Us and Them

by Hugh R. MacDonald

  “I’m just glad it’s out in the open now. No more secrets for me,” JW said.

  “Me too,” Alfred said.

  Now, in his bed, listening to the rain, JW thought of Beth. He remembered how she’d looked at him when she told him what Davey Brown had said. Tomorrow, he would have a heart-to-heart talk with Davey. He liked Davey okay, but he would have to let him know what’s what. JW remembered his plan to make it up to Beth for his fishing trip with Mickey. In the morning, he’d ask Beth to go to the Strand Theatre on Saturday.

  The rain pelted the window and the wind seemed to have picked up. He thought about the upcoming tests and the final exams that would soon follow. The summer off with Beth was what he was looking forward to. He fell asleep thinking about her.

  —

  “I love that JW wants to help Alfred and that he sees sharing with others as the right thing to do,” Mary said.

  “Yes, I know, and it’s how we raised him, but sharing our surplus is easier than adding another mouth to feed. I know the meat supply is low, but I haven’t felt up to hunting much lately. There’s half a dozen hens that are done laying. We could roast them up or make a stew outta them, and we still have a bit of corned beef and a pretty good supply of salt fish, so we should be okay for a while,” Andrew said.

  “Alfred mentioned that he plans to head out for Boston soon, but I fear with that limp he may not get far,” Mary said.

  “Can’t turn an old man away, but we may have to stretch the food a little farther. He seems to have almost as good an appetite as JW.”

  Despite their concern, they both chuckled at this.

  Chapter 12

  Patty took the seat next to Donnie. He knew the boy was scared, thinking about a night alone underground. Patty remembered his first night alone; it hadn’t been fun. The darkness and the rats were bad enough, but some of the old-timers were worse.

  “Don’t worry, Donnie,” Patty said in a low voice. “The first night’s the worst. Don’t pay no attention to the old fellas. Some of them are mean and cranky. Just pull the door open like me and Mick showed you, and you’ll be fine.”

  Donnie nodded with rapt attention to every word Patty said, as always, making sure he wasn’t missing any important information. “I’ll do it just like you showed me. Hope the door don’t get stuck.”

  “It shouldn’t. Just be sure to lather up the hinges with the grease,” Patty said, knowing the door was going to be heavy for someone the size of Donnie. “The rats won’t bother you if you throw them a few crumbs.”

  “I will. Thanks. I don’t mind the rats too much. There’s lots behind our house. Sometimes you can hear them in the walls.”

  The rake started moving, and Patty lowered his head and watched to make sure Donnie did too. They were in the middle of the cars. No new blood tonight. The speed of the rake seemed leisurely compared to the nights when first-timers went down below. As the rake pulled to a stop, Patty waited until Donnie got his lamp lit before heading toward his door. He pulled his door open and pointed along the tracks.

  “Just stay to the left and you’ll reach Mick’s door,” Patty said.

  A sudden voice behind them caused them to jump. “That’s okay, Patty. I’ll see young Donnie gets to his door,” Andrew said.

  “Evening, Andy. That’s good then. See you in the mornin’, Donnie,” Patty said.

  Andrew clapped Patty on the back and went through the door with Donnie following close behind. “Goodnight, Patty. Stay awake.”

  “Always do, Andy,” he said. In a lower voice he added, “mostly.” He let the door close and heard the scrape of metal on metal as the first tram loaded with coal made its way toward him. He remembered the lessons JW had taught him. He’d learned the importance of closing the trap door quickly to keep the fresh air down where the men were working. Fresh air was pumped into the mine from the surface. If the fresh air was gone, the men could suffocate. The thought of that scared him and kept him awake and aware most nights. Day shifts were busier, so it was easier to stay awake.

  “Open the door. Not asleep already, are you?”

  Patty looked into the face of Mickey’s father. “No, Shawn, I’m not asleep,” Patty said. He pulled the door open and let it close as soon as the tram cleared the door.

  “Watch it, boy. Ya almost hit the tram,” Shawn said.

