Sky of Stone (26 page)

34

THE CABIN

A
FEW
days passed. I walked a lot, there being hardly anyone to pick me up and give me a ride. I even walked all the way down to Cape Coalwood. The ancient slack dump stretched out before me, waves of heat coming off it. There wasn’t a single board left of the Big Creek Missile Agency’s old blockhouse. Some concrete chunks were all that remained of our launchpad. I searched around and found some metal fragments, the remnants of abor-
tive launches. I could still smell the burnt propellant on the slivers of steel and aluminum. I put them back where I’d found them. They seemed almost like holy icons from another page. I felt like an intruder.

I walked back up the road until I got to Frog Level. A truck rumbled up next to me. It was Red Carroll. “Where you going, Sonny?”

“Nowhere,” I said.

“How about a ride there?”

“Why not?”

We rode along, neither of us saying anything until we got to Coalwood Main. He stopped at the Club House. “You want off here?”

I shrugged. “I guess so. Any word from O’Dell?”

“Off to Germany soon. I’m so proud of him I could bust.”

I nodded and started to get out, but Red stopped me. “Why don’t you volunteer for fire watch up at the Cabin?”

“Fire watch?”

“Tag’s been asking around for somebody to go spend miners’ vacation at the Cabin and watch the mountains in case there’s a wildfire. You got a lot of time on your hands. Why not?”

The Cabin Red was talking about was officially titled the Coalwood Conservation Club. It was a rustic lodge on top of Coalwood Mountain that was mostly used for poker parties by the company managers. Schools used it every so often for day outings, too. “Can’t do it, Red,” I said. “I have to feed Poteet every day.”

“I’ll take care of her,” he said. “You want me to tell Tag you’re interested?”

I sure did. It sounded like an adventure, and I was ready for one.

That night I heard a yell from the foyer. “Hey, Sonny boy!” It was Tag.

I came downstairs. The constable gave me a big grin. “I got your sleeping bag, your food, everything you need in the trunk of my car except a change of clothes. Go get packed and come on.”

“Am I really needed up there?” I asked. I had been having second thoughts. After all, who would walk aimlessly around town if I wasn’t around to do it?

“We need every set of eyes we can get,” Tag said.

“Then I’m your man.” I ran inside to pack my few pitiful clothes and a couple of books. I was working on a new book I’d bought at the company store titled
To Kill a Mockingbird
. I was enjoying it quite a lot. It was narrated by a little girl, and I especially enjoyed reading about her father. Atticus Finch wasn’t much like my dad, at least not outwardly, but I thought they shared at their core a certain decency, and honesty, too.

On the way up Coalwood Mountain, I asked, “Did you talk to Mrs. Dooley?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” he remarked. “What was that about again?”

“Never mind.”

At the crest of the mountain, Tag turned left and we started climbing a steep dirt road. The dust boiled out behind Tag’s patrol car. “Driest I’ve ever seen it,” he worried. “Usually, there’s some dew in the morning to keep things wetted down a bit, but even the air’s dried out.”

“How am I supposed to let anybody know if I see a fire?”

He reached in his shirt pocket and produced a key. “This is to the Cabin. There’s a black phone in there.”

“What do I look for?”

“Smoke. Make sure it’s not coming from a coal tipple or something. I’ve included some topo maps in your stuff so you can tell where you’re looking.”

At the Cabin, Tag helped me unload the gear, which included a little gas stove. He had my food in a cardboard box. Nearly every can was beef stew, which was good. I knew how to heat up a can of stew.

Tag walked me around the Cabin grounds. The view was wonderful. As far as I could see, mountains were stacked behind each other like the pages of a book. A fire tower sat on one side of a grassy meadow. “That’s the best place to keep your eyes on things,” he said. “But just about anywhere up here will do.”

We climbed the tower and I stashed the topographical maps in a metal box on the top platform. Inside it, I found a compass. I practiced with it, finding north right off. Then I spotted a plume of smoke and determined that it was coming from the east. “I see it,” Tag said. “It’s a long way off, though. No threat to Coalwood. But I’ll call it in, just to be on the safe side.”

