Read Online The Coalwood Way by Homer Hickam - Free Book Online
Authors: Homer Hickam
Tags: Fiction
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strayed to her heart. The children backed down a step, their eyes wide. “Don’t you move!” she ordered, and they froze in place.
I followed Mom back into the kitchen and watched her open up the refrigerator and begin tossing baloney and ham slices and cheese into a sack. When it was filled up, she got another sack and put a loaf of bread in it and then opened up her pantry and tossed in cans of soup and a jar of peanut butter. She pointed at the sacks. “Quick, before they get away!”
I did as I was told, handing over the groceries. “Thank you!” the children said over and over, and when I looked out at the gate, I saw for the first time that they’d been accompanied by a woman. She had been just out of sight, hidden behind Mom’s rose arbor. The woman wore a thin coat and had a kerchief pulled around her head. She looked tiny and frail, what I could see of her. She waited for the children to come through the gate, and then, whispering amongst themselves excitedly, the family disappeared into the night.
“I wonder where they’re from?” Mom said. “Couldn’t be from Coalwood. They must have come in over the mountain.” She went to the telephone and called Mrs. Sharitz next door. “Rosemary? Did some raggedy kids just come to your house? They did? Did you know them? No, I didn’t, either.” Mom phoned each lady on Tipple Row, but the answer was all the same. No one recognized the children.
When Dad came in late from his Salvation Army meeting, I was in the basement, contemplating my latest approach to fin design. I thought maybe it would be quicker to just cut two rectangles and bend them around the casement and clamp them together. That would give us four rectangular fins for about what it now took to make two of them. Dad came down the basement steps, and I heard Lucifer, our old tomcat, growl. When Lucifer came into the basement to get warm, he always chose the bottom step of the staircase that came down from the kitchen to make his nest. “I’m not going to step on you, you crazy old thing,” Dad said. “Sonny boy—what are you doing up so late?” He had a blue suit on, an unusual sartorial event for Dad, but going to a meeting in Welch apparently demanded it. Although he was forty-seven years old, his hair was as black and full as I guess it had ever been. He and my brother Jim shared the same faded blue eyes, but Dad had a sharper face, his nose thin and triangular.
I showed Dad the drawing of my fin design, and he reached inside his coat for some reading glasses to peruse it. After a moment, he handed it back to me. “You need a sharper pencil” was his only comment. He looked at the furnace and said, “Throw a shovelful of coal or two in there before you come up.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. He turned to go but stopped at the base of the stairs, straddling Lucifer, who gave him an irritated, heavy-lidded look. Dad pondered me and I thought he was about to say something, but then he went on up the steps. I heard him cross through the kitchen and the dining room, and then he stopped. I knew it was to sort through his mail stacked on the dining-room table. I heard Mom’s footsteps on the stairs and then their muffled voices. I was quiet, so I could hear what they were saying.
She told him about the children on the stoop. “Buddy, I talked to everybody on Tipple Row and nobody knew who they were. They couldn’t be from Coalwood, could they?”
“I don’t know, Elsie,” he said. “I hope not but—”
She interrupted him. “Buddy, let’s get out of here while you’ve still got breath left in your lungs.”
“It’s going to be all right, Elsie,” Dad said, his voice low. “I have a plan. We’re going to go into . . .” But I couldn’t hear what else he said.
I heard Mom well enough. “I won’t let this place kill you, Homer.”
“For better or for worse,” he said.
“Your better, my worse,” Mom replied, and then I heard her footsteps going up the stairs.
5
THE
I followed Mom back into the kitchen and watched her open up the refrigerator and begin tossing baloney and ham slices and cheese into a sack. When it was filled up, she got another sack and put a loaf of bread in it and then opened up her pantry and tossed in cans of soup and a jar of peanut butter. She pointed at the sacks. “Quick, before they get away!”
I did as I was told, handing over the groceries. “Thank you!” the children said over and over, and when I looked out at the gate, I saw for the first time that they’d been accompanied by a woman. She had been just out of sight, hidden behind Mom’s rose arbor. The woman wore a thin coat and had a kerchief pulled around her head. She looked tiny and frail, what I could see of her. She waited for the children to come through the gate, and then, whispering amongst themselves excitedly, the family disappeared into the night.
“I wonder where they’re from?” Mom said. “Couldn’t be from Coalwood. They must have come in over the mountain.” She went to the telephone and called Mrs. Sharitz next door. “Rosemary? Did some raggedy kids just come to your house? They did? Did you know them? No, I didn’t, either.” Mom phoned each lady on Tipple Row, but the answer was all the same. No one recognized the children.
When Dad came in late from his Salvation Army meeting, I was in the basement, contemplating my latest approach to fin design. I thought maybe it would be quicker to just cut two rectangles and bend them around the casement and clamp them together. That would give us four rectangular fins for about what it now took to make two of them. Dad came down the basement steps, and I heard Lucifer, our old tomcat, growl. When Lucifer came into the basement to get warm, he always chose the bottom step of the staircase that came down from the kitchen to make his nest. “I’m not going to step on you, you crazy old thing,” Dad said. “Sonny boy—what are you doing up so late?” He had a blue suit on, an unusual sartorial event for Dad, but going to a meeting in Welch apparently demanded it. Although he was forty-seven years old, his hair was as black and full as I guess it had ever been. He and my brother Jim shared the same faded blue eyes, but Dad had a sharper face, his nose thin and triangular.
I showed Dad the drawing of my fin design, and he reached inside his coat for some reading glasses to peruse it. After a moment, he handed it back to me. “You need a sharper pencil” was his only comment. He looked at the furnace and said, “Throw a shovelful of coal or two in there before you come up.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. He turned to go but stopped at the base of the stairs, straddling Lucifer, who gave him an irritated, heavy-lidded look. Dad pondered me and I thought he was about to say something, but then he went on up the steps. I heard him cross through the kitchen and the dining room, and then he stopped. I knew it was to sort through his mail stacked on the dining-room table. I heard Mom’s footsteps on the stairs and then their muffled voices. I was quiet, so I could hear what they were saying.
She told him about the children on the stoop. “Buddy, I talked to everybody on Tipple Row and nobody knew who they were. They couldn’t be from Coalwood, could they?”
“I don’t know, Elsie,” he said. “I hope not but—”
She interrupted him. “Buddy, let’s get out of here while you’ve still got breath left in your lungs.”
“It’s going to be all right, Elsie,” Dad said, his voice low. “I have a plan. We’re going to go into . . .” But I couldn’t hear what else he said.
I heard Mom well enough. “I won’t let this place kill you, Homer.”
“For better or for worse,” he said.
“Your better, my worse,” Mom replied, and then I heard her footsteps going up the stairs.
5
THE
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