CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Kyland
That weekend was the most joyful weekend of my life. We spent half of it on the floor of my room, the breeze blowing the scent of lavender through the open window, making love until our limbs were sore, and I didn't remember where she ended and I began. My Tenleigh, the one woman who soothed my soul and excited my body both at the same time. Nothing had changed in that regard.
When our backs were achy from lying down too long, we took a hike in our mountains. Once I had only seen desperation and poverty here—and there was no lack of pain and struggle in Appalachia. But now, walking hand in hand with Tenleigh, what I saw was the wild beauty of the forests just coming to life after a long winter. The wildflowers were blooming everywhere, the meadows awash in color, the streams were sparkling in the sunlight, and the air was warm and tasted of the sweetness of spring. These were the hills of my blood, the land my father and all his fathers before him had worked and loved in, toiling in the coal mines, working the soil of their land, and falling in love with women who would give them proud Kentucky sons and daughters. For the first time since I'd been a little boy, I felt fierce with the love of home, of these mountains, of the people who lived here, trying, failing, trying again, hanging on by their fingernails to their God-given pride and their enduring love of Appalachia.
There were some ornery backwoods mountain folk in these parts. And none of them would tell you any different. But they were strong, and they were brave. And mostly, they were good-hearted people who did the best they could and worried about each other. How had I forgotten about that when it was right in front of me all this time? And maybe I was one of them, too. Maybe I'd helped a few along the way as well for no other reason than they were my people.
Tenleigh and I brought a picnic lunch and ate on the edge of the meadow where I'd first made love to her and where I'd realized I would sacrifice everything I had for her: my dreams, my heart, my soul. It was the place that had forever changed me. And now we'd come full circle.
We sat in the grass at the edge of a small stream, the water rolling and splashing by, as we made plans for the future. I'd spend the small amount of money I had put away to fix the roof on my house and buy some furniture. We'd live there until I was done working at the mine and Tenleigh's school was built and running. We'd set up a nice room for her mama and I'd go through the process of applying to colleges for the second time in my life. When the time came, and when I knew what schools I'd gotten into, we'd all decide what we wanted to do. I knew I couldn't work underground for the rest of my life. I did it now, and I had gotten somewhat used to it, but it was still a challenge for me. Every day I went down into that dark mountain, but I still had to force myself to do it.
"How did it feel the first time?" Tenleigh whispered, her head on my lap, those gentle green eyes staring up at me. With the light shining down on her, I could see the blue and gold around the outer rim, her eyelashes a dark frame.
"What?" I asked, my mind calm as I appreciated the texture of my girl's skin under my fingertips, the glossiness of her hair spread out on my thighs as she gazed up at me.
"The mine," she said, as if she'd been reading my thoughts from a few moments before. "How did you do it, Ky? How did you go down there?" She reached up and cupped my cheek in her palm. I turned to it and kissed the warm skin of her hand.
I closed my eyes briefly, moving my mind from all things open and filled with happiness, back to the small dark spaces I moved through every day. "It was truly like taking a trip down to hell the first time," I said. "I put a few sprigs of lavender in my pocket and when I thought I couldn't do it, when I felt like I'd lose my mind, I took them out and smelled them. I closed my eyes and felt you with me; I pictured those lavender fields blowing in the breeze. It got me through those moments." I shrugged. "I did it because I had to. I did it because me going down there meant your freedom. And eventually, like most things, even terrible things, you learn to live with it."
Her eyes were filled with love. "What's it like?" she asked. There was a hitch in her voice.
"It's dark. So pitch dark, there should be a different word to describe that kind of dark. And it's hot—at first I could hardly catch my breath."
She turned slightly toward my stomach and wrapped her arms around me in comfort. I leaned down and kissed her temple.
"And you'd think it'd be quiet, you know, so far beneath the earth, but it's not. You hear it shift and groan, like it's unhappy with our invasion. Like humans have no place down there and it's reminding us that it wants to fill the spaces we've carved out. Those noises sound like some kind of warning most days."
"But you've gotten used to it?" she asked as if she couldn't quite believe it.
