He was suddenly aware that his hands were gripping the platform railing tightly. He stared down at them. He imagined his own hand torn and bleeding. Something had to be wrong. A pair of hands had to be worth more than the three dollars a week they paid the breaker boys.
Chapter 12
When he hadn’t appeared by nine o’clock, Sarah Andrews decided that he was not coming that night and made ready to go to bed. Usually he was there by seven thirty, right after supper. She locked and bolted the front door of the little house adjoining the school where she taught, and left the small living room for the even smaller bedroom.
Slowly she began to undress. Strange that he hadn’t said anything yesterday. Usually when he was not coming he would tell her the night before. Maybe something had happened to him. She had heard there was an accident at the mine today. A flash of fear leaped through her for a brief moment—but then she reminded herself that he didn’t work in the mine, he worked in the office.
She hung her dress neatly, stepped out of her petticoat and pulled the pins from her hair. Long and dark brown, it came tumbling around her shoulders. She caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, with the dark hollows of her eyes set deep. She stopped and looked at herself. Her mother had been right. But then, her mother had always been right.
“Sarah Andrews,” her mother had said. “You with your nose buried in books all day and night will be an old maid.”
And that was what she was. Thirty years old. Unmarried. No prospect in sight. An old maid. Just as her mother had predicted.
She took off her camisole, and her breasts seemed to fill the mirror. She stared at them in fascination. As she watched, the nipples seemed to grow larger and the breasts began to ache. She cupped them in her hands and held them tightly. It seemed to ease the hurt. She closed her eyes. They were his hands.
But they were not. It had been five years since he had touched her and then gone away. Her mother said that he had never intended to marry her. But never was too strong a word. He was just not the kind of man to get married. Responsibility frightened him. She had realized that when it was too late.
Still, she had never regretted knowing him and loving him. For the first time she’d been aware that she was a woman, and she had learned to take joy in her own femaleness. Her mother had said that she was a hussy, that all the neighbors were talking and that she could no longer hold up her head in the community. From that point on it had been just a question of time until she could get away. And after that it had been a different school in a different town almost every year. Not once in the five years had she ever gone home.
There had been other men. Brief, quick affairs, brought on by the desperate physical clawing deep inside her. But when her body was satisfied, a deep disgust replaced the longing. Each time she would promise herself that it would not happen again. But it did. And in the end, it had driven her from town to town, changing schools as she sensed the growing awareness of the townspeople. Especially the men. The way they looked at her, like hounds after a bitch in heat. There were no secrets in a small town.
It was seven months since she had come to this small mining town just outside of Grafton. When she saw the little house next to the school, she had known it would be different this time. Here she would be alone—not in the usual boardinghouse, subject to the temptations and the smells of men around her. Alone, she would have nothing to stir her longing. She would be content in her work. This time she would not let herself be frustrated by trying to get some knowledge into the heads of children who knew that they were there only until work was found for them in the mines or in the mills. Silently she accepted the fact that the boys would disappear by the time they were ten or eleven years old. The girls would stay a little longer, but they too would be gone by the time they were twelve, thirteen or fourteen. Still, there was never a shortage of children in the school. Good year or bad, it was the only crop that never failed.
That was why she had been surprised when she had looked up from her desk one day during lunch hour and seen him at the other end of the room. At first she had thought he might be the father of one of the children, coming to withdraw his child from the school to put him to work. He filled the doorway. He was big, almost six feet, wide-shouldered and deep-chested. A few locks from the mass of unruly black hair fell toward the thick eyebrows over the deep-set startlingly blue eyes. And the shaven blue-black beard outlined a wide mouth and strong chin. As he came into the classroom, she knew that he was not as old as she had first thought.
“Miss Andrews?” His voice was deep but gentle.
“Yes?”
He took a few hesitant steps toward her. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I’m Dan’l Boone Huggins.”
She almost smiled, his awe of her was so visible. “You’re not disturbing me, Mr. Huggins. What can I do for you?”
He didn’t come any closer. “I’m the clerk in Mr. Smathers’ office at the mine.”
She nodded without speaking.
“I been workin’ fer him fer about a year now, an’ I’m beginnin’ to re’lize jes’ how stupid I am. I need more learnin’.”
She stared at him in real surprise. This was the first time in all the years she had been teaching that anyone had ever admitted that to her. Book learnin’, as they called it, was considered a waste of time. “Exactly what is it you would like to learn, Mr. Huggins?” she asked.
“I don’ know,” he said. Then, after a moment, “Ever’thing, I reckon.”
She smiled. “That’s a pretty large order.”
His face was serious. “There’s so many things I don’t know nothin’ ’bout. Since I been workin’ in the office I heered people talkin’. Politics, business, economics. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout them things. I kin read ’n’ write ’n’ figger some, but there are words I don’ know the meanin’ of, an’ when it comes to multiplyin’ an’ dividin’ I git real mixed up.”
“Have you had any schooling?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. “Six years in a rural school. But it stopped when I was fourteen, an’ that’s all there was.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “Did you ever think of going to the library?”
