And as I look at the flowers, I realize, there’s no place I’d rather be.
Chapter Thirty—Across The Mountain
I tap my toe on the wood floor in Momma’s living room waiting for the right time to leave. We’ve got to make all of our preparations for Hands Across The Mountain tomorrow morning. There are still so many people here, family members and people from church, that leaving now would seem rude.
Dillon’s been talking to my brothers about momma and about being more involved in their lives. He’s exuding nervous energy though, and sometimes when he says something to them, it’s too loud, but they don’t seem to mind.
Aunt Lotty comes into the living room from the kitchen. I’m sure she’s washed a whole heap of dishes. Her hands look pruney.
“What’s goin’ on, Sadie?” she asks me.
“Just a lot going on.”
“Is it being around all these people?”
“No, Aunt Lotty. I found out earlier today that Gauley Mountain is going to be demolished tomorrow. Have you heard of mountaintop coal mining?”
“I have, yes. I read an article about it. Our Gauley? That’s horrible,” she says, her face scrunched up in protest as she sits down in the chair across from the couch.
“I really need to start writing my press release.”
“Your what?”
“Well, Dillon and I are going to try and stop it.”
“Well, honey, that’s really nice of you to write something for them.”
“No, I mean, I’m going up on the mountain tomorrow, too.” The look on her face changes from oh-that’s-nice to what-the-heck?
“This isn’t like you at all, Sadie. You’re usually so safe. So controlled. This sounds reckless.”
“A lot has changed since I’ve been back,” I say, looking over to Dillon, wishing I were holding his hand.
“Yes, I see. But this is dangerous, isn’t it?”
“I just can’t stand by and watch the mountain I grew up on raped and emptied,” I say, louder than I’d expected. With Aunt Lotty, I’ve always felt comfortable enough to speak my mind. But now I’ve I caught Missy’s attention. She stands there for a moment, and then walks over to us, crosses her arms and glowers down at me.
“Missy, don’t start. I’m not going to change my mind,” I say, flicking my eyes away from her and squaring my jaw. In the corner of my eye, I see her arms uncross, and it seems like she uncoils and relaxes. When I move my eyes up, she looks vulnerable. Sad.
“Missy?” I ask, confused.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Sadie.” That’s what this is about?
“I won’t. We’ll be careful. I have daddy’s gun.”
“But now you’re stayin’ here. People ain’t gonna like it if you take sides.”
“Aren’t you comin’ back to California?” Aunt Lotty asks.
“No, I’m not. I know it’s a shock, but I’ve decided to move here. Dillon bought us a house.”
“You’re movin’ back here?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m not getting run out of here this time. Plus, we’re in love,” I say. I feel the blush come across my cheeks in a warm wave.
“Sadie, that’s great news,” she says. “But isn’t, I mean, the man who, you know... He’s never been caught, has he?” she asks, in a soft concerned tone.
“Not yet.”
“Yet?” Aunt Lotty says, her eyebrows shooting up.
“It should be just a few days.”
“What are you talkin’ ‘bout, Sadie? You told? Who did you tell?” asks Missy, sitting down next to me.
“I told the state police,” I say, to these two stunned women who look at me like I’ve just grown an extra arm.
“Does Dillon know?” Missy asks. I bite my thumbnail and nod my head yes.
“Oh my gosh,” Aunt Lotty says, as a mist forms over her eyes. “In all the things you’ve done, I’ve always been so proud of you. But, this is just such a brave thing to do,” she says. “Telling your secret, standing up against mountaintop coal mining, of all things,” she says, looking at Dillon as he sits on a chair by the window with his ankle resting on his knee. “I guess I ought to thank him for the change in you,” she says.
“I guess I ought to, too,” I say.
She leans into me real close and whispers, “And he’s real good lookin’,” she says, grabbing her purse.
“Are you leavin’?” Missy asks, the shock of me telling my secret hasn’t worn off.
