Or, at least it had been an outside town. For the past couple of years, the number of people that were spotted outdoors had been dwindling.
This was a fact that did not go unnoticed by the children of Furnace Mountain, who sometimes used this to their advantage. With more and more people staying indoors, it became easier to play hooky from school. Calico Creek was awfully inviting when the weather got warm and without the people on Sawmill Road that usually spent their time working outside or sitting on the porches, there were fewer chances to get caught.
Couples also found it easier to steal away into the woods or sneak up to the ridge without the nosy eyes of friendly neighbors that liked to call out warnings.
Farmers still worked and the sawmill still operated, albeit at a lower number of employees, but for those that had depended on other financial means there was little else to bring them outside anymore. It’s not easy to enjoy things, even the things that didn’t cost money, when there are heavier things weighing on your mind. Ruth Walters might have been the one that everyone talked about but, if hard pressed, almost everybody understood a little about why she wanted to cover her windows, crawl into bed, and keep the world away. More than just Jimmy Walters had taken a second look at their guns over the years.
Most people were aware, however, that they had it better in Furnace Mountain than in some places. The mountains protected the ground from such catastrophes as what had happened in the Midwest. Most still had their farms. Many were living on farms that they had owned since long before the railroad had come through. A few had lost their land to the bank but not everyone. Tractors helped plow but meant fewer jobs. In Furnace Mountain, most folks still relied on a mule and plow so there was still work to be found on the land. The drifters that came through were mostly harmless and wanted to work for food or money. They saw their fair share of tattered children wandering aimlessly down the tracks with their disheveled parents dragging behind them, but nothing compared to what reports were coming in from places like Nashville, Chattanooga, Chicago, and Atlanta. There weren’t any Hoovervilles in Furnace Mountain. People generally just wandered on through, setting their sights on Lexington or Louisville.
Reports had come in that some towns even had signs up saying that they didn't want anyone coming in, and belligerently told people to get out "or else" but nobody saw a need for that in Furnace Mountain. Not only was it un–Christian to turn someone away, but they just didn't get the traffic that other places saw.
It was a small county off the beaten path and after the furnaces had died down, the only reason to even come through it was if you were riding the trains. Since the station was closed and they now more or less by-passed the town for the next one over, the few trains they did get rarely let anyone off anymore.
Sam, Alice, Homer, Louella, and a handful of other folks took all of these things into consideration. Sam was a child, but more observant than most adults. Homer might not have considered himself to be the most intelligent man in town, but he did know his town and he knew when things were changing. Alice was quiet and sometimes in stillness there was reflection. And Louella, well, she might have actually been the most intelligent person in town but she never would have said so. At least not to many.
Alice considered the changes that had happened in town over the past couple of years and the changes that were occurring now. She did this now while she sat by river and watched the water. She didn't come to the river often because it wasn't as scenic as the pond or the creek. In fact, it was often muddy and swollen and thick and had masses of tree limbs and leaves floating down it, especially after it rained. But it moved along nicely and sometimes she liked movement, unlike the placid creek or the pond that could get noisy with all the wood ducks and bullfrogs.
Alice had some ideas that she was currently chewing on and sometimes those ideas overlapped with her thoughts of the town.
“Here,” Miss Casteel had said just the day before. She’d handed her a magazine. “Read this article about President Roosevelt and how his legs sometimes bothered him. He went to the springs in Georgia for healing. It’s very interesting.”
So Alice had read it and now she thought about it as she watched the river flow. Looking at it, Alice found that she liked the idea of water being able to heal. Water certainly made her feel better at times. She had also learned that not everyone had known that the president was crippled at first. In fact, they had tried to keep it hidden for a long time. She didn't know how she felt about that, but she thought that she might understand. She wasn't ashamed of the fact that her father drank too much and sometimes made a lot of noise and didn't come home, but she didn't exactly want everyone talking about it, either.
There was more to him than his drinking, just as there was more to her than her drunken father. Sometimes hiding the truth made people see the truth.
President Roosevelt’s legs were getting better, she had learned. He could walk with support and with crutches and stand for long periods of time. If someone could walk after getting polio then she figured there must have been hope for just about anyone.
“We can do this,” she told the river. If it heard her, it didn’t acknowledge her words. “We can.” She spoke with resolution.
Two days before, while she was in town, she had heard something about the depot and about building a ramp so that they could get the president off the train easier.
Later that night, she had dreamt about a wheelchair. She knew that the president wouldn’t stoop so low as to need to use one; still, in her dream the wheelchair had been a beautiful hand-carved creation, stained and smoothed and sturdy. Everyone had marveled at it, unable to take their eyes off of it.
When Alice woke up, she knew that it was the kind of chair that her father might have designed and built in the past.
It was just a little thought, and maybe just a touch wistful, but it was there all the same. He could have built a chair like that for the president. Once. Maybe he still could, but she wasn’t sure.
