Coal River

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  The miners and boys nodded in agreement.

  “Now go back to work on Monday morning,” Clayton said. “Be good men. I want you to deal fair with every man. There are some good operators, some good bosses, but their hands are tied. We can’t blame them. Let Hazard Flint see you are law-abiding. I have a plan in place, and if we all stick together, Hazard Flint will be forced to do right by us. But you must have patience, my friends, and you must trust me. Now go back, like men, and go to work when you should.”

  “Easy for you to tell us to be patient,” one of the miners said. “Last month, I buried my youngest child, and on the day of the funeral there was not one scrap of food in the house with six children to feed.”

  “Listen,” Clayton said. “This fight is going on, but not today. And not tomorrow. We’ve got work to do first. Go home, all of you, peaceable, law-abiding. Take a drink—I know you need it. But I may have to call on you again inside of two weeks to make another move.”

  Then, just as he was about to remind everyone to spread the word, the thunder of hooves pounded along the dirt road outside and came to a stop in front of the hotel. Moving fast, he and Nally blew out all but one lantern. Everyone stood, careful not to scrape chairs across the floor. Outside, boots stomped across the front porch of the hotel, rattling the windows of the ballroom. Clayton darted to one of the escape windows and pushed it open. Nally and two others opened the other three. Emma made her way toward Clayton, her heart booming in her chest. She moved quickly but quietly among the miners and boys, keeping her chin down. Everyone scrambled out the windows without a word. The wooden ladders thumped against the clapboard siding. When Emma made it to the window, Clayton glanced her way but said nothing. For a split second she froze, her hands on the window casing.

  “Move!” Clayton demanded under his breath.

  Emma eased over the sill, trying not to think about the fact that the ballroom was four stories up from the ground. Two men were climbing down the ladder, disappearing into blackness. She couldn’t see the porch roof. To her surprise, not being able to see the distance between the window and the roof made her less afraid. That, and knowing if she were caught, she’d be thrown in jail, after which Uncle Otis would either lock her up forever or send her to the poorhouse. Clenching her jaw, she swung herself over the window edge and followed the miners into the darkness. At the bottom of the ladder, she stepped onto the porch roof and moved to one side, her hands against the wall. From there, she could make out the backyard, the flagstone sidewalk, and the circular flower beds filled with struggling roses. Some of the miners and boys were jumping off the roof, landing on their feet, rolling forward or falling backward. She went to the top of a ladder and waited her turn. There was no way she could jump.

  Finally she climbed onto the second ladder and scurried down. On the ground, the rest of the miners scattered, disappearing into back alleys and the open windows of nearby buildings. She hurried toward the back fence, stopped, and crouched in the shadows, wondering if she should wait for Clayton. No. The risk of being caught was too great. She followed a group of miners toward a short passageway, then ducked into an alley between the post office and the apothecary. On the other end, she ran along a side road, staying close to buildings and glancing over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. It was only when she got home and crawled into bed that she started shaking.

  CHAPTER 17

  The morning after the secret meeting, Emma stood in front of the mirror above her washstand, brushing the snarls out of her hair and trying to figure out what she’d tell Aunt Ida if she noticed the scratches on her hands. She could say she fell in the road, or got scraped by something at work. Luckily, the coal on her face had washed off. Then again, her aunt probably wouldn’t notice anyway. Today, following church, Aunt Ida was going to another fellowship luncheon. She’d be too busy preening and memorizing the latest gossip to notice anything amiss.

  Emma set down the brush and started braiding her hair, then stopped, listening. Downstairs, anguished wails echoed through the hallways. It was Aunt Ida. An image flashed in Emma’s mind—the Black Maria outside their door, stopping to deliver Uncle Otis’s body. But it was Sunday. The mine was closed. Uncle Otis was downstairs, probably drinking coffee to relieve his headache from too much alcohol the night before. She opened the bedroom door and stuck out her head. On the first floor, a door slammed, and then another. She finished braiding her hair, got dressed, and hurried down the steps.

  In the dining room, the curtains were drawn and Aunt Ida was sitting at the table, red-faced and weeping. Uncle Otis was pacing the floor, the veins in his forehead engorged and pulsing. Percy sat perched near the fireplace on the edge of a settee, his face whiter than usual. On the dining room table, three sheets of paper lay crumpled and torn around the edges.

  “What’s going on?” Emma said.

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Uncle Otis said. He went to the sideboard and poured a glass of whiskey.

  Emma pulled out a chair, sat beside Aunt Ida, and rested a gentle hand on her arm. “What happened?” she said. “Are you all right?”

  Aunt Ida wailed and put her face in her hands, her shoulders convulsing. Percy stood and pulled aside one of the red velvet curtains. He looked out, toward the driveway, then let the curtain drop and turned back into the room.

  Aunt Ida looked up. “Is anyone out there?” she said. Her voice trembled.

  Percy shook his head.

  “They won’t come in the middle of the day,” Uncle Otis said. He emptied his glass in four noisy gulps and refilled it. “If anything, they’ll ambush us in the middle of the night.”

  “Oh my lord!” Aunt Ida cried. “My nerves can’t take it!”

