Scars and Stars

by Dustin Stevens

  “What’s it say?” I asked after a few minutes.

  “Jack looked at me, then walked over and collected his book and lunch sack. “Let’s go.”

  “Where we going?”

  “He held the note up and read,

  Dear Parent,

  You are receiving this note for the same reason you are receiving your boys home in the middle of the afternoon. They were involved in an altercation on the lawn of the school today. Not only is fighting not allowed at Birch Grove School, neither is the disruption of classes in progress. For their actions, they have been expelled indefinitely.

  “He flipped the note over to the opposite side and continued,

  Mrs. Roberts,

  Because your sons gave the Lewis boys the thrashing we at the school have been wanting to for quite some time, Jack and Richard may return starting on Monday. Must be nice to know you have somebody looking out for you like that.”

  The upturned corners gave way to a full smile as Uncle Cat stared out. “Not only were we not in trouble, well not too bad anyway, we were envied by the Principal of the school."

  He turned his eyes to me and said, “Oh, Mama was plenty mad when we got home and had us doing the most God-awful chores every minute until we went back on Monday. The entire time she wanted to know what had caused us to do something like that and the entire time I told her I didn’t know, which at the time was the truth.

  “Jack, well, he was Jack. He didn’t say anything. Far as I know, he never did tell what that damn Scot Lewis said about her.”

  Uncle Cat ran his tongue over his bottom lip, then relaxed his hand and rested it back on the album. He traced his finger along the faded pencil script and said, “This right here is the reason that note made it into the album. That one line...Must be nice to know you have somebody looking out for you like that.”

  He looked at me again and saw the confusion on my face. “Like I said before, it’ll all make sense in the end.”

  Chapter Nine

  The sound of the screen door swinging open jolted us both from the album. In unison we turned to see my mother through the heavy insect screen. “Austin, you’re not bothering your uncle are you?”

  “No Mama.”

  “Would you tell me if you were?”

  Before I could answer Cat said, “Oh now, he’s fine. We’re just out here talking, aren’t we?”

  “Yes sir,” I said.

  My mother frowned a bit, but let it pass. “You boys need anything? Glass of lemonade? Sweet tea?”

  We each murmured a no and my mother’s frown grew a little deeper as she retreated back into the house. We watched the door for a few seconds to make sure she wasn’t returning, then turned our attention back to the album.

  Carefully he peeled back the note and flipped it to the next page.

  I admit I flinched when I first saw the misshapen object. It was long and jagged, colored black and gray. It kind of resembled some sort of overgrown bug, but it was obvious that whatever it was had never been alive.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “That is a sliver of wood.”

  I studied the object, the answer not quite satisfying my curiosity. "Where'd it come from?"

  My uncle tapped the page with his index finger and let his gaze wander to nowhere in particular. His eyes clouded over, and I could tell he was retreating back to a time long ago.

  “The winter of 1947 was one of the harshest these parts have ever seen. The river froze up about mid-November and didn't even begin to thaw until mid-April.

  “School was cancelled for over a month and a half. The businesses in town were only open on Mondays and Thursdays so folks could stay home and the owners didn't have to heat the buildings.

  “The first cold snap came down from Canada and it just kind of settled here. The world took on a gray tint and the wind blew for days on end. Around mid-December, the snows hit.

  “Nobody ever mentions the Blizzard of '47 because technically it wasn't a blizzard. It was more than like one long storm that lasted over three months. Every single night we'd clear as much away as we could and each morning we’d wake up to find several more inches of fresh powder."

  My uncle shook his head as he recounted the memory, no doubt recalling the hours spent with a shovel. “At that time Mama was working at the sundry store in town. With the store being closed, she worried herself sick wondering how we were going to make it through the winter. “Our family had one old pair of wool coveralls somebody brought back from the First World War. They were a little short and snug, but they sure were warm.

  “Each day Jack and I would get up early. One of us would chop wood and tend the chicken coop while the other pulled on the coveralls and set off for the day, shovel in hand. Day after day we'd walk the town, clearing sidewalks for five or ten cents apiece.

  “Most folks refused to believe the snow could go on for months the way it was and were happy to give us their money, always insisting it was for the last time. Neither one of us ever said word, we just kept right on taking their money.

  He paused again, mirth lines present at the corners of his eyes.

  “Each year at Christmas, Mama selected the largest from our chicken coop. She'd then present it to a less fortunate family in the area and wish them a Merry Christmas from all of us. Hard to believe there were many people around less fortunate than we were, but somehow she always managed to find them.

  “Not once did Mama ever make any fuss over who she gave the chicken to. Fact is, I don’t think she ever told a soul beyond our family and the family she picked. She never did anything just for the attention.

  “At some point, an appreciative family let it slip that we gave them a chicken. Most people that it was a nice gesture and never gave it a second thought.

  “Most, but not all.”

  The way he muttered that last line made the hairs on my neck stand up and I could tell he harbored deep resentment for the story he was about to tell.

  “If the Lewis boys were vermin, the Carpenter clan barely qualified as fleas on vermin. I don’t remember a single one of them ever having a job and the word around town was they owned a moonshine still that fed their own habit and little else.

