Natty glanced at her watch. It was past nine o’clock. She walked around the car, got into the driver’s seat, and shut the door. It took her a few seconds to figure out how to use the electric seat adjustment so she could reach the pedals. She pulled the steering wheel down to a comfortable position, then played with the accelerator to get a feeling for the smooth, powerful engine. As she looked over the gauges and the luxurious interior, she bit her lower lip. How the hell was she going to explain this one to Buck? she wondered, as she shifted into drive and headed west toward Oakes Hollow.
CHAPTER 13
Over the weekend a late-summer heat wave had settled over the mountains like a blanket. The air conditioners in the administration building hummed at full power at nine o’clock in the morning. Charlie would spend a couple of hours reading and answering his emails, as he usually did on Monday mornings. He opened a message from Ellen. Her realtor had called to tell her that the owner of the Dowling Farms house had lowered the price and that there was some new interest, so they would need to make a decision soon. Ellen added that Jennifer would be home from Evanston the last week of the month and would head back to school on Labor Day weekend, so she hoped Charlie could get back to Mamaroneck for a few days.
Charlie knew that Ellen would be pushing hard to close the deal when he went home. He skipped over a dozen messages from the New York office that he knew would involve inquiries about the projects that he’d been working on before leaving for West Virginia. Then he opened a message entitled Redemption Mountain, from Larry Tuthill.
It said that Vernon Yarbrough and Kevin Mulrooney from Ackerly Coal would arrive by helicopter on Thursday morning to accompany C. Burden to a meeting with B. DeWitt to reach an agreement on the purchase of the Redemption Mountain farm. It was followed with the notation, This is a highest-priority meeting. Charlie replied to all that he would be available to attend the meeting.
After a few more emails, his mind drifted back to earlier that morning and his exhilarating run along the side of Red Bone Mountain with Natty Oakes. It was an experience he couldn’t wait to repeat.
Charlie had been stretching in front of the store as Natty rounded the corner. “Morning, Mr. Burden,” she said, without slowing down. Charlie noticed that she didn’t seem to be breathing overly hard from the run uphill.
“Good morning, Mrs. Oakes,” Charlie replied, as he fell in beside her. He found the pace a little quick for five miles.
“How’s your car?” asked Charlie.
“I got rid of it.” Natty had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I don’t need it anymore. Got a new Lexus,” she added, smiling at Charlie. “It’ll be ready tomorrow. Is that okay?” The car would be ready, but how she’d handle the $580 bill at Gus Lowe’s garage was another story.
“That’s fine,” said Charlie, as Natty veered right and headed for a field of high weeds and scrub bushes.
“Come on. I’ll show you what heaven is like for a runner,” she said, turning her head back toward Charlie. He followed her up a narrow dirt path across the small field, over a set of railroad tracks, and into the woods. They ran single file for a hundred yards until suddenly the tree line ended, revealing a spectacular view of the rugged southern slope of Red Bone Mountain.
The view was breathtaking, as was the sheer drop-off just a few yards from the trail’s edge. Natty looked back to catch Charlie’s reaction. “Great, isn’t it?” she called back, partially to alleviate his anxiety.
“It’s beautiful,” he answered.
“The trail’s fine, but you have to watch your step in a few places. Just follow me.”
“I’m right behind you,” replied Charlie, a little nervously. But the trail quickly leveled out, alternating between peaceful glides through dark woods and thrilling jaunts along the edge of rocky precipices. He was awestruck at every turn, stunned that such a manageable course could be found along the side of a mountain, taking them right up to the edge of such a remote and breathtaking landscape.
Charlie also took the opportunity to study Natty Oakes. He wondered if she owned any clothing of her own. She wore a pair of oversize khaki work shorts that hung down to her knees and a navy-blue man’s golf shirt that hung down past her thighs.
Yet beneath the camouflage of the ill-fitting clothing, Natty Oakes moved with the economy and grace of a thoroughbred. Whether going uphill or down, her slender legs maintained a long, powerful stride. Charlie could discern the broad shoulders, straight back, and narrow hips of a natural athlete beneath the large shirt and baggy shorts.
