Red Helmet (33 page)

“Shoveled gob all day,” he said glumly, then pulled his helmet down and turned away.

Before supper, Rhonda beckoned Song into the kitchen where she pointed at a bathroom scale. “Step up, honey; let's have a look.”

Song stepped up and discovered, as she feared, that she had gained weight. But why, she thought, did her jeans fit so well? “You've lost fat but gained muscle,” Rhonda explained. “I can see it in your back, your shoulders, and your arms. You're what they call
ripped
, girl!”

It was true. Song even had a six-pack of abs.

“All right, muscle woman,” Rhonda said, “get out there and put the feed bag on.”

At the red cap table, Song couldn't hold back. She told them what it was like to be on a roof bolt crew and what Bossman had said about her.

Justin slammed his fist on the table, rattling the plates. “Why are you getting these great jobs? You still sleeping with Cable?”

Ford glared at Justin. “What's your problem, buddy?”

Justin stood up, knocking over his chair. “I don't have a problem. Everything is just freakin' awesome.” He gave Song an angry glance, then stalked out of the dining room.

“What just happened?” Gilberto wondered.

“He's tired of shoveling gob,” Ford said.

“Well, who ain't?” Chevrolet demanded.

“This is my fault,” Song said. “I shouldn't have been bragging. If Justin doesn't get a good job in the mine, he's afraid he won't get his son back.”

“What's that got to do with you?” Ford demanded.

Song shrugged. “Nothing. He's just frustrated.”

“Let's all go up to his room and kick his butt,” Chevrolet proposed.

Rhonda swung by. “Leave Justin alone. I'll call Preacher. That's who that boy needs to talk to right now.” She raised an eyebrow at Song. “And, yes ma'am, your bragging could ease up a bit.”

“Sorry,” Song said in a voice as small as she felt.

A
FTER EVERYONE HAD
gone to bed, Song sat at the table in her room and laid out the printouts she'd made the night before. With a borrowed calculator from Rhonda, she began her calculations, comparing the tons of raw coal produced at the Highcoal mine month by month with the tons of the various grades that resulted after going through the preparation plant. When she got the tonnages, she converted them into percentages. When she was finished, one number instantly leapt out at her. She tapped her finger on it. “Right there is where it started,” she said to herself. “April of this year.”

She pondered the silent number, then went downstairs. She checked the parlor, the dining room, and the kitchen to make sure she was alone, then went into Rhonda's office and sat down at the desk. She slid the county telephone book across the desk, then opened it and began to scan its entries. Even though it was late, she needed advice on what to do next and she didn't think it should wait. She found the number and dialed. A woman's voice answered.

“I'm sorry to call so late,” she said. “But I'm one of Square's red caps. Could I please talk to him? Yes, ma'am. It's very important.”

Twenty-Eight

S
ong looked for Bossman and found him in deep discussion with one of his shift foremen. He turned toward her with a broad smile. “Song, good morning. I wanted to have a word. I've decided to let you be a continuous miner helper today on Brown Mule's section. You'll get some training time in the operator's seat.”

Song was thrilled at the prospect and knew Bossman was doing her a great honor. But she had other business to attend to.

“I'm not feeling well,” she lied.

Bossman raised his eyebrows. “Then why are you here?”

“Well, I thought I could work outside today.”

“Outside? If you're too sick to work in, you're too sick to work out.”

“I'd
really like to work out, if you don't mind.”

Bossman glared at her. “What's wrong with you?” he demanded. “It better be something serious. Do you realize most red caps would kill to get trained on a continuous miner?” When she didn't answer, he said, “That time of the month, is it?” He shook his head and spat a stream of tobacco juice into the gob. “Well, there's another reason I don't like women in the mine.”

“It's not my time of the month,” Song replied evenly. “Even if it was, I could work. Maybe I'm coming down with something.”

Bossman's lips curled up in doubt. “I should make you go see Doctor K, get a health slip. Are you wimping out on me, girl?”

