Redemption Mountain (44 page)

In the darkness, Natty tried to blink away the tears as best she could. After several moments, she brought her sleeve up and pressed her eyes to it. She sniffed and sighed as she turned back to the light.

“You okay?” asked Charlie. “You're not going to throw up on me, are you?”

Natty smiled. “I'm okay. Just never been called
remarkable
before.” They both laughed softly. “Gotta go,” she said, turning to find the door handle. Charlie watched until the Honda, sending up white clouds of exhaust into the cool night air, disappeared around the corner.

 

CHAPTER 26

 

C
harlie zipped his windbreaker against the morning chill as he walked up a short hill to the soccer field in Princeton. The sky was a slate gray, threatening rain. The referee was carrying a ball to the center of the field, and Charlie could see the Bones on the far sideline, huddled around Natty for a last-minute pep talk. He began to feel the gnawing in his gut that he always experienced now when he saw her, made more acute by the shared intimacies of the previous evening.

The Princeton team, outfitted in sharp purple shirts, dominated the early game. But it didn't take long for the Bones to settle down to their game and for the Princeton team to lose their confidence. After Emma unleashed a bullet into the top corner of the net, she jogged back up the field, taking a wide detour toward the visitors' sideline for an enthusiastic high-five from a tall boy with blond hair, wearing blue jeans. Charlie recognized the Welch midfielder Gabe and smiled, realizing why Emma seemed to be playing with a little extra flare.

A few minutes later, Sammy scored off a corner kick and Natty called a time-out. She put Emma and Sammy on defense and put the Pie Man in the game. The boy scurried around the middle of the field, always a few steps late to the free balls. But he also was playing with extra determination today. Charlie watched as a long ball went past the Princeton defenders with Pie and the other forwards in hot pursuit. The ball went over the end line and Pie bent over to catch his breath.

“Hey there, Pie Man, good job!” Charlie called out. Pie straightened up with a smile. He raised a hand for their usual high-five wave.

“Hello, Charlie,” he said, still short of breath. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but he stopped and, for a fleeting moment, shifted his gaze to the hill beyond Charlie. Charlie pointed as the goalie sent a long goal kick back upfield. Pie whirled and raced off to join the action.

When the play was down in the Bones' end of the field, Charlie would steal a glance along the sideline to watch Natty—and think about last night and what they had come so close to. She turned to follow the ball up the field and saw Charlie. Her hands were in the pockets of her black warm-up jacket, and the bill of her hat was pulled down low over her eyes, but her smile made Charlie's heart thump and forced him to draw in a cold breath. Then she quickly turned her attention back to the game.

Charlie watched Natty come to a stop and rock back and forth on her tan construction boots, her thin legs and small waist camouflaged by the baggy jeans. He envisioned her up on the boulder, lying back on her elbows next to him, gazing out at the mountains, telling him her stories, giggling, smiling, laughing at herself, her T-shirt pulled tightly around her breasts, her smooth legs splayed out lazily on the curved rock, having no conception of how alluring she was. Then he saw her kneading the cold flesh of the old black man's legs, the muscles in her arms and hands shining with moisture in the dim light of the smoky room, and then sitting on the bed, laughing and sipping Jack Daniel's with the three men and enjoying her cigar.

When Natty turned abruptly to move back up the field, Charlie felt a cold chill as he realized that he'd made a horrible mistake the previous night. If he'd taken her upstairs and they'd made love, today would have been the first day of a giddy, glorious minefield of a future that they would be exploring together. Charlie ached for that feeling—to share that with Natty—but he knew the opportunity was lost.

The Bones carried their water bottles out to the spot in front of the goal where they would sit and listen to Natty's halftime instructions. Charlie took a few steps onto the field to catch Natty's eye, then stopped as two men approached her from the home side. Natty shook hands with the men. They seemed to be having a lighthearted discussion, before one of the men got a little more serious. Natty listened intently, nodding several times with a few words in return, then smiled broadly as they shook hands again. They turned to cross the field and Natty started toward her team in front of the goal.

