Like a River Glorious
Page 57

I thought he didn’t work in the mines. Something has changed. Maybe my uncle has become suspicious. But I dare not ask my questions in front of Wilhelm.
Pretending nothing is amiss, I put my hand to the wall and close my eyes.
This bit of rock was laid down by flooding water, maybe over thousands of years, and it’s riddled with gold—it glitters bright in my mind, like endless stars against a dark velvet night. But beyond that is a vein, a river of honey sweetness, singing as loud and clear as an oriole.
It’s the first nice thing I’ve felt all day, and I wrap my thoughts around it, embrace it, let its shiver flow deep inside me.
The wall vibrates, fast and soft like hummingbird wings.
I lurch back as if bitten, and I hold up the palm of my hand and stare at it. The meager lantern light casts yellow warmth onto my skin, with occasional shifting shadows, so that it almost appears my hand is on fire.
What just happened? It’s like I placed my hand on the wall, and when the gold spoke to me, I spoke back. It wasn’t my witchy senses making it seem like the wall vibrated. It really moved.
I made the wall move.
Behind me, Wilhelm grunts. Muskrat waits, patient and tense. If Topper catches him idle, he might be whipped, even though he’s just being courteous to me.
I’ve stood here too long, and I need to get moving. I’ll figure out this gold business later.
“Wilhelm,” I say.
He regards me expectantly. The shadows snag on his scar, making it seem as though he sneers.
“Fetch Abel Topper for me, please. We need to discuss this section of the mine.”
Wilhelm frowns.
“And please hurry,” I say brazenly. “I need to get him back on track.” I return my hand to the wall and pretend to continue my inspection, peering at the rough rock as though my eyes could possibly tell me something I don’t already know.
This time, when the siren call of gold invades my senses, I ignore it, tamp it down, tell it to go drown itself in a creek. Because I have other things to focus on right now.
Wilhelm hesitates only a moment more, then reluctantly backs away, splashing through the water toward Topper and his whip.
Once he’s a safe distance, I whisper, “Muskrat, you were right. I saw. And I will do everything I can.”
He says nothing.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “I thought you were an interpreter.”
He hammers at the wall with his pickax. “Westfall,” he says between blows. “Insists I take Ezra’s place. The man who was killed.”
“Ezra,” I whisper, because I want to lodge the name in my mind forever.
A tiny nod, almost imperceptible. “We met at the mission. He helped teach me English. He . . .” A chunk of rock falls from the wall and splashes into the water. Muskrat reaches for it and heaves it dripping into a nearby cart, where it clatters around loudly before settling. “And now, I will make sure Ezra’s grandchildren leave this place alive.”
“Do you have a plan yet?”
“Almost. Do whatever Mary tells you.”
I’m about to ask Muskrat if he has a family, too, but Topper and Wilhelm come splashing toward me. Their movement waves the water above my knees. My dress—and my new boots—are well and truly ruined.
“Miss Westfall, I’ve work to do down here,” Topper says as Muskrat attacks the wall with his pickax, ignoring us. “We haven’t met quota yet and—”
“There’s gold to be had here,” I say, indicating the wall. “This is the spot my daddy would have picked.” Everyone from Lumpkin County back home has heard of my daddy—Reuben “Lucky” Westfall—and his uncanny ability to find gold where there was none. Of course, hardly anyone knew it was really me doing the finding.
“You being sure, girl?” Topper says with a frown.
“I’d bet my mare on it.”
“My mare.”
“I’d bet your mare on it, too.”
Topper rubs at his gray-brown beard, gone curly now with a bit of length. Like just about everyone I know, the trip west aged him about ten years. “All right,” he says finally. “We’ll give it a try. But if we don’t find anything, your uncle will hear tell.”
I smile. “No worries on that account, Mr. Topper. I’m going to tell him at supper tonight that you changed direction on my orders. There’ll be no one to blame but me.” And no one to take credit but me, when they find a whole heap of gold.
Topper blinks. “Your orders?”
“This is a Westfall mine, is it not?”
“I guess.”
“Then you’d better get to work. I’ll return tomorrow to check your progress.”
Before he can say another word, I gather my sopping skirts, gesture at Wilhelm to follow, and wade through the mine toward the exit tunnel.
My limbs are shaky as we head up the steep slope. I hope I’ve done the right thing. Creating urgency might encourage Topper to use that whip. But finding gold makes me valuable. Someone who might be listened to. Someone who might be able to help Mary and Muskrat with their mysterious plan.
When we’ve climbed high enough to reach the fork, I gaze into the dark Joyner tunnel. Jefferson and Tom are probably there, since I didn’t see them down in the Drink, and I’d just about give my left pinky to pay them a visit, if only to assure myself that they’re okay. But I’ve already pushed my luck today. If I went against my uncle’s orders and visited my friends, there’d be hell to pay.
Reluctantly I turn my back on the upper tunnel and continue, past Frank and the foremen in their break area, and out into the sunshine.
I pause a moment, breathing deep of the cold, fresh air. This mine is tiny compared to the mines in Dahlonega, too new to be deeply excavated. How did people do it? How did they spend day in and day out, so deep inside an earth that could swallow them whole at any moment?
My legs take on a chill as a breeze flutters my soaked skirt and my drenched boots. We near the arrastra, and my heart leaps. Jefferson is there, dumping ore from a cart so it can be ground up.
His sleeves are filthy and rolled up to the elbows, and his forehead is streaked from constantly wiping his growing hair from his brow. In spite of the autumn cold, sweat sheens his forehead, and his hair sticks curled to the nape of his neck.
I study him carefully, looking for any kind of hurt, but there are no new visible wounds. I’ve taken a step toward him without realizing it, and he looks up. Our eyes meet, and his face breaks into a smile that’s like the sun rising over the Sierras.