Journey With the Comet

by Dana Wayne Haley

  “Anyway, as I was saying, the Six Mile Falls Road is a narrow woods road that starts about a quarter-mile north of the falls, on the west side of Broadway, and crosses the Winter Fun Road about two miles later. But first it has to pass your Uncle Bill’s cabin, roughly 600 feet south of it.”

  “Oh, so that’s the name of the road he lives on,” Leona said. “I always wondered.”

  “Yes, and after the Six Mile Falls Road crosses the Winter Fun Road, it intersects Ohio Street two miles later at a very small angle, about a mile north of here and less than 400 feet from the Kenduskeag Stream.”

  They continued walking along Ohio Street and twenty minutes later came to a covered bridge. Leona noticed that the sides of the wooden bridge were mostly open and had very wide rails that one could sit on without having to worry about falling off, making them ideal for fishing.

  “This is where we’ll be fishing, sweetheart: off the bridge, the down-river side.”

  “Is this the Kenduskeag Stream, Papa?”

  “Yup, that it is. And on the other side of it is the town of Kenduskeag. Mr. Tyler owns most of the land down here, on this side of the bridge anyway. I call it Black Bear Bridge, but don’t you dare tell your mother.”

  “Why not, Papa?”

  “Because she’ll want to know why.”

  Leona wasn’t sure why her father wanted to keep Margaret in the dark about his name for the bridge, but the little girl was so anxious to begin fishing that she didn’t bother to ask him to elaborate. Instead, she ran to the bridge, hopped onto the rail, and cast her line in the water. She laughed when she was the first to catch a fish.

  “Throw it back, Leona,” Murdock said.

  “Why, Papa?”

  “That’s a sunfish, and they’re not eatin’-fish. This stream has plenty of other fish that are though.”

  It wasn’t long before Leona saw what he meant. Her father caught the first big fish—a pickerel—and then she caught a smallmouth bass. After a half-hour of fishing, with Leona having already caught two more fish, she began to get tired and decided to lie down on the foot-wide rail.

  “Be careful there, Leona. Don’t fall asleep and roll off the bridge. Hans is not here to fish you out this time.”

  “I won’t, Papa,” she laughed, and then laid on her back, her hands cupped under her head and legs crossed at the ankles. “I just need a rest.”

  After watching the clouds float by for more than ten minutes, Leona felt rested enough and once again sat up on the rail next to her father, dangling her legs over the side. They fished off the bridge for more than two hours, catching their share of rainbow trout, smallmouth bass, perch and pickerel; and then Murdock said:

  “Well, we’d bes’ be heading home, Leona. Your Mama’s likely getting worried.”

  But Leona knew that Margaret wouldn’t worry because of something her father said when they began the fishing trip. He said:

  “We’ll be back in three shakes of a dead lamb’s tail.”

  The first time she heard her father say that, Leona had an expression on her mind’s face—the one only she could see—and it was a blank look of confusion. After a few moments of reflection she realized that that saying was his subtle, yet polite, way of letting Margaret know that she shouldn’t expect them back anytime soon.

  “He always says that whenever he goes fishing,” Leona thought.

  When she suddenly awoke from her momentary daydream, something that happened more often than not to Murdock’s beautiful dreamer, Leona discovered that they were headed back home. As they were walking up Ohio Street and came to the small log cabin, Leona saw an old man removing laundry from the outdoor clothesline. She caught only a brief glimpse of him when Murdock called to the man and waved. All the man did was glance their way and then quickly turn away. He was wearing what appeared to be dirty boots and tattered old clothes. Leona saw that he had a dark scraggly beard speckled with white and gray that she thought would have looked a lot like Saint Nick’s if it had been pure white. Instead, the grubby old man reminded her of a California gold-miner she once saw pictured in her American History book.

  —3—

  Leona finally awoke from her long daydream—the one that began when Eunice began telling her ‘Charlie Berry story’—and listened intently as Eunice was finishing up.

  “You kids want to keep away from Old Charlie Berry. I’ve heard that he’s crazy and especially dislikes children. The younger Comeau boy said the crazy old man shot at him once, and warned him not to come around his place again. And he told him to pass the word that if he caught any more kids trespassing on his land, they would be shot deader than a doornail.”

  When Leona heard that part of the story she couldn’t believe her ears, particularly since it was attributed to Jake Comeau, a boy who she knew from kids in the neighborhood to be an inveterate liar. Leona even remembered one girl call him “a lying sack of shit,” but there was no way she was going to repeat that in front of anyone, certainly not her parents. So she uttered something else instead:

  “Why would anyone want to shoot someone just for walking on their property, Mama? Grandma, are you just making up that story to scare us, like you do at Halloween?” she asked playfully.

  “No, Leona, that’s what I heard; so, as far as I know, it’s the God’s honest truth,” Eunice responded in a very sincere tone, one of unquestionable believability. “And I’ve heard other things about that crazy old man, from lots of different people; people I trust. They say he killed his wife and children, and that he spent two years in the Bangor Mental Institution.”

