Breaker Boy

by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  Dad took Corey to the office, where Anthony was already waiting. “Corey is back again, and eager to work in the mine,” Dad told Mr. McBride, one of the supervisors. “The boys are interested in becoming mule drivers.”

  “We do have an opening for one mule driver coming up soon, and there will be more jobs available once the new mules come in from Tennessee. Why don’t I take you boys down to the stables. There may be some drivers grooming and feeding their mules down there—that’s part of the job, you know. The mule drivers love their mules, as you’ve probably heard. But it takes a bit of work to get used to the job—and to the mules.” Mr. McBride stood up and signaled for Corey and Anthony to follow him. “Come along.”

  “I’ll come too,” Dad said. “You’re going my way anyhow.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re working on that new shaft—what do you call it?”

  “The North Star Chamber,” Dad answered. “It heads due north. We’re quite a way into the mountain now. We’ll be dynamiting again soon. I found a big vein of anthracite that needs to be opened up.”

  The two men, with Corey and Anthony a few steps behind, went to where the empty coal cars rolled down deep into the mine, to be refilled with coal. “Since this car is empty and ready to go back, we’ll ride in this, instead of taking the elevator cage,” Mr. McBride suggested.

  “Keep your heads down, boys,” Dad warned. “In some places you’ll only be a few inches under the rock ceiling.”

  “It would be a bad blow if you hit your head,” Mr. McBride agreed as they climbed in.

  They crouched as the coal car began its swift trip down the tracks with the stone roof just inches above them. The darkness gathered, and Corey noticed the various shades of blackness as they descended deeper into the earth. The excitement and adventure he felt at first quickly gave way to uneasiness, and then dread. The ceiling in the downhill shaft was flashing by close above their heads.

  “Hey, this is fun!” Anthony yelled.

  Corey didn’t think it was fun. He was feeling sick, and even though the mine was cold, Corey was sweating. He struggled to take off his coat.

  “Keep your coat on, Corey,” Dad ordered. “You don’t have room to take it off.”

  Corey hardly heard his father’s voice. The rhythmic knocking of the cart on the tracks reminded Corey of the stories his Welsh grandfather told him about the Coblynau, the evil elves who live in the mines, waiting to cause disaster.

  Clank! Clank! Clank! The sound gave Corey a headache. The clicking wheels and the momentum as the car careened down the shaft, the rock walls that flew by in a blur, and the black hole into which they were descending were all that Corey could now hear or see. He was dizzy and sick to his stomach. If he could just remove his hot jacket . . . He pulled at his coat frantically, ripping the buttons off.

  I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t breathe. Corey got to his knees and then tried to stand and escape the terrifying descent into the abyss.

  “Corey! No!” shouted his father. “Stay down!”

  “You’ll smash your brains out!” Mr. McBride yelled. But Corey seemed unaware of the danger. Then, as the car dove under another narrow ceiling, Mr. McBride threw himself across Corey and pinned him to the floor of the coal car.

  When he awoke, Corey was in the makeshift first aid room in the mine. He was resting on a cot, and his father stood over him, pale as a ghost. Mr. McBride was gone, but Corey remembered the mine boss throwing himself on top of him—and that was all he could recall.

  He sat up and looked at his father. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispered, and then hung his head. “I couldn’t help it. It was just like my dreams. I was drowning and I had to get out—I had to escape from that stone ceiling and get air.”

  Anthony peeked in from outside the room. “Are you okay now, Corey?”

  “I’m fine,” Corey answered, but his voice trembled.

  “You’ll be fine,” Dad assured him. “Mr. McBride pushed you down just in time.”

  “I spoiled everything, didn’t I?” Corey asked tearfully. “Are you ashamed of me, Dad?”

  “It’s my fault for bringing you down here. I never thought the dream would come back while you were awake.” Dad sat next to Corey on the cot and put his arm around Corey’s shoulders. “Are you all right now? Or do you need to get out of the mine?”

