To Walk In Sunshine Read online

  The bleak cellar housing the bathroom, furnace room, storage space, and coal bin, sported few furnishings. It had a dirt floor except in the furnace room, where a water tank next to the furnace provided a fairly reliable supply of hot water for the house. In the bathroom, Ken crossed the wooden walking plank between the commode and the cast-iron tub and shucked his dirty clothes, then lowered himself into steaming waist-deep water, relaxing momentarily against the back edge of the tub.

  His thoughts drifted to green forests and clear-running waterfalls. Oh what it would be like to be truly clean and stay that way. At least tomorrow was Saturday, he reminded himself, and the thought cheered him. He did consider himself fortunate that the mine was still in full production, running two shifts, when mines in many places were closing down. But he also appreciated a little respite from the dreaded duties there. Once he finished the chores around home, he hoped to go up on the mountain for a few hours.

  On the floor directly above, three sets of footsteps moved about as his mother and his siblings tended to supper, sounds that brought Ken back to the present. He filled his lungs and exhaled slowly, then reached for the soap and scrub brush.

  By the time he toweled off and put on the clean clothes waiting for him on the straight-backed chair, Ken felt considerably better. He combed his damp hair in the dim light of the wall lamp and set the comb down on the shelf below the wall mirror before climbing the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Oh, good,” his golden-haired sister, Hannah, said, her airy voice more breathless than usual. “You’re done.” At nineteen and the image of their handsome mother, she turned a fair share of heads whenever she walked down the street to the trolley. Eyes of summer blue sparkled with her smile as she handed Ken the water pitcher. “Be a sport and take this to the table, would you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Oh, and don’t say anything about Timmy’s eye,” she added in a whisper.

  Ken cast a glance heavenward and shook his head. Hardly a week passed that their twelve-year-old kid brother didn’t get into a fight. It had to stop. And there was one way of making sure it did.

  He carried the pitcher into the dining room and set it on the table, right in front of Tim. It was all Ken could do not to laugh at the towhead, who, conspicuous in the attempt to keep his freckled face averted, squirmed uneasily in his chair as his older brother and sister took their seats.

  “You may say the blessing,” Ma said, a pointed frown directed at Ken, and everyone bowed their heads.

  “Thank You, Lord, for this good food. And for helping us to triumph over our enemies. . .if we did. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Timmy snorted.

  Hannah giggled under her breath.

  “Oh, really!” Ma huffed. “Let’s not start it. Pass the pork chops.”

  “It ain’t nothin’ anyways,” Tim said, the relief in his voice noticeable now that the tension in the room had eased.

  “Isn’t,” their mother corrected. “And I don’t wish to discuss it at the table.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Sitting up straighter, he snatched a slice of bread and slathered it with butter.

  Ken helped himself to several pork chops when the platter came his way, then filled the well in his mashed potatoes with gravy and spooned peas and carrots beside them. “Looks great, Ma. I’m famished.”

  “Then you’ll love the chocolate cake I just finished icing,” Hannah said.

  “Only if there’s any left when I’m done with it,” Timmy countered, heartily digging into his meal.

  She wrinkled her nose at him and sliced a chunk of pork, then sampled it.

  “How was your day?” their mother asked Ken.

  “Same as always. Long. But at least the week’s over.”

  “Somebody told me the other guys call you ‘Preacher.’ That right?” Tim asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I think it’s swell,” Hannah said. “They know what you stand for and respect you for it.”

  Tim turned a puzzled face to him. “How’d you get ’em to do that? Respect you, I mean.”

  “By not fighting every time somebody says something I don’t agree with,” Ken replied evenly.

  The lad blanched, making his freckles stand out all the more. “It’s different there than at school,” he muttered.

  “Even schoolboys respect a man who has a job,” Ken went on. He ate a chunk of pork, then looked up. “There’s talk of hiring on more breaker boys.”

  Their mother dropped her fork and blotted her lips with her napkin. “I’ll hear no talk of Timmy becoming a breaker boy,” she declared with fervor. “Besides, he’s only twelve. That’s too young.”

