Everyone saw it at the same time. Marianne shouted but her words were lost over the roar of the crowd. As she grabbed onto Louella’s arm in horror, tears began sliding down her face in rapid succession.
“The school,” she cried. “The schoolhouse is on fire!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
THE COMMUNITY MEETING ROOM was not big enough for the crowd. Instead, they gathered at the park, the burnt-out remains of the former schoolhouse a backdrop behind them. Nothing was left but half of the backside of the wall. The rest had burned to ashes. Luckily, nobody had been inside or around it when the last firework had gone off on its roof.
“And it can’t be rebuilt?”
“Any idea who did it?”
“Was it insured?”
“Was anything salvaged?”
“When’s there going to be an arrest?”
Homer stood before the angry, and mournful, crowd and let them speak amongst themselves. He didn’t know what to say. The fire chief was saying arson. A small canon from the display had gone missing. Chester Pyle, in charge of the display, had noticed it gone but figured on losing it on the drive over. He’d never counted on someone taking it, much less using it to destroy.
“That was set on purpose, Homer,” the chief had assured him with bitterness. “Someone will have to pay.”
“The fact is,” he spoke at last, “we don’t know who it was or why. And we’re not yet certain what’s going to be done about it. We were meant to have one last year here at the Furnace Mountain School. However, the county board’s office is now talking of consolidating early and sending our children here on over to Four Tree.”
“But that school’s not been finished yet,” someone complained. “Our children will be forced to share a tiny classroom with others they don’t even know.”
“I know, I know,” he replied sadly.
He glanced over and saw Marianne Casteel sitting off to the side, alone. She couldn’t take her eyes off her little school. He knew she’d been mournful over the fact that all of Sam’s signs and designs had burned, too–all but the one he’d framed in his office.
He didn’t know what to say to any of them.
“Now it’s possible that this was an accident and–”
“It weren’t no accident.”
Homer looked up and stopped talking. The park grew silent as the tall, thin man slowly made his way up to the platform. It was Hubert Maynard. He carried his worn out hat as he walked; he looked beaten to the core. When he reached the platform, he looked up at Homer and addressed him. “Weren’t no accident, Sir,” he said again. “It was my Donald that done it. My boy.”
The audible gasp that rose from the audience was of cumulative shock.
“You’re sure your boy done this?” Homer asked incredulously.
Hubert nodded miserably. “He’s been a might unhappy with life. I thought I could provide him with a good one here.” He turned to face the townspeople. “You all have been real good to us, given us a place to stay and a purpose. I tried my best with my boy, but it just weren’t enough. He’d got the sadness down inside of him. It’s the kind that don’t want nobody to be happy or satisfied, not it he can’t be.”
Some might have nodded in understanding; they’d had it too. Homer was shocked to look up and see Robert Johnson standing on the other side of the street, his back against his old sore. He watched the scene unfold with wistfulness, as though he wanted to be a part of what was going on.
“I wish we could make it up to you’uns,” Hubert spoke again. “Wish there were something I could do. Don’t have no money to pay for it. I expect we’ll just be moving on now. Again, I am awful sorry about your school and sorry for the way my boy has turned out. He didn’t mean to have the meanness in him. Didn’t always have it.”
With that, he turned and walked away, his thin figure disappearing down the narrow street and around the corner, following the railroad tracks.
The somber faces of the Furnace Mountain townsfolk were a sight Homer Dyer would never forget. They had their answer, but they were all sorry for it.
Tragedy had come to Furnace Mountain, along with hope. They didn’t know what to do with either.
***
Sam was shocked to find himself walking down a quiet Main Street. It was hardly noon and not even hot. The Gingerroot Festival was in four days. All work in Furnace Mountain had come to a standstill.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Homer?” The mayor was standing on the platform by the depot. Tools were scattered around on the ground, construction debris lay haphazardly here and there for anyone to stumble over. The workers all sat under trees or sprawled on the lawn. Nobody moved. “They all taking a break?”
Homer looked down upon Sam and gave him a weak smile. “It’s been a hard week, Sam,” he replied. “I believe a lot of people have lost their gumption.”
Sam looked down below and saw Alive Johnson standing at a table laden with food. She was covering dishes and stacking napkins. “There’s still food and stuff to feed people. Why aren’t they eating? We just got all that glass for them windows! Everything’s gotta be cleaned up for the festival!”
“I know, Sam,” Homer said. He gave Sam’s hair a ruffle and sighed. “The school over there is just an eyesore. I believe it’s disheartened people, knowing what happened. Knowing what can happen.”
“Just because a child got mad?” Sam stomped his foot and scowled.
To be honest, Sam had just about had it with adults. He’d sit back and watched his mama be sick for years. Watched her lie in bed and not get up or eat. Not even go to the bathroom the right way. When grownups got upset, they grew foolish. Why were they all being foolish when there were things to be done?
Without thinking, Sam marched to the edge of the platform, looked out at the yard, and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hey you, everyone,” he cried. “I have something to say!”
