***
Charlie rounded a switchback and looked up where the trail continued on to the ridge top. Strange. Above him fog lay heavily across the forest. The old guys would have called it a brume—a dense cloud that hushed the birds and hid the foliage. He’d rarely seen it so thick in the summer. If the kid were caught in that he’d be wet and cold and surely disoriented.
His hunch might be pretty far-fetched, but he had to act on it fast. If that cloud moved farther down the mountain, they’d all have trouble staying oriented. Charlie spun around and began heading down, scanning the trail as he went, looking for the tracks of a kid’s shoes.
Every ten feet or so he stopped and bent low, looking up into the forest from a nine-year-old’s perspective. It was probably ridiculous to suppose the hole was still there.
As he approached the trail junction from this vantage, everything looked different from the way it had on the way up. The trail he was descending met three trails that fanned downhill like the fingers of a hand. The webbing between the fingers was filled with dense undergrowth. The fog had crept down the mountain behind him. As it descended, the cold mist condensed into droplets and while Charlie stood at the junction, it started to rain. The sound of water hitting the earth, soaking the duff that covered the forest floor, alerted him, and the darkening the colors clarified his vision.
Instinct drew him to the area between the eastern-most trail and the center one. He stepped over the log that marked the boundary between woods and trail and began picking his way downhill. Every few feet Charlie crouched down and surveyed the territory, looking for a pine with a low branch that curved back on itself. What were the chances it would still look the same? An erratic branch like that was vulnerable; in twenty years it almost certainly had broken off, or more likely, the whole tree had fallen. But there was something about the slope of the earth here and the sense he recalled of being far from town, in the wild.
Charlie walked farther into the woods, calling, “Kev! Kev! If you can hear me make some noise.”
He reached a small clearing where a cushion of thick fir needles had offered a bed for deer, the imprints of their bodies still visible. “Kev!” He stopped and waited.
A faint sound. Maybe the movement of a small animal. It sounded like panting, or a breath expelled forcefully through pursed lips. It seemed to be coming from the other side of a small clearing ahead.
“Kev!”
Again, the blowing sound.
Charlie moved slowly into the open space, stepping gingerly, his eyes fixed on a gap between the giant firs on the far side. As he got to the edge of the thick woods, he squatted and looked up from the angle of his nine-year-old self. There it was. Straight ahead. The ancient pine and the S-bent branch. When he stood up he could see the edge of the eastern trail where it curved in toward the other forks. The hole must be much closer to the trail than he’d thought, but he still couldn’t see it. Charlie inched forward, looking at the ground, calling “Kev! Kev! Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you. You’re going to be OK.”
The large bushes between the trees had been sprouts when he’d last been here. From the eastern trail anyone could have reached the spot easily, but from where Charlie stood the only way was to get down on all fours and crawl through the undergrowth. Charlie threw himself onto the ground and began clawing his way forward. The rain pelted his back. He hadn’t been surer of anything in a long time. As he emerged from under the tangle of hazel and ferns, he nearly fell into the pit himself.
“Kev?” Charlie kept his voice soft. If he hadn’t been looking for a boy, he might have walked past this lump coated with mud and duff except for the spots of Day-Glo orange that shown through the filth. “How you doin’, buddy?”
A scrambling movement, like a terrified animal, tightening into a smaller ball.
“It’s OK, Kev. I’m a friend of your dad and Parrot. We’re all looking for you.”
The bundle of boy pulled deeper into the mud and whimpered slightly.
Charlie sat on the ground and let his feet dangle over the edge of the hole. “I’m Charlie. I once spent the night in this hole. In fact, I dug the thing.” His arms had ached for days. How long had it taken?
“Aaaah!” Kev’s head shot up and he screamed.
“It’s OK, Kev.” Charlie tried to keep his voice calm. This child was terrified and there was blood on his face. “I’m going to blow this whistle,” he held his palm open with the whistle in it. “Your dad and Parrot are nearby, and they’ll come when they hear this. OK?”