  “Not if I talk to the right man,” Ken said. “Look in my pay envelope, Ma. Look at what Hannah earns at the silk mill. All those hours we put in, and together we’re barely bringing in enough money to keep up with the bills, let alone get us out of debt. If the kid can help out a little, I say let him. We don’t have much choice.”

  “I could take in laundry,” Ma offered.

  “No, you can’t. You work too hard as it is. Harder than you’re supposed to, according to Doc Peters. After all the years you and Pa supported us, the least we can do is take care of you now. It’s what families do.”

  “He’s right, Mother,” Hannah chimed in. “Let us help. All three of us.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and she placed her hands in her lap. “I just don’t feel good about this. I already lost a husband and one son to those mines. I don’t know if I can face the possibility of losing anyone else, much less my baby. Someone in this family needs to graduate school.”

  “Aw, Ma,” Tim said, puffing out his chest. “I ain’t no baby. And what good is school, when nobody around here can be anythin’ except a coal miner anyways?”

  “I’m hoping the day will come when we can move away from the mines,” she said, her eyes moistening. “Your pa and I wanted you all to have a better life. Nobody expected that cave-in that took his and Matt’s life. Things just didn’t go like we planned.”

  “So we’ll have to make the best of it,” Ken replied, purposely refusing to dwell on the cruel past. “We’ll have to make enough money to get out of here on our own, and we have to do it while it’s still possible. When people started switching to oil and gas heat after the war, the demand for coal dropped. Mines in some parts of Pennsylvania and West Virginia are already closing down. We’re running out of time.”

  She sat quietly for a few seconds, her eyes downcast. “At least let me pray about it. I hate to be forced to make a decision like this—one I’ve dreaded more than anything in my life—without taking it to the Lord.”

  “Fair enough,” Ken said, watching her rise, pick up her half-finished meal, and leave the room. It wasn’t a decision he’d come by lightly himself. But what other choice did they have? Any of them?

  Two

  Strolling through the dappled shade of the forest far above the encampment, Rosalind stepped around a cluster of lush ferns to where a patch of sunlight illuminated a growth of dandelion-like coltsfoot. Removing the cloth bag hanging on her shoulder, she knelt among the yellow flowers to gather some of the scaly stalks for her grandmother. The older woman, a trusted healer among the Lebanese immigrants, would make an extract from fresh plant leaves and form it into hard candy cough drops. The dried leaves would be saved to steep when needed for medicinal tea.

  Though Rosa enjoyed the noise and activity of the camp, she appreciated the quiet solitude of the forest even more. Grandmother Azar had taught her well how to recognize the many herbs and plants with healing qualities, and now with her advancing years, she was more than happy to let Rosalind keep her sufficiently supplied for her trade.

  A gentle breeze whispered through the canopy of leaves overhead, and colorful birds flitted from treetop to treetop, trilling out their cheerful melodies as Rosa continued her search for herbs. Periodically a rabbit or a squirrel would scamper across her path and just as quickly disappear from
sight.

  Coming upon one of her favorite spots, where a gleaming ribbon of water sliced through a small clearing, Rosa stepped out of her slippers and lowered herself to the spongy ground to rest awhile. She tucked her legs beneath the folds of her skirt and listened to the gurgling, crystal-clear stream rushing by. This had to be one of the loveliest places anywhere, she surmised, letting her gaze drift to the infinite variety of trees all around. She especially liked the ferns growing in such profusion, and the bright wildflowers speckling the ground, lifting their fragile faces toward the rays of sunlight.

  From her skirt pocket, she took out a book of poetry and, ever thankful that her people had no qualms about making sure that girls as well as boys received an adequate education, she lost herself in the beautiful words.

  Before long, approaching sounds drew her out of her reverie. A forest creature, she suspected and cautiously slid the book back inside her pocket. She kept her eyes peeled toward the rustling coming from the other side of the stream.

  But no furry animal emerged into the small clearing. Instead, a sandy-haired man moved into view.

  His eyes found her in that same instant, and he halted in his tracks.

