Red Helmet by Homer Hickam Page A

see.”
    â€œNavy Jones?”
    â€œYes, ma’am, that’s right. Name’s really Ernest. Served in the navy, you see, so that’s how he got his nickname. Anyway, he’ll be fine. Doctor K will fix him up.”
    â€œDoctor K?”
    â€œOur doc. She goes inside the mine when a man’s hurt, but likely Navy came out on his own.”
    â€œ She goes inside the mine?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. Doctor K’s a lady and, despite it, a dang good doctor. Naw, Navy’s gonna be just fine.”
    â€œBut the way Cable rushed off, he acted like it was serious.”
    The boy shrugged. “He’s the superintendent so he’s responsible for everything.”
    â€œIs your father a miner too?”
    â€œAin’t no more.”
    â€œWhat does he do?”
    â€œPlays a harp, I reckon. Up in heaven.”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry!”
    â€œWell, I don’t know why. It weren’t your fault. Anyway, I never knew him. He got killed in the mine when Ma was pee-gee with me.” He saw her perplexed look. “Pregnant, you know? Anyway, piece of slate fell on him, just like Mr. Jordan’s daddy. It happens. There’s some rough roof in that old mine.”
    Song was saddened by the boy’s obvious cover-up of his true feelings. “It’s a dangerous place, isn’t it?” she asked.
    Young Henry only shrugged. “You got to watch yourself in there. But, ma’am, you don’t need to worry about Cable. He runs a safe mine. Just about everybody says so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am. Got to dump this ’barrow, then feed the horses.”
    Song waited until the horses were happily munching their oats in their stalls before asking, “Could you stay and have dinner with me, Young Henry? You can tell me all about coal mining.”
    â€œThank you, ma’am, but no,” he answered, politely. “I got chores to do at home. But I’ll be here tomorrow to make sure everything is done what needs to be done around the stable, and I guess you can ask me some more questions then.”
    Song saw the boy wanted to go and said, “Thank you, Young Henry.”
    â€œNo problem, ma’am.” He started walking down the driveway.
    Song called after him. “How will you get home?”
    â€œHitchhike,” he replied over his shoulder.
    â€œHitchhiking in this day and age? Aren’t you afraid?”
    Young Henry stopped and scratched his head. “Not unless I stand in the middle of the road. Them coal trucks will surely run over you.” Then, whistling, he kicked an acorn down the driveway.
    â€œOpie lives,” Song said, shaking her head, then went inside the house and headed for the kitchen. More wine, that was the ticket.
    I T WAS , ACCORDING to the glowing clock on the bedside table, nearly three in the morning before Cable climbed in bed beside her. She reached out and touched his arm, then walked her fingers onto his chest.
    â€œI’m awfully tired, honey,” he said, “and the alarm clock is going to go off in two hours.”
    She withdrew her hand. “You’re going back to work?”
    â€œGot to,” he yawned. “Big mess to clean up.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œIt would take too much energy to explain it to you,” he said, then rolled over on his side. Song stared at the high moonlit ceiling and listened to her husband breathe. She was still listening when she fell asleep. When she woke and felt for him, he was gone.

Six
    C able had been taught by his parents, Wire and Jensey Jordan, all the things a West Virginia boy needed to know for a good life: how not to get lost in the woods, how to drive a truck, and how to treat other people with respect, no matter how low or shiftless they might be. He’d learned to say “sir” to every adult male, and “ma’am” to every adult female. He was taught to protect the weak and not be