On second thought, she would show him. There were other young men in town and some of them had looked at her more than once and she had made the conscious effort not to look back. Next time, she just might change her mind. He would feel sorry then. He thought she wasn’t capable of handling a festival and thought that what she was doing wasn’t important enough. What he really meant was that it wasn’t as important as what he was doing.
Through the doorway, she could see Nicholas as he headed back into the woods to find more slag. He would find a way to take them all back home and she was sure he’d fashion something secure and strong enough in which to carry them. In fact, he was probably more concerned with that than with her.
Alice suddenly felt silly and embarrassed about her feelings and the expectations she’d had for the day.
“He doesn’t love me,” she said aloud. It hurt saying the words, but she knew they were true. “He will never love me the way he is supposed to, the way I want him to.”
He was clearly not going to reciprocate any feelings she had for him so she might as well forget about them.
And yet, she felt alright. Alice thought about the Kiwanis meeting, about how the people in the room had looked at her with respect. She thought about the tasks she’d been performing all week, preparing for the festival. About the people she’d talked into donating food and prizes and organizing games. About the little ones she had supervised in the making of the flyers–about the almost normal conversation she’d had with her father that very morning.
She was doing something. And she would have a life, with our without Nicholas. Even if it meant never leaving Furnace Mountain.
Standing up, Alice dusted herself off and started back out of the furnace. Only, this time, she felt different walking into the sunlight than she had when she’d walked out of it. She had lost something in there, but it was okay. She had done what she could with Nicholas and had failed. Now, it was time to move on. Some things were not meant to be and other things were not meant to last. She supposed she and Nicholas fit both of these.
***
Homer nervously paced back and forth in front of the tiny house, watching the door from the corner of his eye and trying to get up the gumption to walk up the stairs and knock on the door. Finally, after his last pep talk, he thought he had it. Before he could lose his nerve, again, he bounded up the wooden steps and held out his hand. Just as he was about to knock, however, the screen door flew open and Ruth stood there, her hair ablaze around her face and her eyes swollen.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I thought you were Sam. He must have run out earlier and I haven’t seen him.”
“Is everything okay?” Now he could tell that she’d been crying.
“It’s just, well, today’s his birthday. And I forgot. I forgot! What kind of mother forgets? He must have been so upset.” She looked like she was about to break into tears again so he awkwardly reached out and patted her on the shoulder.
“Ruth, you know how kids are. I’m sure he’s okay. What can I do to help?” In truth, he figured Sam must have been upset. He couldn’t have imagined his own parents forgetting something like his birthday.
“I can make him a cake, only…”
“Do you need help?” he asked gently.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. I just wasn’t sure why you come, is all.”
He had actually come to invite her to watch the fireworks with him and maybe get ice cream but that didn’t seem as important now. “It doesn’t matter. How about I keep you company while you make that cake. Would that be alright?”
She nodded shyly and pushed the door open for him so that he could go inside.
He was surprised by the stark cleanliness of the interior. He reckoned that she must spend a lot of time cleaning since she didn’t venture out much. She quietly led him to the kitchen where he positioned himself in one of the chairs at the table.
“Where is Sam now do you reckon?”
Ruth moved slowly, carefully, around the small room. She took her time searching for flour, eggs, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Once she had everything lined up on the counter she turned back around and faced him. “I don’t know. I figured he might be down at the creek or maybe in town to watch the fireworks. I’m sure he was awfully upset when he woke up this morning.”
“What happened, Ruth?” He knew it wasn’t any of his business but she looked so lost and sad. The slight spark that he had seen in her at dinner not long ago was gone and her movements were more than careful measures. He had watched his own wife move like that from pain when the cancer was taking her, only he knew that with Ruth this was a different kind of pain.
“I don’t know. I just didn’t think. I…I didn’t feel well yesterday. I laid down to sleep and I must have slept all day and didn’t wake up when I should.” She didn’t meet his eyes as she was speaking to him, however, and he could read between the lines. Ruth rarely got out of bed.
“Sam’s a good boy. I’m sure he’s fine. Probably out running around with the other boys,” he assured her.
Still, it bothered Homer, too. He couldn’t imagine how he would have felt to wake up, expecting a cake or presents or even someone saying “Happy Birthday” to him and not getting it. It would have hurt his feelings, to say the least.
“I’ll help you hunt for him later if you want me to. You know, once your cake is cooling.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I don’t have anything to give him that he’d like.”
“Well, how about we find the little feller together and then I take both of you for some birthday ice cream in town? My treat, of course.”
Her ears turned a pretty shade of pink as she ducked her head. “Homer, people are going to talk if you do that.”
“Well, that don’t bother me none. Does it bother you?”
“No. It never did. You know that.”
Satisfied with himself, Homer sat back in his chair and rested his hands on the table. It wasn’t going to be such a bad day after all.
