Sadie's Mountain

by Shelby Rebecca

  “I’m not going to push you away this time. Things have changed.” Yeah, I scared Donnie away for a while.

  “I know they have,” he says, his eyes twinkling under the chandelier lamp. He looks at me lovingly.

  “My momma told me something the other day that’s been bothering me.”

  “What?”

  “That she had miscarriages.”

  “It’s a common problem here,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “The elevated levels of toxins in the water supply. West Virginia ranks second in coal production. We have higher rates of birth defects than the rest of the country. It’s very likely that the coal plant that was here did some damages to our water supply back in the forties and fifties.”

  “Where did you go to college?”

  “The University of West Virginia.”

  “Oh, I thought you went away.”

  “They gave me a full scholarship all the way up to my Doctorate in Biochemistry and Molecular Biology. Plus I wanted to stay close. In case you came back.”

  “How were you so...?”

  “Sure? I’ve always known, Sadie.”

  “I just don’t think I’m worthy of all this.”

  “I’m not worthy of you, baby. I let you get hurt. I couldn’t help you.”

  “What happened to me is neither of our faults. Stop blaming yourself.” There’s only one person to blame, I think

  He looks far off in thought, pained as if he’s reliving how he found me in the creek. I’m thinking about what he said about my Momma’s miscarriages. “Let me ask you about the water supply. So, does that mean my momma is sick because of the coal plant that was here?”

  “It would be hard to prove, but I’d say it’s a likely cause,” he says, rubbing his bruised chin with his long thin fingers. I’m trying to make sense of that as the waiter brings our deep-dish pizza and sets it on the red and white checkered tablecloth. The scent of the bread and the sauce, the cheese and the veggies reminds my stomach that it’s empty. All day, I’ve only eaten a few carrots and potatoes from the chicken soup.

  Dillon pulls on a piece of steaming pizza with cheese stretching out until it’s set on the white plate and hands it to me. I take the first bite, even though it burns my tongue. It tastes so good, the crust flaky, the cheese salty, the veggies perfectly cooked, and the spices blooming in my mouth, that I don’t look up again until the whole piece is gone. When I do, he’s smiling, holding a nibbled piece of crust between his long fingers.

  “Do you want some more?”

  “I’m really full.”

  “Okay, baby. Let’s go then.”

  “Can we write our names on the wall?” He smiles and picks up the white pen they leave just for that reason.

  ‘Dillon loves Sadie,’ he writes. “Are you ready to go?” he asks. I nod. “I don’t want to keep them waiting on you,” he says, smiling. We walk out, hand-in-hand, my tummy full, and my head swimming with all this new information. My momma is sick because of coal. She’s dying too soon because of coal. I’m on a mission. This won’t stop until a change happens. A shift. My ability to write and Dillon’s science background makes for a perfect match.

  “Let’s do this,” I say, getting into the car.

  I’m greeted by so many Christians inside the Episcopal church on Taylor Road. Luckily, we didn’t have to come to my Daddy’s old church, Ansted Baptist. Its red carpet and sun-like circular window above the platform would remind me of the guilt I had all my life when I did something wrong.

  “We’re so glad you came,” says Reverend Morris. “Please, have a seat, you two.” The group has made a chair-circle and have drawings and charts up on a board in the meeting room. They really look like they know their stuff.

  “We’re expectin’ the EPA to grant the permit to the coal company most likely on Monday or Tuesday of next week,” he says to the circle.

  “So soon?” says another man, grey haired and with a calming voice.

  “Yes, Bob. But we’re real lucky to have Miss Sadie Sparks here this evening ‘cause she has an idea for an action we would be able ta use against ‘em when they do grant the permit.”

  “Yes. Thank you for inviting me. I’m not sure if you all know, but my momma is on her death bed and all she’s asking of me is to save Gauley Mountain.”

  “I’m sorry, Sadie. I didn’t know,” Reverend Morris says. “We’ll be praying for her. I’ll have her put on the prayer chain this evenin’.”