When she saw Charlie, Natty seemed to hesitate before ambling slowly toward him. Charlie stood still, his hands pushed down into the pockets of his windbreaker, watching her approach. When she was still twenty feet away, he nodded toward the two men. “Good news?”

“I guess it
is
,” she said. “Invited us to the Thanksgiving tournament in Charleston. First time ever for Red Bone. Kids are going to be thrilled.” There was something distant about her, about the way she spoke, the way she avoided his eyes, and the same feeling of emptiness that he'd experienced earlier swept over him again. Then she turned toward him and squinted with a wrinkled-up nose. She adjusted the strap of the athletics bag on her shoulder and let out a sigh. “Charlie,” she breathed out, “Buck's here.”

It took Charlie by surprise. “Where—” he started, but Natty cut him off.

“Up on the hill, in back of you. With Sally.” Charlie could feel the eyes on the hill trained upon them.

“That's good that he came to watch Pie play,” he said, trying to sound sincere.

“First time ever Buck's come to one of our games. Seven years, and he finally comes to a game,” she said, almost to herself.

“Charlie, last night…” She hesitated. “Last night, that was like the best date I ever had. Thank you for going over and seeing Woody and Mr. Jacks with me. That was real nice.” She let out another sigh and looked up. “I gotta go, Charlie.” Her eyes darted almost imperceptibly up the hill behind him, then back again. “Okay?” she said softly.

“Sure, I understand, Nat.” Charlie made a show of looking at his watch. “I've got to get going, anyway.”

Natty gave the Bones the news about the tournament, and Charlie heard their excited shouts as he walked toward the parking lot.

*   *   *

W
OODY GIVENS'S DESCRIPTION
of slope mining ran through Charlie's mind as he waited for his office computer to warm up.
Easiest way there is to mine coal … twelve dollars a ton … puts more miners to work.
Charlie glanced out his window at the power plant. The project was now well ahead of schedule, with no major problems on the horizon, which also meant it was beating budget, too.

But Redemption Mountain was a disaster, for him personally and for DD&M. He not only failed to secure the purchase of the DeWitt farm, he'd declared his allegiance to the enemy, and, worse than that, he'd been exposed. That was a mortal sin, and when the timing best suited OntAmex, Torkelson would administer an ignominious end to his career. Of that, Charlie had no doubt.

DD&M would survive without Charlie or Lucien. Warren Brand and his lieutenants would move the company to some class-B space in Fort Lee, sell the building in Manhattan, and divide up the assets. In a year they would sell what was left of the company, at an inflated price, to one of the midsize engineering firms blinded by the prospect of acquiring some big-time OntAmex contracts.

For some, it would probably be a blessing. He and Lucien would be fine. Their professional reputations and their balance sheets would take a hit, but they'd survive. But Bud and Alice DeWitt would not. Nor would their son Petey or Natty's mother. They would lose their farm, their livelihood, and, more important, their heritage—the familial bond to the land that came from four generations of DeWitts born and buried on Redemption Mountain. And Redemption Mountain was going to disappear.
Hard to feel close to a piece of land pulverized by a thousand tons of ANFO and turned into valley fill.

As his computer tinkled out its familiar welcome, he rolled his chair closer and let out a sigh. The economic advantage of mountaintop removal had already been proven at scores of mines throughout West Virginia and Kentucky over three decades, and nothing in his research would change that.

Yet in the back of his mind was the immeasurable cost of mountaintop removal. Hank's angry accusation reverberated in his head.
If Redemption Mountain was in California … or Vermont … in the Catskills … Of course, Hank was right. You could never obliterate a mountain, covering over streams and wildlife habitat, anywhere outside of Appalachia.

He started with a query to Nina Matlin, the DD&M librarian. He requested everything she could find on the economics of mountaintop-removal coal mining. Then he launched his own search, which yielded dozens of articles and files devoted to the horrors of mountaintop removal. Charlie read for several hours, then changed into a sweat suit for a run, anxious to punish his body and numb his mind with a hard five-miler before it got too dark. Whatever it took to avoid thinking about Natty Oakes.

