried that someone would stop them. By the time they could see the depot, she breathed a little easier, but only marginally.

Isabella stopped her before they came to the crossroads that led to the mine. “Here, you take the cookies and see about finding the boys. But remember to keep an eye open for Dante and his father.”

“I know what to do, but are you certain you'll be safe?”

Isabella gave a muffled laugh. “Of course. I did this all last year if you'll recall, and no harm came to me. Now I'm going to leave you here.” The noon whistle blew and Chantel knew that soon the area would be filled with men.

“You go ahead.” Isabella slipped off behind the depot before Chantel could say a word.

Chantel looked around at the men who were milling about. None of them looked familiar.

She waited a few moments, watching for any sign of the Calarco men. Overhead, the murky gray sky left her feeling as dismal as the day. She hated winter and fervently wished she could be back in the warmth of an Italian summer. How she had enjoyed her days there in the sun. Just thinking about it seemed to warm her a bit. She remembered long walks with her nonna and other relatives. She conjured up visions of food-laden tables and outdoor eating. Sometimes Nonno read to them from the Bible and encouraged them to do right in the eyes of the Lord. It was a joyous and peaceful place—a sort of heaven compared to this.

“Miss Panetta?”

She whirled around to face Dante Calarco. How in the world had he managed to sneak up on her? “How did you know it was me?” she asked without thinking.

He shrugged. “It wasn't easy. You must be wearing quite a few layers, because I know you aren't as plump as you appear. However, I recognized the coat and bonnet. What are you doing here?”

“I . . . ah . . . have cookies,” she said, holding up the sack. “I wanted to bring some for Papa and the boys, but I haven't seen them anywhere.”

“I could take them,” he offered. “Of course, I would probably have to sample them on the way.” A hint of a smile touched his lips.

He has such nice lips
.
I wouldn't mind at all. . . .

“Miss Panetta?”

She startled, glad that the scarf kept him from seeing her surprise. “I suppose . . . that would be acceptable.” She opened the sack and drew a deep breath. This was just as good a way to occupy him as any. “Why don't you try one first and decide if it's worth the effort.”

He didn't have to be asked twice. Reaching in, Dante pulled two cookies from the sack. “I might have trouble telling with just one.”

She said nothing and waited for his opinion on her baking. Dante gave every pretense of thoroughly considering the cookies. He looked each one over, then sniffed them and finally bit into the first one. He chewed slowly and looked heavenward as if contemplating his evaluation. Without a word he finished that cookie and soon had the other one eaten, as well.

“So what is your decision?” Chantel asked.

“I believe they are quite tolerable. I will be happy to deliver them to your father and brothers.”

“Thank you. I'm relieved to know they've passed your scrutiny.”

He took the sack from her and gave a bit of a bow. “I'm always glad to help.”

“Even when it's a Panetta you're helping?” she asked.

Dante shrugged. “So long as the cookies taste this good.”

He started to go, but Chantel thought of Mrs. Barbato. “By the way, how is your nonna?”

“She's doing well,” he replied. “She seems to be back to her old self—strong as a mule and twice as stubborn.”

Chantel nodded. “I very much enjoyed her company. I miss her now. She reminds me a lot of my own nonna in Italy. Did you know they were good friends once?” She hadn't meant to share this information, so she hurried to cover up her indiscretion. “They knew each other when they were young.”

“Yes, I knew that. Nonna told me something about it once when I was there to see her at your house.”

“Pity they couldn't still be friends,” Chantel said. She glanced around, hoping to see if there was any sign of Isabella.

“Who are you looking for?” Dante asked.

She felt her face grow hot beneath the scarf. Had she really been that obvious? “My . . . ah . . . brothers . . . and Papa, of course.”

He started to nod, but then Dante looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Chantel . . . please tell me your sister isn't here seeing my brother.”

She couldn't recall him ever calling her by her first name. It both startled and pleased her. “Why, Mr. Calarco, you are certainly suspicious—and after I let you sample the cookies.”

