Coal River (9 page)

“Do you know a young boy with black hair, freckles, and a missing a leg? He uses wooden crutches and—”

“A lot of boys around here use crutches.”

“I know,” she said. “But this one is different. He looks. . . .” She hesitated, unsure how to describe him without using the words haunted and old. Then she remembered something. “The first time I saw him, he was with an elderly woman with white braids. She walked with her back hunched, like she was about to bend over.”

“Oh, you mean Michael Carrion,” he said. “His grandmother Tala is Indian. She’s worn her hair in braids for as long as I can remember. Although I don’t see her around as much as I used to.”

“How did he lose his leg?”

“The same way all the boys around here lose their limbs. In the breaker. Why are you asking about him?”

She shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. If she told him the truth—that either someone paid Michael to tease her, or he could read her mind—Percy would think she was crazy. And if he told Uncle Otis and Aunt Ida, they’d have reason to get rid of her once and for all. She’d heard stories of women being sent away to public asylums for lesser things. Like the wife of one of the theater owners, who was sent to Willard State for kissing another man and never returned. Emma wanted to get out of Coal River, but not like that.

“It’s not important,” she said. “I just ran into him on my way home, and he said something I didn’t understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was saying things that didn’t make sense.”

“But that’s impossible,” he said. “Michael can’t talk.”

“Because of his accident in the breaker?”

Percy shook his head. “No, because he hasn’t spoken a word since he was born.”

A chill crawled up Emma’s back, raising tiny bumps of flesh on her neck. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Michael was born a deaf-mute.”

 

The early morning air was thick with humidity when Emma left her uncle’s and made her way down the steep hill into town, the soles of her shoes crunching on the gravel road. Katydids and crickets clicked and buzzed among the poison ivy and long grass, and mosquitoes buzzed around her ears. Robins and sparrows flitted through the blue sky like black arrows. For the hundredth time she wondered why God filled the Earth with so many beautiful things, only to let them die so soon and unexpectedly. It didn’t make sense.

Every time she saw a bird or other small creature—a squirrel, a chipmunk, a rabbit—her first thought was how, despite being beautiful and perfectly designed to live in this world, despite being born with the instinct to do what was necessary to survive, their life spans were incredibly short, their tiny bones and fragile skulls easily crushed by a wagon wheel, their tender flesh torn from their skeletons by bigger animals. She wondered if the field mouse, as it gathered seeds and nuts for the coming winter, realized a fox or eagle could snatch it from the grass without warning. If the eagle soaring above the fields knew a hunter could shoot it down. If the squirrel crossing the road knew an automobile could run it over. Or did the birds and animals go about their lives happy and carefree, unaware they could end at any second?

High on the mountain, the rising sun slowly lit up row after row of windows on the breaker as the wide shadow of Ash Mountain retreated from the mine entrance like a creeping veil. The coal train pounded in the distance, echoing in the valley like a giant beating heart. Even from here, Emma could hear the inner workings of the breaker droning on and on, the constant strain and screech of gears and belts. The crunch and splinter of coal being dumped into the crusher reminded her of breaking bones.

She walked slowly but steadily, trying to brace herself for what lay ahead. It was Saturday, her first day of work at the Company Store, and it was payday for the miners. Percy had warned her it would be busy. How was she going to look in those poor mothers’ eyes and tell them they owed money, or that they couldn’t buy milk and bread for their hungry children?

Thinking about the children reminded her of Michael. She bunched her hands into fists, her chest constricting. He was a deaf-mute who had never spoken a word. How and why, all of a sudden, was he speaking to her? Was it a miracle? Should she find his parents to tell them he had spoken at long last? No. It didn’t feel like a miracle. It felt like something else entirely, something dark and threatening. Perhaps it was a warning, an omen, a message only she would understand. Except she didn’t understand it. At all. And why in the world did he mention Albert? How did he even know his name? Then another thought crossed her mind. What if Percy was lying about Michael, or had him confused with someone else? Or what if she had imagined the entire thing?

