Redemption Mountain

by FitzGerald, Gerry

  Natty loved to come back to the farm to see her mother, Grandpa Bud, Alice, and Uncle Pete. She loved the smells and the colors and sounds of the farm and the coolness of the air on Redemption Mountain. Even the pungent aromas of the pigpens and the chicken house brought back nostalgic flashes, and the greens of the trees and the cornstalks and the fallow pastures always appeared deeper and richer and greener than anywhere else. On the farm, food tasted better, the water colder and purer, and the air smelled fresher. Natty enjoyed walking barefoot in the fields, feeling the hot soft earth between her toes. She’d sit on the warm flat rocks in the stream with her legs numbed up to the knee by the ice-cold water that ran down from farther up the mountain.

  But the farm was also the source of Natty’s greatest sadness, and she couldn’t walk through the house or the barn or the fields or sit on the porch for very long without thinking of Annie. Twenty-three years later she could still hear her voice, and feel her small hands and her downy cheeks, and see her running across the dirt yard with her arms upraised, the sign for Natty to hold her.

  The melancholy of old memories was supplanted by the unbridled joy the children experienced at the farm, and Natty enjoyed sharing their excitement as they explored the world of her childhood. After the obligatory hugs and a suitable interval of fawning by their grandmother and great-grandparents, Pie would always beg for his release to run off with Uncle Pete to drive the old tractor around the farm. Cat, after a hand-in-hand walking tour with Great-grandmother Alice to see the newest piglets, would invariably sneak off to the warm floor of the sunroom, surrounded by the tattered yellowing picture books from Sarah’s library. She could sit for hours, cross-legged, reading the stories out loud to herself, just as her mother had done with the same books many years earlier.

  Natty was always struck by how run down the farm seemed. The gray clapboards of the house needed painting, the roof was worn and patched in a dozen places, and the long boards of the porch sagged noticeably. Sarah still kept her flower beds around the house, but they weren’t as full or as neatly edged as they once were. The farm, like its occupants, was looking tired.

  As Natty pulled into the yard in front of the house, Grandpa DeWitt and Alice were getting out of their chairs on the porch to greet them. While the children were hugging their great-grandparents and Uncle Pete, Natty’s mother drifted quietly through the screen door and stood unnoticed on the porch, arms folded in front of her, a serene smile on her face as she awaited her turn. This was her manner—never impatient, never demonstrative or in any way calling attention to herself.

  Sarah DeWitt was several inches taller than her daughter and had only recently started to put some middle-aged pounds on her thin frame. She was fifty-three but looked older, the weathered skin of her face and arms showing the effects of more than twenty years of farm life. Her hair was prematurely white, the color of thick smoke. It hung down her back, reaching almost to her waist. Today it hung loose, and with her faded cotton dress and well-worn sandals, she gave the appearance, as she often did, of a Native American.

  After the children had run off, Sarah DeWitt turned her attention to her daughter. She pulled Natty close for a long hug, then carefully examined her face, looking for a telltale sign. Natty knew what she was doing. It had become their routine since the night Buck had beaten her.

  “So, he’s been leaving you alone, then.” Sarah had a soft, unhurried way of speaking, a mannerism inherited by her daughter.

  “Yes, Mama.” Natty was irritated. “You don’t always have to do this. Buck ain’t like that anymore; he’s fine.”

  “Of course he is. And he’s given up drinking, and he spends all of his free time now with his children.”

  “He’s getting better, Mama. He’s trying, anyway. He’ll be fine when the new power plant opens. He’s made good friends with the head man from the construction company—a big company from New York—and he’s promised Buck a job. And those are good jobs, too.”

  “Yes, I’m sure Buck will be very much needed at the new power plant,” Sarah said.

  They’d reached the point they always reached very quickly, when Sarah made her usual inferences about Buck, and Natty had to resist throwing her mother’s lifestyle back at her. But Natty knew it would just make things worse. She didn’t want to argue with her mother, and, she had to admit, it wasn’t fair. Her mother never hurt anyone with her addictions.