  Patty knew Donnie would hear the same line, unless Andy was still there. With Mickey talking about getting off the trap door, Patty was hoping he could leave too, but with little Donnie on the trap now, he thought he might have to stay a while to make sure he got along okay. He kinda liked the way Donnie looked up to him. Yes, I think I’ll wait some, before I make the move.

  —

  “So that’s what I’m thinking, JW. Me and you haul the coal and split her down the middle,” Mickey said.

  “I like the sound of that, as long as you’re sure your father won’t put up a fuss,” JW said. “What’ll he think of it?”

  “The old fella’s all tuckered out after a shift in the pit, and I can’t do it all myself. The best I get outta him is he’ll drive the wagon, but he just sits there and watches me shovel the coal on and off.”

  “I’ll do the same for you. You do all the work and I’ll collect half the money,” JW said, laughing.

  “I was thinking the other way around sounds better.”

  JW was excited at the prospect of working during the summer and making some money. “When do we start? I still have exams to write, but I can work Saturdays.”

  “I’m off the next two days, so I’ll try to set up some deliveries,” Mickey said. “I’ll talk to you this evening. With all the coal shovelling you’ll be doing, you’ll be ready to work underground for one of the miners.”

  “No way. What do you mean, ‘for one of the miners?’”

  “Some of the miners pay young fellas out of their pay to work as drivers. Da wanted me to work for him in the pit, but there was no way I would do that.”

  “I thought everyone was paid by the company. No offence, but I sure wouldn’t want to work for your father.”

  “Not many would, and those that start with him never seem to last long.”

  —

  “Hi, Ma,” JW said as he entered the kitchen. He saw she was deep in thought and had her prayer book open in front of her. He was anxious to tell her about his job working with Mickey on Saturdays until school was out, and then more days during the summer, whatever days Mickey had off and wanted to work.

  “Oh hi, dear,” she said, and offered a hint of a smile. She rose from the table and put her prayer book back in the cupboard.

  “Is something wrong, Ma?”

  “No, dear.” She looked up into the face of her son and saw the worry in his eyes. He was practically grown. “It’s just that your father seems tired, more than usual.”

  “Do you think he’s okay?”

  “Yes ... well ... I’m not sure. He’s got the cold sweats, and I heard him coughing pretty hard today, but he said he’s okay and that he just breathed in some dust last night.”

  “That dust can knock the good out of a fella for a couple of days, getting it out of your lungs,” JW said, hopeful that’s all it was. He didn’t like to see his mother worrying, and he was afraid that it might be more than some dust in his father’s lungs. He pushed plans with Mickey to the back of his mind. He picked up a turnip and started peeling it. He’d told his mother he wanted to know how to cook, so he’d be able to make his own meals when he was sailing on the ocean.

  “The shed looks like a little house. You’ve fixed it up nicely,” JW said.

  “Oh, I am quite comfortable, and happy that your parents allow me to stay,” Alfred said.

  “Is there anything you need?”

  “No, I have everything I need. All that is missing is my library. I miss the books I collected over the y
ears,” Alfred said.

  “You like to read? So do I.”

  “Oh, I love to read, JW,” Alfred said. “The winters can be long and harsh. Once the food was harvested for the winter and the wood cut and stacked, there were some long nights. Me and Jenean would sit by the fire reading from the books in our small library. As the firelight danced across the pages, the words would come alive and take me. Oh, listen to an old man prattle on. Forgive me.”

  JW looked at him in amazement. “That’s how I feel about books. I love how they take me to other places, to see how others lived. I have books in my room that I can loan you. Tell me what you like to read, and I will see what’s available at the library in town.”

  “That would be wonderful. I will prepare a list. Thank you.”

  Chapter 13

  “Whaddaya mean I can’t use the horse to haul the coal?” Mickey asked his father. “JW’s gonna help me. You said you didn’t want to haul it anymore.”

  “I’m not going to put more money in the pockets of the Donaldsons. If you was hauling it yourself, you could use the horse.”

