The Journey Back

by Priscilla Cummings

  Other people had gathered and were staring into the bushes. When we got close we saw the car had hit a deer, a doe it looked like, and the animal was struggling to get up.

  Buddy lurched forward and started barking so Luke kneeled down and put his arms around him to hold him back. A little boy stepped toward the deer, reaching out his hand like to wanted to pet it, or help it, and I shouted a warning: “Don’t! That deer is alive and those front feet can tear you to shreds!”

  A woman snatched the young boy back and a couple minutes later we all watched as the deer lay down its head and took its last breath.

  Nora had a hand over her mouth. There were tears in her eyes. Even Luke, still holding back Buddy, looked about ready to cry.

  I glanced around at the crowd and didn’t quite get it. It was too bad what happened, for sure. But while they all saw some tearful scene, I saw an opportunity—at least forty pounds of free, fresh venison. Right when I really needed it!

  The man who hit the deer was on his cell phone calling for a tow truck and most of the people watching started to leave.

  “Let’s go,” Nora said, touching my arm.

  “Poor deer,” Luke added. “What will happen to it?”

  “The police will probably come in the morning and take it,” Nora told him.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “No one’s gonna claim it?”

  “Claim the deer?” Nora asked.

  “Yeah!”

  “For what?”

  “For meat!” I exclaimed. Every fall since I was nine years old I’d been out deer huntin’ with my friend and his uncle. Brady and I, we took the hunter safety course together and my mother signed the papers so I could hunt legal. She knew how good that venison tasted! My mother cooked it about ten different ways—she did occasionally cook something—and it fed us for weeks.

  I decided to act.

  “Look,” I said quietly to Nora and Luke, “will you help me?”

  Nora’s eyes grew big. “What do we have to do?”

  “Just help me pull the deer into that little clearing,” I said. “And Luke, keep ahold of Buddy and don’t let him go, you hear?”

  First, I approached the deer from the rear and poked it with a stick to be sure it was dead. The deer was heavy, and it took the two of us hauling together to move it to a small level clearing off the road. I handed the flashlight to Nora.

  “Hold the light on the deer’s belly for me, will ya?”

  While Nora held the flashlight, I pulled out the jackknife, kneeled in front of the deer, and went to work. I glanced up once and caught the horrified look on Luke’s face. “You might not want to watch this,” I warned him.

  But Nora kneeled beside me holding the light and seemed real interested as I reached deep inside the deer and groped with my hands until I found what I needed to find and cut through it with my jackknife. At that point all the organs inside the deer were freed from the body and I was able to roll everything out onto the ground.

  Buddy whined and I’m sure Luke had to tighten his hold.

  “Wow,” Nora said. “That’s the peritoneum—the thin membrane that covers all those organs. We learned it in biology.” She reached out to touch it.

  “I didn’t know the name,” I said.

  “Now what?” Nora whispered.

  “Where’s the blood?” Luke piped up. “How come it doesn’t smell?”

  A stranger answered. “There’s not much blood ’cause this here kid did one heck of a job field dressin’ that deer.”

  We all turned to see an older guy who had been standing there watching. “Hat’s off to you, boy. I used to hunt years ago and I ain’t never seen anyone do as neat a job as you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Turning to Luke, I explained, “The only reason it would smell is if I accidentally opened the stomach. Then it would stink to high heaven.”

  The stranger laughed. “You’re right on that!”

  Luke wrinkled his nose.

  After finishing, I wiped my hands off best I could on some nearby grass. Then Nora and I stood up and I cleaned the jackknife off on my pants leg. “Next thing we need to do is get this deer back up to our campsite and hang it up.”

  “Hang it up?” Luke asked.

  “To cool off the meat and let it bleed out,” I told him. I turned to Nora. “Do you know anyone has a wheelbarrow? I’m gonna need a plastic bag, too.”

  “You’re going to butcher this deer?” she asked.

