Redemption Mountain (37 page)

“Maybe I should dump some ball bearings into the electrical conduits,” Charlie offered.

Lucien smiled. “Not the way we do things, heh, Charlie?”

“So Torkelson and Brand have a deal, is that it?”

“My spies tell me that Torkelson's going to use his leverage to back Brand. I'll be voted out and handed a golden parachute, and, I'm afraid, so will you, my friend.”

“And he'll have plenty of leverage,” Charlie responded. “Next year we stand to make, what, thirty million in fees from OntAmex?”

“And Torkelson will have the power to take it all away.”

“What does Torkelson get?” Charlie's voice had dropped into the lower tone that men use to discuss the darker issues of business transactions.

Lucien leaned forward with his hands locked in front of him. “My guy tells me that Brand had a couple of belts with him one night and let it slip that Torkelson gets five mil out of the deal, and something a little short of that for Tuthill, too, all on the quiet, after Brand takes over.”

Charlie shook his head. “He's a crook. A cheap fucking extortionist,” he said bitterly.

“You'd never be able to prove it,” said Lucien. “That's the way it is now, Charlie. The world's changing.
Everything's
about money and the power to make more money. And having it all
today.
”

Charlie suddenly thought about the China project, Lucien's dream and his passion. He would never see it completed—and Charlie wouldn't see it at all.
Why not just pack it in now and forget about China and West Virginia?
Then he thought about Ellen and her new house and noticed the stack of architectural drawings of small libraries and athletics fields on his desk.
Yes, he still had things left to do in West Virginia.

“I've got a company to run.” Lucien's words jarred Charlie from his thoughts. “And you've got a power plant to build.” Lucien stood. “The barbarians are at the gate, Charlie.”

“We'll find a way to fight them off, Lucien. We always do,” Charlie said, gripping his friend's hand.

“We'll find a way,” said Lucien, putting on his self-confident smile, but Charlie could see that his eyes didn't agree.

 

CHAPTER 22

 

T
he yellow school bus lurched and swayed along the winding road as the gray-haired woman struggled with the oversize steering wheel. Sitting in a front seat across the aisle, Natty kept a wary eye on the driver and on the road, her left hand squeezing the top of the seat as they went into each turn. Geneva Gunnells had been the elementary-school bus driver for nearly forty years, but Natty was always ready to leap across the aisle and grab the wheel.

In the backseat, Zack Willard held court. Sitting next to Zack was Paul, whom Zack had adopted as his “main man” and had engaged in a season-long project to teach him some English swear words. Paul laughed along with the others, although Natty knew he probably had no idea what they were saying.

There seemed to be some extra enthusiasm in her team today, and while none of them would admit it, Natty knew it was because this was the first game they would play in their new uniforms. That today's game was against their biggest rival only added to their excitement. Natty had to admit that she couldn't wait to see the look on the face of the Welch coach when her team filed off the bus.

She looked over at Emma, two seats behind Geneva. Her shiny black warm-up jacket was zippered all the way up. The matching black pants had a red stripe running down the seam, which Natty had to concede looked sharp, although she would've preferred red warm-ups rather than the ominous-looking black. But the kids loved them.

Natty had a tough time believing it when she discovered the six boxes piled just inside the children's library. She'd gone in to get the soccer balls before Wednesday's practice, and there they were. A note taped to the top box read,
Mrs. Oakes—A gift from the OntAmex Company.
It wasn't signed, but the boxes all had white shipping labels from New York City.

Natty's mouth fell open when she realized what the boxes contained. Then she found an envelope with a form letter from the salesman, thanking Charlie, along with a packing slip and a pink copy of the invoice. Natty gasped when she saw the total cost—four thousand dollars!
My God!
She'd gotten this year's T-shirts for less than a hundred dollars for the whole team.

Natty looked back toward the rear of the bus, toward her four-thousand-dollar team. They had quieted down a little as they got closer to Welch. Then Sammy Willard moved to the side and she could see Zack, talking earnestly now. Natty knew he was talking about today's game and he was getting the Bones ready. That was good, because this was going to be a tougher game than when they took Welch by surprise in their first meeting this season.

