Struggles of a Country boy

by Herb Blanchard

  Running through the trees over Brad's head, was an elaborate galvanized iron pipe system. This myriad of pipes brought the sap off of the higher ridge to the east and into an identical iron tank on the east side of the sugarhouse.

  The pain riddled "Yips!" and sudden barking from his companion snapped Brad from his reverie.

  He snatched up his .22 and took off on a dead-run for the sugarhouse.

  Brad jerked back the hammer of the rifle in one motion. His thumb automatically held the hammer, and his fingers were cupped around the stock and trigger guard to protect himself from the trigger catching on the brush and the rifle going off prematurely.

  The foul smell of porcupine feces was stronger than usual and Brad knew before he slipped through the door opening that there was at least two porcupines inside the building.

  He ran down the left side of the waist high, red brick firebox to where Rusty was constantly yipping, crying and growling at the same time.

  He saw her white feathered tail wag furiously as it stuck out of the iron bound door opening in the bricks. This door led into the dark ash-filled brick firebox. The shallow galvanized evaporating pans sat on top of the brick walls.

  Brad heard the scraping and rustlings that only quill pigs can make, coming from under the shallow pans. Their stench was terrible and growing stronger as he came to the opening.

  He thrust his left arm into the opening and grabbed the dog's leather collar. With a jerk he brought his hand and the mongrel out through the iron rimmed opening.

  "Oh! Oh, shit! God damn! Sit damn it! Sit down! Oh, shit!" His rubber booted foot caught the brown and white dog on the chest as the irate animal tried to squeeze back into the opening through the red brick wall. As he felt his grip slipping Brad grabbed her collar tighter. He set his rifle in the galvanized iron evaporator so his right hand would be free to grab the cast iron firebox door. Long ago the door had come off of its hinges and was now lying in the porcupine dung which covered the wooden floor. He jammed it into the opening to prevent his struggling dog from going back into the firebox. It would also keep the porkies inside the firebox until he could deal with them.

  The dog's continual whining and crying made him realize something else was wrong with her. Down on one knee, Brad pulled his friend over to him and turned her head to face him. She yelped and cried at his touch. Even in the weak light seeping in through the dirt encrusted windows, Brad could see several quills sticking from the side of her muzzle below her right eye.

  Animals and porcupine quills were not new to Brad. He hurried the stubborn dog out of the sugarhouse since he was sure he would need a pair of pliers to pull the quills.

  Not only did she object to being led, she was very aggressive. Right now she wanted back into the sugarhouse to do battle with the foul smelling thing that had hurt her. For Rusty, it would be a losing battle, but nonetheless, she wanted a battle of revenge.

  When they broke out into the meadow from the cooler creek bottom, the warm noon sun met them. He leaned his little rifle against the sentinel tree before forcing the exuberant dog to sit long enough for him to look at her face in the bright sun.

  It's over a mile walk to get a pair of pliers. Maybe I can pull them out without any. I don't think they're in all that far. If I nip the ends with my knife they should come right out.

  Pure luck, he thought, when several quills came right out of the dog's face.

  "Alright!" He hollered as he held up the quills in front of the panting and whining mongrel.

  "Shut up and hold still. There's only one left!"

  The remaining quill was causing Brad some second thoughts about trying to pull it out with his fingers. It appeared to be deep in the side of her nose and very little was sticking out to grab onto.

  His companion watched him with her soft brown eyes and he could see the trust and love which only a creature like this mongrel could hold for a person.

  Brad made a move toward the remaining quill and touched it lightly. Even Brad's light touch made the dog jump and whine quietly. His fingers started to shake and he felt cold even in the warm spring sun.

  "Oh, shut up. Don't be a baby." He spoke softly. He became older than his years when he realized the trust she was placing in him.

  He spit on his thumb and index finger before rubbing them together. He grasped the quill, barely getting a grip on the short protrusion.

