Erma's Attic

by Deanna Edens

  He scratched at his jaw for a moment, “I ain’t never thought of it like that.”

  “Well, when I go up to visit Ida’s and Erma’s graves I always step on their graves. It’s the only way to place the flowers in the vases.”

  “Do ya visit their graves often?”

  “Yes, fairly often. Sometimes I sing to them, sometimes I cry, and sometimes I just sit and talk.”

  Will nodded his head and confessed, “Yeah, me too.” A blank expression suddenly crossed Will’s face as if an uninvited memory had forcibly pushed its way into his thoughts. He stared down at the floor for a few seconds before continuing, “What song do ya sing to ‘em when you visit their graves?”

  I paused for a moment before confessing, “Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

  “Free Bird?” Will seemed to ponder this judiciously. “You sing Lynyrd Skynyrd songs to ‘em?”

  “Yes,” my spine straightened, “what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothin’. I wasn’t judging ya.”

  “All right then, what do you sing when you visit Erma’s and Ida’s graves?”

  Will unexpectedly broke out in song, his deep baritone voice resonating throughout the farmhouse.

  There’s a land that is fairer than day,

  And by faith we can see it afar;

  For the Father waits over the way

  To prepare us a dwelling place there.

  In the sweet by and by,

  We shall meet on that beautiful shore;

  In the sweet by and by,

  We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

  “Wow! That’s hard to shake a stick at.” I winked at him, “You have a beautiful voice, Will.” I complimented my friend. “I had no idea you could sing.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d not mention this to anyone.”

  “Scout’s honor.” I held up three fingers, “I will never mention to a soul that you know how to sing.”

  “Thank ya.” He smacked his hand on the table. “I know what we need, Annie. Let me fix ya a drink,” he pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from his jacket pocket, “it will help ya relax.”

  I hesitantly agreed.

  “I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight,” Will suggested, “if ya think it would make ya feel any better.”

  “Do you think there is enough room on the sofa for both you and Hank?” I asked, as my eyebrow arched.

  He poured a double-shot into my glass and seemed to reflect on my declaration for a spell before soliciting further information, “Is that a fat pun?”

  “Yes,” I graciously accepted the glass, “Hank is getting heftier than a cow.”

  Will released a sigh of relief, “I’m sure glad you were talking about Hank and not me.” He patted his stomach, “I think I look fairly trim for a man approaching ninety years old. Although, I will admit my dryer seems to be shrinking my britches lately.”

  I laughed as I pulled out a chair and dropped down onto it, prompting Hank to relax his head on my feet. Will settled into a seat too, and absent-mindedly ran his fingertip around the edge of his glass. “Let me tell ya a joke I heard the other day.” He continued without looking up, “A farmer was hauling manure, and his truck broke down next to a mental institution. One of the patients leaned across the fence and asked, ‘What are you going to do with that manure?’ The farmer replied, ‘I’m gonna put it on my strawberries.’” Will started giggling before he could spit out the punch line. “The patient said, ‘We may be crazy, but we put whipped cream on ours.’”

  We started laughing so hard we could hardly catch our breath. I pounded my fist on the kitchen table. “You crack me up, Will!” I managed to squeak out. I could tell the drink he had fixed to help calm my nerves was definitely working.

  “Yeah, I figured you’d like that one since you’re studying psychology.” Will inhaled deeply as his gaze shot toward the ceiling, “Have ya ever thought about becoming a veterinarian?”

  Hank’s head suddenly boosted up alertly, “Huhh?”

  Charleston, West Virginia

  June 8, 1919

  “Blessings”

  {{6}}

  She shuddered when she recalled the man tossing a perfectly edible chicken egg at her, “I can’t imagine throwing an egg at someone. Can you, Ida?” Erma took a cool cloth and gently wiped the dried yolk from her hat.

  “He’s just lucky he was gone by the time we got outside,” Ida flung two pieces of ham into the frying pan, “we would have walloped him. And don’t worry about that hat, Erma. I’ll buy you another one on my next trip to New York.”

