by Doug Draper
“I’m Ben Baker from Alma in Utah County. I don’t have a nickname.”
“We’ll call you Lone Wolf since you like sitting by yourself.”
“OK,” Ben said, enjoying his new name. It certainly sounded much better than “Benny” or some of the far less flattering things he had been called.
Ben noticed Joe and his sisters exiting the buffet line. Ben waved at them, but Joe shook his head “No” and told the girls to sit with him at another empty table.
“Hey, let me tell you something about your granddad,” Canada said. “He was a decent fellow. Hardworking like the bishop said. I’ve known him for eight years—that’s when he wandered by and took a job at the Parkers’ farm.”
“Where did he live before here?”
“I have no idea. He kept his story private. I own the farm next to the Parkers and wanted to hire your granddad after seeing how hard he worked, but he was loyal to his boss and seemed happy to live in that tiny trailer.”
“Did you know that he had a wife and four kids?”
“No, I knew about your family because you visited him a couple of times. He told me that your pa was his son and that’s all I could get out of him. I suppose there were things in his past that he didn’t want to discuss.”
Ben had eaten all he wanted from his plate and pointed at the leftovers he didn’t like. “Do you think it would be OK if I tossed this stuff in the trash and went back for more dessert?”
“Great idea!” Canada slapped his leg and stood up. Then, he paused and looked at Ben closely.
“Hey, before we go back, I need to say something else about your granddad. He might have made a few mistakes in his life, but he was still a good man. I don’t know what caused him to end his life, but I hope it doesn’t make you think any less of him.”
Canada took a deep breath and then asked, “Can you forget about how he died and remember that you should be proud to call him Granddad?”
Ben mumbled “Sure,” not knowing what else to say. The surprise attack by the train had always sounded farfetched to him. On the other hand, he didn’t want to consider suicide as his grandfather’s true cause of death.
Canada noticed that his comments had stunned Ben and muttered something about “saying too much.” He suggested fetching a couple of pie slices before the good choices were gone.
Rachel caught Ben returning to the food table and waved him away, but his new friend shouted over the chatter in the room. “Sister Baker, your son is going back for seconds under protest,” Canada said. “I begged him to join me in getting some pie, so I wouldn’t be the only one coming back for more.”
Rachel smiled in return but looked nervous. She always worried about her kids doing anything that people might find offensive.
For his second dessert, Canada selected a Dutch-crumb apple pie and took much more than a normal slice. He also cut a jumbo-sized piece for Ben and whispered, “Let’s get going before anyone judges us for eating like pigs.”
They quickly retreated to their private table. While devouring the pie, Canada told stories about how Ben’s grandfather would help him on his farm after working a full day for the Parkers. “Are you a hard worker like your granddad?”
“No. My dad says I’m lazy and I suppose that might be true because I’d rather go hiking or read a book than haul manure or pull weeds.”
“Who wouldn’t? Your pa is probably trying to encourage you to work hard like he does because that’s what his father taught him.”
Ben shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to tell Canada that his father rarely mentioned Grandpa Baker. When prodded to talk about his childhood, Al always told the same story about the two of them stumbling into a pit full of rattlesnakes when gathering firewood in a canyon near Salt Lake City. Both escaped without being bitten. That was the entire story—and his only story.
Within a few minutes, Al walked to Ben’s table and told him that it was time to go. “We need to get busy cleaning out your grandfather’s trailer,” he said before walking to Joe’s table.
Ben said goodbye to Canada, who called him “Lone Wolf” when they shook hands.
Al led his children to Bishop Hatch’s table where he announced his plan to stop at the Parkers’ farm before returning home. Several strangers hugged the Bakers and said they would be praying for them. Rachel reluctantly accepted donations of leftover food.
At the Parkers’ farm, Rachel took her daughters for a stroll around a well-maintained flower garden while Al inspected his deceased father’s trailer.
