by Sharon Sala
As he continued to drive, he noticed names on the mailboxes that he remembered, but he couldn’t recall the faces that went with them. Then he passed one mailbox that actually made him smile. He distinctly remembered Mrs. Venable. Everyone called her Granny Lou. He couldn’t believe she was still living. Even back then he’d thought she was old.
He slowed down for a big curve, reading the names on these mailboxes as he went: Reneau, Samuels and Walker. There’d been a couple of Walker boys close to him in age. He tried to remember their first names but couldn’t. It had been too long, and, truth be told, he didn’t much care.
As he came out of the curve he suddenly hit the brakes and swerved to keep from running over a kid playing in the road.
“Son of a bitch.” He threw the car into Park and took a moment to breathe.
The kid looked as startled as Lonnie felt and darted off into the brush. There was a roof just visible through the trees, and Lonnie assumed that was where he belonged.
His heart was pounding as he put the rented Hummer back in gear and drove on.
* * *
Gertie Farrell had begun cleaning house when her grandkids left for school and continued to clean all day as she sent Portia off to shop for groceries down in Boone’s Gap. Her son-in-law, Buell, left right after breakfast, and she didn’t expect him back until evening. She hoped he was doing what Lonnie had asked him to. It would be a shame on the family if, after all her son had done for them, they failed in their first opportunity to return the favor.
She was very excited about this new venture Lonnie was starting. It would mean much-needed jobs on the mountain. As she mopped the floors on her hands and knees, she imagined her friends’ looks of envy, knowing it was her son who’d brought prosperity to Rebel Ridge.
Once the cleaning was finished she put some dried apple slices to soak while she made up pie crusts. She’d promised to fry up some pork chops for Lonnie and make him a dried apple pie.
As soon as Portia returned from the grocery store, Gertie sent her outside to mow the yard. It was the one job she managed to get out of Buell, but since he was now employed, Portia could do it just as well. Gertie glanced out the window as she rolled out her pie dough, trying not to judge her daughter, but it was hard. Portia had been wearing that same pair of pants and shirt for three days straight, and her hair was lank and greasy. When Portia turned a corner with the mower, her blouse came up, revealing a roll of white, dimpled fat around her waist.
Gertie sighed. She didn’t blame her daughter for the ne’er-do-well she’d married, because there weren’t a lot of choices in men to be had around here, but she did blame her for letting herself go. As poor as they’d been, Gertie had still taken pride in staying fit and clean. Portia, on the other hand, was a good sixty pounds overweight, and with the nice washer and dryer that had come with their double-wide, she had no excuse for not wearing clean clothes.
Gertie worried how Lonnie would view her own appearance. She’d grown old and wrinkled since he’d last been home.
And then there were her grandchildren. They were often rude and mouthy, something she had never tolerated in her own offspring. Oh, well, Lonnie would be here before dark. It was too late to worry about all this now.
Once she had her pies in the oven, she took some pork chops out of her freezer and set them on the counter to thaw. The fact that her son had not been home in over fifteen years was a sore she couldn’t heal. She’d never known if it was fear of the law who’d once taken him away, or shame that this was where he’d been born. What she did know was that he had never forgotten her. That was all that mattered.
* * *
For the first time in Buell Smith’s life he had purpose. Knowing he was going to be in charge of something was a huge ego boost. He’d been at this hiring business for a day and a half, and already he had twenty-seven men who’d promised to show up at the gates to the old Foley Brothers Mine.
It would be a lie to say he wasn’t nervous. All of this hinged on them actually showing up and Lonnie approving of his choices. There was also a slight concern among the men that, knowing Lonnie, this venture would turn into something illegal, but the promise of steady money was too good to pass up.
This morning, when Buell got up he had actually showered and shaved and put on clean clothes. Portia made a big-ass deal out of it, even teasing him, which pissed him off. But he would show her. He could make good just like Lonnie. And if he was going to be a boss, he needed to look like one. Screw anyone else who laughed at the change in his appearance. Buell Smith had come into his own.
He loaded up his meager assortment of tools, including a couple of shovels and a bolt cutter in case Lonnie planned on going onto the actual property today, and drove away. The gates across the driveway to the mine were chained and locked. They’d long since rusted and sagged from the years, but the chain had held, and no one had been interested enough in a shutdown mine to ever cut it.
He arrived far too early, but his anxiety in doing this right was paramount. He parked in the shade just off the road and settled down to wait
* * *
Lonnie was only a half mile from where he’d grown up. He was debating with himself about stopping now and saying hello to his mother. But if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stay long. He was due at the mine in just over an hour, which meant Mama was going to have to wait. There were no pangs of regret as he passed the road leading up to the home place. Life had long since weaned him from that tie. He kept going over the speech he planned to make to the men—if, in fact, any showed up. His faith in Buell had yet to be proven.
* * *
When the first two men showed up at the entrance to the old mine within seconds of each other, Buell’s anxiety started to ease. Maybe, just maybe, he would actually pull this off. By twelve o’clock there were more than a dozen waiting—some sitting on the tailgates of their trucks, some trading tales, some nervously silent, as if this was too good to be true.
