Furnace Mountain: or The Day President Roosevelt Came to Town Read online

  "Well, green tomatoes are good, Mama. I like yours when you fix 'em."

  "They won't be able to fix any without any corn meal though. They'll have to eat 'em raw."

  Sam worried about this and then shrugged again. "Well, maybe somebody else will have some cornmeal. You think so?"

  "Maybe," she replied doubtfully. She knew that while she was willing to give up some tomatoes, her precious cornmeal was something else. She had to buy it from the store and the bag that they had was going to have to last them through the summer. There were others in town, though, that had more and maybe they would be willing to share.

  One thing was for sure, though, and that was that they weren't going to run out of potatoes anytime soon. Sam had done a good job with the potato crop this year, even without any help, and in a week or so they would be ready to dig up. She could see the tops of some of them poking through the dirt already and they were dry and brown. They would have cucumbers, corn, peas, beans, carrots, cauliflower, lettuce, and onions, too. She didn't know how the pumpkins would fare. The seeds had been old and a gift, but time would tell.

  Sam had told her the fruit trees had held up well under the heavy ice storm that past winter and she was glad. He had been able to sell many of the apples last year. He’d kept some and she was happy about that. It had been years since Ruth had made an apple pie, or apple butter, but she used to be good at it and thought that this year she would try it again.

  There were also wild mushrooms out in the woods behind the house and Sam knew which ones to look for.

  Those were days that she felt useless. With her oldest son gone to work in a rayon factory and her youngest son doing the work that a man ought to have been doing, she knew that she was a sorry state for a mother.

  But she would get better. She would. In general, Ruth abhorred people that felt sorry for themselves and she knew that her family had more than most. The linoleum on their floor might be cracked and there might be spots in the living room where the rain leaked in during a bad storm because the roof hadn't been patched in years, but they had more than most and for that she was grateful. Jimmy had bought the farm outright when they first got married and the railroad still meant good money and she had paid her taxes that year. There was no chance that the bank was going to come in and take their house or land like so many others she had read about.

  She would get better.

  Chapter Twenty

  WITH THE SACK OF GREEN TOMATOES slung over his shoulder, Sam walked with purpose down the dirt road towards town again.

  It was hot, but he was happy and that helped some with the heat. He was already turning a deep shade of brown, brown as a butterball his daddy would have said a long time ago, and that helped him from burning. He had noticed his mama getting pink from the sun and even that made him happy.

  He knew that some women, like Mrs. Lewis, didn't like having color on their skin but the pink that his mama was turning meant that she had been outside some. He reckoned that sooner or later she would start wearing a hat and protecting herself, but right now he thought that the color made her pretty.

  The first house he came to belonged to Mrs. Wiley. She was sixty years old but she looked ancient with her stooped back and gray hair. Mr. Wiley was a farmer and they used to have horses that Sam had liked to watch run around their field. They had sold the horses to pay for the taxes on their farm, though, and now they were down to an old one-eyed mule named Kate that always screamed at Sam as he walked by. Today was no exception.

  "It's just me, Kate," he hollered as he stepped up onto the porch. The floorboards were sagging but the wood was clean and he could see Mrs. Wiley through the screen door. She was in the kitchen, standing at the stove, and he could smell something sweet cooking. It made his stomach rumble.

  "Mrs. Wiley?" he called.

  When she turned around and saw Sam, she smiled thinly, wiped her hands on her apron tied tightly around her waist, and walked to the door.

  "How do," she said, her voice muffled by the screen. "What brings you around here?"

  "I came because there's a family in town that just came in today. They don't got nowheres to stay or nothing to eat. I'm taking 'em some tomatoes and I was hoping that you might have some cornmeal so that they could fry 'em up and make a nice meal for themselves."

  He might have imagined it, but it seemed that Mrs. Wiley took a step backwards. He certainly didn't imagine the crease that formed in her forehead and the disapproving look she sent toward his sack. "I don't know, Sam. We ain't got much to spare ourselves. The cornmeal we got has to last us all the way through the summer and then some."