*   *   *

C
HARLIE SKIPPED DOWN
the flight of stairs between the store and the restaurant. He was looking forward to an enjoyable afternoon with Hank. He wandered into the restaurant to say hi to Eve. It still bothered him that she'd obviously cooled toward him.

In the first booth, he recognized the unmistakable form of Mabel Willard. Across from her sat Ada Lowe and a white woman they introduced as their travel agent from Bluefield. Mabel's huge smile brought Charlie to their booth. Taped to the side of the table was a hand-lettered poster stating:
NEW YORK CITY TRIP! SIGN UP TODAY!
Mabel slid over to leave just enough room on the bench for Charlie. “Come sit down with us here, Mr. Burden. Need to talk to you 'bout somethin'.”

“I've only got a few minutes,” Charlie explained, as he settled into the booth. “Going over to Welch with Hank to watch the soccer game.”

Ada Lowe smiled. “Oh, that's nice, Mr. Burden. I'm too old to be traveling to all them games, but that's nice that you boys are going.”

“Now, then, Mr. Burden,” said Mabel, “I'm thinking that you might be interested in going on our little trip. We only got fifteen out of the twenty bodies we need to get the special group rates.”

Charlie listened politely, wondering why
anyone
had signed up for the trip—a ten-hour bus ride each way, with a stop for lunch at a Bob Evans in Pennsylvania, two nights at the Milford Plaza, and, of course, the trip's salvation, a Saturday-matinee ticket to
Les Misérables.
And all for just $321, which, Charlie had to agree, was a pretty good value.

“What do you say, Mr. Burden?” Mabel was all business, slapping the fingers of her right hand on the table for emphasis. “Can we sign you up and get a small deposit today?”

Charlie knew he wouldn't be taking a ten-hour bus ride or staying at the Milford Plaza, but he wanted to make sure the trip came off and that Natty Oakes was on it. If anybody in Red Bone deserved to go, it was Natty, and the prospect of meeting up with her in New York was irresistible. He smiled and shook his head. “No, ladies, I'm sorry, but I won't be able to make your trip, much as I'd love to see
Les Misérables
again.”

Mabel sighed and patted Charlie on the arm. “That's all right, Mr. Burden, we'll find some others somewheres.”

“How about Natty?” Charlie asked. “Is she going?”

Ada Lowe shook her head. “No. She'd love to, but she's feeling real bad 'bout owing Gus money for repairing her car, so she really don't have the money to spend.”

Charlie pulled out his wallet and platinum American Express card and handed it to the travel agent. “Okay,” he said, “here's what I'll do. Put the last five trips on this, courtesy of OntAmex Energy. Then find five more people who want to go but can't afford it.” He smiled at Mabel. “Just make sure Natty's one of them.”

Mabel grinned from ear to ear. “Why, Mr. Burden, that girl goin' to have a
wonderful
time in New York City!”

*   *   *

T
HE CHRYSLER NEW
Yorker was actually a very comfortable ride when it hit a stretch of road without any bumps, ruts, or potholes to challenge the ancient car's suspension. Charlie leaned back into the once-soft leather seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “They don't build cars like this anymore, Hank,” he said, looking over at the old man hunched over the chrome and wood-trimmed steering wheel.

“And a good thing, too,” Hank replied. “An environmental disaster is what it is, burning too much gas and fouling the air.” He looked over at Charlie with a glint in his eye. “If I didn't love it so much, I'd feel guilty.”

Charlie laughed and rolled down the window. He was enjoying himself, riding along with his friend on a beautiful fall day, the workweek over and things going well at the plant. And to top it off, he was on his way to watch the Bones in action. Plus, he had to admit, he was looking forward to seeing Natty again. Charlie hadn't seen her since he'd returned from New York. He told himself that he wasn't avoiding her, just being prudent. But he did get her note, pushed under his apartment door that morning:
Mr. Burden, Please thank the OntAmex Company for the new uniforms. The kids love them! Game tonight in Welch, 5:00
P.M.
, if you want to see how they look. Sally and me will be at the Roadhouse later. Buy you a beer. Nat.