It was a quarter to one when the last three men showed. It was all Buell could do not to strut. He’d done it. Lonnie had better, by God, be appreciative, too. He couldn’t afford to lose face in front of these men when he was supposed to be their boss.
Five minutes later they heard the sound of a powerful engine approaching, and all of them turned to see who was coming around the bend.
The hair rose on the backs of Buell’s arms. Every instinct he had told him this was a turning point in his life. And when the big black Hummer appeared, his eyes widened. One day he was going to drive something like that. He just knew it.
“Is that him?” one man asked.
“Damn, that’s a Hummer,” another one commented.
The murmurs of appreciation and envy ran through the crowd as the car approached, and they only increased when the driver stopped and got out.
Lonnie knew first appearances made a difference. He also knew that his past and reputation preceded him. He intended to make sure they saw the benefits he had reaped. When it came time to reveal the second part of his venture, it would be crucial to make sure they were willing to take the risks.
He’d left his fancy suits back in Chicago, but he was wearing designer jeans, a blue silk shirt and a chocolate-brown bomber jacket. The skinny body and acne he’d had at fourteen were long since gone. He wasn’t handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a look women called interesting, and he was satisfied when he looked in a mirror. His boots were made from alligator, an exotic hide few here would have seen. Add a Rolex watch and a three-carat diamond pinkie ring, and he was going to be the topic of every man’s conversation at the supper table tonight.
Buell stepped forward, smiling. For the first time in his life he felt pride in his connection with this man.
“Lonnie, it’s good to see you,” he said.
“You, too, Buell,” Lonnie said, and shook Buell’s hand. They’d never officially met except through pictures and phone calls, but he wasn’t going to let on.
&
nbsp; He needed them to believe he and Buell were tight, so that if they fucked up in Buell’s presence they would be confident he would pass the message along.
As he turned to the men, his smile died. He narrowed his eyes against the sun as he looked through the assembled crowd. Buell had done well. There were at least two dozen men of varying ages here, all with one thing in common: a hungry look in their eyes. That was something he could work with.
“Gentlemen, my name is Lon Farrell. Some of you look familiar, some don’t, but I’ve been gone a long time, so if you’re someone I should know, you’ll have to forgive me. When I began thinking of where to locate my newest business venture, I thought of Rebel Ridge. It’s obvious that jobs are still in short supply here, and I understand you’re all available to work as of today. Is that correct?”
His answer came in an accumulation of muttering, head shakes and yes, sirs. He would take it.
“Good. You’re getting in on the ground floor of a new company I’m starting. There’s a huge market for organic anything in the cities, and exotic and specialty mushrooms are in high demand. I don’t know how many of you are aware that there are actual mushroom farmers, and that the mushroom spores are planted like seeds in a dark, damp environment, then grown to maturity in a relatively short time before harvesting. When I began considering this latest venture, I asked myself where I could go and have easy access to these basic needs. Then I thought of old mines and their long tunnels, which led me to Rebel Ridge. As of a few days ago, I now own this mine and the surrounding land, and as soon as we clear access and shore up the interior of the initial tunnel, we’ll be ready to start. As I said before, the turnaround time for harvesting is surprisingly short, so profits come quickly. But before we begin, I need clear access to the mine itself, which means cutting brush, filling potholes in the old road, whatever it takes. Understand?”
They nodded, but he had a feeling that if he’d told them he was going to grow warts, they would still be on board.
“Stay with me on this and I’ll make it worth your while. I’m paying fifty dollars a day, cash money, and once the business gets under way we’ll adjust the pay scale up accordingly and fill out papers for taxes and all. Is that satisfactory with everyone?”
They were smiling. One had tears in his eyes. Lonnie knew he had them in the palms of his hands. Once they got their first paychecks he would have them in his pocket. He loved it when a plan came together. At that stage he pointed to the Hummer.
“I have some tools in the back. Unload them and get busy. I’ll ask you to start at seven and work until 6:00 p.m. every day, and although we didn’t begin until afternoon today, I’m counting this as a full day’s work. You’ll be paid weekly until we get into the actual farming, then twice a month.”
One by one they filed past him, shaking his hand and thanking him over and over. He wondered if they would still be thanking him when he added the drug setup, but it didn’t matter. By then they would be so hooked on steady cash that he didn’t expect much flack.
Buell was riding a high as he took the bolt cutter and strode toward the gate. The chain was red with rust, as was the ancient padlock, but both gave under the cutter’s sharp edge. When the chain fell off, the gates followed, leaving only one still attached by a single hinge.
Lonnie approached him as he pulled them aside.
“Three dump trucks are en route,” Lonnie said. “Load one, and while it’s dumping, you can load the other two. Keep everything in motion. I don’t want anyone sitting around waiting.”
“No, sir. That won’t be happening,” Buell said. “You can count on me.”
Lonnie’s eyes narrowed as he searched Buell’s face. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said softly.
Buell lifted his chin. “No regrets. I swear.”
Lonnie nodded. “You’ll be getting seventy-five dollars a day. Don’t fucking drink it all up. Take care of your damn family for a change. Understand?”
