A consolidated school might not be a bad idea altogether. She wasn't completely opposed to the idea. Having different ages in different classrooms might be a nice change because sometimes it was difficult to keep the little ones in line while still trying to challenge the older ones at the same time. She loved her older children but thought she might actually enjoy teaching primarily to the little ones. They were always so eager and happy to be there. Like Sam.
Change always came with consequences, however, and she was a creature of habit.
***
"Did you know that it's Marianne Casteel's birthday?" Louella demanded.
Homer looked up from his paperwork in confusion; that was answer enough for Louella.
"Well, I didn't either. The woman rarely talks to anyone. How were we supposed to know?" Louella had worked herself up into a tither and began pacing the office in a very uncharacteristic way. Homer couldn't help but smile.
"Well, Louella, it's been her birthday the same day every year since she's been here and nobody's ever noticed it before now either. If that helps you feel better."
"No, sir, it does not make me feel better. It's bad enough to think that there probably hasn't been a soul to do anything for her since she's been here. But to think of all the hard work she's put in this past month or so and that she's alone, celebrating her birthday by herself is uncalled for. If it weren’t for her, the president wouldn’t be coming at all."
He knew women enough to know that this was not the time to make a joke. Putting on a grave face, he studied Louella and hoped that he gave her the seriousness that she thought appropriate. "Well, what do you reckon that we do to rectify the situation?"
She snorted. "Don't use that tone with me. I remember you when you were nothing more than a sparkle in your mother's eye, may she rest in peace. We could at least take her a meal for all of the hard work she’s done. Or rather, we could invite her to your house since I'm sure she doesn't have the space to accommodate more than a few people."
“Well, how may you expecting, Lou?” Homer scratched his head in confusion. "I'm not much of a cook. You've seen my lunches."
"I wouldn't feed that drivel that you call dinner to a chicken. I'm a perfectly capable cook myself and I know several women that will be glad to help. Or at least they will be glad once I tell them to be glad. You can expect us to be around at 5:00 pm. In the meantime, you can deliver the message to Marianne yourself."
As always, her smart exit left him in the quiet whirlwind that she always seemed to leave behind.
***
Ruth had all but quit shying behind her screen door when company knocked on it, but the sight of Louella left her feeling unhinged. She wished fervently that Sam was home to open the door and talk for her, after all that's undoubtedly who Louella sought, but he had gone fishing and hadn't yet returned.
Rather than hiding, Ruth inhaled deeply, smoothed back her hair, and wiped her sweaty palms on her limp dress. Then she opened her front door.
"Louella, how nice to see you," she murmured, her dark eyes darting around the room. She tried to hide the shakiness in her voice. "Please come in."
Louella appeared to be taken aback by the sparseness of Ruth’s front room and its lack of adornments; Ruth hoped she could also see the well-kept floor and furnishings. Sam had never appeared a dirty child and although his clothes were worn, they were always clean.
Though she wasn’t rude about it, Ruth could feel the other woman taking stock of her. As a young woman, Ruth's beauty had been legendary. Louella could probably even remember Ruth as a beautiful child as well, walking into town with her mother and father and sitting in the third pew, singing in church with gusto at the age of five. Back then, Ruth had been all strawberry blonde ringlets and deep brown eyes and both parents had smiled proudly at her exuberance, as had everyone in the congregation.
As a teenager, most of the young men had tried to court her but she'd only had eyes for Sam's father and it was no surprise when they had married at seventeen. She was a stunning bride in her light, blue cotton summer dress and her red hair flaming in the sunlight on the ridge. Half the town were guests and the singing and dancing had carried on into most of the night. Even Louella had kicked up her heels.
Eighteen years later, she was still lovely, of course, but time, heartache, and illness had changed her. They’d brought the shadows and gray and lines. Still, her hair had lost only some of its original vivacity and, with it brushed down across her shoulders, it still shone in the afternoon light. She might have been much too thin, but it offered her a gracefulness that Louella herself had never possessed.
"Sam's not home, I'm afraid," Ruth said in a rush as she fretfully sat on the edge of a worn chair and motioned for Louella to join her. "He went fishing this morning and he hasn't come back yet. He's been working so hard and…he does love to fish."
She didn't add that it had been his favorite pastime with his father and she had a feeling that he sometimes went out to the creek to feel closer to him. They had never discussed it, but she sometimes wandered out under the weeping willow tree and sat quietly on the grass to do the same. She and his father had spent many long summer nights there together and it was where they'd had most of their important conversations. She had never asked Sam to join her there and he had never asked her to join him at the creek and this unspoken understanding spoke volumes to both.
"Actually, I'm not here to see Sam. I'm here to see you."
"Oh?"
"Marianne Casteel is having a birthday today and nobody thought to do anything about it. It seems obscene considering the amount of work that she has done for us and the trouble that she's gone to. As a result, some of us are meeting at Homer Dyer’s tonight and having a dinner. I was hoping that you would join us."
