Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  He also liked the fact that his mother had talked about trips to visit him and the shopping she could do and the plays she could see. Whenever she grew excited, his father would catch his eyes and slightly roll his own. Nicholas enjoyed not only the fact that he was the source of his mother's interest, but that his father was also sharing an inside joke with him. For the first time in his life, it was as though they were equals.

  Nicholas knew he should be more interested in helping with the arrival of the president. After all, that's all anyone in town was talking about, but he wasn't sure what there was for him to do. After the dismal experience of trying to secure tablecloths for Alice, he’d lost the wind in his sails. He’d considered volunteering, but hadn’t yet found his niche.

  “You’re overthinking it,” Alice had chastised him and he knew she was right.

  The few times that he had seen her lately, she had been running around, a determined look on her face, and a series of packets or parcels under her arm. It hadn't even occurred to him to approach her, ask her if she needed help, or to even inquire as to what she was doing. He figured that she was best left alone.

  Alice’s father was often a hot topic of conversation about his house, despite the fact that his mother regularly stated that she “abhorred gossip.”

  Talking about Robert made Nicholas uncomfortable, but what could he do? It wasn't his fault that Robert couldn't get his act together any more than it was Alice's. Of course, he knew he could probably come to her defense more than he did, but doing so caused arguments to ensue and he despised arguments. He never knew what to say and ended up muddled and confused and then wished he hadn't opened his mouth to begin with.

  When it came to volunteering, Nicholas knew that he wasn't particularly creative or good with a hammer. He was good at learning, however, and thinking critically. He liked coming up with strategies and theories and fixing problems and making friends had never interested him that much. Alice had never seemed to mind anyway and that was all he cared about.

  Whatever would he do without her?

  His day was completely open and free, as were most of his days. His father had already left for the paper and his mother was going to spend her day gardening. He considered helping her then changed his mind. He had done that the day before and he never seemed to be able to do it right. She had her mind set about the way that her flowers should look and he was afraid he’d pull up the wrong weed or blade of grass, even though he knew most of the plants that grew in the area. (Not because he liked to garden, of course, but because he liked to read.)

  Instead, Nicholas opted to take a walk to Alice's house. He hadn't been there in weeks and he was lonely. It was nice to be around his parents when they were getting along, but he couldn't talk to them like he could to Alice. The truth was, he was nervous about college and what to expect, and even living on his own scared him. He thought she might understand.

  Gently placing his dirty plate on the counter, he pulled on his boots, preparing for Alice's muddy road, and went out the door.

  ***

  Homer was stunned. He stared at the letter in his hands again and then closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the letter said the same thing it had in his three previous readings.

  His summer had been filled with letters, but other than the official correspondence from the president’s office, this one took the cake. He turned it over and looked at the back, and then took another look at the envelope that it had arrived in.

  It looks official enough, he thought to himself.

  Not that he would have known a phony one if he’d seen it.

  Morgan Industries had been making clothing since the last century. In fact, they had started producing clothing during the War Between the States, which was nearly unheard of. They had plants in Texas and Pennsylvania. And now? They were interested in Furnace Mountain.

  It made more sense than it should have. After all, they made clothing for the real workers–the ones that farmed and worked in factories and on the railroads. In fact, the first clothing that they produced had been especially for those people that worked on the railroads, and then those who worked the fields. Country people like himself. That's why their factories were located in rural areas. Gerald Morgan, the grandson of the man behind the business, visited Furnace Mountain back when Homer The current president was from over the mountain in Winchester. It would make sense that, when branching out for a new location, they would look to Kentucky. But Furnace Mountain?

  From Homer's window, he had an arresting view of the town. Directly in front of him was the depot. Work had stopped for the day but the supplies had been neatly stacked to the side. Tools were left behind in a crate; nobody was afraid of theft at the moment. They were all working together.

  The train tracks ran alongside the depot– both reminders of the town's last important industry. About twenty yards to the right was the Kentucky River, another important industry that had seen its best days already. The town was located in this very area due to its proximity to the river. It had once been a way to haul timber, to get between towns, and to transport supplies back and forth. Then the tracks had come and people had forgotten about the river. Off in the distance the real Furnace Mountain rose majestically above the countryside. There, the furnaces had once roared, bringing thousands of people to the area to work and live. It had been a boomtown then. But the war had ended and progress raged and the furnaces were no longer needed.

  Was it possible that even in these times the town could rise yet again? He was a progressive man, and a hopeful one, but he was also skeptical. And he knew that false hope could be dangerous. After all, the letter itself had said that they were going to be viewing five other towns in the state of Kentucky alone.

  Homer startled when Louella poked her head around his doorframe. She pointed at the letter and he blinked. "So what are we going to do? It says they're going to be here in three weeks. The letter was dated a week ago."

  Homer sighed. "We need to form a committee. And we need to keep it quiet. Let them come and take their tour and then we'll see. I suppose we'll just have to see."

  Chapter Nineteen

  CHESTER PYLE COULD SEE THE FUZZY outline of a figure walking down the tracks, but in the waves of heat rising off the steel it was difficult to determine the gender or age.