  This might not have been completely true, since she was very frugal about the amount that they used and it was just the two of them. She had figured just last week that they probably had enough cornmeal, flour, and sugar to get them through the fall. But you could never be too prepared and emergencies could mean that it went faster than she as supposing. Besides, she didn't like people asking for handouts. It was one thing to help your neighbor but another thing to help people you didn't know.

  Sam couldn't stop the disappointment from showing. "Well, I guess I understand. Mama said the same thing and that's why she gave me the tomatoes. Thanks anyway though."

  He wasn’t halfway through her yard when he heard her calling for him.

  "Sam!" she cried, stepping out onto the porch steps.

  He turned around expectantly, a faint smile on his face. On her face, she wore an expression of guilt. He wasn’t yet old enough to understand complicated guilt in adults, but he knew an “I’m sorry” when he saw one.

  "If you want to look in the root cellar we might have some potatoes stored in there. I don't know how good they are but you can take what you can find. At least fill up the rest of your bag."

  By the time he came out, he was dirty and grimy, and the potatoes that he had salvaged were small and some shriveled, but he thought that if you cut off the bad parts of them they might make a nice soup or could even be fried for a good meal.

  This time as he set off down the road, his bag might have been heavier, but his step was even lighter.

  ***

  Miss Casteel met Sam by the depot. She had watched him walk down Main Street, pulling a large bag behind him. His face was nearly as black as the workers' that came up out of the coal mines, but he looked pleased with himself. She waited patiently for him and when he grew nearer, he picked up his pace and all but ran the last few steps.

  "I got some food for that family," he said happily, opening the bag for her to peer into. "Not everybody could give anything, but a few did. We got tomatoes, potatoes, some salt, a little cornmeal from old Mr. Leroy, some radishes, and some beans. The beans ain't much, but Mr. Hawkins said that if you put 'em in some water and soaked 'em and then put in some salt they'd get bigger and they might make a good meal."

  "Where did you get all this, Sam?" Marianne asked with a smile. When she tried to lift the bag herself, she could barely get it off the ground. He must have carried it for miles, she thought with surprise. And he was such a little thing.

  "Oh, from here and there. I mostly just knocked on doors and asked. Not everyone wanted to give anything, though," he said sadly, shaking his head. "I guess not everybody has anything to spare. But some did. I put the tomatoes on top, too, so that they wouldn't get squished. Those are from us."

  "Well, let's get you cleaned up and then we'll take these on to the mayor's office." She started to help him lift the bag, but he took a step back.

  "If it's okay, I'd ruther go ahead and take it to him now and then get cleaned up. I've been carrying it a long way and I'd like him to see what all I got in case we need more."

  She doubted very seriously that he could fit anything else into the bag, or if the family in question had seen that much food in a long time, but she smiled. She should have known that he would be proud of his accomplishment–and for good reason!

  As they walked side by side down the deserted str
eet to the mayor's office, Marianne realized that Sam might have learned a lesson that day that she wouldn't have been able to teach him in her schoolroom. Not only had he seen the good-natured side of people, the side that was willing to reach out, but he had seen the other side, too, and both appeared to be taken in stride.

  ***

  Homer sat in his chair, contemplated the bag of food before him, and scratched his head. Louella stood nearby and peered down at him with satisfaction.

  "Not the trouble you might have been expecting, Homer?" she inquired.

  "Well, you hear stories…" he said lamely.

  "And what kind of trouble could a poor woman who can barely stand, a disillusioned man, and a barefoot boy cause, exactly?"

  "None, and I'm ashamed so I wish you would stop reminding me. You're worse than my wife, sometimes." Neither one of them had the heart to mention the fact that Homer's wife was gone and wouldn't be coming back and nagging him any time in the near future.

