Red Helmet (20 page)

“What a lovely surprise!” Song chirped.

“Song,” Doctor K said grimly, “this is not a social call.”

“More gossip about me, is there? At least this time you can't shanghai me to Harper Mountain.” The doctor paused long enough for Song to be concerned. “Are you still there, Doctor K?”

“I have to tell you something,” she said heavily. “There's been an accident at the mine.”

Song had a sudden vision of Cable, his crushed body beneath tons of rock. She held on to the phone, her mouth gone dry,
her breath caught in her throat, the scent of her father's roses suddenly funereal.
I loved him
, she realized while she waited for Doctor K to tell her how, even though she'd never really been a wife, she had become a widow.

Seventeen

T
he stately hymns had been sung, and now a hushed stillness filled the Highcoal Church and its pews of bowed heads and tear-streaked faces. Preacher mounted the pulpit and looked down at the flag-draped coffin surrounded by flowers.

“This much we know,” he said with a sad smile. “As our dearly departed lived his life, so will there be a place for him in heaven. ‘Let not your heart be troubled,' that's what Jesus said. ‘In My Father's house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.'”

Preacher looked into the bright sunbeams streaming through the stained glass windows, and rainbow colors played across his face. “Squirrel Harper lived and died with the assurance of this promise. Oh, it's true when he was a younger man, sometimes he ran a little 'shine. And I guess there were a number of women in the roadhouse on the way to Fox Run who knew his company back then. But Squirrel found his faith in time. He also raised a couple of good boys, Chevrolet and Ford, who, when their country called, weren't afraid to go across the ocean to fight for us. You know a man by his sons, I have always believed.”

Preacher looked at Squirrel's sons, who were sitting together on the front pew. “You boys want to say a few words?”

A lanky youth with a shaved head stood and looked around the congregation. He was wearing jeans and a desert camouflage shirt. It was the eldest son, Chevrolet. “I appreciate what you had to say, Preacher, and you're right. My pa weren't no angel, but when we was little, he never beat Ford and me as much as we deserved, and anytime I ever got in a scrape, I knew my daddy was going to be there, taking my side. When Ford and me joined up, I swan if Daddy didn't try to join up too. They said he was too old, but he said he'd taken the measure of them blamed Viet Cong and he reckoned he could do the same with them A-rabs. But the recruiter sergeant sent him on home. Still, weren't hardly a day me and Ford were over there we didn't get something from him—a letter, a box of Girl Scout cookies, whatever. We had the best daddy in the world.”

Chevrolet sat down, and Ford stood up. He was a little shorter than his older brother, and a little thinner, but otherwise they looked much alike. “Daddy always said to me, Ford, don't you worry what other folks think about us. All them other folks, they can just go to . . . well, you know. Daddy wanted Chevrolet and me to know we were as good as anybody else. Thank you for that, Daddy. Now, you go on and be with Jesus. We'll do as good as we can down here until we get to come up to heaven and be with you and Mama too. I hope she fixes you her special cornbread you always liked so much.”

Ford sat down. There was much sniffling going on in the church, and Song was one of the chief snifflers. “That's so sad,” she whispered to Rhonda, who was sitting beside her. Young Henry was on her other side. He was bawling into a red bandana.

Cable was sitting in the front row with the two brothers. Governor Godfrey was sitting in all her blonde glory beside him. She wore a black turtleneck and a black Versace leather coat. Song had to admit the woman at least had some style. When Cable looked up and turned his head, Song saw that he looked tired and drawn. Still, as much as she wished it weren't so, her heart sped up at the sight of him. As far as she knew, he hadn't yet realized she had come to the funeral. She had ordered Rhonda not to say a word. Remarkably for Highcoal, it appeared her secret was being kept.

There was an explosive sob behind Song. Startled, she looked over her shoulder and saw Burn stand up. “He was a good old boy, Squirrel was!” Bum cried. “And now Cable done kilt him deader'n a hammer!”

“Hush now, Bum,” Chevrolet called out.

“I ain't gonna! Somebody got to tell the truth around here.”

“Stop making a fuss,” Ford said. “Daddy and you never got along.”

“That ain't so!” Bum stood up and pointed at Cable with a trembling finger. “You better stop killing us, Cable!”

