Deep River Burning (6 page)

Chapter 10

Swept Away

She didn’t sleep that night. Instead, she read her father’s books, his papers, his documents and put a great deal of faith in her instincts about the future of Adena. When the time of the meeting came, she waited in the office behind the large assembly room and stared at the wall. She was a hothead and she knew it, but it didn’t matter. She had to fight for what she knew was right, for what she knew was true in her heart regardless of what anyone else said.

Over two hundred people arrived at the town hall, some bewildered and looking at one another with confusion and suspicion, wondering which preacher of doom had called the gathering. Denver was accompanied by members of the Adena Coalition and other grass roots activist groups that were concerned for the town. Surprisingly, they were suspicious of Denver as well. They didn’t believe in her. They didn’t trust her. They told her that she would learn the hard way that she couldn’t make a difference any more than they could, and a part of her believed them. She knew that all she could do was create more awareness about the impact of the mine fire, ask people to think about their assumptions, and demand complete and accurate information from authorities. In the end, she knew that each person would have to decide for themselves.

She walked out to the assembly room and saw everyone talking to one another. Some were socializing, some complaining, some already lashing out in their private groups. She tightened her jaw and stood on a small corner stage area in the front of the room as she spoke.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Denver Oakley, daughter of Ted and Savannah Oakley,” she said loudly. The room quieted. “My father was the head of the town council before he was killed. I am the one who called this meeting.” Then she heard snickering and light swearing and watched several citizens get up to leave.

“Yes, you can leave now and go to your home that you are so sure is safe, or you can listen to what I have to say. Either way, your life is going to change, whether you choose to listen to me tonight or not.” She paused and listened to the continued harsh remarks and efforts to discredit her.

“How do you know that it is only the south side of the town that is on fire? How do you know which way the fire is moving? How do you know your water is safe to drink? What is your proof? You are so sure about what you know that maybe you should share your proof with the rest of us so that we can get on with our lives without worry. What do you know of the mine structure under this town? What do you know of coal and heat and history? There are smoking sink holes consuming sections of town, and the main thoroughfare through this town has been ruptured, and still some of you say, there is no fire! Based on what evidence do you draw that conclusion? Your only source of information has been the Office of Surface Mining, a bureau that has much to lose in Adena and due to botched efforts to stop the fire, has perhaps already lost a great deal. Of money of course. It is always about money.”

“Get to the point! I want to go home and watch the game!” A man said looking around to see if others were laughing at him.

“And you sir. Aren’t you the man whose wife died two years ago? Have you been to the cemetery recently, where your wife was buried?” Denver asked in a softer tone. He didn’t answer but glared at her fiercely.

“Have you seen the gravestones, Mr. Roush? I went for a walk, late last night, in Phelp’s cemetery. And there in the darkness of night I could see a soft glow. And then came the smell, and then the crackling sound. Some of the graves are on fire, Mr. Roush. Are you going to choose to be angry at me for that?” The room had grown quiet during her talk with Mr. Roush, but it was by no means a vote of support.

“An independent mining company is going to be hired to research and publish the findings of the Adena mine fire. If I get no financial assistance from the council or government, then I will pay for it myself with the money my father left to me. I am also organizing a committee to engage in a sit-in outside the government office to have access to the documents being held there indicating the status of the mine fire. A march will be held two days from now from five to seven in the evening starting west on Center Street and then heading north on Locust Avenue for those who wish to give their support to the relocation efforts. Meet at Thompson’s General Store.”

At this point, the noise increased throughout the room as those who supported her cheered and those who were opposed began shouting at her. There was name calling, and a fistfight was stopped by others in the crowd. There was a woman sitting in the front row who was sewing a quilt. She had not taken her eyes from the quilt once to look up at Denver. She stood up from her chair, bundled her quilt with the needle balled up on the inside, and raised her forehead and chest up, but never took one look at Denver’s face.

Denver exited through the back door of the town hall, and before she could see to whom it belonged, a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to the left. It was Josh. She hadn’t known he was there, but he seemed to always know where he could find her. They ran down the back street behind the town hall, passed some businesses, houses, and the school yard. She was out of breath and gasping for air, but he wouldn’t let her stop running. He took her to his house where they both quickly got into his truck and drove to the river.

