Daddy came home from the mine one evening, clutching a piece of paper in
his hand. He walked into the kitchen and tossed the paper onto the table
without saying a word. Although his expression was concealed by the coal
dust on his face, I sensed that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
"What's that?" Mommy asked, turning from the cookstove.
Daddy slowly set his lunch bucket on the floor and took off his hardshell
cap. Then, giving Mommy a solemn look, he said, "Why don't you read it for
yourself, Clara, then we'll both know."
But Mommy didn't pick up the paper. Instead, she stood there looking at
Daddy as if she were trying to see beyond the mask of coal dust, beyond the
weariness of his tone of voice, beyond the way he was standing with slumped
shoulders and bowed head. Finally she said, "You tell me, Ted. I'm gettin'
supper and don't have time to read nothin'. Besides, I wanta hear it from
you, whatever it is."
Instead of immediately telling us what was going on, Daddy picked up the
piece of paper again, unfolded it and sat down on the floor beside the
cookstove. He stared at the paper for a long time, then suddenly crumpled it
into a tight ball in his fist.
"All right," he said at last, "if you want me to tell you what it says, I
will. It says that the Sycamore mine is gonna shut down at the end of this
month. It says that the coal market is such that --" But suddenly he choked
up, unable to go on. He shut his eyes tightly, squeezing out a tear that
streaked down his face, leaving a strangely pale and twisting path in the
coal dust on his cheeks.
"The end of this month?" Mommy whispered tersely. "But that's only a week
and a half away, Ted! Do you realize what you're sayin'?"
Daddy opened his tear-filled eyes and laughed bitterly. "Oh, but there's
nothin' to worry about, Clara! It says right here that they're gonna give us
an extra two weeks' pay -- 'severance pay,' it's called. Just think of that,
Clara -- an extra two weeks' pay to find another job and another place to
live! Why, we don't have a thing in the world to worry about!"
Then, covering his face with his hands, he wept silently . . .
The day after the mine shut down, I awoke earlier than usual, realizing
it was the sudden silence that had jarred me awake. The tipple wasn't
running, there was no squeaking of railroad cars, no distant roar of trucks
and machinery, no sound of cars being started as miners got ready to leave
for work. There was nothing but an eerie silence that had settled over the
community like a pall of death.
I remembered that Lou Ann and her family were planning to leave this
morning and I'd promised I would come by early so I could spend some time
with her before she left . . .
When I arrived at (her) house, I found her family already packed and
ready to go. The only holdup seemed to be Lou Ann's mother, who was finding
numerous last-minute details which simply had to be taken care of before
they could leave.
"Stalllin' for time," Lou Ann's father muttered impatiently. "That's all
she's doin' -- just stallin' for time. But it's not gonna make leavin' any
easier to put it off."
I was glad Lou Ann's mother was stalling for time, though, otherwise Lou
Ann and I wouldn't have had a chance to properly saying good-by too each
other.
"Do you think me and Lou Ann could take a little walk before you'all
leave?" I asked her father. "We won't be gone long."
"I don't see why not," Homer replied glumly. "At the rate Velma's goin',
you oughta have time to walk clean to Stoddard and back!"
After passing through the gate of creosoted fence, I reached for Lou
Ann's hand. "Let's take our old route once more, for old times' sake," I
said.
She nodded. "All right."
We crossed the swinging bridge and went around the sharp curve by the
soda fountain. As we approached the fountain, I noticed that something was
different, but I didn't realize what it was until we were close enough to
see that there were no lights on inside. A sign on the door read "Closed."
(Not available for purchase)