Cable stood and, facing the back pews, calmly said, “Bum, this isn't the time.”

“Why the hell not?” Bum pushed his way into the aisle. He balled his big fists and started toward Cable, who stepped out to meet him. Bum stopped short, and then whined, “Some day you'll get yours, teammate!”

“Go home, Bum,” Cable said gently. “And sleep it off.”

Bum stormed out of the church, leaving the congregation shaking their heads. Preacher interrupted the silence, saying, “Since you're up, Cable. Maybe now would be the time for you to say a few words.”

Cable nodded and rested his hand on Squirrel's casket before climbing into the pulpit. His eyes slid past Song, then came back to her. Surprise registered in his expression, then he looked past her, into some other place, and said, “There was never a better man than Squirrel Harper. My daddy sure loved him. They were buddies in the mine. Dad ran a miner, Squirrel a shuttle car. Boy, they sure loaded some good coal in their day.”

Cable took a breath and went on. “Maybe Bum's right about something. I don't run as safe a mine as I should. I already said it privately, but now I want to say it where everybody can hear. Chevrolet and Ford, I want you to know I take full responsibility for your daddy's death. I'm the mine superintendent. If any man is hurt in my mine or, in this case, at the preparation plant, it's because I didn't do something right.”

“No, Cable,” Bossman said, standing up midway back in the pews. “This ain't your fault. You didn't kill Squirrel. Sometimes bad things happen, that's all.” He looked around until he saw the MSHA inspector. “We all know Einstein—I mean Mr. Stein—is the best investigator in the world. If he says Squirrel tripped coming down those steps on the outside of the preparation plant, then that's what happened.”

Einstein stood up, and his angry little eyes glared at Bossman. “My report reflects the facts as far I know them. That's all. Nothing more.”

“Well, sure, Einstein,” Bossman said, “we all know you ain't gonna land on Cable's side too often. But I reckon you got my meaning, sir. Squirrel died in an accident, nothing for Cable to be beating himself up over.”

“That I will stipulate,” Einstein said, and sat down.

Cable nodded toward both men. “Thanks, Bossman. And thank you too, Mr. Stein. Squirrel Harper was a man of honor and a man you could trust. In short, he was a coal miner. A coal miner may die, but death can never destroy how he lived, or why. God in His wisdom provided this country with the American coal miner who glories in loading good coal! Sure, it's hard work, but there is a beauty in anything that's hard if it's well done. We know this much for certain about Squirrel. He loved his family. He was a man of integrity. And he was a man who laughed and knew how to tell a good story. Of course he could. He was a West Virginian!”

Some people chuckled and there were a few amens.

Cable looked across the people in the pews. Once more his eyes landed on Song, lingered on her momentarily, then roved on. “Here, in this glorious and beautiful and sometimes fearsome place of mountains and mines, there are still people like Squirrel, people who yet believe in the old ways, the old virtues, the old truths. They still lift their heads from the darkness to the light and say for the nation and all the world to hear: We are proud of who we are. We stand up for what we believe. We keep our families together. We trust in God.” He took a deep breath. “And we are not afraid.”

Cable went back to his seat. Preacher climbed into the pulpit while the choir stood and, with the congregation in full throat, began singing anthems of joy. When Young Henry handed her a hymnal, Song sang her heart out too.

The funeral was done and Song walked out, the constable suddenly appearing by her side. She saw why. Just as the last time she had attended the church, the trio of church women awaited her—Mrs. Carlisle, Mrs. Petroski, and Mrs. Williams. They did not look happy.

“We don't know what to call you,” Mrs. Williams said. “Are you still Mrs. Jordan?”

Song was tempted to walk right by them, but she didn't. She didn't want to give them the satisfaction. “Just call me Song,” she said. “And I'm sorry if I didn't wear the right clothes again. It doesn't matter. I'm not staying. I'll be leaving in a couple of hours.”

“Preacher gave us what-for because of what we said to you the last time,” Mrs. Petroski said. “So did Cable.”

“Can you forgive us for being so catty?” Mrs. Carlisle asked. “It weren't right. We were raised better than that.”

“What it was, we was jealous,” Mrs. Williams said. “Our men were breaking their necks looking at you. But that was their fault, not yours.”

