Karl suddenly glanced at James, as if remembering he was there. “And plenty work. Come, boy, I will show you how to fell a tree.”
He took the broadaxe and approached a tamarack, walked in a full circle around it, gauging, reckoning the course of its fall, glancing up, then back down, checking it for weighty limbs. After some deliberation, he said, “Ya, this is a good one. It is a perfect fourteen inches in diameter. Remember that now, boy. It will make your task easier if each tree is the same size. Before you start, you must consider the wind.”
James looked skyward, saying, “But there isn't any.”
“Good! Now you have considered it. If there is wind, we must allow for it with the very first cut of the axe.”
Anna watched and listened with only half an ear as Karl patiently explained the rudiments of tree-felling. She was far more taken by the effect Karl was having on her brother.
James doted upon his every word, even unconsciously imitating his wide-legged stance as the pair gazed up the towering trunk and planned the course of the fall. And when James asked a question, Karl's boot scraped aside pine needles to clear a small spot on the forest floor. He broke off a sturdy twig and knelt down to make a rude drawing in the dirt.
Anna smiled as James again imitated the big man, kneeling on a single knee, leaning to brace an elbow on the other in manly fashion. But James' thin back looked all the thinner when posed beside Karl's as the pair hunched forward, studying the sketch. It showed the placement of the notches, which Karl called “kerfs.” Karl explained that the first kerf they'd make would be on the opposite side of the tree from the direction of its fall.
Anna's attention to instructions suffered further as Karl reached to point, causing the back of his shirt to stretch so tightly it looked as if it would split up the center. Her eyes followed it downward to his waist, mesmerized by the sight of a tiny width of exposed skin where the shirttails had shinnied up. Karl's hips were narrow, but his thighs bulged, kneeling down that way.
He swiveled half around. Anna's eyes darted toward the tamaracks.
Just then James surprised Karl by pronouncing the word “kerfs” and asking where they should go and how deep they should be. Karl grinned at the boy, then lifted his glance to Anna while he teased and taught in one and the same breath.
“I know from cutting down many trees—many, many trees—in Sweden with my papa and brothers, and right here before you came. It takes much practice to know these things.”
What patience he has, admired Anna. Even his voice and pose were patient, as well as the expression on his face. Even if she could read and write, she thought, any child would be luckier to be taught by a man like him. She herself had little tolerance. James' face radiated pure pleasure as he studied the rude sketch, committing Karl's instructions to memory.
Karl stood up, using the axe handle to push himself. When he moved, it was with easy grace, always with the axe an integral part of his pose. Anna was beginning to understand that where the man went, the axe went. He used it as a natural extension of himself.
The tool was terribly heavy, but even so Karl now held it straight out by the end of its handle, measuring the distance between himself and the bole of the tree as he took up a spraddled stance at a right angle to it. As he held the extended axe the veins along his inner elbow stood out like blue rivers, disappearing into a shirt-sleeve rolled up just above the elbow. The powerful muscles of the forearm appeared to have square edges as he poised. He explained that the first cut must be perfectly horizontal, at waist level, and he took a slow-motion swing, demonstrating. He swiveled at hip and shoulder, the muscles beneath his shirt tensing one by one while Anna watched, realizing what strength lay within the man's well-toned body.
Karl raised the axe and let its handle slip through his palm until the poll rested against the rim of his hand. He pointed with the honed edge. “Now take your sister over there. When a tree comes down, it can be a killer if you underestimate it. The trunk can snap and jump farther and faster than even a spry boy like you could get away from.”
He turned his blue eyes on Anna, and she dropped her own and quickly followed James.
Once they were a safer distance away, Karl called across the cleared space words he had been hearing since he was only a tadpole. “A man who is worth his salt should know exactly where a tree will fall. Some say that you can set a spike in the ground and a worthy Swede can drive it clear in with the trunk of a falling tree.”
