If you've never been to West Virginia mountains there are so many things for feeling people to see and experience it can be overwhelming. People who don't feel anything but their own heartbeat and their own aches and pains probably would only notice poverty and trees and wild rivers and hills. But if you've ever seen inside yourself or heard laughter in your head or sung at the top of your lungs, just to feel it in your heart, West Virginia can grow on you and in you like soulful sweetness.
    Summer in most of Appalachia is a roaring time of the year. The season can be sweet and delicate like roses and honeysuckle, and then in a day turn hot and sticky humid like a steam house. It doesn't matter which way it is, gardens have to be tended, crops have to be harvested and, if you' re lucky, cows have to be milked, but mostly coal has to be dug. August 14, 1960, was one of those humid heavy days that take your breath away just by walking out the door. Barbara Jean Scott walked barefoot down her dirt street, leaving tiny sweaty footprints behind her. If you' d been any distance away you could never have guessed she was ten years old. Even close up, with her chestnut-colored hair stuck to her forehead and beads of sweat showing through her summer dress, she looked small and delicate.
    She stepped out of the street, up two crooked wooden steps, and through the doorway of the neighborhood store. City folks have a picture in their head of a country store that doesn't even begin to touch what this country store looked like. Most folks from town wouldn't even recognize it as a store--well, maybe a feed store. There was a counter as you come through the door just to your left. Across from the counter sat very large, almost huge bags of grains and various barrels of nails. Of course, unless you knew what was in those bags and barrels just anyone wouldn't be able to tell, because on them sat men of various ages and sizes looking like they' d been planted there for years, and many had. The stacks of items surrounding the resident loiterers varied from plow handles, to ammunitions of varying types, to tobacco stores for chewing, smoking, rolling and snuffing. As a person walked farther back in the small space one could find canned goods, sewing needles and bolts of fabric, lard, flour, picture frames, and many other items, some of which hadn't been replaced or moved in quite a long time, while some were replaced on a fairly regular basis. Barbara Jean walked her dusty bare feet across the recently swept floor, making a clear path to the long refrigerator that sat along the back wall. The men sitting in the store watched her pass by, not uttering a word or cracking a smile. She didn't pay them any mind, her goal was clear. If she had desired she could have named each of the men in passing, and their wives, and their children, and for some, their children's children. Some were her kin, but most just felt like kin, because she' d known them her entire life. They were fixtures, like the tree swing and the old sugar maple in the front of the house, important for their presence, but constants that were usually taken for granted. This hot August afternoon, all Barbara Jean could think about was the content of the cool refrigerator sitting against the far wall of the store.
    "Daddy!!" she said with emphatic desperation from deep inside. "Daddy, I' m 'bout parched! Please, can I have a pop?"
    Quietly, a man's head rose up from behind the counter. Lester Scott seemed to unfold rather than rise from behind the counter. He towered his six-foot, 4-inch frame above the length of the counter. If you'd just walked into that scene you would have glanced from that fair blond-haired, blue-eyed giant of a man to the tiny dark-haired girl in wonder. Barbara Jean was small, and her skin was a dark olive that blended with her rich brown hair. Her eyes sparkled deep bright green. Lester Scott boasted to all who' d listen that she had his mother' s striking bright green eyes. The folks who knew Barbara Jean felt like she was staring through them with those eyes instead of looking at them.
    "Yes, Bug, you can have a pop," Lester said in his deep soft voice. "And take a cherry one down to your brother, he's fishin' at the creek."
    Barbara Jean wrinkled her nose and frowned at her father, but she didn't comment on his order. She slid open the top of the long refrigerated cooler, feeling the icy air rise out across her hand. She stood on the tip of her toes, reaching deep into the cooler. She had no way to see into the deep wells of the fridge, but she knew exactly where the orange pop was lined up inside and pulled it out on the first try. She blindly searched for the cherry pop for her brother. She pulled out three other flavors—grape, strawberry, and lime—before she finally managed to snag the cherry. Her fingers ached with the cold wetness and her scowl deepened. She sighed deeply and turned to walk back out into the heat.
