Gray Mountain (43 page)

“No, I’m in Pikeville meeting with some investigators. I enjoyed last night, slept warm and sound. You?”

“I slept well. What time did you leave this morning?”

“Just after four. I’m not sleeping much these days, you know. Somebody’s back there, always watching. Kinda hard to sleep.”

“Okay. What’s on your mind?”

“Saturday, hiking around Gray Mountain, in the snow. Grilling a steak on the cabin porch. Drinking some red wine. Reading by the fire. That sort of thing. Are you up to it?”

“Let me think about it.”

“What’s there to think about? I’ll bet that if you’ll glance over at your calendar you’ll see that there’s nothing written down for this Saturday. Go ahead.”

“I’m busy right now. I’ll have to call you back.”

T
hough it had not been mentioned by anyone at the clinic, Samantha was learning that the cold weather and short days of January slowed business considerably. The phone rang less and Barb spent more time away from her desk, always “running errands.” Claudelle was eight months pregnant and on bed rest. The courts, never in a hurry, clunked along at even slower paces. Mattie and Annette were as busy as ever with existing cases, but new ones were not dropping in. It was as if conflict and misery took a break as the wintertime blues settled in. At least for some.

As Samantha was puttering around the office after dark on Friday, she heard the front door open. Mattie was still in with her door closed; everyone else was gone for the weekend. Samantha walked to the reception area and said hello to Buddy and Mavis Ryzer. They had no appointment; they had not called. Instead, they had driven an hour and a half from West Virginia to Brady late on a Friday afternoon to seek solace and guidance from their attorney. She hugged them both and knew immediately that their world had come to an end. She showed them to the conference room and offered a soft drink; they declined. She closed the door, asked what was going on, and both started crying.

Buddy had been fired by Lonerock Coal that morning. The
foreman said he was physically unfit to work; thus the immediate termination. No exit package, no farewell bonus, no cheap watch for a job well done and certainly no golden parachute, just a hard kick in the ass with a promise that the last paycheck was in the mail. He’d barely made it home when he collapsed on the sofa and tried to collect himself.

“I got nothing,” he said between breaths as Mavis wiped tears and rattled away. “I got nothing.”

“Just like that, he’s outta work,” Mavis said. “No paycheck, no black lung benefits, and no prospect of finding any kind of work. All he’s ever done is work in the coalfields. What’s he supposed to do now? You gotta help us, Samantha. You gotta do something. This ain’t right.”

“She knows it ain’t right,” Buddy said. Each word was labored as his chest rose and fell with each noisy breath. “But there’s nothing you can do. They busted our union twenty years ago, so we got no protection from the company. Nothing.”

Samantha listened with great sympathy. It was odd to see such a tough guy like Buddy wiping his cheeks with the back of a hand. His eyes were red and puffy. Normally, he would have been embarrassed at such emotion, but now there was nothing to hide. Eventually, she said, “We’ve filed our claim and we have a strong report from the doctor. That’s all we can do right now. Unfortunately, in the states around here an employee can be terminated at will for any cause, or for no cause.”

She thought the obvious but wasn’t about to mention it: Buddy was in no shape to work. As much as she despised Lonerock Coal, she understood why the company would not want an employee in his condition operating heavy equipment.

There was a long silence, broken only by Mattie, who pecked on the door and stepped inside. She greeted the Ryzers, realized an unpleasant meeting was under way, and started a quick exit. “I’ll see you for dinner, Sam?”

“I’ll be there. Around seven?”

The door closed and they returned to the silence. Mavis finally
said, “It took my cousin eleven years to get his black lung benefits. He’s on oxygen now. My uncle, nine. I hear the average is something like five years. That about right?”

“For contested claims, yes, five to seven is the average.”

“I’ll be dead in five years,” Buddy said, and they thought about this. No one argued with him.

