Mother Lode by Carol Anita Sheldon Page B

kept her back to the view as they
climbed the sodden hills.
    When they reached the plateau at the top she
surveyed the dreary landscape. Pulling Jorie’s scarf tighter she
said, “Look, I want you to see this. Do you know where we are?”
    “I don’t like it here.”
    “It’s Papa’s mine.” She pointed to the large
stack reaching toward the sky. “That’s the chimney, puffing out big
clouds of black smoke.”
    “Like the dragon in the story.”
    “Do you know that right under our feet there
are hundreds of men working deep down in the earth— like little
ants?”
    “It isn’t pretty here, Mummy. Where are the
trees?”
    For miles around the landscape had been
denuded by the voracious appetite of the steam engines. No more the
forests of hemlock, pine, beech and maple that once had graced the
land.
    “The trees are inside the mine.”
    “Why?”
    “To hold up the walls so they won’t cave in
and bury the miners.”
    Walter added his two cents worth, “But
there’s still cave-ins. Happens all the time. Miners are buried
alive and can’t get out. Or they get kilt when they set off an
explosion.”
    “Don’t frighten him, Walter.”
    "I wouldn’t like to work down there," Jorie
said.
    A shiver went through her. “No. And you
won’t. You won’t ever have to work in a mine, I promise. That’s a
horrible way to spend your life—underground.”
    “My brothers do. They’re shaft
captains.”
    “Yes. I know.”
    “Papa—” Jorie added.
    “Papa works in an office on the grass. Way
over there where the buildings are. He only goes below once in
awhile, to check on things.”
    “It’s pitch black down there,” Walter
informed.
    “Don’t they get scared?”
    “Some of them do.” Catherine said. “They
have to go way, way down in the earth.”
    “The man-car goes straight down to the pits
of hell,” Walter whooped.
    “Walter—”
    “They call it that ‘cuz it’s so hot.
Sometimes the miners get pushed off the car, or fall off it. Then
they fall and fall a whole mile through a black tunnel! Just like
falling out of the sky, only worse, cause it’s so dark—”
    “Walter, enough!”
    “—And at the bottom, they get killed. My
brothers told me.”
    “Walter! I said stop! You’ll frighten
him.”
    Walter looked up innocently. “Sorry,
ma’am.”
    In the afternoon, Catherine sat on the sofa
with her arm around Jorie, ready to read a story. She looked up as
Walter entered the room.
    “No, you may not listen today. You disobeyed
me, continued to rant on about the mine when I told you not to. Go
to the kitchen now and work on your sums.
     
    “Your ma bleeds!” Walter announced with
devilish certainty.
    “She does not!”
    “She does. Want proof?” He backed the
younger boy against the wall in the upstairs hallway.
    “You’re lying. There’s nothing wrong with
her.”
    “Wanna bet?”
    From behind his back Walter pulled out a
soiled rag. He dangled and twirled it in front of the cornered
Jorie like a wiggling snake.
    “See? See? I told you. It come from between
her legs. Her whole insides is bleedin’ out. You won’t have a ma
fer long. Nope, she’s gonna die.”
    “It’s not true! She’s not dying.”
    “Tis so. I found it in her room.”
    “Did not.”
    “Did too. There was five of them, all
smashed down in a lard pail she hides under her bed. She don’t want
you to know, see.”
    “I don’t believe you!”
    “Come on, I’ll show you the others. It’s
hard to get the cover off the pail, but I’ll do it for you.”
    “No!” He ran downstairs, but was afraid to
report this news to his mother.
    For two days he worried that perhaps it was
true. Why else would she bleed? He imagined a constant flow of her
life energy leaking out— mostly at night, he supposed— until she
was so sick she couldn’t get out of bed. And then she’d die, like
Grandma.
    The horror was too much to bear. He lost his
appetite and Catherine thought he was sick.
    When she came to his