Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  Still, there were times he missed his shop. He missed going to the shop as a young man when his own father had opened it after working out of his home for years. He remembered the day he’d received the loan.

  Most of all, he remembered feeling useful. He missed Martha bringing little Alice down to him when he was working on something and how they would stand in the middle of the store and watch him, his wife’s eyes filled with pride at his work. He remembered watching them through the window, strolling down the street together, the sunlight bouncing off of Alice’s curls.

  Feeling proud that both of those women were his.

  If he had any regrets, it was not going on enough picnics with her. Would it have really mattered if he had taken off an afternoon and gone down to the river with his girls? Sometimes, he had a hard time even remembering what it had been that he was working on when she had asked.

  But she was gone now and so was his little girl. He stayed on Alice to keep the place clean and to look after things, but it wasn’t because he cared. It was the only authority he had left. He knew that Alice was ashamed of him and he was embarrassed about that. But what could he do? There wasn’t any work to be found and he wasn’t even sure that his hands could carve anything anymore. His tools were wrapped in a dusty, stained cloth, under a pile of boards in the outbuilding. It had been five years since he had seen them and part of him was afraid that he wouldn’t remember how to use them if he did get them out. They were probably rusted anyhow.

  He looked in the mirror again, his eyes bloodshot but a little clearer. He thought that a haircut might help. He also thought that maybe the next time the mayor had one of those town meetings he might just go, if he didn’t have anything else to do.

  A glance back out the window showed Alice, still under the tree, with the sun hitting her hair, the same way it had when she was a child.

  ***

  Nicholas was overjoyed. Upon returning from Lexington, he had immediately gone straight to his bedroom and unwrapped the packages that contained his new clothes and new school supplies. In neat little stacks, he laid them out on the bed. All in all, there were five new shirts, three pairs of trousers, two neckties, two new pairs of shoes, and a new winter coat. It would be cold in the north, after all, his mother had pointed out. In another pile he had a stack of pencils, a journal, scissors, several writing tablets, and erasers. He had everything to get him started when he began school in the fall.

  It was at his mother’s insistence that they go to Lexington and not try to shop in Furnace Mountain or Four Tree. His father had been in agreement, for neither of them wanted Nicholas to stand out as being “country” when he entered his new school. They both wanted the best for their son.

  Nicholas was secretly hoping his father would also obtain the glorious leather–bound satchel that he had fawned over, but if he had bought it on that trip then he had kept it a surprise.

  The trip to Lexington had taken all day. The ride up had taken close to three hours and, as a result, they had left before daylight even broke. That was fine because Nicholas loved the early mornings, as it gave him a chance to get more things accomplished during the day. He had asked Alice to go with them, much to his mother’s dismay, but Alice had refused, stating that she had things to do herself. He was disappointed, but then later wondered if it might have been uncomfortable for her had she come along. After all, she wouldn’t have had the money to purchase anything for herself and they had stopped at a café for lunch and that might have been awkward for her as well. Nicholas hated the fact that he always thought of these things after the fact.

  Coming back into town that evening, he had been surprised at the level of activity. For some reason, being in the middle of it during the day made it less conspicuous. However, coming in at it from a different direction really made the flurry of activity noticeable. There was work being done on the depot, yes, but there were also stores being slathered with colorful paint and children pulling weeds alongside the old platform. It looked nice.

  Nicholas was concerned over the fact that some of the boys his own age were working in town. He wasn’t sure if he should offer his services or not. He had never done anything manual of that magnitude before, although he was quite good with his hands and thought that he could manage a hammer and nail. He did very well building model cars. Some of the boys in school had made fun of him since he spent so much time measuring and planning and working things out in his head that he was always the last one to finish. (Although it was usually grudgingly admitted that his end–product was superior.)

  In fact, he could even remember being ridiculed at a birthday party once when he had taken too long to play a particular game because he had spent so much time figuring out the best strategy.

  Other boys Nicholas’ age had left school years earlier. He was the second-oldest boy still at Miss Casteel’s.

  So Nicholas wasn’t sure if he wanted to help. It was better to help Alice, who was far less judgmental than most people his age.

  Alice had been distant lately, though, and that struck him as unusual. She wasn’t doing anything particularly different, or acting cold, but she wasn’t talking as much as she normally did. It made him feel peculiarly sad. He was trying to sort through his feelings to understand them. Although it was late and he knew that she would be turning in soon, he wanted to rush over and show her all his new clothes, but something held him back. Maybe she wouldn’t want to see his new things. Maybe Robert would be home and wouldn’t like him visiting, although he and the old man had barely spoken a word to one another in years.

  In the end, Nicholas simply packed his new items away and went to bed.

  ***

  Sam lay on his bed and listened to the crickets. There was a one hiding somewhere in his bedroom and rather than annoying him, he rather enjoyed the company it provided. It reminded him of the nights that he and Jonathan would lay awake, talking deep into the night. Sometimes it struck him strange that those days were, in fact, truly gone. They rested on the edge of his memory, as if waiting, and there were times when it felt as though he could really step back into them.

