When she set her alarm later that evening and slid into the motel bed, she was happy. She had three new friends and plans to attend a hockey game with them next weekend. But, if Isaac called her Clown, he was going to have a serious problem.
As she drifted off to sleep, she figured it out. She knew who Isaac reminded her of, and she looked forward to christening him with a nickname of his own, in the most public place possible.
Chapter 25
On Saturday, Chet’s firewood operation was in full swing. He had been busy the previous Sunday, using the company’s self-loading truck to collect a load of small, dry pine logs.
Chet had then moved a processor to the yard as well, to be used later in the week to cut the logs into short lengths of firewood. The load had been cut as planned by Chet and Lance and covered with an old hay tarp.
Many people in the Nechako Valley burned firewood, the newer wood-burning stoves were highly efficient, better than the crude appliances their grandparents had used. Natural gas was not available on the majority of back roads, and electricity was an expensive way to heat older homes, especially when the temperature dipped to minus twenty. Cutting firewood was a yearly tradition, enjoyed by some, dreaded by others. Often families worked together, pooling resources and abilities. While the tradition was declining, many children still grew up with the vicious howl of a chainsaw taken for granted, learning to stay well back from the spinning chain, and how to gather decent fuel and operate a wood-burning stove.
“Well, got some nice firewood, anyhow.” was a common excuse grunted by a disappointed, camo-clad hunter returning home midday on a Saturday.
Today, however, things were going much quicker than normal. All that was left to do was load the chunks of wood and deliver. The process was slowed slightly by Melissa and some of the kids Chet had enlisted. They had a table set up by the shop and were keeping another tradition alive.
They were filling paper lunch bags with an assortment of hard candy in wrappers, peanuts in the shell, cookies baked and wrapped by Melissa, candy canes; and of course, a mandarin orange. Melissa decided to send the treats along with each load of firewood. She guessed how many people were in each household, adding extra if the people had grandchildren.
This was a new idea to many of the kids, and Melissa made sure there would be a candy bag for each helper.
Pete stopped as he walked by the table. He was holding a chainsaw in each hand, on the way to put them in the service trucks. His weathered face crinkled into a smile as he looked at the row of finished bags, tops crumpled by little hands.
Melissa smiled at him. “Pete, did you ever get a candy bag when you were a kid?” She guessed him to be in his mid-sixties.
He nodded. “Yep, sure did. Every Christmas, Canadian tradition. My sister and I would each get our own bag. That was back in, well, back when we lived way north in Manitoba. We always went to the Christmas program at the little church, and after the singing and all, they gave out candy bags. When I seen you filling these bags, I had to come over and take a boo.”
He dumped the chainsaws on the ground and turning away, wiped an eye with a rough hand. “Bump on the head making me soft,” he apologized. “Still like those oranges, buy a couple boxes every year at Christmas, you betcha. Back then, well, that’s the only orange I ever got. Up north you know, not much fresh fruit. And peanuts too, real tasty.”
He looked at the kids, nodding a little, thinking of harder times.
“It sure is better now, lots to eat, nice clothes, hard not to spoil the grandkids. These little gifts you’re sending out, they’ll get a lot of people remembering, no doubt.”
“Never will forget it. Always ate the orange on Christmas day, the peanuts during the holiday from school, and sometimes made that handful of candy last right ‘til spring.”
Melissa just smiled. She knew it had been a good idea, even if a couple loads were a few minutes later than Chet figured they should be. Good thing she bought that extra box of oranges.
When Pete disappeared into the shop, Melissa sent one of the kids to put several bulging candy bags in his pickup, extra oranges in each.
The mountain of firewood disappeared rapidly and by mid-afternoon everyone was back at the yard eating hot dogs from the grill, except Chet, who had decided to take a load to an old friend of his dad who lived several hours north of town. Just before Melissa and the kids gave everyone their own bag of goodies, Terry yelled for everyone to listen up.
