Mountain Man's Virgin

by Jay S. Wilder

  “Good morning, Jane,” Angie replies from her spot behind the desk in her office, eyes still on her workstation computer monitor. The mid-thirties woman tucks some of her shoulder length honey blonde hair behind her ear and looks up at me. “Great! You’re super early today.”

  “And starting next week I’ll be even earlier, if that works for you. Mom and I will be staying up at my dad’s mountain cabin for July and August, so I’ll catch a ride into work with Dad. No more driving in from town for me.”

  “That’s excellent. Have you enjoyed your first week with Mid-West Mining?”

  “So far it’s been fantastic,” I answer honestly. I won’t admit this to her, but I almost can’t believe I’m being paid to do this job. The work is challenging but not too complicated. I pretty much work in a job doing what comes easy for me. I can thank my mother for that, I guess.

  “You’re a natural, that’s for sure.”

  “Thanks. Is there anything different I can help with today?”

  “Actually, yes.” She shuffles through several folders spread out messily across her desk. “There is something, though I’d need your full discretion on it.”

  “Absolutely,” I assure her. “I completely understand the need for confidentiality where employee and HR transactions are concerned.”

  She nods. “Great. I need to organize a few things, but how about you settle in at your desk, grab a coffee and come back in say, half hour.”

  “Will do. See you in a bit.”

  I head to my desk and drop off my bag, then start the coffee machine in the tiny kitchen nook in the corner. Our office is actually a small portable trailer assigned to Angie, Ted Olson, the supply and procurement manager, and me, so there isn’t much space. Both Angie and Ted have offices partitioned off each end of the trailer, and I have the desk in the open area between them. It isn’t much, but overall, it’s not as bad as working in a fast food joint, which is where a few of my friends ended up this summer. In a small town like this, where most of the jobs are either in the local mine or centered around supporting the miners, it’s slim pickings for students and people starting out their careers after high school or college. Personally, I count myself lucky. This fall, I’ll be going off to college in the next town over. My parents have saved for tuition and stuff, but I want to add as much extra cash as I can to my savings, to avoid having to work during the school year.

  After making myself a coffee and logging onto my company email at my desk, I give it twenty more minutes then take my notebook to Angie. Her office door is open, so I knock softly on the door frame. “Hi again. I can come back later if you need some more time.”

  “No. This is as good a time as any. It’s only going to get busier later in the day. And Ted will be in soon. Though, it’s Friday. I think he has a thing in town with one of the suppliers.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I don’t mind not seeing Ted today or any day for that matter. The guy is a walking talking sexual harassment case waiting to happen. I’ve been here for four days, and he’s done nothing but chat me up in the most unprofessional way possible. He gives me one of those head to toe eye-fuck looks every goddamn day. Ted has asked me out once already too, but I quickly shot him down, explaining that I’m new, and this is a small town, and if I mess up here, my job prospects would be slim to none. After that explanation, he still told me he could protect me, but hell, the only protection I need is from him. I wish he’d take the hint. That way, I won’t have to raise an issue formally. He’s only in his mid-twenties, but acts like a misogynistic guy from before the women’s liberation era. I think he behaves this way because his father is on the mining company’s board of Directors and he knows he can get away with it. Nepotism can suck.

  “Come on in.” Angie motions for me to sit in the guest chair beside her desk, which is somewhat neater than when I was just here.

  “Thanks.”

  She picks up eight or nine thick file folders and passes them to me. “Management just approved three seasonal assistant shift supervisor positions for all shifts. We want to hire them from the pool of permanent full-time miners and backfill their permanent positions with seasonal mining staff. Is this type of hiring familiar to you?”

  “Yes, I understand backfilling. It’s where we move the employee out of their job temporarily and replace them with someone, usually a junior staff.”

  “Exactly. The positions will also be great as potential feeders to the full-time shift supervisor position. I’m sure you know your father is only a few years from his early retirement date. He may opt to stay on, but in case he retires early, it’ll be good to train up these assistant positions…for succession planning and readiness.”

