Winter Run (4 page)

“This ax so sharp it’ll shave the hair right off my arm. Watch.” And sure enough as the blade moved across his arm, the thick fair hair just floated away before it. “Want to try it?”

“Yes. Does it hurt?” Before Charlie did it, he looked around, as if he wasn’t sure whether he ought to be doing such a thing, as if Gretchen might not approve. But then he sat on the log next to George and carefully pushed the blade of the ax across his forearm. The pale blond hair fell onto the ax blade, just as the
long grass did when Matthew went through it with his razor-sharp scythe with the mowing blade. The skin behind the ax was completely smooth, much smoother than the skin of the hogs after they had been scraped at hog-killing time.

“How do you get the ax so sharp, George? When I try to sharpen a sickle, the file just runs over the edge. I can’t make it bite.”

So George Maupin showed him. The two of them huddled over the ax as George explained how the file was made and how you had to hold it to make it cut into the metal of whatever blade you were sharpening. And how you moved it slow and felt the metal give way to it. And how satisfying it was to test the blade all sharp after only a few strokes.

When he got up from the log, Charlie smiled. But the smile left his face when he glanced down and saw the patch of skin with no hair, smoother even than the skin of the hogs or his father’s face after he had shaved in the morning.

Meanwhile the horses dozed in the shade of the paradise trees at the woods’ edge. When one would twitch off a fly, the other might stir. But usually not. Their ears hung like sails in a calm. When the big oak had been cut into logs, George took loose the singletrees that hung from the hames on the leather collars and after pulling the traces out behind, hooked the singletrees to the doubletree. By this time the
two geldings were awake and ready to go. Each had sneezed and swung his head around a little and picked up his ears. While Richie held on to the doubletree, George backed the horses into position and hooked the doubletree to the log.

To Charlie the log looked huge. That evening, in his long and drawn out report to Matthew about his first day logging, he said that the log looked too big for the horses to move at all, let alone drag anywhere. Because in addition to sheer weight, there were the roots of other trees in the way, as well as whole trees. It looked impossible.

When everything was hooked up, George and Richie picked up their peavey hooks, George looped the long steering lines over his arm and hollered “Come up, boys.” The two horses put their front legs deep under them, lowered their heads, and leaned into the collars. The log moved. Ahead a root protruded. As the log got to it, George and Richie rolled it sidewise with their peavey hooks just enough to clear the root. They went ten feet before George needed to change the angle so the log would miss a tree. George said, “Whoa,” and the horses stopped, eased back off the traces, and seemed to go to sleep again.

Charlie was amazed. The horses and ponies he knew were for pleasure riding or foxhunting and not one would have stood still for this kind of use. Even Leonard Waits’s fat workhorse mares were not as quiet as this pair. Charlie said they were like a different kind
of animal, said that when they leaned into the traces, you could see all the huge sets of muscles bulge in their shoulders and hindquarters and their nostrils widen. Then they would move—slow, like you would imagine a mountain to move—skidding the huge log forward while George and Richie kept it free of roots with their hooks.

After a few moments’ rest George said, “Gee,” and used the lines. After three steps to the right the horses were in the clear and lined up to pull again. Of course, Charlie had to get into it at this point, figuring that since he had seen one pull, he was ready to drive the team and help out. George, who like his horses was a gentle soul, had been warned, so he wasn’t surprised when Charlie wanted to jump in. And as it turned out, Charlie was a help. He could hold the lines off to the side so George was free to handle the peavey hook with both hands. Charlie knew the commands, and after the second log he could see what needed to happen next. After a while the horses listened to him and he became a part of the crew.

The horses were endlessly interesting to Charlie. The first few days he would walk around them looking at their bodies, trying to understand better how they were put together. He also liked to look at their eyes, which were much bigger than Bat’s one eye. He discovered that a horse’s eye has a tiny thing like a sea urchin floating in the middle of the pupil. Charlie had never noticed it before. He asked George what the little things were. George said he didn’t know, but all
horses had them, so he reckoned they were there for some good reason.

