The Heartbeat of the Mountain

by Joan Foley Baier

  Mama stood and started for the stove. “I’m going to get these chickens ready for the men to grill. The salads are all made, and everything’s packed. Luvella, you show Mrs. Raven where the privy is and the room they’ll be staying in tonight.

  “Elizabeth, if you’d like to just lie down for a little while and rest from your trip here, we have a little time. Maybe half an hour?”

  Mama had the time just right. The clock was chiming as they left the house, and all climbed into Daddy’s wagon. Jake had arranged bales of hay and covered them with blankets as “passenger” benches in the back of the wagon so everyone could sit comfortably. They arrived to park along the side of the hotel a few minutes early, which Daddy had planned. As he reined in the horses, he turned to Mr. Raven and said in a confidential tone, “Good. We’re here before Lars. Wait’ll you see him pull up in his Model T, John.” Daddy, Jake, and Bill all laughed.

  Luvella said, “Daddy, he might not drive that today. I don’t think everyone will fit in it.”

  “Oh, he’ll drive it, even if he has to put Martha on the roof.” Even John and the women joined Daddy laughing.

  As if on cue, the putt-putt and rumble sounds of the Model T reached them from down the road. The Ravens stood and stared. Mr. Johannson honked and honked. Ah-ooga! Ah-ooga! Other people who had gathered, including Mr. and Mrs. Smythe and Anna, all laughed and waved. It was the only car in town, so it provided everyone’s entertainment whenever Mr. Johannson drove it. When he got close, they could see Mr. and Mrs. Greycloud in the back seat, Mrs. Greycloud’s eyes wide with fear, Mr. Greycloud’s mouth clamped in a thin line.

  Daddy squeezed between Luvella and Mrs. Raven. “You two better go welcome the little lady and help her get her breath back.”

  Already, the hellos, the howdys, the how-do-you-dos echoed through the crowd, which was growing by the minute, and mingled with laughter. Luvella noted with hope and a little satisfaction that, so far, this was like any other picnic the town had had. Everybody was friendly, even warm.

  Reeder disappeared when the Maartens and Melks brought their guests, the Carlisle players. The football “team” ran to the yard behind the hotel, where Luvella heard their grunts and calls and the thuds when they practiced tackling the dummy. She looked at the sawhorses and barrels and portable hitches Mr. Maarten and Mr. Melk and Mr. Johannson had placed alongside the road to mark the sidelines of the football “field.” At either end was a rope across the width of road, tied from one porch support to another. Reeder had told her those were the “end zones.”

  Anna came next to her. “Luvella, everyone is so excited and downright happy.” She giggled. “Reeder came to Daddy and asked him to play on the team. They were one man short. And my Daddy is sooooo thrilled.

  “Which means I suddenly have a lot of work to do. What are those barriers everywhere, Luvella?”

  Luvella raised her brows in a scholarly fashion, and said, “Those, my dear, are the sidelines”—she pointed to the sawhorses and barrels—“and end zones.” She pointed to the ropes at either end of the road-football field.

  Anna curled her nose. “Oh yes!”

  Some of the men had started the fire in the large fire pit at dawn, and the coals were ready for roasting the chickens, which they said they’d start at half-time. The women were spreading tablecloths and holding them down with dishes of baked beans, applesauce, and homemade pies on the long tables Daddy had sent over from his lumber mill. They put the cold salads in Mr. Smythe’s large spring house. Mr. Johannson and Mr. Pearson were setting up their music and fiddles on the hotel’s porch when Luvella, busy at the table with Mama, noticed a sudden quiet settle on the crowd.

  Her stomach dropped, as if she had just bounced over a hill in the wagon. Oh please. Don’t let this be trouble. She looked up and followed people’s gazes to see what had caused the silence.

  Pulling his surrey into the far end of the side of the hotel was Mr. Harley, the banker. Sitting next to him in the surrey was a woman. With them were Mr. and Mrs. White, both Indians from Forksville. Even though Mr. Harley’d lived in town for six months, no one had ever met his wife and now, Luvella was thinking, we all know why.

  She was an Indian. She was remarkably beautiful, Luvella thought. Like Hannah. She could see the Harleys’ hesitation, the awkwardness they felt as everyone stared at them. They were still in the surrey. Mr. Harley was spending a long time checking the brake and arranging the reins.

