Breaker Boy

by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  “We would’ve won, but some of our best players moved away,” Paddy added.

  “We’re gonna have tryouts Saturday afternoon at the field next to the park,” Charlie said, ignoring the interruptions. “So, are you in?”

  “Well, yeah, but . . .” Corey really wanted to be on the team but wasn’t sure if Mom would need him at home on Sunday.

  “Oh, come on,” Charlie begged. “We need fresh new players. We want to smash the other team on Sunday and get set up for the season.”

  “Okay, I’ll try out, but I’m not sure if I’ll be goin’ to Sans Souci Park this weekend,” Corey repeated.

  “Never mind tryin’ out if you ain’t goin’ to play,” Charlie said, spitting on the ground. “We need players who’ll be there at every game.” He turned on his heel and walked away, with his pals tagging along behind.

  26

  Knockers?

  Corey continued on his way, thinking about the ball team. It would be fun to be on a championship team. Even Dad hoped Corey would make the team. No matter how bad the work was, looking forward to playing baseball on a team made the job of a breaker boy bearable. Yes, he’d try out for the team and make sure he’d play on Sunday at the park.

  Corey soon came to Abby’s shortcut to Mrs. Chudzik’s and paused for a moment when he saw the gaping entrance to the old mine at the bottom of the cliff. He hadn’t panicked the day he waited by the cave entry while Dad and Mr. Russell went inside. What would happen if he went in a little way today, by himself? Would it work today? Why not give it a try?

  He headed toward the face of the cliff. The air was fresh and a gentle breeze brought that pleasant scent of pine trees. He’d be fine. He wouldn’t go far into the mine. He couldn’t, anyway, since it was blocked from a cave-in years ago. He’d stay calm if he walked just a short way into the tunnel.

  When he approached the opening, a gust of cool wind chilled him. He took a deep breath. “I am all right. Just lookin’ around,” he told himself casually. “I don’t have to stay. I can leave whenever I want.” He remembered that he must believe those words, or they wouldn’t work. So he thought them again, concentrating on each one, as he went into the cave.

  The opening of the mine was huge, and there was plenty of room to walk around, just as he remembered. Maybe he could go a little farther—just a few feet or so. He was not afraid. There was nothing at all to be afraid of.

  He walked to the passageway near the back wall and headed even deeper into the mountain. He could still stand up and move around, but now the way was cluttered with boulders and dirt.

  Corey had to climb over some of the boulders that had fallen. I’ll just do ten more steps, and then I’ll leave, he decided.

  One, two, three, four, five. The pathway was tighter now, and he could see only darkness ahead—or was it a wall of stone? He mustn’t concentrate on the shadows or the cluttered passage. He would think only of the next five steps and then he would leave.

  Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

  He did it! Next time he’d go for fifteen steps, and after that he’d aim for twenty. That’s how Mrs. Chudzik said it would work. Corey was about to turn and leave, when suddenly he heard something.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  It was coming from deep within the old mine, and he stopped walking. What could it be? No one has worked this mine in fifty years or more.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  It was faint and faraway. But it was real and it was as if the mountain itself was sending a message—a warning. Abby had heard knocking when she’d been caught in the pipe. The knockers. They were known to warn of cave-ins.

  I won’t let that old tale frighten me. This tunnel has existed for years, and the cave-in was long ago. There’s a cause of the knocking, and it’s not fairy-tale elves. I’ll stay calm. I’m not afraid. I can choose to leave whenever I want.

  KNOCK! KNOCK!

  And . . . I choose to leave right now!

  Corey turned around in the narrow passageway and then bolted back to the bright sunshine outside.

  Corey bounded toward Mrs. Chudzik’s house to tell her his news, when he saw Abby in her front yard.

  He raced over to ask her if she had told anyone about what really happened up on the cliff. “Hey, Abby, how are you?” he asked as he approached her. “I haven’t seen you since you fell into the pipe.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Papa said you helped him find the pipe the next day.”