  “Thank you,” I say, swallowing hard. “I really need to get back to her, but my idea is to do the Hands Across the Sand idea except call it Hands Across the Mountain. In this case, we will go up to the blast site and grasp hands in unity. The coal company will not be able to detonate without hurting one of us, so they won’t do it. It will cause the media to take notice. I’ll write a press release, send it to all of my media contacts, and post it on my blog, too. We will end up getting a lot of people to support our cause publicly. Hopefully, we’ll get some of the major networks. My hope is that this movement will be enough opposition that they will decide to withdraw on their own.”

  “Do you think it will work?” says a woman introduced to me as Nina.

  “As long as we have enough people to go up in shifts over an extended period of time, then yes.”

  “Would people actually get hurt up there?” asks a woman with a light grey bubble cut.

  “No, hopefully not. They won’t be able to detonate with us up there,” I say.

  “We have to organize this but I’m sure we’ll have enough people,” Reverend Morris says.

  “I think this is an excellent idea,” Dillon says, taking my hand in his. Live wires! It makes me blush. “My only concern,” he says, “is that the coal company will block us from being able to go up the road.”

  “In that case, we’d have to go on foot or on horseback. If that does happen, we should be ready for Plan B,” I say.

  Nina is writing and the others, including Reverend Morris, are nodding and discussing enthusiastically.

  I look at Dillon and he knows I’m anxious to leave. “We’d really better get going,” he says, standing up and I follow.

  “Thank you so much for coming out this evening, Sadie. I really think this is going to work,” Reverend Morris says.

  “It has to,” I say, shaking his hand. It has to.

  As Dillon’s tires pummel the rocks up to Momma’s house, there are no less than eight cars parked along the drive.

  “Dillon?” I question.

  “Sadie, if there’d been a change, Missy would have called. That’s Pastor Cole’s car,” Dillon says, pointing to a silver Pontiac.

  “Who?”

  “He took over the church when your Daddy passed on.”

  “Okay,” I say, nodding to make it right in my head. I’ve got to go in and speak to the people I know from the past. The people who know what happened to me. The people whose judgment I’ve been running from for years. I have no choice but to deal with this, with them. I hold onto the door handle with a shaky hand.

  “I’m right here, darlin’,” Dillon says, in the dark.

  “This is a private matter. I don’t want them here.”

  “It might be what your momma wants, okay? Can you do this for her?”

  “For her,” I say, to make sense of it. It’s been all about me for so long. I haven’t had to think about others until now.

  “Are you ready?” I nod as he kisses the top of my hand. I open the car door and that’s when I hear them. They’ve always been so showy in their praying, especially when speaking in tongues, the language they believe speaks right to God. Their prayers echo around rebounding in waves off the leaves of the trees. It makes my head ache and my chest burn with anxiety.

  This is not about me. This is for Momma, I think as we open the door and face death, face their response to it. They are calling to God with their songs, with their foreign sounding made-up words. Dillon holds my hand as we go up the stairs. I�
�ve got to say goodbye to my momma.

  Chapter Twenty—A Fiery Peace

  As we walk into the house, the prayers become even louder, momentarily stunning me. Then I see Elise and little Joe tucked under some covers on the couch, and a tall stocky man standing in the kitchen. He’s drinking some water when he sees us and walks into the living room.

  “Dillon, long time, no see,” he says, with his arm reaching out to shake Dillon’s hand.

  “Dale, it’s great to see you,” he responds as his arm shakes up and down.

  “Who’s this pretty lady?” he asks, looking at me.

  “This is your sister-in-law, Sadie.”

  “Sadie,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Dale, Missy’s husband.”

  I reach my shaky hand out to meet his. I look him in the eye, briefly and he looks concerned. “Hi, Dale.”

  “I’m sorry ‘bout your momma,” he says, bowing his head a bit and looking down. The sounds coming from the stairs are rushed and heavy; the foreign words are bouncing around like a ball thrown too hard in a square room. My stomach is churning around and around. I regret eating that pizza, even though it was so good.

  “I can’t do this,” I state, as if it’s a fact we all know to be true.

  “Anything I can do?” Dale asks Dillon.

  “She’s having a hard time dealing with all the visitors,” Dillon explains.