  “Every one of them was rail thin and wiry, heads full of stringy hair and rotting teeth. And I do mean every one of them, mother included.”

  Any other time I would have thought something like that was a joke, but I could tell he was completely serious.

  “Christmas Eve we woke up to find six inches of fresh fallen snow on the ground. Jack and I had agreed we’d take Christmas day off from shoveling, but we weren't about to miss two days worth of income.

  “It was my turn to shovel and I remember waking up in complete darkness. When it got that cold we closed off most of the house and drug our mattresses into the kitchen. We'd hang blankets over the windows and pile the stove high at night and no matter how often we put wood in overnight, it would be dark and cold the next morning.

  “We used to keep the coveralls between as at night so we could pull them on without having to crawl out from under our goose down blankets. Beside me, Jack tugged on a pair of jeans and a couple of heavy shirts. When we were both dressed we'd tiptoe out so we didn't wake Mama sleeping beside the stove.

  “Looks like another half foot or so,” I said as we stood outside the door and pulled on our gloves.

  “Yep,” Jack agreed and tugged a knit cap down over his ears.

  “Where all did you hit yesterday?” I asked.

  “The usual spots. Be sure to go down the main drag, then head east down Sycamore Street and work your way back up this way. The Lee’s, Johnston’s, Hardy’s.”

  “You got the Hardy’s yesterday? I thought he wasn’t going to bother until it was all done?”

  “Jack blew a plume of hot breath into the air and said, “Poor guy couldn’t get out his front door. Guess he decided it was time.”

  “Bet that was some fun digging.”

  �
��Over three foot,” Jack deadpanned.

  “The two of us stood there like that for a couple more seconds before I said, “Well, I better be off.”

  “Without a word I grabbed the shovel leaning against the house and headed out. Even using it as a walking stick, it was slow going. The powdery snow was too thin to pack tight and every step I sunk halfway to my knees. It wasn’t long before my boots were completely filled.

  “I was just about out of the bottoms, cussing and spitting, when I saw them.”

  I waited for him to continue but when he said nothing I asked, “Saw what?”

  “Tracks.”

  My eyes grew large. “What kind of tracks?”

  “Human tracks.”

  “Humans? Walking around in the snow at night?”

  My uncle didn’t answer the question. Instead, he said, “There were three sets in the snow and as I stood and surveyed them I could tell they swung a loose semi-circle towards the back of our place. I was almost a quarter mile away and had no idea how old the tracks were, but I knew I had to get back in a hurry.

  “I took off through the snow with everything I had, plowing along in my own fresh trail. Snow continued spilling down into my boots and after about a hundred yards or so I kicked them off and ran in my stocking feet.

  “Normally my feet would have been numb in seconds, but I couldn't feel a thing as I stumbled and flailed down the path. Adrenaline surged through me and I could feel sweat rolling down my back under the heavy wool coveralls.

  “I used the shovel as best I could to keep me upright, cutting a path straight for the front door. When I got there, I found only the two sets of tracks Jack and I made just a few minutes earlier.

  "This told me two things. First, Mama was still inside and safe. Second, Jack was outside with whoever made those tracks.”

  Uncle Cat paused for another second and leaned forward onto his elbows. He looked down at the ground in front of him, then raised his head.

  “I shrugged off the heavy wool suit and stood in my long underwear, cold air enveloping the wet flannel. I looked down at my feet to see I had a thin trail of blood behind me, though I wasn’t sure where it had come from.

  “Shovel in hand, I followed Jack’s footsteps around the corner of the house and inched along until I heard voices coming from the barn. I peered around the corner to see Jack was on his knees on the dirt floor, staring wild eyed up at old man Carpenter. One of the boys was on either side of him gripping an arm while the old man stood in front of him, our pitch fork in his hand.

  “You people got so damn much you can give it away, then you won’t mind us taking what we need,” he said as he waved the fork at my brother.

  “Jack said something I couldn't hear back at him and one of the boys snapped a quick punch to his mouth. A small line of blood appeared at the corner of his lip as the old man laughed and continued waving the pitchfork.

  "That's when I made my move.”

  My uncle’s voice was low and he was staring hard at the ground in front of him.

  “Gripping the shovel handle with both hands I sprinted from behind the corner and covered the fifteen yards between us in just seconds. Both the boys looked up in total shock, neither one able to utter a word as I smashed the shovel head against the old man’s skull.

  “He crumpled on contact. Went down so fast I tripped over him, barely catching myself from falling flat.

  “Once he realized what was happening, the older Carpenter boy released Jack and sprinted at me, a crazed look in his eye. I let my momentum spin me around and swung the shovel out as hard as I could. He never stood a chance. The head of it caught him just behind the ear, shattering the wooden handle into a hundred pieces.

  “Just like his old man, he went down and didn’t move. I turned to face the third one, waving the busted shovel handle in my hand at him. You could tell he was scared to death, just stood there with his hands raised by his side.

