[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm

by Janette Oke

  “What in the world do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  “Your ... your door was open,” he said lamely, dabbing at his cheek with his handkerchief.

  “Open? It was closed when I went to bed.”

  “It ... well, the screen door was swinging in the wind.”

  “It often swings in the wind.”

  She wasn’t making this easy.

  “When I checked it, I found the inner door wasn’t locked.”

  “Most folks in this town don’t worry about locked doors.”

  “Well, they should,” he said firmly. “From now on I want that door locked every night.”

  “You have so much time on your hands you’re policing doors now?” she asked, her sarcasm plain.

  He moved toward the door. “Please, please,” he said. “I’m asking you to do this for reasons I’m not at liberty to divulge.”

  She backed up a step and swallowed hard, her expression changing. “You frightened me half to death,” she said, pulling her robe more tightly around her slender frame.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”

  “I’m a little on edge,” she admitted. “There’s this guy who’s been coming in for cuts lately.” She shook her head. “Well, anyway—” She broke off and moved toward the kitchen. “Come in here,” she said, “so we don’t waken Danny. You’d better let me check your cheek.”

  “It’s fine. Fine. A little scrape, that’s all. Just—please—lock your door when I leave.”

  “Okay. I’ll lock it.”

  As soon as he was back on the sidewalk he finished dabbing at the injury. It was already swelling slightly. His arm had taken quite a whack too. He shook his head; then a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The little lady packed a mighty wallop.

  “What happened to you?”

  Henry had known he would be questioned. He didn’t know how to be evasive, and he wasn’t about to lie. “A chunk of firewood. Mistaken identity,” he answered without looking up.

  “So who ... mistook you?” Laray set down his coffee cup and surveyed the bruise.

  Henry kept his eyes on the map he was studying. “Well ... Sam, actually.”

  He was still debating proper police protocol. Was he going to file a report on this?

  “Sam? Him Sam or her Sam?”

  “Her Sam.”

  He thought he heard a snicker, but he didn’t look up to check. He figured he might as well blurt it all out since it looked like he’d be questioned to death.

  “I was patrolling the street—by her house—when I saw the screen door was open. I checked. Found her other door wasn’t locked. I went in to see if everything was okay and—”

  “You went in?”

  It sounded pretty stupid. Henry hurried on. “She thought it was an intruder—”

  “Which it was,” Rogers dared to say with a smirk.

  “So she hit you with a chunk of firewood?” Laray sounded incredulous.

  “Not hit ... exactly. She threw it.”

  Now he knew they were both laughing. He did not look their way. Just went on staring at the map he wasn’t seeing.

  “So ...” said Laray after a few moments of weighty silence. “You gonna arrest her for assaulting a police officer?”

  “Don’t be—” Henry grabbed for his Stetson and left the office amid loud guffaws. He knew it would be some time before the boys were willing to let him forget the whole incident.

  They finally got a break. Laray, tailing the ex-con on another of his visits to town, caught him red-handed shoplifting a pack of cigarettes. It wasn’t much—petty theft. But it might be enough to gain them a bit of time. At least a few nights of sleep. They hoped the judge, whoever it was, would be able to do a bit of reading between the lines. Find a reason to give the guy the maximum sentence the offense allowed. They all breathed a bit easier as they loaded him, handcuffed, into the back of the cruiser and gave him an escorted ride to jail.

  CHAPTER Eighteen

  With spring came clamoring from the church boys to make plans for the camping trip. Henry thought it was still too early. Pockets of snow remained in sheltered places, muddy tracks in place of dry roadbeds. Nights held a chill that could make one shiver, even under blankets warmed by a campfire. But the boys continued to coax and harass their parents, the pastor, and their club leader, Henry.

  “Maybe Easter weekend,” Henry conceded. “If we don’t get another storm between now and then.”

  As far as the boys were concerned, this was a promise. They began to plan with renewed vigor. Henry soon had thirteen boys ready to pack up knapsacks and head for the hills.

  Henry had just emerged from the morning service when he felt a tug on his coattail. He turned to find Danny, face flushed with eagerness, looking up at him.

  “Can I go too? Please?”

  With all his heart Henry wished to say yes. But he knew it was not his decision. “Well, now,” he said, looking around for Danny’s mother. “I’m afraid I can’t decide that, Danny. Your mother will need to give you permission.”

  “Would you ask her? Please. I asked her and she said I was too little.”

  Henry did not know how to answer the young boy.

  “Please,” the child begged further. “Papa Sam thinks I’m big enough.”

  “Maybe Papa Sam should talk with your mother.”

  “She needs to know from you,” he said with a child’s intuitive perception. “What you will do on the camping trip. What we need to take along. All that stuff.”

  Henry nodded, wondering just what he was getting himself into. “I’ll give it a try,” he said and ruffled the boy’s hair. He noticed again how like his mother’s it was in color.

  “Thanks.” Danny looked confident and excited.

  Henry squatted down on Danny’s level and looked him in the eye. “Remember, Danny, I said I’d try. Your mother could have some very good reasons for saying no—”

  But Danny was already scampering away with a great deal of hope on his face.

