Alice had made a fresh loaf of bread the day before and now, thanks to Louella, had cheese, tomatoes, and cucumbers to go with it. There were apples, too, and this morning she would make a lemon pie. She didn’t have any meat to add to her picnic basket, but she had dried pears. They were Nicholas’ favorite and he would be happily surprised.
Robert’s breakfast, when he ate, was always the same: eggs, tomatoes, biscuits, gravy, and grits if she had any. Sometimes, there was ham if he brought one home. She usually made enough for breakfast that neither one of them needed lunch, especially if she made fried apples. He was already up when she went in the kitchen. She could hear him rummaging around in his bedroom. She’d heard him come home during the night, but it wasn’t his usual tirade, running into things and fumbling. It had been quiet and cautious, as though afraid of waking her.
Alice was curious.
The stove was warm and she knew she needed to get started on the pie before it was too hot to cook. The windows were left open to catch the early morning air but there was little she could do about the heat once it settled in. Alice was lucky they had the maple trees around the house to shield the worst of the sun but in the valley the heat sometimes got trapped between the mountains.
Determined to be happy, she sang when Robert entered the room. “Happy Independence Day, Daddy,” she called out. He’d made a half–hearted attempt to comb his ratty hair and his beard was trimmed. She needed to mend the holes in his britches, but they were clean, as was his shirt. He had made an attempt to be presentable.
“Hmmm,” he answered, eyeing the fried apples. “Smells good.”
“I hope you’re hungry. I’ve been cooking.”
“Probably for that boy,” he snapped, biting into a biscuit and letting the crumbs fall into his lap. Idly, he spread n strawberry jam on it.
“You know his name,” she smiled. “And yes, we’re going to have a picnic today. Would you like to come?”
He started to respond, and then seeing that she was teasing him he couldn’t help but smile back.
Sitting down across the table from him, she passed him the gravy. “Have you been to town much?”
“Reckon I don’t have no reason to go down there. Why?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, spooning thick gravy over her biscuits. “I thought you might have looked at the depot. Seems like they could have used someone like you on it. I heard they’d had some trouble with the stairs. Maybe with some of the other things, too.”
“Yeah, I might have seen that. Might have helped if they’d used different wood. Might not have. Nobody asked me what buckles and what don’t.”
Well, maybe you might want to go down there and see if they could use some help…” She knew she was treading on shaky ground but it seemed like he was in a good mood so she thought she’d at least try.
“I got things to do here, sure enough.”
Not wanting to risk making him angry or defensive she dropped the subject. “I did see that you’d cut a lot of wood. We’re going to need it this winter if this summer is any indication.”
“I reckon it is. Hot summer, cold winter. I’ll try to get more cut before too long. Lot to do around here. Thought I might work on the house some, or maybe the barn. I don’t know. See how I feel.”
With that, he stood, brushed off his hands, and started out the door. Then, surprising her, he stopped. “Thank you for cooking. It was mighty good. Have a nice day with your friend.”
Alice smiled, delighted. That was about as close to having a conversation as Robert got with anyone.
***
Nicholas woke up to a light rap at his door, followed by the singsong voice of his mother. “Breakfast! Come downstairs, please.”
He was stone tired from the day before. He’d spent much of the day working with his father, only the work had involved moving heavy equipment around. He wasn’t used to physical labor. He liked to get to bed by 8:00 pm every night to get the right amount of sleep but he’d nodded off not long after eating supper. He’d barely held his eyes open for that.
“I’m coming,” he mumbled, slowly letting his feet dangle off the side of the bed.
Nicholas wasn’t particularly looking forward to the day ahead. He’d promised to work in the newspaper office again and then watch the fireworks display with his parents. He didn’t know why his mother was suddenly so interested in them, since she’d complained about their noise in the past, but she’d been adamant about seeing them this year. His father had mentioned something about her getting nostalgic now that he was going to college so he was doing his best to accommodate her.
His immaculate room had nothing out of place and Nicholas was proud of the organized manner he kept it in. Without anyone asking, he swept and dusted and even cleaned his windows. He didn’t care that these were things he might have left to his mother; he preferred doing them himself. It made him feel orderly. He liked to be able to find something when he needed it and not have to wade through a lot of things looking for it.
Paying particular attention to his clothes this morning since he would most likely be seeing the public, he made sure his trousers were straight and his shirt buttoned all the way to the top. He knew it would get hot in the newspaper office but, like his father, he felt uncomfortable with his top button undone in public. His shoes were freshly polished and his hair neatly trimmed. He didn’t even have to count on his mother or the barber anymore, not since he had learned to do it himself. It was more efficient that way.
Pleased with his appearance, he headed down the back staircase to the dining room where his parents waited.
“Good morning,” his father said jovially, sipping on a cup of coffee.
“Hello,” he replied politely. His mother placed a plate of pancakes before him and he waited until she sat down before diving into them. He was famished and she always made them so light and fluffy. He would need to get the recipe from her in case he ever had the opportunity to cook for himself. He secretly liked to cook, even though he rarely got the opportunity to do more than cook fish over the fire with Alice.