He smiled teasingly, spotted a gnarled root and pointed at it, again with his axe. “See that root on that oak over there? It will break in half where it humps up out of the ground.”
Again, he turned toward the tamarack. From his first movement, something magical happened within Anna. He hefted his axe, swung, first left, then right, while she looked on. With a fluid movement, he wielded the tool in perfect rhythm, his right hand slipping down to meet his left at the exact moment of impact. In a grace born of long practice, he shifted the bite of each swing, left and right, left and right, sending woodchips flying high into the air. The rhythm never slowed, and Karl's eyes never wavered from the trunk of the tree. The axe made a whistling song as it cut through the air, a thud of percussion as each measure ended with steel meeting wood.
It was impossible for Anna and James not to look up as the deepening kerfs set the tree atremble. A tremble of sorts began, too, in Anna's belly. The man, the axe, the motion, the tree—all created a dizzying spectacle that heightened her heartbeat and made her hold tightly to her stomach with both hands. There began the final anguished cracking, and slowly the scaly trunk tilted.
Karl placed the axe poll against it, gave a push, then backed off himself. He glanced over to see his two, with their chins in the air. Anna clutched her stomach, while the boy had his hands clasped upon the top of his head in a sort of ecstasy. The head of the axe slid to rest against Karl's hand as the bole shuddered, hesitated, then gave way with a final popping of bark and core, until there came the roar of limbs and foliage as the tree plunged downward with a magnificent, resounding crash onto the needle-strewn earth.
There followed the small nicker of the horses, then the mightiest stillness Anna had ever heard. She looked at Karl through the dust motes caught in shafts of sunlight, and found him watching her with a small smile on his face. He stood at ease, Karl and his axe, as if it had been someone else who'd chopped down that tree—relaxed, one knee bent, fingers curled around the axe handle, a film of barkdust settling upon his shoulders, a sprinkling of tamarack twigs drifting down near him.
And everywhere . . . everywhere . . . the stunning fragrance of tamarack—sweet, fresh and vital.
Before she could control it, the full sensation of what she had witnessed flashed in Anna's eyes. For perhaps the first time in her life she had seen a thing of total beauty. For that brief moment, Karl Lindstrom read it in her face and knew she felt what he felt when the tree hit the earth, landing with its farthest tip upon the gnarled root of the oak—satisfaction.
James broke the spell to come back to Karl, leaping, arms flapping, exclaiming, “Wow! That was really something! When can I do that?”
Karl laughed in his slow way and nudged the boy lightly in the stomach with the poll of his axe. “I think you will not fell many before you are asking when you can stop. Right, Anna?” He was reluctant to break the feeling of affinity he'd sensed between the two of them.
“How many can you do before you stop?” she asked, coming nearer, still awed by what she'd seen.
“As many as I must,” he answered, “while my two helpers take care of smaller branches and pulling the logs down the skid trail. Now we must trim the tree and do the bucking.”
“Bucking?” James ventured.
“Chopping the tree into the length we want.”
Together they set to work using axe and hatchet to trim the scraggly branches from the tamarack. Anna was assigned the task of dragging the branches away to form a scrub pile.
When the tre
e was stripped, Karl measured it by axe lengths, marked the sixteen-foot spot with a small notch, then mounted the trunk at that spot. Grasping his axe, he bounded up to a stance upon the rough bark. He stood with feet perfectly balanced, about half an axe handle's width apart, the notch halfway between his boots. This time he talked between swings, explaining to James that the two kerfs he would cut, one on each side of the log, must form a perfect forty-five-degree angle to one another.
The axe went soaring and swooping again and again. With each stroke Karl bent lower, lower, lower, until he was doubled over at the waist, chopping so near to the ground. Then, with the agility of a monkey, he turned, scarcely needing to curl his toes to keep abreast of the log as the opposite kerf was honed away with precise strokes. He leapt from the tree, leaving behind the severed sections, each with a perfect V-shaped tip.
