Page 7

7

THERE WERE NO SURVIVORS.

The lake had claimed the steamship, with few bodies having washed up onshore. Hours later, the men who had joined Edgar and Abel had left the vicinity.

“This is the harsh side of life here in Silvertown.” That was the only sorrow expressed by Niina. She had set to work baking bread, and the kitchen was filled with an inviting aroma. Niina asked Rebecca to assist, and then she eyed Rebecca as she stood there hesitantly, unsure of what to do.

“You’ve never baked bread before.” Niina’s observation was terse but softened with a smile. “Well, watch and learn.”

Rebecca did so, sipping tea from a tin cup and worrying about how she could possibly stay at the lighthouse with two men. But she couldn’t even recall her surname, let alone where she was from. Still, the men—the ones who’d come from down the way with lanterns, ready to battle the storm with Edgar and Abel—they had to come from Silvertown.

“Perhaps I should go with you,” Rebecca tried again. “To Silvertown.”

Niina shook her head, keeping her back to Rebecca as she kneaded more dough. “No. You’ll stay here. Where it is safe.”

“Surely someone there can help me.”

A small laugh escaped the older woman. “Of course. A throng of copper and silver miners, the one-legged captain who owns the merchant shop, and more miners? Homes are scattered about. It’s less a town and more a wilderness dotted with ramshackle shacks, mining camps, and a main street. Have you no recollection of where you are, child?” Niina turned, her hands covered in flour, a questioning expression on her round face.

Rebecca gave her head a sheepish shake. “None.”

“And no recollection of what happened to you?”

Another shake of her head.

A deep frown creased the skin between Niina’s eyes. “Your family? Do you remember them?”

“Do I have a family?” Rebecca challenged. Niina knew Rebecca could not bake bread. Niina was surprised that Rebecca had asked for her name. Niina also knew there was danger associated with her. It felt as though the truth was being dangled in front of her like a steak in front of a dog but kept just out of reach because they believed the steak to be laced with poison. “You say it isn’t safe,” Rebecca said, running her hand up her arm, not needing to remind herself of the bruises hidden beneath her dress sleeve. “Do you know why?” She was hopeful, and she breathed a prayer that Niina would take pity on her and tell her what she knew.

Niina continued to knead her dough. “Few of us have family in Silvertown.” She had sidestepped Rebecca’s question. “Down the way in Ontonagon, you’ll find civilization. Women, children, a church, a post office, and the like. But Silvertown and this lighthouse, well, it’s a dream, that’s what it is. A rich man’s dream to get richer. There is no family in Silvertown.”

“Maybe I’m from Ontonagon. Perhaps I should go there.” The door opened, cutting Rebecca’s musing short.

Edgar and Abel entered the living space, making the small kitchen even more cramped. Edgar pushed through the room and disappeared into the house beyond. Abel paused, and Rebecca didn’t miss the quick survey he gave her person. That he recognized his sister’s clothes was evident by the shadow that crossed his face.

Instead of commenting, he moved to the short counter and lifted a slice of warm bread. “Mmm, it is delicious, ?iti. ”

Niina batted his chest, snatching the slice of bread from his hand. “Go. You get dry and warm before you catch your death, and then come back and I will slice more for you.”

Abel dropped a kiss on his mother’s cheek, bending over a significantly long way to do so. The difference in their heights was stark. Rebecca shrank into her chair as Abel passed by. His clothes were damp, his dark hair was ruffled and stuck out in multiple directions. He paused by Rebecca and looked down at her.

“You are dry now. Good. I should not have left you to yourself in the lighthouse.” Gentle reprimand tinged his voice.

“ Joo! ” Niina spun from where she had pounded the dough into a firm ball. “What were you thinking?”

Abel shrugged. “That Rebecca would stay put, just as she promised.” He turned to Rebecca, and they locked gazes. His look was expectant, the cool ice blue of his eyes such a stark contrast to his dark hair that they appeared almost ethereal.

Rebecca felt warmth leave her face, then it swept back up in a rush to her cheeks. Something inside of her craved him. But he was dangerous too. She could sense it.

He looked away from her and back to his mother. “I’m going to get dry.”

Minutes later, both men had returned to the kitchen, and their presence made Rebecca wish to hide. Between Edgar’s glowering and undisguised surveyance of her and Abel’s attempts to not look at her, she felt a bit like a porcelain doll in the midst of rough little boys who didn’t know what to do with it.

She was never more grateful for Niina’s presence, and she dreaded the moment Abel’s mother took her departure. Why the woman wouldn’t take Rebecca along struck a nerve with her, and she wished to demand a reason for this. But she didn’t. Because she was afraid. There was no other reason. Rebecca didn’t know who to trust, but something in Niina’s refusal to take Rebecca home with her to Silvertown was emphasized by caution and intent. It made Rebecca believe that Niina was being sincere in her offer of security here at the lighthouse.