  Erma laid her hat on the kitchen table and walked to the front door of Ida’s apartment to snatch up the Charleston Newspaper. “Lord have mercy,” she murmured as she shuffled back into the kitchen.

  Ida twisted a kitchen towel in her hands, “What?”

  “There was another mining disaster three days ago.”

  “Here in West Virginia?”

  “No, this one was in Butte, Montana.” She quickly scanned the article, “The newspaper says there may still be men trapped in the mine.”

  “Read it to me,” Ida urged as she pulled the biscuits from the oven.

  “It says there are thirty-five known dead,” her eyes examined the article, “and still one hundred sixty-seven missing. Evidently a fire broke out in the Speculator Copper Mine and the gas spread to the Diamond Mine and took a further toll of life.”

  “That’s what happened to your daddy when he died in Red Ash Mine.”

  “Yep, which is why I still believe fighting for better working conditions for miners is a very worthy cause.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t a worthy cause, Erma.” Ida wobbled a spatula in her friends direction, “I’m just saying that if women had the right to vote, then maybe the United States could eventually have safe working conditions for everyone.”

  “Maybe,” Erma agreed. “All I know is that folks have been dying in mines for years and here we are in 1919 and it is still very dangerous work. It’s almost as if the companies who own mines don’t care if workers die or not. They think human lives are of no value.”

  “When you are poor, you will do whatever you have to do to provide for your family.”

  “I know, Ida. And, that’s what makes it even worse. They prey on poor folks.” She tossed the newspaper on the table and picked up her cup of tea. “Anyway, let’s eat up. I need ya to drive me home because I have a lot of work to tend to.”

  “Don’t you miss living here in the city, Erma? I still can’t imagine why you would prefer to live up Black Hollow Road in a dilapidated old farm house.”

  “I’ve told ya before,” Erma slathered butter on a biscuit, “it’s peaceful, quiet, and it reminds me of Mrs. Jones’ farm.” She gave her friend a pointed look, “Plus, it’s all I can afford.”

  “It’s so boring up there, Erma. I just don’t know how you can stand it.”

  Erma glared at her indignantly, “Ida, I realize it’s difficult for ya to understand but when I found the farm I felt as if it was a real blessing. I know it needs repairs, but for right now, I can make it work. I can remodel a little at a time, plus it is goin’ to be a great place to house my veterinarian clinic. I already have several patients and most of the people who live in Sissonville own farms and livestock, not to mention domestic animals.” She thought back over it all, “I can make a living there.”

  Ida flipped her hand in the air superficially, “I cannot fathom why you would consider it a blessing.”

  “Everyone gets different blessings,” Erma declared, “and I don’t think they count them as often as they should. Truthfully, when I consider all the blessings in my life, I am elated. It’s not as if I deserve any one of them, but the Lord has blessed me throughout my entire lifetime. If I consider where I could have ended up in life… most likely working in a filthy coal mine, to where I actually am, which is pursuing a college education – sometimes I need to pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming.” She dipped
a strainer full of black tea into her cup of steaming water, “I try to count my blessings every day.”

  “Give me an example” Ida asked, somewhat distractedly.

  “I have you as a friend, I have a wonderful mama and little brother, I am able to attend college, I have a job, and ever since mama threw our belongings in the wooden cart and pulled it through the sludge of Red Ash, I haven’t been hungry a day since. I am warm in the winter and…”

  Ida held up her hand to stop her, “I understand, Erma. You don’t need to tell me every one of your blessings. I get the gist.”

  Erma continued anyway, “I don’t think folks recognize their blessings often enough. You always hear people complaining about what they don’t have, or about what’s not perfect in their lives, but if they would count everything and everyone that is good in their life, they would sure be happier and more content.” She pondered on her own statement for a brief moment before expounding, “If they didn’t compare other folks’ lives with their own, they’d be better off, too.”

