He finished plowing the several acres of gravelled yard around the shop. When several trucks came in just before dark, he was glad he had cleared the parking area out back first.
As he was shutting down the skid-steer in the lean-to, two truckers walked over, demanding to know what was going on and how Pete was doing. There was a lot of bluster, but they were truly concerned. Johnny gave them a quick update and told them to come to the shop for pie when they had finished with their trucks, heading out to fuel up the skid steer.
Melissa Banks had a brightly striped beach towel, of all things, covering the lunch-room table. Now the table held three large pies, steaming in the cool air of the shop. A bucket of ice cream sat next to paper plates. The two RCMP officers were smiling over gigantic slabs of Saskatoon pie and ice-cream. Mrs. B took orders, dished out more for the newcomers, and the questions and answers became shorter as they all dug in.
When the RCMP officers left, she followed. Johnny and the other truckers waited respectfully until the taillights of the vehicles turned out of the yard, and then each helped themselves to another large slice of pie. They agreed there should be some left for Isaac La Crosse, but leaving one of the pies completely untouched was a bad idea, as, in Johnny’s words, “Isaac may feel uncomfortable about cutting into a new pie.” They agreed, and as one of them said, “Helping ol’ Isaac by each eating a piece of this untouched rhubarb pie was the only decent thing we can do.”
Jason showed up then, and though he was still pale and strained, he quickly polished off the Saskatoon pie. Shaking the crumbs out into the garbage can, he stacked the empty pie tin under the rhubarb pie, “Isaac will never notice.”
The boy was learning, but Johnny knew Isaac would, indeed, notice.
After a chuckle, Johnny told the truckers about the trouble with 327, and they were happy to help diagnose the problem. The one who started the truck was startled by the clothing Johnny had forgotten to remove. Respectfully, they stacked the clothing on the passenger seat.
They worked quietly, thoughts for the most part guarded. It seemed a bond had formed that was not there before. Johnny had worked with the men for several years, but now they seemed more like friends than coworkers.
An hour later, using supplies Isaac kept stocked in the parts room, the problem was fixed, three truckers and an apprentice pitching in to do a job their mechanic was unable to do, on a truck that would have no driver for several days. Jason surprised them with his knowledge and ability, relaxing as he worked.
As Johnny parked the repaired truck next to the others in the yard, the falling snow melting before freezing on the shop-warm vehicle, he considered the hour spent working together; certainly not a waste of time.
Chapter 17
On Friday morning Johnny left the house early following a quick breakfast and coffee with Mary. The big rig, which he brought home the previous evening, was idling in the drive, cab cleared of snow, ready for the day that would add another 600 kilometers on the odometer. Johnny backed out of the driveway, window open, subconsciously listening for irregular rattles or squeaks. Johnny inhaled the fresh air moving off the ridge from the northeast as it purged the valley of the industrial haze that sometimes hovered over town. Mary would be curled on the couch near the glowing wood-pellet stove, TV set low, catching another hour or so of sleep before caring for her horses and leaving for work.
It was unbelievable, Johnny thought, how different this morning was from yesterday. Normal. Regular. Not full of unknown danger. He knew Terry was still dealing with her own experience and would be in Prince George with the RCMP. Nothing was normal for her yet, and how could it be? She had only started her job on Monday, and today was Friday. Johnny hoped she would stay with the company, though he figured it would depend on the resolution of the situation.
Over toast and eggs, Mary had not been so patient, returning to the train of thought she had expressed eloquently the previous evening. She thought “this Terry person” should keep right on travelling, for her own sake, and that of Banks Mountain. If Pete’s injury was a result of something stupid Terry had done or been involved with, she would have some things to say!
“Why does she get so wound up?” he said aloud.
He passed the hobby farm where Isaac lived. A light shone through the window in one of the ramshackle garages, and there were snowmobile tracks everywhere. Johnny grinned. The first six inches of snow was not enough for a very smooth ride. Isaac must have been busy working on an old snowmobile when he got home last night, and now he was already up and around, a typical mechanic, always making something better. Maybe this winter he and Mary could invite Isaac to join them for a weekend of riding.
