Giant of Mesabi

The heat searing her skin was unbearable. "Well, not for you," Alanna hissed. "Never for you!"

"Careful," he warned with laughter in his voice. "Never is a long time."

Alanna was about to argue that it wasn't long enough as far as Rolt was concerned, but at that moment she realized that, instead of turning at the road that would take her to her parents' house, he had stayed on the highway.

"You missed the turn," she pointed out.

"No, I didn't."

He sounded so certain that Alanna glanced back over her shoulder to the crossroads, nearly convinced that she was mistaken. "My parents live down that road."

"I'm not taking you home."

He wasn't serious! One look at his face told her he was. Her mouth opened, speechless for an instant. "Where—"

"Kurt is at the mine. You did want to see him, didn't you?" he mocked.

"Is that where we're going?" Alanna demanded, tired of his games,

"Of course—" taking his foot off the accelerator "—unless you want to go directly home."

"I would like to see Kurt," she admired, seething at his deliberate failure to tell her. Sarcasm coated her tongue as she added, "It never occurred to me that you would take me there. After all, Kurt does have an emergency on his hands."

Her gibe rolled off his back like water from a duck. "I think he can be spared for a few minutes to see you. I can take over for him."

"Just as you could have to let him come to the airport to meet me." Alanna rubbed her fingertips on the throbbing ache in her temple. "The same way you've taken over from my father," she murmured bitterly. "I regret the day he ever sold controlling interest to your company."

"The iron vein had played out. Your father didn't have the financial ability nor the knowledge to switch the operation to processing taconite. If he hadn't sold out to us when he did, in another year he would have been bankrupt. That is the truth, whether he or you will ever admit it," Rolt stated in a cold, unemotional tone. "Besides, you wouldn't have met Kurt—or me."

Alanna didn't comment on his observation. The buildings of the city were no longer rolling past her window. The landscape was mostly rural, pine studded and green. They were on the Taconite Trail Road in the middle of the Mesabi Iron Range.

In this arrowhead area of Northern Minnesota, the major source of the nation's iron ore had once been mined. The veins in the Vermilion, Mesabi and other ranges had been so rich, it was thought in the beginning that they would last for ever, but progress and war had revealed a lack of foresight. Now the abundant taconite was being processed into iron, enormous plants rising above the trees.

Behind the green façade, the story of the passing of the large iron mines was told to these observant enough to read. Abandoned open pits were being fast reclaimed by nature, trees and brush taking over the empty land. The yellow flowers of the hardy bird's foot trefoil plant covered old tailings.

Alanna had spent her childhood here. The twisting, winding canyons and ridges had been gouged out of the earth by heavy machinery to expose the iron veins. With the riches plundered, foliage invaded to inhabit the land again.

Mesabi was an Ojibwa Indian word, meaning Land of the Sleeping Giant. It was a name given to the range of mountains because of its resemblance to the sleeping figure of a man. Virgin forests had once covered its slopes, tramped by fur-trappers, felled by lumbermen's axes or uprooted by iron-seeking escavation equipment. The towering pines the Ojibwa had known, ten feet in diameter and more, were gone, and young trees grew in their place.

While the sleeping giant rested, other giants walked the land. Amethyst and shimmering in resentment, Alanna's gaze slid to the impassive man behind the wheel. That was how her father had once described Rolt Matthews, as a giant, referring to his stature as a man, not to his physical size. He was tall and muscular and a compelling figure, but that was not what set him apart from others. Or so her father had told her.

Dorian Powell, her father, was a sensitive, erudite man. Despite his earnest attempts, he had never been a successful businessman. The iron mine—the family wealth—had been inherited from his father and grandfather. When the vein played out, so did the family resources.

In her heart, Alanna had known Rolt's statement that her father would have been bankrupt if his firm had not purchased controlling interest was accurate. But she also knew her father's reasons for selling were not purely the monetary gain for himself. His main concern had been the economy of the area and the people who worked for him. After the sale, he had stepped aside, relegating himself to a mere stockholder.

When she had protested and insisted that he should have a more active part in the transition and future operation, he had smiled and shook his head.

"It's a job for only one man. It's going to take someone who will drive himself as hard as he does these around him, without concern for personal feelings. When you own a business and have people working for you, there's a tendency to play God. You can't do that and be successful. There were times when l was more concerned about an illness in some employee's family than I was in the day's production. You can't let things like that bother you. You've got to stand apart from the workers, immune to their problems. You can't let personal feelings, yours or anyone else's, interfere with business. It can't matter whether a man likes you or curses you behind your back. A man in charge has to be above that—a giant. You can't let anything stand in your way if you want to be successful. Rolt Matthews is that kind of a man,"

"Cold and ruthless is what you mean," Alanna had retorted.

"I suppose you could describe him that way," Dorian Powell had agreed, "but he'll make the company successful and himself in the process. Everyone else will benefit from his success, including ourselves."

Cold and ruthless. The adjectives described him aptly. He kept himself apart and seemingly above others. To Alanna's knowledge, since Rolt had taken over control of the company, he had never associated with anyone from the company outside of business hours. Kurt was the only exception. Even then the occasions they were together were rare.

Her gaze shifted for the second time to the strong, tanned hands on the wheel. She wondered briefly about the women he had known. Alanna didn't doubt that the touch of his hands could bestow pain or joy, but she doubted whether Rolt ever felt anything himself.

The car slowed and turned off the highway, and Alanna glanced up to see the entrance gate to the plant. The security guard posted at the closed gate bent slightly to view the car's occupants. With a respectful nod to Rolt, he swung the gate open and let them through. As they drove by, Alanna thought she recognized the guard. His hair had grayed and his shoulders were stooping with advanced years, but he still looked familiar.