  “I told you to pack your bags and go to Scranton ’til this is over,” Uncle Otis said. “I’ve got enough to worry about without a hysterical wife on my hands.”

  “And then what?” Aunt Ida said. “I come home and find you and Percy dead? We should all pack our bags and leave!”

  Uncle Otis slammed his glass on the sideboard. Whiskey sloshed over his fingers. “I’m not putting my tail between my legs and running away like some yellow-bellied coward!” he said. “I’ve worked too long and hard to give in to their demands! If those miners want a fight, we’ll give them a fight!”

  Emma stiffened. A fight? But Clayton said the miners weren’t ready to make a move yet. It was too soon. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Have a look at those,” Percy said, pointing at the papers on the table.

  Aunt Ida sniffed and blew her nose into an embroidered handkerchief.

  Emma pulled the crumpled papers across the table and smoothed the wrinkles with her fingers. They were handwritten signs with drawings of coffins, pistols, skulls, and crossbones surrounding roughly scribbled words. One read:

  You are a marked man. Prepare your coffin at once or leave this place. Your life is doomed, and you’ll die like a dog if you stay here any longer as mine boss. By order of a stranger who knows you.

  The second note said:

  You have carried this as far as you can. You and the other mine bosses should be careful.

  A third notice said:

  If Hazard Flint don’t stop, we will burn down his breaker and him in it.

  Emma’s mind raced. Who was behind this? Clayton? Nally? It didn’t make sense. Clayton had told the miners to be good men. He would never threaten anyone like this, would he? Someone from last night’s meeting must have gotten carried away.

  “What do they mean?” she said, trying to sound naïve. “And who would do such a thing?”

  “They’re coffin notices,” Percy said.

  Aunt Ida held the handkerchief to her mouth, stifling a sob. “It’s the Molly Maguires!”

  Emma’s skin prickled. Was Mr. Flint right? Did Clayton bring in the Molly Maguires?

  “We don’t know that,” Percy said. “They haven’t been around these parts for years. If they e
ven exist. Somebody’s just trying to scare us, that’s all.”

  “They’re probably nothing but empty threats,” Uncle Otis said. “But if a bunch of ignorant miners think they can scare Hazard Flint, they’re damn fools.”

  “Do you think Clayton Nash is behind this?” Percy said.

  “Of course he is,” Uncle Otis said. “He’s the only one smart enough to organize the miners. But Mr. Flint will take care of Nash and anyone else who’s involved.”

  Emma felt light-headed. “What will Mr. Flint do to him?”

  Uncle Otis stopped in the middle of pouring anther drink. He set down his glass and considered her for a long moment before speaking. Then he said, “What’s it to you?”

  “I was just—”

  All of a sudden, Uncle Otis stormed over to the table and gripped the back of a dining chair, his knuckles turning white. “I thought I made it clear that you were to stay away from Clayton Nash. He’s a murdering, no-good, son of a bitch.”

  “I am staying away from him,” Emma said.

  “You’re lying,” Uncle Otis said. His eyes blazed with fury. Then, before Emma knew what was happening, he flew around the table and yanked up on her braid, pulling her off her seat. “Tell me what you know!”

  Aunt Ida jumped up, ran over to Percy, and buried her face in his shirt. Emma grimaced in pain and dug her fingers into the back of Uncle Otis’s hand, trying to break free. “Let go of me!” she cried. Tears of pain stung her eyes. “I don’t know anything!”

  Uncle Otis spun her around, still gripping her by the hair. With his free hand, he grabbed her chin, pushing his bony fingers into her jaw. His whiskey-soured breath washed over her face. “Have you been seeing him?”

  “No!” she cried.

  He yanked her hair back and forth, rattling her head like a sack of potatoes. “Tell me the truth!”

  “I am telling the truth!” she said. “I’m just worried about the orphans who live with him.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake.

  “How do you know he has orphans living with him?” Uncle Otis said. “Did you go to his house?”

  Aunt Ida stormed across the room and stood beside Uncle Otis, a look of horror on her face. “Have you been having relations with that man?” she said.

  “No!” Emma said.

  Otis pulled harder on her braid, forcing her to her tiptoes. She cried out in pain.

  “Let go of her!” Percy said. He came at his father, his face contorted in anger. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this!”

  Uncle Otis let go of Emma’s hair, his nostrils flaring. He stood for a long moment, breathing hard and glaring at her. Then he took a swing at Percy. Percy ducked, and Otis stumbled and nearly fell. Then he found his footing, turned, and charged, grasping Percy around the waist and driving him into the china cabinet. The cabinet windows shattered and the shelves broke in two. Glasses and crystal bowls crashed to the floor. Aunt Ida screamed. Somehow Percy managed to stay upright. He leaned forward and pushed his father across the room, shoving him into the wall like a battering ram.

  “Stop it!” Aunt Ida cried. “Stop it this very instant!”

  Percy held his father against the wall, his arm thrust against his neck. “Leave Emma alone,” he said. “She hasn’t done anything wrong, and who cares what she’s doing with Clayton? We’ve got bigger problems right now.”