  “Heck, we can just ask ‘em to go on home. It’s late,” Dale decides.

  Upstairs, I hear a man’s voice saying, “Lord, we pray for healing,. In Jesus’ name, Lord. Heal this woman, let her get up and walk, Lord!” His words make me sour and bitter. I feel a ball of fury, of anger, of resentment growing in my gut. How dare he demand healing? He should be praying for her to feel peace, not asking for what isn’t even possible.

  I start walking toward the stairs as if in a trance. Dillon comes up next to me, holds my hand, and heads up the stairs with me. It makes me dizzy so I stop midway up the staircase. I close my eyes and breathe. I listen to the sounds of the prayers. They sound like childhood—both good and bad.

  Their songs pull on a string attached to a memory in my brain. The echoes of memories, of melodies, voices bouncing off the walls in church are all coming back to me. I remember how Momma’s off-key voice comforted me as Daddy stood up behind the podium looking handsome in his grey suit. Missy was to one side of me. Momma to the other. I remember the scent of the church, like Sunday bests, watered-down coffee, wooden pews rubbed with oil. I remember the hue of the red carpet. The way my shoes sunk into it just enough not to click as I walked down the aisle.

  I remember how all of us singing together felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket. How it touched my heart. I remember the way Momma looked from below, as I was so little, while she raised her arms to the Lord, her fingers reaching gently like a dancer’s would. Her arms swaying. Her face at peace. That’s how I want her to feel now. If they do that for her, if these prayers make her feel good, then I’m glad they’re here—I have to be, for her.

  As I walk down the hallway, my breathing has quickened so much that my limbs are tingling. My heart thumps. My scalp prickles and my face feels puffy and hot. The voices are loud, but I tell myself that they are soothing, even though my body says to run away, to hide in a corner. They are just people after all. They are people I know. They are people who once loved me.

  I look up at Dillon just before we make it to the entrance of Momma’s room. He looks worried. His eyebrows are furrowed. His mouth in a thin line. His jaw is clenched. He squeezes my hand and I force myself to smile. Not a fake smile. A real one meant just for him. I look back at the open doorway and walk in. Momma looks pale. Her mouth is open as if her jaw is not strong enough to keep it closed anymore. Her eyelids are slightly open. She’s completely still.

  Dillon lets go of my hand as I walk past everyone, tuning out all of the singing. It’s as if Momma and I are alone. I stand by her bed; tilt my head sideways so I can look at her straight on. I pick up her hand. She feels so cold, but I can hear her slight breaths, breaths that sound like she’s gargling marbles, so I know I’m not too late.

  “Momma,” I say. She stirs and squeezes my hand, her mouth closes and her eyes open and find mine. “I want you to know how much I love you, to thank you for being there for me all of my life. For loving me no matter what.” She smiles ever so slightly. “There’s so much that’s honorable about you, right down to the core-good. Anything that’s good in me, it came from you. From everything you taught me. And I just want to thank you for letting me go even though it broke your heart. You are so selfless. I’m so sorry that I left you. I really, really am. But I want you to know that I will protect the mountain. I’m staying here with Dillon. I’ve decided to move here and take my life back.”

  She nods her head. Her voice is gone. I know she cannot answer me. It pricks a hole in my chest. I will never hear Momma’s voice again. I grit my teeth, my legs collapse and I put my head down on the bed. I hear them praying again. For a while I’d tuned them out, but now I hear them singing. Some are praying. Some are speaking in tongues. The room is spinning although I’m completely still. I feel the bile start to rise in my throat. I need to run but my legs feel about as sturdy as water.

  “Dillon,” I say. I feel him picking me up in his arms like a weightless flower. “I’m going to throw up,” I say, putting my hand over my stomach.

  He walks me toward the bathroom, setting me on my knees in front of the white porcelain. Everything comes up. My pain, my fear. It’s emptied out of me until I feel as though I could float away.

  “Do you need a doctor?” he asks. I realize he’s holding my ponytail back for me.

