by Homer Hickam
“Hello, ma’am,” the boy said glumly. “Pleased to meet you.”
“He gets shy sometimes, don’t you, Young Henry?”
“I used to be shy too,” Song said, trying to coax a smile out of the boy. “Sometimes I still am.”
“Get on out to the stable and go to work,” Rhonda ordered, and the boy scurried out of the kitchen. Rhonda looked after him, then said, “I hope you like what I brung ya. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, and a fresh garden salad. I got the best vegetables this year, I swan.”
Song mentally added up the calories and fat grams in that menu, including the salad dressing, which didn’t appear to be the fat-free variety. She wrinkled up her nose. Rhonda must have noticed, since she frowned and asked, “It don’t suit?”
“I’m sure it’s all delicious,” Song replied. “It’s just that I’m not used to such rich food.”
Rhonda put her hands on her ample hips. “This is just good old-fashioned West Virginia cooking, darlin’.”
“Actually, I’d prefer something lighter,” Song said. “And nothing fried. Ever.”
Rhonda opened her mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and amiably nodded. “Well, all right, honey. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, about decorating this place. Cable bought it and remodeled it, but then had no idea what to put in it, so he hired me for the job. Of course, Cable’s always in the mine so I had to guess a lot on his tastes, presuming he has any. He’s a man, you know? Besides, Cable’s so busy he hardly has time to lace up his boots. The furniture I got mostly at a place called Tamarack in Beckley, which features West Virginia artisans. You’ll have to visit it sometime.”
“I’ll do that,” Song said, frowning. Rhonda’s loud voice was making her head hurt.
Rhonda studied Song for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, enjoy what you can eat. I got to go. There are hungry bachelors at the Cardinal who’ll likely tear down the place if their supper’s two minutes late. You ought to come down some time, have supper with them. They’re all coal miners. They’d go crazy for a pretty woman like you.”
“I already met one coal miner and he made me sick.”
“Who was that?”
“Cable called him Bossman.”
“Bossman? Why, honey, there ain’t a nicer man in town. How’d he make you sick?”
“Spitting.”
Rhonda walked to the front porch with Song following. “Miners tend to spit. It ain’t pretty, I swan, but that’s what they do. They also work like the devil to keep their families from the poor house. Anyway, welcome to Highcoal. Hope you like living here, spitting and all.”
“I’m only here for a week.”
This stopped Rhonda. “Why only a week?”
“My job is in New York.”
Rhonda was clearly astonished by her answer. “Honey, jobs are for quitting when you got a good man like Cable.”
“A good man can live in New York too,” Song replied. “Especially if his wife has important work there.”
“Well, nobody has more important work than what Cable’s got. He keeps this whole town going. Don’t you know that?”
Song didn’t want to discuss it, especially since she didn’t care if the town kept going or not. “Do the phones ever work around here?” she asked instead.
Rhonda climbed into her truck. The window was rolled down and she let her arm hang out. “Squirrels ate through the lines a few days ago. Taking awhile to get up some new ones.”
“I need to call my father,” Song said.
“Maybe they’ll be up by tomorrow morning.”
Song was shocked. “Tomorrow? I have to wait until then?”
Rhonda shrugged. “That’s Highcoal for you. Patience is a virtue around here. Anyway, here’s the drill. Cable gets a covered dish every evening. Usually he picks it up, but while you’re here, I’ll bring supper by since he’ll probably be home later than you’d care to eat. Just put the dishes in the sink when you’re done. Rosita will be over every day to wash up and clean the house. She’s my maid and yours too. Oh yeah, Old Roy—the gardener and fix-it man—will be by once a week to mow the lawn, spruce up the yard, do anything you want him to do. Like I said, we’re Cable enablers. Man works hard for us, for the whole town. He ain’t got time for all this silly domestic stuff.” She cocked her head. “Say, I’ve been listening to your voice. It’s a good one. Do you sing, by chance?”
