by Jessie Haas
“What’s that?” asked Uncle Daney.
“It’s a car you can steer from far away.”
“Really? Always figured you had to be right in a car—any car I ever heard of!”
“No, it’s a toy. Oh—um … gee, Nip. Okay, walk. I’ll show you after.”
“Might’s well show me now,” Uncle Daney said. “We’ll put him away, and you go get it.”
When Pop came home at dusk, the two of them were still outside, playing with the little red car.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR THE NEXT two afternoons Cole drove Nip in the yard, learning to make sharp and wide angles, diagonals and zigzags.
During the days Uncle Daney sat with Nip by the side of the road. Old men were beginning to stop and talk with him, Mom said, old men driving trucks, old men in work pants and suspenders.
Thursday night Cole heard Pop say, “I don’t know what to do about it, Lou. He’s a wily old bird, and he’s getting Cole attached to that horse. But you know we can’t afford to keep him.”
“Uncle Daney has his ways,” Mom said. “I know Dad always said to watch out …” She said more, but she dropped her voice, and Cole couldn’t quite catch it. That was the worst thing about the trailer. He was always hearing a little more than he wanted to hear, or a little less.
Friday, when Cole got off the bus, an old man with a big team of dappled gray horses was plowing the rest of the garden. Uncle Daney sat out next to the pea patch, watching. He and the other man shouted back and forth to each other. The man’s harness was rich-looking, bright with brass.
Cole walked out along the furrows to where Uncle Daney sat. He could see the first pale, bent pea sprouts pushing up. “Who’s that, Uncle Daney?”
“Ray West. Lives up the road a piece.”
“So how come he’s plowing our garden?”
“Sit by a road long enough,” Uncle Daney said, “and everything you need’ll come by.”
“Oh.” Cole watched the big gray horses walking slow and straight across the garden patch, the fat old man on the brightly painted riding plow. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever seen come down the road before. There’s more to it, he thought.
“Nope, you can’t pay me,” Ray West told Pop. He had just loaded the big gray horses into his truck when Pop got back from the mill. “Needed to get set for the plowin’ contests, and m’wife won’t let me have any more lawn. I was glad when Daney offered me the chance.”
“Maybe Ray West would take Nip,” Pop said that weekend, as he and Cole worked on the wood. “There’s enough grass now, but come July there won’t be. I just hope Daney’ll see that without me having to say anything. Hate like heck to hurt the old cuss’s feelings.”
Cole didn’t answer. Pop didn’t know much about Uncle Daney, he was starting to realize. Cole didn’t either, but at least he knew to expect surprises.
There was no school Monday or for the rest of that week—spring vacation. As soon as breakfast was done Monday morning, Uncle Daney said, “Run out and catch up Nip for me, young un.”
Cole figured Uncle Daney might want to get an early start on his roadside sitting, though it seemed strange he didn’t go get Nip himself. He took the big halter and went out and whistled Uncle Daney’s low, flat whistle. It was nice to see Nip out among the junipers, turning and lumbering toward him. Nip seemed surprised, when he got up close, to see that the whistler was not Uncle Daney. But when Cole spoke, he lowered his head patiently to be haltered.
Back at the barn Uncle Daney was waiting, tapping his fingers on his chair.
“Are you taking him out by the road today?” Cole asked.
“What would I do that for? Bring him here, young un! Brush him down!”
Quickly Cole brushed Nip’s upper reaches and then checked his hooves.
“Now harness him up,” said Uncle Daney. “Want to see if you remember how.”
Cole got the collar off the wall, sneaking a look at Uncle Daney as he did. It made him feel uneasy that Uncle Daney was sitting back like this, not doing things. But the old man seemed as healthy as ever, and his blue eyes were bright.
When the harness was on, Uncle Daney reached to the wall beside him and took down a piece of wood hanging there. It had an iron ring and hook in the middle and smaller rings on each end, with chains looped through them. Uncle Daney handed the piece of wood to Cole.
“This here’s the whippletree,” he said. “Hook it on to the tugs, there.”