  Startled, Rosa snatched the herb bag from where it lay beside her and bolted to her feet, instantly calculating the shortest route home.

  His voice, pleasantly deep, stopped her before she took flight. “Please don’t run away,” he said kindly. “I won’t harm you.” As if to prove he meant no threat, he held his open hands aloft, a gentle smile softening wide-set eyes of palest gray. Beneath straight brows on his square-jawed face, a tranquil quality from within the silvery depths drew Rosa in a way she had never before experienced.

  She moistened her lips. A tiny voice inside warned her of the dangers of associating with strangers—particularly those with light hair and eyes, who considered her people unwelcome foreigners. But this one appeared harmless enough. Rosa felt her guard crumble a little.

  “I’m Ken Roberts,” he said, still smiling as he started toward her. He paused on his side of the water and slid one hand into a trouser pocket. “Are you new around here?”

  Rosalind’s hoop earrings tickled her neck as she shook her head, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off him. In a swift assessment, she noted his manly bearing and quiet confidence, his easy manner, and generous, well-shaped mouth. She watched the corners curve upward into a smile.

  “I come here pretty often,” he went on in that calm tone, “but I’ve never seen you before. That’s why I thought maybe you were new to the area.”

  “No,” she murmured. “I am not new. We—I—live on the mountain.”

  “This one? Larksville Mountain?”

  She gave the hint of a nod.

  “Sure is pretty around here,” he said. “God didn’t spare the beauty when He made our part of Pennsylvania.”

  His words, so sincere in their delivery, somehow made her feel she belonged here and put her at ease. She drew a slow breath and relaxed a bit more.

  “My family and I live not too far from your camp,” Ken continued, “down in Edwardsville. I work at the mine. I come up into the woods to breathe clean air now and again. I feel closer to the Lord among all this evidence of His handiwork.” He paused and tipped his head in the direction of her side of the stream. “Mind if I join you?”

  “As you wish,” Rosa said, hoping she would not regret the rash decision.

  He hopped across easily and grinned with satisfaction. Then, withdrawing an apple from his pocket, he sliced it in two with a pocketknife and held out half to her.

  Hesitating only a second, she accepted it. “Thank you,” she whispered. “My name is Rosalind. Rosalind Gilbran.”

  “Very glad to meet you, Rosalind.” With that, he plopped down beside where she’d been sitting and stretched out his legs as he crunched into his part of the apple.

  Rosa couldn’t quite find the courage to retake her seat on the ground, so she remained standing while nibbling the fruit he’d given her. But she kept a sharp eye out, lest someone from the camp should happen by. It wouldn’t do for her to be caught doing something forbidden. . .like speaking to a miner.

  ❧

  From the corner of his eye, Ken watched the petite Rosalind Gilbran, feeling her unease as if it were a tangible thing. He breathed a silent prayer that God would keep him from scaring her off. When he finished his apple, he tossed the core over to a tree where he’d spied a squirrel busily hunting acorns and other tidbits.

  Rosa followed suit. Then she stooped and rinsed her fingers, trailing them in the water momentarily. The full skirt she wore billowed about her in a cloud of red, blue, and yellow, the bright colors adding richness to her flawless olive complexion and sable eyes. A short red bandana with ends tied behind her ears hid a portion of her dark brown hair, but beneath its folds, shiny curls softly caressed the shoulders of her blouse.

  Ken couldn’t help but be fascinated at the grace of her movements and for a fleeting second envisioned her dancing to gypsy violins, her willowy form swaying like a flower in the wind. He forced himself to rein in his thoughts. “Do your parents know you wander so far from home, Rosalind?” he finally asked, liking the sound of her unfamiliar name.

  She turned and met his gaze. “I have only grandparents. And they know I have good reason to be in the forest.”

  “Ah.” Her statement, spoken in soft tones and with the barest hint of an accent, only added to Ken’s curiosity.

