Читать книгу Bed Rock - Jack Bethea - Страница 12

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When Alice arose next morning she found him in the same chair. His face was gray and his eyes tired. In her manner, Blackford found no reminder of the night before.

She appeared from the kitchen, shrouded in a bungalow apron and with flour on her forearms. "Do you want your egg fried on one side or both?" she asked.

"Either," said her husband briefly. He rose gingerly and stretched his cramped muscles. "Come in and sit down. I have something to say to you."

Alice dropped her airy manner and was again a grave-eyed woman, jealous of her own pride. Blackford leaned against the mantel and stirred the dead ashes with his toe. He had difficulty in beginning.

"I suppose I should have expected this, but I didn't," he said soberly. "I thought you ... But never mind. I don't care to speak about myself, but of you. You cared for me at one time, but if that is gone, I can only blame myself. I thought I was to have another chance. If I'm not, I don't see that there is anything I can do. If you want to hurt me, you can. I'll not try to deny that. You raise an issue between us I hoped to settle in another way. But it is out of my hands now and I can only agree in what you wish." His face was inscrutable and he spoke without heat. He smiled painfully. "I hoped this would be home to you, but if you feel as you do, that is impossible. But this is your house. That was what I wanted to say. I shan't intrude. I'll trouble you as little as possible. What I am trying to say is that I know my place. You're free and you're here because you wanted to come. I wondered why, but you have explained. It is all clear now. I shan't ask you to go and I shan't protest." Blackford straightened and his voice took a deeper note. "Whatever I did, I never deliberately hurt you. I don't think I'll ever forgive you for last night. I've seen much cruelty, but nothing like that. You did not even have the excuse of anger. And you planned all this! I'll never forgive you for that. Never!"

"It will not be necessary," said Alice. "You think you have been badly treated. You pity yourself. I am rather pleased that you do. It is what I hoped. I did not mean for you to be indifferent. As for forgiveness"—she laughed—"wait until I ask it."

Blackford's voice was quiet. "I shall. And you will ask it."

"No. Not now or ever. Between you and me there can be no forgiveness."

"That's final then. This is the end. It's such a pity that ... I should have been just too late. Are we quits now? You have had your ... requital. Are you satisfied?"

"This is a beginning," she repeated.

"You must be bitter. But then you have cause ... I judged your nature differently. I shall not be so trusting again. Can you continue like this? What of the future?"

"Let the future take care of itself."

"Then I have finished. I shan't speak of this again. I ... I ... But what's the use! I don't want any breakfast. I'm going to the office."

Blackford was curiously numb when he left the house. He felt as if something had gone out of his life. There had always been the hope that he could undo the past by the sincerity of his penitence. He hoped no longer. He must put that behind him. But what else mattered now? He stumbled a little as he walked.

Early as it was, he found Stringfellow bent over a desk. He rose slowly with a surprised greeting. "Hardly expected you down so early, sir. I've only just gotten here myself. I was going over yesterday's figures from the tipple."

"Which is my desk?" asked Blackford and Stringfellow indicated a corner. The top was bare of papers and a new chair stood invitingly before it. Blackford sat down indifferently. Stringfellow waited for questions.

"Was there anything you wanted to know, sir? Or did you figure on lookin' around outside first?"

"Let the outside go for the present," Blackford said. "How long since you had a superintendent here?"

"About two months."

"Who has been running the mine?"

"I've handled the inside and Joe Lawler looked out for the shaft."

"Lawler is the general foreman?"

"Yes, sir, that's his title. He has really been chief engineer, tipple boss, mine foreman, and everything else outside."

"Isn't there an assistant superintendent?"

"Not a real one. Lawler said he would wait until the central office sent the new superintendent before he began to ask for more men. He thought you would bring your own assistant."

"Rather a slipshod way of running things. Who handles the payrolls?"

"I do. Me and young Baskin. He's my helper here."

"You sign the checks?"

"We don't use checks. I make up the payroll on Lawler's report from the weighman at the tipple. I O.K. it as chief clerk and send it to Birmingham. Our office there sends us the money."

"Very good." Blackford's tone was uninterested. "Suppose you continue the arrangement for the present. How many men are working?"

"Picks or all told?"

"Both."

"Two hundred and forty-one pickmen checked in this morning and seventy-one others on top and the dead workers below."

"What is production?"

"It usually goes about a thousand tons a day." Stringfellow hesitated slightly, but Blackford was staring out of the window and did not notice. Seeing Stringfellow still waiting, he waved his hand impatiently.

"Put the daily reports for the last week on my desk and get on with your work. I shan't disturb your routine just yet. I'll look on a while before I take over. You and Lawler can carry on. By the way, when you get Lawler on the phone, tell him I want him."

"Very well, sir."

Blackford did not study the reports his clerk presently placed before him. Instead, he stared out at the unfamiliar prospect, in his abstraction hardly seeing the pines on Double Oak Mountain. Blackford ignored his desk and lived over the night before. Alice's change had been utterly unexpected, just when he thought he had retrieved his error. She was right. He had been easy. But not again. He would give her no opportunity to repeat the taunt.

