The sounds that emanated from the mill could be separated out like instruments in a band. From the top section, Mabel could hear men yelling above the general din as they pulled the tram into the top of the mill to dump ore onto the first grizzly. The clang of a sledgehammer rang out signaling the first cart had been dumped, and the ore was being broken up by hand to fit through the slats on the grizzly, and fall into the shaft below.

In the mid-section, Mabel could hear the whine of the motor, which drove the big thumping belts, which in turn lifted the ore with a bucket elevator to dump it. Rhythmic crashes kept a beat, as each bucket crested the top of the belt elevator and dumped its load to fall two stories down into the hopper.

Deep within it all, came the loud screech and deafening tumble of the giant motor and the rotating mill itself. It was the heart of the operation.

Machinery chugged away agitating flotation mixture in cells, and the metals rose to the top in a foam. Mabel remembered the men hauling the buckets toward the tables.

From the base of the mill, came the low rumble of the shaker tables. Each had its own small motor. The slightly inclined tables shook the high-grade ore, as men washed it over slats which caught the heavy metals.

Shouts of men rose here and there, all over the mill, forming the melody. The machinery was the rhythm, and together, it all made a song of men at work.

Mabel smiled on her good fortune to have been born a female, and to be standing outside in the warm morning sunshine. Of course, being female had its curses, but overall, she was glad of her lot in life. She smoothed her long skirts, patted her tightly pinned hair, and sat down on a large rock looking over the valley.

Changes had come to this place, and Mabel had been witness to them all. The train, the Cardinal Mill, the forest coming down one tree at a time until a fellow had to bring firewood by wagon to his home. The valley was spotted with cabins, even clapboard homes, like Ruby’s. At the moment, each trailed a wisp of smoke from the chimney as the morning fires were dampened down after breakfast.

And what of the changes in the world? The new inventions of the day spurred the imagination to wonder. Mabel had heard that mail was now being flown by aeroplane! Last year, the telephone had connected San Francisco to New York. Only a decade ago, Molly Brown had mesmerized Denver with her Fritchie Electric car, which could travel one hundred miles on a single electric charge. Now, the electric car was to be replaced with a gasoline engine! And Mabel herself had a phonograph, presented to her by none other than John Peregrine. It was the only one for miles around. It was a good thing Mabel lived at the Mine Office, where it could bring joy to many.

There were changes in the business of mining and milling. Used to be that miner’s came out west looking for glory, staking a claim and working it. But nowadays, most places had been staked and the miner’s worked for owners in the places, which had stood the test of time. The owners controlled the districts. Now, the miners had labor concerns instead of gold fever. It made for a different sort entirely, thought Mabel. She wistfully remembered the days when men full of hope would ride into town, clutching a small sack of ore, and be content to sell it at the Assay Office and enjoy the fruits of their labors. She thought for a moment of the honky tonk shows, and piano music and she felt time slipping away.

Changes had come for Mabel personally as well. The hardest thing she’d ever experienced was the broken heart that would never go away. Alexander had left three summers ago to pan gold in the Yukon. The only place left, he’d said. When he didn’t return the first winter, Mabel waited patiently at first, as the mail came in with no word from Alexander.

She made it through that first winter by choosing to believe that Alexander had been snowed in up north. She imagined him sharing a cabin by a river with a few other men. Trappers, perhaps. But when the ice went out and the boats travelled the big rivers north again, Alexander did not reappear. Possibly, his luck had been good and he had struck out into the wilderness once more with the coming of spring.

Mabel had spent that summer looking over her shoulder, walking down to wait for the train, and eagerly sorting Cardinal’s U.S. Mail. All to no avail. As Mabel’s hopeless depression had set in with the fall, John went on a campaign to locate Alexander. In November, when the north once again closed for the season, the final word came in the form of a letter from Whitehorse. No one had seen Alexander from the time he had originally left Yellowknife.

Mabel nursed her ache and emptiness, lost in the finality of it all. She carried her grief everywhere, trying to keep some hope alive that Alexander would yet return. When Mabel took sick that winter, Ruby sat by her bedside, pointing out that this grief would kill her if she didn’t start to let it go. Ruby said this is not what Alexander would have wanted, and Mabel knew in her heart that Ruby was right. Mabel made a choice to live, and slowly recovered.

Order your copy of this local book at https://www.amazon.com/Cardinal-Sin- Alexandra-Armitage/dp/0615279554