  “Mama, do you believe Grandma Eunice’s story? Do you think the old man would really shoot at me if I went on his property?” Leona asked, still incredulous.

  “I’m not sure, dear? There are some people who would, for sure. But, fortunately, those kind are few and far between. Even so, you kids best stay away from that old man, just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry you know.”

  —4—

  The Haley children always paid attention to their mother, and after hearing Eunice’s story about the crazy old man they were especially inclined to do so. They were not about to disobey her this time, not if their life depended on it; and from what they heard Eunice say, it just might. Indeed, from that day forward, every time the kids went fishing alone they kept a sharp eye peeled for the old man, and hurried past his property, making sure not to stare at him if he happened to be outside.

  To her dismay, Leona did see the old man outside after that when she and her sisters were going fishing, right after a heavy summer rainstorm. Having temporarily forgotten about the old hermit, they decided to take the easier route along Ohio Street, rather than walk on the wet and likely muddy roads through the woods. As they were walking past Charlie’s cabin, Leona saw him starting to look in her direction and she quickly turned her glance away. Then she put her head down, staring only at the road in front of her as she quickened her pace and warned her sisters to do the same. It got to the point where Leona no longer wanted to go fishing in the stream unless accompanied by her father. Even if she thought about taking the woods road to avoid his cabin, she worried about running into the “crazy old man.”

  One day Leona did see Crazy Charlie walking toward her on one of the woods trails and, being alone, she immediately turned around and ran back home as fast as she could, foregoing her fishing trip. So, instead of chancing that again, she gave up going fishing without her father or someone else to accompany her. Instead, she would visit Grandma Eunice when boredom told her that she needed to get out of the house. Since Eunice was just down the road, Margaret allowed her daughter to visit her beloved mother whenever she asked, but only if Leona promised not to bother the sweet old lady.

  “Come right back home if your grandmother doesn’t invite you to stay,” Margaret said on one such day. “And if she does invite you in, don’t overst
ay your welcome. She hasn’t been feeling well of late, and I don’t want you pestering her.”

  “I won’t, Mama,” Leona assured her. “I’ll leave when I sense that Grandma wants me to.”

  Margaret knew that Leona would be true to her word, not just because of her inherent honesty, but also because she had a maturity and perceptiveness that most children her age seldom acquire; at least, not until much later in life. She could read Eunice’s body language better than most and would certainly know when she wasn’t in the mood for company. After assuring her mother, Leona rushed out the door, scooted across the driveway, and ran down a winding path in the south field toward her grandmother’s house. The now well-worn footpath was lined on both sides with multicolored flowers that Margaret had planted. Leona named it “Grandma’s Path” and she was always excited whenever she saw Eunice walking on it toward the Haley house.

  —5—

  “Hi, Grandma,” a smiling Leona said to the elderly women working outside in her garden.

  “Well howdy, Leona. I was kinda hoping you’d come down today,” Eunice replied cheerfully.

  That’s all Leona needed to hear: words that brought an even bigger smile to her face. She looked forward to visiting with Eunice almost as much as spending time with her mother, mainly to hear more of her grandmother’s very inventive stories, and then to hopefully retell them to her own family, in her own inimitable style. That is, of course, if Eunice didn’t tell them first. Indeed, Leona was careful not to repeat Eunice’s stories without giving her grandmother the first chance the next time she visited the Haleys. However, if Eunice didn’t offer her new story at the next storytelling session, Leona assumed that her failing memory was likely the reason, and she always tried to jog it by beginning the story herself. Sometimes Eunice allowed Leona to tell the story in totality, but more often than not she jumped in at a convenient pause and finished telling the rest of the story herself.

  In addition to listening to her stories, Leona loved to visit Eunice because she always had sweets on hand and, fortunately, never failed to offer them to anyone who stopped by. Although, in Leona’s mind, her grandmother’s cooking wasn’t quite as good as her mom’s, it wasn’t far behind either. In reality, it would have been difficult to judge one or the other as the better cook, but she was no different than any other child who thought their mother’s cooking to be the best in the world.

  Leona typically spent an hour or so at Grandma Eunice’s before deciding it was time to go home, or until her mother decided it for her by sending Lillian or Arlene to fetch their sister, and more often than not the latter was the case. This particular day Leona lost track of time and stayed at Grandma Eunice’s for a good two-and-a-half hours, until Margaret realized that her youngest daughter hadn’t returned home and sent Lillian to “fetch Leona.” That was one of those times where Grandma Eunice felt like talking forever, and Leona was so enthralled by her stories that she was prepared to listen until “forever-and-a-day.”

  There would be many more of those times, both at Eunice’s and at the Haley kitchen table, when Leona became lost in a world of imagination, as Margaret and Grandma Eunice spun their wonderful, yes sometimes magical tales.