  A soft, "easy now, hold still," a short, "yip", and a sudden jump as the dog got her feet under her and it was over. Her pink tongue licked her nose, wrapping itself up, over and around her muzzle and a tiny spot of blood disappeared.

  Brad's friend looked up at him with brown eyes full of gratitude, there were a couple of quick wags of her white feathered tail and she was gone.

  You, wimp. Brad thought as he watched her white tail disappear down the road. He knew the dog would beat him to the house and she would be hiding under his bed when he got there. She had finally run out of anger and with the loss of her anger had gone her desire to do battle.

  Alone, Brad returned to the sugarhouse and found the porkies had made good their escape. They had somehow left the brick firebox. The cast iron door was still where Brad had jammed it into the opening, but the pitch black interior was quiet.

  "Damn, there goes a dollar in bounty!" He spoke out loud when he realized he wasn't going to find the quill pigs.

  Disgusted, he went about doing what he had come to do and that was to take as many of the two and a half gallon tin sap buckets as he could carry. The Frenchs had given him permission to use the buckets and also to tap as many of their sugar maples as he wanted.

  Throughout the afternoon Brad made the two mile round trip to the sugarhouse carrying six or seven buckets and their lids on each return trip. The last trip he made was for a bucket full of spouts. Some were galvanized iron, but there was also a great many older ones. These were hand carved out of maple and birch with a forged iron ring to hang the bucket from.

  At the Burgess's house with his gathering and collecting over Brad took one of the galvanized buckets into the kitchen where his mother stood at the sink with her back to him.

  "What are you doing, Brad?"

  "I need some hot water to wash my sap buckets with. Charlie said to get them good and clean because they haven't been used for a long time. Can I get it in the sink?"

  "Get what?"

  "Hot water to wash the buckets."

  "Not now. Can't you see I'm busy washing out a few things, I'll let you know when I'm through."

  Brad looked into the sink. He saw a tee shirt and pair of his shorts along with a pair of his father's white work socks. He could smell the strong, nose twitching odor of bleach and wondered. In the corner of the glossy white painted kitchen stood the new wringer washing machine his mother had put up a howl for all last summer.

  SEVEN

  Even though the mid-June sun boiling through the eight foot tall windows was incredibly hot, a cool breeze flowing through the corner classroom made it bearable. Mr. Sargant, the high school principal and algebra teacher, told the boys to open the windows all the way. With only fifteen minutes of class remaining he left them to do their homework.

  In and out of the way corner of the room Brad sat on the back of his chair. With summer vacation just a few days away, he was thinking about how fast the year had gone by. How uneventful it had been. He knew that he would be spending time on Charlie’s farm, but beyond that Brad didn’t really have clue to what the summer held for him.

  From his perch he not only overlooked the park and school ball diamond, but could see anyone entering either the high school or the new elementary school next door. Before class started Brad noticed a familiar girl's figure walk across the short distance between the high school to the elementary school. He was still wondering if his eyes and mind were playing tricks on him. When the bell which signaled the last class change rang, Brad had decided he was mistaken
and she wasn't there. He was vaguely disappointed, and strolled down the side of the classroom looking out each window as he passed it. He was really still clinging to a little bit of hope that the rumor he had heard was true and he had really seen his friend.

  Brad stepped into the crowded hallway against the traffic flow of junior and senior high school students heading for their classes.

  Damn! They're like a bunch of sheep. Miss Estes standing there by her classroom door looks like a pissed off old dog ready to nip someone's butt.

  A glimpse of her coal black hair out of the corner of his eye was all Brad needed. He swiveled to his right in time to see the familiar shapely hips and legs retreating down the stairway. The image of the softness of her dark brown eyes dominated his mind and quickened his pulse. Her shoulder length black hair reflected the sunlight in miniature rainbows when she tilted her head in greeting to one of the teachers.

  He paused, but only debated with himself for a fraction of a second. He knew if he took a short cut down the 'up' stairway to the ground floor, he could intercept her before she reached the front door.

  His passage down the stairs took some skillful dodging of the hurrying students and teachers coming up the stairs to descend the same stairs.