***
Intellectually, Nicholas knew that Alice was angry. He knew by the way she kept her words curt and wouldn’t meet him his eyes. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Obviously, he said something he shouldn’t and it had upset her. He’d apologized for it, even though he wasn’t sure what he’d done, and thought that would be the end of it. It wasn’t.
Normally, the walk back to the park would be filled with her mindless chatter…he might even find himself annoyed with her. Now, he would rather that than the powerful silence that he could have cut with a paring knife. He wasn’t as good at making conversation as she was but he tried. Anything was better than the terrible thing separating them.
“Do you think anyone will catch on fire this year?” he asked, bringing up the unfortunate incident from the year before.
“I would hope they have learned from their mistakes,” she replied stoically.
He knew he’d been in for it when she refused to let him carry the picnic basket back to town but he expected to see at least a little touch of humor from her. She’d thought it mighty funny last year when Tom Stevens had gotten too close to the canon and ended up with a singed sleeve. He wasn’t hurt but he had sure screamed like a little girl. If it had been anyone else it wouldn’t have been nearly as humorous but given his inflated sense of self and lack of awareness it had been like some kind of cosmic justice.
“Where do you think we’ll sit? Should we head for the school steps or maybe down to the train yard and the round house?”
“I don’t mind,” she shrugged.
Usually, he enjoyed the long walk back to town. The path through the dappled woods was a pretty one and it was cool in the shade. There was always lots of honeysuckle in bloom along the path and he enjoyed the scent of the sweetness as it mixed with the heaviness of the air. Today, though, it felt stifling.
“I didn’t mean–”
“I know,” she cut him off, impatient.
; “I didn’t think–”
“I know.” That was the problem. He didn’t think. He didn’t think about her. Not at all, she thought sadly. She felt embarrassed and sorry for herself.
Nicholas walked closely to her, their arms almost touching as their feet marched in unison. There was no joy in either of their steps but they were so perfectly in tune with one another that even their breathing was in sync. The things they both wanted to say to the other hung in the air and floated through the trees like the wood bees–fast and frantic. But neither knew where to start.
Nicholas decided that he wouldn’t worry about it. By the end of the night she would be fine and everything would be okay. She could never be mad at him for long and soon enough she wouldn’t even remember what she had been upset about.
***
Marianne admired Louella for her composure. She also had steep admiration for the woman’s uncanny ability to seemingly never produce perspiration. From the picnic tables, Marianne watched Louella in the center of the field, barking orders in a stiff dress and a bun atop her head that was so tight nary could a hair escape. Her face was powder dry and smooth, the rings on her hands sparkled in the sunlight. Her dark brown shoes were clean, despite the fact that it had rained earlier that morning, leaving the field in disarray.
In contrast, Marianne’s dress was a wrinkled mess and clung to her legs. Her hair had escaped its pins and in an attempt to brush it out of her face on several occasions, she had managed to leave smudges of dirt on her cheeks. She flitted from one table to the next, placing pies and tarts and cakes where they would fit.
She had a feeling that Louella had never flitted.
In Marianne’s mind, Independence Day marked the halfway point of the summer. This wasn’t entirely true since school didn’t begin again until September, but it always felt to her like this holiday was a peak, a marking in an otherwise monotonous drone of hot, humid, unremarkable days.
The Gingerroot Festival was in two weeks.
President Roosevelt would arrive in less than four weeks’ time.
This summer, of course, had been anything but unremarkable.
“Well,” sharp and crisp, Louella’s voice startled her from behind. “It appears we are having a good turnout.”
“The children certainly don’t mind the heat, that’s for sure,” Marianne agreed.
Families had brought picnic baskets and were finding shade where they could while the little ones played in the school yard, climbed trees, and participated in field games in the lawn. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves and the sweets that the Lady’s Club had made were selling well. The sounds of labor had stopped for the day and, instead, were replaced by laughter, singing, and the general resonance of wellbeing.
“Let me ask you something, Louella.”
“Do you mind if we sit a spell while you’re doing it?”
Marianne didn’t mind and was thankful for the opportunity to rest her tired feet. They found a spot under a weeping willow and, from there, she could watch the action before her through the streaky vines of the melancholy tree.
“Do you think the factory will really come here? Is this going to be for nothing?”
Louella, thoughtful, focused on two toddlers fighting over a red ball while their parents shared a slice of watermelon, red juice dripping down their arms. She smiled as they looked at one another and laughed.
“I wouldn’t say that it’s for ‘nothing’ and I do think that we stand as good a chance as any place. Furnace Mountain has been through a lot of changes, a lot of phases. I believe that we are ready for a new one. It comes around from time to time. This might be our time for a new start.”
“But if not this? Then what? What will happen? Do you think we’ll get incorporated into somewhere else?” The thought of losing her school terrified her.
