A Bird on Water Street

by Elizabeth O. Dulemba

  After the holidays, winter settled in to stay. It rained nonstop, which is all winter ever does. It seemed to fit everybody’s moods, though. The gray clouds sat on us heavy with worry.

  My arm twinged a lot where the break had been.

  Sometimes it even kept me up at night.

  It got so wet the ground couldn’t hold any more rain and all the creeks in Coppertown started flooding. Peanut butter–colored water rushed through the erosion ditches and new streams popped up everywhere.

  The phone rang late one school night, waking me from a deep sleep. I heard Mom answer down the hall. “Of course, Doris, he’s welcome to stay. Do you need us to come get him? Okay. We’ll see you in a bit.”

  She padded to my bedroom in her big fuzzy slippers. “Jack, Mrs. Quinn is dropping Piran off in a few minutes. The flooding is getting pretty scary down there. Make room, okay?”

  Dad, fully dressed, passed her in the hall. “I’m goin’ down to see if I can help.”

  “I’ll make coffee.” Mom yawned.

  We didn’t get much sleep after that. I kept rubbing my arm and Piran worried all night.

  “I should have grabbed my glove,” he said again and again. “I can’t believe I didn’t grab my glove.”

  It rained throughout the night. My eyelids finally closed, heavy as cement, right before dawn. It seemed like I had just dozed off when the kitchen door closed. The sky was silver rather than charcoal, which is the only way I knew it was morning, but at least it wasn’t raining. Piran and I stumbled to the kitchen and looked at my dad.

  “Well?”

  “It’s up to the second stair on yu’uns back porch,” he said, “but the water’s not rising as fast now that the rain’s stopped. We put about two hundred sandbags around the house, so I think you’ll be okay.” He looked exhausted. “Just pray it doesn’t rain for a few days.”

  Piran fell heavily into a kitchen chair and sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Hicks.”

  “Oh, and your mom told me to give you this.” He handed Piran his baseball glove, and Piran hugged it tight to his chest.

  “Yu’uns still have to go to school,” Mom said. “Go clean yourselves up and I’ll make some breakfast.”

  I was so tired, I could barely swallow my oatmeal.

  At school, we weren’t the only ones running on no sleep. Most everybody was draggin’. Miss Post finally stopped her lesson. “Close your books, class. Today we’re going to talk about erosion.”

  Which was really more talk about trees again. I may not have gotten it right about their roots holdin’ the mine together, but their roots would hold the top layer of ground together. And when they died, they’d fall over and rot, creating organic soil for bugs, smaller plants, and animals to live in. It was hard to imagine trees were that important.

  Without trees, without soil, the water had nowhere to go but into the earth, which in Coppertown was hard as a baked brick and didn’t want it. That’s why we had so much flooding.

  The rain had stopped, but the water rose a few inches higher from runoff—now we understood why. We watched the Tohachee River out of our classroom window. It had turned into a swift-moving lake. The current carried all sorts of debris as it rushed by.

  “I wonder whose porch swing that is,” I said.

  “I dunno, but I’m pretty sure that’s my dad’s ladder,” Piran replied as we watched it tumble end over end, getting stuck once before it was pulled downstream again. If anybody had been standing nearby, it would’ve knocked ’em dead.

  I was slow gathering my books at the end of the day and told Piran I’d catch up with him.

  Once everybody was out of class, I approached Miss Post. “I thought that was real interestin’, what you talked about today. Do you have any books about erosion, or nature, or…or trees?”

  I’d never seen anybody smile that big. Miss Post loaded me up with two fat books and one that was a field guide entirely for plant identification. I couldn’t believe there were so many different kinds of plants in the world and couldn’t wait to learn about every single one.

  “You keep ’em as long as you want, Jack, and let me know if you want more.” She pressed her hands to her mouth and I couldn’t help but notice a big ring sat on her finger where I didn’t recall seein’ one before.

