Redemption Mountain

by FitzGerald, Gerry

“He sure is,” Charlie agreed.

  “O’ course, to my mind, he won’t be the first retarded governor we ever had, not by a long shot.”

  Charlie laughed. “He came by the site today. I took him for a ride on one of the big machines. He had a good time.” He paused, then added, “So did I.” After a few quiet moments, Charlie said, “I met his mother, too, last weekend, down in the store.”

  “Natty Oakes,” said Hank.

  “She’s got a funny sense of humor. Nice woman, seems like.”

  “Nice, hell. Woman’s a damn saint. Works like a dog, too, takin’ care of the old people all over McDowell County. Home nurse kind of job. Takes care of two old miners across the street, she don’t even get paid for anymore.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Woody and Mr. Jacks. You’ve seen them probably, down in the restaurant. Eve don’t charge ’em even half price.”

  “Pie says she works a lot,” said Charlie.

  “All the time. Works in the elementary school, too,” Hank replied. “She’s a runner, like you.”

  Charlie was surprised. “Is that right?”

  “Comes up the hill every morning, rain or shine. I’m surprised you ain’t seen her. Ain’t a bad-lookin’ woman, either.” Charlie didn’t comment. “When she cleans herself up and does something with her hair,” Hank continued, “and don’t dress like some Raggedy Ann doll. Little too skinny, though.”

  “She’s got pretty eyes, anyway,” said Charlie, trying to avoid the subject.

  “Beautiful eyes,” said Hank.

  Charlie refilled their glasses with wine. “What about her husband, Pie’s father? We saw him today, and he and the boy didn’t even wave.”

  Hank pushed his plate away and took his time wiping his mouth, mustache, and beard with his napkin. “He’s a bum. Drunk most of the time. He’s bad news, Buck Oakes. Stay away from him.”

  “The kid said he was a football star in college.”

  Hank shifted around in his chair so he could see the last vestiges of the orange sun drop behind the mountains. “Buck played some football, all right,” Hank said, taking a sip of wine and pausing to recall some far-off memories.

  “Source of all his problems, football. Buck Oakes was about the most famous football player there ever was at Red Bone High. Set all kinds of records as a running back. Played linebacker, too. I was still principal at the high school then.

  “He was fast and strong—and cocky. Handsome devil, too, with black curly hair and a smile like a damn movie star. The girls were crazy about him.

  “Football was also his daddy’s sport. Big Frank Oakes, one of those blowhard Notre Dame fans, made it known to everyone that Buck was going to get a full scholarship to play for the Fighting Irish. Talked it up so big that everyone around here believed it, including the kid. It was Notre Dame for him, and then the pros.

  “Then, toward the end of his junior year, Buck had a real unfortunate thing happen to him. He had one of those rare games that becomes a legend, you know? A game so big that it distorts reality. It was against a team from up in Wyoming County, kind of a weak team as I recall, but it didn’t matter. Buck scored six touchdowns, couple of ’em on kickoff returns, and ran for about three hundred yards. Had a few interceptions on defense. Well, it was a big deal in the sports pages all over the state. Charleston sent TV crews down here. Buck even got his picture in that little column in Sports Illustrated, I forget what it’s called.”

  “‘Faces in the Crowd,’” said Charlie.

  “That’s it. But the game was a fluke. It happens sometimes. He was never as good as that game. Anyway, his last couple of games, college scouts were all over Red Bone, and Buck did okay. Had a couple of decent games and got a lot of interest from the recruiters. Started getting letters from all over the country. He’d bring ’em into school and toss ’em around and talk about Notre Dame being the only team good enough to get him and all that cocky rubbish.

  “So Buck spends the summer before his senior year drinking and partying and he puts on some weight and slows down a little. Scouts stop coming around about halfway through the season, ’cause they seen enough, and Big Frank goes into a panic ’cause there’s nothing from Notre Dame and nothing from Penn State, which would have been their second choice. In fact, there’s hardly any interest at all from the big-time schools. No Ohio State or Michigan. Big Frank calls up Notre Dame, and they tell him they never heard of his son.

