Trouble

by Gary D. Schmidt

  Black Dog stopped barking.

  They all stayed that way. Henry, on the ground, covered with a shroud of fog, the heat of his sudden sweat clammy with the wet of the fog. Chay, on the ground too, his hand up against his bleeding face, watching Henry with dark, indeterminate eyes. Sanborn, standing, poised between them to stop the next assault. Black Dog, looking back and forth among them all, ready to bark again if it would help. Ready to do anything if it would help.

  And they were all watched over by the white winged skulls that peered from the gravestones beside them, hovering in the fog that was starting to shred with the rising of the new sun.

  "Well," said Sanborn, "I guess it's good to get that out of our systems."

  No one answered. Henry and Chay lay against their gravestones and stared at each other.

  Until Chay finally stood, grimacing as he got up. He walked past them, saying something sharp and Cambodian to Black Dog as he went by. She lay down quickly beside Henry, and Chay moved along the stone wall until he came to an opening. He went across to the pickup and started the ignition. Then he waited.

  Henry watched him the whole time. He put his hand out to Black Dog, and she began to lick it. She was probably licking off Chay's blood.

  "You going to spend the morning lying on a dead guy?"

  "Shut up, Sanborn."

  "You don't want to start with me, Henry. You're so winded, you wouldn't stand a chance. Not that you ever stand a chance."

  "Looks like I stood a chance with him. He's the one with the bloody face." Slowly Henry got to one knee.

  "Henry, you're a Great American Hero. You can beat up a guy who isn't fighting back."

  "What do you mean, he wasn't fighting back? You saw him."

  "I saw him. He was letting you beat on him, Henry. He didn't throw one punch—and the way you fight, he could have."

  "You need glasses, Sanborn."

  "I see fine, you jerk. Maybe you should try wearing some." Sanborn helped Henry to stand up.

  "I don't care if he wasn't fighting back. It's about time someone beat Franklin up. He deserved it, after what he's done."

  Sanborn looked quickly at Henry.

  Henry whistled to Black Dog, who bounded up and around them. "So what do we do now?" said Henry.

  "Well, since our packs are in the pickup, and since he's the only ride we have, and since he's waiting for us, and since no one is going to stop for two guys and a—"

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Henry.

  They walked across the graveyard and to the wall. The stones were dark with the dew, but already the sun was laying its beams on some of them, and the mica embedded in the granite was spangling the light back. Henry didn't think he could climb over them just then. He suddenly felt as if the air he was breathing was too heavy; he had to work hard at shoving it down into his lungs.

  He felt, almost, nothing.

  Sanborn took his arm and led him along the wall until they came to the opening that Chay had gone through. When they got to the pickup and Sanborn leaned over to open the front door, Black Dog jumped up into the cab and thrust her snout into Chay's face and licked it.

  "Black Dog," said Henry. "Black Dog, down." Which did about as much good as if he had asked her to sprout wings and fly overhead. So Henry reached in and pulled her out of the cab, and then he dragged her back into the pickup's bed. She fussed and wagged her tail and licked him while he tied her up, because she wanted to be sure that he knew she could watch over him better if she was up in the cab and she thought he tasted good.

  Henry finished, and when he went around to the cab, he saw that Chay had taken his shirt off, balled it up, and was holding it against his bleeding cheek. Already two bruises were starting to darken along the line of his rib cage. Henry thought that should have been satisfying, and maybe it was a little bit. But not much.

  "Just a minute," he said.

  Chay looked at him.

  "I need something in my pack."

  Chay turned off the ignition and Henry went around back again, opened his pack, and dug in for the bag of first-aid supplies he'd included—not because he thought he would ever need them, but because Franklin had always insisted. He took out a tube of antiseptic cream and a wide Band-Aid. He stowed the bag away, and then, as a last thought, took out a clean shirt. The largest one he had, since Chay was bigger than he was. One of Franklin's rugby shirts, with the blue and yellow of Longfellow Prep.

