Sadie's Mountain (39 page)

“I told the state police,” I say, to these two stunned women who look at me like I’ve just grown an extra arm.

“Does Dillon know?” Missy asks. I bite my thumbnail and nod my head yes.

“Oh my gosh,” Aunt Lotty says, as a mist forms over her eyes. “In all the things you’ve done, I’ve always been so proud of you. But, this is just such a brave thing to do,” she says. “Telling your secret, standing up against mountaintop coal mining, of all things,” she says, looking at Dillon as he sits on a chair by the window with his ankle resting on his knee. “I guess I ought to thank him for the change in you,” she says. 

“I guess I ought to, too,” I say.

She leans into me real close and whispers, “And he’s real good lookin’,” she says, grabbing her purse.

“Are you leavin’?” Missy asks, the shock of me telling my secret hasn’t worn off.

“I am, honey,” Aunt Lotty says. “I’ve got an early flight,” she adds as she wraps Missy up in a hug. As she turns to me, she puts her hands on her hips. Before I know it, I’m in her familiar arms.

“You done good,” she says into my ear as she squeezes me. “I love you, honey,” she says. “You better come visit me. I know you have a real momma, but you’re the closest thing I have to a child ‘a my own.”

“I love you, Aunt Lotty,” I say, before she slips out and disappears into her car in the dark driveway.

When I turn to Missy, she says, “What can I do?”

“About what?”

“To help.”

“Do you mean with the mountain?” She bites onto her bottom lip and squeaks out a half smile.

“That’s what I’m sayin’. You’d better take advantage of me while I’m all soft-hearted and willin’ to help.”

I look at Dillon and Reverend Morris, who’s been waiting patiently. “Well, we could use your table, a laptop, and the phone.”

We stand up and she pulls me into a hug. She feels so small in my arms, like little bones wrapped in skin.

With that, we dive in. Hands Across the Mountain is in full swing.

As I spend too much time crafting, tweaking, and finalizing the perfect press release, Missy calls local media. I glow with pride. Missy, helping us. It’s almost too much to take all at once.

Once I’m done with the press release, Jenny sends it to all of my media contacts and posts it on my blog.

I can’t stop to think, to process this. It’s all in a blur as I start getting calls on Momma’s, now Missy and Dale’s, phone to schedule interviews.

“Why don’t you just agree to a press conference at 7:00 a.m.?” Dillon says.

“I can’t believe the amount of press that’s gonna be there,” Reverend Morris says, holding the map.

 “How many people are coming with us?” Dillon asks.

“We’ve lined up good numbers, about forty people,” he says.

 Together, atop the old wood table of my childhood, we go over the map again and again, checking for routes to take if we have to go up on horseback.

It’s then that I find out, it’s the back side of the mountain they are going to demolish—hollow out the center, make it look like the façade of a real mountain—one that’s dead inside. And if they do, Rich Creek will be no longer. It makes my eyes sting—this kind of cry reserved only for people or things that I love the most.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts about the desecration of Gauley Mountain, about the death of Rich Creek, I don’t even notice Reverend Morris leave.

Dillon’s voice comes in through my jumbled mind as I’m going over and over what we have to do tomorrow.

“It’s time to go, darlin’,” he says.

My stomach is coiled up in knots when I shake my head and look up at him. “Oh, okay,” I say and look at Missy.

She smiles at me. It’s a forgiving smile. A proud smile. A sisterly smile.

I walk over and give her a hug. “Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome,” she says, and looks at me with the kindest expression. “Be careful tomorrow, lil’ girl.”

“We will,” I say, as Dillon and I make our way out to the car sitting in the dark. As we walk out, my hand in his, I wonder if Donnie might be watching us. Even though I doubt he’ll do anything to us right now, I push daddy’s gun into my hip to remind me I’m safe. There’s still some of Momma’s family in the house. He’s not that reckless, is he?

I’m standing in the kitchen trying to remember what I walked in here for when I hear Dillon’s footsteps searching for me.

“I’m in here,” I say, as I realize I wanted a glass of water. I pick up the glass and turn on the faucet.

Well water tastes like childhood
, I think as I take a sip. Through the underside of the glass, I see Dillon standing in the doorframe holding something. I put down the water and swallow hard.

“I want you to wear this,” Dillon says, holding a gun harness like the one he had on during the funeral. “Do you know how to use it?”

“I’ve never worn one,” I say, as I bite my thumbnail.

“Here, let me put it on you,” he says, standing behind me while he straps it on under my left arm. I hold still as he adjusts the straps, taking the time to make sure it’s on properly. It reminds me a bit of guardian angel wings strapped to my back. Like the kind I wore to a Halloween party when I was a kid—except this is no party. This is something real—something I might not be ready for.

“See, you just reach across like this,” he says, moving my right arm across my chest and shoving my hand inside where the gun will be.

“Go get your Daddy’s gun,” he says, impassively.