When it looked like he was about to leave, I decided to get something off my chest. “Tag, why did you lie to me?”

He gave me a surprised look. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t have to ask Mrs. Dooley about what happened to Nate, did you? You already know what happened to him. Isn’t that right?”

Tag pushed his hat to the back of his head. “You know, Sonny, I’m not a real policeman. I’m just a company stiff dressed up to look like one. I do what the company tells me to do, which isn’t very much. They just keep me around so folks will have somebody to call if they’ve got a problem like somebody stealing somebody else’s tomatoes. If a real law gets broken, I call in the county.”

“Okay,” I said, and waited.

“There’s not been any real laws broken here,” he said after a bit. “It’s just Coalwood business.”

“You mean nobody hurt Nate Dooley?”

“Not on purpose.”

“What does that mean?”

Tag looked off to the east. “I better go call in that smoke.”

“Tag . . .”

He spat over the railing. “For God’s sake, Sonny, let it go! Your dad doesn’t want any of this to come out. That’s all you need to know.”

“What does Dad have to do with Nate Dooley?”

Tag shook his head and headed down the steps of the fire tower. I followed him all the way to his car. “Forget I said anything,” he said.

I couldn’t oblige him. “Tag, what does Dad have to do with Nate Dooley getting hurt?”

“I didn’t say he did.”

“But you said—”

“You got my number?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Call me if you need anything. And thanks, Sonny. You’re doing a real service here.”

“Do me one favor,” I said. “Swing by the Dooleys and tell Mrs. Dooley where I am.”

“Sure. It’s nice of you to try to help her out.”

“She picked me, not the other way around.”

“Some folks say you owe her,” he said. “I don’t happen to believe that. You were just a baby when all that happened. Don’t worry. She can always call me if she needs anything.”

“Why didn’t she call you when Mr. Dooley broke his wrist?”

Tag stared at me, then shook his head. He climbed into his patrol car and sped down the dirt road. I watched the cloud of dust rising from his tracks for a little while and then trudged back up the hill to do my duty.

I
SPENT
the next five days alone at the Cabin. I called in three plumes of smoke, both far away. I also got a pile of thinking done. I didn’t figure everything out, but by the time my work at the Cabin was done, I was somewhere close, of that I was certain.

Nate Dooley.

Tuck Dillon.

Dad.

Where there was Dad, wasn’t there always Mom? Just a little more information, I believed, and all would be clear, the mysteries solved.

But then, as usual, Coalwood threw me a curve.

Red Carroll came to get me in his garbage truck. “Did you have fun?” Red asked as he drove down Coalwood Mountain.

“I sure did.”

“Good, good,” he said, a bit distracted. He drove us through Six, then along the straight stretch that went past the mine. “Look at all those fancy cars, Sonny,” he said.

I looked. There were a bunch of them—Cadillacs, Chryslers, some big trucks, too. Then I saw a lot of men dressed in suits walking over the grounds. “What’s happening?”

“Inventory teams,” he said. “From about a dozen holding outfits.”

“Why are they here?”

He looked at me carefully with his sad eyes. “I forgot. You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“The company’s going to be sold, Sonny. Lock, stock, and tipple.”

35

BOBBY’S PLAN

M
ONDAY,
J
ULY
17, 1961, was the first day back to work after miners’ vacation. At the mine, the foremen were all crowded into Dad’s office while common miners, such as myself, milled around uncertainly in front of the man-lift.

Johnny, just back from Myrtle Beach, was listening to Bobby tell about his vacation in Lebanon, Tennessee, where his grandmother had a farm. He’d also spent some time on Holston Lake. “Fishing was great,” he said. “I caught about a hundred crappie.”

“Did you cook them up?” Johnny asked hungrily.

“Sure did. Never a better eating fish in the world.”

I was startled that they both seemed so calm. “How can you talk about fish when the mine’s being sold?” I demanded.

“It don’t change our job, Sonny,” Johnny said. “We still got to lay that track down.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” I said. “What if they sell the mine and fire us all?”

“There you go again,” Bobby said. “Ever the pessimist.”

