Free The Miner's Lady by Tracie Peterson Page B

When he heard that the man was still alive, he offered his help to get him over to the hospital. The mine captain met Dante’s determined look and nodded.
    â€œFind out how the others are doing, Calarco, and get word back to me.”
    â€œWill do, Captain.”
    They made a makeshift litter from a long wooden plank and carefully balanced the older man’s body on it. Dante knew the man, but not well. The men called him Spud because he always brought a baked potato in his lunch. He’d only recently joined them from another nearby mine.
    Taking one end of the plank, Dante lifted in unison with the man who held the other end. A third man walked with them to keep the unconscious patient from rolling off. None of the men spoke as they made their way to Dr. Shipman’s. Dante was grateful for the frozen ground. Even with the drifts of snow, it was easier to traverse than dealing with the mud.
    Shipman’s place was packed with people just as Dante had known it would be. But as they approached, the crowdparted much like the waters of the Red Sea had for Moses and the Israelites. Dante kept his gaze on Spud’s pale face, afraid that if he glanced around at the people there, he would see accusation in their expressions.
    They made their way up the steps and into the building where one of the doctor’s staff directed them to take the litter. Once they’d deposited the patient on a table, the other men quickly exited the room. Dante, however, approached the orderly who prepared to tend Spud.
    â€œCaptain told me to ask about the men.”
    The man looked up and nodded. “Doc’s busy working on one now. He thinks most of them will pull through, with exception to one man. He was pretty badly wounded.”
    Dante didn’t want to ask which man. He was afraid of hearing the truth. If the man told him that the dying soul was Giovanni Panetta, he wasn’t at all sure what his reaction might be. Spying Father Buh arriving to offer prayers for the new man, Dante left the orderly and went to the priest.
    â€œFather,” Dante said, giving a slight nod. “How are the men?”
    â€œThey are doing as well as can be expected. It’s in the hands of God. Frankly, it’s a wonder that any of them have survived.”
    Dante licked his dust-dried lips. “And . . . what of . . .” He was unable to ask about Panetta, the words sticking in the back of his parched throat. Dante noticed Chantel slipping out the front door. He decided to follow her and ask after her father. His report to the captain could wait that long, and besides, Dante would be inquiring after one of the mine’s best workers.
    By the time he exited Dr. Shipman’s and made his way through the now less than cooperative crowd, Dante could see no sign of Chantel. He frowned, wondering where she might have gone. Heading east on Chapman Street, Dante kept a watchful eye for any sign of the young woman. He finally spied her on the boardwalk and hurried to catch up to her.
    â€œMiss Panetta!”
    She stopped and turned to meet him. Her face was tearstained and her eyes were red from crying. His heart sank. “Your father . . . is he . . .”
    Chantel’s brows knit together as if confused, then realization seemed to dawn. “He’s going to be fine. His injuries are not life threatening.”
    Dante let out a heavy breath that he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “I’m glad.”
    â€œAre you?” Her tone suggested disbelief.
    â€œI am,” he confirmed. “I wouldn’t wish an accident like that on anyone.”
    â€œNot even your Panetta enemies?” she asked.
    Dante shook his head. “That isn’t my way. Neither is the setting of premature explosions in order to continue a vendetta.”
    Chantel brushed back errant strands of brown hair and fixed him with a hard gaze. “This has to end. It’s