The Miner's Lady Page 5

  Chantel smiled at the woman. The green-and-blue-pleated velvet toque was one of her favorites. “Thank you. It was a gift from my nonna.”

  “Mrs. Moretti,” Mama exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you up and around. I pray the ague didn’t leave you too weak.”

  “No, no. I feel much better,” she replied. “I think this reverend, he want to change the tiger stripes to spots, no?”

  Mama chuckled. “I think he makes a good point, but I fear the men of this town won’t abide by his concerns.”

  “I think no.” Mrs. Moretti gave a tsking sound and muttered something in Italian that Chantel couldn’t quite make out.

  Leaving her mother to talk to the older woman, Chantel moved to the door to see if she could find Isabella. It wasn’t like her not to at least tell them she was headed back to the house. She knew their mother would worry about Isabella walking off alone.

  Mrs. Maki stood at the door and nodded to Chantel as she approached. “It’s good you could come today, Miss Panetta. I know your people to be some of the worst drinkers in Ely.”

  Chantel’s brow rose at this. “Excuse me?”

  “Your people—the Italians. The Italians, Irish, and Germans probably consume more alcohol in this town than anyone. Seeing several Italian families represented here today makes me quite hopeful.”

  “Well, I’m glad we could accommodate you, Mrs. Maki,” Chantel replied, not knowing what else to say. She glanced out the open door. “Have you by any chance seen my sister, Isabella?”

  “Why, yes. She exited only moments ago. I saw her head off down the street to the north. I reprimanded her for leaving unescorted, but she said she wasn’t feeling well.”

  Chantel frowned. “To the north, you say? Perhaps I’d better find her and see her home.”

  Mrs. Maki nodded, then turned to greet other guests. Chantel pulled on her wool coat and stepped outside to see if Isabella was perhaps still in sight. She wasn’t. Going back into the building, Chantel found her mother speaking with several other women.

  “Oh, good,” Mama declared when Chantel arrived at her side. “I’m going home with Mrs. Moretti. She has a new lace pattern to show me. You and Issy go on home and get started on the ironing.”

  “Sí, Mama.”

  She waited until her mother and the other women headed back to their houses before deciding to go in search of her sister. It didn’t make sense to Chantel that Isabella should head north. Then a thought crossed her mind. The mines were to the north of town, and it was lunchtime.

  “Oh, Isabella, you didn’t,” Chantel murmured, making her way toward the north end of town.

  She hadn’t gone far, however, when someone called to her. Chantel turned abruptly to find Leo Fortino strolling toward her from one of the alleyways.

  “Why, Miss Panetta, you are as pretty as a picture of springtime and roses.”

  “Mr. Fortino,” she said with a slight bob of her head.

  The man’s grin only widened as he gave his mustache a brush with his index finger. “I was just telling your brother Marco that I’d like to come calling on you.”

  Chantel shook her head. “I don’t think that would be wise, Mr. Fortino.”

  “Please call me Leo.”

  “I cannot. That wouldn’t be appropriate.” She glanced up the road, straining to see Isabella.

  “But how else will we get to know each other better?” he asked, moving another foot closer.

  Turning her gaze back to him, Chantel tried to sound nonchalant. “I have no desire to know you better, Mr. Fortino.” He looked rather hurt, and she hurried to continue. “I’m sure you must be a very nice man—after all, Marco thinks highly of you. However, I’m not looking to court anyone, and when I do, I am going to want a man who is strong in his faith—one who will accompany me to services on Sunday morning.”

  “I’m a businessman, Miss Panetta. I can hardly help the fact that my business stays open until the early hours of Sunday morning. It would be very difficult for me to attend services with you.”

  “Exactly,” she said, nodding. “Which is why I refuse to do more than make your acquaintance and acknowledge you as a friend of my brother. Besides, I’ve only just returned from Italy.”

  “Ah, yes, and how was your travel abroad?”

  “Very pleasant, thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up with my sister. She passed this way just a few minutes ago, and I’m told she wasn’t feeling well.” Chantel searched the city streets for some sign of Isabella.

