Struggles of a Country boy

by Herb Blanchard

  Brad was hot as he hurried up the trail toward the spring. His tongue had started sticking to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't swallow or spit out the cottony scum that was stuck in his throat.

  The trail was easy to follow, so Brad hustled right along up over a rock ledge covered with stunted blueberry bushes. He sidestepped around a patch of juniper that in the dry heat smelled like gin.

  "There it is!" His feet felt lighter, and he could already feel the moisture in his mouth. He looked all around the black on white sign proclaiming MINERAL SPRING, in crisp, sharp letters. He couldn't see any dampness on the ground, hear water running, or see another path which could lead through the surrounding brush to a spring house which was common in these parts. There was only a dry, rocky knob encircled by head high scrub pines scattered throughout the waist tall pucker brush.

  "Shit! Where's it at? I don't see any water! Find the water, dog! Where's the damn water?"

  Brad went back the way he had come. He looked carefully on both sides of the meticulously cleared path for a wet spot or an elusive trail. Impatient and thirsty, he trotted back to the sign, hesitated, looked around at the black letters again. Brad turned away, ran up the trail a short ways and snapped back towards the sign. His eyes blazed with anger. His stomach knotted. He screamed his frustration at the top of his lungs. "You bastard! You dirty bastard!"

  Brad ran back to the sign. Each breath was coming as a gut-tearing sob. He skidded to a stop in front of the offending sign before throwing his little rifle to his skinny shoulder. The bullet bored a round, insignificant hole into the white paint and through the soft pine board directly in the center of the first 'Rs' loop.

  Brad looked again at the short piece of sash cord that was carefully tied to a fence staple on the right end of the sign. Hanging from the cord was a 8” hunk of rusty, coiled iron spring.

  FOUR

  When he first opened his eyes he didn't know what had woke him. The fall sun hadn't yet cleared the hills to the east. The sky was still an inky dark blue with a couple wisps of icy mare's-tail to the north.

  That's what woke me. Brad thought when his nose twitched as the aromatic threads of freshly brewed coffee slipped under his bedroom door. He didn't waste any time getting dressed and going into the kitchen. He stopped in the bathroom only long enough to pee and splash some water on his ash blond hair.

  The residue of a week's use of Vitalis glued his hair in place for the day. After a week even his cowlick would stay in place.

  Brad had wanted to talk to somebody all week about what he thought of as 'Doc Flander's dirty trick'. He had stopped trying to share things with his parents a long time ago. They were always too busy doing nothing to have any time for him whenever he tried to share things with them. His friends, George and Muriel were away for the weekend, and besides Brad wanted to go to the farm today. The farm belonged to Charlie Carr, their family milkman and a special friend of Brad's. Charlie was somebody Brad felt he could talk to about anything.

  Two years ago, when the Burgesses had bought their house, the milk delivery service seemed to have been part of the purchase. Actually, Charlie's small dairy farm only provided enough milk, cream, butter and eggs for him to have a few regular customers such as the Burgesses and the Frenchs. Charlie worked full time at the grain mill in Greenfield which was northwest of the Burgess's on route 31 between Wilmet and Peterboro. On every Monday through Saturday morning he drove his black 1938 Ford 4-door around his route and dropped off his customer's milk on his way to work. On Sunday mornings he slept-in an extra hour and took his time, so he could visit with his customers and collect.

  It had become a habit for Charlie to stop at the Burgess kitchen, have a cup of coffee and chat for a while. Last summer the shy thoughtful bachelor had invited Brad to come up to the farm on Sundays. Charlie lived with his seventy-five year old widowed mother, two dogs, nine milk cows, several cats, a couple of pigs and innumerable chickens.

  The farm became a refuge for Brad and he looked forward to the weekends when he could escape the tension of the Burgess's house. For a few hours he was in the company of someone he could talk to and share experiences with.