“Yes, ma’am. But the nearest one is in Grafton, an’ I work six days an’ it’s closed on Sunday.”
She nodded. Grafton was almost sixteen miles away, so there would be no chance of his being able to get there during the week. “I don’t know what I can do,” she said.
“Anything you kin do, ma’am, I would truly appreciate,” he said earnestly. “It’s more’n what I kin do myself.”
She thought for a moment. The children began drifting back into the classroom. Lunchtime was over. They looked at Daniel, curiosity on their normally unexpressive faces. She looked up at him. “There is very little we can do now,” she said. “Class is starting again. Can you come back later?”
“I work until six, ma’am,” he answered. “I kin be here right after.”
She nodded. “That will be all right, Mr. Huggins.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
She watched him close the door behind him, then turned back to the class. The children’s eyes swiveled from the doorway back to her. She heard a snicker from some of the larger children toward the back of the room. She rapped the pointer sharply on her desk. “You in the back,” she snapped. “Open your books to page thirty, geography lesson number two.”
It wasn’t until the last of the children had left the classroom after four o’clock that she thought about him again. She puzzled over what she could do for him. Perhaps the best thing would be to find out how much he had actually learned. At least, that would be a beginning. She went to the cupboard and took out a set of six-year final-examination papers and spread them on the desk in front of her.
That had been six months ago. Since then, much to her surprise and excitement, she had found that this big, quiet boy had a bright, inquisitive mind that soaked up knowledge as fertile ground soaked
up rain. They spent three evenings a week and Sunday afternoons together. Daniel read voraciously and questioned endlessly. Finally she had written to her mother and asked her to send her college books. For the first time she had been filled with the pure joy of teaching. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew this was the way it should be.
Gratefully, he had offered to pay her for the lessons. She had refused. She was glad to have something to do with her spare time. But he still wanted to do something. Finally she agreed that he could reciprocate by cutting a week’s supply of cordwood for both the school and her little house every Sunday.
She had begun to look forward to Sunday mornings, when she would be awakened by the ringing sound of the axe in back of her house. There was something strangely reassuring and comforting about it. A touch of home. An echo from her childhood when her older brother used to perform the same chore. Somehow she no longer felt strange here. No longer alone.
For her, the simple warm feeling had lasted throughout the winter and into the beginning of spring. Then, one sunny morning, she had risen from her bed and gone to the window.
He had stripped to his waist. The sweat streaming down his body shone redly in the sunlight. The muscles rippled as the axe rose and fell. Transfixed, she watched the light tan cloth of his trousers darken with sweat across his buttocks and around his crotch.
The sudden surge of heat and the rush of wetness to her groin took her by surprise. She felt her legs begin to give away under her, and she held on to the windowsill to keep from slipping to the floor. Angrily she shook her head to clear it. This was not the way it was supposed to be. She closed her eyes tightly and kept them closed until she regained her self-control.
From that day on she was more consciously circumspect, more careful not to sit too close to him, more careful in her dress, more formal in her language. If he was aware of how or why she was acting the way she did, he gave no sign. Occasionally when her glance took him by surprise, his face would flush, but she attributed that to his normal shyness.
That was the way it had been last evening when she had looked across the kitchen table and caught him watching her. Immediately the redness had begun to creep up into his face.
“Daniel,” she asked, without thinking, “how old are you?”
The flush grew deeper. He hesitated. “Eighteen, ma’am,” he lied.
She was silent for a moment. “You look older.” She lied too. “I’m twenty-five.”
He nodded.
“Don’t you have any friends?” she asked.
“Some,” he answered.
“Girlfriends, I mean.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Not even back home? A special girl?”
He shook his head.
“What do you do in your time off? Don’t you go to the socials and the Saturday-night dances?”
“I was never much one fer dancin’, ma’am.”
“It doesn’t seem right,” she said. “You’re young and handsome and—”
“Miss Andrews,” he interrupted.
She stared at him in surprise. It was the first time he had ever done anything like that.
His face was scarlet. “I’m not one fer games neither. Girls is allus lookin’ fer to git married, an’ I’m not about to. I got family dependin’ on me.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, accepting the rebuke. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
He rose from the chair. “It’s late. Time fer me to go.”
She rose with him. She reached over and closed the book he had left on the table. “We’ll finish this lesson tomorrow night.”
But it was now nine o’clock and he still hadn’t appeared. Slowly she made ready for bed. The last thought she had before she turned out the light was that she had lost him. He would never come again.
Chapter 13
The tiny parlor of Andy’s house was crowded and filled with the smoke from the black, ropelike cigars most miners used. Daniel looked around the room from the corner in which he had placed himself. There was an air of tense expectancy, and the miners spoke among themselves in hushed, almost secret tones as if they were afraid that the man they were speaking to would hear them.
Andy had appeared at his boardinghouse just as Daniel was preparing to leave for his lesson with Miss Andrews. “You come with me,” the foreman said shortly.
Daniel looked at him. “What fer?”
“You’ll find out,” Andy said tightly. He started down the steps of the porch and then looked back up at Daniel. “Well?”