A faint movement of the boy’s head gave Charlie permission. He blew. Again.
“I found him! Over here, by the easternmost trail.” He shouted.
***
Grace took a few more steps downhill before her toe hit hard against a rock. Momentum carried her forward, downslope, and she lost her footing. She thrust her hands out in front of her, but found nothing, no branches or even the thin stickered threads of nettles, to grab onto. Her right knee smacked the ground and she sprawled flat on her stomach, but she kept sliding, head first downhill. She pressed her toes down into the mud, adding friction to slow her descent; her right ankle slammed against a rock and sent her skidding to the left. Again, she threw her hands in front of her, groping for a root, anything solid, unmoving. It wasn’t far, but it was dark and it was wet and it was hard.
By the time she finally stopped moving, her body had managed to twist itself around, so she was sitting upright, facing downhill; her legs were somewhere out in front of her, but she couldn’t see them. Her view was blocked by an enormous log that lay crosswise to the slope. It took her a long, panicked moment to realize that this log was what had stopped her slide, preventing her from falling over a cliff, off the edge of which her legs now dangled. The log, her savior, sat just a foot above her lap and close enough to her face for her to make a microscopic lean forward and kiss it.
Resting her cheek against the mossy surface of the log, Grace began to take stock. To her right she could just make out the massive tangle of the fallen tree’s roots clawing the air maybe ten feet away. Slowly, carefully, she turned her head to the left. The top of the downed tree was hidden in the fog, but she sensed open space beneath it not far from where she sat. In order to maneuver herself to safer ground, she must move back and to the right. The soil on which she sat was layered with slippery fir needles and cones. Placing her palms flat on the duff, pushing up and back, she gingerly scooted her butt away from the edge. As she inched backward, the forest debris on the surface began to move in the opposite direction and she could hear cones and dirt falling into the valley below, crumbling bits of the cliff as it fell. Grace tried to slow her breathing, to make each movement count. If she moved too slowly, too tentatively, the slope where she sat could collapse beneath her. A decisive, strong push in the opposite direction was her only hope. The log prevented her from bending her knees and pushing back with her feet, so she bore down on her hands, took a deep breath and wrenched her body backward as hard as she could.
Once her feet touched soil, she began to roll onto her right side and that’s when the pain hit. Her right leg furiously protested the slightest movement. “Shit!” She let her head rest in the mud and held her leg as still as she could, waiting for the pain to dull.
As she lay there, the damp cold soaked through her jeans and combined with the jagged ache in her leg; she began to shiver. She had to move; she had to get to farther away from the edge or she’d start sliding down again. She bit her lower lip hard between her teeth. Just above her a branch, about the size of her arm, protruded from the log. The force of the tree’s fall appeared to have shoved the other end of the branch into the earth. If it hadn’t been shattered by the collision, it might be anchored deeply enough to offer a solid grip. She stretched her arms out over her head and lifted her upper body as high as her injured leg would allow. She grabbed hold of the ragged branch and, whispering a plea for the right kind of luck, just this once, Grace pulled with all
her strength.
***
The hole had gathered layers of detritus over the years and its bottom was soft. Kevin Sr. dropped down into the pit and immediately sank to his knees.
“Oh, son, you gave us a scare.” He reached out to take his son in his arms, but Kev didn’t move toward him. “Are you hurt, boy? Let me see.”
The child turned toward his father and held out his arms. He was shivering and a large, mud-caked wound seeped dark blood over his right eye.
“OK, son. Let’s get you out of here.”
Seeing now what they were dealing with, Charlie pulled Pat aside. “Get down to town and bring that Doc up here. Tell him the kid’s hurt his head and maybe his eye. It doesn’t look good. And stay away from the mom, if you can. No need to scare her more.” Pat was younger and faster; both men understood that.
Paul and Burt worked together to hoist father and son out of the hole. Still Kev hadn’t spoken. Kevin Sr. took a few muddy steps to a nearby stump and sat, cradling his boy in his arms.
