Chapter One

This is my memoir. On November 13th, 1954, it started like any other fall day in our mining community in West Virginia. The sun beamed high above us while disaster brewed beneath the earth where Papa worked mining coal—nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, where men and machines operate together beneath the depths of the rocky soil.

Tugging on Mama’s sleeve, "Why is Papa still in bed?" I quietly asked, “Isn’t he supposed to be working?”

“He’s not feeling well, darling.”

Then we heard an enormous boom, and our house rattled. I held tight to my chair as Mama grabbed hold of the table. Papa jumped out of his sleep, startled. He ran into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Where are my boots?” he shouted. Then he nearly tripped over them as he turned the corner. “Never mind, I found them.” Without tying a single lace, he was out the door.

The unthinkable had happened: an explosion ripped through the mine, killing sixteen miners and leading to a temporary shutdown. The blast destroyed the headframe of one mineshaft during retreat mining. First, panic and fear engulfed us all, and then heartbreak set in.

The collapse of Mine No. 9 had a significant impact on everyone. Papa took his co-workers’ loss the hardest. I had never seen him or Mama mourn before. Shortly thereafter, our family packed up our few belongings and left. We moved to a different mining town because of the suspension of all ongoing mining activities. Employment opportunities were limited, but Papa has a strong reputation in this region. My best friend, Rachel, lives at the mine where we are now with her father, Rogan.

After supper, Mama was tired from her daily chores but would work hard to sew me a fresh coat, as my old one was too small and worn out. We were too poor to buy new, and Mama never had a proper schooling as a seamstress. So she learned on the go.

One morning, days later, my eyes grew wide with excitement when I received my newly sewn coat. I eagerly tried it on. “Oh, thank you, Mama.”

“Abigail, I crafted it using black and brown wool to help minimize the visibility of coal stains.” Mama often used endearing terms like "my sweet child" or "darling," and so on. It was rare for her to address me by my name. So I reached over and gave her a long, warm hug and kiss. "Can you please put away the sewing materials for me?" she asked. 

As I placed them in the basket, my eyes stumbled across a Jewish badge tucked away between some old fabric. Out of curiosity, I took it out and showed Mama.

“Mama, what is this?” I had never seen it before. She seemed nervous, like someone who had stolen something and gotten caught. She seemed to struggle to find her words.

She then took a deep breath and continued... “Sweet child, that is the Star of David, a symbol of your people. It's the badge that you had on when a woman named Irena rescued you from the Warsaw Ghetto as an infant.” She then took a deep breath and continued, “Your Papa and I adopted you after your parents—after Hitler did away with them. My sister and her family brought you here from Poland.”

Wiping the tears from our faces, “Mama,” I whispered, "will you sew the star onto my coat?" Reluctantly, she agreed. Her hands trembled as she carefully stitched the badge onto the right side. “Why didn’t you and Papa tell me?” I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions as I cried.

“Those memories are bittersweet. I knew your mother. She was my childhood friend before I moved here from across the sea.” She cried, “Please let us discuss this at supper when your Papa is home.” Then, her eyes wandered to her Bible on the mantel of our new house. “Wait, go over there and bring me my New Testament. It has a picture of your parents in it.” It was a photo of a couple standing near an old, tall tree. They looked so young and beautiful—so happy and in love.

Pointing, “Mama, I love you and Papa, but my heart aches for something I never knew I had lost.”

You are part of a special heritage and legacy as you are one of God’s chosen people, yet still a unique individual. Never forget that! Grabbing Mama's waist tightly, I pressed my face against her shoulder and into her arms until Papa got home.