Johnny’s first trip took much longer than usual, as the other Banks Mountain truckers were eager to hear the story. Each time Johnny’s truck was loaded, or while he waited to unload at the mill, people seemed to be waiting for a conversation. It had snowed well over a foot, and traffic was slower today, trucks waiting for space to chain up in the pullouts, drivers climbing up to talk through Johnny’s window.
Chet was out on the grader, clearing snow from the roads which provided access to the area Banks Mountain was harvesting. For Chet, grading was serious business; he had no time to shoot the breeze until the road was clear, tersely redirecting questions to Johnny. So, while installing chains for the hills, or taking them off for longer flat stretches of road, Johnny found himself to be the company spokesman.
On his second trip, the snow started falling again just north of the valley. The main Forest Service Road was busy, slippery, uphill grades rough from tire-spin. Waiting in a chain-up area while a service truck blocked the road and pulled two pickups from the ditch, Johnny spent ten minutes talking to several truckers from his crew and an out-of-town subcontractor working for one of the big companies.
The out-of-towner was from a more mountainous region of Southern BC, and though the terrain did not impress him, the amount of traffic did. A fair comedian who enjoyed attention, their laughter following his colorful description of “double parking to chain up”, spurred him on, and he continued, rapid-fire, ending with the quip, “Well looks like the boys is okay, yes sir! What doesn’t kill ya makes ya slower!”
They paused as the first pickup to be extricated parked in the pullout near them, the sweating, red-faced driver using a shovel to hack the packed snow out of his front wheel wells so he could safely drive back to town. Glancing over, he raised a hand sheepishly at the watchers. The other pickup was soon on the road as well, its driver limping back to probe the ditch with a long metal pry-bar. He came out with a chainsaw and held it up in their direction, grinning, before tossing it casually in the back of his pickup.
No one was criticizing anybody else today as the two pickups each departed in their respective directions; the tracks had been clear, both drivers had displayed the skill earned from many years on slippery bush roads as they safely avoided each other on a bad corner, and no real harm was done. Johnny realized that just last winter he might have been complaining to the other drivers, the ten-minute delay more important at the time than the safety of the men or equipment.
Back on the road and way behind schedule, he mulled this over, worrying the concept like a raven on a frozen carcass he had passed earlier. He shook his head, ashamed. Johnny knew that until recently, the delay would have been foremost in his mind. He knew he would have cursed and complained, not considering the guys in the ditch.
What had the trucker said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you slower?” Normally Johnny enjoyed sarcasm, but today it seemed foolish. He didn’t want to be slower, he wanted to be stronger, he wanted to grow.
He enjoyed spending more time with Mary, she was even getting up early so they could eat breakfast together. He pounded the steering wheel. “I will get stronger, I will be a better man.”
He continued speaking aloud in the empty cab, ignoring the radio chatter. “It’s not Mary changing, I’m actually the one who’s changing. Now sh
e wants to be with me more.” No, that wasn’t right. He tried again. “Mary has always been the same. It’s me who is changing. I thought she was always nagging and pushy, and she was, but it was my fault.”
He smacked the steering wheel, then his leg. He cursed unconsciously, using a phrase his uncles had reserved for the most shocking occasions.
Johnny Amund rolled up the North Road in an empty logging truck, a loose tire chain clashing rhythmically. His thoughts were coming in waves. He drove, letting them wash through his mind.
“So yesterday, I helped around the shop all day, might not even get paid because my job is to drive. And I don’t even care, never even thought about it until now!”
He stopped speaking aloud, thoughts running on.
Rubbing his eyes, he remembered a recent Sunday afternoon spent with Mary replacing the top rail around the breaking corral and then raking leaves onto a big tarp and dragging them into the smaller corral. He smiled at the thought, Mary had jumped on the pile of leaves on the sliding tarp, her sudden weight ripping the tarp from his grip. The horses had leaned over the fence, bobbing their heads as their master and the big one rolled around in a pile of leaves, laughing. That had been a good day, he wanted more like it.