  “Better let me go, boy,” Uncle Otis said, his voice strangled and hoarse.

  Aunt Ida pulled at Percy, slapping him about the neck and shoulders. “Stop it right now. You let your father go this very instant!”

  Just as Emma opened her mouth to say something, someone pounded on the front door. Aunt Ida gasped and spun around, her face drained of color. She motioned for everyone to be quiet. The last thing she’d want is for anyone to hear them fighting. Percy let go of his father and stood there, panting. Uncle Otis slumped against the wall, trying to catch his breath. For a long moment, no one moved. Then the pounding came again, louder and more demanding with every blow.

  “Otis Shawcross!” a male voice shouted. “I have a message from Hazard Flint!”

  Uncle Otis straightened and gave Percy a withering look, then trudged toward the foyer, raking his hair out of his eyes and fixing his collar. Emma waited in the dining room with Percy and Aunt Ida while Uncle Otis spoke with the man at the door. Then the door closed. Heavy footsteps crossed the outside porch and went down the front steps. Percy hurried to the window and pulled aside the drape. Uncle Otis came back into the room, his forehead lined with frustration.

  “As of noon tomorrow, the miners are going on strike,” he said. “They’ve already derailed coal cars and left coffin notices on Mr. Flint’s door too. They’re going to walk off the job, and they won’t come back until Mr. Flint gives in to their demands.”

  Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Clayton had said it would be two weeks before he called on the miners again. And not everyone was on board yet. There weren’t enough men at the meeting to stage a real strike. What in the world was going on?

  “What do they want?” Percy said.

  “A twenty-percent pay raise, an eight-hour work day, and an end to enforced purchases at the Company Store,” Uncle Otis said. “But don’t worry. Mr. Flint will put a stop to it before it gets a foothold. He’s making an announcement up at the breaker at one o’clock. Anyone who refuses to work will lose his job. And if there’s trouble, he’s not afraid to use force.”

  “What about the breaker boys?” Emma said.

  “What about them?” Uncle Otis said.

  “If the miners go on strike, they can’t work. I don’t want Mr. Flint to punish children for—”

  “Breaker boys do what the miners tell them to do,” Uncle Otis interrupted. “That means they’ll go on strike too.”

  At one o’clock, the time of Mr. Flint’s supposed announcement, Emma sat beside Aunt Ida in the horse-drawn wagon, scanning the crowd near the breaker for Clayton. But from where she and her aunt were parked, every hat and head looked the same.

  Earlier, after Uncle Otis and Percy had left to go to the meeting, Aunt Ida ordered the driver to get her wagon ready, along with two loaded rifles in the wagon bed. When Emma realized her aunt was going up to the mine to hear what Mr. Flint was going to say, she asked to ride along. At first she thought Aunt Ida would refuse. After all, she would barely look at her. But then, to Emma’s surprise, she said, “Only if you stay in the wagon and do as I say.”

  “I will,” Emma said. “I promise.”

  “If Otis sees us, he won’t be happy,” Aunt Ida said. “But I have to know what’s happening. It affects me too. If we stay far enough away and leave at the first sign of trouble, we’ll be all right. But you better not be afraid to use a rifle if need be.”

  Emma had never used a gun in her life, but it wouldn’t help to say that now. “I’m not,” she said. For once she was grateful that her aunt had a burning desire to have her nose in the middle of everything. It would have been unbearable to sit at home and wait for news, and she had no idea how she could have gone up to the mine on her own without being seen.

  Now, hundreds of miners and breaker boys filled the colliery yard. Wives and siblings waited around the far edges of the gathering, eager to find out what was going on. The breaker boys stood in groups scattered here and there, some with their arms crossed, or their hands in their pockets, trying to behave like men, while others laughed and played kick the can or catch. Emma wondered if the women and breaker boys had any idea of the significance of this meeting, or the danger surrounding it. She wanted to tell them to go home.

  To Emma’s surprise, a clear split ran down the center of the workers. She wondered if it was between those who wanted to strike and those who wanted to keep working. She had no idea which group was going to strike, but the numbers of miners on one side outnumbered the other at least four to one. A dozen Coal and Iron Police patrolled the two sections, pushing men back i
n place when they argued with one another. On one side, a miner carried an American flag on a pole, ducking the rocks being thrown at him, while the miners surrounding him sang patriotic songs.

  At the top edge of a timber-lined embankment near the entrance to the breaker, six Coal and Iron Police stood with Mr. Flint, Levi, and Frank. The mine bosses, the foremen, and the supervisors, including Uncle Otis, surrounded them. Another row of grim-faced police stood along the railroad tracks at the bottom of the embankment, the iron rails like a line in the sand, daring the miners to cross it. Two more police stood on the lowest roof of the breaker, posed behind Gatling guns. Several more waited in open windows with rifles in their hands. Would they really shoot a miner, right here in front of everyone, just for trying to make a better life for himself and his family? Emma wondered. What about a breaker boy? A woman?

  Mr. Flint stood with one hand in his jacket pocket, waiting for the crowd to settle. When everyone grew quiet, he started to speak. He had to shout to be heard.