  “Makes perfect sense to me,” I answer, nodding. I don’t let on that my dad does indeed plan to take full advantage of his early retirement option. Confidentiality in HR is a two-way street, and it’s his news to share with management when he’s ready, not mine. I know that at home, he’s been going on and on about it in conversations with Mom for months. Who can blame him? What’s not to love about ending an over thirty-year, tough as nails mining career, and finally having the time to spend with family, and at his cabin doing more than the usual fishing and hunting trips.

  “We plan to post the jobs internally, for sure, and to open them to all staff, but we also want to target some of our more qualified, longer-term staff, as well as those who have expressed a prior interest in moving into management.” She eyes the pile of employee files in front of me. “These files are for the nine employees who we view as our top potentials. Though, as I’m sure you can understand, not all of them may be interested at this time. Some have new families, others may object simply because they’re comfortable where they are. You know how it is.”

  “Yes, I think I get it. So how can I help?”

  “Mostly I need you to complete a file review, but if you have extra time, it might help to do a first run assessment. What I mean is this. Review the draft job description. I’ll send the updated one to you by email. Then, go through each of these file in detail. I mean every detail in their records… even the sealed files if there are any. Bring forward any items or concerns you have, along with any suggestions you have on interview questions, skills testing. We’ll set up the job posting in the next three to four weeks, so do what you can next week, and we can connect at the end of next week to discuss.”

  “Will do,” I say, scooping up the stack of files.

  “Oh, and keep in mind that although the position is in the management cadre, all the candidates are from the pool of unionized employees. Review the collective agreement sections on internal recruitment and seniority rights. We need to do this by the book.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Her desk phone rings and she leans forward, hovering a hand over it to get ready to answer. “And if you have any questions before that, the door is open.”

  “Thanks.” I carry the files to my desk, smiling about my new and interesting assignment as she resumes her phone call. Probably one of the mining employees, by the sounds of it. I’m pretty grateful that Angie and I complement each other so well. This is a pretty complex set of tasks, and certainly something they’d usually leave for more senior staff, so I’m happy to sink my teeth into it.

  Once at my desk, I check and reply to the new emails that have come in, neaten up my files, and get to work on my new task.

  By the time lunch hour rolls around, I have a solid grasp of the job description, potential labor relations concerns that may come up, and each of the candidates’ suitability for the job. On paper at least.

  I’m also intrigued by one particular candidate, but for all the wrong reasons.

  After lunch, Angie’s door is closed for the rest of the workday. I know she’s inside because I can hear her muffled voice through the paper-thin trailer walls. She must be busy in teleconference meetings with head office. I wait around for an extra half-hour at the end of my scheduled eight hours just in case she wraps up, but as
I hear her on the phone still, I send her a quick email letting her know I’m heading out and will update her on the candidates next Monday.

  One employee is still dominating my thoughts as I drive away from our office trailer.

  John ‘Savage’ Reid.

  He’s a friend of my dad. A friend that I don’t remember ever meeting because he never comes down into town. The town recluse. I don’t know why he fascinates me. Perhaps because my father has taken more than a passing interest in him. Maybe because he’s so close to Dad yet I don’t know him. Or his being so elusive. I don’t know.

  As these men all work in precarious conditions deep underground, beneath thousands of tons of mountain, our HR files include recent photographs of each employee for emergencies.

  I saw Savage’s picture and read his file, and now I can’t get him off my mind.

  I’m surprised that a photo can draw me to him so powerfully. I want to see him in person, face to face, and I have no idea why. It’s not that I’ve ever had that much interest in dating and relationships. All through high school, I didn’t have a boyfriend. I was more interested in hitting the books and keeping up with the requirements to get into college. I didn’t even have a real date for the prom because my best friend, Meg, set me up with her boyfriend’s best buddy. But with Savage, I feel something I’ve never felt before. Something… magnetic. I can’t put words to it even if I try. And it’s just from his picture.

