Under a Cloudless Sky

by Chris Fabry

  “And speaking of a love that can change your heart and destiny, that’s a good place to start. Does your burdened soul need liberty? It’s available right now, whatever you’re going through.”

  He played “At Calvary,” and Frances drank in the words as she drove back toward her mother’s house. After another song, Reverend Brown returned with his folksy, conversational tone. He mentioned two listeners who were having birthdays and invited people to e-mail him with anniversaries and announcements they wanted others to know. A listener in Rainelle, West Virginia, was having a “spiritual birthday” and the man gave thanks to God for the person’s life.

  “And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my friend in Kentucky, Queen Ruby. What a generous soul. You know, if it weren’t for people like Ruby investing in what we do, well, we wouldn’t be doing what we do, would we? It takes funds from people like you to help us continue and if you can help us, I’ll give our address in a minute. You can get a pen and paper and write it down. But back to Ruby—I got a nice note from her the other day, and she included some music sent in memory of her late husband, Leslie. What a fine man who served our country well and served the Lord well, too. Let me play this for Queen Ruby today up there in Kentucky.”

  Frances pulled into the driveway and there was no sign of her mother’s car. Her heart fell. She sat in the car until the next song ended, then went inside and dialed the 704 number she had found on caller ID. A machine picked up. It was the same voice she’d heard on the radio and she left a brief message.

  As she turned on the radio in the kitchen, the front door opened and her heart leapt. She ran to look and saw Jerry.

  “No luck?” she said.

  He shook his head. “She’s AWOL. Can’t find a trace. I talked with her pastor. I talked with the lady who runs the FoodFair. Stood in line at the post office.”

  “Did you ask if they’d seen her?”

  “Of course. But I couched it in how they think Mom’s doing with her driving. If they’ve noticed what we have.”

  “People are going to figure out she’s gone, Jerry. We need to call the police.”

  He put up a hand. “Not yet. We’re going to find her and when we do, I swear, I’m going to chain her to her La-Z-Boy.”

  Frances told him about her conversation with Eula and brought up the idea of a possible romance with the reverend on the radio.

  Jerry was stunned. “You don’t think she drove to North Carolina, do you?”

  “At this point, anything is possible. And every hour that goes by is another one we’ve lost getting help. She could have been abducted by some crazed loonies high on drugs for all we know.”

  Jerry snapped his fingers. “Her credit card. We can track her credit card. I’ve got the information at home. She made me a copy of everything and I keep it, along with the will. I’m listed on the account, so I can call and get them to tell us where it was used last.”

  Frances didn’t feel any better about the prospect of seeing where her mother had used her credit card—or where thieves might have used it, but at least it was something. “I’ll stay here. Maybe she’ll show up by dark.”

  She said the words but knew her mother wouldn’t return. Something deep inside said nothing would be the same again.

  Frances was picking at a sandwich when the ringing phone made her jump. She made a mental note to switch it away from the “wake the dead” setting.

  “Frances, this is Franklin Brown in Shelby, North Carolina.”

  It was like listening to her own personal radio, hearing him on the phone. “Thank you so much for returning my call, Reverend.”

  “I’m glad to do it. Please, call me Franklin. How’s Queen Ruby?”

  Frances had hoped the man might say her mother had made it to North Carolina and he was about to take her out for dinner. “Your number came up on her phone as someone she dialed recently. I was hoping you could tell me what you talked about.”

  A pause. “Well, Frances, couldn’t you ask Ruby that?”

  His voice sounded off. Like he knew he was being accused of something.

  “She’s not here right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His voice was so soothing, so pastoral, that she let her defenses down. “Rev—Franklin, we had a disagreement about her driving. It’s been difficult—with her getting older and unable to see well. She’s made some bad decisions, trusting people she shouldn’t. My brother and I felt it best to take her keys.”

  A sigh. “That is so hard. I sympathize with what you’re going through. I’m sorry for you and for Ruby. That had to be jarring for her.”

