Redemption Mountain

by FitzGerald, Gerry

  Buck wasn’t ready for the conversation to end. “Yeah, well, maybe you oughta just stay away from my family,” he said, “and keep the fuck out of my business.”

  Charlie threw the saw down, moved in front of Buck, and put his face up close to the younger man’s. “Buck, you can go on being a shitty father and your kids’ll do all right, anyway. And you can keep on being a shitty husband, and someday you’re going to lose Natty, whether I got anything to do with it or not.” He pushed his finger into Buck’s chest. “But,” he lowered his voice, “you ever hit that girl again, I’m comin’ after you. You understand me, Buck?”

  Buck swallowed hard and glared at Charlie, but he didn’t move for several seconds. Finally, the loud horn of the truck blared from the base of the hill. They both looked down to see that Frenchy had turned the truck around to head back and had his head out the window. “C’mon, dere, girls,” he yelled. “You can fuck echudder up de ass all daway back now. Let’s go, aye?”

  They rode without speaking. As they neared the foreman’s shed, Charlie said, “Listen, Buck, thanks for all your help today. I enjoyed it a lot, even pukin’ all over myself.” Buck couldn’t help smiling. Charlie held out a gloved hand. “You’re a great woodcutter, Buck. I’d cut down a tree with you anytime.” Buck took his hand briefly and nodded almost imperceptibly.

  The truck stopped at the shed and Buck started to get out. Charlie spoke again. “Do me a favor, Buck, will you? When you do get home, tell Pie about how we beat those two lumberjacks. How we cut that tree down and landed it right on top of that water bucket. Pie will get a real kick out of that.”

  Buck hesitated for a second. “Yeah, sure,” he grumbled. “I’ll tell him about it.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The road to Welch was deserted when Natty reached town at nearly 2:00 P.M. It wasn’t always like this, she recalled. When she was a kid, it seemed like the huge coal trucks were always coming and going—straining and belching black smoke in one direction, banging and rattling their empty bins on the return.

  Natty thought she knew where the Loftus Insurance Agency was, but as she drove down Main Street she began to get anxious about being late. It would be just like Kyle to cancel the hearing if she was a minute late. She sighed as she remembered the futility of the whole thing.

  Then she saw the blue Lexus parked in front of the insurance agency, and her heart raced. She hadn’t expected Charlie to show up after his wife had come to town, but there was no mistaking that car. She pulled in, leaving a few spaces between her car and Charlie’s.

  Out of habit, she arranged the shock of hair a little lower over her left eyebrow. She leaned forward and looked in her visor mirror at her eyes, then lifted her chin to see her mouth, before slumping back in her seat. Natty recalled Ellen Burden standing in the hallway outside Charlie’s apartment, looking so perfect, her silky hair shining, eyes made up like a model’s, her lips painted an elegant dark red. She wondered if she should start wearing a little eye makeup and maybe even some lipstick once in a while—as she did for a time in high school, before Buck came back. Before she got too busy with so many other things. She pushed the mirror away and reached for the door handle.

  Through the insurance agency window, she saw Charlie seated in a waiting area, surrounded by green plants. He was wearing a black blazer, a white shirt, and a silver tie. His professional attire seemed strange to her, as if he were a different man from the one she knew.

  Entering the office, she saw several women behind a counter, busy on their phones. A man stood waiting with a handful of papers and a license plate. Natty felt intimidated by the professional look of the office. She was also nervous about seeing Charlie for the first time since she’d met his wife and realized what a charade this fantasy of hers was.

  An open door revealed a wood-paneled conference room. Suddenly Kyle Loftus appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Oakes, we’ll be with you in just a minute,” he said pleasantly. Then he saw Charlie in the waiting area and the smile left his face. “He with you?” he asked, as Natty turned and saw that Charlie was on his feet.

  “Yes, I’m with Mrs. Oakes,” Charlie said. “I reffed the game in question—remember? So I thought I should be here to make sure the facts are straight.” He brushed past Loftus and entered the conference room without offering his hand. Loftus hesitated, then followed.

