Family Reminders by Julie Danneberg Page A

skyline.
    My friend Emily came to stand beside me. She squeezed my hand and said, “Don’t worry, Mary. I’m sure he’s okay.” Emily’s father worked the night shift so she was spared the worry. “You know it always works out,” she said. I nodded, but in my head I knew that it hadn’t worked out for Matthew and Aaron O’Malley. A day after the siren went off last year, we found out that they were fatherless. Their daddy and uncle lay buried under a pile of rocks. A week after the siren went off, there was a double funeral, and two weeks later the remaining O’Malleys moved away.

    As the siren blurted out its bad news over and over and over again, I scanned the pale, scared faces of my classmates and wondered,
Is it your uncle? Is it your brother?
I didn’t let myself put words to the real question that was rolling through my mind.
Is it my father?
    Finally the siren stopped. After a few minutes of silence, Miss Sullivan, white-faced and teary-eyed, gathered us up and ushered us back into school. “Let’s try to keep busy, shall we?” she said as she started us on our regular afternoon lessons. Although we all went obediently through the motions, no one had thoughts of anything but what was happening in the mine across the valley.
    Finally it was time to go home. Miss Sullivan helped us with our coats and sent us quickly out the door. I didn’t even bother waiting for my friends. Instead I flew down the hill toward home, my feet pounding the wooden sidewalk. When I reached my own block I slowed down, not wanting to rush into any bad news that might be waiting for me.
    Deliberately, I opened the gate. Deliberately—one, two, three, four—I climbed the steps of the porch. I paused for a minute at the front door, took a deep breath, and walked inside.

Two

    “Is it Daddy? ” I called out before the door even slammed behind me. There was no answer, but I didn’t need one. There in the unlit kitchen was Mama, sitting motionless in a straight-backed chair, her hands grasped together in a white-knuckled grip in her lap, her eyes closed. My words startled them opened. I noticed they were red-rimmed.
    ”Is it Daddy?” I asked again, dropping my book bag to the floor and rushing to her side.
    “There was an accident at the mine, Mary. Daddy was badly hurt,” Mama began, speaking slowly, as if saying it that way made it somehow easier to take in, to understand. “A boulder fell on his leg. It came loose during last night’s blasting and then—”
    “But he’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” I interrupted.
    “I won’t know more than that until I see him and talk to the doctors.” Mama punctuated the last word with a jagged breath. For the first time she reached out to touch my hand. “Aunt Hattie’s coming to stay with you, and Uncle William will take me to the hospital.”
    “I’ll go with you,” I said.
    Mama shook her head.
    “I want to see Daddy, too. Please, Mama. Please let me come,” I pleaded.
    “I wish I could, Mary, but it’s going to be a long night. Who knows what will happen? I don’t want to be worrying about you as well as Daddy. It’s best for both of us if you stay here.” Mama pulled me into the cradle of her arms and rocked me like the little girl I hadn’t been for a long time.
    We sat there like that for a few minutes, lost in our own fears, until a knock at the door brought us both to our feet.
    Aunt Hattie, Daddy’s big sister, came in, fluttery and pale faced. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Liddie. Mary and I will be fine until you get back.”
    “Thank you, Hattie,” Mama said, heading toward the parlor. She pinned on her hat and slipped into her coat. I noticed her threadbare overnight bag tucked in beside the chair.
    “Please, Mama, can’t I come?” I asked again.
    Mama said nothing, just kissed the top of my head and went out into the slanting late-afternoon light, pulling the front door shut, oh so carefully, behind her.

    After Mama left I curled up