“I was in my high school choir. Why?”
“You’re a soprano, I think. We need a soprano in the church choir. If you lived here, I’d see if I could get you in. Being a member of the choir is a pretty big deal.”
“I don’t go to church,” Song replied.
Rhonda’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “You got to go to church, honey. It’s the place where everybody meets and greets.”
“I’m an agnostic,” Song said. “It would be wrong for me to pretend otherwise.”
“A what-nostic?” Rhonda laughed. “Oh, I get it. Honey, there ain’t no such thing around here. Don’t much matter what particular religion you are, or even if you ain’t got no religion at all, best to get close to God in these old hills. It’s His country, make no mistake, but that don’t mean there’s an end to trouble. Some folks think the Lord likes to throw fuel on the fire just to see how we’ll do. Anyway, give it some thought. You want to meet people, it’s the only way. Gotta go.”
Song touched her stiff hair. “One more thing. What’s wrong with the water? I took a bath and came out dirtier than when I got in.”
“Water around here is hard as a rock,” Rhonda explained. “Full of minerals like limestone and I don’t know what all. Shampoo don’t have a chance in that soup.”
“It was cold too.”
“I’m not surprised. Cable takes his baths at the mine so he don’t much care about what comes out of the spigot here. Let’s do this. I’ll tell Old Roy to install you a new hot water heater and a water softener, and put it on Cable’s bill. You just consider it done.”
“Thank you,” Song said.
“You bet, honey. I can enable you as well as I can enable Cable.” She turned the ignition key and the old truck roared.
Song watched Rhonda drive away and felt a little abandoned and lonely. She walked to the stable where she found Young Henry mucking out the stalls with a shovel and a wheelbarrow. She tried to think of something to say. “It stinks,” was what came out as she wrinkled up her nose.
“Horse manure generally does, ma’am,” he answered and kept shoveling.
“Cable—Mr. Jordan—had to go to the mine,” she said, making another attempt at conversation. “Wonder how long he’ll be gone?”
Young Henry leaned on his shovel. “Hard to say. It takes a good hour to get to some places in the mine. I know what happened, by the by. One of our miners what lives in our hotel told me while Mom was putting together your basket. Navy Jones got his arm broke, you see.”
“Navy Jones?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s right. Name’s really Ernest. Served in the navy, you see, so that’s how he got his nickname. Anyway, he’ll be fine. Doctor K will fix him up.”
“Doctor K?”
“Our doc. She goes inside the mine when a man’s hurt, but likely Navy came out on his own.”
“She goes inside the mine?”
“Yes, ma’am. Doctor K’s a lady and, despite it, a dang good doctor. Naw, Navy’s gonna be just fine.”
“But the way Cable rushed off, he acted like it was serious.”
The boy shrugged. “He’s the superintendent so he’s responsible for everything.”
“Is your father a miner too?”
“Ain’t no more.”
“What does he do?”
“Plays a harp, I reckon. Up in heaven.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“Well, I don’t know why. It weren’t your fault. Anyway, I never knew him. He got killed in the mine when Ma
was pee-gee with me.” He saw her perplexed look. “Pregnant, you know? Anyway, piece of slate fell on him, just like Mr. Jordan’s daddy. It happens. There’s some rough roof in that old mine.”
Song was saddened by the boy’s obvious cover-up of his true feelings. “It’s a dangerous place, isn’t it?” she asked.
Young Henry only shrugged. “You got to watch yourself in there. But, ma’am, you don’t need to worry about Cable. He runs a safe mine. Just about everybody says so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am. Got to dump this ’barrow, then feed the horses.”
Song waited until the horses were happily munching their oats in their stalls before asking, “Could you stay and have dinner with me, Young Henry? You can tell me all about coal mining.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but no,” he answered, politely. “I got chores to do at home. But I’ll be here tomorrow to make sure everything is done what needs to be done around the stable, and I guess you can ask me some more questions then.”
