Coal River (4 page)

Aunt Ida sighed. “Now that we’ve gotten through all that unpleasantness,” she said, “let’s eat, shall we? Heaven knows I took a lot of time and trouble to plan this nice meal to welcome you, Emma. The least you can do is let us enjoy it in peace.”

Uncle Otis patted his wife’s hand and exhaled, blowing out his breath with more force than necessary. With a nod from his mother, Percy muttered a short grace. Silence followed as Cook went around with the beef, stooping over at each place, scraping the serving fork across the china platter.

“Any more trouble with the new immigrants?” Percy asked his father.

Uncle Otis finished his wine, then twirled the stem of the crystal goblet between his boney fingers. “The Irish are settled in the kettle,” he said. “And the Germans and the Italians are in the boarding house for now. The Coal and Iron Police warned the miners to leave them be. But we’ll bring in more police if we have to.”

“Do you think they’ll strike?”

“Probably not until the end of summer, when the weather turns and people need coal to heat their homes through winter.”

“What about Clayton Nash?” Percy said. “He still up to no good?”

“Can’t be sure,” Uncle Otis said. “Word has it he’s trying to arrange secret meetings with the rest of the miners. Can’t have more than four nonfamily members gathered at a time or he’s breaking the law.”

Emma looked at her uncle, confused. When did it become illegal to hold a meeting of four or more people in the United States of America? The idea that everything and everyone in Coal River was frozen in time returned. Or maybe they were just backward.

“Nash doesn’t care about the rules,” Uncle Otis added.

“Do you think he’s trying to reorganize the union?” Percy said.

“You can bet he’s trying,” Uncle Otis said. “But if any of them start that kind of trouble, they’ll be out of a job and run out of town so fast, it will make their heads spin. A hundred men are ready to take their places at any time. I just got word that two hundred Germans are in Scranton, waiting for work. And those immigrants are willing to do just about anything for a job, no matter how dangerous.”

“But if they go on strike and scabs break the line, all hell will break loose,” Percy said.

“You just go to work and let me worry about that,” Uncle Otis said. “It’s not going to have any effect on your job.”

“But it does have an effect,” Percy said. “If the miners aren’t getting paid, they won’t have money to spend in the Company Store.”

“That’s right,” Aunt Ida said. “And if production drops, what’s going to happen to us? I’ve got five reams of satin and a half a cow coming next month. How are we going to pay for everything if there’s a strike and you get laid off?”

Uncle Otis threw his hands in the air. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he said. “Before you send yourself into a conniption fit, try to remember I’m the mine supervisor!”

Aunt Ida frowned, furrows of disapproval lining her forehead. “Otis,” she said, her tone firm. “How many times do I have to remind you to watch your language?”

Uncle Otis ignored his wife’s remark. “You stay out of it and let me worry about the miners. I’ll let you know if and when we need to worry about anything!” He got up, went over to the sideboard, filled a tumbler with whiskey, and drank it down in three noisy swallows. Then he refilled the glass, brought it back to the table, and sat down, his face tight with anger.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Aunt Ida said. “You’re right. Now, please, calm down and eat your dinner before you give yourself indigestion.” She glanced at Emma. “Speaking of jobs, I have a list of chores for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emma said. She took the saltshaker from Percy, wishing her aunt and uncle owned dogs so she could slip her food beneath the table.

“Percy could use help at the store,” Uncle Otis said.

Emma’s eyes darted to her uncle, her spirits lifting a tiny bit. The last thing she wanted to do was work with Percy, but maybe, if she had a paying job, she could save enough money to go back to New York and start over.

“That’s true,” Percy said, chewing. He wiped his napkin across his mouth, then returned it to his lap. “But I need a man who can work hard, not a woman.”

“And I need help here,” Aunt Ida said. “Around the house.”

“What do you mean you need someone who can work hard?” Uncle Otis said to Percy. “How difficult can it be to push numbers on a cash register?” He shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth, breathing hard as he chewed.

“Percy does more than run the cash register,” Aunt Ida said. “And you know it. He works hard at that store. And for not much pay, I might add!”

“I’d be happy to work at the store,” Emma said.