  Charlie taught Brad about farm life. Brad learned the values a country kid should be taught and learned how to drive a truck and a tractor, pitch hay, milk a cow by hand, split firewood and deliver a calf. Charlie taught Brad the value of hard work and how to reap the benefits of the land by showing him the results of their shared work which was a field full of crops ready for harvest, calves growing up to produce milk and beef and a warm house when it was ten degrees below zero outside on a short January day.

  Brad was staying out of his father's sight while he was waiting for nine o'clock to roll around. That was when Charlie always showed up on Sunday mornings. Brad knew something was on his father's mind, but as usual Harold wasn't talking. Brad figured that if he stayed scarce until Charlie came, then he would slip out of the house before Harold got around to saying what was on his mind.

  When he heard the old Ford pull into the driveway, Brad went onto the side porch to ask Charlie if he could go to the farm. Before Brad could get any more than "Good morning!" out, Harold came around the side of the house and invited Charlie in for coffee.

  From the moment Charlie sat at the kitchen table with his parents, Brad's concept of time matched what he was seeing on the kitchen clock. The clock's sweep second hand slowed to a crawl, the minute hand vibrated in place every few seconds, and the hour hand froze on the nine. Brad was sure every minute he stayed there was bringing him closer to whatever his mother and father had decided would be his fate on this beautiful, clear fall day. Brad had overheard enough to know he was going to be put to work in the yard, but he hoped it would be overruled when Charlie said he needed Brad's help this weekend.

  Carrie was complaining to Charlie about how hot it was on this warm Indian Summer morning in mid-October when Brad finally ran out of patience and interrupted his mother.

  "Can I help you today, Charlie?" Brad felt the tension roll around the kitchen table as he spoke. He almost heard the crackle, hiss, and pops of the atmosphere and as he stared at a worn spot on the kitchen linoleum, knew that he had screwed up again.

  "Sure, Brad, If it's all right with your folks." Charlie answered him quickly and with a small laugh.

  Brad was sure he should have gotten up before dawn to escape before anyone else was out of bed, but now it was too late!

  Harold shifted around in his chair. He rattled a spoon against his coffee cup and as the seconds dragged by he looked toward his wife. He waited for her to butt-in and give Brad the bad news. As usual Carrie refused to come to her husband's aid.

  Brad searched his parents' faces for some kind of clue but could only see the look of contempt for his father radiate from his mother's eyes.

  Harold took a last sip of his cold coffee before he lowered the boom on Brad's plans. “You're going to help me put up storm windows. After that’s done you can help your mother. That damn maple tree has dumped leaves all over the side yard.

  "More coffee, Charlie?"

  Embarrassed for himself and Brad by the tension surging about the room and the tone of the man's voice when he spoke to his son, Charlie refused quietly. "I'd better get along. I still have milk to deliver. Thanks anyway.

  "How about next weekend, Brad? I'll need some help bucking firewood."

  Carrie answered before Brad could. "That would be fine, Charlie. We're sure you could use the help." Her voice was sugary and pleasing. She knew Charlie would knock a couple of dollars from next month's milk bill for every day Brad worked on the farm.

  Brad walked to the black Ford with Charlie and was grateful for Charlie's smile of reassurance when he gripped the boy's shoulder. He watched the old Ford disappear around the corner before he ran for the back of the house where he had heard the boys' voices. The French brothers were meandering down their dri
veway towards Brad's house.

  "Brad!" Robbie, who was dark and stoutly-built, hollered loudly. "Want to go for a hike with us? We're going over to the Simpsons’."

  "Shut up! You idiot!" His older brother slugged Robbie solidly on the back of his right shoulder.

  "How come, Ernie? How come you hit me?" Robbie asked as his large brown eyes flooded with tears from the hard blow.

  "Not so loud. We don't want everyone to know where we're going. Besides, we told Mom that we was just coming down here.

  "Ya want to go, Brad?" The cocky, freckled faced boy asked.

  He was looking down on Brad, like he did every chance that he got. Although he was the same age, only three inches taller, and almost as skinny, he managed to double the three inches through bluff and intimidation.