  Charlie introduced himself to the two men already seated at the table and handed out business cards. “I’m in charge of the new power plant over in Red Bone,” he said, to make sure they knew who they were dealing with.

  Loftus took a chair on the far side of the table and introduced the other members of the committee as Walter and Gary. Natty recognized one as a coach of one of the Welch Little League baseball teams. The other was Loftus’s brother-in-law and an employee of the agency.

  Charlie moved to the middle of the table and sat down. Natty took a seat next to him. She smiled briefly at Walter and Gary across the table and waited for Loftus to start the meeting.

  “What we got here is real simple, ’cause, as you may recall, I was at the game and saw everything that happened.” Loftus glanced at Walter and Gary and gestured toward them with his left hand. “We discussed it a couple of weeks ago and agreed, unanimously, that suspension of the two players from any postseason play was completely warranted under the rules and bylaws of this association.” Walter and Gary nodded in agreement. “So, there it is,” Loftus said, slapping the table lightly with the palms of both hands. He flashed a toothy smile at Natty and then at Charlie and raised his palms to invite a response.

  “Well,” Natty said, clearing her throat. “It ain’t fair, ’cause it was the other team’s fault. That coach and that kid Rudy, they started all the trouble, and you know it, Kyle.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Loftus. “The coach has been dealt with, and their season’s over, anyway.” Loftus looked at his watch.

  Charlie leaned forward. “It does matter,” he said firmly. “You’re penalizing two kids unfairly, and a whole team will be punished because”—he looked directly at Loftus—“you and your buddy got your egos bruised.”

  Loftus sat back in his chair with a wry smile. “Seems like somebody else took a little bruisin’ that day.” Walter and Gary smirked knowingly.

  “This isn’t about me or anything that happened after that game,” Charlie said angrily. “I want you guys to do the right thing and let those kids play in the tournament.”

  Loftus shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen, my friend,” he said, pushing his chair away from the table. He pointed an index finger at Natty. “You take that girl and that black boy up to Charleston, they ain’t gonna let your team on the field.”

  Loftus was startled as Vernon Yarbrough filled the doorway of the conference room. “Help you with something there, fella?” Loftus asked.

  Yarbrough ignored him, moving to the edge of the conference table and tossing business cards down in front of Loftus and then Walter and Gary. He turned to Natty and held out his hand. “Mrs. Oakes, how nice to see you again.” Natty remembered him from the pond hearing. “Charlie,” he said, reaching past Natty, “how’s everything at the Red Bone project?”

  “Everything’s great, Vern,” Charlie replied, relieved that the lawyer had finally appeared.

  Yarbrough remained standing. “I’m here to represent Mrs. Oakes and the two juvenile victims in this matter, Emma Lowe and Zachary Willard.” The lawyer opened his briefcase and took out three packets. He placed one in front of Loftus, then gave the others to Walter and Gary. Yarbrough sat down next to Natty.

  After a few moments to allow the men to glance at the documents, Yarbrough leaned forward and put his arms on the table. “What you’re looking at here, gentlemen, is a million-dollar civil suit against each of you for the irreparable harm you’re causing my clients with this discriminatory and, I might add, racially motivated ruling. I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier—are you men represented by counsel today?”

&
nbsp; Walter and Gary looked at each other nervously. Loftus forced a thin smile and tossed his packet to the middle of the table. “This is bullshit,” he said, glancing at his brother-in-law. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms defiantly. “It’s all bullshit,” he repeated.

  Yarbrough rubbed his palms together slowly in front of his face. “Bullshit, that’s an interesting word,” he said. Charlie suppressed a smile as he awaited the coming eruption. “So, Mr. Loftus,” the lawyer continued, “it’s your contention that I left my very comfortable office in Charleston, for a ninety-minute flight down here to godforsaken McDowell County, to present to you gentlemen a professionally prepared legal document, which is, in fact”—he slammed the tabletop as he shouted—“just bullshit?”

