Dirty Faces - Book 2

Chapter 34: Needs

Chapter 34: Needs

The doctor had long since left, and the medicine ought to be working better than it was. Her sleep was fitful, the sheets were sweat-soaked, and every breath came as a rattle. She tossed and turned, and he wondered where she got the energy to do even this. Her eyes were sunken and her cheeks hollow; she was not at all the pretty girl he'd helped carry groceries home from the company store that day, all those years ago.

Was this love? Was this the reward he received for loving with all he had? She moaned and whimpered and gasped, and he wished to wake her from this terrible dream, or terrible reality, as it were. All he could do, though, was squeeze her hand.

"David," she whispered.

Ralph's breath caught in his throat, and before he had a chance to suppress it, a single tear escaped and ran down his cheek. He wiped it away with his free hand and sniffled. "David, the baby's crying," she slurred. "I'm so tired. Would you?" He couldn't contain his sobs that came next. He let loose her hand and left the room.

The boy was coming down the hall, just returning from work. Their shoulders brushed as Ralph hurried on. The cripple was on the couch, reading a comic book. "Ralph?" he asked. Ralph didn't reply. He stormed out the door and crossed the yard to his truck. He threw open the driver's door and searched beneath the seat until he obtained the bottle, then shut the door and went around the side of the house.

The tears came hard and fast as he traversed the path up the ridge. He hadn't visited in a long while, and he didn't need this occurrence to feel guilty for it. Emerging from the woods, he crossed Bill's property and made his way to the area where they planted Paserellas passed. He came to the headstone that read "D.W.P., 1904-1931". It was a long name; he couldn't fault Bill for the shortened inscription.

He opened the bottle and took a long drink, then slid down the side of the stone and seated himself. "It oughtta be you, Davey. I don't want this. It oughtta be you." He closed his eyes and reclined his head against the stone.

*****

Edith Harlowe was a buxom brunette, coveted by miner and non-miner alike. How Ralph had landed even a date with her was a mystery to him and everybody else. Things had gone on uneventfully, but promisingly, for a few months, when the day came that she inquired about his prospects. "Prospects?" he'd asked.

"Yes,' she'd replied. "Prospects. Do you aim to remain a miner, or is there more?"

He thought about his upbringing as the son of a tobacco farmer. The answer seemed obvious. "I reckon I'll stay in the mines."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

She hesitated.

"What is it?"

"I just−I thought you wanted more."

The next morning, Ralph found himself reconsidering his prospects. Skip Harlowe, the brother of his latest failed attempt at love, was scheduled to hew alongside him.

"Done?" David asked as he put the truck in park.

"I'm pretty sure."

David chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Skip sure does have a mouth on him."

"That he does."

"What do ya say we switch? You hew with Willard Phelps in number one, and I'll hew with Skip in number three."