The tugs were the long, thick straps that ran back from Nip’s collar. They ended in iron hooks, and until now they had been looped up and hanging from rings at the back of the harness. Cole took them down and caught the hooks securely into the loops of chain on the ends of the whippletree.
“Now this,” Uncle Daney said. He handed Cole a long, heavy chain with a hook on each end. It was rust-colored but strong-looking. “Hook it on to the whippletree,” Uncle Daney said. “Nope, put the two hooks together, Cole, and let the chain trail. That way it won’t catch on anything. Now get me them brush clippers I seen you usin’ Saturday.”
“What for?”
“Because I asked you to!” Uncle Daney looked impish. Cole felt like balking. He could refuse to take another step till Uncle Daney explained. The trouble was, Uncle Daney would probably balk, too. He got the brush clippers, and Uncle Daney took them on his lap.
“One more thing,” he said, handing Cole two plastic bread bags. “G’wan up there in the mow and fill these with chaff.”
Cole did as he was told. He felt like the kid who gets invited up from the audience to be made a fool of by the magician, but he didn’t see what choice he had. He gave the full bags to Uncle Daney, who tucked them beside him in the chair.
“All right,” he said, “let’s go. Give me a push, Cole, will you?”
Now Cole did ask, “Are you feeling okay?”
“Ay-yup! Just don’t want to get all tuckered out before we even start.”
Start what? Cole took hold of the wheelchair handles. He looked down at the top of Uncle Daney’s head. “Where are we going?”
“Out to the back pasture,” Uncle Daney said. “Nip, walk.”
The chair rolled pretty smoothly up to the barway. Cole got Uncle Daney through it, and he closed it behind Nip. Nip kept walking where Uncle Daney guided him, and Cole watched the whippletree bump over the grass, clanking and jingling a little. The long chain followed like a snake.
Then he took hold of the chair again and followed Nip, out along the winding fence line. It was much harder going here. The little front wheels turned every time they hit a bump, and the grass seemed to hold them back. Uncle Daney helped whenever Cole stalled, and when he did, Cole could feel how strong he was, how strong he had to be, to move himself around. A sharp smell of sweat came up from him, and Cole realized Mom hadn’t been bossing Uncle Daney hard enough. He seemed to have been wearing this shirt a few days too many.
Now the pasture took a big swoop around the Hogback, out of sight of the trailer. It was smoother going here. Uncle Daney sat back, looking around at the grass, the dark junipers, and the huge, arching wild roses, then tipping his head back to look up the Hogback. Nip paused. “Walk on,” Uncle Daney said.
“How far are we going?” Cole asked.
“Gettin’ tired?”
“No.”
“All the way,” Uncle Daney said, pointing at the back fence.
When they reached the fence, Uncle Daney stopped Nip, and he turned his chair around to face the way they’d come.
The junipers were thinner out here, and smaller. Uncle Daney pointed to the nearest one, a low, prickly cushion that spread almost as wide as his chair. “That un first,” he said.
Cole wasn’t going to ask—he just wasn’t! He looked from the juniper to Nip, the whippletree, the chain. He took the chain off the whippletree, knelt on the warm spring ground, and started to wrap the chain around the bush.
“Lower down, I should think,” Uncle Daney said, “and may
be a little tighter.”
Cole reached in farther under the juniper and found its main trunk. It was surprisingly slender—not much bigger around than a broomstick. He hooked the chain tight.
“All right, now straighten out that chain, and bring Nip around to the end of it. Pick up the whippletree, so it don’t catch on something.”
Cole picked up the whippletree by the hook. “Walk, Nip. Gee.” The whippletree bounced with Nip’s slow steps. Cole was close to Nip’s red haunches and his blond tail, close enough to remember how much they had to trust Nip never to kick, never to run away. “Whoa.” Nip stopped at the end of the chain. Cole put the whippletree on the ground, and he hooked the long chain to it.
“Now, Cole,” said Uncle Daney, “slide under the back side of that juniper, and cut where you see the roots go down into the ground—just on that side. Then you step back, and I’ll give Nip the word, and we’ll see if we can tip ’er up some. Maybe you’ll have to jump in and do some more cuttin’. All right?” He handed Cole the brush clippers.