  Yarbrough’s face was flushed with anger. His voice was deep and loud, uncaring if they were overheard in the outer office. “Gentlemen, let me tell you about that pile of bullshit sitting in front of you! What you have there is a minimum of two years of litigation and one hundred thousand dollars in legal fees for each of you—I shit you not—and in the end we may not get the million but we’ll get six goddamn good figures, and I’ll be going after your houses and your cars and your wives’ little pinky rings, just to cover my fee. And when you’re done with my personally guided tour through the West Virginia tort system, you hillbillies will be riding fucking mules around these mountains, sellin’ long-term-care insurance to dyin’ coal miners!”

  Natty sat unmoving, trying to grasp the idea that this monster of a lawyer could actually be on her side. “Now, Mr. Loftus,” said Yarbrough, with slightly less volume, “in your best interest, sir, you and I need to caucus in private.”

  * * *

  LOFTUS, HIS FACE locked in a nervous scowl, stood and followed Yarbrough from the room. They entered a corner office behind a smoked-glass wall. Yarbrough noticed a floor-to-ceiling curtain along the wall and pulled it closed. The insurance man took refuge in the tall leather chair behind the desk and motioned for Yarbrough to take a seat. Yarbrough ignored him, walked behind the desk, and stood menacingly at Loftus’s side. He tossed a file down on the desk and spoke softly. “Now, Mr. Loftus, what you got to do right now is pick out which one of those pictures in there you’d like us to send to your wife.”

  Loftus opened the file and groaned. The first picture was an eight-by-ten black-and-white shot of an overweight but very buxom woman, in her midtwenties, descending an outside stairway from a second-floor apartment. The next picture showed Kyle Loftus following her. The third picture showed Loftus and the girl locked in an embrace on the landing. “Aw, fuck,” Loftus moaned. “You put an investigator on me over this bush league crap?”

  Yarbrough closed the file and leaned in close to Loftus’s ear. “Brother Loftus, in the next few seconds you need to fully embrace the idea that this issue is a lot more important to some very powerful people than it is to you. Then you need to go back into that conference room and make it right with that woman in there, or, believe me, I will make fucking you over my number-one hobby well into my retirement years.”

  * * *

  NATTY LEFT AS soon as Loftus returned to the room and announced, to the obvious relief of Walter and Gary, that the appeal was accepted and the suspensions were lifted. Out in the street, she walked quickly to her car. As she reached for the door handle, she heard Charlie behind her. “Good luck, Nat,” he said.

  Natty turned and walked slowly over to the side of the Lexus, then looked down through the glass roof. “I used to have a car like this. For a week.” Charlie smiled. “Thanks for doin’ this today.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, his eyes locked on hers.

  After a few moments she looked off toward the hills. “Redemption Mountain—that’s a hopeless case now, right?”

  Charlie sighed. “I’m afraid so, Nat. There’s no stopping it at this point. The hearing’s just a formality.”

  “That’s what Bud says.”

  “I’m sorry, Nat. I tried…”

  “Anyway, the kids’ll be happy when I tell ’em they can play. Felt kinda good, for a change, bein’ on the same side as the big boys with the expensive lawyers.”

  “It helps,” admitted Charlie. “How’s Pie? Haven’t seen him in a while. Haven’t seen you around, either,” he continued, spreading out his fingers on the moon roof. “So, what happened, Nat?”

  She didn’t want to have this conversation. “Aw, Charlie,” she said softly, “moment I saw your wife standing in the door, I knew what a jerk I’d been … for thinkin’ about us … for dreaming stuff.”

  “Natty—” Charlie protested.

  She shook her head. “Woman like that don’t come all the way down to Red Bone less she’s really…”

  “Nat, you’ve got that all wrong,” he said firmly.

  “Charlie, what are you doin’, sayin’ all that stuff to me, when you got a wife like that at home?” She slowly lifted her eyes up to his.

  “Natty, I fell in love with someone else.” Charlie inched his left hand forward, and their fingertips touched. “And I’ve never lied to you about anything. I told you how I felt, that night we went over to see Woody and Mr. Jacks. That was the truth.”

  After a few seconds, Natty asked, “Did you tell her…” She hesitated, afraid to say the words. “You know, what you said you would?”

  “I didn’t have to. She said she knew the moment you opened the door that I was in love with you,” Charlie replied.