  Corey looked around the room. The stone walls and ceiling had been painted white to look like a hospital room. It didn’t make any difference. The cold harshness of the mine was still all around him, pressing him in. “Dad, please get me out of here.”

  “Come on.” Dad helped Corey off the cot, and they headed out into the gangway—the working center of the mine, where Anthony was waiting.

  “It’s okay, Corey,” Anthony said. “We can see the mules some other time.”

  Corey still felt the mine closing in on him as he entered the great chamber. He closed his eyes as the choking feeling started again.

  “Keep your eyes closed, and I’ll lead you. The elevator to bring you to the surface is not far away. Just concentrate on my voice,” Dad told him.

  Corey stumbled along as Dad pulled him across the stony floor, with Anthony following. “My head is hurting,” he mumbled to Anthony. “I have to close my eyes.” Did Anthony understand what had happened?

  He heard familiar sounds—a mule’s strange whinny somewhere nearby, wheels of a coal car, men’s voices, and the clanking of picks and shovels as miners dug into the walls. He hoped no one could see him being led by his father like a scared little kid.

  “You’ll be up out of the mine soon,” Dad said, helping Corey into the cage that would bring him to the surface.

  Corey opened his eyes briefly to see he was being pulled up. It wasn’t fast, like the coal car he had come down in. Instead, it made its way slowly up to the daylight above. He knew that Anthony stood silently nearby in the cage, probably wondering what was wrong with Corey.

  When Corey felt the sunlight envelop him, he relaxed, knowing he was no longer under the earth. Corey gave his friend a weak smile, and Anthony grinned and nodded.

  “You’ll be all right, Corey,” Dad whispered. “Do you want to go home now?”

  “Yes, I want to go home.”

  “How about you, Anthony?”

  “I’ll stay for a while. Mr. McBride says he’ll show me around the stables, and then I can eat lunch with my dad.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Dad agreed. “You can tell Corey all about it.”

  Corey really wanted to see the mules—not just to hear about them from Anthony. New mules were coming soon, Mr. McBride had said. This would be the time to make a decision and even get his own mule that he would care for and ride. It would belong to the mining company, of course, but he heard that the drivers loved their mules and felt ownership of them, and the mules felt the same way.

  However, the mules all lived in their stables down in the mine. Corey knew that he could never go down into the mine again.

  8

  Accusations

  Corey hardly noticed the long walk. He dreaded explaining to Mom, who’d said just this morning that she was counting on him, that he’d failed his family and couldn’t work down in the mine after all.

  He was relieved when he looked behind and saw his father running to catch up with him. “I thought I should be with you to explain to Mom what happened,” Dad said breathlessly. “You had a tough day. I guess it’s going to take more time for you to get over almost drowning.”

  Was Corey imagining disappointment in Dad’s voice? “I’m awful sorry, Dad.”

  “It’s been a month,” Dad said. “You should be over this by now.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Corey said.

  “Corey, you don’t have to give in to those feelings,” Dad said. He put his arm around Corey’s shoulder. “Be brave and fight the fear. You’ll get over it.”

  Corey kicked a stone. Dad thinks I’m not brave. He thinks I give in and don’t
fight. He just doesn’t understand.

  As they turned into their patch, Dad found a ball on the side of the road. “Run ahead and we can pitch a few back and forth.”

  Corey ran forward, and Dad pitched the ball. Corey reached up and caught it easily. They pitched back and forth until they reached their house. “You’re a good catcher and pitcher, son,” Dad told him. “I heard the Mountain Crest breaker boys have a good team. If you get a job at the mine, you can join them. They’ll be playing for the valley championship this year. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “It doesn’t look like I’ll ever get to work for the mine after what happened today.”

  “Get over it, Corey,” said Dad, heading into the house. “Just get over it.”

  Every night when Dad got home, he’d go into the kitchen to bathe. Mom would stay to scrub his back, and then, when he finished bathing, he’d come out relaxed and happy and ready to hear everyone’s tale of the day.