  “Someone coming,” Chester called out to the others.

  “Man, woman, or child?”

  “Hard to say,” Chester replied.

  He wouldn't have noticed the figure at all, except he must have been wearing something shiny and it had gotten caught in the sun that sent a glimmer of light right into Chester's eyes as he was mid–hammer.

  Chester pushed his dark hair back out of his eyes and peered into the bright sunlight. As the figure grew closer, he thought it might be a man. He was walking so slowly, however, that he looked like a dog that had been slowly beaten and then set out for a week without any water. Chester had seen a dog like that once and had never forgot it. How could he? He had brought her home with him that very day and still had her.

  The figure gradually made its way down the track and then, in surprise, Chester saw that two others trailed behind him. The heat waves continued to roll up from the ground, but even in the wavering light he had no difficulty telling that one was a child. The other might have been a grown woman or another child, but it was definitely female. Even in the distance and the heat he could see the dress hanging damply down her legs.

  "What's going on?" Steve Goodman asked as he stepped up beside Chester. He offered him a drink of water, and Chester took it gladly. They were covered by some shade of the trees that grew tall nearby but even then he was sweating up a storm. He couldn't imagine how those people were able to walk down the tracks like that in the open air.

  Chester pointed in their general direction and handed the cup back to Steve. "People coming up the tracks."

  Steve nodded and shaded his eyes. "Looks like a man, a boy, and a woman to me. Hot day to be
out like this. You know them?"

  Chester shook his head. "Can't tell from here, but there's nothing down that way. Must be coming from over in Salem."

  "That's twelve miles away. Hope they didn't come that far on a day like this."

  Both men nodded in agreement and continued to watch as the strangers moved closer. As they drew near, Chester could see that the man was wearing long, loose trousers pulled tightly around his narrow waist with an old belt. His shirt was partly unbuttoned and stained dark around the underarms and down the front. He wore a hat pulled far enough down over his eyes that Chester was unable to see his face, save for his lips which were thin and drawn tight.

  The child walked about ten feet behind him and was moving at that same slow pace. He couldn't have been more than six or seven years old, but he moved like an old man. His knees were skinned and dark and a long trickle of blood had run down his shin and dried at some point. Now it was rust–red, nearly brown. He wore short pants and a loose top that could have belonged to a grown man, it was that big on him. Upon closer inspection, however, Chester determined that it was probably a child's shirt in fact, but that the skeletal frame that it hung on was simply too small to support it properly.

  The woman might have been thirty or sixty. It was difficult to tell. Her hair was dark and pulled back. Her face was drawn and gaunt; streaks of dirt ran down her cheeks. Her dress might have had color at one time, but now it was faded and hung limply on her tiny frame. She wore brown shoes that flapped with each step and then Chester did a double take and realized that not only was the child not wearing any shoes at all, but that his feet were bleeding.

  "They need help," he whispered to Steve, even though they were far enough away that they couldn't have heard him. They hadn't looked up from the tracks since Chester had been watching them and were now almost even with the depot. "What do you think we should do?"

  Steve nervously pushed back his hat and jumped off the scaffold to the dusty ground. "Well, let's go see."

  Cautiously, the two men made their way to the staggering party. "Howdy!" Steve called, lifting a hand. "You folks from around here?"

  All three stopped walking, although the man was the only one to look up. "Naw, we're originally from Clinton. Just now come from Salem."

  "Clinton? Well that's more than eighty miles away. You didn't walk that far did you?" Chester forgot his good manners as his mouth dropped. He had been there once and it had taken all day to make the trip. And that was in a car.

  "Mostly. We caught a ride for about ten miles and that was surely helpful." When the man smiled, he revealed a strong set of teeth that looked out of place against his brown leathered skin.

  "What were you all doing over in Salem?" Steve inquired politely. The woman and boy had yet to acknowledge them, although the boy had squeezed closer to the woman and was now holding onto the side of her dress. He kicked softly at a loose rock then proceeded to work at it with his toe, curling it up under his foot.

  "Not a whole lot of anything," the man replied. "They made us leave almost as soon as we got there."

  "Who made you leave?"

  The man shrugged. "Most everybody has made us leave. No work, no food, no hospitality I reckon." He gave a faint smile and then looked down at the ground. "Figured we'd try to make it to Lexington. Have luck in one of the bigger places."

  "Well, what happened in Clinton?"

  "I worked for the railroad and they didn't need me no more. We farmed for the last year but weren’t so lucky last year. Bank took the house and we stayed with her mama but then she passed on and the bank took her house, too. Got people up in Detroit, but it's a long walk up there," to this, he gave another half–hearted smile.

  Steve scratched his head. "Well, come sit a spell. We've got water and it's almost lunchtime. I reckon you all must be pretty thirsty. We probably have some sandwiches too. Does the little one like chicken?"

  The boy nodded after a second and then flashed a grin, revealing a broken tooth and a dimple.

