Page 10 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

“I still can’t believe he’s comin’ for a visit.

In all our years, why come now?” Kneeling on the top bunk in her nightgown, Lizbeth shook open a blanket.

It billowed back to the mattress. A softened sun glittered through the window, catching the twirl of dust and the memory of girlish laughter that this bedroom had always held.

But there was no laughter today with the news that Pa’s cousin, Reverend Coburn, planned to descend on their home.

Jayne tidied her own bed. “I’ve a hunch he may be comin’ in search of a wife.

He’s not married and Pa said Reverend Coburn’s written several times in the last year asking after us girls.

Our ages, how we’ve been gettin’ on.” She fluffed a down pillow, flashing bare ankles beneath her nightgown as she turned.

“Somethin’s stirrin’ but I don’t know what.

Pa’s unsettled. As though there’s business with this farm that he can’t seem to reckon with. ”

“He’s been so quiet lately. Hardly finishes his supper now.” Lizbeth smoothed a wrinkle in her quilt. “As for this Reverend Coburn, I only know he’s a preacher. What else did the letter say?”

“I didn’t get a good glimpse but he wrote about the church he oversees in Pennsylvania and his cottage there.”

“Nothing else?”

“That’s all I could see.”

Lizbeth scrunched up her nose. “I think you’re right. He’s a single man with a good living so he must be lookin’ for a wife.”

“I’d say the odds are pretty good.”

“Even though none of us have ever met the man?”

Jayne sat on the edge of her bed. “I don’t know if we can afford to be so romantic. Especially if change is coming.”

Lizbeth perched on a ladder rung between the two bunks. Another room next door held three more bunks for the younger girls. By the sound of it, just starting to stir.

A chill seeped through the closed window. “So, Pa must be getting worried.” Lizbeth rubbed the sleeves of her nightgown.

Things were about to change. It was just a matter of how.

From below, Ma called up to them. “Coal bin’s empty, girls. Jayne, Lizzy!”

Lizbeth and Jayne exchanged glances.

“We’ve got wood aplenty,” Ma called again. “But it makes me feel better when the coal’s on hand and I’d like you older girls to do it this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jayne called back.

“I’ll speak to Pa.” Lizbeth climbed down the ladder and tossed the final pillow into place.

“We both can.” Jayne pulled dried flowers from a Mason jar on the windowsill.

Pressing open the window, she tossed the spent blooms away.

A fresh breeze drifted in. “Come along. Ma needs us.” Opening the bottom dresser drawer where they kept their dingiest work dresses, she handed one to Lizbeth, along with a handkerchief for her hair.

Was it true? That they couldn’t afford to be romantic?

The days ahead looked cloudier than the sky outside. As unclear as the sampler she stitched on each evening. Softly colored threads beginning to form the shapes of trees, birds, and flowers, yet a view that remained incomplete.

“There ought to be a man in New River who’s caught your eye.” Lizbeth pulled the old work dress over her shift, hoping to get the truth out of her sister. Even if it took a little bait. “There’s hardworking miners and colliers around that would make good family men.”

Jayne’s cheeks, pale as the dawn, colored with a telling sunrise as she fastened her buttons. “Well, there might be one.”

“Is it Mr. Brydolf? The man you danced with?” Lizbeth pushed her own buttons into place.

Her sister began to speak then started for the door. “There’s no sense in us goin’ on about this. Come on. We’ve got coal to pick.” She tipped her head for Lizbeth to follow.

Sighing, Lizbeth trailed her from the bedroom and out to the barn, where she pulled the wheelbarrow from its side and kicked cobwebs loose. She pushed it along until she met Jayne in the middle of the dirt lane.

Jayne lowered tin buckets into place. “Off we go.”

To their left, a ruckus of birdsong rang from the woods and a chipmunk scampered across dried leaves.

To their right spread the farm’s pastureland.

Lizbeth tried to keep her feet and heart light on the familiar walk over the footbridge, which spanned the narrowest part of the river, and into town.

In front of the line of row houses, women milled about in their tiny yards, scrubbing laundry or tending to children.

Toddlers babbled through the picket fences and young mothers looked weary and worn.

Some of the very young women that Lizbeth had once gone to school with.

“This way,” Jayne called, veering them both away from the hustle and bustle toward the back yardage of the mine.

Shielding her eyes, Lizbeth spotted the culm banks in the distance, and soon, they reached the sprawling banks, all spread along the horizon like sand piles on the seashore.