  Tonight was no different. Mom brought in the tub, filled it with hot water from the stove, and made it sudsy with soap. Then Dad closed the door. Corey knew his father had had a hard day too, all because of Corey. Dad was disappointed and worried. How could Corey help the family if he couldn’t work?

  It was during his bath that Dad must have told Mom what had happened at the mine today. Mom was quieter when she came out of the kitchen, and Corey figured she knew.

  Corey decided that tonight, when the family was clustered in the parlor, he’d give them their surprises and cheer them up. He would feel better when he saw their happy expressions. Only he’d never explain that he had charged the gifts at the company store. I’ll find a way to pay the bill. But for now, I just want to see everyone smile and be happy.

  After Dad’s bath, Corey carried the big tub out into the yard, spilling the suds along the way. Then when it was empty, he put it back in the shed. Now he was alone and able to pull out the bag full of surprises that he’d hidden yesterday when he got home.

  Ah, there it was, tucked underneath the bottom shelf, exactly as he’d left it. He threw away the company store bag, then wrapped the gifts into an old towel that hung on the drying rack. Before anyone could see and ask what he was carrying, he ran through the house and up the stairs.

  His brothers were still outside playing, so the bedroom was empty as he poured the items onto the bed. He looked over Mom’s castile soap in the shape of shells. They were packed in a pretty box with a picture of the seashore. She could use the box for her special things after the soap was gone.

  Corey was sure his brothers would be happy with the Hershey’s bars and the whistles.

  Dad’s socks and leather coin purse were nice too. Corey couldn’t wait to surprise everyone. He’d do it after supper, when everyone was relaxed. He pushed the gifts under his bed.

  Later, after the dishes were done and his brothers had gone upstairs, Corey explained to Mom what happened to him in the mine.

  “When I went down into the mine, I felt sick. I’ll be all right, Mom. Just a little while longer and I’ll go to work.”

  “Sure you will,” Mom agreed.

  “Why don’t I just become a breaker boy?” Corey suggested. “They work on the breaker, not down in the mine.”

  Mom nodded. “We’ll see.”

  “We’ll talk about it another day,” Dad said.

  “Good idea,” Corey agreed. “Let’s not talk about the mine tonight. I have a surprise for all of you.”

  “A surprise?” Mom asked.

  “You may have forgotten that today’s my birthday. I’m twelve now, and—”

  “Oh, we didn’t forget, son,” Dad said quickly. “It’s just that . . .”

  “I know, there wasn’t enough money for gifts this year, but I wanted to give you all something special, just to make everyone happy and feel good for a change.”

  Having heard the word “surprise,” Jack and Sammy flew down the stairs. “A surprise? For us? What is it? Tell us, Corey!”

  Corey went up to his bedroom and brought down the gifts. “These are for you kids,” he said, handing the boys the Hershey’s bars.

  “Oh, we love Hershey’s bars,” Jack said, carefully unwrapping the paper.

  Sammy ripped off the wrapper and bit into the candy. “Thanks, Corey.”

  “But that’s not all,” Corey said, passing them the two whistles.

  Jack dropped the candy bar and blew the whistle over and over again.

  Sammy tried the whistle, but his mouth was too full of chocolate.

  “It was nice of your brother to give you the whistles,” Mom said to the boys. “But please don’t blow them in the house.”

  “And now your present, Mom.” Corey smiled as he handed his mother the pretty box of soap.

  “For me?” She looked at the box quizzically. “What is this? Shells?” She read the box. “Oh, it’s castile soap. That’s lovely, Corey. Thank you. I’ve never had pure castile soap in my life.” She looked over at her husband.

  “And here’s yours, Dad.” Corey handed him the socks and the change purse. “The purse is real leather.”

  Dad took them in his hand and turned them over and over. “Corey, where did you get the money to pay for these gifts?”