  “I could accompany you,” he offered, not easily discouraged.

  “No, that’s quite kind, but I can manage.” She started down the street before he could protest her actions.

  “I’m not giving up,” he said, calling after her.

  Chantel rolled her eyes. “You might as well,” she murmured, but kept moving.

  Picking up her pace, Chantel glanced quickly down each side street and alley, hoping she might catch sight of Isabella. It was only when she’d nearly given up all hope that she caught a glimpse of a young woman turning past the train depot.

  “Isabella!” Chantel called out. Her sister either didn’t hear her or didn’t want to be found. Chantel hiked her skirts and began to run in a most unladylike fashion. “Isabella, wait!”

  Rounding the corner of the depot, Chantel came to a dead stop as she again caught sight of the woman. It wasn’t Isabella. She frowned and stared out across the short expanse to the Chandler Mine. The place was alive with activity and noise despite the noon hour. Miners moving around the grounds and train cars full of ore bore evidence to their hard work. Tree stumps dotted the ground between the rail lines and the mining shafts. Just enough land had been cleared to allow for heavily rutted roads. It was filthy, cold, and unappealing.

  For a moment Chantel just gazed toward the mine. Many of the men were enjoying their lunch outside in the cold. It had to be better than being stuck down in the mine all day. But she knew she should get away from the area, and quickly. Where had Isabella gotten off to?

  Remembering things her sister had said about meeting Orlando near the mine, Chantel tried to imagine where the young lovers would hide their rendezvous. There were shaft towers and trestles, mining shacks and equipment scattered across the expanse, but Chantel couldn’t imagine her sister walking out into the midst of it.

  With a growing fear for her own safety, Chantel hurried back toward Camp Street. She made her way south and thought she’d managed to go unnoticed until a reproving voice called her name. Realizing she’d been found out, Chantel stopped and faced her accuser.

  Dante Calarco eyed her quite suspiciously. “Miss Panetta, what in the world are you doing over here?”

  She bit her lip, wondering what she should say. She could tell him she’d come to see her brothers or father. Maybe she should just say she wanted to see the mines, and against her better judgment she’d come on her own. Words failed her, however, and she could only return Dante’s intense gaze.

  He seemed to immediately understand. “She’s gone to see him.” He looked around the area, then returned his gaze to Chantel. “Your sister is out here somewhere with my brother, isn’t she?”

  Chantel knew she couldn’t very well lie. “I think so. I can’t be sure. I didn’t see her come here, but . . .” She fell silent. He wouldn’t care about her reasons or thinking.

  “Your sister is ten kinds of fool to expose herself to the dangers here.” He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

  Chantel noted the filthy trousers tucked into well-worn black knee boots. She let her gaze travel up the length of him and felt her heart skip a beat when she again met his stare. Rational thought left her momentarily, but Dante either didn’t notice or care.

  “If I find her, I’ll give her what she should have been given a long time ago,” Dante said, his jaw clenched tight.

  “And . . . ah . . . just what would that be?” Chantel asked, still barely able to think.

  He glared at
her. “A spanking.”

  This snapped Chantel out of her strange fog. “You wouldn’t dare touch her! It would cause an even bigger rift between our families if you did such a horrible thing. I’ll find her and I’ll get her home, but you keep your hands off of her!”

  She didn’t wait to hear anything else he had to say. Instead, she marched on with new determination, hoping that her sister and Orlando would have the good sense to meet closer to town rather than the mine.

  Only after she’d gone a block or so did Chantel realize the hopelessness of it all. She slowed her pace and tried to figure out what she should do. There really was nothing to be done, she supposed.

  “I might as well go home,” she told herself. She knew Isabella was capable of taking care of herself. After all, she’d done so for the entire year Chantel had been in Italy. Shaking her head, Chantel whispered a prayer.

  “Oh, Father, watch over my sister. She’s not using her head, but rather letting her heart make all her decisions. Please keep her safe and bring her home without any trouble.”

