by Homer Hickam
Hawkins nodded. “I liked Cable. I liked him from the moment I met him. He struck me as strong and sincere, but I could tell he was not street smart. I think it would be pretty easy to pull the wool over his eyes and cheat him. Still, I was happy you married him. I looked forward to getting to know him better, then I was going to toughen him up mentally, maybe even get him involved in our business, and let him make some real money.”
“I’m sorry I messed up your plans for him.”
“So you’re just going to let him go? I had hoped this annulment business was to force him to leave Highcoal.”
She leaned forward. “Daddy, please understand something. Cable doesn’t want me. The only things that are important to him are his town and that coal mine. I don’t even enter into his thinking. Better to just end this mistake now and get it over with.”
“But you still love him . . . ?”
The rain drummed on the roof, and the mist that had obscured the city was now hiding the sea. “He had my heart,” she said. “Completely had it. Nobody ever had it like that before. But he betrayed me.”
“Maybe he didn’t see it as a betrayal. Maybe he thought you would understand what he had to do.”
“Stop taking up for him!” Song complained. “When I was with him in Highcoal, he treated me like I was nothing. He’s never going to leave those hills, and I’m never going to leave New York. No amount of talk is ever going to change that. It’s over. It’s just over.”
“Still . . . ,” Hawkins began.
Song released a deep, exasperated sigh. “Still what, Daddy?”
There was a gleam in his eye. “There’s Atlas Energy.”
“What about it?”
“It wasn’t easy, since you’re the one in charge of property and acquisitions, but I went out and bought it.”
Song thought she hadn’t heard her father correctly. The storm was awfully loud. Thunder crashed around the old estate, and jagged lightning plunged into the sea. “You did what?”
“Atlas consists of three coal mines—two in West Virginia, one in Kentucky—and a number of natural gas wells. One of the two mines in West Virginia is the Highcoal operation.” He smiled with satisfaction. “So I bought the company. It is my gift to you. You are now Cable’s boss.”
Song could only hope she was having a nightmare. “No!” she wailed at her father. “Sell it back!”
Hawkins’s smile faded. “What? I couldn’t do that. I’d lose too much money. I paid top dollar. It was the only way they’d sell.”
“Daddy, why?” Song bleated.
Hawkins reddened at his daughter’s obvious displeasure. “Because I got tired of seeing you mope around. That’s why. Did you expect me to do nothing? Don’t you get it? This way you can order Cable to New York. Or fire him, or do whatever you want with him. You’re in the catbird’s seat, darling girl. I did that for you.”
Song wasn’t sure if the thunder she heard was real or just in her head. She commanded herself to settle down. Even this could be fixed if she kept a level head. “Does Cable know?” she demanded.
“No, I figured I’d give you the fun of telling him. Nobody at Atlas knows. The company was owned by a consortium of energy companies called Taurus. I happen to be a friend of the owner—Frank Stewart’s his name, lives in Montana—and he agreed to let me quietly peel Atlas out of his holdings. Atlas has operated independently of Taurus for years, so its managers don’t have to know for a few weeks anyway. So, what do you think?”
She nodded toward the fireplace. “I think if I didn’t love you so much and didn’t know this was well intended, I’d use that poker on you.”
“By purchasing Atlas, I’ve given you options,” Hawkins replied, defensively. “But hitting me with a poker isn’t one of them.”
Song kept working to remain calm. “What you’ve done is your usual attempt to run and ruin the life of everybody who works for you.” She sat back. “Look, I don’t want to have anything to do with this. Just don’t fire Cable, that’s all I ask. Agreed?”
“Song,” he said gently, “the truth is Cable is about to be fired anyway. Frank told me. Atlas headquarters intends to replace him with another man at the end of the quarter. Right now they’re trying to find the meanest, most cold-hearted executive they can get to go to Highcoal and tear it apart and put it back together again. They intend to meet their orders, all their orders, even if they have to get rid of every man in that mine and start over.”
Hawkins shrugged. “You know what? My first thought was, too bad for Atlas my daughter’s not available for the job.”