  They strolled slowly toward the barn, her mother bringing her daughter up to date on the insignificant details that make up the news on a small farm. They sat down on an old bench by the barn, where they could watch the pigs cool themselves in the wet mud.

  “You look thin, Natty. Are you still doing all that running?”

  “Every day, unless the weather won’t let me. It’s the best thing I do for myself, Mama. And I feel fine, I feel great.”

  “And your nursing job, how are all your patients?”

  “I ain’t a nurse, Mama. I’m a home health aide.”

  “Aren’t a nurse, Natty. You don’t always have to sound like a hillbilly.”

  “I know, Mama. I aren’t a nurse.” Her mother ignored the wisecrack. “Anyway, I haven’t lost any this week, but I got a few headed for the wrong side of the grass pretty quick. They keep giving me more.”

  “No, I don’t think we’ll be running out of old people in McDowell County anytime soon,” Sarah replied pensively. “And you’ll be working at the school again this fall?”

  “In the mornings, for a few hours. Still gives me time to make my rounds, and I’ll be able to see Cat once in a while. Make sure she’s doing okay.”

  “That’ll be good for her. And Pie, he’s ready to go back to school?”

  “He’s going into seventh grade, about where he’s supposed to be.” Natty reflected for a moment on her remarkable son. “He still has problems with arithmetic. Numbers confuse him some, but it sure as hell confused me, too. You know that. But damn if he ain’t the most entertaining little boy. He makes me laugh like we got no troubles in the world.”

  “You’ve done a good job with that boy, Natty. A great job, all by yourself.”

  Natty ignored her mother’s subtle jab. Sarah hadn’t liked Buck as a child, liked him less as the husband of her daughter, and now despised him as the father of her grandchildren. It had been several years since Buck had been to the farm and years since Sarah had been to Oakes Hollow. “Not just me, Mama. Mostly Mabel Willard at the school. Thank God for that woman. She’s been teaching Pie since kindergarten, putting in extra time all these years.”

  “And with all your work, you’ll still be having your football team again?”

  “Hell, Mama, that’s about the only fun I have in life, that and my running. And it’s soccer, not football.” Natty had to admit that her enthusiasm for coaching was waning. She was tired of being undermanned and outgunned against the all-boy teams from Bluefield, Princeton, and Welch. Even with Emma Lowe, her team always lost more games than they won. She wasn’t sure if they would even be competitive this season, having lost a couple of capable players, but she had to run the team one last year, for Emma’s sake, anyway.

  Sarah’s attention had drifted away, as it often did after a few minutes of conversation. She would appear deep in thought as she gazed off at nothing. Natty was used to her departures. She sat by her mother’s side, looking over the old farm, content to let Sarah have her own time, as Natty called it when she was young.

  She shielded her eyes and looked up toward the cornfield, the green stalks only three feet high. By September they’d be seven feet tall, with fat, heavy ears. She scanned the field to see if she could detect where Pete had hidden this year’s weed patch. The pot was for their own use, Sarah told her, Pete having learned his lesson some years earlier. But Natty knew that Pete grew a lot of marijuana, and she had a suspicion that, while he may not be selling it, he could probably be persuaded to barter a bag now and then.

  It had been more than a dozen years since Natty last
smoked, with Buck in the backseat of his father’s Chevy Blazer, a week before she learned she was pregnant with Pie. But Natty didn’t begrudge her mother or Uncle Pete the small pleasures they took from the drug. They led an isolated existence on a dirt farm in the mountains, and the need for some relief was understandable. Not long after Natty, Pie, and Cat said their goodbyes and drove off down Mountain Road, Sarah and Pete would sit in their rocking chairs on the porch, their pipes and a small bowl of weed on the plastic table between them, Sarah with a glass of wine and a book, and Pete watching her, and watching the sun set over the hazy gray mountains to the west as the heavy night air swept in over the farm.

  Natty knew that it was too late in life for Sarah to just say no. Drugs and the search for spiritual and psychological independence had been a part of Sarah’s life too long for her to become somebody else’s notion of a middle-aged grandmother. Her life had been uprooted, and, like a lot of other young people, she’d lost her way and a lot of her spirit during the 1960s. It was more coincidence than anything else that she’d finally found what she’d long been seeking on a tired little farm on Redemption Mountain.