He was still thinking while he removed the dripping chains and hung them, scoured shiny by snow, on their rack. His thoughts were focused now on Mary, on doing things for Mary, the simple changes he had made. These changes or corrections were helping him become a stronger man.
Though simple, he could see the choices he was making were actually responsible for the difference in their life together. He was asking himself daily what his uncles would’ve advised, trying to eliminate the habits they would have considered to have no worth. They were big on independence but had also made it clear that the world judged a man by what it saw him do, how it saw him live. Choose how you want to live, Yonny, but live with the consequences of your choices.
“Yonny, the important thing is what you start doing, more than what you stop doing.” Uncle Nelsson had said one fall evening, grimy in his coveralls, tired from a long day discing.
Johnny had been frustrated, working to finish a school assignment, unhappy he had not been able to help his uncle in the fields. The way Uncle Nelsson spoke, standing calmly by the counter, had impressed the boy. The older man poured fresh coffee from the pot Johnny had brewed when he heard the John Deere coming in from the north field.
He lifted the mug in a salute of thanks, savoring the first sip of the strong brew.
“I could tell you to stop complaining, but you know I don’t do that.” He paused for another sip.
“And already you have figured out what I will tell you.” His quick grin showed strong white teeth.
“What you need to do is think of all you have to be thankful for. When you start doing this, then there won’t be anything to complain about. You will be happy.”
He grinned again, stretching the kinks from his tired back. “Just like it makes me happy when there is always mysteriously a fresh pot of coffee waiting when I come in from the work.”
The memory was crystal clear, as if Uncle Nelsson was riding with him. He missed the old man fiercely, had probably never grieved the loss of his uncles. Johnny wished he could tell them once again how much he appreciated all they had done for him, for providing a home and good training.
Johnny felt younger, like he had when his uncles were still alive. This was a good thing. He knew it had been a long time coming. He had enjoyed pleasing his uncles and other adults he admired. And they had been proud of him, they had said so several times. He remembered this clearly, memories he had treasured as a boy, forgotten in the bitter years since.
Uncle Nelsson had said that “starting” was more important than “stopping”. And he had started.
He could talk with Mary. He had earned some trust, and she would be excited to try and figure it out together and if he could start something, well, Mary could help him keep going.
Chapter 18
Friday evening, Melissa Banks sent out a group text, splattered with emojis, to all the Banks Mountain employees.
Hello everybody. Bad things happened this week, but good things happened too. We’re happy Pete is okay and Terry is back in town today and is fine. Chet and I would like to invite you all to a BBQ in the shop tomorrow night. If you already have plans, that’s okay, more steak and lobster for us, that’s right, steak and lobster! After we eat, we are going to have a quick meeting. Kids and partners welcome of course. Lots of room and food for all. Text me tonight if you can come. If you get the text later, come anyway. Bring lawn chairs. And warm clothes. PS Big thanks to Johnny for all the help yesterday!
She also called Johnny at home and asked if he and Mary would come early and help set up the shop. They told her they would be happy to help.
Mary was ecstatic. She had grown up with a father who threw many memorable parties. Johnny was a little more reserved, but who could say no to Mrs. B? He was a little nervous to meet Terry.
Saturday morning, they slept in, padding around the kitchen in old sweats at 8:30 am, enjoying good conversation while drinking coffee and eating pancakes. This led to activities that were a lot more fun, which meant they were back in the kitchen later for burnt coffee and floppy pancakes crisped in the toaster.
Johnny changed the oil in Mary’s car while she prepared a salad. Soon finished, he fired up the snowmobiles, and took each for a quick lap of the yard. From the window Mary could see her quarter horses racing Johnny on the opposite side of the fence. Leaving her salad in the refrigerator, she grabbed a jacket on the way to join the fun.
