by Rhett DeVane
In the mists of early morning, the trio searched the lush greenery beside the spring for chickweed, brook lettuce, Shepherd’s purse, and dandelion greens. As the days grew hot, they found blackberries, wild plums, Indian peaches, paw-paws, and maypops. Foraging for food interested him. More for his happy belly. But he still wished for more chances to visit the trash heap.
Elsbeth especially liked the teas Taproot steeped from rosehips and sassafras, and she took notes on collecting and brewing. The mountain man taught them how to dry fruit and plants, and reviewed the uses of medicinal herbs. Every plant served a purpose. And leave it up to Elsbeth to write pages about it all.
Sim jabbed the knife into the air. He liked the snakes! And he could tell the bad from the good now, if he got close enough. Elsbeth, with her nervous self, fussed at him every time he did that. And he didn’t need any stupid notebook to remember their markings.
“We have to dump-dive soon.” Elsbeth stopped drawing for a moment to frown at the wood shavings piling like snow at his feet.
“Wow, Lizard. You’re getting into it.”
“I found shirts our size, Sim. Not to mention cleaning supplies,” Elsbeth answered. “Taproot says people pitch everything to keep the invading army from getting stuff.”
“Those cookie bars you found last month. Those were way cool.” Sim could almost taste the silky dark chocolate.
“So, we’ll go soon?”
Sim nodded. “Tomorrow?”
“By ourselves?”
Sim jabbed the air with the sharpened stick he had whittled. “Why not?”
Chapter Eight
“We should tell Taproot we’re going.” Elsbeth shifted her hobo bag and added a second collection sack. “He’s a freak about those mountain laws he makes up on a daily basis.”
Sim grabbed two walking sticks and handed her one. “He’s not in his hollow. If we wait around too long, the sun will cook us. You know what the heat does to garbage.”
Elsbeth winced. The smell of rotting trash made her stomach do flip-flops. It didn’t matter how much goo she smeared beneath her nose. “I’ll leave him a note.” She tore a slip of paper from the notebook and scribbled on it. “We won’t be gone long. Probably beat him back anyway.”
Elsbeth sensed her legs beneath her, lean and strong. From the way Sim climbed, Elsbeth could tell her friend found the hike as effortless as she did. How different from that first day when they could barely scale one hill without gasping. Flowers on either side of the trail scented the air until they neared the dumpsite, where the odor of garbage won out.
They stepped into the clearing. No matter how often they visited, the abrupt gash in the earth shocked her. So wrong, to tear up the earth in this way.
Sim fastened a rope to his waist and secured the other end to a stump. “Spot me. I’m going in.”
One of Taproot’s firm rules: one person must stay behind to watch in case the dump-diver had trouble. Elsbeth wiped the sweat from her forehead and squinted into the rising sun. What kind of trouble? They had dived many times without so much as a scrape. If both of them went in, they would have more time to find treasures. She dreamed of shampoo, along with soap for washing their few pieces of clothing. Maybe she’d get lucky and find cloth and sewing supplies.
“What could it hurt?” Elsbeth secured her bags, tied her waist rope, and used the stump for her tether.
When she emerged from the edge of the dump some time later, Elsbeth dropped the bulging bags and grinned. No way could Sim outdo her on this haul. She had hit huge pay dirt! One spot had yielded five boxes of candy, wrapped crackers, and packets of strawberry jam. Another held discarded clothes, enough to make several shirts. If only she had more thread. That would have to happen on another trip.
Sim’s lash was still attached to the stump. She eyed the rope line until it disappeared deep in the trash. “Won’t do you any good to look much longer, crazy boy. I left you in the dust today.”
The bushes stirred behind her. She turned, expecting to see the old mountain man, and ready to brag on her loot. Instead, a small black nose pushed through the underbrush. She parted the leaves and saw a furry face.
“Well, hello! Where’d you come from?”
The bear cub rolled at her feet, pawing the air. She crouched down and stroked its belly.
“Elsbeth! Don’t move!” Taproot’s voice called from somewhere behind her.
Elsbeth looked up to see a massive black bear, growling and showing fierce yellow teeth. She froze.
