The Miner's Lady (18 page)

“I thought I heard a knock,” Papa said, coming up behind Chantel.

Dante forced himself to look away from her and greet Mr. Panetta instead. “Sorry to bother you again, but Orlando hasn't returned. I can see he isn't here.”

“Son, I think you know that they're gone,” Papa declared. “They've gone to get married and leave this place for good. I'm sorry if that causes you grief or makes it difficult for your papa, but that's just the way it is.”

He put his arm around Chantel's shoulders. “Go on to bed, daughter.”

“Sí, Papa,” she murmured, leaving the two men alone.

Dante shook his head. “My father will disown him and make it impossible for him to get work around here.”

“I wouldn't worry about that. I don't think they will stay anywhere near here,” Papa replied. “And who would want them to under the circumstances? It's never easy to live with bitterness and hatred.”

Dante considered Panetta's words for a moment, then shook his head again. “My father is a hard man, and he won't easily let this matter go unpunished—even if he has to seek out Orlando in order to deliver his retribution. I need to find my brother before my father returns.”

“Son, I don't know if you're a God-fearing young man, but I have to believe you are. Your nonna would not have let such matters be void in your life.”

“I believe in God,” Dante replied, not at all certain why he felt the need to answer.

“Good. Because I want to share something with you that I've only told a couple of people. One was Father Buh, and the other was my dear wife.” He motioned to the front room. “Come. I want to tell you about what happened to me when the mine collapsed and trapped me.”

Dante followed, but he had no interest in the older man's story. “Just tell me where they've gone . . . please.”

Mr. Panetta turned. “I don't honestly know exactly where they've gone. What I do know is that you cannot stop them from marrying, and once they are man and wife, you cannot interfere with what God has joined.”

Dante felt the hopelessness of the situation. “Then I suppose I should go.”

“Go where, son?”

“To search for my brother. I'll have just a few days before my father returns. I have to find him before then.”

“But I've already told you—you cannot stop this marriage.”

Dante nodded. “But if my father learns the truth, I'm afraid he will.”

“He cannot. The priest would not allow it. Your papa won't be able to annul it.”

“I'm afraid you don't understand, Mr. Panetta. If my father finds out about this marriage, he will put an end to it—because he will put an end to Orlando's life.”

Dante slept very little that night, and the next day at the mine he looked around in hopes that his brother might appear as usual. When the hours wore on and there was no sign of Orlando, Dante knew Mr. Panetta had been right. The fool had run off to marry Isabella. Dante was hard-pressed to know what he should do. No doubt the couple had taken the train, but to where? They could have gone to any of the small towns along the rail line or even on to one of the bigger cities. He thought perhaps he could ask at the train depot, but even if the stationmaster could tell him, there was no way to know if the couple would remain in one place.

“How are you doing, son?” Mr. Panetta asked.

Dante looked up at the older man and his sons. Panetta motioned his boys to go about their business before turning back to Dante. “I don't imagine you slept very well last night.”

“I didn't,” Dante admitted. “I spent most of it trying to figure out how to hunt down my brother and get him back here before our father returns.”

“Don't you think it would be better to just let him go?”

“You don't know my father.”

Mr. Panetta gave him a sympathetic nod. “I suppose you are probably right, but maybe God will change his heart. God changed mine, after all.”

Dante narrowed his eyes. “My father is a hard man.”

“So was I,” Mr. Panetta admitted. “Until the accident. Remember last night I told you that I wanted to share something with you about that?”

“I remember.”

“Well, when I was buried under that rock, God spoke to me as if He were right there beside me.”

Dante frowned. He had long ago given up on the idea that God might communicate with His people. God seemed like a distant onlooker—nothing more. Nonna would have boxed his ears for such thinking, but Dante couldn't pretend to feel otherwise.

“Now, I know that may sound farfetched,” Mr. Panetta continued, “but I swear to you it's true.”

“And what was it God had to say?” Dante asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his tone.

“He told me to make peace with all men. He told me to forgive my enemies and make a better life for my loved ones.”

“God told you that? He just appeared and spoke to you like we're talking just now?”

Panetta shrugged. “Not so much like us. I didn't see His face, but I heard His voice in my heart and soul. It was so clear and distinct, it seemed audible. I'd lost consciousness from my injuries, but I felt at peace. My initial fear was gone. It was as if I knew that because of God's words to me, I would live to fulfill His commands.”

“And that was why you told my father you wanted an end to the feud?”

“In part.” He smiled. “Obedience to God is something I think we should definitely pay heed to, but I have long seen the futility in this war between our families. The problems of the past should remain in the past. There is far too much at stake for the future to continue in bitterness and revenge. Your father's desire for these things will only hurt him in the long run.”

“I don't know that Papa had in mind for any particular revenge,” Dante replied. “He simply feels it's unnecessary for our families to be friends. Family is everything to him—it's the reason he will be so angry, so betrayed if he returns to find Orlando has disobeyed him.”

“If family is truly everything to him, then he will set aside his pride. You feared last night he might well end your brother's life. But to a man who loves his family and values them above all, this would be impossible.”

Dante knew it sounded contradictory, but it wasn't. In his father's way of thinking, better a child should die than betray and dishonor his people. “Do you know where they've gone?”

“I do,” Panetta replied. “But I cannot tell you. I promised that I wouldn't, and I am a man of my word.”

“As am I,” Dante said, letting out a heavy breath. “I presume they went by train, so I will start there. I've already spoken to the mine's captain. I'm taking the rest of this week off to find him.”

“And when you find him,” Mr. Panetta said, looking Dante in the eye, “what will you do when he refuses to give up the woman he loves and return to Ely?”

Dante shook his head. “I don't know. I guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I get there.”