  “I can’t get enough done if I have to do all the work myself. JW could use the money, same as me,” Mickey said.

  “I’m not going to kill off our horse to put money in his pockets.”

  “He helped dig you out from the cave-in, Da. You seemed to like him well enough then.”

  The slap came quick and hard. Mickey stared at his father, silent for a moment. “I ain’t a boy, and I don’t expect to be treated like one,” he said. “I’ve been doin’ a man’s work for a lot of years, so I expect to be treated like a man.”

  Shawn McGuire looked at his son, who equalled him in size and maybe even strength. His anger wasn’t at JW or at his son. He just didn’t like that Andy Donaldson was both his boss and his better. “You can’t use it, is all.”

  Mickey watched his father walk to the house. He’d heard that Andy’d had to tell his father not to be hollering at the new trapper boy, Donnie. Mickey couldn’t wait until he had enough money saved to get a place of his own. He’d miss his mother, brother and sisters, but he’d see more than enough of his father underground to suit him. If it was up to him, he’d haul coal on the surface rather than stand at a door all day or all night long. Mickey wanted more out of life than what his father had. He was tired of being bullied. Besides, he and Beth’s cousin, Sally Young, were getting pretty serious. She planned to go into nursing with Beth, and he hoped they’d marry one day. Mickey smiled, then thought he’d better not get ahead of himself.

  —

  The stew would take some time to cook, so JW decided to walk into town, maybe stop by the Co-op or library. Although he hadn't told his mother, JW figured Mickey would let her know if they’d be hauling coal tomorrow.

  As he neared the old graveyard, JW slowed down. He remembered the first night he’d set out for the mine alone three years ago. His father had followed behind him, bringing the lunch JW had dropped from his satchel, catching up to JW just as he came abreast of the graveyard. JW had jumped and squealed in fear, and both he and his father had had a good laugh at the thought of ghosts coming from the graveyard to get JW. He thought of the time spent at the kitchen table learning from his father about the underground workings of the mine. JW, initially thinking that it was simply grown-up stories, slowly came to the realization that his father was preparing him, wanting him to understand how the coal mine worked.

  The mine owners’ cutback of wages and working hours had forced JW’s parents to send him to work in the mines. Many of the other families in the surrounding areas had had to do the same. JW had been fortunate to be able to get out of the mine and return to school after only a few months. Others weren’t so fortunate. JW appreciated that both his mother and father had done everything they could to get him back to school. One more year and he would be off to college, and then ... off to see the world.

  JW saw the door to the library was open. Mrs. Johnson was still doing double duty, teaching during the days and ensuring the adults and older children had a place to get some reading materials in the evenings. Mrs. Johnson had taught him until grade eight and was still his favourite teacher.

  The roughly hewn table had several books on it. JW saw a book that interested him. He’d read it before but decided to read it again. He flipped the book open to the front page and became engrossed in the familiar tale. He heard someone clearing his throat and looked up into the eyes of JB McLachlan.

  “It’s good to see you reading, son,” JB said.

  JW saw JB straining to read the title. “It’s Ivanhoe, sir. I like to read about the history of heroes.”

  “Heroes aren’t the knights and kings of old,” McLachlan seemed to scoff. “The men who work to earn the money and the women who raise the children and see they are fed – they are heroes. Those are the things that should be taught in schools. Look at William Davis. There’s a hero,” JB said.

  JW was familiar with the story. He’d been told William Davis had been shot and killed while out getting a bottle of milk for his baby. He didn’t understand how that made him a hero.

  JB saw the perplexed look on JW’s face. “There are differing stories of what happened: that he was looking for his son, was on the picket line, or the most popular one, that he was getting milk for his baby. But, don’t you see, it doesn’t matter. Davis represents the working man, doing what’s needed to take care of his family.”

  JW nodded, thinking of the nights his own father got out of his warm bed to head into the black coal mine, just so they could eat. “Yes, sir. I do see what you mean.”