Four more trees were felled and bucked. “A good logger does not raze the forest, but only thins it,” Karl explained. “Therefore we take one tree from here, one from there and one from over there.”
The logs trimmed and ready now for skidding, Karl demonstrated the proper technique of lifting, bending the knees rather than the back. With a powerful effort he raised the end of one log off the earth, and James slung the heavy chain beneath it.
When the team was brought over, Karl instructed, “Attach the load close to the singletree, boy, like this, then the skidding is easier for the horses.” Accompanied by the chink of chain as the big hook fell into a link, Karl warned, “But when you do this yourself, you must stand to the side as you work. Only a fool gets between his team and the load.”
Then Karl gave a single command and the horses lugged the log toward the top of the skid trail to be deposited. Even as they moved, Karl instructed the lad who matched the big man step for step, stretching his youthful legs unnaturally to do so. “When you are skidding, you must think ahead before giving the command to turn. Always keep the draft angle wide, out of consideration for your horseflesh. The straighter the course, the easier the work is for them.”
Heading the horses back for a second log, Karl's voice changed; nothing more than a faint cluck set the team on the move. But when their load was heavy, Karl spoke to them in melodic tones. “Eee-easy, now.” And the tractable animals flexed their huge shoulders, leaning into their burden with muscle wrought patiently, as ordered. And so it was for each new log—advice for the boy, an order for the team, each treated with respect to individual intelligence and ability.
Never in her life had Anna seen James this happy. He absorbed every word Karl spoke, kneeling when Karl knelt, rising when Karl rose, watching when Karl demonstrated, striding when Karl strode. When, at last, Karl handed James the reins, telling him to take the team to the next log, the boy looked up with anxious uncertainty in his eyes. “Really, Karl?”
“Really. You want to be a teamster, do you, boy?”
“Yessir . . . but—”
“The horses must learn to get used to you, too. Now is as good a time as any.”
James wiped his palms on his thighs.
“I will be right beside you,” Karl assured him. “Just hold the reins like I showed you and do not pull on them. Bill and Belle know what to do. They will teach you as much as I will, you will see.”
The boy took the sweat-smooth leathers into his smaller hands, cooing, “Eaaasy now.” With the horses' initial steps, James' eyes grew wide.
But Karl spoke reassuringly to the boy, much as he did to Belle and Bill. “You are doing good, lad, let them have their heads . . . Ya . . . good . . . Now rein left . . . light, light . . . good.” By the time the horses drew nigh the next log, James was smiling. His chest jutted in satisfaction.
Karl, too, seemed pleased. “You will do good as long as you remember never ride the logs, and never walk beside them once we start skidding down the trail and the logs ride sideways. If the end of a log strikes a tree, it can swing away and crack your legs like they were no more than kindling. Only walk behind the load!”
“Yessir, I'll remember.”
More instructions were necessary as the load of logs was bound with a chain at each end, then towed down the skid trail to the cabin site. They went down together with the first load. Karl allowed James to handle the reins, showing him the correct speed and the importance of avoiding stumps, which edged near the open way and were hazardous to both horse and driver. He also explained how the downward slope had been kept gentle to avoid the risk of a load sliding into the horses' hocks.
When the logs were dropped at the clearing, Karl watered the horses, saying that a hot horse should never be fed icy water. Instead, he used water he'd drawn that morning. Next, the horses were fed—hay before grain—then watered again. Finally, the animals were allowed to rest, while the three went inside for their noonday meal.
After dinner, James took the team out empty and headed back up the trail. He pleased Karl by remembering to hook the gaff into the links before starting. Karl and Anna came behind, he sweat-stained, bearing his axe and gun, she pink-nosed, bearing a basket in which to collect woodchips and carrying the hatchet.
“You're a fine teacher, Karl,” she said, watching his boots whisk the grass with each step, unable to look him in the eye.
“The boy is quick and willing,” Karl replied modestly, looking ahead.
