Redemption Mountain

by FitzGerald, Gerry

  “The result of all this oppression,” Hank continued, “was violence, in the form of the famous West Virginia Mine Wars. It all started in April 1912, with a strike up in Kanawha County, and didn’t end until September 1921, at the battle of Blair Mountain, when the miners gave up rather than fight the federal troops that President Harding sent down here to stop the insurrection.” Hank shook his head ruefully. “That was the end of the union down here for many years,” he said. “And the miners paid the price for a long, long time.” He paused in his story to point out the Tug Fork, which ran along the western boundary of the town. “Lot of history in that river, Charlie. Lot of history. But that’s a lesson for another day.”

  Hank turned right onto Court Street. “Mine wars were interrupted by the First World War, when everyone more or less put their own problems behind them for the sake of the war effort. Country needed the smokeless coal, wages improved a little, and there was plenty of work for everyone.”

  Hank pulled the big car into a small parking area in front of an old gray stone building that sat atop a hill. A sign at the bottom of the stairs read, WELCH COUNTY COURTHOUSE. He turned off the car and got out, pausing for a moment to lean back and look up at the imposing structure. He started toward the stairway, motioning for Charlie to follow. “When the war ended,” he resumed, “the country went into a recession, miners got laid off, and the violence started up again.”

  They reached the top of the stairs, and Charlie examined the building for activity while Hank caught his breath. There were a few lights on inside, but no sign of anyone coming or going. Charlie was curious as to what Hank wanted to show him. But instead of walking toward the front door, Hank eased himself down on the top step of the staircase. He pointed to a spot across from him. “Here, Charlie,” he said. “Sit down right here.” Hank gazed out at the town laid out below them before continuing. “I’ll skip some of the background, but in the spring of 1920, the non-union miners over in Mingo County went on strike, which got the coal companies pretty agitated. In May of that same year, a couple of courageous union men, Fred Mooney and Bill Blizzard, came down and spoke to an assembly of three thousand miners in a little town down on the Kentucky border called Matewan.” Hank looked over at Charlie for a sign of recognition.

  “I’ve heard of Matewan,” said Charlie.

  “The result of that rally was that fifteen hundred miners joined the United Mine Workers of America, which was bad news for the coal operators. So Baldwin-Felts was called in to take care of the situation, and on May nineteenth, twelve detectives got off the train in Matewan, wearing pistol belts, and a few carrying satchels containing Thompson submachine guns. The gang was led by Albert and Lee Felts themselves.

  “What made Matewan different was that, while the coal company owned the housing, Matewan was an independent town. It had its own mayor, fellow named Cabell Testerman, and its own sheriff, a young man named Sid Hatfield. No relation to the Hatfields you’re thinking about.” Hank paused for a moment, then squinted at Charlie as if he were looking back in time. “Can you imagine the guts it took for a young fellow like that to stand up to a gang of professional thugs like the Baldwin-Felts men?

  “But that’s what happened. Along with Testerman, Sid Hatfield confronted the Baldwin-Felts men at the train station and told them he wouldn’t stand for any miners being put out of their homes in his jurisdiction. ’Course, Albert Felts ignored him. Took his gang out to the Stone Mountain coal camp and evicted six families of miners who’d joined the union. Threw all their belongings outside in a cold, drizzling rain. Made an example of them and said they’d be back for more.

  “By the time the Baldwin-Felts men got back to Matewan, word had spread about the evictions and that Hatfield planned to arrest Albert Felts. Dozens of miners armed themselves and headed into town. What happened next was probably what you’ve heard about or maybe saw in the movies—the battle of Matewan, sometimes called the Matewan massacre.”

  Hank shifted his weight, spit some tobacco juice onto the grass, and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Young Hatfield, along with the mayor and a few deputies and miners, marched right up to the Baldwin-Felts men in front of Chambers Hardware Store. Told them he was arresting the lot. So Albert Felts drew out his pistol and, at point-blank range, shot and killed Mayor Cabell Testerman. The battle was on.”

