A Bird On Water Street (8 page)

I carefully held the stems as I placed the maple leaf nice and flat in Genesis, the oak leaf in Psalms, and the tulip poplar in Revelations. Now if I could just tell which trees they'd come from—the edge of the parking lot was thick with them. Most were a mystery, but the sugar maple stood out like a bright flame against the others. I stopped breathing it was so beautiful.

“C'mon, Jack—pumpkins!” Dad said, snapping me out of my thoughts. Next to the big Spencer barn, pumpkins of all shades of orange were lined up in three groups—small, medium, and large.

Mom put her hand on my back and steered me toward the smaller pumpkins. “Aren't they cute?”

“Grace, as long as I've got a job, he can have any damned pumpkin he wants,” Dad said. Quick as that, the tension was back, turning my stomach to knots.

I chose a pumpkin from the middle section—a medium-sized one. From a distance, it looked almost perfectly round, with a curly stem on top. Up close, one side of it was kind of flat, but if I turned that part to the back, no one would notice. It would do.

Dad said, “I saw you eyein' that big one over there, Jack. Let's get that one.”

I glanced at Mom.

“You picked out a fine pumpkin, Jack,” she said and glared at Dad. “And I bet it will still be the biggest pumpkin in Coppertown
this
Halloween.”

I tried to ignore the look that passed between them, but Dad's red face was hard to un-see. He carried the medium pumpkin to the car, which took longer than it should have. When he came back, he was back to his normal color but his eyes were shiny. His moods flipped like pancakes these days.

How many fewer pumpkins would there be in Coppertown this Halloween?
I wondered.
Since so many folks probably couldn't afford 'em.

Mom got some fresh squash and greens from the produce stand. Dad bought a Styrofoam cup full of boiled peanuts. We sat on the car hood slurping and munching the hot nuts. Salty juice dripped down my sleeves as I sucked the meat from the shells and tossed them to the ground. The salt made my fingers tingle as they went from the warm peanuts to the cold crisp air over and over again. We went through the entire cup in no time, but I didn't ask for more.

The ride home was quieter than the ride over. Mom and Dad didn't hold hands and she didn't sing along with the radio. They looked straight ahead while I watched the trees thin out as we got closer to home, back to our Red Hills.

Out of the gorge and about thirty minutes west of Coppertown we saw Eli Munroe in his shiny new Jeep cutting up a side road.

“I wonder where he's going to?” Dad said.

“Maybe he's getting a pumpkin too,” I replied, though that didn't seem like something Eli would ever care about.

I watched Dad's brow furrow in the rearview mirror. “Ain't no pumpkins that way.”

After dinner, Dad and I cut off the top of the pumpkin and cleaned out the guts with big spoons. We squished the goo between our fingers to pull out the seeds, which Mom roasted in the oven. I carved a scary face into the pumpkin's good side and laughed as Dad tried to imitate its lopsided expression. The good mood from earlier that day seeped back in as Mom put a small candle inside and set the pumpkin on the front stoop.

“That's a fine jack-o'-lantern,” Dad said and put his hand on my shoulder.

“You did a good job on the design, honey.” Mom nodded at Dad as if to say,
See?

I smiled and crunched on the hot pumpkin seeds until my gums went raw from the salt.

O

Piran and I were too old to wear goofy costumes for Halloween anymore—we had to be cool. So we dressed like fighter pilots from the movie
Top Gun
. I borrowed Grandpa's World War II leather bomber jacket. Piran wore coveralls. We put on sunglasses and strutted around like bulls.

Everybody did their trick-or-treating downtown, since the county was so spread out. Business owners set up tables in front of their stores and gave out candy by the bucket load. Kids came from all over. Sheriff Elder led the parade down Water Street in his police cruiser with his lights flashin' and him shouting “Happy Halloween” over his intercom. The fire department was right behind him in their big red fire truck. Piran and I walked with the crowd of goblins, witches, and superheroes following behind that. There were so many folks in the parade, there weren't many left to line the streets.

Piran and I entered the costume contest, but the prize for our age group went to Bill Worley, who dressed as the best zombie I'd ever seen. I entered my pumpkin in the carving contest and won second prize. Turned out there were a few pumpkins in Coppertown after all. And we both bobbed for apples—I took off Grandpa's jacket for that. And of course there was the candy.

But even with a county's worth of kids, it seemed smaller than the year before. Mostly folks were handing out suckers, Bit-O-Honeys, and Tootsie Rolls—the cheap stuff. And the Company table, which always had the best candy, wasn't there at all.

So when somebody hollered, “Hey, Dilbeck's Pharmacy is giving out chocolate bars!” Piran and I both made a beeline straight for their table, even though I was the chocolate nut. We went back three times before Mrs. Dilbeck told us to shoo.

We made our way back to where the Quinns were set up in front of the post office. They only gave out SweeTarts, but they still had a crowd. Hannah dressed up as a witch with striped stockings and a drooping black hat that made her look like a movie star. Even with Emily sitting on her hip, wicked had never looked so good.

“Piran, have you seen the twins?” Mrs. Quinn asked.

We turned just in time to spot Superman chasing Batman through the crowd with a light saber.

“Oh, there they are,” Mrs. Quinn said. “Okay.”

“Hi, Hannah. How's it goin'?” I asked and tripped over the foot of the card table. Piran guffawed and nearly spit out his candy. I shot him an evil look as I quickly made my escape into the crowd before she could answer.

Piran caught up with me and slapped me on the back—still laughing. But his smile died when we found ourselves trailing close behind Eli and overheard his friends talking about Hannah. It wasn't anything that should ever be said about a pretty girl or any girl for that matter, and certainly not about Piran's sister.