“But you said all claims are contested, right?” Mavis asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

Buddy just shook his head, slightly but without stopping. Mavis went silent and stared at the table. He coughed a few times and seemed on the verge of a gagging fit, but managed to swallow hard and fight it. His deep desperate breaths sounded like muffled roars from within. He cleared his throat again and said, “You know, I should’ve got my benefits ten years ago, and if I had I could’ve got out of the mines and found work somewhere else. I was only thirty back then, the kids were little, and I could’ve done something else, away from the dust, you know. Something that didn’t make the disease any worse. But the company fought me and it won, and so I had no choice but to keep working in the mines, and keep breathing the dust. I could tell it was getting worse. You just know it. It creeps up on you but you know that walking up the four steps to the front porch is harder now than it was a year ago. Walking to the end of the driveway takes a bit longer. Not much, but things get slower.” A pause for deep breaths. Mavis reached over and patted his hand. “I remember those guys in court, in front of the administrative law judge. Three or four of them, all in dark suits and shiny black shoes, all strutting around so important. They would look over at us like we was white trash, you know, just an ignorant coal miner with his ignorant wife, just another deadbeat trying to game the system for a monthly check. I can see them right now, arrogant little shits, so smart and smug and cocky because they knew how to win and we didn’t. I know it’s not very Christian-like to hate, but I really, really despised those guys. It’s even worse now because we know the truth, and the truth is that those crooks knew I had black lung. They knew, yet they covered it up. They lied to the court. They brought in another set of lying doctors who said,
under oath, that I didn’t have black lung. Everybody lied. And they won. They kicked me outta court, put me back in the mines, for ten years now.”

He stopped and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

“They cheated, they won, and they’ll do it again because they write the rules. I guess there’s no way to stop them. They got the money, the power, the doctors, and I guess the judges. Some system.”

“There’s no way to stop them, Samantha?” Mavis pleaded.

“A lawsuit, I guess. The one Donovan filed, and there’s still a chance that another firm might refile it. We haven’t given up.”

“But you’re not taking the case, right?”

“Mavis, I’ve explained this before. I’m from New York, okay? I’m an intern, here for only a few months, then gone. I cannot initiate a lawsuit that will take five years of pretty intense litigation in federal court. We’ve covered this, right?”

Neither responded.

Minutes passed as the offices grew even quieter; the only sound was Buddy’s painful breathing. He cleared his throat again and said, “Look, Samantha, you’re the only lawyer we’ve ever had, the only one who’s ever been willing to help us. If we’d had a lawyer ten years ago maybe things would be different. But anyway, we can’t go back there. We drove over here today to say one thing, and that’s to thank you for taking my case.”

“And being so kind to us,” Mavis said, jumping in. “We thank the Lord every day for you and your willingness to help us.”

“It means more than you’ll ever know.”

“Just having a real lawyer out there fighting for us means so much.”

Both were crying again.

H
er first glimpse of Gray Mountain had been by air. Her second had been by boat and four-wheeler, a much more intimate visit two and a half weeks before last Christmas. Her third was by pickup truck, a more traditional means in those parts. Jeff picked her up in Knox, where she left her car in the same library parking lot. One look at the truck and she said, “You get a new one?” It was a massive vehicle, a Dodge something or other, and definitely not the one she’d seen before.

“No. It belongs to a friend,” he said, vague as always. In the back were two red kayaks, a cooler, and several backpacks. “Let’s go.” They left town in a hurry. He seemed tense and his eyes kept darting from one mirror to the other.

“Are those canoes back there?” she asked.

“No, they’re kayaks.”

“Okay. What does one do with a kayak?”

“You’ve never been in a kayak?”

“Again, I’m from the city.”

“Okay, with a kayak one goes kayaking.”

“Or one sits by the fire with a book and a glass of wine. I’m not getting wet, you hear?”

“Relax, Sam.”

“I still prefer Samantha, especially from the guy I’m currently
sleeping with. Sam is okay when it’s my father, never my mother, and now Mattie can get away with it. Sammie will get a person slapped. It’s confusing, okay, but for now why don’t you just stick with Samantha?”

“It’s your name. I’m getting sex with no strings so I’ll call you whatever you want.”

“Get right to the point don’t you?”

He laughed and turned up the stereo—Faith Hill. They left the main highway and bounced along a narrow county road. As they began a steep ascent, he suddenly turned onto a gravel road, one that ran along a ridge with forbidding canyons below. She tried not to look, but flashed back to her first adventure with Donovan, when they climbed to the top of Dublin Mountain and looked down at the Enid Mine site. Vic had startled them, and then they were spotted by security. It seemed so long ago, and now Donovan was dead.