“That’s not funny, Daddy.”
“I guess not. But it made me laugh anyway.”
Song puffed out an exasperated breath. “What a mess you’ve caused!”
Hawkins jutted out his chin. “No, you caused it by marrying Cable and then running away from him and coming back here where you’ve managed to depress nearly everyone in the company. Poor Norman is so nervous he tells me he has trouble sleeping. Since it was clear you intended to stay down in the dumps more or less forever, it was up to me to fix things. That’s what I’ve done. I’ve given you power over Cable. So now I’m asking you, what are you going to do with it?”
“Nothing. I told you I want no part in this. You’re on your own.”
Hawkins, clearly angry now, reddened even more. “I’ll take that answer as my spoiled, ungrateful daughter’s reply. But as my employee, I’m going to ask you something and I want a response. What in your considered, professional opinion, should I do with Atlas?”
“Don’t tempt me to say something crude,” Song replied, then gave her father’s question some thought. “All right. As your employee, I will tell you that your options are these. Do nothing, and let Atlas go about their business with uncertain results. Or send someone to Highcoal to figure out what the problem is, then fix it. In any case, my advice is to sell Atlas as quickly as you can. It’s a turkey.”
“If it’s a turkey, it’s your fault I bought it,” Joe Hawkins growled.
Song stood up. “No, Daddy. You will not blame me for this.”
Hawkins jumped to his feet. “I’m president of Hawkins-Song and I’m your father. I’ll blame you if I want!”
“Good-bye, Dad,” Song said over her shoulder as she strode to the front door. “I’m going back to work. Let me know what you want to do with Atlas. In the meantime, I’ll be working on some projects that might make us some money, not lose it.”
Hawkins went to the window to watch her climb inside her limo. After a few seconds, her window rolled down and a silvery disc came sailing out of it, splashing into a mud puddle. Then the limo pulled away, disappearing into the gray rain.
Curious, Hawkins got an umbrella from the stand beside the front door and went outside and retrieved the disk. It proved to be a Jim Brickman CD titled Destiny.
ALONE IN HER apartment overlooking Central Park, Song suffered through the night. She kept looking at the telephone, wondering if she should call Cable and warn him his head was on the chopping block. But in the end, she just couldn’t do it. Likely, it would only precipitate Cable’s doing something stupid like flying to New York and confronting his bosses. Men belong in a zoo. Evolution had done them no favors. Modern life required a vastly more complex approach to problems than bulling your way through them. Maybe it came from prehistory, when men had to go out to slay the mammoth for meat while women stayed in the cave. Killing something was direct and brutal while taking care of the fire, the meals, and the children required more sophisticated thinking. The women who couldn’t do it were chased off by the other women. The men, on the other hand, kept the simplest of their fellows in the clan, if for no other reason than because they were amusing and were good at telling dirty jokes while waiting for the animal herd to walk into an ambush. The result had been a dichotomy of the sexes, with women seeing every facet of a problem and a desire to fix it, while men sometimes couldn’t see a problem at all, and if they did, they tried to f
ix it with a stone ax or its modern-day equivalent.
That morning she had shared the elevator with Woody and Soon Allen. Soon had smiled shyly at her and said something in what Song suspected was Korean. Perhaps she had mistaken Song for a fellow countrywoman. In any case, Song smiled and nodded. Afterward, as Allen and Soon walked into Central Park, Song watched them. Where else but the city could you ride an elevator with a famous director and his wife/daughter? But it also made her chuckle. New Yorkers made fun of Appalachia and its kissing cousins but Woody and Soon, no problem.
Song checked her cell phone. There were three apologetic messages from her father. At her office, there was a big bouquet of roses on her settee as more evidence of her father’s remorse. Song had decided to let him stew, then she’d call in her team and figure out how to unload Atlas on some unsuspecting investor. Norman buzzed her. There was a call from West Virginia, he said, a doctor. Song picked up and heard Doctor K’s familiar voice.
“What a lovely surprise!” Song chirped.
