“Maybe it’s that way in the city,” Uncle Otis said. “But this is Coal River, and I won’t have you bringing disgrace to our family.”
“Of course she won’t, dear,” Aunt Ida said, patting the tablecloth beside her husband’s plate. “I’ll make sure she has a proper mourning dress for going out. If you really think that’s the right thing to do.”
Uncle Otis scowled as if tasting spoiled meat. “Have you lost your mind?” he said. “Of course it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Aunt Ida said. “I’m starting to think it might be a bad idea for Emma to go waltzing around town in her funeral garb.”
“Horseshit!” Uncle Otis said. “I won’t listen to such talk!”
Aunt Ida pursed her lips. “Please,” she said. “There’s no need for foul language.”
Uncle Otis sighed heavily. His shoulders dropped, and he gazed at his wife, his eyes suddenly soft. “I’m sorry, my pet,” he said. “You know I trust your opinion, but this time you’re wrong. You can see that, can’t you?”
“Just hear me out before you say another word,” Aunt Ida said. “You know how miners are. They’re a superstitious lot. And there’s already been gossip at the Saturday ladies’ luncheon that Emma might be bringing bad luck to Coal River.”
Emma winced as though struck. “Me?” she said. “But why?”
Uncle Otis rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to stop listening to those old hens,” he said to his wife. “They haven’t got anything better to do than tittle-tattle and peck at one another.”
Aunt Ida shook her head. “No, no,” she said. “It’s not just the ladies over at church. Mary Fergus said she heard Asa Clark talking to the fire boss over at the post office. Seems he’s worried about checking the mines before the workers come in. Everyone thinks Emma is cursed, on account of her brother drowning in the river and her parents dying in that horrible fire. They’re worried she’s bringing it with her to town.”
Emma swallowed and looked down at her plate. Pinpricks of light from the chandelier reflected off the silverware and china. It was hard enough being forced to come back to this place, hard enough struggling to get through every minute. Now the whole town was turned against her?
“Albert wasn’t the first person to drown in Coal River,” she said.
“True enough,” Aunt Ida said. “But he was the most recent. And now your parents are dead too, and they died in such an awful way. . . . Well, it seems you’ve been labeled something of a bad omen.”
“But that’s absurd,” Emma said. “I—”
“Mother is right,” Percy said. “Miners are suspicious. They sit in the same spot every day to eat lunch, or with the same friends in the same seat on the cars going into the mines. They refuse to move or start a new shaft on Fridays. Some think it’s bad luck for a woman to enter a mine because she might put a curse on it. They say it’s bad enough to work so close to Satan’s domain without a possible witch practicing black magic on them. Some even think it’s bad luck to meet a woman on their way to work in the morning. They’ll turn around, go back home, and start over.”
“Surely you don’t believe all that,” Emma said.
“What does it matter if I believe it?” Percy said. “The miners do. Those men hear sounds in the mines and immediately think they’re hearing ghosts.”
“It might sound like a lot of poppycock,” Otis said, “but don’t dismiss the miners so quickly. They have their wisdom. Even about rats.”
“What about rats?” Emma said.
“Miners never kill a rat in a mine because they can hear the sound of splintering timber and cracking rock before humans can. If the men see rats panicking and heading up the slopes, they follow. Rats will always abandon a mine if a cave-in is about to happen or poisonous gases are present.”
“Same with mules,” Percy said.
“Right,” Otis said, nodding. “Mules have an instinct for impending disaster. Many a mule has lead a miner to safety just in time.”
“I don’t know about the miners,” Aunt Ida said. “But you brought Emma here the same day the new immigrants arrived. Some of the foremen and their wives are starting to wonder if you’ve got the mine’s best interest at heart. We need everyone to see Emma as the innocent girl she is, a victim of life’s circumstances. She should pretty herself up a bit and dress in light, carefree materials, like a young woman on the cusp of a new life.”
Uncle Otis tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. “But everyone knows she’s in mourning,” he said. “What would we tell them?”