“No, Bossman.” Song felt terrible for disappointing him, but she had no choice. And she definitely couldn't tell him the real reason. “I just need to work outside today.”

Bossman shook his head. “All right, have it your way. Check with Buck Puller—he's the chief electrician. You'll find him over at the office. He's got some boys changing out some wire at a couple of fans. They can use a hand, likely.”

Song steeled herself for more rebuke. “I'd rather work at the preparation plant.”

Bossman peered at her with his bright steady eyes. “You asked for a job outside, I gave you one, and now you're telling me you want to do something else?”

Song plunged on. “Square said we red caps should work all parts of the mine. I haven't pulled any training at the preparation plant.” She looked at him beseechingly. “Would that be all right?”

Bossman chewed a couple of half-hearted chews, then spat again. “All right, little lady. We'll do it your way. Tell Stan Stanvic I said you could help him today. Stan runs the plant.”

“Thank you, Bossman.”

His expression was layered with disappointment. “All I got to say to you is have a nice day outside. No, wait. Something else. I hope you like shoveling gob. You didn't level with me just now, and I don't trust any miner who tells me a lie. I surely ain't gonna let a liar sit in on a continuous miner.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“That don't change nothing.”

“One more thing,” she said, shrinking back a little.

“What?” he demanded.

“Could you, please, maybe, since I can't do it, let Justin be a helper on the continuous miner today?”

“That druggie? Not a chance.”

“He's not a druggie anymore, Bossman.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me, and I believe him.”

Bossman harrumphed, then stalked off.

Justin swung by. “I acted like an idiot last night,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, Justin. I was stupid, bragging like that in front of you.”

“You ready to get on the manlift?” he asked.

“I'm working in the preparation plant today,” she said.

Justin nodded. “I worked in the plant the other day. It's pretty boring. Mostly I helped grease rollers and such. There's a big console of computers and stuff you'll probably like, though.”

“Can't wait,” Song said, glumly thinking about the continuous miner and how much fun it would have been to work around it.

Song watched as Justin and the other red caps got on the manlift. Bossman was on it too. He turned his eyes toward Song just as the manlift disappeared beneath the ground. His eyes were not friendly.

S
QUARE MET HER
at the door that led inside the vast steel building that housed the coal preparation plant. She thanked him for coming in.

“I'm feeling better,” he allowed. “It's good to get out and breathe in some good coal dust. Just what a man with black lung ought to do!”

“Don't make me feel any worse than I do already,” Song pleaded, then told him about Bossman and the continuous miner.

“Do you realize what a chance that is for a red cap?” Square demanded.

“Yes, and please leave me alone about it. Look, Square, I need your help to understand how this plant works.”

“Why, exactly?”

“After you teach me about the plant, I'll tell you.”

“You're a woman of mystery, ain't you?” Square said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Just help me. Please.”

Square nodded, then led her up steps made of steel grate and into a control room. At a console of video monitors and gauges, an obese man with a round face, angry eyes, and a pencil-thin moustache swiveled their way. “Song, meet Stan Stanvic,” Square said.

Stanvic eyed her red helmet. “You working for me today?”

“I'm giving her a tour,” Square explained. “Just wanted to check in, see if it's okay with you.”

Stanvic peered at Square suspiciously, then shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

“Tell us about those monitors,” Square suggested.

Stanvic looked peeved, then stood up and waddled out, saying over his shoulder, “You do it. I ain't no red cap teacher.”

“Stan's always been cranky at work until he eats lunch,” Square said, smiling. “He'll eat about three lunches before he's through. Tell you what. Let's first go out into the plant and have a look around. Then maybe all these monitors will make sense. Leave your lunchbox here.”

Once outside the office, Square said, “In a nutshell, what this operation does is take the raw material that comes out of the mine and separate it into rock, bad coal, and good coal. Rock's rock. You know about it. Bad coal has enough minerals in it to make too much ash when it's burned. Some you can sell, like to certain steam plants that don't care how much they pollute, and some you can't. Good coal is pure enough to burn in the modern power plants that have pollution standards. Really good coal, the finest, is called metallurgical grade. That's what's used to make steel.”