Niina set plates with fresh bread in front of both men. “Do we know anything about last night’s wreck?”

“It wasn’t a passenger ship. The ship was due in Ontonagon and was carrying mining supplies.” Abel’s response was muffled around a bite of bread. “The men lost were the ship’s crew.”

“Such sad loss of life.” Niina clucked her tongue.

Edgar huffed. “I pity the dead, but the wreck ... it sticks it to Hilliard and his cronies.”

“Edgar.” Niina’s voice held warning.

He jerked his head up to spear her with a look. “What? Truth is what truth is.” He glanced at Rebecca, then back at Niina. “Hilliard has no respect for the land round here. No respect for those what been here long before he ever came. I remember when this place was just an outpost and we traded with the Ojibwe. Respectable men— good men—and then people like Hilliard come in. They ignore all local knowledge and think they can get rich.”

“Hilliard was already rich,” Abel groused around another bite of bread.

“And not everyone was respectable even before Hilliard,” Niina inserted with reprimand.

Edgar snorted. “Every group has their bad apples, sure, but Hilliard?”

“Who is Hilliard?” Rebecca dared to ask, and the sound of her voice must have startled the other three, who all stilled. She squirmed under their frank gazes, surprise on their faces as if Rebecca had asked who the president of the United States was—which she hadn’t, even though she realized now she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Hilliard owns half the copper mines around Ontonagon,” Niina explained. “A year ago, silver was found here, not far from the Iron River. Silvertown is a bit like California just before their gold rush. Find a little, look a bit more, and then silver fever breaks out.”

“Only Hilliard is monopolizing the entire construct. And he won’t listen.” Edgar took a draw from his cup of water before setting it back on the table with a thud. “He’s garnerin’ investors from as far off as Pennsylvania. Thinks Silvertown will be the next big vein of money.”

Rebecca glanced between the three people she shared the small kitchen with. “You don’t want that to happen?” She bit her tongue. An ominous feeling descended on her. She was a part of this somehow. A part of it that skirted the perimeter of her memory, taunting and frightening her simultaneously.

Edgar worked his bearded jaw back and forth, then settled his stare on Rebecca. “Years ago, before the war, this place was known for furs. It was quiet here. Good relations between the traders and the Chippewa. But about thirty years ago, the chiefs met with the government and gave all their lands in this area to the United States. That meant the White man now owned a heap of the land to the west and much of the land east of the American Fur Company’s trading post. ’Course, that meant permits were issued for mining, and the rest is a short history of the last thirty years.”

“The fact that there’s a stamp mill now in Silvertown to process the ore says a lot.” Abel’s musing brought Rebecca’s eyes to his face. He caught her gaze. “Not that mining is bad. It boosts the economy in the area. It’s just—”

“Progress will happen,” said Niina, “and mining has supported us since you were a boy, Abel. Your own father worked the mines.”

Abel nodded.

Edgar gave his customary snort. “And then there’s men like Hilliard.” He eyed Rebecca for a long moment, until it made her shift in her chair, as if she were somehow to blame. “Shortsighted and feverish with greed. He’s the kind that makes progress worse than better.”

“Where are the Chippewa now?” Rebecca asked Niina.

Niina’s face softened into a smile. “They were granted land, and most have moved there. But there are still some in the area.”

Edgar harrumphed. “Hilliard won’t hire them even though one of them found a big copper load years ago. I’ve no respect for men like Hilliard. Don’t care what color a man is, greed is greed. And then there’s dominatin’ folks—that’s what Hilliard does. Throws his money around like he’s everyone’s boss. He don’t even like the foreigners.”

“Foreigners?” Rebecca asked.

Abel gave her a sheepish smile. “Folks like my is? . My father came from Finland, but he didn’t speak English. Some don’t like the immigrants.”

Rebecca didn’t respond. Instead, she calculated the stories in her mind, desperate to find something to trigger a memory, a familiarity, anything. But there was nothing. A dark void in her recollection meant the brief history lesson surrounding her newest home meant little to her outside of the fact that the world of the Porcupine Mountains was no friendlier than other places. There were pockets of separation. The rich and the poor. The born-and-raised and the immigrant. The White man and the Indian.

And then there was her. Rebecca. Only Rebecca, and three people who had already left her on her own side of the table. Tentative in their care, suspicious in their gazes, with a welcome that held her at arm’s length while simultaneously trying to offer her safety.

She was an outsider.

At least Rebecca had learned that much about herself.