Free A Bird On Water Street by Elizabeth O. Dulemba

stare.
    Everybody shopped at the Company store, but miners’ families got a discount. Every now and then Mom would drive to the city to find something specific, but not often. That’s why it was so easy to pick out the mining families in town—they were almost always the best dressed and had the latest everything. Of course, we already knew who they were anyway.
    We weren’t alone when we got to the store. I helped my parents quickly fill a basket to overflowing with things like tuna fish, coffee, toilet paper, flour, yeast, and soap—things that would last a long time. We managed to get in the checkout line not too far back. It quickly grew behind us and wrapped around the shelves, which were now almost bare.
    Mr. Ledford stood at the checkout counter with a small selection of goods.
    “He’s lost weight since I dropped by last week,” Mom whispered. “Poor man is trying to take care of his wife without any nursing help.”
    We were close enough that I overheard Mr. Ledford ask, “What do you mean I can’t buy groceries?”
    “You can’t buy on credit anymore,” Mr. Davenport said loudly. “You’ve got nothin’ for it to come out of.”
    “I don’t have any cash,” Mr. Ledford muttered. “My last paycheck was only ten dollars.”
    “You and half the other men,” Mr. Davenport replied. “We were doin’ you a favor lettin’ you charge against it all this time.”
    “My wife got sick.” Mr. Ledford said. “I got behind.”
    “That’s not my problem,” Mr. Davenport said. “Now step aside, so I can ring up the Hills.”
    Mr. Ledford just stood there with his mouth open.
    “Saint Peter don’t call me ’cause I can’t go. I owe my soul to the Company store,” Dad said, quoting the Tennessee Ernie Ford tune.
    “Mom, can we help?” I asked.
    She already had her wallet open. Dad nodded as she pulled out a few dollars. I pulled two wadded up bills out of my pocket to add to it. Up and down the line of grocery carts, families pulled money from their wallets and passed it forward. By the time it got to the front it was a thick bundle of cash—enough for several trips to the store.
    Mr. Hill slapped the pile on the counter and said, “Mr. Ledford has plenty of money to buy his groceries. I suggest you check him out now.”
    Mr. Ledford gave everyone the slightest nod. His eyes were wide and brimming with tears as he turned back around like a turtle pulling into his shell. He paid for his groceries and quickly left the store.
    I was never so proud of my neighbors. But Mr. Ledford was a scary reminder of how close any of us were to being in a similar situation.
    O
    Dad still left for the mine every morning, but now it was to strike at the front gate . . . where he can’t get hurt , I thought but rubbed my lucky rabbit’s foot anyway.
    Piran and I stood on the bridge after school and watched the miners picketing in the distance. The men chanted and punched the sky with their signs as they circled in front of the Company.
    Dad came home excited at the end of the day. “We’ll have our jobs back in no time—all of us. They’ll give in soon.”
    Was it wrong of me to hope not?
    O
    By Thanksgiving Dad was a little less fired up. “They’re not makin’ any money without the Company running. They need us back,” he said. “They’ve got to compromise.”
    I almost envied Buster when his family came over for Thanksgiving. Living on a chicken farm might not have been so great, but at least they knew what tomorrow looked like. His dad had a job, and they could always eat chicken.
    r

Chapter 12
    December

    “Now Jack, I don’t want you getting your hopes up about Christmas, y’hear?” Mom said on the way to the Piggly Wiggly one Saturday. The Company had shut down the store like Dad predicted, so we had to drive forty minutes out of town for groceries, even though we didn’t buy that much. “We don’t have the money to spend this year like we used to.”
    The Christmas season had moved in