  “Uh-huh.” Corey switched from one foot to the other. “Abby, did you tell your father what happened up there? About me, I mean. How I wasn’t any help at all.”

  “I made up my mind I wouldn’t tell anyone what happened to you, and I didn’t.”

  “I came over the next morning to apologize to your folks, but your dad and mom were so nice to me, I wasn’t sure whether they knew or not, so I didn’t say anything.”

  “No one knows except you and me, Corey.”

  Corey hated to even remember that awful day, let alone talk about it with anyone. He drew a letter C on the ground, with the toe of his boot. “I guess it’s better not to say anything to anyone, now that it’s over, anyway. I hope I can make it up to you someday.”

  “I hope that you’ll get better someday.” She turned to go back into her house.

  “Wait.” Corey took hold of Abby’s arm. “I am being treated for my sickness.”

  “You are?”

  “Mrs. Chudzik is helping me. I went into the entrance to the old mine—just a few minutes ago—and followed the tunnel a short way. I didn’t panic or get sick. Next time I’ll go in deeper.”

  “I’m glad you’re getting help, Corey.” She turned to walk away again.

  “I heard the knockers while I was there.”

  “Did you?” Abby wheeled around. “I heard them when I was down in the pipe.” She paused for a minute, then headed to the back door.

  Corey called to her. “Are we still friends?”

  Abby didn’t answer.

  Feeling gloomy, he headed to Mrs. Chudzik’s house. He hoped Abby would forgive him, especially since she’d seen how helpless he’d been up there on the mountain. He must have looked dim-witted, clinging to that tree.

  Just then he heard Abby call out, “Corey! Corey!”

  He stopped and looked back. “What?”

  “We’re still friends.”

  Before he could answer, Abby scooted into her house.

  27

  Off-Limits

  Hovi’s throaty, fierce bark and the clicking of his paws on the hardwood floor were familiar to Corey by now. Most folks would beeline it out of here in a flash and never know what a sweet dog he really is, Corey thought.

  The door opened and Mrs. Chudzik peered out. She had her glasses on and her eyes looked huge.

  Hovi pushed her aside with his nose and, as usual, jumped on Corey, lapping his face.

  “Down, boy,” Corey said as Hovi jumped again, nuzzling his nose under Corey’s chin.

  “Down, Hovi,” Mrs. Chudzik commanded. The dog sat, but his tail wagged furiously. “Now, Corey. Are you in some kind of trouble again?”

  “No. I came to tell you that I went a little way into the old mine today, and I told myself that I was fine, that nothing could hurt me. I did all the things you told me, and I didn’t panic. I think I’m going to be better.”

  “Well, that’s a good start and shows you can be stronger than those fears.” She opened the door wide and motioned him in. “Come in. No need to stand at the door.”

  Corey went into the house. “I know my phobia won’t go away real quick, but I thought it was a good start too.”

  “Be careful not to go into the mine too far just to try things out. One never knows what might be going on inside the mountain, like flooding or black damp—you know, deadly gas.” She paused, thinking. “Here you are trying to get over your phobia, and here I am talking about danger in the mine. That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  “No one c
an get into the mine that way, Mrs. Chudzik. The tunnel to the gangway is blocked with boulders and rocks.” Corey followed her into the kitchen with Hovi at his heels, then sat at his usual place at the table. Hovi settled down on the floor near him.

  “Now, tell me what happened at the old mine today,” she said, and sat opposite him.

  Corey related how he’d recited the positive words over and over. “I kept telling myself I was in control, and I wasn’t afraid and could leave whenever I wanted.”

  “And how did you feel?”

  “I felt fine. Like you said, I took deep breaths and walked just ten steps into the tunnel. That was all. Next time I’ll do fifteen steps. And then twenty . . . a little at a time.” Corey smiled. “I think—I know—that I’ll get over the panicky feeling, and maybe the dreams, too, if I keep doing what you said.”

  “Well, ten steps is a big accomplishment. Some people might take only two steps to start.

