“I don’t like it,” he replied. “It don’t look right.”
“Better get used to it.” I smiled. “Things are changin’ in Coppertown.”
A cloud covered me in shadow just as we heard a voice from the shore.
“You boys better head home, yessirree. It’s gonna rain, gonna rain,” Crazy Coote called. He pointed at the sky. “It’ll burnnn ya.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Piran said. “He’s nuts.”
I felt bad for Coote, I did, but the way he looked at me like he could read my thoughts made me nervous. We made sure he was way out of sight before we left the rock and headed back to shore.
Coote was right about the rain, though. My arm ached as the storm clouds moved in. By the time Piran and I parted, it was coming down in heavy, ploppy drops that soaked me through. At least the rain didn’t sting as bad as it used to. I ran up onto our front porch and tried to shake it off. But a shiver ran down my spine as I heard my parents inside arguing, again. I crept through the house creating a large puddle on the floor as I eavesdropped from the hallway.
“There aren’t any jobs in town,” Dad said. “I’ve been looking.”
“Me too, but looking doesn’t buy groceries, Ray,” Mom replied. “You plan on picketing forever?”
“We’ve got my stipend from the Union,” Dad argued, “and they’re still workin’ on it.”
“It’s not nearly enough! Besides, you don’t honestly believe the Company is going to hire anybody back, do you?” she asked. “Give up on the mine, Ray. It already gave up on you.”
“Have patience with me, Grace,” Dad said. “All I’ve ever known is mining.”
“We’re barely getting by! I can’t get the groceries we need, and Jack’s outgrown most of his clothes.” She raised her voice. “We can’t live like this! You need steady work, a real paycheck, even if that means we have to move.”
“Move? What are you talking about?” Dad asked. “This town is our home!”
“You think I want to leave?” Mom replied. “I don’t want to go either. But, Ray, we have to be realistic.”
My stomach lurched. Move? No!
I quietly made my way to the bathroom and shed my wet, heavy clothes. I dried off with a towel and rubbed it over my stubbly head. Ouch! I looked in the mirror. My new haircut had exposed my scalp, which was now bright red with sunburn. Great, I’m gonna have to wear a hat from now on, I fumed. I will not let her buzz my head next year. I won’t.
In my bedroom I put on a long-sleeved T-shirt, a dry pair of overalls, and thick socks.
I lay on my bed and pulled the faded quilt Mom made over me. I couldn’t get rid of the chill.
In the gray light of the rainy day, my blue walls appeared washed out and dirty. The locomotive border that ran around the top was peeling in the corners. My baseball trophies and the General Lee were dusty, and my desk, which used to belong to Grandpa, was chipped around the edges. When did it all get so worn down?
Again, my eyes were drawn to my poster of trees, a scene so different from Coppertown.
So it’s not perfect, I thought. But it’s home, and I want to stay.
I didn’t realize I had dozed off until Mom gently shook me awake.
“Dinner’s ready, Jack,” she said. “White beans and cornbread.”
“Mom, I don’t want to move,” I said.
“Well, I’m not gonna bring it to you,” she said.
“No, I mean I don’t want to leave Coppertown.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Oh, did you overhear your dad and me?” She sat on the end of my bed.
I nodded. “Things are gettin’ better around here,” I said. “Nature is coming back, things are growing.”
“Honey, your garden might be doing well, but the town is drying up. Your dad needs a job.”
“He’ll find something,” I said. “He has to.”
“Oh, Jack, you’re too young for all these worries. Heck, I am too.” She ran her hand over the quilt she’d made for me, stopping on the flannel print that had been my baby blanket. “And you’re getting too skinny. Come eat.”
Chapter 25
Fairy Cross
Piran and I met at the bridge the next day and decided to check on the tadpoles up at the tailings pond. On the way there, I told Piran what I’d overheard my parents saying the night before. “We might have to move if my dad can’t find work.”
