A Bird On Water Street (12 page)

Great-Grandma Harmon told the Jack Tales while Mom and Livvy shelled peas or shucked corn. They wouldn't stop as long as the stories didn't, so Great-Grandma told story after story, one leading into another. Mom knew them all by heart and she told them in a thick mountain drawl.

My favorite was “Jack and the Robbers.” It was about Jack, of course, and an ox, a donkey, a hound dog, a cat, and a rooster who all end up riding on top of each other like a pyramid. They come across the lair of some highway robbers and wait for 'em to return from thievin'. Jack and the animals scare them robbers so bad that they end up chasing 'em off—so they get to eat their vittles and keep their loot too!

Mom also told us “Jack and the Bean Tree”—the Appalachian version of “Jack and the Beanstalk”—and “SopDoll,” about a bunch of witches. Dad and I cheered and clapped when Mom was too tired to tell anymore.

Course, by then, we'd been listenin' to her hillbilly drawl so long that we were talking that way too, crackin' each other up.

“Let's jes set up a bed he'ar on the floor,” Dad said.

“That's a right fine idea,” Mom replied.

“I sure is tared,” I said. “Ma, I got me a hankerin' to snack on some o' yer corn pone. They any left?”

“Law no, I gave it to the pigs. They hain't had nothin' but leather britches and cornhusks since fall. I figgered to give 'em a treat.”

“Well that were plum good of ye,” I said. “But I sure is hungry. Maybe I'll go outside and chew on a tare.”

“You leave my wagon alone, y'hear?” Dad said. “It done nuthin' to ye.”

We were in tears, laughing so hard. But all that talk of corn pone really did make me hungry, and Mom had some cornbread left over in the kitchen. I danced across the cold floor and raced back with a piece of cornbread, which I shoveled down too fast to taste.

It was too cold to sleep in our bedrooms, so we stoked the fire and piled the blankets and pillows into made-up beds on the floor. We'd just settled in to sleep when the power came back on. The whir of the heater smothered the sound of the crackling fire, and lights popped bright like camera flashes.

I squinted and blinked against the sudden glare. Mom frowned.

Dad got up, turned off all the lights, turned the heat down, and came back to the den with a wide grin on his face. “Make some room fer yer pa thar.”

I fell asleep wishing things could stay just like this, happy and warm.

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Chapter 16

Seeds

The miners stayed on strike through the rain, the ice, and the cold. They built a small shack just outside the main gate for when the weather got really bad and kept a fire going in a metal barrel to keep warm.

Every day, Dad returned home cold and depressed and went straight to his metal shop, where he made charms and model cars for Grandpa to display in his bait shop. Sometimes Grandpa would sell one to someone passing through and we'd have meat with dinner to celebrate.

Mom spent more and more of her time over at the Ledfords'. Mrs. Ledford's lung cancer had grown worse and the miners' wives took turns helpin' out until somebody was there nearly round the clock. Sometimes I went with her, but I mostly just got in the way.

Being the only one in the house meant I answered the calls from the bill collectors. One day one of 'em yelled at me, “You're lying to me, son. I know your parents are home! Put your father on the phone right this minute!”

I hung up on him and leaned against the counter.
Don't cry, don't cry.
The phone rang again, but
I ignored it as best I could.

We needed money. The stipend from the Union obviously wasn't enough. But what could I do to help my family? I felt so useless.

I asked Mom if I could get a job, but she said, “You have a job—to go to school and learn as much as you can.”

That didn't stop me from lookin' around. But even the few part-time jobs were scooped up by out-of-work miners. I asked Grandpa if I could help in his store. He let me move boxes around on the weekends sometimes, but it was winter—his slow season. It weren't nearly enough money to make a difference, and he couldn't afford to give me more.

I had to do
something
.

Watching my dad's shoulders sink lower and lower each day was driving me crazy. And I could have sworn his hair was turning gray.

About that time, Miss Post gave me a book on greenhouse gardening, which finally gave me an idea.

“Mom, do you have any leftover seeds from last year's garden?” I asked one night over yet another dinner of beans and rice.

All those summers in the mountains had turned her into a farmer, so every year she tried to grow a garden. It never worked. Farming in Coppertown was like working a man-made desert. But that didn't stop her tryin'.

“I could try to get the seeds started in paper cups and then they'd be ready to plant come spring,” I said, then lowered my voice. “Since the Company hasn't been runnin', maybe they'd stand a chance this year. What do you think?”

Mom looked at me like she'd just found a lucky penny—heads up. “I think that's a
great
idea, Jack. She put down her fork and dove deep into the pantry. Dad and I exchanged a look, trying not to laugh. Our only view was of her rear end wiggling as she dug behind the last of the preserves on the bottom shelf.

She surfaced with several Mason jars full of seed packets. “Ta-da!”

Mom and I went through them while Dad finished his dinner. Snow peas, carrots, collard greens, corn, tomatoes!

“They're old seeds, but some might work,” she said. “By God, this family could use some vegetables.”

Mom gave me a cookie sheet and I lined up small paper cups like I wanted the plants to be in the garden. With a permanent marker, I wrote on the sides what each one was going to be. Dad brought some leftover manure and potting soil from last year's garden in from the shed. I mixed them together and spooned a little into each cup, patting it down tightly.

“The carrot seeds are so tiny,” I said as I punched a hole into the soil with my finger and sprinkled some in.

“I know,” Mom said. “It's hard to believe those little things turn into big orange carrots, isn't it?”