Taproot crept to within a few yards and spoke in a strange language of grunts. The bear lowered its head and stared first at her, then at Taproot. The cub stood and joined the larger bear. They disappeared into the woods. Only then did Elsbeth dare to release the breath she held.
“Bless the light!” Taproot trundled over and helped Elsbeth to her feet. “What in the world were you doing?”
“I . . . I . . . It was so cute and—”
“Cute? Cute! Where there’s a little one, there’s a big one, a lesson you best remember. A mama black bear can be the meanest thing short of a mountain thunderstorm when she feels her cub’s in danger.” He mopped sweat from his brow. “Good thing I came along.”
Elsbeth legs quivered. “Um . . . yeah. Thanks.”
Taproot took note of Elsbeth’s rope, then the taut line leading into the dump. “Where’s Sim?”
“I don’t know. He . . .”
Taproot’s eyes darted to the bulging collection bags and his expression darkened. “You went in at the same time?”
“Um—”
“Oh my gosh! Hurry, give me your rope.” The elf secured the line and waded into the pile. Before he disappeared, he turned and said, “stay there and keep tension on my tether. If I tug, pull with everything you’ve got!”
Elsbeth blinked back tears and nodded. The taste of fear stunned her mouth.
In a few minutes, the rope danced in her hand. Elsbeth pulled until the rough line burned her skin. The other end weighed heavy. She stepped in front of the rope and used her waist for support as she backed up. The mound of garbage in front of her shifted. Taproot carried Sim in his arms with a strength Elsbeth found amazing and impossible.
“Is he . . .?” Elsbeth asked.
Taproot lowered Sim to the ground and put his cheek close to the boy’s open mouth. “Not dead. Probably overcome by a pocket of dump gas.” He dug in his jacket and pulled out a small jar. When he flipped open the lid, the odor competed with the waves of air coming from the trash heap. Taproot wiped a smear of the sour-smelling gel beneath Sim’s nose, and the boy groaned and opened his eyes.
“Take it easy, now.” Taproot removed his jacket, rolled it into a ball, and placed it beneath Sim’s head.
“Will he be okay?” Elsbeth crouched beside her friend and held his hand.
Taproot’s lips drew into a thin line. “You two were lucky. This time.”
Within a few minutes, Sim sat up and drank a long swig of water. As they made their way back, Sim leaned on Taproot. The laden packs dug into Elsbeth’s shoulder, but she didn’t complain. Sim appeared pale and weak, as if each step took great effort. By the time they reached the tent, Elsbeth wondered if Taproot would ever speak to her again. He helped settle Sim into bed and left.
Chapter Nine
Elsbeth watched Taproot move in and out of the hollow stump. “Think he’s ever going to talk to us again?”
Sim looked up from the oak branch clutched in his hand. The other held his pocket knife. “Sure. He’ll get over it.”
Sim whittled until long curls of wood littered the tent’s earthen floor. At first, Elsbeth found the whole thing a tremendous mess. She had a similar knife in her hobo bag, but she never had the urge to slice wood for a hobby. Elsbeth had to admit: the shavings smelled good and made a better carpet than the leaves.
“He was pretty mad. It’s been two whole days.”
Sim shrugged, then held up the branch. “What does this look like to you?”
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Elsbeth lifted one eyebrow. “A twig with a bunch of notches?”
“It’s a snake.” He jabbed the stick in her direction and hissed.
“Ah. Right.” Elsbeth studied the red plaid shirt she had washed in the brook three times to remove the stench of garbage. With a little snip here and there, and some sewing, she’d have a new jacket. She’d make one for Sim from a blue denim shirt she’d found in the same trash bag, a surprise for his birthday at the end of September.
Taproot appeared at the tent’s entrance. “C’mon.” He turned and stalked off.
Elsbeth stored her sewing supplies. “Well, guess that’s a start.”
The old elf’s sack bulged. He walked in front of them, heading in a different direction from any they had taken before. Three battered buckets—paint cans in their previous lives—hung from his packs.
“Where’re we going?” Elsbeth asked.
“You’ll see,” Taproot answered without turning around.
A series of switchbacks wove between tall stands of tulip poplar, hickory, and ash trees. Sunlight filtered through the leaf canopy and dotted the trail. At the crest of a hill, the forest parted to reveal a granite-dotted clearing. The group paused to drink water and look out across the rolling Emerald Mountains. After three more steep hills, Taproot stopped at a rock outcropping. A small valley spread out before them.