Except these banks rose dozens of feet in the air to block the sun and were made of crushed rock as far as the eye could see.

Not to mention the fact that Lizbeth had never actually seen a seashore.

Instead, this was a graveyard of rock that glittered with faint traces of coal.

Ore that the miners had missed, or that was too small to be bothered with.

While gleaning from the banks violated mine policy, residents were rarely turned away by the watchmen who themselves knew what it was to do without.

For while there was coal aplenty for the rest of the world, those who lived in New River were too poor to afford it.

Rocks clattered underfoot and Lizbeth slowed the wheelbarrow. “Let’s go up this way, to give the other women space.” She pointed to a group of neighbors filling gunnysacks. Stumbling higher up the bank, Lizbeth knelt and picked through the fragments of rock for coal.

Bucket in hand, Jayne knelt a few paces away.

Lizbeth gathered her findings into a pail. Culling the banks was slow, tedious work that stained her hands as black as her boots. Jayne stayed no cleaner, but since she hummed as they worked, it helped to pass the time, and soon, Lizbeth had tipped two bucketfuls into the wheelbarrow.

Jayne wound her way through a series of hymns until the wheelbarrow brimmed full and the dinner bell rang at the mine. Lizbeth’s stomach tightened with the same strain as the rain clouds brooding over the road toward home.

A rising wind stirred her hair and with thought of tea and bread beckoning, she brushed her hands free of dust, if not blackness. “Ready?”

“Just a few more here.” Jayne culled more nubs of black ore from the bank then sat back on her heels. The front of her apron was blackened and anyone would think it ruined had Ma not taught them the best way to scrub coal from clothing.

Rocks clattered beneath their boots as they carefully picked their way back down.

“I’ll take the first stretch.” Jayne gripped the wheelbarrow handles and teetered it into motion.

The pathway stretched just wide enough for them to walk side by side, so Lizbeth helped balance the burden as it creaked forward.

A long, laughing trek as they worked to keep their load righted and their hearts light back down the lane.

Soon, it was just them and the woods. Quiet and familiar.

Yet at the sound of voices in the distance, Lizbeth listened, finally spotting movement up the road.

Two men strode around the corner, dressed in suits.

Tall, handsome, and out of place on the country lane.

“Oh, heavens,” Lizbeth muttered.

Jayne blanched at the sight of Mr. Drake and Mr. Brydolf. “Oh, Lizzy.” Plunking down the wheelbarrow, she swiped at the front of her dress. “The mortification. We look like mice from the dustbin.”

Had they whiskers, those would surely be dirty too. Lizbeth pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, trying to brush away any loose tendrils that didn’t want to stay snug under her kerchief. “Nonsense. Who are they to judge us? We’re hardworking women and have had a very fruitful morning.”

Jayne swiped again at her blackened hands.

“A little too fruitful.” She glanced around as though to disappear into the shrubs lining the roadside.

A smudge of black dusted the tip of her nose.

Lizbeth swiped it clean, then braced the wheelbarrow handles and pressed forward with all the dignity she could muster.

Jayne trailed a step behind, scrubbing gritty palms on her apron.

She looked about to cry and Lizbeth regretted her earlier attempt to draw the words from Jayne earlier.

That this man—Mr. Brydolf—was the one Jayne had been too shy to speak of.

Mr. Brydolf was the man who had caught Jayne’s eye.

The pair of them had danced most of the night in the hoist barn.

But now, Jayne’s gown was far from her finest, no fiddle struck a sweetened tune, and the air wasn’t softened by a dozen lanterns.

This was real life—in broad daylight—and they were two girls from coal country.

When the men slowed, Mr. Brydolf’s blue-eyed gaze took in Jayne’s appearance from the blonde curls that peeked out from beneath her own handkerchief to her dusty boots.

His smile was kind. “Afternoon, ladies. Where are you off to? I do believe rain may be coming.”

Mr. Drake pulled off his flatcap.

Lizbeth and Jayne exchanged glances. “Homeward,” Lizbeth answered for them both.

Was Mr. Brydolf really trying to make small talk with them? And with such jolly manners? There wasn’t a soul in twenty miles who didn’t know what they were doing, but these men surveyed the scene before them with marked curiosity.

Well, Mr. Brydolf seemed curious. His friend looked hassled.

“I suppose rain might be on the way.” Jayne noted the sky, her expression easing some.

Mr. Brydolf’s attention dropped to their load. “Coal. Have you ladies pushed this all the way from the mine?”