Aunt Ida reached for her wineglass, smiling like a fox. “We’ll tell them Emma’s parents were stars of the stage. We’ll say they went to all the big city fashion shows and were on top of the latest styles. You heard Emma. People in the city don’t dress in black these days. No one around these parts will admit they’re not up-to-date on those things. You leave everything up to me. I’ll get everyone to come around.”
Uncle Otis shrugged. “All right, dear,” he said. “I’ll let you handle this.”
“That’s right,” Aunt Ida said. “Sometimes I wonder what you would do without me.” She smiled and tapped her cheek, indicating Otis should give her a kiss. He stood, leaned over the table, and did as he was told.
Percy glanced at Emma, embarrassed by his parents’ display of affection. His ears turned red around the edges.
Uncle Otis directed his attention back to Emma. “On account of the rules changing, you have my permission to stop wearing black.”
Emma nodded, her nails digging into her palms. She had planned on waiting a few days before attempting the plan she had come up with on the train, but maybe this was the perfect time.
“I feel horrible causing so much trouble for all of you,” she said. “But I might have a solution if you’re willing to listen.”
Uncle Otis raised his eyebrows. “This ought to be good,” he said. He took a sip of wine and set down his glass, looking at her expectantly.
“What is it, Emma?” Aunt Ida said. “Have you come up with a way to help everyone take a liking to you?”
Emma cleared her throat, ignoring her aunt’s remark. “Back in Manhattan, I was working in the theater box office and attending classes part-time to become a teacher. I really don’t want to be more of a burden to you than I already am, so I thought, if I could get a little help . . . to go away to normal school—”
Aunt Ida coughed, as if choking. “You want to go away to school?” she said, eyes wide. “Do you have any idea how much that costs?”
“Yes,” Emma said. “But you’re already spending so much money by taking me in and putting a roof over my head. You’re having clothes made for me, and sharing your food. I’m certain there’s a normal school here in Pennsylvania. It might be cheaper to send me there than to—”
Aunt Ida leaned back in her chair and laughed, a small bitter sound, like a baby pig caught in the mud. “Well, don’t you worry about that,” she said. “You’re going to help out around here. You didn’t think we were going to house you and feed you for free, did you? How are you going to earn your keep if we send you off to school?”
“I could pay you back when I’m finished,” Emma said, struggling to keep her voice even. “After I got a teaching job. I could—”
“Maybe she brought a suitcase full of cash with her on the train,” Uncle Otis said, laughing.
“Or maybe, because we live in a real house and have nice things, she thinks we’re made of money,” Aunt Ida said.
“Of course she does,” Uncle Otis said. He eyed Emma. “Just like her parents thought we were made of money when they left her and her brother here for four months while they had a high time of it in Manhattan.”
Aunt Ida’s face fell. A hot coil of anger twisted beneath Emma’s rib cage. She started to respond, but her aunt interrupted.
“Oh no,” Aunt Ida said, wagging a finger at her husband. “You leave my sister out of this. I won’t stand for you s
peaking ill of the dead in my house.”
“Your house?” Uncle Otis said. “Last I checked, I was the one going to the mines six days a week!”
“Here we go,” Percy said, rolling his eyes. He finished the wine in his glass.
“Now, you listen here, Otis Shawcross,” Aunt Ida said. She leaned toward him, practically coming out of her chair. “You might go to the mines every day, but while you’re gone, I’m here running this household and making sure you have clean clothes on your back and warm food in your belly. So don’t you sit there and act like I’m eating bonbons all day while you—”
“Enough!” Emma shouted, slapping both hands on the table. Uncle Otis and Aunt Ida stopped short, their shocked faces snapping toward her. “Please! I’m sorry I brought it up!”
Aunt Ida settled back into her chair. “Well, I’m sorry you brought it up too,” she said. “It’s just a ridiculous notion. From now on, think before you speak.”