Song saw the boy wanted to go and said, “Thank you, Young Henry.”
“No problem, ma’am.” He started walking down the driveway.
Song called after him. “How will you get home?”
“Hitchhike,” he replied over his shoulder.
“Hitchhiking in this day and age? Aren’t you afraid?”
Young Henry stopped and scratched his head. “Not unless I stand in the middle of the road. Them coal trucks will surely run over you.” Then, whistling, he kicked an acorn down the driveway.
“Opie lives,” Song said, shaking her head, then went inside the house and headed for the kitchen. More wine, that was the ticket.
IT WAS, ACCORDING to the glowing clock on the bedside table, nearly three in the morning before Cable climbed in bed beside her. She reached out and touched his arm, then walked her fingers onto his chest.
“I’m awfully tired, honey,” he said, “and the alarm clock is going to go off in two hours.”
She withdrew her hand. “You’re going back to work?”
“Got to,” he yawned. “Big mess to clean up.”
“What happened?”
“It would take too much energy to explain it to you,” he said, then rolled over on his side. Song stared at the high moonlit ceiling and listened to her husband breathe. She was still listening when she fell asleep. When she woke and felt for him, he was gone.
Six
Cable had been taught by his parents, Wire and Jensey Jordan, all the things a West Virginia boy needed to know for a good life: how not to get lost in the woods, how to drive a truck, and how to treat other people with respect, no matter how low or shiftless they might be. He’d learned to say “sir” to every adult male, and “ma’am” to every adult female. He was taught to protect the weak and not be intimidated by bullies. He was taught to be kind to defenseless creatures, as long as they weren’t in season, and even then to respect game animals and aim for the heart so they wouldn’t suffer. He’d also been taught the names of the trees and the plants that adorned the surrounding mountains and told that they were all part of God’s blessings on the good people of West Virginia, which, despite the biased news accounts, was a wonderful place to live. With all that good teaching under his belt, not to mention his native intelligence and vigor, Cable had made his parents proud by being a good student and a tenacious, if not overly talented, football player on a team that had nearly won the state championship his senior year in high school.
His father had operated a continuous mining machine, a giant crablike machine that used spinning steel teeth to tear coal from the ancient underground seams. As a boy, Cable had been proud of what his father did and was intrigued by his stories of what it was like below. When he was fourteen years old, Cable begged his dad to take him inside, so he could see for himself. Wire consulted the mine superintendent, a man by the name of Carpenter Fillmore, and Mr. Fillmore said sure, let the boy have a look. The following Saturday, a day when only a few miners were working, down Cable went with his father into the earth.
From the first moments in the mine, Cable loved everything about it. He loved the great machines going about the business of cutting and loading coal, and he loved the complexity he saw in the ventilation plans required to channel air throughout the mine. The subtleties of mining had a strange pull on his intellect. When he came out that day, he said to his beaming father, “I want to mine coal.” When Mr. Fillmore came out of his office to inquire how the visit had gone, Cable pointed to the mine superintendent’s white helmet, and said, “I want to wear your hat someday.” Mr. Fillmore laughed, and so did Wire. But Cable didn’t laugh. He was serious. The best way to wear a white helmet, Mr. Fillmore told him, was to become a mining engineer. This became Cable’s ambition.
A few months before Cable graduated from high school, his father stopped his continuous miner and walked to the front of it, “inby” as it was called, which meant he was beneath an unsupported roof. He had broken the first safety rule of the mine. Wire was usually the most careful of men and no one ever knew why he’d broken the rule. When he leaned over to inspect the teeth on the cutters, the roof fell on top of him. He was still alive when they brought him out, but he didn’t stay that way long.
The church was crowded to overflowing at his funeral. The preacher of that day intoned, “We have lost a great man in a town filled with great men, they who dig the wealth of the nation. God knows them as His special people, for they are devout in the faith. It is not important how he died. What is important is how he lived.” The preacher was the father of the preacher who now presided over Highcoal’s church. There was a continuity in Highcoal. Preachers were part of it, and so was Cable.
