Granny arches her eyebrows. “So plan on that, Alice.”
Mama says nothing. Or maybe, like me, she’s just too tired to argue.
My stomach growls. “Is it time to eat?” I ask hopefully.
Granny scoffs, “No. It’s long past breakfast.”
Credit 6.6
How can that possibly be true? The sun is barely making an appearance, my eyes still sting from napping, and if I don’t get food soon I will surely waste away to nothing.
“The boys have been in the woods for hours already. You’ll have to scavenge for something in the cook shanty, but don’t get underfoot.” She shakes a finger at me.
Above the steady beat of the horses’ hooves, coyotes howl in the distance. At least I hope they’re coyotes. I think of the lumberjacks—the shanty boys—out in the woods for hours already. I’m not so sure cutting down trees in the dark is such a good idea. What if you think you’re cutting down a tree but you accidentally cut off someone’s head? I’m almost positive that happens.
Credit 6.7
Granny looks at me blankly. “When would you suggest they cut them down? It’s dark for fourteen hours a day this time of year. You want the shanty boys to fell trees in the summer when the days are longer? How do you think they would get the logs to the river? Carry them on their backs? Pull them through the muddy swamps? No, Stan, they need the icy roads. It’s the ice that enables the horses to pull the loaded sleighs to the river. By the way, lest we forget, it’s also the stuff you insist upon sticking your tongue to at least twice a week.”
Everyone loves a sarcastic grandmother.
She also exaggerates. I only got my tongue stuck once last week. And it surely wasn’t on an icy road. It was on the metal horse-head hitching post outside the general store, which anyone in his right mind would agree is hard to resist.
“Um, Ma, you do know some of the camps run through the summer, right?” Uncle Carl quietly suggests.
Granny is not terribly fond of being corrected. “And how exactly do they manage that?” she scoffs.
“Those big wheel thingamabobs like what they got at camps down near Saginaw. They make it so you can pull the loads through the swamps and not sink in.”
“Well,” Granny responds, “do we have them at this camp?”
“No. Too expensive,” Uncle Carl responds. “And Henry only runs this camp through the spring.”
“Then they might as well not exist,” Granny says, and we all know that’s the end of that.
I realize with a shudder that it’s getting close to the end of me, too, because running toward us like a black wave of death is something even more frightening than a loup-garou during a full moon.
Geri.
Geri jumps up on the side of the wagon as we clop slowly into camp. Her coppery braids are a mess, and her apron, half buttoned into her wool coat, flutters up and down in the cold air. Mama thinks she’s as pure as the driven snow and as innocent as a newly laid egg. She’s older than me by only twenty-three months and three days, but she acts as if she learned all the world’s secrets during that short time. And apparently I have to go through her to find them out.
“Geraldine.” Granny nods.
“Hey, Granny.” Geri smiles. She flings her arms over the side of the wagon, her feet dangling off the ground.
“Hello, Grandmother,” Granny corrects.
Mama pats Geri’s unruly hair, holding herself steady with her other hand while the horses come to a stop. Geri looks at me with her head tilted to the side.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, her voice full of concern. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in three months and that’s all she can say?
“Huh? Yeah. Why?”
“Um, no reason. You just look a little yellow. No headache? Do you feel like you need to throw up? Do your muscles ache? Are you feverish?”
“No! Why?” It’s against my better judgment to listen to a word Geri says, but the last time I didn’t heed her warning, my tongue got stuck to the flagpole outside the Ossawinamakee Hotel. I’ve been trying to prove her wrong ever since, which is why my tongue has been stuck to almost every metal thing in Schoolcraft County. Also, I’m starting to feel a little queasy the more she talks, and maybe a bit warm. I take off my mitten just in case, and am pretty sure my hand is slightly yellow.
Credit 7.1
“Geraldine,” Granny says sternly, “that’s enough. Stan does not have yellow fever.”
Yellow fever? Did Granny say I have yellow fever? I might be seconds away from death’s door, miles and miles from any type of doctor, and my dead body will probably have to be stored in a shed until the frozen ground softens enough to bury my poor, decaying remains. This is not the way I envisioned my death! How will my sweet mama carry on without the “somewhat” man of the house around?
