Talisman (10 page)

Ty pin
ned all of his challengers as well. 
I bet he’d give Mike a good run for his money
, I thought. 
I’d love to see that
. 
I wouldn’t mind getting on the mat with him either…For different reasons, of course
.

Coach Hayes
gave his whistle one final blow, signaling for everyone to wrap it up and hit the locker rooms.  I was changed and ready to head on over to my study hall just as the sixth period bell rang.  Katie was our school’s yearbook editor, so she would be heading across campus to work on layouts.

“Shi, why don’t you come and hang out in Mr. Scott’s room with the Annual Staff?
” Katie pleaded.  “We can pick out really bad pictures of people we can’t stand and place them in the mock-ups.”

“As
tempting
as that sounds, I think I’m going to get a library pass and do some studying there,” I insisted.

“Don’t you mean
googling?
” Katie countered.

I smile
d.  She knew exactly what was on my agenda.

“It’s spelled X-c-a-v-a-r-e,” Katie hollered back as she ran out of the gym.

I whipped out a scrap piece of paper from my backpack and jotted it down in a flash.  I was about to head off myself when I heard Coach Hayes bellow, “WALLACE!  Wait right there!”

I
crumpled the paper in my hand. 
What NOW? 
I pressed the tip of my sneaker onto the floor, and with a harsh
“squeak”
, whirled my unenthused body around. 
“Yes?”
I posed.

“S
ay hello to Charlotte for me and thank her for all the hard work she’s put into the football boosters this year,” Coach Hayes remarked.  “
Yeah
…Tell her it’s been a
real treat
working with her this season, and I hate it’s coming to an end,” he added with a strange twinkle in his eye and strolled out the door.  His peculiar request didn’t bother me as much as the seedy smirk plastered on his face.  Coach Hayes never “appreciated” anything that didn’t light up a scoreboard, and I really didn’t know how the heck to process that fishy look?  But something about it sure reeked.

Still brooding,
I strolled over to the side exit and started to push open the metal door.  A strange muffled sound stopped me right in my tracks. A bit curious, I turned around to see exactly where the noise was coming from.

Oh, I found out soon enough. 
Two pairs of shoes were on the floor, sticking out from behind the stacked bleachers.  I didn’t even have to take a guess at
what
they were doing (not from the “shushes” I heard) or
whose
feet were in them.  Black Asics with white piping —
Mike Riverside
.  White Nikes with brown and gold laces, the kind all the cheerleaders wore during sixth period when they practiced —
Chloe
.  A part of me wanted to go over there and break it up, but the other realized she had to make her own choices.  Even the poor ones.

Disgusted, I shook my head and
threw open the door.  My head was still down and shaking from side to side when I ran into someone’s shoulder.

“Are you
tryin’
to knock me down, Shi?”

Shocked by the familiarity of the voice, I jerked my head up. 
Chloe
.

“What are you doing
…
here?
”  Crap!  I’d mistakenly assumed it was
her feet
in those cheerleader sneakers.

“Mom checked
me out of school, so we can pick up my dress and find one for you.  You’re still going…
AREN’T YOU?
” Chloe badgered.

“
OH YEAH
…I’m
really
looking forward to an evening with Mike,” I replied as I glanced back at the gym, struggling to suppress my anger.

“I—
I was trying to catch Mike before I left.  Have you seen him? 
Anywhere?
”  Chloe’s voice wasn’t the only thing shaky.  She seemed downright frazzled.

My voice sof
tened. “Is there anything
wrong?
” I asked sincerely.  Chloe’s hazel eyes narrowed on the spot.  She could tell I sensed something was up.  Hastily, she attempted to compose herself with a flick her raven mane.

“Nothing’s wrong,”
my littler sister snapped.  “I just wanted to see him before I left.  That’s
all
.”

Chloe wasn’t the least bit convincing.
 
Who knows?  Maybe she suspects something?
 
I could lead her into the gym and confirm all of her insecure suspicions right now
.

