Journey With the Comet

by Dana Wayne Haley

  Chapter 23

  Eunice and Crazy Charlie

  The Haleys’ best friend and most frequent visitor in the neighborhood was Eunice, and her visits with Margaret were something all the Haley kids looked forward to with great enthusiasm. The reason? The children knew a visit from Grandma Eunice meant being treated to a fresh batch of her sugar, molasses, or oatmeal-raisin cookies, and to a fresh batch of her always-entertaining stories. The children would sit quietly around the kitchen table listening to the stories that Eunice and their mother would swap, while eating freshly made cookies that practically melted in ones mouth, invariably washing them down with farm fresh milk.

  Usually the stories the adults told were either about neighbors or about something interesting that had recently happened in Glenburn, or nearby towns. Though sometimes Margaret would tell stories about the fascinating and often bizarre people she ran into while living in Bangor, and she had plenty of those stories to tell. The adults even made up fanciful stories to entertain the wide-eyed children, including Murdock when he could participate, usually at lunchtime or in late afternoon after arriving home from a hard days work; and as Eunice was heard to say:

  “Murdy’s stories about life on Hancock Street are doosies, especially the ones about the rowdy drunks and bawdy sailors he met.”

  Often the stories, be they real or made up, were humorous in nature and were told with such a comedic flair that they brought hysterical laughter from the adult storytellers and listeners alike; and that, more often than not, engendered laughter from the Haley children. Sometimes the humor went over their heads, but not always. The times that it didn’t would give rise to laughter from all but the youngest participant: little Wally. Yet, even he could not help but laugh whenever his mother and Grandma Eunice broke into hysterics, especially if Lillian’s unusual laugh accompanied theirs. Margaret’s favorite story to tell was about the time Lillian barged into the bedroom, right after Leona was born, accidentally striking Murdock’s funny bone; and as if that wasn’t enough she followed it with her story of Arlene humorously tripping over a towel. The kids laughed hardest at Margaret’s animated depiction of her husband hopping around the bedroom holding his elbow.

  Leona loved more than anything listening to her parents and Grandma Eunice tell their tall tales. The inquisitive 8-year-old discovered that she loved their stories even more if she was included in them, even if the laughter that inevitably followed was at the imaginative little girl’s expense; and, not surprisingly, she was often the butt of their jokes, mainly because everyone realized she could handle the teasing and indeed actually loved the attention. Leona always marveled at how well the adults could spin their yarns. Sometimes they were so skillful that she had trouble telling fantasy from reality. One such time occurred in mid-July of that first summer when Eunice told a story about an old hermit who lived in West Glenburn. Everyone listened intently as they sat around the Haley kitchen table waiting for Grandma Eunice to begin the story.

  —1—

  “They say there’s a strange old hermit by the name of Charlie Berry who lives only a mile or so up Ohio Street from here,” Eunice began. “They call him Crazy Charlie.”

  When Leona was younger she quickly learned that ‘up’ meant ‘up north’ in Maine jargon, because she often heard her mother talk about going down to Bangor, or about someone going down to Boston, which she knew was south of Glenburn. So, logically she figured since ‘down’ was ‘down south”, ‘up’ must be ‘up north’, a fact that she realized must be true when she heard her father once say that he was “headed up to the stream for the day.”

  The Kenduskeag Stream—a little over two miles up Ohio Street from the Haleys—provides a natural boundary between parts of West Glenburn and Kenduskeag, and is so large that it could easily have been called a river. The long, winding stream starts out a few miles to the west in the town of Garland and works its way across tiny Corinth, before winding its way through the center of Kenduskeag. From there the meandering river flows down through Glenburn where it crossed Broadway eastward, two miles north of the Winter Fun Road, and finally makes its way into Bangor where it changes its mind—“much like a woman,” as Murdock was heard to say—and crosses back over Broadway, two miles south of the Winter Fun Road, at a place called Six Mile Falls, by far the steepest and rockiest part of the stream. Then it heads to downtown Bangor, and ends its journey at the Penobscot, well within sight of the freight station where Murdock had worked.

