by Rachel Lee
Imagine what Mrs. Peter’s reaction must have been when her husband announced that he was taking up with some itinerant rabbi. Probably something to the effect of, “Simon, how am I supposed to feed the kids? Who’s going to pay the tax collector?”
Sam almost laughed at the mental image he got, then sobered as he realized he was getting a little punch-drunk. Not good. Another cup of coffee and maybe a couple of those sausage links.
“Sam?”
At the sound of Mary’s voice, he whirled around, nearly spilling his coffee. “Mary? What are you doing here?”
She was dressed in hiking boots, jeans and a heavy denim shirt. Work gloves peeked out of her front jeans pocket. “I came to help.”
He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to tell her to go home and be safe. This day was apt to become dangerous if that wall of fire kept marching this way. Yet part of him was touched that she was willing to come out here and help.
“Don’t tell me it’s not women’s work,” she said sternly. “We may not have the upper body strength of you guys, but there’s plenty we can do anyway.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” No, the thought that crossed his mind was, How many of the people he cared deeply about did he want out here risking their necks?
“So tell me what to do,” she said.
“Take a break. Everybody’s eating right now. We’ll go back to work in a few minutes.”
“Mary!” Elijah joined them, giving her a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to help. You look like you need some rest, Elijah.”
“We all need some. But there’s no need for you to—”
Mary shook her head, silencing him. “Every hand can help, mine included. And don’t get paternal on me. I’m in better shape than you are.”
For an instant Elijah looked stunned; then he gave a weary laugh. “I can’t argue with that, my dear.”
“In fact, you look about ready to drop. That won’t do anyone any good, Elijah.”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I need to do what I can.”
Sam knew the measure of his father’s stubbornness, so he didn’t even bother to argue. Opposing Elijah rarely got him anywhere.
“Well,” Mary said, “consider me your replacement. When I get tired, you can take over for me. We’ll switch out, okay?”
Sam silently applauded Mary’s astuteness. He watched the emotions play over his father’s face and saw the instant when it struck Elijah that he had to agree or Mary would never get a break. “All right,” Elijah said.
“So go find someplace to sit down and rest,” Mary told him. “Maybe catch a little nap. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to hold up out there.”
Elijah, surprisingly meek, nodded and walked away.
Sam looked at Mary. “You go, girl. I’ve been trying to get him to rest for hours.”
She eyed him critically. “I could say the same about you, except I know you’ll never listen to me.”
He was pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment.
Ten minutes later they all filed back outdoors and picked up their tools. Sam wondered if it was his imagination or if the smoke was thicker now. He couldn’t be sure.
Mary took over the tiller, and the man she relieved picked up a shovel. Once again the growl of chain saws filled the wood, along with the clank of shovels, the rattle of chains and the roar of engines as the timber was dragged a safe distance away.
Overhead, thick clouds hung low, almost seeming to scrape the treetops. And still no rain.
At that moment a deer burst out of the woods, heedless of all the people, and dashed south. Not a good sign, Sam thought. Not a good sign at all.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who read the deer’s appearance that way, because it seemed that everyone started working harder, at least for a while.
Sam went back to hauling logs across the road, and helping to load brush and tree limbs onto trucks.
A few more people arrived to help. Some of the women who had brought the food pitched in, too, while others went home to get more food for lunch. Time must be passing, Sam thought, but there was really no way to measure it. The sun was invisible, and the clear-cutting seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace. As the morning wore on, more animals passed by in flight. More deer, chipmunks, raccoons… No, it didn’t look good at all.
He had to pause to pour a couple jerry cans of gas into his SUV and was thinking about whether he should send someone to town for more when he noticed something going on at the edge of the clearing.
Sawing had stopped in that area, and Mary was involved in some kind of discussion with a couple of the men, her arms waving and one finger pointing upward.
What the hell?
As soon as he finished gassing up his truck, he went over there.
“What’s the holdup?” he asked, his voice cutting over the others’.
“There’s a bear cub in the tree,” the man holding the chain saw said.
Sam’s first thought was to look around and wonder where momma bear was. As far as he knew, they were never more than a few feet from their cubs, and they were fearless about protecting them. “Where’s the mom?”
“Haven’t seen her,” the man answered.
“Sam,” Mary said, “we can’t cut that tree down with the cub up there. No way.”
He suddenly had the worst urge to laugh, to throw up his hands and just roar. Fatigue, he reminded himself. He wasn’t thinking clearly or reacting normally. Get a grip, man!
“Mary…” He didn’t quite know what to say. “Leaving that tree there would be like leaving a match. It’s too close to the church. The fire could leapfrog, no matter how much we manage to clear-cut.”
“We’ve got to get it down.”
“How? Only a mother bear can get a scared cub down a tree. Where the hell is she, anyway?”
“Maybe she got hurt. Why else would he be alone?”
Good question. Sam peered up into the tree and, at a height of about thirty feet, saw the cowering cub. Man, it didn’t look like it could be very old.
The man with the chain saw spoke. “We mess with that cub and we might find out where the mother is. Real quick.”