I pondered the ramifications.  Con: She’d be devastated.  Pro: I wouldn’t have to go to the dance.  Con: Mom would be a nightmare to live with.  But most of all — some-
freaking
-how —
I
would catch
ALL
the blame, and Chloe would never forgive me. 
Kill the messenger
—
definitely a “Con”
.

“Is he in the gym?  Did you see him in there?”
Chloe asked anxiously.

“I didn’t
see
him
,” I fibbed. 
Just his shoes
, I fumed quietly, knowing a partial lie was still a lie.

“Well i
f you do, tell him that I was looking for him…
You promise?
” Chloe demanded and shored up her request with a swift point of her finger like she was ordering around a toddler.

“I promise.  If I see him, I’ll give him
a message
— I mean,
your
message.”  At least that was true.  I’d planned on giving him an earful.  My fist wanted to give him an
eyeful
as well.  Even my knees had a few thoughts of their own.

“I’m off,”
Chloe declared as she strutted towards the parking lot.

“Don’t
you dare come home with something slutty!” I yelled out, still apprehensive about her so-called “taste” in fashion.

My little sister
didn’t turn around.  She simply waved her hand in the air to acknowledge my request.  I watched as she hopped into Charlotte’s white Cadillac and drove out of sight. 
At least I don’t have to worry about taking Chloe home.  I can leave for the meeting right after seventh period
.

After I’d secured a pass from my study hall, I made my way back across the courtyard
to the building that housed all the English and foreign languages classes, as well as our school library.

It was a little more crowded than usual, but fortunately there was one computer open in the back corner.  I dug my Welch High School ID out of my bac
kpack, and with one quick swipe I was logged in, ready to start surfing.

I typed in X-c-a-v-a-r-e E-n-t-e-r-p-r-i-s-e-s.  That yielded more info than I could ever imagine.  I discovered
that the
family business
had been around for over 150 years. The current owner was a man named, Malachi Xcavare, but his son, Lazarus Xcavare, ran the company for him.  Katie was right.  They appeared to mine everything — graphite, lithium, gold, silver, gemstones — the list went on and on.  I found an article claiming they had been searching for a coalmine to purchase for the past several months, but the spokesman stated they hadn’t found the “right match” for their company as of yet.  Another article talked about how they stumbled upon a rare reserve of platinum near one of their gold mines out west.

Maybe this will be a good thing
?
  I couldn’t find one bad write-up about them. 
They seem reputable
…

Just then, an article popped up to my dismay.  The h
eadline caught my eye.  It read:

SHAREHOLDERS  REVOLT  AS

XCAVARE  STOPS  EXCAVATING

It talked about how their shareholders were up in arms at the last stockholder’s meeting.  From what I gathered, Xcavare Enterprises had been buying up mines and land for exploration, but they only unearthed a fraction of
their resources before they closed them down or tried to sell them off.

Why would you pay millions of dollars for a mine
that you would end up closing or selling when it still had reserves?  That seems a like big waste of money.  Not to mention how devastating it probably was for all the employees who lost their jobs.

Before I knew it, the bell signaling the end of sixth period rang.  That tidbit of information didn’t make me feel any more relaxed.  If anything,
I was more worried than ever.

It w
as just one article.  One.  All the others were so positive.  Maybe its writer had an agenda?  That’s possible
.  The article was either truthful or a malicious hatchet job.  I was afraid the answer to whichever one it was, would only be revealed with time.

I hurried across the courtyard and entered the Music and Arts building in record time. 
Our art teacher, Mrs. Mesure, was standing outside her door, greeting each student as they entered.

“Good a
fternoon, Shiloh,” Mrs. Mesure beamed.

“
I hope so
,” I answered optimistically.

As I walked over to grab one of the smocks
hanging by the sinks, I glanced up at the black and white clock on the wall. 
Just forty-five more minutes
, I noted, still antsy.

