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“Gee, thank you!” Gloria said flirtatiously.
Mabel felt a pang of jealousy. Of course Gloria had been chosen for this part of the mission: They’d needed someone pretty.
“It’s time,” Arthur said.
They yanked their gray wool caps over their ears and scrambled down the dirt cliff and onto the tracks, darting between the stilled mine cars, ducking under the quiet conveyor belt. In the dark, the mine appeared monstrous, a shadowy giant in repose.
“Let’s go,” Arthur said, and then the two of them scurried across the dusty train ties and slipped into the devil’s mouth.
“Here. Give me your hand.” Arthur reached back and took hold of Mabel’s fingers, guiding her into the pitch dark. They didn’t dare shine a light yet for fear of attracting attention. The air was dense with dust. Mabel could feel it scratching at her lungs with each breath, and she could barely stand to imagine what it must be like nearly two hundred feet below. It was all she could do not to run screaming out the way she’d come.
“Okay. Now we can use that lamp,” Arthur whispered.
From under her sweater, Mabel brought out the flashlight, shining it on Arthur’s gloves as he handled the explosive, packing in dynamite, scrap metal, and powder. He worked quickly, and Mabel tried not to think about how deftly he moved, like an experienced bomb maker. Once his work was done, Arthur tucked the detonator under his arm and backed away from the mine shaft, threading out the fuse line as he did. “Be my eyes, will you, Mabel?” he said.
Mabel cut the flashlight and swiveled her head, eyes searching for possible trouble. The wind carried the sound of the car’s engine starting up once more. “Oh, listen! Purrs just like a sweet kitten,” Gloria said. She honked the horn—their signal—and laughed. “Oops! Silly me!”
“Gloria’s leaving. We’d better hurry,” Mabel said.
As they crept back into the cover of the woods, off Marlowe’s property, Mabel stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked, doubling back.
A rush of panic flooded Mabel. She wanted to lie down and shut her eyes like a child playing hide-and-seek. She was taking her first steps as her own person, away from Evie and Jericho and her parents. She wasn’t at all sure of herself. Not one bit.
“Arthur, tell me what we’re doing is right.”
Arthur wrapped his arms around her, holding her to his chest. It felt so good, so right next to him. She decided to let that be her answer.
“Ready?” Arthur asked.
Mabel nodded.
“Duck,” he said, and pushed in the detonator.
For two seconds, it seemed to Mabel that the entire world had stopped to hold its breath. Then a great fireball exploded from the mine’s mouth. The mine collapsed in on itself. Choking black smoke poured out. It was mesmerizing and terrifying. Everything was burning. Even from a safe distance, Mabel’s cheeks felt singed and her eyes stung. A few seconds later, the company store exploded, too, sending shrapnel flying in all directions.
“Come on!” Arthur said, and Mabel followed, running full out.
By the time Arthur and Mabel made it back to the hiding spot near the river, Mabel had to bend over to catch her breath. Behind them, the night was on fire. Jake Marlowe’s mine lay in ruins.
“You made it,” Gloria said, coming out from behind a tree.
“Yeah,” Arthur gasped.
“Where are Aron and Luis?”
“They’ll be here,” Arthur insisted. “Come on. Let’s get this covered.”
The three of them piled boughs on top of the Dodge.
“You were terrific out there,” Mabel said to Gloria when she’d caught her breath again.
“Thanks, Mabel. For a second, I thought I was a goner,” Gloria admitted. “Isn’t this exciting?” Impulsively, she kissed Mabel’s cheek, and Mabel felt like they were two girlfriends with a delicious secret. It was so much more important than being friends with Evie and Theta. Mabel and Gloria were part of a movement, a cause. Evie? Evie was chasing ghosts and selling soap. For the first time in her life, Mabel felt special and necessary. This was not her mother’s moment or Evie’s or anybody else’s; it belonged to Mabel.
“I am working toward greatness,” she whispered to herself.
Gloria stripped off her dress and struggled into her shapeless farmer’s wife dress and apron, pulling an unfashionable flowered hat over her bobbed hair. A ball of knitting completed the domestic picture. Arthur stepped into a pair of baggy coveralls and darkened his hair with coal dust.
