The Heartbeat of the Mountain

by Joan Foley Baier

  The game seemed to move much more quickly this half because the plays were so intense. In the fourth quarter, Luke tackled the Tenants’ quarterback, who flipped the ball to another Tenant. James leaped forward and snagged the pigskin. He passed it back to Reeder, who sprinted thirty-yards for a touchdown. Score: Seven to Six!

  The crowd exploded. To whistles and hoorays, and boos from the other side, the two teams lined up. The kick-off bought a ten-yard penalty for Muncy Valley.

  Mrs. Raven jumped up from her bench. “That is not fair!” she cried. “That referee is definitely out to get our team.”

  Fair or not, Reeder had to kick off from Muncy’s twenty-five-yard line. As Luvella watched her brother position himself, she noticed Mr. Bocke moving briskly along the sidelines toward Muncy’s end zone. Before she could process that strange action, roars and shouts brought her focus back to the game.

  The Tenants’ return man caught the football and took off for their end zone. Matthew brought him to the ground, but not before their returner lateraled the ball to another player, who then tossed it to a third Tenant. This time Reeder, James, and Matthew tackled the ball carrier, who flipped the ball in desperation over his shoulder.

  Luke caught that careless toss, cradled it to his chest, and ran. He plowed through two of the Tenants’ defensive players and was almost in for the score.

  Suddenly, Mr. Bocke ran onto the field. Although he appeared bent on just crossing to the other side, he dodged back and forth to block Luke’s progress. Luke zigged then tried to zag around the man. Mr. Bocke danced before him. Luke then barreled straight ahead, stiff-arming the red-haired man. Mr. Bocke lost his balance, but instead of falling, he performed an awkward chicken dance, with his arms flailing and his legs struggling for control.

  At first, everyone guffawed. Then the referee’s whistle announced the end of the game—but Luke had already touched the ball to the ground in their end zone.

  The referee blew his whistle again and pointed his arm toward our end zone. “Munnn-cyyy Valley!”

  Pandemonium exploded. Luvella stood, her fists pounding the table, and screamed, “Yaayyyy!” Even Mama clapped her hands and laughed, rocking back and forth. Apparently Luke had replaced Mr. Smythe, who was back at the hotel, on Muncy’s team. But out on his veranda, Mr. Smythe unceremoniously put two fingers in his mouth and produced an ear-splitting whistle. He clasped his hands above his head in a victory sign to his team and returned into his hotel, smiling like the sun itself.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Victory has a flavor all its own, robust and sweet. But the day’s festive spirit had permeated the Valley even before the game. Everyone wore smiles.

  All through the game, Mrs. Kiergen never left the side of Mrs. Carson, who had come from Forksville with the Ravens and would stay the night at Mrs. Kiergen’s small second-story apartment. Every time Luvella looked at them, they were talking and giggling with each other, and once even clapping their hands together as they rocked with laughter.

  Daddy, Reeder, Luke, the rest of our team, and Mr. Raven walked together over to the Tenants’ team and shook hands all around. They had invited them and their families to bring dishes to pass and stay for the picnic after the game. Now, Luvella knew, they were extending an invitation again and reminding them that this is a family affair. Luvella watched as the Tenants shifted their weight from foot to foot and nodded. They’re embarrassed. They’re probably decent men, if you take them individually.

  The food brought everyone to the tables. Luvella noticed with relief that the Indian guests, even the football players, sat with their hosts. Mrs. Raven faced Mrs. Harley, seated across the table, and asked what tribe she was from. Although she blushed, Mrs. Harley answered, “My mother is a Susquehannock, and my father is from Ireland.”

  Mrs. Greycloud said that there are many Susquehannocks still in the general area. “This was their country, too,” she said. “The Muncees and the Susquehannocks—well, we’re all part of the Delawares.” The Indian discussion just flowed in and out of the whole conversation, like sugar dissolving in water, Luvella marveled.

  She heard Mama praise Mrs. Raven’s cornbread and Mrs. Greycloud’s tomatoes. And Mrs. Raven wanted Mama’s recipe for her rhubarb pie. The men gestured and recapitulated the plays of the football game, slapping James and Matthew and Luke on the back in obvious pride to be that intimate with Carlisle football stars.

