Breaker Boy

by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  As the boys headed into the passageway and retraced their steps to the pipe, Corey asked Richie, “Were you able to get out of the pipe easily?”

  “Let me tell you that Abby is as strong as an angry heifer. She pulled me up so fast I thought I’d end up on the moon.” They reached the pipe, and Richie pointed ahead. “See? This passage continues.”

  “Let’s follow it. Maybe we’ll find another way out,” Corey said, moving on.

  The three friends continued walking. Richie led the way with his Davy light piercing the blackness. The path was gradually leading uphill.

  Where was this pathway taking them? Would it just lead to a dead end? No, this passage was not carved or blasted out of sheer rock just to go nowhere, Corey told himself. There had to be a reason. There must be an exit or something ahead.

  Richie stopped suddenly. “We’re at the end of the path. There’s only a wall in front of me.”

  “Is it stone?” Corey asked, disappointed.

  Richie gave the wall a blow with his pick. “No. It’s soft—like soil or dirt or maybe moss.”

  “Shh! Listen,” Anthony whispered. “I hear something.”

  The boys were silent.

  Then Richie said, “I hear a howling sound—like the wind.”

  Anthony disagreed. “No, it’s an animal, and we’re heading right into its den.”

  “It’s more like someone knocking,” Corey insisted.

  For a moment, the boys were silent again. Then they exclaimed in unison, “The knockers!”

  45

  Babcia

  The boys trembled in the narrow passageway. “There’s no such thing as knockers,” Corey said after a few moments. “Mrs. Chudzik said so. And she knows everything.”

  “So what is it, then?” Anthony asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Corey said. “We need to find another exit, and this might be the way. It’s not hard stone here. Move aside, Richie. Let me see.” He took his own pick and poked at the wall in front of them. Dirt and moss fell out onto the floor.

  “It’s the end of the tunnel,” Anthony said.

  “If we pick away at this, it may be an opening,” Corey said. Then he had a horrible thought. “What if it’s the river behind this wall? If we let in the river, it would flood the mine and drown everyone.”

  “Are we near the river?” Anthony asked.

  “We’re heading in that direction,” said Corey.

  “Then what should we do?” Richie said.

  Corey recalled the circles on the map that Mr. Russell had made. One was obviously the pipe they had used to enter the mine. “There were two circles—one is where the pipe is, which they think was for ventilation, and one was this place at the end of the path. So if the circles show ventilation, then the one here, at the end of the path, must be a way to get air into the mine too—maybe to keep this whole area clear of gases.”

  “Do we dare take the chance?” Richie asked.

  Corey reached out with his hand and felt the wall ahead of them. It was mossy and damp.

  “The wailing and knocking we heard might come from an animal den. If it is, then it’s not the river,” Anthony suggested.

  “I’ll chop away some more.” Corey was already hacking at the barrier. “I’ll do fifty chops, and then we’ll see if there are any signs of water.” One, two, three . . . the dirt poured out in clumps and roots and soil and collected on the floor of the tunnel.

  “If you do fifty chops, the whole thing could cave in on us, and then what?” Anthony asked. “The river would blow us off our feet and we’d drown.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Corey said, remembering how the thought of the river filling the mine had sent him into a panic.

  “We have the walls around us,” Richie said. “The dirt can’t fill up this whole tunnel, can it?”

  Corey continued picking away at the dirt wall in front of him. “We can always run back, if it becomes a landslide.”

  “But not if it’s the river,” Anthony moaned.

  “Oh, now I’ve lost count. I’ll just keep at it until I get tired,” Corey said. The dirt was piling up, and he stepped back. “Let’s get this out of the way somehow.”

  Richie turned his pick sideways and pulled the dirt away with it. “I should have brought a shovel.”

  Corey chopped feverishly. “Just make do. I’ve got to find if this goes anywhere.”

  “Or you may be opening into a den of wolves or bears,” Anthony muttered.

  Corey stopped to listen. “I hear those scratching and moaning sounds again.”