  It still rained after that, but not quite as heavy. The Tohachee River ran high, but stayed inside its banks. Things were so muddy, I was brown up to my knees most days. On the days it didn’t rain, Piran and I walked downstream to see what we could find. It was spooky how high up things were left on the banks. A section of somebody’s fence was even wedged into the rails of the bridge. Most of the washed-out debris was too busted or stuck to be of any use, but every now and then we’d find somethin’ in okay shape. If we couldn’t find who it belonged to, we kept it.

  “I wish I had the pair to that boot,” Piran said. “It was a good one, and it almost fit me.”

  “Mrs. Spokes sure was grateful to get her porch swing back,” I said, remembering the hot apple cider she made for us.

  “That was a pain in the butt to carry.”

  “It wasn’t as bad as getting your dad’s ladder out of the mud.”

  With the bad weather, I was stuck inside an awful lot. Things were so tense between my parents that it was the last place I wanted to be. I stopped watchin’ TV in the den just to avoid them. Their silence hovered in the air like static electricity, and when they did talk, it was a thunderstorm. Mom was sure the mine was closed for good and that Dad should start looking for a job somewhere else. But Dad was convinced the Company would come around.

  I was just tired of tiptoeing around them and eatin’ beans for dinner. I swore if I ate one more bean, I would explode. My whole family had gotten quite musical, and I don’t mean singin’.

  I hung out at Piran’s some, hoping to talk to Hannah. But she was always at a friend’s house. The way Mrs. Quinn would say it, I didn’t want to know which friend.

  With the shorter days, neither one of us wanted to be walking home in the cold and dark, so I ended up spending most of my time reading in my bedroom, trying to block out the world.

  Along with the book on plant identification, I studied books on insects, birds, and all the species of animals that should have been in Coppertown but weren’t. I spent so much time reading that Miss Post had a hard time keeping up with me and ordered books from other libraries. She even found me a book about being a forest ranger.

  A forest ranger—it was a real job!

  I read that book over and over, dreaming of spending all my days hiking through forests, taking care of trees. The man who wrote it described how different the trunks felt, with their bumpy or smooth bark, and the spicy smell of sap, and the soft cushion of pine needles under his feet. It sounded like heaven to me.

  Chapter 15

  Ice Storm

  I woke up one winter morning curled into a tight ball, my breath forming clouds in front of my face.

  “It’s freezing!” I said through chattering teeth.

  “Ice storm, Jack. Power’s out,” Mom said as she shuffled down the hallway. “We need firewood. Get up.” Since the TV was rarely on, we’d missed the alert on the nightly news.

  I jumped from my bed to my dresser in one leap. Bouncing from foot to foot, I tried to keep them from touchin’ the wooden floor, which was ice cold. I quickly grabbed a bunch of clothes and hopped back under the covers. After pulling on two sweatshirts, three pairs of socks, my gloves, and a hat—all crisp from the cold—I got out of bed.

  I sat in my chair and pulled on my boots, which wasn’t easy to do over the thick socks.

  I jumped up and down and rubbed my arms as I headed toward the kitchen, trying to build up some body heat.

  “Hurry up, Jack,” Mom called from the kitchen.

  “I’m coming!”

  She turned on
the gas oven. “This’ll help some,” she said. “Ray, can I turn on the water?” she yelled to Dad outside, where he was checking the pipes.

  “Try it and we’ll see,” he called back.

  She went to fill up the coffeepot, but as soon as she turned on the water, the house sounded like it was falling apart. Pipes rattled in the walls and water shot out from the cabinets underneath the sink.

  “Turn it off! Turn it off!” she yelled through the window, then sopped up the water with the kitchen towel. “Jack, grab some towels from the linen closet.”

  I ran as fast as I could and handed her a stiff pile as Dad came in. “I hope to heck that’s the only burst pipe we’ve got. I think I’ve got some spare in my metal shop.”

  “Phone’s dead too,” Mom said as I carefully climbed down the cement stairs outside. They were slick with ice and I could imagine slipping—my feet sliding out from under me—and bashing my head on the steps.

  We can’t have nice white fluffy snow here, no. Gotta have ice storms.