“Heck, I figured you’d be leaving eventually too.” He frowned. “I’m gonna be the last kid left in Coppertown.”
I didn’t know what to say and tried to change the subject. “Did you see the article in the paper?” I asked.
“What?”
“The Rockets are in the championships.”
“You got any more bad news there, Jack?” Piran said. “’Cause I don’t think I’m quite depressed enough yet.”
“Sorry.”
But our moods changed completely when we got to the tadpoles.
“They’ve got legs!” Piran shouted.
“Except for their tails, they’re almost frogs.” I smiled. I felt like a proud papa.
The water had dried up with the warm weather like I expected. All that was left of the feeder creeks was a shallow pond, but the tiny frogs didn’t need water for much longer before they’d be able to hop away. There was still enough for them to kick around and get the feel of their new limbs. Even Piran couldn’t stop starin’ at ’em.
As I sat and watched the tadpoles, I ran my fingers through the sand on the bank. Sunlight glittered on a small object. “Piran, look at this.” I dug it out. It was a rock, no bigger than a quarter, but it had two faceted rods that ran straight through each other forming a perfect cross.
“Oh cool!” Piran said. “That’s a fairy cross!”
“Since when are you into rocks?”
“Ever since I wanted to be a miner is all.” Piran rolled his eyes. “They’re really called staurolite crystals, but most folks just call ’em fairy crosses. Outside of the Copper Basin I hear they’re pretty rare, but we have more here than anywhere else. Hasn’t your grandpa told you about ’em?”
“No.” I shook my head and looked at my friend with new eyes. All the bad grades and laziness—I figured there wasn’t anything Piran really cared about. But here it was. His face lit up like a firecracker as he told me about fairy crosses.
“Well, one story is that when the Cherokee were forced to leave this land, their tears fell to the ground and froze in the shape of little crosses. Did you know the Cherokee used to play sports where our ball field is? It was some old version of lacrosse. I found an arrowhead up there once.
“There’s another story about the fairy crosses. Some say when Jesus was crucified, the fairies here in the Appalachians could feel it and cried. Their tears fell to the ground in the shape of crosses.
“They’re considered really good luck. Even President Teddy Roosevelt carried one in his pocket.”
“That’s cool! You should have it.” I grinned and handed it to him.
“Naw, I can’t. You found it,” he said.
“I have my frogs,” I said. “And you have your rocks.”
He held it up to the light and spun it around with a smile. “Thanks!”
Danged if he didn’t find another one a short time later and give it to me. We had good luck times two, and Lord knows we needed it.
Chapter 26
Blackberries
Summer was in its prime. The little hairs on my arms stood out bleached blond against my brown skin, and the last signs of where my cast had been were officially gone. The soles of my feet were as tough as horse’s hooves, and my baseball hat was permanently attached to my head.
On the first day of July, Mom popped in my room. “It’s blackberry pickin’ day, Jack. Why don’t you call Piran and see if he wants to join us? We�
��re going someplace new.”
Picking blackberries meant driving outside of Coppertown! I leaped out of bed.
“Put on boots and a long-sleeved shirt,” Mom called from down the hall.
“I don’t need shoes,” I hollered back.
“You will where we’re going! Not an inch of skin showing, y’hear?”
My boots felt weird and too tight, like weights smotherin’ my toes. Long sleeves made my arms feel like they were wrapped in plaster again. I wasn’t used to having anything against my skin, and I didn’t like it.
Mom had torn the kitchen apart. She was buried deep in the pantry, rattling metal and glass. “Jack, grab these, will ya?”
She handed me box after box of half-pint mason jars and a basket full of metal lids and rings. She dusted herself off as she climbed out. “I wanted to see how many I had.” She smiled. “I’d say a good many!”
Every summer Mom would go to the Spencer farm to buy fresh fruits and veggies and then put up jars of tomatoes, fruit, jam, and beans—she loved to can. She said it was a carryover from her Beech Mountain days when they used to put up all sorts of food for winter.
