Mystery at the Hot Pond

by David DeVowe

  I was in the hall buttoning my coat when MaryAnne came to grab hers. She wasn’t looking my way. Her freckled cheek was still wet. Her lash held back another tear. I didn’t know what to say at first. I finished buttoning my overcoat, put my hat on, then asked, “Are you suspended, too?”

  “No,” she said, her bottom lip quivering. “Teacher said I should go home to settle and then start again tomorrow.”

  “I never was in trouble ‘til you came,” I said. “You’re going to get me kicked out of school for good one of these days.”

  MaryAnne’s tear followed the others down her face. “I told Mrs. LeMarche that I didn’t know who put pencils in my hair because I wasn’t sure it was you,” she said as she wiped the tear away. “Why did you do it, Shoesth?” Then she looked up. “Is it because you don’t like me?”

  “Well, it’s just ‘cause … your braid is so big and it reminded me of … never mind,” I stammered. “I’m sorry Buffalo called it Jacob’s ladder.”

  MaryAnne’s eyes brightened a bit. “Oh, I don’t mind that part. But her other words—about me not belonging here—that hurt,” she said. MaryAnne got quiet for a moment while she slipped her gloves on. “Shoesth,” she continued, “do you know the real Jacob’s ladder?”

  “No,” I replied. “But what does that matter? I’m kicked out of school for two whole weeks. No telling what Dad will do. And Mama will never let me hear the end of it.”

  6

  No End of It

  “I am not going to let you hear the end of this, Arthur Makinen!” Mama yelled. “Go to your room and don’t come out until your dad calls you! I’m telling you, one of these days you are going to make me have a conniption!”

  I had never seen a conniption until Ricky gave Mama one. That was the day he chased grasshoppers far into the dark of night. I didn’t want to see another one of those, so I bounded up the stairs in four great leaps. I settled on my bed to listen for clues if Mama was going to calm down. Being called Arthur Makinen was worse than being called Shoe, honey. Mama only used my given name when things got real bad.

  It was a long afternoon without lunch. I tried to think of what I’d be doing outside when the weather warmed. How I’d fix my fort, catch trout in the creek, make a bridge. Time crept slowly to the moment Dad opened the back door.

  I could hear Mama plain through the floor vent. She spared Dad no details, capping it off with, “And here I just told him this morning to treat the DuPree girl real nice—like a lady. And look what he went and did. I will not let him hear the end of this!”

  Mama didn’t get mad much, but she did light off when a real lady wasn’t treated like a lady.

  “What are you going to do with that boy?” I heard Mama say to Dad. “I won’t have him here in this house for the next two weeks moping around with nothing to do but pine for food. What are you going to do with him?”

  Mama wouldn’t let Dad hear the end of it, either. And Dad wasn’t going to get a word in sideways.

  “Since when does a Makinen act up in school—with the DuPrees of all people?” Mama continued. “Mrs. LeMarche said the whole lot was in an uproar. That’s not the reputation we want our kids to leave us with. What are you going to do with that boy?”

  By this time I didn’t want to hear the end of it. But I couldn’t help myself from scooting a little closer to the floor vent. There was a bit of a pause—long enough for Dad to let out a deep breath.

  “He’ll go to work with me,” Dad said.

  “Go to work with you?” Mama’s voice pitched higher than the two choir ladies at church. “What will you have him do there?”

  “Man’s work,” was all Dad said.

  “Ricky! Get off the table!” Mama interrupted.

  Nothing more was said about it that night. I missed supper. I missed having a normal day. I even missed getting the switch, and the way things were when things weren’t so different.

  Suddenly, Ricky slammed the door open. “What’d you do, Shoe?” I was in no mood to talk to anyone, much less Ricky. “Was it something real bad?” he said as he squinted his eyes and flared his nostrils. “Like punch a kid in the nose ‘til his face was bleedin’ all over?”

  “I didn’t treat a girl nice,” I said.

  Ricky sagged. “Wow. That’s it? I thought you done something like this!” he exclaimed as he punched his pillow with all he had. “And this!… and this!”

