Red Helmet (6 page)

Fortunately she carried an extra toothbrush in her purse. She brushed her teeth with an off-brand toothpaste also found in the closet, gargled with an off-brand mouthwash, and then got dressed, choosing from her surviving bag a comfortable skirt, blouse, and sandals. Now she was ready for that phone call to her father. He wasn't going to believe that such a backward place still existed in the United States. But he would listen, probably make a joke out of it, and make her feel better. She sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the telephone on the bedside table. Like the one in the parlor, it was an old rotary device. “Dispatcher!” a man immediately yelled into her ear.

Song was so startled, she hung up. Tentatively, she lifted the receiver again. “Hey, who's this?” the same man demanded. “Is that you, Mrs. Jordan?”

Song realized it was Mole, Cable's secretary or whatever he was. “It's me, Mole,” she said. “Where's Cable?”

“Don't matter where he is,” the man said. “This phone is for mine business only. Welcome to Highcoal, ma'am, but you got to get off this phone.” He abruptly hung up.

Song looked at the phone with some astonishment, then put the receiver in its cradle and went downstairs and poked around until she found another telephone, this one a relatively modern touch-tone attached to the wall in the kitchen. She picked up its receiver and was rewarded by a dial tone. Eagerly, she dialed her father's number only to receive an irritating series of beeps followed by a tinny voice that said, “All circuits are busy. Please try again later.”

She dialed the number again and received the same message. “Time for a strong drink,” she muttered and started searching. The cabinets were empty of anything alcoholic so she peered inside the double-door stainless steel refrigerator that contained a quart of milk, a loaf of white bread, a package of bologna, a box of Velveeta cheese, and three bottles of white wine—two chardonnays and one fumé blanc. It was a bachelor's refrigerator if she'd ever seen one. She next looked in the pantry and was pleased to find it contained a nice stock of reds, including a French pinot noir, which she chose.

After searching for wine glasses, she found a pretty set that appeared to be hand-blown crystal. She admired them, even though at that moment she would have settled for a plastic cup.

Song carried a glass of the dusky red to the front porch, where there were four white rocking chairs. She sat down in the nearest and contemplated the town, the black smear of the coal mine below, and the lush, green mountains that seemed to go on forever. She was distracted by cardinals, as scarlet as the reddest rose, chirping prettily as they fed from a bird feeder hanging from the porch. Squirrels also squawked and fussed as they gamboled through the magnificent oaks that grew along the driveway. Song was starting to wind down, feeling more comfortable as the wine settled happily on her empty stomach.

Her gaze went back to the mine. She wondered where Cable was, if he was already below the earth. She shuddered, unable to fully comprehend what it was like to be underground. Then, interrupting her thoughts, a battered gray pickup truck pulled into the driveway and a heavyset woman with short-cropped blonde hair emerged wearing a white sweatshirt that read I Love Myrtle Beach.

“Guess you'd be Song,” she said. “I'm Rhonda—cook, hotel manager, interior decorator, and all-round Cable enabler. Come on, Young Henry. Bring the basket.”

A boy climbed out of the bed of the truck and lifted a large wicker basket. He had a burr haircut and big ears that stuck out. Song guessed him to be around twelve years old. He shyly glanced at Song and she smiled at him. He quickly looked away.

“So you're the Rhonda Cable told me about,” Song said.

Rhonda nodded. “That would be me.”

Song stood while trying to think of something else to say. She was always awkward when she met someone new unless it was business—then she had plenty to say and she said it whether they wanted to hear it or not.

“I
like what you've done with the house,” she managed.

Rhonda's round face lit up. “Do you really?”

“Simply elegant. Where did you get the furniture?”

Rhonda was now beaming. “Let's get your food inside and I'll tell you!” She held open the screen door for the boy who carried the basket inside.

Song followed Rhonda to the kitchen. “Where's Cable?” Rhonda asked as she began to unpack the basket.

Song tried to remember what Cable had said before he'd rushed out. “Gone to the mine. I think he said a pillar fell down. Somebody got their arm broken.”