She walked faster, tears of frustration misting her eyes. Last night, after learning Michael was a deaf-mute, and afraid she was having hallucinations, she had dumped the rest of the laudanum down the toilet. There had only been a few sips left in the bottle, but if the medicine was having that kind of effect on her, she was never going to touch it again. She was trying to move on with her life and needed a clear head. Taking medicine would only make it harder to think straight. Except now, in the light of day, she no longer believed the laudanum had anything to do with it. What happened with Michael felt real.

Outside the Company Store, women with goat-drawn wagons and hand-pulled carts filled the street. Emma kept her eyes on the sidewalk, worried that Michael would be among the crowd. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to push all thoughts from her mind so she could concentrate on the task at hand. She couldn’t afford to make mistakes on her first day at work.

Inside the store, a line of miners’ wives stood at the register, wicker baskets and canvas bags slung over their arms, children with dirty faces clinging to their frayed skirts. Percy worked at the register, running a finger down a page of the customer ledger, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Emma went into the office, grabbed a white apron, and hurried back out and behind the counter.

“What do you need me to do?” she said, slipping the apron over her head and tying it behind her back.

Percy kept his finger on the open book. “Here,” he said. “I’ll run the register while you check to see if they owe anything from last week. See this? Mrs. Anderson still owes twenty-six cents. I’ll add it to what she’s buying now, and you can mark it paid. If any purchases need to be wrapped, you can do that while I take their money.”

“All right,” she said. She smiled at the woman in line to show her she was on her side. Mrs. Anderson stared back at her, her face dour. Percy rang up her purchases: a bag of flour, a tin of lard, three boxes of matches, and a bar of lye soap. Then he added twenty-six cents and announced the total.

Mrs. Anderson reached into a drawstring pouch tied to her waist, counted out the coins, and gave them to Percy. He handed Emma a rubber stamp and told her to mark the woman’s total PAID. Emma did as she was told and, without a word, Mrs. Anderson gathered her groceries, put them in a hand-pulled cart, and exited the store. The next woman waddled up to the counter, one hand on her huge belly. She looked like she was about to give birth any second. She said her name, and Emma looked it up.

“She owes one dollar,” Emma said. She gave the woman a weak smile, hoping she would see that she sympathized with her dilemma.

The woman scowled. “Are you sure?” she said. “Check it again.”

“William and Meredith Trent?” Emma said, raising her eyebrows. The woman nodded, resting her knuckles on the counter and leaning to one side as if nursing a sore leg. Emma ran her finger beneath the woman’s name to follow the pencil line to this week’s total. “Yes. It says right here.” She turned the ledger around so Mrs. Trent could read it herself, but Percy grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“We don’t show anyone the ledger,” he said, his voice firm.

Emma turned the book around and shrugged. Percy finished ringing up Mrs. Trent’s purchases, added the dollar, and waited patiently while she dug in her apron pocket for more change. With tears in her eyes, Mrs. Trent handed him what she owed, leaving two nickels in her hand. Unable to meet her gaze, Emma marked her total
PAID
.

For the next few hours, Percy and Emma worked at the register, slowly making their way through the line. Every time Percy told one of the miners’ wives to put their purchases back on the shelves because their husband’s paychecks weren’t enough to cover them, Emma blinked back the moisture in her eyes and tried not to look at the children’s dirty, desperate faces. Some of women swore at her and Percy before stomping out of the store, while others quietly wiped their cheeks, trying to put on brave faces.

Shortly before noon, a high-pitched whistle suddenly pierced the air, shrieking through the screen door like a banshee. The women gasped and froze, staring at one another with wide, frightened eyes. Then, in a frantic mob, they stampeded out of the store, dragging their children behind them.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked Percy.

Percy’s features sagged. “When the breaker whistle goes off at an odd hour, it means only one thing . . . disaster at the mine.”

“Oh no,” she said. “But where are they all going? I thought—”

“They’re going up to the colliery to find out if anyone was hurt or killed. But the mine bosses won’t tell them anything. And unless it’s a huge accident with a lot of miners involved, everyone has to keep working.”