  A frosty cloud drifted near my feet like it was too heavy to float any higher, and the ground was a solid sheet of ice. I looked up at our Red Hills, which had turned sparkly silver white, like wrinkled-up wrapping paper. Icicles hung from the power lines, the roof, the car, and the shed. My breath formed white puffs that lingered in the still air. Strangest of all, though, was that except for the snapping of icicles, it was unnaturally quiet. The few sounds there were didn’t travel very far.

  I walked slowly, slippin’ across the frozen ground to the woodpile, and grabbed as many logs as I could hold. Dad bought a truckload from North Carolina every year. Lucky for us, he’d stocked up before the strike and before the Company took his truck back. Splinters snapped and echoed in that eerie stillness when I pulled their frozen edges apart. I couldn’t hold very many logs and wished we still had the truck. We could’ve driven the firewood across the yard. It was the sort of day when Eli’s Jeep would come in handy.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want anything that Eli had…except maybe Hannah.

  With my arms full, I crunched back to the house.

  Back inside, Dad crumpled newspaper and stuffed it into the fireplace. We went through the entire Sunday edition and several matches before the wood finally took.

  We dragged all the blankets from the beds and piled them up on the couch. Mom made hot chocolate with real milk—a treat since she couldn’t use the water—and we burrowed in. Curled together like a basketful of puppies, we stared at the fire, waiting for the flames to chase away the cold.

  “You think school’s closed?” I asked.

  “I’m gonna guess it is,” Mom said. “But even if it isn’t, I’m not gonna turn my son into a Popsicle. After you warm up, you and your dad can go see what’s going on out there.”

  I stared at the flames jumping on the cold logs. “It’s like the fire is dancin’,” I said.

  “Those are fire fairies,” Mom said, nodding.

  “Can you make a wish to ’em?”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” she said and put her arm around me.

  Usually I would have pulled away, but it felt nice. I made a wish for trees, and then leaned against her. Between the hot chocolate, the blankets, and the fire fairies, I soon fell asleep.

  I awoke to a loud banging at the back door. “Hey, Jack,” Piran called. “C’mon!”

  I shuffled to the door rubbing my eyes. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “School’s closed, and Killer Hill is covered with ice,” he said. “Let’s go sledding!”

  “I don’t have a sled!”

  “Me neither, but a box works just fine.” He held up a smashed piece of cardboard that had once held a washing machine or somethin’ equally big. It was wet on one side. “I already tried it,” he said. “It works great!”

  “I think there are some boxes in my metal shop,” Dad called from the den.

  “Jack, make sure you’re dressed warmly now,” Mom hollered.

  Couldn’t dress much warmer, I thought as I layered on even more clothing. I felt like a walrus. “Aar! Aar!” I clapped my thick mittens together.

  I waddled to the den and peeked around the corner before I left. Dad had his arm around Mom. I grinned—it had been a while since I’d seen them being sweet to each other. I didn’t want to disturb them, so I quietly crept away.

  “It sucks climbin’ up,” Piran gasped, sounding like his asthma was dangerously close to kicking in. “But it’s great for sledding!” He leaped onto his box and careened down the hill yelling “Banzai!”

  I jumped on my own box and followed suit. If I folded the front lip up, the makeshift sled worked pretty well.

  We slid down dozens of times. Piran used his inhaler once after coughing some, but he pulled his ski mask over his nose to heat the air going into his lungs and refused to stop.

  Then Eli showed up in his Jeep at the top of the hill. Even with his oversize tires, going down Killer Hill didn’t seem like a good idea. But Hannah stepped out of Piran’s house at the bottom bundled in a coat, hat, and gloves. I suppose that was all it took.

  Eli gently stepped on the gas. The Jeep hadn’t gone five feet before the ice took over and the car began to slide. Piran and I jumped out of the way. Eli’s eyes were as big as his headlights as the Jeep slid past us and careened off the road. His tires hit a large rock, which almost knocked the top-heavy vehicle over. The impact sent a bag flying out the back of the Jeep, but it also set him back on the road. Eli straightened the tires and the Jeep kept sliding until it came to a gentle stop in front of the Quinns’ house.