  Brad didn't like his neighbors. But they were the only kids close to his age within five miles. If he wanted to chum with anyone, he was stuck with them.

  "You're going to Simpson's? How come?"

  "Ya. Maybe Elinor's shade is up again." Ernie laughed a dirty laugh as he punched the air near Brad's arm.

  Embarrassed, Brad could feel the heat run up the back of his neck. He swung away from the other boys with a careless twist of his upper body to conceal his real thoughts.

  "I'll tell my dad we're going."

  Brad went into the back of the house with no intention of asking or telling his father about the boys' trip. He was just stalling for time until he could come up with a reason not to go.

  Thoughts of another time at the Simpson's came flooding back into Brad's consciousness.

  Last summer the three boys were fishing their favorite stream and all had caught their limit of trout when they started looking for the quickest way home and found themselves on the creek bank behind the Simpson's house. The Simpsons lived on a dirt road south of Brad's. It was only a half mile cross country to Brad's by way of the railroad tracks and the old grist mill, but the trip was at least two miles by road.

  All three boys agreed that the fastest way to go was to cut across the Simpson's neatly landscaped backyard before crossing the creek on the covered bridge. After crossing the bridge they would be next to the railroad tracks with a little over a quarter mile to walk through the timber to the state road, then about another half mile to their houses.

  Neither Brad nor the French brothers knew the Simpsons as a family. They all knew the dad, Bud, who worked in Tibbet's Machine shop which was the local sweat shop in Wilmet. Elinor Simpson was an only child and a senior at Wilmet High.

  All of the high school boys agreed she had a fantastic body, but she was different, therefore ugly as sin.

  Brad and Ernie as the resident experts from Wilmet Junior High, which was in the same building as the high school, agreed with the older boys. All three swaggered into the Simpson's backyard intending to cut diagonally across the lawn to the nearby road.

  It was hot. The late afternoon sun was beating into an open window on the back of the light brown house. Brad spied the girl first. Ernie and Robbie stumbled over him when he stopped short next to a huge lilac bush.

  "What's?" Ernie started to bitch before Brad could shush him.

  "Look! In the window! Gaaad! She has a tan all over!" Brad whispered hoarsely while he pointed with a grimy, shaking finger. The well developed, young body stayed in view for just a short moment which was only as long as it took Elinor to drop her bath towel onto the foot of her bed, turn to her dresser for her hair brush and then step behind the open closet door. The image of a small, warm smile as she hummed to the soft waltz music that drifted from her hi-fi, stayed with Brad. "She's beautiful, she's gorgeous," He said quietly.

  "Huh? What'd ya say Brad?" Ernie whispered.

  Brad shook his head emphatically! Then he mouthed "Let's go!"

  But the three boys stayed clustered around the lilac bush with their mouths open and eyes glued to the blue stripped bath towel laying on the bed in a pool of hot, yellow sunlight.

  The modest shorts and sleeveless blouse the Japanese girl wore when she stepped out to retrieve the towel held no special interest to Robbie and Ernie. Brad felt immediate guilt about spying on the gentle teenager. All at once she was a person he was sure he wanted to know better.

  FIVE

  "Well? Can you go? Come on, let's go!" Ernie demanded impatiently, snapping Brad back to the real world when he stepped through the paint chipped back door into the backyard.

  "Come on! Let's go!" Ernie ordered.

  "No. I can't." Brad lied. He made his voice climb a couple of octaves and grow louder in mock indignation.

  "I've -- I've got to rake these stupid leaves!" He grabbed the rake he had left leaning up against the clothesline pole and started raking randomly in an angry burst of energy.

  Brad knew he was mad and frustrated not because he couldn't go with Ernie and Robbie, but because they were going to invade Elinor's privacy and he could not stop them from doing it.