It was a hard invitation to pass up, and Hank was happy to let Charlie buy him dinner afterward at Moody's, although he warned Charlie that the place could get a little raucous on a Friday night.

“Well, Hank, I'm about due for another fight,” Charlie said, laughing. “It's been a couple of months.”

Hank had insisted on driving, as the big Chrysler needed some exercise. He also wanted to show Charlie a spot he might find interesting if they had some extra time. On Cold Springs Road, they came to a stop as a long flatbed trailer, loaded with freshly cut tree trunks, strained to pull itself out of the logging road. Hank edged the Chrysler forward a few yards, to where they could see down the newly carved dirt road. A long white trailer sat up on blocks. A sign on the side door read
GARVEY LUMBER.

Charlie could see a flurry of activity down the road and hear the big chain saws. He breathed in the heady mixture of sawdust, pine scent, and exhaust from the gasoline engines and envied the men working down the road.

“That's a good day's work they're putting in there, eh, Charlie?”

He turned back to Hank and nodded. “You earn your money when you're cutting trees. Kind of work that lets you know you've accomplished something.”

Along both sides of Cold Springs Road, a dozen cars and pickups were parked at haphazard angles in the tall grass. A white pickup caught Charlie's eye. It was the truck he'd seen on this same road, the day he and Pie rode the bulldozer around the site. The same truck that Natty had reluctantly climbed into when they were walking up the hill from the library.

When the log hauler finally pulled out, they made good time. Hank would point out things of interest along the road, mostly things that
used
to be—a closed elementary school; a derelict factory; a drive-in movie theater with dozens of rusted speaker pipes pushing through the high weeds; an old Dairy Queen.

As they approached Welch, Hank again broke the silence. “First thing you need to understand about where we're going is that, if there was ever an industry that cried out for a labor union, it was coal mining. Back in 1890, when the United Mine Workers of America was formed over in Ohio, and then for a good part of the first half of the 1900s, coal mining was about as close to chattel slavery as anything we had in this country since the Civil War.

“The coal companies owned the towns and the houses and paid the miners in scrip, which could only be used at the company store at inflated prices. The miners were systematically cheated by the clerkweighmen on the amount of coal they were credited with, and the working conditions in the mines were lethal. Between 1890 and 1920, West Virginia had twice the mine death rate of any other state. The opportunity for organized labor was ripe, but it wasn't that easy back then. Didn't have the labor laws we got now. When the union finally started to send organizers down here, the coal companies got together and formed the Kanawha County Coal Operators Association. Then they hired the infamous Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency in Bluefield to provide
mine security.
” Hank glanced over at Charlie to see if he recognized the name. Charlie shook his head.

“For years, Baldwin-Felts was just an army-for-hire of thugs and gunmen—leg breakers used to intimidate miners and union organizers. And they were effective. Baldwin-Felts made these southern counties, McDowell, Logan, and Mingo—
bloody Mingo
, it came to be known as—hazardous duty for organizers and union men. Just the name filled miners with terror. They operated like some kind of law-enforcement agency, 'cause the coal companies owned the politicians and most of the sheriffs.

“The result of all this oppression,” Hank continued, “was violence, in the form of the famous West Virginia Mine Wars. It all started in April 1912, with a strike up in Kanawha County, and didn't end until September 1921, at the battle of Blair Mountain, when the miners gave up rather than fight the federal troops that President Harding sent down here to stop the
insurrection.
” Hank shook his head ruefully. “That was the end of the union down here for many years,” he said. “And the miners paid the price for a long, long time.” He paused in his story to point out the Tug Fork, which ran along the western boundary of the town. “Lot of history in that river, Charlie. Lot of history. But that's a lesson for another day.”

Hank turned right onto Court Street. “Mine wars were interrupted by the First World War, when everyone more or less put their own problems behind them for the sake of the war effort. Country needed the smokeless coal, wages improved a little, and there was plenty of work for everyone.”