  Brad felt a large hand grab for his ankle which he sidestepped easily, but he almost barreled into Miss Bishop the young and very sexy new math teacher. Any other time he would gladly have careened into his favorite teacher's book filled arms, but now he didn't have time for there was a more important woman headed for the front door. He glanced over his shoulder as he continued headlong down the stairs and he caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the school jocks staring down at him with a malicious grin spread from ear to ear. He knew who had tried to trip him. He couldn't be bothered enough to care. He just wanted to get down the stairs.

  "Slow down, Brad!" A loud feminine voice followed him down the stairs.

  He knew it was Miss Bishop and raised his right hand in acknowledgment but never slowed down. He knew he was safe from any retribution.

  There were only two of his classmates on the bottom and final flight of stairs. Brad descended the stairs three at a time partially riding down the shiny oak banister on his right arm. Sliding across the hallway on his leather soled penny loafers he was just in time to watch the heavy oak front door swinging shut on its pneumatic closer. The threat of two days expulsion loomed before him when he hit the thick brass crash bar on the run sending the heavy double doors flying open. The heat of the afternoon sun struck him in the face and the taste the fresh breeze carrying a hint of perfume hung in the air. At the bottom of the foot polished granite stairs she had stopped and turned to the sound of the doors crashing open. Her dark brown eyes widened in surprise, while her lips, colored with a touch of a soft pink to set off her golden complexion, curved up into a charming and sincere smile.

  Brad's heart melted as it had dozens of times before. He knew the smile on his face was big and stupid. He felt self conscious and at the mercy of the events about to unfold here on the granite steps. Worse yet he was at a complete loss for words. The smile stayed glued to his lips and his words refused to come out. The terrible thoughts which were crawling through his mind kept trying to articulate themselves in place of the words he wanted to say.

  She'll think I'm retarded if I don't say something.

  What can I say?

  Hi! It's nice to see you. I'm a jerk and a boob who nobody likes or takes seriously. But I'm in love with you and I want to screw you.

  Shit! Talk sense jerk.

  Her black hair reflected the sunlight like a freshly broken piece of obsidian. She wore it swept down towards her gently slanting left eye and pulled back from the right side of her face. It was as Brad remembered it.

  The girl's pleasant and welcoming smile along with Muriel's advice, "If you can't think of anything else to say Brad, just tell a woman something she wants to hear," prompted him to talk as the words finally made their way through his molasses mind.

  "Your hair looks just the same. It's still as pretty as ever."

  "Well, hello to you too, Brad. Yes, thank you, it's still the same."

  Brad knew in an instant that it had worked. He went down the stairs two at a time hurrying to reach where Elinor Simpson stood with her right hand out to him and the prettiest, softest smile Brad had ever received in his life still on her lips. He realized she was smaller than he remembered. She was at least two inches shorter than he.

  "Won't you get in trouble coming out here during school hours, Brad?"

  He listened to her husky voice and felt the familiar shiver go down his spine before he answered.

  "Probably. But that's alright, I only have a study hall and nothing to do in it. I'll just tell Miss Estes that I have a stomach ache."

  Their friendship renewed itself when they both laughed and enjoyed the inside joke. The old maid school teacher known to all, teachers and students alike, as Miss Estes, never questioned a teenage girl's excuse that she skipped class because of stomach cramps. It was the joke of the school.

  They stood at the bottom of the stairs still holding hands. Elinor's small hand was soft and delicate in Brad's larger, callused grip. Her head was cocked attentively to one side. Though now an older woman of nineteen, Elinor was giving her full attention to fifteen year old Brad as an old friend and an equal.

  "I really am glad you saw me Brad, I wanted to talk to you before I left. I'm only going to be staying with my folks for a few more days."

  "I was sure it was you right away. How come you're here? At school, I mean."

