Deep River Burning

by Donelle Dreese

  As Denver listened to her Aunt Rosemary talk, it dawned on her that she never saw Rosemary upset about the death of her own sister and brother-in-law. She was beyond it. Even at the funeral, she was emotionally poised, not hard or cold or stoic, but a placid lake in the middle of a rolling rainstorm of sighs and cries.

  The next morning, Aunt Rosemary went into Denver’s bedroom to tell her of an accident on south Highway 61, just outside of Adena. “Was anyone hurt?” Denver asked. Rosemary said that she didn’t know but that she heard on the news that the accident was related to the mine fire. Denver got up, dressed herself quickly, and went to see the accident. Aunt Rosemary went with her. When they arrived at the scene, they saw a lot of smoke up ahead in the distance. There were cars parked everywhere and orange tape blocking off the area to keep everyone out. One of the police officers who was also investigating the murder of her parents recognized Denver and walked over to speak to her.

  “Hello Ms. Oakley,” he said politely.

  “What happened?” Denver asked without saying hello.

  “Well, there was a subsidence underneath the road and at this time Highway 61 may have to be closed down. But there’s no cause for alarm.”

  “What kind of subsidence?”

  “Runnin’ ’bout ten feet in length, two feet wide. The temperature just taken reads seven hundred seventy degrees Fahrenheit.”

  “Isn’t there a natural gas pipeline along this highway adjacent to the subsidence?” Denver asked, knowing there was a pipeline from studying her father’s maps.

  “If there is, you shouldn’t be concerned about it. We’ll take care of everything,” he said with an air of condescension.

  “Are the people who were driving hurt?” Aunt Rosemary asked.

  “They’re going to be just fine. Like I said, it is best for you two little ladies to get home and not worry ‘bout what’s going on here. I know you’re still upset about your parents and all, Denver, but—”

  “Officer,” Denver began. “It’s going to cost at least three hundred thousand dollars for a hole like that to be filled with fly ash that is not going to solve the problem anyway. You’re over there staring into the hole in disbelief as if a burning mine, where the coal pillars have been robbed, is actually supposed to hold up a highway while my parents are dead, my best friend nearly died in a sink hole, most of my friends have moved, and many other people’s lives are in danger or are being torn apart by this disaster that no one wants to take responsibility for. I also know that crucial information about the status of the fire is being kept hidden in a private file in the governor’s office and that it is no doubt your job to keep people like me from knowing about it and causing trouble. Do you care about the welfare of this town, or is being a police officer here a spectator sport for you?”

  The police officer opened his mouth to speak and said, “Now listen—” but Denver quickly interrupted him.

  “No, you listen,” Denver said calmly. “Officer Frick, tonight on the local news, if I don’t hear all the information about this subsidence and the gas pipeline, tomorrow the information is going to spread across town like wildfire.”

  As she walked away from the scene, she turned back and looked once again at the severed highway that looked like a gaping war wound with vaporous blood pouring from it. There was no question in her mind anymore about what needed to be done. That evening she hung signs all over Adena calling for an emergency mine fire meeting to take place the following evening in the town hall. Some of the people who saw her put up the signs looked at her with suspicion or as if they weren’t taking her the least bit serious. But she didn’t care. Someone would show up, and she was going to cause enough of a scene so that those who didn’t attend would hear about it.

  Chapter 10

  Swept Away

  She didn’t sleep that night. Instead, she read her father’s books, his papers, his documents and put a great deal of faith in her instincts about the future of Adena. When the time of the meeting came, she waited in the office behind the large assembly room and stared at the wall. She was a hothead and she knew it, but it didn’t matter. She had to fight for what she knew was right, for what she knew was true in her heart regardless of what anyone else said.

  Over two hundred people arrived at the town hall, some bewildered and looking at one another with confusion and suspicion, wondering which preacher of doom had called the gathering. Denver was accompanied by members of the Adena Coalition and other grass roots activist groups that were concerned for the town. Surprisingly, they were suspicious of Denver as well. They didn’t believe in her. They didn’t trust her. They told her that she would learn the hard way that she couldn’t make a difference any more than they could, and a part of her believed them. She knew that all she could do was create more awareness about the impact of the mine fire, ask people to think about their assumptions, and demand complete and accurate information from authorities. In the end, she knew that each person would have to decide for themselves.

  She walked out to the assembly room and saw everyone talking to one another. Some were socializing, some complaining, some already lashing out in their private groups. She tightened her jaw and stood on a small corner stage area in the front of the room as she spoke.

  “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Denver Oakley, daughter of Ted and Savannah Oakley,” she said loudly. The room quieted. “My father was the head of the town council before he was killed. I am the one who called this meeting.” Then she heard snickering and light swearing and watched several citizens get up to leave.