“Your aunt is right,” Uncle Otis said. “You can put going to school right out of your head, young lady.”
Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek, blinking back tears. Maybe she should ask for a train ticket back to New York. Maybe she could find a job there as a maid or a waitress, and look for a roommate to share a cheap room. She berated herself for not doing that in the first place, before ever stepping foot on the train. Then she remembered waking up in the hospital, learning her parents were dead, and being given a choice between the poorhouse and Coal River. She had been in shock, indifferent to what happened next. Besides, the doctor wouldn’t have released her to wander the streets alone. And no one would have hired a penniless girl wearing a donated, oversized dress, let alone paid her enough to rent a decent room. She had seen the seven-cent lodging house on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. She had seen the back alleys of the tenement houses, and the beggars outside the pauper barracks. Surely, she would have ended up in one of those places, or worse. She had come back to Coal River because there was no other choice.
Aunt Ida sighed. “Now that we’ve gotten through all that unpleasantness,” she said, “let’s eat, shall we? Heaven knows I took a lot of time and trouble to plan this nice meal to welcome you, Emma. The least you can do is let us enjoy it in peace.”
Uncle Otis patted his wife’s hand and exhaled, blowing out his breath with more force than necessary. With a nod from his mother, Percy muttered a short grace. Silence followed as Cook went around with the beef, stooping over at each place, scraping the serving fork across the china platter.
“Any more trouble with the new immigrants?” Percy asked his father.
Uncle Otis finished his wine, then twirled the stem of the crystal goblet between his boney fingers. “The Irish are settled in the kettle,” he said. “And the Germans and the Italians are in the boarding house for now. The Coal and Iron Police warned the miners to leave them be. But we’ll bring in more police if we have to.”
“Do you think they’ll strike?”
“Probably not until the end of summer, when the weather turns and people need coal to heat their homes through winter.”
“What about Clayton Nash?” Percy said. “He still up to no good?”
“Can’t be sure,” Uncle Otis said. “Word has it he’s trying to arrange secret meetings with the rest of the miners. Can’t have more than four nonfamily members gathered at a time or he’s breaking the law.”
Emma looked at her uncle, confused. When did it become illegal to hold a meeting of four or more people in the United States of America? The idea that everything and everyone in Coal River was frozen in time returned. Or maybe they were just backward.
“Nash doesn’t care about the rules,” Uncle Otis added.
“Do you think he’s trying to reorganize the union?” Percy said.
“You can bet he’s trying,” Uncle Otis said. “But if any of them start that kind of trouble, they’ll be out of a job and run out of town so fast, it will make their heads spin. A hundred men are ready to take their places at any time. I just got word that two hundred Germans are in Scranton, waiting for work. And those immigrants are willing to do just about anything for a job, no matter how dangerous.”
“But if they go on strike and scabs break the line, all hell will break loose,” Percy said.
“You just go to work and let me worry about that,” Uncle Otis said. “It’s not going to have any effect on your job.”
“But it does have an effect,” Percy said. “If the miners aren’t getting paid, they won’t have money to spend in the Company Store.”
“That’s right,” Aunt Ida said. “And if production drops, what’s going to happen to us? I’ve got five reams of satin and a half a cow coming next month. How are we going to pay for everything if there’s a strike and you get laid off?”
Uncle Otis threw his hands in the air. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he said. “Before you send yourself into a conniption fit, try to remember I’m the mine supervisor!”
Aunt Ida frowned, furrows of disapproval lining her forehead. “Otis,” she said, her tone firm. “How many times do I have to remind you to watch your language?”
Uncle Otis ignored his wife’s remark. “You stay out of it and let me worry about the miners. I’ll let you know if and when we need to worry about anything!” He got up, went over to the sideboard, filled a tumbler with whiskey, and drank it down in three noisy swallows. Then he refilled the glass, brought it back to the table, and sat down, his face tight with anger.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Aunt Ida said. “You’re right. Now, please, calm down and eat your dinner before you give yourself indigestion.” She glanced at Emma. “Speaking of jobs, I have a list of chores for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emma said. She took the saltshaker from Percy, wishing her aunt and uncle owned dogs so she could slip her food beneath the table.