“I am, honey,” Aunt Lotty says. “I’ve got an early flight,” she adds as she wraps Missy up in a hug. As she turns to me, she puts her hands on her hips. Before I know it, I’m in her familiar arms.
“You done good,” she says into my ear as she squeezes me. “I love you, honey,” she says. “You better come visit me. I know you have a real momma, but you’re the closest thing I have to a child ‘a my own.”
“I love you, Aunt Lotty,” I say, before she slips out and disappears into her car in the dark driveway.
When I turn to Missy, she says, “What can I do?”
“About what?”
“To help.”
“Do you mean with the mountain?” She bites onto her bottom lip and squeaks out a half smile.
“That’s what I’m sayin’. You’d better take advantage of me while I’m all soft-hearted and willin’ to help.”
I look at Dillon and Reverend Morris, who’s been waiting patiently. “Well, we could use your table, a laptop, and the phone.”
We stand up and she pulls me into a hug. She feels so small in my arms, like little bones wrapped in skin.
With that, we dive in. Hands Across the Mountain is in full swing.
As I spend too much time crafting, tweaking, and finalizing the perfect press release, Missy calls local media. I glow with pride. Missy, helping us. It’s almost too much to take all at once.
Once I’m done with the press release, Jenny sends it to all of my media contacts and posts it on my blog.
I can’t stop to think, to process this. It’s all in a blur as I start getting calls on Momma’s, now Missy and Dale’s, phone to schedule interviews.
“Why don’t you just agree to a press conference at 7:00 a.m.?” Dillon says.
“I can’t believe the amount of press that’s gonna be there,” Reverend Morris says, holding the map.
“How many people are coming with us?” Dillon asks.
“We’ve lined up good numbers, about forty people,” he says.
Together, atop the old wood table of my childhood, we go over the map again and again, checking for routes to take if we have to go up on horseback.
It’s then that I find out, it’s the back side of the mountain they are going to demolish—hollow out the center, make it look like the façade of a real mountain—one that’s dead inside. And if they do, Rich Creek will be no longer. It makes my eyes sting—this kind of cry reserved only for people or things that I love the most.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts about the desecration of Gauley Mountain, about the death of Rich Creek, I don’t even notice Reverend Morris leave.
Dillon’s voice comes in through my jumbled mind as I’m going over and over what we have to do tomorrow.
“It’s time to go, darlin’,” he says.
My stomach is coiled up in knots when I shake my head and look up at him. “Oh, okay,” I say and look at Missy.
She smiles at me. It’s a forgiving smile. A proud smile. A sisterly smile.
I walk over and give her a hug. “Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” she says, and looks at me with the kindest expression. “Be careful tomorrow, lil’ girl.”
“We will,” I say, as Dillon and I make our way out to the car sitting in the dark. As we walk out, my hand in his, I wonder if Donnie might be watching us. Even though I doubt he’ll do anything to us right now, I push daddy’s gun into my hip to remind me I’m safe. There’s still some of Momma’s family in the house. He’s no
t that reckless, is he?
I’m standing in the kitchen trying to remember what I walked in here for when I hear Dillon’s footsteps searching for me.
“I’m in here,” I say, as I realize I wanted a glass of water. I pick up the glass and turn on the faucet.
Well water tastes like childhood, I think as I take a sip. Through the underside of the glass, I see Dillon standing in the doorframe holding something. I put down the water and swallow hard.
“I want you to wear this,” Dillon says, holding a gun harness like the one he had on during the funeral. “Do you know how to use it?”
“I’ve never worn one,” I say, as I bite my thumbnail.
“Here, let me put it on you,” he says, standing behind me while he straps it on under my left arm. I hold still as he adjusts the straps, taking the time to make sure it’s on properly. It reminds me a bit of guardian angel wings strapped to my back. Like the kind I wore to a Halloween party when I was a kid—except this is no party. This is something real—something I might not be ready for.