  “Franklin . . . Reverend, I’ll be honest. I think my mother may have become infatuated.”

  “With what?”

  “With you.”

  He laughed long and hard and that turned into a coughing fit. When he caught his breath, he said, “That’s funny. Frances, I can assure you there’s nothing going on . . .” He took a pause to laugh again. “Ruby and I are from different sides of the tracks, if you know what I mean. I grew up along a creek bank, up a hollow off Ten Mile. That doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to Ruby and me. I was born so far up the hollow they had to pipe in the sunshine.”

  “So she didn’t contact you again? You don’t think she’s headed your way?”

  “I would highly doubt it. And if what you say is true, I did nothing to encourage this. You have to believe that.”

  “Well, mentioning her on the radio . . .”

  “I do that for all of my supporters. Ruby has been quite respectful of my own loss. My wife passed six months ago and it’s been terribly difficult. But I have no designs on your mother, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You know her financial situation, though.”

  “What situation is that?”

  “My mother has considerable resources. And we have to protect her from . . . Well, you understand.”

  His voice grew low and even, taking on a tone she hadn’t heard on the radio. “Yes, I do. And while I applaud you caring for your mother, I have to wonder if you care more about her ‘considerable resources,’ as you call them, than you do Ruby. She’s mentioned the tension in the family to me.”

  Frances shook the accusation away. “Reverend, my mother’s gone. She left after all of this happened. And I’m worked up and just trying to figure out where she might be.”

  “I’m sorry. How long has she been gone?”

  “We spoke with her yesterday, and when I got here this morning, she had left.”

  “No note? No explanation?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Have you contacted the authorities?”

  “Not yet. We were hoping we’d find her and save her the embarrassment of a big to-do. I think she’d hate that.”

  “I see. But something bad could have happened. And from what I read about cases like this, the first twenty-four hours are critical.”

  Her heart raced at the statement she knew was true. Still, something about how in control the man seemed unnerved her. “We’re going to call them soon. But let me ask, was this the first time my mother called you?”

  “Yes, I was surprised to hear her voice. I’d never spoken by phone, just by letter. Her handwriting is still impeccable, you know.”

  “Did she talk about something specific?”

  “Yes. She had heard a program that concerned her.”

  “Concerned her?”

  “I did an hour on forgiveness. The music, the Bible reading—all of it was centered around how we’re told by God to forgive others.”

  Frances couldn’t think of anyone her mother needed to forgive, except for the person who had scammed her, and perhaps her children. “Did she say who she might need to forgive?”

  “We didn’t get into specifics, but she was distraught, there’s no doubt. This is just my guess, but I had the impression she’s been carrying this for a long time.”

  “I don’t know a lot about her early l
ife. I know she lived in a boarding school for a few years after her father was killed. And after that she went into the service . . . Anyway, I thank you for calling back. If you hear from her, would you let me know?”

  He took Frances’s cell phone number and promised he’d call if he heard from Ruby. When she hung up, there were more unanswered questions than before their conversation. But Franklin Brown sounded believable and she had no real reason to distrust him other than the reputation of shady preachers who were in it for the money.

  She couldn’t sit, so she went through the house looking for any missed clues to her mother’s whereabouts or her state of mind. She pulled out the calendar in the top dresser drawer in the kitchen. Why wasn’t it tacked on the wall? Her mother probably had a reason. The only things on the wall in the kitchen were a dry-erase board and a picture of a bearded old man praying over his bowl of soup and loaf of bread.

  Frances leafed through the calendar and saw doctor’s and hair appointments. She stared at the question mark on Saturday, October 2. Strange.

  She put the calendar aside and rummaged through the drawer, finding loose coins and hairpins, paper clips, an unopened box of staples, and articles cut from the newspaper. She set the articles aside and kept digging.