The insult was clear. Buell should have punched him, but he had neither the guts nor the desire to do so. He would take a lot of crap for that kind of money.
All he said was, “I sure do.”
At that point Lonnie smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you.” Then he looked up the overgrown road, anxious for that first glimpse of the mine itself. “What say we go check out that mine?”
Buell glanced at his truck.
“Not in yours. We’re taking mine,” Lonnie said. “It’s four-wheel drive with plenty of clearance. It’ll get us in and out with no trouble.”
Buell turned to the men. “There are more tools in the back of my truck if you need them. We’ll be back shortly.”
Then he strode to the Hummer as if he rode in one every day and tried not to smirk. Damn, but this might just be the best day of his life.
* * *
Gertie was changing into clean clothes when she heard the sound of approaching cars. She recognized Buell’s truck from the hole in the muffler and the clatter of stuff rattling around in the bed, but the other one was unfamiliar. It had to be Lonnie. Her belly rolled. The anxiety at seeing him again was killing her. The last time they’d seen each other he was being put in the back of the sheriff’s car in handcuffs. He’d looked back at her as they drove away like he was trying to memorize what he was leaving behind. It had bothered her then, and it bothered her still, that he’d never cried. Even at fourteen, he’d been a man before his time.
She ran a brush through her hair and checked to see if her makeup had smeared. Her reflection wasn’t pretty anymore, but it was as good as she could look. She dropped the hairbrush and hurried to the door.
* * *
Lonnie was pleasantly surprised when what had once been the old home place came into view. The house he’d grown up in was gone, and the long, double-wide trailer he’d bought Mama was sitting in the same location. The general disrepair and malaise the place had always worn like an old coat were gone. The old barn had been shored up and reroofed. The pen where they fed out hogs to butcher was actually in good shape, and she’d even added one of those portable carports at the end of the trailer to keep her car out of the weather. He had to give it to his mama. When she had options, she maximized them to the best of her abilities.
It did occur to him that she couldn’t live here alone and keep all this up, and with that understanding, a part of the resentment he’d felt at keeping Portia and her family sheltered and fed was gone.
In a way she was looking after their mother in a more personal way than he ever could or would. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he would ever come back to this mountain to live. The status quo was the best answer for the situation at hand.
Buell parked and got out, then waited by his truck for Lonnie.
The front door was opening as he parked. When he looked again, Gertie Farrell was standing on the porch with her hands clasped beneath her breasts and tears running down her face. He got out of the Hummer, surprised to be feeling emotion of any kind—but it was there. This was the woman who’d helped teach him to read, who’d doctored his cuts and who’d kept them alive on little more than a refusal to quit. She was also the woman who’d turned him into a man. And the day they’d come to arrest him, it was Mama who’d tried to take the blame for being the brains behind the meth he was cooking and selling.
Buell wisely kept his mouth shut, leaving the mother-and-son reunion to them, and hurried on inside, anxious to tell Portia about the day.
Walking toward the house, Lonnie felt as if he was moving in slow motion. A thought passed through his mind that the day would eventually arrive when she would no longer be on this earth. He was glad he’d come home.
“Hey, Mama, still as pretty as ever.”
Gertie smiled through tears as she threw her arms around Lonnie and hugged him fiercely.
“You’re still a good liar, but you’re definitely a man fully grown now. Look at you, Lonnie! Just look at you! I am so proud that you’re my son.”
Lonnie grinned. “Thanks, Mama. You can take the credit for making me tough, ’cause that’s what it took to get here. Now, where’s that pie you promised me? I swear I can smell it from here.”
Gertie led him into the house, then to her bedroom.
“This is where you’ll stay. There’s a private bathroom through that door.”
“This looks like your room,” he said.
A look passed between them, and then it was gone. Gertie smoothed her hands down the front of her dress and smiled.
“It is my room, but I’m sleeping with my granddaughter tonight. I’ve done it before, so it’s no big deal. Lucy likes it when Granny shares her bed.”
“So how old is Lucy?” he asked.
“She’s seven and the baby. Marvin is thirteen, and Billy is nine. Portia is really excited to see you again, too.”
“I’m looking forward to playing catch-up, Mama.”
Gertie hesitated, then lowered her voice. “About Portia… She’s different now. Living with Buell dragged her down. Maybe with this new job and all she’ll take some pride in herself again, but don’t say anything to her, all right?”
He frowned.
“He’s not mistreating her, is he?”
“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. But you know how it is here. No hope to change where you grew up. That kind of thing. I just didn’t want her appearance to surprise you.”
When he thought of his older sister, it was as a tall, skinny girl with long hair and a big laugh. Curious as to what he would see, he took off his jacket and laid it at the foot of the bed.
“Okay, so this is my room for tonight. How long until supper? I’m starved.”
She grinned. “It won’t take me long to finish up. Come to the kitchen so we can talk. I swear I need to fill myself up with looking at you so that when you’re gone again, I’ll have this face in my head instead of the other one. You remember him, that skinny boy always in need of a haircut.”