“I need someone strong enough to unload stock,” Percy said to his father. “It’s hard stocking shelves, doing orders and paperwork, and trying to wait on everyone. More than once the deliveryman got tired of waiting and left me without mattress ticking for nearly two weeks. Another time it was lantern oil. I’m the one who has to listen to everyone moan and groan when we don’t have what they want.”

Otis ignored him and addressed his wife. “What in blue blazes does Percy need more money for? It’s not like he’s got a house and a family to take care of. He’s not even courting anyone. Last I looked, I was the one taking care of him!” He directed his scorching gaze at Percy. “And you listen here, boy. Coal mining is hard work. Don’t you ever try telling me about hard work.”

“You know Percy can’t tolerate the wet conditions and all that dust,” Aunt Ida said. “The doctor said—”

“I know what the doctor said!” Uncle Otis shouted. “You’ve been telling me for the past six years what the doctor said. But there are men working in those mines every day with the same problems Percy has. Difference is, they don’t have a choice. The boy is twenty years old, but you treat him like a child, keeping him at home, making sure he doesn’t bend a fingernail. Now let’s talk about something else. I’m not going to sit here listening to my wife and excuse-for-a-son tell me about hard work. I’m the only one in this family who understands hard work!”

Aunt Ida swallowed, her face growing crimson. She put her hands on the tablecloth on either side of her plate, taking slow, deep breaths. After a minute, she cleared her throat and looked at Emma.

“Perhaps you can work around the house a few days a week,” she said. “Then help Percy at the store on the other days. And it only makes sense that your paycheck goes into the household funds. You have to earn your room and board, just like Percy does.”

Emma’s heart dropped. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

“Does that seem fair to you, dear?” Aunt Ida asked her husband.

Uncle Otis bit into a buttered tea roll and wagged a finger at Percy. “You let Emma run the cash register while you unload and put up stock,” he said. “It won’t kill you to do the heavy lifting.”

“Have you ever run a register, Emma?” Aunt Ida said.

“Just the one in the box office,” she said. “But I’m a quick learner. And I can help stock shelves. I’m not afraid of hard work.” If nothing else, at least working in the store would get her out of the house.

“That’s good, darlin’,” Aunt Ida said.

Uncle Otis snorted. “Maybe if your father hadn’t been afraid of hard work, your parents would still be alive.”

Emma went rigid, breaking out in an instant sweat.

“Not now, dear,” Aunt Ida said. “My nerves are already fixing to give out.”

“Just think,” Uncle Otis said. “If Emma’s father had taken me up on my offer to work in the mines, they wouldn’t have died in that fire. They could be sitting here right now, having dinner with us.”

“Please,” Aunt Ida said. “What’s done is done, and there’s no going back. We did our best to get them to stay in Coal River. They made their own choices. And now we’re all left behind to . . .” She lowered her head, pushing her napkin into the corners of her eyes.

Emma held Uncle Otis’s gaze. “My father was a hard worker,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “And so was my mother. They were artists, painting scenes and making costumes for the theater. They loved their jobs, and they were putting every spare penny into my education. They wanted to live in Manhattan because there were more opportunities. . . .” Her throat closed and she dropped her eyes, blinking back tears. Then she swallowed and found her voice again. “Just because my father didn’t want to spend his life in a hole in the ground making someone else rich, doesn’t make him lazy. If anything, it makes him smart.”

Uncle Otis’s mouth fell open, anger darkening his brow.

“I’m sure that’s not what your uncle meant,” Aunt Ida said quickly. “It’s just . . . well . . . it always seemed like what we had to offer was never good enough, even though we had more than your parents ever dreamed of. And now. Let’s just say we must all remember to bow down before the Lord and be grateful for what we’ve been blessed with instead of looking elsewhere for satisfaction. Otherwise . . .” Aunt Ida shook her head.

Emma pushed back her chair and stood. “May I be excused?” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”

“What is it?” Aunt Ida said. “You’re not taking sick, are you?”

Percy leaned away from Emma, his napkin over his nose and mouth. “She did just come out of a hospital,” he said. “You don’t suppose you caught something, do you?”

Emma shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s nothing like that. It’s probably just the heat. Or maybe it’s the small-minded people in this room.” She wrapped her arms around herself and headed toward the door. Behind her, Aunt Ida started crying.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to bring her here,” Uncle Otis said. His tone was withering, and there was no doubt it was directed at Emma. She walked out, feeling his burning eyes on the back of her head.

