Olivia's Mine (9 page)

“Thanks sir,” Frank said.

“No, thank you men. But that’s the only time
I’m going to say it to you tonight, so make it count for everything
you do.”

Sarah Lieboldt crept up to McMichael. He
turned towards her. She was shaking, and white as a ghost.

“What is it Sarah,” he asked, this time, with
patience.

“I was just thinking sir, it’s Monday now.
Should I get the police on the phone?”

There was almost a smile from McMichael.

“Indeed it is, Sarah. That would be a wise
thing to do. Don’t tell them about Ruby, we’ll deal with that
another time. Tell them I will try to be there in a minute. And get
yourself a blanket, okay?”

And as McMichael headed towards his office,
he too, saw something quite extraordinary. There, candle in one
hand and cart handle in the other, was young Jimmy Yada, pulling an
injured man over to the hospital in his rickety old wagon.

“Do you need some help there?” McMichael
asked.

“I think his leg is broken, but I can manage,
I’m almost there,” the boy said, rather matter of factly.

McMichael took a closer look. The boy had
taken a piece of lumber from the rubble and secured the man’s leg
to it with some torn clothing, making a quite reasonable splint for
the leg. The man, who spoke little English, made an O.K. sign with
his thumb and his index finger and flashed it at McMichael.

“So you can doctor,” McMichael said, highly
impressed with the lad. “Carry on.”

The sun was rising lazily over the Cyprus
trees as if nothing about this day was out of the ordinary. A hawk
circled above the town, its massive wingspan casting large shadows
on the sand. It hovered and cried, waiting to scavenge the dead and
decaying if only the humans would leave. Eventually it was chased
away by a majestic bald eagle, which, while equally as curious,
found more sustenance with the offerings of the Pacific Ocean.

Olivia and Frank awoke from what had been a
very restless sleep for both. It had been almost five a.m. before
Frank was able to go to the town hall and bring Olivia back to
their house, a home that had been thankfully spared from
destruction.

“How are you?” he asked, brushing a delicate
strand of chestnut coloured hair from her face as she lay in bed,
nestled in the pillows. He was hoping she didn’t want to turn
around and go immediately back to Seattle.

“Fine, I think,” she yawned. “Although I
certainly didn’t expect to spend my honeymoon like this.”

It was not as if Olivia had grown up with the
notion of marriage being the be all and end all of her life. Her
mother had instilled in her the knowledge that the roadway of life
was full of ups and downs, and marriage was just a stepping stone
on the path along the way. Still, it had been what she desperately
wanted, to be wed to Frank, her high-school sweetheart, and be
accepted into a couple’s society. She was so much unlike her older
sister Anne, who had chosen to forsake marriage and children, and
give her life to God. Olivia did not expect to become rich, but a
life of service and poverty was definitely not for her. Some
couples, her mother said, had very rocky beginnings to their
marriage and wound up happy for their entire lives. Others, she had
told her, looked outwardly blissful but were internally
self-destructing. Olivia hoped her own marriage was coming in like
the proverbial lion and would go out like a lamb.

Frank entwined some strands of her hair
around his finger.

“No, I guess you didn’t. I’m sorry. I’ll make
it up to you Liv,” he said. “Tell you what, come summer, we’ll go
away for a bit. I hear there’s a nice resort on Vancouver Island,
across the water. We can get away for a few days, lie on the beach,
and go to a fancy restaurant or two. Would you like that?”

Olivia smiled, but said nothing. She
stretched her slender arm across her husband’s bare chest, and
tried to return to slumber. But the image of her new friend Lucy,
and the anguish of the night before, played over in her mind,
keeping her awake. She had asked Lucy to come home with her, but
Lucy had shaken her head, declining the offer. Olivia felt Lucy
must have wanted to be with her friends in town that she had known
for some time. They would probably know how to comfort her better,
appreciating the despair of the situation more. That would be only
natural, after all the two women had only just met. Still, Olivia
felt a kindred spirit to the woman who had unconditionally offered
her friendship on the boat trip up the coast. She hoped that
sometime she would eventually be able to repay that kindness.

Olivia rolled over, her bare back now turned
away from her husband.