“Hand me the corn and I'll get those going,” Dad said.

When the cups were done I gently poured a little water over each one.

“Now, where to put them.” Mom chewed on her lip. “They need to be right against a window for light.”

“I know the place,” I said. In my bedroom, I removed my baseball trophies and my cast from the top shelf of my bookcase. Mom laid down a kitchen towel and I put the cookie sheet on top.

“It still needs more light, though,” Dad said. He grabbed the swing-arm lamp from my desk and positioned it so it would shine right on the seed cups.

“Dad, I don't think regular lightbulbs will work.” I frowned and flipped through my book. “Fluorescent lights would work okay, but what we really need are grow lights.”

“Hmm . . . I'll see what I can do about that,” he said. “But at least you've got a start.”

We stood and looked at the little cups of dirt as if they'd sprout right in front of us. As simple as those paper cups were, they looked a little bit like hope.

O

I watered my seeds a tiny bit each day. Dad had added two more lights from his metal shop with grow lightbulbs he bought at the hardware store way over in Murphy. My bedroom turned into a mini lighthouse every day when I switched them on before leaving for school. It made me wonder about the lightbulbs Eli'd had. Was he growing somethin' too?

A few weeks later, while I was doing my homework, something green flashed in the corner of my vision. I had to stare close, but there it was, a tiny green thread poking up through the soil. I ran to get my parents.

“Your babies are waking up!” Mom pointed at another cup. “Look, there's another one there.”

“And there,” Dad said and patted my back. “An artist and now you're a farmer too?”

“Gotta start somewhere.” I smiled.

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Chapter 17

Frog Eggs

Eventually winter wore itself out and spring crept in. The rain turned to thunderstorms. I could tell they were coming from the west because they rolled in over the smelters. Even sittin' unused, they made the air stink like rotten eggs.

Some nights I'd sit in bed and watch the light show on Tater Hill. The Company used the waste from copper mining to pave the parking lot up there, and the iron-rich slag attracted lightning like a magnet. I had a great view from my bedroom.

The storms still caused flooding, but they were farther apart now so it wasn't as bad. My arm ached a little less, and as February turned to March the days grew slightly longer. It had been gray for so long I couldn't wait to leave my cave and go outside.

“Let's go exploring,” I said to Piran one Sunday. I squinted at the bright glowing ball of sunshine that now lit the sky.

There wasn't that much else to do. Baseball season had begun, but so many folks had moved away over the winter we didn't have enough players to form an official team anymore. The Miners were finished. Turned out, the final game with the Rockets last spring had been my last.

Piran and I played catch, but it wasn't the same thing.
Swack, swack, swack,
we tossed the ball back and forth.

“I wish I could go back and warn myself that baseball was dead,” I said.

“What would you say?” Piran asked. “Enjoy it while it lasts? Too bad, so sad?”

“I dunno.” I frowned. It was rotten news, no matter when I learned it. “Let's do something else.”

We were about restless enough to walk the entire Appalachian mountain chain, so we followed the railroad tracks upstream. Before we knew it we were cutting north to the Old Number 2 Tailings Pond. We hadn't even agreed to go there. It was like our feet were in charge.

“Whoa,” Piran said as it came into view.

“Unbelievable.” I gaped.

The tailings pond had flooded over the winter forming an actual lake. I don't know what was stranger looking, its usual weird appearance or seein' it look like something sort of normal.

We hiked around to the northeast side. The river had flooded so much that there were several new feeder creeks cutting through to the main pond.

“Think it'll stay this way?” Piran asked. “We could get a boat and water-ski.”

“I bet when things dry up this summer the pond will be cut off again,” I said, staring into the shallow water. Something caught my eye floating just under the surface. “What are those?”

Clinging to a branch stuck in the mud were dozens of clear slimy balls with little black dots inside.

I leaned down to get a better look. “No way.”

“What?”

“Those are frog eggs!”

“What? Where?” Piran asked.

“See those little balls, they kinda look like jelly?” I pointed. “Remember we studied them in school?”

Piran looked at me like I had three heads.

“Well, I do anyhow, and those are definitely frog eggs.”

O

Back in town, as we walked by the closed Company store, Piran stopped so suddenly, I bumped right into him. “Hey, what the . . .”

I wish I hadn't seen what he stopped for. Hannah was making out with Eli Munroe next to the loading docks. She was pressed up against him with her arms thrown over his shoulders. His hands were on her . . .

“My dad is about ready to kill her for going out with that moron,” Piran said. “It's been like World War Three in my house lately.”

“How come she can't see what an idiot he is?” I frowned. “I mean, the guy is five bricks shy of a load.”

Just then Hannah noticed us standing there. She stared right at me as she took a drag from a strange, skinny cigarette and kept kissing Eli. Heat rose up from the soles of my feet and spread all over my body. Anger, disgust, or embarrassment—I wasn't sure. I had to look away.

Piran and I sulked home. Neither one of us spoke, but probably for different reasons.

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Chapter 18

Garden

“Happy birthday, Jack!” Mom said as she came into my room and gave me a big, sloppy kiss on my forehead before I could stop her. “Fourteen, I can't believe it! You're gettin' so big.”

“Ugh!” I complained but smiled anyway.

She looked at my seedlings and rubbed a leaf carefully between her fingers. With constant light and water, they'd grown several inches tall—my own mini-forest.

“Jack, I know it's your birthday and a Saturday and all, and you can do anything you want today, but I think it's time to transfer these to the garden. Would you like to do that this morning?”