by Jacquie Gee
“Twelve ’o five!” Trudy shouts, throwing up her hands.
The crowd is on its feet. They, shout and cheer as Trent grins back at them, squinting. I don't know if he can see a thing. He hunches his shoulders, rubbing one as he walks from the ring, pinching an obvious stitch from his side.
Mad Dog looks on, unimpressed. He lines up, tosses his second log, negating Trent’s score in a flash. Short lived glory, but glory nonetheless. At least Trent has another chance. He has no choice now. Mad Dog has closed the gap. Trent must toss a perfect twelve to win. Anything past a twelve-three won’t cut it.
I scooch forward in my seat, tension mounting, my calves are shaking. I lean my elbows onto my knees, trying to make them stop, but it’s no good. I realize my entire body’s shaking.
The mood in the arena is sober. Trent takes his mark, bends, cups the caber, then lifts, and steadies it. Letting out a manly grunt, he runs at the target and releases the caber… and loses control of the pole.
It wags to the left and pulls even farther, leaving his hands sideways and twisting through the air. It's everyone's greatest nightmare has the pole flies out of his hands, toward a section of the grandstand.
We don't have insurance for this!
People screech and scatter as Trent shouts "Fore!" at the top of his lungs. Wrong sport but still, he tried.
I spring to my feet, heart racing, as spectators flee. We don’t have money for this. They scatter upwards and downwards off the grandstand to safety. Even the scorekeeper runs for his life.
Trent closes his eyes as the caber crashes down, crushing part of the grandstand’s lower rail, and taking out two rows of seats that, thank goodness, are not occupied. Guests shriek and cover their ears, as the sound of wood splintering fills the arena.
I give silent thanks that no one is hurt, and allow myself to breathe again.
I look to Trudy who’s still holding her breath. Slowly she exhales.
Trent looks up, winces. I sign to him not to worry about it. Easier said than done, I know.
“Throw’s no good,” Trudy declares. Like we can’t figure that out ourselves. Trent lowers his head, walks off.
Mad Dog pats his shoulder as he passes.
In a turn of events, the referee calls Trent back to the circle for a re-throw, and my heart makes another play for my throat. Trent slowly walks back in. The crowd falls hushed. He hesitates, then cups his hands, then bends to pick up the caber—
“Becca!” Aunt Penny shouts, from a distance away.
I nearly leap out my skin, she sounds so frantic.
“Becca!” She calls from the bottom of the grandstand below me. Her hands are waving. I shield my eyes from the sun, squinting and rise to my feet. “Aunt Penny.” She looks frightened.
“Becca!” She fights her way up the grandstands through the crowd, arriving breathless at the top.
“Aunt Penny, what is it?”
“The bridge.” She gasps for air. “The demolition crew is here!” She clutches my arm. “They’re threatening to take it down!”
Chapter 47
We race through the crowd, elbowing festival-goers out of the way, apologizing as we rush. My breath comes fast and ragged. How could this have happened? Here? Today? I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him!
I press on through the gates, Aunt Penny lurching along behind. “They’ve pulled a machine up on a barge, below on the river!” She falls behind breathlessly, calling ahead to me. “They’re pulling another one in from the roadway. They’ve already crushed the top to the left side of the bridge! They’ve brought down half the cover!” she shouts. “Hurry, Becca! Hurry!” She gives up the chase when I pour on the speed, flying out the in turnstile.
The roar of engines fills my ears. “Excuse me! Pardon me!” People block my way, their mouths hanging open, staring back at the bridge. I shove past them, “Excuse me,” squeezing through a small opening in the crowd. “Sorry. Emergency. Sorry,” I say, knocking someone aside, then burst into another run, stumbling forward on numb limbs.
I arrive at the entry to the bridge, gasping for breath, grinding to a shocked and sorrowful halt. My heart strangles off my throat. Half the covered roof on the opposite side of the bridge has been flattened, just as Aunt Penny said. The underside of its beam has been scored. There’s a gaping hole in the floorboards, as well, a gouge in one of the main trusses. It’s snapped in two like a twig.