  “Yes, you can leave now and go to your home that you are so sure is safe, or you can listen to what I have to say. Either way, your life is going to change, whether you choose to listen to me tonight or not.” She paused and listened to the continued harsh remarks and efforts to discredit her.

  “How do you know that it is only the south side of the town that is on fire? How do you know which way the fire is moving? How do you know your water is safe to drink? What is your proof? You are so sure about what you know that maybe you should share your proof with the rest of us so that we can get on with our lives without worry. What do you know of the mine structure under this town? What do you know of coal and heat and history? There are smoking sink holes consuming sections of town, and the main thoroughfare through this town has been ruptured, and still some of you say, there is no fire! Based on what evidence do you draw that conclusion? Your only source of information has been the Office of Surface Mining, a bureau that has much to lose in Adena and due to botched efforts to stop the fire, has perhaps already lost a great deal. Of money of course. It is always about money.”

  “Get to the point! I want to go home and watch the game!” A man said looking around to see if others were laughing at him.

  “And you sir. Aren’t you the man whose wife died two years ago? Have you been to the cemetery recently, where your wife was buried?” Denver asked in a softer tone. He didn’t answer but glared at her fiercely.

  “Have you seen the gravestones, Mr. Roush? I went for a walk, late last night, in Phelp’s cemetery. And there in the darkness of night I could see a soft glow. And then came the smell, and then the crackling sound. Some of the graves are on fire, Mr. Roush. Are you going to choose to be angry at me for that?” The room had grown quiet during her talk with Mr. Roush, but it was by no means a vote of support.

  “An independent mining company is going to be hired to research and publish the findings of the Adena mine fire. If I get no financial assistance from the council or government, then I will pay for it myself with the money my father left to me. I am also organizing a committee to engage in a sit-in outside the government office to have access to the documents being held there indicating the status of the mine fire. A march will be held two days from now from five to seven in the evening starting west on Center Street and th
en heading north on Locust Avenue for those who wish to give their support to the relocation efforts. Meet at Thompson’s General Store.”

  At this point, the noise increased throughout the room as those who supported her cheered and those who were opposed began shouting at her. There was name calling, and a fistfight was stopped by others in the crowd. There was a woman sitting in the front row who was sewing a quilt. She had not taken her eyes from the quilt once to look up at Denver. She stood up from her chair, bundled her quilt with the needle balled up on the inside, and raised her forehead and chest up, but never took one look at Denver’s face.

  Denver exited through the back door of the town hall, and before she could see to whom it belonged, a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to the left. It was Josh. She hadn’t known he was there, but he seemed to always know where he could find her. They ran down the back street behind the town hall, passed some businesses, houses, and the school yard. She was out of breath and gasping for air, but he wouldn’t let her stop running. He took her to his house where they both quickly got into his truck and drove to the river.

  They boarded a motor boat and went to the center of river. Josh was carrying a bag, and when she asked him of its contents, he wouldn’t tell her. He turned off the boat, and they floated gently in their own waves until the water became very still around them. A lost gosling could be heard in the distance calling for its mother.

  “There,” Josh said out of breath. “No one is going to find you here.”

  “Josh, you know I don’t need to be rescued,” she said, quietly admiring his friendship.

  “Maybe not, but you almost started a riot! I was afraid for myself.” Josh opened his bag and took out two small blankets and handed one to her.

  “I brought you here for another reason,” he said.

  “Night fishing?”

  “No, I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?

  “I may be leaving here soon, Denver. I’d rather live in a cave in Alaska for the rest of my life than die at that damn factory taking orders from some asshole who has more money in his wallet any day of the week as spending cash than I make in a month. Perhaps there is nothing here for any of us anymore. I know that you will be leaving soon, once Adena is on its way to some sort of resolution. My parents are going to kill themselves with alcohol no matter what I say or do, and other than you, there is nothing but emptiness here. I feel like I’m surrounded by an enemy I can’t see. Do you understand?”

  “More than you know,” she replied. “Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know yet. Someplace where there is water. Or I may go to the mountains, Montana maybe. Mountains and lakes are there, or North Carolina. Mountains in the west and ocean in the east.”

  “That sounds beautiful,” she said feeling a terrible sadness at the thought of not having him in her life anymore.

  “I’m scared. You think I never get scared, don’t you?” Josh asked.

  “You don’t seem to fear much. But it would be hard, being out there alone, not knowing how you are going to live and—”

  “No, it isn’t that. I’m not afraid of being alone, and I know I’ll survive.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He thought for a while as they both looked to the bank of Desert Ring Island where a tree branch cracked and its echo bounced off the surface of the water. A deer might have been walking, or perhaps it was old Mr. Pilner.

  “I’m afraid of not finding what I’m looking for.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then how will you know where to search?”

  “I won’t. I’ll just keep seeking until I find it.” She gazed at him with a puzzled face, although she wasn’t puzzled.

