by Homer Hickam
“Preacher gave us what-for because of what we said to you the last time,” Mrs. Petroski said. “So did Cable.”
“Can you forgive us for being so catty?” Mrs. Carlisle asked. “It weren’t right. We were raised better than that.”
“What it was, we was jealous,” Mrs. Williams said. “Our men were breaking their necks looking at you. But that was their fault, not yours.”
“Preacher told us to read our Bible and we did,” Mrs. Petroski went on. “Proverbs says anger is cruel and fury overwhelming, but who can stand before jealousy?”
“We’re awful sorry!” the trio bawled in unison.
Song couldn’t think of a snappy reply. “Thank you. I accept your apology.”
The church women all required a hug and Song gave it to them. “We wish you would come and live amongst us,” Mrs. Williams said, wiping at a tear. “I swan.”
“Maybe if I’d been a little stronger . . .” Song began, then shook her head. “Good-bye, good-bye, and good-bye.”
“Please come back and visit us any time,” Mrs. Carlisle called after her, while the two other ladies eagerly nodded their heads in agreement. One of them also said very softly, “You look real pretty today, honey.”
The constable escorted Song to the Cardinal Hotel, where she’d taken a room. “Them church ladies are nice, pretty much,” he said, “if they can keep their mouths away from mean gossip. They work hard for the poor families in the county, and, let me tell you, there’s a bunch that ain’t doing too well, especially with meth and OxyContin eating so many folks up these days.”
“Drugs here?” Song was a bit startled.
The constable shrugged. “I’m the boy at the dike with his finger in the hole, only there ain’t no hole and there ain’t no dike. It fell down a long time ago. These hills got flooded with drugs when the mines started closing back in the 1970s. People were just desperate and wanted to get numb, I guess.”
“But now the mines are back.”
“Yes, the thing is, people don’t trust them to stay back. Generation after generation around here, it’s all boom or bust.” The constable wearily shook his head. “When I read about how Congress and the president are worrying about making sure the country has enough energy, or wringing their hands over Social Security, or proposing free medical care for everybody, I just get mad. None of that is ever going to happen if the coal miners in this country one day decide they’ve had enough. They’re close to that now. Washington better start paying some attention to the folks down here or the economy is going to turn into an even bigger mess than it already is.”
“You should run for office, Constable Petrie,” Song said, impressed by his little speech.
The constable chuckled mirthlessly. “Aw, I’m just shooting my mouth off. As long as I’m doing that, I have to tell you something. I’m not so sure Squirrel died in an accident.”
Song stopped and stared at the constable. “What do you mean?”
“Squirrel was sure-footed for an old coot. It was raining that day and maybe the steps were a little slippery, but to go over a rail like that . . . I think Einstein was a little suspicious too.”
“Why are you telling me this, Constable?”
The constable scratched up under his cap. “People around here would go a little crazy if I said to them what I just said to you. They’d start accusing everybody under the sun. You know how Highcoal is. But you’re from the outside, and I guess I just had to tell somebody what I was thinking.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Song said, frowning. “So what are you going to do?”
The constable puffed a short, exasperated breath, then shook his head. “Nothing I can do, I don’t reckon, except stay on the lookout for anything suspicious.”
“Do you suspect anybody in particular?”
“No. Squirrel worked alone, tending to the equipment, which runs pretty much automatically. Cable used to require two men in there, but he’s so shorthanded, he doesn’t have that flexibility. Stan Stanvic’s the supervisor in the plant and mostly mans the computers that operate the place. He weighs nearly three hundred pounds. I doubt if he could climb up to where Squirrel fell, not without a heart attack, anyway.”
“Who found Squirrel?”
“A truck driver who was there to pick up a load. Foureyes. I think you know him. My guess, Squirrel had been dead for a couple of hours when Foureyes spotted him lying in the dirt back behind the coal bins. Foureyes is a pretty simple soul, so I don’t think he had anything to do with it. Stan said he hadn’t seen Squirrel most of the day, but that wasn’t unusual. Squirrel just did his thing, keeping everything rolling along. And now he’s dead.”
Song thought it over. “Did Squirrel have enemies?”
The constable cocked his head, then nodded. “I guess he had a few. The Harpers have been in these hills for a long time. You surely recall Bashful the well driller? He and his family have no love for the Harpers. They’ve been arguing about this and that for a long time. Squirrel said he thought Bashful needed killing, and Bashful called the state boys to swat him away. But I checked it out and Bashful was nowhere near the mine that day. He was out trying to drill in somebody’s apple orchard or some such. Anyway, he never struck me as a killer, just sneaky and dumb.”
Song considered telling Constable Petrie her father was the proud new owner of Atlas and maybe he could send someone to help the constable look further into Squirrel’s death. But she held back. If the constable said there was no evidence, just his suspicions, then she thought there was probably little or nothing an investigator from the outside could do.
“Well, good luck, Constable,” she said at the door to the hotel. “I hope you catch your killer or at least find out for certain it was an accident.”