They boarded a motor boat and went to the center of river. Josh was carrying a bag, and when she asked him of its contents, he wouldn’t tell her. He turned off the boat, and they floated gently in their own waves until the water became very still around them. A lost gosling could be heard in the distance calling for its mother.

“There,” Josh said out of breath. “No one is going to find you here.”

“Josh, you know I don’t need to be rescued,” she said, quietly admiring his friendship.

“Maybe not, but you almost started a riot! I was afraid for myself.” Josh opened his bag and took out two small blankets and handed one to her.

“I brought you here for another reason,” he said.

“Night fishing?”

“No, I need to talk to you.”

“About what?

“I may be leaving here soon, Denver. I’d rather live in a cave in Alaska for the rest of my life than die at that damn factory taking orders from some asshole who has more money in his wallet any day of the week as spending cash than I make in a month. Perhaps there is nothing here for any of us anymore. I know that you will be leaving soon, once Adena is on its way to some sort of resolution. My parents are going to kill themselves with alcohol no matter what I say or do, and other than you, there is nothing but emptiness here. I feel like I’m surrounded by an enemy I can’t see. Do you understand?”

“More than you know,” she replied. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. Someplace where there is water. Or I may go to the mountains, Montana maybe. Mountains and lakes are there, or North Carolina. Mountains in the west and ocean in the east.”

“That sounds beautiful,” she said feeling a terrible sadness at the thought of not having him in her life anymore.

“I’m scared. You think I never get scared, don’t you?” Josh asked.

“You don’t seem to fear much. But it would be hard, being out there alone, not knowing how you are going to live and—”

“No, it isn’t that. I’m not afraid of being alone, and I know I’ll survive.”

“Then what is it?”

He thought for a while as they both looked to the bank of Desert Ring Island where a tree branch cracked and its echo bounced off the surface of the water. A deer might have been walking, or perhaps it was old Mr. Pilner.

“I’m afraid of not finding what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how will you know where to search?”

“I won’t. I’ll just keep seeking until I find it.” She gazed at him with a puzzled face, although she wasn’t puzzled.

“I have to find it. Do you understand? If I don’t, it’s going to kill me,” he said with more frustration in his voice than she could bear.

“I don’t know what to say. Perhaps we shouldn’t talk anymore.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing . . . I just think maybe we should go. Everything is changing, and we can’t stop it.”

“What are you running from?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“I wish you would open up to me. You have got to trust me. Someday you’re going to realize that I am the only person in this world who means a damn thing to you, that I am the only one who is going to be there for you. It will scream so loud at you that you will feel like a fool for not seeing it earlier. Once the bullshit of this place and all your fears have run their course and you see that all you’ve had to prove was in vain and for people who don’t matter, then you will know. You don’t realize it now because so much has changed and all of us are walking around waiting for the ground to collapse, but deep inside of you there is a young woman who is crying out to be loved.”

Denver didn’t have a response. She became aware of the stillness and silence and Josh’s intensity looking into her frightened core. He let go of the gentle grip he had on her arm and nudged her slightly to go back to the other side of the boat as he started the motor. He didn’t go back to the banks of Adena though. He went to Desert Ring Island. He steered the boat right up onto the stones as if he had done it a million times before by himself.

He tried to help her step out of the boat, but she pushed him away. He led her a short distance into the woods to a dark grove where a large pine tree created a canopy with its needled branches that mirrored the circumference of its wide expanse. He got down on his hands and knees to spread the blankets out over the bed of dried pine needles. The air was humid and smelled of evergreen and bark. He sat down and waved for her to follow. She knew that if she wanted to go back she could just turn around and walk to the boat and leave him there. He knew that too, but he also knew she wouldn’t leave.

She resented him for the power he had over her. He gave her one small kiss on the neck and from that moment, a rush of emotions led both of them beyond any inhibitions they may have been feeling. Denver held on to him as if she would lose everything the minute she let go. He kissed her sweetly, leaving no part of her face untouched. Her face was wet, but she didn’t know if the tears were his or hers.