Sunk in bitterness, he was oblivious of his surroundings. He had no anger against Alice. His scorn was turned against himself.

A man in grimy overalls, smudged face, and with a lighted lamp in the miner's cap on his head came quietly into the room. Blackford glanced up to see him advancing. Blue eyes beamed friendliness out of the black smear of his face.

"This is Mr. Blackford, ain't it?" he boomed, his voice nearly a shout. "This is Lawler, Mr. Blackford. Glad to see you here, sir. Stringfellow told me you come last night and I been waitin' for you to send for me."

"All I wanted was to tell you to go ahead as you have been. At least, temporarily. I'll look things over before I do anything."

"That's right. You'll find they do things kind of different down here from in the East. Hear you come from Pittsburgh. I come from Wales, myself, when I was a boy. Been right here in this workin' ever since it opened."

"Very interesting. Do you need more help?"

Lawler shook his head. "I kin git along all right until you see what you want to do. 'Course I am kind of short-handed at the tipple, but I been gittin' along for a couple of months and I'll be all right. The boys'll be wantin' to see you. When you comin' down?"

"Pretty soon. When I'm familiar with things up here. When I wish any changes, I will call you or notices will be posted on the bulletin board. I think that's all just now."

"Thank you, sir," Lawler said cordially as he turned away. "I hopes you like it and I'll be waitin' for you."

Lawler seemed competent, Blackford decided, and dismissed him to return to his thoughts. He grew restless in the small office. It seemed to stifle him. Double Oak Mountain beckoned and he rose abruptly and left without a word to Stringfellow.

The breeze fanned his hot brow and the murmur of the pines soothed his spirit as he walked. At the summit, he found a shelving plateau with the giant oak that gave the mountain its name. Huge rocks were scattered about and, seated on one, he scanned the spaces before him.

On one side was Cahaba Valley with its straggling houses and the gash of the mine shaft under the shoulder of the mountain. On the other was a valley that stretched in unbroken green as far as he could see, the blue haze of the mid-afternoon broken here and there by a spiral of smoke that curled lazily up from the trees. The smoke puzzled Blackford, for he could see no houses. There was no break in the deep green of the pines, relieved at times by the lighter shades of the oaks. At the horizon, Blackford caught the shadowy outlines of another high peak. Below he saw the gleam of a stream in the narrow gap that joined Cahaba Valley to the one at his feet.

As Blackford gazed, his jangling nerves grew quieter. It was almost hypnotic. Leaning against a bowlder, with the sun warm to his back, he wished for glasses that he might scan the valley more closely. Imperceptibly he grew drowsy. His emotional strain lessened. His taut nerves relaxed. His head went back against the rock, his thoughts moved slower ... and he slept.

Blackford awoke with a start to find the sun low. He was ravenously hungry as he walked slowly down the mountain, his thoughts still busy. He passed through the village, meeting the day-shift men as they passed from the shaft to their homes. They eyed him, but did not speak and neither did he. At the office, he saw Stringfellow still bent over his desk. He continued up the hill to the Residency, his heart failing a little at the thought of again meeting Alice. He was sensitive. But he shrugged his shoulders and pulled himself together. She had not whimpered. Neither would he.

In this spirit he met her. She had been busy unpacking trunks and arranging their belongings. He had ordered a regular supply of groceries from the commissary and found an appetizing supper awaiting him.

To his surprise, Alice met him casually. She was impersonally friendly and he forced himself to equal her manner. They passed the evening in desultory conversation.

Blackford soon fell into a routine of existence. He was frankly uninterested in the mine. Now that he had direction of a colliery, he felt curiously listless. He preferred to sit at his desk and think. When the office became oppressive or he grew weary of the sight of Stringfellow, busy with cost sheets and production totals, he flung out of the office to the summit of Double Oak Mountain.

Blackford made no attempt to take charge of the mine. He was content for Lawler and Stringfellow to continue as before his arrival. Both seemed competent. Why should he bother? He signed the papers Stringfellow placed before him, but he rarely troubled to read them. At daily reports from the tipple and commissary, he barely glanced.

He spent more and more time on Double Oak, staring into the blue distances and thinking and dreaming. He did not ask himself where he was drifting. His interest in life had failed. Vaguely he was dissatisfied, but his energy seemed sapped.

Alice, apparently, found no difficulty about housekeeping. She volunteered little about the house or how she spent her days and he did not ask. He avoided her when possible, but occasionally they spoke casually. Blackford dreaded these moments, for behind her words he felt a mockery that stung him, but not enough to spur him to action.

"You've been here almost two weeks now," Alice said one night. "How do you find it?"

"Well enough."

"And the mine. Is it what you thought?"

"All mines are more or less alike. I see no difference in this one."

"And the work? I am interested in that. I remember how badly you wanted it."

