Saving Wonder

by Mary Knight

  I can almost feel Jules’s heart pounding next to me as she breaks into a smile as wide as her face and waves at him through the car window. He lifts the fingers of a pocketed hand slightly, and the ends of his mouth twitch like he’s trying to grin.

  “Look there, Jules, he’s really glad to see us.”

  Jules ignores my sarcasm, probably doesn’t even hear it. She grabs her backpack and is out of the car, slamming the door in my face like I’m not even there.

  “Jules!” her ma yells after her, and then looks back at me. “Sorry, Curley. I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl.”

  “I do,” I say under my breath as I slide out the door. “See you later, Mrs. C.”

  I feel like I’m entering enemy territory, this being the coal boss’s house and all. Even Mrs. C kidded us about keeping our eyes out for shady dealings, which made me think of Papaw, of course. After JD first showed up at school, I heard Jules beg her ma to take the I ♥ MOUNTAINS bumper sticker off her car, as if he might refuse to be her science partner if he saw it.

  “Who doesn’t love mountains?” Mrs. C had replied, all innocent-like, but Jules and I both know she’s attended her share of protests in Frankfort against the coal industry. Heck, we’ve helped her make the signs.

  “Hey, Curley.” JD greets me at the door as if we’re pals or something and ushers me through the marble-tiled entryway. “Jules is already in the den. My dad’s got a fire going. We’re going to chill in there.”

  “Okay, sure,” I say, keeping my thoughts about chilling by the fire to myself.

  The Tivertons’ den is almost the size of our school cafeteria, with mahogany paneling lining the walls in a diagonal pattern. There’s enough wood in a single wall for Papaw to make an entire bedroom set. Overstuffed couches and armchairs surround a fieldstone fireplace at the center of the room with a big-screen TV over the mantel. At the west end, an entire wall of glass showcases a panoramic view of the Appalachians.

  It looks like the Tivertons love mountains, too.

  As JD and I head toward the fireplace, I notice Jules has her jacket off and is spreading her books out on a large, round coffee table. Instead of the oversized flannel shirt she usually wears on weekends, she’s wearing a soft, light green sweater. JD slips onto the couch next to her and opens up his laptop, sneaking glances in her direction as he waits for it to boot up. The only logical place for me to sit is in a chair across from them, and I remember what Papaw said: Three can be hard.

  Surprisingly, once we get going on our project, ideas start snap-cracking between us. Papaw would say we’ve got synergy (s word, last year), but JD says we’re sick, which I’m guessing is a good thing. I’d ask, but I feel like I should already know what it means.

  By the time we’re ready to wrap things up, we’ve divvied up the work. That is, JD and Jules have decided they’ll research the Eastern elk together and what caused its extinction. That leaves me researching the elk that are living here now, since I brought it up in class and Mr. A jumped all over it. I feel like a third wheel, what with the two of them pairing up like that, but I’m scrambling to take the high road about it. Besides, our work session has gone far better than I ever imagined.

  “No slackers in this group,” JD says, extending the flat of his hand across the coffee table for a high five, something that always makes me nervous. I raise my hand to slap his and miss. We try again and I catch his little finger. So much for synergy.

  I hate to admit it, though. I’m actually starting to like the guy.

  Until he invites Jules up to his room.

  I’m taking a few last-minute notes off JD’s laptop when Jules says she wants to see some old photographs of Eastern elk JD previously found on the Internet.

  “Come on.” JD takes Jules’s hand and tugs her up from the couch. “We can find it on my desktop upstairs. The graphics are better there, anyway.” Jules blushes for the second time today, the skin on her neck flaring pink.

  According to Webster’s, gullible means “easily deceived,” and when it comes to Jules, it’s the “easy” part that’s got me worried. Papaw says that words are mirrors and that’s where their power lies, but doggone it, I’m not the one being easy here, that’s for sure.

  As Jules follows JD out of the den, she looks back over her shoulder.

  “Be right back, Curley.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Take your time.”

