Chapter 5 - A Kitchen Nobody Wanted Her In
Copper Jack woke Thursday morning pretending it had not felt the tremor.
Men were talented at pretending when paychecks depended on it.
Horace Vale posted a notice outside the mine office.
MINOR GEOLOGICAL MOVEMENT. OPERATIONS NORMAL.
Someone wrote beneath it in charcoal:
MOUNTAIN CAN’T READ.
Vale had the words scrubbed away before breakfast.
They returned before lunch.
Dorothy heard about it from Owen.
“Who wrote it?”
Owen grinned.
“Mountain.”
“Clever mountain.”
“Educated.”
He ate his stew.
Dorothy watched the dining room.
Three weeks earlier, men had laughed when she asked for work.
Now every stool was occupied.
Two miners stood while eating.
Bellamy had added a second table.
He pretended it was always part of his plan.
Dorothy knew better.
The kitchen earned more in six days than Bellamy’s previous cook had made in ten.
Not because Dorothy served expensive meals.
Because men came back.
She listened to them.
Miners talked over food.
About wages.
Equipment.
Foremen.
Rock.
Weather.
Women.
Money.
Fear.
Most bosses underestimated how much truth passed across a plate.
Dorothy did not.
That morning, conversation centered on Section Four.
“Timber keeps walking,” Owen said.
A younger miner named Samuel Price frowned.
“Timber don’t walk.”
“It does when rock pushes it.”
Tom Rusk lowered his voice.
“Vale’s increasing the lower blasting schedule.”
Caleb looked up.
“Who told you?”
“My brother.”
Tom’s younger brother Benjamin worked powder storage.
Caleb swore.
“What?”
Dorothy asked.
“More blasting means more stress.”
Bellamy appeared from the store.
“Could we perhaps not discuss mine collapse while customers eat?”
Dorothy turned.
“Why? Ruins digestion?”
“It ruins business.”
“Same thing to you.”
Bellamy glared.
Then a customer entered and he immediately smiled.
Dorothy shook her head.
Caleb waited until Bellamy left.
“Vale says deeper vein is rich.”
Owen snorted.
“Can’t spend copper if mountain eats you.”
The room quieted.
Dorothy set another basket of biscuits on the table.
“Then why keep going?”
Samuel answered.
“My wife’s due in November.”
Owen said, “Three children.”
Tom shrugged.
“Debt.”
Another man said, “Farm failed.”
Each answer differed.
The meaning did not.
People rarely risked themselves because they loved danger.
They risked themselves because something outside the danger frightened them more.
Dorothy understood that too.
For years, she had tolerated insults because losing work meant hunger.
Then one day she had calculated the cost.
Every insult accepted cheaply had taught the next employer to offer less.
She had begun saving.
Thirty-seven dollars.
It was not much.
But it was enough to say no to Bellamy’s first offer.
That one no had changed the price of every yes afterward.
After breakfast, Bellamy entered the kitchen holding a ledger.
“You ordered oats.”
“Yes.”
“We sell oats.”
“I know.”
“Why am I buying oats from Ortega?”
“Because he charges less.”
“I make money when my kitchen buys from my store.”
“You own both.”
“That is precisely my point.”
“You’re charging yourself retail.”
Bellamy blinked.
Dorothy held out her hand.
“Ledger.”
“No.”
“Then keep wasting money.”
He hesitated.
Then gave it to her.
Dorothy scanned several pages.
Bellamy waited impatiently.
She turned backward.
Then forward.
“What?”
he asked.
“Your freight charge increased.”
“Mountain road.”
“No.”
She pointed.
“Started six weeks ago.”
Bellamy looked.
“Three percent.”
“Four-point-two on flour.”
“Close enough.”
“No.”
“It’s cents.”
“Repeated hundreds of times.”
Bellamy’s expression changed.
Dorothy turned another page.
“Mine company controls freight contracts?”
“Vale’s cousin operates the hauling concern.”
“Of course he does.”
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing.”
Dorothy closed the ledger.
“I’m calculating.”
Bellamy frowned.
“About?”
“How much expensive stupidity one town can afford.”
That afternoon, Dorothy experimented with emergency biscuits again.
She added finely ground dried beans to one batch.
Too brittle.
Cornmeal to another.
Crumbled.
Rendered fat improved calories but shortened shelf life.
Molasses made them sticky.
She settled on a dense flour biscuit baked twice.
Not pleasant.
Reliable.
Caleb entered.
“You still making those rocks?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re still working under one.”
He leaned against the table.
“You worried about me?”
“No.”
“Sounded like worry.”
“I’m worried about wasting the food you owe me money for.”
Caleb smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“Vale posted men at Section Four.”
“To repair?”
“To stop workers wandering through certain passages.”
“Why?”
“Says unstable.”
Dorothy stared.
“He admitted it?”
“Privately.”
“But operations continue?”
“Yes.”
She set down the rolling pin.
“Caleb, when a cook smells gas from a stove, she doesn’t continue serving supper because only one burner leaks.”
“That’s not how mining works.”
“Perhaps mining should learn from kitchens.”
Caleb rubbed his face.
“I talked to Crowley.”
“And?”
“Says main chamber can handle it.”
“Do you believe him?”
Caleb did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Later, Dorothy carried scraps behind the mercantile.
Snow had melted from town but remained high on the road.
She noticed Henry Bell beside a stack of discarded mine pipe.
One piece was narrow.
Four inches.
“What’s that?”
she asked.
“Ventilation tube.”
“Why here?”
“Bent end.”
Dorothy approached.
“How far can these run?”
“Hundreds of feet if joined.”
“Can food fit through?”
Henry grinned.
“You planning to feed the mountain?”
“I asked a question.”
“If it’s little.”
“Would a biscuit travel?”
“Maybe if wrapped.”
“How would you move it?”
“Gravity if pipe angles down. Rod if flat.”
Dorothy looked at the tube.
Then the biscuit cutter.
The match was almost exact.
Henry watched her.
“You really thinking about feeding people through pipe?”
“No.”
“You have that face.”
“What face?”
“My ma gets it before she reorganizes the entire house.”
Dorothy laughed.
She bought the bent piece from salvage for five cents.
Bellamy mocked her.
“You now collecting mine garbage?”
“Yes.”
“Should I prepare more storage?”
“Probably.”
That night she tested wrapped biscuits through the pipe.
First one stuck.
She changed the cloth fold.
Second passed.
Third caught on the bent section.
She made the biscuit slightly smaller.
It slid through.
Caleb watched.
“This is strange even for you.”
Dorothy pushed another through.
“Strange is only useless before somebody needs it.”
He shook his head.
“What exactly do you imagine happening?”
“I don’t.”
“Then why keep doing it?”
Dorothy retrieved the biscuit.
“Because once you desperately need an answer, it’s usually too late to start learning.”
Caleb became quiet.
Outside, mine whistles marked the shift change.
Twenty-eight men walked toward Copper Jack Mountain.
Among them were Owen Pritchard, Samuel Price, and Tom’s younger brother Benjamin.
Caleb watched them from the doorway.
Then the mine superintendent approached.
“Wade.”
Caleb turned.
“Vale moved your crew.”
“Where?”
“Section Four. Night rotation starting Monday.”
Dorothy stopped working.
Caleb looked at her.
Neither spoke.
On the table between them lay a biscuit barely three inches wide.
May you like
And three days later, that biscuit would become more valuable than gold.
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