If my mother saw this, she’d fall to her knees.
Men in hardhats crawl all over the structure.
A second backhoe reaches up from a floating barge below about to take another swipe.
“STOP!” I holler from my place on the roadway. “Stop! NOW!” I race toward them.
Aunt Penny ambles up, breathlessly behind me, as I burst into another run. “Oh, good stars in the Heavens, what have they done?” She wilts on her feet.
The backhoe revs up its engine, extending its arm claws readied to gouge the bridge, as I shoot forward, through the entrance of the bridge, to where it’s about to hit. “No!” I stand my ground. “No. You can’t!” I spread my legs and flail my arms.
The backhoe operator yanks back on his gears cussing as he nearly strikes me, the arm of the backhoe stopping short of crushing me. I swallow down the lump of fear that rises from my stomach. “Turn that off!” I shout at the operator. “This job is done!” My sandals crest the tattered edges of the bridge’s shredded planks. I realize how close I’ve come to toppling over the edge. The rapids churn angrily below.
The men look up from the barge. “You can’t do this! Get out of the way!”
“No. You can’t do this. You don’t have permission!”
The head worker signals to the backhoe operator to cut the engine.
It grinds to a chugging stop.
“You can’t be up here, ma’am,” he tries to explain. He, and another man in a hardhat step towards me.
“Get away from me!” I turn on him, as the one man tries to grab my arm.
“It’s not safe ma’am. You have to get off this bridge. You have no right to be here, ma’am.”
“Right? I have every right. Unlike you.” I grind my teeth, teetering on what’s left of the damaged beams.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to get down, right now.”
“And I’m gonna have to ask you to get off my property.” I tightrope walk the shredded beam to it’s very end. The crowd gasps as I nearly lose my balance. I frighten myself it’s so close to happening.
“It’s too dangerous ma’am. You have to come down.”
“I will not,” I tell him. “Not until you and your whole crew here are gone.” I look around.
“Becca? Becca, please,” Aunt Penny melts, her eyes pleading with me to be sensible.
The man in the backhoe starts the engine, trying to scare me backward of the beam by raising its arm. My heart jumps, and I lunge for the closest post, remaining on the beam. I trip in the process, falling and scraping my hands on it, tearing open the knee of my jeans. The skin below it gushes blood, but I don’t care, I don’t feel it. I’m too angry to feel anything.
“Ma’am, please!” The worker across from me shakes. “You can’t be here! Harry shut that engine off!”
The man obeys, throwing his head back in disgust. To him, this is all a big joke.
“I said I’d come down if you stop. So, stop what you’re doing right, now!”
“I can’t ma’am. We have orders.”
“Then I’m not leaving.” I sit down, nearly losing my balance and drawing gasps from the crowd in the process.
“Harry, pull that thing away!” The first worker shouts to the one on the barge. Reluctantly, he gives the signal for the arm of the machine to be lowered, then swings the barge around and heads back to shore.
Another worker comes up from behind. He reaches out to me, and I knock him down. “Try to touch me again, and I swear I’ll have you charged. Now back off!” I swing at him.
“Cal
l the cops,” the worker to the left of me says to the other, who runs to get his phone.
“It won’t matter,” I say through my teeth. “They won’t remove me. Because it’s my property, you’re on. Now, leave this barge, or when they get here, I’ll be the one reporting you!”
The man’s eyes flash. He looks confused.
“Good luck with that,” another laughs and crosses his arms.
“I said, leave!” I shout louder than I ever have, my whole body shuddering. “As owner of this bridge, I have the right to charge you with trespassing, as well as vandalism, and trust me, I will!” Well, my mother does. “Not to mention destruction of property!” I look down at the bridge’s gash. “Now, back this monster away from this bridge before I call the cops on you!” I slip my phone from a pocket in my jeans.