  Luvella looked at Mr. Smythe, standing with Anna in front of the porch and staring, too. She rushed over to him. “Mr. Smythe, please come with me to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Harley and their guests?”

  He looked at her as if she were crazy. Then Anna grabbed his arm. “Daddy, what a magnificent idea!” She actually pulled him along with her toward the surrey. “Mr. Harley is definitely a friend you want to cultivate.” She winked at Luvella.

  Luvella walked on his opposite side, but just a little behind him, in case he needed a little push.

  That small act of welcome seemed to turn the tide of the whole picnic. It was like the sun bursting over the mountain, warming and energizing everyone. Mama followed them to the surrey, and Daddy came from the fire pit. As Mr. and Mrs. Harley and the Whites joined the crowd around the tables, Mr. Harley introduced his wife, Helen, who smiled to expose perfect, even, white teeth and charming dimples. Her blue eyes made a striking contrast to her swarthy complexion and black hair. The bulk of the front of her dress hinted at a new little Harley soon to join them. And Mrs. Harley then introduced the Whites.

  At the tables, people were talking to whoever was at their side, nodding and smiling. The baskets were brought to the center table and examined by all the Muncy Valley women, ohhing and ahhing their approval. As Luvella suspected, they all agreed that the satchels would be a welcome addition to the different types of baskets. The women turned to their husbands and pointed out the beauty of the baskets, their strength, and—with straight faces—how brilliant their husbands were to decide to sell them at the bonanza.

  Unfamiliar people and wagons arrived and hitched in spaces left between those wagons already tied up.

  Mr. Johannson whispered to Luvella, “I telegraphed Dushore and Eagles Mere to invite people for the game.” He blushed slightly and grinned. “I just happened to mention that some of the Carlisle team would be playing for Muncy Valley.”

  “Mr. Johannson!” Luvella laughed. “You are truly clever.”

  Loud singing and shouts brought their attention to a wagon full of men, racing into the center of the Valley from the tenant houses and Sonestown. When the driver braked, the men jumped down with brazen bravado. “Where’s that li’l Injun team we’re going to thrash today?” one man yelled as he swaggered toward the hotel.

  Mr. Johannson leaned down to whisper again. “I’ll take care of them, Luvella. You run and get Reeder. I think our game is about to begin.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Luvella sat at the picnic table with Mama, the Ravens, Mrs. Kiergen and her guest, and Mrs. Melk. Mr. Johannson walked over, introduced himself, and asked Mr. Raven to help him talk to the referee from Dushore.

  “We’ve only got one referee, John,” he said. “I hope he’ll go ahead with the game.” Mr. Johannson took off his hat, scratched his head, and put it back on. “With your son, Luke, being a famous football player—and I heard you know a lot about the game from him—maybe you could help referee. I also think it would be good for someone who isn’t just for the other side, ya know what I mean? Whadda ya think?”

  Mr. Raven, who had been shifting uneasily on the bench among all the women, stood up quickly. “We can ask him and see,” he said, as they walked away to meet the man wearing black trousers, a white jacket, and a white straw boater hat. Luvella heard Mr. Raven add, “Whoever designed the center of this town must have had a football game in mind. This road is perfect, except for the wagon ruts here and there.”

  Luvella turned to Mrs. Raven. “This is the first football game I’ve
ever watched. I’m not only excited, I’m nervous.” She giggled. “I hope nobody gets hurt.”

  “Don’t worry, Luvella.” Mrs. Raven patted her hand. “I certainly know James and Matthew, from Carlisle, will be in top form. Did you know that the Carlisle football team is the best? I’m sorry Luke isn’t here. But I left a note for him, just in case he got home before we return.”

  Mama leaned toward Mrs. Raven. “Reeder and his friends have been pounding their bodies against that tackle dummy every day. They must be covered with bruises already.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes upward.

  A loud roar and men’s whistles filled the air from the other end of the “field” as the Tenant Team, all wearing red shirts, sprinted out in a tight group. Then, from behind the hotel, whoops and shouts, in a sort of chilling rhythmic sing-song, pierced the air.