  Shortly after Eunice’s story began, it hit Leona that this Charlie Berry fella her grandma was talking about must be the old man she saw earlier that summer, shortly after they moved to Glenburn. That day she and her father were on the way to the Kenduskeag Stream for an afternoon of fishing. Leona thought back on that experience while Grandma Eunice continued her story about the old hermit. The 8-year-old recalled that her father was helping her become familiar with their new locale by pointing out a few of the houses they passed along the way and by telling her about the people who lived in them; things he had learned mostly from William Fogg.

  —2—

  While sitting there, listening intently to Eunice, her grandmother’s voice started to slowly fade away as Leona’s mind was becoming lost in a daydream recalling that day with her father. In her mind she saw the two of them walking out their driveway and heading up Ohio Street. The first house they came to was only 600 feet up the road from the Haleys. Like her house, it was on the left side of the road; however, it sat at the top of a hill called Terrill Hill: “The highest in Glenburn,” Murdock surmised.

  Thanks to the nearby hills and trees it was the only house, other than Eunice’s, that Leona could see when she stood directly in front of her home on Ohio Street, and she had always wondered who lived there. Seven weeks after moving to Glenburn she would finally find out.

  “The Terrills live there,” Murdock said to Leona, both walking briskly with fishing poles in hand. “Just saw them briefly when I was walking by. I’m told the Terrills are prone to keep to themselves, but someday soon I plan to drop by and say hello.”

  Leona and her father walked about 300 feet along a flat portion of Terrill Hill, and about a third of a mile down a reasonably steep hill they came to the bottom where Leona spied a body of water through bushes on the left side of the road.

  “They call that Valley Pond,” Murdock said.

  The little pond got its name because the bottom of the hill where the pond was located was a valley of sorts, with another large hill just beyond it.

  “Do people go swimming there, Papa?”

  “It’s a little too shallow for that, dear, but when it freezes over it should be ideal for skating. I’ll bring you and the other kids up here to go skating this winter.”

  After passing the pond, Leona and her father found themselves walking up a hill that was much steeper than the one they had just walked down, but not quite as steep as Terrill Hill. Near the top—about 500 feet further on the left-hand side—sat another house.

  “This place belongs to the Douglasses. They’re elderly people who live all by their lonesome,” Murdock told his daughter when they passed by.

  The Douglass hill flattened out about 100 feet beyond the house, and stayed that way for as far as the eye could see. After walking another 500 feet the Haleys came to a three-way intersection where the School Road intersected Ohio Street from the left. Sitting on the far corner—north of the School Road and west of Ohio Street—was a small, white, one-story schoolhouse with five closely spaced windows on its east side facing Ohio Street, and two in the front facing south toward the School Road. There were also four windows on its north side and none on the west. The building itself sat about 50 feet from the two intersecting roadways. Its entrance was centered on the front side, and a 3-foot by 5-foot American flag was hanging from a pole above the entrance.

  “That’s where you’ll be going to school this fall, Leona,” M
urdock said after passing the School Road and coming to a stop 60 feet beyond it on Ohio Street.

  Leona just looked around, uttering not a word to her father. Murdock wondered why his daughter was so quiet, but before he could ask she ran to the building, stood on tiptoe, and peeked through one of its side windows. She saw a room with a large desk that she figured must be the teacher’s. In the far corner near the desk was a small circular table holding a large, thick book. In front of the teacher’s desk were six rows of school desks, with eight desks in each row.

  Beyond the seats, against the west wall, was a very long blackboard with something written on it in faded white chalk; Leona couldn’t quite make it out. Running along the top of the blackboard was a chart displaying the English alphabet written in upper-and-lower-case print and script. To the right of the blackboard, also on the west wall, was a door. It was slightly ajar, but not enough that she could tell what lay behind it. All she knew for sure was that it wasn’t the entrance, because that was at the front between the teacher’s desk and the table holding the large book.

