“I’m Tessie Rubrick, the postmistress, my husband’s shift boss at the mine. He’s working now. We’re Cousin Jacks,” she added, her brown eyes twinkling—“Cornish—” she explained with a lift to her chin. “Both of us from Penzance fifteen years back. Mrs. Dartland, did ye not know the Cousin Jacks’re the best miners in the world?”
Amanda laughed, relieved to find friendliness at last. The others smiled vaguely. They were used to Tessie and her Cornish pride. They continued to smile vaguely as Tessie reintroduced them to Amanda.
The thin, pinched woman in black was Mrs. Kolsanko, wife of the mill superintendent, and therefore, as Amanda later discovered, theoretically on equal social footing with the Mabletts. The Kolsankos, however, did not aspire to power. He was of Montenegrin extraction, and a shy, quiet man who ran the mill efficiently and kept to himself. Mrs. Kolsanko spoke broken English and had no interests in life beyond crocheting, and her internal ailments which she dosed with Lydia Pinkham’s.
Besides Mrs. Mablett and Mrs. Kolsanko and now Amanda there was no other staff wife, for like many small and isolated mines, both staff and miners consisted mostly of unattached men, rolling stones, who had, while the choice of operations was still large, drifted from one mine to another with rapidity.
The remaining ladies of the Lodestone hierarchy turned out to be Mrs. Naylor, whose husband ran the Miners’ Hardware and Supply Store, Mrs. Zuckowski, the wiry meager little woman who owned the Hotel, Mrs. Mattie Thompson, a fat widow who ran the switchboard in her home (ten phones in town and they seldom had night calls, so her niece Cora, over from Ray on a visit, was pinch-hitting tonight), and Miss Gladys Arden, the schoolteacher who was forty-four and afflicted with warts to such an extent that she had escaped the matrimony usually urged on all schoolteachers in the West by the woman-hungry males.
Miss Arden had been to college in Nebraska, she informed Amanda in mincing tones, and she named one Amanda had never heard of. “Where did you go, Mrs. Dartland?” she asked, “and what was your sorority?”
“I went to Vassar, though only two years—” said Amanda apologetically, “and they—they don’t have sororities—.” There was another silence. All the pairs of eyes contemplated her without expression, except Mrs. Kolsanko’s who was crocheting, and Tessie Rubrick’s which showed uncritical admiration.
“I fear”—said Pearl Pottner, in a stately voice, folding her fat hands together—“that you may find Lodestone sadly lacking in cultural refinement; Pearline always said——”
“Oh, no,” interrupted Amanda, eager to propitiate, “I mean culture doesn’t really mean very much anyway, does it? There are always books and things, Mother is going to send me some of the new ones—I’d love to lend them around—if anyone would like them.” She finished lamely for she saw at once she had made another mistake, even before Pearl said with a thin smile—“Kind of you, but we always receive the latest, most improving books for our little Book Club through arrangement with a library in Tucson.” And she did not ask Amanda to join the Lodestone Literary Ladies of which she was president.
“But we’d be mighty glad to have Mrs. Dartland’s books too, now wouldn’t we, Pearl!” cried Tessie, smiling at the discomfited girl.
Pearl gave a majestic and noncommittal smile and rose to meet her hostess who was shepherding the little Mexican girl out from the kitchen with another loaded tray.
Amanda had never been snubbed before, and her heart was sore. I can’t help it if I’m an Easterner, she thought. She tried to chat and laugh with the remaining ladies, but there was nothing to talk about. Tessie had gone too, to help with the serving. Amanda subsided into unhappy silence, staring at the Mablett walls. They were papered in sulphur yellow, lavishly dotted with chromos and framed photographs of the Mablett family.
The evening dragged on its appointed way. The collation was impressive. Lydia Mablett belonged to the Woman’s Page, or Hand-painted, school of cookery. Each dish was cunningly designed to look like something else. The salads had little faces drawn on canned pear halves with pimento features, and marshmallow and cheese hair. The main dish represented nesting birds, the birds (cut from pork with cookie cutters) nesting on green-pea eggs. These creations provoked much admiring comment, and they were certainly very good. Everyone ate greedily except Hugh. He sat slumped in a corner, glowering into space.
