Big Stone Gap (3 page)

“Miss Mulligan, my mamaw said you’d put my jar on the counter ’cause we trade here.”

“Your mamaw is a smart woman, and she’s got a point. It’s called ‘turnabout fair trade.’ You put your jar on the counter. Maybe we’ll raise a million dollars for your campaign!”

Teena Lee smiles and shows the space where her front teeth should be. She scoots the jar in front of the others and goes.

“You’re too much of a soft touch. Let me handle them kids that come in here. If it wasn’t for me, people’d run all over you all day long. I’ll tell them damn kids to take their jars to the Piggly Wiggly. We ain’t got the room; they do. They got three register lanes over there. We’ve only got the one.”

I lift a jar off the counter. “Did that Coomer boy ever get his kidney?”

“I think it was in the paper that he did.”

I unscrew the Coomer boy’s jar and pour the coins into the March of Dimes canister.

“Lew Eisenberg wants you to come see him over to his office. And I’m quitting.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Ave, honey, I’m sick of people. I want to set home and watch me some TV. Portly has his Black Lung comin’ through. It’s time to enjoy life.”

Obviously, Fleeta hasn’t let herself make the connection that in order to collect Black Lung benefits from the coal company, her husband has to be sick. This isn’t exactly the time for celebration.

“I don’t want you to go.” I sound pitiful, not like a boss at all.

“You’ll get over it. I ain’t met nobody yet who ain’t replaceable.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“It’s time for a change is all,” Fleeta announces like a Greek philosopher.
Change.
Why does that word send a chill through me?

Lew Eisenberg’s office is next door to the Pharmacy on Main Street. I sort of dread going in there, the place is so cluttered. Inez, Lew’s wife, is also his secretary. They met when Lew came down to do some legal work for Westmoreland Coal Company. Inez had just graduated high school. They had a romance and she got pregnant. Lew did the right thing and married her. (Well, the right thing for Inez, that is.)

“He’s inside,” Inez says without looking up. Inez still has a pretty face, but she has gained about a hundred pounds since they married. It’s been frustrating for her, since she was known for her gorgeous figure when she was a cheerleader. Now she’s always on a diet. She’s tried Metracal shakes; AYDS, the reducing-plan candy; and Figurine Wafers (I carry all flavors)—nothing has done the trick.

Lew sits behind his desk, smoking a cigarette. His round pumpkin head looks large atop his thin frame. He has small brown eyes behind thick glasses and a space between his front teeth (the Chinese call these lucky teeth). I haven’t seen the space recently; Lew rarely smiles.

“Coffee or tea or something?” Lew asks. He always sounds agitated, but it doesn’t make him unpleasant. You can see he’s a sweetie underneath.

“No thanks.” Lew looks relieved that I don’t want anything; the less contact with Inez, the better. He closes the door and sits in the chair next to me. He has never done that. “We need to talk.” He is quiet for a few seconds, but it seems much longer. He stands and paces. “I finished up your mother’s paperwork. Her will. The house, the Pharmacy, the life insurance—all that goes to you. Essentially, my job is done. Except for one thing.” He stands at the window, flicking the blinds.

A floorboard creaks outside the office door, sounding like two hundred tiptoeing pounds. We look at each other. Lew turns on the radio for privacy—Inez has a reputation for snooping—and sits down next to me again. “There’s a letter.”

Lew gives me a large manila envelope. It is addressed to me in care of Lewis Eisenberg. In the upper left-hand corner it says, “From Fiametta Vilminore Mulligan.” I’m one of those folks who opens her mail as she stands at the mailbox, so I rip into the envelope immediately and unfold the letter. I see my mother’s handwriting. (The letter is written in English; I assume it’s because Lew would have needed to read it, too.)

My dear Ave Maria,

When you read this letter, I will have left you. There are things I could never tell you about myself. Many times, I tried. But then, I would think better of unburdening myself and stay quiet. The first thing I want you to know is that you are the best thing that ever happened to me.

At this point, my heart is pounding so hard it’s moving the buttons on my shirt. I look over at Lew, who is now lying down on the floor, smoking and staring up at the ceiling.

“Did you read this, Lew?”

“Yup. Don’t mind me, my back’s out.”