  “Come on, Leona, let’s go on,” Murdock yelled. “You’ll see what’s inside soon enough.”

  Reluctantly, she ran back to Ohio Street and took her father’s hand. Leona looked toward the School Road and saw a house sitting on the left, about 400 feet from where she stood.

  “Who lives there, Papa?”

  “If I remember right, a Mr. Tyler lives there. I don’t know too much about him yet, other than he’s widowed, and has a married daughter living on the other side of town.”

  Then Leona turned around and noticed a rock-pile running along the east side of Ohio Street, roughly ten feet in from the road. It began near the School Road intersection, and just on the other side of the rock-pile were a few small, flat granite stones protruding from the ground.

  “What’s that?” Leona asked her father.

  “That’s a family graveyard, dear. It belonged to the Hutchinsons. They used to live in that house up ahead a few years back.”

  The house he was pointing to was a good 600 feet up Ohio Street on the right, sitting high on a bank maybe 50 feet from the road. When Leona looked toward the house she saw six tall maple trees just to the left of the rock-pile with their east-side branches overhanging the rocks. The first tree was 350 feet or so from the school. The trees were all perfectly aligned and appeared to be equally separated by twenty or thirty feet, as if someone had planted those trees there; and undoubtedly someone had.

  “Those trees are so pretty; just like the ones at our place,” Leona told her father.

  “They sure are, dear.”

  Murdock wasn’t just placating his daughter by agreeing with her. Those trees lining Ohio Street were indeed beautiful, and the reason was obvious to anyone seeing the way the sunshine hit their leaves, making them appear almost like they were illuminated by a beautiful artificial yellow-green light, rather than the strong solar rays of the Sun. It didn’t hurt that the huge maple trees were sitting there breathtakingly contrasted against a beautiful blue sky lightly sprinkled with soft, puffy-white clouds.

  “Papa, why are rocks piled along Ohio Street like that?” Leona asked, after recovering from the mesmerizing daze she had been in.

  “Most of the fields around here were once littered with rocks, rocks of all sizes,” Murdock explained, “and the early owners had to clear the fields if they wanted to plant crops or mow hay in those fields. They also had to clear away land where they wanted to build a home. So, instead of carrying the rocks off, they piled them along the boundaries of their property, or used them to build cellars. Actually, making rock-piles was a very clever way of letting the neighbors know just exactly where their property stops and yours starts. See that one just to the south of the graveyard. It must be the southern border of the old Hutchinson property. See how it’s almost exactly in line with the School Road. Do you see it, Leona?”

  “No, Papa. Where?” she asked, on tiptoe.

  “Right behind those small trees and bushes,” he answered. “Walk back to the School Road and you’ll see the rock-pile plain as day through the bushes.”

  “Oh, I see it now; the Hutchinson graveyard goes right up to it,” Leona said after walking back down Ohio Street a few feet and standing with her back to the School Road.

  Further up Ohio Street, at the end of its escorting rock-pile—maybe 20 feet past the last of the six maple trees, Murdock guessed—sat a rather large granite rock. A few feet beyond it was a driveway to the house that he had just pointed out. When they walked up Ohio Street and came to the rock, Leona saw that it was rather unusual. She had never seen a rock quite like that. It looked almost rectangular, but not really, and it was huge—being about 4 feet high, 4 feet wide, and 2 feet deep—with a nearly flat top.

  “That rock is soooo big,” Leona told her father. “We could play Cribbage on it, couldn’t we.”

  “We sure could,” he replied.

  Leona then eyed the large white house sitting nearby on a six or seven-foot bank.

  “Papa, why is that house way up in the air?” she asked.

  “Because the land is mostly surface ledge up here, and that makes it near impossible to dig a cellar deep enough to be of much use. So people hav’ta pile lots of large rocks around the outside and cover them with topsoil to build their homes on, if they want to have a cellar.”

  “You said the Hutch … Hutchins….”

  “The Hutchinsons,” Murdock clarified.

  “That’s right. You said that they lived there before. Who lives there now?”