Taproot pointed. “Spotted that dead tree some time back. Believe there’s a bee hive in it.”
Sim leaned toward Elsbeth and said in a low voice, “We walked all this way for bees?”
The mountain man turned to face them. “Not for bees. For sourwood honey. Best stuff in the Emerald Mountains. Sweet and tart at the same time.”
“Nothing old about his hearing,” Elsbeth whispered after Taproot stepped away.
As they moved closer, Elsbeth detected a low hum like the groan of an engine. Taproot stopped and pointed up. Worker bees buzzed in and out of a ragged opening in the dead tree’s trunk. “I knew it! I can almost taste the honey.”
“How’re we going to get past them?” Sim asked.
“Not we, boy. Me.” He removed his packs and jacket. “You two are going to stay right here and keep out of trouble.” He snorted. “If that’s possible!”
The old elf removed a wispy white tube of material from one pack and stretched it until it formed a sheet.
“What’s that?” Elsbeth touched the filmy fabric.
“Spider web net.” Taproot wrapped the sheet around his head and body like a cloak. “Wild bees don’t take kindly to thieves.”
Elsbeth and Sim watched him shimmy up the tree. The buckets clanged together from their clip on his belt. When he reached the hive’s opening, bees swarmed around his head in a furious cloud.
“Crazy old man.” Sim frowned.
Taproot pulled a clump of leafy branches from his pack and lit it with a match. Thick smoke twirled and the bees calmed. He dug his hands into the opening and broke off dripping golden chunks of the waxy honeycomb and dropped them into the buckets.
Sim jiggled in place. “Wild! I’m going up there!”
Before Elsbeth could stop him, Sim had shucked his pack and skittered up the tree trunk. Taproot turned and waved him down with one hand. Too late. The bees, agitated by the new flourish of movement and looking for someone to blame for interfering with their hive, zeroed in on Sim. Elsbeth watched, her eyes wide. A mass of flying insects chased him down the tree. Sim’s feet touched earth and he let go of the tree and swatted.
“Ouch! Ouch! OUCH!” Sim twirled and flailed his hands.
Taproot glided from the treetop and hovered a few feet away from Sim. He raised his hands, sang a series of low-pitched tones. The bee cloud lifted away from Sim and disappeared. Elsbeth searched the hive and the sky above the valley. Where had they gone?
Elsbeth rushed over to Sim. Red welts formed on every part of her friend’s exposed skin. Taproot pointed to a brook at the edge of the clearing. “Grab some mud. Hurry!”
Elsbeth dropped her hobo bag and ran to the stream, returning shortly with a double handful of dripping muck.
Sim shivered. His eyes rolled back until the whites showed, then closed. Taproot mixed a blend of herbs with the thick mud. “Help me cover the stings!”
By the time Taproot and Elsbeth finished, they had used all of the mud and most of the herbal mixture. In a few minutes, the medicine worked its magic. Sim opened his eyes.
“Boy?” Taproot asked. “Can you talk?”
“That really hurt.”
“You’re lucky. With this many bites, you could be on the other side.”
“Other side?” Sim sat up. Daubs of mud clung to his skin. “What’s that mean?”
Taproot returned the herb jar to his pack and wiped his hands with a ragged cloth. “Dead. Dead. Dead.” He jabbed a finger in Sim’s direction. “And there’s not enough magic in the Emerald Mountains to undo that.”
“Oh.” Sim’s voice came out in a low whisper.
“Let’s rest for a while. But not here. We don’t want to be around when those bees come back.” Taproot stood and motioned toward the trail.
“Um . . . where did they go exactly?” Elsbeth wiped her hands then helped Sim to stand.
Taproot tipped his head, considering. “I sent them an image of a valley covered in wildflowers. Didn’t have time to draw directions in my pointy little head. Several miles off. No matter. Point was to make them more intent on all that nectar than on stinging their noisy invader.” He frowned at Sim.
Though the summer light would extend for several hours, the deep woods had cooled a few degrees and a cricket chorus tuned up for the nightly serenade. At the crest of the next hill, they shared a snack of dried fruit and berries, with a taste of the wild honey. No one talked about the bee attack.