There was part of her that felt this was a mistake. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life needing him and feeling her skin ache for him, but his hair was soft in her hands and his legs pressed against hers and felt sturdy and strong. She memorized his hair, how the curls were tight in some places and large and round in others. In the dark, she spun her fingers through the silky ringlets, and she felt his firm neck muscles flex and relax in her hand as he moved. His legs were solid and long, and she felt a wave of shock move down her spine when she realized how much he loved her, how he had been able to hide it with a calmness that deceived her. All the moments when he looked at her in casual disregard flashed through her head as she tried to make sense of his passion now. Denver lost her sense of the direction of the river. A call of a crow in the distance blended with the soft sounds that drenched through Josh’s throat and over her face until the forest fell into a silence.

Late that night when Denver got back home, Aunt Rosemary was sitting up watching the news. One half of a church up on a hill by the subsidence on Highway 61 had crumbled into the ground in one great cataclysmic rush. Denver wondered about the members of that church. Had they come to the town hall meeting? And where would they go to pray on Sunday?

Chapter 11

Public Hearing

In the center of Adena, a small park stretched beneath the waving trees that trickled vignettes of sunlight down onto the grass. The park had all the trimmings of small town pride—a few benches, a statue and a plaque, a paved walkway, a Veterans Memorial bell, and a sampling of trees native to the region. The sidewalk tracked the circumference of the park and sliced down through the center dividing it into equal parts. On one side, there was a small playground for children and an overgrown butterfly garden, while the other side was a wide open area of short, green grass where games of soccer and softball were played in the evening. Occasionally, a homeless sleeper could be found burrowed under torn brown bags and newspapers.

When the weather was nice, a middle-aged woman, slightly overweight and short in stature, sat daily on a bench in the town park with her artwork. She had several clay pots and figurines placed on a small fold up table and on a larger table to her left were pins, t-shirts, and jewelry. The pins and t-shirts had logos on them reading, “
SAVE OUR TOWN!
” and “
COOL THE COAL!
” Some of the jewelry was made by stringing together small black beads cut to look like coal pieces. Visitors to Adena were eager to buy the merchandise. Perhaps they wanted to be connected in some way, to be part of the struggle, or part of the cause.

Because of the march bisecting the center of Adena, the town received a sudden influx of media exposure and attention from special interest groups. There were cameras mixed with balloons , a band playing from the local high school, and decorative signs that expressed all degrees of opinion regarding the mine fire. After news of the fire had stretched across eastern Pennsylvania, Adena received sporadic visitations from scientists, geologists, mining experts, environmentalists, or people who were simply curious. Some would gather around the smoking hot spots with measuring gauges, others would laugh, and yet others would just stand still with a fixed gaze, wondering. But on that day, the march in Adena was partly striped fanfare and a little carnival combined with the waving picket signs of a protest rally.

As Denver listened to the band play “America the Beautiful,” she caught a glimpse of Josh’s figure in the corner of her eye. He stood on the steps leading up to the front door of the public library. He leaned on the black rail with his feet crossed at the bottom and his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, relaxed and handsome. He had gotten his hair cut since the last time she saw him, but it was still long enough so that the loose brown curls and waves unique to him were still recognizable from a distance.

She watched him for a while. His smile would always reveal that mischievous boy that would do nearly anything on a dare, but his countenance was more serious now, more penetrating. Denver avoided him after their encounter on Desert Ring Island, and he knew it. He may have expected her to withdraw from him for a while, but it felt unnatural and awkward not to speak to him. They were together a mix of ambivalence, anger, hope, passion, endurance, and conflict. They were fragments of opposition for which they would have to provide the connecting threads.

Denver’s attention was diverted by a pamphlet being passed through the crowd explaining the situation of the mine fire and the various alternatives that were being considered for putting to rest the deadly industrial phantom that constantly moved beneath the town. Some wanted the mines flushed, but no one could determine how and from where they would get that much water. Some wanted the mines filled with sand and crushed rock, which had already proved useless because of the high temperatures that melted the material into a liquid sludge. Others argued for the mines to undergo entire excavation, which would mean turning the majority of the town into a bulldozer zone. Still others voted for digging a trench cutting off the fire’s path so that it could not keep spreading through the underground shafts. What would be left of Adena with deep trenches cutting through its streets and yards? What would happen to those homes still sitting over the hot spots? They would be left to burn.