  Of course there would still be trouble of some sort because Dante Calarco knew his brother was once again meeting with a Panetta. Chantel swallowed hard and squared her shoulders.

  “Let him make trouble,” she muttered.

  Chapter 6

  The weeks passed and with it came the snows. St. Anthony’s construction was finished and the church was dedicated just before the first of December. Everyone was excited to celebrate the Christmas season in their new building. Chantel was more relaxed now that the cold weather kept Isabella closer to home. She knew her sister still planned to marry Orlando Calarco, and she’d done her best to encourage Isabella to confide in their mother. Even so, Isabella was hesitant. She knew there were few secrets between her parents, and she feared how her father would respond.

  “He won’t understand at first,” Isabella had told Chantel. “But maybe if I marry and then let him know, he’ll realize that he has to accept it.”

  Chantel disagreed, but Isabella begged her to remain silent on the matter. In time, she promised, she would tell their mother.

  Working at her tatting in the warmth of their front parlor, Chantel couldn’t help but notice her mother’s busy hands. Mother delighted in making Chantilly lace and could fetch quite a price for it if she’d been inclined to sell it. Usually, however, the lace was given as gifts or sewn into new clothes for her daughters.

  Isabella worked across the room in silence. She sewed pleats on a buttercream-colored bodice. The piece was to be part of a new gown, and Chantel wondered if it might become her sister’s wedding dress.

  A knock on the front door sent all of their gazes in search of the source. Chantel was the one nearest and got to her feet. “I’ll answer it.” She made her way to the door and opened it to find a delivery boy.

  “This here is for Miss Chantel Panetta,” the boy declared, holding up a small wooden crate.

  “You may place it on the hall table,” Chantel said, pointing. She reached into her chatelaine and procured two pennies. She smiled and handed them to the boy. “Thank you.”

  He grinned from ear to ear and pocketed the coins. “Thank you, miss.” He doffed his cap and hurried from the house.

  “What is it?” Mama called from the parlor.

  Chantel lifted the wooden box and brought it to show her mother and sister. “Apparently I am the recipient of a gift.”

  “Oh, do open it!” Isabella said, looking quite excited. “I love surprises.”

  “Who is it from?” Mama asked.

  Shaking her head, Chantel pried at the wooden top with her fingertips. “I have no idea.”

  “You need a hammer for that,” Mama advised.

  Nodding in agreement, Chantel went to the kitchen and retrieved her mother’s household hammer. “I can’t imagine who would send me a gift,” she said as she returned.

  “Yet there it sits,” Isabella said with a grin. She had cast aside her bodice to hover near the box. “And it is the holiday season. Why, before we know it, Christmas will be here.”

  Mama laughed and continued twisting her threads to make lace. “Sí, we’ll have a grand celebration with everyone home. We missed you very much last year, Chantel. It didn’t seem like Christmas with you gone.”

  The box yielded with a creaking groan. Chantel pushed aside the lid and maneuvered through the packing to find a card. She opened it and read it aloud. “‘It’s good to have you home again. From an admirer.’”

  “And that’s all?” Isabella said, looking over her sister’s shoulder.

  “That’s all,” Chantel admitted. She put the card atop the lid and dug back into the packing. One by one she pulled a dozen oranges from the crate. It was a rare and expensive gift to have in the dead of winter—especially this far north.

  “Oh my!” Mama stopped her work. “Oranges?” She gave an exclamation in Italian. “What a fortune those must have cost.”

  “And we don’t even know who sent them,” Isabella declared. “But someone certainly has strong feelings for you, Chantel.” She gave her sister a nudge. “Maybe there will be more than one wedding to come.”

  “What do you mean more than one?” Mama asked.

  Isabella bit her lip and hurried back to her chair. She picked up the bodice. “Well, I’m sure there are weddings being planned in the community. I heard something just the other day about Margaret McGuire and her beau getting hitched.”

  Chantel could see her mother was less than convinced. She replaced the oranges in the crate, certain that the only man who could afford to send them was Leo. “Perhaps the time has come that you should let Mama know what’s on your heart.”

