Lightly, he leaned over and rapped the telephone booth with his knuckles. “Maybe you can telephone him sometime?” Grinning, he pivoted and walked back to the counter. I watched him snatch glimpses of me as he snapped open a brown bag and began stuffing it with the customer’s store goods.
Flustered, I sat down on the small, narrow telephone bench, searching my satchel for Mr. Morgan’s number.
Outside the booth, I heard his voice before I saw him. Mr. Gillis and a gray-haired woman who held a sack of groceries huddled alongside a rack of work clothes with their backs to me. Pressing my knee against the wooden bifold door, I cracked it open a bit more, listening.
“I tried, Ma,” he said worriedly. “They’s working me to my death. Guyla’s not taking care of the boy.”
“I know’d she was a bad one from the git-go, Son,” his mama hissed. “Should’ve kicked her ass out long ago. You talk with your cousin Robbie?”
“Ain’t been able to see him. Coal’s been thieving my time. And can’t hardly keep my mind on work, Ma, worrying what will befall my son next. Worrying she’ll let him get hurt really bad the next time, maybe even—” Mr. Gillis rubbed his face, sniffed. “I need new work that ain’t pulling my leg into the grave, and I don’t want to lose my boy.”
His mama pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “I’ll talk with Robbie again, have him work on that foolish lookout gal. Meanwhile, you git rid of Guyla.”
Mr. Gillis turned slightly to her, seeking what looked like a permission of sorts in his eyes.
She nodded once, then again more firmly. “You get rid of that trash, then it’ll be only you and the boy to worry on. Get yourself that cushy forest job like Robbie has. I’ll git your sister to help ya sit the boy in the meantime,” she said, patting his arm. “Ida won’t mind at all helping out her little brother. Get on to your shift tonight, and I’ll talk with Robbie and Ida.”
The woman turned to leave and our eyes met. Quickly, I lowered my chin to my lap and pulled the booth door closed, rumbling the glass. A chill latched hold of my flesh as she bristled by. I waited until Mr. Gillis’s footsteps sounded a few seconds later. Then the store bell jingled, announcing his goodbye.
I composed myself and found Mr. Morgan’s card and stood to dial, letting it ring seven times before I hung up. I waited a moment, then tried once more. But the lawyer never answered. I could ride to the outskirts of town where his office was, but I knew that if he didn’t pick up the telephone, likely his office was closed.
I thought to try calling Papa, but a man tapped on the glass and pointed to his watch, waiting to use the telephone.
I stepped outside the store, pushing past the gathered miners, wishing the woman at Pewee Valley had let me speak to the prison doctor. Doctor. The old mountain doc was our family doctor; maybe he could help.
Greta and Carson were on the corner, their heads bowed in secret conversation, the young lovers smitten with each other.
In the street, Wrenna passed by with her rooster. Gillis still hung around, eating an apple, nursing his wounds as he propped a dirty boot back against the storefront. He pretended to leap for the young girl, stirring a charging fury in the protective pet, the raw, unkind, brutish laughter of the men caroling, coaxing Gillis and the frantic bird on.
Gillis took another bite of his apple and then threw it at the rooster, making the creature fly up and squawk.
For a few seconds, Wrenna stared at him oddly, then sounded a musical coo-coo, and the bird hurried back to her side. She picked up the rooster and walked steadily past the men, carrying a small basket of wild berries, poke, and other greens she’d probably picked for her great-grandmother, Emma.
***
I rode Junia over to Doc’s house, hoping he could help me.
Millie frowned when she opened the door.