  Natty looked at her feet, stalling for time. She hadn’t been ready to hear Charlie say the words. “That night, when I was standin’ there lookin’ at her in the hallway, all she had to do was say boo and I woulda peed in my pants.”

  Charlie laughed, and watched Natty for a few moments. “I met Buck last week,” he said. “We cut down some trees.”

  “I heard,” said Natty, grateful for a change of subject. “He told Pie all about it. It was real nice, Buck tellin’ Pie a story. How you two beat some professional loggers, cuttin’ down a big tree. Pie was so proud.”

  Charlie laughed again. “We had a good day.”

  Natty made a face. “Damn, Charlie, couldn’t you and Buck just have a fistfight, like in the movies? You know, fightin’ over the girl, instead of becoming pals? Now Buck’s in love with you, too.” She looked up quickly when she realized what she’d said.

  “Well, we didn’t exactly part company as best friends.” Then he remembered the trip to New York that weekend. “You still going on the New York trip?”

  Natty smiled. “No reason not to, I guess.”

  “Good. We’ll go for a run. I’ll meet you in front of your hotel, Saturday morning, six-thirty.”

  Natty nodded, then looked at her watch. “Got some old people I still need to tend to. I’ll see you in New York.” Charlie watched her get into the Honda and drive off.

  * * *

  AS CHARLIE AND Natty were driving away from Welch, a gray Nissan Sentra—the cheapest rental car available at the Charleston airport—labored slowly up Redemption Mountain Road. The car passed the DeWitt farm before backing up and pulling in under the huge oak tree that covered the driveway with a thick layer of leathery brown leaves.

  The driver made a note in a tattered spiral notebook before getting out of the car. He was a tall, gaunt man in his late sixties with a protruding Adam’s apple, a deeply lined face, and a permanent squint. He wore an old gray suit, a rumpled khaki raincoat, and a gray fedora that had obviously served its owner for many years. He glanced at his watch and shook his head, angry at himself for being late. He should have started out earlier.

  He moved slowly up the wooden stairs onto the porch. An observer might guess that he was an insurance agent, or maybe a process server, but not the owner of the largest private investigations firm in Toronto. At the front door, he removed his hat and introduced himself to Bud and Alice DeWitt. He’d called a week prior, and he and Bud had chatted for a while.

  For some reason, Bud trusted him—maybe it wa
s his reference to growing up on a wheat farm in Manitoba—and answered his questions about the farm and the recent attempts to buy it. The stranger was particularly interested in the day the cornfield burned—who was there, how many vehicles, what kind of uniforms the men wore. He didn’t ask what was growing in the field or how it burned, just about the men.

  Later, he walked around the charred remains of the field and around the perimeter of the farm. In the failing light of early evening, he drove up to the top of Redemption Mountain, stopping first at the cemetery and the high pond. He returned to the farmhouse for dinner with the DeWitts, listening attentively to the family’s history on Redemption Mountain. But he offered little about himself or his mission. After refusing repeated offers to stay the night, he made the four-hour drive back to Charleston, took a room at a Quality Inn near the airport, and rose early the next morning for a seven-thirty flight to Toronto.

  * * *

  A FULL CREW was at work on the library—two men finishing up the shingling, and several others installing windows on the second floor—trying to get the outside of the building finished before the cold weather arrived. As he pulled into the parking area, Charlie could hear the staccato bang of carpenters’ hammers, the satisfying sound of real work being accomplished.

  Charlie thought about the meeting in New York to which he had been summoned on Friday. The message had come from Larry Tuthill, to meet with a committee of OntAmex and DD&M people to review Charlie’s projects.

  Once, it would have seemed like a fairly benign meeting, but the fact that Terry Summers and Warren Brand would be attending was a clear warning. Friday afternoon was typically when high-level management coups were orchestrated, to give the company the weekend to clean up the mess and manage the spin. With the power plant on schedule and the eminent-domain taking of Redemption Mountain in less than two weeks, Charlie knew he was now expendable. There was a good chance that, after tomorrow, he’d have little reason to return to Red Bone.