March 16, 2023
REBECCA
Liam stopped at a Cook Out restaurant on his way to Naoma to get something fast. His phone started to ping. It was a text from Liz. “I was able to reach Ashley Jo Johnson. She still had the renter’s number on her phone. Call me when you get this.” Liam punched LB at the top of the text page and pressed Liz’s number.
“Hi, Liam. How’s the drive?”
“Great. It’s getting dark out now. I just stopped to get something to eat. What did you find?”
I checked the phone number, and the name Rebecca Miller came up. I have her address. I’ll text that to you. Where are you now?”
“I’m on Coal River Road. I should get to Naoma in about twenty minutes.”
“Ok, drive safe.”
Arriving in Naoma, Liam stopped to visit the location of the apartment fire. The sky, without stars, was dark. A sign displayed between the leafless trees, “Superior Auto Service.” Liam could not see the street numbers, but in a quarter mile, he saw what looked like a burned-out building. He pulled off the road and stopped. The car’s headlights shined on a partial wall. A sudden tap on the window startled him. He raised his hand in front of his eyes.
“Step out of the car and keep your hands where I can see them,” a man demanded.
Opening the door, he stepped out, shielded his eyes, and identified himself. “I am FBI special agent Liam Doyle. I am going to reach into my pocket for my badge.”
The man holding the light demanded, “Do it real slow.”
Liam slowly took out his badge.
“Reach that out to me so I can look at it.”
Slowly, he reached the badge out. The man looked at the badge and then directed the light away from Liam’s eyes, saying, “I’m Sheriff Hoyt. It’s a rare day we see the FBI, yet here you are for the second day in a row.”
“Sheriff Hoyt, as you probably know from speaking to Agent Winslow, this location is suspected to be related to the electric grid blackout. We suspect that it was a cybercrime. Forensics on the physical evidence of the laptop is not an option. Do you know who was renting this building?”
“No, but the FBI agents and I questioned people in town. All that was discovered was that it was two young men.” Sheriff remarked, “Since the fire, folks around here are worried.”
Liam reassured, “I don’t think the people in town need to worry, but I understand how they must feel. I’ll tread lightly.”
Liam returned to his car and read Liz's text, “7510 Coal River Road, Naoma.”
The address was about a quarter mile down the road. As he got closer, he saw a small house back from the road. He slowed the car down and read 7510 in front of the house. He turned onto the driveway and parked behind the grey Ford Focus. The front room light was on, and a yellow light outlined the porch.
He knocked on the door, waited a minute, and knocked again. A light behind the front door came on.
“Rebecca Miller? My name is Liam Doyle. I am an agent with the FBI.” He saw the curtain on the door window move slightly. “Mrs. Miller, I have a few questions; it will not take long.”
“It’s dark out. How do I know you are who you say you are?” There was a pause. “You see that mail slot in the center of the door, young man?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you have any ID?”
“Yes.”
“Put that card in the mail slot.”
Liam opened his wallet, took out a card, and placed it in the mail slot.
Rebecca looked at the card: An FBI logo on the top left. In the center, Liam Doyle, Special Agent, Charleston, West Virginia. His phone number followed that.
The door opened slowly. “Why are you here?”
“I have a few questions. I promise it will not take long. May I come in.”
“Ok, but not long. I was going to bed.”
“Thank you, ma'am,” Liam replied as he entered the house.
Rebecca was small in stature. Her hair was grey, and she walked with a slight stoop, with a cane, ahead of him into a small kitchen. The air was stagnant and smelled like stale coffee. The walls were painted white, and light brown cupboards were above and below a beige countertop. She sat on one of the two chairs on either side of a small table. The table was covered with a red and black checkered oilcloth. There was a small shelf on the wall above the table, which held small framed pictures—two framed high school-aged boys. Another is a black-and-white photo of a middle-aged couple. Three young adult males were in the fourth frame. One young man was sitting on the hood of a sports car. The other two young men were standing and leaning on the car. All three were smiling.
Liam sat opposite Rebecca and repeated, “I promised not to be long, Mrs. Miller, so I’ll get right to the point.”