  “They’re louder and closer, too,” Richie agreed.

  Corey punched the dirt in front of him, and more dirt and clay flowed out. “I can see roots,” he said. “We’re under a tree or something with roots.”

  “It’s been years since anyone dug anything around here,” Anthony noted. “Trees have taken root and grown. At least it’s not the river.”

  “Now I wish we had a saw and an axe.” Corey stopped to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Maybe one of you can go back and get them. We’re so close, and all we have is picks. It will take forever to cut away tree roots with picks.”

  “I’ll go,” Anthony said. “I’ll see if someone brought a rake, too.”

  “You can’t carry all that by yourself. Why don’t both of you go—and you can find out if they’ve broken through that South Chamber wall and found my dad.”

  “Will you be all right?” Anthony asked.

  “Sure, I’m all right. I’m going to get Dad out of this place. I just hope . . . it’s not too late.” Corey’s voice broke and he swallowed hard. “Go on. Both of you. Get the tools and tell the others what we’ve found here. Hurry.”

  “We’ll be back soon,” Anthony promised.

  “I’ll keep pounding away until you get back.” Corey could already hear the fading sounds of their footsteps as he wielded his pick at the dirt wall ahead of him.

  Corey had no idea how much time passed as he whacked away at the soil. It was almost up to his knees where it had fallen into the passageway. He came upon a root that was knotted around itself, and this time he angrily concentrated on it. After picking at it, he let the tine of the pickaxe hook onto the root and held on, pulling and yanking at the root with all the strength he had left. Suddenly it gave way, crashing to the ground. Corey stood in the muddy passageway and stared out into the hole it had created. It was a tree. The lower branches had filled the passage.

  He reached out into the gap where the piles of dirt had been and pulled away the fallen foliage, and looked up. He could see the sky. “I found the way out.”

  He pulled himself into the gaping hole and wiggled through the dirt and vegetation and found himself looking down the steep hill to the river. It was getting dark and lights were coming on along the shore.

  Corey wanted to dance with excitement. There was now a way to get his father out of the mine.

  Then, to his astonishment, he heard a whine and a bark.

  Hovi!

  The dog jumped over the tree and vegetation to Corey. Whimpering all the while, Hovi lapped Corey’s face and pawed his leg. Corey hugged the dog, who barked and cried in delight, while his tail made circles.

  “So it was you who made those sounds. But how did you know I was under the ground here? How did you know that was me inside there, trying to get out?” Corey laughed and cried as the dog whined happily.

  “Corey! You found the way out!”

  Corey looked up to see Mrs. Chudzik standing nearby. She was there for him as she always was.

  Corey’s eyes filled with tears. Perhaps he had called her the name in his dreams—or perhaps it was stamped on his brain, or it was just meant to be—but it wasn’t a bit strange or awkward. It felt comfortable and right as he cried out the Polish word for “grandma” and ran into her arms. “Babcia!”

  46

  Waiting

  How did Hovi find me?” Corey asked Babcia later as he hugged and pet
ted the dog.

  “I have no idea. But he knew somehow. He’s been looking for another way to get to you. He stayed close to that tunnel that you just came from for hours, pawing and whining. He knew that was a way to get to you.”

  “Good boy, Hovi,” Corey said. “My good dog.”

  “Did they find your father?” Babcia asked.

  “They’re opening up the wall between the two mines. It shouldn’t take much longer. Does Mom know about any of this?”

  “She knows, but she’s a miner’s wife and daughter. She’s doing her best to stay calm. Come to my house when you can. She needs to know you are both safe.”

  At that moment, Corey heard someone calling, “Corey! Corey! Where are you?” It was Anthony.

  “I’m here!” Corey ran to the side of the cliff, where Anthony stood looking around. “Any news about Dad?”

  “Good news, Corey,” Anthony said. “They got him out of the North Star shaft, and he’s down near the fossil tree.” He grabbed Corey. “Just a few injuries and some burns. He’s goin’ to be all right.”

  “Do they know about this exit?”

