"I think you should know . . ."
"What?" I asked.
"Well, he works below ground at the mine. I've seen him coming home, covered in coal dust."
Shock slammed into my chest and I froze for a second, picturing what Kyland would look like with the blackened face of a miner, only his teeth and the whites of his eyes showing. "The mine?" I squeaked out. "Below ground? He can't." I recalled Kyland's fear of small spaces, how he loathed the dark . . . his brother . . . I shook my head. "That's not possible." He'd never do that.
"Well," she said gently, "it is, because he does. I know I'm not supposed to talk about him, but I just thought you might want to know." She watched me with a sensitive expression in her eyes. "In case you were going to go see Jamie there, I wouldn't want you getting blindsided."
"Thanks, Mar," I whispered. My hands were trembling at the very thought of Kyland down there . . . below ground, in the dark . . . I knew he'd have to work somewhere, but I never for one second imagined he'd work at Tyton Coal. How?
Marlo watched me worriedly, finally saying brightly and obviously to change the subject, "So tell me more about this school." She patted my knee once. My attention snapped back to Marlo.
I forced out a small smile. Marlo and I had talked as often as possible—I'd even shipped her a cell phone that she could load with minutes so I could get a hold of her when I wanted or needed to. Unfortunately, she didn't always keep it full, and if she was at the trailer, there was no reception anyway. If she was at Al's, we could only talk for a few minutes before someone, usually Al, was yelling at her to get back to work. So we still had a lot to catch up on.
"It's going to be right on the edge of town where Zippy's Ice Cream Parlor used to be before the mine cave-in."
Marlo nodded. "Isn't the library on that lot?"
I nodded, a feeling of deep sadness moving through me. That small building—practically a shed really—had been my sanctuary at one point . . . and the place where I'd received my very first kiss . . . the place where—
I cut those thoughts short, focusing back on Marlo. "The building is going to be torn down to make room for the school, but I'll pack the books up." I took a deep breath. "Anyway, I've already started spending the money from the grants. I have a construction crew lined up. It's going to be a lot of work, but I'm excited about it. And it's going to make such a difference for the kids who live on this mountain and the ones who still live in Dennville."
Marlo nodded. "That's for sure. I can't even imagine what it would have been like not having to walk six miles to school every morning and then back home again."
I nodded. I knew a lot of the kids on the mountain didn't make the effort most of the time—hence the never-ending cycle of illiteracy, poverty, unemployment, and hopelessness. But I was hoping to change some of that. At least for a few, hell, even for one.
It would even help the kids who lived in Evansly and went to school there. As it stood, the public school system there was so overcrowded, and the ones who needed it, didn't get any individual attention.
When I'd started college in San Diego, I'd thrown myself into my studies full force. I'd been in survival mode, just trying to get from one day to the next, my heart so cracked and battered, some days I felt like I was too broken to move.
Having something other than Kyland to occupy my mind had been my saving grace. One late fall day my first year, I'd gotten into a discussion about education and poverty rates in Kentucky in a small study group I was in. I'd told them how the kids like me who lived on the mountain walked six miles or more to school every day. I'd held back from telling them the worst of it, but the group had been astonished that where I lived, very few people had cars or even heat. There had been a boy in that class, Howard, who mentioned offhand that I should look into grants for building schools. That comment had lived in the back of my head for several months until I'd finally decided to actually look into it.
I'd spent the next few years getting my teaching degree in English literature and applying for grant after grant—both public and private—to build a school in the poverty-stricken town of Dennville, Kentucky. Much to my surprise and joy, I'd secured a few grants from several private investors right before I'd graduated a few months ago. The funding would pay for the building, all the operating costs, and a very small staff.
And so I was home. Home to give back.
"So once this school is built, do you think that's where you'll work?"
"I'm not sure," I said quietly, running my finger along my lower lip. "Maybe. I wanted to talk to you about that, though, Mar. I mean, me coming back here, well, it means that you and Mama will have to wait just a little longer to get out of this trailer." I frowned. "I'm going to see if I can work at Al's while construction is underway, and I've saved up a little bit of money while I've been gone, since my expenses were paid for. I used some on my car, but whatever else I didn't send to you and Mama, I put away in a bank account. But whether I work here in Dennville at the school, or whether we all decide to move away so I can work somewhere else, that affects you."
Marlo put her hand on my knee. "First of all, Tenleigh, Mama's away for a little longer at least. Her doctors say another three months there would be ideal. You only took three and a half years to graduate. We didn't even expect you home until this summer. We can wait—we can wait for you to decide, to build your dream. We're so proud of you." She pulled her hand back and studied her fingernails. "Anyway, I . . . well, I don't spend very much time here."