  “No, Dillon. Please. Don’t embarrass me. I just need to sit here a minute to catch my breath.” My knees are pressing into a pink bathroom rug. I remember this bathroom rug, actually. She’s had it a long time. I lean into Dillon’s chest as he reaches up, grabbing a washcloth from the towel rack. I hear the water run. I close my eyes as he washes my face with the warm cloth that smells like Momma’s soap.

  I realize that my chest is sweaty and my eyes feel like they are bulging out even though my eyelids are closed. He wets the cloth again and unties my scarf. He runs the warmth soothingly along the back of my neck. My whole body aches. I wish I were numb. But I don’t want to slip into that hollow reality. I want to be here for Momma.

  “I need to go back,” I say. My throat is so sore.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “I need some mouthwash.”

  “Let me look,” he says, as I hear him rummaging through the cabinet under the sink. I keep my eyes shut. The light hurts my brain. It feels like knives piercing into the soft tissues behind my eyes. He hands me a little cup and I swish, and he stands me up next to the sink so I can spit. I splash my face with water. When I open my eyes, I’m shocked by what I see in the mirror. This is not the ‘me’ I’m used to. This woman has been through it. What stands out the most are the deep-set eyes with gloomy circles around them the color of night. My skin actually looks to be olive green. And without my scarf, I can see the scars on my neck. Three of them. Two short, one long. I lean down to pick up my scarf. As I’m tying it around my neck...

  “Momma!” Missy yelps from the deepest part of her soul. My eyes dart to Dillon and he looks panicked. His eyes are too wide. I don’t want to go. I’m stuck for a moment. I know my Momma is gone, but my legs turn into springs beneath me. They run of their own free will.

  Verta Lee, our church secretary, is wringing her hands in the doorway. “She’s gone,” she says, her eyes watering as I run past her. Missy is holding Momma’s hands but I can’t look at her yet. I’m too scared.

  The familiar people in the room are defeated. Their last minute pleas to God did not work. I’m no longer angry with them. All of their intentions came from a good place in their hearts. I know that. I feel their sadness. The room is enveloped in it. As I walk toward the bed, I catch a strong
scent of some flower that never existed before—very strong, pungent, but sweet and soothing.

  I don’t know what tells me this, but somewhere in my depth, I know this scent is Momma’s spirit, freed from the body that betrayed her and wasn’t strong enough to hold her any longer. It feels as though her spirit is joyful, free. I’m glad for her. Sad for me, for Missy, for the boys, who I realize have been here all along. But I’m happy for her. I take in her jubilant scent; make it a part of me. I hold it in. I feel Dillon standing behind me. He touches my arm, and I reach back inviting him to come with me as I say goodbye to the shell that used to be my momma.

  I touch Missy’s back. She’s shivering. I still haven’t looked at Momma. “Do you smell it?” she asks me.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “We all do, dear,” says Verta Lee. I look at her and nod my head. Missy stands up and grabs me. Her knees buckle under her and I struggle to hold up her slight frame. She’s always been so solid, so resilient. “This ain’t fair,” she says, into my neck. Her body is full of tremors. I hold her and let her grieve. “It ain’t right!” she yells. It’s so true. We knew she was leaving, but knowing it and actually having it happen are two different things.

  “Thank you for all you did for Momma,” I say. She squeezes me tighter; her cries are coming up from her gut. I still smell the flowers. I breathe them in. “You did such a good job,” I say. I don’t have tears. I’m solemn. This doesn’t feel real.

  Behind her, Dale comes up and rubs her back. He’s got his head down, and when he lifts it, I see that he’s wiping his eyes with a white handkerchief. Her legs must take form again because I feel her lessen her grip on my shoulders. She kisses me on the cheek.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” she says, turning around and letting Dale take her out of the room. That’s when I notice Jake and Seth are rubbing their eyes as they stand on the other side of the bed. They are both looking at her. They look quietly resigned but there seems to be despondency in their eyes. They aren’t as angry as Missy.

  I close my eyes. “Dillon,” I whisper. I hear crying, some soft, some loud and sniffley. I feel him come up behind me. His body is warm, and radiates kindness. “I can’t look at her,” I say. “What does she look like?”