There was that possibility, too. But Sam had to admit, he didn’t want to hurt the cub, either. Nor did he want to render all their efforts useless by leaving a tower of tinder so close to the church. He sighed and rubbed his weary eyes, trying to think.
“Sam,” Mary said, pleading, “we’ve got to get that cub down.”
“I know.” He bowed his head a minute, then looked at the men. “Keep clear-cutting, but leave this tree for now. I’m going to get help.”
The men shrugged and went off to work on a different tree. Mary tightened her hold on his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” Looking into her eyes was like drowning, he realized. He could feel everything in the world slip away, leaving him in this tiny bubble of silence as he fell into those green pools.
Danger. “Give me a minute,” he said.
He was halfway back to his car when he had a thought. Hurrying inside the hall, he looked for the phone, praying it still worked. A dial tone greeted him when he picked up the receiver.
Thanking God for small mercies, he called the local vet, Barry Geffen. “Barry,” he said when the vet picked up, “I’ve got a small problem.”
“How small?”
“It’s about the size of a bear cub. A small bear cub.”
“Hmm, that could be a big problem.”
“Well, it kinda is. It’s up in a tree we need to cut down to stop the fire. And its mother is nowhere to be seen.”
“Yet,” Barry corrected him. “Nowhere to be seen yet.”
“Well, that thought does cross my mind, when my mind works. But I don’t want to cut the tree down with the bear in it.”
“No…”
He waited, but Barry didn’t say anymore.
“Can you come up here and tranquilize the cub? So I can get it down?”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” But Barry laughed. “Sure, I’ll leave my waiting room full of dogs and cats and run out there.”
“Barry…”
“I’m just kidding. I’ll explain to my patients. Or rather, to their parents.”
“Thanks. We’re at The Little Church in the Woods. Do you know where that’s at?”
“I have a passing familiarity. Give me twenty or thirty minutes, okay?”
“Thanks, Barry.”
When he stepped outside, everyone was still working as hard as they could, although he was beginning to see a fatigue lag again. And the tree with the cub now stood in splendid isolation, surrounded by fallen timber. Poor thing must be terrified out of its wits.
The smoke was getting thicker, too. He felt his chest tighten up the instant he stepped outside and pulled the handkerchief back over his nose and mouth, for what little help it offered.
Elijah had finally collapsed, sitting on a stump, head bowed in exhaustion.
“Dad, go home.”
Elijah lifted his weary head. “No. I’m waiting to spell Mary.”
Sam’s eyes sought her out and saw that she was still walking strongly behind the tiller. “Looks like it’ll be a while before she needs you. At least go inside and try to nap.”
But the stubborn old man wouldn’t move, and Sam gave up. It would be easier to move a mountain than to move Elijah.
Barry showed up as promised and got out of his pickup with a rifle. Sam stopped hooking the log up to the chains behind his truck and went over to greet him.
“Thanks for coming, Barry.”
“No problem. I don’t have any really sick patients at the moment anyway. Take me to the cub.”
Together they walked over to the tree. Mary joined them in looking up at the poor little bugger.
“You know,” Barry said, “its mother put it up there to be safe. It won’t come down until she calls it.”
“I doubt she’s going to do that in the midst of this crowd,” Mary remarked.
“No kidding. Well, you better alert everybody. Because if that cub squalls when I dart it, Big Mamma might not be so worried about all the people and equipment.”
“Maybe I should move most everybody inside for a break.”
“Might be a good idea. And while you’re at it, get out your shotgun, Sam. You never know.”
Sam agreed. He blew the whistle and told everyone to go inside for a break. Of course, not everyone listened. There were the requisite number of guys who felt they could help. Or who wanted to see. He gave the most trustworthy of them his shotgun.
Mary, too, refused to go away. She wasn’t just curious though. Sam could see the genuine concern in her face and eyes. She was really worried about the cub.
“Okay,” Barry said, “I’m going to tranquilize it.”
“Not so much that it falls out of the tree,” Sam cautioned. “I’ll go up and get it.”
Barry looked at him over the stock of his rifle, the feathered dart sticking out the end. “This isn’t an exact science, Sam. It’s not like I know the cub’s weight. We’ll get what we get. And I might remind you that even a drowsy cub can do a lot of damage with its claws.”
Sam nodded. He’d seen what bear claws could do once when some idiot tourist got too close trying to take a picture. “I don’t have any illusions.”
“Are you sure about that?”
There was a crack as Barry fired his rifle. An instant later the bear caterwauled, a heartrending cry. Instinctively everyone looked around for the mother bear. No sign of her.
“Thank God for small favors,” Barry muttered, lowering his rifle. He kept his eyes fixed on the cub above. “Okay, he’s all yours, Sam. By the time you get up there, he should be out, or close to it.”
Sam ran to his truck and got a backpack out, figuring he could use it as a sling to carry the sleepy cub. Then he started climbing. From beneath he heard Mary murmur, “Oh, please…be careful, Sam.”
