White Pine (12 page)

“Hey, Dob!” It didn’t look like he’d heard
me, so I pushed my way through the crowd and grabbed his arm. “What
do we do now?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Damned if I
know. These fools...” He waved an arm. “Are arguing about the key
log.”

I knew what the key log was. Anyone who grew
up in a sawdust city did. It was the log that held up the whole
mess of a log jam. Some folks would tell you that you needed to
move a mountain of logs to break up a jam. But others sweared that
if you somehow managed to move or pull out the key log, the whole
structure would come apart in a swirl of white water and logs.

I was too green to know what to believe. But
I stared wide eyed as a couple of jacks climbed over that groaning
mountain of wood, following the directions of the Pushes, looking
for that one rumored log.

“The only other choice they have is
dynamite,” Dob said, “but that’s expensive for the logging
companies—it blows some fine pine to matchsticks—and dangerous for
the men handling it.” He shook his head. “Find yourself a dry spot
to hunker down. We won’t be going anywhere for some time.”

Some other fella came over and started
jabbering at Dob, so he nodded to me and headed on his way.

I wandered around until I found several of
the jacks from our company, including Bob Johnson and the Swedish
brothers. We got ourselves some cold grub and settled down to watch
the show.

From midmorning until afternoon, the river
rats from a number of outfits worked with their peavies to break up
the logjam. The tension grew, the language grew ripe, and the river
bosses grew ever more anxious. More logs just kept coming down and
joining the pile up. No one was having any luck. Finally, the
Pushes got together and made the decision to finally use dynamite.
They would blow that logjam right out of the river by placing
dynamite at some critical points at the front of the jam. Now, most
of the fuses could be lit safely from the shore, so the fella doing
the lighting could get away. But one pack, probably the most
important one, was to be set dead center and low down on the pile
in the middle of the river. I didn’t envy that man his job.

A call went out asking for volunteers. They
were looking for experienced men, fellas who would have done this
sorta thing before. The problem was that most of the men were savvy
as to what they were up against. The man lighting that last fuse
was likely to get himself killed. Arguments blew up all around.
Each crew had top men, but only a handful would consider taking
this monster on. In the end, the bosses chose the jacks they had
the most confidence in, fearless ones, men who weren’t afraid to
die.

I wasn’t a surprise the man they chose from
our company was Fabien Roget. The crowd parted as he moved through
it, walking tall like a knight in those old stories about King
Arthur that Mr. Watters used to read to us in the schoolhouse.
Roget went right over to the riverbank, unbuttoned his shirt and
handed it off. He draped a rope harness over his chest, and then
barefoot, wearing nothing more than his cut off trousers, eyeballed
that jam.

I knew that he’d taken on a job that was
likely to get him killed. But I had to admit that I felt a little
jealous as I stood there with the rest of the men watching him. We
all knew that we were watching the bravest one of us all, or the
most reckless.

“They’ll swing his rope over that branch,”
Dob explained, pointing at a thick oak branch that extended out
over the river, “then they’ll lower him right down to the middle of
the jam, just over the water level. He’ll light that fuse then
they’ll lift him out of there. Hopefully.”

Johan whistled low and that sort of said it
for all of us. Now I was good and mad at Roget for what he’d said
to me the night before, but while I watched as they lowered that
crazy French Canadian onto the jam, I felt proud knowing he was one
of ours.

Roget was grinning, his teeth, white, against
the black of his beard. He was a man living life on the razor’s
edge and loving it.

“He’s not even afraid,” Johnson remarked.

Dob joined us, shaking his head. “That
Frenchman’s a fool.” But he didn’t look away, none of us could.

We all held our breath while Roget planted
the bundle of dynamite and lit the fuse. Then, he frantically waved
his arms for the men to swing him up.

Before I could see if he was clear, there was
a huge explosion, white water and logs blasted out of the center of
the jam. In the confusion, we lost sight of Roget. But that
mountain range of logs was moving. A hooping and a hollering went
up from both sides of the river.

A few minutes passed, and me and the other
fellas ran down along the riverbank, looking to see if he’d made
it.