“Nice thing about blackberries is they’re free,” she said. “Grab three buckets and the two coolers from your dad’s metal shop while I make some sandwiches.” She packed lunch into the smaller cooler and we loaded everything into the trunk of the car.
We were about to leave when Mom stopped and ran back to the house. “Almost forgot!” She returned with a can of bug spray—the logo was faded it was so old. “We’re gonna need this.”
We drove down to pick up Piran, who was also dressed in boots and a long-sleeved shirt. Mom nodded her approval and called out to Mrs. Quinn, “I’ll have him home before sunset, Doris.” We waved and headed out with high spirits.
Mom turned on the radio and we all sang along to the new song by Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, and Linda Ronstadt about wildflowers not caring where they grow, because they’re survivors. Mom’s pretty voice fit right in with the trio.
We headed west into the Tohachee River Gorge, but cut north on that same winding road I’d seen Eli go up when we’d gone pumpkin huntin’ before Halloween. The trees that had looked like Fruity Pebbles last fall were now covered in leaves of a million shades of green. The longer we drove, the more lush it became. Piran and I gaped out the windows at the Georgia pines that towered above us with their deep green needles and spiky gray trunks. Light fell across the road, playing tricks on our eyes as we sped through the mottled pattern of calm blue shadows and blinding sun.
“Where we goin’?” I asked.
“To a new blackberry patch your aunt Livvy told me about—up in a place called Devil’s Den, or at least that’s what it used to be called.”
My ears perked up. Why does that sound familiar?
“How’d it get that name?” Piran asked.
“There used to be a lot of moonshiners in these parts,” she said. “It was pretty wild in its day. But that’s all gone now.”
After an hour, she turned off the pavement into the woods and slowly drove up a long-forgotten dirt road. The car rocked wildly over the bumps and small ditches caused by rainwater runoff.
“There’s an old log cabin development up here,” Mom told us. “Remember a few years back when some developers from the city were gonna put in vacation rentals? They cut the road in and cleared some of the lots before they went bankrupt or somethin’. Now it’s one gigantic blackberry patch.”
About a quarter mile in, a small road cut off to the right to a run-down trailer. Animal skins were nailed to its sides and a hand-scrawled KEEP OUT! sign was nailed to a tree out front. But what really caught my attention was the yellow Jeep parked out front. “What’s Eli Munroe doin’ way out here?” I asked. A puzzle was coming together in my head, but it was like rememberin’ Grandma Chase—the pieces were fuzzy and I couldn’t make sense of ’em.
“I… I don’t know,” Mom said and revved the engine to speed by.
The weeds closed in around us as we drove another twenty minutes or so. They brushed against the car and slapped our arms until we rolled up the windows to keep from getting cut, or worse, losing an eye.
Finally, the dark woods gave way to a large open area, silvery white. We stopped right in the middle.
When Mom turned the key, a loud buzzing noise—as loud as a sawmill—replaced the sound of the engine.
“What is that?!” Piran yelled over the din. He covered his ears.
“Cicadas,” Mom shouted back. “It was on the news the other night. It’s their thirteen-year swarm. They’re really thick this year.”
“Chickadees?” Piran asked.
“No, cicadas,” she replied. “Sih-kay-duhs.”
Piran couldn’t say it right for nothin’. “I’ve never heard anything like it!” he said. “Do they bite or sting?”
“Cicadas won’t bother you, but the mosquitoes and chiggers will. C’mere, boys, let me spray you.” She covered us with so much bug spray from our necks down that we were wet with the stuff. Then she told us to close our eyes tight as she sprayed our heads. I was a toxic cloud.
Piran looked at me with a frown and whispered, “I better not be getting no bug bites.”
Mom sprayed herself too. “Yu’uns grab a bucket and get picking!”
I walked up to the tangled vines that created a dense wall of thorns in front of me. It took a minute for my eyes to get used to lookin’ for berries, but once they adjusted, berries were all I could see. There were still some red ones, but mostly I saw the deep purple masses of ripe, bumpy blackberries.