Charlie didn’t miss a day for the first two weeks of work. He even got Gretchen to pack him a lunch so he could eat with the men, sitting in the shade at the edge of the woods while the horses ate a couple of ears of corn each and dozed. The men ate crackers and canned meat, which Gretchen thought looked rotten, or little wieners, and drank Pepsi-Colas. Charlie had a sandwich and water. Gretchen absolutely refused to buy the canned meat or the wieners or have Charlie drinking what she called soda pop at noon.

At the end of the day, when they were back at the barn and George and Richie had left, Charlie fed the horses their corn. Then he climbed up on Jim’s back and felt the movement of the big horse’s body as he chewed and swallowed. For the first week, when the horse was finished, Charlie would ride him around the barnyard a few times before turning him and Bill loose in the big pasture for the night. This became a major bone of contention. Matthew didn’t approve, and after his admonition appeared not to work, he told Gretchen who told Charlie’s father that weekend when he returned from Philadelphia.

At first their conversation did not go well.

“You must stop riding Jim around, Charlie. Surely you understand that. You watch that horse work hard every day. Can’t you see he is tired in the evening and needs to rest.”

“Yes, but—” This was Charlie’s thing, the “but.”

“No buts to it,” said his father, after they had been around and around a few times. “Just don’t ride him. That’s all”—at which point Charlie, uncharacteristically, burst into tears. Mr. Lewis was surprised and later told Gretchen and Matthew, when they had a meeting on the subject, that he had suddenly realized there was more to this than just one of Charlie’s whims.

Charlie sobbed and Charles comforted him and then it all came out.

“I want a horse! One that is just mine. To take care of and ride over the whole farm any time I want. And have a saddle and a real bridle, not just an old work bridle. I want Jim. But maybe I want a pony that’s easy to get on to. Oh, I don’t know … I just want a
horse!
I know Jim needs to rest, but I want a horse.” This time softly, with more tears.

“I see now,” said his father as he hugged Charlie. “We’ll talk about it, Charlie. Be patient. Be patient.”

Of course, that was a mistake because for Charlie “We’ll talk about it” was equal to “Yes we will.” His father knew it. But Charlie’s anguish had moved him. And without thought he had made a decision.

The three of them—Charles, Gretchen, and Matthew—talked it over. Matthew said fall would be the best time to buy because people would be thinking of the coming winter. Also by that time they might have Charlie convinced that a workhorse was not what he needed. Since he had mentioned a pony, it might even be easy.

Charlie, in part because he was so wrapped up in the logging, readily agreed once the concession was made that he could sit on Jim while the big horse ate his dinner. For some reason, the actual physical contact seemed important to Charlie—seemed to give him comfort.

They worked on and the humidity came. The horses sweated standing still. They had to be walked to the creek twice each day for water. Charlie got to ride Jim and lead Bill because that was the easiest way to get the job done. Charlie loved it, even though he was concerned about the horses. Some of the logs were too big for the team to pull, so George hired Leonard to bring his mares to help. But each time the extra team came, George lost his profit on the logs they hauled.

In order to load the logs, the truck was pulled sidewise alongside a high bank and timbers were run from the top of the bank to the log rack. Then the logs were pulled onto the bank and rolled across the timbers onto the truck. Peavey hooks with long handles were used to lever them into position. But as the larger logs were hauled out, it was harder and harder to make up a load with just three men, counting Leonard, all pushing on the peavey hooks.

George was worried. He didn’t think he could make the deadline. Always in the past the professor had been easy with such things. But this time he wasn’t. There would be no extension. Clarence Flint, who
had bought the farm up the valley next to the Smiths, had a bulldozer and had a log skidder coming and was waiting to step in and finish the job. He had a four-horse team to snake the logs out to where the bulldozer could get hold of them and pull them to the truck. So Clarence could make do until the skidder arrived.

George went one last time to Silver Hill.

The professor must have been looking out from his study window as George came up the walk, because he was standing at the door when George arrived.

