Somewhere I Belong (25 page)

Uncle Jim reined up the horses long enough for Helen and Dodger to scramble aboard the wagon. Then he urged them into a full-out gallop, slowed them into the turn up Granny's drive, and raced them across the yard toward the well. A ladder lay nearby.

He whoa'd up Big Ned and Lu, and tossed Larry the reins. “Tether them, wouldja?”

Dodger bounded off the wagon toward the well. We all rushed after
him. The minute Uncle Jim noticed the gaping hole in the well and
the rock and mortar strewn around it, he put an arm out. “Stay back, there—this ain't good.” Dodger danced and yelped around him. Uncle
Jim swiped out a hand. “Go 'way with you, Dodger.” He leaned cau
tiously over the shaft and cupped a hand. “Maggie—you down there?”

“I'm here.” Her voice was faint and hollow. “I'm cold—I can't get out.”

“Hold on there—we'll get you out.” He turned and glared at Helen. “How the devil did this happen?”

Helen backed away and stared at the ground, her lips trembling. “She was helping me with my garden. I went into the house to get
something…and…when I came out…she…I….”

“Stop your blubberin' and tell me how long she's bin down there.”

“Half hour, maybe.” Tears and snot ran down her face. “I came to get you as fast as I could.”

Larry tied up the horses, watered them, and joined us. We stood
there, straining to see over the well wall, trying to figure out what
to do. Wondering if Maggie was okay. Helen sobbed and whimpered beside us.

Uncle Jim gritted his teeth. “How many times have I told you fellas about this here well?” He was talking to the lot of us, but his eyes were fixed on Helen. He thought for a moment. “Pius James, you go to the shed and fetch a length o' rope; it's hanging on a hook to the right o' the door. Larry, you go with 'im. There's a pile of lumber in back. See if you can find a good, solid plank, about three-and-a-half feet long.
We need somethin' for Maggie to stand on. By the looks of it, she's
huddled over to the side, clingin' to them rocks. If we're gonna get 'er out safely, we need 'er standin' in the middle.”

Larry and I raced to the shed and found the rope and a plank. Uncle Jim looped the rope around the plank and secured it with a bowline. He edged toward the well, suspended the plank over the shaft, and eased it down. His knee brushed a rock, loosening it. It rolled off the mortar and splashed into the well. Helen shrieked.

“You get to the house, Helen. Now!” Uncle Jim hollered. He inched away from the stone wall and leaned his long, thin frame over it. “You okay down there?”

“Okay.” She sounded a little shaky.

“Atta girl,” Uncle Jim said. “I'm lowerin' down this here plank. You take a hold of it and put it acrosst the well, secure it firm onto them rocks. Then see if you can stand on it 'til we figure somethin' out.”

We heard shuffling as Maggie grabbed the plank and positioned
either end on two rocks that protruded from the well wall. “You got it in place?” Uncle Jim asked. “You up on that plank?”

“I'm on it.” She sounded more optimistic than she had since we
arrived.

Maggie untied the rope and Uncle Jim pulled it up. He stood back and took a deep breath. “I gotta block 'n' tackle in the barn, but I got nothin' to set it up with out here.” When he put a hand to his chin, I knew he was thinking out loud. “If we could lower a hammock straight down the middle without touching this here wall…but…” He stepped back and examined it. “Likely it'll swing ‘n' send down another rock or two. Could be dangerous.” The remaining mortar was cracked. He noticed a stone along the edge of the hole that leaned toward the shaft, threatening to tumble in. He eased a hand toward it, plucked it up and dropped it to the ground. “We'll have to see which side is safest to work from.” Then he leaned over and told Maggie his plans.

We each picked a spot around the well and carefully pulled rocks and mortar away with both hands. The mortar crumbled and scattered to the ground in clumps of sand, pebbles, and cement. A chunk escaped my hand and tumbled in, taking a large, round, granite stone with it. Then we heard a second splash and Maggie let out a terrified scream.

“Sorry—I didn't mean to.” I backed off, expecting a reprimand. But Uncle Jim just called down the shaft.

“You all right? We're just clearing away this here wall.”

“Um…yeah.” This time she didn't sound so sure.

“It won't happen again.” Then he turned to us. “She's a good ten feet down, fellas. One of them rocks hits 'er…Anyhow, we gotta be careful.”

He circled the well again, his eyes running over the mess of rocks and mortar that looked ready to cave right in. “I got no way to get 'er safely up that shaft. It's too dangerous, she'll likely get hit.” He called down again. “Change o' plans, Missy. Set tight.”

“What're we going to do, Uncle Jim?” I saw her pretty face and long blond hair as she stood on that single plank, shivering, soaking wet. Maggie had been below ground, standing over a pool of cool water, for over an hour. A panicky feeling set in. “How're we going to get her out?”

“We'll likely have to dig our way to 'er,” he replied. “We're gonna
need help.”

“You mean, we're going to dig another well?” Larry asked, his mouth hanging open.

“More like a tunnel,” Uncle Jim replied. “We won't have to dig right down, just far enough to grab ahold of 'er and pull 'er out.”

Uncle Jim made it sound easy, but it seemed like a job that would take days. And Maggie was down there, balancing on that one flimsy plank. Cold, tired, and hungry. We had to get to her before she fell in and drowned.

My uncle thought for a moment. “Larry, you telephone down to the Glebe; find Father Mullaly—explain the situation. Ask 'im to round up help. I'll take the buckboard down to the church and provide transportation. You boys gather up every pail and shovel you can find and set them close to the well. Look in the shed and the barn. Then I want you both to stay with Maggie. Talk to 'er. Keep 'er alert. Don't either of you take your eyes of 'er 'til I get back. And if anyone comes, you keep 'em clear o' that wall.”

