July 1940
"Johnny!"
Hearing someone shout his name over the roar of the gravel crushing machine, Jonathon turned around. Svenson, one of the younger men who worked in the pit was running up to him.
"Johnny, come quick!"
"What's going on?" Jonathon shouted over the crusher.
"It's your father!"
Jonathon's heart went in his throat. "What happened?"
"He's collapsed!" He headed in the opposite direction and Jonathon ran beside him. "We were – moving a steam shovel," Svenson gasped between heavy breaths. "He started shouting – and then he fell."
Even though it wasn't good news, relief flooded through Jonathon. Between the heavy machinery, huge trucks, and railroad cars involved in the mining operation, terrible injuries and even death were possible in a split second if the men weren't careful.
He wasn't surprised his father was yelling. He frequently lost his temper with the men, but collapsing wasn't good. Then he saw a cluster of men next to a steam shovel, and picked up his pace. Breaking through the crowd, he was horrified at what he saw. His father was lying in the dirt, his face ashen, and Billy was kneeling next to him looking distraught.
"Father!" he cried, landing on his knees. He shook his father's shoulders, but he didn't move. "Where's the doctor!" he shouted at the men surrounding them.
"Palmer went to get him and call for an ambulance," Clay said.
"He was shouting at us, Johnny – you know how he gets," Myrick said as if he was pleading for Jonathon to understand. "Then he started coughing and grabbed his chest. Before we knew anything was wrong, he went down."
"He won't wake up, Johnny," Billy said in a shaky voice. "He won't wake up."
Jonathon shook his father by the shoulders again. "Father!"
"I think it's his heart," Clay said.
No, that couldn't be possible. His father was one of the healthiest people he knew.
There was the sound of a motor, and the men stepped aside. To Jonathon's relief, a truck used to transport the workers had arrived, and Dr. Ward jumped out of the passenger seat with his black bag. Jonathon stood and got out of the way so the doctor could take his spot. "It's his heart maybe," he said, pulling Billy up.
The doctor opened his bag and took out a stethoscope. Except for the sound of machinery in the distance, there was silence while he moved the diaphragm to different places on his father's white shirt, listening. "We need to get him on the truck," he muttered, taking the ear pieces out. "The ambulance won't be able to get down here."
"How bad is it?" Johnny said as the men moved into action, lifting his father's limp body.
"His heart is beating," Dr. Ward said. "But we need to get him to the ambulance as quickly as possible."
Seeing his grim expression, Jonathon's stomach sank. Doc Ward thought it was bad, worse than he was letting on.
"Johnny?" Billy said, looking at him with fear filled eyes.
He put his arm over his brother's shoulders. "It'll be okay," he said, leading him to the back of the truck. "He'll be okay, you'll see."
They climbed in and sat beside their father while the truck started up the steep winding dirt road that took them out of the pit. While he looked at his father's pale face, Jonathon willed him to open his eyes, to tell them he didn't feel that bad, but he remained unconscious.
When they reached the top of the road, Jonathon heard a siren and a large white Packard appeared through the front gate. As the men moved his father to the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, Jonathon grabbed Svenson's shirt.
"Go in the office and tell them to find James. Have him get my mother and take her to the hospital." Svenson hurried off, and Jonathon said, "Doc, you ride in back with my father in case–" He saw Billy's face, and changed in mid sentence. "In case he wakes up. Who here can give me and my brother a ride?"
"I will," Myrick said, raising his hand.
"The rest of you get back to work," Jonathon continued. "Father will be angry if he finds out everyone stopped because of this. We've got a tight schedule and we can't afford to fall behind!" The men that had ridden in the back of the truck reluctantly turned away. "Let's go," he said to Myrick, and he and Billy jogged with him to the parking lot while the ambulance sped off, the siren wailing.
Myrick's car was no match for the Packard's speed. There was no way they could catch up, and to Jonathon, it seemed they were crawling to the hospital. The whole way, he couldn't stop remembering his father lying in the dirt, his face as white as a sheet. Father had always been so strong. He was the strongest man Jonathon knew, working outside all year round, no matter the weather. How could he have become that sick so suddenly?
For almost a year war had been waging in Europe, and the mine had been busy, busier than it had been in over a decade. Father had always been the kind of man who was consumed by work, and as the mine was deluged with orders, he'd worked longer and longer hours, even staying in the office during weekends.
Clearly it had been too much for him, Jonathon realized. His father was getting older, too old to keep up that kind of relentless pace. And there was no need for it since Jonathon was working at the mine now. He could have easily taken over a lot of the responsibilities. Why hadn't he done that?
When they reached the hospital, the ambulance was parked out front with the back doors open and the vehicle empty. Billy and Jonathon climbed out of the car as soon as Myrick had pulled up behind it, and rushed inside.
"Where is my father – Mr. Blackwell?" Jonathon demanded of the first nurse he saw.