Cole had his doubts. He could see himself sliding under the tipped-up juniper and having it close on his head like a clam. How was Uncle Daney going to tell Nip not to back off the pressure? And what if the juniper scared Nip?
But he kept this to himself, got down on knees and elbows, and snaked in under the low, prickly branches.
It was a small bush, but tough. At this awkward angle it was a struggle to make the clippers bite into the wood. One, two, three places he cut, where the strong roots came up out of the earth. He made sure the chain was snug around the trunk and then slithered out again.
Uncle Daney said, “All right, Nip. Walk.” Two steps. The chain stretched straight and taut, and Uncle Daney said, “Hup!” There was a creaking sound of leather as Nip leaned his weight into the collar, a tearing sound from underneath the juniper bush. Nip kept going without a pause, and the juniper turned upside down, roots splayed to the sun. The little balls and crumbles of dirt were still falling when Uncle Daney said, “Whoa!”
Cole unhooked the chain from the juniper. Most of the shallow, spreading roots were split or broken. There were only a couple to cut. He lifted up the juniper like a trophy, like a big string of fish.
“Worked pretty slick,” said Uncle Daney. “Well, that was a little un. We’ll see.”
“What should I do with it?”
“Shake the dirt off,” Uncle Daney said, “and put it somewheres where we can start a pile.” As he spoke, he struggled out of his flannel shirt. The sun shone on his bare arms, white and skinny and roped with muscle. Then he made a cud-chewing motion and swept his false teeth out of his mouth. He handed the set to Cole.
“Stick them danged things on top of a fence post, will you? Now let’s get down to work!”
Cole turned from the wet grin of Uncle Daney’s choppers on the post and looked back across the pasture. Just in this section, before it took that curve around the bottom of the Hogback, there were hundreds of junipers.
He looked down at the little patch of bare ground they had just made. Already the crumbles of dirt were turning gray in the sun. Uncle Daney reached into one of the breadbags and tossed a handful of chaff onto the bare spot.
“Just step on that once, Cole, tread it in a little.”
Cole obeyed, but he couldn’t help saying, “It won’t grow fast enough, you know. Even if we clear the whole pasture, we can’t make enough grass for Nip.”
“Well, not this summer,” Uncle Daney said.
They worked all morning, and by the time Mom came out to find them, Cole knew he was having fun.
They all were sweating in the spring sunshine. Sweat trickled down from under Nip’s collar and darkened the places where the harness straps rested on his back. Uncle Daney’s sleeveless undershirt clung to his body. Cole wasn’t wearing any shirt at all now. The knees of his pants were stiff and shiny with dirt, molded in the shape of his kneecaps, and he had dirt all over his chest and arms. Juniper needles kept falling out of his hair.
They had popped seven junipers out of the ground. They had seen a bluebird and three circling hawks. It was quiet. Just the creak of harness, the ripping sound of roots coming out of the ground, sometimes Uncle Daney’s high-pitched cackle and his instructions, toothless and mushy, but understandable.
Then Nip lifted his head and pointed his ears. Cole and Uncle Daney looked, too, and there was Mom coming across the pasture.
“Uh-oh!” Uncle Daney said. “Here’s where we catch it!”
Cole thought so, too. He waited, watching Mom come nearer. She looked like Uncle Daney, he thought: small and wiry, with that same wispy hair and that same way of holding up her head.
“Cole! Uncle Daney! What are you two up to?”
“Clearin’ you some pastureland, Lou.”
“I can’t understand a word you’re saying!” Mom said crossly. She spotted the teeth grinning on the fence post, brought them over, and handed them to Uncle Daney.
“I should think you could see what we’re doin’,” Uncle Daney said, speaking clearly again.
Mon looked back across the low, dark sea of junipers. “All I can say is you’ve tackled an almighty big job!”
“Some feller cleared it afore our time,” Uncle Daney said.”If he could, I guess we can!”
Mom looked down at him, and Cole could tell that for a second she was seeing the chair, though that normally wasn’t what you saw when you looked at Uncle Daney. She smiled faintly and shook her head.
“I’d look on it as a favor if you wouldn’t mention this to Bill,” Uncle Daney said. “He’ll notice once we get around this bend, but I’d like to keep it a surprise.”