  In the next drawer were bank statements and investment documents. There was a copy of Ruby’s will here, plus Frances knew she kept one in the strongbox on a shelf in the closet. Ruby had sent duplicates to Jerry and Frances after their father died to make sure everyone had a copy.

  Then came the drawer of greeting cards her mother had stowed. Sympathy cards from church friends with written prayers inside. She came upon a plain card with not much written on it and recognized her ex-husband’s writing. She quickly closed the drawer.

  Frances found her mother’s checkbook and registers going back decades. She flipped through a recent one, feeling a sense of dread. On one line she noticed Jerry’s name. When she saw the amount, her mouth dropped.

  The crickets and frogs were in full voice when Jerry walked inside. Dusk had fallen and night encroached quickly.

  “Anything?” Frances said.

  He shook his head. “Still no sign. But I went over to the sheriff’s.”

  Frances felt a flood of relief. “I’m so glad they know.”

  “They don’t. Not yet. I wanted to find out what happened the day the sheriff came to the house.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them she’s missing? She’s been gone all day, Jerry, and it’s getting dark. She can’t see well enough to drive in the dark.”

  “Now don’t get all worked up.”

  “Don’t tell me what to get worked up about. We should have called the police immediately. Now they’re going to think we had something to do with it.”

  “Why would they think that?” Jerry said, an incredulous look on his face. “I’m trying to protect her.”

  Frances handed him the checkbook and Jerry stared at it. When he didn’t respond, she said, “You want to explain that?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “It’s none of my business what goes on between you and Mom financially. She can give you as much as she wants. But that amount of money raises questions.”

  “What questions?”

  “Questions about why you needed it. Questions from the police about who’s going to inherit Mom’s estate. And that you’re the executor.”

  His shoulders slumped. “You think I’d hurt her?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m saying . . . I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m scared. And this doesn’t look good.”

  “You do whatever you want, Frances,” Jerry said, tossing the checkbook at her. It fluttered to the ground as he walked out the front door.

  15

  LANDOWNERS MEET AT BEULAH MOUNTAIN BAPTIST CHURCH

  BEULAH MOUNTAIN, WEST VIRGINIA

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 2004

  Hollis Beasley held his tongue, but just barely. He had gathered the group inside the Beulah Mountain Baptist Church by hook or by crook and phone calls and a few flyers and an announcement in the Breeze. His granddaughter, Charlotte, sat in the back with a notepad and pen and scribbled furiously as residents stood and spoke, but Hollis wasn’t sure he wanted the ink in the Breeze with the way things were going. Juniper had come to town with him but decided she couldn’t take the elevated blood pressure levels the arguing was sure to produce, so she visited a friend near the church.

  It had been years since Hollis had been inside the building and walking in gave him the yips. Lots of memories flooded, many of them good. He pushed the nostalgia away and began by saying Buddy Coleman had driven his shiny Jeep to his house and offered extra money if he would sign and lead others away from Beulah Mountain. Hollis conjectured about the board meeting and how Buddy was angling for CEO. This came as no shock to anyone.

  Shorty Hutchins grabbed the pew in front of him and pulled himself to a standing position. His wife, Thelma, was a pillar of the congregation and, as Hollis remembered, always raised a hand for an unspoken request. Hollis wondered if getting Shorty to attend church was the reason for the hand in the air.

  “Hollis, if I was you, I’d have taken that offer,” Shorty said with a nasal twang. “Everybody here knows CCE is going to take this land. They’re going to doze it flat and get all the coal they can. This mountain is only worth what’s underneath it and if we don’t sell, we’ll get nothing.”

  Heads nodded and another hand shot up, this one from Pearl Reynolds, the widow of a miner who had succumbed to black lung. “Every one of us sympathizes with what you and your family have been through, Hollis. I’ve walked the same road you have, in a lot of ways. But there comes a time, like in the book of Daniel, when you see the writing on the wall. The hand of God writes the truth up there and you have to live with it.”