“Everything is filthy, and it smells like a cow barn in here,” Al said, shaking his head in disgust. “We’re not taking anything with us. It’s all getting burned.”
Al pointed to a barren area near the trailer. “Joe, I want you to build a fire there. Use your grandpa’s old newspapers to get it started. If you can’t find any matches in here, see if Brother Parker or his wife can spare a few.”
When he opened the trailer’s only closet, Al said, “Yuck! Something must have died in there.”
He used his fingertips to move a few shirts and coats in the closet to get a better look at them before repeating his command, “Burn all of it. And clear out the drawers and any other place where you find junk stashed. I promised to leave this place shipshape.”
Ben hauled clothes, boots, and garbage to the intended fire pit, but Joe hadn’t found matches in the trailer, so he went to get some from the Parkers. His request led Jeb to return with him and inquire about Al’s plans.
“What are you going to do?” Jeb asked. “Joe told me you might be burning everything.”
“That’s right. It’s all worthless, disgusting trash,” Al said. “I don’t want it stinking up my car. But you can take all of it if you think it’s of any value.”
Jeb briefly sorted through the pile of old, worn-out clothes. “Not the clothes. They’re past their prime, but I’d like to keep the dishes and other things in the kitchen. We loaned them to your pa and could use them for the next tenant.”
“Fine,” Al said, aggravated. “They’re still in the trailer.”
Al stormed to the trailer with Jeb and Ben following close behind. He yanked open a cupboard door and grabbed a few items, tossing them to Ben and telling him to carry them to Jeb’s house.
“No, please wait a minute,” Jeb said. “Let me get a box to store them in while you clean the trailer. When you’re done, we can put them back in the cupboard.”
Ben thought his father might blow up when hearing the request, but Al agreed to wait for the box. After Jeb left the trailer, Al pointed out a dozen other things he wanted Ben to haul to Joe’s fire. They included dirty pillows and blankets, a tattered tablecloth, and old magazines.
After a couple of trips to the fire, Ben found a mechanical calendar and three paperback novels on a small, built-in nightstand next to his grandfather’s bed. The calendar, which was made of bronze and stood about five inches high, featured a bear cub leaning against a sign that read “Welcome to Yellowstone National Park.” The sign included two squares cut out of the metal that exposed the twelve months of the year on the left side and numbers one through thirty-one on the right. By turning little knobs on each side of the sign, the month and date could be set. Ben noticed the calendar remained set for the day his grandfather died. He must have changed it before leaving for his fatal walk on the train tracks.
The three books appeared to have been read many times and included “How the West Was Won” by Louis L’Amour, “The Virginian” by Owen Wister, and “Riders of the Purple Sage” by Zane Grey. Ben had read “The Virginian” and remembered how much he liked it. As Ben examined the calendar and books, Al returned to the trailer with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex. He noticed Ben sitting on the bed.
“Hey, who said you could take a break?” he asked in an irritated tone. “We don’t have time to dawdle. Get the rest of the junk out of here so I can wipe up this filthy mess.”
Ben thought his father mi
ght find the four items interesting, so he held them out for his inspection. “I found these books and this cool calendar from Yellowstone Park. Would it be all right if I kept them?”
Al frowned at Ben’s treasures. “Why do you want that junk?”
“They belonged to Grandpa Baker and must have been important to him.”
Al glanced at them and then turned away and started squirting Windex on the counter next to the trailer’s small sink. He muttered about what a “sickening pigsty” his father had created and wondered “how anyone could stand to live like this.” Ben continued to hold out the four treasures.
“May I keep them?” he asked, cautiously repeating his request.
“Fine,” Al said. “Go put them in the car and then hurry back and get busy. I want to be out of here in less than twenty minutes.”
Before his father changed his mind, Ben dashed to the car and hid the items under the backseat. By the time he returned to the trailer, Jeb had arrived with a large box. Ben loaded it with old pots, pans, plates, cups, bowls and utensils. Most of it looked like stuff that even Ben’s frugal mother would have tossed into the garbage, but Jeb said the trailer’s next tenant would find all of it to be “perfectly acceptable.”