  ***

  “Wake up, Shoe. You’re coming with me to do man’s work.” It was Dad shaking me awake at six in the morning. I dressed, then found Dad at the table with his Bible. He always read before he ate the morning meal. “Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right,” Dad quoted. “That’s what the good Lord has to say about your work. He has a lot to say about a man’s work.”

  Mama was at the stove stirring oatmeal. She hadn’t said a word to me or Dad. That wasn’t like her. My eyes were still drooping when the mill whistle gave two short blasts. That meant Dad would take his last sip and kiss Mama above the eye. I tied my bootlaces good and tight, quickly put on my coat and hat, slipped on my choppers, then followed Dad into the bitter cold.

  “You’ll be hauling slabs and shoveling sawdust today, Shoe,” Dad said over the squeak of our boots on the snow. “You know where the slabs go?”

  “Sort of,” I said.

  “Put them on the pile in front of the boiler. Throw ‘em high. Don’t leave any lying around or Sarge Malvern will be on me about it,” Dad said sternly. “Sarge is not one to be on the wrong side of.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Malvern was the mill supervisor. Dad called him Sarge. I guess ‘cause he was in charge.

  It only took a few more minutes to reach the mill. “Mornin’, Toivo.” It was Mr. Johnson. “I see you brought your sidekick today.”

  “Shoe is going to learn some man’s work,” Dad said.

  “Man’s work, eh? Well, you’ve come to the right spot for that, young man,” Mr. Johnson said. A large puff of steam clouded the gleam in his eye.

  “Jim,” Dad said, “We’ll have Shoe move slabs and keep sawdust clear of the cradle. We’ll do a wagonload in record time today.”

  “All right,” said Mr. Johnson, grinning broadly. “Let’s see how you do. And be sure you pitch those slabs to da top-a-da pile, ya know!” I nodded, already having had that instruction.

  Suddenly, steam shot through the skinny pipe on top of the boiler house with one long, ear-piercing blast. Mr. Johnson squeezed on a small lever then pulled back a long handle. The enormous blade of the saw whirled. The bull chain from the hot pond moved the same time the sawblade started, pulling the first log closer to the blade. Dad and Mr. Johnson wrestled it onto the cutting cradle, then pulled some more levers to get it into position for trimming the bark. The first cut screamed at me. I thought my head might explode. In a moment, they had cut a piece longer than two of me and threw it to the side. Dad gave me an expectant look. I strained to lift the slab at its middle. It broke in two, so I dragged one piece to the boiler. There was already a large heap of slabs waiting their turn to be heat for the steam that turned the saw, that warmed the pond, which blew the whistle. I managed to throw the half-slab up near the top.

  When I got back to Dad, there was already another slab on the ground, along with the first piece I hadn’t carried. I figured I’d better move a little faster. Before long, I unbuttoned my coat to let off some steam of my own.

  The sun rose higher. I wondered when we would stop for a break. Dad and Mr. Johnson kept cutting, making an occasional motion at each other. I guess it was their way of talking above the screaming saw. I was barely keeping up; my arms and legs were heavier than a boy should bear. Finally, on one of my returns, Mr. Johnson and Dad were sitting on the back of an empty wagon.

  “Shoe,” Dad said, “Go fetch some water out of the pond.”

  As weak as my legs were, I gladly obeyed. “Sure.” I took the milk bottle Dad always brought
to work and headed for the hot pond. I needed water and something to eat real soon.

  I made my way quickly, enjoying the squeak of my boots on the snow. Some days it never warmed up enough for the snow to stop squeaking. As I approached the pond, I watched steam wafting off the entire surface toward the frozen pond on the other side of the road. Beyond were the bare branches of small trees surrounding the rail tracks that made their way into a dead-looking forest beyond. The evergreens were all gone. Dad said big pines once stood right here, but now the train traveled many miles to places where pines still stood and lumberjacks brought them down to the ground. That’s the work that kept logs in the ponds and what kept Dad feeding us every day.