  “Finally, Big Frank, who had some political connections ’cause of his county job, and the football coach at the high school, they get together at the last minute and get to somebody at WVU, and Buck gets a one-year scholarship, renewable if he makes the team.

  “So Buck goes up to Morgantown, still cocky as ever, thinkin’ he should really be at Notre Dame or Penn State and everything’s going to be that much easier at a place like WVU, ’cause it’s a couple of pegs down from where he belongs.”

  From his experience with college athletics, Charlie could guess what was coming. “And Buck found out it was tougher than he thought, right?”

  “As I heard it, first week on the practice field, Buck got run over like he ain’t never got run over before. Welcome to big-time football. Those boys were all bigger and faster, lifting weights all summer long, while Buck was lifting sixteen-ounce Budweisers. Buck took a beating—physically and psychologically—he ain’t never recovered from. Come back down here and been a fuckup ever since. Permanent chip on his shoulder. Still telling some story about getting injured at practice and the university screwing him. Pure bullshit,” Hank said. “Been nothing but trouble for a lot of people ever since.”

  Hank rose to his feet in the dark kitchen. “Thanks for the spaghetti, Burden. Too late for cribbage now. I’ve got some reading to do.” He went to the rear door, limping slightly on his stiff legs. With his hand on the screen, he turned back to Charlie. When he spoke, there was sadness in his voice.

  “Buck Oakes never wanted a kid. He didn’t want to be married, but he got Natty pregnant, and Big Frank was disgusted with him so he made him marry her. And he sure didn’t want the kid he got, so Buck’s just pretty much ignored him his whole life.”

  Hank stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light-gray evening sky. “You know, Buck Oakes’s ’bout the luckiest man in McDowell County, and he … he don’t know a thing about it. Damn ignorance,” Hank growled. “Good night, Burden.”

  “’Night, Hank.” After cleaning up the dishes, Charlie went over to the rolltop desk and opened one of his stuffed briefcases. Hank’s ominous opinion of the planning board bothered him. He searched through the folders for the one in Larry Tuthill’s nearly illegible handwriting: Planning Board. The file was in the middle of the briefcase, next to another thin folder marked DeWitt. It was the background information on the farmer. Charlie placed both folders on the desk.

  He opened the Planning Board folder and stared incredulously at the first document, an eight-by-ten copy of a black-and-white photograph, an enlargement of a newspaper clipping. Charlie looked at the caption at the bottom for confirmation: The Red Bone planning board convened its quarterly meeting last week at the high school.

  Charlie stared at the three men seated at what looked like a school cafeteria table, each with a nameplate in front of him. He stared at the picture for a few more moments, then shook his head slowly and smiled. Holding the picture up to the light, he began to laugh as he focused on the center figure, with the familiar white handlebar mustache and long goatee. The sign in front of Hank read, PULLMAN J. HANKINSON, and, under his name, CHAIRMAN. Charlie looked at the caption again:… seated are Burt Fitch, P. J. Hankinson, and Bobby Hagerman.

  “Miserable pricks, all three of ’em,” Charlie said out loud, still chuckling. Welcome to West Virginia, Burden, he thought. He picked up the folder marked DeWitt. Curious, he opened it to find another grainy enlargement.

  It was a newspaper photo of three people: an older woman, a man in the middle, who was obviously the f
armer, Bud DeWitt, and, next to him, a tall, gangly younger man. The caption beneath the picture read, Alice, Bud, and Petey DeWitt of Redemption Mountain, enjoying the McDowell County Fair. All three wore taciturn expressions. Bud DeWitt had the hard, weathered look of a man who’d engaged in physical labor his whole life. He wore what appeared to be a brand-new baseball cap with a PETERBILT logo on the front.

  The second sheet in the folder appeared to be a graduation picture. This was a professionally done glossy color print of a stunningly beautiful young woman. She had light blue eyes and a relaxed, natural smile that showed perfect white teeth. Long blond hair, parted in the middle, and the heavy eye makeup and pink lip gloss had the unmistakable look of the sixties. The back of the picture read, Sarah Carlson DeWitt, b. 1946, Waukesha, WI, wife of Thomas DeWitt (deceased, 1977), high school graduation picture, 1964.