  Hank looked over at Charlie with a gleam in his eye. “But that was a bad day for Baldwin-Felts, ’cause they didn’t know who they were dealing with. Sid drew his guns and killed Albert Felts and a few of the other detectives. Hundreds of shots were fired, and when it was all over, the street was littered with bodies. Seven Baldwin-Felts men were dead, including Albert and Lee Felts. Two miners had been killed, and four others wounded. That was an important day for the union, because the miners finally had a hero, a lawman who was tough enough to stand up to the mine operators and their hired thugs.”

  Charlie could see that his friend’s eyes were filled with tears. He remained silent while Hank took a few moments before continuing.

  “Tough time to be a hero, though,” Hank said softly. “Tom Felts, the last brother, swore revenge. He used his contacts to have Sid, along with twenty-two other townspeople, indicted for murder. Case went to trial in January 1921, at the Williamson Courthouse in Mingo County. Charges were dismissed against most of the accused, and the rest, including Hatfield, were acquitted.

  “But Felts wouldn’t give up. He had Sid and his friend, Deputy Ed Chambers, who was also a union supporter, indicted on a trumped-up charge of shooting up a town over here in McDowell County. The sheriff told Sid that nothing would come of it and that he’d guarantee their safety.” Hank took out his pocket watch and saw that it was almost five o’clock. He started to push himself up. “Don’t want to be late for the game.” Charlie stood and reached over to help Hank up.

  For several moments, Hank stared down the long stairway, lost in his thoughts, while Charlie waited. Hank’s voice was subdued again when he resumed. “It was a beautiful day in August, too hot to be wearing wool suits and starched collars, but that’s what Sid and Ed wore for their court appearance when they walked up these stairs here that we’ve just come up.

  “But the sheriff wasn’t around that day, nor any of his deputies. They weren’t anywhere near this town when Hatfield and Chambers—both of ’em unarmed—walked up these stairs with their wives that beautiful summer morning. And when they got to the top of the stairs,” Hank looked over toward the front door of the courthouse, “out of that door come a fellow named C. E. Lively, a Baldwin-Felts assassin, along with two other gunmen. They murdered Hatfield and Chambers right in front of their wives. And then, to finish the job, Lively walked over and put one more bullet in Sid’s head, while his wife watched in horror. Then the murderers walked down these stairs and drove off. They were never brought to trial.” Hank stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down. Charlie got the impression that his friend was saying a prayer.

  Finally, Hank looked up. “Sid Hatfield was a handsome young man, Charlie, tall, with a strong jaw and clear eyes, and the look of a good man about him.” Hank smiled. “Reminds me a lot of you.”

  Charlie laughed. “Don’t try to make me into a modern-day Sid Hatfield. And nobody’s gonna shoot me, either. Times have changed, Hank.” Charlie looked at his watch.

  “Dammit, Charlie, I keep tellin’ you, nothing’s changed here in a hundred years. The coal operators are just big companies now, like Ackerly and OntAmex, and Baldwin-Felts is a law firm in Charleston or Washington, but it’s all the same, and when it comes to takin’ coal out of the ground, you’d better stay out of their way.” Hank leaned a little closer to his friend. “I know what you did, Charlie,” he said, “on the Redemption Mountain thing.”

  Charlie couldn’t hide his surprise. “How did you—”

  Hank interrupted him. “Not much happens around here I don’t find out about. The point is, Bud DeWitt would’ve lost his farm, and he and
Petey both’d have gone to jail, weren’t for you. And Ackerly Coal would be getting ready to start blasting off the top of Redemption Mountain.”

  Charlie stared at Hank, wondering if he should confirm the story. Finally he gave in. “Hank, it’s not that big a deal. C’mon, let’s go,” he said.

  Hank reached out and held his arm. “Charlie, if I know what you did, they know, too,” he said quietly. “You need to be careful now.”

  Charlie’s instinct was to laugh it off, but he respected Hank too much to ignore his words. He nodded and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Okay, Hank,” he said. “I’ll be careful.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The Welch team was using the entire field for their warm-up when the yellow bus from Red Bone pulled into the parking lot. Natty got off first, caught the eye of the opposing coach, and made a show of looking at her watch to show that they’d arrived in time. Standing next to the coach was Kyle Loftus, the commissioner of the league, talking to his friend Wayne Lester.