Maybe art will clear my mind a bit?
  I’d always found this class to be a relaxing end to my school day.

“We’re going to be doing some painting today,” Mrs. Mesure announced.  “I’m passing around
some landscape photographs of local buildings and sceneries the junior class compiled during their field trip last week.”  She began dispersing a thick stack of 11 x 14 photos.  “You’re to reproduce them using watercolors to the best of your abilities.”

My easel was loc
ated in the back by the windows, so I felt fairly confident that all the good ones would be gone by the time they reached me. Within seconds, Jessica Fields handed me the last picture, which happened to be face down.  I flipped it over.

Son-of-a-B
itch
, I grumbled as I stared at the black and white photo. 
The Riverside Pocahontas Coalmine
—
Well that figures!

Chapter  3  —  Meeting of the Minds

Finally
, I huffed as the dismissal bell rang throughout the halls.  I sprang from my seat like a prize thoroughbred out of the gates and maneuvered through a maze of students and faculty, making my way to the parking lot in record time.

I looked down at my watch as I hopped into my car. 
Two Thirty-Five
. 
Plenty of time to make it to the mine before the meeting starts
.  Luckily, I zoomed out of the lot before the caravan of school buses departed.

As my car cruised through town, I couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was — almost deserted.  Not that Welch
ever came close to the hustle & bustle of a metropolitan city, but it was noticeably odd.  All the shops and businesses appeared to be open (well, their lights were on), but no one was out and about.  Even the local cops weren’t parked in the center of town like they usually were. 
Good thing, too
.  I was exceeding the city’s downtown 10 mph speed limit as I zipped down the narrow one-way street.  Before I knew it, I was veering onto Highway 52, which led a path straight to the mine.

As soon as I
’d crossed the Tug River Bridge, people began to gradually appear and all at once, I realized where
everyone
was.  Cars were lined up for as far as my eyes could see, flanking both sides of the road in a chaotic manner.  People were parking their vehicles wherever they would fit.  You’d think you were in the middle of a parade by the way folks were marching alongside the highway in droves and rest assured, all of them were heading towards the mine.

I still had a qu
arter of a mile to go before I would reach the mine’s main entrance. 
I’ll never find a space in their parking lot.  It’s not like Daddy would’ve anticipated this crowd, let alone had the gumption or the audacity to put out a “Reserved for Daddy’s Little Girl” sign on an empty space in the employee lot
.

I
spotted a sizeable gap in-between a red & white pick-up truck and a rusted-out yellow Mustang.  By my assessment, it was going to be tight, very tight.  I squeezed my car into the spot carefully, praying I wouldn’t hit either vehicle. 
Perfect
, I thought as a small wave of pride swept over me. 
You can’t learn those skills in Drivers Ed
.  I scooted out cautiously, just barely having enough room to get my door open, and followed the determined swagger of the crowd.

There were tons of people — well over a thousand of them, easily.  Most of them were coalminers, with their family members
right by their sides.  It seemed everyone around town had the same thing on their minds —
their fate
.  I even spied Mr. Estell up ahead.  He didn’t appear to be talking to anyone, just idly standing around.  He didn’t work for the coal company, but then again, neither did a lot of the people who’d turned out.

Weird
…
Twice in one day
.

My mind was already stewing with fre
tful thoughts about the meeting and now strangely, my body became rigid with apprehension, almost
instinctively
, with every step that took me closer to the eerie drifter.  I looked straight ahead as I started to pass him, but oddly I felt him —
staring at me
.  Discreetly, I shifted my field of vision.  His face appeared hard and painfully frigid.  I shuddered once I was safely out of his sight.

I guess every town has one of “those guys”
.

I stepped off the highway
as soon as I’d reached the gravel-covered road that led to the mine’s parking lot.  As I’d predicted, it was packed. 
Good thing I parked back there
.