  “Who’d you think was going to do it? Santa Claus?”

  “Is deer meat good?” Luke wanted to know.

  “Plenty good,” I told him. “Like beef, only a little stronger. You just wait and see.”

  When Nora returned with what I needed, I pushed aside the deer’s innards, cut out the liver, and put it in the plastic bag.

  “Here,” I told Luke. “Your job’s to carry this back and not let Buddy get it.”

  Luke held it at arm’s length. “What are you going to do with that?”

  I had to laugh. “I’m gonna eat it! Fresh deer liver, are you kidding? If you’re extra good, I might even let you have a piece.”

  “Ewwwwww!” he said. But I bet to myself that Luke would find it mighty tasty. If not, then I’d give his share to Buddy.

  On the count of three, Nora and I hefted that doe into the wheelbarrow. It must’ve weighed a hundred twenty pounds or so. Limping, I wheeled it back to the campsite while Nora walked alongside and made sure the deer didn’t fall off.

  Luke pulled on my shirt. “What about all that stuff?” he asked. I stopped and we looked back at the shiny innards lying in the woods behind us.

  “Don’t worry,” I told him. “The raccoons, the possums, the fox—they’ll have a feast tonight. Won’t be a speck of deer gut left in the morning.”

  Luke looked disgusted and kept glancing back at it while we walked. I had to smile, remembering the first time I watched Brady’s uncle field dress a deer. Guess it’s something you never forget. But I didn’t find it gross, just part of life. Waste not, want not, my grandpa used to say.

  —

  Back at the campsite, I picked out a couple trees, then found myself about a four-foot-long, skinny but sturdy stick on the ground. There’s a place on a deer, near a tendon on the hind leg, where you can cut a hole and run a stick through. A couple campers had stopped to watch, so once I got that stick through I asked them to help me hoist the deer up and set the ends of the stick in two different trees so the deer could hang upside down. With Nora holding a flashlight on the trees, we got the job done.

  “Butt up, head down,” I told Luke, “so the blood can drain out.”

  He seemed scared. “How much blood?”

  I shrugged. “Not that much. Maybe a pint.”

  “What you gonna do with all that meat?” a guy asked.

  “Don’t have no way to freeze this meat and the weather’s not cool enough to leave it hanging so tomorrow I’m gonna cut it up. Come around in the morning and spread the word,” I said. “Bring a plastic bag or something to wrap up some meat.”

  After we had that deer hanging up high enough to be out of critter reach, I went down to the river and felt around the water’s edge for a smooth, flat stone and brought it back to the campsite.

  Nora had a fire going like I’d asked. The first thing I did, I put that deer liver in the big iron skillet Woody had, added a little oil, and started cooking it up. Nora had found an onion and threw slices of it in the pan, too. We had to tie Buddy inside the big tent ’cause he was barking his head off, but I figured he’d calm down in a bit. While the liver fried, I sat on one of those rickety aluminum chairs and, in the light of the fire, spit on the smooth rock I’d found and started sharpening the edges of the jackknife by rubbing the blade against the stone in a swirling moti
on.

  “Okay. I’m like flabbergasted,” Nora said, sitting in the chair beside me. “I have never seen anyone cut up a deer like that.”

  “It’s called field dressing,” I reminded her.

  “Field dressing. Amazing. I mean, I could see all the organs, everything. It was fascinating!”

  “You’d make a good hunter then,” I told her.

  “Or a doctor,” she suggested. “You think?”

  I smiled at her. “Sure! Or a doctor.” I knew that was her dream.

  “Really, I was impressed,” she said.

  When I looked over at her, she smiled at me in a way that was different, more real somehow. My face grew warm as I turned my attention back to the blade I was sharpening. Compared to the first time I met Nora, when she seemed to think I was pretty stupid, I felt like now she had some genuine respect for me.

  By the time I had the knife good and sharp, the meat was done.

  “Hey, Luke!” I called. “Come try some of this liver!”