  They’re up there for what feels like hours, though the grandfather clock in the corner has chimed only once on the quarter hour since they left. A man in faded jeans and a red Indiana University sweatshirt comes into the den and grabs the TV remote off the coffee table.

  “Hey there. You must be one of JD’s buddies from school.” He extends his hand. “I’m JD’s dad, Jim Tiverton.”

  “Mr. Tiverton.” I nod. “Curley Hines.”

  “Nice to meet you, Curley.” He slaps the remote against his thigh. “Hines … I don’t recall seeing that name on our roster. I was just going over our list of employees the other day with my general manager. You don’t have any family working in the mines, do you?”

  “No, sir.” I can barely get the words out. “Not anymore.”

  The word hate isn’t a helpful word, Papaw says, but it’s what I’m feeling now as I think about what this man in front of me represents. Carl Jenkins’s dad is fond of saying, “Coal keeps the lights on,” but as far as I can tell, coal has knocked the lights out for good on a lot of folks, including my family.

  “My daddy died in the mines, sir.” It’s all I can do to keep from spitting on his oriental rug.

  “I see.” Mr. Tiverton carefully sets the remote down on the arm of the couch and faces me. “I’m sorry, Curley.”

  As much as I want to dislike this man, I can see that he means it. It’s the first time anyone connected to coal mining has said those words to me or anyone I love. For some reason that I really, really hate, tears spring into my eyes. To counter the effect, I think about that envelope of money I found on Papaw’s dresser and how angry it made me feel. Maybe I can get to the bottom of this shady deal after all.

  “You might know my grandfather, John Weaver?” I try to make my words come out all smooth and casual-like as I swallow back the tears draining down my throat. “I think he’s a friend of coal.”

  Now I feel like the traitor, bending words to suit my purpose, like Papaw bends wood. Papaw would never say he’s a friend of coal, although he doesn’t say much about it one way or another. If my words get to the truth, though, isn’t that enough to make them right?

  “Ah … Weaver … Yes, I do recognize that name.” Mr. Tiverton considers me carefully, and then a sad look falls across his face. It’s a familiar look. Someone has told him about my family, most likely Antsy Martin. Just then, JD and Jules come into the den, laughing and cutting up. I look for signs of dishevelment, but Jules’s hair looks as messy as ever, so it’s hard to tell.

  “Uh, Jules, this is my old man.” JD gestures toward Mr. Tiverton. “Old Man, this is Jules.”

  “Gee, JD, what a lovely introduction.” Mr. Tiverton shakes Jules’s hand. “Please forgive my son. He learned his manners from his mother.”

  Jules laughs, but JD stares darts at his dad.

  “Hey, guys …” Mr. Tiverton ignores his son’s glare. “I hear you’re studying elk for your science class. There’s a herd of elk up on one of our mining sites north of here. The state park runs elk tours up there. I can get the three of you signed up for one, if you want. What do you say?”

  JD continues to fume at his father, and I’m still trying to work out what Antsy might have told Mr. Tiverton about Papaw, but Jules is all over the invitation like a bee on a clump of clover.

  “Gee, Mr. Tiverton, that’s a super idea,” she gushes. “I say we do it.” She turns to me and JD. “Guys? How ’bout it?”

  “Whatever,” JD says.

  “Sure.” I try to sound enthusiastic. Truth be told, I’m kind of worn out after worrying abou
t Jules up in JD’s room and then heaping all that hate onto JD’s dad. I mean, he did say he was sorry for my daddy and all, which I really do appreciate, and he really seems to want to help us with our project.

  Jules’s ma is waiting for us out in the driveway, but before I can follow Jules out the door, Mr. Tiverton takes me aside.

  “Curley, give my best to your grandfather, okay? Tell him … Tell him I think he’s got a fine grandson and we’ll talk soon.”

  About what? I want to ask, but Jules and her ma are waiting. I leave the Tivertons’ feeling more confused than ever.

  Maybe they aren’t the enemy after all.