At the midpoint of the trail, Natty glanced up at the large boulder jutting out a hundred feet above them. They ran past the entrance to the steep goat path that went up to her special place. It would have been a wonderful morning to lie on the rock for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t be visiting her spot today, not with this man she hardly knew.
A mile past the boulder, they reentered thick woods. Natty led them through a stand of tall pines, where their footfalls seemed to echo in the stillness of the forest and the sound of their rhythmic breathing was amplified. Just as Charlie’s lungs were screaming for a rest, Natty slowed her pace to a walk, then stopped in the middle of the path. Charlie came up beside her, breathing heavily, and started to speak. She quickly put a finger to her lips and pointed down the path with her other hand.
Charlie stood with his hands on his hips, breathing deeply, and spotted the deer—a good-size buck—not twenty yards away. It walked slowly but confidently out of the trees and across the path, immediately followed by a doe and then three fawns. They moved through the trees like smoke, with hardly a sound, and in a few moments they were gone from sight. Natty started walking down the trail again.
“See a lot of deer around here this time of year,” she said. “Then, in the fall, my husband and his brothers come up here and bow-hunt ’em.”
“Your husband likes to hunt?” asked Charlie.
“Lives to hunt is more like it. Been doing it his whole life.” Natty turned to Charlie. His face was flushed, with sweat dripping down his forehead. She smiled at him. “You okay, Mr. Burden?”
“I’m fine,” he answered, thankful that they were still walking. “We almost done?”
Natty laughed. “Well, I am, but you still got the hardest part ahead of you, running back up to Old Red Bone.” She walked to the edge of the path and stopped. “This is where I get off.” She pointed down a hill that was covered with rugged outcroppings, a few thin stands of birch trees, and thick, short bushes. “This is the top of Oakes Hollow. I live down there.” Charlie came over to her side of the trail and looked downhill. He could see the top of a house about a hundred yards away and, farther down, two smaller houses and two trailers.
“Keep going down the trail a little ways, and you’ll come to a dirt road. Go right, and it’ll take you down to South County Road. Then you got a nice run ahead of you, back up to Main Street.” She glanced at her small watch. “I got to go,” she said, as she stepped off the trail onto a narrow path hidden by overgrown bushes. Charlie watched her disappear, then reappear briefly a little ways down the hill.
“Hey,” he called out. “Thank you. Thanks for showing me your trail. It’s beautiful.” She smiled back at him and waved. “Will you be running tomorrow?” Charlie asked.
Natty smiled at him. “I run every day,” she said, then dropped out of sight as the path went behind a large rock formation.
* * *
AFTER SEVERAL HOURS on the computer, Charlie was interrupted by a rap on his open office door. He looked up to see one of the young subcontractors who’d been working in the main computer room. “Some guy wants to see you. Old guy, says his name’s Nickerson, or Hankerson, or something.”
“Hankinson,” Charlie corrected him. “Send him in.” Charlie and Hank had played cribbage several times since Hank had duped him about the planning board, but Charlie hadn’t let on that he knew Hank was on the board. He was waiting for the right occasion.
Ha
nk wore a brown suit and a white dress shirt that had long ago turned a pale yellow from years of starching. His white hair was pulled back, tied in a short ponytail. Under his arm, he carried an ancient-looking accordion file, tied shut with black string.
“Morning, Hank,” Charlie said, looking up from his computer.
“Burden,” Hank answered, looking around the tiny office. He put the file down on the edge of the desk and sat facing Charlie.
“So, what are you up to today, Hank?” Charlie asked.
“Working,” stated Hank flatly.
“Working? On what?”
“We need to take a look at what plans you got to move that cooling pond of yours.”