“I've never seen him quite so happy.” Anna peeked up at Karl.
“No?” His blue gaze fell on her face, which moved beside him in his noontime shadow.
“No,” she said, thoughtfully. “He's never been around a man before.”
“What about his father?” He gave Anna a sidelong look, but she quickly turned her gaze to James and the horses.
“James never knew his father.”
“Did you?”
She flashed him a quick eye before admitting, “Me neither.” Then she bent down, never breaking stride, and whisked up a little stick and started fraying its end with her fingernail.
“I am sorry, Anna. Children should know their fathers. I myself could not have come here and started such a life without the wise teachings of my own father.”
“And now you teach it all to James,” she said reflectively.
“Ya. I am lucky.”
“Lucky?” she questioned.
“What man is not lucky who has learned so much and can keep all these good ways alive forever by passing them on to another willing pupil?”
“And so I am forgiven, Karl, for bringing him and not telling you before?”
“You are many times forgiven, Anna,” he said, stalking along beside her, wondering if he had ever really resented the boy.
“And you really enjoy teaching him?”
“Ya. Very much.”
“He learned a lot this morning. So did I.”
“It has been a memorable morning. The teaching has been part of what made it so.” Then, looking from the thin shoulders of the lad who drove the team ahead of them, to the glorious woodland surrounding them and, lastly, to Anna's face, he finished, “The morning in which we have begun building our log house.”
His face wore a look of serenity, the look of a man who knows where he's been, where he is and where he's heading.
To Anna, who'd never been blessed with such knowledge, the look spoke loudly of the inner peace garnered from the simple knowing of one's self. No, Anna thought, I do not know who my father was. I do not know where I came from. I do not know where I'll be headed once Karl learns my secret. But now is mighty good. Yes, now is mighty good, she thought, walking beside her husband to continue their work in the sun-strewn day, woodchips once again flying and perfuming the air, the song of the axe careening back to them from the green forest walls around them.
Chapter Seven
The trio melded into a routine of chopping, trimming, hauling, hitching and driving as the day wore on. The sun was high upon their shoulders. Karl stripped off his shirt and worked bare to the waist.
Anna had difficulty keeping her eyes from sl
iding time and again to the golden head, the tanned torso, the lean hips, the flexing arms. He performed with a fluidity akin to a dance. He was tapered like the tamaracks themselves, from shoulder to hip. The muscles in his arms bunched and hardened with the flow of his work, the cords of his neck stood out. The veins of his arms became defined each time he poised with the axe at its apex above his head. From behind, she watched his shoulder muscles gather in ridges at each fall of the blade, relax with the release, then hunch again.
He would bend to brush away some errant woodchip or branch, leaning on the axe handle, one foot balanced behind him. And Anna would find her eye drawn to the spot where the shadow of his spine widened and disappeared into the back of his britches. Sometimes, without warning, he would turn and find her watching him, and she would quickly lower her gaze from the sparkle of sun off the gold hairs of his chest and the line where it tapered down his abdomen.
“Are you tired, Anna?” he would ask. “Are you hot, Anna? Have a drink,” he would say. Always she glanced down the skid path, away from him.
Soon another tree would go crashing down, and the two would find themselves enjoying the exhilaration of the moments just afterward. Always their eyes met then, if only briefly, before they found themselves working side by side, he with the axe, she with the hatchet, removing branches, while James continued to skid with the team.
Then Karl straightened from his task, saying, “Your cheeks will be burned. Here, take my hat.” He plopped his soiled straw hat on her head, carrying with it the smell of him.
“I had a straw hat once,” she said, concentrating on her chopping. “One of the women at—someone I knew gave it to me, but it was almost a goner when she decided she was done with it.” She whacked another branch off, then added, “It had a pink ribbon around the crown.”
“Hats with pink ribbons are scarce here in Minnesota.”
“Doesn't matter,” she said. “I'll get along.” She started dragging a load of branches to the scrub pile.
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