  I reached over and filled the bottle from a spot that looked clear enough. The water cooled me all the way down. Folks called it a hot pond, but in the winter it was just warm enough to keep the ice off. As I took a deep breath between gulps, I could see the pond was about half-full of logs. One of the Kingman boys hopped from log to log, wielding a long pole to push the logs slowly my way. It made me think of Dietrich and Gunther, and brought a lot of questions to my head. “How had they died doing that job? Why did they have to die so young? Where were they now?”

  “Shoe!” Dad called. I quickly filled the bottle again and ran back. “Where have you been? Break time is nearly over.”

  Nearly over? I wondered when I would have time to rest. I picked up the shovel to move sawdust out from under the log cradle before Dad and Mr. Johnson started up again.

  “You’re doing good, Shoe,” Mr. Johnson said with a smile. “By next week, we’ll be having to keep up with you.”

  Next week! I could hardly think past the day.

  The noon whistle blew one long blast just before I would have collapsed. I followed Dad back home.

  Mama had already prepared baloney sandwiches and pickled beets for lunch, “Hi. How’s my men?”

  “Ready to eat,” Dad said.

  “Well, Shoe, how is your first day of work going?” Mama wanted to know.

  “Fine.” I was too tired to say anything else. Now I knew why Dad laid on the floor after lunch. Eating didn’t take long, and then I was on the floor, too.

  “Come on, Shoe, back to work.” It was Dad again.

  Where am I? I thought. Then I realized I must have fallen asleep. How could lunchtime have gone so fast?

  “Shoe, honey. You’re looking tired,” Mama said. “You’d better stand strong. There’s a whole afternoon ahead of you.” Mama had her own way of encouraging. “Now don’t you think it would have been better just to treat the DuPree girl nice?”

  Ma wasn’t kiddin’. There would be no end of it.

  One day blurred into the next. Dad let me stay home on Saturday on account of I had to catch up on my shoveling there. That was the day that pain made its home in every place of my body. And it was the first day I ever looked forward to Sunday.

  7

  Intruders

  Sitting on a hardwood pew felt real good. Sitting felt real good. Mrs. Johnson played “Blessed Assurance” on the piano before pastor came forward. I liked to watch Mrs. Johnson’s fingers move across the keys without hitting a wrong one. It was easy to watch ‘cause the piano was up against the wall next to us and ‘cause we always sat in the second pew ever since I can remember. Nobody sits in the first row. Except on Christmas Eve. That’s when everyone comes and us kids have to sing and sit in the front.

  I was too busy watching Mrs. Johnson’s fingers to notice the DuPrees slide in behind us—until a smell marched past my nose. I knew that smell. I slowly looked over my shoulder to see MaryAnne’s father, sitting bolt upright, his jaw firmly set on a square face and framed by black sideburns that reached just below the ear. I wondered how sideburns could be trimmed so neatly and how a guy kept every hair in place like that.

  Then a movement at the back entrance caught my eye. Perhaps ‘cause it was not a familiar sight at church. Buffalo Alice pushed the bell rope aside then filled the double doors.

  What is she doing here? I thought. The Hawthornes never came to church except on Christmas Eve. Buffalo Alice didn’t even come then ‘cause she wouldn’t sing and she didn’t want to play some kinda animal. At least that’s what the kids said. Maybe she came to turn a new leaf.

  Mr. Kingman went up front to light the candles. That was my cue to ring the bell. I made my way to the back and squeezed past Buffalo, being careful not to make eye contact. I always rang the bell with the full importance a bell-ringer should have. I reached high on the rope, then squatted all the way to the floor to ring the bell loud. Sometimes I bounced off my backside on the way down. Usually after five pulls Kip Stinson pointed his chin at me to knock it off. Kip used to ring the bell but aged up to usher. All the big girls liked him ‘cause they said he was handsome. I didn’t see it. I didn’t see how any girl could like a guy in the first place. Kip clearly thought otherwise, and acted like the man in charge. His glare was my signal to end the best part of church and sit back in the pew. I found that my seat was right in front of MaryAnne. It was my first chance to block her view.

  The service started with all of us singing “Rock of Ages.” That was one of my favorites ‘cause it was about carving a cave and hiding out in there. Pastor talked a long time about doing the right thing and loving people and Jesus and stuff—mostly what he talked about every Sunday. When we were done I rushed outside to see Oscar. Mrs. Krebbs was already preaching at him.

