Spirit of the Valley

by Jane Shoup

  “Hey, hey,” April May called from the other room. “I just found a picture of Lionel.”

  Pauline started from the room with a light step. She felt much freer as Lizzie Greenway Carter.

  “I bet Cessie doesn’t know this is here,” April May said as she handed it over. “It’s an old one, but that’s him, a young him, with that same ol’ devilish smile.”

  The image was of Lionel as a young man, standing against a rock ledge with a pickax in his hand. Although it was faded, its edges frayed and slightly torn, Lizzie recognized the face. This was the father from her dreams. Her breath caught as she stared at it.

  “He was originally from South Carolina,” April May said as she looked at the photograph over Lizzie’s shoulder. “Then, as a young man, he went to California after gold. Found a little, lost a lot of time is what he said.”

  “I want to know all about him.”

  “He traveled a lot of places in the world, a lot more than most. Did a stint as a merchant marine, was in the war, went to the Orient, saw Paris. Cessie loved his stories. The two of them were special friends, so she got a lot more of them than I did. She’d be happy to share them if you want to hear.”

  “Oh, I do!”

  April May took a few steps away before turning back. “He was a good man and I’m glad I knew him. You know, maybe, in the end, that’s all any of us can hope to have said about us.”

  Pauline nodded slowly.

  “Tell you what else, this place is not in as bad a shape as I feared. It’s going to take a lot of work but—”

  “It’s going to be wonderful,” Lizzie declared. “It’s going to be a new life for us. I thought it wouldn’t be real. That it couldn’t be, but . . . I feel it, now that I’m here. That it’s meant to be somehow.” Her moisture-filled eyes glistened.

  April May cocked her head and looked at Lizzie curiously.

  “What?” Lizzie laughingly asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the light in here—”

  “What is it?”

  “You look different. No fooling. You look a little bit different.”

  “Really? I’m not. I’m the same ol’ Lizzie I always was.”

  April May guffawed and slapped her thigh. “That’s the spirit!”

  The two of them made their way back home along a path through the woods and it occurred to Lizzie how much more alive everything seemed here. The greens were so varied and intense in color, the chirping of birds louder. The air was hot and humid, but even that felt good. When the sun hit the tree trunks and limbs just right, the bark glowed golden and the green of the leaves was almost blinding. “Cessie mentioned John yesterday,” Lizzie said. “To Rebecca. I hope my daughter wasn’t prying.”

  “Cessie isn’t going to talk about anything she doesn’t want to.”

  “She also said Lionel was her second love.”

  “And so he was. I was so grateful to that man.” It was a strange enough statement that Lizzie didn’t know how to respond. April May glanced at her and must have seen the question in her expression because she stopped and turned to face her. “I don’t know what all was said, so I’ll just tell you if you want to know.”

  Lizzie nodded, wanting very much to know.

  “John Yardley was Cessie’s sweetheart from the time they weren’t but knee-high to grasshoppers,” April May said. “There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they’d marry and have a long, happy life together. Probably have five or six little ones. Except for he took ill and died. We never did know what killed him.”

  Pauline sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  April May exhaled deeply. “We all were. It like to have killed our Princess. She didn’t want to eat. She stopped going to school. She just wanted to sleep, and we couldn’t keep her up. She stopped talking. You see her. You see her spark. She always had that, except for the year after John passed.” April May paused and looked far away as she remembered. “We used to get her up, two of us, and walk her between us. She wouldn’t have gone, except she was too weak to stop us. We talked at her, talked at her, showered her with love, but nothing could break through that damned melancholy. It just about killed her.”

  Lizzie felt tears prick the backs of her eyes.

  “One day, it was summer, and the girls and I got her up and took her to the pond. ‘We’re going for a swim,’ I said. Lita was nervous about it. So was Scarlet. Hell, so was I. Cessie’s state of mind? She might have just let herself drown. But the truth is, we were losing her anyway. The most beautiful girl in the world, I mean inside and out, was wasting away before our eyes. It was killin’ my mama. So I said, ‘We’re going for a swim,’ and in we went. Her and I. Didn’t even bother with taking our clothes off. I remember Lita panicking. ‘Wait,’ she called. But I didn’t wait. I waded in and dragged Cessie with me.”