“What are your plans today?” she asked pleasantly.
“We’re getting the paper ready for in the morning,” he replied. “A special Independence Day edition. We’ll also be reporting on the work the Kiwanis Club is organizing.”
“That was some meeting,” his father added. “Your little friend jumped right up there with her ideas.”
“She does have a lot of them,” Nicholas agreed.
It was then that the importance of the day truly struck him. “Damn it,” he muttered.
“Nicholas,” his mother admonished, shaking her head. “Really.”
“I forgot. I’m supposed to meet Alice this afternoon. And then we’re meant to watch the fireworks together.”
He shot his mother a helpless look, but she was not forgiving. “That’s too bad, dear, but you have plans to help your father and then we’re all going over to the park together.”
“But–”
“We agreed.” For her, that was the end of that. She didn’t take well to having her plans disrupted, especially as far as Alice was concerned. She seemed like a perfectly nice girl but she was secretly convinced that Alice was obsessed with her son. Why else would she spend so much time around him and forever be asking him to do things with her? It certainly couldn’t be mutual.
“I also agreed to meet her. It’s kind of a standing thing. We always meet today.”
“This year is special. It’s the last holiday you’ll spend with us before leaving. I think we should do it as a family.”
“Oh, well, I don’t think it matters that much. We’ve never been really big on Independence Day anyway. You don’t even like the fireworks,” his father pointed out. “He can come to the office with me this morning and then meet her this afternoon. We’ll be finished before then.”
He smiled nicely but in a way that she knew not to argue. Ordinarily, his mother was the dominant one in th
e family and her word was law but when his father felt confident about something there was little she could do to change his mind.
“Well,” she sulked. “It’s probably alright, seeing as to how you won’t be seeing her anymore after this summer anyway.”
This, of course, was said with finality. He felt it wasn’t so much an observation as it was a request. Nicholas nodded.
“She is a bright one, though,” his father sighed. “You should have seen her at that meeting. Lots of nerve, lots of good ideas. The town is going to change because of people like her. You can mark my words.”
Nicholas wasn’t sure why, but instead of pride in his friend, he felt nothing but jealousy. Alice wasn’t someone he’d counted on changing the town. She might have done well taking care of her father and helping Miss Casteel but she couldn’t say “boo” to a ghost. Even butterflies made her jump when she caught them from the corner of her eye.
***
Sam woke up feeling good. He felt the sun on his legs before he’d even opened his eyes, a testament to the fact that he’d forgotten to close his curtains the night before. Today was his birthday. He was ten years old. It was an important age because it meant that he was no longer in single digits.
His head had found a cool spot on the pillow and he hated to give it up, but birthdays were special and he was aching to get his started. It was quiet in the house but he wasn’t worried. He’d slept in a little later than he’d wanted but was sure that Ruth was waiting for him, ready to help him celebrate.
As he dressed and made his bed, he grew slightly concerned that he wasn’t hearing sounds from the kitchen but he decided to let that pass. No reason to make a fuss when she was probably just waiting for him to get up.
However, when he opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway, Sam stopped short. The kitchen was empty. There were no plates on the table. The dishes from the night before had dried and were still stacked on the sink from where he’d washed them. He forced a smile on his face and walked into the living room, expecting to find Ruth there maybe, but it was empty as well.
He knew what he would find without even going to her bedroom but he needed to do it just the same. Still, it hurt to see her on the bed, sprawled out with her hair fanned around her face. He didn’t think she looked pretty at all. In fact, with the blankets pushed down at her feet and her nightgown up over her knees and knots in her hair he thought she looked downright ugly.
Feeling sorry for himself, he returned to the kitchen and sat at the table. Polishing an apple on his sleeve, his birthday breakfast, he gave in and let himself have a good cry. With every bite, the taste grew bitterer.
This one’s a bite of fried apples, he told himself.
And this bite is bacon. This one’s some gravy.
He could almost convince himself that it really was a birthday feast. He couldn’t convince himself, though, that she was just waiting for the end of the day before she got him something. Try as he could, he couldn’t pretend that there was a present hidden under her bed or that there was going to be a cake with candles and maybe some chicken for supper. He knew she probably wouldn’t even get up to go to the fireworks show with him.
With each snore he heard emanating from her bedroom, the sorrier he felt for himself. But just as strong was the anger. Soon, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Tugging on his shoes and grabbing a few more apples from the pantry and stuffing them in a bag, he hurried out of the house, letting the screen door slam as hard as he could behind him.
***
Homer took a long look at the field; it was already filling up with children and picnic blankets. There were more people here this year than the year before and he thought that was a good sign. As soon as it grew dark, he’d let Donald ring the depot bell and then the fireworks could start. That would carry on into the night for some time, but it only happened twice a year (the other time being on New Year’s Eve) so it was alright. Some of the older folks didn’t care for it and thought it unseemly to carry on that late into the evening when the good folks ought to be in bed but Homer figured that you’re only young once. Why not enjoy it?