"The doctors are with him right now, Mr. Blackwell," she said in a commanding voice. "If you come with me, I can take you to a waiting room. I'll let them know you're here."
"Can't we see him?" Billy asked desperately.
"I'm afraid not," she said, switching to a more gentle tone. "The doctors are trying to help him, you wouldn't want to get in their way, would you?"
"No," he said, dropping his head.
"Come on, Billy," Jonathon said, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. They followed the nurse to the waiting room.
Once they'd stepped inside, she said. "A doctor will be with you soon. He'll fill you in on how your father's doing."
She closed the door behind her, and Jonathon turned towards Billy. His brother wiped his reddening eyes. For being only sixteen, he was doing an admirable job of keeping his emotions in check, but Jonathon knew he was just barely hanging on.
"Don't worry about this," he said, putting a steadying grip on Billy's shoulder. "Father is going to be fine. The doctors are going to take care of him."
Billy straightened and blinked hard. "Yeah, you're right," he said, nodding.
"Good job. Let's have a seat while we wait." He gave Billy's shoulder a final squeeze before letting go, and Billy attempted a smile.
In the metal chair, Jonathon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs and clasped his hands tightly. He prayed Doc Ward was wrong and the doctors would find out his father wasn't that sick. Even if they found out it was Father's heart, he was otherwise healthy. After some rest, he was bound to be back to his old self.
The door opened and a doctor in a white coat walked in. Jonathon and Billy rose at the same time. "Hello, Mr. Blackwell. I'm Dr. Clark," he said, sticking his hand out.
"How is he?" Jonathon asked, not wanting to waste time on formalities.
"We're still trying to figure out what's going on. I wanted to ask you a few questions to help us understand your father's health. Has he been complaining about any chest pains?"
"My father doesn't complain," Jonathon snapped, and then immediately regretted his outburst. "I mean – he would never mention it if he was feeling any pain," he said more quietly. The doctor hadn't meant to be insulting, and anger wasn't going to help them make Father better.
"Did he mention any discomfort, even something mild?"
"No."
"Wait, Johnny," Billy said. "Father would rub his chest sometimes. He did it last night at dinner, and he did it at work too. He's been doing it for a while."
Jonathon stared at his brother as he realized it was true. He'd seen his father occasionally rubbing his chest while grimacing. That had been happening for weeks.
"That information – does help narrow it down," the doctor said, his expression more serious. He turned to leave. "As soon as I have more news, I'll be back."
"Doctor," Jonathon said, stopping him before he closed the door. "Did he – come around at all?"
"Not when I was with him," the doctor said in a somber voice. His eyes held Jonathon's eyes for a long second, and then he shut the door.
"They'll be able to help him, won't they?" Billy said.
Jonathon composed his features before he turned around. "Of course they will," he said, giving his brother his most confident smile. "That was good how you remembered Father was rubbing his chest. That's the kind of information they needed."
His attempt to reassure Billy seemed to work. He visibly relaxed. "Thanks, Johnny," he said, and took his seat again.
While Jonathon sat next to him, he tried to convince himself it was true, but as the expressions on Doc Ward and Dr. Clark's faces kept popping into his mind, a terrible fear rose up in him and it was all he could do to keep it at bay.
All at once the door was opened by a nurse, and his mother swept in, clearly in distress.
"Mother!" both of them said at the same time.
"What's going on? What's happened to your father?" she cried, going to Jonathon.
He took her hands. "Father was at work, he was shouting at the men, and then he collapsed. I didn't see it, but Billy was there."
They both looked at Billy. "I – I – that's what happened," he stammered, and then slumped back in his seat as if the memory was too much.
"What did the doctors say?" Mother asked Jonathon.
"They didn't say a whole lot, but it might be his heart."
"I knew he was working too much!" she cried, taking a handkerchief out of her bag. "I begged him to cut back, to not work on the weekends."
Guilt washed over Jonathon. If his mother had been able to see it, he surely should have noticed. "Please don't worry, Mother," he said, gently leading her to a chair. "We have to have faith in the doctors."
"He always pushes himself too hard," she said, dabbing her eyes. "He never wants to let anyone else take charge."
"He's always–"
The door opened again, and Dr. Clark came in with a nurse behind him.
"Dr. Clark, this is my mother," Jonathon said.
"Hello Mrs. Blackwell," the doctor said, taking her hand to shake, but he didn't smile. "I was treating your husband."
"How is he?" she asked.
"When he came in, he was unconscious. His breathing was labored and his heartbeat was erratic."
As the doctor continued, there was a somberness in his tone, and Jonathon could feel his own chest tightening, making it difficult to breathe.
"We did everything we could to help him, but we suspect his heart was too weak."
Mother covered her mouth with her handkerchief. "What are you saying?" she said almost in a whisper.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Blackwell. Your husband has died."
Billy covered his face with hands while Mother moaned, "No."
"It's possible this was something he'd been suffering from for a while," the doctor explained while Mother began sobbing. "But your son said he wasn't the kind to complain."