  Lizzie frowned and crossed her arms, utterly caught up in the story.

  “I’d taken them by surprise, so there’s Scarlet and Lita watching, not knowing what the blazes to do. But it had to be done. I still remember; I turned over and floated and took Cessie with me. So we’re floating and lookin’ at the sky and I told her I loved her . . . more than life itself, but she had to make a choice. Live or die. Live . . . or . . . die. We wanted her to live, but the only decidin’ person was her. The grieving had to end. John wouldn’t have wanted it. He didn’t want it.” She paused and swallowed. “And then I let her go and I swam on and I swam hard. If she’d drowned herself, I think I would have had to do the same. Luckily, when I came up for air, I looked back and saw that she was making for the shore.”

  Tears filled April May’s eyes and she laughed and blinked them free, then wiped her face. “The girls went in after her, knowing she was too weak to swim for long. When I made it back, there were the four of us, soaking wet, crying our eyes out, hugging one another. But the grief broke that day. Like a fever breaks. Cessie started getting better, although she never considered another man. And it wasn’t like men didn’t try. She was a real, true beauty and sweet as the day is long.”

  It grew silent and April May looked around. “She’s one who should have married and had a whole passel of little ones.”

  “And then Lionel moved here,” Lizzie said quietly.

  “Yes, he did. Thank God. They struck up a special friendship, but she wouldn’t marry him. Said they were both too set in their ways. But they’d be together for days at a time. We’re not far from town, but we’re out here on our own, which was a good thing. They had eight years together. Eight good years. More together than apart.”

  Lizzie smiled at the thought, and the two of them started to walk again.

  “Years ago,” April May said quietly, “maybe . . . ten or twelve years ago, a young woman drowned. Like Cessie, she was a beauty and a sweet girl. Drowned accidentally was what they said, but that girl was terrified of the water. We have a Fourth of July shindig every year and there’s an hour reserved for the ladies to swim. No men allowed, although you can’t really stop a boy determined to peek no matter how far around he has to go to do it. Jenny never would go in.”

  Lizzie looked at her, curious about what she was driving at.

  “Learning about Jenny hurt my heart and gave me the shivers. I thought, that could have been Cessie all those years ago. It could have been, too. She was in enough pain. She could have breathed in a lungful of water and there would have been nothing any of us could do.” She paused. “If anyone ever thought it was an easy decision to haul my baby sister out to the middle of the pond and leave her, it wasn’t.”

  Lizzie wished she knew what to say. “You did it to save her,” she said softly.

  April May nodded. “But what if she hadn’t chosen life? I don’t know how I would have bared it. I don’t know how any of us would. Nothing would have ever been the same. Not for any of us. That’s for shore.”

  “I’m going to take a swim tonight,” Cessie said as she and Lizzie cleaned the kitchen after supper.

  “Do y
ou mind if I go along?” Lizzie asked.

  “Mind? I’d love it. There’s just nothing like a moonlight swim.”

  The sound of laughter came from the other room. The low-pitched laughter of April May in harmony with the higher-pitched laughter of the children. It was such a good sound.

  Cessie only had a bowl left to wash, and Lizzie had kept up with the drying, so it was time to broach the subject. “I have something strange to tell you.”

  Cessie looked at her. “What?”

  Lizzie concentrated on the platter she was drying. “I had older parents. I was an only child, and they weren’t the most loving people.”

  “Really?” Cessie said thoughtfully. “I’m surprised, as good a mother as you are.”

  Lizzie shrugged. “I did everything the opposite of them. And I love being a mother. I think that’s the key to being a good parent.”

  Cessie nodded.