After Wire’s funeral, the people sang the old-timey songs of faith and healing, and the church bell tolled the passing of another miner, and then the men of Highcoal got up and went back to work in the mine. The preacher went inside his church to continue his work of spreading the gospel, the women went home to their work of raising their children, and the teachers stood up in front of their classrooms and did their work too. It was the way of the place, as it had always been, and so Cable thought it should always be.
As soon as Cable graduated from high school, he joined the army. Many boys and girls of Highcoal joined the military services. It just seemed the right thing to do, considering all the blessings their country had given them. Their parents had taught them that. Cable went into the infantry and fought against Saddam Hussein during the first Gulf War. He did not kill any enemy soldiers, but he and his buddies captured quite a few. His prisoners knelt before him and kissed his hand while he told them they were going to be fine, that they were going to live, that they had nothing to worry about. The Iraqis naturally trusted him, as most people did.
Cable served out his enlistment, then went home. With the money he’d saved, and with the help of the G.I. Bill, he enrolled in West Virginia University’s mining engineering school. When he graduated, he went to work for Atlas Energy, Inc., because they owned the Highcoal mine and it was still his ambition to wear the superintendent’s white helmet. It wasn’t long before he had the job.
This morning Cable was at the working face of one of the sections of his coal mine, a place where he had always been the happiest. But he was not happy, not with his worries about production, and certainly not after the events of the morning at the Cardinal Hotel. With barely two hours of sleep, he had slipped out of the house without disturbing Song, then swung by the Cardinal for breakfast. The old boarding house was a lovely neo-Georgian, two-story stone and brick structure with a wide front porch, a cozy parlor, and a huge dining room that had once served hundreds of miners old Mr. Fillmore had brought in from Poland, Italy, Hungary, Russia, and Ireland. Abandoned by the company in the 1970s, the building became Rhonda’s when she bought it with the insurance money after her husband was killed. She extensively remodeled it, filled it with tasteful antiques, and made it her own. She was a good hostess and a great cook.
Cable en
tered the Cardinal, hungry for some of her special apple pancakes, and turned into the dining room just as George “Bashful” Puckett was holding forth on a most interesting subject: Cable’s New York wife who, according to Bashful, was “full up with herself, snotty, and a pure little witch.”
Cable and Bashful had been at odds for months. Bashful owned a well drilling company and worked under a contract from Atlas Energy headquarters, which meant he was outside Cable’s purview. Since Atlas owned the mineral rights nearly everywhere in the county, Bashful had made a nuisance of himself by drilling on private property without asking permission of the owners. Cable had to field most of the complaints, though he could do little or nothing about it. Bashful seemed to enjoy the trouble he caused. He was a balding little man with a blonde moustache who fancied himself God’s gift to women. He also had a big mouth. Cable walked up behind him just as he crowed, “Goes to figger Cable’d end up with some kind of little Chinese witch for a wife.” This was followed by a choking sound because Cable had just plucked him out of his chair by his neck.
“Apologize!” Cable demanded, and then Rhonda had run in from the kitchen to break it up, and it had gone downhill from there.
Things were no better now that he was at work. Standing beside him, if standing was the word for being bent under a slab of dense rock, Bossman Carlisle eyed his superintendent, sensing Cable’s unhappiness. He shifted the bulging tobacco chaw in his cheek.
“Six West is running good coal today, Cable.”
Cable cut his eyes toward Bossman. “I guess you heard about me and Bashful.”
Bossman shifted his chaw to his other cheek, then spat into the gob. “Yeah. I heard something about that.”
“Best I can tell, he’s not the only one who’s been talking dirt about my wife.”
Bossman pretended to be studying the men putting up a ventilation curtain, then said, “Sorry, Cable. I guess I opened my big mouth when I shouldn’t have.”