Free Spirit of the Valley by Jane Shoup Page B

breaks. They were the only ones with the vigor to play or fight among themselves. They were skinny, scrappy lads in filthy clothing, with coal-blackened faces and limbs, who worked for eight cents an hour. Their job was to sort rock from coal and to separate pieces of coal according to size. Most of them labored six days a week, ten hours a day. The dream of every breaker boy was to become a door boy and then a mule boy, and eventually a full-fledged miner. Jeremy took aim with his pick again and struck with precision. “Should be in school.”
    â€œSince when the hell does should have anything to do with anything?” Liam said tiredly. “We should see the sun on occasion. William’s not yet fifty. He shouldn’t look eighty and be struggling for the little bit of air he can wheeze in.” He paused. “Eh, Charlie’s all right. Not the smartest, but he’ll make do. His brother’ll look out for him best he can.”
    â€œThe girls still in school?”
    â€œNo. Maura pulled Kate out this year to help at home and you know Mary’s in service at Smythe House.”
    Jeremy nodded. There were three dynasties or moguls in these parts who owned mines, farms, ranches, and businesses, and who seemed to amass wealth exponentially: Landreth, whom they worked for; the Smythes; and Howerton. They were rich men no one liked but everyone either feared, worked for, or wanted something from. Howerton was the possible exception since he was generally respected and even genuinely liked by some, including most of his own men. Old man Landreth certainly couldn’t say that.
    Of course, they hadn’t all led charmed lives. Landreth was a hard man who’d lost two wives and two of his four sons. Pete had died in a strange accident as a young man, when he fell off a train while engaged in drunken horseplay, and Ted had suddenly gone missing years ago; no one had ever seen or heard from him again. He’d been with a friend, Stan Thomas, who had also gone missing. It was widely suspected that they’d gone off to the city to gamble, where they’d fallen into trouble that turned fatal, but no one ever knew for sure.
    For years, Landreth had owned most of the mines in the area. The one they toiled in was the sixth opened, thus its name. But then, less than a decade ago, Smythe had begun an operation that did well enough to start speculation, and in came others, including Greg Howerton. His mines had uncovered the richest veins yet, and Landreth despised him for it.
    The wonder of casual observers was that Six kept a workforce at all. It was poorly constructed and Landreth paid less than the other mine owners. The majority of the workforce stayed because of indebtedness, because Landreth paid part of the wages in script that was good only for the company-owned general store or rent for company-owned housing. He rented out hovels to his workers and overcharged for goods at the company store, the only place his employees and their families could get goods on credit. The deeper the debt became, the more trapped the men became. Meanwhile, Landreth made money coming and going.
    The one and only benefit of staying at Six for the long haul was that if a man labored at the mine for twenty years, he was awarded a pension for the next ten years. The pension was only a quarter of his usual pay, but at least it was something. Not that many lived to enjoy the benefit.
    Liam fell into another coughing fit, and when it subsided, Jeremy said, “Why don’t you go on? Get some air. It’s close enough to quitting time.”
    â€œI got this to finish,” Liam said, referring to the pile of coal not yet picked up.
    â€œI’ll get it.”
    Liam barked a final cough, turned his head and spat, and then sniffed. “It’s not right.”
    â€œIt’s nothing.”
    â€œIt’s not nothing, Shef. You got your job—”
    â€œIt’s fine,” Jeremy