  As their excitement quieted, the men debated the merits, or lack thereof, of the Panama Canal. Luvella watched Bill listen to the discussion. She had overheard him telling Jake that he wanted to go down and work on the canal. She knew Mama wouldn’t like that. So did Bill.

  Mr. Raven asked, “Are you going to have hay rides and things like that at your bonanza? I’d be glad to drive my wagon for some of the hayrides.” He thought a minute. “Big city folk would love to have an Indian drive them on a hayride.” Laughter all around, guffaws from some of the men.

  Luvella took note. The Muncy Valley people were actually proud of sitting at a table with Indians, like they were leaders of America, they were setting an example, they were the new pilgrims. And friendships had definitely been forged.

  Daddy nodded to Mr. Raven. “Good idea, John. One of my boys could drive a wagon, too.”

  Mrs. Maarten pulled Luvella aside and whispered, “Luvella, Sarah Kiergen and I have been talking to people today. Everyone is willing to have the Indians stay with them again and wants the bonanza to go on as planned. Maybe you should announce it today?”

  “Oh no,” Luvella whispered back, shaking her head. “The men are the ones who always speak up in our meetings, but they didn’t say a word when I asked about bringing the Muncees here.” Her eyes flashed anger. “If they want to continue planning the bonanza, with me leading, then they have to ask me.”

  Mrs. Maarten frowned, although nodding her head, went back to her table and sat next to her husband. But she did not sit quietly. “Erik could drive a hay wagon, too, right Erik?” She looked at him.

  “Why, sure! I didn’t even think of that.” He blushed all the way into his thick blond hair.

  Mrs. Maarten continued, as if she were on a mission. Which, in fact, she was. “Sarah Kiergen and I could have a taffy pull for the children. And what about a target shoot?”

  “Why bother?” the new, very jovial, Mr. Smythe said. “Just give the blue ribbon to Luvella right now.” Everybody laughed and looked at Luvella.

  Reeder spoke from the fringes of the group, where the football players had gathered. “We could have a horse race, too.” Mr. Melk liked that. “Ya. Ya. Gut!”

  After each suggestion, the business people glanced at Luvella. She ignored them, although she was hoping with all her heart that the bonanza would go on.

  After the women cleared the tables and packed the utensils and leftovers, which the men carried to the wagons, Luvella invited the women to come see her caboose. Mrs. Maarten made a show of saying, “I’ve seen it, as you know, and it’s beautiful. I’ll let the others see it, and then I’ll be there again with some more things for you in a couple days.” She gave Luvella a There-that’ll-bring-’em-back look.

  In the caboose, Luvella held up Mrs. Maarten’s scented soaps and asked Mrs. Raven and Mrs. Greycloud if they could make really small baskets, just to hold a cake of soap. The Forksville women nodded exuberant yesses.

  “Where do you get all these ideas, Luvella? You are so clever.” Mrs. Kiergen spoke up from behind the others.

  Luvella laughed. “From my Harper’s magazine,” she said. “It may not have baskets holding soaps in there, but something they had probably made me think of it. I’m not clever. I just like to read Harper’s.”

  “But even this caboose idea, Luvella,” Mrs. Kiergen insisted, looking all around. “You certainly know how to do business.”

  Luvella glanced back to see Mama looking at her and grinning when their eyes met. Mama finally approves my caboose.

  The women filed out of the caboose,
just as Reeder was sauntering across the road with some of his friends. Luvella followed the focus of their eyes, turned toward the privy behind the train depot, and saw Mr. Bocke there. She looked at Reeder, who gave her a wicked smirk.

  “You just take your ladies back to the picnic, Sis. We’re going to take care of our high-falutin’ friend,” he said.

  “Reeder,” Luvella whispered. “Don’t you cause trouble and spoil this picnic.”

  “Never you mind, Sis. This will give everyone something else to celebrate.” He and his friends guffawed. Luvella looked back, and Mr. Bocke had disappeared, probably inside the privy. She gave Reeder a frown and followed the women unsteadily toward the inn. Mr. Johannson and Mr. Pearson had just begun the music, and people were already dancing in front.