CHAPTER 4

T
he day after Emma’s arrival in Coal River was payday for the miners, and the Company Store stayed open later than usual. After supper, when most of the miners’ wives would be finished shopping, Aunt Ida took Emma down in the wagon to get the weekly supplies—flour and sugar, lantern oil and lye soap, buckwheat and salt. She had a list, and Emma was to learn it by heart.

The evening sun was hard and bright, baking the earth and turning the already brown grass brittle. The motionless air smelled of warm wood, burning culm, and horse manure. Emma’s acorn-colored skirt soaked up the heat, roasting her inside.

Last night, Aunt Ida’s seamstress, Maggie, had taken apart and reconstructed Emma’s secondhand clothes, shortening the hem of the broadcloth skirt and taking in the bodice of the shawl-collared blouse. Today Maggie was making her some new outfits, including an everyday housedress, a visiting costume, and a flowing pink tea dress. On one hand, Emma didn’t want the new clothes, knowing everything she took from her aunt and uncle would need to be repaid with interest, one way or another. If she could get by without eating, she would. On the other hand, she looked forward to having something cooler to wear.

Since this morning, she had pinned three loads of clothes to the line, snapped green beans on the back steps, patched and ironed trousers, and mopped the summer kitchen floor after Cook tracked in mud from the chicken coop. Aunt Ida supervised her every move, giving her instructions on how to work faster and more efficiently. On the ride into town, her aunt delivered a sternly worded lecture after Emma left her gloves at home, snapping the horse with a whip when she wanted to stress a point.

“Gloves are to be worn at all times on the street, at church, and at other formal occasions,” she said. “Unless one is eating or drinking.”

“My mother never made me wear gloves,” Emma said.

“Well, you’re my responsibility now that your mother is—”

“Don’t,” Emma said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t ever speak of my mother again.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Aunt Ida said. “How many times do I have to tell you your uncle is sorry for last night? He didn’t mean to upset you. You know how he gets sometimes. And it’s even worse when the miners are restless.”

“And you?” Emma said. She unbuttoned her collar and rolled up her sleeves, ignoring her aunt’s disapproving glances. The horse was moving at a good clip, and she wanted to take advantage of the breeze. “Are you sorry for what you said?”

Aunt Ida pulled back on the reins and brought the wagon to an abrupt halt. Emma had to grab the edge of the seat to keep from falling out.

“Me?” Aunt Ida said, her voice high. “What have I done? I only want what’s best for you, can’t you see that?”

“It seems to me like you only want free help,” Emma said before she could stop herself.

Aunt Ida gasped. She dropped the reins in her lap and fished a white handkerchief out of her sleeve, her eyes filling. “Lord almighty,” she said. “I’ve never been treated so poorly for trying to help someone in my entire life. Don’t you know you’re like a daughter to me? The daughter I never had?”

Emma sighed. There was no point in telling Aunt Ida anything. She was too busy seeing the splinter in everyone else’s eyes while being blind to the beam in her own. Emma tried to swallow her anger, but it got stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing the words out. “Please, just forget I said anything.”

Aunt Ida wiped her nose, sniffling. “I know we’ve got some adjusting to do,” she said. “So I’ll accept your apology. But please, consider others’ feelings before you speak. And button your collar and roll down your sleeves before someone sees you.”

Emma ignored the request. Instead she picked up the reins and flicked them lightly, clucking her tongue to get the horse moving again. “I thought you were going to teach me how to drive?”

Aunt Ida took the reins. “Not yet,” she said. “When you start working at the store, you can walk and Percy will bring you home, along with any items on my list. I need this wagon at my disposal at all times. I never know when I might need to run into town.”

When they reached the Company Store, Aunt Ida stopped the wagon on the edge of the dusty road, then waited for Emma to tie the horse to a hitching post. When she had finished, Emma helped her aunt down from the seat and followed her along the plank sidewalk toward the entrance. Two women came out of the store, talking and laughing. The younger one carried a wicker basket covered in a red-checkered cloth, and the older woman held a brown paper package beneath one arm. There was no mistaking they were mother and daughter, with matching upturned noses and rainwater blue eyes. The daughter wore her blond hair in long ringlets that spilled over her shoulders like a yellow mane. The mother wore her mouse-colored hair in a Gibson girl bun, gray streaks running up from her temples and the middle of her forehead. They both wore pastel-colored dresses, the mother in baby blue, the daughter in lavender.

