I went to the mines with a sore back from his strap. I had on my first pair of boots. They were too large and rubbed blisters on my heels before we even reached the tipple. I told Daddy and he said, “We’ll tell your mommy to put you on two pair of socks next time.”

An early morning rain fell as we walked past the outbuildings—the engine house, the supply house, the blacksmith’s and new powerhouse, all built of solid brown blocks of stone with high windows of thick cloudy glass. Daddy and I held Talcott’s hands. We took him to the breaker boys’ shed. Here the chunks of coal came trundling in on conveyor belts, and Talcott would sit beside the moving line and pick out pieces of slate to be discarded. The shed was drafty and the roof leaked. Drops of water left hissing round craters in the coal dust on the floor. Some of the boys were already at their places, hunched on wooden boxes beside the conveyors like they had been working all day, even though the coal hadn’t started to run yet. The boss man paced back and forth, a stick in his hand, ready to strike the shoulders of any boy who missed a piece of slate.

“He’s going to hit me with that there stick,” Talcott whimpered. He was only eight years old.

“You just do what the man says.” Daddy sat him down on a stool. “Dont you back talk him. Mommy put a piece of dried apple pie in your dinner pail, special for your first day. Dont let nobody else git a holt of it.”

We left quick before Talcott could commence to crying. Soon after we walked into the drift mouth, we passed the underground mule stable.

“Can I pet one of them mules?”

“Hell, no. We aint got time to pet no mules. This is the coal mine, this aint Ermel’s damn farm. Besides, them mules is mean. They’ll take your hand right off.”

One mule was led out in front of us and I gave its flank a furtive pat. Its hair was sticky with sweat and dust. The skinner saw me and yelled, “Git back fore you git your head kicked in!” Daddy grabbed my arm and pulled me along behind him.

“Git offn that track. You got to git in the habit of watching out for cars, or you’ll git run over.”

I shrank against the ribs of the tunnel, walking so close that I kept bumping into the wall and staggering. I was afraid some invisible force would drag me into the path of an oncoming coal car. Once I looked back. The drift mouth was small, a milky gray circle that promised the dawn.

“Say goodbye to the light,” Daddy said. “Hit will be dark when we come out of here.”