Olivia's Mine by Janine McCaw Page B

was a
bit too stern for his children, but he needed a firm hand to guide
them. He was called away from his home a lot, and he wanted to keep
some continuity in their lives after their mother’s death. She was
a big woman, her long grey hair which she steadfastly refused to
cut, drawn up each morning into a tight bun. She wore her big black
boots under her dress, even in the heat of summer. She was not a
woman given to breaking from her rigid routine.
    “This little Japanese child,” Mrs. Schwindt
said, pointing to young Jimmy, “is trying to poison your children
by giving them heaven knows what.”
    The young boy was doing his best to try to
understand why Mrs. Schwindt was so upset. He looked at the two men
and shrugged.
    The nanny noticed the officer.
    “You should probably take him away. To jail,”
she said indignantly.
    Jimmy’s eyes grew wide.
    “Relax Jimmy, there will be no jail for you
today,” McMichael began, embarrassed. “Mrs Schwindt, young master
Yada is giving Lara tea. TEA. Do you hear me? And furthermore, I
told him it was perfectly fine to give anyone he liked some
tea.”
    “Herbal tea,” Jimmy corrected him.
    “Herbal tea it was.”
    “Chamomile,” Jimmy said to the officer.
    “You see Mrs. Schwindt, I’m afraid you owe
our little doctor here an apology, and perhaps even some
lunch.”
    McMichael tussled the boy’s hair
good-naturedly.
    “Jimmy, why don’t you take a break, hmm? Just
leave your wagon and play with Lara for a while. Mrs. Schwindt will
make you more boiled water when you are finished if you’d like to
continue around the neighbourhood.” He turned to the nanny.
    “Now if you don’t mind Mrs. Schwindt, the
officer and I will return to more pressing matters.”
    “Can I keep the nickel?” the boy asked,
keeping it tucked safely in his pocket.
    “Of course you can, Jimmy,” McMichael
answered.
    “I forgot to say thank you,” Jimmy said
    “You earned it.”
    He once again saw a smile on the boy’s
face.
    As they began walking back to the office,
McMichael told Rudy the story of the boy’s heroics the previous
night.
    “Not to worry, I am not employing child
labour,” he assured the officer. “Jimmy just likes to try to help
people, and most of the people, Mrs. Schwindt not withstanding,
seem to appreciate his efforts. He is the son of the assayer. He’s
quite a remarkable lad, really. Bright boy, I must say.”
    McMichael wasn’t sure how much more he wanted
to tell the officer about the town and its people. Let him discover
it on his own, he thought.
    “Well then, there you have it. Welcome to
Britannia, Officer Wolanski. You’re Polish, I assume?”
    “Does it make a difference?” the officer
asked.
    “Not to me,” he said, “but this is, after
all, a small town. People are a bit set in their ways. Nationality
is always a topic of conversation around here.”
    “I see that. I can handle it,” the officer
said.
    “I’m sure you can,” McMichael agreed. “We’re
a bit unusual here in Britannia that there are many cultures all
trying to live together. Your own neighbours while you’re here are
Ukrainian, I believe. I hope that’s okay. I may have to move some
of the European families around if this talk of war continues.
You’ll have plenty to do here Officer Wolanski, particularly after
payday. It gets a little rowdy on Fridays, down at the bar. If they
get into trouble, do what you want with them over the weekend, but
remember I need them back to work on Monday unless they’ve murdered
somebody.”
    “I’ll try to keep that in mind, J.W.”
    “Stuart Collin calls me J.W.,” McMichael
corrected him. “You can call me Mr. McMichael, or just
McMichael.”
    Rudy had just gained some valuable insight
into the character of the mining boss.
    “Fine, Mr. McMichael. And you can call me
Sergeant Wolanski, not Officer Wolanski, or just Wolanski, all
things being equal.”
    “Sergeant?” McMichael questioned. “I think
there’s just one of