  “You always told me, ‘When someone gives you a gift, don’t ask how much it cost. It’s not polite.’ ”

  “This soap must have been expensive,” Mom said. “It’s something I would never buy.”

  “Did you buy anything else?” Dad asked.

  “Yes, I bought one of those purses for myself and one for Anthony,” Corey answered.

  “Where did you get the money?” Dad asked again.

  Corey shifted from one foot to another and his fists tightened. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  “We are happy,” Mom said quickly. “We just wonder where the money came from for you to buy us these very nice gifts.”

  “They only cost three or four dollars.”

  “Only three or four dollars!” Mom exclaimed. “Four dollars would buy enough food for a week for this family.”

  “You always told me not to ask how much money a gift cost.”

  “We need to know because you didn’t have any money to spend,” Mom said.

  “What does it matter where I got the money? It’s the thought that counts, not the price. You always say that, too.” He felt hot inside as anger welled up. “I wanted to surprise you. Now you’ve spoiled everything.”

  Dad took a deep breath, put his hands on Corey’s shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye. “I need to know, Corey. Did you steal these things?”

  Corey couldn’t speak. His mouth went dry as disbelief flooded over him. How could Dad ask such a question? Didn’t he know Corey would never take something that didn’t belong to him?

  “Can’t you answer, Corey?” Dad continued. “Perhaps I asked the wrong question. Let me ask you this instead. Did you steal money to buy these things?”

  Corey stared at his father as if he were a stranger. “I never stole anything in my life.” He turned and ran up the stairs to the bedroom and slammed the door.

  9

  Trust

  Corey fell onto the bed and pulled the pillow over his head to silence his sobs. He’d wanted to surprise his family with the gifts and make them smile for a change. Instead, Mom and Dad had accused him of stealing.

  I’ll never forgive them, Corey vowed.

  He stopped crying, pushed the pillow aside, and listened. He could hear the shrill sounds of his brothers as they played with their whistles.

  “Stop blowing those whistles!” Mom yelled.

  “Go out on the porch,” Dad ordered Jack and Sammy. “Mom and I need to talk.”

  I should have known whistles would drive Mom crazy. Everything bothers her, including us.

  For a while, things were quiet downstairs, and Corey wondered what was happening. Not that he cared.

  He could hear muffled voices from below, and he was certain they were discu
ssing him. Then he heard footsteps up the stairs. Corey braced himself for more questions. He’d planned to tell his parents about the company store sometime, but that would be after the bill was paid, and by then there would be no need to confess. He took a deep breath, pulled the pillow over his face, and waited.

  “Corey?” A soft knock sounded on the door, and then Mom’s voice. “I’m coming in.”

  “No. I want to be alone.” He would not make this easy for either of them.

  “Please, Corey. Come on,” she pleaded. “We’re sorry we accused you of stealing. We know you would never steal anything. Just tell us where you got the money. That’s all we need to know.”

  “No. I will not tell you—even if you do think I stole it, which I didn’t.” Corey would never give in. He could hear them whispering.

  “All right, you win. We won’t ask you again,” Mom promised. “Now may I come in?”

  Corey wanted everything to be peaceful. He hated it when there were arguments in the family. “All right. But I have something to say—once and for all.” He was surprised at the firmness in his own voice.

  Mom came into the room. “Dad’s here. Can he come in too?” she asked.

  “I suppose so,” Corey said. “But no more pointing fingers at me as if I’ve done something wrong.”

  His parents came into the room, looking sheepish. “We love you, Corey,” Mom said, “and we’re sorry that we thought you might have—”

  “Now, listen,” he said, interrupting her. “If you want me to leave school and go to work every day of my life, then you’ve got to trust me.”

  “We do—” Dad started to say.

  “No, you do not. You should know I’ve never stolen anything. You taught me right from wrong. So you’d better have faith in me.”

  “In other words, you won’t tell us where you got the money,” Dad said.