“Sonny, you got to get your tail unwrapped this morning,” Johnny said. “It’s always this way after miners’ vacation. Your dad’s got to tell his foremen his plan to get production up and running. We won’t do much today except inspect and repair. Most likely, Dwight Strong will have us walk the track, just to check out the job.”

“No track laying today?”

“Nope. But tomorrow we’ll hit it as hard as we can.”

“Can’t wait,” I said, thinking how sore my muscles were going to get all over again.

Bobby shook his head at my sorry attempt at sarcasm. “Your mother gave me an impossible job.”

I heard the thumping of boots on wooden steps and saw the foremen coming out of Dad’s office. They raised their hands as they did. “Gather around,” each of them called their men in turn.

We gathered around Mr. Strong. “Boys, we’re going to spend the day pulling maintenance on the equipment and inspecting the face.” He looked at Johnny. “Johnny, you take Bobby and Sonny and walk the line, see what you got to do yet.”

Johnny nodded compliantly, but I piped up. “What about the Caretta team? Are they going to lay track today?”

Mr. Strong smiled. “Worried about your bet? No, they’ll walk their end of the line, too.”

“What about the mine getting sold, boss?” one of the continuous miner operators asked.

“It’s not a done deal,” Mr. Strong answered. “There’s still a few
i
’s to be dotted,
t
’s to be crossed.”

“But it’s going to happen, ain’t it?”

Mr. Strong shuffled his boots in the gob. “Most likely.”

“I hear the company that’s going to buy us is Southern United. They been known to shut a mine down, pull out all its equipment, and sell it for scrap.”

“I don’t know, Jarrow,” Mr. Strong said. “I’ve heard the same thing, but as far as I know, it’s a rumor. There’s no sense worrying about it. We’ll know when we know.”

We descended the shaft once more, caught the man-trip, and got off where we’d laid our last rail. It felt a bit like a homecoming. I breathed in the air whistling down the main line. It smelled of electric motors, coal dust, and gob, the perfume of the mine.

Johnny pointed his light down the track. “If the Caretta team’s walking their end, we’ll walk until we meet them.”

It was some hours later when we saw a trio of lights approaching us—the Caretta boys.

Garrett Brown greeted us. “Hey, Johnny. Hey, boys.”

“Garrett,” Johnny growled. His light crawled across Delmar and Chinky. “Boys.”

“Sonny,” Delmar said. His cheek bulged with a big chaw. “Got my three hundred dollars ready?”

“I wouldn’t spend it just yet,” I said. I tucked my tongue in my cheek to make me look tough. He laughed, don’t ask me why.

“Bobby,” Chinky Pinns said, and spat.

“Chinky,” Bobby said, and spat, too.

We stood crouched under the roof, just contemplating each other’s air. “Well, ain’t this something?” Garrett finally chuckled. “I wondered when we’d run into you boys. The lime mark’s about a half mile back that way.” He tossed his thumb over his shoulder.

“How many rails you got to go?” Johnny asked.

“Two hundred and twenty-two,” Garrett said. “How about you?”

“I forgot to count,” Johnny said.

Garrett laughed. “You’re ashamed to say. Maybe you ought to go ahead and give up.”

“Why should we give up?” Bobby snapped. “We’re going to kick your butts!”

“You pissant,” Chinky hissed. “You want to try to kick my butt right here and now?” He raised his fists.

Bobby scuttled in, rolling up his sleeves, but Johnny put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. “There ain’t going to be no fighting,” he said. “It’s against union rules.”

Bobby and Chinky gave each other the evil eye, then backed off. Garrett laughed, then turned and waved his hand. “Come on, boys. I’m tired of smelling Coalwood. Let’s get back to Caretta.”

We watched them go, their flashing lights gradually growing dim until they disappeared around a curve. “Come on,” Johnny said.

“Where are we going?” I demanded.

“Let’s see how far away the lime mark really is.”

We walked on. When we got to the mark, Johnny said, “I counted two hundred and ninety-eight rails from where we left off at miners’ vacation to this mark. We’re averaging eight a day.” He looked at me.