At nine, Mrs. Mablett gaily proposed a few hands of Auction and Amanda, who was a good bridge player but knew Auction only by name as an ancestor of Contract, was relieved to have Dart stand up saying, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mablett, but I don’t play. And I’ve got to get back up to the mine tonight.”
“Tonight!” cried Amanda. All heads turned and looked at Dart, who stood very quiet, his hand resting on the table, his head thrown back a little.
“I understand there’s been orders to enter the old Shamrock workings tonight on the graveyard. That there’s been orders to start pulling the pillars in the old No. 33 stope,” Dart said pleasantly. He looked at Mablett, then he looked at Tyson. “Now I happen to know the timbering’s rotten in there. Any drilling’ll start a cave-in.”
Amanda saw Mr. Tyson raise his head and frown. She did not understand the terrifying impact of the two little words “cave-in,” but she saw a tremor run over the faces of all the men, and a hostility too, as they looked up at Dart. He continued in the same voice—“So I think I better go up and change the orders.”
Luther Mablett hoisted himself out of his chair; he thrust his glistening red face towards Dart. “You can’t do that. They’re my orders.”
Dart’s mouth tightened and his eyes also narrowed to a cold implacability that frightened Amanda. Dart, don’t—she cried to him silently—don’t make a scene now! Dart merely bowed a trifle. “Then I shall go underground to be there with the men when your orders are obeyed.”
“Bravo,” said Hugh loudly from his corner.
There was a moment of complete silence. The company sat transfixed, staring at the two big men by the table.
Mablett’s ponderous brain reacted slowly. Then suddenly his great hand formed into a fist and came crashing down on the walnut top. Veins stood out on his forehead—“God-damn know-it-all! Will you stop butting into every God-damn...”
“Luther!” cried Mrs. Mablett, clutching at his arm. He shook her off.
“Lousy mine foreman with a fancy degree, sucking up to the men, stirring up trouble, sneaking around behind my back, I’ll show you who’s...”
“Wait a minute, Mablett! Hold on.” The thin, weak voice cut between the angry men like a cold knife. The general manager stood on his feet beside them swaying a little, his head barely reached to their shoulders, but his tired old eyes were steady and authority had returned to them.
“Dart,” he said, “how do you know the timbering’s rotten?"
“Because I’ve tested every inch of it.”
Mablett scowled furiously. “I say it’s not. I say it’ll hold up until we get the old stope cleaned out and we need that ore. You know God-damn well we need that ore, and fast—if you cared anything about the mine...” He glared at Dart, but his voice was more subdued.
Tyson held up his transparent, veined hand. “Wait, Mablett. We all care about the mine, but we care about the men, too. Now I don’t know who’s right and I can’t get underground to see for myself just now, but as long as there’s any doubt, I think you better hold up work on that stope until everything’s shored up.”
Amanda saw Dart’s muscles relax, and her throat unclosed, too. A rustling sigh fluttered over the rooms, then there was no sound again but Mablett’s heavy breathing. He stood there with his jaw thrust out, his fists still clenched, his bulging eyes shifted from Tyson’s face to the carpet, and in them there was an angry bewilderment.
The old man smiled; he put one hand on Dart’s arm, the other on Mablett’s. “Now look, boys—you’re both good men,” he said gently. “I’m lucky to have you. I know you can get along. You got to listen to each other a bit
more, but Dart—remember he’s your boss...” the thin voice paused. Amanda, watching, saw Dart give himself a shake. He looked down at Mr. Tyson with affection not unmixed with indulgence. “Yes, sir,” he said, “I know that.”
“And Lute”—continued Tyson turning—“when you got mad just now you said some pretty rough things to Dart, I’m sure you didn’t mean ’em.”
Mablett mumbled something inarticulate, and Tyson’s hands dropped from their arms; he staggered backwards towards his chair. In the old days I’d have made ’em shake hands, he thought, I’d have made ’em pull together some how but I’m too tired....Too tired for fights....
The dining room billowed and darkened around him, the nagging ache in his left arm speared up into his chest. He slumped gasping into the chair. “You got your ampules with you?” he heard the doctor’s sharp voice and felt fingers fumbling in his breast pocket. Then he smelled the pungence of the broken ampule in his nostrils, the pain receded, the lights came back into the dining room. “I’m all right,” he said irritably, pushing Hugh away. “Plenty of life in the old dog yet.”
