Part 13 (1/2)
”I'm in no hurry,” Chester said.
The front door opened again and more people arrived. Jinx watched from his hiding s.p.a.ce.
Chairs s.h.i.+fted and sc.r.a.ped against the dusty floor as people took their seats and eyed each other without speaking. There had never been a town meeting before. Normally, each fraternal order would gather in their own hall and discuss their own business. On occasion there might be an awkward encounter in the mercantile or the hardware store, in which members of one nationality might exchange a halted word of greeting with those of another.
Even in church, folks kept to their own. Among the Catholics, the Austrians went to Ma.s.s at eight o'clock, Italians at nine o'clock, and Irish at ten o'clock. Services were divided up similarly among the Lutherans and Methodists.
But in light of the recent goings-on at the mine, the cross burning at the German Fraternal Hall, and the Widow Cane's death, the whole town was abuzz. With everyone's wanting to talk and a more than usual desire not to be noticed by Burton and his pit boys, representatives of each nationality and a few others had been asked to the secret meeting at Shady's place. Chester Thornhill, one of Burton's crew, had not been invited. But here he was, smack in the middle of it.
Wide-eyed, Chester sipped his drink as Velma T. Harkrader arrived. Soon after, Olaf and Greta Akkerson of Norway took their seats. The Akkersons were the driest couple in town. When they started munching on a few beer nuts, it was too much for Chester to swallow.
”What's going on here, Shady?” Chester bl.u.s.tered as Casimir and Etta Cybulskis from Poland joined the growing crowd, their four-year-old daughter, Eva, in tow.
”Why, we're having a discussion on prairie flora and fauna, in honor of the late Widow Cane.” Shady whipped out five gla.s.ses and filled them with sarsaparilla.
”Flora and who?”
”Fauna,” Shady replied without apology. ”Did you know there are thirty-seven varieties of hydrangea in Crawford County alone?”
Little Eva stared at Chester as she took her first sip of the bubbly sarsaparilla. Then, being eye level with Jinx's peephole, she peered right at him and giggled.
Chester banged his gla.s.s down on the table. ”This is a bar, Shady, not a ladies' tearoom.” He tossed a coin onto the table, nearly running into the Hungarian woman as he stormed out.
Jinx's hiding spot was getting stuffy and his feet tingled from lack of circulation. But even after being spotted by Eva, he couldn't take his eye away from the drama unfolding before him.
The Hungarian woman, her bracelets and beads jangling, took her place alone at the bar. Shady filled a shot gla.s.s for her and couldn't help smiling. Never had there been such an array of people in his establishment. Some were regulars, unbeknownst to their wives, while others would normally sooner be caught dead than set foot across his threshold. But here they all were.
Sitting on the floor, Eva played with her set of colorful nesting dolls, removing one hollowed-out and brightly painted doll from inside the other, while everyone waited for someone to speak. Jinx breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like Mrs. Larkin wasn't going to make it after all, but then the door burst open and Mrs. Larkin came in, wagging her finger. She hadn't been invited either.
”Shady, I've a bone to pick with you. That hooligan you've got staying here-” She stopped, realizing that Shady's saloon was full of people who she was fairly certain were not his usual crowd. ”What's going on here?”
Shady just whistled nervously and wiped out a few more whiskey gla.s.ses.
”Come on in, Eudora.” Hadley pulled up a chair for her at the Cybulskis' table. ”We're just having a little town meeting, so I guess this pertains to you too.”
Mrs. Larkin was apparently too stunned to speak and quietly took her seat, clutching her handbag in her lap.
”Thank you all for coming,” Hadley continued. ”I think we all know why we're here, except for maybe Mrs. Larkin. My apologies, Eudora. In a nutsh.e.l.l, Arthur Devlin needs the piece of land belonging to the late Widow Cane, and for once, there's something he can't get his hands on. That land could be a big bargaining tool for all of us. He has to get to his vein of coal, and if we owned the Widow Cane's land, he'd have to go through us to get it.”
There was a silence while all present considered what this meant.
”But the Widow Cane, she is dead, no?” said Callisto Matenopoulos. ”Who owns the land now?”
”Legally, no one,” said Haley. ”The Widow Cane pa.s.sed away July first and left no heirs. Therefore, her estate is considered in probate, or in holding.”
Those a.s.sembled stared at him, not sure what he was telling them.