"It's not true!" Mother cried, and Jonathon went to her, taking her arm.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Blackwell."
"No!" she sobbed louder.
Before Jonathon could prepare for it, she sank to the floor as her crying got louder. He tried to lift her, but she was completely limp. Then she let out a long scream of grief that tore into his heart.
"Mother!"
The doctor rushed forward to help.
"Mother, please," Jonathon pleaded. The two of them tried to pick her up but she fought their efforts, wailing and sobbing.
"Nurse! Go get help!" the doctor shouted, and she raced out. "Mrs. Blackwell, please let us help you!" he yelled over her cries.
"It's not true!" she howled, struggling even more.
A large orderly rushed through the door with the nurse behind him.
"Hold her!" the doctor ordered and the orderly kneeled, wrapping his arms around her tight in a bear hug. Then Jonathon noticed a syringe in the nurse's hand.
"What are you going to do?" he said with alarm.
"We have to calm her down," the doctor said. "She's becoming hysterical!"
The doctor waited for Jonathon while his mother's screams of grief became more desperate, and Jonathon finally nodded.
The doctor stuck the syringe in her arm, and after a moment, she became quieter and then her struggling ceased as she sunk against the orderly. He lifted her off the floor as if she weighed nothing and carried her to the door where the nurse was waiting with an empty gurney.
The doctor straightened his clothes as they covered her with a sheet. "I'm sorry that happened. Sometimes the shock is too great for wives and they can't handle it."
"Where are you taking my mother?" Billy cried as they wheeled her away.
"We're going to put her in a private room to rest, son," the doctor said gently. "We'll take good care of her, I promise. I'd like to keep her overnight," he said to Jonathon.
"Is that necessary?"
"If we let her go, she could fall apart again. If it happens at home, will you be able to handle her?"
Jonathon struggled to answer. He wouldn't know what to do if she started screaming at home, but he didn't want to leave her.
"You're the head of the family now, Mr. Blackwell. Only you can make the decision."
The doctor's words hit him hard. His father was gone. He was in charge of everything now. He swallowed against the fear that rising up in him again.
"Yes, keep her overnight," he said, even though it went against everything inside him. It seemed wrong to leave her with these strangers after she'd just lost the person she loved most in the world. But what other choice did he have?
"You've made the right decision," the doctor said with obvious relief. "I'll call you first thing in the morning to let you know how she's doing."
"My father..." Jonathon stopped, unable to continue as his throat closed up.
"We've contacted the funeral home and they're already making the arrangements. They'll let you know if they need anything."
"Alright, then – I guess..." He looked over at Billy.
His brother's eyes were red and watery, his face blotchy from unshed tears. He was trying so hard to be brave. Jonathon had to get both of them out of there.
He gripped Billy's shoulder. "Let's go home," he said, and guided him out to the hallway.
He stared straight ahead as he walked his brother down the long hallway to the exit. People parted and watched them pass, but he kept his back straight, not meeting anyone's eyes.
James was pacing outside in front of the double doors, smoking a cigarette. When he saw the brothers, he opened the door and stood by as they came out.
"Take us home," Jonathon said.
James slumped, a dark look crossing his face before he managed to hide it. "Aye, master Blackwell," he said, and hurried to the curb where the Duesenberg was parked.
Once he was in the back of the car, Jonathon sank against the leather seat, completely numb.
His Father was dead.
It was hard to believe the man he'd admired above all others, the one he'd always relied on to show him what to do was gone forever. His poor mother was shattered by the news, and now he didn't have her either. It seemed he'd lost all the support he'd ever had in the blink of an eye.
"What are we going to do, Johnny?" Billy asked in a small voice. "What are we going to do without Father?"
He straightened in the seat. He couldn't let his brother down. As bad as it was for him, Billy was still a kid.
"We're going to be alright," he said firmly. "I don't want you to worry about it. I'm going to take care of you and Mother. I won't let anything more bad happen, okay?"
Billy quickly wiped his eyes. "Okay," he said, looking like he was hanging onto Jonathon's promise like a life preserver.
It was all on him now, Jonathon thought as James started the car and drove away from the hospital. His family, the mine, all those men's jobs, it was all his responsibility at the age of nineteen. He no longer saw the passing scenery outside his window as the weight of it settled over him like a mountain of iron.
****
Another hit for poor Jonathon as his world is turned upside down. I've had this chapter in my head for a very long time, long before I even thought about writing the prequel.
It still amazes me that back then people would tell the eldest son who'd just lost a father that they are now the head of the household, even if that son was a child. It says a lot about their attitudes towards women, but I also think it's particularly cruel to the young sons who are grieving. I hope I've been able to capture what that might be like here and you can empathize with what Jonathon is going through.
If you want to support this story you can do that by giving a vote, leaving a comment, and making sure you've added it to your reading list.
Thank you so much for all your support so far! It warms my heart that so many of you have changed your feelings towards Jonathon and are enjoying learning more about him.
Katherine