He studied her. “I apologize for dropping all this on you, ma’am. It’ll all come out, one way or the other. Highcoal isn’t a place to keep secrets for long. Anyway, I hope you find some happiness back there in New York. I surely do.”
She smiled a sad smile. “Sometimes happiness is to be found in our work, Constable. That’s how I see things these days.”
He tipped his hat to her. “If I can ever do anything, big or small, for you, just let me know. You’re one of my favorite people in this world, ma’am, and that’s the truth.”
“Really?” Song sounded and felt like a little girl around the big cop.
“Really,” the constable said, smiling.
“Maybe you can do something for me. Watch out for Young Henry. Don’t let him get into any trouble.”
“Oh, he’ll do fine, ma’am,” the constable said. “Most boys around here do fine if we can keep them off the drugs.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“You can count on me,” he said, then tipped his hat again and walked away. Song already missed him.
WHILE SHE WAS packing, there was a rap on Song’s door. It was Rhonda. “There’s somebody downstairs to see you, hon’. It’s Cable.”
Song forced herself to be resolute. “I don’t want to see him. Tell him I’m sorry.”
Rhonda looked at her, opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it. “I’ll tell him.”
CABLE WAS IN the parlor, still in his black funeral suit. “She said she doesn’t want to see you,” Rhonda said from the stairs. When Cable tried to go past her, she put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. “Let her be, Cable. You had your chance with her. Let her go.”
Cable’s eyes changed from determined to sad. Rhonda patted him on the arm. “Go on home, now. You gave a great speech in church today. Squirrel would have been proud. But go on home, Cable, or you’ll ruin what’s turned out to be a pretty good day, all things considering.”
CABLE WAS OFF the Cardinal’s porch and walking toward his truck when the door of the hotel opened.
“I just have a minute.”
Cable whirled about, then whipped off his hat. His eyes soaked in the sight of Song, then he walked to the bottom of the porch steps
and looked up at her. “I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you came. The first day after he came back to work, Squirrel told me how much he liked you. He said I was a pure fool to let you get away.”
“Well, I liked him too,” Song said. She waited, and when Cable didn’t say anything else, she said, “Well, good to see you, Cable. Take care of yourself. I have a car coming. Got to finish packing.”
“Sorry you had to come all this way for a funeral,” he said.
She inspected his weary eyes, his hair ruffled by the breeze coming down the hollow, his face filled with an emotion she couldn’t identify. “I’d appreciate it if you’d sign the annulment papers,” she said.
He tapped his hat against his leg. She was starting to recognize the gesture—it was when he was uncomfortable.
“I haven’t had time,” was his answer.
“Take the time.”
“I will. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. But there’s no reason to stretch this out.”
He fiddled with his hat. “Well, like I said, I’m glad you came.”
She knew this was probably going to be the last time she saw him, and she hesitated before going inside.
“What’s next for you, Cable?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll keep mining coal and try to run as safe a mine as I can.”
You’re going to be fired, she thought. She ached to tell him, to somehow make it easier for him, but she didn’t know how. “Somebody told me you were working too hard and too much,” she managed.
“Naw. I’m fine. I just can’t figure out why we keep missing our quota for refined coal.”
“Is your mine playing out?” she probed.
“Seems so, but I can’t believe it. I sent some samples over to MSHA in Beckley for them to study, and they pronounced it the finest metallurgical grade they ever saw.”
“Your tonnage is adequate?”
“Yes. But the percentage of high grade is too low, so getting the tonnage up hasn’t helped enough. I can’t figure out why it’s so low though.”
“How about a consultant to study your operation?” she suggested.
Cable’s expression registered deep disapproval. “That would be a waste of money. I know that mine like I know the back of my hand.”
“Some men would say ‘like I know my wife.’ Too bad you can’t say the same.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I still care. You know?”
“No, Cable. I don’t know.” She marched down the steps and stuck out her hand. “This is good-bye. I don’t believe we will meet again. Sign those papers and let’s be done with it.”
Her hand was lost in his. He hung on to it. “I will,” he promised.
“It’s best,” she said in a soft voice, then withdrew her hand from his. “For both of us.”
Cable looked as if he had something to say, but he put on his hat and walked away without another word. Song watched him and alternated between sadness and relief. But then, from somewhere deep inside her, there came a message: You’re here now. Do something. Fix this situation or regret it for the restof your life.
Song looked around, looked at the Cardinal Hotel, the church, and the mine. She looked at Highcoal and its people. She looked at Cable as he slowly drove his truck away, his dream of being the mine superintendent in his town about to be taken away. God only knew what would happen to him then. From within her came the message: You’re here. Fix it. You’re the only one whocan.
Song recalled what Rhonda had suggested, if only tongue-in-cheek. Could she do it? How outrageous a thing that would be! Perhaps as outrageous as a small woman wanting to climb K2 nearly thirty years ago. She was her mother’s daughter. She was the daughter of Joe Hawkins. She was made of stern stuff. She could do what needed to be done.