“Pat’s gone to get Doc Janson.” Charlie said, handing Kevin a clean handkerchief. “Henry’s got some water.”
But Kev fought against his father’s efforts to clean the wound; it seemed a better idea to just give the boy some time to calm down. Kevin simply held him and spoke in soft whispers.
The men stepped back, giving father and son some private time. Henry motioned for the crew to circle round out of earshot of the boy.
“Thank you, guys. I’ll stay till Pat and Doc get here, but you all can go on home. I’m sure we can get them down. And if you see Mary, tell her we found him and he’s OK. No need to alarm her.”
The men nodded and, as they began dispersing down the trail back to town, Charlie asked, “Any of you see Grace?”
The group stopped and looked back at him. “Oh, right, that’s what got Kev all out here in the first place. Where the hell is that girl?” asked Terry Childers.
“She hasn’t been at the café the last couple of days. Lyle said she went to Seattle or something,” Clett offered.
“Well, I saw her yesterday,” Charlie said. “She’s back from Seattle, but I went by her cabin this morning and she’s not there.”
“When we couldn’t find Kev this morning, Mary said she’d check with Grace,” Kevin called out to the group.
“Oh, shit. With all this commotion, I forgot. Mary told Grace about Kev and she went up the other way to look.” Burt raised his chin to indicate the path farther up the mountain. “Mary said Grace was going up to the protesters’ camp, somethin’ about thinking Kev had followed her up there.”
Just then Pat came sprinting up the trail with Doc Janson at his heels. He pointed to where Kevin sat with Kev, still silent, on his lap. “He’s over there, Doc.”
Burt grabbed his son’s arm. “Turns out your girlfriend’s been taking food to those assholes camped in the old growth.” He shook his head and spat. “D’you know about that?”
“Are you crazy? No, I didn’t know a thing about it and why would she do that, anyway?” Pat was indignant. The other men stared at him.
Charlie interrupted this brewing conflict. “The problem right now is that she’s gone looking for Kev and no one knows where she is.”
“Well, if she went up there, she can damn well find her own way home,” Pat muttered.
Kevin and Doc picked the boy up and began walking back to the trail. As he passed the group, Kevin said, “You know, we haven’t treated that girl right. She might have reason for what she did.”
Chapter 22
Grace shook like a traumatized animal. She’d managed to pull herself back from the edge; the echoes of stones and broken branches bouncing off the cliff as they fell had faded. The danger of her own body dropping into the valley below was no longer immediate. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit hard on her lip, leaned back against her arms and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, the fog had thinned enough for her to make out the area around her a bit more clearly. She looked up the steep mountainside down which she had slid.
Shit! What have I done? How am I going to get up that slope with this leg?
What was I thinking? Kev would never have made it up the trail this far. I am an idiot.
The thought of Kev brought the search back to her mind and she reached in her pocket. God bless you, Kev! She put the whistle to her mouth and blew as hard as she could.
***
Charlie started to follow the rest of the guys back down the mountain when he remembered how the day had begun. “Hey, Pat. Can you show me where that protesters’ camp is?”
“Why?” Pat looked skeptically at Charlie. “She’s not worth it, man. I ought to know.” He spoke a little too loudly.
“It’s not like that.” Charlie was in no mood to humor this jerk. “I just need to find her.”
Pat narrowed his eyes, stuck his fists into his pants pockets and looked over his shoulder at the men who were descending the trail. He waited till his father’s back had disappeared around a curve, then he nodded. “Follow me.”
The two men walked swiftly, but took care where they placed their feet. The rain had stopped, but the trail was slick and muddy—the kind of muck they both knew well. It looked benign enough, but things went wrong in this kind of wet. Especially when you moved too fast.
“What’s your deal, anyway?” Pat kept his head down, eyes on the trail as he asked.