  The blue-clad Welch team stopped to stare at the Bones in their new uniforms, trotting toward their side of the field. Charlie and Hank watched their arrival from the far end of the field, sitting in folding chairs that Hank had stored in the trunk of the Chrysler.

  “Take a look at this,” Hank said. Charlie quickly picked out the Pie Man, whose warm-up jacket reached down well below his waist. He had his Yankees hat on backward, the brim tipped up at a jaunty angle. You could see how proud he was from all the way down the field.

  “Now, where do you suppose Natty got them flashy new suits? Looks a little rich for a team from Red Bone.” Hank eyed Charlie with suspicion. “More like what teams from New York might wear, don’t you think?”

  Charlie winked. “Maybe they had a bake sale.”

  The Bones quickly took the field without benefit of a warm-up, but when Natty noticed that the referee hadn’t arrived, she called out to Zack to lead the team in a quick jog around the field. On the sideline, Kyle Loftus was busy on his cellphone, trying to locate the missing official. A moment later Loftus strode toward the two coaches. “Wife says he must have forgotten about the game.”

  The Welch coach shook his head. “Asshole.” He spit tobacco juice on the field in front of Natty. “Well, let’s find somebody to ref,” he said, looking back toward the bleachers.

  “Should be somebody ain’t got a kid playing in the game,” Natty offered.

  “Good luck with that,” said the coach.

  Natty spied Hank and Charlie sitting by themselves. She’d been wondering if Charlie would take her up on her invitation, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw him smile back at her. “I got somebody,” Natty said, starting off toward the sideline.

  “Say, Hank … Charlie,” she called out. Charlie smiled, knowing what was coming. “Got no ref for the game. I, uh, was wondering if either of you boys think you might be fit enough to run up and down the field with these kids. That is, if you know something about the rules.” Neither man moved. Natty fidgeted. “’Cause they’ll find somebody on their side of the field, and that won’t be—”

  Charlie saved her, pushing himself out of his chair. He pulled his sweater off and started to walk toward the center of the field. “For this, you’ll have to buy me a pitcher of beer,” he said, as he passed Natty.

  “You’re going to need it.” She laughed, turning to jog back toward her bench.

  “Here you go, ref,” said Natty, tossing Charlie a whistle on a rawhide cord.

  “Thanks, coach,” he said, walking backward. “Love the new uniforms,” he added.

  Natty wrinkled her nose. “Santa Claus brought ’em.”

  The opposing coach met Charlie at the center of the field. “Now, you done any of this before, fella?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What you need to watch for with this Red Bone team is the offsides. Team’s famous for being offside, ’specially that girl, so you gotta watch her.” Charlie bent over and rolled his chinos up a few inches over his running shoes. “They can get rough, too,” the coach continued. “Gotta watch them black boys. Like to throw their elbows and hips around, know what I’m sayin’?”

  Charlie stood up and reached into his pocket for his sunglasses. He put the whistle in his mouth and blew a loud blast, startling the Welch coach. “Let’s go, then. Keep the time on your side, and let me know when there’s two minutes left in the half.”

  Being on the field was different from sitting on the sideline, and Charlie was surprised at how fast the kids moved. In the past he’d always reffed younger kids’ games. He also quickly realized that a few of these players were exceptional for their age. Emma and Paul, Natty’s midfielder from Poland, were obvious superstars. And the Willard brothers dominated whatever sector of the field they were in.

  But the blue team also had an exceptional soccer player. It was the tall, blond-haired boy named Gabe, whom Charlie had followed down the hill before the first game in Red Bone. Gabe was playing midfield opposite Paul and was proving every bit his equal. He was always in control, with a powerful kick from either foot, and was an excellent passer. He was also a fine sportsman—several times after inadvertent rough contact, he’d reached down to help one of the Bones players to his feet.

  After a few frenetic trips up and down the field, Charlie was winded, but once he got accustomed to the pace and remembered that the ref’s chief responsibilities were to keep the game from getting too rough and to stay out of the way, he began to relax.