  “Erma,” Ida conveyed seriously, “life is not easy and it’s not perfect. Sometimes folks have a reason to complain.”

  Erma motioned for her friend to hand her another biscuit, “I agree. But, I am not gonna complain about anything God gives me, or anywhere He puts me. The Lord has taken care of me and it would be an insult to Him if I criticized His gifts. ‘Cause I have everything I need and nothin’ that I don’t.”

  Ida sighed heavily as she passed the plate to Erma, “You’re just too pleasant for me this early in the morning. Most civilized people aren’t even awake yet.”

  Erma cut a slice of ham and strategically placed it on her biscuit, “Seriously, Ida. What do ya think the world would be like if every morning when we woke up,” she made a broad swooshing motion with her arm, “everyone counted every single blessing they have?”

  “We’d all be happier?” Ida assumed this was where Erma was leading.

  “Yes, indeed. Not only would we all be happier, we would endeavor to make others happy. It really is our responsibility to share our blessings with those less fortunate. When you go about helping other people, it takes your mind off of your own problems, and makes you feel good about yourself.” Erma smacked her hand down hard on the kitchen table, causing Ida’s tea to slosh about before spilling over the brim. “Something just occurred to me and I have a wonderful idea!” Erma told her friend enthusiastically, “Why don’t we make a promise to ourselves?”

  “What kinda promise?” Ida posed, as she wiped up the tea that had trickled down the side of her cup.

  “Every day we should make it a point to bless someone else. It could be a neighbor, a family member, or a stranger. It doesn’t matter who we choose, we just need to make it our mission to be a blessing to one person every day. Just as God sent his angels down to watch over us, we should be an angel to someone in our life.” She reflected on her own declaration, “An angel right here on earth.”

  She suddenly hopped up from her chair, “Come to think of it, I wonder how many days I’ve wasted?” She deliberated on her own statement for a brief moment. “I probably have a lot of days to make up for. As a matter-of-fact, I’m gonna make it my calling to bless two people every day. I figure if I do this for a few years, eventually I will get caught up.”

  “You can start right here by being a blessing to me.” Ida handed Erma her teacup, “Could ya fix me another cup, please?”

  “Sure,” Erma avowed, “‘cause I’ve done decided that we are gonna be angels right here on earth, and savor all sorts of wondrous things we’ve been too busy to notice before.” She winked at her friend, “Are ya ready?”

  “I reckon.”

  Sissonville, West Virginia

  July 18, 1919

  “Angels”

  {{7}}

  Erma quivered when she opened her door to see Mr. Cramer standing on her threshold. He owned the only telephone in a five-mile radius and whenever he came knocking, she knew something was wrong. “Ida called from Charleston and wanted to make sure I delivered you the news.” He handed her a single piece of paper.

  “Thank ya, Mr. Cramer,” she replied, as she slowly closed the door and opened the handwritten note. “There was an explosion this morning in the Carswell Mine in Kimball, just west of Bluefield. Houston Collieries Company, who owns and operates the mine, is currently reporting the death toll could be as high as twenty-one men. They’re still searching for employees.”

  She flashed back to 1905, when her daddy had perished in Red Ash Mine. She remembered drifting in and out of sleep, as she sat with her mama and the other folks who lived in the small mining town, waiting and praying for the men trapped inside, as the sun went down and a slice of the moon replaced it. She vaguely recalled the folks from the town of Thurmond, who had come to comfort them. They had held a vigil through the long, dark hours of waiting and had brought blankets, hot tea, candles and plenty of prayers to help comfort the families of the men caught inside the mountain. Their efforts had gone unnoticed after the second explosion shot a flame out the drift mouth, but Erma had not forgotten the kind folks who had offered all they could – consolation.