Like most of Furnace Mountain, he was spending a lot of his time indoors now. Whether he was at the pool room or in the hunting cabin or in the barn, she rarely saw Robert Johnson outdoors anymore. It had to mean something, and the thought made her sad.
Chapter Seventeen
Sam stepped back and smiled with satisfaction. His sign wasn't perfect just yet, but it was looking good. Of course, this was just the beginning. It would be bigger and better when they got the wood and painted the real thing, but for now this would do.
The room was quiet and eerie without the other students in it, but Miss Casteel was right outside the door and Ruth sat at one of the small desks, busily putting the lids back on the paint jars and cleaning the brushes with cloth and oil. Even though he knew that he wouldn't be able to talk her into walking down to the train yard and looking around like he had hoped, she had at least made the trek into town and had said a few soft words to Miss Casteel. Sam was pleased. Now, she was helping him with the paint and had even offered a few suggestions about colors.
"What do you think, Mama?" he asked, proudly, wiping his hands on the back of his pants. The floor was dusty and his face was covered with long brown streaks where he had sweated and then wiped off his cheeks, but he knew his mama didn’t mind.
"I think it looks real nice," she replied tentatively. "Like something we'd see on one of those big buildings up in Lexington."
"You think so?" This just about made his buttons pop. "I looked at bunches of books and pictures and tried real hard to get the letters straight. Miss Casteel let me use that measuring stick. That's how I got them to look like that. Do you think it's okay?"
"I don't think anybody else could have done a finer job," Ruth said honestly.
Sam did think it was a fine looking sign and he hoped the town would be proud to have such a welcoming banner for the president.
Just then, Marianne came waltzing into the room, her brown hair flying behind her in strings. Like Sam, she, too, had been sweating
in the heat and humidity, although she didn't have the matching dirt streaks across her face. Ruth sat up a light straighter in her chair, but tilted her head down at an angle so that she wasn't looking directly at the teacher.
"Sam, I have wonderful news!" she cried. "Mr. Homer suggested that not only should you make the welcome sign for the president, but that maybe you could design a sign for the town, too, to welcome everyone here!"
"What kind of sign?"
"The kind of sign that we leave up all the year round," she explained, taking a long look at the banner. It really was quite good. Sam had remarkable talent for his age–everyone told him so. He had not only made nearly perfect letters, but had also drawn the depot, the train tracks, and even the mountains in the background with what looked like smoke rising from one of the furnaces. "This sign would be stronger and we'd put it up in two places so that everyone who came in would see them."
"We already have signs like that, don't we?" he asked dubiously.
They did, of course. Old signs, though, that were rotting and had been haphazardly thrown together probably back when the furnaces really were working and running. One of the signs kept falling off its hinges and said that the town's population was 1,198, which was fairly optimistic these days.
"Well, we do, but they're in need of some updating. They wouldn't need to be as elaborate as the one you've made here, but something nice to welcome people in would be wonderful."
"Sam, I think it's a good idea and you would do a real good job at it," Ruth put in, surprising herself with her voice.
Marianne turned around with a start. Sam could tell that Marianne had forgotten his mother was even in the room; now she looked embarrassed.
He could also tell that his teacher was surprised by how beautiful she was. It was the first time she had ever seen Ruth up close. While his mama’s auburn hair was faded some and her face was pale and thin, her eyes were a beautiful shade of brown and appeared large and luminous. The sweater that she pulled tightly around her shoulders was much too hot in this weather but she had a gentle smile and soft hands and Sam knew that his teacher had no trouble seeing the beauty in her that must have captivated everyone when she was a young lady.
"He sure could do a good job at it and you wouldn't have to cut the wood or anything like that. You just design the words and any picture that you want to go with it and we'll have someone else do the rest."
He had thought that he couldn't feel any happier, but now he knew that wasn't true. "You think you could help me, Mama?"
Ruth flashed a hesitant smile. "Well, I don't think that you need much of my help but I could do what you wanted me to do."
"Then I'll get started on thinking up some ideas tonight!"
***
The truth of the matter was, it had been Marianne's idea for the new "welcome" signs, but Homer had gone along with it.
She knew that Sam would be finished with his banner that afternoon and that once it was taken to the depot where it would be hung and displayed, Sam wouldn't have a reason to return to town again for awhile. This saddened Marianne because she had truthfully grown used to his visits and his constant chatter. For the past week, he and the other children had filed in on a daily basis, mixing paint and laughing and creating. It was a different feeling than what she had during the school year and she reveled in it. She found that she was delighting in her children more than she ever had.