  “I went into town today and made an arrangement to have the mine closed up tight. They will seal up the entrance and the pipe sometime next week.” Mrs. Chudzik poured water into the kettle and placed it on a burner. “I have decided to have milk and biscuits. You may join me if you want, but first, you must wash your hands.”

  Corey could feel his face flush as he looked down at the coal dust, dirt, and blood from the fight that encrusted his hands, fingers, and nails. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Chudzik. I haven’t been home yet.”

  She turned on the tap and placed a towel by the sink. “Wash up,” she said as she took milk from the icebox and poured two glasses.

  Corey was mortified as he soaped his hands and held his breath when they stung. After washing his hands and face, he looked at the once-clean towel, now black with coal dust and dirt.

  Mrs. Chudzik was watching him. “Well, are you going to tell me or not?”

  “Tell you what?” Corey asked.

  “You were obviously in a fight today. Black eyes and bruises don’t appear out of nowhere.”

  “Some of the breaker boys ganged up on me.”

  “Why?” Mrs. Chudzik sat at the table again and took off her thick glasses. “I am waiting to hear the story.”

  How could he ever tell Mrs. Chudzik that the boys broke the jar of ointment and claimed Mrs. Chudzik was a witch? How could he explain that that’s what the fight was about?

  Instead he said, “I can’t remember just what started it, but the boss came in and stopped it, and it’s all over now. Sometimes right in the middle of a fight, the boys get another idea in their heads and move on to something else. Then they forget to be mad. In fact, the boys that fought with me asked me to try out for the baseball team on Saturday.”

  “Fight and then forget. I suppose that’s better than holding a grudge forever.” She put biscuits and jam on the table. “Best thing to do when there’s a fight is to mind your own business and walk away before arguments turn into fights. That’s what I do. I stay away from things that don’t concern me. I have also found that people can be cruel; it’s easier to have nothing to do with anyone.” Then Mrs. Chudzik asked, “How is your mother, Corey? Isn’t the baby due soon?”

  “Yes, very soon.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine. She’s already had three healthy babies.”

  Corey was about to smear jam on his biscuit but stopped—the knife in midair. “Why wouldn’t she be fine? Mom says that women are made to have babies.”

  “Of course they are, and your mother is right. Perhaps you will have a baby sister next time I see you.”

  Corey continued spreading the jam and stuffed the biscuit into his mouth. He was about to leave when Mrs. Chudzik looked at the clock.

  “Why don’t I drive you home? It’s getting late, and we don’t want your mother to be worried—especially now.” She got up and took her keys from a hook. I’ll meet you out in the driveway, Corey. You go ahead while I get my purse.”

  Hovi got up, stretched, and looked at Mrs. Chudzik expectantly, his tail wagging. “He knows when I get my purse that he’s going to take a ride,” she explained.

  Corey walked down the hallway toward the front door, when he realized the parlor door was open. He paused to peek into the dark room. The coffin was still there, resting on tall, heavy pedestals. Both the coffin and the stands were made of ebony or another black wood and carved with terrifying figures. He’d never noticed the forms the night he almost drowned. He tiptoed into the parlor to take a better look.

  Snakes, with fangs ready to strike, wound around carved vines on the coffin and the pedestals; a bat, wings outstretched and a dead mouse in its mouth, guarded the head of the coffin; skulls grinned at him from the corners. Smaller images of angels and demons filled in every space.

  Corey shuddered at the gruesome sculptures, unaware Mrs. Chudzik had come into the parlor. He recoiled when he heard her ask in a hostile voice, “What are you doing in here?”

  28

  The Reason Why

  Corey wheeled around to see Mrs. Chudzik standing with her arms folded across her chest, glaring at him. “I . . . wanted to see the . . . things on the coffin . . . the snakes and stuff. I don’t remember noticing them the night I almost drowned.”

  “Are you satisfied now?”

  “Uh-huh. I guess so,” Corey answered in a shaky voice. “I just kinda wondered . . .”

  “Wondered what?”