  But I never did get an answer from him.

  —

  The next morning—when Woody still wasn’t back—Luke and Nora had to go to school. By myself, I pushed the picnic table over by the hanging deer so I could stand on top of it to do the butchering. I tied up Buddy so he wouldn’t go crazy. Then I took my sharpened jackknife and started cutting away from the legs on down, easing the hide off. As I worked, a couple people started to come around.

  It wasn’t long before I had the entire hide off the deer—and a small crowd watching. Somebody called out that he’d give me five dollars for the hide.

  “You got it,” I said. Wasn’t anything else I could do with it.

  I knew most of the people watching were there for a meat handout, and I was going to be good on my word. But first, I cut a few pieces of venison for not only Luke and me, but Nora and her mom, too. I wrapped the meat in a plastic bag and nestled it at the bottom of the cooler under all the ice we had left.

  Standing back on the table, I went to work quartering the deer and offered up the hind quarters to several women who’d been watching me from the get-go.

  “The top is real good,” I told them. “Toward the bottom it’ll get tough.”

  I handed out other chunks of venison from the shoulder area. “That’s excellent for a roast,” I told folks. “Don’t overcook it! If you do, you’ll hate it. It’ll be dry and tough. You want it just barely pink inside.”

  Still more people came by and asked if I had anything left so I cut as much meat off the neck as possible and suggested it was good for stew, or making deer sausage. “Mix in a little sage, or just salt and pepper,” I said.

  “How about chili?” a woman asked. “Would it make good chili meat?”

  “Great idea,” I replied. “Barbecue, too.”

  —

  It was wonderful biting into fresh venison for dinner that night. Good to have a real meal for once. And one that I provided! But let me tell you, it was a far nicer feeling giving most of that meat away.

  I just hoped I wouldn’t be needing more of it myself.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  DECEPTION

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Woody asked after slamming the door to his pickup. Like he’d never been gone for four whole days without a word. Like nothing ever happened!

  I just sat at the picnic table and stared at him ’cause I was pretty ticked off that he had disappeared and left me with Luke.

  He came over to the table and plopped down across from me. “Sorry,” he said when he realized I wasn’t going to jump up and down to welcome him home. His eyes fell away from mine. “I got in trouble and spent a couple nights in jail.”

  That probably explained his bloodshot eyes, the dirty hair, and rumpled clothes. But I didn’t have a lick of sympathy for him.

  “That’s just great,” I said flatly. Then I let my hands fall open. “I mean, what if I wasn’t here? What would’ve happened to Luke?”

  Honestly, it blows my mind how many adults should not be taking care of kids.

  Woody lifted his head. “But we had a deal, you and me. I asked if I could trust you to take care of Luke when I wasn’t here.”

  “You didn’t even call us!” I shot back.

  “Who was I going to call? Neither one of you has a phone!”

  That sounded pretty lame to me ’cause he could have called somebody. I leveled my eyes at him. “You’re about as good a dad as my own. And that’s no compliment.”

  He sighed. “Where’s Luke now?”

  “It’s Tuesday morning. He’s in school.”

  “Good. That’s good,” he said. “Thanks.”

  I didn’t say “you’re welcome.”

  “Look, I’m really sorry,” Woody said. “I love Luke more than anything else in the world. You gotta believe that. My life is nothing without that little boy—”

  “Then you should’ve thought about him!” I suggested.

  Woody nodded. “You’re right. I should have. No question.”

  Silence for a moment. I waited for him to go on ’cause I figured he owed me an explanation.

  “I’m not a perfect person,” he admitted. “Not by a long shot. But God knows I do want to be a better father, even if I do have my faults.”

  “What is it? Drinkin’?” I asked.