  In the afternoon, while the children played in the stream with Pete and Sarah, Natty took a quick run up to the cemetery to see Annie and her father. It was only about a mile, and afterward she’d race downhill all the way to the stream and plunge in, running shoes and all.

  The DeWitt farm was about halfway up Redemption Mountain Road. A little farther up, the road split. The right fork continued to climb up the south side of the mountain, eventually running out at a rocky promontory. The left fork continued along the gently sloped north side for another half mile, until it came to the small cemetery.

  Natty dropped to her knees between two gravestones and began to pull up the weeds that had escaped the attention of Grandma Alice, who regularly made the hike up to spend a few minutes with her two oldest boys and her granddaughter. There’s a lot of heartache in these mountains, Alice was prone to lament, and nowhere was it more evident than at the cemetery on Redemption Mountain.

  Her weeding done, Natty said a short prayer for her father and sister before the tears came, splattering on the cool, smooth marble. She wondered if her sadness over Annie’s death would ever leave her. A good sweaty run in the heat would take care of today. She thought about Cat sitting in the stream and wanted to get down to her, to hold her and splash around in the cold water and make her laugh.

  As Natty started back down, a white pickup sped up the road. Running into anyone on the mountain was rare. No one lived beyond the DeWitt farm, and there was something official-looking about the truck that made her curious.

  She looked up the road, where the truck had disappeared. A short run up the hill would give her a vantage point from which she could see long stretches of the road as it weaved its way up the mountain. Adopting an innocent jogger’s pace, Natty made her way up to investigate. As the south side of the mountain came into view, she was surprised to see two white pickup trucks, one parked at the side of the road, the other farther up the mountain. She was even more surprised to see several men who obviously were not on the mountain to enjoy the scenery. Two stood by the first white pickup, talking and occasionally pointing out some spot higher up the mountain. Another peered through an instrument mounted on a tripod. Next to him, an assistant stood with a black walkie-talkie and a clipboard. All of the men wore hard hats, blue jeans, and construction boots.

  When they saw Natty approaching, one of the workers nodded at her. His partner stopped talking and turned to watch as she jogged toward them. Natty slowed to a walk, pretending to catch her breath.

  “Hey, how you boys doin’ today? Hot enough for ya?” Natty got no reply beyond a half smile from the man who held a walkie-talkie. “Don’t see too many people up here, let alone on a Sunday, and working to boot.” Still no response. As Natty came even with the men, she stopped and wiped her forehead with the bottom of her shirt, exposing her thin waist. Behind the men, Natty saw the white pickup truck, a late-model Dodge with an extended cab. On the side of the door, a company logo was painted in dark green. It read, SOUTHERN STATES GEOLOGICAL SURVEYS, and, under it, HUNTINGTON, WEST VIRGINIA.

  She didn’t recognize the men, and it was a good bet they weren’t from McDowell County. It was clear that they weren’t going to volunteer any information. “So,” Natty said, as she looked around. “What are you all doin’ up here?”

  The man in charge avoided her eyes. After an awkward few seconds, the other man came to his aid. “We’re just doing a little surveying, ma’am. Couple of days of readings, and we’ll be done.”

  “It’s for the road project.” The supervisor had a deep, authoritative voice. “There’s some federal money available for rebuilding mountain roads, and this one may qualify.” He took off his hard hat and headed for the door of the truck. It was obvious that the conversation was over.

  Natty felt like she’d been dismissed, and her anger started to grow. “Well, sure, that makes sense. A new road.” She talked louder as the men walked away from her. “Could sure use a new road up here, what with all the traffic runnin’ up and down Redemption Mountain. Like a damn freeway up here.” Both men climbed into the truck now, and she raised her voice further. “What we really need up here is a couple of stoplights and maybe a McDonald’s.” Her sarcasm was lost in the roar of the big truck as it left Natty standing in a cloud of hot dust. She watched it drive up the road. “Road project—what a bunch of bullshit,” Natty said to herself as the truck pulled away. She turned and began her run down the mountain, curious to see if Bud and Pete knew what was going on.