“Preacher told us to read our Bible and we did,” Mrs. Petroski went on. “Proverbs says anger is cruel and fury overwhelming, but who can stand before jealousy?”

“We're awful sorry!” the trio bawled in unison.

Song couldn't think of a snappy reply. “Thank you. I accept your apology.”

The church women all required a hug and Song gave it to them. “We wish you would come and live amongst us,” Mrs. Williams said, wiping at a tear. “I swan.”

“Maybe if I'd been a little stronger . . .” Song began, then shook her head. “Good-bye, good-bye, and good-bye.”

“Please come back and visit us any time,” Mrs. Carlisle called after her, while the two other ladies eagerly nodded their heads in agreement. One of them also said very softly, “You look real pretty today, honey.”

The constable escorted Song to the Cardinal Hotel, where she'd taken a room. “Them church ladies are nice, pretty much,” he said, “if they can keep their mouths away from mean gossip. They work hard for the poor families in the county, and, let me tell you, there's a bunch that ain't doing too well, especially with meth and OxyContin eating so many folks up these days.”

“Drugs here?” Song was a bit startled.

The constable shrugged. “I'm the boy at the dike with his finger in the hole, only there ain't no hole and there ain't no dike. It fell down a long time ago. These hills got flooded with drugs when the mines started closing back in the 1970s. People were just desperate and wanted to get numb, I guess.”

“But now the mines are back.”

“Yes, the thing is, people don't trust them to stay back. Generation after generation around here, it's all boom or bust.” The constable wearily shook his head. “When I read about how Congress and the president are worrying about making sure the country has enough energy, or wringing their hands over Social Security, or proposing free medical care for everybody, I just get mad. None of that is ever going to happen if the coal miners in this country one day decide they've had enough. They're close to that now. Washington better start paying some attention to the folks down here or the economy is going to turn into an even bigger mess than it already is.”

“You should run for office, Constable Petrie,” Song said, impressed by his little speech.

The constable chuckled mirthlessly. “Aw, I'm just shooting my mouth off. As long as I'm doing that, I have to tell you something. I'm not so sure Squirrel died in an accident.”

Song stopped and stared at the constable. “What do you mean?”

“Squirrel was sure-footed for an old coot. It was raining that day and maybe the steps were a little slippery, but to go over a rail like that . . . I think Einstein was a little suspicious too.”

“Why are you telling me this, Constable?”

The constable scratched up under his cap. “People around here would go a little crazy if I said to them what I just said to you. They'd start accusing everybody under the sun. You know how Highcoal is. But you're from the outside, and I guess I just had to tell somebody what I was thinking.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Song said, frowning. “So what are you going to do?”

The constable puffed a short, exasperated breath, then shook his head. “Nothing I can do, I don't reckon, except stay on the lookout for anything suspicious.”

“Do you suspect anybody in particular?”

“No. Squirrel worked alone, tending to the equipment, which runs pretty much automatically. Cable used to require two men in there, but he's so shorthanded, he doesn't have that flexibility. Stan Stanvic's the supervisor in the plant and mostly mans the computers that operate the place. He weighs nearly three hundred pounds. I doubt if he could climb up to where Squirrel fell, not without a heart attack, anyway.”

“Who found Squirrel?”

“A truck driver who was there to pick up a load. Foureyes. I think you know him. My guess, Squirrel had been dead for a couple of hours when Foureyes spotted him lying in the dirt back behind the coal bins. Foureyes is a pretty simple soul, so I don't think he had anything to do with it. Stan said he hadn't seen Squirrel most of the day, but that wasn't unusual. Squirrel just did his thing, keeping everything rolling along. And now he's dead.”

Song thought it over. “Did Squirrel have enemies?”

The constable cocked his head, then nodded. “I guess he had a few. The Harpers have been in these hills for a long time. You surely recall Bashful the well driller? He and his family have no love for the Harpers. They've been arguing about this and that for a long time. Squirrel said he thought Bashful needed killing, and Bashful called the state boys to swat him away. But I checked it out and Bashful was nowhere near the mine that day. He was out trying to drill in somebody's apple orchard or some such. Anyway, he never struck me as a killer, just sneaky and dumb.”