“And as you’ve apparently learned, beggars can’t be choosers,” Al said with disdain, which caused Jeb to frown and walk away shaking his head.
After Ben had removed the kitchen items, Al looked inside the cupboard and grumbled about the mouse droppings he found there. He removed them with a paper towel, but it revived his rant about “the unbelievable filth.” He continued cleaning the trailer as if every inch of it infuriated him.
The Bakers completed the cleanup effort in less than fifteen minutes and then restocked the kitchen. The trailer looked and smelled much better than when they arrived. Al inspected the work and seemed pleased with what had been accomplished in a brief time. He rated the result as “a work of art and a joy forever.”
While Ben liked his father’s good mood about the clean trailer, he found it sad that the evidence of his grandfather’s existence had been burned in Joe’s fire or washed away with Windex. Because the fire contained clothes and magazines, it would smolder for the rest of the day, but nearly all his grandfather’s possessions had already been blackened or turned to ashes. Fortunately, he had saved four items from the fire and planned to display them on the nightstand next to his bed. They would be his connection to the grandfather he barely knew.
During the long drive home, Ben thought about what Canada had told him—the more believable version of his grandfather’s cause of death. He wondered why his grandfather let the train to hit him. Al blamed the mistake on a hearing problem, but Ben had stood near passing trains and knew the ground shakes when they approach. Nobody needs to hear a train to know it is coming.
If Ben could have talked to his grandfather while he stood on the tracks, he would have asked a few questions. What is so bad about your life that you’re choosing death over life? Is suicide the only solution to your problems? Is there nothing in your life worth living for?
CHAPTER 27
While Grandpa Baker’s life remained a mystery to Ben because his father only had one story to share, the same was not true for Ben. He had plenty of stories to tell about his father. One of his favorites, featuring “fun Dad,” took place a few months after the funeral.
“Ben, I need you to take a little trip with me this afternoon,” Al said shortly after the family’s weekly big lunch on Sunday. “We’re going up Elk Canyon to pick up rocks for reinforcing the barn’s foundation. If we don’t get it done soon, the barn will tip over and roll down the hill.”
“OK, is Joe going with us?” Ben asked, wondering why his brother hadn’t been included in the plan.
“No, he’s staying here to milk Daisy in case we run late. And the truck would be too crowded because we’re taking Grandpa Thorne. He wants rocks for a flowerbed. So, get your working boots on, bring your gloves, and be in the truck in five minutes. Don’t dawdle. I don’t want to keep your grandpa waiting.”
Ben hurried to get ready and arrived at the truck as his father tossed a pair of shovels and a pickaxe into the back. They made the short drive to add Grandpa Thorne to the team.
“Al, I’m looking for about two dozen rocks the size of cantaloupes,” he said.
“That’ll be easy,” Al said. “We’ll be able to pick up that many in a few minutes.”
“Do we have to pay for the rocks or get a permit to remove them?” Grandpa Thorne asked.
“No, it’s government land and nobody pays attention to what goes on up there.”
“Oh, I’m not too sure about this idea. We might get into trouble.”
“Don’t worry. I pick up firewood there all the time. We’ll drive a few miles up the canyon. Throw some rocks in the truck and be home before Sheriff Kort wakes up from his Sunday afternoon nap.”
Despite Grandpa Thorne’s concern, he still climbed into the truck. Within ten minutes, the rock-hunters entered Elk Canyon. The dirt road, with occasional patches of gravel and an abundance of holes, made the trip bouncy and noisy. The old truck squeaked with each bump in the road.
Al pointed at a narrow road that led to the dry creek running down the middle of the canyon. “There’s a good place to start,” he said, grinning as if he had discovered a goldmine.
He drove to a point where the road ended in a small clearing. Then he turned the truck around and backed up. “Let’s see what we can find,” he said with continued enthusiasm.