  JB continued. “The conditions here are still terrible, but it wasn’t too many years ago that kids five and six years old were in the coal mines – boys and girls, and lots were hauling coal.”

  JW saw the veins standing out on JB’s neck as he became more passionate. He believed that JB truly cared for every man and boy – or girl – that went underground.

  “Girls too?” JW asked, incredulous, thinking he meant the local mines.

  “Yes, girls too, and they weren’t treated very well. That was back in Scotland and Ireland and other places as well, I’m sure. I don’t know if that happened here, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Sounds terrible,” JW said. He didn’t bother mentioning that Long Jack had told him about the young girls working in the mines in Scotland, England and Wales. He didn’t feel the need to say much, once JB got started on a topic.

  “Aye, it was terrible, lad, but that’s why we have to keep working for the rights. Those mine owners would put babies in the mines, if they thought they could make a penny off their blood, sweat and tears.”

  JW knew the times were hard and that the wages still left a lot to be desired. His own father was working regular hours, so JW hadn’t paid much attention to what was going on with the other workers. His parents still shared any surplus vegetables, milk and cheese, but he never considered how bad things might be in other people’s lives.

  “I’m not saying or implying for you to stop reading books about knights and kings, but spend some time learning the history of the working men – and women. That’s where you’ll learn about real heroes.”

  “I have the book you requested, Mr. McLachlan,” Mrs. Johnson said from her desk.

  JB walked over and picked up the book. He thanked her and took the book, grunting in satisfaction. “We’ll talk again soon, JW. Say hello to your father.”

  “Yes, sir. G’bye, sir,” JW said. He watched McLachlan walk up the street. His fiery temper was the same, but JW’s father had told him that the time JB had spent in prison, for sticking up for the miner’s rights, had hurt him physically – that he’d gotten ill with tuberculosis and never fully recovered or regained the vigour he’d once possessed.

  Whenever JW spent time speaking with JB, he felt a stirring of indignation, anger at how t
he men had been treated. Having learned that even young children, including girls, had worked underground, JW was beginning to believe that the mine owners truly didn’t care if the men and their families lived or died. He remembered Red telling him that the horses and ponies used to haul the coal cars are treated better than the men, because the animals cost money and the men are free. “And abundant,” JW said to himself in a low voice.

  He laid Ivanhoe on the table. Perhaps he would get it out during the summer months. Right now, he had lots of school books to read. Alfred had declined getting books from the library until he’d finished reading the books JW had loaned him. Thinking about what Mr. McLachlan said, JW remembered the library book he still had at home, The Bitter Cry of the Children. Maybe he would finally get to read it over the summer. Hauling coal with Mickey, spending time with Beth swimming and having picnics, and planting and tending the garden wouldn’t leave a lot of time to get much reading done, but he’d squeeze in some.

  “Good bye, Mrs. Johnson,” JW said, heading for the door.

  “Bye, JW,” she said, and waved as he left the library.

  —

  The old man’s hand pulled the knife blade slowly along the piece of wood. Small cuts at various angles carved an intricate design. Taking the tool kit from his pack, Alfred found the chisel he wanted. He tapped it lightly against the wood and watched his carving begin to take shape. He had seen some carvings of wooden ships at various stages, some almost complete, in the shed where he was staying. Although they weren’t quite to scale, he thought the sculptor had potential and with a little instruction and practice would be very good.

  The fine detailed work of his younger years required a strength he no longer possessed, and Alfred felt his fingers cramp after a short period of time working on the piece. The schooner he was carving was a bit too ambitious to complete in a few days. He had told JW and Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson that he would be leaving for Boston shortly. He looked around the little shed, watched Beauty chase a spider into a corner then pounce on it as it attempted to climb the wall. He smiled. The kitten seemed perplexed with her capture, unsure what to do now that she had it in her paws. He listened to the bubbling teapot and moved it to the back of the stove, away from the heat. Alfred looked at the piece of wood again and picked it up. Perhaps the trip to Boston can wait a while, he thought.