Granny looks at me over her eyeglasses and sighs. “I said, you do not have yellow fever. Which means you are not dying. Now, if you don’t mind the inconvenience, let’s get on with living. Help your uncle Carl unload.”
Geri shrugs, grins at me, and plops off the side of the wagon.
I am unexpectedly grateful to Granny for saving my life from yellow fever, even if it turned out not to be yellow fever, so I decide to lower her Evil Rating to 99.4 percent.
“Stan, toss me your turkey.” Geri holds her arms up as if waiting for something.
I’m so sick of women ordering me around, and what in the blazes is she talking about? What kind of ridiculous person travels for hours in a wagon filled with all his earthly possessions, minus the toy soldiers he forgot on the windowsill, while holding on to a turkey?
“I was talking about your satchel, you chowderhead. Up here they’re called turkeys. If you’re spending the winter at camp, you need to know these things. But if you want to carry it yourself, fine by me.” Geri reaches out to help Mama step down from the wagon.
Credit 7.2
“Um, I knew that. I was just, uh, joshing you.” Plus, I didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Sure you were,” Geri says smugly. As I look around, I have the sad realization that with no one else my age around this camp, I’m going to have to find a way to get along with her. Or avoid her. And at some point she will need to learn this is a man’s world, and I’m a man. And she’s not.
“I’m not what?” Geri looks at me expectantly.
“A man,” I reply. I hate to be so frank, but she’s going to have to learn her place sometime.
“Thank the good Lord for that!” Geri exclaims.
Huh? Does she have to be so confusing?
“They always are,” Uncle Carl whispers. He motions for me to help unload the wagon, and I start passing him crates and boxes.
“Oof! What’s in this one again?” Uncle Carl gasps, dropping the box to the ground.
“Granny’s magazines, books, and old newspapers, remember?”
“Oh, yep. That’s a woman who needs her reading materials, eh?”
Ain’t that the truth. Harper’s Weekly, The Atlantic Monthly, St. Nicholas, newspapers and anything else with printed letters. The best part of having a Granny who hoards reading materials, besides how they keep her busy for hours on end, is when she’s done she lets me cut out advertisements and articles and pictures and paste them in my Scrapbook. Sometimes she lets me cut things out before she’s done reading, but I don’t think she’s caught on to that little trick yet.
I think I’ll change her Evil Rating to 97.1 percent while I have the chance.
Granny makes her way over to what I guess will be our sleeping quarters. She carries nothing but her head held high and her ratty old purse. She looks like she should be walking down the steps of a castle rather than the dirty, icy street of a lumber camp.
Credit 7.3
“Does she think she’s the Queen of England?” Geri asks, nodding in Granny’s direction.
I shrug.
“Let’s throw these trunks and crates into your room, and then I’ll show you aro
und.” Geri grabs me and pulls me closer. “If we can’t be found,” she whispers, “we won’t have to help with supper.”
My stomach growls. “I’m hungry,” I say.
“Oh, stop whining.” Geri reaches into her apron and takes out some bacon. “Here, eat this.” Even though she called me a whiner and I really should thump her on the nose, I take a few slices. Honestly, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to eat. Plus, it’s bacon, and who can say no to bacon? In the back of my mind, however, I can’t help wondering what kind of person keeps bacon in her pocket.
Geri tears off a piece with her teeth and sticks the rest in her apron. “C’mon.” We grab each end of a trunk and follow Mama and Uncle Carl toward a group of cabins. Geri hauls me around back.
Credit 7.4
“We do not want to go in the front,” she hisses. “It’s the cook shanty. Your beds are in here.” She nods at a door. “And don’t make eye contact. If you do, they’ll automatically ask you to do something like chop the firewood. Or pick up horse manure.” She shudders at the thought.
We drag the crate inside just in time to see Mama and Uncle Carl come through a different door, probably the door to the kitchen, the one I want to avoid.