    Barbara Jean padded across the dusty street and started across the long field toward Stony Creek. She was silent, but her unhappiness showed clearly on her face. She kept her gaze at her feet as she trampled through the tall golden grass. Experience told her that the snakes usually stayed closer to the shade of the tree line in this deep heat of August, but it wasn't unheard of for a lazy snake to hide in the tall grass trying to catch a breeze or the possibility of the rare muddy spot. She watched her feet to make sure she wasn't stepping on anything that might be taking an afternoon nap in her path.
    Pa always makes me tramp after Jacob! she thought angrily. It's hotter than all get-out and now I got to hike all the way down to the creek!
    Barbara Jean slowed down as she walked into the tree line ahead of her. She carefully stepped through the trees, knowing that if she disturbed her brother' s fishing peace he would not let her forget it anytime soon.
    Sitting on the hard-packed earth, leaning against the swollen root of a black walnut tree, was Jacob Scott. Coming up to the thirteen-year-old, you immediately knew whose son he was. The adolescent was already almost six feet tall, with long skinny legs and broad shoulders. His hair, which his father told him to cut every time he saw him, was bleached blond by the sun and his eyes, which were closed at the moment, where pale blue. Even at his young age, every girl within twenty miles took notice of Jacob when they saw him.
    Barbara Jean frowned when she saw him. She carefully crept up beside Jacob and stooped silently down, slowly placing the cherry pop in the bend of his arm. As quietly and quickly as she could, Barbara Jean turned to hurry through the trees away from the creek.
    "BJ!" Jacob shouted, then bellowing even louder when there wasn't an immediate response, "BJ, wait!"   Barbara Jean hesitated for a second, trying to decide if she should ignore her brother's calls and keep walking or turn and answer. She sighed, then turned back, because she knew if he wanted her attention bad enough he could run her down in two steps.
    "Daddy said I had to bring you a cherry pop," she said, then tried to turn to leave.
    "BJ, wait! Come here I want to talk to you," Jacob called, then flashing her his huge warm smile, he said, "Come on, BJ, please?"
    Barbara Jean felt her resolve melting. When he wanted to Jacob could be sweeter than honey and then she rarely was able to say no to him. Barbara Jean remembered that her daddy always said that his charm would mean trouble one day. She wasn't quite sure what her pa meant, but she hoped she wouldn't regret giving in to Jacob's charm this time.
Barbara Jean walked back beside the large tree and sat against the big root beside her brother. "What do you want?" she asked cautiously.
    "I jus' want to talk," Jacob answered, still grinning from ear to ear.
    "bout what?" Barbara Jean asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
    "You read all them books," Jacob started. "want ta know if ya ever read 'bout other places?"
    "What places?" she asked.
    "Like other countries, you know, where people talk funny," Jacob asked, staring across the creek, not seeming to focus.
    Barbara Jean followed his eyes. She watched the creek gurgle and sputter across the rock bottom. Trees hung precariously over the water and their roots wove in and out of the loose soil like huge worms in the process of burying into the ground. The air smelled sweeter here. The running water seemed to take the humidity out of the air, making it easier to breathe and bringing in a sweetness.
    "I read a story from England once. It was real hard to understand; besides they talk English there," Barbara Jean replied, bewildered.
    "What 'bout big cities?" Jacob questioned, looking intently at his sister.
    "Oh, sure. I've read a lot 'bout big cities. New York, Chicago, Washington, DC, places like that. They seem exciting enough, but I sure do think all them people must feel crowded." Barbara Jean replied, feeling slightly superior to her brother. Jacob barely read his school books, while Barbara loved to seek out and dive into any book she could get her hands on. "Do you know ten or twenty families might live in one building? Can you imagine all them people in just one building? And they don' t have no land, just concrete stoops and walks outside the buildings. I don't believe I could breathe."
    "Well, if you ask me, it' s mighty hard to breathe around these mountains sometimes," Jacob replied running his fingers through his hair and frowning. He slipped back down to his lounging position against the tree and closed his eyes.
    Barbara blinked her eyes and looked at her older brother. She had no idea what he was talking about and she itched to know what was going on inside his head. She opened her mouth, then shut it. Something inside her head said to leave it alone. She thought Jacob looked like his mood was no longer friendly and she decided to leave him with his confusing thoughts.