  “I think, had my mother married someone else, she might have been different. More loving. But my father associated gentle and nurturing with spoiling a child, and my mother obeyed his every command and thought.” She walked over and put the platter away. “I must have been about five or six when the dreams began.”

  “The dreams?”

  “A recurring dream I would have. It lasted only seconds. It was my mother and father—not the ones I grew up with, but my real mother and father. My dream mother and father.” Lizzie shrugged and grinned. “I really came to believe that the people who ruled my household had adopted me from these people. I reasoned my real parents must have died, maybe in an accident. A train derailment or a ship sinking. You see, the dreams were so real, I thought they must be a memory from early childhood. I can still see their faces in my mind.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “They both had dark hair. They were very attractive. In fact, she was beautiful. The dream only lasted a few seconds, just long enough for them to turn back to look at me and extend their hands to me, but I saw them clearly.”

  Cessie reached for the towel and dried her hands but didn’t look away from Lizzie.

  “In the dream, we’re outside, walking, but I’ve lagged behind. They turn toward each other and look back at me, urging me to catch up. They’re smiling and so happy. Her hair is just to her shoulders and she wears it loose. It is dark and wavy and the wind blows some into her face. And that was it. That’s all there was to it, but it was enough to convince me they were my real parents.”

  Cessie cocked her head thoughtfully, knowing more was coming.

  “I don’t know how to say this without you thinking—”

  “What?” Cessie asked tenderly. “I won’t think anything. Just tell me.”

  “The mother in my dream . . . was you,” Lizzie said, finishing in a whisper. Tears filled her eyes, especially when Cessie looked stunned. “I saw the picture of you as a young woman and that’s her. I mean you. You were my dream mother.”

  “Oh, honey,” Cessie breathed, overwhelmed at the statement. She reached out and they grabbed each other’s hands.

  “Rebecca mentioned John, and I wondered if he was my dream father, but it wasn’t him.”

  “No, he . . . he didn’t have dark hair.”

  “I know who he was though,” Lizzie said, reaching into her pocket for the photograph of a young Lionel. “It was him,” she said, handing it to Cessie.

  Cessie sucked in a breath as she looked at the photograph. She smiled first and then tears welled in her eyes. She turned and made her way to the table and sat. “He showed me this once. I wondered where it was.”

  Lizzie followed her and sat. “It’s yours.”

  “Oh no. I want you to have it. After all, he was your papa,” she said with a smile. “And I have him here,” she said, tapping her chest. “And here,” she added, pointing to her head. She looked at the picture again and then handed it back. “Tell me the dream again,” she said wistfully.

  “You believe me,” Lizzie said wonderingly. It wasn’t a question because she could see the truth in Cessie’s eyes.

  “Of course I do. Oh, honey, I know the power of dreams. I know how the other side reaches through to touch us and guide us. It’s happened to me, too.” She leaned back. “Just think of all the significance in your dream. At the time, it gave you a feeling of belonging that you needed. Now, it proves you’re in the right place. That you’ve come home.”

  Lizzie took hold of Cessie’s hand.

  “What was I wearing?” Cessie asked.

  The question was delightful, and Lizzie laughed even as she had to blink back tears.

  Chapter Eight

  In a coal mine known as Six, at a depth no sunlight penetrated, the blackness so dense it was palpable and disorienting, Jeremy worked with a pick and a wedge to extract the last chunks of coal from the wall without shattering it. He was lying on his side in a narrow seam, his concentration complete, and the only light came from the not quite three-inch kerosene lamp in his hat and the hat and lantern of Liam Baskerville, his helper. Liam assisted mainly by piling extracted coal into a bin, but at present he wasn’t doing much more than providing company. He’d been Jeremy’s partner in the mine from the beginning, almost eight years now, and he’d been a reliable one. But these days, this late in the day, Liam’s vigor was shot. He started the work day well enough at six a.m., but by four, he was done for.

  “My nephew started work today,” Liam said. “Newest breaker boy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Nine years old,” Liam lamented.