Of course, she enjoyed Sam the most. After the others had gone home for lunch, he would stay in the classroom or else they would walk around the school yard or go down by the railroad tracks and he would talk about his mother, his brother, and very rarely, his late father. He was a lot more insightful than she had ever given him credit for, and he was funny as well. In the past, she had felt sorry for the young boy that didn't seem to have the joy of either parent, but now she wasn't entirely sure that was true. Ruth was venturing out more and while Sam did appear sad and wistful at times, he had a very good demeanor about him and seemed to take things in stride. She would miss him.
Plus, they really did need better signs.
***
Alice stood back, hands on hips, and admired the fluttering tablecloths that blew lightly on the early morning breeze on the clothesline. There were now ten completed in all and she was halfway finished. The more she did, the faster and more efficient she became. Alice had spent morning starching them and now they were drying. It was still early enough in the morning that the air wasn't heavy and damp with the thickness of the heat. She would have to take them inside in an hour or so, but for now there was just enough of a breeze to make them gently blow back and forth.
In the meantime, she had time to spare and she used it to sip on the tea that Louella had brought her. It wasn't cold, but it had been sunning and had a nice summery taste to it. She felt decadent sipping it and wished she had someone to share it with, that Nicholas would come over and visit her, but she hadn't seen him for three days. She supposed that he was busy and that he would come when he could, but it didn't make her any less lonely.
For now, she had a copy of Good Housekeeping that Miss Casteel had lent her. She was doing her best to keep it clean and not bend it, but sometimes it was hard. It seemed that no matter how much she cleaned, there was always dust and dirt. Alice was meticulous about keeping herself clean, though in the summer it was difficult because when it got so hot there was little she could do about the dirt that liked to cling to sweat, but it felt as though her house was never going to be clean enough.
She was happy, though, to see that hairstyles were getting longer again. She had always kept her hair long and hadn't partaken in the short finger waves craze that so many girls in the magazines were wearing. She loved her hair and how soft it felt when it was clean and she had it brushed out. It had natural waves in it and she never had to use curlers to make it bounce like some of the women in town did. Now, she could see from the glossy pages of the magazine, other women were starting to wear their hair looser with longer waves that weren't so tight.
“They’re all trying to look like men,” Robert had complained and Alice tended to agree with him on that aspect.
She had been thinking more and more about the wheelchair and the idea of one being designed especially for the president. It would be so much easier for him to get off of the train, wouldn’t it? She had once considered bringing it up to Miss Casteel when she had given her the magazine, but it had seemed foolish at the time and she wasn't sure that it was something she wanted to say aloud. What if it was offensive to him? Besides, she could hear Robert in the bedroom, snoring, and she didn't have to be a bloodhound to smell the whiskey that radiated off of him like a cloud of dust.
There were days when she was sure that he was getting better, but those days were followed by even longer days of not seeing him at all. She could always count on hearing him when he came home, though; he made such a racket that she wondered if her mother's own spirit was awoken from the cemetery.
There was a time when Alice would have been ashamed to have Nicholas come over and see Robert on his worst days. Now, though, she didn't mind. She preferred his company over the loneliness but his visits were getting fewer and fewer. She supposed that he was busy with his college plans the same way she was busy with her tablecloths and helping Miss Casteel.
She was startled and embarrassed to find herself making the comparison.
While she realized the president’s impending arrival was important, and she knew that what she was doing was necessary and helpful, in one way it rather paled to the idea of leaving for college. After all, President Roosevelt would only be there for a few hours at most–Nicholas going to college would affect his entire life. She was busy now, but what would she do after he left? Both of them–the president and Nicholas.
Chapter Eighteen
NICHOLAS SAT AT HIS DINING room table and watched a squirrel busily toss an acorn from one hand to another like a solitary game of "hot potato."
His bacon w
as too crunchy and the eggs were too runny, but he appreciated his mother taking the time and effort to cook him breakfast. In fact, he appreciated the fact that she had been taking the time and effort to make him breakfast nearly every morning for the past couple of weeks. She had never been one of the best cooks, but she tried and some of her meals were pretty good.
Since he had sent in the final paperwork for college, his parents had become a lot more lenient with him. They were, at the same time, showing him more attention. A couple of times his father had even slapped him on the back–a sure sign of pride. Nicholas felt good. His parents were happy and that was the most important thing in the world. It was as though mailing his packet had been a good-faith sign that he was following through with plans for the future and they were now no longer afraid that anything, or anyone, would get in the way of it.
Nicholas had even visited the newspaper and helped out in the printing room, just for the fun of it. He had no inclination for writing or a desire to go into the newspaper business, a decision his father fully supported, but he liked the idea of being an asset to his family.
Of course, his father was eager for the president’s arrival. After all, although newspapers would be there from all over the state, his was the only one to get an exclusive interview. He was staying up late at night, poring over news clippings, books, and articles about Mr. Roosevelt and formulating questions for the slant of his own interview. He had even asked Nicholas for his opinions and advice– a fact that made Nicholas burst with pride.
Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town Page 9