Digging Out (36 page)

“I’ll make some tea,” Evan says.

Dafydd pulls Hannah onto his lap. “I want to go home,” she says as Dafydd pats her back.

I am crouched on the floor, next to both of my children. I don’t know what to say. When Evan waves me over, I move toward him reluctantly.

“Let Daffyd handle it. I suspect he’ll know what to say.”

Like Hannah must have felt, I don’t like Evan telling me what to do with my children.

Hannah says again, “But she’s still married to Daddy.” Dafydd just holds her.

Evan is pouring mugs full of tea.

“I’ll give Hannah hers,” I say.

He puts two teaspoons of sugar into each mug and stirs them.

Then, looking rather sternly at me, he says, “That’s all right. I’ve got them. Go put some pants on.” He grabs up three of the mugs and goes to sit next to Dafydd and Hannah.

Evan puts his hand on Hannah’s forehead. “You do have a fever, poor little girl.” He rubs her head. “But it’s not too high. What about I run a cool bath for you?”

Hannah just stares at him.

“Sometimes when I’ve a fever, a cool bath brings it down and then I can sleep. I bet if I run it, your mother will sit with you.”

“Okay,” Hannah says quietly.

How does he know what to do when he’s never had children? Then, of course, I realize Evan has had hundreds of children, and they’ve all been Hannah’s age.

While the bath is filling, I quickly dress. Evan comes back into the room, where Dafydd is seated on the floor next to Hannah.

“What time is it?” Dafydd asks.

“Half past five,” Evan tells him.

“What day is it?”

“Monday. What time is your flight?”

“Eight p.m. But I’ve decided I’ll stay another day if that’s okay.”

I’d forgotten that Dafydd was to leave today. I exhale. My flight is booked for Wednesday evening.

“Why don’t you all stay an extra couple of days?” Evan asks. “That way we won’t have to rush through the next day and Hannah will have time to kick this little bug.” He looks at me sadly, then at Hannah. “Hannah sweetie, your bath is ready.

“Alys, do you want to sit with Hannah? You could read her the beginning of
The String and the Harp.
It’s my all-time favorite book. Takes place in North Wales. You’ll love it, Hannah. So will you, Allie.”

“I’m going to call Doc Rogers,” I say quietly.

“Why don’t we see how she is after her bath and some sleep?” Evan says, patting my arm.

“It could be strep. If it is, it needs to be treated immediately.” I can feel myself moving into a place of high anxiety. “Strep is serious if you don’t catch it quickly.”

“It could also just be a sore throat,” he comforts. “It’s the middle of the night. She’s been doing a lot on very little sleep.”

“You’re right. She shouldn’t have made this trip. She should be back in Colorado.”

“Oh, right, Mom,” Dafydd says. “Sick out there alone on the prairie with all those coyotes and bears,” he says facetiously. “Sounds much better than being here, in a warm house”—he yawns—“with us.”

I glare at him.

“Hannah. Would you let me have a look down your throat?” Evan asks.

I feel the way Hannah must. I want to say,
Who the hell do you think you are? What if she is really ill?
But part of me is relieved I don’t have to deal with this on my own.

Evan uses his flashlight to examine Hannah’s throat. “Aha! It’s so dark down there. Oh, that’s interesting’.” he teases.

“What?” Hannah asks.

“It looks like ’. Mars,” Evan says.

“Mars? What does Mars look like?”

“You don’t know what Mars looks like?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Well, it’s red. But there’s no life. No mountain peaks and ’ wait! No pus!”

“You’re disgusting, Evan!”

“Hannah. Take your bath. I guarantee you … if you bathe in that frigid water, let your mam read a bit, and go back to sleep, you’ll wake up feeling like a million quid.”

“What’s a quid?” Hannah asks.

“Hannah.” Evan points. “The bath.”

Hannah gets up and walks toward the bathroom.

“Alys.” Evan points again.

“What if it is something more—”

“Alys.”

“I’m going.”

“Can I go back to bed?” Dafydd asks.

