Black Diamonds

A sick child means extra attention and extra attention means more money. Another day in the pit is another paycheck coming in. Coal mining, to Mr. Wellington, was overall hard, physical, and tedious work. He disliked the smell of the chalky coal particles that stuck onto his skin like static, the dimness they had to work under, and the dangers that lurked unpredictably in the darkness. He did enjoy the fact that the hard labor toned his form, that his family lived in a community home which was not great but liveable, and the community of co-workers fulfilled his social desires. With hours being unnaturally long and the work being as hard as coal itself, it was no surprise that Mr. Wellington had a sturdy head on his shoulders that could provide and protect his family. 

Mr. Wellington never wanted his children to bear the strains of the mine as much as he had, but the time had come where his son, Robert, would soon be of age to start as a breaker boy. When Robbie was approaching 9 years of age, he had been given, by his father, a pair of fresh firm work boots. The gesture was unfortunate for the whole family, even Mr. Wellington sat outside for a smoke for an hour after gifting his child with such horror. He figured, if the coal got his lungs now, a few smokes wouldn’t do him any less harm so he had formed the nasty habit. The door creaked behind his wife as she shut the front door behind her.

“We need the money” He said without looking back at her.

“What you did,” she said slowly, “what you did, well. I know you didn’t want this.”

“He is only a child.” 

“Children work all the time. Surely the work cannot be that tedious,” She couldn’t quite tell whether she was trying to convince herself or her husband. 

“I had told myself that my children wouldn’t work in that shithole,” His wife put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You are a lovely father”

“It’s hell down there, Marcie. Everyday you go down there not knowing when you will next see the light of day”

She felt a warm tear slide down her fragile cheek. Her baby. Her little Robbie soon walked to the pit like a calf to the slaughter. Her husband. Her lovely man who provides so much for her, who would crown her head with the jewels of his labor, comes home covered in a thick dark dust everyday, praying to the Lord on his knees that this will end. This image of her family pulls at her heartstrings with an ache as heavy as a coal cart.

Her husband wipes away her tears, “hush….” he soothes.

She offers him an empathetic smile and clings to his hand which is thumbing her fragile cheek. 

“Robbie will know how to survive,” he says. 

She nods.

He kisses her forehead and goes back inside the house. Marcie sees the smokers from her husband still lit on the porch. He had forgotten to stomp on it. So she took a big puff, pretending as if the smoke in her lungs were the coating dust of the mines.