“Cooling pond?” Charlie tried his best to look puzzled. “Oh, yeah, moving the cooling pond. It’s not a problem anymore. We decided to go ahead and keep the pond where it is.” Charlie leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. “After you told me about those guys on the planning board, we did some research, and, boy, were you right. Miserable pricks, and that’s about the nicest thing anyone had to say.” Charlie did his best to put a disgusted scowl on his face. “We asked around all over town, and everyone said the same thing: ‘Forget about it, those boys on the planning board are just too stupid and too ignorant to know what you’re talking about. Plus, they’re too belligerent and mean and disagreeable to reason with, and they’re all pretty damn ugly to boot.’ That’s what they said. So we’re just going to leave the pond where it is.” When he was done, Charlie folded his arms and stared across the desk at his neighbor.
After a ten-second staring contest, Hank’s mustache moved, showing a smile growing under the thick whiskers. He reached out and slapped the desk with an open palm. “Ha! You got me, Burden,” Hank said with a loud laugh. “When’d you find out?”
“Company gave me a file on the planning board. Got your picture in it.”
Hankinson nodded as he mused over the fact that OntAmex had gone to the trouble of assembling information on the planning board. At least Charlie was good enough to tell him. “Let’s go take a look at your cooling pond,” said Hank, rising out of his chair.
Charlie deliberated for a moment about the efficacy of meeting informally like this with the chairman of the planning board. He knew Yarbrough would have a problem with it. What if Hank was looking for a payoff? Charlie decided to trust his friend. He had a feeling that Hank was doing him a personal favor by coming to talk to him about the pond.
They took the Navigator out to the original site of the cooling pond, roughly in the middle of the development. They walked over the hard rock, laid bare in several wide expanses where the loose soil had eroded away. Charlie pointed out the proximity of the original pond site to the main building, fifty yards away. He explained how the shock of blasting would weaken the subfoundation of the main plant. Hank gave a knowing nod.
“You boys really fucked up here, didn’t you?”
“We sure did, Hank,” Charlie answered, wondering if he should be admitting that to the planning-board chairman.
“Okay, let’s go see where you want to move it to.” They drove up to the north end of the property, just inside the fence along Cold Springs Road. Charlie reached into the backseat, brought up a scrolled blueprint of the revised pond design, and gave it to Hank. The old man studied it carefully as they drove around the perimeter of the proposed new location.
When Charlie stopped, Hank continued to study the blueprint, occasionally squinting at some detail, then looking up to study the topography of the land. After ten minutes, he rolled up the plan and got out of the Navigator. He walked directly north toward the boundary fence and stopped where the land sloped down to Cold Springs Road. Then he walked along the edge of the hill parallel to the fence for a hundred yards and stood still for a few moments, visualizing the future pond.
Finally, he turned and walked slowly back to where Charlie waited for him. Hank sat down on the sandy ground and gestured to a spot in front of him. “C’mon, Burden, let’s make a deal,” he said.
Charlie sat and crossed his legs Indian style. “What’d you have in mind, Hank?”
Hank put the plans on the ground next to him. “Now, everything’s up to standard for water impoundments—the pumping and release systems, and the levees; your boys can read the regs as good as we can. But you’re going to have to make a couple of changes you probably ain’t going to like too much.” Hank reached into his pocket and pulled out his tobacco pouch. Charlie put his hands on the dusty ground behind him and leaned back on his arms. He was apprehensive about what was coming. If Hank was looking for a bribe, now was the time.
“What kind of a change, Hank?” Hank put a plug of chewing tobacco in his mouth and took off his jacket. The midday sun beat down on them, and Hank was sweating through his white shirt. He held his arm out and pointed.
“Around this northern half of the pond, where the land goes down away from the mountain, you’re going to have to build that containment dike two feet higher than you got it laid out. And you’ll have to reinforce it with steel.”
“Two feet higher? Reinforced with steel? That’s way beyond the code, Hank. You said yourself, everything met the regulations.” Charlie was perplexed more than disappointed. He did a quick calculation and estimated the cost of Hank’s requirements. “You know, Hank, that would cost us about a hundred thousand, maybe a hundred fifty,” Charlie said, looking around at the site.
Hank turned his head and spit a gob of tobacco juice in the sand. “Tough shit,” he said. “Your client can afford to build a safe pond.”
“Wouldn’t a pond built to code be safe enough?” Charlie asked.