  “Are you out there Jonathan?” he asked the darkness. The cricket chirped in reply, making him smile.

  Wouldn’t it have been nice if his daddy had come back to him in some way? If the little cricket hiding in his room was actually his father, then perhaps he had found a way to check on him and protect him. It was a fine thought.

  All in all, it was a good day. Sam had even been asked to submit his drawings to the mayor’s office and had spoken to the mayor himself.

  “These are fine drawings, Sam!” Mr. Homer had cried. He’d shaken Sam’s hand again, like a grown up, and slapped him on the back. “I’d like to frame one of these and hang it up in my office, if that’s okay?”

  He liked Mr. Homer. He was a quiet man, unlike Sam’s own father who was really the only other man he had ever known since his grandfathers had both died before he was born. Sam thought that Mr. Homer worried about the people in his town. Sam could respect that about him. He thought that Mr. Homer might like his mother, too, if he was around her a lot. They’d been friends in school. Maybe they could be friends again.

  And his mother…she had cooked again that night. She had traded one of her sacks of flower, something they had an abundance of, for one of the neighbors to butcher and cure a hog for them.

  Sam was excited about that because she had promised him pork chops in the future and he hadn’t had pork chops in a very long time. He didn’t know much about cooking meat, except for bacon, and bacon was scary to fry. Sometimes he splattered himself with the lard and that hurt, leaving little red spots all over him that looked like measles.

  Tonight, she’d used some of the ham in a kettle of soup beans and had made collard greens and cornbread to go with it. It had been a real feast and she had even laughed when he told her a funny story about something that had once happened in school. It hadn’t mattered that the story really wasn’
t that funny or that he didn’t care much for greens.

  “I’ll do the dishes, Mama,” he’d said when they finished. She had let him and left the room. He’d been afraid that she was going back to bed but when he was finished he’d found her out on the front porch. She had his daddy’s guitar on her lap.

  “I thought you might want this,” she’d said shyly. “I don’t know how to tune it or anything but you might be able to play with it.”

  He’d been shocked into silence.

  It was in his bed with him now, propped up on the other pillow.

  Sam also noticed that his mother was brushing her hair. It wasn’t styled like it used to be and it hung way down her back with some gray in it, but he still thought it was the prettiest hair he had ever seen.

  Sam knew that his daddy had also thought that she had pretty hair. He could recall him sitting out on the porch with his mama and how he would stroke her hair and sing to her after supper. She would laugh and swat at his hand while he made up funny songs about selling her hair for silver and gold.

  “I’m telling you Ruthie,” he’d tease her. “We could get a fortune for it!”

  After he died, his mother had gone to town and tried selling her hair. As it turned out, it hadn’t been worth much at all.

  Most of the time, Sam tried not to think of his daddy. He knew what had happened to him. He knew what he had done and it made Sam sad and sometimes even a little mad. Sam was old enough to know that he hadn’t done anything wrong but he wished he had been old enough at the time it had happened so that he could have told him that everything would be okay. And it was okay, too. They didn’t have a lot, but he thought that he and his mama were doing fine and that if his daddy hadn’t gone out to the barn with the gun, he would be doing fine with them.

  Sam had read a book once, about a man that did the same thing but that man had been angry all the time and had fought with people and hollered a lot. He’d been in trouble with the law. Sam never remembered his daddy raising his voice or getting mad at anybody, except maybe for Jonathan sometimes when he forgot to do his chores. And he never got in trouble with anyone. As a matter of fact, people came to him when they got in trouble.

  His father had been sad when he died. His mother was sad now. It’s why Sam never complained and cooked the meals and told his funny stories. He would never let his mama get as sad as his daddy did. He couldn’t lose her, too.

  The cricket’s song soon died away and, as if in its place, a lightning bug flew through the crack in the window and landed on Sam’s bed. He watched the steady glow fade in and out until, at last, he fell asleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ALICE NERVOUSLY CARRIED AN ARMFUL of starched press linens as she slowly made her way to the mayor's office in City Hall. She walked with care so that none of them touched the ground where they were bound to get dirty from the mud holes the summer downpour had created the night before. Alice liked the scent of the land after a night full of rain, but that didn't mean that she was going to let her hard work go to ruin.

  She had finished five of the tablecloths so far, but she had only been working on them for two weeks and thought that she would be able to get the rest of them finished by the end of summer. Still, she wanted to show them to Louella to make sure she was doing a good job. It had been a long time since anyone other than her daddy or Nicholas had looked at her handiwork and one was biased and the other didn't seem to care. She wasn't going to be embarrassed when Mr. Roosevelt came to town. Louella might give her a straight answer.

  As she drew closer to town, Alice could hear the pleasant sounds of work. The depot was really looking nice. She had heard that some of the trees had been cut down right off the government's land but she didn't reckon anyone was going to tell. It would take twenty years for those hardwoods to grow back but it wasn’t like anyone was out there counting trees.

  She had spent the evening before trying to tell Robert about the work, but he was disinterested. Still, he wasn't drinking and that had to be worth something anyhow.