  "Well, okay then," Chester smiled. "Why don't you folks go sit over there on the steps of the school? That's the best shade and we'll get you some water."

  "We don't want to be no trouble," the woman whispered. "We kindly appreciate it though."

  "Ma'am, with all due respect it's hotter than blazes out here and your boy looks parched. I think we can at least get you something to drink."

  As Chester walked away, though, he knew what he was going to have to do. "You gonna go find Homer?" Steve asked when they were out of earshot.

  "Homer? Nope. I'm gonna go find Louella," Chester muttered.

  ***

  Louella stiffly marched up the front door of the Lewis household and knocked on the door. The porch was swept clean and the rug in front of the door looked as though it had been placed there only that morning, even though Louella knew that it was their regular rug and the one that they always used in the summertime. The Lewis family always kept a tidy home.

  After a few moments, Nancy came to the door, her hair pinned neatly back from her head and her clean pink dress starched and crisp. "Louella, it's very nice to see you–" she began politely.

  "I need to come in, Nancy," Louella muttered, opening the screen door herself.

  Nancy moved aside and let Louella enter the home. She didn't usually make social calls, as everyone knew, and Nancy found herself uncommonly flustered. "Can I get you something to drink? I have tea."

  "I'm fine, I'm about to eat lunch myself. I need your help in an important manner, however, and it's essential that you handle this with care."

  "What's the matter? Is something wrong? Is it Nicholas?" Louella felt a trifle bad about the panic that flitted around Nancy's eyes but she waved it off.

  "Oh, of course not. That boy has never been in trouble a day of his life." She actually thought this with some regret because Louella had often suspected that a good amount of trouble was healthy for a growing boy.

  Making her way across the polished wooden floors of the Lewis parlor, Louella selected a seat on the edge of a lightweight chair and motioned for Nancy to sit down on the loveseat next to her. "I'm here about clothing and shoes."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "We've had a family arrive in town today and they're looking worse for the wear. From what I understand they've been prodded on from everyplace else and even though we certainly don't have anything to offer them here, we're not going to push away them like everyone else. They have a young boy with them and he's shoeless. The doctor is looking at his feet as we speak and it's a wonder he can even walk on them, they're that bad. I was hoping that you had some of Nicholas's old shoes, and perhaps some clothing that would fit that you could give me."

  Nancy looked taken aback, but, in fact, she wasn't completely surprised. She hadn't been entirely oblivious to what was going on in the world, not with her husband running a newspaper. But Furnace Mountain had not dealt with any drifters or people looking for work, mostly because it was so out of the way and people tended to bypass it.

  "Are they that bad then?"

  Both women knew that she was not necessarily referring to the boy's feet.

  "Well, I've seen worse, but they're young. They're tired. Who wouldn't be? We're all tired. We might not have much, but we're not turning our backs on someone in need, especially when there's a child involved."

  Nancy stood up. She knew when she was being ordered around indirectly and she knew when not to argue. "I've kept all of Nicholas' old things in the attic. I'm sure I have some clothes and shoes up there. Just give me an hour and I'll bring them down to the office to you."

  Louella sighed as she stepped back out into the bright sunlight. It was only Tuesday, but she knew from experience that weeks that started out eventful rarely got less so as the days went by.

  ***

  "Mama, have we got any more of them tomatoes yet?" Sam burst through the front door, forgetting to wipe his feet and scurried into the kitchen.

  Ruth was s
itting at the table, leafing through a magazine. Sam was surprised at the smell of bacon left over from that morning's breakfast, but he didn't want to mention it. Ruth had made breakfast for him five days in a row and he was afraid that if he pointed it out she might get scared and stop.

  "Tomatoes?" She looked up and looked past him, confusion lining her face. She still had her moments when she didn't quite feel as though she was part of the world, but they were becoming fewer and further between. There were still days, too, when she couldn't get past the front porch and a couple of days ago she had been unable to open the door to a neighbor because the world had seemed too big again, but even those days were fading.

  "Yeah, Mama, tomatoes. Mr. Homer said that you could make all kinds of things out of tomatoes. Like soup and fried tomatoes and sandwiches and things. Well, if you have bread you can make a sandwich anyway. But tomatoes are a start!"

  "Are you hungry then?" She looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was past lunchtime. For an instant, she trembled, suddenly thinking that perhaps she had been sitting there all day. Then she remembered that she was outside for a bit earlier because she had swept the front porch and had taken the mail in. Today was the day that the check came from Jonathan.

  "No, not me. I ate at the school. But there's a family that came into town today and they don't got nothing. Mr. Homer said that–"

  "What family?"

  "I dunno," Sam shrugged. "Some family. They're walking. There's a boy and he's not wearing any shoes. He's little. There's a woman too and she done near passed out from the heat. They smell a little but Mr. Chester said that they could stay all night in his barn tonight. Then I heard Mr. Homer say that he needed to find some tomatoes because they could eat tomatoes and the woman said that–"

  "Okay," Ruth laughed. "I think I understand. You might want to check out in the garden. We might still have some but they're probably green."