  Charlie turned the picture over again and stared at the face. It seemed so familiar. He shook his head and tossed the picture back into the file and went to bed.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was nearly 6:30 P.M. when Natty finally pulled up in front of the Olander Legal Clinic in Welch. Through the large storefront windows, she could see the lawyer pacing, his hands in his pockets. He had reluctantly agreed to stay until 6:00 p.m., the soonest she could get into Welch.

  Ted Olander greeted Natty with an impatient smile and ushered her into his cramped office. He was in his midforties, slightly overweight, and well dressed in a charcoal suit with suspenders. He glanced at his watch as he took his chair behind the desk and pulled a yellow legal pad in front of him. “Now, Miss … Mrs. Oakes? What can I do for you?”

  “It’s Mrs., and I need some legal advice about coal mining.”

  “Coal mining,” the lawyer said, dropping his pencil on the pad. He’d made a quick assumption, watching her get out of the car, that her concern would be of a domestic nature.

  “Yes, sir. Coal mining, specifically mountaintop-removal mining on Redemption Mountain.” She told him about her grandparents’ farm, the recent activity of the surveyors, and about Bud’s suspicions regarding the OntAmex deal with Ackerly Coal. She described the offer to buy the farm for considerably more than it was worth. At this, Olander showed a flicker of interest and made a quick notation. “So, Mr. Olander, what can we do to stop this? And what would it cost?”

  Olander was speechless for several seconds. Finally, a thin smile crept across his face. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Oakes. I don’t mean to make light of your situation, but let me give you some advice.” Olander leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Ackerly Coal is a huge company, one of the largest coal producers in the world. It’s owned by Continental Electric Systems, which is probably fifty times bigger than Ackerly. And OntAmex—which, incidentally, is in the process of buying up Continental—is probably a hundred times bigger than Continental. It’s one of the biggest energy companies in the world.” He paused to let his words sink in.

  “Mrs. Oakes, if these companies want to mine coal on Redemption Mountain, there’s nothing you or your grandpa or anyone else can do to stop them, because OntAmex and Ackerly will have the county, state, and federal government in their pocket. And the OntAmex plant in Red Bone is a real bonanza for the state and McDowell County. It’s a billion-dollar plant, with millions of dollars in tax revenue and spin-off economic activity. The state lobbied real hard to get OntAmex to build here instead of over in Kentucky or in Virginia, so you can just bet that the OntAmex Company got everything they wanted.”

  Olander looked at his watch and proceeded to wrap things up. “Now, in answer to your question about cost, you’d need one of the big Charleston firms—New York or Washington would be better, but one of the Charleston outfits could do it. The cost would probably be in the area of five million over the two, three, four years it would go on, somewhere in that ballpark.” He waited a few moments, then stood, indicating that he needed to leave. As he put on his jacket, he added, “In the end, Mrs. Oakes, you’d lose. You could win all the legal battles, but eventually they’ll carve up Redemption Mountain and take their coal.” He glanced at his watch again, then at Natty. “Way it’s always been here.”

  Natty sat for a few seconds, then replied to the lawyer, “So what you’re saying is that we got a real good case here.” She grinned as she got up from her chair. Olander smiled with relief when he saw she was making a joke. He walked her toward the front door and spoke in a quiet voice, as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

  “Mrs. Oakes, the thing you have to realize is that these utility and coal guys—they’re a tough bunch. They’re not like regular businesspeople. They’re cutthroats in fine suits. They’ve been fighting the unions and the regulators and each other for so long, they’re used to it. Hell, they enjoy it. It’s what they do—hire big law firms, buy politicians and judges, run over people, and mostly they get their own way. You don’t want to go up against a company like Ackerly or OntAmex. Tell your grandpa to sell. Get a good price and sell, ’cause in the end, those boys aren’t going to play fair.”