Jeff turned again, and again. “I’m sure you know where you’re going,” she said, but only to register concern. “I grew up here,” he said without looking. A dirt trail still half-covered with snow stopped at a dead end. Through the trees she could see the cabin.

As they were unloading the truck, she asked, “What about the kayaks? I’m not hauling these things.”

“We’ll have to check the creek. I’m afraid the water might be too low.” They lifted the small cooler and backpacks from the truck and carried them to the cabin, fifty yards away. The snow was four inches deep and covered with the tracks of animals. There appeared to be no boot prints or signs of human visitors. Samantha was pleased that she noticed such things. A real mountain girl now.

He unlocked the cabin, entered slowly as if he might disturb something, and looked around. They placed the cooler in the small kitchen and the backpacks on a sofa. “Are those cameras still out there?” she asked.

“Yes, and we just triggered them.”

“Any trespassers lately?”

“Not that I know of.”

“When’s the last time you were here?”

“It’s been a long time. Too much traffic raises suspicions. Let’s check the creek.”

They walked over some rocks at the edge of the stream. Jeff said it was too low for the kayaks. Instead, they followed it deep into the hillsides, far away from the cabin and any land owned by his family. Though she wasn’t sure, she thought they were going west, away from Gray Mountain. With the ground covered in snow, it was impossible to find trails, not that they were needed. Jeff, like his brother, moved through the terrain as if he walked it daily. They began a climb that grew steeper, and at one point stopped for water and a granola bar. He explained that they were on Chock Ridge, a long steep hill that was thick with coal and owned by people who would never sell. The Cosgrove family, from Knox. Donovan and Jeff had grown up with the Cosgrove kids. Good folks and so on. They climbed another five hundred feet and crested the ridge. In the distance, Jeff pointed out Gray Mountain. Even covered with a white blanket it looked bare, desolate, violated.

It was also far away, and after an hour trudging through the snow her feet were beginning to freeze. She decided to wait a few more minutes before complaining. As they began a descent, shots rang out, loud thunderous cracks of gunfire that echoed through the hills. She wanted to hit the ground but Jeff was unfazed. “Just deer hunters,” he said, barely breaking stride. He had a backpack but no rifle. She was certain, though, that there was a weapon somewhere in there with the granola bars.

Finally, when she was convinced they were hopelessly lost in the woods, she asked, “Are we headed back to the cabin?”

He glanced at his watch and said, “Sure, it’s getting late. Are you cold?”

“My feet are frozen.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful toes?”

“Happens every day.”

“No, seriously?”

“Am I blushing? No, Jeff, I can honestly say that I do not remember anyone ever saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Let’s go thaw them.”

T
he route back took almost twice as long as the venture out, and the valley was dark when they found the cabin. Jeff quickly built a fire, and the chill was replaced by a smoky warmth that Samantha could soon feel in her bones. He lit three gas lanterns, and as he hauled in enough firewood for the night, she unpacked the cooler and inspected dinner. Two steaks, two potatoes, and two ears of corn. There were three bottles of merlot, carefully selected by Jeff because of their screw-off caps. They drank the first cup as they warmed by the fire and talked about politics. Obama would take the oath in a few days, and Jeff was contemplating a road trip to D.C. for the festivities. Her father, long before his fall, had been active in the Democratic politics of the plaintiffs’ bar, and now seemed to be regaining his enthusiasm for the fight. He had invited her to come share the moment. She liked the idea of watching history, but wasn’t sure of her schedule.

She had told no one about the offer from Andy, and she would not bring it up now. Doing so would only complicate things. Halfway through the second cup he asked, “How are the toes?”

“They’re tingling,” she said. They were still tucked away in thick woolen socks, socks she planned to keep on regardless of what happened. He went to light the charcoal on the porch, and before long they were preparing dinner. They ate by candlelight on a primitive table built for two. After dinner, they attempted to read novels by the light of the fire, but quickly abandoned that idea for more pressing and important matters.