It had been a long time since he had climbed a tree, but Sam seemed to remember that getting up was easier than getting down by far. Especially if you needed to carry something down. Ah, well. After this was all over, he was going to get his head examined. He wondered if he was going after this cub for its own sake or for Mary’s. Mary’s, probably. He was beginning to get an idea he couldn’t deny that woman anything.
Sam felt the branch break free before he heard the crack. Instincts honed decades ago now reacted before he had time to think. His fingers tightened around the narrowing trunk, and he hooked it with one foot, pulling himself close to it even as the branch gave way beneath his other foot. Immediately he looked down to see where his father was. And that was old instinct, too, he realized.
In that instant he was transported back to the summer of his eighth birthday and the day when he had looked down upon the world from the perspective of a bird, right before a limb had snapped and sent him tumbling, unsure of which way was up but knowing very well which way was down. When he’d hit bottom, it seemed as if his father had been waiting for him, although he later learned that he’d been knocked out by the impact and his father had come dashing across the lawn, roused by his thin cries as he bounced off one branch after another. It had seemed ludicrous at the time that his dad had reached for a switch from the fallen branch and cracked it across Sam’s bottom. Hadn’t he already been hurt enough? he’d wondered.
But such had been his instruction in right and wrong for as long as he could remember…one sharp whack, not hard enough to leave a mark or bruise, but hard enough to send the message of disapproval, loud and clear. That was the message Sam had grown up hearing most clearly. The few times his father had expressed pride or affirmation paled by comparison to the dozens of times he’d expressed disapproval and criticism.
Sam shook his head as he looked down. His father was nowhere to be seen, of course. He was inside the church with the others. Still, as he recovered his balance and his breath, it was as if he could already feel the snap of the switch across his buttocks. Disapproval.
Anger and a fierce determination flowed into the void left as the fear of the moment passed. He looked up. Only another ten or twelve feet to the cub, which was now looking down at him with vaguely curious eyes clouded by the effect of the tranquilizer. Finding another stable foothold, he shifted his weight from his hands and reached up to grasp another branch. He wasn’t eight years old anymore. Lives depended on him now, including the life of this one cub. He hefted himself up and resumed the climb.
As he drew closer, he realized the cub wasn’t at all sure what to make of him. Its cries had long since stilled, but its eyes seemed to be focusing better. The tranquilizer was wearing off. Too quickly.
“Shhhhhh, it’s okay little guy,” he half whispered, half grunted, as he pulled himself within arm’s reach.
He was, he realized, also within paw’s reach. The bear’s claws were not yet the four-inch scythes they would be when he was full-grown, but even at two inches they looked plenty sharp and more than plenty dangerous. Animals could sense fear, Sam knew, and tended to react in kind. He kept his voice low and even, as he might speak to a small child.
“Good boy. I’m here to help you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.” He reached out, palm up, to trail a hand over the bear’s shoulder. “Gonna get you down so you can go find your momma. How does that sound, little guy? You and Momma can hide out from this nasty old fire.”
The smoke and heat were denser up here, and he took a moment to glance around. They had less time than he or the people below had realized. Already embers were settling on the tops of trees only a hundred yards away.
“We need to hurry, kiddo. So I’m gonna give you a piggyback ride down this tree.”
The bear nuzzled his hand for a moment, then dragged a soft tongue over his wrist. Sam held very still, feeling its hot breath on his skin as it exhaled. Finally it looked at him a
nd let out a low moan, like the sound of metal bending under strain.
“Yeah, I’m scared, too. So we’d better get moving, my little friend.”
He found a crotch to wedge himself into for balance, then put his hands under the cub’s forelegs at the shoulder and lifted slowly. Its moan rose in pitch, as if it were asking, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Not especially, little guy. I’m kinda winging it. But we’ll get through it together, okay?”
As he drew the cub nearer to him, it reached out to sniff his face. Its timing could not have been worse, for he was in the process of ducking his head forward to maintain his balance. Its nose poked him right in the eye, causing both bear and man to jerk away at a time when rapid movements were anything but reassuring. The cub let out another groan, this one not as quiet as the others. Loud enough for momma to hear if she were nearby, Sam thought, regaining his seat in the crotch of the tree.
“Hey there, sport. Let’s not do that again, okay? Momma would be really mad if we fell. And my daddy wouldn’t like it much, either. Or that cute woman down there. So let’s you and I take this slow and easy, okay?”
By now the cub seemed accustomed to his scent and his voice. Its broad tongue swept over his face, and Sam laughed. “Yeah, well, save the thanks for when we actually get down, okay, kiddo?”
Wrestling the cub into the backpack turned out not to be as difficult as he’d expected. It seemed by now happy to have warmth and contact, even if that contact was human rather than ursine. He nestled it into the bag and shrugged the straps over his shoulders backward, so the cub was snuggled next to his chest.
“Now comes the hard part, little guy. But you already knew that, right?” He reached beneath him with one foot, finding another branch, and held on to the trunk with both hands as he lifted his other foot over the branch he’d been sitting on. “Come to think of it, you must think I’m pretty dumb. You knew the getting up here part was easy, and here I’m feeling so good about getting to you. But we’ll find a way down. I promise.”