  It’s his eyes. They were a bright, electric blue in his photo, yet so sad, so full of…something dark, dangerous, and tragic. Then I understood why when I read the three sealed envelopes in his employee file. Other than those records, there’s a lot less information in his file compared to the rest of the candidates. He’s been working at the mine for over twelve years, since he turned eighteen, and his life so far has been fraught with tragedy. It broke my heart to know one person has been through so much. He lost a coworker—his best friend from high school—during a fatal mine collapse about a year after they started working at the mine. Then his parents and younger sister died in a car accident in town. And on top of all that, he lost his wife in a house fire. It’s hard to fathom that one person can face so much loss in their short life.

  Savage happens to be one of the most qualified candidates, with the most seniority. I figure it makes sense, considering that most of the men who’ve been working that long are supervisors and managers, or they moved on to more specialized mining jobs as their experience grew.

  I also noticed his address is similar to the mailbox where Dad gets stuff for the cabin. Most of the other candidates have home addresses in town. A part of me wonders if he lives up in the mountain full time. I guess I’ll find out this weekend when Mom and I go up to be with Dad. He lives in town with us but has been staying at the cabin since late spring. There are about fifteen cabins up in the mountain on a nearby ridge near the mine. Like my father, it’s mostly miners who own them, but the majority of them use their cabins as summer or hunting cottages.

  Dad has mentioned Savage a lot, but only personal things, and stuff they do on the mountain like camping or fishing. He hasn’t said much about their jobs at the mine. My dad’s motto is don’t bring home your work problems. He preaches that to my mom quite often, so it makes sense that I’ve never met Savage before, especially since he doesn’t live in town. I usually don’t see all the day shift miners, although I’ve met most of them at community events in town. But not Savage.

  It’s totally unprofessional of me, but now that I’ve read his file, I can’t help but want to see him in person. I want to know if it was just a coincidence that the Polaroid picture in his file caught him on a particularly sad day, or if he’s always that way. I want to know if this ache tightening around my heart is a fluke or if I’ll feel anything at all when I see him in real life.

  I want to look into his eyes, and hope to God that the deep sorrow and misery I saw in the picture aren’t still there.

  At the end of my day, my wish comes true and I see him.

  I descend the last step outside the trailer door as a big, broad, burly giant of a brooding man is striding along the footpath toward the staff parking area. I freeze. My pulse picks up, yet it feels like something is tugging at my chest, taking my breath away. It has to be him. There aren’t other six-foot-four tall guys working here. The early evening sun hits him at an angle from where I’m standing, hiding his face.

  Turn around.

  Turn.

  Let me see your face.

  Those eyes.

  But he doesn’t. Savage walks across the gravel driveway, oblivious to me. He throws his metal lunch box into the cab of a rusty old Chevy Silverado pickup truck, climbs into the driver seat, starts the engine, and drives away.

  That feeling in my gut sends me reeling.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and grasp the railing as I watch the back of his truck disappear ahead of the cloud of dust in its wake.

  Now I don’t want to just see him. Not like this.

  I have to know everything about him.

  3

  Savage

  “No problem. Give me a minute,” I tell Ben, my tone gruff as I grab my toolbox from the shed outside.

  Because it is a problem.

  It’s summer, and with the season, people come up here and disrupt my solitude on my mountain. For most of the fall, winter and spring, I’m all alone on this mountain ridge. Not now, though. The place is overrun. Sure, it’s mostly my coworkers and their families who own the cabins on this ridge, but that doesn’t mean they’re not a nuisance. They’re up here disturbing nature while they hike, have loud family cookouts, swim in the streams and small rivers where I usually fish, go on hunting and fishing trips, set campfires, and their music going at all hours of the night.

  Like right now. The only difference is that Ben is my shift supervisor at my job at the mine. I can’t exactly tell him to go to hell when he shows up at my door asking for help.

  I owe him too. He’s my only friend in the world now.