“See you all later,” Evan says. “I’m going out to howl at the moon.”

Once Hannah has bathed and I’ve put her back to bed, I’m completely shattered, and I fall asleep in the large chair in front of the fireplace. An hour later—it feels like seconds, actually—Evan wakes
me to tell me Mam is on the telephone. I slowly open my eyes, still groggy, my head hurting.

Mam’s voice is shaky. “Doc Rogers is here with Da. You should come. He’s ’ Please come, Alys, quickly.”

“Oh, Mam,” I say, holding the telephone for a second after Mam has rung off. It is happening too fast. I thought I would have more time. Evan holds me. In his arms I feel safe. I want to stay there.

“Go, Alys. Hurry,” he whispers. “I’m perfectly capable of coping with Hannah, and if I need help, Dafydd will cope with me,” he says, reading my mind yet again.

E
arly-morning drizzle, daylight just coming on around the edges, and I arrive at my parents’ house in less than three minutes. It is so quiet. I take the old stairs two at a time. In Parry’s room, Mam is standing near the bed, facing the door, crying quietly, no noise, but her body shakes. She looks so young, her hand over her nose and mouth, like a small child. At first I just stand there.

“Forgive me,” she whispers so quietly I can barely hear her. “Forgive me all those years I was unable to stand beside your da. I was scared and weak. I was wrong. I let him down. And I let you and Parry down.”

“No, Mam, you didn’t.” I start to go to her, but then hold back, giving her space.

“He was a good man, Allie. A kind man. He didn’t deserve what the villagers gave him. Afterward, everyone knew it. They made amends to him, afterward. But it was years after the tribunal and mostly too late. Anyway, he’s finally free from it all,” she whispers.

Doc Rogers is just removing a stethoscope from Da’s chest and putting it into his pocket. He shakes his head, reaching over to remove the oxygen nasal prongs from Da’s nose.

“Ah, Rita. Those were long-ago years, they were. I ‘spect Arthur forgave those early reactions after the disaster. We were stunned as he was and none of us acting in our right minds, like. True, though, he paid a price too dear for coal. Dearer price than any of us, he paid. A good strong heart, Arthur had, now quiet.”

Da does look now as if he is sleeping peacefully. I wonder if he really is free of it?

Had I kept Da so deeply hidden in me, buried like my past, that I’d somehow missed the heart of him?

So often, I wanted to just lie down—like Parry did, like Da is lying now. Perhaps everyone in this village experienced some of these same feelings. The lyrics to a song by Dar Williams pass through my head:

Coming back here now, being able to look at the truth of my past, is like a second chance.

I go to Mam then, hold her, rubbing her back, smoothing her hair.

“Thank you for coming, Alys.” She touches my cheek softly with her hand. “Da was so happy to meet your children, finally. He was so glad to see you have grown into a fine woman then. And I’m awfully grateful to have all of you with me now.”

Dafydd stays for the funeral two days later. Beti, Colin and the kids come over from the States. I am surprised at how many people show up in Bethany Chapel. Neighbors and old friends. The Joneses, Niko, the Garlands. So many people I haven’t seen since I was fifteen. The village rallies round Mam. Reverend Land goes on for a while about what a decent and kind man Da was. How he looked after his family and the needs of the village in the best possible way he knew, and that the villagers had done him a disservice, initially, in pointing the blame at him for the disaster. “But that is behind us now, by many years.

“He was a good friend to me and to all of us. I will be remembering him for his good heart, his patience. Even with all his own trouble, he moved graciously through his life.

“Let us bow our heads and keep a moment of silence in his memory,” Reverend Land concludes.

Evan rises from the left front pew. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, speaking softly but looking out over the group of us. “Twenty years ago, after this village had suffered through the bleakest of times, I went to Arthur Davies and told him I wanted to start a choir in memory of all of us who suffered through the disaster and lost so much as Arthur had. You’ll remember, none of us had much heart left at the time. All of the monies the village collected through donations went to clearing up the slag, building the community center and erecting the new playground. Of course we were all grateful for these monuments.” Evan clears his throat and I can tell he is on the verge of tears.