  He was having trouble admitting his guilt for spying on Elinor and seeing her shapely nude body. Whenever he came face to face with her in the hallways at school, Brad wasn't able to look her in the eye. Nor did he want anyone to know how excited he got each time he watched the gentle sway of her slim hips.

  To Brad she wasn't ugly as sin. He knew she was really beautiful and he had no doubts that he was in love with her.

  Twice Brad had come close to admitting his love aloud and had proven his love when one of the school loudmouths had made derogatory remarks about her looks and ancestry. Brad had called him on it both times and still could not understand the reaction his actions had provoked from his classmates. He was still having a hard time figuring out the reason he had provoked the wrath of most of the teachers and some of the school board members when he had a little go around with one of the basketball players. He hadn't really hurt him too much. The six foot tall boy had only favored one knee for a week or so after Brad had planted the side of his boot into the jock's kneecap after he had called Elinor a Jap whore.

  Brad struggled with himself to put the beautiful girl out of his mind, and as he succeeded, he let himself get carried away by the colorful array before him. On the ground lay brilliant reds, soft golds and yellows, and mellow browns.

  The sugar maple leaves smelled acrid and earthy as he heaped them into a huge pile for his father to burn. He felt almost cheerful after rationalizing how much work he would really have to do and how soon he would be able to go hunting.

  His stomach had been telling him for sometime it was lunch time when Ernie and Robbie strutted back into the yard. They had been gone for so long Brad had about given up on seeing them again that day. He just figured they had left the Simpson's and kept going into the small town of Lynd. But the confident I-told-you-so look on Ernie's face threw Brad off and his buoyant mood drifted down like one of the maple's frost bitten leaves. He was sure they had seen something and had again violated Elinor's privacy.

  Before anyone else could say a word, and much to his brother's chagrin Robbie burst out with the truth. "There wasn't anybody home! The house was all locked up and their car was gone."

  Brad felt elated. Robbie had let the truth out before his brother could lie about seeing 'ugly Elinor' naked again.

  Life did do us small favors after all. Brad thought as he attacked the head high pile of flaming red and gold leaves. His spring-toothed steel rake collided with the old phony spinning wheel that the previous owners had left sitting in the rock garden. It fell over with a thud. One of its unpainted legs and part of its rusty top fell off and rolled away into the leaves.

  "Oh, damn! I should have moved it!"

  "Ha-ha! You broke it, Brad!" Ernie hollered. He tightened the screws some more in an attempt to exact some revenge for Robbie telling the truth about their unfruitful trip to the Simpson's.

  "Your mom will raise hell with you now."

  "I didn't break it.
See it comes apart. This top comes off here, and those legs fall right off." Brad held the body of the spinning wheel up in the air before he shook the remaining two legs off, and then paused to pull a wooden splinter out of his hand.

  "Come on! Help me play a joke on my mother."

  The two boys were quickly caught up in Brad's carefree mood. It only took them about two minutes to disperse parts and pieces of the spinning wheel about the rock garden.

  Brad tossed the two and one half foot wheel over a leaning clothesline post with a smile. In his lighthearted mood, he hollered, "She'll flip over this!"

  Brad didn't see his mother watering her plants in front of the living room windows and he had no idea that she saw her precious spinning wheel pieces being scattered throughout the garden.

  In his playful mood Brad didn't see the rage in his mother's eyes and he didn't understand the rigid set of her body. He couldn't see the heavy, hardwood yardstick hidden at her side. To him it was all a good joke. The spinning wheel came apart and went back together easily. No harm done.

  Ernie and Robbie stood off to one side of the yard when the back door slammed open. There was no doubt in their minds what was happening when they saw the rigid walk and Carrie's attempt to conceal the yardstick. A quick glance at each other and they were across the yard and scrambling over the stonewall to reach the safety of their driveway.

  Brad watched the two boys move for the wall and caught the looks of alarm on their faces and wondered what was going on. Then he saw the flash of the swiftly descending hardwood and felt her vise-like grip on his small upper right arm. She forcefully swung him around.