“See, you just reach across like this,” he says, moving my right arm across my chest and shoving my hand inside where the gun will be.
“Go get your Daddy’s gun,” he says, impassively.
I walk quickly up the stairs to find my purse. My eyes dart around until I find the vintage Coach sitting innocently on the fluffy couch. I reach my hand inside and find Daddy’s cold gun lying in wait. As I stroke my fingers across the sepia colored handle, I wonder if I really have it in me to use it. It’s been such a long, long time since Daddy showed me how to aim with one eye shut and pull the trigger.
When I come back to the kitchen, he’s on the phone, “...but you’ll be there,” he says. “Okay, thank you, Officer Howard.”
I walk over to the mirror in the dining room—an ornate mirror that must have come with the house. I hear Dillon talking to someone else. It must be the state police.
I run my fingertips along the engravings in the metal gun and catch my eyes looking back at me in the mirror. I usually avoid looking at them. They have always reminded me that I’m not right—that things are wrong deep inside. But as I stand here, my moss green eyes have taken on a foreign appearance. They don’t look dead or empty. They look alive with worry, alive with a different kind of scared. I take the gun and place it in the holster, feel how it presses against the ribs on my left side until it hurts.
In front of no one but myself, I reach across my chest and pull out the gun, point it and know. I can do this. If he comes near me again, I’ll do what I have to do to survive.
Something in my eyes looks different, that’s for sure, I think as I look at them from behind the barrel of my Daddy’s gun. Is this what Donnie will see just before he’s dead? My lips curl at the thought of it. Of him being gone. Of this being over. It feels like poison in my blood. I need an antidote.
“Sadie?” Dillon says, in a curious tone.
I put the gun down and look at him. He’s wringing his hands.
“What were you doing? Practicing?”
“Yeah,” I say, putting the gun back in the holster and biting my thumbnail.
“Do you want to shoot it outside? I can take you out to the woods and let you try.”
“No. I think it’s like riding a bike. You never forget,” I say. “What did Officer Howard say?”
“He agreed to be there and keep an eye out,” he says. “But he does say that our rally is against the law and we can’t block the coal company from using their permit.”
“Or what?”
“Or they can arrest us.” I can’t even think about that right now, I think as I close my eyes and rub my temples.
“What about Sergeant Daniels from the state police?”
“He wasn’t as forthcoming, but he said he doesn’t think they’ll be ready with an arrest warrant for a few more days—unless he does something to one of us in the meantime.”
The look on his face, the concern written in the creases of his forehead, makes my head pound like a hammer against the skull. We’ve made up our minds. Donnie could do this anywhere at any time. It could be a surprise attack out in public or he could sneak in here at night. He’s a cop so he could find us anywhere we went to hide. There’s nothing we can do to change it.
This is for my momma, I tell myself. This is the only thing she asked of me. I know it’s not my fault—leaving her—but I’ve got to fill myself with bravery. I’ve got to.
“Come with me,” he says, impassively, resolute.
He takes my hand and walks me up the stairs, past all the rooms we’ve plans to fill with all our babies. I touch my tummy and wonder which room will be this one’s. Even though I haven’t taken a test, it’s just something I know to be true, just like the sky is blue, or air is see-through. I am carrying Dillon’s child. I have to be. It makes me smile.
Even just from the touch of his hands, I know that Dillon’s charged with emotions. But it isn’t until we lie down together in the king sized canopy bed of my dreams that I realize, as he shows me with his fervent kisses, his needy hands, his ardent drive to connect with me, just how scared he is to mess this up—to lose everything.
Still shaking from the tremors of release, he’s hovering above me on his forearms. My blood pumps too fast through my veins as he looks so far into my eyes that I have no more secrets; I can tell him no more lies, “Everything will change tomorrow. Good or bad, it won’t be the same,” he says, through hitched breaths.
I feel his meaning so deep within my bones that I shiver. He kisses me again like he means it, like we are on a precipice together, and tucks me under his arm. I twirl my fingers through the light hair on his chest and worry about tomorrow.
