Chapter Four
Olive and Moneybags hitch a ride in a long, light blue car that seems too long for the road. It can only take them halfway to the mines, so they end up walking the rest of the way. By the time they get there, the sun is sinking behind the tall buildings of Manhattan and miners are emerging from the tunnels.
Even above ground, operations are in full steam. Hordes of men and some women are manning long conveyer belts, sorting through the rubble plucked from the earth below. Olive looks at each face, hoping to spot Charlie's long lashes. She walks past stacks of fallen trees. Large men pull them from the pile, each timber fated to be cut then disappear down the tunnels to help keep the mines from collapsing.
He's probably there, thinks Olive. Charlie is pretty strong. She scans each face around the trees and the saws, but doesn't see him.
Moneybags squirms in her arms. She sets him down making sure the scarf she has used for a leash won't slip off his neck. "Can you find our Charlie, Moneybags?"
The dog puts his nose to the ground and sniffs.
"Good boy—go find him!"
Moneybags does a full loop around Olive, then another.
"Stupid mutt."
A shrill whistle sounds, causing Olive to nearly jump out of her skin. Men with dirty faces, reeking of sweat begin retiring their tools and machines for the night. They grumble about the long workdays, and how the union should do something about it. Blue, green, and brown eyes peer out from blackened, hairy faces, pausing on Olive for just a moment as they pass her. No one bothers to ask questions; they are anxious to take their place in the long lines to return boots and pickaxes.
A lump rises in Olive's throat as panic settles in. How is she supposed to find him in this mess? They all look the same to her.
Another whistle sounds. This one comes from a steam engine gearing up to roll away the fruits of these men’s labor.
Olive closes her eyes and swallows down the lump.
Concentrate, girl.
When she opens her eyes again, her shoulders are pulled back. She sticks out her hip and places her hand on it.
"You there!" She points directly to one of the men walking in her general direction, trying to pin him in place with her gaze. "Yeah you, the one with a pickaxe."
Several men around him stop to watch.
"What?" he spits out of the side of his mouth.
Olive holds a knuckle to her nose, watching the saliva sink into the ground, imaging it plopping on poor Charlie's head once it makes its way down far enough.
Setting her lips in a tight, thin line, Olive taps her foot. "You have something just there on your cheek— did you know?" She has a hard time not smiling at this. The man has to know his entire face is covered in soot.
He doesn't move, except to heave his pickaxe higher on his shoulder.
She clears her throat, patting the end of her imaginary bobbed haircut. "I'm looking for a bloke named Charlie— seen him?"
Smiling, the man reveals two rows of yellowing teeth. "Charlie who, sweetheart?"
This gives Olive pause. Does he even have a last name?
"You'd know him if you'd seen him, probably shines like a diamond in this lot of misfits." Olive clamps her mouth shut. Did I say that out loud?
The man's smile disappears from his face. He takes two steps closer to Olive, and several others back away. Suddenly, he seems much large than she thought he was.
At her feet, Moneybags begins barking.
"Listen, little lady—"
"Olly? That you?"
Both Olive and the man turn at the interruption. Charlie stands in rubber boots up to his knees. His jacket hangs open revealing suspenders underneath. The pair of tin cans tied on either end of a rope slung over his shoulder clink together, his water ration for the day gone.
"You know this street rat?" the man in front of Olive asks.
Olive suppresses the urge to turn and stomp on the man's boots, but she can't take her eyes off Charlie. He is just as dirty as the rest of them, but Olive can see past the grime; she knows who he truly is underneath it all.
"Yeah, I know her." Charlie steps toward Olive, keeping a wary eye on the larger man.
He eyes them both, then spits again. "Just keep her outta trouble. We ain't supposed to have visitors at work."
"Yes, sir. Of course." Steering Olive away from the crowd, Charlie hisses at her. "What are you doing here? You wanna get me fired?"
Olive crosses her arms. "Maybe."
"Something a matter? Did someone get sick or picked up by the coppers?"