  Moments later, a loud howl bellowed from behind the depot. The music stopped, the dancing stopped, and everybody turned toward the direction of the howl. There was Mr. Bocke, his trousers and drawers down around his knees, the Sears catalog placed modestly in front of his privates as he stood and looked all around him. The privy had been “tipped.” Reeder and his friends had obviously pulled it over to expose the dandy at his most un-dandy moment. Nobody was in sight around the privy, although you could hear a group of males roaring with glee from the woods directly behind it, on the other side of the tracks.

  The women turned away discreetly as the crowd on and around the dance area continued to snicker. Then the musicians tapped their feet for the downbeat and sang a few bars of De Ol’ Ark’s a-Moverin’.

  “See dat brother dressed so fine?

  He ain’t got religion on his mind.

  Oh de ol’ Ark’s a mover-in’, a mover-in’, a mover-in’.

  De ol’ Ark’s a mover-in’ And I’m g’wine home.”

  The people laughed and clapped their hands to the rhythm of the old folk song.

  Nobody noticed Mr. Bocke after that.

  Mr. Johannson announced a reel, and everyone got in position. Luvella sat and watched the dancers, which caused her the most pain of all since she broke her ankle. She loved to dance.

  “How’s your ankle behaving?” She turned to see Luke sitting down on the picnic bench beside her. He bent and gently picked up her foot, touching her loosely buttoned shoe around the ankle. “Still swollen, I see.” He straightened up and looked at her.

  She said, “Yes, but…” but her voice wouldn’t cooperate; nothing came out. She cleared her throat, trying not to think about his hands touching her ankle, and spoke this time. “Yes, but it’s a lot better. I’ve already started putting my weight on it in the caboose.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “It’s going to take some time, but a little pressure for just a few minutes a day will strengthen it.” He smiled, but his eyes, dark brown rings around his pupils, traveled her face. He stood. “I’ll talk to you before we leave.”

  Luvella gaped at him. “Thank you, doctor,” she managed. He grinned back at her.

  Later, the sun was dropping to the treetops, and people were getting ready to leave. Mr. Johannson, still on the porch with his fiddle in its case now, called for everyone’s attention. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, I think we’ve all had a good time today.” Everybody cheered and clapped their hands. “We certainly had a good football game!” He shouted it and raised his fiddle in the air in triumph. Everyone clapped hands and hoorayed, and the men whistled. “Thank you, football teams, and especially the Carlisle players for helping us out.” One gigantic roar filled the center of town as the horses snorted and swished their tails. Even the Tenants joined in. They would tell their families for many years to come about the game they played against the Carlisle team members.

  Mr. Johannson’s face turned serious as he continued. “I’ve been hearing everyone say they want to do this again.” More cheering, “ayups,” and people nodding. “Luvella, could we ask you to continue our plans for the Basket Bonanza?” Everyone looked at Luvella. “Please?” he added.

  Luvella leaned on her crutches. This is what I wanted! Why do I feel like telling him no, I’m finished fighting for every new idea? She looked around her. People were smiling; they were happy; they were her friends! The game and picnic were a success beyond her hopes.

  Daddy was looking at her and nodding. She pursed her lips, sucked in a deep sigh, and finally said, “We have lots to do and in a very short time. Let’s get the business members together on the porch for just a few minutes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Daddy pushed the horses on the ride back. There was still some sunset afterglow to light their way, so he raced it home. Even with a lantern on the front of the wagon, it would be hard to see the wagon road on the mountain at night. On the way, he said, simply, “Luvella, good job.”

  Mrs. Raven added, “Luvella, I had no idea you were such a business person. Your caboose is…is wonderful! And you’re still so young. Hannah would love to see it.”

  Mama said, “Luvella had some hard luck. We were all down with typhoid fever, and she had to take care of us. Will almost lost the sawmill, and she just took right over and started her little homemade crafts business. And it really grew and grew.” Mama put her arm around Luvella’s shoulders, giving her a little squeeze.

  “Could Hannah come to the bonanza?” Luvella asked Mrs. Raven. “I really miss her. It’s funny, my best friend’s name is Anna, and I feel like Hannah’s a best friend, too. Their names are almost the same.”

  Mrs. Raven nodded. “The Great Spirit has planned these special friends for you. You are blessed. We will see about Hannah coming to the bonanza.”

  “Well, here we are,” Daddy announced, pulling into the drive. “Reeder and Bill, take the wagon. Jake, you and Luke help us unload here.”