Some looked up lazily from where they rested. Others didn’t. Homer, however, had an idea. “Stay right here Sam,” he ordered.
He was back in two minutes flat, carrying a megaphone. “Use this,” he encouraged him. “They’ll hear you better.”
It was almost as big as him, but Sam gamely took it in his hands and began shouting through it. “Alright everyone,” he hollered, “now you all listen here! I know what happened to the school is bad. I hate it, too. That was my school and I loved it. I will miss it. Now, I don’t know what’s going to happen in September or next year but I do know what’s happening in a few days–we’re having the Gingerroot Festival for the first time in years.”
People really were listening now. They were standing, too, and watching him closely.
“I know we’re sad and we’re angry at that little boy for what he done. But that’s over with,” Sam continued. “There ain’t nothing we can do about it. But if we keep going on being upset all the time then we’re never going to live, not really. Maybe President Roosevelt is gonna come here and make things better for us and maybe he ain’t. I don’t know about those things. What I do know is that we can make a difference and change things right now. We’ve all worked hard but we’re not finished. This is for us! Not some president or some company for a factory or for some newspaper. We’re finishing this for us, to make us feel better. Does everyone understand that?”
The cheer that erupted sent Sam reeling backwards, the grin on his face the sweetest thing Homer thought he’d ever seen.
Sam turned back to the people. “So let’s do this everyone! Let’s finish fixing our town!”
When he handed the megaphone back to Homer, the sounds of hammers against wood were already echoing in the yard. “Did I do good Mr. Homer?”
Homer wrapped his arms around the little boy and smiled. “You done real good Sam. Real good.”
***
“Louella, do you have a moment?”
Louella looked up and saw Alice Johnson standing in her office doorway. “Sure I do, dear. How may I help you?”
/> Alice looked worn and dusty, but happy. She had sun on her arms and face and the spot of color looked good on her. Louella was proud of the way Alice was working; she gave young people a good name.
“I was thinking about poor Sam, about the signs he made,” Alice said as she entered the office the rest of the way.
Louella shook her head. “It’s just terrible isn’t it? But he’s taken it so well.”
“Oh, I know,” Alice agreed. “That’s why I am here. I was wondering if maybe he could use one of my tablecloths to make a new sign. It wouldn’t be exactly the same, but if he could paint on the fabric then it might look nice. It would look different. Sometimes that’s better.”
Louella mulled this over in her mind. She knew that someone had found him more plywood but he hadn’t started work yet. “Sam might like to make a banner but, dearie, you’ve worked so hard on your tablecloths. Do you mind giving one up?”
“Of course not,” Alice scoffed. “It’s for a good cause, right? And besides, perhaps the embroidery behind his words will just make them stand out even more.”
Louella smiled. These young people, she thought, could overcome just about anything.
“While you’re here, would you like to give me a list of the activities we’ve scheduled for tomorrow?”
Louella could not believe that the festival was in one day. They were already starting to set up. By the next morning, all of the tables and booths would be up and ready. The weather forecast was sunny and warm, without a chance of rain. Everyone was cautiously optimistic after what had happened at the fireworks display, but you couldn’t keep the excitement from the air.
“Sure,” Alice replied. “I have been over there working all day so I have my list memorized. We have face painting, a cake walk, musical chairs, a three-legged race, a greased pig contest, a pie eating contest, barrel racing, potato sack race, ring toss, tug of war, a hula hoop contest, a chicken dance, the oratory competition, the spelling bee, and, of course, the dance at the end of the night. Linden McIntosh’s daddy is playing with his brothers. Of course, we also have the food booths, quilting booths, and so on.”
“You have done such a splendid job,” Louella told her proudly. “I am truly grateful for you. And to have talked everyone into donating their time, their services, and the prizes! You are a special young lady. Alice, I mean that sincerely.”
It was praise that Louella did not freely bestow. The last time she’d seen such a spark in a young woman was in Martha Dyer, Homer’s young wife. She’d been keeping her eye on Ruth Walters, however, and had a secret hope for her as well. Homer deserved no less.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“SAM, ARE YOU READY for the big day tomorrow?”
Sam looked up from his dinner plate and grinned. “Yes Sir, I sure am!”
It was the third time that week Homer had eaten supper with him and his mother. It had not escaped Sam’s attention, either, that his mother was brushing and styling her hair on a daily basis now and that she no longer shied into the shadows when someone knocked on their front door. She was laughing more and more, too.
“Did you get enough to eat, Homer?”
Homer looked up at Ruth and smiled. “It was delicious, as always. You keep feeding me like this and I’ll need to let out my britches!”
“Well, I only help,” she told him. “Sam still does most of the cooking.”
“But Mama does the dishes after nowadays,” Sam added, casting his mother a look of worship.
Why couldn’t every day be like this, he wondered. It was just perfect.
“And, if you two men are finished, I’ll have you skedaddle,” she said, giving them a “shoo” with her hand. “Go out and do your manly things and I’ll clean up the mess!”
