I went to Doctor Booker with many doubts, I am ashamed to say. I suppose that at first I looked on him with the same superiority with which the Ohio doctor had plagued me. I soon got over that. Doctor Booker was the best doctor I had ever worked with, not only because of his knowledge but because of his kindness toward his patients.

Doctor Booker knew Rondal, as did his friend C.J. Marcum, the mayor. They talked about him every time Mr. Marcum visited the office, and I listened avidly. After a time I let it be known that Rondal was an acquaintance of mine. They took it as a sign of kinship and gladly included me in their conversations. When Rondal’s name was mentioned I paused at my work, and always asked questions so they would talk a little longer. I thought no woman on earth knew as much about Rondal Lloyd as I did. But the knowledge gave me shame as well as pleasure, for I was a married woman and I loved my husband.

Albion didn’t sleep well in August. It wasn’t just the heat. It was the gas.

“The mine buzzed today,” he complained. “Hit was like little bugs running around inside my ears.”

One night he came home with the sleeve burned off his shirt and his arm blistered. I smeared grease on it.

“I stuck my lamp into the hole,” he said. “The flame run right up my arm.”

I daubed a wet cloth at his eyebrows, which were mostly gone.

“Yall got to stop work,” I said. “Cant they see how dangerous it is?”

“They wouldnt pay us ifn we stopped work. They say hit’s natural this time of year to have a gassy mine.”

“Some mines blow,” I argued.

“Hit’s a chance. They take it.”

I dreamed it all before it happened, only I dreamed it was Albion. Even though that part was wrong, I knew it was coming. I wasn’t surprised when C.J. Marcum came to our office, his face white and drawn, and said, “Davidson Number Six is gone.”

My stomach griped and I sat down.

“They heard the explosion all the way to Felco,” C.J. said. “They’re gone.”

“Clabe and Kerwin?” Doctor Booker asked.

C.J. sank into a chair and looked away. “And Froggy Lester and Joe Tibbs.”

“We better go down there,” Doctor Booker said to me.

“I want to see my husband first. I want to set eyes on him.”

“He’s all right, Carrie. But go on. Meet me at the Davidson train depot at three.”

Albion was in the kitchen when I arrived.

“They sent us home,” he said.

I was suddenly angry at him. “Did they? That was kind of them. Too bad they didnt send Number Six home. Tell me, what does God say about this here?”

“Hit aint God’s doing. All God done was give Mr. Davidson the freedom.”

“Somebody better take that freedom away,” I said bitterly. “And somebody ought to burn in Hell for this.”