I waved back but didn’t pause, the mill less than 10 minutes further along. I was hoping that the place would be in full swing, making the feasibility of my plan more convincing.
But as I topped the final hill, a car suddenly shot up from the opposite side, swerved a little when I came into view, then slowed, doing a U-turn about 50 yards past me. As the car swung around and pulled up beside me, Keg Fermaner’s bald head popped out of the open window.
“You’re Harry, aren’t ya?” he asked, his cheeks looking flushed, either from the heat, anger or exertion. “You’re Will Lightman’s kid, yeah?” he asked again. I nodded slowly, thought about my plan and figured this was the best it was going to get.
“I’m just heading to the mill to see if my father is there. He hasn’t been home since Tuesday morning.” I tried to sound as concerned as possible. It must have worked, because Keg waved me around to the other side of the car.
“Hop in, kid. I’ll take you.” I did as he wanted, climbing into the cabin, the thick cigarette haze almost choking me. He had one sticking out of the corner of his mouth, sucked on it a few times and let the smoke drift from the side of his lips.
Once the door was closed, Keg threw the car into gear and shot off towards the mill. He took up more than half the seat, the steering wheel looking like a kid’s toy in his huge paws.
“Your Pa isn’t exactly the reliable kind, kid. Hasn’t been to work at all this week. Doubt Sadler will keep him on much longer. Foreman or no foreman, the mill can’t afford to be a man short with the amount of work it has.” I just nodded, unsure if he was looking for a response.
3.
The drive to the mill took all of 2 minutes, the sounds of the machinery echoing across the parking lot. Several men were loading planks onto a flatbed near the far gate, while the rest of the crew were in the main shed, sounds of saws squealing into the midday sky.
“Keg! Back already?” someone called out through a window and I looked to see John Sadler sticking his half-bald head out through the window. He wore thick-rimmed glasses and the sun glinted brightly off one of the lenses.
“One sec,” Keg called back and waved for me to follow.
Keg led me through one of the side doors, into a cool office where a lady sat at a desk and John Sadler sat on the edge of it.
“Where is he?” he asked Keg.
“I don’t know, but this is his kid. Apparently, he hasn’t shown around home, either.” They both looked down at me and I wondered whether they could see right through my deception. John Sadler’s accusatory glance seemed to peer into the darkest reaches of my mind, the place where only secrets lived.
I felt my cheeks begin to heat up, expecting the old man to point his finger at me, telling me that it was I who must have caused my father’s disappearance. Sadler and Keg exchanged a brief look, the woman behind the desk continuing to bang away on her typewriter.
After what felt like enough time to boil a kettle, Sadler finally turned his eyes away from me and spoke to his secretary.
“Gloria, would you call Larry for me?” he said, rising up and walking to his own desk.
“Right away,” Gloria replied, picking the phone up and spinning the lever. Keg looked back at me then waved for me to go and sit at Sadler’s desk.
“Go on, kid. He won’t bite.” I did as he asked, watching as Sadler ruffled through some paperwork. He looked up and saw me sit, pausing for a moment. There was something playing out behind his calm façade and I could feel my anxiety rise, expecting him to begin questioning me.
But my fear was just in my mind, Sadler suddenly turning to Keg.
“Darren, in light of these latest indiscretions, I’d like you to take over the foreman position from today onwards. We’ll discuss payrates and things a bit later, if that’s OK?” He looked at Keg with a blank question on his face, waiting for an answer but not expecting one different than the one he anticipated.
The request made Keg uncomfortable, having the previous foreman’s son sitting in the same room. I could feel the tension in the man rise. He simply nodded, looked at me and slowly walked out, leaving me with the boss now eyeing me up and down.
“How old are you, son?” he asked, popping a cigarette into his mouth. He chased the tip of it with a match, then blew a thick cloud of smoke above my head.
“15,” I said, lying.
“Ever worked before?” I must admit, I was a little immature for the question, having only spent time either around our home or at school for years. I didn’t get out much, so the chances of me ever having worked before were slim to none. Not unless you counted digging a new hole for the outhouse as active employment.
“No, Sir,” I replied.
“Think you can handle an honest day’s work?” The question again soared over my head, as if following the hazy blue smoke he kept ejecting towards me.
“Yes.”
“I’m sure we can find some odd jobs for you to do. Keen to start today?”
I hadn’t figured on gaining full-time employment when I set out that morning, but now that it presented itself, was relieved that I found it.
“Can start right now,” I said confidently.
“Good. Go out and see Darren. Tell him to start