  “The Buzzells: Ernest and…. Oh, darn. I forgot his wife’s name: Millie or Molly. No, that’s not it. Oh, now I remember: I think it sounds like Meatie, or something like that. It’ll come to me. Anyway, they have three children: two girls and a boy. The boy is the youngest, about Lillian’s age. His name is Stillman; his friends call him Stilly, some Buzzy. The two older girl’s names are Bertha and Angie; they call him Kid. I understand Mr. Buzzell works in Hermon, for the B&A Railroad, I believe.”

  What Murdock said next shocked Leona.

  “Rumor has it that he shot a man last year.”

  “He did!? Who did he shoot? And why?”

  “Well, I heard it was an accident, but I didn’t hear the details. And, like I said, it was told to me as a rumor, so I don’t want to speculate. Do you remember what I told you, Leona: You hav’ta take everything people tell you with a grain of salt. At least, the things they repeat. And that goes for things you hear from me too.”

  A knowing look appeared on Leona’s face. Murdock smiled and continued.

  “They say the Buzzell property used to belong to Ezekiel Farrar. The Buzzells lived there with him, taking care of him and his property. And when old man Farrar died last year, the Buzzells owned the place outright.”

  “Why did they take care of Mr. Farrar, Papa?”

  “I’m told he was quite old and in poor health; and they were relation. Mr. Buzzell’s mother was a Farrar; I believe Ezekiel was her uncle.”

  “What happened to the Hutchinsons?”

  “Actually, if I remember right, I think the Baxters bought that place from the Hutchinsons and then sold it to the Farrars.”

  “How can you remember all those names, Papa?”

  “Because I’m wicked smart, dear. No, I’m just joshing. I just have a knack for names, I guess. And faces. And dates too.”

  Leona noticed that three large fields even larger than the ones around her house surrounded the Buzzell house, and their barn was much larger too. She noticed the same thing on the other side of the road; except, the house on the west side was much further from the road, at least 400 feet from Ohio Street. Murdock saw his daughter looking in that direction.

  “The Drews live there, Leona,” he said. “I heard that Mrs. Buzzell is a Drew.”

  Leona’s attention re
turned to Ohio Street; she noticed that it had a slight upward incline for about 200 feet, just beyond the Drews and Buzzells. When she and her father reached the top of the small incline, they walked another 100 feet and saw that the road was downhill from there, allowing them to see for a half-mile or more in that direction.

  “This looks like a good place to sled,” she told her father.

  “You’re right, it does, doesn’t it. They call this Hutchinson Hill. It’s not very steep, but it’s the longest hill in Glenburn. No doubt a sled could go quite a ways on this road, likely all the way to the stream, nigh on’ta a mile from here. I’m told there’s only one more house on this road, and, if I remember, it’s about 500 feet down from here, on the left.”

  The house Murdock spoke of was actually a small log cabin, and when they reached it Leona noticed laundry hanging out in the hot sun to dry. The single, twelve-foot-long clothesline was just to the right of the cabin, which was scenically nestled among birch, pine, maple, oak, and apple trees.

  “Who lives there, Papa?”

  “I’m not sure. For some reason, Mr. Fogg never told me. Must’ah slipped his mind.”

  Further ahead Murdock saw Leona looking at a trail heading into the woods on the right.

  “As I recall, Leona, Mr. Fogg said there are two cabins deep in those woods, about halfway between here and the Six Mile Falls Road.”

  “That’s a funny name for a road, Papa.”

  “Yes it is, and then again it’s the perfect name, because it starts near a place on Broadway called Six Mile Falls. That’s where the Kenduskeag Stream crosses Broadway; there’s a very small, but long waterfall there, if you can call it that. Bobby and I went over it in a canoe once—in the spring when the water was high—and it was a challenge navigating around all the rocks. We took his wagon to Kenduskeag Village one Sunday and canoed all the way to Bangor. It was fun but we came close to capsizing a handful of times. Bobby’s wife had to drive the wagon back to Bangor for us.