Laughing, Homer and Sam went out to the porch where it was cooler. “It’s nice up here of an evening,” Homer remarked.
“Yes Sir,” Sam replied. “I like it outside at night. ‘specially in the summer when it’s warm.”
“Your mama doing any better, son?” Sam could tell that the look of concern in Mr. Homer’s eyes was genuine. He knew that some grown-ups were insincere, but not Mr. Homer. He was as solid as they came.
“I think so,” he replied happily. “She’s trying real hard. I think there might still be bad days but I don’t think there will be as many.”
“Good,” Homer replied.
“I was wanting to ask you something, though.”
“Shoot,” Homer said. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“That factor,” Sam said, “do you think it might really come?”
Homer considered before answering. “I do,” he said at last. “I think it will come. I think it’s going to take more work but I think the attention our town will receive on a national level, thanks to your letter, will be in our favor.”
“Well, I was wondering if maybe you could write to Jonathan, to my brother,” Sam said shyly. “I miss him so much and I know that Mama does too. He’s only away up there to work, to send money home to us. He doesn’t want to be there and I know Mama doesn’t want him gone but if there was a job here he could come to…”
At that point, Homer thought that if he could drive up to Ohio and put Jonathan in his own automobile and drive him back to Furnace Mountain himself, he would have.
“You know, Sam, there won’t be a lot of jobs if it even opens.”
“Oh, I know,” Sam replied. “But I just know Jonathan would get one. I do!”
Homer shook his head and laughed. “It’s taking a big risk, a chance.”
“Hasn’t all of this been a big chance, though?” Sam asked. “My letter to President Roosevelt was a chance. And look what happened.”
***
The day was here that everyone had spent the past few weeks preparing for: the day of the Gingerroot Festival. Ruth Walters was surprised to find herself waking up with the anticipation of a child.
She rose from bed with the sun. By the time the valley was covered in a golden glow, she’d filled plates with fried potatoes, bacon, and tomatoes. When Sam sleepily made his way into the kitchen, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find his breakfast ready.
“It’s a big day today, Mama,” he reminded her between big bites.
“It sure is,” she smiled.
“I gotta go into town and do some things,” he reminded her. She could tell that he felt very important. “Will you be okay?”
She nodded. “Mr. Homer is coming to get me in a couple of hours. I’ll be just fine on my own until then.”
She could tell that Sam didn’t look entirely convinced, but there was little she could do about that. When he finished eating she followed him to his bedroom where he’d laid out his clothes for the day. She turned her back while he dressed, and she found herself looking at Jonathan’s empty bed.
Oh, but it hurt to think of her other baby. The one who was no longer a baby at all but a grown man–a man supporting them. She had not seen him in over a year; she might not recognize him now. His letters were not frequent enough to suit her. Someday, someday, she reminded herself. He would come home. He wouldn’t be gone forever.
When Sam was dressed, she ran a wet brush through his hair and scrubbed his neck and behind his ears with a washcloth.
“Good as new,” she said and he giggled. “You look very handsome!”
When he’d left the house and she was left alone, Ruth sighed. She could feel the old feelings starting to come on, but she ignored them and pushed them down.
“Not today,” she said to her reflection in the mirror on her wardrobe. “Not today.”
The woman looking back at her did not look familiar. The hair was long and stringy. The face needed color. The arms and legs were too thin. She studied herself from all angles, disgusted with what she was seeing. The clean dress she chose from her wardrobe did little to hide the flaws she scrutinized.
“I can’t change any of it right now,” she grumbled. But then she paused. She couldn’t change all
of it right now, but she could change one thing.
Ruth scrambled to the kitchen where she rooted through the cabinets. At last, she found her sewing scissors. It had been such a long time since she’d used them, she almost couldn’t remember how they were meant to be held.
Back in her bedroom, standing in front of her mirror again, she raised the scissors to her head. She used to be pretty good at what she was about to do–other women came to her for such things.
“Say good-bye, Ruthie,” she said to the woman in the mirror.
When the first big clump of auburn hair floated to the floor, she smiled.
***
“By God, Louella, I think we might actually get this done.” Homer and Louella stood on the platform together and watched as the last of the glass was lifted high into the air and balanced over the ground.
“Good thing you talked them into coming over from Four Tree and doing this part,” she whispered. “How much you paying them because I know they aren’t doing this out of the goodness of their hearts.”
“Whatever I had in my savings,” he answered back.
“You mean whatever you had in that vase in your living room,” she retorted.
Homer turned to her and gave her a hard look, but Louella just shrugged. “Oh, Homer, everyone knows. You have no secrets.”
But he have one now. Ruth Walters. Everyone might know that he was spending time with her and Sam, but only he was aware of how quickly he was becoming smitten–and how smitten he’d always been.
More than two dozen men waited on the ground, watching the glass as it was lifted up to the second story with the crane. Those who awaited it on the scaffolding grabbed ahold of it and began putting it in place. It was all very intense and, at one point, Homer had to look away and hold his breath.
“If we lose even one,” he cringed.
Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town Page 20
