She turned her head to catch any sound that might come out of the hole. The tremulous tones of a child’s voice drifted to the surface.
“Aunt Claire?”
“I hear you Amy. Your daddy is going to get you out.”
Claire rolled onto her back. Paul was still looking down the hole, as though if he stared long enough he’d be able to see his daughter.
“How long has she been down there?”
“I’m not sure, maybe thirty minutes. I just don’t know.” He pushed himself up onto his knees.” I saw her playing by the barn and when I came out to get her for lunch she was gone. I nearly fell down the hole myself. I found her blanket by the edge.”
Rye jogged up, dropping a rope and climbing harness by the edge of the well. Looking first to Paul then at Claire, “How far down is she?”
“Hard to tell. She must be pretty deep judging from the sound of her voice,” Claire said.
Rye separated what looked like tent stakes with an eye at the top from the harness. “I need a hammer.”
Paul leapt to his feet and limped to the barn, disappearing through the large, double front doors.
Kneeling next to where Claire still lay on her back, Rye took her hand. “We’ll get her out.”
Claire squeezed Rye’s hand. “I know we will.”
Rye began clearing sticks away from the opening, careful not to knock any dirt into the hole. When Paul returned with the hammer, Claire ran the rope through the top of the stakes like a thread through the eye of a needle.
Spacing each steak about five feet from the next Rye pounded them into the ground, taking a double wrap around the last one with the rope. But when he walked back to the edge of the hole, Claire was stepping into the harness.
He took her arm. “Are you ready for this, what with the dreams and all?”
She pulled the top of the harness up around her waist and buckled it. “I hope so, besides you and Paul are too big.”
“This isn’t going to work,” Paul said, holding a clump of dirt in one hand. “This is from the side of the hole. If we try to slip over the edge it’ll dump dirt onto Amy, maybe cause a cave in.” He stepped back from the opening throwing the dirt to the ground with a curse.
Claire stared at the opening of the hole and suddenly spun to face Paul. “I need three four-by-fours. No, wait,” Then turning to face Rye. “How strong are the tripods for the floods?”
Claire and Rye often shared the same thought without saying a word. He understood immediately. “Strong enough.”
Paul looked on, puzzled by the exchange, and then walked over to Claire as Rye ran back to the ambulance. “What’s he doing?”
“We’ll put a tripod over the hole and lace the rope down the middle. I’ll simply step out over the center of the hole and lower myself down.”
Rye returned with a huge tripod. The legs were made of a stout aluminum. At the top was a large opening designed to hold the spotlight mounted on a post that dropped into the reinforced hole at the top of the tripod.
“Let’s set it up over here.” Claire said, stomping out a flat spot. “And see if it’ll support my weight.”
Rye separated the legs to their widest point, dropped the rope down the middle and looped it a couple of times through the hole. The top of the tripod stood about five feet. Claire had to crawl between the legs, then reach up and grab the rope pulling her knees into her chest to get her feet off the ground. There was an audible groan as the feet of the tripod sank into the dirt.
Rye turned to Paul. “Great, looks like it will hold. Get on the far side of the hole and I’ll hand it across.”
As soon as she lowered herself to the ground, Rye pulled the rope from the top and carried it to the hole. Paul grabbed the legs of the tripod as Rye opened them up, snuggling them into the ground.
“Hold on, I’ve got an idea,” Paul said
He went to the barn and retrieved three large construction bricks to brace against the legs. As Paul put the bricks in place, Rye passed the rope down through the top of the tripod so it hung over the middle of the hole. He reached out and grabbed it, tying off the end through a metal loop set into the front of Claire’s harness.
Paul wrapped an arm around one of the legs and leaned out over the hole. “Amy this is Daddy, Aunt Claire is coming down to get you.”
All three stopped what they were doing and listened, nothing.
Claire stepped to the edge of the hole, Rye reached across and grabbed the back of the harness, Paul grabbed the front. When she pushed off, they slowly released their grip and let the tripod take the strain. They watched Claire swing suspended only by the rope, then ran to where the rope was lashed to the last of the five stakes and together began lowering her into the hole.
She desperately fumbled with her headlamp, until she could hold up her hand and see it was on. When her head dropped below ground level she could feel the air being sucked out of her lungs. Her knuckles were white from holding the rope too tightly. Then a head appeared from above, partially blocking out the light.
“Can you see her yet?” Paul yelled.
Claire knew his question was silly, but was born of concern. She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly tilted her head so the light shined down, then opened her eyes. She couldn’t see a thing. “Not yet.” Realizing she was yelling down the well she closed her eyes and tilted her head up. “Not yet,” she repeated. They began to lower her again.
She counted breaths to stay focused. Suddenly her gradual progress stopped, bouncing her to a sudden halt. She squeezed her eyes shut. Each breath became audible now as she fought to stay calm, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.
Claire was no longer an adult dangling at the end of a rope; she was thirteen-year-old Clarice, daughter of a mine inspector. And the giant buildings that capped off the Star Mine looming ahead, her hiding place. She had to make it to the mine. She kept pumping her arms faster and faster. She couldn’t let them catch her.
A volley of words drifted down the well from above, she opened her eyes shaking her head to clear it of her past. She couldn’t understand what was said but she picked up the urgent tone. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth to call out but the breath was driven from her lungs as she suddenly began to plummet, the rope had gone slack.
Chapter Seven
In her little trailer, squatting in the bottom of the tiny shower, awash in memories, Crystal began to sob. Remembering how titillating it had been listening to Jan talk about her first time, how naïve she’d been. Had it only been a few weeks ago? Now she was having sex with strangers in front of cameramen and technicians. What was Jan doing now? As the shower enveloped her, she let the memories flood back yet again to that more innocent time, and how it had all started.
Jan reclined on the futon, fluffing the pillow as she lay back. “Actually I was a virgin until the week that my parents left me alone.”
Crystal fidgeted in the beanbag chair, pulling her gum out of her mouth and rolling it between her fingers.
“I was at school, trying to think of which boy, but I kept remembering what my friends said, how the guys would grope them and then get all excited. Just the thought of that grossed me out.”
“Who’d you chose? Anybody I know?” Crystal said, popping the wad of gum back in her mouth
“I was attending my chess club meeting and remembered how Mr. James was always looking down my top, while he pretended to be looking over my shoulder. Anyway he’d been divorced for about a year, so I told him I had no hot water and that my parents were away for the week and could he come over.”
Crystal sat up popping her gum and nearly chocked. “God, Mr. James, hmm, he does have a cute butt.”
“Do you mind,” Jan snapped. “I didn’t pick him for his butt. I figured he might have a little finesse. Maybe understand my feelings. Boy was I wrong.”