“Nobody owns this bridge, you crazy lady.” The one worker sneers. “It belongs to the province. Says so right here.” He produces some grease-smudge paper, unfolding them and flinging them in my face. “Here’s my orders. From the Department of Transport to Conway Construction. We’re to have this structure flattened by mid-day tomorrow.”
“I don’t give a crap what your papers say. Nobody’s flattening this bridge, not tomorrow, not ever.” I stare down at the water.
“Ma’am, you are obstructing a worksite. This bridge is Municipal property—says so right here—it belongs to the village of Heartland Cove. It’s not yours to claim—”
“Well, it’s wrong—you’re wrong. This bridge is ours. We own the deed.”
“You have a deed to the bridge?” The worker sounds shocked.
“For the last hundred years.” I tuck my chin.
“Says here, it’s government property, attached to a public roadway.”
“I don’t care what it says on your papers. It’s not true. My family has owned this bridge for a hundred years. We are the caretakers of it. Always have been, always will be.”
He tuts, then laughs. "No one owns a bridge, ma’am—”
“Well, we own this one!” I launch my hands onto my hips. “And I’m not leaving until you clear out of here!”
“We got a problem here?” Jebson’s voice drifts up from behind, he stalking up onto the widow’s walk, his hard shoes clacking against the planks.
I glare over at him from my position on the beam, a pretentious smile on his face.
“Becca?” He nods.
“How dare you,” I hiss in his face. “How dare you do this!You have no right!”
“I have more right than you think.” He steps up to the portion of the broken railing dividing the two of us and clucks his tongue at me. “Look at you, you ridiculous girl—”
“You’ll fry in hell for this Jebson,” I grit my teeth. “And I’ll pop down to roast marshmallows over your carcass!”
“Cute,” he snorts. “Bottom line is, Bec, I no longer have to fight you or your family for what I want. You’re a non-issue to me. The bridge belongs to the municipality, now get out of the way, and let these good gentlemen get on with their work.” He straightens and turns away. “You shoulda took the deal, Becca.” He flips his stuck hair and walks away. “Not like I didn’t warn you—”
“My family holds the deed to this bridge, and you know it!” I shout at his back.
“Your family holds nothing but a worthless piece of paper now,” Jebson turns on me. “Your father sold the bridge out from under you a long time ago. Gambled it all away—”
“No. Your father stole it from him, in a dirty, filthy deal—”
“A deal that saved your father's life!" he shouts. "Not that it mattered, he took it later anyway.”
"How dare you say such a thing—"
"Why? Not true? Just
like you havin' proof of a deed." He smirks long and hard. “Start ’em up, boys.” He says to the workers, then turns and stalks off the bridge.
“Is this how you want to be remembered? The kind of legacy you want to leave behind? I wonder what those people up in Ottawa would feel about what you’re doing? I wonder if they’d be proud to be represented by a ruthless, conniving, untrustworthy politician? Who’d strip the soul of his own constituents to get what he wants!”
“I’m through with this. This is over!” He shakes a finger at me. “When I'm finished here, the people of Heartland Cove will thank me. They'll have a brand-new highway, along with it work and prosperity like this region has never seen!”
“No. They will have nothing. Heartland Cove will not exist. Only you will reap the benefits of this.”
“Before the night’s through, you’ll be in jail, mark my words.”
“I’ll see you there,” I say.
“Get her out of here.” He jerks his head.
“Touch me, and I scream bloody murder!” I threaten the worker that lunges toward me.
“I’m the Mayor of this town, you will do as I say!” His voice booms off the rafters and back around.
“Those days are over, Jebson,” I state calmly. You horrible, manipulative piece of…
He snatches the papers from the worker, folds them and shoves them into his breast jacket pocket. “This is not over.” He whirls around, his shoes clattering over what’s left of the bridges floorboards as he leaves, my heart collapses with every step.