  “Oh yes.” Mrs. Raven chuckled. “That’s part of Carlisle’s program. They always enter the field with war chants—it really intimidates the opposite team.”

  Reeder led his team. They bent their bodies, pounding the ground, and chanted a strange song. Wearing blue shirts, they danced out to the center, and both teams lined up to face each other.

  The official referee, in his comely jacket and boater, had a brief discussion with Mr. Raven and then walked over to Parson Schenkel, who stood at the fifty-yard line. Both men nodded, and the official returned to the center of the field. Shouting to be heard, he announced, “La-deez and Gentle-men! We’ll all sing The Star Spangled Banner, and after that Parson Schenkel will open today’s game with the coin toss.”

  The blend of male and female voices rising in unison to the highs and lows of The Star Spangled Banner raised goose bumps on Luvella’s arms and, as always, brought tears of pride and respect to her eyes.

  People settled on benches and blankets set out on the ground. The referee said something to the center of the Tenant Team. Mrs. Raven explained, “He’s asking the visiting team to call the toss of the coin, heads or tails. If the guest team wins the toss, they get the ball kicked to them first. Otherwise our team does.”

  The teams drew back from the fifty-yard line, facing each other in opposing lines. Muncy’s team won the toss, so the Tenants kicked off. The ball sailed end-over-end. James, one of the Carlisle players, anticipated the light kick and began to run forward. Failing to field it cleanly, he scooped it up, clutching it to his chest, and ran, but was stopped as the Tenants’ coverage tackled him to the ground. He stood and held the ball up high. The Muncy Valley crowd cheered.

  Mrs. Raven said, “Good. Our James can really run, so keep an eye on him.”

  Luvella watched, frowning her puzzlement, as both teams seemed to mill around the field, but then got in a squatting formation, two lines facing each other. She noticed James, Muncy’s center, had the ball and snapped it to Matthew, his Carlisle teammate. Matthew turned left, trying to flank the opposing defenders. He headed toward the end zone with his right arm bent in a curve. The Tenants’ defense ran to tackle Matthew. Mrs. Raven said, “Matthew’s bluffing. Reeder has the ball!”

  Almost simultaneously, the Tenants realized their folly and ran for Reeder. A particularly large man tackled Reeder near the sidelines, and as he fell to the ground, Reeder fumbled the ball on the Tenants’ twenty-yard line. The opposition was quick to recover. The referee yelled, “Red ball!”

  Roars rose on the summer air from both sides of the road, the Tenants’ supporters cheering and Muncy’s friends yelling.

  The head referee gave the ball to the Tenants. After the snap of the ball, Mr. Melk tackled one of the men blocking for the runner, and Matthew flew through the air to grab the ball carrier around the knees. Luvella saw other players from both teams join the pile of bodies on the ground, arms and legs askew. They were almost in front of her table, clearly in her line of vision, and she marveled at how they unraveled from each other.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Raven murmured. Luvella noticed her brows were pinched with worry.

  “I think, Mrs. Raven, that Luke has taught you well about football.” She laughed, and Mrs. Raven’s smile smoothed her forehead.

  At the first time-out in the game, Luvella ran to where the Muncy team was gathered to see if they needed water or bandages. Reeder waved her off, as if she were an interloper. As she retreated, she heard James say, “You gotta place your feet just a little wider apart than your shoulder width.” He was looking at the other team members—working men who rarely handled a football—circling around him. “When you tackle, get low, your feet set wide, and you smash up against his body, your back straight up”—James smacked one of his fists upward into his other hand—“and he’s goners. It’s all leverage. The smallest guy can take down the biggest one with proper leverage.” Luvella cringed for that poor other guy.

  Back at the table, Mama asked Luvella if the players were all right. “If they’re not, it’s their own fault.” Luvella couldn’t keep the bite out of her voice. “Reeder does not want me around there.”

  Mrs. Raven patted Luvella’s hands. “They’ll be fine, dear. Men love this game of warfare.”

  Through the game, Luvella watched the ball travel down the field, back and forth, under the hunched arm of a determined runner. Once, when the other side of the road erupted in cheers and Muncy’s side yelled “Boo-oo! Boo-oo!” she saw the referees arguing.