“Please call me Rebecca.”
Liam smiled and politely continued, “Okay, Rebecca. We acquired your phone number when we investigated a person of interest in a case we are working on. I do not suspect you are that person. Does anyone live in the house with you?”
“It’s just me here now.”
Liam pointed to the two high school pictures, “Are these your boys?”
“Yes, that’s Colvin on the left and Asher on the right.” She took the frame on the right down from the shelf and, with tears in her eyes, disclosed, “My son Asher died recently.” Then accusingly, “That damn NMC coal mine.” She removed a tissue from her housecoat and dabbed her eyes. “He was such a good son.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Rebecca.”
“Does your Colvin ever stop by to visit?”
“Yes, but not very often. He is always busy. He’s a good boy, too. He was in the Marines in Afghanistan and a college graduate.”
He reached for the picture of the young men by the car, questioning, “May I?”
Rebecca shook her head yes. She affirmed, “I took that picture right before Colvin entered the Marines. The two standing by the car are my two boys.”
“Who is the young man sitting on the car?”
“That would be Clay, Clay Matthews.” She laughed and smiled and said, “Those three were so close. Always having a good time together.”
Liam reached for the black and white framed picture. “Are these your parents?”
“Yes, my father, Patrick, and my mother, Ruth. They are standing in front of our home in Man, which is in Logan County.” Rebecca revealed, “My mother died soon after that picture was taken. My father died in 1972 in a coal sludge dam breach. February 26th, to be exact. I’ll never forget that day. Ever heard of The Buffalo Creek disaster, Mr. Doyle?”
Liam politely shook his head no, saying, “I’m sorry, I am not familiar with that.”
“Well, 125 people died that day, and thousands were left homeless.” She lifted her arm and pointed, “Go to Man and see for yourself. It’s less than an hour and a half drive. There is a historical marker in town, by Buffalo Creek.”
Liam stood, saying, “I won’t take up any more of your time, Rebecca.”
Rebecca stood slowly and walked to the front door, with Liam trailing behind her. Opening the door, she proclaimed, “Young man, we have had many disasters in these hills. They are still happening today.”
Liam walked down the porch. “Thank you, Rebecca.”
Rebecca said, “No one listens.” The door closed.
Liam returned to his car and texted Liz. “I’m going to Man in Logan County. Try to find more information on Colvin Miller, Asher Miller, and Clay Matthews.” Then he remembered one more thing and added, “Also, see what you can find on NMC Coal Mine.”
***
Sitting at the kitchen table and looking at the photos while Liam was there caused Rebecca to recall when they were a young family in this house. She thought of Colvin and Asher running into this kitchen after school.
A screen door slammed. Asher and Colvin ran into the kitchen. Rebecca peeled a potato at the sink. “How often have I told you not to slam the door?”
Asher spoke first. Trying to catch his breath, he asked, “Are we related to Vikings?”
Colvin shouted, “You're crazy, Asher.”
Asher persisted, “Our teacher taught us about genealogy, and I remember you said our great-grandfather came to America on a boat. We must be Vikings.”
Rebecca chuckled, “No, honey, we are not Vikings.”
“That’s right. Tell him, Mama”, Colvin shouted.
“Why don’t both of you get washed up, sit at the table, and I’ll tell you a story.”
They ran from the kitchen to the bathroom and fought over the soap.
Rebecca yelled again, “There is no need to run constantly. All you boys do is run. Slow down.”
They both replied in unison, “Yes, Mama,” as they walked quickly back into the kitchen and sat at the table.
Rebecca finished peeling the last potato and put the pot on the stove. Then, she picked up an unpeeled one from the cold bin, walked to the table, and sat down. She placed the potato in the center of the table and asked, “What do you see?”
Both replied, “A potato.”
Asher interrupted, “But what does it have to do with Vikings?”
Rebecca confided, “Absolutely nothing.” She continued, “This is why we are here, now, talking at this table.”
“A potato!” Colvin exclaimed.
“Yes, a potato.” She explained, “Your roots are not in Scandinavia, as a Viking. You’re from Ireland.”
“We are?”