  Henry stood to his feet, his mind grappling with the challenge facing him. He had no idea how to approach her. She had obviously avoided him since the incident with the firewood. In fact, other than a curt nod on Sunday mornings, they had not exchanged a greeting. Already he had stretched the days between haircuts longer than he should have. He reached up to feel the nape of his neck before placing his hat on his head. He would not be able to put off the cut much longer.

  But even as he walked down the steps to the sidewalk, nodding at the two Miss Walkers as he did so, he knew it would not be wise to try to discuss the matter with her when in the barber chair. There were usually others who came in for their turn, and there was no need for the town to be in on the conversation.

  e thought about dropping by her parents’ home and requesting their intervention on Danny’s behalf. Surely they could be more persuasive than he would be—and likely more successful.

  He discarded that idea as well. He had assured the child that he would do it, and Danny was depending on him.

  He rang her phone as soon as he reached home from church. “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but there’s a little matter I would like to discuss. Would it be possible to meet for a few minutes?”

  There was a pause, then, “Not more intruders—I hope. I am locking my door.”

  He couldn’t tell from her voice how she meant the comment. “Good,” he decided was a safe response. “That’s not what I wish to discuss, however.”

  He could hear a sigh over the line.

  “All right. When?” she agreed.

  “That’s up to you. For my part—the sooner the better.”

  “Okay,” she said. “This afternoon?”

  “That would be fine. What time?”

  “About four?”

  “Four? Sure. That’s great.”

  He was about to hang up when he thought of something else. “Look,” he said, “could we have this discussion without Danny presen
t?”

  “Well ... why?” She seemed to struggle for comprehension.

  “I ... I really can’t say now. It’s just ... I think we’ll be a little freer to talk—openly—if he isn’t around.”

  Her silence probably indicated she didn’t like the idea.

  “I thought maybe he could spend a little time with your folks,” he hurried on.

  She finally said, “All right.”

  “I’ll come by at four. We can go—”

  “No. No, that won’t be necessary. We can say anything that needs to be discussed on my front porch.”

  “Very well.”

  He couldn’t help being disappointed. He had fleeting mental pictures of a drive in the country. Maybe a stop for a cup of coffee. The leaves were starting to uncurl fingers of green; the grasses were peeking up from the winter’s brown. Meadowlarks were calling from grayed fence posts. He thought this could be a chance....

  Well, anyway, he knew better than to argue. “See you at four, then.”

  The click as she hung up the receiver resounded in his ear with symbolic finality.

  This is not going to work, thought Henry, rubbing a hand through his hair. Poor little kid. She won’t even let him be a boy....

  But he knew he was disappointed for more reasons than for Danny. She had delivered another clear signal. She wanted nothing to do with him. For a moment he wished he had never been transferred to this detachment, had never seen her again. But he immediately knew that was a lie. The relief to know she was getting along all right was worth every minute of her resolute distance from any offer of friendship.

  He decided not to cook his own meal after all and grabbed his hat again. Jessie’s Sunday grub might burn all the way down, but a little company would sure beat time spent agonizing over the situation.

  Time dragged until four o’clock. Twice he started toward his door, then made himself sit down again. He did not want to be early. She would view any sign of eagerness with suspicion.

  Promptly at four he arrived and rapped. She answered immediately. He wondered if she had been waiting for the knock, then quickly chided, Of course she’s waiting. She had probably been uncomfortable all afternoon, knowing it was coming.

  Danny was nowhere in sight.

  She nodded her head toward a willow-branch set of chairs on the porch. He removed his hat and took one. It creaked slightly when he lowered himself into it. “Nice chair,” he commented, running his hand over the worn-smooth surface of the arm.

  She took the other chair, pulling a light wrap around her.

  “Seems like spring is really here to stay,” he observed. “Saw my first bluebird the other day. You might fool robins occasionally, but you rarely fool bluebirds.”

  She said nothing.

  “Creek’s acting up a little bit,” he tried again. “We’re going to have to watch it from now on. The mountain thawing could swell the stream.”

  She stirred. “Look—I know you didn’t come here to talk about chairs or spring.”

  He sat up straighter, making the willow complain again. “No. No,” he said, reaching up self-consciously to rub his mustache.

  “So what did you come here to talk about?”

  “Danny,” he said abruptly.

  She straightened visibly. “Is ... is he in trouble?” Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.

  “Danny? Oh no. What trouble could he possibly be in?”

  “I’ve no idea, but ...”

  Henry heard the worry of a mother in her tone and felt sorry he had given her any cause for concern. “Danny’s a great kid,” he said with feeling. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

  “Then why—”

  “He asked me to.”

  That seemed to slow her down—and bring a frown to her smooth forehead.

  He knew he had to state his case quickly. Get it all out where she could mull it over and hopefully understand how important this was to her small son.

  “He heard about the camping trip,” he said quickly. “Everyone’s heard.” He managed to smile. “Those boys talk of nothing else.”

  “And—?”

  “He wants to go.”