  “They do now. Richie and I came looking for you. When we saw you found the way out, Richie went back to tell the others. Mr. Farley said to tell you to wait outside, and they’ll bring your dad very soon. They’re bandaging him up.”

  It was almost dark when Richie joined them. The air was fresh and a new moon was rising. The world was peaceful with the scent of hemlocks.

  A dozen or so people were outside waiting to see if there would be a rescue, including Abby and her father. Mr. Russell disappeared off and on into the mine through the new opening.

  There were no crowds like there were in the big disasters. This was only one man caught in a roof fall. “This won’t make the headlines,” someone said, “but it does have a good share of heroes.”

  Richie suddenly appeared in the gaping hole Corey had created. “Pretty soon, Corey,” he said with a grin. “Everything looks good!” He stretched, then said, “I’m worried about Tootsie. I’m gonna take her down for some water and let her know I haven’t forgotten her.”

  “Tootsie helped pull you up from the mine,” Abby reminded him. “I tied the rope on her harness, and she knew she had to pull.”

  “That’s how I got up so fast!” Richie said, kissing Tootsie on the nose. He climbed on her back and headed down the footpath, singing, “Toot, toot, Tootsie, good-bye.”

  A dark-haired woman rushed up the hill. When she caught sight of Anthony, she screamed, “Anthony! Thanks be to God. You are alive!” She began speaking in Italian as she ran to Anthony, kissing him, mussing his hair, and crying all the while.

  Anthony talked softly, trying to comfort her. “I’m fine, Mama. Corey, Richie, and I are all fine. We’ve just been busy helping Corey to rescue his papa.”

  “Is he alive?” Anthony’s mama asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “He’s gonna be fine—bono—bello,” Anthony assured her.

  Babcia stepped closer and put her arm on the woman’s shoulder. “Your boy helped save Corey’s father.”

  Anthony’s mother looked up, and when she saw Mrs. Chudzik, she moved away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Mrs. Chudzik has been here all day, Mama,” Anthony explained hastily. “She helped us save Mr. Adamski.”

  “You come on home now,” Anthony’s mother ordered, grabbing him by the ear. “Your papa’s waitin’ for you.” She shoved him ahead of her as he stumbled down the hill toward home.

  Corey knew Dad would tell Anthony’s father what a good friend Anthony had been, and how he had stayed by Corey’s side throughout the whole long ordeal.

  Corey found a boulder near the newly discovered mine entrance and sat. He thought about Richie and how he and Tootsie had helped save Dad. And how Abby had stood by faithfully until it was all over. He looked around, but Abby was gone.

  Nothing I can ever say or do would be adequate to thank my friends—all of them—including those tough breaker boys who were so eager to help.

  Corey found his eyes slipping closed. He did not feel sleepy, but his whole body ached and sleep wanted to take over.

  The moon was high overhead when he finally heard cheers.

  “Your dad is up from the mine,” someone whispered to him. “He’s asking for you, Corey.”

  From the opening that Corey discovered, Charlie and his pals emerged, carrying his father out of the mine. They set the stretcher on the ground.

  “This here’s your dad, kid,” Charlie said, his voice quavering.

  Corey, stumbling over the rough terrain, ran to his father and knelt by him.

  “I heard how you found me, Corey,” his father whispered. “You figured it all out; you didn’t give up, and you tracked me down. What a great butty you are, Corey.” A smile flickered over his face.

  Corey put his face against his father’s cheek. He tried to speak, but he shook so badly the words could not come out.

  “It’s all right, Corey,” Dad whispered. “Everything is all right now.”

  47

  Something Missing

  The next few days, Corey and Dad stayed in the Chudzik mansion. Jack and Sammy were at home with Aunt Millie, who came to stay so the boys could still go to school. Things were hazy in Corey’s mind, since he slept for the better part of two days. He had no nightmares, but he heard faint voices, Hovi’s barks, and a baby’s cries.

  When he finally awoke, he was in soft, clean pajamas—not the nightshirt Mom had made from discarded muslin from the mine. How did that happen?