  "I came to get a copy of my high school record. I'm going to college in California next fall. Did I tell you? Oh, no! I haven't seen you to tell you. I'm sorry." Elinor went on in a burst of enthusiasm. "My husband is in the Navy. We're going to be stationed in Long Beach for the next three years so I transferred my credits from Keene Teachers College so I can get my degree while we're there."

  "Then I won't see you again? Before you leave, that is?" Brad felt a surge of disappointment when he realized Elinor had a husband. If the talk had been true two years ago, she also had a baby.

  "Oh, no! I'd like to see you again before I go. In fact, my folks are having a cookout Sunday and I want you to come. You have to come, it will be fun."

  "Well, I don't know, I may have to work." Brad started improvising excuses. He had never been there, and though he knew her father and liked him, he wasn't sure he wanted to go to their home.

  "Say you'll come Brad Burgess. My sister will be there."

  Brad felt dumb. Sister? What sister? The look of disbelief on Elinor's face did not help him. "I . .I!" He stammered as the flush of his embarrassment turned his face bright red and burned his ears. Her warm hand tighten on his, and felt her warm breath on his cheek when her lips brushed his cheek.

  "I thought you knew Ginny was my half sister. I think everyone else between here and Nashua knows it. Not that it's any of their business." Elinor continued to hold his hand and the gentle smile on her lips reassured Brad. "I suppose you think I have a baby too." Elinor said it as if she was reading Brad's mind. She studied him through her long dark lashes her eyes intent but always gentle. "Well I don't and I never did. I was never pregnant. "So, are you coming to our cookout?"

  With a light heart Brad nodded a smiling yes before he spoke: "I'll be there. What time?"

  "Ask Ginny tomorrow she'll know then. Tomorrow is Friday, right? June thirteenth?

  "I hope you aren't superstitious. You aren't are you, Brad? "

  She doesn't know anything about it yet, so don't expect an answer before tomorrow." Elinor let go of his hand and stepped back before speaking again. "See you Sunday. Right?"

  As he turned away and started up the steep gray granite steps, Brad smiled, raised his right hand in a small wave and answered, "Sunday!"

  Brad had worried most of
the evening and this morning about the consequences of his invitation to Elinor's cookout. He had never said more than a passing 'hi' to Elinor's half-sister Ginny. Now he had to discuss with her the time of the cookout and what to bring and wear.

  Everyone was going to first period except Brad. He just sat and watched the door at the back of the room. He was sure Ginny would be waiting for him in the crowded hallway where everyone in the whole senior and junior high school would see him make a fool of himself. His hands were damp with sweat and a scenario of rejection passed through his mind. It was the same disaster he had been anticipating all of last night.

  “I'm sorry, Brad, but Elinor didn't mean it. We’re having a cookout but you aren't invited, because my new boyfriend is coming instead.

  Oh, no! You don't know him. He is from Amherst and goes to Dartmouth. He's a junior, you know. Oh, you don't know him? How stupid of you.”

  "Brad. You had better get to class. The voice of his homeroom teacher broke through his reverie. Brad jumped out of his seat and started for the back of the room.

  "I'm going Mr. Getty, I was trying to remember where I put my homework."

  Brad panicked as he realized the class charging into the room was Ginny's English class. He bolted for the door and into Ginny's arms.

  Ginny looked at him expectantly, she said something Brad couldn't decipher, and then waited patiently for him to answer.

  Brad studied the gentle curves of her small adolescent breasts. As usual when dealing with a woman, even a fourteen year old woman, Brad remained speechless. He felt the heat run up his neck, spread through both ears, and create that awful clammy feeling in his armpits. Not even Ginny's open face and her Elinor-soft smile could overcome the panic he felt. He hurriedly turned away. Muttered, "Hi, Ginny," under his breath before fleeing down the hall.

  In his haste to retreat he almost wiped out Miss Bishop; again.

  "Slow down, Brad!" Again reached his ears.

  He stopped at the door to the biology lab and turned back to where he had left Ginny staring after him. The two women now had their heads together looking in his direction. Brad became even more self conscious than he had felt short moments before.