“Song,” Doctor K said grimly, “this is not a social call.”
“More gossip about me, is there? At least this time you can’t shanghai me to Harper Mountain.” The doctor paused long enough for Song to be concerned. “Are you still there, Doctor K?”
“I have to tell you something,” she said heavily. “There’s been an accident at the mine.”
Song had a sudden vision of Cable, his crushed body beneath tons of rock. She held on to the phone, her mouth gone dry, her breath caught in her throat, the scent of her father’s roses suddenly funereal. I loved him, she realized while she waited for Doctor K to tell her how, even though she’d never really been a wife, she had become a widow.
Seventeen
The stately hymns had been sung, and now a hushed stillness filled the Highcoal Church and its pews of bowed heads and tear-streaked faces. Preacher mounted the pulpit and looked down at the flag-draped coffin surrounded by flowers.
“This much we know,” he said with a sad smile. “As our dearly departed lived his life, so will there be a place for him in heaven. ‘Let not your heart be troubled,’ that’s what Jesus said. ‘In My Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.’”
Preacher looked into the bright sunbeams streaming through the stained glass windows, and rainbow colors played across his face. “Squirrel Harper lived and died with the assurance of this promise. Oh, it’s true when he was a younger man, sometimes he ran a little ’shine. And I guess there were a number of women in the roadhouse on the way to Fox Run who knew his company back then. But Squirrel found his faith in time. He also raised a couple of good boys, Chevrolet and Ford, who, when their country called, weren’t afraid to go across the ocean to fight for us. You know a man by his sons, I have always believed.”
Preacher looked at Squirrel’s sons, who were sitting together on the front pew. “You boys want to say a few words?”
A lanky youth with a shaved head stood and looked around the congregation. He was wearing jeans and a desert camouflage shirt. It was the eldest son, Chevrolet. “I appreciate what you had to say, Preacher, and you’re right. My pa weren’t no angel, but when we was little, he never beat Ford and me as much as we deserved, and anytime I ever got in a scrape, I knew my daddy was going to be there, taking my side. When Ford and me joined up, I swan if Daddy didn’t try to join up too. They said he was too old, but he said he’d taken the measure of them blamed Viet Cong and he reckoned he could do the same with them A-rabs. But the recruiter sergeant sent him on home. Still, weren’t hardly a day me and Ford were over there we didn’t get something from him—a letter, a box of Girl Scout cookies, whatever. We had the best daddy in the world.”
Chevrolet sat down, and Ford stood up. He was a little shorter than his older brother, and a little thinner, but otherwise they looked much alike. “Daddy always said to me, Ford, don’t you worry what other folks think about us. All them other folks, they can just go to . . . well, you know. Daddy wanted Chevrolet and me to know we were as good as anybody else. Thank you for that, Daddy. Now, you go on and be with Jesus. We’ll do as good as we can down here until we get to come up to heaven and be with you and Mama too. I hope she fixes you her special cornbread you always liked so much.”
Ford sat down. There was much sniffling going on in the church, and Song was one of the chief snifflers. “That’s so sad,” she whispered to Rhonda, who was sitting beside her. Young Henry was on her other side. He was bawling into a red bandana.
Cable was sitting in the front row with the two brothers. Governor Godfrey was sitting in all her blonde glory beside him. She wore a black turtleneck and a black Versace leather coat. Song had to admit the woman at least had some style. When Cable looked up and turned his head, Song saw that he looked tired and drawn. Still, as much as she wished it weren’t so, her heart sped up at the sight of him. As far as she knew, he hadn’t yet realized she had come to the funeral. She had ordered Rhonda not to say a word. Remarkably for Highcoal, it appeared her secret was being kept.
There was an explosive sob behind Song. Startled, she looked over her shoulder and saw Burn stand up. “He was a good old boy, Squirrel was!” Bum cried. “And now Cable done kilt him deader’n a hammer!”
“Hush now, Bum,” Chevrolet called out.
“I ain’t gonna! Somebody got to tell the truth around here.”
“Stop making a fuss,” Ford said. “Daddy and you never got along.”