The afternoon was busier than planned. Chet was absent, moving a machine for his brother. Johnny was sent to haul tables from a rental company, and when he returned was surprised to find the furnace roaring, and hot air billowing through the normally cool building. Mary was pressure washing the floor, and Jason was moving much faster than normal, snapping to attention each time Melissa gave a new order.
Johnny looked around grinning. Pete and Isaac kept a clean shop, but this was looking like one of the reality TV shows they sometimes watched in the lunchroom.
Jason was sent on a grocery run, excited to drive Melissa’s Escalade. He blushed furiously when Melissa yelled across the shop, “And Jason, call that cutie I saw you with the other day, invite her to go shopping with you and to come to the party. That’s an order!”
Johnny found himself pressed into duty when Jason left, and tried not to jump when Melissa snapped out a request. With tables set up on the drying floor, he went outside.
Isaac pulled in while Johnny was downing a beer from one of the large coolers standing lids-open to chill outside the large doors.
“What’s the matter with you, Clown?”
Tossing him a beer, Johnny shook his head, pointing with his beard at the building. “Hurricane Melissa warning, hope you’re not planning to work in there!”
Beer in hand, Isaac reached in the box of his beater truck, coming out with some broken parts from a snowmobile suspension. He headed toward the door, taking a long pull from his beer.
He opened the door, then shut it in his own face, dropping his parts in the snow. “Well…” He froze, his exclamation cut short as the door opened in front of him and Mrs. Banks appeared.
“I thought it was you!” She pointed a finger in Isaac’s face, glancing at the parts in the snow. “Don’t even think about welding in here today, Mr. La Crosse! Now help Johnny shovel the coolers full of snow, clean snow, and then…” her instructions were cut short when she closed the door.
Rattled, he turned to look for a shovel with which to help Johnny fill the coolers with snow, and tripped on his forgotten project, spilling his beer, and attempted to glare at Johnny whose laugh filled the yard.
If the party was as much fun as the preparation, it was going to be historic. Johnny and Isaac found the coolers quite heavy and too full to add enough snow. Lightening the load the onl
y logical way, “it’s five-o’clock somewhere!”, they were busted when trying to balance a pyramid of empty cans on the first cooler they carried into the shop.
Mary joined Melissa in the tongue lashing that ensued, and Johnny and Isaac were quickly fed most of a salad and a pot of coffee. The boys ate with relish and howls of laughter, slapping each other on the back and repeating over and over in terrible accents, “I’ll be back!” as they devoured the three-bean salad.
The ladies relaxed as the food and coffee, and a dose of embarrassment, helped the men calm down over the next hour, and when Chet stomped into the shop, tracking mud and snow onto the clean floor, he did a double take.
“Now that’s what I call clean!” Shooting Isaac with a finger pistol, he slowly drawled some advice for future shop organization, which made even the exasperated women laugh.
Chet enjoyed the recap of the afternoon events. Mary delivered a cryptic account of “the boys’ stupidity”. Johnny’s explanation of Isaac tripping in the snow, and Isaac’s hilarious re-enactment of the absent Jason bounding around the shop like a dog with a shock collar, had Chet howling. It was all enhanced by Melissa’s thin smile as she continued working like a Mona Lisa on Red Bull.Terry showed up at 4:15pm, and Chet called the six of them to take a seat at one of the tables. Melissa introduced Terry, who was gracious, and thanked them for their help and support.
“It was almost surreal, except for the horrible headache,” Terry mused at the end of her story. “You only see this stuff in the movies – until it happens! Good thing for me the guys were such amateurs. They were obviously supposed to get rid of me. Maybe they’re good at it wherever they worked before, but they sure didn’t know much about the north.
“I mean, the lake they were going to drown me in was probably only a couple feet deep by the shore.” She shivered, remembering the tape, cold metal sockets, and concrete block. “I’ve never been to that lake, but I could see reeds or some sort of plants sticking up through the ice—idiots! Who would try to drown someone at a boat launch?”
Always a Brother Page 10