  The Welch team was getting the better of the early play. Their strategy was to keep the ball in the Bones’ end of the field. The second part of the blue team’s strategy was revealed the first time the Bones were able to get the ball up to Emma. One of the Welch fullbacks, a short, rugged-looking boy they called Rudy, quickly jumped in front of Emma with minimal effort at going after the ball. It was probably a foul, but Charlie let it go because it was marginal, and he didn’t want to show any favoritism to Natty’s team or to Emma as a girl.

  “Gotta call that one, ref,” Natty said calmly, strolling slowly along the sideline. It was the first thing he’d heard her say since the game began. In contrast, on the Welch side of the field, the coach was moving up and down the field with the flow of the action, his foghorn voice calling out instructions to his players. His players seemed to tune him out, and Charlie tried to do the same.

  * * *

  NATTY HEARD THE coach yelling, Charlie’s whistles, and the usual shouts of encouragement and criticism from the spectators along the sideline. But as the game settled in, she began to lose her concentration and indulged herself by focusing completely on Charlie Burden. There he was, this rich, beautiful man from New York, running up and down a shabby soccer field in West Virginia, volunteering to be a fill-in ref—a job that nobody ever wanted—in a game in which he didn’t even have a kid playing. And he was there because of her—sure, because of Pie, too, but mostly because she was there—and that amazed her. And it frightened her. She thought about what he’d said to her up on the boulder, the words she’d never forget.

  The ball scooted across the sideline, rolling directly toward Hank, who reached down, too late to stop it. One of the little kids patrolling the sidelines ran after it. “Hey there, you in the chair,” the ref called out. “Gotta be quicker going after those balls.” Hank laughed and waved at Charlie. And look at the joy he’s brought into that old man’s life, just by being his friend. Hank, who’d been wallowing in loneliness since Alva Paine died, sitting there now at a kids’ soccer game, enjoying the low sun and the smell of wood smoke in the fall air.

  Then Natty noticed Pie moving up and down the sideline, following the action. But it wasn’t the ball he was watching. It was Charlie, a proud happy face revealing his excitement at having his adult buddy on display for everyone to see. How much Pie had changed in the few months he’d known Charlie! The little boy she so desperately loved was finally developing some self-esteem and confidence that he could do things, be something, and that he
wasn’t so different from the other kids. All he needed was an adult male to treat him like a regular kid—and show him some love.

  Natty thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans, straining to see Charlie through the swirl of players. She swallowed hard, fighting the empty feeling that rose inside as she thought, for the first time, about Charlie disappearing from their lives for good. Why couldn’t she accept the fact that Charlie Burden was the man she’d been daydreaming about for most of her life?

  A roar from the opposite sideline brought Natty’s attention back to the game. She looked up to see the blue team high-fiving one another as they headed back toward the middle of the field. A disgusted Brenda Giles flung the ball angrily out of the Bones’ goal. Natty was embarrassed. Her team had given up a goal and she hadn’t even seen it. She clapped her hands together hard. “C’mon, Bones. We’ll get it back.” It was the first time they had been behind all season.

  After a few minutes of even play in the midfield, Zack gained control of the ball with some room to move upfield. He raced it over the centerline and sent a perfect feed through to Emma. But just before Emma reached the ball, from her blind right side, Rudy hurtled himself into her, sending her crashing into another Welch player. Her mouth smashed into the second player’s knee. It was as vicious a tackle as Charlie had seen in kids’ soccer, and he blew his whistle loudly as he raced over toward Emma, who lay on the field, blood flowing from her lower lip. Then he heard the Welch coach from the sideline.

  “Atta boy, Rudy. Way to watch her. Good clean tackle.”

  Charlie felt his jaw muscles tighten. A rough play on the field was one thing, but an irresponsible comment from a coach was another. He watched Natty help Emma to her feet. She was still dazed, and a small towel pressed to her mouth was red with blood. He headed for the Welch coach. “That’s a yellow card for that kid,” said Charlie. “And a yellow card for you, too.”