”Effectively, the land, and the vein of coal that runs beneath it, belongs to no one at this time. For all practical purposes, it's-”
”No-man's-land.” The words were spoken in a deep voice filled with salt water and brogue. Jinx knew who had spoken without even looking. Donal MacGregor stood just inside the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, waiting for the image conjured by his words to sink in.
Everyone was painfully aware of the term used to describe the open ground between opposing trenches in the fields of France, Belgium, and Germany and of the deadly struggle for that land.
”Aptly put, Donal.” Hadley continued. ”The property can be purchased by the towns.h.i.+p of Manifest along with payment of back taxes within ninety days. If the towns.h.i.+p does not have the necessary funds, or simply does not want the land, as of October first, it will revert to the county and then be open for public auction.”
Donal moved to the bar and poured himself a drink. ”And the mine will outbid us all and the property will be theirs. They'll have what they need to keep us under their thumb. Aye, it'll be a right b.l.o.o.d.y battle to keep that land away from Devlin.” He swallowed the whiskey in one gulp.
Even without Mr. Underwood present, everyone could practically hear the final nail being hammered into a coffin.
”What is for us to do?” asked Nikolai Yezierska. ”The mine-it owns us. It says you must work more hours in a day for same pay. They say here is voucher to buy what costs double at the company store. So it is Sunday? First, you work. Then you can go to church. Look at the Germans. They have a few meetings and the men in the hooded robes burn a cross to warn them.”
Everyone nodded.
”How much would it cost to buy the land, Hadley?” asked Hermann Keufer, who had been a man of some means in his homeland of Germany until he had spoken out against the Kaiser. He stroked his handlebar mustache, waiting for an answer.
”To buy the land and pay the back taxes, it will cost one thousand dollars.”
Callisto Matenopoulos expressed the shock of everyone present. ”None of us have money. All we have to sell are store vouchers and perhaps a few silver spoons and thimbles brought over from our homelands.”
”What about the skills that we bring?” asked Casimir Cybulskis. ”I was a tailor in Poland. I can make suits. Surely there are others who can make goods or provide services for money.”
”And who would pay for these?” asked Nikolai. ”Yes, I make shoes. But who here will buy my shoes? As you say, we have no money.”
”Besides,” argued Olaf Akkerson, ”Burton and his pit boys, they will know what we do. And they will take action against us. Remember Sean McQuade? He lost his job at the mine for merely suggesting that the men should not work on Sundays.”
”We have children to feed.” Etta Cybulskis rested a hand on her swollen belly, carrying her sixth child.
”They are right,” Callisto said. ”We cannot risk opposing the mine. There will be consequences.”
There was a fearful rumble of a.s.senting and the room grew quiet. There seemed to be no more to say. Little Eva continued playing with her nesting dolls, opening a larger doll to take out a smaller one and holding it in front of the peephole for Jinx to see. Fortunately, no one took notice of her. Jinx carefully reached down to rub his left foot, hoping the meeting would end soon.
The Hungarian woman plunked her shot gla.s.s down onto the bar top and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ”Do you forget where you come from?” She stared them down. ”What about the others who depend on us? Those who are left behind?” Her breathing was heavy. ”Casimir Cybulskis.” She raised her chin at him. ”When your village was attacked, did your grandmother not hide you in a barn? Did she not give you her life savings to send you to America?
”Callisto Matenopoulos. Your mother. Did she not work three jobs to provide you with the chance to make the same voyage?
”And, Nikolai Yezierska? What about your family? They had to make a choice. Which son will go to America and which son will be forced to join the army? Your older brother. He insists you go and he will stay, no?” There was a stunned silence. They hadn't realized she knew so much about them.
”They sacrifice to send us here.” she continued. ”And for what? To live a dream of freedom and prosperity? Pah. They would be ashamed of us. What is it to defy the Devlin mine to those who have risked everything?”
Her words lingered. Those in the room who had remained unnamed looked into their own pasts-their own stories of coming to America.
Until a moment before, these people in Shady's bar had thought they knew little of each other as they hunkered with their own kind in their own trenches. But with the Hungarian woman's words, they suddenly recognized something in each other. They shared the same blood. Immigrant blood.
There was a long silence finally broken by Donal MacGregor.
”She's right. They've pushed us 'round long enough. I say it's time to do summat about it.”
Hadley observed the nods of agreement. ”Okay. The question is, what?”