Frank reached around her and cradled her
breast in his hand. He came closer, kissing the nape of her neck
and holding her tightly. She could feel him pressing against her,
his body getting harder with each quickening breath he took. She
turned and put her arms around his broad shoulders, drawing herself
nearer to him, to the comfort she was yearning for.

His lips delicately traced her face. A simple
caress on the tip of her nose. Tender butterfly kisses on her
eyelids. He licked her ear, and feeling her rise, he breathed
softly into her lobe. She moaned softly. He reached down and
touched her gently, stroking her until she responded with long
sighs. She needed his closeness and continued to encourage him. He
slid inside her, and what energy the two had left was now involved
in a sensual cadence, each body keeping time with the other. He
waited until he could feel her tighten around him, and then he
began to move rhythmically, causing her to completely lose control
to him. It was then that he let himself go, with an eruption that
shook his entire body. The emotion he had bottled up for the last
eight hours had now been sweetly released, leaving him utterly
exhausted. He rolled over and finally, fell fast asleep.

Olivia held him, her head on his chest,
listening to his heartbeat, until eventually sleep overcame her as
well, if only for a short time.

The sun was rising through the window, rays
of light coming across her eyelids. She got up and went to the
window, intent on shutting the blinds so that Frank could get some
more sleep. She could see down to the waterfront from her home. The
streets were empty, except for a young Oriental boy passing by. She
could see that man, McMichael, standing defiantly steadfast with no
outward signs of weariness. He must have had a night even worse
than her own, she thought. She stared at him for a few minutes,
somehow fascinated by the man the town called “boss.”

She looked over at Frank, who was still
asleep. How peaceful he seemed right now, and how handsome he was,
the blankets strewn haphazardly across his naked body. She glanced
at him for a few moments, thinking about how much she loved this
man, this man she had known for what seemed like forever, this man
who brought her to this strange little town. She smiled. It would
be all right.

McMichael stood on the steps of his office
building, surveying the damage. The night had been long, cold and
never ending. Most of the men, including him, had not been home,
not even to change out of their sweat-drenched, bloodstained
clothing. The town was virtually silent, its people exchanging not
words, but looks of either sorrow or relief, depending on whether
or not their loved-ones had made it through the night with their
lives intact.

He saw Harry Yada coming around the corner.
His clothes were dirty and torn from the night before, which, for
the immaculate Harry, was quite out of the ordinary. McMichael
motioned the man over.

“Harry,” McMichael said to the assayer.
“There’s a rumour I’m hearing circling among the men that John
Howser had threatened to show me who was boss last night and was
responsible for all this.”

The two men looked at the ruins from the
mountaintop on down.

“I somehow doubt that the story is true,”
McMichael continued. “You understand the language of the rocks
better than anyone does. Harry, what the hell happened last night?
What brought the side of the mountain down?”

“I cannot say for sure,” Harry said. “But, I
do not believe that this wrath was man-made. I heard the talk too.
They think Howser threw some dynamite down a fissure? That’s what
they’re saying, hei? But even that wouldn’t do this kind of damage
as you know. I have also heard the Chinese say that it was Buddha,
avenging the landlord because they could not get any rice wine at
the general store.”

Harry paused and surveyed McMichael’s face
after his bold comment. McMichael controlled what was and wasn’t
stocked at the general store, and for many of the Orientals, this
had been a bone of contention. There was a brief recognition of the
insult in his words, but McMichael let it pass for the time
being.

“Well you want to hear all the gossip, hei? I
suspect the truth, is somewhere in between,” Harry commented.

McMichael remained silent for a moment.

“I understand they found his body near the
top of the mountain.”

“Yes. Parts of it anyway. His torso was
entwined with that of a young woman from Ruby’s when they found
him. I do not think he blew up the mountain, boss. I think he was
busy.”

It struck McMichael humorous how sincere
Harry was in his statement. But he did not laugh out loud as he did
not wish to offend him.

“Harry, we haven’t had any aftershocks today.
Would you go up to the top of the mountain and take a look around?
Let me know what you think.”

Harry looked warily up the slope. A look of
uncertainty fell upon his face. McMichael noticed this.