“Long story.” Charlie knew there was something between Pat and Grace; he could feel the jealous energy radiating off the guy. “I’m probably the closest thing she’s got to a brother, if that helps.”
Pat stopped. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
Charlie gave him a brief version of what had gone on between Nathan and Annie. “You guys are a couple, right?”
“Were. Man, I thought I knew her, but that’s all over. Done. This whole thing with feeding the hippies? You knew about that?”
“Hell, no. That’s news to me. I’ve only had one conversation with the lady. And it wasn’t about saving trees.”
They were at the steepest point in the trail now and they’d stopped talking. Charlie was feeling winded and cursing himself for his cigarette habit. It was damned embarrassing, panting in front of this kid.
Then the sound of a whistle, sharp and clear, coming from somewhere to their left and down.
“What was that?” Charlie looked toward the sound. “Who’s there?” He shouted.
“It’s Grace! Down here!”
“Grace?” Pat shouted. The frantic tone in his voice gave him away. This guy was not close to being over her. “I fell off the trail. I think I broke my leg.”
The two men raced toward the sound of her voice.
“Careful!” she shouted. “There’s a nasty drop off right by the edge of the trail there!”
Pat and Charlie stood at the lip of the valley looking down to where Grace sat. The fog had lifted, and they could see all the way to the valley floor. Her predicament was clear.
“Jesus.” Pat was trying to sound matter-of-fact, but the tender concern was apparent. “I’ll send Charlie here back for some rope. We’ll haul you up.” He looked over at Charlie who gave him a thumb’s up and headed back down the trail.
“I’m pretty cold.” Grace said through jittering teeth.
Pat took his jacket off and rolled it into a bundle. Just before he threw it, he stopped.
“I can’t get it down there, Grace. It’ll get hung up on the bushes or it’ll go over the edge. Hold on.” He bent low and scanned the slop, looking for the tracks of her fall. Then he pulled up a thin blackberry vine growing along the trail and, standing in the middle of it, dragged it back and forth under his instep to strip it of its thorns. He tied the vine tightly around the ball of his jacket. Then he jammed a rock into the center of the whole bundle to give it some weight. “OK, I’m going to roll this down to you. Look out for the stickers on the vine.”
“Genius,” Grace shouted as the jack
et bumped and slid down the side of the mountain, right into her hands. “Thanks.” Gingerly she tore off the vine and slid her arms into Patrick’s sleeves.
“Jesus, Parrot. How did you manage this stunt?”
She didn’t reply. Now that she’d been found, now that she was warmer, now that she was covered in Pat’s scent, she relaxed just enough for the pain in her leg to overwhelm her.
***
Charlie was puffing hard when he got down the mountain to the mill. The crew was still crowded around the yard, soaking in the relief at Kev’s rescue. Grace’s name stood out from the jumble of chatter. “She was bringing them food? How could she?”
“Grace is down a cliff.” Charlie panted. “Need some rope.”
All the men turned to him and nearly in unison demanded “Is she OK?”
“She’s hurt her leg.” They crowded round him and asked for details.
“She’s off the trail on the north, where it gets steep, near the hippy camp. Pat’s up there with her.”
Clett raced to the shop and pulled a coil of rope off a hook and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Back where the men had gathered, he started to hand the rope over to Charlie, but it was obvious Charlie wasn’t going to make fast time up the trail carrying any extra weight. Without a word, Clett took off with five of the other men trailing him. Charlie started to follow, but Henry came over and put his hand on Charlie’s back.
“Let them go, man. They’ve got something to make up to Parrot. Give ’em the chance to do that.”
“All of them?”
“Hell, yes. Everyone in this town was part of it.”
***
As they waited, Pat kept talking to Grace even though she said little. “We found Kev. He was in this hole—something Charlie says he dug when he was a kid. Weird that it’s still there.”
“He must have been terrified. I feel so guilty.” She winced.
Pat was sitting on the ground now, studying her from above.
“Yeah, seems like you have a few things to feel guilty about.”
What We Take For Truth Page 23