Daniel nodded and descended the steps. He fell in beside the foreman. They had walked almost a block before Andy spoke.
“I’m takin’ a big chance bringin’ you,” he said. “Most of the men think you gone over. They think you’re with the bosses.”
“Then why you goin’ to this trouble?” Daniel asked.
The stocky foreman stopped and looked at him, his shock of white hair gleaming in the light of the gas lamp. “I been asked to make sure you were there.”
“By who?”
“You’ll find out,” Andy said mysteriously. He began to walk again. “Besides, I think you’re with us. I worked in the mines beside you, and once you work in the mines you never stop bein’ a miner, no matter what else you do.”
The rest of the walk to his home was made in silence. Shortly after they got there, the other men began to arrive. They glanced at Daniel but didn’t say anything to him. Gradually Daniel drifted into the corner, where he leaned against the wall and smoked his cigar. There were more than a dozen men clustered together in small groups.
There was a sound of an approaching automobile. One of the men near the window looked out. He turned back to the room. “They’re here!”
There was a general movement to the door. Andy opened it. Daniel could see the black Model T roll to a stop. The men spilled out onto the porch. Daniel didn’t move.
A moment later Andy came into the house with a big, stocky man walking beside him. Daniel looked at the man with curiosity. He wasn’t a tall man, but he looked big. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with the beginning of a big belly, he had a shock of thick, unruly black hair that fell over bushy eyebrows and deep-set, penetrating blue eyes. He moved with an aura of importance and assurance through the men who clustered around him, shaking hands firmly and looking each of the men directly in the eyes. His teeth were amazingly small behind his thick, fleshy lips. They came over to Daniel.
“This is Daniel,” Andy said as if that explained everything. The man reached for Daniel’s hand. “John L. Lewis, the executive vice president of the United Mine Workers.”
Mr. Lewis’ hand was soft but amazingly strong. He looked at Daniel. “You’re Jimmy Simpson’s brother-in-law,” he said. “Jimmy told me a great deal about you.”
Daniel kept the surprise out of his voice. “You know Jimmy?”
Mr. Lewis nodded. “And your sister, Molly Ann. A fine girl. Jimmy’s doing a fine job for us up Fitchville way. Let’s all hope that we make the same kind of progress down here.”
Before Daniel could answer, he turned and made his way to the front of the room. He wasted no time. He held up a hand, and the men fell silent.
“First of all, I have to correct Andy’s introduction,” he said. “My good friend keeps introducing me as executive vice president of the union. I thank him for the promotion, but that job still belongs to Frank Hayes.”
A chorus of voices interrupted him. “Not for long, John.” “You’re our man.”
Lewis smiled. He held up a hand, and they were silent again. “That’s for the future to decide. I have no ambitions; all I want now is to do a good job for you men. That’s the reward I’m looking for. To see your jobs secure, your work made safe and your pay equal to the highest standards in the industry.”
The men began to cheer. Lewis waited for their shouts to die down. After a moment, he began again. “As you know, the UMW is already one of the largest unions in the country. As of the beg
inning of this year we have over a quarter of a million dues-paying members. That we are accepted by the government of the United States is evidenced by the fact that President Wilson appointed as the first Secretary of Labor one of our own UMW leaders and founders, Mr. William B. Wallace.”
Again the men cheered. This time Lewis overrode their cheers. “For the past year, I represented Sam Gompers as legislative assistant in Washington. This year I returned to my old UMW local in Indianapolis to once more devote myself to the people I love, the miners. Two months ago, after much consideration, we decided that it was time for the UMW to move into the last remaining nonunion section of the country. The West Virginia—Kentucky mining sector. I won’t go into the history of why we have not come here before. A number of times we have tried to unionize, but we have always been defeated. It was not your fault. You men wanted the union. But the owners’ corruption and terror tactics proved too much for us, so in order to protect your lives and health, we backed away. I do not plan to argue now whether our decision was right or wrong. It was made eight years ago, and perhaps it was right then in order to prevent bloodshed. But since that time, conditions have not improved; instead they have worsened. Today, you miners in this area are getting less for your labor than you were then, you are more in debt and you are working longer hours under more dangerous and hazardous conditions. And now that the Detroit automobile companies have put together a consortium of the twenty biggest mines in this area, it don’t look to get better. It looks to get worse.”
The men were silent. Lewis glanced around the room. “Now it is time for decision. A few months from now may be too late. Once the consortium takes control, it may be too late. By then you will truly be in their power. By then we might not be able to help you.
“To meet this emergency, the executive board of the UMW has created a new district local for this area. It will be known as District 100. We are pledging five thousand dollars for immediate organizing expenses, and the first thing you men have to do is go out and sign up every one of your brothers into the union. If you can do this before the mines are officially taken over, we’ll be in a good bargaining position. Already men are at work all over the district. Now is the time for each of you to demonstrate his solidarity with his brothers. Each of you here must become an organizer. Our success, your own success depends on your own individual efforts.”
Memories of Another Day Page 12