Page 92 of Our Own Light

Oliver called over to the boy manning the elevator.

“Do you know Floyd Bennett?”

He tilted his head a bit. “Maybe?”

“Huge man. Taller than I am, even. But broader, too. Strong as a, well, as a mule. Stubborn as one, too. With brown hair and blue eyes.” Oliver scrunched up his nose when he realized that the boy wouldn’t be able to see Floyd’s hair color or eye color very well here in the mine. He shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out every bit of scrip he had in there. “Here,” he said, handing the boy the money. “I need to know when he’s leaving. Try your best to spot him. Ask men their names when they leave, maybe. If you find him, I want you to tell him to wait for me up near the entrance and then I want you to come and find me. I think I’ll be sorting coal. Not my favorite thing, but...” Oliver shrugged. “What do you think? Can you help me?”

Eyes wide with what looked to be a mild form of shock, probably because Oliver had shoved the equivalent of seven or eight bucks in his hands, the boy nodded furiously.

“Yes, sir!”

“Good.”

Oliver turned to find the breaker room. Once he was there, the kid-boss turned to him, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Why’re you back?” he asked.

“Just am,” Oliver answered with a shrug. “Mind if I sit for a while?”

“Not as long as you’re working.”

“Yeah, I’ll work.”

So, Oliver sat. Hours ticked by, and Oliver continued to help sort the coal. Every time he cut his hands on the slate, his eyes teared up embarrassingly and he thought about heading home. But he wasn’t so sure where that was anymore.

Shortly before four, the kid-boss approached him.

“Are you fast?” he asked.

“I have long legs,” Oliver answered.

“Good enough. We need someone to help Billy.”

“Floyd’s old butty?”

“He’s one of our spraggers. He usually works with Chester, but Chester had to leave. Must be sick or something. He was throwing up everywhere.”

“Oh,” Oliver said, making a sour face. “So, you want someone to be a spragger?”

“If you can. Everyone else in here’s too young. They’d probably be slow. Get their fingers shorn off.”

“Yikes.” Oliver stood up. “Just tell me what to do. I’m sure I can manage it.”

“Good.”

The kid-boss led Oliver over to Billy, who explained to him how spragging worked. Apparently, he and Oliver would need to shove some long pieces of wood—called sprags, incidentally—through the wheels of the approaching coal cars, which would in turn slow the cars. It seemed simple enough. He had already had a vague sense of the task but had never seen the spraggers in action before. Typically, he and Floyd hooked their car up to some other cars when they were finished, and then they rode the elevator up the mine shaft, where they’d find their car again so it could be weighed. It would be interesting to see the entire process. Hopefully, Floyd would be impressed by Oliver’s willingness to learn more about the mines. He tried to see this as one more way to prove to Floyd that he was really committed to their life here.

Oliver’s first two attempts at spragging went rather well. Even though the cars were fast, Oliver’s height worked to his advantage, at least in this particular area of the mine, where the ceilings weren’t too low. He’d never be able to help in some of the more challenging areas. But that wasn’t what was needed, for now.

But then, on Oliver’s third attempt, he missed one of the wheels, nearly injuring himself when he tried to insert the sprag. Determined to fix it, Oliver snatched another wooden piece from the pile and bolted ahead toward the car, which had started rolling faster.

“Forget it!” Billy called.

Oliver ignored him. He could do this. He knew he could.

Coming up alongside the car, Oliver tried once more. Not only did Oliver miss inserting the sprag, but he tripped over his own two feet and slammed into the car, hurting his shoulder and nearly falling onto the Goddamn track. When Oliver looked up, the car was practically flying. It was traveling much, much too fast. Oliver could sense that it was at risk of toppling over. He bounded forward, unsure what he would even try to do, because how could you slow a car that weighed over one hundred tons?

Just as Oliver came close to the car, it hopped over the track.

---