Ben followed his father and joined him in putting on work gloves and grabbing a shovel out of the truck bed. They found plenty of rocks, but most of them were smaller than the size Grandpa Thorne had said would be ideal for his project. When they returned to the truck with their first armful, Grandpa Thorne stepped out of the truck and examined the collection with obvious disappointment.
“Here’s the deal,” Al said with the strained tone he used when annoyed. If prodded, his smoldering mood could flare up and become a blazing fire. Ben couldn’t bear to see his father aim one of his profane outbursts at Grandpa Thorne.
“We’ll load the truck with rocks and then stop at your house first,” Al said, continuing to make no effort to disguise his agitation. “You get the first pick and we’ll use whatever is left over to shore up our barn. So, don’t look at the rocks we’re putting in the truck and act like they aren’t good enough for you.”
“That’s fine,” Grandpa Thorne said, forcing a smile. “I’m only peeking.”
Al muttered “Good” and rushed back to the riverbank for another load. After seven trips, he announced plans to change locations. “This area is panned out. Let’s drive up the canyon and look for bigger rocks.”
He turned to make sure his father-in-law couldn’t hear him and then said to Ben, “I don’t want your uptight grandpa complaining to your mom that we didn’t get him exactly what he wanted for his precious flowerbed.”
After a short drive, Al pointed at a one-lane dirt road. It headed away from the river and made a short climb up a steep hill into a sparsely wooded area. He turned left onto the road, gunning the engine to ascend the hill. As the truck chugged forward, all the rocks slid to the back of the truck bed and piled up against the tailgate. Ben turned to inspect the damage and noticed a few smaller rocks bounce over the tailgate.
“Do we still have a load?” Al asked while keeping his eyes focused on the narrow steep road.
“Yep, we only lost two or three,” Ben said, continuing to watch the tailgate and hoping that the load’s weight wouldn’t force it open. Scrub oak branches whipped and scratched the truck when it passed them.
When the road leveled out, Al shouted, “Hold on everybody, I’m going to move the rocks away from the tailgate.”
He stomped on the brakes and the truck skidded to a loud stop with the rocks sliding forward. They smacked the back of the truck’s cab.
“Now, that’s what I call using your brains!�
� Al shouted. “You’ve witnessed one of the principles of physics—an object in motion remains in motion until it meets an unmovable object.”
Grandpa Thorne muttered something that Ben couldn’t hear while continuing to clutch the dashboard with both hands. He hadn’t worked with his son-in-law enough to be prepared for big solutions to little problems.
Al waited for the dust to clear and then drove another one hundred yards. He stopped at a place where erosion had exposed a treasure chest of rocks, exactly the size and shape that Grandpa Thorne wanted. After Al and Ben loaded about two dozen into the truck, Al checked the tires to make sure they could handle the load’s weight and then announced plans to drive a little farther to see what else might be available.
“Al, don’t you think we already have enough?” Grandpa Thorne asked.
“Maybe for your little flowerbed, but I have a barn to save. What I’d really like to find are a few large slabs—two or three feet in length and about six inches thick.”
Al waved everyone back into the truck. Because of road dust, Grandpa Throne rolled up his window and returned to clutching the dashboard with both hands. It annoyed Ben that he insisted on sitting next to the window and yet had closed it on a sweltering day. Fortunately, Al kept his window down so a slight breeze blew through the truck.
Al shouted, “Hold on!” as he turned a tight corner and accelerated to start climbing a series of switchbacks. The truck sped along the road, with the driver and passengers bouncing up and down in their seats. After completing two switchbacks, the truck had climbed so high on the hillside that Ben could see his hometown from one end to the other.
While Ben looked down the hill, his father focused on a washed-out area above them. “Do you see that gully? That’s our next stop.”
Al passed the target and then backed up, turning the truck so that the tailgate faced the rock pile. He shut off the truck and climbed out ready to gather more plunder.