“Thanks to you all for making me feel so welcome. You are a great bunch of people, and I’m glad to be working with you.” She paused, sipping from her foam coffee cup. “But I have a few things to say. First of all, I hate clowns, and I refuse to be called a clown by our good friend over here.”
There was some laughter. She really had their attention now. “And ‘Lady Clown’ doesn’t work either,” she shook a small fist at Isaac, “I’ve had enough. So, I have a deal for our mechanic.” She paused, looking around. “Not you, Pete, you’re sweet.”
Pete blushed amid the hoots.
“If I get called clown one more time” she paused dramatically, “well, let’s just say someone’s life is going to get miserable. Just think about it,” she paused again, “he has to fix what I drive.”
More laughter – tempered somewhat by the fact that Terry had taken out two thugs with a torque wrench.
“So, no more Clown and by the way, I wouldn’t answer to Hoser either, like some of you do.”
More sheepish laughter.
“And then this ‘clock’ thing!”
More laughing.
“Yeah, seriously. So, I decided on a new name for Isaac here. I was thinking the other day about a picture book I had when I was a kid. Had this guy in it who looked a lot like Isaac, you know, dirt-colored hair…”She made scissors with her fingers, miming a needed haircut. “Mustache stolen from a spaghetti western, big glasses. And then there’s the name, ‘La Crosse.’”
Johnny and the other guys were enjoying Isaac’s discomfort. Jason whooped, and then tried to hold it in when he remembered he worked for Isaac.
“So, the man in the kids’ book was working over a workbench, fixing something, and it took me a few days, but I remembered. The man was a clock maker.”
Even Melissa laughed aloud at this. Clockmaker. It was perfect!
Walking over to Isaac’s service truck, Terry opened the door and pulled a roll of paper from behind the seat.
Johnny noticed the door had been cleaned. He was surprised to see Mary help Terry apply a large decal on the blue door panel. Together they smoothed the paper with plastic scrapers, and then Terry carefully peeled off the translucent outer layer.
There on the door in graceful gold script, angling up toward the rear of the cab, were the words The Clockmaker.
It was perfect, without guile. A recognition of the man’s skill, yet a flawless mockery of his own quirky humor. A complete christening, never to be undone.
Chapter 26
Isaac’s stories and running comments on Johnny’s driving made for a boisterous drive to the hockey game later that afternoon. Johnny and Isaac filled the front seats, and the ladies shared the freshly-cleaned back seat. Terry opened several boxes of chocolate-covered almonds purchased from fundraising kids. These disappeared quickly, as she explained how the kids were shaping up to be successful extortionists.
Terry noticed how Johnny drove confidently and quickly and from the back seat watched the road with which she was becoming more familiar.
The CN Centre was packed, though both goalies seemed to be absent. Terry surprised her companions when she removed her jacket, revealing a Red Deer Rebels jersey. Isaac promptly went to the gift shop, and came back wearing a Cougars jersey, with some noisemakers for Johnny and Mary and a “Welcome to Prince George” sticker for Terry. The high scoring game ending in a Cougars’ win.
Later, over pizza in a noisy restaurant, surrounded by other celebrating fans, Johnny leaned forward and made himself
heard over the noise.
“You know, in the bush we don’t get to pick our nicknames. Most guys don’t even like the names they get, and the guys who try to pick their own? Well, they end up with really bad ones. But Isaac here, he scored a good one, and actually likes it!”
They laughed.
Terry asked, “What do they call you?”
“Well, I don’t really have a nickname, but I know people refer to me as The Big Guy.”
“That’s right, ya big lout,” Isaac said.
“Johnny doesn’t have a regular nickname, but ‘The Big Guy’ works, I mean, I’m two inches over six feet, and you’re a lot taller than me. How tall are you, anyway?”
Johnny just shrugged.
Mary spoke, “I buy him triple extra large shirts…” but Johnny interrupted,
“So I guess I should lose some weight. Pass the pizza,” he deadpanned.
They laughed again.
“You don’t need to lose weight,” Mary responded. “You’re just a big, solid guy. Eat up!”