“And then he left,” Papa said, explaining the entire scene with Dante to his family. “I don't know if the stationmaster will tell him that they went to Duluth or not.”

“Oh, this is terrible,” Mama declared. She closed her eyes, and Chantel knew she was praying.

“I could go and warn them,” Chantel interjected. “If I sneak out and catch the train before Dante learns where they went, I could get to them and warn them what has happened.”

“Yes,” Mama agreed. “She could go and warn them. Marilla will know what is to be done after that.”

“We would have to use some of the money we've been saving for a better house,” Papa said, considering the matter. “And I don't like that she would travel alone.”

“But if more than one of us goes, we will be easier for Dante to spot and follow,” Chantel replied. “I can be quite secretive—I could even dress in some of Mama's old things and cover my head like an old woman. No one would suspect it was me . . . and looking as such, I would probably go unnoticed and unbothered.”

Papa nodded. “Then go. I will send Marco to get you a ticket for the train.”

The next evening, Chantel arrived at her aunt's house on East First Street in Duluth. The hired carriage drove up the
circled drive, but because of the darkness, Chantel couldn't make out much of the Gothic Revival stylings of the large house her aunt called her “little nest.” Light shone from only a couple of the windows, but Chantel felt certain she would be warmly welcomed.

As soon as the driver pulled to a stop, Chantel jumped from the carriage without his help. She hurried up the steps to the front door and pounded the brass knocker several times against the wood. In only a few moments a well-dressed man appeared, and Chantel instantly recognized him as Mr. Bartell, her aunt's butler.

“Mr. Bartell,” she said, pulling the shawl from her head, “it's me, Chantel Panetta.”

The older man smiled. “Welcome, Miss Panetta. I could not imagine who would be coming to visit us this evening.”

The driver came up from behind with Chantel's bag. She hurried to pay the man and thanked him for his help before turning back to Mr. Bartell. “I wonder if my sister and her . . . husband are here?”

“Why, yes, they are. Your aunt, however, is out for an evening affair. She'll be late getting back.”

“I see.” Chantel reached for her bag, but Mr. Bartell took it up instead.

“I'll have this delivered to your room after I take you to your sister and Mr. Calarco. They are in the music room.”

“Thank you,” Chantel said, breathing a sigh of relief. “It's most urgent that I speak with them.”

The older man nodded and led the way. Chantel never failed to marvel at the beautiful home. Her uncle had made a fortune from his early involvement with iron speculation
and freighting. He had quickly become one of Duluth's many millionaires, and this house was his opulent proof.

Mr. Bartell led her past the first large parlor, which displayed her aunt's decided taste. The beautiful damask draperies of pale gold perfectly matched the striped wallpaper of the same hue. The furnishings here were lavish and pristine, in rich mahogany and burgundy velvet. It was clearly a parlor used only for visitors. Bartell quickly slid open the pocket doors that separated this room from the next.

They made their way into yet another room of plush furniture and bric-a-brac. Here the gold colors were continued, but this time they were contrasted with powdery blues and coral. Opening yet another set of pocket doors, Mr. Bartell announced her arrival.

“Miss Panetta.”

Isabella looked up from where she sat near the fire. “Chantel! What are you doing here?” She frowned at her sister's appearance. “Goodness, and why are you dressed like that? Isn't that Mama's old garden dress?”

Chantel nodded. “It's a long story, but I came to warn you. Dante knows you and Orlando have run away to get married.” She paused and looked at her sister quite seriously. “You are already married, aren't you?”

Isabella laughed. “Yes, and happily so. Aunt Marilla saw to it first thing. Orlando has just gone to the kitchen to sneak some additional dessert. I told you he has a great appetite.” She sobered again. “But why this warning? We knew Dante would learn that we'd gone, and we knew he would suppose that we had married.”

Chantel nodded. “I know, but Dante is determined to hunt you down and bring Orlando back.”

“He'd have a hard time doing that,” Orlando declared, coming into the room.

Seeing the younger man, Chantel felt almost a sense of relief. “I'm so glad you are here and safe. Even so, Dante said your father would just as soon see you dead as to see you betray the family this way. He intends to find you and bring you back before your father returns from the Mesabi Range.”

“I'm not going anywhere without my wife,” he said with conviction, moving to Isabella's side and putting his arm around her shoulder.

“I can definitely appreciate that,” Chantel replied. “But frankly, I'm terrified by Dante's claims. He truly seemed to believe your father would act in such a way. Could he be exaggerating?”

“I wish that were the case, but I doubt it seriously,” Orlando replied. “My father commands obedience, and he takes loyalty very seriously. He'll be angry that I defied his plan to send me to Italy, but he'll be absolutely irate when he learns that I married against his wishes.”

Isabella looked at him, her expression betraying her fear. “Will he really try to kill you? His own son? How could a man murder his own child?”

Orlando shook his head. “My father has never been the same after losing our mother. That, along with the bitterness between our families, has caused anger to fester within him. It controls him, and makes him react poorly and often without any thought to the consequences. I'm not at all certain he can control his temper, given the situation.”

“That's why I had to come and warn you. You must get away from here, hide. With Aunt Marilla's help, we can get you on your way to Chicago or elsewhere. But we'll have to hurry. You will need to leave no later than tomorrow.”

“I'm afraid there won't be a chance of that happening.”

Chantel felt her blood run cold at the sound of Dante Calarco's voice. She whirled to find him crossing the room as if he owned the place.

“How . . . how . . . did you . . .” She shook her head in stunned amazement.

“I followed you.” He narrowed his eyes and fixed his brother with a hard look. “You're coming with me.”

“I won't,” Orlando said. “I'm sorry, Dante, but I'm married to Isabella, and I won't let Father take that from me.”