Algorithm - Book 1 - The Medallion

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hedda peered out her living room window, trying to see into the winding road through the gathering mists as cold evening air flowed down the hills surrounding the small mining village of Port Griffith on the outskirts of Pittston along the Susquehanna. It was January 21, 1959, the day before something was about to happen, something which would mark the end to a way of life for thousands of coal miners working the anthracite fields of eastern Pennsylvania. At the moment Hedda worried about her husband, Luke, who should have been home by now. They lived in a three-room clapboard house, much like the hundreds of others spread along the river. Each day was a small test in endurance and patience. Fresh out of high school and with work hard to come by, Luke had joined the miners a couple of years ago, married his high school sweetheart in the bargain, and settled into an unforgiving way of life. The pay was poor and work was unrelenting, difficult and dangerous, but it was the same for thousands of other Wilkes-Barre families. The River Slope Mine was about a mile off, beyond a slight rise in the distance. Hedda's eyes tried in vain to pierce the unyielding gray curtain while shadows grew, enshrouding the view. Her greatest fear was to see the Black Maria trundling to her front porch. Although she did not know how or when the mining ambulance ever came to have such a dark and foreboding appellation, it certainly lived up to its name, quietly carrying terminally injured and dead miners to their households so that their relatives could see to them. This was an accepted and practical custom in many coal mining towns, as hospitals and medical facilities were far and few between. With little to see and an imagination far too active, she turned from the window, letting her hands fall from the sill, and dragged her feet back to the kitchen to tend to an over-cooked stew simmering on the gas range. The house was quiet with only the occasional loose floorboard squeal for company. She turned on the kitchen light, stirred dinner, and waited.

Sometime later, after the cold stew was tucked into the refrigerator, after she had called neighbors to inquire about their men, she sat alone and in silence while her eyes gradually became moist with worry. She slumped her weary body into a living room sofa chair, covering herself with a tattered quilt and drifting off into a troubled sleep.

There came a knocking on the front door. She awoke with a start, heart pounding in her throat. The knocking came again. She threw aside the quilt, stood up and ran to the door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It's me, Hedda. Open the door."

Hedda realized that she must have locked the door from the inside for the night. Her fingers grappled with the deadbolt, throwing the door open. In a blur, her sopping wet, black-faced husband angled through the doorway and they embraced. They stood hugging each other, fixed in an eternal grip of joy, oblivious to the rest of the world.

An eternity later, Hedda managed to catch her breath .

"Where the heck were ya? And, why are ya all wet?"

Luke, taken aback by the sudden mood reversal, hesitated a moment before replying. "Hedda. We found somethin'. Somethin' pretty amazing, I'm thinking."

Hedda preferred getting her entire question answered. "And why are ya wet?"