“That ain’t so!” Bum stood up and pointed at Cable with a trembling finger. “You better stop killing us, Cable!”
Cable stood and, facing the back pews, calmly said, “Bum, this isn’t the time.”
“Why the hell not?” Bum pushed his way into the aisle. He balled his big fists and started toward Cable, who stepped out to meet him. Bum stopped short, and then whined, “Some day you’ll get yours, teammate!”
“Go home, Bum,” Cable said gently. “And sleep it off.”
Bum stormed out of the church, leaving the congregation shaking their heads. Preacher interrupted the silence, saying, “Since you’re up, Cable. Maybe now would be the time for you to say a few words.”
Cable nodded and rested his hand on Squirrel’s casket before climbing into the pulpit. His eyes slid past Song, then came back to her. Surprise registered in his expression, then he looked past her, into some other place, and said, “There was never a better man than Squirrel Harper. My daddy sure loved him. They were buddies in the mine. Dad ran a miner, Squirrel a shuttle car. Boy, they sure loaded some good coal in their day.”
Cable took a breath and went on. “Maybe Bum’s right about something. I don’t run as safe a mine as I should. I already said it privately, but now I want to say it where everybody can hear. Chevrolet and Ford, I want you to know I take full responsibility for your daddy’s death. I’m the mine superintendent. If any man is hurt in my mine or, in this case, at the preparation plant, it’s because I didn’t do something right.”
“No, Cable,” Bossman said, standing up midway back in the pews. “This ain’t your fault. You didn’t kill Squirrel. Sometimes bad things happen, that’s all.” He looked around until he saw the MSHA inspector. “We all know Einstein—I mean Mr. Stein—is the best investigator in the world. If he says Squirrel tripped coming down those steps on the outside of the preparation plant, then that’s what happened.”
Einstein stood up, and his angry little eyes glared at Bossman. “My report reflects the facts as far I know them. That’s all. Nothing more.”
“Well, sure, Einstein,” Bossman said, “we all know you ain’t gonna land on Cable’s side too often. But I reckon you got my meaning, sir. Squirrel died in an accident, nothing for Cable to be beating himself up over.”
“That I will stipulate,” Einstein said, and sat down.
Cable nodded toward both men. “Thanks, Bossman. And thank you too, Mr. Stein. Squirrel Harper was a man of honor and a man you could trust
. In short, he was a coal miner. A coal miner may die, but death can never destroy how he lived, or why. God in His wisdom provided this country with the American coal miner who glories in loading good coal! Sure, it’s hard work, but there is a beauty in anything that’s hard if it’s well done. We know this much for certain about Squirrel. He loved his family. He was a man of integrity. And he was a man who laughed and knew how to tell a good story. Of course he could. He was a West Virginian!”
Some people chuckled and there were a few amens.
Cable looked across the people in the pews. Once more his eyes landed on Song, lingered on her momentarily, then roved on. “Here, in this glorious and beautiful and sometimes fearsome place of mountains and mines, there are still people like Squirrel, people who yet believe in the old ways, the old virtues, the old truths. They still lift their heads from the darkness to the light and say for the nation and all the world to hear: We are proud of who we are. We stand up for what we believe. We keep our families together. We trust in God.” He took a deep breath. “And we are not afraid.”
Cable went back to his seat. Preacher climbed into the pulpit while the choir stood and, with the congregation in full throat, began singing anthems of joy. When Young Henry handed her a hymnal, Song sang her heart out too.
The funeral was done and Song walked out, the constable suddenly appearing by her side. She saw why. Just as the last time she had attended the church, the trio of church women awaited her—Mrs. Carlisle, Mrs. Petroski, and Mrs. Williams. They did not look happy.
“We don’t know what to call you,” Mrs. Williams said. “Are you still Mrs. Jordan?”
Song was tempted to walk right by them, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. “Just call me Song,” she said. “And I’m sorry if I didn’t wear the right clothes again. It doesn’t matter. I’m not staying. I’ll be leaving in a couple of hours.”