“Yes, you are.” She picked up the potato and said, “You’re Irish.”
“No, we can’t be,” Colvin claimed. “There isn’t a freckle or red hair between us.”
“Now, I don’t want you repeating this because some may think this is a derogatory word.”
Asher asked, “What’s derogatory?”
“Not a nice word.” She continued, “In the 15th century, the Spanish Armada landed in Ireland. Their descendants had dark hair and eyes. Some may refer to us as Black Irish, but we are as Irish as St. Patrick.”
Asher interrupted, “Who is St. Patrick?”
“That is a story for another day, honey. In 1845, there was a potato famine in Ireland. It was a great tragedy. All of the potatoes were rotten, even the ones in storage. This is what we farmed. This was a large portion of what we ate.”
Again, Asher interrupted, “You mean we weren’t always miners?”
“No, we were not always miners. We were farmers, and we had nothing to farm. We had nothing to eat. Your great-grandfather managed to get a boat to America.
“What was his name? Colvin asked.
“Patrick Ó Súilleabháin,” She replied. “When they asked him his name, he said Patrick O’Sullivan. He wanted a new start in this country with a new name.”
“Then how did we end up here in West Virginia?”
“By horse and wagon.” She explained, “Your great-grandfather was a very smart and hardworking man. He listened to the men talk about the opportunities in the coal mines of West Virginia. He used the money he earned at the ship docks to buy a horse and wagon. He went to Logan County to a town called Man.”
Colvin said proudly, “That is where grandfather Patrick was from, right?”
“Yes, your grandfather and my father, Patrick, lived in Man.”
“Did grandpa Patrick work in the coal mines?”
“Yes, he worked very hard in the mines for many years. That is why I am always on you, boys, when it comes to doing your homework. That way, you do not have to work in the mines. You can go to college.”
Colvin said knowingly, “Grandpa Patrick died during a flood, Asher.”
“He did?”
Rebecca sadly said, “Yes, he died on February 26th of 1972. Many people lost their lives, homes, and jobs. It was a tragedy.
Asher grabbed the potato, held it in his hands, and asked, “Is that why we eat so many potatoes?”
***
Rebecca closed the porch light and kitchen light and went to bed. Shortly after falling asleep, she had a nightmare, one she had been experiencing for the last few months. In the dream, she was a young child. The family was having a picnic in the park. Her mother, Ruth O’Sullivan, who had long been deceased, laid out a red and white checked blanket by the creek. All the colors were bright. Rebecca was wearing a pink dress with white lace trim. She wore saddle shoes, which were brand new. She picked wildflowers by a creek: blue-violet Dwarf Larkspur, yellow Lady’s Slipper, and white petals streaked pink, Guyandotte Beauty. A wicker basket filled with fried chicken, bread, and homemade sweet pickles was spread out on the center of the blanket.
Her mother called, “Everyone, come. The food is ready.” Looking at Rebecca, she said, “Please go find your daddy and tell him the food is ready.”
Rebecca followed the path for a short distance and saw her father looking at the creek. Seeing him wear a black suit and tie was odd, just like when we went to Mary-Jo’s wedding. Rebecca looked at her father’s feet and inquired, “Daddy, why don’t you have any shoes on?”
“Baby,” her father replied. He always called her baby, “Look at the water.”
Rebecca turned toward the creek, asking, “Why is the water black, daddy?”
Her father didn’t answer. Now, he held a large white flower with a long green stem. She remembers seeing that flower at Easter, when the front of the church was filled with pots of the white flower.
“Why are you holding a Lily, Daddy?” she asked.
Still, her father said nothing. She looked down at his bare feet, now partly covered with black water.
Rebecca turned and looked at the wildflowers, which were turning black, from the center out. She screamed, “What’s happening, daddy?”
This part of Man, seems familiar to me. But, then I've read a great number of Coal Mine Tradgies that happen in south-western WV. I lookforward to your next story.
Thank You. Man, WV is about 3 hours from Kingsport Tennessee. What happened at Buffalo Creek is not only possible to happen again but is almost inevitable. Thank you for reading CASCADE.