I had to try the first one—it wouldn’t have been right not to. It was so ripe, it fell into my hand when I touched it. I pressed it to the roof of my mouth with my tongue. The warm juice squirted, bitter and sweet at the same time, while the berry skin melted.
Piran pelted me with a handful of blackberries and I threw some back. It was an all-out blackberry war until Mom said, “Wastin’ blackberries just means less pie!”
Piran and I froze. My mom made the best blackberry pie in Coppertown. We hunkered down and got to work.
The next one I picked I dropped into my bucket with a satisfying plunk. I grabbed handfuls at a time and dropped them in until the sound went from plunk to thump, from the berries landin’ on top of each other.
It was an awkward job. I kept getting snagged on the thorns and spent more time trying to get loose than picking berries.
Piran hollered, “They keep falling down!”
“You have to cup your hand under them, sugar,” Mom said and came over to give us a proper lesson in blackberry pickin’. She looked at the scratches on my hands. “If you move really slow, the thorns won’t grab you. Here, watch me.”
She gracefully stretched her arm deep into a thicket and cupped her hand under a cluster of berries. Her fingers tickled them loose until they fell gently into her palm. She removed her arm just as slowly and didn’t get snagged once.
“See?” She smiled.
“Shouldn’t we be worried ’bout bears or mountain lions out here?” Piran asked.
“I imagine the sound of the car scared ’em off,” she said. “But I like to sing while I pick so I don’t accidentally surprise anything.”
We went back to our patches and she started singing “Keep on the Sunny Side.” Piran and I joined in at the chorus. Then we sang “Carry Me Across the Mountain” and “Angel Band”—old tunes we all knew from Music Fridays.
Picking berries like Mom showed us worked much better. I filled my bucket several times over and dumped the berries into the cooler. Between the singin’, the warm sun, the cicadas buzzing, and the slow moving, I was calm right down to my toes.
Which I suppose is why I didn’t notice the snake until he tried to squirm out from under my foot. I looked down, glad I’d only stepped on him li
ghtly—and smiled at his pretty copper colors and the interesting pattern that ran all over his back. We didn’t have snakes in Coppertown, so I had no idea what kind he was. He had a sharply angled head and was sort of fat. It’s no wonder he’s stuck, I thought. I lifted up my foot and he scooted away, more confused than scared.
“Cool snake,” I said.
“Snake?” Piran yelled from ten feet away.
“What?!” Mom shouted from twenty.
“I was standing on a snake,” I hollered.
“What did it look like?” Mom asked.
When I described it to her, I thought she was gonna have a heart attack. “Law’ me, that was a copperhead!” she said. “Come out of there right now!”
We rushed to the car and stopped to catch our breath. “How many buckets did you fill?” she asked but didn’t wait for me to answer. “We probably have enough for today.”
We stared at our haul in the cooler, which was full to the brim. “This’ll make some good pies, and we’ve got enough for canning too,” Mom said. “Let’s go find a nice spot for lunch.”
We piled into the car and drove back down the bumpy road. I noticed Eli’s Jeep was gone and wondered what was in that trailer that would make him drive all the way out here. I doubted Eli was pickin’ blackberries.
When we got to the main road, we hung a right and rolled down the windows, letting in a gust of hot air, but also lettin’ our bug-spray-and-sweat smell out. After a few miles we were back to the Tohachee River. We parked at a pull-off, where the river ran shallow and white as the water tumbled over rocks.
We grabbed the lunch cooler and sat on a huge flat boulder that jutted out into the river. I stared at the tulip poplars and pines that reached out over the banks as we ate peanut butter sandwiches and drank RC Colas.
“It’s hard to believe Coppertown used to look like this,” I said.
“I suppose,” Piran said, “but I like the way it is now.”
“The Red Hills do have their beautiful moments,” Mom said. “We can see as far as the horizon with nothing to block our view.”
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