“Sure,” said Hugh shrugging. “Cardiacs live forever if they take care of themselves. You better go home to bed now, your Filipino’s here with the car.”
Mr. Tyson’s attack at least provided respite from the embarrassment of the earlier scene. Amanda stammered the usual courtesies: “Thank you so much ... delicious food...” to a clammily unresponsive Mrs. Mablett. She and Dart escaped, to find Hugh outside on the road waiting for them. He had been helping Tyson into the car. The three of them started walking up Creek Street.
“Showdown,” remarked Hugh. “Victory for noble young mine foreman. Except you damn near killed the general manager in the process.”
“Either that or kill three miners,” said Dart. “That timbering’s rotten.”
“So I gather. You made your point. You think maybe dear Luther’s going to love you better now and tremble with delight at all your opinions?”
“No. But he may be more careful for a while.”
Hugh hiccoughed, and said, “Christ, I sure need another drink. Well, you at least provided some entertainment at last at one of those God-awful Lodestone parties. And I’ll bet they’re having fun now—” He jerked his head back toward the Mablett house. “Indignation meeting.”
“But surely somebody’ll be on Dart’s side,” cried Amanda quickly. “They’ve got to be, because he’s right.”
Both men had almost forgotten her. They paused now and stared at her. She looked very pretty in the starlight, her anxious eyes raised to Dart’s face. He took her hand and tucked it through his arm. “Poor baby, you had quite an evening!”
“Awful,” she agreed, trying to laugh. “But, Dart, somebody’ll be on your side ... that little Jones man with the glasses, the chief engineer, isn’t he? He looked nice.”
“Maybe,” said Dart soothingly. “But Jones doesn’t get underground much, he’s run ragged assaying, surveying, mapdrawing. Anyway, Mablett’s his boss, too, you know.”
“Dart’s a newcomer, my dear,” said Hugh, “and has established himself as a purveyor of unpleasant facts. That he may be right, will not make him popular as well.”
“Nor do I give a damn,” said Dart. He lifted his face to the sky, in an unconscious gesture.
No, he doesn’t give a damn, she thought, but I do. Her heart grew thick and heavy in her breast and she dropped her gaze to the dark pebbly road. Unpopularity hurt. How could you live amongst people who did not like you or admire you. Even before the quarrel in all that gathering tonight, there had not been one friendly face, except Tessie Rubrick’s. And then later, during the flustered leave-takings, Tessie had looked confused and uncertain. But Tessie’s husband was a shift boss at the mine. No doubt she was afraid to take sides. They were all afraid except Dart. Afraid of what? Of disapproval from the herd, of insecurity—Oh, I wish ... I wish...
“Medical Center,” said Hugh turning at the hospital path. “Come on in. I’ve got some rotgut left. You both need a swig.”
“Sure do,” said Dart. “But I’ll pick it up later when I get down from the mine. Give Andy a drink and then send her home.”
“You’re going to the mine anyway?” she said, her hand tightening on his arm. “Oh, darling, must you?”
“I’m afraid so—I’ve got to change those orders in case Mablett should happen to forget. I want to talk to some of the men on the graveyard, anyway.” He patted her shoulder and strode rapidly up the road.
“Graveyard?” she repeated watching him disappear into the night.
Hugh chuckled. “Graveyard is a shift, my girl, from midnight on. You needn’t sound so tragic about it. Come on in.”
She followed him slowly into the hospital waiting room. A figure in crumpled white unfolded from the rattan sofa.
“What’s that,” Amanda said, startled out of her depression.
Hugh made a sound in his throat and pulled the light chain. “That’s my nurse!”
Maria, who had been asleep, returned Amanda’s stare with interest, while she languidly coiled up the long, shining black hair, which had tumbled around her shoulders, and pinned on her cap. Something new, Doc bringing girls here at night, and she didn’t like it. He’d had a snootful, all right—but not real drunk yet.
“Stand up for Chris-sake,” said Hugh. “This is Mrs. Dartland.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Maria, not moving. As if the whole of Lodestone hadn’t seen her trotting around with her nose in the air, and her pearls and her yellow hair, as if everyone hadn’t been gabbing about the mine foreman’s wife from New York. “What’s she doing here? She sick?”
“Oh, shut up,” said Hugh. “What did you do with my bottle—drink it?”