  A knock on the door had Louella facing Mrs. Riley who stood in the frame, sheepishly holding an armful of fabric.

  "I keep thinking about that little boy and all that work he went to. Did you know that he walked all the way into town in this heat with that bag? Well, I still can't give any cornmeal or flour, but I found these rags. They're not much, but they're clean and if she's handy with a needle and thread then she can make some shirts and a dress out of them. I would have brought some of my own clothes, but I knowed that anything I had would swim on her."

  Louella and Homer both thought that she was probably right, but they thoughtfully kept this information to themselves.

  "Thank you," Louella said pleasantly. "I think these will work just fine and I have needle and thread to spare. We certainly appreciate you coming into town and bringing them."

  "Well, my husband got onto me when I told him what had happened and he scolded me for not offering little Sam a ride into town. I ought to have, I know, but I wasn't thinking. You hear these stories about people coming in and stealing things and causing trouble and we just don't want any trouble here. But I hear there's a boy…"

  Louella nodded. "There is and I think that if you met the family you might feel differently. We know we've been lucky here, but we've seen a few people have to leave and I would hate to think that one of our people was out there, being turned away."

  She bent her head in shame. " I never once thought about what might have happened if it had been my family out there in this heat with nothing to eat and no place to go. What are they going to do?"

  Homer rose from his chair and walked out from around his desk. The Rileys generally kept to themselves and weren't known for making regular trips into town, but he liked them and was always glad to see them.

  "We don't know yet. I'm hoping they stay on a couple of days until the boy's feet get healed. They could use a couple of good meals, too, and Sam's food will not go to waste. After that, it's hard to say. They're staying out on Sawmill Road right now and the doctor's seeing to them. I haven't had a chance to get out there, but I hope to make it this evening."

  "Well, if you need anything you let me know. I best be getting back home now. Mr. Riley worries about it getting dark and me being out by myself."

  Homer smiled as he watched her make her way down the sidewalk. Darkness was still hours away and he had the feeling that Mrs. Riley could handle herself in whatever situation she encountered.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CAROLYN, HUBERT, AND DONALD Maynard huddled together in the sturdy barn that Chester Pyle had built a decade before. Although they shared the dwelling with three cows, a mule, and a horse, the hay that they were sitting on was fresh and for the first time in weeks there was something over their heads.

  Donald had almost fallen asleep several times, but experience had taught him to stay awake in case someone came and ran them out; he still couldn't get used to the fact that nobody was going to make them leave.

  He had been afraid when the men had come up to them on the tracks, especially when he had seen the hammer, but they had been kind and had let them sit down for a spell and Donald sure did appreciate that. He also appreciated the lemonade but even though he had wanted more, he had stopped after one glass. He was still thirsty but was afraid that if he asked for too much, people might think that he was a nuisance and make them leave.

  The doctor was kind, too, and had washed his feet and put bandages on them. The ointment he applied smelled awfully bad and it had stung like fire at first, but now it felt kind of good and he almost didn't notice that they hurt.

  Carolyn was lost in her own thoughts. It occurred to her that while they had a cool place to sit and sleep for the night, they didn't have a thing in the world to eat. She wasn't so much concerned about herself. The heat had always taken her appetite–even when they did have things to eat and she was usually satisfied just with something to drink. But, she worried about Donald. He was far too thin and he never complained, even though he had to be hungry.

  Her disappointment in herself was overwhelming. She thought she had done an alright job of being a mother and a wife in the beginning, but the past few years had been hard. She'd done some mending and canning and made a little money, but nothing she did had been enough. She was always tired. Dead tired. Some days she felt so exhausted that she just wanted to go to sleep and sleep for weeks, maybe never waking up.

  This disturbed her because as far as she was concerned, Donald was still a child and this was not how she had envisioned his life. She felt guilt at the fact that she didn't have the energy to play with him, or that his idle chatter sometimes made her angry and nervous. She kept telling herself that one day things would be different, she would have more patience, they would have more food and more money, but she always realized that she had now been telling herself that for years and nothing was changing.