News travels fast on Northbridge Road. Within half an hour of Larry's telephone call, Percy and William Giddings pulled up in Percy's truck. They brought a pickaxe, a shovel, a sledgehammer, a pry bar, and Jaynie. Father Mullaly followed close behind in his big black Buick, Mrs. Daley
seated beside him. Uncle Jim returned with Ma, Granny, Aunt Gert,
Gen MacCormack, and Alfred. The Daleys' standardbreds pulled their buckboard across the yard behind Uncle Jim, Patrick Daley at the reins. Michael and Nora were sitting cross-legged on the planks behind him.

When somebody mentioned Mrs. MacIntyre, Patrick Daley waited for Michael and Nora to climb off the wagon, then he reined his standardbreds around and set off to collect her. When everybody was gathered by the well, Helen returned from the house. She stood there, clinging to Ma, dabbing a crumpled hanky to red, swollen eyes. Father Mullaly moved toward her, his long, black rosary draped over a hand. He put an arm around Helen's shoulders, whispered a reassurance, and then called down the well.

“We're all here, Maggie.” He sounded calm and sure. “God's here
too, just so you know.”

Maggie's brave giggle echoed off the rocks and broke at the surface.

The women unloaded food from Percy's truck and carried it into the kitchen; Uncle Jim and Uncle Ed organized operations at the dig. They selected a spot six feet from the well, so as not to disturb the rocks and cause a cave-in. When William Giddings questioned the need to start the dig so far out,
makin' for all that extra work
, Percy piped in.

“I went down into a mine to do a rescue once.” He glanced over
toward Aunt Gert. “It was the Princess Colliery, in Cape Breton. Eight of us were goin' on shift when the mine blew. Coal dust shot straight up the shaft, near suffocatin' us. We scrambled 'n' waited for it to settle, then we put on masks 'n' went straight down into it. Nary a thought to the danger; there were men down there, trapped, and we had to get them out. The tunnel where we figured they were was blocked right off—rocks, coal, hard-packed dirt—the whole mess jammed in tight. Blockin' off the air supply, likely. We had to move fast. We had to think about our own safety too, so we shored up the roof as we dug.” Then he looked straight at William. “If we weren't careful, the whole works coulda caved right in…”

“I get your point, Percy,” William said. “Now, let's just get to 'er.
You're spewing off your mouth 'n' that little girl's waitin' down there.”

At precisely two o'clock, Father Mullaly blessed the men, the boys, the equipment, and the four-foot circumference Uncle Jim had traced into the dirt, for the dig, with the heel of his boot. The priest stood back, his fingers worrying his rosary, as Uncle Jim heaved a pickaxe to the firmly packed ground. Uncle Ed followed with a shovel.

Patrick returned with Mrs. MacIntyre, who looked even paler and more frantic than Helen. Father Mullaly rushed to meet her.

“Your daughter's going to be fine, Mrs. MacIntyre.” He helped her down from the wagon. “We'll have her out of there in no time, don't you worry.” He put an arm around her and escorted her to the wellhead, directing her to a spot where the rocks had been removed.

The priest steadied her as she leaned over it. “Maggie, dear; it's
Mom—I'm here.” Her voice was weak and raspy. When she asked why nobody had thought to throw down a rope, Father Mullaly explained the rationale behind the process, while operations moved at a steady pace, several feet away. He sent Michael Daley into the house to fetch Mrs. MacIntyre a chair. Michael returned several minutes later, lugging Grandfather William's rocker. Aunt Gert followed, carrying a wire mesh basket that contained a bottle of apple juice, a peanut butter sandwich, and a hand-knit afghan. Percy stepped forward, slipped it from her hands, tied a rope to its handle, and eased it down the well.

Uncle Jim and Uncle Ed puffed and sweated under the relentless
July heat, stopping every few minutes for water. Luckily, the soil was soft below the surface and, within an hour, they had dug a hole four feet deep and three feet in circumference. They stopped and passed
the pickaxe and shovel to Percy and William Giddings. Percy put a
ladder down the hole and descended. William perched on a rung and waited for Percy to start digging and filling up the pail. When Percy handed it to him, he passed it up to the surface. Larry emptied it and passed it back to Percy.

The plan was to dig a hole three feet in circumference and seven
feet deep, and then carve out a five-foot tunnel. If Uncle Jim had it figured out right, the plank Maggie was standing on would put her
about a foot above the water and a mere twenty-four inches down from the end of the proposed opening. So whoever crawled through it and removed the final rocks would only have to reach out a hand and help her scramble up. It sounded like a simple enough process, but all that digging and dirt moving would take hours. There were the heat and the flies and the almighty thirst. And the danger of the whole thing caving in on whomever crawled through it to reach Maggie. Through it all we kept vigil at the well, the women taking turns calling down to Maggie, reporting on the progress, telling her how brave she was. Urging her to hang on. The men taking turns digging and lugging and emptying the contents of the deepening hole.

When the dig was six feet deep, Percy suggested we support the
walls and ceiling of the tunnel to keep them from caving in. Uncle Jim sent Larry and me to the shed to collect some timbers; Patrick Daley fetched the handsaw. So while Percy and William took turns deepening the hole, filling pails with dirt and passing them up to Uncle Ed, Patrick cut timbers into two-and-a-half-foot lengths for the walls and the roof of the tunnel. From the kitchen, Michael and Nora carried sandwiches, Alfred followed with a jug of ice tea, and Gen MacCormack lugged a washbasin filled with strips of cotton cloth soaking in cool water. We would use them to wipe the mud, sweat, and heat from burning foreheads and to cover our noses and mouths when we dug.