Song followed Square up a series of steps that provided a dizzying view all the way down to the concrete floor of the huge facility. At the top level, which was over one hundred and fifty feet high, Square pushed open a door and they stepped outside onto another narrow walkway of steel grate. Song gripped the rail with both hands. “Is this where . . . ?” she began.

Square answered before she could finish. “No. Squirrel Harper fell from that perch over there, beside the froth flotation jig. Never figured Squirrel to be the kind of man who'd fall. He always struck me as being sure-footed.”

“Maybe it wasn't an accident,” Song said, recalling the constable's concern.

Square made no reply, just kept looking out into the distance. Song caught the brittle aroma of wood smoke, probably from someone building a fire in their fireplace. It was cold enough, and she shivered as the wind worked its way through her loose jumpsuit. Every morning for the last week, there had been a heavy frost coating the porch and the grass in the Cardinal's front yard. She had already thought about purchasing a warmer coat from Omar's.

From their perch near the top of the preparation plant, she could see the mine grounds were tucked in a little hollow, and behind it rose the steep mountain that lay over the underground works. Song studied the mountain, wondering, among other things, how much it weighed. Whatever it was, it was
all pressing down on the mine below and the men she thought of now as her friends and colleagues.

“They're talking about taking the top off her,” Square said of the mountain.

“Who is?”

“Atlas Energy. I heard Cable worrying about it the other day. Test bores show there's a lot of coal inside her, and the Atlas president has proposed mountaintop mining to get at it. They'll bring huge machines in, Song, bigger than anything you can imagine. To get up there, they'll have to scratch that old mountain to pieces to build roads, then they'll dig down inside her, pull out her guts, and drop them down the side. Oh, they'll say some day after they're done, they'll fill her back up with the spoil. But it won't ever be the same. Everything will be destroyed. Cable knows that and hates the idea.”

“Cable against mining? I can't imagine that!”

Square shook his head. “You really don't know the man you married, do you?”

“Clearly not,” Song said. “I guess that's why we're getting an annulment.” She turned away from the mountain. “Tell me about this plant, Square.”

“All right.” Square pointed out where the raw coal was brought out of the mine from a separate shaft from the manlift, where it was first stored in a big silo, and then transported by conveyor belt aloft to rollers where it was crushed. Then he pointed to a slanted shaft where a series of screens separated the coal by size. “The big stuff is mostly rock and it's dropped down there,” Square said, indicating a pile of yellowish rock below. He led her back inside and took her along another scary catwalk until they reached a huge tank of swirling black water.

“This is a jig, a dense-medium separator that uses specific gravity to separate the coal. The better grade of coal floats; the lesser grades sink. The coal that's skimmed off the top is good quality and is mostly used for power plants.”

The next stop was another black vat of water, smaller than the first. A sharp odor from it pierced her nostrils. “Cable's pride and joy,” Square said, patting the tank. “You've maybe heard about that steel mill in India with a requirement for an extremely high grade of coal. The only way to get it is with froth flotation, which is what this baby does. The water in it is mixed with special chemicals that make air bubbles sticky. When coal is dumped into the water and air is blown into it, the froth that's created sticks to the purest coal and floats it to the top. The coal that comes out of this jig is worth a great deal of money. Everybody pays top dollar for it, especially the Indians.”

Song looked over the equipment with interest. Square led her down the steps until they reached the floor, then walked her to a huge inverted cone. “This is a cyclone. After the coal has been washed in the jigs, it has to be dried. It works just like the spin dry cycle in a washing machine. The coal is spun and the water is pushed out by centrifugal force. Then the coal is fed into what's called a bed dryer, which burns natural gas to evaporate any water left. Then, and only then, is the coal ready to go to market.”