  Chapter 24

  The New School

  Two years after Leona suffered her first traumatic experience—the day she dreaded going into the 1st grade—the timid 3rd-grader was once again apprehensive about attending a new, unfamiliar school. Maybe it was because Lillian was in high school and would not be there to help her overcome her fears this time. Fortunately, when she walked into the one-room schoolhouse in Glenburn on that first day and took a seat on the opposite side of the room from Arlene, her older sister saw the fear in Leona’s eyes and realized it was her turn to be the one to comfort and reassure her sibling. Instinctively, the 6th-grader raised her left hand and signaled Leona with her three middle fingers, just as Lillian had done two years before. After seeing her sister’s signal, Leona began to relax and waited for her new teacher to speak, for the first time since instructing the arriving children where to sit.

  “Hello, children. For those of you who don’t know, my name is Miss Hutchinson.”

  Leona stared admiringly at her teacher, thinking how young and beautiful she looked. Her previous teachers in Bangor were much older and sterner in appearance; however, to Leona, Miss Hutchinson looked to be not much older than Margaret did in her graduation photo, and her new teacher’s dress was definitely more fashionable than the ones her old teachers wore. But the most striking thing about the teacher was her cheerful voice and demeanor.

  “She must be a beautiful singer,” Leona concluded when she heard the melodic tone of her teacher’s voice.

  After the teacher exchanged a few pleasantries with her returning students, sometimes saying things that engendered laughter, she said: “Bobby, would you please lead everyone in the Pledge of Allegiance?”

  Obediently, all the children stood, faced the flag hanging on the wall, placed their right hands over their hearts, and recited the pledge.

  “I pledge allegiance to my Flag and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

  After the children finished, Miss Hutchinson spoke once again to her students.

  “Thanks, Bobby. Now children, since this is the first day of school here in Glenburn for some of you, we’re going to spend it outside today playing some fun games and, hopefully, getting acquainted with each other. That way today will be less stressful for you. After all, we have plenty of time to learn all the things you need to know.”

  Upon hearing Miss Hutchinson’s soft, almost angelic voice, Leona knew that everything was going to be all right. The 8-year-old may still have had her doubts about being in this strange new environment, but at least she knew that her new teacher wasn’t a tyrant, as she had assumed all teachers to be. At least, that was Leona’s assessment of her teachers in Bangor.

  “The first game we are going to play is a variation of the game Red Rover,” the teacher continued.

  “What’s Read Over, Miss Hutchinson? Are we supposed to read something over and over?” a 6th-grader who just moved to Glenburn asked.

  “No, Henry. Red Rover is a game of tag using this ball.”

  In her hand was a white ball made of soft rubber that she bounced twice on the floor.

  “That looks just like a baseball,” the boy said.

  “That’s right, Henry. It’s a fake baseball. It even has simulated stitches.”

  “Miss Hutchinson, what’s simulated mean?”

  “It means the stitches you see are not actually strings or threads like those used to hold real cowhide-covered baseballs together; instead, they’re nothing more than raised rubber that makes them look like real stitches.”

  As she talked to Henry, the young teacher was periodically tossing the white ball into the air and catching it skillfully with her left hand. The blissful look on her teacher’s face made it seem to Leona as if Miss Hutchinson was looking forward to getting the game started, perhaps even anxious to do so.

  “I’ll teach you the rules of Red Rover when we get outside. Now, when I give the signal, I want you all to file out the door in an orderly manner. The first row of children—the row nearest the door—will go first, in single file; and then the remaining rows will follow right behind them. When you are outside, please gather around me in a circle so you can all hear me clearly.”

  —1—

  When Miss Hutchinson gave the signal, everyone did as she said and gathered in the schoolyard awaiting her next instruction.

  “To start the game, half of you go to one side of the school, and the other half go to the other side. The object is for one team to capture all the players on the opposing team.”

  “How do we do that, Miss Hutchinson?” Henry asked. “And where does the ball come in?”

  “I’ll g
et to that in a minute, Henry. Be patient. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  Henry nudged his friend and whispered: “I don’t get it. What’s a roam? And what the heck does it have to do with playing Red Rover?”

  “You got me!?” the friend responded.

  Standing next to Henry and his friend, Leona overheard their conversation, rolled her eyes, and giggled. The teacher also heard them, but a smile was her only response. Then she continued:

  “The game starts with the flip of a coin, or if no one has a coin we can use rock-paper-scissors. The loser—losing team, I should say—then throws the rubber baseball over the school roof to the team on the other side, after hearing them yell: ‘Red Rover, Red Rover, please throw the ball over.’ The team yelling for the ball then has to catch it either on the fly or on the first bounce. If they don’t catch it properly, then they have to throw it back over the roof to the other team. When the ball is caught properly the catching team runs around to the other side of the school and the child with the ball tries to tag as many members of the other team as possible before they can run back to the opposite side, the one just vacated by the catching team. The thing to know is: you are safely on the opposite side when you pass the imaginary centerline of the school. Now, if you do get tagged before you cross the centerline, then you become a member of the other team: the tagging team. The thing to remember is that, after each successful catch and tag, the teams stay on the side of the schoolhouse that they just ran to. And, as I said before, when everyone on one team is tagged, or captured, then the game is over.”

  “But, Miss Hutchinson, the little kids will never be able to catch and tag the bigger kids,” Henry said.