They all laughed as Mary stabbed her fork at a large hand reaching for her food, causing it to retreat with a yelp.
“Actually, is your name John or Johnny?” Terry asked. “I mean, you sort of have a nickname, right?”
The three looked at each other.
“You’ve got us there.” Isaac acted like he was impressed.
Mary laughed too. “I guess you do have a nickname.”
“He may have a nickname, but mine’s better.” Isaac swigged his beer, “And no one can take it back, ‘cuz it’s on the door of my truck! Ha!”
A waiter appeared, holding a mug of tap beer.
“Some guys sent this over for the, for uh, the Clockmaker?” the young man said hesitantly, thinking maybe he was the butt of a joke. Isaac grabbed the drink and stood, then raised it in a toast to a couple of truckers sitting at the bar who were watching them, laughing, raising their own glasses.
“Mazeltov!” he shouted over the din. Looking at Terry, he quipped, “Kind of nice, coming from a couple of,” he paused as Terry frowned, “truckers”.
Terry raised a finger to her lips, then drew a point on an imaginary scoreboard. Mary changed the subject, “Johnny and I are going to Mexico for a week during breakup, the two of you should come too, we think it would be fun.”
“What are you doing there?” The Clockmaker was buying time to think. Johnny could see his analytical mind at work, weighing the potential problems, risks, pros and cons.
Johnny and Mary had already discussed the invitation and thought it would be a good time.
“Well, we are for sure going to spend time fishing. I’ve already been looking up charters.” Mary knew how to set the hook for Isaac; she wasn’t sure about Terry. “We’re going to do some tours as well and spend some serious hours on the beach.”
“The beach! Where’s the dessert menu?” Johnny said, drawing a jab from Mary, and a smile from Terry.
“I’m in,” Isaac said. “Sounds great. I’ve never been to Mexico.”
“Me too,” Terry said. “I can sunburn like a pro.”
Phones came out, destinations were looked up and argued over, predictions of when spring breakup would happen were discussed with people at the next table. Their excitement was infectious, the group next to them relating merits of different vacation spots and giving too much beery advice.
Their excited talk continued on the drive home. When Johnny slammed on the brakes to avoid a moose, the conversation changed direction briefly, and then snapped away from the dark winter night with its chilly hazards, to beaches, sun, and relaxation.
Nearing Vanderhoof, Mary raised an important issue.
“Terry, have you heard anything from the RCMP? Have they gotten any closer to finding this Joseph guy, or the men who kidnapped you?”
There had been nothing new, and this worried Terry. It irritated her, and she said so.
“I thought it would be easy to find this guy. I have even thought of trying to go find him myself. Closure would be nice.”
The cab was silent.
Johnny shook his head. “I think you met the ‘B Team’. Some guys sent out to fix a problem quick. If this is actually some sort of smuggling ring, or a gang-related deal, then the next people you meet might be more dangerous. “He paused, “I think we just keep working, make some money, enjoy Christmas, put some miles on the sleds, and go to Mexico. Let’s leave the bad guys alone.”
“Unless they come here,” Isaac finished the unspoken thought.
“Unless they come here.” Johnny echoed.
In the back seat, Mary grabbed Terry’s hand, giving it a squeeze.
“I don’t know about you, Terry, but with these big lugs around, I feel pretty safe!”
And watching the two big men filling the front seats, Terry agreed.
Chapter 27
The Banks Mountain crew worked steadily through the winter. Pete had reoccurring headaches, and although he did his best, loud noises, such as the air-powered impact wrenches, and hammering stubborn steel parts, were almost unbearable. Along with this, he had dizzy spells, and when he slipped while working on a trailer, falling onto the snow-packed yard, Melissa made some quick changes.
She took Pete to the hospital and marched him into the emergency room, ignoring his protestations of feeling just fine. She waited with him, realizing how traumatic this could be for the older man. While waiting for the doctor, Pete admitted he had only been to the hospital a few times in his life, recently for stitches, and once to see his daughter’s newborn.