I had to practically force my body through the restless crowd  — twisting & turning, pushing & shoving — every step of the way.  I reached the main entrance (without any injury) only to discover
that the gates had been fastened shut with a winding metal chain.  That wasn’t normal for this time of day, but it was clear to me why they were.

I overheard people yelling at Uriah Hatfield, the dayshift securi
ty guard, telling him to “Open up the gates!”  You didn’t “tell” Uriah what he was “going to do”, not if you knew what was good for you.  The surly guard simply ignored their pleas while he sat kicked-back in his cramped glass station and continued to read his newspaper.  Evidently, he had orders not let anyone but employees scheduled to work onto the property. I hoped Daddy had left word that I would be coming.  I couldn’t stand the thought of being so close to getting some mental resolve only to be turned away because I hadn’t been “cleared” to enter.  That would be sheer torture, especially in this horde of anxious rednecks.

After a little more maneuvering, I was standing in front of the security station, tapping on the glass window and pressing the call button.
  Uriah Hatfield lowered his newspaper and looked over at me.  Without delay, he tilted his head towards the ceiling and gave his head a trepidatious shake.  I actually saw him mouthing out a regretful,
“Oh no”,
too.  That wasn’t encouraging.

Well, the sign does say “Mi
ne Security”, not “Welcome Center”.

Uriah leaned over and pressed the intercom button. 
“If it ain’t trouble herself come a knockin’ on my door,” he groaned with the volume up loud enough for half the crowd to hear.

I was slightly offended by his
semi
-warranted crack.  When I was a little girl, Uriah had harshly tagged me as a “trouble-maker”.  I preferred “curious”.  So he had found me on several occasions playing in areas around the mine I shouldn’t be in — and
maybe
I did hijack a rail car or two (actually
nine
, if he’d kept count) when I wanted to pretend I was a train engineer.  I’d only mimicked what Mike Riverside had done before, on
plenty
of occasions, I might add.  “He” never got into trouble —
but I did
.  Then again, my daddy didn’t own the mine.

“Hi, Mr. Hatfield,” I muttered through the circular intercom.  “Daddy said it was
okay for me to come.  But I promise…I’ll be on
my best behavior
today.  No trouble.”

Uriah Hatfield
let out a grunt as he rose from his seat.  I did notice that he was actually wearing his “official” security guard uniform for a change.  Any other time he would be dressed in an old flannel shirt and jeans.  He preferred the “laid back & casual” look, but not today. 
I guess Harper Riverside is puttin’ on the dog for the prospective buyers
.

Uriah opened the door and edged outside. 
“Yeah, Bea mentioned you’d be a comin’ and to let ya in…But why’d ya haveta bring the whole damn town with ya?”

I really wasn’t in the mood for his abrasive humor, so I politely smiled and shrugged my shoulders. 
Uriah motioned me over to a smaller door-sized gate beside the main one and opened it just as quickly as he closed it behind me.

“I’ll know better
next time
,” I teased playfully.  He didn’t say a word.  Uriah’s only response was a curt snarl accompanied by a dismissive wave as he moseyed back to his post.

Apparently water doesn’t flow
“under” his bridge
, I noted as I shook off his grumpy gesture.

My entry riled
the heck out of several bystanders. They questioned why
I
was allowed in and
they
weren’t.  Uriah ignored their comments with a blatant, goading flick of his newspaper and propped it back in front of his face.

Now that I was officially “in”,
I headed straight for the main building where Daddy’s desk was located.  Harper Riverside’s office and the conference room were directly down the hall from it. 
Surely they’ll have the meeting in one of those rooms
.

I arrived at the building to find
three sleek, black Chevy Suburbans parked right in front of it.  It kind of looked like something out of a spy movie.  My eyes glanced around to the rear of the vehicles. 
Yep, dealer plates
.  My stomach did a quick flip as I whisked open the door and stepped inside.

Without delay
, I dashed up the stairs to the second floor.  Sadly, all I found was an empty reception area — no “Ms. Sutherland”, or any other secretary for that matter, and certainly not Daddy.