  As Luvella lit a lantern and headed for the privy, she heard Mama ask Mrs. Raven, “So tell me about Aunt Hilda. Luvella was very touched by her, in fact, by all of you in Forksville…”

  Sunday morning, Mama fixed a big breakfast, and Mrs. Raven and Luvella brought the brimming platters to the table. Steak from Mr. Pearson’s General Store, home fried potatoes, fried eggs, the sweet and salty smells wafting everywhere, and, of course, hot coffee. “You have a long trip ahead of you,” she said to the Ravens. “This will tide you over for most of it, and I’ll give you food to eat for when you have a rest stop.”

  Saying goodbye was a mixture of sad and happy. Luke spent most of the time helping her brothers with chores or just talking to them about football and Carlisle and Pop Warner. “At least you’ll be coming back soon, Elizabeth,” Mama said. The whole family was at the Ravens’ wagon.

  As Mrs. Raven was placing her reticule in the back of the wagon, Luvella went to her and asked quietly. “Mrs. Raven, on your way home, could you ask Luke to come to the bonanza, too?”

  Mrs. Raven looked at her, strangely at first. She hugged Luvella, then held her back away from her a little, peering into Luvella’s eyes. “Oh, my dear!” She pulled Luvella into another hug. “Now I know what was bothering Luke just before he left on his quest. Of course, I’ll ask him to come with us. But why don’t you ask him right now?”

  “Oh, no!” Luvella said. “Just tell him to come.”

  “I think he will need to hear that you invited him. Otherwise, he might not come.”

  Luvella swallowed the bile that had rushed to her mouth and lowered her head. She looked up, then, and said, “All right, Mrs. Raven, tell him I’d really like it if he came to the bonanza.” She turned just as he ran from the barn and jumped over the side and into the back of the wagon.

  The Ravens left. Luke and Luvella looked only at each other, and his family continued to wave until they were out of sight. Mama and Luvella had to hurry to clean up from breakfast and be ready to leave for church. Luvella didn’t even have time to talk to her mountain.

  When Parson Schenkel stood for his sermon, he waited a moment and looked all around the small church. He read from the Gospel of Mark.

  He closed his Bible and
looked at the congregation again, nodding his head. “Yesterday, my dear people,” he leaned on the lectern. “Yesterday I witnessed the kingdom of God.” He stood straight again. “Yesterday, I witnessed Christianity in action. I saw it in front of your hotel, Ben; in front of your caboose, Luvella; in front of your depot, Lars; all over Muncy Valley.” He swallowed hard, a deep red color flushing his face.

  Silence penetrated the church. There wasn’t a cough, a sniffle, or a shuffle of feet. Pastor Schenkel cleared his throat and said, at barely more than a whisper, “I am humbled. I am proud of you and truly humbled.”

  After the church service, people clustered in conversations, and from snatches she heard, Luvella knew they were all talking about yesterday’s football game and the celebration afterward. They mentioned first one and then another of the Muncees, always a funny comment or story they had told. There were broad grins, deep chuckles, nodding heads, like her mountain on a sunshiny day.

  Luvella walked over to Mrs. Maarten and said with a smile, “You must be exhausted today, Mrs…Thirza. You certainly did a lot of talking to certain people yesterday.”

  Mrs. Maarten opened her mouth, but the flattery seemed to make her speechless. Luvella laughed, then whispered, “That’s all right. You saved our Basket Bonanza, Thirza. And I thank you very much.”

  Back home, she immediately began setting up the advertisement she wanted to send to the New York Times. The group had said last night to mention the fact that Indians would be here. Everyone felt that that would be an attraction more than a turn-aside. She wrote down the points she wanted to include in the advertisement: basket bonanza (beautiful Indian handmade baskets, all sizes and colors), each store would have items on sale plus regularly-priced items, the whole town a bonanza, hay rides, horse race, target shoot, and taffy pulls and pony rides for the children, a huge picnic for everyone, a hotel right in town, and some private homes to rent out rooms.

  The next day, Luvella re-wrote the ad she had finally settled upon and stopped at the depot to ask Mr. Johannson to wire the Times, telling them that her ad is on its way for their August 1st and 8th issues. She was disappointed that they missed Harper’s deadline, but at least the New York Times could run it. The other towns’ papers would be no problem at all: Dushore’s, Forksville’s, Sayre’s, Williamsport’s.