Then, I saw Roget being pulled from the
river. His body was all beat up and bloody, and he was holding his
side, but he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

We all rushed over to him, congratulating him
and patting him on the back.

“You did it! You did it!” I shouted. The next
moment, I felt foolish for calling out knowing that Roget didn’t
think much of me.

“Sevy, she blew high.” He clapped me on the
back as if we were good friends, then accepted more congratulations
from Johnson, Dob, and the others.

I grinned back at him like a fool. Because,
despite everything, in that moment, Fabien Roget was again my
hero.

I think that all of us from the Daniel Shaw
Company were walking a little taller that afternoon. After all, one
of ours had blown the jam.

Chapter
Thirteen

~ Going Home ~

The remaining days of the river drive passed
in a blur of freezing water, mugs of hot tar, and pure dog
tiredness, but I didn’t want it to end. Near every day, I practiced
burling and learned my feet could fly. But each bend of the river
brought me closer to home, to Eau Claire, and I wasn’t sure how I
felt about that. Sure, I wanted to go home, but I also wanted to
keep being the person I was now, a lumberjack and a river rat. I
didn’t want to go back to being just a schoolboy. I’d experienced
too much to fit back into my old life.

On the day that we arrived in Eau Claire, the
logs went through the flumes into Half Moon Bay. Then, we sorted
the logs by company. I kept looking up to see if any of my family
had come for me. It was near the noon hour, and I was standing on a
log, sorting through others by their marks, when I glanced over on
the shore and saw some folks standing there watching us. Leaning on
my peavey, I squinted my eyes against the bright afternoon sun. I
saw it was my pa, brother and sister all standing up there waving
down at me.

Peter and Marta were jumping up and down, but
Pa just waved and waited, like he had all the time in the world. Ma
wasn’t there.

Dob saw them, too. And he saw me looking up
at them. “Boy, go on up to them. We won’t get this job done
tonight. Me and the boys are going to call it quits for the day
soon enough. We all have some celebrating to do.”

So, I hightailed it out of there. I dropped
my peavey on the shore, then hesitated, knowing a river rat never
just leaves a good peavey laying around. When I turned to go back
and get it, I saw Johan had picked it up.

He waved to me. “Go on, Sevy.”

I walked quick
‘til I knew that I was out of sight, then I ran as fast as I could
up to my family.

Pa started walking down toward me when he saw
me heading his way. Sure, he was favoring his leg a little, but he
was whole and he was walking, near jogging even. When I got close
to him, I slowed down.

“Hi, Pa.” After a moment, I held my hand out
to shake his.

His eyes looked bright. He stared at me. “You
too grown up now to hug your Pa?”

I hesitated for only a moment before
launching myself at him. He bear hugged me, then clapped me on the
back.

“Pa...” A lump in my throat kept me from
saying more. Sure, I’d hugged my Pa in public, but I still wasn’t
about to start bawling, too.

“Let me look at you, Sevy.” Pa held me at
arms length. “Well, you’re thin, so your ma will say. But you’ve
grown this winter. You’re near as tall as I am. And thick, too. The
winter agreed with you.”

I nodded, too choked up to speak. It was odd
being able to look him in the eye.

Then, Peter and Marta were on me. Marta was a
hugging and a kissing on me while Peter tugged on my arm and asked
a thousand questions.

Finally, Pa said, “Let’s get going home,
children. Your mother has planned a fine welcome for you,
Sevy.”

“How did you know I’d be here today?”

“We knew when the logs were coming in and
we’ve been watching ever since.”

We walked to the wagon that Pa had borrowed
for the ride out to Shawtown. Marta and Peter kept a-jabbering
away, so I didn’t have to say much, which was good.

“Sevy,” Pa said, touching my arm when I went
to untie the brown nag pulling it. “I spoke with Joe Lynch and he
said you did a fine job this winter. Your mother and I are proud of
you, real proud of you.”

“We have a surprise for you,” Marta chanted,
a grin on her face.

“Yessiree,” Peter added.

I grinned back, and reached over and flipped
up the brim of his cap. “Aw, come on and tell me. You never could
keep a secret.”