Ruth looked surprised at first and then frightened. Homer had told her that Ruth would say no and that it was preposterous to drive all the way out there to ask, but Louella had been determined.
In fact, Louella was embarrassed and ashamed. It was about time that people started stepping up and taking responsibility for others and Ruth had been a member of the community all her life. Folks had spent a good portion of the past few years talking about her and wondering, yet few had done anything about it. Someone needed to take initiative; they couldn't simply forget about her because she'd been going through a difficult time. In fact, if more people had stepped up she might not have gone through it at all.
Louella was shocked at this personal revelation and felt ashamed for the second time that day. It was not a feeling that she was willing to become accustomed to.
"I don’t know," Ruth murmured. "I'm not sure what time Sam is coming home and he'll want dinner of course."
Ruth knew that Sam wouldn't mind at all and would even be pleased to see her getting out and visiting, but she couldn't possibly tell Louella that Sam had been preparing his own meals now for going on two years. What kind of mother would she think she was?
"You can bring Sam with you, of course," Louella replied with a smile. "Everyone loves Sam and it would be nice to have a young person’s energy among us. We’re none as young as we once were."
Now, seeing no way out, Ruth smiled thinly. "I suppose it would be nice to get out of the house. We don't get out too awful much anymore. I don't have much to wear, though, and my hair is a mess–"
"Nonsense, Ruth– you're lovely and you always have been. Come as you are if you'd like. I'm certainly not going to put on any airs."
With promises of being there promptly at seven o'clock, Ruth walked Louella to the door and waved goodbye as she watched her climb behind the wheel of her vehicle. She continued to watch it as it sped off down the road, sending up clouds of dust, and not until it was out of sight did she go back into the house.
She was now locked into the evening and couldn't possibly get out of going unless she wanted to make a fool of herself. With a sigh, she walked back to her bedroom to see what kind of dress she had that could be starche
d and ironed–one that wouldn't embarrass her or Sam too deeply.
This would be her first evening out, without Sam’s father, since she was a teenager. Ruth stopped fingering the cotton dresses that hung in her wardrobe. Clutching her hands to her face, she dropped to the ground and buried her face her hands. On and on she sobbed, pulling at her hair and rolling in a tiny ball until she had nothing left.
And then, when her tears were dry and her nose had stopped running, she stood and returned to her wardrobe. There was a cream-colored shift with tiny rosebuds.
It might do just nicely, she thought to herself. And Sam would like it, too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE TABLE WAS SET with flowers and china and the food was hot. The guests were jovial and even Louella appeared to be in good spirits as she smiled passing around the rolls and casserole dishes.
“I’ve spent a lot of time learning the history of the area, of course, so that I can teach the students but do any of you remember when the furnaces were still active?” Marianne was feeling lively. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed the company of adults. Back in Cincinnati she’d had her father, of course, but there were also fellow teachers from her school and she’d often go with them to listen to bands or share meals. She missed those times.
Marianne was also surprised at just how much she liked all of the people sitting around the table. To think, she’d lived there for years and had never gotten to know any of them. Such a shame. Why did they persist in living in a community but not acting like one? Had things really become that bad?
Most shook their heads at her question; they didn’t know. “The first iron ore furnace was constructed in 1830,” Louella finally answered. “The last one closed a year before I was born. You will have to determine that information on your own but I would imagine that I am the oldest member of the community at the table.”
Homer nodded. “I can remember my own mama and daddy talking about them, about the noise they made. Of course, that was before the L&N came through. Before it was really Furnace Mountain.”
Marianne looked confused. “But wasn’t the town named after the furnaces?”
“Well, yes, but it wasn’t a town, not really anyway, before the trains.”
Everyone appeared startled to hear Ruth’s voice, but nobody was as surprised as Ruth herself. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have interrupted.”
“No, go ahead, Ruth,” Homer patted her hand encouragingly and then pulled back as though he had touched a hot flame. “You might know more than the rest of us. Ruth here, her granddaddy was one of the first people to settle the county,” he said in explanation to Marianne.
“Really Mama?” Sam piped up from Marianne’s right. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s true sweetie,” Ruth murmured. She dabbed at her mouth with a cotton napkin before continuing. “Well, in the beginning there were just small villages, not even towns really. This was before the war, of course. People were farmers then. When they built the furnaces there were more people, lots more. The brought people in from all over the country to work them. With more people came more businesses. They built more villages all over the mountain. Not here in the valley, but on the mountain. You wouldn’t have recognized this place a hundred years ago. They needed so many trees that for the furnaces that they cut them down for the most part. It was just plain hillsides with grass. My granny said it was sad but that people needed the work. Later, they opened the lumber company and sawmill. That became another important industry and the wood was floated down the river.”
“Who worked here? Where did they come from?” Marianne was intrigued, in part because it was the first time she’d heard Ruth speak more than a couple of sentences.