I looked at Piran. His lips were pressed tightly together and his fists were clenched. He was about to step forward and say something when Eli cut them off and said, “Don't talk about her like that. Besides, I got good news about our latest crop.”

I grabbed Piran's arm and whispered, “Crop of what?” Eli weren't no farmer.

Will McCaffrey turned around and looked at us with murder in his eyes. Then he recognized me. “Jack, yu'uns back off. This hain't nothin' to do with you.” He put his hand on my chest and gave me a small push. “For your own good.”

Piran and I froze with our mouths hanging open.
Did he just threaten us?

“What was that about?” Piran asked, but then he got distracted by a bucket full of bubble gum in front of Faysal's Dress Shop. After several more laps through town, we sat on the bridge to sort through our loot.

“I'll trade you three suckers for that Snickers,” I said.

“Okay,” Piran replied around a mouth full of Bit-O-Honey. “Trade you a Baby Ruth for that there taffy.” He never did have expensive taste in candy.

At the end of the bridge I spied Eli Munroe pulling Hannah into the shadows. Giggling, they looked around suspiciously.

No
.

“There's . . . there's Hannah.” I pointed. “With Eli.” My mouth went dry.

“Oh man. Dad is not going to be happy if she starts going out with
him
.”

“How could she?” I stared. “He don't got enough sense to spit downwind.”

“You're a much better catch.” Piran nodded. “Even if you are a goober. Speakin' of which . . .”

He grabbed the small packet of chocolate-covered peanuts from my stash. I didn't mind. I suddenly didn't want any of it.

Of course, I might have been full.

I held my belly and moaned as I wobbled home with my parents, my loot, and my pumpkin with its second-place ribbon.

“I told you not to eat so much candy,” Mom said. “You
can
save some for later, you know.”

My eyes rolled in my head.

Dad leaned over and peeked in my bag. “You got an extra candy bar in there for me?”

“Ray!” Mom swatted at him.

When I crawled into bed, my stomach still ached like I'd been poisoned. So did my heart. Eli and Hannah. Surely, it couldn't last.

r

Chapter 11

Strike

A few nights later, Dad arrived home late—again. It had happened a lot since the layoffs.

“There are only three hundred of us left,” he complained over his fried chicken, “and they expect us to keep up the same pace as before the layoffs. Do you believe it? They've got us doin' jobs we weren't trained to do. They had me driving a backhoe today. It's been so long, I barely remember how. It's dangerous, I tell ya.” He shook his head. “I need my crew.”

Mom's forehead wrinkled with worry. Two men had already left the mines in ambulances since the workforce had been cut. Dad didn't talk about it. It was like losing Amon all over again—and again, and again.

The phone rang, the harsh sound making us jump.

“Hello?” A wide grin spread across Dad's face. “Heck yeah, we'll be there.”

He turned to us. “It's about damn time. The Union's made a decision. They're calling a meeting at the community center tomorrow at seven.”

“Jack, would you be okay home alone?” Mom asked.

“Grace, this affects him too,” Dad replied. “Besides, if he's going to be a miner someday, he needs to start making friends with the Union.”

He got back on the phone and called the remaining men from his crew. I looked down at my hands, which were suddenly numb.

I didn't sleep that night. It rained, which made my arm ache, and I couldn't stop thinking about what Dad said. I imagined about a dozen different ways of telling him I didn't want to be a miner, but they all turned out bad.

O

The next night, I stood with my parents, buried in the crowd of thick, rugged miners. With their blue jeans and plaid flannel shirts, they reminded me of the gnarled old oak trees from Miss Post's slideshow.

Mad oak trees, with their muscles tensed up and fire in their eyes.

Despite the cold outside, it was hot and humid inside. Steam rose off the miners as they shook their fists and shouted, “They can't do this to us!”

“I need my crew back,” Dad yelled. “I can't do that job by myself! It's not safe!”

“They own the whole town. How can we fight?” Mr. Barnes asked.

Mr. Hill shouted, “We STRIKE!”

A roar of agreement rolled around the room like thunder. There was no discussion. It was what everybody had been waitin' for. And I was getting my wish. If the miners were on strike, Dad wouldn't have to be underground no more.

The Union organized everything. They signed up the men who weren't on unemployment for stipends, or strike pay, and scheduled times for people to walk the picket lines. I helped make signs for the men to carry.

“Gotta make it right for the next round of miners,” I heard someone say as they slapped my back. I coughed and Mom looked at me with that same worried expression.

Could I tell her how I felt?

The miners were fired up. It was scary, but exciting too. The men were loyal and close, like my baseball team. Their energy ran through me like a train. Soon I was yellin' right along with them. Our voices echoed off the walls like drums. “STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE!”

O

We went straight to the Company store after the meeting.

Dad said, “We need to stock up in case things get tough.”

“Tough how?” I asked.

“The Company isn't gonna be real happy about this strike,” he said. “Back when your Grandpa Chase was working the mine, the workers went on strike to force the Union in, and the Company shut down the store to make things hard on 'em. But folks were one step ahead and stocked up before the strike. So that's what we're going to do—stock up. We gotta get there before the Company catches wind of the plan.”

I loved the Company store. They had the best of everything, even the BMX dirt bike I wanted, which sat in the corner, shiny green with knobby tires. I tried not to stare.

Everybody shopped at the Company store, but miners' families got a discount. Every now and then Mom would drive to the city to find something specific, but not often. That's why it was so easy to pick out the mining families in town—they were almost always the best dressed and had the latest everything. Of course, we already knew who they were anyway.