“Percy could use help at the store,” Uncle Otis said.
Emma’s eyes darted to her uncle, her spirits lifting a tiny bit. The last thing she wanted to do was work with Percy, but maybe, if she had a paying job, she could save enough money to go back to New York and start over.
“That’s true,” Percy said, chewing. He wiped his napkin across his mouth, then returned it to his lap. “But I need a man who can work hard, not a woman.”
“And I need help here,” Aunt Ida said. “Around the house.”
“What do you mean you need someone who can work hard?” Uncle Otis said to Percy. “How difficult can it be to push numbers on a cash register?” He shoved a forkful of meat into his mouth, breathing hard as he chewed.
“Percy does more than run the cash register,” Aunt Ida said. “And you know it. He works hard at that store. And for not much pay, I might add!”
“I’d be happy to work at the store,” Emma said.
“I need someone strong enough to unload stock,” Percy said to his father. “It’s hard stocking shelves, doing orders and paperwork, and trying to wait on everyone. More than once the deliveryman got tired of waiting and left me without mattress ticking for nearly two weeks. Another time it was lantern oil. I’m the one who has to listen to everyone moan and groan when we don’t have what they want.”
Otis ignored him and addressed his wife. “What in blue blazes does Percy need more money for? It’s not like he’s got a house and a family to take care of. He’s not even courting anyone. Last I looked, I was the one taking care of him!” He directed his scorching gaze at Percy. “And you listen here, boy. Coal mining is hard work. Don’t you ever try telling me about hard work.”
“You know Percy can’t tolerate the wet conditions and all that dust,” Aunt Ida said. “The doctor said—”
“I know what the doctor said!” Uncle Otis shouted. “You’ve been telling me for the past six years what the doctor said. But there are men working in those mines every day with the same problems Percy has. Difference is, they don’t have a choice. The boy is twenty years old, but you treat him like a child, keeping him at home, making
sure he doesn’t bend a fingernail. Now let’s talk about something else. I’m not going to sit here listening to my wife and excuse-for-a-son tell me about hard work. I’m the only one in this family who understands hard work!”
Aunt Ida swallowed, her face growing crimson. She put her hands on the tablecloth on either side of her plate, taking slow, deep breaths. After a minute, she cleared her throat and looked at Emma.
“Perhaps you can work around the house a few days a week,” she said. “Then help Percy at the store on the other days. And it only makes sense that your paycheck goes into the household funds. You have to earn your room and board, just like Percy does.”
Emma’s heart dropped. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“Does that seem fair to you, dear?” Aunt Ida asked her husband.
Uncle Otis bit into a buttered tea roll and wagged a finger at Percy. “You let Emma run the cash register while you unload and put up stock,” he said. “It won’t kill you to do the heavy lifting.”
“Have you ever run a register, Emma?” Aunt Ida said.
“Just the one in the box office,” she said. “But I’m a quick learner. And I can help stock shelves. I’m not afraid of hard work.” If nothing else, at least working in the store would get her out of the house.
“That’s good, darlin’,” Aunt Ida said.
Uncle Otis snorted. “Maybe if your father hadn’t been afraid of hard work, your parents would still be alive.”
Emma went rigid, breaking out in an instant sweat.
“Not now, dear,” Aunt Ida said. “My nerves are already fixing to give out.”
“Just think,” Uncle Otis said. “If Emma’s father had taken me up on my offer to work in the mines, they wouldn’t have died in that fire. They could be sitting here right now, having dinner with us.”
“Please,” Aunt Ida said. “What’s done is done, and there’s no going back. We did our best to get them to stay in Coal River. They made their own choices. And now we’re all left behind to . . .” She lowered her head, pushing her napkin into the corners of her eyes.