A Bird On Water Street (16 page)

Piran and I stared at the water for a long time.

A tiny blue shape gently left the shadow of the bridge and floated with the current into the sunlight.

What is that?
I wondered. It looked like a little cup except for its ragged, sharp edge. The inside was white and the outside was a soft blue with brown spots.

I gasped and pointed. “It's a bird's egg!”

“No way,” Piran said. “Where would it come from?”

“Somewhere upstream, I suppose.”

I watched it bob on the water's surface until it was out of sight.

r

Chapter 24

Fishing

I was going to meet Piran the next day to go fishing, which meant hiking way far south to get to where the fish could live. I checked my garden before I left. A green mass of leaves covered the string lattice with little white flowers and a few leaves that looked like . . .

“Mom, Mom!” I shouted as I ran inside. “Come look!”

She followed me out to the garden and I pointed to the fatter of the green leaves. “What are those?”

“Jack! You've grown sugar snap peas!” She hugged me and tried to swing me around but couldn't lift me up. Instead we ended up dancing in a circle like we'd lost our minds.

“So, now what?” I asked as I stopped to catch my breath.

She plucked one of the pods off the vine and handed it to me. “You eat it!” Then she broke off another and took a bite out of hers. “Mmmm. It's so sweet! Try one.”

“Raw?” I made a face.

“Yes, raw. It's good.”

I nibbled at the end of my snap pea. It crunched cool and sweet in my mouth, still wet with dew.

“Hey, that's not bad,” I said and pulled another one off. We smiled as we munched on the green pods until there weren't any left.

“Oh no, I'm sorry!” I said mid-chew. “Did you want these for dinner?”

Mom laughed. “Y'know, when I used to visit my grandma up on Beech Mountain, the sugar snap peas never made it out of her garden either.”

She squinted at me. “Jack, it's time for your summer haircut. Let me grab my trimmers.”

“Nawwww, Mom! Piran's waitin' for me.”

“This'll only take a minute.”

I kicked at the ground as she went inside. I hated having my head shaved, but Mom did it every summer. “It's easier to clean you up,” she said when she came back. “And it's cooler.”

“Then why don't you shave your head?” I mumbled.

“Here we go.” She pulled the extension cord after her. “Lean over.”

As I did, sunlight fluttered in the corner of my eye and I looked up quick.
No way. Was that a . . . a bird?
Nothing was there. Besides, there hadn't been a bird in Coppertown for a hundred years. I had to be dreamin'.

Mom clicked the button and the trimmers whined to life, sounding too much like the saw Dr. Davis had used to remove my cast. As she buzzed across my head I winced and watched my hair fall to the ground at my feet.

O

A short time later I walked to the bridge with my new fishing rod over my shoulder. I rubbed my stubbly head. It felt so strange and naked. Then I burst out laughing when I saw Piran. He was bald too.

“My mom said it's so she can find ticks easier,” Piran complained as we walked toward the Bait 'n Beer. “But I ask you, when was the last time anybody ever saw a tick in these parts?”

Grandpa's store sat by Old Brawling Town Creek, a feeder creek for the Tohachee. It was called Old Brawling because a lot of fights used to break out down that way when the first miners came over. They hadn't just come from Cornwall, England, but also from Germany, Italy, Greece, and even as far away as Lebanon. There were a few blacks too, although not many—they were superstitious and wouldn't go underground. Not all those folks got along so well at first. Back then Coppertown was like livin' in the Wild West. Grandpa told great stories about it—like the one about the man that was shot for cheatin' at cards, but nobody knew who he was. So the coroner had him embalmed and they propped him up in a casket in the window of the hardware store so some passersby might identify him. Crazy.

Bells rang as we entered Grandpa's store, which was filled with the
chirp, chirp
of live bait. He got one glimpse of our cue-ball heads and laughed 'til I worried he might choke.

“It's not funny!” I said. “You're lucky she can't get a hold of you.”

Grandpa rubbed the top of his head. “Not much left for her to shave off anyhow. What yu'uns up to today?”

“Goin' fishin',” Piran said.

“You gonna walk all that way?” Grandpa asked.

“It's only 'bout an hour upstream,” I said. Fish didn't live downstream from the Company and it took a while to get to 'em even on the upstream side. But it was one of the only places in Coppertown that had plants—a little kudzu and broomsage, which I found in my plant identification book—not much, but more than I was used to seein'. Being upwind of the smelters made all the difference. Someday I'd have a car to get there and it wouldn't seem so far, although I didn't really mind the walk.

“Well, you want crickets or worms?” Grandpa asked.

“Worms'll be fine,” I said.

“Go get yourselves a cupful,” Grandpa said.

Piran held the cup while I dug through the dirt bin with my hands.

“You not gonna use the scoop?” Piran asked.

“Nah, I like to feel them wigglin' around my fingers,” I said. “Besides, I get more worms than dirt this way.”

I set the cup on the counter right next to a new jar full of strange, gnarled shapes. “What's that, Grandpa?”

“That there's pickled ginseng,” he said. “Did you know your great-grandfather was a ‘sang' hunter? He made good money selling it to the Chinese.”

“Hunt it?” Piran asked. “Is it some kind of animal?”

“Naw,” Grandpa laughed. “It's a root. It's supposed to be a cure for just about anything.”

“I guess Mrs. Ledford didn't use it then,” I said.

Grandpa replied quietly, “Nothing can cure lung cancer, Jack.”

I blushed, remembering Grandma Chase. “I'm sorry . . .” I mumbled.

“The Chinese pay money for it?” Piran asked. “Maybe we could hunt sang. Where do we get it?”