  She figured she could make the drive to Kimball in about four hours and decided to return the favor she had been conferred so many years before. She gathered up blankets, even though the day was warm, because she knew firsthand that it was impossible to quit shivering when you were waiting at the edge of a collapsed mine. She filled jugs with water, wrapped numerous bologna sandwiches up in wax paper, and found a carton of candles and matches to take in case the rescue effort continued throughout the night. She remembered the crates of oranges she kept out in the barn to give to the folks who had been infected with the flu epidemic and tossed a big box of them into the back of the truck.

  She recollected that Ida was working at the Diamond Department Store today, so after piling up the back of her used Hurlburt two-ton truck, she set out for Charleston, with hopes that Ida could ride with her to Bluefield. She easily found a place to park on Capitol Street, even though it was a busy Friday morning, and hastily popped the gearshift into park.

  Erma recalled the first time she had seen the Diamond Department Store. It had been over four years since she and Ida had first moved to Charleston and started working there, and even to this day, she was amazed every time she gazed at the elaborate storefront façade. She pulled the door open to the department store and scanned the shoe department looking for Ida. She sighed with relief when she saw her helping an elderly gentleman at the cash register. After the man had completed his purchase, Erma stepped up to the counter.

  “What are ya doing here, Erma?”

  “Can you get someone to cover the rest of your shift?”

  Ida’s face dripped with concern, “Sure.” Her head tilted, “What is wrong? Is it the coal mining accident?”

  “Yes,” Erma whispered, “I’ve packed up the truck and am gonna go stand vigil with the folks.” She nervously twisted her hair with a finger, “And, I don’t want to go alone.” Her brow widened, “Will ya go with me?”

  “Yep, let me go ask Mr. Geary if he will allow me to leave.” Ida said, as she turned and walked back to the offices at the rear of the store.

  When Ida emerged from the offices she was nodding her head yes, and holding six thermos bottles in her arms. “Mr. Geary gave me these to take with us.”

  “He is such a kind man,” Erma said, as she lifted three of the bottles from Ida’s arms.

  “Yes, he is a fine man. He filled these up with coffee and even gave me some money to take to the families who might need help.”

  The drive down the narrow roads was long and bumpy, but after several hours they made their way almost to the mouth of Carswell Mine. The furrowed road ended and they had to walk the last half-mile through the red clay mud.

  As they approached the folks standing outside in the drizzling rain, she immediately identified with the horror depicted on their faces. She knew i
t well. She knew there were no words to adequately express the panic in their eyes nor the pain in their hearts. The women, children, and older folks had obviously bolted from their homes when they had heard the deafening roar and felt the ground trembling after the explosion had occurred. Their hair, uncombed. Their clothes, disheveled. Their blank faces caked with salty tears, as they stared hopelessly waiting for news. The wails of grief that Erma knew accompanied mining tragedies had momentarily ceased, most likely due to pure exhaustion. She overheard prayers being sent up to God.

  She and Ida spread a blanket on the damp ground, deposited the water, sandwiches, oranges, coffee, and candles on its top and went about praying with folks and offering them food, drink, and what few comforting words they could muster.

  Hours had passed before several men emerged from the vent of the mine. Erma noticed one woman rushing toward a man covered in black coal dust, “Her husband,” she figured, as she saw streams of joyful tears cascading down the woman’s face.

  A man wearing a filthy company suit stood on top of a shipping container and shouted, “We have found nine men and they are on their way out. Keep praying!” he pleaded, before he stooped his head into the shaft of the mine and vanished again. As each of the men appeared from the pit of the mine, women and children ran toward them, and Erma wondered how the anguished family members could even recognize their husbands or fathers, who were covered from head to toe with black coal soot. Only the whites of their eyes were discernible.

  Erma felt a tug at her sleeve and glimpsed down to see a small girl, her long brown braid flowing down her back. The dark circles under her eyes caused a twinge of sympathy to stir deep within Erma’s heart.

  “Can I have one of those?” the child asked, as she pointed toward the oranges.

  “An orange? Sure,” Erma stretched down and handed one to the child, “would ya like a sandwich?”

  “No,” the little girl answered, “I’ve never had an orange before and I was just wonderin’ what they tasted like.”