“Hello George. How good to see you,” he said in his usual mannerly way. But his face was tense and he was frowning. He must have known George had come to ask for an extension. He walked onto the porch and the two men stood side by side. George, the short one with his powerful body and gruff, bronze face; and the professor, tall and skinny with a face in planes as if cut from rock, and longish gray hair. Normally his face was a beacon of welcome and understanding for the people in the community. But today it was hidden. George said he could see something was awfully wrong. But who was he to ask what? He was just a logger, struggling to make a living in a new world.

The professor drew himself up to his full height. “George,” he said, resorting to his most formal language in the embarrassment of his predicament, “it is abhorrent to me that money should take precedence over human needs. As I am sure you know, it has
never been my way. But I am constrained by powers beyond my control, and I must have this money by Labor Day.” Here he looked as if he were in literal pain but also very angry, too. He was angered perhaps by his unaccustomed helplessness in the face of some outside situation that, one could guess, would normally have been of no consequence to him whatsoever.

George, who had been looking at the boards on the front porch floor during this speech, looked up. “I can’t make it,” he said. “I reckon you better get in touch with Clarence. I’ll finish this week. Then I’ll be gone.” He turned away and walked down the old brick walk between the huge boxwoods. As was his custom, he didn’t look back.

The village and Charlie and even for a moment Matthew wanted to get up in arms about the whole thing, because Clarence was new and not well liked and George, of course, was a native. Matthew went to the big house the next day and had a talk with the professor. That evening in the store he had nothing to say beyond what the professor had already said. Matthew’s face looked grim. Even Charlie could see that although something was wrong, there was absolutely nothing to do about it.

“Charlie, this is the end of it,” Matthew had said. “Don’t bring it up no more. George’s leaving Friday and Clarence’s coming Monday, and that’s that.” And for once Charlie didn’t argue. On Friday he stood with
his hands at his sides as Jim and Bill were loaded on the neighbor’s truck. Bat was there, too. Her ears were cocked. She was watching out of her one eye, gaunt and comic.

When George was ready to leave, Charlie went over and shook hands, which surprised George. He wouldn’t have been able to name the last time he had shaken hands with a recently turned eight-year-old.

“So long, Charlie. It’s been nice to know you.” There was a pause and then George looked straight at Charlie for an instant. “Be careful with Clarence. He ain’t like me. And it would be better if you didn’t mess with his horses.”

Charlie started to ask why, but George had already turned to his truck. It seemed better not to go after the answer. He waved to Richie and George as they pulled out of the barn lot and headed home. Later that day, Matthew said the same thing to Charlie about Clarence.

There were four of them—three mares and a gelding. They were much smaller than Jim and Bill, and skinnier. Charlie was waiting in the barn lot when they arrived at six o’clock on Monday morning in a big cattle truck. Clarence was driving. There was a man with Clarence whom Charlie had never seen before. Clarence backed up to the bank and jumped out of the truck. He was in a hurry.

“Grab Molly and Paint. I’ll get the other two,”
Clarence whispered at the man with him. When the four horses had been unloaded and walked into the barn, Charlie approached Clarence to say “Good morning,” as he had been taught.

Clarence turned to face Charlie head on. His face was flat. His nose barely stuck out at all and the mouth was small and round. He stood over six feet— a baby’s face on the body of a giant.

“Now kid,” he said in his whispery voice, “I know all about you and I need to tell you something. You stay the hell away from my horses and out of my way, you hear? I’m doing a job here, and I ain’t got time for no pissant kid meddling in my business. Now get out of here!”

Charlie was stunned. He always thought of the barn as his, even though it wasn’t. Bat was still standing in the lot, watching. Charlie picked up the lead rope, caught Bat, and started up to Silver Hill as fast as he could make the old mule go. He turned her loose in the milk cow field, and Matthew, who emerged from the back porch of the big house, could make out what Charlie was saying, “You stay in here, old mule. Don’t you go jumping out and getting messed up with that man, you hear me?” He said this in exactly the same tone as Matthew would have used with him. Matthew smiled and walked over to the boy and put his arm around his shoulders. The two of them stood a moment, looking at the one-eyed mule, beginning to graze.