“I can, too,” he answered.

“No, you can’t, Peter.” Marta stuck her
tongue out at him. “You know you can’t, which is why I told Ma that
you shouldn’t come today.”

“You’ll hold your tongue this time, Peter.”
Pa glowered, but his voice lacked its usual weight.

Whatever the surprise was, they clearly
expected me to be pleased with it. So, I didn’t say a thing. I just
looked down at the ground and scuffed my toe in the dirt while Pa
climbed up into the driver’s seat. He moved real gingerly, and he
shook a little bit when his weight went on the leg. It worried me
some. I couldn’t see him lumberjacking again moving as he was now.
Once he was on board, the rest of us scrambled up and I sat right
next to Pa.

Riding through town and over the bridge felt
strange. Eau Claire looked real normal, like it always had. The
sawdust-covered muddy streets, the pine-board sidewalks, the
saloons, shops and houses, all of it was the same. But I had
changed. Could folks see that? Would anyone be able to tell? How
would it feel to be just a schoolboy again?

In no time at all, we were heading up our
street and then I saw our house. There were folks spilling out of
the little whitewashed building and gathered in the tiny yard
beside it.

My jaw dropped. “Pa?”

“Yes?”

“Why are those folks there?”

“To welcome you home.”

“That’s your surprise,” Marta put in.

“Why isn’t anyone working today?”

“It’s Saturday.” Peter rolled his eyes.

I’d lost track of the days during the river
run. We’d arrived in Eau Claire on a Saturday.

Then, I saw my Ma. She stood right in front
of everyone else. She looked the way she always had, with a smile
that warmed me from the inside out. Wearing her church dress, she
still had an apron on, which she used to dry her hands. She ran
towards us. I jumped off that still moving wagon, and then she was
holding me, hugging me. She smelled so good and familiar and for
the first time since leaving the Northwoods, I felt peaceful about
being home.

“Oh, Sevy.” She grasped my shoulders and
looked me up and down. “You’ve grown. And to think I used to carry
you everywhere with me. Look how long your hair has gotten.” She
touched my hair and I pulled back.

“Ma,” I muttered, rolling my eyes, very aware
that there were people all around us.

“Yes, well, you are so grown up now.” Her
brown eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she smoothed her
dress and took my arm. “You have a lot of friends here to see you
today.”

“How did you get everyone here? I mean, I
didn’t even know what day we’d be getting into Eau Claire.”

“We heard you were likely coming in today.
Jeremiah Ritter saw you down at Half Moon, and he brought us word.
Then Marta, Peter, and Hugh went around and told folks we were
having a get together. Folks began stopping by, lots of them, all
bringing something.”

She led me into the little yard where we
greeted neighbors, my pa’s friends from the mill, and some friends
from school, and even Mr. Watters.

“You’ll have to tell me all about your
adventures up north,” Watters said. “I hope that you conducted
yourself well.”

“Of course my son did.” My mother bristled.
“Sevy’s a good boy and a hard worker.”

Sure, she was defending me, but I’d gotten
used to standing up for myself and now I felt about ten years
old.

“I hope to hear about your adventures,”
Watters said. “It will be the closest I’ll ever getting to working
the pine, as they say.”

But I didn’t say yes or no.

Watters seemed to take my cue. “Well then,
Sevy, Mrs. Andersen.” He nodded to my mother and moved away.

“You help yourself to something to eat.
That’s Mrs. Olson with one of her pies. I’ll be right back.” She
bustled off while I eyeballed the grub that was already out on our
table. Ma and the other ladies had laid out quite a spread even
with the short notice. My mouth was watering. Then, someone grabbed
me from behind and spun me around. Immediately, I ducked and got
ready to come up fighting, but found myself staring right at Hugh’s
flushed face and bright red hair. He was even taller, skinnier, and
more red headed than when I’d last seen him.

“Hugh.” I couldn’t help grinning back. Hugh
had that effect on a person.

“You missed a lot of fun this winter, Sevy.
But you’re back now and everything will be like it used to be.”