  “Hi, Oscar!” I said, patting him on the rump.

  “Good morning, Arthur,” said Mrs. Krebbs in her cracked old voice. “What did you learn from the message today?”

  Mrs. Krebbs smiled so big it made wrinkles from her chin to her white hair. She didn’t have eyes, near as I could tell. Her face wasn’t big enough for everything. I tried to think of something to say, but it wasn’t coming to me. “I dunno,” I muttered.

  “Arthur, God has something for you and it’s real simple. He wants you to be in heaven with him someday. All you have to do is repent of your sins and make him Lord. Do you follow me, son?”

  I didn’t want to follow Mrs. Krebbs anywhere. Nothing was simple now. My arms hurt, I wasn’t in school, and there was another week at the mill ahead of me.

  Suddenly a shrill voice grated the air from near the road. “Your ma is blonde and your pa’s hair is black as pitch!” I could pick out Buffalo’s voice a day’s walk away. She had turned on MaryAnne. “What does that make you, somebody else’s kid?”

  “Come on, Oscar.” I ran past a few people to get close, but hung back so as not to get too close to Buffalo Alice.

  “I asked you a question, girly!” Buffalo said. Then she shoved MaryAnne’s shoulder. MaryAnne stood quietly with the same look she gave Buffalo last week in class.

  I took a deep breath, then stepped to MaryAnne’s side. “What has she ever done to you?” I said to Buffalo Alice.

  “This is none of your business, Makinen!” she snapped, flaring her nostrils at me.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets so Buffalo Alice wouldn’t see them shaking. Oscar stood next to me with his tail high and his head low to the ground. He began to moan deep inside his throat until the moaning grew into a vicious snarl. I was in good position to watch Oscar get his first taste of Buffalo hide. Buffalo Alice glanced down at Oscar’s teeth, then turned and thundered toward home.

  I let go of the breath I’d been holding and turned to see how MaryAnne had held up. She smiled at me. I diverted my eyes back to my best friend. “Let’s go, Oscar. We should find Mom and Dad.”

  ***

  Monday at the mill was more of the same. By Tuesday I had found a good sitting log at the back of the slab pile by the boiler. I learned to take a rest now and then where the scream of the saw wasn’t as shrill. I hadn’t been sitting for more than a minute when two voices came outside from the boiler room behind me. At first I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then they got closer to the pile I was against. One of the
m put his foot up on a slab sticking out from the rest of the wood. I could see his black boot out of the corner of my eye, partly covered by a heavy brown pant leg.

  “What is he doing here?” one of them asked.

  “I wish I knew,” the other said. “He’s snooping around too much. It’s the second time he’s been here this month.”

  “Too shifty for an insurance adjuster,” the first one said. “I don’t trust him.”

  The second one got snappish. “You wouldn’t have anything to worry about if you had done it like you were told.”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” the first one said. There was a pause. Then a smoking cigarette butt landed near my leg. The boot pulled away from the slab and the two started walking away. “We need to give DuPree something to chew on before…”

  My ears burned for more but that’s all I got before their voices were drowned out by the singing of the saw. I peered around the woodpile to be sure they were gone.

  Why were they talking about MaryAnne’s father being here? I thought. First she messed up fifth grade, now her dad was meddling at the mill? I didn’t like it. I crushed the cigarette into the snow with the heel of my boot. MaryAnne would have some explaining to do as soon as suspension was over.

  8

  A New Friend

  Kids gawked at me like the new kid in school when I walked down the hall the first day back. Getting attention wasn’t my thing, especially that kind of attention. I laid low during class, tried to pay attention to everything the teacher said, and ached for morning recess when I would confront MaryAnne.

  Somehow MaryAnne beat me outside when recess finally did come. I found her on the sunny side of the schoolhouse with no one around. Guess she still hadn’t made many friends.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi, Shoesth.” MaryAnne looked surprised, like I’d never said hi before. As I thought about it, maybe I hadn’t.