The residents couldn’t stay there regardless of the method chosen. Denver’s father knew all of this before. He knew that relocation was the only way despite the volatile opposition that confronted him. Members of the Adena Coalition revitalized their efforts and tolerated the continuing chastisement from other members of the community. Death threats directed toward the activist members increased as well as prank phone calls and hate letters. The stress was taking its toll on the coalition and the violent murders of Denver’s mother and father were an indication that the death threats were not in jest. Two of the members became ill after living in fear of not only subsidence and deadly gases, but also in fear of being murdered by those who sought to discontinue their relocation efforts. If it wasn’t the stress of the situation that weighed heavily on the minds and bodies of the townspeople, it was the gases themselves, which left them vomiting and falling asleep, not knowing if they would wake up.

After the march, the Adena Coalition arranged an outdoor public hearing in front of the municipal building where citizens and officials could voice their concerns through a microphone. A woman by the name of Mable Warner stood up and announced to members of the Mines and Energy Management Committee present at the gathering, that she didn’t believe there was a mine fire under Adena. She vehemently opposed any action toward relocating residents and claimed that the threats of present and future danger were illusions. A small voice inside of Denver wanted to laugh at this woman, so staunch and severe in her wide-eyed glasses and polyester suit, but she understood that this woman was afraid.

As Mable spoke, the indications and proof that they had all witnessed demonstrating that the mine fire existed passed through Denver’s mind rapidly. She wondered what the woman saw when she looked at the world around her. Adena was “the hottest spot in Pennsylvania,” and if the sink holes, smoke spouts, gas meters, blanched trees, split highway, hot tombstones, and smoldering hills didn’t convince her, what would? In the winter, when there was snow, Adena was the first town to melt, particularly the portions of town that were in the impact zone. When Joseph Laredo collapsed in his living room due to being overcome by gases, a near panic sparked through the town like electricity moving through a power line. But Mable Warner still remained adamant in her convictions. And those who did not want to believe in the fire, followed her without question.

When Joseph Laredo stood and took the podium, there was a silence that fell over the crowd where only the distant blue jays could be heard calling from the trees. Joseph was still a powerful man in Adena, and he was a dear friend to Denver’s family. When Denver saw him, she could still see the grief on his face from the deaths, but she didn’t know if that was really his sorrow or just an ongoing reflection of her own. Laredo addressed the crowd with this short speech:

“I’d like to begin by offering my sincerest condolences to the friends and family members of Ted and Savannah Oakley. It may sound cliché to say that Adena will not be the same without them, but I say it wholeheartedly because it is true. Without Ted’s wisdom and leadership, and Savannah’s warmth and kindness, our community is a poorer place. We must keep their memory in our hearts and minds as we proceed and renew our commitment to cooperation and compassion and remember that we do not solve our problems in Adena by turning to violence.

“I would like to also welcome to Adena, residents, State Senators and Congressmen, representatives of the media, to all those whose presence here comes from a concern about the welfare of our community. It inspires me to know that so many would gather here today to show support for this town that we hold so dear in our lives. Adena is not just a name on a map, it is home to many hard-working people who live in houses where their great grandparents were born and where they passed on. We have not always agreed on how to respond in times of crisis, yet we are all here today to join together in our struggle to preserve our home town. I believe that means something. If we work together, Adena will prove to be a town that will not die, and in the future, our celebration will be all the more triumphant knowing the trials we have overcome. No fire that burns is brighter than the flame inside the heart of every member of this community who is willing to help keep Adena alive and thriving. Thank you.”

Shortly after Laredo’s address to the crowd, a thirteen year old girl with long, thin hair that kept blowing in her eyes stood up to read a letter she had written to the President of the United States. Her voice was slow and clear yet unrehearsed. She wore a green, floral dress, and she shook nervously in front of the crowd. She read her letter asking the President to give her family money so that they could move and live a healthier life in another town. There wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd among mothers and fathers. Aunt Rosemary wandered serenely through the crowd in a lavender sundress saying hello to people and especially to old timers who were full of Adena stories. Helena, who was standing next to Denver, reached for some tissues from her purse, but Denver’s worrisome eyes were scanning the crowd that was lacking in security and observing the impact the young girl was having on the audience.