  He got back into the cab. "Let me see," he said. Chay waited a couple of seconds, then dropped his hand and shirt. The cut wasn't long, but it was bleeding well enough. Henry took Chay's shirt and wiped away what he could, and then he put some of the cream on the end of Chay's finger and told him to wipe it into the wound—which he did. Then Chay took the Band-Aid that Henry opened for him and used his mirror to put it on. Henry handed him Franklin's shirt, and Chay, after a moment, leaned forward a little bit and quickly pulled it down over his head.

  "Thanks," he said.

  "Stay away from my dog," said Henry. Then he and Sanborn got in.

  Chay said nothing. He reached out and turned on the ignition again. As they drove onto the road, Henry looked at the graveyard one more time. The last shrouds of the fog were dissolving into the brightness of an early summer day.

  15

  THE AIR GREW BRIGHTER and brighter as they drove—heading north. They passed stands of maples with boldly green leaves, and bright quivering aspens, and wispy white birches, and pines looking proud of their sturdy winter endurance. They drove by long stretches of rock that engineers had once cut through to make the highway; the deep scars of the drill bits that explored them slanted down into stones that had never seen the light of anything but a primeval sun.

  After one very long rocky stretch, the rocks opened up and let a hayfield slope gently to the road. Its long grass was beaded and tamped down by the dew, but here and there it was already drying and standing up high again, ready to be mowed. And right by the road stood a white clapboard diner with a small sign hanging on its outside: MIKE'SEATS—which was good enough for Sanborn, who suggested that if they didn't turn in for breakfast, he might die, which would be homicide by refusal to allow breakfast, and they'd have a whole lot of trouble hiding the body.

  So Chay parked beside a huge pile of split wood, a pile much taller than the pickup. They got out, and Henry went around to scratch Black Dog behind the ears and tell her what a good dog she was and to promise her some bacon—though after the failure of the fried clams, he wasn't sure she'd believe him. But he promised as sincerely as he could, then followed Chay and Sanborn inside.

  The diner wasn't a big place—half a dozen tables—and no one was sitting at them when they came in. All the windows were opened, so Mike's Eats smelled of fresh grass and sunshine and butter. It was the kind of place that probably hadn't changed much since it was opened fifty years ago—about the same time as the Chowder Mug. There were wooden tables and chairs with green-striped tablecloths and cushions, black and white linoleum tiles worn by the table legs, yellow curtains with white decorative frills at the bottom, red plates on a rack that ran around the room. Even Mike turned out to look as if he was playing the part of the cook from a 1950s rerun: white pants, white shirt, white apron, white hat. He waved at them from the door to the kitchen, telling them that they could sit anywhere, that he'd be with them in half a second, that there was a three-egg omelet and bacon and orange juice and toast and coffee special today, and that if they didn't see something on the menu that they wanted, just tell him because he'd heard it all and there wasn't anything he couldn't make if it could be made on a griddle.

  Sanborn actually licked his lips.

  They sat down and looked at the menu, and Mike was as good as his word—he came over in half a second, wiping one hand on his apron and holding a green pad in the other. "You boys look a little worse for wear," he said. "Like you slept in a car last night."

  "Yeah," said Sanborn.

  "And that looks sort of nasty,"
Mike said, nodding at Chay's Band-Aid. "Just happen?"

  Chay nodded. "Little while ago," he said.

  "How about you boys order, and then"—Mike bent down and looked at Chay's cheek—"I'll get you a proper bandage. That one's already soaked through. Anyone for the three-egg omelet special?" He took a stubby pencil out of his apron pocket.

  Sanborn ordered the three-egg omelet special but asked if he could make it a four-egg omelet special, and Mike said he could for another seventy-five cents, and Sanborn said fine. Henry asked for something more human—two fried eggs with some link sausage and orange juice. And maybe some toast on the side.

  "I got English muffins."

  Henry took the English muffins and added a side order of bacon to go.

  "You got a dog waiting on you?"

  "A dog who loves bacon."

  "Most do," said Mike. Then he looked at Chay.

  "Coffee," Chay said.

  Mike paused before he wrote on his pad. "You got to be more hungry than coffee."

  Chay shook his head.