When I was seventeen, I was a very happy girl. I worked as a seamstress in my father’s shop in Bergamo. My mother was beautiful, and my father a very respected man. A boy used to stop by the shop, his name was Mario Barbari. He came from a good family from Schilpario, a small town in the mountains. He was quite handsome and made me laugh. One time, my father had business in Schilpario. I begged him to let me ride along. I hoped I would see Mario, and as luck would have it, I did. Once he took care of business, Papa decided to stay in Schilpario and play cards. Mario offered to show me the town. He showed me the church, the waterwheel, the school. I felt like I had known him all of my life. I fell in love with him that day.

“May I have some water, please?” I swallow hard. Inez enters with water. Lew and I look at each other. Inez goes.

Mario came down to Bergamo to see me. My father found out about our friendship and forbade me to see him because I was too young to court. I did what no good daughter would do: I defied him and would sneak out to see Mario. I was so happy whenever I was with him. We shared such good, happy times. I knew I wanted to spend my life with him. We made a plan to run away together. He was to meet me at the Bergamo station and we would take the first train to Milan. I waited and waited but he never came. A courier arrived with a letter from him explaining that he could not meet me that day. I was going to tell Mario that I was expecting you so we could marry immediately. I am sure that he was not suspicious of my condition or he would have kept our appointment.

I knew that I must leave my home or the shame of what I had done would never be resolved. I remembered that we had a cousin in Lake Maggiore. I bought a ticket to go there, hopeful she would take me in. When I arrived in Lake Maggiore, I could not find my cousin. I had no place to go. My heart was broken. But I thought of you. I had to take care of you. Then, something very lucky happened to me. I returned to the train station. Everyone rushing around, having somewhere to go, comforted me. I sat alone on a bench. I fell asleep. When I woke up, a beautiful lady was sitting next to me. I will never forget what she looked like. She was tall, slim, and wore a blue coat. The buttons were blue jewels. And on her head was a hat, exquisite blue velvet with peacock feathers and tiny gold stars. Her face was creamy pink; she smelled like garden flowers. She offered me a sweet roll. I was so hungry, I took it. She said, “Now, my dear, what shall we do?” “I have no place to go,” I said to her. “But of course you do. You’re coming with me. I am going to America. You will stay with me. And when we get there, we will find you a position.” I was so afraid. But this woman smiled at me and I knew we would be all right.

I am crying. Lew stands and stretches. He comes over to me, puts a limp hand on my shoulder, and pats me like an old dog.

I asked the beautiful lady what her name was. She said, “Ave Maria Albricci.” I told her that she had a beautiful name and she laughed. She thought it too ornate. I told her when I had my baby I would name her Ave Maria. She laughed again. She asked me how I knew I was going to have a girl. I told her I just knew. The ride on the ship was lovely. Ave Maria had a beautiful cabin. Servants laid our clothes out. The food was plentiful, even with the war on; I felt you healthy and happy inside of me. Four weeks passed and we arrived in New York City. Ave Maria’s relatives greeted us at the port. We took the train to Hoboken, New Jersey. Ave Maria bought the
Italia Oggi
, the newspaper. We read the want ads. In those days, immigrants were cheap labor and would work in exchange for room and board. “What is Virginia?” I asked the Albriccis. They laughed. I responded to the ad: “SEAMSTRESS WANTED: MINING TOWN: BIG STONE GAP, VIRGINIA. GOOD PAY.”

Mama had taped the actual ad to the back of the letter to verify her story.

I knew this job was a good opportunity. I wrote a letter. The gentleman that placed the ad owned a dress shop in the town. He hired me immediately based upon my letter. By chance, his friend, a merchant from Big Stone Gap, was in New York City on a buying trip. His name was Fred Mulligan, of the Mutual Pharmacy. Would I like an escort on the trip to Virginia? I was so happy. Fred Mulligan took the train to meet me. I was surprised. He was young, like me. He understood Italian, having studied it at the University of Virginia. I liked him. He told me later that for him it was love at first sight. In truth, he suspected my condition and knew it would be easier on me if I was married. I agreed to marry him. It was an arranged marriage; I arranged it.

I never heard from Ave Maria Albricci again. I sent many letters to her family in Hoboken through the years; all were returned. I prayed for her every day of my life, though, never forgetting her kindness. Whenever I spoke your name, I thought of her and how she helped me. She was an angel.

I felt you should know the truth. I hope I made the right decision in telling you this. I asked Mr. Eisenberg to be present with you. I love you, my darling girl.