  Gullible—adjective

  : easily deceived, overly trustful

  The next day at breakfast, Papaw gives me hutzpah. He says it’s a Yiddish word that usually starts with c, but that the Big Book allows hutzpah with an h as a variant, and besides, he says, “This won’t wait for the next c word to come along.

  “Seems like you need hutzpah right here and now, Curley,” he says over his grits and sausage. “I can tell you’re all shaken up about something, like a bottle of Coke ready to burst.”

  He’s right, of course, and he’s half the reason. Between him and Jules, I don’t know who to trust anymore. And worse, I don’t know who to talk to.

  The problem with being a bottled-up Coke is that you have to wait for someone else to pop the cap; the pressure’s simply too great inside and you can’t pop it yourself. So all I do is sit there. Not eating. Not talking. Just stirring my grits and stewing, thinking about the secret that Papaw’s keeping from me about all that coal money. Papaw’s fond of saying that we have no secrets in this house, but here he is keeping the biggest one of all.

  “Did something happen at JD’s house yesterday?” Papaw leans back in his chair and studies me. “Seems like you’ve been angry about something ever since you got back.”

  I jerk my head up from my plate. It’s like he’s poking me in the ribs, and I want to poke him back.

  “Come on, Curley. Say what’s on your mind. I can take it.”

  “Can you, Papaw?” I stare daggers at him.

  Papaw juts his chin out and jabs at the air between us with his fists, like he used to play-fight with me when I was five. I pound the end of my fork on the table.

  “For crying out loud, Papaw, I’m not a little kid anymore.” I rarely raise my voice against him, so we’re both pretty shocked, but doggone it, he asked for it. “And I’m not stupid, either.”

  “Why in the world would I think that?”

  “Something’s going on between you and the coal company, Papaw, and you think you can hide it from me. Some kind of money exchange. Something shady.”

  “Oh, that.” His shoulders slump.

  “Yeah, that. And while I’m at it, Mr. Tiverton says hi. You know, your old buddy Jim?” I hardly recognize my own voice. “He says to tell you that you’ve got a nice boy here and that you guys will talk soon.”

  “He said that?” He looks up expectantly.

  “Yeah, Papaw. Those were his words, and he talked like maybe I might know something, which I don’t, because you won’t tell me.”

  Papaw’s the silent one now, so I keep yammering away.

  “I found money on your dresser the other day when I came in to get your pills. That money came from Antsy Martin, didn’t it? And I wasn’t supposed to see it, was I? But why, Papaw? What’s going on?”

  Without looking up at me, Papaw throws his napkin down and pushes his chair back from the table, wood scraping wood. Turning toward the sink, he says, “Sorry, Curley, I’m not ready to tell you that right now. These are adult matters you shouldn’t have to worry about.”

  “But it’s too late, Papaw. I am worried. It’s got me worried sick.” I’m pleading now, drained of any hutzpah I might have had.

  Papaw pours himself another cup of coffee. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he takes what looks like a painful sip, or maybe that grimace has something to do with me. Either way, I can tell he’s thinking about what I just said. I hold my breath.

  “Well, I guess this is what I get for giving you a word like hutzpah, eh?” He laughs softly. “I’ve got to give it to you, Curley, it takes guts to confront me like this.”

  I want to say, You asked for it, but he’s already admitting that.

  “Want some coffee?” Papaw lifts the old percolator off the stove. I nod and he grabs a mug from a hook. I don’t usually drink coffee, but his offer feels important. No cream.

  “Come on, Curley. Let’s go out to the porch and talk to our mountain.”

  This is code for having a family meeting, and I couldn’t be more excited and terrified at the same time. Now that the truth is about to be revealed, I wonder: Do I really want to hear it?

  There’s a raw cold hanging over everything, it being late February and all. Clumps of snow still dot the backwoods. Papaw settles into his rocker while I ease onto the porch swing, toss an old army blanket over my legs to ward off the chill, and wait. Both of us sip at our coffee as we watch the eastern sun spread its golden rays behind Red Hawk Mountain.

  “You’re right, Curley,” Papaw finally says. “It’s time you knew what was going on.”