Mom didn’t believe they ever would get around the bend, and Cole couldn’t blame her. He kept himself from looking back across the pasture, because every time he did, he started counting.
“All right,” Mom said. “But, Cole, you wear your oldest pants from now on—and come Saturday, I’m going to teach you a few things about laundry! Now come on in, you two—you three! It’s time for lunch.”
That was the shortest spring break Cole had ever had. Every day, morning and afternoon, they spent out back, skinning junipers out of the ground, sprinkling chaff on the torn earth. It got so that Cole saw junipers every time he closed his eyes. Junipers were all he could think about, and he hated to quit at lunchtime or in the evening. It was like picking berries. He always wanted just one more.
They cleared out the smallest junipers, all the way to the bend. Then they went back for the middle-size ones, and then it was Friday. There were some huge bushes left, and where the pasture climbed a little way up the shoulder of the Hogback there were more, all sizes.
“We’ll have to leave ’em,” Uncle Daney said. “I can’t roll this contraption up there to help.” He popped his teeth back in his mouth and swirled them into place, looking down glumly at the muddy wheels of his chair.
“Guess I could get them by myself,” Cole said. He waited for Uncle Daney’s reaction.
Uncle Daney looked from him to Nip, standing near them with his eyes half-closed. After a minute he said, “Ay-yup, I guess likely you could.”
Saturday it rained hard, too hard even for Pop, who hardly ever let weather stop him from working.
But this Saturday Pop splashed across to the barn and played checkers with Uncle Daney. Mom and Cole went to the Laundromat.
When Cole was little, he always used to go with Mom to wash clothes on rainy Saturdays. He liked the smell of soap and clean clothes, the sound of the washers and dryers whirling. He liked the lazy, bored talk all around him. And he liked being with Mom, even if she was making him learn how to take dirt stains out of blue jeans.
“How’s it going out in the juniper patch?” she asked.
Cole explained how far they’d gotten. There was a huge pile of junipers waiting to be burned, sometime after they’d told Pop.
“And you don’t mind, Cole, that you’re the one doing all the work for
this great project?”
Cole stared at her. That was something he’d never thought about. Now that he did think of it, it didn’t seem true. Uncle Daney was out there every minute, sweating and swearing, driving him and Nip like a team. “I don’t do all the work,” he said. “Besides, Uncle Daney thought of it.”
Mom laughed, biting her lip as if she was trying to stop herself. “Oh, Cole. Uncle Daney’s always had his ways of getting things done. That’s what used to make your grandfather so mad. He worked hard all his life at a job he hated, and Daney did what he felt like doing and was happy.”
“Uncle Daney worked hard all his life, too,” Cole said.
Mom said, “The difference is it was Uncle Daney’s choice. Poor Dad always felt like he’d been backed into a corner in life.”
“Was he?”
“No,” Mom said. “He chose, too. The real difference is that Uncle Daney always lands right side up. Even now. He doesn’t own anything in the world but the clothes on his back and that horse—” Mom shook her head and smiled helplessly. “And Dad died with a house and a car and money in the bank. And to his dying day he thought Daney had a better deal in life!”
“Do you think so?” Cole asked after a minute.
“Oh, yes!” Mom said.
CHAPTER FIVE
IN SCHOOL ON MONDAY Cole was one of the three or four people with dark spring tans. “Where did you go?” people in homeroom kept asking all of them.
“Florida,” said Brie Alexander, with a little shake of her head that set her gold earrings trembling. “It was so boring!” And Mark had been to Bermuda and said he had a tan all over.
Only Cole knew that his was a farmer’s tan—top half only. He wanted to say he’d been somewhere, but when Brie asked, he couldn’t think of any place, and he felt his face get red. “Oh, I was just pulling junipers in the back pasture,” he said. His voice sounded old-time and farmerish to him, different from other people’s. “Me and my uncle and his horse.”
Brie turned away, hunching her shoulder. So boring.
But Roger Allard stopped leg wrestling with Jason a minute later and came over. He was tanned, too, but nobody asked where he’d been, Cole had noticed. “Your family works with horses?” Roger asked.