  He’d had few encounters with Lebanese people, a fact he attributed to their apparent reluctance to relinquish the daylight and willingly enter an iron cage that plunged down into the bowels of the earth where they’d have to work in dank darkness. He knew that a few of them peddled their wares in various parts of Wyoming Valley and the Back Mountain area and that others had recently opened businesses of their own. Though at first they seemed to suffer slightly more discrimination than other nationalities, they almost always turned out to be conscientious workers who met with surprising and amazingly swift success in their ventures.

  Rising to her feet, Rosa slipped the cloth strap of her herb bag over one shoulder. “I cannot stay. I must go now.”

  “I hope it’s not because of me,” Ken ventured, feeling a twinge of disappointment that she would not visit awhile longer.

  She shook her head. “No. Grandmother is waiting for the herbs I found.”

  “Well, take care, then. I’m glad I met you, Rosalind Gilbran. Maybe our paths will cross again sometime.”

  Her dark eyes met his and lingered for a heartbeat. “Perhaps.” Then with a timid smile, she turned and hurried away.

  An elusive element in her gaze caught at Ken’s heart, and for several moments after she vanished into the greenery of the woods, he tried to analyze it. Surely not fear, as she’d seemed fairly relaxed in his presence. But it might have been sadness or loneliness. Even a deep yearning. He bowed his head, as he so often did when alone in nature’s haven, and breathed a prayer for Rosalind Gilbran. He had a feeling the two of them would meet again.

  On the return trip to town, hours later, the memory of the young woman he’d met in the wooded hills teased his consciousness. It pained him to picture someone so lovely as she living in the coarse and ragtag gypsy encampment on the mountain. . .yet the stark, dismal company house he called home wasn’t all that superior. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck working in the coal mines forever. Maybe they all—gypsies and miners alike—shared the same dream of being able to obtain a better life someday.

  As Ken reached the house and went around to the back door, his kid brother came running from the next yard and joined him.

  “Guess what! I think Ma’s gonna let me be a breaker boy,” he announced.

  “That right?”

  He nodded. “At least she ain’t havin’ a conniption about it no more. That’s a good sign, right?”

  Ken tousled Tim’s hair, and they climbed the steps and crossed the shallow porch. “It might be
, Squirt. It just might be.”

  “What might be?” their mother asked, looking up from kneading bread dough as they came in. The flour on her hands and nose put the aged and chipping paint in the rest of the cheerless kitchen to shame, but she kept the old counters and floor scrubbed and squeaky clean, as if that made up for its shortcomings. The pale yellow curtains looked like she’d starched them again, too.

  “Nothing much,” Ken answered, giving the towhead a conspiratorial wink. Having worked in the breakers himself, he knew firsthand the difficulties the boy would face in the days to come. Yet he also knew that if Tim stuck it out and proved himself, he could catch the attention of his supervisor and advance to a better job. Like becoming a nipper, as the boys were called who tended the heavy wooden doors down in the mine shafts that controlled the ventilation for the miners. Or maybe even a mule tender, which had been Ken’s favorite duty in his younger years. Of course, there was talk of phasing out those temperamental beasts.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re both here,” their mother said. “The sacks of coal Timmy picked this morning never got dumped into the coal bin before he went running off to play. How about seeing to it now? They’re by the shed out back. And after that, I have a few other chores for the two of you.”

  “Sure thing,” Ken said, motioning with his head for Tim to follow him outside, where the slanted storm doors to the cellar were located. The common practice of salvaging whatever free coal they could from the culm banks kept a lot of people going when money was scarce. Most of the women and children had a favorite spot they frequented. And they were careful not to get caught by the authorities, even though no one could explain what was so wrong about putting to good use what coal companies discarded in the first place.

  Ken made quick work of the things his ma wanted done and was busy polishing all the Sunday shoes when Hannah came dragging in from her Saturday job of cleaning houses for folks over in Wilkes-Barre who could afford such a luxury.

  “Whew! How can it be so hot this early in June?” she asked, dropping onto a painted kitchen chair and kicking off her scuffed oxford shoes. Her faded work dress, bearing stains and smudges from the day’s activities, clung to her slender form.