“Stan, we’ll put you on the top bunk, and Granny and I will share the bottom one,” Mama says wearily. She looks as tired as I feel, her eyes flat and rimmed in red, but she simply sighs a little, drops her things to the floor, and heads to the kitchen. Uncle Carl tips his cap and makes for the door.
“Where are you going, Uncle Carl?” I ask, a little afraid to be left alone with Geri. Last time that didn’t end up so great. Right before she set the leaves on fire, she dared me to light a match, even though Mama had strictly forbidden it.
Credit 7.6
I burned off part of my left eyebrow and a patch of hair that didn’t grow in for a full two months. Conrad McAllister called me Baldilocks and kept asking me where my three bears were. Mama thanked the Lord nothing serious had happened, but then she didn’t let me leave her sight for thirty-two and a half days.
And Geri got off scot-free.
Of course.
Uncle Carl slaps his cap on his scruffy head. “Just spending the night in the barn, then work has me in town till the river drive.” He winks at us. “Wouldn’t want to miss that, now would I?” Then he leaves.
I’m all at sea. “What is he talking about? What’s the river drive?”
Geri looks at me like I’ve fallen out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.
Credit 7.7
“It’s the most exciting event of the year, is all. It’s better than if the circus and the county fair took place on Christmas Day.” She leans in. “Only the best men, the river pigs, can drive the logs down the river. People line the banks to watch us parade by like they’re cheering on the president himself. The main river fills with so many logs you can’t see the water, and the men run over them like they’re dancing across hot coals. One slip, however”—here she pauses dramatically—“and that river pig is food for the fishes, juggling halos, taking a dirt nap.”
“Huh?” I ask, puzzled.
“He’s dead, Stan,” Geri says. Her voice clips the word “dead” like she killed him herself. “In the grave. Six feet under. Checked out.”
It’s a little worrisome how much Geri is enjoying this talk.
Hmmm. The river drive is so dangerous, men lose their lives. They could die. Dying makes me think about my dad, of course. It’s still a little hard to believe he’s not dead.
“Dead” also makes me think about coffins. Hey, what if my dad hasn’t been able to write because he’s been stuck in a coffin?
Credit 7.8
Geri leans on her heels looking smug. She thinks I’m scared. She thinks I’m afraid of death.
Truth is, I’m a little bit afraid of death. People die from it.
“And you should be,” Geri says pointedly.
But not enough to stop me from going on the river drive. Nope. This is just the kind of adventure I’ve been looking for.
So when does the river drive happen?” I ask, probably a little too eagerly.
“Oh, not for months. We have to wait until the ice roads start to melt and the river swells with the thaw. We’ve got lots of time.” Geri waves a hand at me to swat the idea from my head. “Now let’s drop your stuff and skedaddle.” She grabs my turkey and tosses it up on my bunk. The straw from the mattress crunches under its weight.
“Where do you sleep?” I ask.
Geri puffs herself up a little, although she needs to straighten that hair of hers and button her coat correctly if she wants to start putting on airs.
“Well, you know Daddy is the foreman, which means he’s basically the boss here.…” She pauses for effect. “So we, of course, have our own cabin behind the van.” I must look puzzled. “You know, the office. I have my own bed. And a table for my medical books.”
“Why in the Sam Hill,” I can’t help exclaiming, “would you, a girl, need medical books?”
Geri stares snootily at me, her hand on her hip. “Excuse me?”
I am dumbfounded. “Did you not know you’re a girl?”
“Ahem.”
It’s Granny. Sakes alive, I hope she didn’t hear me say “Sam Hill” or I’ll be in a heap of trouble. No telling what she’ll pinch this time.
“Oh, hey, Granny!” Geri exclaims through a mouthful of bacon.
“Hello, Grandmother,” she corrects sternly. She pinches her lips together. “And your lack of manners will never get you a husband,” she adds. Her words sound final, like a promise.
Geri chews more slowly and stares at Granny. She does not have a response.
As the one usually in trouble, I can’t help grinning and thank the good Lord above that I’ve been spared. Also, anyone who can get Geri to shut her kisser earns a reduction in her Evil Rating. It is now a solid 96.3 percent.