She gasped. “Keep working? That’s ridiculous!”

He picked up the ledger and the PAID stamp. “Being injured or killed is the worst offense a miner can make against the coal company,” he said. “So why would the bosses stop production?” He shrugged and started toward his office.

She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. “No wonder the miners want to go on strike,” she said under her breath.

He stopped and turned to face her. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

Six hours later it was closing time, and Percy agreed to let her walk partway home, as long as she promised to wait for him near the deserted woodshed at the bottom of the hill leading up to his parents’ house. The woodshed sat just inside the edge of the forest, and she could hide behind it if she heard anyone other than him and the Tin Lizzie coming up the road. He wouldn’t be long, and it was important for them to return home together.

She left the store while Percy finished locking up, her mind spinning and her feet aching. The light in the sky was just starting to thin, and the dark shadow of Ash Mountain was draping itself over the coal breaker. She thought it bizarre that the breaker had always reminded her of an enormous creature looming over the town. Now she knew the truth, and it was more awful than she could have imagined. The breaker
was
a creature. It was a monster that ate little boys. How was it possible that the citizens of Coal River were having parties and celebrations, cooking dinner and tucking their children into bed in the shadow of such a horrible place? Were they blinded by greed, or was it something else?

As she made her way along Main Street, she thought about Uncle Otis criticizing her father for not taking a job in the mines. How could anyone think it was a good idea, especially if a man has another choice? She couldn’t picture her father in the mines, or Albert in the breaker. She couldn’t imagine her mother shopping in the store, being told where she could buy her food and clothing, being turned away for not having enough to pay for an overpriced bag of sugar. In Manhattan her mother used to haggle with the greengrocer and baker, offering to mend aprons or shirts in return for a bag of potatoes or a loaf of bread. Everyone in the neighborhood bartered and worked together, willing to help one another out during hard times. Seeing how things were done in Coal River felt like visiting another country, where she didn’t speak the language or understand the culture. And this country was savage and cold.

When she reached the turnoff leading up to the miners’ village, a covered wagon pulled by a team of massive, sweaty mules rattled past her and made its way up the hill. A black box with the first-aid symbol painted on both sides enclosed the back of the wagon. A group of women and children in worn clothing hurried after it.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked a girl carrying a toddler on her hip.

“It’s the Black Maria,” the girl said, her face grim.

“The Black Maria?”

“Don’t you know?” the girl said. “It’s the hearse!” She hitched the toddler higher on her waist and ran to catch up to the others.

Emma stood on the side of the road and tried to decide what to do. If she wasn’t waiting for Percy at the bottom of the hill when he came through, he’d never let her walk home again. Then again, it would only take a few minutes to go up to the miners’ village and find out what was going on. If she hurried, she could make it up and back before Percy even finished sweeping the floor and latching the shutters. If they met on the road before she made it to the woodshed, he wouldn’t have any idea she had taken a detour. She’d just say she was walking slowly and enjoying the cooler air. He couldn’t fault her for that.

Her mind made up, she trudged up the hill behind the Black Maria. The slag road grew steeper and steeper. Out of breath from exertion and fear, the women begged the driver to tell them who was in the back of the hearse.

The driver shook his head and said, “Next of kin, only.”

Some women dropped their shoulders in relief, while others remained panic-stricken, no doubt worried the driver couldn’t know everyone.

A few minutes later, the miners’ village came into view, and Emma slowed, trying to comprehend what she was looking at. She knew the miners were poor, but seeing where they lived made her shake with shock and sadness. It was nothing like she had imagined as a little girl.

The village was made up of row after row of shanties sitting back to back, their shallow front yards separated by ragged dirt paths, their small backyards surrounded by misshapen fences made of splintered planks and twisted metal. Several of the houses sat on or between old culm banks, the loose piles of refuse from the breaker. One house had fallen into a huge, jagged hole, its corner sticking out of the collapsed ground.