The Peculiars (27 page)

Merilee held a handkerchief over her nose.

“Maybe I can patch it if I can climb out and if you hold me—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jimson,” said Mr. Beasley. “We need to move to our alternate plan.”

“We have an alternate plan?” Jimson asked.

“We always have an emergency plan. But it’s risky.” Mr. Beasley consulted the map. “We have enough fuel in the tank to make it to the Ducktown outpost.”

“But I thought we had to stay away from outposts.” Lena’s mouth was dry.

“It is the best we can do under the circumstances. I just hadn’t counted on exposing ourselves so soon.”

For a while no one talked. It was too easy to imagine landing at the outpost and being greeted by the sheriff or marshals. Just what was the penalty for assisting a Peculiar to escape and for attempting to shoot a federal marshal? Lena wondered. Could it be worse than being sentenced to work the mines? She glanced at Merilee, who looked even whiter than usual and was worrying her lip with her teeth. Jimson began to whistle to himself as he looked at the map.

Whistling, Lena thought, must be a very useful habit. One could do it anywhere and it could express so much. Of course, no lady would ever whistle. Lena puckered her lips and blew a tentative puff of air. Nothing.

“Ducktown”—Mr. Beasley broke into her thoughts as if he was starting a history lesson—“is one of the first outposts established by our government in Scree. It’s called Ducktown because the government provided settlers with ducks and geese for food if they were willing to come and work the mine. Each family that came was given a house, rented from the mining company, a brood of ducklings, and a small stake in the mine.”

“What kind of mine is it?” Lena asked.

“Coal. One of the largest coal mines now operating in Scree. The settlers who came are mostly foremen, while most of the workers are Peculiars or felons.”

Merilee perked up. “I’ve heard of Ducktown before. That’s not where our family lived, but it isn’t far. They said that if you married a girl from Ducktown, her babies would hatch out of eggs. That there are more ducks than people in the town.”

They were dipping low over the trees now and Mr. Beasley was checking the fuel levels more frequently. “It’s one of the best-producing and deepest mines, with a six-hundred-foot vertical shaft and tunnels that run horizontally under the outpost.”

When Lena tried to imagine being more than six hundred feet belowground, a bubble of panic rose in her throat. She turned to Merilee. “How far down did you go?”

“Our mine was only four hundred feet, but the littlest kids like me didn’t go down. We’d follow the coal trains with gunnysacks and pick up any coal that dropped. Our families needed it for heat and cooking.” She looked at Lena’s drawn face. “That part wasn’t so bad. It was like a treasure hunt. We were always squabbling to see who could find the most. I only went down in the mine itself a time or two. But that was enough for me to know I never want to do it again.”

Jimson broke his silence. “Were those bounty hunters after anything they could find, or did they know to expect us?”

“That’s the question now, isn’t it?” Mr. Beasley rubbed his face, removing a section of eyebrow. “I expect we’ll know if we have a welcoming committee.”

Great flannel clouds had gathered in the west, turning Scree into a gray, shadowy land. The mountains were steeper
here and the hidden valleys darker. Snow had not yet softened this part of the landscape but soon would by the looks of the sky. Lena sat wrapped in a blanket as close to the boiler as she dared. Her thoughts had turned as bleak as her surroundings. An adventure that ended six hundred feet below the ground in Scree was a lot less appealing than the daring adventure they had embarked on yesterday. She hated close spaces, dark spaces, places where she couldn’t see the light of day. She’d be no good in the mines. And then what would they do to her? She looked at Jimson. He was still half leaning out the window of the coach.

“I see something ahead. A building of some sort. It’s—” Jimson’s words failed him.

Lena joined Jimson at the window. At the foot of a bare and distant hill stood a patchwork castle topped by a hodgepodge of metal rooflines. Blue and gray, streaked red with rust, they intersected with a circular tower that rose from the center like a corrugated turret.