I put my hand on Hannah’s knee and the other one on Dafydd’s, thinking of the distance we’ve come since we last sat together at a funeral.

“I gathered a few men, who gathered together a few more, and finally we made a number of us, Arthur, one of the first,” Evan continues. “And we practiced until we had voice and song that lifted our own spirits and, we hope, the spirits of the village. And when we needed anything, Arthur Davies gave it to us: His generous donations helped us start up the choir.”

Mam leans forward from her place behind me and pats my shoulder. “ ‘Twas what you sent us, Alys.”

I am confused for a moment, and then realize they’d never used the money I sent for themselves, but passed it on to Evan and the choir.

“And finally, he helped secure our first public presentation right here in this very chapel.

“Arthur didn’t know that in August we will give our first Royal presentation before the Court at Buckingham Palace. But it is my hope—no, it is my belief, that his generous and gracious spirit will continue to guide us in song, forever. And when we sing before the Queen, he will be there with us.”

As if on cue, the members of the choir in attendance stand and sing Da’s favorite:

Sunday afternoon in the pub: Hallie and I under the table, our fort. Watching their feet, swinging back and forth—Mam and Mrs. Quig-gly, her black sling-back shoes, Mrs. Burton’s red shoes and Mrs. Jones in her fancy sandals and her hose with the dark toe band showing. Their laughter, earsplitting, hitting high loud notes. Da and his friends raise their glasses, the clinking, the ring to them. Their own laughter, raucous. Peeking out from under the table, I see them, all of the men, their heads together, and then their voices, loud and clear, like water rushing down a riverbed, their voices together into one voice ‘tween them.

After the choir has finished, Evan looks out at all of us and says, “May God be here, and inside each of us, now and forever. Amen.”

Hannah holds my hand. Dafydd and Mam both reach over and put their hands on mine, like the game we played as children, one hand on top of the other. And on top of all our hands I feel Gram’s. In that moment I surrender to something more than I can see. I look around at the many familiar faces from my childhood, sharing this sweet, sad moment with my family. A small blue jay flies into the chapel. It flaps its way to the front and lands quietly on the lectern, and when the singing stops, it flies out again.

At the cemetery, in a light drizzle, a group of us stand while Da, in a plain pine box, is lowered into the ground. Mr. Lennitt, who worked down the mine with him, hands Mam Da’s headlamp and lunch pail.

“Finally I cleaned out his locker for him,” Mr. Lennitt says, his head bent low.

Mam places them on top of the coffin.

“Was Da a miner, too?” Hannah asks. I love that she calls my father Da.

I nod.

After the crowd disperses, Hannah asks, “Where’s Hallie?” We move through the rows of white arches, my children quiet as I point out my friends. Dafydd stops and reads each memorial placard and looks at each photo that adorns the many gravesides.

When we get to Hallie’s grave, Hannah asks, “Don’t you still miss her?” and I know she is thinking of Marc.

The deep, dark place inside me opens again and I say simply, “Yes. But now, mostly, I have found a place for Hallie to rest inside of me. She is never far away. Sometimes lately, when you and I are horsing around, hanging out, it reminds me of how it was with Hallie. I mean, you remind me. We were the same age as you when it all happened. I know she would have liked you.”

“That would be funny, wouldn’t it, if we were all the same age, and friends?” Hannah presses closer to me.

Dafydd asks, as I knew he would, “Where’s Parry?”

We stand uncomfortably at Parry’s grave, none of us saying anything. When Evan appears, he grabs Hannah up and puts his arm around Dafydd, shaking us out of our quiet and grief. “Now this is someone you both would have loved. When I tell you there was not a woman in the village who wasn’t mad for him, and not a man who wasn’t envious, and all the little children gathered at his feet, I am not exaggerating. He was the smartest, the wildest, the best of all of us, and he would have loved every inch of both of you, not to mention that you …”