It was enough to make her laugh at the irony of the entire thing. If Preacher was right and life was all part of a heavenly script, then hers had been written by an angelic comedian.
Young Henry, carrying a football, came walking up and Song hugged him. As much as he squirmed, she wouldn’t let him go. “I have missed you so much, so much, so much!”
Young Henry was astonished. “Are you okay, ma’am? Hey, you’re crying!”
“Cable gave such a beautiful talk today, didn’t he, Young Henry?”
“Why, yes, ma’am. Everybody said so.”
“What would happen if he left Highcoal?”
Young Henry looked puzzled, then scratched his head. “I don’t guess folks around here would know what to do without Mr. Jordan. He kind of bucks us up all the time, I reckon. Looks after the miners as best he can too.”
“Thank you.”
“For what, ma’am?”
“Just for being you. And for helping me make up my mind about something.”
“Like what?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh, nothing. Well, something. It’s crazy, but I’m going to do it.”
“Can I help?”
“You already have, Young Henry. You already have!”
INSIDE THE CARDINAL, Song asked Rhonda if she could use the telephone in her office.
“Sure, hon’. Your ride to Charleston will be here in about thirty minutes. You all packed?”
“No. And cancel that ride.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
SONG CALLED HER father.
“Song! How’s it going?” She heard a lathe winding down. He was in his workshop. Building bird houses was his hobby. Birds didn’t care much for them. They were mostly inhabited by squirrels.
“I don’t know, Daddy,” she answered. Song closed the door. She pressed the telephone to her ear, really leaned into it. “It hurts to be here.” She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Daddy, do we still own Atlas Energy? You didn’t sell it, did you?”
“If I could find a buyer, I would have, but unfortunately it’s still ours. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve decided to stay here for a while. I want to study Cable’s mine. If I can figure out what’s wrong with it, maybe we can get it back on its feet.”
Hawkins gave that some thought, then asked, “What if Cable is the problem?”
Song mentally crossed her fingers and said, “Then he has to go.”
“I knew you were tough but not that tough,” Hawkins replied in a dubious tone.
“I guess the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Apparently not. Do you really think you can figure out what’s wrong with Cable’s mine?”
“Yes.”
“And you’d fire Cable if he’s not doing his job?”
“Yes.”
After an interval, Hawkins said, “Sorry, this just doesn’t add up. Tell me what’s really going on. I know there has to be more.”
Song considered sticking with her story but knew her father was too sharp for her. She twisted the telephone cord around her hand until it hurt. This was going to be difficult to explain. “The people here, Daddy, they need Cable. And he needs them. I’m sure now that I don’t love him, not like a wife should love her husband. He hurt me too much for that. But it just so happens, as crazy as it seems, I am the one person in this world who can save him. I want to do that if, for no other reason, he’ll finally understand who and what I am.”
“In other words, what he’s lost,” Hawkins interjected.
“Yes. But at the same time, I believe I can save our company a great deal of money. That’s my reasoning. Now, tell me I’m wrong and I’ll come home.”
Song could almost feel her father smile. “I’m proud of you, honey, more than you can possibly know. I think your reasoning is perfectly sound, especially the part about saving our company’s money. So what can I do to help?”
“I want to join what they call a red cap class. It starts in just a few days and will give me a crash course on coal mining. Get Atlas headquarters to approve me as a member of that class.”
“Would you go into the mine?”
�
�Yes. But I’ll be careful.”
“You’d better. What happens when Cable finds out?”
“I’m sure he’ll make a fuss, but with headquarters’ approval, he won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“Consider it done. But are you sure of this, sweetheart? Really sure?”
“I’m sure. Do you know how much I love you, Daddy?”
“No need to butter me up, young lady. Just stay safe. Frankly, this situation takes me back to when your mother told me she was going to climb K2. She thought it was going to be a great adventure and I supported her one hundred percent. I’d give anything now if only I had stopped her.”
“Could you have?” Song asked. “Stopped her, I mean?”
He was silent for a long second, then said, “No. Just like I suppose I can’t stop you.”
Song reassured her father, told him again how much she loved him, then hung up. She remained at Rhonda’s desk while giving herself a gut check. “Yes,” she said to herself. “I’m going to do this.” Why? the question came back. ForCable? For the town? For the company? What’s the real reason?
I guess I’m my mother’s daughter. That was the answer. The red cap class was her K2, a challenge that she needed to overcome, not for anyone or anything but herself.
And across time and forever, she could almost feel her mother’s proud, loving arms around her. Song had only been a year old when her mother died, so they were arms she had known only in her dreams. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Soon a tear formed and rolled down her cheek. “I miss you, Mommy,” she whispered toward heaven. “I miss you so much.”
Eighteen
The class was to be taught in what had been a storeroom in the little brick building behind the mine superintendent’s office. The room was swept out and mopped, and ersatz wood panels tacked up to give the place at least the semblance of a classroom. Fluorescent lights were hung, and a dozen student chairs set up to face a plain wooden table. Behind the table was a white marker-board that could also be used for slides and viewgraphs.