“The Ducktown Mine,” Mr. Beasley said. “It’s the largest building in the outpost. We’re going to land in the first open field I find just to the west.”

Smaller buildings, fashioned from a muddle of stone and wood, appeared between the trees.

“Last time I was here, there were thirty-two homes—all owned by the mining company, Great Northern Improvement—a general store, stables, a brewery, a warehouse, and a wash house.”

The trees became sparse, and the landscape opened to grassy, stone-pocked fields.

“It’s time we landed the Aeolus. The fuel’s almost out, and I don’t want to get any closer in. Look for the first good slope.”

Jimson lowered the spyglass. “This isn’t much more than a village. Will they have enough kerosene?”

“Oh, the only kerosene would be too scant and precious for us. We’ll need coal to fly out of here. Coal and a firebox.”

The descent was smoother than the previous time, but the ground, more pitted with rocks, was a less hospitable landing surface. The slope of the rocky field was not ideal, but their landing area was screened from the town by a thick border of trees. Every bone in Lena’s body vibrated as the Aeolus bumped its way across the field.

“We may have knocked a few things loose!” Mr. Beasley shouted over the noise of the wheels and rotor.

As they trundled to a stop, Lena tried to prepare herself for various scenarios—marshals, bounty hunters, curious miners. But she was not prepared for the total silence that greeted their arrival. Even the mine was silent.

“Have we landed near a ghost town?” Jimson cautiously climbed from the coach. Mrs. Mumbles leapt daintily to the ground right behind.

“There’s something not right here,” Mr. Beasley said as he drew the small revolver from the inside pocket of his coat. “Lena, take the air rifle.”

Lena’s heart thumped so hard that it was difficult for her
get her breath. Someone must have heard their descent, or at least their clattering approach across the field. Weren’t mines raucous places, loud with machinery? She crouched low in the coach, the air rifle in her hands. Merilee trembled nearby.

“The entrance to the mine isn’t far from the outpost. There should be the sound of the headframe working, the winch lowering carts into the ground, and the pump removing water. This bears some investigation.”

“I’ll go and scout it out.” Jimson rolled down his shirtsleeves and ran fingers through his disorderly curls. “No one knows who I am and there’s nothing to make me stand out.” He did not look at Lena.

“Well, you’re about the right age for an adventurer. Hmm.” Mr. Beasley ran a hand over his face, considering. “It would be helpful to know what was going on, and of course we’ll need to purchase coal. But I think I should go with you.”

“No, if the Pony Express has gotten here, it will be your picture on the notice, not mine.”

Lena had never seen Jimson contradict Mr. Beasley before, but she was sure he was right. In a mining town, Jimson would be the most invisible of all of them.

“You’ll need a story, and you’ll have to be able to stick to it,” Mr. Beasley cautioned.

Lena’s mind raced. Stories were something she could contribute. After all, she had spent much of her time reading amusements. “You’re here as an engineer or surveyor. No, that would take specialized knowledge. You’re here to try your
hand at mining. You were looking for work and you heard about Ducktown.” It was harder than she thought.

“Then what’s he need the coal for?” Merilee asked. “Besides, not many folks travel alone way out here.” She chewed her lip. “How ’bout this: You heard there was work here, and you and your wife sold everything and came north. You’re headed farther, to a smaller mine just starting out. You need coal for heating your place, but the new mine isn’t producing yet, so they sent you down to Ducktown for supplies. I’ll go into town with you as your wife.”

“That’s not bad.” Mr. Beasley considered. “You could pick up food supplies as well, but there’s considerable risk.”

“I could go with him,” Lena said, feeling unexpectedly annoyed with Merilee’s plan. “You might run into someone who knew you from before.”

“I was six years old. Don’t think anyone would recognize me from those days. Besides, you can’t let yourself be seen.” Merilee looked pointedly at Lena’s gloved hands and at her feet. “They’re suspicious of everything up here.”