I did a quick mental calculation. “About thirty-eight man-days to go,” I said.

Johnny squatted, took off his helmet, and ran his hand through his hair. “How many rails did Garrett say they had to go?”

“Two hundred and twenty-two,” I said. “They’re averaging about the same we are. That means they’ll be to the lime mark in about twenty-eight shifts. They’re going to beat us by ten full days. My God, we’re going to be embarrassed all over this mine.”

“What if we laid ten rails a day?” Bobby asked. “Two hundred and ninety-eight rails divided by ten is equal to twenty-nine point eight. We’d have a fighting chance if we did that.”

“Ten rails a day?” I shook my head. “Eight is almost killing us as it is.”

“But I’ve got a plan,” he said. “I came up with it while I was fishing. All we have to do is approach this job from a different direction—backward.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Sure.”

“Let the man talk, Sonny,” Johnny said.

“What keeps us from doing ten rails a day?” Bobby asked.

I was really in a prickly mood. “Time, energy, and you talking all the time?” I suggested.

“No,” he said, ignoring my jape. “It’s because all the rails have to be in place before the man-trips can go out at the end of the shift. I’ve noticed we start to pace ourselves toward the end of the day to make sure we don’t have a rail out when the shift is over. But what if we pulled out the spikes on ten sections first thing in the morning, rolled off the rails, then started working backward to the first one? We’d have to do it. We’d have no choice. We’ll also be moving toward our supplies, not away from them.”

I laughed. “And what happens if we don’t make it? Excuse me, Mr. Bossman. I guess we kind of let your man-trips wreck.”

“Hold on, Sonny,” Johnny said. “Maybe Bobby’s on to something. If we work backward, and move toward where the hoot-owl shift stacks our supplies, the job will get easier as the day wears on, not harder.”

“That’s right,” Bobby said. “The way we do it now, we start off fast because the new ties are right where we need them. We’re also fresher. But we slow down toward the end of the shift because we have to haul the ties farther and farther when we’re the tiredest. We also slow down because we’re afraid to knock out another rail and not get it laid back in time.”

“That’s my whole point!” I cried. “We’ll end up wrecking the man-trips!”

Bobby was unruffled by my outburst. “Pessimism is just your middle name, isn’t it?”

“It’s Hadley, actually.”

“What did your parents have against you?”

“That I got born, far as I can tell.”

“Now you’re being melancholy.”

“More cynical, I thought.”

“No, melancholy is the adverb, I’m pretty certain.”

“Actually, it’s an adjective.”

“Who cares? We’re seven hundred feet down in a coal mine with a slab of sandstone that weighs a billion tons hanging an inch over our heads!”

Bobby had a point. Even I could see that.

“We’ll try going backward tomorrow,” Johnny said, interrupting our banter. “Eight rails, just to see if it works.”

“It’ll work,” Bobby said. “All we have to do is get lucky. If something, anything at all, slows the Caretta boys down, we’ve got them.”

I was astonished at my two crewmates. We were headed for disaster, that’s all I knew. I had never been so certain of anything in the entire history of my life and I said so, just to make sure they knew it.

“Maybe so, but it’s worth a try,” Johnny said.

“Then it’s agreed?” Bobby asked.

Johnny flashed his light in my eyes. “Sonny, are you with us or not?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No!” they chorused.

The next day we laid eight rails going backward, then stood around with time on our hands at the end of the shift. We could have easily laid at least one more. “What did I tell you?” Bobby bragged.

“We need to send you fishing more often,” Johnny said.

“How about the rest of the summer?” I suggested.

Bobby laughed. “Thank you, Sonny. I appreciate your willingness to admit when you’re wrong.”

I had indeed been wrong, and I knew it would make me a better man to confess it, but I still didn’t. There was no use giving Bobby more of a swelled head. The way I saw it, I was doing him a favor.

When I got back to the Club House that evening, I was startled to see the chairs set up again in the parlor. Floretta’s look told me all I needed to know.

It was time for the second testimony, and this time, I was certain, Dad was going to have to sit in the dock.