He had watched Nicholas and his father walk into the newspaper office together and thought for the millionth time how mismatched they were. Nicholas was tall and lanky with thick black hair and an awkward gate. His pants could stand to be a couple inches longer and his shirts always seemed unnaturally pressed and formal. On the other hand, his father was rugged and careworn with a graceful ease about him. Everyone liked him and he had no difficulty talking to everybody from the shopkeepers to those who occasionally made camp down by the tracks. Homer guessed that’s what made him a good newspaper man.
He doubted that Nicholas would be returning to Furnace Mountain once he went off to college. He knew he wouldn’t be coming back if his mama had anything to do with it. He didn’t blame him. There were some of kids that were made to leave and never look back while others were meant to stay. He was one of those dreamers that loaded up on the train but in the end felt like leaving was too far to go.
Not for once did he regret sticking around, though. Although, on some days, it felt like everything was going to hell in a hand basket he thought he might have actually done some good things recently. People didn’t seem to dislike him or blame him, no matter how much he blamed himself, and that had to be worth something.
Chapter Thirty-Three
ALICE THOUGHT THAT THE FURNACES might just be one of the most romantic places in the world. Of course, she had seen pictures of New York City and heard some tantalizing things about Paris and Rome, but she found it hard to imagine anything more striking than the furnaces with their hard gray stones, their mysterious tunnels and towers, and the beautiful, lush mountains that towered above them. She was always so taken aback by their size–bigger than even the courthouse over in Four Tree. Of course, they hadn’t run for years but she didn’t care. Her favorite one, Pryse Furnace, was in almost perfect condition and you could still go inside of it and explore the narrow tunnels.
Naturally, Nicholas was less impressed by their size or their history and more interested in the slag that was strewn about the hillside. It was still mostly untouched after all these years. He had a collection of slag going at home and although she had to admit that their glassy black surfaces and swirls of jewel-toned colors were striking, she wished he would look up from them for awhile.
“Look at this one,” he said proudly, his head popping up from behind a fallen log. “I don’t think I’ve seen one have this much blue before!”
“Where did the blue come from?” she asked, and then instantly regretted it as he went into a long speech about the heating and cooling process of the ore.
Tired and frustrated, she fell back on the ground and looked up at the sky. It was deep blue today with nary a cloud interrupting its expanse and she felt dizzy with the vastness above her. If she closed her eyes and opened them quickly, she could almost feel the world spinning around and around.
She felt Nicholas plop down beside her then rolled over on her side and looked at him. “How are you going to get all those back?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I guess I did go overboard, huh? Well, maybe I can make something that will make carrying them easier.”
Before he could get up and go off to find something in which to fashion a sling, Alice placed her hand on his knee. “Just wait, okay?”
“Okay,” he shrugged, seemingly unaware when she let her hand linger.
“I’ve been doing a lot of good work, I think,” she said. “Did you know about the meeting I went to with Miss Casteel?”
“I heard about it,” he answered. He’d heard about it a lot, from just about everyone. “Don’t you think that’s a lot of work?”
“No, well I mean, yes, but–do you not think I can do it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve just never known you to do that much before.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I mean, ju
st at your house is all. And sometimes you help Miss Casteel. But this is a big deal.”
Alice started feeling a small ball of anger welling up inside but she did her best to suppress it. “I do a lot of work, Nicholas. I cook and clean and mend clothes and sew and garden and, well, I mostly run our house I reckon. And I read and pay attention to my studies and take care of Daddy.” And you, too, she wanted to add.
“Well, I didn’t mean that. Of course you do those things. But those are little in comparison to running a festival.”
“And what do you do, Nicholas, to make you an expert on such things?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I am going to college, though, and you’re not. I think I can make a difference and do something big and important with my life. But you’ll just be here.”
Frustrated, Alice jumped up and stomped off toward the furnace. The heat was starting to get to her and she needed to be in the shade and as far away from him as she could be. He was being nearly impossible to deal with today and everything was going all wrong. He’d barely eaten the picnic she’d packed and what he did eat he had set aside, talking about the food that he was going to make when he lived at the university and how wonderful it was going to be. Then, he’d spent almost an hour describing all of his new clothes to her and hadn’t once commented on the dress she was wearing–the one she had made over from one of her mother’s dresses into something modern and stylish.
Alice had no experience with men but she’d had a lot of experience in handling Nicholas and she figured that if this was what was in store for her as far as men went she might just decide to be like Miss Casteel and live alone.
It was cool and damp inside the stone walls and the opening at the top let in just enough light through its ghostly circular opening at the top. Finding a spot away from a neighboring ant colony, she sat down on the hard packed dirt and rested her head on her knees. This was the last 4th of July they’d ever have together as far as she knew and it wasn’t going the way she’d thought it would.
Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town Page 18