“I believe Merilee is right. We’ll wait for you here. I can start the modification of the firebox. First find out about the silence. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, and that means don’t give away any information that you don’t have to. Order the coal and say that you’ll be back to pick it up. We’ll have to find a way to transport several sacks.”

Jimson looked only too ready to go. “We’ll be back before you know it. Ready, Merilee?” She straightened her shawl,
slipped her arm through his, and they sauntered off toward the outpost.

Jimson, Lena thought, appeared much too pleased.

She scanned the miserable sky. Bleak. The clouds were low enough for their bellies to rest on the ridgeline. The only color was in the rusted hues of the roof of the foundry. She set the air rifle against the side of the coach. Why had she come on this adventure? She could be home safe in the City with her mother and grandmother, helping at the library, spending quiet evenings reading at home. But that picture felt no better.

It was intolerable to be sidelined like this. Even Mrs. Mumbles had darted away into the underbrush—to hunt rodents, Lena presumed. She watched the receding backs of Jimson and Merilee with envy. She wondered what the marshal was doing now in their pursuit. Had he really planned to treat her like any Peculiar? Perhaps she’d misunderstood. She tried to recall his touch on her face, but when she did, she shuddered.

Mr. Beasley was already tinkering with modifications for the firebox. What harm could it do to wander a little closer to the outpost? Just close enough to get the sense of a mining town. She would be stealthy, just like the stories Jimson told of Stanley searching for Dr. Livingstone.

A STAND OF PINE AND BRUSH SEPARATED THE LANDING FIELD FROM
the edge of the outpost. Lena found that if she walked carefully enough to avoid twigs, she could move almost silently through the low bushes. Besides, no one appeared to be out and about, and Mr. Beasley was occupied. She had slipped the spyglass into the pocket of her jacket and, once positioned behind a large boulder, she employed it.

The outpost was a slipshod town of wood and stone. Most of the buildings were clustered along one muddy street. Lena recognized the saloon from the crooked sign
O’GILLIGAN’S
, and next to it a small, squat building with a smokestack in the middle bore the words
WASH HOUSE
in crude letters. At one end of the street was a steepled building that had to be a church, and at the other end was Gunter’s General Store. They were connected by a wooden boardwalk that would keep people a foot or two above the mud. She could see Jimson and
Merilee from behind as they ambled along the wooden planks toward the store.

The houses she could see were little more than shacks sprinkled among the pine trees. And sure enough, each had a wire-fenced duck yard, where muddy-feathered fowl squawked and strutted. A little girl ran into one of the pens with a bucket of something that she cast on the ground. She was the first person Lena had seen, and as she watched her, the child disappeared just as quickly back into the house. So, not completely deserted, Lena mused.

Beyond the store, and beyond the mine itself, a dark pile towered to a height that almost matched that of the church steeple. Lena crept forward a few yards more. The pile was made of rubble and black clumps that must be coal. A waste dump for the mine. She had expected the mine to be a large hole in the ground with rails running down into it. But this building with its roofs, smokestacks, and scaffolding was more like a tattered castle watching over the meager town.

She caught movement and turned in time to see two things happen at once. Jimson and Merilee emerged from the general store just as the doors of the church opened and a line of miners came out. They were dressed in black and carried long pine box after long pine box. Women in black with children in their grasp followed. A funeral, Lena realized.

Jimson and Merilee stood to one side as the funeral procession passed down the center of the muddy street, veering left behind the wash house and saloon. How many of them
had died? Lena crept to the edge of the tree line. Mourners were passing within a few yards. She drew back. They were a solemn lot, pale-faced and obviously wearing their Sunday best: jackets with vests and bowler hats. There was hardly a smooth-shaven face in the crowd. The women wore black shawls over their heavy dresses and black lace coverings over their heads. A group of men at the rear of the line struck up a mournful tune. A French horn wailed side by side with a trombone, and a short man built like a fireplug banged on a drum.