    The steps Barbara took back to her daddy' s store always seemed longer than the trip to the creek. She followed her own path of crushed weeds across the field. The path was just a slight incline, but the heat of the mid-morning caused her to sweat and pant. She walked carefully across the field, keeping a close eye on her bare feet. The possibility of a snake crossing her path sent cold chills up her spine.
    At the sound of a vehicle speeding down the road ahead Barbara Jean' s head jerked up. She felt her stomach twist slightly and made her mind focus on what day it was and the usual schedule of events at this time of day. Today wasn' t delivery day for the store, so it was a very rare event when any vehicles came down the road during the day. Something was wrong, Barbara could feel it. She forgot all about the snakes as she hurried toward the red dust that was moving faster and faster down the road behind the vehicle.
    Barbara Jean burst through the tall field grass just as the Bigalow Company truck skidded to a halt in front of her father' s store. All the old cronies from inside the store had already stepped into the street before the truck arrived. The dust that had been following the truck caught up to it and engulfed them all. Barbara coughed as she strained to see what was happening. Lester Scott was the first person to step out of crowd to the truck.
    "Micky?" Lester asked the first man to step out of the truck.
    "It' s Hal, Les!" Micky replied breathlessly.  "He wouldn' let us take him to the hospital! He' s bad too. Lester!" Micky' s hand shook as he jumped into the back of the truck, where Hal was lying on a make-shift stretcher.
    Barbara Jean pushed her way to the back of the truck and stood on her toes trying to see into the truck bed. She knew that the coal mining company would not have let someone use the company truck to transport a man unless he was injured badly. She could only see dirty blankets piled high.
    "Barbara Jean!" she heard her daddy' s booming voice as she felt the weight of his huge hand swallow her shoulder.  "Run, girl, as fast as you can, to the house. Tell your mama your Uncle Hal' s hurt bad and on his way up!" Her daddy turned her by her shoulders while he was talking and gave her a gentle push in the direction of their home.
    Barbara Jean never felt her feet hitting the ground as she ran as fast as she could. The path from the store to her home was a steep climb up the mountainside. The tiny ten-year-old never faltered as she sped up the narrow dirt path to the house.
    "Ma!" Barbara screamed in a shrill breathless voice.  "Ma! Pa' s comin' !" she gasped.
    Margaret Scott came through the doorway from the kitchen. The desperation in her daughters voice jump-started all her  "mother senses."
    "Barbara Jean, what are you screeching at?" Margaret asked Barbara in a voice that was mixed with panic and anger.
    "Ma!" Barbara gasped, trying to calm her voice and catch her breath.  "Ma, they' re comin' ! He' s hurt bad, Mama. You' ve got to get ready!" Barbara paused, trying to get enough air into her lungs to make her mother understand the urgency.
    Margaret quickly assessed Barbara and saw she wasn' t hurt. She did know from Barbara' s tone that someone was hurt badly. She grabbed Barbara and sat her in the large rocking chair that was in the middle of the small living room.  "Girl, just catch your breath, then tell me everything you know. I' m going to gather the medicals while you talk." Margaret talked calmly to her daughter as she began to hurry to work.
    Barbara took some big gulping breaths.  "Ma, it' s Uncle Hal! He' s been hurt at the mines. I couldn' t see him none, but Pa made me run up here to tell you he' s bringing him here. Uncle Hal wouldn' t let ' em take him to the hospital, they said." Barbara looked across the room and saw her mother' s face turn ashen.
    "Barbara Jean, please go and gather up all the clean towels you can find," Margaret said in a soft stern voice.  "Go now, girl, and don' t dilly. There' s a hurt man a comin' ."
    Barbara quickly hurried around the corner to the closet where her mother kept the clean towels and rags. She stretched to reach the ones that were stacked above her head. As she was working, she heard the front door crash open against the wall. The entire house shook with the bang.
    "Barbara Jean, get out here now with those rags!" her mother shouted shrilly from the living room.
