Chapter 3 – Summer 1909 – I like a woman who knows her mind
On Wednesday evening, Abigail came into Peter's room, laying out a nice white shirt, gray slacks, suspenders, and an old suit coat of Noah's that she'd been able to tailor. Peter looked up from his desk to where she was staring wistfully at the clothes.
"I would've grabbed something," Peter said gently.
"I know, but I like doing it for you." This was the truth. But it was also true that it had occurred to her that morning that she didn't know when she would ever lay a suit out for her son again. The sad thought floated through her mind once more, and she bit back a catch in her breath.
"How's your speech coming?" she asked instead.
"Mom."
"Right."
All of the graduates traditionally offered a few words at the ceremony, the achievement being still uncommon. Peter, she knew, had spent several nights thinking over what he could say, but would not show her anything or ask for ideas. "I'm about to be a man," he had said one of the times she asked, "and I'll need to figure out my thoughts on my own." She'd gone into her bedroom and cried a bit after that.
She looked helplessly around her little boy's room. The shelves held years' worth of books, including a copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit that she'd seen and had to buy, even though he was much too old for it by then. In the corner were the baseballs she'd taken away countless times after they had zipped around her house like missiles. And she knew that the toy rifle he'd often used to play Mountie still lay underneath his bed.
He wasn't leaving, she knew that, but it still felt like an ending instead of a beginning. Unsure what else to do, she started to turn from the room, but found herself lingering at the last moment. She knew she shouldn't say anything, but as the time grew shorter, it gnawed at her more desperately. She held to the doorframe, tentative, watching the side of his young face as he tried to work.
"Peter, you know you don't have to."
He'd been flipping the pencil back and forth between his fingers as he contemplated the page, but now the movements slowed. He let the point float down against the wood with a pensive tap.
"Yes, I do." Turning to face her where she stood in the doorway, he gave her what she knew was his determined look – the one that darkened his face and hardened his jaw. The look that always caught her off guard with its maturity. The look that made her so fiercely proud and so fiercely protective at the same time...
"But it's going to be okay," he said.
She nodded, doing her best to smile. "I know. I'll let you finish up and get to bed."
"Okay. Goodnight, Mom. I love you."
"I love you too, sweetie."
She left the room before the tears came again.
ooo
Graduation from a one-room schoolhouse in a coal town was a small but momentous event. Eighth grade certificates were to be given that year only to Deborah Blakeley, Thomas Haverhill, and her Peter. Abigail's pride competed with her misgivings about all that was to come. As she watched him from her seat, chattering with the other boys there being recognized for advancement, all she could think was how young he still was.
She knew that Peter's childhood dream of being a Mountie was no less dangerous than coal mining. And, to folks like them at least, there was just as much honor in a day's hard labor as in wearing the red serge. But she wished it had been his choice. She wished the future hadn't been so prescribed for him since he was a boy. She wished Noah hadn't…
No. She couldn't think like that. Reaching over to the seat next to her, she squeezed her husband's hand to chase the doubt from her head.
Mrs. Appleton came to the makeshift podium outside the church to start the ceremony, and the students and parents immediately quieted.
"Welcome, all of you, to this year's advancement and graduation ceremony. I am so delighted to continue to have the privilege of teaching your children and watching them progress in their education. Before we get to the recognition of our students, I want to take a moment to thank Mr. Henry Gowen and the Pacific Northwest Mining Company," she said, gesturing to where he sat in the front row, "for funding new readers for the class next year. We greatly appreciate the Company's continued investment in Coal Valley."
Mr. Gowen turned partway to the audience, tipping his hat in acknowledgment as he once again received a round of applause. What must that be like, Abigail mused, having people clap for your every action and appearance? She wondered if he enjoyed it.
The ceremony proceeded, mothers fanning themselves in the hot open sun until it was their turn to cheer excitedly. When finally Peter's name was called, she and Noah jumped from their seats to clap and wave as their child moved his unassuming frame to the podium.
"Hello," Peter began quietly as they settled back down, "I'm Peter Stanton. Even though I wasn't born here, I don't remember anything before coming to Coal Valley, so as far as I'm concerned, this has always been my home. My ma and pa, they worked hard to raise me here, and they gave me an opportunity that not a lot of kids get – the time to get a full education from a good teacher, and then an honest job working beside some of the best folks I know. I hope that I can provide just as well for my family when my time comes as they did for me. I've learned so much these past nine years, and I'm proud to be able to take all of the growing up I've done, and go into the mine with the hardworking men of this town. Thank you."
Peter nodded at them quickly before leaving the stage, his cheeks tinged pink as he rushed to remove himself from the attention of the audience. She clapped again even as she felt her face twist with the heartache of the moment, the new reality setting in. The speech had been for her, she was sure. To get her to see that he had accepted what lie ahead for him, and could take pride in living the life of a miner. She had to admit then, her baby boy had indeed become a man.
ooo
Noah and Peter circulated through the crowd, the former introducing the latter to any of the mining buddies he could find at the ceremony. Peter had already been on the other end of many a hearty handshake before she separated herself from them and found her way to Henry Gowen. She waited politely as he wrapped up a conversation with Herbert Ansvil before getting his attention.
"Mrs. Stanton," he said graciously, moving to face her. "You must be quite proud of your boy today."
She smiled. "I certainly am, but to tell you the truth, Peter has always been Noah's boy," she joked, waving a hand toward where the two stood with the Millers, Peter's mannerisms intentionally reflecting his father's as he met his new coworkers. "They'll be quite the pair down at the mine, I'm sure. I just wanted to come over and thank you again for the opportunity."
"Of course. Noah's one of our best, and we always need more men like him."
Abigail took the praise modestly, as she was supposed to.
"And that's wonderful about the new readers. I don't have any more children attending the school, but it's still a great thing to see the company investing in the education here."
Mr. Gowen nodded without answering. Where other people might take this as a sign that the subject had run its course, however, Abigail's thoughts instead came from the back of her brain to fill in the silence.
"Why did you give the money?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"Well, it seems like better education for the boys of this town might lead to a reduction in your labor force. Isn't it more beneficial for you to have them be malleable and eager to go out to work?"
Mr. Gowen blinked in surprise, and she instantly regretted her words.
"Oh my, that was very brash. Please excuse me," she said, her cheeks growing pink.
"No, not at all," he rushed to assure her. "Or at least, no need to apologize for it," he grinned. "It's just surprising to see a woman take an interest in the business of it all. It comes down to relationships, Mrs. Stanton. To image. We want to be a company people want to come to work for. And contrary to what some might believe, coal mining is not a completely unskilled industry. We need people looking out for safety, creating strategies, solving problems."
"Of course. That makes complete sense," she said quickly, not quite sure how to take his comment about her interest in business, but most certainly sure she'd embarrassed herself. "I hope I didn't give you the impression I was questioning your motives, Mr. Gowen."
"Weren't you?"
Now it was her turn to flinch. She couldn't tell if this man simply enjoyed her humiliation or if he was issuing a challenge. When she didn't have an answer for him, he squinted with amusement and walked away, a swagger in his step.
"Oh, and Mrs. Stanton?" he said in parting. "Call me Henry."