“Good haul, I’d say.” Taproot held up one of the honey buckets. “Enough to last a few months. Would’ve gotten a wee bit more, but . . .”
“That was way cool,” Sim said. “I wanted to do it, too.” He flicked a clump of mud from one of his hands. “I . . . I’m sorry.”
Taproot handed each a honey bucket to carry. “For now, it’s best we leave them be.”
“Why don’t we wait until they’re calm and get all of the honey before we go?” Elsbeth said. “It’s a long walk for us.”
Taproot peeled the remains of the spider web netting from his face. Wisps of the sticky mesh coated his beard like frost. “Never take more than you need, princess. Honey is their food. Bees have to live, too.”
Taproot’s mood improved, though the near-disaster hung over them. As they retraced their steps, the elf commented on different shrubs and trees, pointing out wild huckleberry bushes that would soon provide fruit. “I’ll show you how to make dumplings from acorn paste. We’ll use the honey to sweeten the berries. Then, we’ll add the dumplings to soak up the good stuff. Marvelous dish. Cattails make decent flour, too. Better than acorns. Acorn flour can be bitter without sweetener.”
“I wondered,” Elsbeth said after a few minutes. “The other day with the bears, those funny sounding words . . . what did you say to that mama bear?”
Taproot chuckled. “A bold threat. A bluff, really. Told her if she came even an inch closer, I’d sour her mouth so she’d never be able to taste anything good, ever again.”
“Could you really do that?” Sim said.
“Probably not. At least, not until I had time to prepare. But she didn’t know that.”
Elsbeth asked, “And you kind of flew down the tree . . . how—?”
Taproot stopped and turned to meet her gaze. “I have my ways.”
Elsbeth smiled at the twinkle in the old man’s eyes. The tension that had loomed like mountain valley fog lifted. For the rest of the hike, they walked in comfortable silence. Sim scratched at the mud-dotted welts, but didn’t complain. Good thing.
“Bed down for the night,” Taproot said when they reached the home glen near dusk. “Tomorrow’s another d
ay. A day can be a lifetime.” He bade them good night and slipped into his hollow with the buckets of honey.
Sim flopped down on his pallet. Flecks of dried mud snowed from his skin. “Don’t know about you, Lizard, but sometimes Taproot doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Maybe not. But he saved your life today.” Elsbeth hesitated. “And mine, a couple of days ago.”
Chapter Ten
Elsbeth and Sim eased into Taproot’s routine, working through the long days to harvest berries and nuts, and to crumble sun-dried herbs into pottery storage jars. Once a week after the hard work was done, the trio treated themselves to a dump-dive. Since finding that first box of candy bars, Elsbeth still marveled at the things people discarded: barely-used clothing, crackers in sealed wrappers, books, paper, art and sewing supplies, shoes and jewelry. Sim found a wad of cash, stuffed it into his pocket, and bragged about being a rich man. Money had no value here. Boys were such a mystery sometimes.
Four months passed in the same predictable manner until a cool twinge nudged the morning breeze, a hint of coming weather changes. The smaller animals scurried with purpose, gathering the ample acorns and nuts that fell like raindrops from the hardwoods. One week, the Indian summer heat rose in shimmers. The next, the breezes peppered her bare arms with chill bumps. Spring with its flowers had been pretty, and summer with its long sultry afternoons perfect for soaking in the deeper pools of the stream, but something about the shifting seasons bewitched Elsbeth. Her skin tingled. Her lungs filled with the scents of fall. Her eyes couldn’t soak up all of the amazing colors dotting the rolling hills.
Elsbeth threw her hands in the air and danced. “Look at all the beautiful leaves!” She pointed to the canopy of orange, red, and yellow.
Sim looked up and grunted before focusing on his whittling. Taproot offered no reply. Elsbeth stood with her hands on her hips. Those two! Sim would whittle through most anything, but most times Taproot would join her when she laughed and did a few fancy steps. The cool weather had caused a shift in the mountain man. Was he still angry about their misadventures with the mother bear and those bees? Other than Sim’s infrequent defiance of minor mountain rules, she and Sim had been on their best behavior.