  He heard her intake of breath and knew she was going to say no without even thinking about it. He stopped her with a raised hand. “Before you say anything, please let me tell you about it. There are a dozen boys or more and two dads. We’ll be gone only one night. They’ll fish a little, sleep out under the stars, eat campfire food, and think they’ve been on a real adventure.”

  “He’s too young,” she said immediately.

  “Taylor is bringing his boy. He’s the same age as Danny.”

  “Taylor can do what he wants.”

  “But Danny and Ralph play together—”

  “That doesn’t mean they have to camp together.”

  He rubbed a hand over his chin. He knew he was getting nowhere.

  “Danny might be young. But he’ll be well supervised. I’ll take responsibility myself.” Even as he spoke the words he knew his explanation would not be good enough.

  “You’ll be busy with a dozen boys.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t keep particular watch on Danny.”

  “Look,” she said, her voice cold. Strained. “Ralph Taylor will have his father. It’d be different if—”

  “I’d look after Danny the same way.”

  “No—no, you wouldn’t. You’re not his father. You can’t possibly act that way. Don’t you understand what a father is?”

  He stood. He had lost. The poor little guy.

  “Yes,” he said, reaching for his Stetson. “I think I do. I was raised in a big gaggle of tough siblings. I was the youngest— and the lowest in the pecking order. My rather—for that’s what I was told he was—thought far more of the bottle than of his brood. I was frightened of him. All I knew was to stay as far out of his reach as I could. Especially when he’d been on a bender. Then one day I met this man. He took me camping. He taught me about life—and love. He fought with every means at his disposal until I finally shared not just his home but his name. That was what I wanted. What I needed. Acceptance. Love. The right to grow up to be a man, with a role model to show me how. Now, ma’am, I ask you. Who is my father?”

  He did not wait for her answer. He dipped his head in her direction as he replaced the hat and walked down the wooden . steps without looking back.

  The camping trip was a huge success in everyone’s eyes but Henry’s. Ever, in the back of his mind, were the sad eyes of the little boy when he had reported that the mission had failed.

  “Maybe Papa Sam will get better enough to take me,” Danny had finally said with chin trembling, his head dipping forward to hide the tears that threatened to come.

  Henry had nodded. With the help of the root tea, Sam Martin had been slowly but steadily improving—but he had a long way to go before he’d be ready to take his grandson into the wilderness.

  “Hey,” he’d said to Danny, trying hard to sound cheerful. “There’ll be lots of camping trips.” He gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder. It hadn’t been much consolation. Henry knew it was hard for a boy to wait.

  But the rest all had a marvelous time. Three fish were caught and promptly prepared to cook over the open fire. Though the meal was a bit charred—since Mr. Taylor was manning the frying pan and had no experience with open-fire cooking—the boys declared it the best they had ever eaten. They washed their supper down with water from a little spring. Slowly the sun set and the coyotes began to call. Henry noticed a few of the boys crowding in a little closer to the adults in the group, but for the most part they didn’t seem to be spooked by the eerie sound.

  They had fun trying to point out the different constellations as Henry identified them. “Wow,” they said over and over, seeming to be looking at the night heavens for the first time. They’d had no idea that the stars had names.

  The adrenaline had been pumping pretty fast, and it took a while to get them all bedded
down and quiet. Once they did settle in, it didn’t take long for sleep to come.

  Henry wasn’t sure who was the first one up in the morning. He was an early riser, but the camp was already astir when he opened his eyes. The sun was not even up yet. He crawled from his blankets, rubbing his hands together as he moved to stoke up the morning fire. It was chilly in the foothills, spring or not. None of the boys seemed to have suffered any, he noticed. They were running and pushing and pulling and kicking and tumbling about. If they hadn’t been warm overnight, they would certainly soon be warm again now.

  He smiled and held a match to the dry grass to start the flames.

  “Can we fish again?” asked an eager voice at his elbow.

  “Today is the nature hike,” Henry responded.

  The boy groaned, making it clear he’d rather fish.

  “Look,” said Henry, “if you want to be a woodsman, you need to know all about the outdoors.”

  That seemed to satisfy the youngster. He ran off to inform the others that they were going to learn how to be woodsmen. A cheer went up.

  Henry did not take them on too long a hike. He knew that even though they were active, they were not used to long treks up and down hills. They spent their time looking and learning—about the grass, the shrubbery, the rock formations, the wildlife. A bull elk even did them the honor of making an appearance. His rack of majestic antlers held high, he tested the air to see if he should be concerned over the presence of the intruders. He did not sound an alarm, just shook his powerful head and marched back into a grove of small poplars and out of sight.

  By the time they returned to camp, the boys were weary, and no one argued about resting while the men prepared a noon meal. Henry took his turn at the frying pan. The mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon filled the campsite.

  Even as the group rolled up blankets and sorted out belongings, the boys were making plans for their next trip. Henry had to nip in the bud the exuberant plans for another such adventure the following weekend. “Whoa,” he stopped them, smiling in spite of himself. “A man has to work for a living, you know.”