  I’ve known Ben all my life. He was a friend of my late father, who also worked at the mine, just like my grandfather did, and a few more generations before that. When my parents and younger sister passed in a car accident during my early teens, it was Ben who came to my front door with the two cops from the Sheriff’s office. He’s the one who gave me the news. He sat with me for hours as the news sunk in, went up to my room for a few of my things, took me to my grandmother’s house, and stood beside me at their funerals a few days later.

  Years after, Ben gave me and my best friend Neil the hookup for our first job at the mine when we graduated from high school. Then there was the mining accident not even a year later. Neil and I were trapped. If Neil had just held on a few hours more, he’d still be with us today. Ben helped me through that tragedy too. He put up with my fits of anger, depressed moping around, and all my reckless drunken behavior that followed. He was there when it felt like the world was caving in on me, when doing anything at all, even breathing, felt like torture, when I couldn’t push all the tragedy out of my mind, when I could barely breathe, let alone eat, when I could hardly ignore what happened, let alone forget.

  He was there for the good, the bad, and the worst experiences of my short, unlucky life.

  And he took care of me when I lost my wife.

  I clench my jaw at the memory, forcing the slew of emotions out of my mind.

  I owe Ben everything.

  It’s not like he calls on me often. Far from it. Still, this time, it’s his gas-powered generator. Some crawling animal took up residence in one of the lines and probably died there over the winter months. Now the generator won’t start. Ben isn’t the handy type, so he came to me.

  “I sure am grateful to have you as my neighbor up here,” Ben says, following me down the dirt trail that leads to his cabin a few hundred feet down the mountain. “My wife Rachel is sure to give me hell. She and my daughter Jane will be here within the hour. See, I don’t
mind living without a few of the modern conveniences, but my wife’s a different story. They’re staying with me for the rest of the summer. If she makes it here and finds out I can’t even get the lights on, I’ll be in the doghouse before dark.”

  For the next hour and a half, I ignore his usual talkative attitude and focus on fixing the generator behind his cabin. I want to be finished with this job and back home before I see anyone else, but it’s time-consuming work. It doesn’t take me long to find the blockage but clearing and flushing the gas line ends up taking a lot longer than expected. In hindsight, I should’ve sent him into town to get the right length pipe cleaning brush. In any case, now that the problem is solved, all we need to do is start it up, test one of the lights or something inside to be sure it’s working properly, then I can be on my way.

  “Hang on a second before you get it going,” he tells me with a relaxed smile on his face. “I just need to make sure I turned off the transfer switch. Don’t want to electrocute anyone by accident.” He heads inside and is back less than a minute later. I connect the generator, and he goes back inside to test the kitchen lights, returning a short while later. “We’re in business! It’s all working, thanks to you.”

  “Great,” I say as I begin to pack up my tools to leave.

  “Perfect timing too. Rachel and Jane just drove up out front. They’re unloading their stuff. I owe you one, Savage. Are you sure I can’t convince you to stick around for lunch?”

  “Can’t. Busy,” I grumble. I don’t do family meals, conversations, or sit-downs. Not anymore. Ben should know better than to ask, but I’m sure he just wants to thank me in his own way. Still, this isn’t for me.

  “If you change your mind, just come on down. Anytime at all.”

  With a nod and my last tool back in the box, I turn and set off up the trail again. It’s only when I’m almost at my front door that I remember that I left one of my tools at the side of Ben’s cabin. Shit. The last thing I want to do right now is head down there for it and end up having to make conversation with people I barely know, but I need it. Paid a pretty penny for that Phillips head screwdriver. It makes no sense leaving it out in the elements to get all rusty. Resting the toolbox on my small wooden front porch, I head back, making a point to avoid the footpath that leads to the front of Ben’s cabin. I loop around the back and quieter side of the house. The tool is sitting right where I left it so I quickly bend to pick it up. I straighten up to full height, hoping Ben and his family are still busy out front as I turn to go back where I came from.