  "Okay," Mike said. He wrote down Chay's order and headed back to the kitchen. But before he got there, he turned around and called, "Hey, I got this load of winter wood delivered yesterday. Five cords. I don't have time to stack it proper, and almost all of it still needs splitting. And the pine's got to be sorted out, because no matter how much I holler about it, there's always some of that cheap pine that gums things up. Anyway, three boys like you, you could probably do it all in a morning and part of an afternoon. Four bucks an hour. What do you say?"

  "No, thanks," said Sanborn. He was still licking his lips and probably thinking about his four-egg omelet and wondering if it came with link sausage instead of bacon.

  "I'll throw in breakfast and lunch, too, if you do a good job."

  Henry shook his head. "We've got to get going. We're heading up to Katahdin."

  "Oh," said Mike. "Climbers?"

  "Yeah," said Sanborn, who was wishing Mike would go back to the kitchen.

  "I'll do it," said Chay.

  Sanborn and Henry looked at him.

  "Great," said Mike.

  "I'm not going to do it," said Sanborn.

  "I'll get your bandage," said Mike, and went back into the kitchen.

  "I'm not going to stay here and stack wood all morning," said Sanborn again.

  "I didn't say you would."

  "Then why did you say you'd do it? If you stack wood, then we have to wait around until you finish."

  "He knows that," said Henry.

  "So after we eat, we're gone," said Sanborn. "You can stay around and kill yourself, if you want."

  "No one is going to pick up two guys and a dog," said Henry. "We found that out yesterday."

  "Actually, one of us knew that a long time before the other one of us showed up with his dog."

  Mike came back in with the bandage. "You boys know the difference between pine and oak?" Henry and Sanborn shook their heads. "You ever split wood before?" More shaking of heads. "Okay. Well, if you two decide to help out, I'll get you started. Then we'll see how it goes. You can change that bandage in here. And here's some antiseptic cream you should use."

  Chay followed Mike back to the bathroom.

  Sanborn leaned across the table.

  "Listen, Henry, I'm not working around here all day. If we have to walk the rest of the way to Katahdin, we're going."

  "He doesn't think we can do it," said Henry.

  "Who? Mike? Of course he doesn't think we can do it. I've never split a piece of wood my whole life. You, either."

  Henry shook his head. "Not Mike."

  Sanborn sat back and looked at Henry. "So you have to prove to him that you can."

  "No."

  "Yes, you do. And so we're going to spend the day stacking wood behind Mike's Eats instead of driving up to Katahdin. What a jerk you are."

  "I love you too, Sanborn."

  "Jerk."

  They didn't talk much after Chay came back, and it wasn't long before Mike brought Sanborn his four-egg omelet and Henry his fried eggs. But Mike brought Chay what looked like a five-egg omelet, its edges reaching the sides of the platter and covering the sausages stored beneath. "You're going to need something sticking to your bones if you're going to work," Mike said. Henry thought that what was on Chay's plate could have fed all three of them, plus anyone else who came in to Mike's Eats that morning. But Chay had no trouble with it.

  He was finished when Mike came back with the side order of bacon and the bills for Sanborn and Henry. "You going to want these or not?" he said. He handed Henry the brown bag of bacon. The grease was already coming through.

  Henry took the bag and looked at Sanborn. "I guess we're going to work," he said.

  Chay didn't say anything. He didn't even look up from starting his last bit of sausage.

  The door to Mike's Eats opened.

  "You boys let me know when you're ready, and I'll show you what needs doing. How are you two this sunny morning?"

  Mike said this last part to his new customers. Two policemen.

  "We'll be fine as soon as we get a cup of your black coffee," one of them said.

  Chay looked up, froze for a second, and then looked back down at what was left of his sausage. Henry felt his sudden and full fear.

  "Looks like you got a load of wood to stack," said the other policeman.

  "Yup. And I just hired these three boys to split and stack it for me."

  "That right?" said the first policeman.

  Henry felt their eyes shift toward them. He hoped that they didn't look at Chay and get suspicious. He figured that he should say something that would show that they had nothing to hide—like driving on a suspended license.

  "Hey," he said.

  Both the policemen nodded. "So where's that coffee?" the first one said.