    Barbara scurried into the living room and saw that the men and her father had carried her Uncle Hal into the only other room besides the living room and kitchen on the first floor of the houseC her parents' bedroom. She started to follow them, glancing at the large number of people that had gathered in the small house. Barbara thought they looked like water bugs, scurrying this way and that, on a still pond. No one seemed to be doing anything, just jerking this way or that way. She tried to see her mother to give her the large stack of rags she had gathered. She carefully worked her way through the wave of people toward the bedroom. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she saw small drops of blood that had splattered down the hallway.
    Barbara peeked through the doorway to see a wall of bodies surrounding her parents' small brass bed. She pushed and squeezed her way through the crowd of women and men to the side of the bed. The first thing she noticed was that her mother' s beautiful bow tie quilt was no longer the bright yellows, blues and flowered patterns that it once had been. The quilt now was smeared along the outer edges with rusty red blood that had already started to dry. The color grew to a darker, deep red as Barbara' s eyes followed the stains.
    Barbara knew she would be in great trouble if anyone noticed her near her Uncle Hal, but she couldn' t seem to help herself. She felt like she had to do something. Just see him, maybe touch him if it would help. She slowly raised her eyes, following the dried blood to the darker red blood until the stain was so dark you couldn' t see the pattern of the quilt. She saw Uncle Hal' s hand first. She was confused. He was a coal miner, like many of the men in the hollow, but he was his own farmer also. It was common for folks to keep their own produce and for some a few chickens and pigs, if they were lucky. Most men were white-faced coal miners with dark tans on their arms and necks. Barbara looked at her uncle' s hand and arms, but they didn' t look like him, because they were almost a bluish white color.
    Barbara' s eyes traveled up Hal' s arm toward his face. She grabbed the side of the bed as she saw his face. Hal had not made a noise, for those moments she had stood beside him. She thought he was not awake, but when she looked into his face his eyes were wide open. His eyes were so wide open in pain, she thought they might pop right out of his head. His face was the color of talcum powder. His mouth was wide open, but not a sound came out of it, not a scream, a cry of pain, or even a moan. Barbara thought he looked as if the air had been knocked out of him.
    Everyone was moving around her uncle frantically, but no one seemed to be doing anything to help him. Barbara saw her mother in deep concentration touching her brother firmly, whispering in his ear, and putting a root inside his mouth, pinching it between his teeth and cheek. She was the only one calm, not moving around sporadically, but Barbara could see a tear slipping down her mother' s cheek.
    Barbara shifted her glance down her uncle' s body. She saw the torn sleeve of his flannel shirt. Her glanced traveled down to his stomach. Her eyes widened as she felt her stomach flip-flop. She saw that Hal had no shirt beyond his chest, and where his stomach once was, round and firm, there was nothing but blood and raw torn flesh. Even though she felt sick Barbara couldn' t drag her eyes away from the gaping hole in her uncle' s stomach.
    "Barbara Jean!" Lester Scott' s sudden shout broke the spell that transfixed Barbara.  "What are you doin' in here?" He didn' t finish before lifting her away from the bed.
    "Daddy, I was jus' bringing the towels Mama said to get," she explained meekly.
    "Give ' em here!" Lester took the towels from Barbara' s arms.  "Stay out, girl, there' s nothin' for you to see in there."
    Lester turned and left her standing outside the door of the bedroom. Barbara wandered back into the living room. She couldn' t shake the picture she had just left. She knew her Uncle Hal' s life hung in the balance. She could see the pain he was feeling was incomprehensible. The look in his eyes was nothing she had ever seen before, in an animal or a person. She was overwhelmed with the feeling that she needed to do something. Her daddy said there was nothing she could do. She sat in her mother' s large rocking chair. She curled her feet underneath her body and leaned back to feel the big rocker sway slightly under her small frame. She felt bad. It was the same feeling she had when her puppy got bitten by a copperhead snake. She felt helplessly alone.
    Barbara looked around the room at the other people sitting in the living room. She saw a few of her cousins and some neighbors. She noticed the dozen people around her all had the same look on their faces. She felt the sick feeling come back into her stomach. She closed her eyes and prayed a short silent prayer for her Uncle Hal. Barbara remembered the look in her father' s eyes and she knew if her daddy was afraid that only God could help her Uncle Hal now.