“Oh, they come from all over. There were blacks and Hungarians and Italians. Slaves that had been let go and earning wages. Farmers. Everyone wanted to work here. People had to mine the iron to get the ore and cut down the trees to keep them going. My granddaddy worked at one of the sawmills. He was in charge.”
“What happened to the furnaces?”
Ruth shrugged, clearly self-conscious from the attention. “When the war ended they found other ways to get the ore, cheaper ways. They shut the last furnace down and most people moved off. Some stayed. The sawmills got real popular and they’d float the rafts down river to Frankfort. With so many of the trees gone, though, it was hard to get the hard wood they needed. That’s what my granddaddy said. He passed away almost twenty years ago but he still talked about those big rafts and how much he missed it.”
“So we had the furnaces and the lumber. When did the railroad come through then?”
Homer looked over at Ruth and, through some unspoken communication, took up the history from there. “It came here in 1915, about twenty years ago. I was just a young man then, home from college and living over in Four Tree. That year was not a coincidence, by the way, because it was the same year they found oil here in the mountains.”
Everyone at the table exchanged knowing glances and Marianne could almost read their minds. Furnace Mountain really had seen a cycle of progress and poverty–it was as if just as soon as one natural resource was depleted, someone would come in and find another and take as much as they could from it before moving on again.
“Well,” Homer continued, “couple the oil with the coal in the east and the L&N people knew they had a goldmine with us. They set up their Eastern Kentucky Division headquarters here and that’s when they built the switching yards, depot, and the roundhouse repair facility. That’s also how I ended up with my job. They brought in folks, but they wanted a local here to more or less pacify the natives. That local was me. More new people came in and that was important, but there was also lots of people still here farming the land, just like they’d always been. The house that you live in, most of the houses here in town, they were all built on railroad company land. Company houses. We were one of the first places for miles around to have electricity. That was with thanks to the Company, too.”
‘Some people, like my own family, came down from their farms and started working for the Company,” Louella added. “Farming isn’t an easy way of life and it’s fickle. A good job that you can depend on is hard to come by and many people wanted a change. Your school there got built. It was one of the best, you know.”
Marianne smiled. “Well, I like to think it still is.”
“By 1916 we had an honest-to-goodness town here. There was the blacksmith shop, the general store, an ice cream parlor, dry goods store, printing shop, dress shop, and a diner in the depot. Most of those are gone now but others came in later,” Homer recited this by heart, as though he could remember where each shop had been and what it had looked like. He probably did.
“We got our first house numbers assigned to us in 1920. We were very proud of that,” Ruth laughed. “We got our sidewalks and sewage drains, too. Well, some did. We never lived close enough to town to have any.”
“And then the railroad company pulled out?”
Homer nodded, sadly. “Not long before you came here. The oil dried up before that. It was a good run while it lasted. The town has seen many changes over the years. From the furnaces to the timber to the oil to the trains. Of course, it’s the trains that built the town, but we like to think that it’s the people that will keep it going.”
At this, Ruth smiled. It was a small one but everyone noticed, much to Ruth’s embarrassment. She daintily dabbed at her mouth again with her napkin and then clutched her hands together, her fingers working furiously against each other. Marianne felt sorry for her.
The poor dear, she thought. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. Marianne was ashamed for listening to the stories about Ruth–for thinking of her as a neglectful, disinterested mother. For the terrible thoughts she’d had about her. Ruth Walters was a beautiful woman who had lived through a tragedy and been made ill by it. She wasn’t crazy, she was sick. And nobody, including Marianne, had helped her.
It was as though Ruth suddenly remembered that she wasn’t home and that nothing in the room was familiar. The room was too bright, the noises of forks hitting plates too loud, the table too round…it was all too much.
“Ruth, how’s about us stepping outside for a minute?” Homer asked abruptly. “I need some air and I have a proposal regarding Sam I’d like to run by you. Does anyone else mind?”
Of course, nobody did and Ruth looked only slightly uneasy as she rose from the table and followed him out the door.
“I’m coming too,” Sam cried, following them out.
Marianne waited for what she thought was a respectable amount of time before speaking again. “Has she been like that since her husband…” She let the sentence drift off because, really, there were no polite words to describe his demise.
Louella nodded sadly. “Yes. And maybe some before. Ruth has always been shy, even as a girl. Her mother died when she was young and her father passed away the year she married. She didn’t speak a lot before, but after she was even quieter. Always pleasant, always pretty. The last time I can remember Ruth’s exuberance was back when she was a little thing, no more than a small child. ”
Not as diplomatic, Nancy Lewis spoke as well. “She’s always been pretty. The boys chased her in school. The girls thought she was queer. She didn’t have girlfriends. She liked to talk to the boys. Never looked at nobody but Mr. Walters though. From when she was ten years old until he passed on he was the only one for her.”
“But why?” Marianne was lost for words again. “I mean, others must have had it harder. I don’t understand what made him…”
Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town Page 13