Where is everyone?  They have to be here
… Somewhere?

The office
looked exactly as I’d remembered it, only weathered by time.  Mr. Riverside was known for his frugalness and
never
updated a thing unless it was broken-beyond-repair.  The walls were still covered in the same multi-tone beige sea-grass wallpaper that was beginning to peel away from its seams.  I placed my hand on the wall in front of me and smiled.  I remembered how I used to run my fingers all along the paper’s knotty lines when I was little.  There was something about its texture that I’d always found pleasing.  The same burgundy leather chairs I would climb on and spin around in until I was beyond dizzy were still seated in front of the old metal desks that had been here forever.  They were outdated as well, but as I plopped down into the vacant one at Ms. Sutherland’s desk and gave it a quick spin, I discovered they were still functional and quite comfortable.

As I whirled around, I
spied numerous maps of the mine’s tunnels plastered up on the walls.  There were several safety awards as well, and even a few candid photographs of different miners tacked onto a large corkboard.  Most of the pictures were of men who had passed.

Still spinning around, I lowered my feet to slow the revolving chair and stopped directly in fr
ont of Ms. Sutherland’s desk.  Something caught my eye that sparked a smile.  Sitting on the corner of her desk was the hand-carved coal sculpture of a miner I would play with when I was little.  It was one of my favorite things.  I used to pretend that it was my “trophy”.  I would even climb up on her desk and stand there like I was on a stage, giving my acceptance speech as I waved it around proudly.  Sometimes it was an Oscar and other times a Grammy (though honestly, I couldn’t carry a tune).

Yes, I had so many memories of this office.  A funny feeling came over me
as I sat there.  For some strange reason, I felt like today would be another one of those “memorable moments”.

Whether it’ll be a good
one or bad one, now that remains to be seen
.

The next thing I knew, I felt
a hand firmly grasp my shoulder.  Startled, I flew up out of the chair.

No one’s ever been able to sneak up on me
, I thought as I caught my breath and spun around.  There stood Beatrix Sutherland. 
Imagine that — all these years and a blind lady managed to pull it off.

“Shiloh, is that
you?” Beatrix Sutherland asked.

“Yes, Ms. Sutherland
,” I replied, still clutching my chest and slightly stunned by her on-the-money guess.  “
You started me
.”

“I’m
sorry, dear,” Beatrix Sutherland apologized with a lighthearted laugh.  “I didn’t mean to.  Usually, I’m the one who gets snuck up on.  I never get to be the ‘
sneaker
’.”

Ms.
Sutherland hadn’t changed a bit.  It was truly remarkable.  I hadn’t seen her in several years, not since her 65th birthday party, but it appeared that time hadn’t marched across her face like I’d expected.  Sure, she had aged slightly and acquired a few more wrinkles, but they were soft and somewhat flattering.  I’d seen younger women around town with markedly more lines on their faces. 
Maybe she had some work done?
But somehow I couldn’t picture it.  Beatrix Sutherland seemed too relaxed and carefree.  She didn’t strike me as someone
obsessed
with vanity, and after all — she was
blind!
 
Why would it matter how much “time” had taken a toll on her face?  She didn’t have to look at it (and couldn’t see others doing so either)
.  I watched as her chestnut-hued eyes drifted aimlessly off to the side.  She still had her figure, too. 
She must be one of those seniors who stays active and hits the gym all the time
.  The only thing that seemed somewhat traditional about the sweet little old lady was her cropped, pixie-length silver hair — but even it was extremely trendy-looking on her.

I spotted her
clutching a massive amount of files and paperwork.  “Here, let me get those for you,” I insisted.

“That’s kind of you,
my dear, but I’ve got these.  I’m blind,
not crippled
,” Beatrix Sutherland declared as she threw the load of office work over three feet towards the direction of her desk.  I watched in amazement as they all landed perfectly on the only vacant spot on its cluttered surface and not a one of them had even slipped an inch out of place.