Rhonda shook her head. “Fell down? Pillars don't fall down, honey. They explode.” She clutched the boy by his arm and dragged him over. “Say hello to Mrs. Jordan, Young Henry.”

“Hello, ma'am,” the boy said glumly. “Pleased to meet you.”

“He gets shy sometimes, don't you, Young Henry?”

“I used to be shy too,” Song said, trying to coax a smile out of the boy. “Sometimes I still am.”

“Get on out to the stable and go to work,” Rhonda ordered, and the boy scurried out of the kitchen. Rhonda looked after him, then said, “I hope you like what I brung ya. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, and a fresh garden salad. I got the best vegetables this year, I swan.”

Song mentally added up the calories and fat grams in that menu, including the salad dressing, which didn't appear to be the fat-free variety. She wrinkled up her nose. Rhonda must have noticed, since she frowned and asked, “It don't suit?”

“I'm sure it's all delicious,” Song replied. “It's just that I'm not used to such rich food.”

Rhonda put her hands on her ample hips. “This is just good old-fashioned West Virginia cooking, darlin'.”

“Actually, I'd prefer something lighter,” Song said. “And nothing fried. Ever.”

Rhonda opened her mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and amiably nodded. “Well, all right, honey. I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, about decorating this place. Cable bought it and remodeled it, but then had no idea what to put in it, so he hired me for the job. Of course, Cable's always in the mine so I had to guess a lot on his tastes, presuming he has any. He's a man, you know? Besides, Cable's so busy he hardly has time to lace up his boots. The furniture I got mostly at a place called Tamarack in Beckley, which features West Virginia artisans. You'll have to visit it sometime.”

“I'll do that,” Song said, frowning. Rhonda's loud voice was making her head hurt.

Rhonda studied Song for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, enjoy what you can eat. I got to go. There are hungry bachelors at the Cardinal who'll likely tear down the place if their supper's two minutes late. You ought to come down some time, have supper with them. They're all coal miners. They'd go crazy for a pretty woman like you.”

“I already met one coal miner and he made me sick.”

“Who was that?”

“Cable called him Bossman.”

“Bossman? Why, honey, there ain't a nicer man in town. How'd he make you sick?”

“Spitting.”

Rhonda walked to the front porch with Song following. “Miners tend to spit. It ain't pretty, I swan, but that's what they do. They also work like the devil to keep their families from the poor house. Anyway, welcome to Highcoal. Hope you like living here, spitting and all.”

“I'm only here for a week.”

This stopped Rhonda. “Why only a week?”

“My job is in New York.”

Rhonda was clearly astonished by her answer. “Honey, jobs are for quitting when you got a good man like Cable.”

“A good man can live in New York too,” Song replied. “Especially if his wife has important work there.”

“Well, nobody has more important work than what Cable's got. He keeps this whole town going. Don't you know that?”

Song didn't want to discuss it, especially since she didn't care if the town kept going or not. “Do the phones ever work around here?” she asked instead.

Rhonda climbed into her truck. The window was rolled down and she let her arm hang out. “Squirrels ate through the lines a few days ago. Taking awhile to get up some new ones.”

“I need to call my father,” Song said.

“Maybe they'll be up by tomorrow morning.”

Song was shocked. “Tomorrow? I have to wait until then?”

Rhonda shrugged. “That's Highcoal for you. Patience is a virtue around here. Anyway, here's the drill. Cable gets a covered dish every evening. Usually he picks it up, but while you're here, I'll bring supper by since he'll probably be home later than you'd care to eat. Just put the dishes in the sink when you're done. Rosita will be over every day to wash up and clean the house. She's my maid and yours too. Oh yeah, Old Roy—the gardener and fix-it man—will be by once a week to mow the lawn, spruce up the yard, do anything you want him to do. Like I said, we're Cable enablers. Man works hard for us, for the whole town. He ain't got time for all this silly domestic stuff.” She cocked her head. “Say, I've been listening to your voice. It's a good one. Do you sing, by chance?”

“I was in my high school choir. Why?”

“You're a soprano, I think. We need a soprano in the church choir. If you lived here, I'd see if I could get you in. Being a member of the choir is a pretty big deal.”