After four laps around the power plant, Charlie decided to push himself with a mile-and-a-half sprint back to the apartment. He ran past the windowless hulk of the old elementary school and an abandoned trailer being swallowed by the ubiquitous kudzu vines. Farther up the road was the concrete rubble of a long-decrepit motel and another deserted building with boarded-up windows.

Hank's words echoed in his mind:
You see any great wealth, see any old money, around this town? After more than a hundred years of coal production, what did West Virginia and McDowell County and the town of Red Bone have to show for it? Crumbling roads and derelict buildings … Monongah, Farmington, Buffalo Creek, and dozens of monuments to thousands of dead miners … streambeds stained orange with ferrous oxide … homes and towns sinking into abandoned mines … drinking water that ran brown … too many children living in poverty … a town that couldn't afford to patch the roof of its library … Woody and Mr. Jacks squatting in an abandoned firetrap to live out their final days … Bud and Alice DeWitt, who hadn't suffered enough with the deaths of their sons and granddaughter, now soon to lose everything … and Natty Oakes, the most incredible woman he'd ever met.
Charlie stumbled to a ragged stop in the middle of the dark, deserted road. He'd had enough. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath, sweat running off his forehead. He thought he might throw up.

*   *   *

N
ATTY WALKED SLOWLY
across the field under the weight of her athletics bag. Far ahead, she saw Emma and Gabe walking together. They would take a seat a little farther back in the bus from where Emma normally sat. Natty smiled to herself. She'd never seen Emma happier.

“Hold on there, Miz Oakes.” The voice came from behind Natty. She knew who it was before she turned to face Kyle Loftus. “Understand you got the invite to the Thanksgiving tournament up in Charleston.”

“You
know
we did, Kyle. So what?”

“Had a league meeting other night 'cause of that ugly incident at the game in Welch, and I got to inform you that you got two players who is suspended from any sort o' postseason play.”

“
What!
What kind o' shit are you trying to pull, Loftus?”

“You heard me,” he replied firmly. “The Willard boy, Zack Willard. Suspended for starting a fight. And the girl, too, Emma—flagrant foul. Broke that kid's nose.”

“You go
fuck
yourself, Loftus. You can't do this!” Natty whirled around, nearly hitting him with her bag as she made her way to the bus.

“Can do it, and did do it,” Loftus called after her. “Those two are out.”

Natty spun around briefly. “You put it in writing,” she yelled, not knowing what else to say.

“Already in the mail.”

“I can appeal it,” Natty yelled back.

“Be my guest.”

*   *   *

T
HE BLINKING RED
light on the Hewlett-Packard printer called for another black ink cartridge. Charlie looked over the stacks of pages on his kitchen table, the text marked with red circles. In front of him was a yellow pad, a dozen pages filled with notes.

He tossed the pad and his pen onto the table, sending another dozen sheets to the floor, where a small pile already resided. He reached over to his laptop, clicked on
ABORT PRINT,
and grabbed the bottle of Heineken on the corner of the table. He didn't have another ink cartridge, and he didn't need it, anyway. It wouldn't help. None of it would help.

Charlie looked at his watch. For nearly eight hours straight he'd been reading downloads and studying charts. He stood up and took his beer out onto the back porch. The air was cold, but after a long night inside the apartment it felt good. The best he could do was to reduce the differential to around ten dollars a ton, and even that required a great many assumptions.
Too many assumptions. Too much bullshit. Companies like OntAmex don't make decisions based on bullshit.

Charlie took a swig of his beer and looked over at the cigar box on the table. Hank had put a piece of hard plastic over the box with a rock on it to protect it from the wind. Charlie moved the rock and the plastic and opened the ancient brown box. From under the two decks of playing cards, he extracted the appointment book Hank used to record their winnings and losses. He leafed through the first two-thirds of the book, which recorded the years of games between Hank and Alva Paine.

Charlie compared his measly part of the book to the scores for Hank and Alva.
Twenty-one years' worth of cribbage games—now, that was a friendship.
He looked at the last page. He was down $407.
How the hell does he do that?
Charlie'd won about an equal number of games, but Hank always seemed to win a little more money in his wins and lose a little less in his losses.
It's all in the pegging
, thought Charlie, resolving to improve the next time they played.