Free Preview| Chapter One: Reverence
- mark-french1
- May 10
- 4 min read
Sunset speared the horizon as Nelson Lancaster stumbled through loose shale. The
blood red orb was a constant compass pushing him westward. His hand, bloodied and raw from digging, held a chunk of minerals like an idol snatched from a revered God’s temple.
Behind him, the black entrance to the mine sat like a missing tooth in the mouth of earth.His overtaxed mind imagined a demonic beast charging from the soot stained shadows with gnashing teeth. He couldn’t help looking over his shoulder, though he knew if it was there he would already be dead.
He clutched the clump of minerals. Reality reasserted itself and he understood he
was simply a boy alone. He descended. The night’s chill clawed underneath his tattered
clothes and he shuddered. To take his mind off how cold he was, Nelson lost himself in
memory, heartbreaking as it was.
The Lancasters grew up in a mountain’s shadow. It bathed their small farmhouse in
cold shade until the sun could crest above its mass. Blazing afternoon light would then
bake the fields and burn his flesh. Nelson’s Daddy Harlan put pick to earth and carved out a meagre crop of potatoes, turnips, carrots, and a plot of medicinal herbs. The last bit for his bride Ruth, who used it to craft homemade sun salve or flu-cure with her Mama. They didn’t have a lot, but Nelson’s Daddy was proud of what the sweat of his brow brought in, though he wasn’t above scanning the classifieds everyday for odd jobs.
Nelson was ten when his Daddy landed a regular income. When he pulled Nelson
from school the boy wept. The chill autumn air dried his tears into raw patches of red
skin that made his cheeks shine. His heels dragged ruts of protest across the school yard
to his Daddy’s horse and cart.
“You quit that blubbering.” Daddy said, his voice wavering between its usual
warmth and the icy tone that told Nelson he had about three seconds more of his current behaviour before his Daddy blew up. “The good folks at Bolton and Rust have given us a chance to make some real money, son. So that means you and your brother need to work the land, and I’ll do the same. Nelson, you mind me now. Crying and carrying on like that ain’t gunna do a damn thing. Now you pick your face up before I really give you a reason to cry.”
Nelson swiped his sleeve across his nose and sniffled. The stocky horse made slow
progress away from the refuge of imagination school had become, drawing him closer to
a future of toil he wasn’t prepared for.
Harlan continued speaking to ease his youngest son’s apparent worry. He had little
idea his speech was what he himself needed to hear at Nelson’s age. “Ain’t you tired of showing up to school in your brother's clothes? Having the kids tease and pick on you because you ain’t got no shoes in the summer? You tired of having old man winter find every crack he can to get inside our home? Don’t you want to wipe the shit eating grin off Lewis Argyle’s face after he rallies the rest of them boys up in the school yard to toss you in the dirt?”
Nelson eyed the ground. He still had bruises from the last time Lewis chucked him
in the mud. He had told Ms. Waters about it though and she was going to put a stop to it. He was about to tell his Daddy as much before realisation dawned on him.
Nelson giggled.
Harlan shared a grin with his son, knowing his use of one of ‘the big three’ would
get a surprised laugh.
“You cussed.” Nelson said with another small chuckle.
“That I did.” His Daddy said. He didn’t look at him, but Nelson saw the corners of
his mouth tug upward. “Don’t tell your mother.”
“You can really make them stop teasing me?” Nelson asked.
“Boy,” his Daddy said as he urged the horse on, “You work the farm for a few
years and I’ll make it so we can buy you some proper schooling. Letters, sciences, hell
even some correspondence courses. By the time you’re my age Lewis Argyle will be
working for you, and damn proud of the opportunity, yes sir.”
Nelson considered this while another gust of wind ruffled his brown hair. He let
out one last sniffle. Nelson rubbed his eyes, and began to smile.
As the mine produced, their town of Reverence swelled like a fattened calf slated
for slaughter. Clapboard and tar paper homes were replaced with brick and mortar
businesses as Bolton and Rust bought up more and more property. Much of the
townsfolk were forced to work their positions, or move on entirely. Many of them needed the payout from the mine just to cover the cost of moving expenses, nevermind paying for a new home. The B&R people called this the ‘price of progress.’ Nelson knew about what it cost to build the mine. His Daddy sold his soul for that progress.
But the Lancasters prospered, at least for a little while. When the mine dried up though, none of them would be better off, and one of them would be dead.
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