  Barefoot, he hurried down the winding stairway. Soft laughter drifted from the parlor, and seeing the open door, Corey peered in. The draperies, pulled back from the open window, let in the sweet scent of spring earth. A bright cheerfulness filled the room. But something was different. What was it?

  Mom was nestled in a big rocking chair and holding a pink bundle. “Come here, Corey,” Mom said, one arm outstretched.

  He moved quickly across the thick Persian rug and let his mother hug him. She planted a kiss on his cheek and then held the baby out for him to see. “You have a little sister. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Corey touched the tiny hands with their perfect pink-and-white nails. The baby stretched, scrunched up her face and eyes, and went back to sleep while sunbeams danced on her golden hair.

  “Sit down, Corey,” Mrs. Chudzik said, pulling up an armchair. “I’m sure you and your mother have much to talk about.” She left the parlor and closed the door quietly.

  “Put your arms out and hold our little girl.” She handed the baby over to Corey. “Support her head,” she instructed as she adjusted the baby’s blanket. Corey sat stiffly in the chair, afraid to move for fear of dropping the baby, but soon he relaxed. “Does she have a name yet?”

  “Not quite,” Mom answered. “Perhaps there’s a name you like.”

  Corey thought about the girls’ names from school. Mary, Helen, Margaret, Ruth, Frances, and Bertha. They’re ordinary names. My sister is no ordinary baby. She should have a beautiful name.

  Mom interrupted his thoughts. “There’s a Polish name that Dad thinks is perfect for our baby. Babcia says it means ‘blonde.’ ”

  “What is it?” Corey asked.

  “Albinka,” Mom answered, a grin playing on her lips. “Dad said we’d call her Binky for short.”

  Corey’s mouth dropped open. “Mom, please don’t give her that name.” Corey looked closely at the baby. No way did he want his beautiful little sister stuck with that name. Corey tried to be tactful, considering it was Dad’s choice, as he struggled for the right words. “Um . . . she doesn’t look like Albinka, and she’s definitely not a Binky.”

  Mom nodded. “That makes three of us who do not want Albinka.”

  Later, Mrs. Chudzik brought in sandwiches and tea on her squeaky tea cart, then left.

  Mom put the baby in the cradle and rocked her for a few minutes.

  Corey suddenly
realized what was different about the parlor. How could he have missed it? The coffin was gone! “Mom, did you get to see the coffin? Where did it go?”

  “The parlor was always closed while I was here, so I never laid eyes on it,” Mom said. “But early the other morning I heard a truck outside and a commotion from this room. After that, the parlor door was open, with the sweet little cradle placed right there in the middle of the room. There was not a sign of the coffin.”

  “Did she tell you why she had the coffin in here in the first place?” Corey asked.

  “No, she never said a word about the coffin, but she did tell me some things.”

  “What?”

  “She said you told her that we all loved her.” They were both silent for a while. Then Mom said, “Maybe Babcia doesn’t need the coffin anymore now that she has us for a family.” She looked off, remembering. “She said something else.”

  “What was that?”

  “She said that although she saved your life, you saved her life too.”

  48

  Hope

  Later, when the family was back home together, Corey noticed how cautious and nervous Dad was about holding the baby. “She’s not made of glass, Dad.”

  “She’s so little—and fragile,” Dad said.

  “Dad, are you happy with a little girl? Instead of another boy, I mean?”

  “Of course I’m happy. We always wanted a little girl.”

  “I know how to play with my brothers,” Corey said, “but I don’t know much about girls.”

  “There are different concerns with little girls than there are with boys. Boys need to grow up and be strong and tough. But girls are delicate and sensitive, and it’s our duty as men to protect our girls.”

  Corey thought of Abby and how pretty and sweet she was and how the boys picked on her. But hadn’t she hit Billy with her purse and sent him home crying with a nosebleed? And how many boys would be braver than she had been when she’d fallen into the shaft on the hill and pulled herself out?

  Girls can take care of themselves very well, he decided with a grin.