Blackford moved restlessly and glanced at her sharply. Did she guess how little he had done? But that was not possible. She had hardly left the Residency, seeming content to play at housekeeping. His answer was cautious: "I shall not complain, no matter what happens."

"I did not expect that. I was merely curious to see what you would do. That was your justification to my father and I recall what he told me. I had no personal interest."

Again Blackford stirred. Her words irritated him. She had done enough—why not leave him alone? What did the mine matter to her? She was interested only in seeing his pain. Blackford retired into himself. He was determined to deny her that satisfaction and his tone matched her own.

"That is only another way of reminding me that you are indifferent. Thank you, I shall not forget. You have not found me presuming?"

If Alice guessed at his discomfort, she did not reveal it. Her eyes were veiled as she answered. "Oh, no. You have been so very busy, I wondered what you were doing. You never mention the mine."

Blackford laughed shortly. "Would that be likely? I could hardly expect interest from you."

Alice's voice was reflective. "I see you have not forgotten. Well, neither have I."

They always ended like that. When Blackford could bear it no longer, he left the room abruptly. He seemed to feel Alice's eyes follow him in amusement that he should be so easily disturbed.

Blackford felt that she was attempting to lure him to another declaration of his love. She should not have it. No matter his hurt, she should not know.

Blackford made no acquaintances or friends as the days passed. He knew no more of Cahaba now than when he had come. It worried him only vaguely. He did not care. Under the irritant of his thoughts, he grew silent and dour.

Blackford never met any one on Double Oak Mountain, though the trail seemed much traveled. He saw it continued over the peak into the oaks and toward the valley on the other side. Weary of sitting motionless on his accustomed perch against the biggest bowlder, he decided one afternoon to explore. The path plunged abruptly down and he picked his way cautiously. A log presently barred further progress and he wondered idly why it had not been cut away. He stepped over it carelessly, there was a sharp click and his leg was held fast. In a sudden panic, he struggled to free himself, lost his balance, and pitched over the log on his face.

Struggling to a sitting posture, Blackford found his foot imprisoned in a bear trap, anchored to a tree with a logging chain. The teeth had been filed from the steel jaws and his flesh was not lacerated, but the heavy pressure on his leg rapidly grew painful.

He tried fruitlessly to extricate his foot; he could not force open the jaws without a lever and there was none within reach. After a time, he gave up the futile attempt and resigned himself to waiting. His foot grew numb as the blood was cut off and he attempted to ease his leg by rubbing it. As he worked he caught the sound of footsteps as some one came toward him leisurely. Blackford waited, his lips compressed and his face white.

"Hurry up!" he called impatiently. "Help me out of this dam' trap."

He was prepared for anything except the girl who appeared at his cry. Lying awkwardly on his back he gazed up at her.

"My goodness! See what Dad has caught in his bear trap!" she exclaimed, blue eyes under level brows regarding Blackford.

"I don't know who Dad is, but I'd like to," Blackford answered irritably. "He's too careless with traps. What did he think he would catch?"

The girl stood over him, with no move to free him. "Not you, perhaps, but some one like you," she observed.

Blackford struggled to his knees. "Have you a key or anything? How do you get it open?"

"I haven't any key, but I suppose I can release you when I know you ought to get out."

"Ought to get out? Why shouldn't I get out?"

"What were you looking for down this path?"

"Nothing. I was just exploring."

"You haven't been in the mountains long or you'd know better than that. Exploring isn't safe around Cahaba."

Blackford leaned back with ironical philosophy and now looked full at his questioner. She was oddly out of place. She wore a stylish sport skirt and her feet were in serviceable walking shoes. Woolen hose peeped from under her skirt and on her head was a white knit cap, held rakishly by a long jade pin. Tall she seemed, with the delicate coloring that goes with red hair. Blackford, now that he thought of it, was struck by the purity of her speech. Nothing of the mountains there, either.

"Let's get on with it," he said calmly. "What other questions must I answer before you will help?"

"Who are you?" asked the girl bluntly. She bent over Blackford and felt beneath each lapel of his coat. Her hand went to his vest and then to his pockets, patting them lightly.

Blackford realized he was being searched, and light broke. "Do you think I am an officer?" he cried. "No wonder you waited."

"It's a good thing you're not," returned the girl dryly. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Pardon me. My name is Blackford," with too-elaborate ceremony. "Warren Blackford, and at present I am superintendent at Cahaba."

The girl's face changed. With a cry of commiseration, she searched for a pole to use as a lever in prying apart the jaws of the trap. "Why didn't you say so?" she exclaimed contritely. "But then it was my own stupidity. Mr. Stringfellow told me you were here and I should have known you. By your clothes if nothing else."

Finding a stout club, she inserted it beside Blackford's foot. Throwing her body against it, she sprung the jaws enough to allow him to draw out his foot. He stood up and winced at the pains of returning circulation.

"Whom should I thank for the rescue?" he asked.

"I am Margaret Shackleford," the girl answered. She spoke as if the name should have been enough.