Three year later, Vernie Lloyd’s people lost their land on Island Creek to another coal company, and Clabe brung his family back acrost Peelchestnut Mountain. They come the way they left, in a mule-drawn wagon laden with their belongings. Little Rondal set up between his mother and father on the buckboard, and Vernie held two younguns on her lap, Talcott and Kerwin, the baby. They stopped over with us for the night. Ermel laid out a salty brown ham in their honor. Isom, Ermel’s son, and Rondal, who was the same age, glared at one another acrost the table. Isom screwed up his round face and stuck out his tongue, trying to establish his territorial rights. Rondal pursed his lips defiantly and made a fist. Isom laughed to show he didn’t care and attacked a heap of fried apples.

“I seen you added to your store,” Clabe said.

Ermel replied with a shrug.

“We’re doin a right smart trade these days,” said Annadel. She looked sideways at Ermel. “He dont like to talk about it.”

“I dont like what they’re doin,” Ermel said. “I dont like makin money offn it. We was doin all right before all this here happened.”

“Well, the folks need a place to trade,” Annadel said mildly. “All else they got is them company stores, and them is dear. You should see their prices, Vernie. Twenty-five cent for a pound of coffee.”

“I swan!” said Vernie.

“Them miners cant trade with me no ways,” Ermel said grumpily. “They git paid in that company money, got to trade at the company store. Scrip, they call it. Aint no good to me. Most of my trade is with the other folks that come in here with them.”

We moved out onto the front porch. The sun disappeared behind Peelchestnut, and the dense evening light lingered like it come from no source and was drawed gentle into the purple mountain. Annadel bounced her baby, Pricie, on her knee and sang beneath her breath, deedle-um deedle-um deedle-um day. Pricie had red hair, the color of the flames on the hearth.

“Look, girlie, at the lightnin bugs,” Vernie crooned.

She caught two, and set one each on the bare arms of Kerwin and Pricie. The smooth baby skin glowed golden. The river rustled nearby. Rondal ran in circles before the front stoop. He stopped, teetered on tiptoe, and plucked a lightning bug from the dusk. Trapped in his fist, it lit the crevices between his fingers like a woodfire in a mysterious cave.

“Where yall goin to settle?” Ermel drew on his pipe.

“Back to the homeplace,” said Clabe. “Or what’s left of it.”

“Winco.”

“That’s what them coal companies call it. Reckon I’ll go down the mines there. Leastways we’ll be back on our land.”

“You aint goin to like what you see,” said Ermel.