I can’t hold out here too much longer without proof.
I draw in a shaky breath. I have nothing left. No words to fight him with. I have no idea how official those papers are, no idea where the deed to the bridge is.
He’s out of control, gerrymandering everyone. Between his power as Major, and his father’s power, there isn’t anything they can’t control in this town.
"You got five minutes to clear off this bridge before I have you arrested.” He pulls out his phone. “Then again, that’ll be nothing new for you, will it?” He grins as he dials. His eyes gleam—the same eyes I used to dreamily gaze into. “Hello, officers’. I’d like to report a disturbance on the bridge.” Armani shoes crushing over stones as he strides arrogantly back to the safety of his Lexus.
He’s right. I don’t mind being arrested—not this time— this is for a good cause.
“Reach for me again, and I’ll charge with assault!” I block the worker’s final attempt to remove me, turn around and leap, cat-like, across the open water, onto the opposite side of the bridge—over the hole torn open by the backhoe.
I land very shakily on the broken beams, my heart pounding wildly, as I grasp the sides to catch my balance. My eyes are heavy with tears, and I nearly melt under the weakness of my knees, from the fright. But I’ve made the jump and secured my place and regained my strength. No one can touch me now.
Pausing to steady myself against the inner beams, I glance down the embankment behind Bates’ Baits, at the old supply shed tucked in behind Bernie’s, where he always kept all the community’s emergency gear. An idea strikes me. I'm off and running a second later. I race from the bridge and scale the slippery bank in seconds. The worker’s move in thinking they can block me, starting up the backhoe’s engine, as I fly to the supply shed and throw open the door.
Bursting inside, I grab the set of chains that Bernie always used to help drag cars out of snow, and a second set of smaller ones he uses on his boat. Stuffing the locks in my pockets, I wind the chains about my waist, and secure them there, emerging from the shed in a flash, and race back along the river’s edge, and down onto the floating barge beneath the bridge, using it as a springboard and leap up...
“What are you doing?” Jebson screams as I travel through the air, my outstretched hands catching the sides of one of the snapped trusses on the underside of the bridge.
I can’t believe I’ve done it. I hang there, swinging, clinging to the beam with my arms, struggling crazily to throw a leg up and over it, then to pull myself up.
“Becca! Becca, I’m warning you!” Jebson hollers out, leaning over the rail.
My heart is a bouncing ball in my throat.
“Becca!”
Jebson shrieks as finally, my leg loops the underside of the beam, and I’m able to kick up, throwing a second leg over, and pull myself upright. I sit there, breathless, amazed at my feat.
“Becca, stop what you’re doing. Stop this right now!” Jebson races the length of the bridge hollering.
He sticks his head through the hole above me, where I straddle the busted beam, teetering above the rushing waters.
“You get down from there. You hear me, get down!” Jebson demands, over the churn of the rapids below me.
I don’t dare look down.
If I do, I’m sure to fall.
“You’re gonna kill yourself,” he shouts.
“You’d better hope I don’t!” I holler back.
I shinny out a little further, then turn, and lean my back against the well-oiled arch of the bridge's truss. I scoot from there, on my butt backward, and tuck well up inside the curl to get away from the wind, then wrap the chains about my waist then around the bridge’s beam and locking myself in place—
“Becca!” Jebson shrieks. He leans down through the hole.
His face a hot red tomato.
Knock yourself out jerkface.
I ignore him, press my back against the solid structure, honed by the hands of my great, grandfather over a century ago, close my eyes, and dream of better times—as Jebson blathers on about how he's gonna deal with my obstruction of justice.
“Becca! You can’t do this! Becca, do you hear me?" he hollers.
“I believe I’ve already done it.” I throw his words back at him.
I look up at his face, little red vein pulsing on his forehead. "Becca, get down from there! Get down from there, right now!"
His shouting startles the pigeons from the rafters.