Page 7 of Our Own Light

Remembering how helpful that man Floyd had been the previous evening, Oliver tried to find him instead, but even after a half hour of searching, he wasn’t able to.

Determined not to be completely useless, Oliver continued to traverse the underground city, exploring the various caverns and corridors, all the while trying to find someone who could teach him how and where to extract the coal. He wondered when everyone else had learned. Perhaps as children?

The thought entered Oliver’s mind like a revelation. Children! Back at the entrance, the boy manning the door had been helpful (though a bit of a bastard about it). Maybe there were other children working in the mines, too. Oliver felt a little nauseated thinking about that. Mining wasn’t exactly safe. He hoped none of the children were ever forced to participate in tasks that could lead to serious bodily harm.

After a moment, Oliver forced himself not to linger on those thoughts. He needed to fit in here, not criticize these people.

Holding tight to the horrible hope that other children might be working somewhere, Oliver continued to search. Sure enough, Oliver soon came across a whole room filled with children, most of whom looked to be between eight and twelve, seated on wooden benches near the coal chutes, their legs stuck inside piles of coal. One of the oldest boys was walking between the rows. He seemed to have some kind of authority.

“Hello,” Oliver said, coming closer. “I’m new.” He paused to consider if it would be possible for him to say what he needed to say without sounding completely inept. Probably not. “And I have no idea how to mine coal yet. You see, it was kind of impromptu, me moving here, and, well, I think Frederick—the, uh, coal company operator—only hired me because... well, probably because he thought that I’d lost my mind and, so, you know, maybe he felt sorry for me. Or maybe he thought it would be funny if I failed. I paid his son James, too, which I realize now sounds pretty strange, because you’re not supposed to pay your employer, are you? But uhm...” The boy was looking at Oliver like he had sprouted an extra head. He’d better jump to the point. “Anyway, I want to be useful while I’m waiting for someone to show me what I need to do in there. Maybe I can work here for now instead? Do you need some help?”

“Can you sort coal?”

“Probably,” Oliver answered. “Uhm, how, though?”

“Just make sure you remove the rocks and slate and such. Break up some of the larger chunks, too.”

Oliver answered with more confidence than he actually possessed. “I can do that.”

When Oliver sat at one of the benches, it was immediately apparent to him that he was much too large for the spot. In order to reach the coal, he had to hunch over in a ridiculous way. Besides that, his knees were sticking out far enough to intrude on the spaces of the boys beside him. He probably looked very silly. Worse, he would probably be uncomfortable soon. Oh well.

For the next couple of minutes, Oliver watched the boy next to him. He came to the conclusion that he could, in fact, sort coal. It looked easy enough.

Within the hour, Oliver realized he had been mistaken.

It wasn’t that the task was particularly complicated, but holy hell, was it tiring. Not only tiring, but painful, too. By lunchtime, Oliver’s hands were completely cut up, his fingers swollen, his skin a fiery red. He supposed this was why most boys had been wearing gloves.

When it was finally time for a break, Oliver realized that in his morning haste, he had completely forgotten to pack something to eat. He wondered what the other miners even brought with them to the coal fields. Back in New York, Oliver’s favorite lunch had been pineapple upside-down cake, which his mother liked to have their cook bake every couple of weeks. Remembering the tangy-sweet taste was making his mouth water.

Deciding that it might be best to head home early, Oliver left the mine. At the surface, he spotted Floyd sitting in the shade of a sugar maple with two other men. Before Oliver could figure out whether or not he wanted to approach, Floyd laughed a big, boisterous laugh, one that was so enthusiastic Oliver found himself smiling a little. Yes, he would try.

When Oliver reached the edge of the tree shade, Floyd looked over and the two of them locked eyes. Oliver found himself admiring the way that the light sparkled in Floyd’s baby blues.

“Hello,” Oliver said. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“We’re finishing up, but I can stay and keep you company while you eat your lunch,” Floyd said.

Oliver let out a little puff of air. “Well, funny thing, I forgot to bring one.”

“Do you want the last bites of my sandwich?” Floyd offered.

One of the other miners spoke up, too. “I ain’t eating the rest of my strawberries. You can have ’em if you want.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, the rush of gratitude making his chest swell as he settled next to them. “That’s very kind of you.” He held out his hand to the middle-aged man who had offered him the fruit. “I’m Oliver.”

“Roy Johnson.”

When Roy took Oliver’s hand, a tiny zip of pain shot up the length of Oliver’s arm, causing him to wince, though he tried his best to hide it behind a smile.

As soon as Oliver released Roy’s hand, the other miner offered his. At least Oliver would be prepared for the sting this time.

“John Straub.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Oliver couldn’t stop himself from looking longingly at the ripe red fruit resting on a cloth at the bottom of Roy’s copper-colored lunch pail. Roy scooped up the cloth, folded it closed, and handed it to Oliver.

“Strawberries are my favorite,” Oliver said, hoping to communicate how thankful he was, except, as usual, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from babbling. “Or boysenberries. Or blueberries. All fruit is delicious, really. Except pears.” He suddenly became worried he might have inadvertently insulted one of the others. “I’m not trying to offend anyone who likes pears, of course. I’m sure it’s only me who thinks they’re terrible.”

---