“Good evening,” Aunt Ida said.

The women began to respond, then gaped at Emma as if noticing her for the first time. They looked her up and down as if a girl with an open collar and bare forearms were someone to fear. After a short, awkward silence, they came to their senses and said hello.

“Emma,” Aunt Ida said, smiling a little too hard. “You remember Sally and Charlotte Gable, don’t you? Sally is a dear, dear friend of mine from way back. Her husband, Grover, is the inside boss over at the mine. And pretty Miss Charlotte was one of Percy’s childhood playmates.”

Emma didn’t remember either of them. The last time she was here, she was only ten, and back then the only thing she cared about was when her parents were coming back to get her and Albert.
Not to mention the fact that most of my memories are buried beneath the horrible specter of my brother’s death,
she thought. But nothing good would come from contradicting her aunt. “Nice to see you again,” she said, extending her hand.

Charlotte took a step back, and Sally gripped her package tighter, her face going dark. They stared at Emma’s bare, outstretched hand as if it were a poisonous snake.

“Oh,” Sally said. “You’re the one who . . .”

Emma withdrew her hand. So it was true. The whole town was talking about her.

“You know,” Charlotte said. She leaned toward her mother and lowered her voice. “There was another accident up in the breaker yesterday.”

“Oh my,” Aunt Ida said, anxiously fingering her cameo brooch. “I heard. Isn’t it the most dreadful thing?”

“Ripped a boy’s arm and leg clean off,” Charlotte whispered. “Bled to death before anyone could get help.”

Emma’s stomach turned over.
What was a boy doing inside the breaker? Is that what Aunt Ida meant when she said the breaker boys?
She opened her mouth to ask, but Sally interrupted.

“Hush, Charlotte,” Sally said, a flash of warning in her eyes. She looked at Emma, her face a mask of feigned pity. “We’re terribly sorry about your parents. What a horrible way to—”

“I think the breaker accident happened at the same time Emma’s train pulled into the station,” Charlotte interrupted.

“Enough!” Sally snapped. “You’re tempting fate by talking like that!”

Emma bit down on her tongue.
Are they blaming me for the boy’s death?

“That’s nonsense,” Aunt Ida said, chuckling nervously. “It was a coincidence, nothing more. My niece has had a streak of bad luck, that’s all. But now that she’s here with us, I finally have the chance to lead her down the right path. Everything is going to be fine from here on out. Isn’t that right, Emma?”

So this was how it was going to be. Everyone was going to act like she had typhoid or yellow fever. She forced a smile and gave Charlotte’s wrist a friendly squeeze, pressing her fingers into the exposed skin between her sleeve and white glove. The blood drained from Charlotte’s cheeks, and Sally made a small gasping sound, like a dying mouse.

“It was lovely to see you again,” Emma said. “Perhaps we can get together for tea and girl talk soon. You too, Mrs. Gable.” She let go and went around them, brushing a hand along Sally’s arm as she passed. Then she hurried through the store entrance, humiliation burning like a fever in her cheeks.

The bell over the door jingled, and the screen slammed shut behind her. She stood on the other side of the threshold for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the murky interior. The dark-chocolate aroma of coffee mixed with the underlying tang of aged cheese and old wood reminded her of the corner bakery in Manhattan where she and her father used to buy bread every Saturday morning. Along with the bread, her father always bought two petits fours, one for her and one for her mother, a special treat for the women he loved. Thinking about it now, a gnawing ache filled Emma’s chest. She thought about turning around and waiting in the wagon, but she’d have to pass those dim-witted women. Besides, Aunt Ida had brought her here to help.