  She took her seat and picked up her tatting shuttle. “After all,” Chantel continued, “I believe you would have an advocate.”

  Mama eyed her daughters with great curiosity. “What is this? You are keeping secrets from your mama?”

  Isabella looked wide-eyed at Chantel as if to question her sanity. Chantel gave her the slightest nod of encouragement. “She’s right, you know. Let’s just have this out.”

  Isabella fidgeted with the bodice for a few seconds, then tossed it aside. “I’m in love.”

  “But why should that be a secret from your mama?” The older woman looked deeply wounded. “I thought we were closer than that.”

  Isabella came to kneel beside her mother. “We are, but you may not like what I tell you, and I wanted to spare your feelings.”

  Mama looked to Chantel. “But your sister, she knows?”

  “Sí, Mama.”

  “Then you had best tell me.” Mama let the bobbins rest against the small pillow where she’d pinned her lace pattern.

  “I am in love with Orlando . . . Calarco.”

  Mama’s mouth fell open in a silent O. Isabella took hold of her mother’s hands. “I cannot bear to hurt my family, but this feud between us and the Calarcos is ridiculous. Who cares that a silly mule was accidentally killed fifty years ago? Orlando and I believe that if we marry, we can put this matter to rest once and for all.”

  “I santi ci preservi!” Mama whispered. Saints preserve us.

  “I don’t think even the saints can help this, Mama,” Chantel replied. She wrapped the thread around her left fingers and worked the shuttle to make a ring.

  “I love him, Mama. And he loves me. We want to marry but figure we’ll have to elope.”

  For several minutes their mother said nothing, but Chantel could see that she was deep in thought.

  “Your papa and brothers will be . . . ah . . . surprised,” Mama finally said.

  “I’d rather not tell them just yet, Mama.” Isabella got back to her feet and smoothed out her gown. “Orlando and I figure to elope after the New Year. We didn’t want to cause problems for anyone over Christmas. I love you all so much.” Isabella turned to Chantel. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

  She took her seat again and picked up her sewing. “I’m making my wedding dress
.”

  Mama looked at the piece and then back to her lace making. For several long minutes she said nothing. Chantel could see the troubled expression on her mother’s face, however. She knew this would not be an easy matter to deal with.

  Finally Mama looked at Isabella. “This black lace I’m working on would hardly be suitable for a wedding gown. Chantel, you brought back a good deal of tatted lace, did you not?”

  “Sí, mama.”

  Her mother nodded. “You’ll need some lace for your gown,” she said, continuing to nod. “A wedding dress should have lots of lace.”

  Isabella grinned. “Thank you, Mama.”

  Chantel understood this was their mother’s way of accepting the news—perhaps even approving it.

  “And you’ll say nothing to Papa and the boys?” Isabella asked hopefully.

  Mama nodded. “I say nothing for now. But, Issy, you know in time you will have to tell your papa.”

  Isabella nodded. “I know, but I’m praying for just the right time.”

  A long and mournful blast from the mine’s whistle sounded and continued to do so for far longer than any noonday lunch signal. Chantel saw her mother’s face pale, and Isabella jumped to her feet.

  “Something’s wrong at the mine!” her sister exclaimed. “We must go.”

  She threw the bodice aside once again and ran for the hall. Chantel put aside her tatting, tucking it into her chatelaine before helping their mother to her feet.

  “I’m sure Papa and the boys are fine.”

  Mama’s eyes met Chantel’s. “We must pray for the men.”

  “I’m already praying, Mama.” She helped her mother into her woolen coat and then retrieved her own while Mama secured her bonnet. Isabella waited anxiously, wringing her gloved hands nervously. Chantel knew she was worried about her father and brothers, but she was also concerned about Orlando. What if the young man had been killed? What if Papa or Marco or Alfredo had suffered injury or death? What would any of them do?

  They hurried with hundreds of other people to make their way to the mine. The mass confusion did nothing to reassure Chantel that everything would be all right. The dust in the air seemed far thicker than usual, she thought, and when someone mentioned a premature explosion, she couldn’t help but fear the worst.