“The crews have been up and down all night
Harry, I believe it is reasonably safe now.”

Harry hung his head.

“Reasonably is not one hundred percent,” he
said.

“I am not asking you to because I want to
make you the sacrificial canary.”

It was McMichael’s turn to watch the face of
Harry, to see if he recognized the reference to the inhumane
practice of sending Chinese railway workers into the tunnels with
only a live bird to see if the air was poisonous or not. He knew
this would get a reaction from him. He knew that Harry did not like
being mistaken for someone of Chinese decent, much as some of his
Chinese workers found it offensive to be thought of as Japanese. He
knew the assayer to be a man with his own hidden prejudices.
Harry’s body stiffened. He grunted.

“They say Chinese workers were in the mine
yesterday. Very bad luck, you know.”

“Harry, this act of God hit us all. The
Canadians, the Americans, the Indians, the Brits, the Japanese, the
Chinese…it did not play favourites. The Chinese cooks always take
the shortcut through the mine to the galley. Always have, and
always will, and you know that. This has nothing to do with
superstitions. This has nothing to do with the rice wine that, by
the way, your own wife was asking me to stock the other day, never
mind the Chinese. We need to set aside our differences. I asked you
to go up there Harry, quite frankly because you are probably the
most astute man of science I have here in Britannia, now that Marty
is dead, God rest his soul. I trust your judgment and your
knowledge of the rock. News of this disaster has reached Vancouver
and I’m sure the authorities are going to want some answers. I
don’t expect you to know “one hundred percent” what happened, but
we’ll be able to rule some things out I suspect. For example,
people will want to know if an earthquake caused this. I don’t
personally think so, as the damage seems to have originated from
the top of the crest. We need to be able to give people answers.
The true answers.”

Harry thought about this for a moment. He
turned and gazed towards where the Bentall home had been only a day
before. They had always shown such kindness to the Yada’s, not like
some of the other Caucasian families living at the beach. He had
heard Lucy call him a Jap, but he didn’t think she really thought
it was demeaning when she said it. It was almost like a nickname,
unfortunately, to her. Marty just called him Harry. Or sometimes,
Mr. Yada. Harry liked that. Marty often called him Mr. Yada in
front of McMichael, giving him respect.

The Bentalls had invited the Yada family over
for Christmas turkey this past year. Harry and Marty had drunk wine
until the wee hours of the morning, discussing the uncertainties of
the world’s politics. Marty had told Harry that Europe was having
some problems, some big, bothersome problems that weren’t going to
go away. Harry tried to explain the problems in the Far East.
Eventually the wine bottle was empty, and Harry had run home for
his own bottle, and introduced Marty to sake.

His wife Akiko had brought some colourful
squares of paper over and showed Lucy how to make little animals by
making folds in the paper. An introduction to origami. Akiko was
able to pass the time with Lucy without talking in this way, and
Lucy had truly appreciated the lesson. Akiko was a master at it,
and could make the miniature objects quickly, with perfection.
Lucy’s took longer, and her unskilled hands made rather strange
shapes, but she found the art fascinating and admired Akiko’s
talent. The children had loved them. Akiko strung them together and
hung them from the baby’s crib so she could play with them, the
colours enticing playful swats from Melissa. Lucy made sure she
brought more pieces of colourful paper back for Akiko on her next
trip out of town, a generous gesture to show Akiko how much joy
that evening had given her. Akiko had beamed ear to ear, Harry
remembered.

Little Jimmy had split the turkey wishbone
with Robbie that night. The bone was tiny and it hadn’t taken much
strength for the boys to snap it in two. Jimmy had wound up with
the short end of the bone, but had remarked that Robbie needed more
luck anyway, in a not so hidden attempt to save face. Perhaps Jimmy
had been right about that, Harry now surmised. It was a wonderful
evening, two families from different cultures sharing the
celebration. Although Marty had been Harry’s boss, there had been
no posturing. Marty was a fair man and a hard worker. Harry was
going to miss Marty. Marty was an educated man, something Harry
held in extremely high esteem. Marty would have known what caused
the slide. He owed it to his friend’s memory to try to find out why
it happened.