  “If God writes something on the wall, I’ll read it,” Jared Stover said. He spoke without standing because of his weight. His jowls bounced as he talked and he held a cane between his legs that reached the underside of his chin. “But if the devil writes something, I say pay no attention. Buddy Coleman’s the devil incarnate. That pip-squeak is offering us poisoned fruit. I say we don’t eat it.”

  “He ain’t the devil, Jared,” Curtis Williams said.

  “He grew up not far from here,” someone else said. “My kids went to school with him.”

  “I don’t know why we’re so afraid. He’s no bigger than a gnat.”

  “What’s the devil do?” Jared said. “He kills, steals, and destroys. What’s Buddy want to do? Same exact thing. His daddy before him was crooked as Possum Creek. His granddaddy was worse. If we don’t stand up, who’s going to?”

  Just then Juniper walked in the back and sat beside Charlotte. The girl hugged her grandmother and scooted over, though Juniper didn’t need much room. She was nothing but skin and bones.

  Curtis stood. “Look, folks, I got no horse in this race. I’ve signed the papers. It hurt like the dickens and I didn’t want to let Hollis down. But once they start blasting, we won’t be able to breathe. Let’s say I refuse to sell. We band together. Will that stop them? Of course not. Beulah Mountain is the bull’s-eye of Buddy Coleman’s target. He’s showing the company he can get things done. I hate to leave this hollow. I got kin buried on your property, Hollis. You think I want to leave them?”

  There was real emotion in Curtis’s voice now and the room got quiet with people looking at the floor.

  “I look at it this way. This land we love has provided a way out. We can thank our parents and their parents for their hard work. I can either hang on to the past or look to the future. I’m choosing the future.”

  Curtis sat and Ruthanne drew closer. Several others spoke, all saying selling was the only choice. Virginia Davis said a ridge a few miles away had been mined and now looked fine. “I don’t see what the big deal is. There’s grass all over and trees sprouting up and they’ve built a soccer field.”

  “Soccer fields?” Ja
red Stover said. “Who’s going to play soccer when they’ve blasted the land flat? Don’t you get it? There ain’t nobody going to be living here to play soccer.”

  It was starting to feel like a union meeting gone bad over a wage hike. The church hadn’t seen this much drama since it had hosted a gospel sing-off with competing traveling groups. When the Family Buford sang “Wayfarin’ Stranger,” a song the Roleys had recorded and had actually been played on the radio, Ben Roley shut off the circuit breaker, which took out the microphones and bass guitar. When the Family Buford kept singing and the lady playing the piano didn’t stop, Ben put his foot through the bass drum and knocked over the hi-hat cymbals while yelling, “You knowed that was our song!” Hollis had been there that night and the memory made him smile.

  He waved for quiet. When things settled, he spoke.

  “A lot of you don’t agree with me. I can handle that. All I asked was to be heard. I thank you. I got one more thing.”

  Hollis looked at Juniper in the back row and Charlotte still scribbling in her notebook. He saw the pain on Juniper’s face and the hope on Charlotte’s, the starkest difference he thought he’d ever seen. It was unbridled youth up against seasoned experience.

  “I grew up on this mountain. It’s all I’ve ever known. It fed my mother and father and me. We shot game, we planted corn, and in the end I planted them on the hill. And my time’s coming. There’s a lot more water over the dam of my life than in the reservoir. But I want to ask a question.

  “What’s so precious to you, deep in your heart, that you can’t put a price tag on it? I would hope your children are part of that. You’d never sell one of your kids. You’d fight anybody who tried to hurt them.

  “For me, my spot on Beulah Mountain is the same. It’s the one thing in my life I’d die fighting for and not feel like it was a waste. To me, this mountain is worth more than the coal under it. It’s worth more than Buddy Coleman will ever pay. He says it’s valuable because of the coal. I say it’s valuable because God gave it to us. If we won’t defend it, who will?