  Piran went to grab whatever had flown out the back and ran it down to Eli. Eli didn’t even thank him, just stuffed the bag angrily back into his Jeep.

  Mr. Quinn came out of the house yelling, “This is no weather to be driving around in, young lady. You get back in here right now!” Hannah acted like she couldn’t hear him over the loud stereo and climbed in the passenger side. They drove on down Lick Skillet Road with Mr. Quinn chasing behind, wavin’ his fist ’til he realized he didn’t have any shoes on.

  I turned to Piran after his dad went back inside. “What was in the bag?”

  With short breaths, he said, “Bunch of fluorescent light bulbs. Course, most of ’em were broken. What do you suppose he’d need with that many light bulbs?”

  “I have no idea.”

  When we got back to our boxes, they had frozen to the ground, which might have been a good thing since Piran looked on the verge of a full-on asthma attack.

  “It’s a sign,” I said. “Time for lunch.”

  We peeled up our sleds as best we could and split up. I didn’t envy Piran the mood in his house. Course, my mood had just been squashed too—Hannah was still crazy over Eli.

  At home, Dad was busy with the pipe in the kitchen. Mom worked around him and heated me up some tomato soup with lots of pepper. It made me feel all warm inside and my mood improved some. Even with Hannah going off with Eli, how could I stay in a bad mood on a day off from school with sledding?

  I grabbed a fresh box and ran back to Killer Hill. More kids were there now and even a few grown-ups.

  Piran had taken some asthma medicine during lunch and seemed ready to go at it again. He invented a new sport he called bumper sledding. The whole trick was to knock each other off our sleds before we got to the bottom. We tore our boxes to shreds and ended up slidin’ down on our bellies more than anything else. But we didn’t care.

  “Jack, you’re soaking wet!” Mom said as I entered the kitchen and dripped on the floor. “Oh, I wish I could stick you in a hot bathtub.”

  “Did Dad fix the pipes?” I shivered.

  “Yes, but we still don’t have hot water.”

  “I’ll go change, then.”

  “Oh no. You’re not drippin’ all over the house,” she said. “Strip, young man.”


  “Mom! Well, turn around at least!”

  “Sheesh!” She rolled her eyes and threw me a towel.

  Naked and freezing, I ran to my bedroom and piled on more cold, crispy clothes, then ran back to the den and dove under the blankets on the couch to warm up.

  Dad lit candles as the sun went down and grabbed two beers for him and Mom from the cooler outside. Then he straightened out a couple of wire coat hangers and we roasted hot dogs over the fire for dinner. The fat sizzled as it dripped on the logs and filled the room with a buttery smell. It was like camping in our own house.

  “Grace, how about you tell us some Jack Tales,” Dad said.

  “Yeah!” I said.

  Mom said I was named after my great-grandpa Jack Hicks, but I liked to imagine I was named after the hero of the old Appalachian stories. I loved the Jack Tales.

  They had come over with our families from England, but turned into something really special when they reached our mountain home, most of all up on Beech Mountain where Mom and Aunt Livvy spent their summers growing up. Her grandma, my great-grandma Harmon, lived in an old log cabin without any power or running water, but Mom loved it up there anyhow.

  Great-Grandma Harmon told the Jack Tales while Mom and Livvy shelled peas or shucked corn. They wouldn’t stop as long as the stories didn’t, so Great-Grandma told story after story, one leading into another. Mom knew them all by heart and she told them in a thick mountain drawl.

  My favorite was “Jack and the Robbers.” It was about Jack, of course, and an ox, a donkey, a hound dog, a cat, and a rooster who all end up riding on top of each other like a pyramid. They come across the lair of some highway robbers and wait for ’em to return from thievin’. Jack and the animals scare them robbers so bad that they end up chasing ’em off—so they get to eat their vittles and keep their loot too!

  Mom also told us “Jack and the Bean Tree”—the Appalachian version of “Jack and the Beanstalk”—and “Sop Doll,” about a bunch of witches. Dad and I cheered and clapped when Mom was too tired to tell anymore.