“You locked it in the drug cupboard.”
“So I did. Any calls? Not that you’d hear them.”
Maria shrugged and stood up. “Well, I didn’t hear none.”
“Sit down, Andy—” said Hugh. “I’ll get you a drink.”
Amanda, who had been watching this colloquy in considerable amazement, sat down. She was not experienced enough to guess the actual situation, she saw only in Maria’s insolence yet more baseless enmity. This enmity Hugh partly dissipated in the dispensary, where Maria had followed him. “You want I should go home now, I guess ... now you got her,” said the girl through her teeth, watching him pour shots into white enamel cups. “Maybe she’s why you ain’t been very loving in a while.”
Hugh drained his cup and snorted. “Good God, no! What a mind you’ve got, never rises above the umbilicus. You can stay until I pass out. Go wait in my room.”
Maria’s brow cleared. She put her arms around his neck. He shoved her away. “God, you stink, and I’m not so drunk yet I don’t mind. Go take a bath.” He pushed her towards his quarters off the kitchen, and returned to the waiting room bearing the enamel cups. Amanda had discovered Susan in a box in a corner with her three pups and she was down on her knees crooning to them.
“My patient,” said Hugh pointing to the dog. “She paid for this refreshment.” He handed Amanda the cup. Amanda got up, caught by the bitterness of his tone, by the ugly twist to his mouth under the straw-colored little mustache. He’s not friendly either, she thought, but he’s at least someone I can talk to. She sipped from her cup and acrid fire ran down her throat and up into her brain. She sipped again.
“Hugh—” she said, “I’m scared. I feel lost. Nothing, nobody is like anything I’ve ever known.”
“Well, you haven’t known much,” he said lighting himself a cigarette. “You’ve lived on cushions.”
“Why must Dart hate so, be so unyielding? I know he’s right but why can’t he bend a little, compromise, coax them along?”
“For one thing he’s not an appeaser, and for another he’s part Indian.”
She winced, and he regarded her with a malicious satisfaction. “You knew that when you married him. Don’t you love him?”
“Oh, I do
. I do. More than anything in the world....”
“Well, then, stop beefing. Dart’s a better man than you or me. D’ju want another drink?” He stood up swaying a little. She shook her head. “Well, I do. Run along home.”
Loneliness swept over her, released by the drink. “Home,” she said...“Oh, why do we have to be so— poor?”
He paused by the sill, holding on to the lintel. “Yes, that’s what Viola thought—” he muttered, “but she never said it.”
Amanda, lost in her own maze, stared at him uncomprehending.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS DART strode up the mine road that night he thought about Amanda. He was more sensitive to her discouragement than she realized. He had not stopped at their home to pick up the car because there was plenty of time to reach the mine before the men came off night shift, and always he preferred to walk. Especially to walk alone through the star-flooded night.
For him now, the heavy stillness of the desert mountains shimmered into life with a hundred intimate welcomes. The limestone cliffs far to the west reflected light, and the Teddy Bear chollas glowed like phosphorescence along the margins of their fuzz of spines. The paloverdes, tender-green even at night, waved and murmured in the wind; the little brittle bush, ghost-gray along the roadside, sent forth its incense perfume against the sharper smell of the creosotes; and the giant saguaros, their majestic arms uplifted to the sky in eternal invocation, repeated the solemn note of welcome from the dim mountains behind.
His spirit expanded into awareness, and with each exhilarating breath he drew in strength from this country of his birth. It was the stern and mystic land of his Indian forebears, the Apaches, and further back than that to the Ancient Ones who had called the Arizona mountains home, even before the Apaches came.
That Amanda felt none of this, he knew. Here, for her as yet, there was no message. She had no shield against the buzzing swarm of small discomforts, or the clashings of divergent personalities from which he could so easily escape. She was still a spoiled and charming child, striving to gild the raw stuff of life with romantic illusion, yearning for the fairy tale. He loved her, she had sensitivity and humor, and she was a warmly responsive mate. He did not regret their marriage. He had never in his life regretted a decision once taken. He had known, as she had not, the risks involved in their marriage and he was prepared to be patient with her flounderings, with her initial recoil from a tough and alien environment, from the tough and alien streak in himself. But she must also make her own way and find her own life apart from him, for he despised dependence as much as his nature demanded solitude at times.