  “I have to find it. Do you understand? If I don’t, it’s going to kill me,” he said with more frustration in his voice than she could bear.

  “I don’t know what to say. Perhaps we shouldn’t talk anymore.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing . . . I just think maybe we should go. Everything is changing, and we can’t stop it.”

  “What are you running from?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “I wish you would open up to me. You have got to trust me. Someday you’re going to realize that I am the only person in this world who means a damn thing to you, that I am the only one who is going to be there for you. It will scream so loud at you that you will feel like a fool for not seeing it earlier. Once the bullshit of this place and all your fears have run their course and you see that all you’ve had to prove was in vain and for people who don’t matter, then you will know. You don’t realize it now because so much has changed and all of us are walking around waiting for the ground to collapse, but deep inside of you there is a young woman who is crying out to be loved.”

  Denver didn’t have a response. She became aware of the stillness and silence and Josh’s intensity looking into her frightened core. He let go of the gentle grip he had on her arm and nudged her slightly to go back to the other side of the boat as he started the motor. He didn’t go back to the banks of Adena though. He went to Desert Ring Island. He steered the boat right up onto the stones as if he had done it a million times before by himself.

  He tried to help her step out of the boat, but she pushed him away. He led her a short distance into the woods to a dark grove where a large pine tree created a canopy with its needled branches that mirrored the circumference of its wide expanse. He got down on his hands and knees to spread the blankets out over the bed of dried pine needles. The air was humid and smelled of evergreen and bark. He sat down and waved for her to follow. She knew that if she wanted to go back she could just turn around and walk to the boat and leave him there. He knew that too, but he also knew she wouldn’t leave.

  She resented him for the power he had over her. He gave her one small kiss on the neck and from that moment, a rush of emotions led both of them beyond any inhibitions they may have been feeling. Denver held on to him as if she would lose everything the minute she let go. He kissed her sweetly, leaving no part of her face untouched. Her face was wet, but she didn’t know if the tears were his or hers.

  There was part of her that felt this was a mistake. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life needing him and feeling her skin ache for him, but his hair was soft in her hands and his legs pressed against hers and felt sturdy and strong. She memorized his hair, how the curls were tight in some places and large and round in others. In the dark, she spun her fingers through the silky ringlets, and she felt his firm neck muscles flex and relax in her hand as he moved. His legs were solid and long, and she felt a wave of shock move down her spine when she realized how much he loved her, how he had been able to hide it with a calmness that deceived her. All the moments when he looked at her in casual disregard flashed through her head as she tried to make sense of his passion now. Denver lost her sense of the direction of the river. A call of a crow in the distance blended with the soft sounds that drenched through Josh’s throat and over her face until the forest fell into a silence.

  Late that night when Denver got back home, Aunt Rosemary was sitting up watching the news. One half of a church up on a hill by the subsidence on Highway 61 had crumbled into the ground in one great cataclysmic rush. Denver wondered about the members of that church. Had they come to the town hall meeting? And where would they go to pray on Sunday?

  Chapter 11

  Public Hearing

  In the center of Adena, a small park stretched beneath the waving trees that trickled vignettes of sunlight down onto the grass. The park had all the trimmings of small town pride—a few benches, a statue and a plaque, a paved walkway, a Veterans Memorial bell, and a sampling of trees native to the region. The sidewalk tracked the circumference of t
he park and sliced down through the center dividing it into equal parts. On one side, there was a small playground for children and an overgrown butterfly garden, while the other side was a wide open area of short, green grass where games of soccer and softball were played in the evening. Occasionally, a homeless sleeper could be found burrowed under torn brown bags and newspapers.

  When the weather was nice, a middle-aged woman, slightly overweight and short in stature, sat daily on a bench in the town park with her artwork. She had several clay pots and figurines placed on a small fold up table and on a larger table to her left were pins, t-shirts, and jewelry. The pins and t-shirts had logos on them reading, “SAVE OUR TOWN!” and “COOL THE COAL!” Some of the jewelry was made by stringing together small black beads cut to look like coal pieces. Visitors to Adena were eager to buy the merchandise. Perhaps they wanted to be connected in some way, to be part of the struggle, or part of the cause.

  Because of the march bisecting the center of Adena, the town received a sudden influx of media exposure and attention from special interest groups. There were cameras mixed with balloons , a band playing from the local high school, and decorative signs that expressed all degrees of opinion regarding the mine fire. After news of the fire had stretched across eastern Pennsylvania, Adena received sporadic visitations from scientists, geologists, mining experts, environmentalists, or people who were simply curious. Some would gather around the smoking hot spots with measuring gauges, others would laugh, and yet others would just stand still with a fixed gaze, wondering. But on that day, the march in Adena was partly striped fanfare and a little carnival combined with the waving picket signs of a protest rally.