Mama

I turn the envelope upside down and shake it to make sure I haven’t missed anything. A small, square lace-edged black-and-white photograph falls into my lap. In gold letters it says, “Ti Amo, Mario.” On the back, in my mother’s handwriting, “Mario da Schilpario Italia 1942.” The picture fits in my palm. The man in the picture looks to be about seventeen. He has black hair and a trim physique. He is laughing. This is my father.

Inez stands in the doorway. “Ave, they need you up to the school. There’s been an incident.” The floorboards creak as Inez ambles toward me.

“Ave, you need to get up to the school. Principal called.” Lew’s voice brings me back to earth. “They need the Rescue Squad.”

Besides being a pharmacist, I am chief of the Rescue Squad. Doc Daugherty roped me into the job a couple of years back. We’re a volunteer emergency-response team—the team is the fire chief, Spec Broadwater, and me. We handle everything from car wrecks to removing buttons from kids’ noses, and once we even resuscitated Faith Cox’s cat.

“Spec’s outside waiting fer you,” Inez says, a touch too impatiently.

Spec is wedged into the driver’s seat of Rescue Squad Unit One, a white station wagon with bright orange trim. I don’t know why he’s called Spec; he is the opposite of a speck, he’s a giant, the tallest man in the Gap, at six feet seven. I climb into the car. Fleeta runs out of the Pharmacy and hands me my emergency kit through the window. Spec steps on the gas so fast, Fleeta practically loses her hand. I hear her curse at Spec in the distance as we pull away. Spec shoves a blue siren onto the roof of the car through the driver’s-side window.

“Problem up to the school.” Spec offers me a cigarette. I must look like I need one. My face is puffy from crying.

“It’s bad for you, Spec.”

“Self-medication. When they come up with a healthy way for me to calm my nerves, I’ll quit.”

Powell Valley High School is a stylish, brand-new redbrick structure that sits back off the main road, in a wide field. It is the jewel of this town, built with monies from the War on Poverty of the late 1960s. Spec ignores all traffic laws and careens up the circular driveway in the wrong direction.

“Problem’s in the West Wing,” he explains.

The principal, Dale Herron, meets us in front of the school. The kids call him Lurch. I sort of see why—he’s slope-shouldered and his head juts forward. Lurch leads us inside to a rest room marked
BOYS
. The building is dead quiet.

“Where are the students?” I ask.

“In the auditorium,” the principal says. “Miss Mulligan, I think you ought to wait out here.”

“I’ll handle it,” Spec says, patting me like a Pekingese.

The men disappear into the rest room. A few moments pass. I hear mumbling from the lavatory. Finally, the two men emerge.

“Let’s go,” Lurch says, pointing toward the assembly down the hall.

We follow the angry principal into the auditorium. Every seat is filled. The teachers line the side aisles like guards. There are some whispers but not many. Onstage is a lectern and two students squirming in chairs: the student-body president, a young man with a long Renaissance curl, and the chaplain, a pudgy girl with thick glasses. Lurch takes the stage.

“Good afternoon, students. That greeting right there is for the ninety-eight percent of you who are law-abiding kids. I’ll get to the remaining two percent here in a minute. I have called this emergency assembly to alert y’all that there is a sicko among us. There is a sign outside this door which reads,
UNITED WE STAND, DIVIDED WE FALL
. The hijinks and shenanigans of a small percentage of us will cause the whole to suffer. To fall. Mike. Brownie. Bring up the evidence.”

Two young men rise from their front-row seats and disappear backstage. They enter sheepishly from the wings. Mike is a small platinum blond. I recognize him as the point guard on our championship basketball team. The other kid is mousy; his diminutive name suits him. They carry a large tarp between them.

“Dump it,” the principal barks.

The boys dump the contents of the tarp. White ceramic chunks hit the stage with a clatter, making a cloud of dust. An intact toilet seat tumbles out, confirming my suspicions.

“This is what someone setting right here in this auditorium has done. Destroyed school property. Committed a crime with evil intent. How? By rigging a sophisticated round of cherry bombs to a ter-let in the boys’ rest room in the West Wing.”

A few nervous giggles escape the student body.

“This is no joke, people.” Lurch searches the audience for the gigglers. Then he pauses. He pounds the podium. “Some unfortunate young man might have been sitting on that ter-let when it blew to high heaven. I ask you, what would have happened then?”