“Our father is watching him like a hawk seeking prey,” he said, looking around the mining grounds. “He means to send Orlando to Italy in a little more than a week's time.”

“What?” Chantel's scarf fell away from her face and the bitter cold nipped at her cheeks. “How can he force him to go?”

Dante continued to search the area. “He's threatened to disown him if Orlando doesn't do what he commands. I know my brother, however, and so does our father. I'm supposed
to keep Orlando from seeing your sister or it's going to come down on me.”

“I don't see why it matters. They plan to marry. I'm sure Orlando would rather be with Isabella than go to Italy. I can't see why your father thinks he can force him to go.”

“You don't know our father. He can make life very bad for his enemies.”

“But Orlando is his son.”

“Not if he continues with your sister. Our father will make him an enemy and that will mean . . . well . . . it won't bode well. Orlando won't be able to get work at the mines because my father will see to it that he's refused. The owners respect my father. He's one of the best explosives experts in the business. In fact, they're sending him south for a few days to help with some problem areas at one of the Mesabi Range mines.”

“I thought those were mostly open pit mines,” Chantel countered, hoping that if she kept him talking, Isabella and Orlando would have more time together.

“They are, but they want to start underground work. The ore is softer and more crumbly, however.” He looked behind him and then at her again.

She hurried to question him more. “So your father is going to help them. I think that's nice.”

He frowned. “Where are they, Chantel?”

“Who?” she asked innocently.

He all but growled. “You know very well. Where are they meeting?”

“I think I'd better take those cookies,” she said, reaching out. “Papa and the boys will be finished with lunch by the time you get these to them.”

Dante looked at her and shook his head. “You aren't helping anything. If my father finds out what's going on . . . he'll put Orlando on the next train out of here. Mark my words.” He headed off in the direction of the shaft tower without bothering to give her back the sack of cookies.

Chantel didn't care. She hurried back to where she had parted company with Isabella. “Issy?” she called as quietly as possible.

It was only a matter of minutes before her sister appeared. She pulled at Chantel's coat sleeve. “We have to hurry.”

“I was just about to say the same thing. Dante knows you were meeting Orlando. He says Orlando's father is watching him carefully and plans to send him to Italy.”

“I know,” Isabella said, all but pulling Chantel down the road. “That was why he had to meet me. He said his father is being very unreasonable. He has threatened to disown Orlando and make it impossible for him to get work.”

“Yes, Dante said as much.”

Isabella motioned to a side street. “Let's take the shortcut.”

Chantel nodded and followed her sister down the narrow street. “Look, Dante said that his father is going south to the Mesabi Range to help them for a few days with their explosives.”

Isabella nodded. “I know. That's why Orlando and I are going to take that opportunity to leave. I didn't want to take money from you, but now I will have to. Orlando said his father has confiscated most of his. He only managed to hide a little away from him.”

“That's all right,” Chantel said, feeling her heart rate accelerate. It was rather like they were racing against an unseen clock.
“I have more than enough to help you get train tickets. You can get to Aunt Marilla's, and she will help you from there. I know she will. She could probably even lend you money if necessary.”

“I knew you'd understand, Chantel. I know Mama and Papa will, too.”

Chantel glanced over her shoulder, worried that someone might have followed them. “Unfortunately I think they'll be the only ones.”

On Saturday evening March seventh, the talk was all about Ely becoming a town in its own right. That week they had received approval and the incorporation was granted. “This was the best thing we could have done for the place,” Papa told the family. Chantel worked on a long piece of tatted edging and listened as her father continued.

“They now can tax the mines, and that will bring in funds to clean up this town and make it better.”

“It'd look a sight better if they were to pull those tree stumps just beyond the town limits,” Marco threw in. Chantel had noticed he'd been sticking close to home lately—especially since word had come that Leo Fortino had not been jailed while waiting to have his case reviewed by the judge.

Chantel knew he worried what Leo's retribution might be. She worried about it herself. “I suppose,” she said, hoping to keep her brother's mind occupied, “that the tax money would allow the city to pay for their removal.”