  When Alice turned the corner onto Main Street, she noticed that a couple of men were busy taking the boards off of one of the old stores. She couldn't see which store it was, but she was gladdened to know that work was being done on it.

  Alice knew Louella only from a distance. While she had seen her around all of her life she'd never had a reason to talk to her. Louella was formidable, with her tight face, commanding voice, and primness. Even Robert was more subdued in her presence.

  But since they had been working on the town, Alice had been able to observe Louella and she thought that there was probably more going on with her than she showed. For instance, Alice had watched Louella smile fondly at Sam Walters when he had shown her his drawing for the “Welcome” sign. The smile was brief, but Alice had seen it and Sam had looked delighted by the words Louella had spoken to him. Alice had a soft spot for all the little ones, but particularly for Sam because, in a way, they were both orphans of sorts.

  Nicholas had also spoken well of Louella. She was friends with his parents and had been to his house for dinner.

  “She’s an intelligent woman,” he’d told Alice. “Full of ideas. She’s even given Daddy ideas for the paper.” Alice figured that she must have been smart or else she wouldn't be working for the mayor like she did.

  The building that housed City Hall was not a large one, and it also served as home for the sheriff’s department and police chief, but Alice thought it was pretty. It was white federal style and stood two stories high with a stained-glass window. The building was the last thing to be built in town–built back when Furnace Mountain still had money.

  Louella's office was right inside the front doors. It was small, but she had pretty painted pictures of the mountains and the old furnaces hanging on the walls and a real rugs covering the hardwood floors–not the rag rugs that Alice made at her house. It smelled nice in there, too, like apples.

  Louella looked up as Alice entered and while she didn't give her what passed for a smile, her features did appear to soften.

  “Hello Alice,” she said in a business–like tone. “How may I help you today?”

  Alice smiled brightly and stepped forward. “Well, see, I've been working on these and I got a couple of them finished. I was hoping you could look at them and tell me if they look all right. If they don't then I can start over but I didn't want to get too many of them done if I wasn't doing a good job.”

  Louella got up from behind her desk and walked over to where Alice stood. She was surprised to find that Louella was so much taller than herself. Methodically, Louella began looking through the fabrics and turning each one over to judge the work on both sides. The air was too quiet for her liking, so Alice began to speak again.

  “I hadn't really done this in a long time. My mama taught me but I was little, see, and I couldn't remember if I was doing it right or not. I pulled it too tight a couple of times but I fixed it I think and now...”

  Louella looked up at her, this time with a tight small, and squeezed Alice on the shoulder. “You're doing a fine job and the town will thank you for all your hard work.”

  “Oh.” Alice was startled. “I am? I mean, I am doing a good job?”

  Louella nodded and returned to her desk. “I think your stitches are lovely and anyone, president or not, would be proud to sit down at a table covered by your handiwork.”

  Alice felt color rise in her cheek and then felt a flush of embarrassment as her eyes started to fill. “Thank you so much,” she said quickly as she backed up to the door. “I'll keep working on them.”

  With that, she turned and hastily made her way out of the building, failing to see the truly genuine smile that lit up Louella's face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  FURNACE MOUNTAIN HAD BEAUTIFUL AUTUMNS with its leaves turning glossy shades of orange and red and the crisp air just right for carving pumpkins and making fodder shocks.

  In the winter, the white snow in the valleys appe
ared as glass in the early morning sun before it was broken by footsteps and animal markings. Springtime brought Easter flowers with their sunny yellow faces and warm mountain rain down on the tiny town. But it was almost certainly summer that Furnace Mountain did the best.

  In the summertime, Calico Creek ran low enough that you could swim in it. In August, by the time everyone was praying for rain, the water got low enough that it barely covered your knees. There was even a small beach where folks could sun and build small castles.

  The air was thick with heat, but the trees never looked more alive than in the summer and, sometimes, in the earliest part of the day you could even swear you could see them breathing as they heaved under the pressure of the upcoming day. Little boys could walk barefoot along dirt roads that were warm under their dirty brown toes while little girls sat in their yards under shade trees with glasses of lemonade and dolls.

  Come twilight, the sky would be painted with brilliant shades of red and purple, sending shadows across the valleys and through the hollers. That moment never lasted long enough. If you blinked you missed it, but if you were lucky enough to catch it, you knew that you were seeing something special.

  Then, darkness would settle and the lightning bugs would come out. A veritable orchestra of night sounds would fill the air and the dark shadows would be illuminated by hundreds of tiny points of lights, always flashing just out of arm's reach.

  The summer that President Roosevelt came to town was no exception. The world might have been groaning in financial turmoil but the days kept coming and the seasons kept changing, for nature had no use for human problems. The heat had rolled in steadily and replaced spring overnight, as it usually does. The cool damp mornings of May turned into the humid steady beginnings of June.

  Furnace Mountain was an outside town. Although electricity had come to the county fifteen years earlier, only those in town had it and then not everyone. Most people were suspicious of it or couldn't afford it and still used their coal oil lamps, kerosene, and fireplaces. So from the time they got up in the morning, until right before they went to bed at night, the general population stayed outside.