  This caused a moment’s pause. “Nine?”

  “He lied,” Liam said with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “Said he was twelve. Family needs the money since William took sick.”

  Jeremy knew, of course, that William, Liam’s brother-in-law and a fellow miner, had miner’s asthma so bad he could no longer work. Liam had it too, although he hadn’t fully admitted it yet. His struggle to breathe and the coughing fits made it obvious, but not as obvious as it would become as the condition progressed. Miner’s asthma wasted a man down to skin and bone. It was as if a vise slowly closed around the throat so a person couldn’t draw enough air into the lungs. In the end, a man had to choose between breathing and eating; they simply couldn’t do both. It was a bad way to die.

  But nine years of age. It wasn’t shocking, exactly, but it was sad. Jeremy had seen the breaker boys at play on their breaks. They were the only ones with the vigor to play or fight among themselves. They were skinny, scrappy lads in filthy clothing, with coal-blackened faces and limbs, who worked for eight cents an hour. Their job was to sort rock from coal and to separate pieces of coal according to size. Most of them labored six days a week, ten hours a day. The dream of every breaker boy was to become a door boy and then a mule boy, and eventually a full-fledged miner. Jeremy took aim with his pick again and struck with precision. “Should be in school.”

  “Since when the hell does should have anything to do with anything?” Liam said tiredly. “We should see the sun on occasion. William’s not yet fifty. He shouldn’t look eighty and be struggling for the little bit of air he can wheeze in.” He paused. “Eh, Charlie’s all right. Not the smartest, but he’ll make do. His brother’ll look out for him best he can.”

  “The girls still in school?”

  “No. Maura pulled Kate out this year to help at home and you know Mary’s in service at Smythe House.”

  Jeremy nodded. There were three dynasties or moguls in these parts who owned mines, farms, ranches, and businesses, and who seemed to amass wealth exponentially: Landreth, whom they worked for; the Smythes; and Howerton. They were rich men no one liked but everyone either feared, worked for, or wanted something from. Howerton was the possible exception since he was generally respected and even genuinely liked by some, including most of his own men. Old man Landreth certainly couldn’t say that.

  Of course, they hadn’t all led charmed lives. Landreth was a hard man who’d lost two wives and two of his four sons. Pete had
died in a strange accident as a young man, when he fell off a train while engaged in drunken horseplay, and Ted had suddenly gone missing years ago; no one had ever seen or heard from him again. He’d been with a friend, Stan Thomas, who had also gone missing. It was widely suspected that they’d gone off to the city to gamble, where they’d fallen into trouble that turned fatal, but no one ever knew for sure.

  For years, Landreth had owned most of the mines in the area. The one they toiled in was the sixth opened, thus its name. But then, less than a decade ago, Smythe had begun an operation that did well enough to start speculation, and in came others, including Greg Howerton. His mines had uncovered the richest veins yet, and Landreth despised him for it.

  The wonder of casual observers was that Six kept a workforce at all. It was poorly constructed and Landreth paid less than the other mine owners. The majority of the workforce stayed because of indebtedness, because Landreth paid part of the wages in script that was good only for the company-owned general store or rent for company-owned housing. He rented out hovels to his workers and overcharged for goods at the company store, the only place his employees and their families could get goods on credit. The deeper the debt became, the more trapped the men became. Meanwhile, Landreth made money coming and going.

  The one and only benefit of staying at Six for the long haul was that if a man labored at the mine for twenty years, he was awarded a pension for the next ten years. The pension was only a quarter of his usual pay, but at least it was something. Not that many lived to enjoy the benefit.

  Liam fell into another coughing fit, and when it subsided, Jeremy said, “Why don’t you go on? Get some air. It’s close enough to quitting time.”

  “I got this to finish,” Liam said, referring to the pile of coal not yet picked up.

  “I’ll get it.”

  Liam barked a final cough, turned his head and spat, and then sniffed. “It’s not right.”