  “Why . . . you sleep in that coffin?” There, he couldn’t believe he said it right out. As he watched Mrs. Chudzik’s eyes darken, and her mouth tighten into a thin line, a cold fear crept over him. Goose bumps prickled his arms and neck. Was he about to see her turn into that creature everyone believed her to be?

  “I do not sleep in that coffin.” The words spit out of her mouth.

  “But . . . but I saw you in there that night.” Corey couldn’t stop himself. It was as if suddenly all the questions he had, needed answers right now.

  Mrs. Chudzik remained silent.

  He swallowed hard. “Did I dream it—when I was unconscious?”

  Mrs. Chudzik pointed to the door. “Get in the car.”

  As Corey followed her, he felt sick. She’d saved his life, and helped him in a dozen other ways. Now he could tell she was furious. Why did I ask those questions? Now I’ve ruined our friendship.

  Hovi jumped into the back while Mrs. Chudzik and Corey got into the car’s front seats. She started up the engine and, without a word, propelled out of the driveway and down the street.

  After a few minutes, Corey couldn’t stand the silence between them any longer. “Mrs. Chudzik? I’m sorry I went into the parlor. I was in there before, and I didn’t think you would mind.”

  She looked straight ahead and didn’t answer.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” he pleaded. “I’d feel awful bad if we aren’t friends anymore.” He looked away and watched the blurry trees go by, remembering the tree he had clutched up on the cliff. It had been rigid and unbending, but he’d clung to it anyway and felt protected. “I don’t care one whit that you have a coffin in the parlor.”

  Corey felt Hovi’s tongue lapping his neck from the backseat. At least Hovi still cared about him.

  Mrs. Chudzik pulled the car over to the side of the road, stopped the engine, and turned to him. “I understand you have questions about the coffin,” she said in a softer voice. “I know it’s not normal to keep something like that in the parlor.”

  “Lots of kids ask me about it, since they saw me ride in your car.”

  “What do you tell them?”

  “I say that I don’t know anything and it’s none of their business why you keep the coffin in your parlor. I tell them that you saved my life. But they think I’m lying, and . . . well, that’s what the fight was about.”

  “I think it’s time you have some answers, Corey. I don’t want you to fight over our friendship.

  “It’s all about sadness,” she said, clasping her hands. “When my husband, Paul, brought me to this country, we nev
er thought it would matter that I was from Poland and spoke little English. I hoped my license to practice as a doctor would be recognized. But it wasn’t. The people in the town loved Dr. Chudzik—Paul—and they welcomed me, too. After all, the mining families here were from Poland, Czechoslovakia . . . everywhere. And most of them didn’t speak English either. I was granted my license as a nurse as long as I practiced directly under a doctor. So I was able to help the miners and their families, but always at Paul’s side.”

  There was a silence while Mrs. Chudzik looked off, as if remembering. Corey noticed her face soften and she looked younger.

  “When Paul died, I was completely alone and abandoned. I missed him so much that I thought I would die. In fact, I hoped I would die.” She put her hands to her face. After a moment, she went on. “You see, no one came to comfort me. I was totally alone. I withdrew from the community, which I felt had discarded me. I hid from everyone, except for Hovi.” She leaned back and patted the dog’s head. “I had the coffin put into my parlor. When I needed to be near Paul, I would lie in the coffin and think about him and how someday I hoped we’d be together again.”

  She looked at Corey and he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “It was a comfort for me to be near him. I don’t sleep there. I pray there.”

  Corey didn’t know what to say, but he understood.

  It was sad to think no one had cared about her when she needed people to care. Instead, they’d left her all alone, after all the good things Dr. Chudzik had done for the miners and the people in the town.

  “So now you know. I’ve never told anyone. Yes, you did see me in the coffin. I’m sure it frightened you when you walked in that night. It’s a favorite topic in the town’s gossip.”

  Corey nodded. “Yes, it is.” There’s a lot more gossip about Mrs. Chudzik and Hovi than that. But Corey wouldn’t tell her that right now. Maybe not ever.

  “Corey, one reason I felt comfortable with you is that you never asked me about anything. You and your family accepted me just the way I am. . . .”