Melissa was a veteran, trips to labor and delivery, then the many return trips with the two boys for what Chet called “warranty work.” Daniel and Lance had broken, sprained, and cut just about everything on their bodies in their eventful young lives.
Pete and the others in the waiting room were distracted from their pain when Melissa related how one day when the kids were in school, she had taken a big wheel loader, with which she was unfamiliar, and destroyed the dirt bike track Chet had built for the kids on the property. The young Lance had broken his arm the previous weekend on one of the jumps, and she was sick of what she considered a clear and present danger lurking behind their house. By the time the destruction was complete an hour later, Melissa assured her wide-eyed audience she was a much better operator.
A young man in greasy coveralls, holding a bundle of bloody shop towels to his left arm, wanted to know what the boys’ reaction was.
“Well, they came home from school and after a snack, the boys went out to ride their dirt bikes. Well, Daniel was going to ride. Lance had his arm in a cast and was going to ‘just watch’. They came running back in the house, eyes wide. ‘Mom!’ they yelled, ‘some bonehead backed the loader over the garden shed!’”
She smiled ruefully and went on.
“The boys ran back out, and soon came back yelling! ‘Someone wrecked our dirt bike course, and that’s bad, but know what’s worse? Dad is going to kill whoever did this!’ Chet used to have a pretty bad temper.”
“The boys went on, ‘You’re going to have to do something, Mom! When Dad sees what someone ran over.’ At this point the boys started crying, and I won’t lie, I was getting pretty worried!”
She went on. Her audience, now including a nurse, was attentive.
“‘Mom, someone drove over Dad’s Harley! It was parked by the lilac bush! It’s wrecked!’”
Pete swore aloud, then covered his mouth, embarrassed.
The young man was not so polite. “Lady, you wrecked your husband’s Hog? What happened next?”
“Well, the boys took their pedal bikes and disappeared. They didn’t want to be around when their dad came home. That motorcycle was the first toy Chet had ever bought for himself, and he just loved it, found it in Nevada. He’d only had it for a few months. I just didn’t see it parked in the shade where he had cleaned it and thought I had just backed over this big lilac bush.”
“Like, what kind of Harley
was it?” The young guy looked sick, from more than his injury.
She told him, and as the nurse led him away, they heard him muttering sadly. “She crushed a 1945 Knucklehead. She crushed a ‘45 Knucklehead …”
“Was Chet mad?”
“No, Pete, he didn’t even get mad. He looked at the mess and just started laughing. He said, ‘I saved up for my dream bike once, I guess I can do it again. And we need some more pasture space anyhow. Too bad about the garden shed though.’ Then as he left, he told me he needed help loading trucks the next day, and I spent a lot of days that summer driving that loader. The guys driving the gravel trucks were scared as heck though, and always had some excuse to be out of the cab while I loaded.”
The upshot of the visit to emergency was that Pete needed to take some time off, at least six weeks without loud noises, sudden movement, and climbing up on machinery. The young doctor happened to have paid for much of his degree by pulling wrenches in his family’s heavy-duty equipment shop and was firm in his plan to help Pete recover fully from his concussion.
Johnny was surprised to see Mary’s car in the shop driveway when he wheeled in at the end of his last run. He parked next to a few other rigs, and she walked over while he did his post-run checks, much more thorough than previous winters.
“Johnny, Melissa called me and wants us to come for supper. Chet wants to talk with you. I think it’s about your job.”
He raised his eyebrows in question.
“She said Pete needs to take time off. They must need some help in the shop.”
Johnny had chained up multiple times that day and his clothes were filthy. He grabbed a duffle bag from the back seat of his pickup, and Mary followed him into the shop where he took a quick shower. She talked through the curtain as he lathered up and pulled his clean clothes out of the duffle so they could warm. She tossed his dirty work clothes in the coin-operated washer.
Through the clouds of steam rising to the vent fan, Johnny told her about the road conditions, and about the wildlife he had seen that day. Using a clean towel from the cabinet, he dried off and dressed, not seeming to mind the fact that the folded clothes were still cold.
Always a Brother Page 14