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“Ayup, we found him, but it was too late.”
Lila let out a little gasp.
The woman in the fishing hat shook her head sadly. “Daniel was a backcountry skier. He skied his way out of an avalanche once, in the Chugach mountains. Helluva plow truck driver. I don’t know what we’re going to do without him.”
“You could take over, Martha,” the miner suggested. “Didn’t you used to drive semis?”
“Oh hell to the no, I couldn’t. I’m busy with my sheep. I sell wool,” she explained to Molly. “If you like to spin.”
“Spin what?” Molly moved on before Martha could answer. “Never mind, no matter what it is, I don’t do it. Listen, kind pancake-master, is there a way I can pack these up to go? Lila needs a minute to process.”
“I’ll give you a Tupperware. Just bring it back tomorrow.” The burly owner made his way back to the front of the bus, where his grill was wedged between the back of the driver’s seat and an RV-size refrigerator.
Molly wondered briefly if the health department ever made it out here. If Billy Jack ever got in trouble, she’d represent him for free, that was how good his pancakes were.
“Maybe you should learn to knit,” Martha called after them as they climbed out of the bus, the Tupperware container of pancakes tucked under Molly’s arm. “It’s very relaxing and you seem wound up pretty tight.”
Out in the open air, so fresh and bracing it felt like a shot of adrenaline, Lila bent over and rested her hands on her knees, her chest heaving as if she might vomit. “I should have known. I should have warned him,” she moaned. “I felt like something was going to happen, but I didn’t know what or when or where, so I didn’t say anything.”
Molly put a tentative hand on her back. Lila didn’t always like physical contact; sometimes she found it overwhelming. But her tense muscles showed no reaction to Molly’s touch. “This isn’t your fault. You can’t possibly think that.”
“You don’t understand. Since I came here, I…I…it’s easier for me. I don’t get so many…you know, feelings. They’re easier to ignore. They’re more like, just a whisper instead of a scream, and it’s such a relief. But now Daniel’s dead, and what if I’d just…turned up the volume and paid attention instead of…Ugh.” She straightened up and buried her face in her hands. A breath of wind ruffled her white hair, and her brand-new streaks of turquoise dazzled like jewels in the sunshine. “I need to go home.”
“Yes, let’s go. I’ll make you some tea and you can put your headphones on and just relax. I can fill in for you at the bar if you like.”
Molly knew the drill when Lila got overwhelmed. She had to shut herself in her room and avoid people for a while. Working at The Fang would be out of the question.
Lila’s eyes, wet as violets in the rain, pleaded with her. “Don’t tell Bear, okay? I mean, about me. He thinks I’m…normal.”
Molly was pretty sure that Bear thought nothing of the sort, but she nodded. “I would never tell anyone anything about you. That’s your business.”
“I’m so glad you’re here, Molly.” She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Thank you, thank you.”
“Headache?”
“It’ll be fine. Oh, poor Ruth. I wonder if she knows yet? I haven’t seen any of the Chilkoots since the storm. Maybe they haven’t even heard about Daniel yet.”
“Shhh, don’t you worry about all that. Let’s get you home.”
When the old copper mine had been shut down nearly a hundred years ago, the tiny town of Fangtooth had been virtually abandoned. Almost overnight, businesses had closed, families had loaded their belongings onto the train, and basic infrastructure such as schools and clinics had been shut down.
With no need to maintain the network of trestles and tracks that the train used, rail service was shut down. The next winter’s “breakup” destroyed the trestles that crossed the glacier-fed rivers. Scavengers picked away at the railroad tracks and ties. The original cart road became the only way to access the town, and for most months of the year it was impassable.
And yet, incredibly, a few hardy folks stuck around after the mine shutdown. The outpost had become home. With most of the structures abandoned, the remaining residents had their pick of what was left. The entire town because a recycler’s heaven.
Which was why Lila lived in what used to be the hardware store. All those years ago, a squatter had moved in and transformed it into a livable space—Molly still wouldn’t call it a house—with a dug well and plumbing and even an indoor bathroom. Its ownership status was murky, so when he’d passed away, the town had simply taken it over and now rented it out, usually to the current teacher.
But Penny Carillo, who’d taken the teaching job last year and promptly fallen in love with a metalworker, was living with her new husband and didn’t need the space.
So Lila was now the one who got to sleep on an antique four-poster bed and look up at a vintage tin ceiling. If she’d wanted to, she would have been able to use the old drill press and ironworking anvil that no one had ever moved out of Blackburn Hardware.
Well, she did use it, but only to hang her laundry on.
Molly helped her get settled into her bed, drew the blackout curtains, and made her some tea in the copper kettle gleaming on the cast-iron cookstove. Lila often wound up in some odd living situations, but this had to be one of the most interesting. She could feel the frontier history whispering in the corners, telling of brutally hard work under extreme conditions.
“Any advice for a sensitive soul with highly developed intuition?” she wanted to whisper back.
When she brought Lila her mug of “Head Case” tea, Lila’s own term for her custom self-care herbal mixture, Lila was already asleep. Molly left the mug on the cedar chest next to the bed and tiptoed out of the room.
