Mildred Heisinger was about to order her students to put their heads down on their desks—a proven method of restoring calm and order in an unsettled classroom—a particularly sharp lightning crack followed by a thud jarred the floorboards. Callie O’Connell headed for the arms of her brother instead of her seat. The littlest girls squealed and one began to cry. Even the boys were struck round-eyed and still. The two light bulbs flickered out. And the thunder of the mill silenced.
An onrush of wind-driven rain pushed in on great peals of thunder that carried much more of a clamor without the steadying of the mill throb in the background. Lightning snaps ignited all around them. Charges of electricity sizzled down the stovepipe and crackled and danced on the potbellied stove. It seemed to Mildred as if she and her students were isolated innocents caught on a battleground under cannon siege. She tried to fight some authority into her voice. “Callie and Johann, return to your seats and everyone put his head down upon his desk. This will pass very soon, as have the others. Callie, will you please—”
It was a small still breath while the weather tamped and reloaded, and into it came Brambaugh O’Connell’s voice—level, low, and relaxed. “She’s afraid and she’ll stay right here.”
The burnout from the storm lasted only two days before the mill thundered once more and the people of the mining camp breathed easier. When the mine and mill did not prosper, neither did they. The next thunder Callie heard was in her father’s voice. “Payday! The first in a while, wouldn’t you say? And it’s in scrip. All because of the shutdowns at the mill, says they. And me looking for a little time off to prospect.” He pounded on the cable-spool table and that thundered too. “What do you think of that, Ma’am, huh?”
Callie saw her mother cringe but continue to ladle soup. “The supper’s ready, John.” Her tone was steady like Bram’s had been when Miss Heisinger had called Callie back to her seat and Bram had held her so she couldn’t go. “There’s much that we need we can’t buy at the commissary, but scrip will pay the rent. Bram, will you offer the Lord’s thanks, please?”
Halfway through the meal the thunder was still on John O’Connell’s face. “Sure, it’s no wonder the union men been hanging about so much of late.”
Their one light bulb hung above the table, its braided wires draped over a hook. There was another hook in the sitting room where they could move the light after supper was cleaned up and all could read under it in comfort. This was the first Callie had lived with electricity too and she much preferred it to oil lamps. But now the miraculous bulb, of clear glass with a wormlike filament ablaze inside it, cast shadows across her father’s features. Odd shadows, unfamiliar, threatening. She looked away and dribbled a crisscross of stripes in dark syrup on her cornbread.
“I hope they don’t start trouble here. They’ve caused so much bloodshed and heartache elsewhere.” Ma’am’s face sagged, as did her shoulders. She’d been spelling her sister on night watch over the cradle of a sick baby Henry. Even the wonderful tonic did not seem to restore Luella. One bottle was already empty, the other over at Lilly’s was more than half gone. And this was the tonic that was to have lasted through a winter not yet arrived. Shadows played across her face and Callie looked up to see if the bulb was swinging. But it was still.
“All they’re asking is a day’s wage for a day’s work and a day that’s not so long as to kill a man. And conditions safe for a man to work under.” Payday came once a month. John would hand his pay—usually in silver and gold coin—over to Luella, keeping back a tenth. He would then go down to Ophir or sometimes into Telluride and squander it on masculine pursuits, missing a day or so of work in the bargain but ready to take on another month of
An onrush of wind-driven rain pushed in on great peals of thunder that carried much more of a clamor without the steadying of the mill throb in the background. Lightning snaps ignited all around them. Charges of electricity sizzled down the stovepipe and crackled and danced on the potbellied stove. It seemed to Mildred as if she and her students were isolated innocents caught on a battleground under cannon siege. She tried to fight some authority into her voice. “Callie and Johann, return to your seats and everyone put his head down upon his desk. This will pass very soon, as have the others. Callie, will you please—”
It was a small still breath while the weather tamped and reloaded, and into it came Brambaugh O’Connell’s voice—level, low, and relaxed. “She’s afraid and she’ll stay right here.”
The burnout from the storm lasted only two days before the mill thundered once more and the people of the mining camp breathed easier. When the mine and mill did not prosper, neither did they. The next thunder Callie heard was in her father’s voice. “Payday! The first in a while, wouldn’t you say? And it’s in scrip. All because of the shutdowns at the mill, says they. And me looking for a little time off to prospect.” He pounded on the cable-spool table and that thundered too. “What do you think of that, Ma’am, huh?”
Callie saw her mother cringe but continue to ladle soup. “The supper’s ready, John.” Her tone was steady like Bram’s had been when Miss Heisinger had called Callie back to her seat and Bram had held her so she couldn’t go. “There’s much that we need we can’t buy at the commissary, but scrip will pay the rent. Bram, will you offer the Lord’s thanks, please?”
Halfway through the meal the thunder was still on John O’Connell’s face. “Sure, it’s no wonder the union men been hanging about so much of late.”
Their one light bulb hung above the table, its braided wires draped over a hook. There was another hook in the sitting room where they could move the light after supper was cleaned up and all could read under it in comfort. This was the first Callie had lived with electricity too and she much preferred it to oil lamps. But now the miraculous bulb, of clear glass with a wormlike filament ablaze inside it, cast shadows across her father’s features. Odd shadows, unfamiliar, threatening. She looked away and dribbled a crisscross of stripes in dark syrup on her cornbread.
“I hope they don’t start trouble here. They’ve caused so much bloodshed and heartache elsewhere.” Ma’am’s face sagged, as did her shoulders. She’d been spelling her sister on night watch over the cradle of a sick baby Henry. Even the wonderful tonic did not seem to restore Luella. One bottle was already empty, the other over at Lilly’s was more than half gone. And this was the tonic that was to have lasted through a winter not yet arrived. Shadows played across her face and Callie looked up to see if the bulb was swinging. But it was still.
“All they’re asking is a day’s wage for a day’s work and a day that’s not so long as to kill a man. And conditions safe for a man to work under.” Payday came once a month. John would hand his pay—usually in silver and gold coin—over to Luella, keeping back a tenth. He would then go down to Ophir or sometimes into Telluride and squander it on masculine pursuits, missing a day or so of work in the bargain but ready to take on another month of
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