“Safe enough for the state and for the county. Safe enough for the board, too, legally, ’cause I can’t make you go beyond the code.” Almost to himself, he added, “Not safe enough, though, for families living along Cold Springs Road years from now, when you and I are long gone and other people got responsibility for—” He stopped and turned to Charlie with a pained look on his face. “The levee needs to be higher, and it needs to be reinforced. It’s something I need you to do.”
Charlie was relieved that Hank wasn’t looking for a payoff. He’d known him only a short time, and while he’d concluded that Hank was a man of integrity, you couldn’t be sure until the moment of truth. It had now come and gone, and Hank obviously had concerns about the project that were on a much higher plane. “What’s it all about, Hank? There’s more to this than code requirements, right?”
Hank gazed around at the surrounding hills with a faraway look in his eyes, as he resurrected the painful memories from twenty-eight years earlier. After a few moments, he nodded his head slowly, as if telling himself that it would be all right to share these memories with Charlie. “It was a lousy day,” he started in a low voice. “Raining and drizzling for three days straight. February twenty-sixth, 1972. It was a Saturday.”
Hank paused to gather his thoughts. “I was a schoolteacher and assistant principal at the time. Well, about noon, I get a call from a good friend of mine, a deputy sheriff here. Tells me that a dam let go up in Logan County—a coal-waste dam the mining companies build to make water impoundments to clean their coal. A hundred years they been doing it like that, in spite of all the problems they cause.
“Anyway, he tells me it looks like there could be some damage and maybe some injuries, and he was heading up to provide assistance. Reason he called me was he knows I got a cousin up there in a little coal camp town called Lundale, couple miles down the creek from the dam. Cousin was married to a miner, and they had a little girl.” Hank sighed. “So he picked me up out at the house and we drove on up there. Up to Buffalo Creek.”
For the next twenty minutes, Charlie didn’t utter a sound as Hank told him the story of the Buffalo Creek disaster, the worst dam failure in West Virginia history. After a week of snow and rain, a series of three coal-waste dams breached, sending 130 million gallons of water crashing down the narrow valley of Buffalo
Creek in southeastern Logan County. When the twenty-foot-high wall of black water and coal-waste sludge had finished its eighteen-mile path of destruction, five towns had been totally obliterated and nine others severely damaged. Four thousand people were left homeless. Seven hundred homes were destroyed, along with fifty house trailers, thirty businesses, and nine hundred automobiles and trucks. After weeks of searching through the rubble and debris, the death toll ended at a hundred twenty-five, including seven whose bodies were never recovered.
“We drove up as far as we could before the road disappeared, below Amherstdale, and then we started walking. The state police were there, and you could see they were pretty shaken. Told us we wouldn’t believe how bad it was.” Hank paused and shook his head slowly, as if he were fighting off the horror of the memories.
“We came to a railroad trestle across the creek, and on the other side of it was this huge pile of rubble—must have been thirty feet high, covering forty or fifty yards of the creek bed—all packed in so tight you couldn’t pull a board out of there. Looked like a pile of matchsticks, with a bunch of toy cars thrown in. But they weren’t toys. It was what was left of most of the houses and buildings from all the towns for the next eight miles, up to where the dam broke in Saunders.
“We kept walking, and pretty soon there was nothing—houses gone, road and the topsoil washed away; even the railroad tracks were gone. People were wandering around with that dazed look on their faces—mothers calling out for their babies, children looking for their parents.… It was horrible, Charlie. Worst day I ever had to live through.” Tears rolled down Hank’s face.
“Anyway, we get up to Lundale, and there’s nothing left. Ground is scraped down to the gravel. Wouldn’t have known there was once a town there, if you didn’t know the hollows and the shape of the hillsides. Total devastation all the way up to the dam.” Hank turned to spit tobacco juice in the sand. “Cousin’s house was gone. They found her body the next day and her little girl about a week later. Her husband was early shift down in one of the mines when it all happened. Later on, he gets his settlement check … pathetic little retribution payment—about twenty-eight hundred dollars, as I recall—and he turns into a drunk and moves away. Never heard from him again.” Then Hank added softly, “Can’t blame him, though.
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