  “Jack appeared beside me as I lowered the stick and motioned toward the boy with my chin. “What do we do with him?”

  “Jack stared at him, then the two bodies lying unconscious beside him. “They won’t be any more trouble. We’ll leave it up to him to get their asses home.”

  Uncle Cat exhaled and pushed himself back to a full upright position in the chair.

  “We watched from the front step as he woke them up and the three stumbled off our land. By the time they were gone I was trembling with cold and my foot was throbbing. Mama hadn’t heard a sound inside the house and was shocked we were still home, let alone almost frozen to death and both bleeding.

  “I ended up with a nasty cause of pneumonia and some mild frostbite on my toes, though nothing permanent. Nothing like Jack would have ended up with if I hadn’t gotten there in time.”

  Forgetting, or quite possibly just ignoring, the first rule, I asked, “Did Jack ever tell you what happened before you got there?”

  Uncle Cat scrunched his nose. “No, and I didn’t even ask. I figured it must have been pretty bad, so I just let it be.”

  I nodded at his answer, staring down at the shard of wood on the page.

  Uncle Cat noticed my gaze and said, “So far you’ve seen three objects. A birthday napkin, a note from the principal and a piece of wood. Know what each of these things have in common?”

  I searched the furthest recesses of my young mind. “Each one has you beating somebody up?”

  Uncle Cat threw his head back and laughed, a deep, throaty spasm of sound. “No son, not that. Your uncle and I hardly ever fought. Matter of fact, I think these three were the only fights we ever got in. At least up until we were grown and gone.

  “No, what each of these items has in common is they tell a story of me coming to my brother’s aid. Each time my brother found himself in a world of trouble and each time I was there to help him.”

  I nodded again and looked at the thick stack of pages remaining in the album. “So what are all those?”

  Uncle Cat picked up the stack and thumbed them with his right hand. “These are Jack returning the favor.”

  Chapter Ten

  The last line hung in the air as Uncle Cat leaned back in his chair and lowered his chin. Time passed, the only movement the album gently rising and falling with his breathing.

  “Just give me a moment,” he said at last. “I want to make this as easy as possible.”

  “Isn’t that what the stuff in the album is for?” I asked.

  At that Uncle Cat popped open his eyes and chuckled. “Son, these stories are all ones I remember as if they happened yesterday. This album isn’t to help me remember, it's so nobody else forgets.”

  I had no idea what that meant and started to ask him, but I again got the old gnarled hand telling me to stop.

  It would all make sense in the end.

  With a flick of his wrist, Uncle Cat pushed aside the sliver of wood. I braced myself for what lay ahead, but my trepidation proved unfounded.

  Page seven held a small square piece of newspaper, roughly five inches on each side. The top of it was upside down and displayed ground beef on sale at the local grocery. The page was yellowed with time and the words were written by an older typewriter.

  Confused, I furrowed my brow and turned my face to my uncle. He paid me no mind as he peeled back the plastic covering the article and unfolded the item upward and then again to the side.

  The piece of newspaper doubled in size twice to stand almost twenty inches square.

  “North Korea Crosses 38th Parallel, Invades South Korea!” Uncle Cat read aloud. “President Truman Calls to Congress for Action.”

  The article had a picture of a man standing at a podium, his right fist raised above his head.

  “June 25th, 1950. If I’d only known...” Uncle Cat said, letting his voice trail off.

  “It was a Friday. That summer was almighty hot. Most years we waited until around the 4th of July to start helping farmers take off their wheat, but that summer we were already helpin
g old man Myrtle on the other side of town.

  “He was a kind old man who’d lost both his sons to the Second World War and his wife to grief soon thereafter. There was no way he could keep up the place by himself. Winter before that he had hired us to help cut away some felled trees. We’d been working for him ever since.

  “That day we were bucking hay, a miserable job any time made that much worse by the heat. Myrtle couldn't afford any of the new equipment available, so we did it the old-fashioned way. One of us would drive the cutter, stripping the straw off at the ground. The others would follow and feed the felled straw through a machine that separated the wheat from the chafe. It was a job that usually used a crew of six or seven men. We did it with three.

  “Per usual, we worked until it was too dark to see anything before packing it in and promising to be back by first light. Dog tired and soaking wet, we took off for home, neither one saying much.

  “Most nights, town was almost deserted. None of the stores stayed open past nine and this was long before the days of kids hanging around just for fun. We’d walk down Main Street swinging our lunch sacks and canteens, straps slung over our shoulders, a silent sky full of stars overhead.

  “Not that night though.”

  A burst of laughter from inside the house stopped Uncle Cat and again we both turned to see what had happened. We waited for somebody to poke their head out at us, but nobody did.

  “That night we heard the commotion long before we saw who was making it. By the time we reached Main Street, the noise was deafening. The church choir was singing Amazing Grace from the top of the Tabernacle Church steps and two men were playing bugles as loud as they could. Everywhere people were running and yelling, hugging and praying.

  “It ain’t the Fourth already is it?” I asked Jack.

  “Not for a week or two yet,” he replied. “I don’t know what all this is about.”