I paused. "Yeah . . . mostly. I hate the dark and I hate the hot, thick air. I hate working hunched over all day. I hate feeling enclosed and at the mercy of something that's a million times more powerful than me. But . . . there are the guys—the other miners who go down there every day to do a job most people have no clue about. They do it with pride and with honor. They come out with blackened faces and dust in their lungs, and they do it because they have families, and because their fathers before them did it. They do it because it's an honest day's work. They do it despite the fact that most people have no clue that coal is how they get their electricity."
"Each time you flip a switch, thank a coal miner." She smiled. "I'm so proud of you."
I smiled back down at her. "I do the same thing thousands of other men do, too. But being down there, it's brought me a pride in my father and my brother that I didn't have before. It's given me some peace about the way they died. In some ways it's a hell for me, but in others, it's been a gift."
"I love you," she whispered. It was in her expression. She understood me. She understood the anguish I had felt. She understood the sacrifice, and she understood the pride, too. I hadn't thought it was possible to love her more, but I did.
This girl.
My girl.
"I love you, too."
On Sunday, we went to breakfast at a small diner up the highway. She told me all about San Diego, about the ocean, about classes, about applying for the grants, about the coffee shop she'd hung out in almost every day. I soaked her in, her enthusiasm, her beauty, her pride, her intelligence. And I was so proud she was mine.
"I worried all the time," I said, not making eye contact.
She grabbed my hand and I focused my eyes on our linked fingers. "About my safety?" she asked.
I shook my head. "That, a little bit, but more so I worried . . . I worried that you'd meet someone else. Fall in love." I raised my eyes to hers and I could feel the vulnerability that must have been in them. Her lips parted and her expression turned sad. She shook her head.
"It's always been you. No one else. I didn't want to admit to myself that building the school . . . well, as much as it's for the kids here, a way to give back to my hometown," she looked down and then back up into my eyes, "I wanted to be close to you again. Even though I knew it'd hurt. I couldn't let go of you. I never did—all that time, I never did. Even when I thought you'd betrayed me. Or maybe somewhere inside, I knew you couldn't have."
I leaned across the table and kissed her.
We drove to a craft fair a couple hours away across a covered bridge where Tenleigh took out her cell phone and snapped pictures of me, laughing when I offered up a tense, unnatural smile, finally making me laugh a genuine laugh with some ridiculous, goofy faces. She seemed pleased with the picture of me looking to the side, my teeth flashing in a grin, the bridge a quaint backdrop. She made it her screen saver. "You really want to look at that every time you turn on your phone?" I asked, even though it made me happy and I hoped she'd keep it there.
"Yup," she said. "I like to look at my handsome boyfriend, especially when he's not around."
I pulled her into me and kissed the top of her fragrant hair. Boyfriend. The word didn't seem big enough to describe the extent to which I belonged to her.
I bought her homemade ice cream churned by an old woman with rosy cheeks, who wore a brightly colored calico skirt. She looked at us and smiled a warm knowing smile as if she understood something we hadn't told her in words.
We walked hand in hand as Tenleigh looked at the arts and crafts made by local artisans, listening to their lyrical mountain speak—a language mixed with simplicity and poetry. I knew some of the local people on our mountain growing lavender had gone to one of these a few weeks before. Just seeing the many Appalachian entrepreneurs filled my lungs with pride.
We sat under a giant buckeye tree and listened to a bluegrass band, the music filling the air, every note singing home.
I leaned in to Tenleigh and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to marry you."
She leaned her head back and gazed at me. "I want babies," she said. "Lots and lots of them."
I laughed. "As many as you want. I'm going to make all your dreams come true. All my life."
Her eyes filled with tenderness. "And I'm going to make all your dreams come true. All my life."
I smiled, and leaned in to kiss her. You already have. You are my dream.
When the sun was setting over the mountains, we drove back to my house, hand in hand in the cab of my truck.
We ended the day making love under my open window, the floor familiar now, the fit of our bodies bringing the joy I'd lived without for too long. I drifted off to sleep, happy, content, and filled with peace.