  Mrs. Raven said, “Oh, no! They can’t do that!” Then she explained to Luvella that the Tenant player actually moved the ball back after they tackled Matthew so that our team had gone forward fewer than ten yards. “That means the Tenants get possession of the ball, and we’re on our twenty-yard line. That referee isn’t listening to John at all!”

  Luvella had to wonder. Is it because Mr. Raven is an Indian? She feared it was and hoped again that it will be the only incident of that kind of behavior.

  Although the teams lined up, ran a-scatter, and continually created a human stack of protruding arms and legs, the Tenants got the ball to their end zone. Finally, the teams ran off the field to their respective camps. Mrs. Raven stood and stretched. “This is half time, and they’re ahead, six to nothing, but they’re cheating. At least our team is playing a clean game. And now the men will have a few minutes to rest and plan their attack for the second half.”

  Luvella said, “I’ll go see if Anna needs any help.”

  Inside the hotel lobby, several guests watched the game through the front windows, so she proceeded into the office. “Anna,” she whispered. “Do you need anything? Something I can do?”

  “Oh, Luvella. Glory, yes. Could you take these towels and place them on the dry sink in Room 102? I just signed in another couple. They’re watching the game right now.” She stuck out her lower lip and blew air upward, temporarily maneuvering the damp hair on her forehead. “I can take care of the rest. Thank you so much. And be careful on those stairs with your crutches!”

  She turned back to her desk. Feeling a little rebuffed by Anna’s too-busy-to-talk attitude, Luvella performed her task and peeked out the upstairs window to the side yard below. She saw the back of a familiar shape scoot from the side of the hotel and continue to the road. She ignored it, thinking instead, as she clumped down the stairs, of how both Reeder and Anna had brushed her off.

  “Hmm. I guess nobody wants me around today,” she whimpered, and wandered out to the front veranda. The women at her table, below, were talking together, all looking at Mrs. Raven, whose smile brightened her whole face. A clamor from the back yard of the hotel, where the Muncy team was, made Luvella look around for the cause.

  Immediately, she saw Luke running from the road past the veranda to where the team was camped. His eyes met hers and he smiled. Her mouth, suddenly bone dry, stretched to a full grin, and her heart leaped. She almost ran down to him, crutches notwithstanding, but she realized he was continuing directly to the team.

  From her higher veranda vantage point, she gazed around to see the tall man with carrot-red hair under a natty derby hat leave the Te
nants’ camp. “Now, what sort of business is our Mr. Bocke stirring up over there?” she mused, remembering the person sneaking from the hotel minutes ago.

  When the teams lined up for the beginning of the second half, there was Luke, standing behind the rest of the Muncy team, poised like a mountain lion ready for the kill. James turned his head to the men directly behind him, but Luvella saw him glance at Luke and Luke nod ever so slightly.

  Mama said, “Oh dear! They’re up to something. I can feel it in the air. And I think the other team is, too.”

  “I know, Mama,” Luvella whispered. “I just saw Mr. Bocke walk away from them, and I think he’d been behind the hotel, close to where our team was. Do you think he’d be low enough to spy on them?”

  Although Mrs. Raven’s wrinkled brow bespoke her concern, she said, “Don’t worry. With three Carlisle boys and Reeder out there now, the other team doesn’t stand a chance. And Luke is an excellent linebacker.” She said that matter-of-factly, but not without some pride.

  Suddenly the ball flew toward the other team.

  Mrs. Raven gasped. “I don’t think a pass like that is allowed. But the referee didn’t whistle.”

  The one who caught it ran forward, supposedly planning to go through the middle of Muncy’s coverage. Luvella watched Luke, dancing sideways a little, scanning the opposite team’s players, and then cut downfield straight at them. Clumps of dirt kicked up as his feet dug into the road. He closed in on the other team and zigged to one side. He broke down, smashed into two Tenants and knocked them and the ball carrier to the dirt road.

  “Ouch!” Luvella closed her eyes in empathetic pain, and whispered to Mama, “I think that ball carrier was the man who kicked Luke that night outside the tavern. I’ll bet Luke is enjoying this.”

  The Tenants’ ball hadn’t moved more than three yards, and Mrs. Raven was nodding in favor. “Both teams are really fired up. They will be very focused this half,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-One