Percy looked up from behind the cash register on the far side of the store. He wore a white apron over a dark suit and a sleeve garter on his right bicep, like the barber who used to cut Emma’s father’s hair. A spindle of twine hung from the ceiling above his head, and a stack of wrapping paper sat beside the register, along with a wheel of cheese under a glass lid, and a coffee mill. On this side of the counter, a woman stood with her back to Emma, a mewling baby on one hip, a little girl with bare feet and dirty legs at her side. The hem of the woman’s floor-length skirt was threadbare and worn, her mutton-sleeved blouse stained and wrinkled. Her short hair was dirty and matted, making it hard to discern the color. The girl turned to look at Emma, her wide eyes like miniature oceans in her pale face, her blond hair stringy beneath a muslin bonnet turned gray with age. Her dress was two sizes too big, its waist held up by a soiled rope. Just looking at her, Emma could feel the girl’s misery—year after year of doing without, month after month spent shivering in the winter cold, night after night of trying to sleep with a stomach filled with nothing but hunger pains.

On the other side of the room, three boys in patched knickers and dog-eared caps stood in front of the candy counter, counting their coins and eyeing the glass jars filled with horehound drops, licorice, peppermint sticks, and Necco Wafers. Soot blacked their faces, and their hands were the color of mottled stone. The oldest boy looked to be seven or eight. He reached over to remove one of the candy jar lids.

“You boys, wait until I’m finished here!” Percy shouted.

The boy replaced the lid and turned his back to the register, putting his hands in his pockets and mumbling to his friends. He scuffed his boot on the floor and eyed Percy over his shoulder.

Emma wandered down the first aisle, the oiled floor groaning and creaking with every step. She remembered coming here as a girl and wishing for more time to look at the plethora of goods, but her aunt had always warned her not to dawdle. Now it seemed as though the store’s inventory had doubled.

General merchandise and household goods filled this side of the room: clothespins, floor wax, buckets, brooms, ironing boards, mixing bowls, wooden spoons, coffee mills. The other side held groceries: bins of flour, sugar, salt, dried beans, spices, and canned goods. The center of the store was lined with counters and racks of men’s work shirts and trousers, women’s stockings and blouses, children’s jumpers and underwear. Near the back was a wall of draperies and bed linens, a corner section of soaps and lotions, and another corner for sewing notions like pins, thread, and material. Teakettles and dishpans, pots and iron skillets, funnels and hurricane lanterns, coffeepots and buckets, washtubs and washboards, pitchers and baskets hung from the ceiling. A potbellied stove sat in the middle of it all, surrounded by chairs, spittoons, and wooden barrels filled with pickles, salt herring, various seeds, and potatoes.

Emma made her way to the back room and saw it was filled with hardware, farm and garden tools, kegs of nails, horse collars, horseshoes, harnesses, ax handles, shovels, stovepipe, wire fencing, and a kerosene tank with a hand pump. Another room held chickens, chicken feed, bags of fertilizer, egg crates, and coils of rope, along with an assortment of machine and carriage bolts, wood screws, garden plows, stoneware crocks, and cases of Ball canning jars. Mining supplies filled a fourth room—augers, blasting powder, squibs, shovels, picks, kerosene, and oil. Even in Manhattan, Emma had never seen a store with such a wide variety of goods.

After exploring a bit, she headed toward the front counter, past shelves filled with bread and rolls.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said to the woman at the register. “You’re still short ten cents.”

The woman bounced the baby on her hip, trying to stop him from fussing. “Can’t you carry it over ’til next week? It’s not that much.”

Percy shook his head. “Your deductions are already more than your husband’s paycheck. And you still owe money from last week.”

“But I’ve got a passel of hungry mouths to feed,” the woman said, “including three more at home.”

“Sorry,” Percy said. “But that’s not my problem.” He wiped the top of the register with a cleaning rag, avoiding the woman’s eyes. To Emma’s surprise, he looked pained.

Emma edged closer, trying to see what the woman wanted to buy. A loaf of bread and bottle of milk sat on the counter.

“How about takin’ a few cents off the bread?” the woman said. “I swear I’ll pay the difference next time.”

Percy shook his head again. “If you still owe at the end of the week, I can’t start a new bill until the old one is paid in full. Sorry, but that’s the way it works.”

The woman rocked back and forth, digging at the nape of her neck with dirty fingernails, as if trying to puzzle out a solution to her problem. “Can I do something to change your mind?” she said. “Maybe I can come down after closin’ and—”