  His words send a rush of adrenaline through me, like I sometimes feel at night when I hear rustling in the woods outside my bedroom window and I know it’s something big.

  “After your ma and little Zeb died, Barkley Coal was scared to death that I was going to sue them in a court of law. Lord knows I had a busload of lawyers calling me every day, jabbering at me to do just that. All of those yokels were saying a lawsuit could be worth millions of dollars, if it went our way.”

  Did he say millions? As in, more than one? Every time I move the swing even a hair’s breadth, the chains groan, so I put a foot down to steady it. Papaw has stopped rocking, too.

  “What they didn’t say was how long it would take or how much of our lives would be consumed in the process. These things can take years. A company like Barkley has time and money on their side. Any judgment found in our favor would most certainly be appealed again and again, which, of course, would mean more time, more money in legal fees, more years of a life I never planned on spending in a courtroom. By the time it was settled, you’d probably be out of school.”

  I’m thinking about how many houses I could buy after I graduate with millions of dollars, when Papaw pulls out his pipe and starts loading it with tobacco.

  “That doesn’t even begin to touch the politics—how people would feel pressured to take sides, for and against. When folks depend upon mining for their livelihood, which a lot of them do around these parts, they can do and say all kinds of crazy things when they think you’re going against Big Coal. I didn’t want you to be caught in the middle of all that.”

  My jaw aches, I’ve been clenching it so tight.

  “So when Antsy Martin came to me with an offer from Mr. Barkley to settle out of court without lawyering up, I had to give it a lot of thought. Honestly, Curley, you were my first priority. After losing all of your people in the seven short years of your life, you needed stability above all else. So I made the choice to settle with Big Coal to keep Big Coal out of our lives.”

  “But what about—”

  “Curley, let me finish.”

  For spite, I think, he takes a full minute to light his pipe. Striking a wooden matchstick with his thumbnail, he pulls the flame into the packed tobacco with long, slow puffs until the bowl glows red. The smoke that fills the air between us reminds me of the bonfires Mama used to build with applewood after pruning our orchard. The smell of Papaw’s tobacco never fails to sadden and comfort me all at the same time.

  “So you see, Curley, there was a payoff, but there was nothing shady about it. Thanks to Barkley Coal, you now have a college fund, and we get a monthly sum that meets our bills and a little more. What I make from the woodshop helps, too, but without the coal money, we’d be living in a city like Lexington or Cincinnati, wh
ere your Aunt Gertie lives, because I’d need to find a good-paying job. Lord knows there’s nothing like that around here.

  “If I’d made the choice to sue, we’d still not have our millions, if ever; we’d be living away from the mountains; you wouldn’t have Jules; and who knows, we might not even have each other. What’s that worth, Curley? What’s all that worth?”

  My throat gets all dry and tight just thinking about everything I’d be missing, and I swallow hard. I could see his point.

  “The cash was the one thing I insisted on,” Papaw continues. “I wanted them paying me in cold, hard cash. I wanted them going to the bank and pulling out that money and handing it to me personally every blasted month, in the hopes they’d think about the lives that no longer walk these hills because of their shoddy sludge pond. It’s a little thing, but I didn’t want to make it any easier for them, when it hasn’t been easy for us.”

  Just then, a mama deer and her speckled fawn appear in the woods through the morning fog. It’s like one of those Magic Eye pictures where suddenly a figure jumps out at you from a page of jumbled dots. The mama deer keeps her eye on us as I think about how my life might have been different these past few years if Papaw had been all tied up in a fight. And then, when I think about all those heart pills he takes, I can’t imagine what it might have done to him. Still, with so much at stake, I feel cheated of something.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this, Papaw? You’re always sayin’ we’re a team. I feel kind of fooled with all this going on and me not knowing.”

  “I can see how you’d feel that way.” He exhales a long stream of smoke. “I guess I wanted to protect you, Curley. I wanted your life to go on as normal as possible, even though there was nothing normal about losing your closest kin.”

  Something snaps in the woods. The deer and fawn startle and bound out of sight.