Homesick

Peter didn’t realize how much he missed Indiana until he walked into the mining shack to pick up his equipment for another night shift.

There on the splintered wall hung the Western Flyer Railway calendar with charcoal x’s marked through every day in October up through the 30th.

“I need a lantern and a pick,” Peter told Stubby, the clerk minding the counter.

Just then, Tom Reynolds stepped into the shack. Stubby greeted him.

Peter was annoyed that Stubby had ignored him, but his eyes drifted back to the calendar.

It was Halloween.

Back in Indiana, Peter would have spent the night running through the forest trying to raise ghosts with his friends. Or maybe hoisting old man Martin’s cow onto the roof of his barn.

No one here in Arizona even cared what day it was. There were no seasons, no holidays. There was just silver. And the deep, dark mines.

That thought reminded Peter why he came to the shack in the first place.

“About those supplies, Stubby.”

Stubby didn’t answer him. Instead, the old man pushed a lantern across the counter to Tom.

“Here ya go, Tom. This one oughta do.”

Tom nodded and examined the lamp for a few seconds. Then he shook his head.

“Nah, this is no good,” Tom said. “There’s a big gash here in the metal.”

Stubby frowned and studied the lamp.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” he said. “This is the lamp that young fella from Illinois was carryin’ when the north mine collapsed.”

“Indiana,” Tom said.

“Come again?” Stubby said, raising his eyebrows.

“I think he was from Indiana, not Illinois,” Tom answered.

Stubby smiled ruefully. “Right, right. Indiana. Phil, or Pete, or something like that. Anyway, I thought I threw this thing out.”