  When she was gone, Ted Olander locked the front door and returned to his office. He’d done his best for the woman from Red Bone, given her some damn fine legal advice—gratis. Now maybe he could score a few points for himself. He thumbed through the large Rolodex on his desk and pulled out the card for Kerns & Yarbrough. He didn’t expect to reach anyone in the office at 7:00 P.M., but he wanted to leave a voice mail to see what kind of interest it might generate. “I’ve received an inquiry from the granddaughter of a farmer on Redemption Mountain in McDowell County, concerning a possible surface mine by Ackerly Coal. Call me in the morning at…”

  Driving as fast as she dared, the front end of her car shaking noticeably, Natty headed south out of Welch on Route 103. She would take the new road around the power plant. It bothered her that she’d be the one getting home late, because Buck had been good all week, working at the temporary cement job and coming home early without stopping off anywhere. She knew it wouldn’t last—they’d been through these make-up periods before—but she needed to make it last as long as possible. They had such little good time together.

  Thinking about Buck reminded her of the previous Saturday, the day that had started out so enjoyably in Eve’s store, laughing to tears over that silly joke with Pie and Charlie Burden, who was so nice to her son. Then the walk down to the soccer field with Emma and Sammy and Pie—so proud of his new friend. She and Charlie chatting like two teenagers, and him taking an interest in her library. Then the irresponsible, exhilarating, erotic episode in Buck’s truck—which filled her with a level of guilt she hadn’t felt for a long time.

  She was still livid with Buck, but she had no choice but to get in his truck. Buck had sped away from the curb. In the truck’s side-view mirror, Natty stole a peek at Pie and Charlie, watching from the sidewalk. Buck drove for a mile before he spoke. He tried to sound contrite, but it was a hard role for him to play. Natty knew he felt bad about hitting her, but he was never very good at apologizing.

  “Nat, I’m sorry about smackin’ you last night. I wasn’t thinking. You know I’d never want to hurt you. I was drunk, and I was pissed off about stuff, and, well, that ain’t never gonna happen again.” Natty was silent.

  Buck had driven north on Mountain Road, then turned off on an old logging road that ran through dense forest. “So, who was that guy you and the kid was walking with? Huh? Never seen him before. Nat?” She didn’t answer. “Nat, I asked you, who was that guy?”

  Natty could feel his anger growing. “He’s nobody, Buck. He’s just the new power-plant guy. Took Hugo Paxton’s place. He took a look at the library, see how bad the roof is, that’s all.”

  “The guy from New York? The construction guy?” Buck shot a glance over at her. “That’s good, Nat—you gettin’ friendly with that guy. That’s real good.”

  They rode for several minutes before Natty spoke again. “Buck, that was the last time. You can’t hit me no more, ever.”

&n
bsp; “Nat, I swear—”

  Natty cut him off. “And you can’t see that woman in Northfork. You got to choose. If you go again, don’t you ever come back to me. I mean it, Buck.”

  “Aw, Nat, that’s done with. It’s over. That gal was just an itch I had to scratch. She don’t mean nothin’ to me.”

  Natty drew in a quick breath to combat the sick feeling that engulfed her with the confirmation of Buck’s latest infidelity. She had known it was true the moment Wayne Lester said it, but it felt different, like a kick in the stomach, coming from Buck’s own lips. Tears filled her eyes. What else was there to say? What the hell was she even doing here, trying to make her marriage work? Did she really love Buck, or was she just another ignorant hillbilly with nowhere else to go? She blinked and leaned toward the open window to let the breeze dry her tears.

  “Remember this place, Nat?” Buck had made a sharp turn off the logging road, and they bumped down a narrow dirt road.

  She looked up. “I remember, Buck.” They would come down this road to where it ended in a small clearing, surrounded by thick trees, where no one would ever see them. This was where Natty learned about sex. Where she learned to bear the pain and the embarrassment and to pretend it was good. And, later, to enjoy it without reservation and take pride in her ability to satisfy Buck. They’d come to their spot two or three times a week the summer following Natty’s junior year.

  In the beginning, they’d come after going to the movies or a dance or a party. Later on, as Buck began to lose interest in hanging around with Natty’s friends, he would pick her up and they’d come straight to the woods. Most times, he’d had a good deal to drink before he picked her up, and gradually their time spent in the front seat got shorter and shorter. Toward the end, Buck would turn off the truck and they’d crawl over the seat and get right to it. It wasn’t how she wanted it, but she treasured every moment with Buck, and if sex was all they had, that’s what she would take. It ended in September, when she went back to school for her senior year and found out she was two months’ pregnant. The thought of coming back never came up after that.