  When Mike went to get the coffee, Chay stood up—slowly—and turned and walked toward the door. He looked as though he was walking without any knees. Henry and Sanborn followed him out. "You be careful out there," said the second policeman.

  "We will," said Henry, and tried to walk as if he didn't care—or at least more naturally than Chay.

  When they got outside, Chay was already sitting in the pickup.

  "Why were you walking so funny?" said Sanborn.

  "I wasn't walking funny," said Henry.

  "You were walking like you had to go to the bathroom."

  "I was not."

  "Oh, there's a brilliant comeback. 'I was not.' What's next? 'Oh, yeah?'"

  Chay turned on the ignition.

  Henry looked at Sanborn, then walked over to the truck and motioned for Chay to roll his window down. "What are you doing?" he said.

  "If you want to come, get in."

  "Chay, we didn't pay. If you drive away now, what do you think Mike will say to the two policemen in the diner?"

  A long moment. Chay reached out and turned off the ignition. Henry could see that his hand was trembling.

  "Let's just get to work," said Henry.

  Chay looked up at Henry and laughed. Again, not a sweet laugh. "You're telling me to get to work. When is the last time you worked for something you ate?"

  "Ask me in a few hours," said Henry. He went around back and climbed into the pickup bed. Black Dog was sitting up, wagging her tail because she'd been waiting for the promised bacon as patiently as a dog could. Henry tore open the bag, and she happily did the rest.

  Henry climbed back down when she had finished eating the bacon and licking the bag, and then he heard Chay's door open and close.

  Just as the two policemen came out of the diner.

  Henry looked over at Chay, whose body had locked. He was staring down at the ground.

  "Let's get going, Chay," said Henry. "Chay."

  The two policemen sipped at their cups of coffee and watched them as they walked by. Then the second policeman strolled behind Chay's pickup and looked at the license plate. When he got back to his patrol car, he
set his coffee on the roof, took out a pad, and wrote something down.

  Mike came out, wiping his hands on his apron and letting the screen door slam behind him. He met the boys by the pile of wood—the suddenly huge, impossibly big pile of wood.

  "Okay," he said. "Okay. Over here's where I want it stacked. You see where I've driven these posts in? Between them. Bark side up. Nice and flat and even, since I'm particular about how it looks. If you find any pine, it goes over there, between those posts." He looked in the pile and picked out a piece. "You see this? It's lighter than anything else, it's got a straight grain, kind of yellow, and it's got this piney smell." He held it out for the boys to smell, which they did. "That's for tourists who don't know any better and just want to sit out under the stars with a campfire and pretend they're roughing it. We split on this stump over here." He looked at Sanborn. "You want to split first?"

  Sanborn—who was not a happy Sanborn—shrugged.

  Mike picked up a length of wood and a maul that was leaning against the stump. "This is oak. See how it's too big for a woodstove? You set it up here on the stump and—" He swung the maul in a circle overhead and landed it on the end of the oak, which suddenly lay on the ground in two pieces. He looked up at Henry and Chay. "Oak always splits so nice," he said. "Why don't you boys get started on the stacking. Throw anything bigger than this"—he put his two hands together to show proper woodstove width—"throw those over here to the splitter. Once he gets tired, you can change around. And before you do any of that, you'd best get your dog tied somewhere over in that shade. There's rope inside the back door of the house up there"—he pointed up the hayfield—"if you need it. Just knock on the door and holler for one of the kids, and he'll find it for you. Tell them I told you to ask for a bowl of water, too."

  Henry walked up to the house and knocked at the back door and hollered for one of the kids, who appeared with his mother, who figured out what he needed. But instead of going to find it, she yielded to the kid, who really, really, really wanted to help, and so it took a while until he found the rope and brought it over to Henry with the bowl of too much water, his mother smiling broadly the whole time. Henry took it from him and tousled the kid's hair—which the kid loved—and then walked back down to the diner and tied Black Dog in the shade while the kid held the bowl of water for her. After she finished her drink—which she really needed after the bacon grease—the kid sat down in the shade to pet her. Black Dog was overjoyed.