Olive looks up at him under long eyelashes. "No Charlie, I just came to see you."
He opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a muffled blast. The entire ground underneath them shakes.
"What was that?" asks Olive, eyes jumping around the work yard. No one else seems to be concerned.
"Blasting new tunnels," He buttons up his jacket. "Night work—they do it mostly after everyone else has cleared out for the day."
Eyes going glossy with admiration, Olive breathes out. "Oh."
He knows so much, for just one day on the job. "Are the blasts dangerous?"
"Nah, they test for loose rock and gas before they light them up."
A small whine emits at Olive's feet.
Charlie looks down, and his eyes light up. "Moneybags!" He bends on one knee, scooping the pup up in his arms. "I missed you, boy!" The pair rub foreheads as Moneybags scrapes his tongue across Charlie's face.
Olive crosses her arms. "Gross." But she can't ignore the pain in her chest at seeing Moneybags receive the greeting she was hoping for—minus the tongue…or maybe not.
"Extra pay—extra pay here!" A short man with glasses is calling out to the miners preparing to leave for the day. He doesn't have a speck of dirt on him. "Need help shoring up a damaged tunnel. Extra pay if you work through the night."
Most of the miners wave him away in disgust, but not Charlie. He turns toward the man.
Olive grabs Charlie’s arm. "Wait, you aren't going are you?" Her eyes, desperate for a reason to make him stay, stop to rest on the empty tin cans. "You don't even have no water left."
"Extra pay, Olly. Can't pass that up —never know when there'll be another chance."
"Charles!"
She isn't sure if it is the use of his full name that stops him, or the squeak in her usually gruff voice, but he turns back to look at her.
"I—I…" Woman up, Olive – just tell him. "I came hoping to bring you back. We need you, Charlie. The other orphans," Olive swallows hard, "they need you."
"I'm sorry, Olly—I just can't. I thought you understood." He steps closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's time someone else takes over now. I've got to move on to make a steady, honest living and find a place to live, maybe find me a wife. You know, actually start my life."
His last sentence stings; a thousand needles bury themselves into Olive’s chest. She stares at his rubber boots, biting her lower lip, determined not to cry because it might ruin her makeup. All that black mascara, thick under glittering green eye shadow—what a mess that would make.
"Hey, Olly."
Her eyes meet Charlie’s hopeful. He can see how strong she's being, can't he?
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind terribly if…"
"What Charlie?"
"Well, do you think Moneybags could stay here with me? Some of the other guys take pets down into the mines with them and they do okay. He'd keep me company. The others aren't warming up to me quite yet, and—"
"Charlie," Olive interrupts. She yanks on the leash, drawing Moneybags closer until she can bend down and scoop up the pup. When she stands, she fixes Charlie with her best stare, one hand on her hip. "Hell, no."
Turning before she can give in to Charlie's own puppy-dog eyes, she stalks off. The heels of her feet lift. The imaginary shoes she wears dig into the loose gravel almost causing her to trip. Instead, she forces herself to slow down, concentrating on her swagge
r rather than the pain in her heart Charlie managed to cause all over again.
Moneybags whines.
"Hush." Olive scratches him behind the ears. "I can't let you stay, you're the only piece of Charlie I have left."
The dog succumbs to the scratching and goes limp in Olive’s arms. Once she is sure she is far enough away, she turns, searching for Charlie. He has his back to her, heading toward the loud man with his arm raised.
There is a short conversation, some scribbling in a notepad, and Charlie jumps back onto the tracked wagon, squeezing in between two others. They are packed shoulder to shoulder with their knees jammed up into their chests.
Like caged pigs being led to the slaughter, thinks Olive.
She turns away as the wagon disappears into the dark tunnel. She can't bear to watch Charlie leave again. He's just traded one kind of soot for another.
It ain't right, but he'll figure out what he's missing soon enough. It can't be no better here.
"Come on, Moneybags," Olive sighs. "Better go find a ride home."