I walk quickly up the stairs to find my purse. My eyes dart around until I find the vintage Coach sitting innocently on the fluffy couch. I reach my hand inside and find Daddy’s cold gun lying in wait. As I stroke my fingers across the sepia colored handle, I wonder if I really have it in me to use it. It’s been such a long, long time since Daddy showed me how to aim with one eye shut and pull the trigger.

When I come back to the kitchen, he’s on the phone, “...but you’ll be there,” he says. “Okay, thank you, Officer Howard.”

I walk over to the mirror in the dining room—an ornate mirror that must have come with the house. I hear Dillon talking to someone else. It must be the state police.

I run my fingertips along the engravings in the metal gun and catch my eyes looking back at me in the mirror. I usually avoid looking at them. They have always reminded me that I’m not right—that things are wrong deep inside. But as I stand here, my moss green eyes have taken on a foreign appearance. They don’t look dead or empty. They look alive with worry, alive with a different kind of scared. I take the gun and place it in the holster, feel how it presses against the ribs on my left side until it hurts.

In front of no one but myself, I reach across my chest and pull out the gun, point it and know. I can do this. If he comes near me again, I’ll do what I have to do to survive.

Something in my eyes looks different, that’s for sure,
I think as I look at them from behind the barrel of my Daddy’s gun. Is this what Donnie will see just before he’s dead? My lips curl at the thought of it. Of him being gone. Of this being over. It feels like poison in my blood. I need an antidote.

“Sadie?” Dillon says, in a curious tone.

I put the gun down and look at him. He’s wringing his hands.

“What were you doing? Practicing?”

“Yeah,” I say, putting the gun back in the holster and biting my thumbnail.

“Do you want to shoot it outside? I can take you out to the woods and let you try.”

“No. I think it’s like riding a bike. You never forget,” I say. “What did Officer Howard say?”

“He agreed to be there and keep an eye out,” he says.  “But he does say that our rally is against the law and we can’t block the coal company from using their permit.”

“Or what?”

“Or they can arrest us.”
I can’t even think about that right now
, I think as I close my eyes and rub my temples.

“What about Sergeant Daniels from the state police?”

“He wasn’t as forthcoming, but he said he doesn’t think they’ll be ready with an arrest warrant for a few more days—unless he does something to one of us in the meantime.”

The look on his face, the concern written in the creases of his forehead, makes my head pound like a hammer against the skull. We’ve made up our minds. Donnie could do this anywhere at any time. It could be a surprise attack out in public or he could sneak in here at night. He’s a cop so he could find us anywhere we went to hide. There’s nothing we can do to change it.

This is for my momma
, I tell myself. This is the only thing she asked of me. I know it’s not my fault—leaving her—but I’ve got to fill myself with bravery. I’ve got to.

“Come with me,” he says, impassively, resolute.

He takes my hand and walks me up the stairs, past all the rooms we’ve plans to fill with all our babies. I touch my tummy and wonder which room will be this one’s. Even though I haven’t taken a test, it’s just something I know to be true, just like the sky is blue, or air is see-through. I am carrying Dillon’s child. I have to be. It makes me smile.

Even just from the touch of his hands, I know that Dillon’s charged with emotions. But it isn’t until we lie down together in the king sized canopy bed of my dreams that I realize,  as he shows me with his fervent kisses, his needy hands, his ardent drive to connect with me, just how scared he is to mess this up—to lose everything.

Still shaking from the tremors of release, he’s hovering above me on his forearms. My blood pumps too fast through my veins as he looks so far into my eyes that I have no more secrets; I can tell him no more lies, “Everything will change tomorrow. Good or bad, it won’t be the same,” he says, through hitched breaths.

I feel his meaning so deep within my bones that I shiver. He kisses me again like he means it, like we are on a precipice together, and tucks me under his arm. I twirl my fingers through the light hair on his chest and worry about tomorrow.

 It’s still dark out as we sip coffee while standing in the kitchen. I’m dressed in my faded jeans, a black t-shirt, a coat that used to be Missy’s, and the brown boots I wore that fateful day when my life changed forever. I wish I didn’t have to wear them, but they’re the only pair I have for running around in the West Virginia mountains. I feel uneasiness bubble up like boiling water. “What are we going to do if they block the road?” I say, the words forcing themselves up through my knotted throat.

“We’re coming back for the horses,” he says. “But we stay with the group. Let me see your gun,” he says, and I lift my jacket to show him the harness and Daddy’s gun tucked inside.

We walk out to the car, and strange thoughts start rolling around in my brain. I know I need to do this for Momma, but I wish we could just run, hide somewhere and never come out until this is over.

It’s an anxiety ridden drive up the back of Gauley Mountain with our backs pressed into the seats. Dillon puts his hand on my knee and his shoulders look as though he’s holding the weight of the world.

The road winds around like a board game. When we come around a corner to take the road toward the blast sight, the line of cars comes into view.

“Are you ready for this?” Dillon asks. When he turns to face me, I see dread in his eyes.