“Well now, that's the big secret, isn't it?” Grandpa leaned across the counter and whispered, “It's very hard to find, and sang hunters are highly protective of their growin' patches. Nowadays it's grown commercially, like this here jar, but back in the day, it was a big deal. Sometimes men got shot over it.”

“Like pot fields,” Piran said.

“How do you know about that?” Grandpa leaned back with a frown.

“I just heard, is all.” Piran glanced at me and the tops of his ears turned red. I'd told him what I'd overheard Sheriff Elder say at the Ledfords' house after the funeral.

“Maybe we should just stick to fishin',” I said, and Piran nodded in agreement.

I pushed an escaping worm back into the cup and dug for change in the bottom of my pocket.

“Don't worry about it, Jack,” Grandpa said. “This one is on the house. In honor of your sudden hair loss.” He smiled. “And go grab yourselves some RC Colas and peanuts to take with you too.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chase,” Piran said, grinning.

“Thanks, Grandpa,” I said as we waved good-bye, the bells jingling behind us.

O

“You're so lucky your grandpa owns the Bait 'n Beer.” Piran poured his peanuts into his cola. “So, with the mines closed and you not wantin' to be a miner anyhow, you think you might run his store someday?”

“Naw,” I replied. “I want to be a forest ranger.”

Piran spit soda out his nose. “A forest ranger?” he laughed. “Gotta have a forest first.”

“I'm gonna bring it back,” I said. “You just watch me.”

We sat on the front stoop of the bait shop as we finished our drinks and watched the men striking in front of the Company on the far side of the river. The protest wasn't anywhere near as intense as it had been when the strike first began. Some of the men still paced back and forth, but most of 'em sat in lawn chairs raising their signs for passing cars. I recognized Dad's familiar silhouette standin' among them.

“Why don't they give it up?” Piran asked. “My dad says the Company will never hire back Union workers.”

“They just want their old lives back.” I frowned. “I wish my dad would find a job aboveground, something safe like your dad's job. Then he wouldn't have to worry about losing it either.”

“If people keep leavin',” Piran replied, “there won't need to be a post office.”

I sighed. It made me feel weird to see my dad and the other men put everything they had into what even I could see was a useless battle.

O

Piran and I put our glass bottles in the metal recyclin' crate and continued upstream next to Old Brawling Town Creek. The farther we walked, the greener things got. My mood lightened considerably—in fact, I couldn't stop smiling. It was happening. The longer the mine stayed closed, the better chance nature had, and it was moving in fast.

We hiked to our favorite fishing hole and waded to the big rock midstream, where we dropped our lines. Before long, we'd caught five hornyheads, but threw them all back. Even upstream from the Company it wasn't a good idea to eat fish from the river.

The sun beat down on us and I grew sleepy. I lay back on the rock, careful not to burn myself on the buckles of my overalls. That was pretty much my summer uniform, overalls and not much else. The buckles cooled underneath me and I let my muscles relax, feeling the heat from the rock soak into my bare skin. I heard a splash as Piran threw another hornyhead back into the water, but there was another sound too—a soft clicking.

“What is that noise?” Piran asked. “You hear it?” His head swung the other way. “There it is again.”

“Bugs, I suppose,” I replied.

“We never had bugs before,” Piran said. “Why now?”

“They like the kudzu,” I said. “Haven't you noticed things growing in?”

“I don't like it,” he replied. “It don't look right.”

“Better get used to it.” I smiled. “Things are changin' in Coppertown.”

O

A cloud covered me in shadow just as we heard a voice from the shore.

“You boys better head home, yessiree. It's gonna rain, gonna rain,” Crazy Coote called. He pointed at the sky. “It'll burnnnn ya.”

“Don't listen to him,” Piran said. “He's nuts.”

I felt bad for Coote, I did, but the way he looked at me like he could read my thoughts made me nervous. We made sure he was way out of sight before we left the rock and headed back to shore.

Coote was right about the rain though. My arm ached as the storm clouds moved in. By the time Piran and I parted, it was coming down in heavy ploppy drops that soaked me through. At least the rain didn't sting as bad as it used to. I ran up on our front porch and tried to shake it off. But a shiver ran down my spine as I heard my parents inside arguing, again.

I crept through the house creating a large puddle on the floor as I eavesdropped from the hallway.

“There aren't any jobs in town,” Dad said. “I've been looking.”

“Me too, but looking doesn't buy groceries, Ray,” Mom replied. “You plan on picketing forever?”

“We've got my stipend from the Union,” Dad argued, “and they're still workin' on it.”

“It's not nearly enough! Besides, you don't honestly believe the Company is going to hire anybody back, do you?” she asked. “Give up on the mine, Ray. It already gave up on you.”

“Have patience with me, Grace,” Dad said. “All I've ever known is mining.”

“We're barely getting by! I can't get the groceries we need, and Jack's outgrown most of his clothes.” She raised her voice. “We can't live like this! You need steady work, a real paycheck, even if that means we have to move.”

“Move? What are you talking about?” Dad asked. “This town is our home!”

“You think I want to leave?” Mom replied. “I don't want to go either. But Ray, we have to be realistic.”

My stomach lurched.
Move? No!

I quietly made my way to the bathroom and shed my wet, heavy clothes. I dried off with a towel and rubbed it over my stubbly head.
Ouch!
I looked in the mirror. My new haircut had exposed my scalp, which was now bright red with sunburn.
Great, I'm gonna have to wear a hat from now on, I fumed. I will not let her buzz my head next year. I won't.