“I believe we are resilient people. We are young, however. Well, I’m no spring chicken, of course, but as a town we are young. We still have some fight in us left. I don’t think we’ll go down easily, despite what it’s looked like in the past.”
Marianne wanted to believe that with everything she had. She had nowhere else to go, if this didn’t work. As it was, she was down to eating ketchup with water on some nights and living off of the vegetables and meat, mostly chicken, that was brought to her. She had no real skills besides those found in the school building and had no idea how she would survive outside of the small town. Recently, she had become embarrassed by her lack of ingenuity–especially when everyone around her felt so much more self–sufficient. Jumping in and helping with the festival and the Independence Day activities was the beginning of what she hoped would be a new start for her.
“Well, I’m counting on them liking us here and wanting to stay,” she said firmly.
So am I, Louella thought worriedly to herself. So am I.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“SAM!” HIS MOTHER’S VOICE CAME TO HIM over the sounds of laughter and chattering from the people around him. Sam, who sat on the schoolhouse’s steps with his friends, a slice of watermelon dripping in his hand, looked up in surprise.
He wouldn’t have believed it an hour ago but there stood his mother, as fresh and pretty as a daisy, right there at the 4th of July fireworks. Mr. Homer stood beside her. They were smiling, but they were worried. Sam could tell.
Ruth’s eyes were clear and bright. She looked good. And she looked sad, but not in her normal-sad way. Like she was sorry.
Not minding his stick hands and cheeks, she dashed towards him and took him in her arms. He was soon engulfed in her scent–vanilla and cinnamon. She smelled clean again, like his mother. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she cooed, stroking his head with her free hand. The other pressed against his back. “So sorry.”
“Hey there champ,” Mr. Homer said. “It’s going to get dark soon. I was hoping you’d join us for some birthday ice cream before the fireworks. And then, after, we can go back to your house for some cake. That is, if you don’t mind me staying and having a slice.”
Why it would be just like a party! “I don’t mind,” Sam replied. He turned to the other boys, “Sorry fellas! I gotta go with my mom. It’s my birthday and we’re getting ice cream!”
On the way to the ice cream stand, Homer was stopped by his secretary, Miss Louella. “I hate to bother you, Homer,” she said. She eyes Sam and his mother with curiosity. “The ticket sales from the festival have come in, however. Now I realize we’ll sell them at the door but the discounted pre-sales have been tallied and, well, we have the money for the windows!”
Homer turned to Sam and Ruth. “You hear that, you two? We’re going to have our windows for the depot!”
And then, in a move that surprised Sam, Homer bent over, picked him up, and swung him around in the air. It was the same thing his father had once done. “New windows!” he sang.
Sam laughed and laughed. It really might turn out to be the best birthday ever, he thought.
***
The stack of fireworks, some small and some the size of rockets, lay stacked by the box of over-sized matches. Donald stood by and watched them, fascinated by what was getting ready to happen. It was one man’s job to get them ready. He would then take them to another who would set them off safely away from everyone else.
Down below, everyone had gathered in the park to watch the show. The little schoolhouse looked dark and empty from where Donald proudly stood and waited, the bell in his hand.
When he saw Mr. Homer step up to the newly-built platform and begin to talk, the excitement swelled in his chest.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” Homer called out. “Tonight, I have an important announcement. I just wanted to let everyone know that we have now raised enough money to purchase the new windows for the depot. We’ve sold more than two-hundred discounted festival tickets, which is a record for us. We are counting on everyone showing up to the Gingerroot Festival. We will get the Hartside Morgan plant here in Furnace Mountain!”
E
veryone cheered, even Donald. It felt so good to be a part of something.
“Now, as we get to the fireworks, I’d like to say a special thanks to the young man without whom tonight would not be possible.”
Donald’s chest swelled as he proudly held the bell up over his head, ready to ring it when riven the signal.
“This young man is playing an important role in our community,” Homer continued.
Donald could swear that Homer was looking right at him.
“Without him, the president would not be coming. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for Sam Walters!”
Several minutes later, the foreman was still hissing at Donald. “Ring the bell, Donald. Ring it!” But he suddenly found that it was too heavy after all.
***
“Well, they were loud, but it was a beautiful display,” Marianne told Louella. “My ears re still ringing.”
“That happens to me every year,” Louella agreed. “I am not as young as I used to be.”
The two women made their way through the crowd together. They only lived two streets apart from one another, so as they started towards Main Street, they stuck beside each other for the company. The rest of the townsfolk spread out around them, most still chattering and remarking on the show they’d just seen.
“Say,” Marianne began, “did you ever hear that–“ Her words were suddenly cut off by a loud “bang”–the sound of another firecracker exploding. Only, this time, it sounded much closer than the others.
“Were they not finished?” Louella turned in confusion.
Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town Page 19