Geri grabs my hand, smiles sweetly at Granny, and yanks me from the cabin.
There’s nothing like Granny to instantly make your enemy your friend.
Geri drags me toward the center of camp, then grabs my shoulders and twirls me so I’m facing her directly. I have to look up a bit to meet her eyes, and she makes sure I do. “Listen, mister,” she begins. I think she’s waving a finger in my face, but with a mitten on, it’s hard to tell. “I will ignore your ignorant remarks about my plans to become a doctor.”
Credit 8.1
I realize this conversation is going in a direction I didn’t expect, and she glares at me when I start to laugh. A girl doctor? Who ever heard of such a thing?
Credit 8.2
But I see how Geri’s eyes have gotten squinty, and I immediately change my laugh to an uncontrollable cough. She thumps me on the back, supposedly to help me stop coughing, but we both know she just wants to smack me, and she hits hard for a girl.
“Hmmm. That cough sounds a bit asthmatic. I might have a cure for that.”
I am almost 88.2 percent positive I would rather have asthma, whatever that is, than Geri’s “cure,” so I immediately stop coughing. “I’m just dandy,” I exclaim, choking on another cough. Geri glares at me.
“You might want to reconsider your ‘girl’ remarks,” she says. “For one thing, what about that little girlfriend you have back home? What’s her name? Lettie Lou? Sally Sue?”
I feel my jaw tighten. “Lydia Mae,” I say, “and she’s not my girlfriend. She’s barely a girl.” I think about her laugh. And her mom’s buttermilk biscuits.
“Well,” Geri says, “whatever you want to call her, she is a girl, and girls will one day rule the world. Who knows, you could need my help one day.”
I have no response to such a ridiculous statement. Rule the world? Ha! And I would never need help from a girl.
Credit 8.3
“Don’t think I’m unaware of the low expectations our society has for girls. I simply plan to greatly exceed them and change the way we view women.” S
he gazes off in the distance like she has made a speech to the Congress of Representatives or President Grover Cincinnati himself.
“Cleveland, Stan. It’s Grover Cleveland.”
Details, details. None of that matters as long as it’s still part of Ohio.
“It does matter, Stan. It’s our president!”
Boy, sometimes it sure is easy to tell Geri and Granny are related.
I simply nod. Uncle Carl says women always get the last word in every fight; otherwise you’re just starting a new fight.
Geri sighs and gets down to business. I let her point me toward the building farthest away. “That’s the van, where my daddy sells stuff the shanty boys may need. Medicine, tobacco, trousers, those sorts of things. To the left is the barn where the teamsters sleep with their horses.”
“In the barn?” I exclaim. I’m genuinely surprised the men have to sleep in the barn with the animals.
“Oh, believe you me, they’d rather sleep in the barn. It’s warmer with the horses, and there aren’t any lice.”
Credit 8.4
Geri removes her hands from my shoulders and folds her arms across her chest. She is such a swellhead, and it ain’t pretty.
“What did you say?” Geri moves toward me, her eyes glaring.
“Huh? Uhhhh, I said, ‘Something smells dead, and it might be gritty.’ ”
She looks at me like I’m a sandwich short of a picnic.
“You don’t smell that?” I sniff loudly and look her straight in the eyes like she’s the crazy one. “So, what’s that building over there?”
Geri guides me around. She tells me the bunkhouse smells like socks, a soggy scent mixed with the grubby stench of fifty men and smoke from the woodstove smoldering in the middle of the room.
Credit 8.5
She starts listing awful things contained in the bunkhouse. “Cooties jump on you the minute you step inside the door. The shanty boys spit tobacco juice on the stove to try to make it smell better in there. They don’t take a bath the whole time they’re here. I’ve seen Jan Jespersen wash his breeches one time in the past three months, and he was the only one. And as I said, there are lice. Lots of them.” Geri shudders at the thought. “You do not want to spend time in there,” she says.
My Near-Death Adventures (99% True!) Page 4