  Hubert was also lost. His thoughts were not turned to past disappointments, however, or even how they would eat that night. He would steal if he had to, although he wouldn't steal from Mr. Pyle who had so graciously offered them his barn. He would go back into town along the road and find some chickens or eggs or raid a garden, but he knew that there was always food for someone who was willing to look.

  Instead, he focused his thoughts on the conversations he’d overheard in town. The president of the country was coming and there was excitement abound. Work was going on like he hadn't seen in years. Aside from the depot that was being restored, he had also seen some storefronts with work going on, too. Where work was going on, help was needed. He hadn't had time to sort this out yet, but he was good with a hammer and nails, as he had built his own house back in the day.

  His father had taught him that if a man was willing to work, work would come along. Hubert thought that first thing in the morning he would go back into town and see who he needed to speak to about it.

  ***

  Sam had never stepped inside his teacher's home before and he did so now with reverence. Although it was a small house with only three rooms, he had never been inside something so clean. His own house was always tidy, mind you, but the glass on the windows, the wood on the floors, and the Formica on the countertops in Miss Deal's house positively gleamed.

  Self–consciously, Sam removed his shoes inside the door and placed them back on the porch so that he wouldn't track in any dirt. He raised up his foot and looked at the bottom. It wasn’t so bad. He’d washed himself off that morning. Of course, he’d worked hard since then.

  Marianne beckoned to him from the kitchen where she set about turning on the water and bringing out a cloth. "Come on in here, Sam, and we'll get you cleaned up. It shouldn't take long."

  He slowly walked the length of the parlor, tidy with its sparse furniture and few personal belongings, and went into the bright and cheerful kitchen. She had a tin coffee can full of wild flowers on her kitchen table and another smaller glass jar of daisies on her countertop. He couldn't remember ever having flowers in his house, although hi
s mama liked flowers and he thought it might be a nice thing to have around.

  "I know I don't have a lot of things," she said apologetically as she pulled out a chair for him and motioned him to sit down. He did so gingerly, so as not to get any dirt on the chair. He was suddenly aware of the caked mud on his shins and the dust on his arms and knees. "When I first moved down here I didn't have a lot and, well, there isn't much to buy really. It's just me living here."

  "It's a very nice place," he said politely. "It's very clean."

  "That's because I don't have enough things to clutter it up," she laughed as she began dabbing at his face with the wet cloth. "Now my father, he loved books. He had books everywhere. We even had stacks of books that acted as tables. I brought some of them with me, but the rest I had to sell. There were so many, you see, and I couldn't bring all of them. Do you have books in your home?"

  He shrugged. "Just the Bible. Mama brought it when she married Daddy. It was her mama's Bible. Daddy always had an almanac, too. My brother Jonathan liked to read but he only read books at school."

  "Do you like to read?" Sam closed his eyes and let her run the cloth over his eyelids. He had faint memories of his mama doing this for him when he was little and it was nice, soothing somehow. He almost didn't mind the fact that she was treating him like a baby.

  "I like hearing you read. I think I read pretty good. I'd like to read more books about ghosts and mysteries. I like those the best."

  She smiled. "I think I have some of those that I could bring to school and let you borrow. You'd have to take good care of the, though."

  Sam opened his eyes. "Oh, I would. I'd take real good care of them. You're not supposed to get books dirty or nothing because then nobody else could read 'em."

  "That's right, Sam."

  While he wasn't completely clean from the adventures of the day, she had managed to get most of the muck and grime off of his face and hands. She wasn't a sentimental woman for the most part and standing in the kitchen with him did not make her wish for her own child, but after he left she was aware of how quiet her little house was. Marianne actually preferred the solitude and the peacefulness that came with living alone, but from time to time she did think that a touch of noise here and there would have been welcomed.