It’s still dark out as we sip coffee while standing in the kitchen. I’m dressed in my faded jeans, a black t-shirt, a coat that used to be Missy’s, and the brown boots I wore that fateful day when my life changed forever. I wish I didn’t have to wear them, but they’re the only pair I have for running around in the West Virginia mountains. I feel uneasiness bubble up like boiling water. “What are we going to do if they block the road?” I say, the words forcing themselves up through my knotted throat.
“We’re coming back for the horses,” he says. “But we stay with the group. Let me see your gun,” he says, and I lift my jacket to show him the harness and Daddy’s gun tucked inside.
We walk out to the car, and strange thoughts start rolling around in my brain. I know I need to do this for Momma, but I wish we could just run, hide somewhere and never come out until this is over.
It’s an anxiety ridden drive up the back of Gauley Mountain with our backs pressed into the seats. Dillon puts his hand on my knee and his shoulders look as though he’s holding the weight of the world.
The road winds around like a board game. When we come around a corner to take the road toward the blast sight, the line of cars comes into view.
“Are you ready for this?” Dillon asks. When he turns to face me, I see dread in his eyes.
“It’s going to be okay. Look at all the people here,” I say, fake-shrugging my shoulders.
He hugs the curve and pulls over to the side of the road. He pulls out his phone and taps the screen.
“Reverend Morris?... Okay...Well, we’ll come out and take a look...” He squints his eyes, looking a few cars up ahead.
He puts his phone down. “They blocked the road but there’s a podium set up for the press conference. We’ll head back to get the horses after that. Okay?”
“Sounds good,” I say, swallowing hard. My body can hardly contain the nerves coming up like a mini earthquake. As I open the car door, the sounds of so many people knock me sideways. There’s honking horns and people holding signs. There are media vans with their antennas high enough to meet with their mother ships in town.
“Wow,” I say, as Dillon comes around to my side, protectively, and gives me his hand.
“There she is!” yells a man with a camera rushing towar
d us. “Are you Sadie Sparks, the author?”
“Yes.” I’m barely able to respond before I’m surrounded. Dillon squeezes my hand.
“How do you feel about the turnout to your Hands Across the Mountain Rally?”
I stop and smile. It’s the fake smile I reserve for my book signings and readings, for giving autographs. “I’m honored to be a part of this effort to stop the destruction of Gauley Mountain. I grew up here and this is an amazing town that doesn’t deserve this. Blowing the top off this mountain would be doing a disservice to the community. We’re a tourist town now and...”
“Don’t turn your lights on, then!” yells a man with a sign that says, “Coal Keeps the Lights On.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re opposed to this specific method for getting coal. Why don’t they come back and use the mines they left behind before they go blowing up a mountain as old as the beginning of time?”
Much of the crowd begins to surround us so I back myself into the tall dirt bank with trees sticking out of it like forks stuck in the mud.
“We don’t need no outsiders comin’ in here, no tree huggers takin’ away our jobs!” yells another man holding a dark black “Coal” sign with white letters.
Dillon has his arm around my back. He’s tense and full of angst. “Are you okay, Sadie?” he asks.
For a moment, I want to run, to hide under his arm like a baby bird. But this is my town, and these are my people. Out of the corner of my eye I see the white police cruiser that Donnie drives.
He gets out and stands near the crowd, moves his hand to his gun, and widens his stance, his face impassive. He’s trying to intimidate me. For a brief moment it works. I put my head down, squeeze my eyes shut. I have to will myself to stand up against the rape of Appalachia.
It’s not just momma wanting the mountain safe. In a way, what I’ve just realized is I want to protect Gauley mountain like I wasn’t able to protect myself from being used, emptied, and left to die. This is about momma, but this is also about me. About my family being safe, about my future children growing up on untainted land.
Sadie's Mountain Page 29