"What?" I asked.
"Well, he works below ground at the mine. I've seen him coming home, covered in coal dust."
Shock slammed into my chest and I froze for a second, picturing what Kyland would look like with the blackened face of a miner, only his teeth and the whites of his eyes showing. "The mine?" I squeaked out. "Below ground? He can't." I recalled Kyland's fear of small spaces, how he loathed the dark . . . his brother . . . I shook my head. "That's not possible." He'd never do that.
"Well," she said gently, "it is, because he does. I know I'm not supposed to talk about him, but I just thought you might want to know." She watched me with a sensitive expression in her eyes. "In case you were going to go see Jamie there, I wouldn't want you getting blindsided."
"Thanks, Mar," I whispered. My hands were trembling at the very thought of Kyland down there . . . below ground, in the dark . . . I knew he'd have to work somewhere, but I never for one second imagined he'd work at Tyton Coal. How?
Marlo watched me worriedly, finally saying brightly and obviously to change the subject, "So tell me more about this school." She patted my knee once. My attention snapped back to Marlo.
I forced out a small smile. Marlo and I had talked as often as possible—I'd even shipped her a cell phone that she could load with minutes so I could get a hold of her when I wanted or needed to. Unfortunately, she didn't always keep it full, and if she was at the trailer, there was no reception anyway. If she was at Al's, we could only talk for a few minutes before someone, usually Al, was yelling at her to get back to work. So we still had a lot to catch up on.
"It's going to be right on the edge of town where Zippy's Ice Cream Parlor used to be before the mine cave-in."
Marlo nodded. "Isn't the library on that lot?"
I nodded, a feeling of deep sadness moving through me. That small building—practically a shed really—had been my sanctuary at one point . . . and the place where I'd received my very first kiss . . . the place where—
I cut those thoughts short, focusing back on Marlo. "The building is going to be torn down to make room for the school, but I'll pack the books up." I took a deep breath. "Anyway, I've already started spending the money from the grants. I have a construction crew lined up. It's going to be a lot of work, but I'm excited about it. And it's going to make such a difference for the kids who live on this mountain and the ones who still live in Dennville."
Marlo nodded. "That's for sure. I can't even imagine what it would have been like not having to walk six miles to school every morning and then back home again."
I nodded. I knew a lot of the kids on the mountain didn't make the effort most of the time—hence the never-ending cycle of illiteracy, poverty, unemployment, and hopelessness. But I was hoping to change some of that. At least for a few, hell, even for one.
It would even help the kids who lived in Evansly and went to school there. As it stood, the public school system there was so overcrowded, and the ones who needed it, didn't get any individual attention.
When I'd started college in San Diego, I'd thrown myself into my studies full force. I'd been in survival mode, just trying to get from one day to the next, my heart so cracked and battered, some days I felt like I was too broken to move.
Having something other than Kyland to occupy my mind had been my saving grace. One late fall day my first year, I'd gotten into a discussion about education and poverty rates in Kentucky in a small study group I was in. I'd told them how the kids like me who lived on the mountain walked six miles or more to school every day. I'd held back from telling them the worst of it, but the group had been astonished that where I lived, very few people had cars or even heat. There had been a boy in that class, Howard, who mentioned offhand that I should look into grants for building schools. That comment had lived in the back of my head for several months until I'd finally decided to actually look into it.
I'd spent the next few years getting my teaching degree in English literature and applying for grant after grant—both public and private—to build a school in the poverty-stricken town of Dennville, Kentucky. Much to my surprise and joy, I'd secured a few grants from several private investors right before I'd graduated a few months ago. The funding would pay for the building, all the operating costs, and a very small staff.
And so I was home. Home to give back.
"So once this school is built, do you think that's where you'll work?"
"I'm not sure," I said quietly, running my finger along my lower lip. "Maybe. I wanted to talk to you about that, though, Mar. I mean, me coming back here, well, it means that you and Mama will have to wait just a little longer to get out of this trailer." I frowned. "I'm going to see if I can work at Al's while construction is underway, and I've saved up a little bit of money while I've been gone, since my expenses were paid for. I used some on my car, but whatever else I didn't send to you and Mama, I put away in a bank account. But whether I work here in Dennville at the school, or whether we all decide to move away so I can work somewhere else, that affects you."
Marlo put her hand on my knee. "First of all, Tenleigh, Mama's away for a little longer at least. Her doctors say another three months there would be ideal. You only took three and a half years to graduate. We didn't even expect you home until this summer. We can wait—we can wait for you to decide, to build your dream. We're so proud of you." She pulled her hand back and studied her fingernails. "Anyway, I . . . well, I don't spend very much time here."