  * * *

  NATTY HELPED ALICE set the table and put out dinner. The children came in wet from their dip in the stream, followed by Sarah and Pete, who’d changed out of their wet clothing. Bud was the last to be seated.

  While she was cutting Cat’s chicken, Natty brought up the strange events she’d witnessed that afternoon. “Came across a whole bunch of men working at a surveying job up on the south road. I ran over to see what they were up to, but they were tighter than a new jar of pickles. Gave me some phony story about building a road.” Bud and Pete stopped eating and stared at her with grim looks. It was apparent that they knew something.

  “So, what’s going on?” Natty asked softly.

  Sarah, too, was curious. “Petey, Bud, do you know something?” Bud was picking at his food, clearly reluctant to comment.

  After a few moments, Pete spoke. “Th-they was up there a c-couple o’ w-weeks ago. Seen one o’ the trucks go by th-this morning.” Pete had stuttered all his life, and it pained him when he had to speak to more than one person.

  Suddenly, Bud’s deep voice filled the small dining room. “They’re comin’ for the coal.”

  Sarah reacted immediately. “Coal? What coal, Bud? There’s no coal up here.” Sarah didn’t want to hear about coal. Coal meant nothing but heartache to her.

  Bud DeWitt waited for silence. For seventy-two years he’d lived on the mountain, fifty-three of those years with his wife, Alice. He’d buried his parents, two brothers, a sister, two sons, and a granddaughter on the mountain, and he planned to be buried there, too. When Bud DeWitt talked about Redemption Mountain, it was time for everyone else to just listen.

  Bud put down his fork, readying himself to tell the family what they had a right to know. “There is coal up here. A lot of coal. Big seam, about twelve foot thick, through most of the mountain, about halfway up. The mineral rights to Redemption Mountain was owned for years by a little company from down in Tazewell County, Ferris Mining. They ran a couple dog holes a few miles south of here and a deep shaft, as I recall, somewheres over near Jolo. Never much of a company, always non-union, lot of safety problems and such. They went bankrupt about the mid-sixties, but it got tied up in the courts, and I reckon the coal business lost track of Redemption Mountain.”

  Bud paused to take a drink of his ice water. “Then, at the end of the seventies, early e
ighties, you know, the coal business was going bust, and they was closing the deep mines. Most of the coal taken was from the surface mines in Logan and Mingo Counties, not much from McDowell. I figured Redemption Mountain was safe. But…” He stopped and looked out the window with a grimace.

  Something serious was going on that Natty couldn’t quite figure out. “But what, Grandpa? Why is this a problem now?”

  Bud looked across the table at her. “About two and a half years ago, I’m looking at the Welch Daily and I glance at the legal notices. I see the name Ferris Mining in there, so naturally it grabs my attention. I read all that small print and learn that all the assets of the Ferris Mining Company was purchased by Ackerly Coal.”

  The name sent a shiver of recognition through Natty as she recalled that day, two years ago, when the helicopters came. The day the Canadian man gave her the OntAmex jacket. The night that Buck beat her.

  “Now, that bothered me some, Ackerly getting the mineral rights,” Bud continued, pulling Natty back to the present. “Ackerly’s a big company, does a lot of work in them big mountaintop mines in Logan and Mingo.”

  Natty could see a scowl on her mother’s face as she tried to understand how a seam of coal on Redemption Mountain could possibly affect their farm.

  “I didn’t think any more about it ’til I read about that circus down in Red Bone, and the fact that it was clear as day, they’d already made the deal with Ackerly to supply the coal. That smelled fishy to me, ’cause there’s a number of companies in the southern counties already mining the low-sulfur soft coal they need for their power plant. But, okay, Ackerly’s a big company, and maybe this OntAmex, which is a lot bigger than anything we ever been involved with, maybe that’s how they like to do business.”

  Sarah calmed down and started to eat her dinner. “Well, Bud, just because this Ackerly company’s got a contract to supply coal for the new power plant doesn’t mean they’ll open a mine on Redemption Mountain.”