“I don't go to church,” Song replied.

Rhonda's mouth fell open in astonishment. “You got to go to church, honey. It's the place where everybody meets and greets.”

“I'm an agnostic,” Song said. “It would be wrong for me to pretend otherwise.”

“A what-nostic?” Rhonda laughed. “Oh, I get it. Honey, there ain't no such thing around here. Don't much matter what particular religion you are, or even if you ain't got no religion at all, best to get close to God in these old hills. It's His country, make no mistake, but that don't mean there's an end to trouble. Some folks think the Lord likes to throw fuel on the fire just to see how we'll do. Anyway, give it some thought. You want to meet people, it's the only way. Gotta go.”

Song touched her stiff hair. “One more thing. What's wrong with the water? I took a bath and came out dirtier than when I got in.”

“Water around here is hard as a rock,” Rhonda explained. “Full of minerals like limestone and I don't know what all. Shampoo don't have a chance in that soup.”

“It was cold too.”

“I'm not surprised. Cable takes his baths at the mine so he don't much care about what comes out of the spigot here. Let's do this. I'll tell Old Roy to install you a new hot water heater and a water softener, and put it on Cable's bill. You just consider it done.”

“Thank you,” Song said.

“You bet, honey. I can enable you as well as I can enable Cable.” She turned the ignition key and the old truck roared.

Song watched Rhonda drive away and felt a little abandoned and lonely. She walked to the stable where she found Young Henry mucking out the stalls with a shovel and a wheelbarrow. She tried to think
of something to say. “It stinks,” was what came out as she wrinkled up her nose.

“Horse manure generally does, ma'am,” he answered and kept shoveling.

“Cable—Mr. Jordan—had to go to the mine,” she said, making another attempt at conversation. “Wonder how long he'll be gone?”

Young Henry leaned on his shovel. “Hard to say. It takes a good hour to get to some places in the mine. I know what happened, by the by. One of our miners what lives in our hotel told me while Mom was putting together your basket. Navy Jones got his arm broke, you see.”

“Navy Jones?”

“Yes, ma'am, that's right. Name's really Ernest. Served in the navy, you see, so that's how he got his nickname. Anyway, he'll be fine. Doctor K will fix him up.”

“Doctor K?”

“Our doc. She goes inside the mine when a man's hurt, but likely Navy came out on his own.”

“
She
goes inside the mine?”

“Yes, ma'am. Doctor K's a lady and, despite it, a dang good doctor. Naw, Navy's gonna be just fine.”

“But the way Cable rushed off, he acted like it was serious.”

The boy shrugged. “He's the superintendent so he's responsible for everything.”

“Is your father a miner too?”

“Ain't no more.”

“What does he do?”

“Plays a harp, I reckon. Up in heaven.”

“Oh, I'm sorry!”

“Well, I don't know why. It weren't your fault. Anyway, I never knew him. He got killed in the mine when Ma was pee-gee with me.” He saw her perplexed look. “Pregnant, you know? Anyway, piece of slate fell on him, just like Mr. Jordan's daddy. It happens. There's some rough roof in that old mine.”

Song was saddened by the boy's obvious cover-up of his true feelings. “It's a dangerous place, isn't it?” she asked.

Young Henry only shrugged. “You got to watch yourself in there. But, ma'am, you don't need to worry about Cable. He runs a safe mine. Just about everybody says so. Now, if you'll excuse me, ma'am. Got to dump this 'barrow, then feed the horses.”

Song waited until the horses were happily munching their oats in their stalls before asking, “Could you stay and have dinner with me, Young Henry? You can tell me all about coal mining.”

“Thank you, ma'am, but no,” he answered, politely. “I got chores to do at home. But I'll be here tomorrow to make sure everything is done what needs to be done around the stable, and I guess you can ask me some more questions then.”

Song saw the boy wanted to go and said, “Thank you, Young Henry.”

“No problem, ma'am.” He started walking down the driveway.

Song called after him. “How will you get home?”

“Hitchhike,” he replied over his shoulder.