A few weeks ago, Helena shocked everyone by announcing that she was flying to Las Vegas to marry a man named Carl Yeager. Although Denver was surprised, the news wasn’t overly astonishing to her. Helena was a charming, spirited, raven-haired young woman who could make a pair of sweatpants look good. She had always attracted the opposite sex quite easily and usually had a boyfriend while other guys waited in the wings to see if it would work out.

Carl was a bit older than Helena and had recently inherited his grandparents’ house since they passed away. He was looking to settle down in his new house, which was not too far from Denver’s house, maybe two more miles into the countryside. Denver was happy that Helena was still close by but not in the hot zones. Carl didn’t pay too much attention to the mine fire. He didn’t work in Adena, or spend much time there, so he didn’t concern himself with the controversy. He thought it was all “much ado about nothing.” What mattered to Denver was that Helena seemed happy, and although Carl wasn’t there with her at the march, Helena’s gold wedding band sitting next to a modest pear-shaped diamond engagement ring flickered in the sunlight.

After the little girl in the green dress read her letter, a councilwoman by the name of Sarah Durant approached the podium and displayed a petition with 18,636 signatures supporting relocation that was going to be mailed to the White House. Then, a man by the name of David Lewis stepped to the podium and announced to the crowd that the carbon monoxide monitor placed in his home by the Department of Environmental Resources indicated that he was living with a very high level of the gas in his home. He believed his son’s respiratory problems were a result.

Despite the opinions of medical doctors indicating that carbon monoxide at such levels could be hazardous to someone’s health, the danger was still downplayed and the Health Department played a significant role in keeping this information quiet. As it happened, Lewis’s home was investigated afterward, and it was found that the house once belonged to a bootleg miner who dug a hole from his basement down to the mine and tunneled his way laterally to the coal pillar that was under the main street running through town. The bootlegger, by the name of Woleski, removed nearly all of the coal from the pillar and left behind a direct pathway with few barriers stopping gas and heat from entering into the basement of Lewis’s home.

The crowd was captivated by Lewis’s story and the series of stories that followed as each person who felt moved to share their coal experiences, rose to the stage. The time when the crowd seemed most moved to cheer or protest was when a woman, named Betty Snyder, took the stage and recited a poem she had written.

I was born in the town of Adena
I’ve lived here all of my life
My daddy was a bootlegging miner
My ma was a dutiful wife

My grandpap was also a miner
He gave his whole life to the coal
To keep his family from starvin’
Till the dust and the dark took its toll

Now they say Adena is crumblin’
Cause it sits on some tunnels on fire
And we’re standing here waiting for a miracle
While the flames just keep getting higher

My heart is broken in pieces
From watchin’ my great hometown bleed
If only the miners would’ve stopped diggin’
Instead of being taken by greed

In the end maybe we’re all to blame
For stokin’ our homes with the rock
When excavation destroys the land
Until we feel mother nature’s hard knock

Some of you will probably hate me
When I tell you my boxes are packed
The holes in the ground aren’t fantasies
My eyes can see they are fact

If you stay, I wish you well
Watch out for the gas and the fumes
Adena will soon be an empty ghost town
And old miners will rise from their tombs

Someone from the crowd yelled, “The miners were just trying to keep their families warm!”

For Denver, the day was a cathartic success. No longer did the people affected by the coal suffer alone and in isolation. The day of the march restored a sense of hope that had been swallowed up by the deep fire, but the hope would be short lived. A long-term crisis that slowly scrapes the skins of people until they wear their bones on the outside is the worst of all. It would be better for the sky to fall quickly so that in the dank, petrified regions of despair, there is suddenly no direction left to go but up. The people of Adena still had more space to fall into, more time to find blame for this environmental disaster of human cause, more time to hang on to something inevitably lost.

That night, Denver sat on a rock on the other side of the street and looked at her house with the dim lights glowing through the downstairs windows. It would be wise, she thought, to learn the history of a house before you move into it. You are entering into the lives of others whom you do not know but will come to know intimately. And their lives were not perfect. They will leave behind their spirits in the floorboards and voices in the walls, their songs in the kitchen, their cries in the bedrooms, their blood in the pipes and their laughter in the yard. Denver knew that her house would bear the occupancy of death long after her departure; that it would stand as a testament to the fear and chaos that characterized Adena in its fight for survival. A part of her died in that house with her mother, with her father, and she intended to leave that part of her there with them.