  He shook his head and met my hard gaze. “Not so much that as the gamblin’. I just keep thinking I’ll come out ahead, that Luke and me, we’d have the extra money we need.” He continued moving his head back and forth slowly. “I can’t help myself. The other night I started losing big and got told I couldn’t stay at the blackjack table. I don’t do too good with people telling me what to do . . . I don’t know. I thought that me and Luke, getting on the road and moving to a new place, that we’d have a fresh start . . .”

  He was quiet again, and again I waited. I didn’t ask him to tell me his life story, but he started in anyway.

  “I got in a lot of trouble when I was a boy. There was ten of us kids. We was dirt poor and I had a lousy home life with nobody caring much about me or what I did. So I skipped school a lot. I was always runnin’ off, stealin’ stuff. But I remember I had a guidance counselor once in high school—before I quit—and this guy told me a story about a dog trying to get away from the kite that was tied to his tail. He said no matter how far the dog run, every time he sat down to rest, he’d turn around and see the kite. He was always runnin’ from it, but it was always there.

  “Well, that’s me all right. Was then, is now. I keep thinking a new place is a fresh start. Only I never change who I am so things stay the same.”

  I knew he was opening up and being truthful ’cause he wanted me to understand. And I could see that even if he did screw up, Woody loved his kid and was sorry for what he done. If anyone could understand, it ought to be me. I had a ton of faults and was plenty sorry for what I done, too, but it didn’t mean I cared any less about my mom, and my brother and sister.

  “Well,” I said finally. I wasn’t angry anymore. “You’re just about out of food. There’s no milk, no eggs, no cereal— nothing.” I didn’t mention the venison we’d been feasting on ’cause I figured that didn’t count.

  “I’ll make a food run right now,” Woody said.

  I pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket. “Here’s a list I been keeping. The stuff you need most. You don’t have to get the dog food. Buddy’s not your problem.”

  Woody took the list, but he didn’t even unfold or look at it. He just slid it into a pocket on the front of his shirt. “I’ll take care of it right now,” he said. Then he got up and left.

  —

  Somehow, we fell back into a routine that week. I kept a low profile at the campsite but even so, I had a lot of new friends on account of that v
enison. People walking by from time to time would call out, “Hey, Gerry! What’s up?” and I’d wave back. Evenings, I made dinner and helped Luke with homework. But his dad was the one who come in and read to him at bedtime. Luke was still reading that book Tornado for school, but it’s funny how no matter where they ended, Luke always wanted to start on page one. “Tornado, by Betsy Byars,” he’d begin. “‘Twister!’ Pete yelled. ‘Twister!’”

  Mornings, I got Luke off to school, then I’d clean up and hang out until Luke got off his bus at three. After lunch one day, returning from a walk, I saw Woody’s truck and caught a glimpse of him disappearing into the bathhouse with a towel over his shoulder. He must’ve got off work early. My eyebrows went up ’cause I’d been waiting for a chance like that.

  Stepping into his tent, I looked for his jean jacket and saw it right away, tossed on his cot. He took care to hide that jacket, probably ’cause he suspected I’d go through it. Which is exactly what I did. Hurriedly, I checked out the pockets looking for the cell phone he claimed he didn’t have. Found it right off, too. I quick grabbed a pencil from the crate by Luke’s bed to write down the number on a candy wrapper, the only paper I could find. I needed that number in case I needed to get in touch with him in an emergency—or in case he disappeared again.

  After slipping the phone back, I come across his wallet. My heart really started pounding ’cause I didn’t want to get caught with that in my hands. Fingers shaking, I flipped through it fast. He had about ten dollars, which I didn’t steal, a gas card, a credit card, and—I had to stop for a minute—his driver’s license. It was a Maryland license and this time the picture looked just like the Woody I knew with blond hair and a full beard. But the name was not the same as the one on the Texas license. This license had the name Sherwood Hawkins. And I wondered: was that Woody’s adventure name?

  One of those licenses was a fake. I knew it was an important discovery. Woody was hiding something. But what? I stuffed everything back in the wallet, shoved it into the pocket where I found it, then got myself outside fast.