Struggles of a Country boy

by Herb Blanchard

  It would be neat if a cat would come out of those rocks down there. I could get a good shot at it from here.

  He looked up before starting the climb again.

  Climb some more, I guess. Damn! It's still a long ways to go.

  Brad came to a short rock face extending forty or fifty feet to the side in each direction. It barred his upward progress unless he wanted to drop down and climb back up part of the near vertical climb below him. Without any further thought he grabbed a handful of foot tall mountain laurel stems growing out of the top of the five foot high wall. With both hands he carefully started to pull himself up the rock face.

  First he heard the smaller roots snapping and popping. Then he felt the bushes start to lift up and tear away from the rock.

  When he look across the top of the ledge he realized the laurel roots were just growing across the rocks. Barely hidden under a thin layer of topsoil and the bright green Burned Ground Moss which was also clinging precariously to the granite black from time and weather.

  The laurel roots kept ripping out and Brad felt himself slowly slipping down the rock face.

  A quick look back at the steep two hundred and fifty foot slope stretching down below him and Brad jerked on the shrubs one last time. With a knee banging hump upward followed by a gut wrenching twist to the right and he was half kneeling and half sitting on the upper edge of the ledge.

  That's a long way down.

  I made too much noise. He reprimanded himself knowing he had been careless in his choice of handholds.

  He struggled out of the rifle sling while he knelt on the edge of the rock face before allowing himself to flop down and roll over onto his back to catch his breath and let his shakes settle down.

  Still flat on his back Brad pulled on Big Ben's rawhide thong and behind the scratched and scarred plastic face read 10:02. For almost an hour he had been working his way up through the ledges trying to find the bobcat and its den.

  Just a little ways and I'll be up to the top of the first face. Time to move on.

  Twenty feet above and a few feet to his left was his favorite spot to sit in the faces. Up by the garage-sized slab of granite which seemed to be just teetering on the lip of the ledge.

  Brad looked around trying to find a quiet as well as the easiest path up the steepest part of the climb while he slipped the rifle's sling back over his head. He knew he would still need both hands to climb no matter which way he went from here.

  He picked his way across the small bench he had just climbed by stepping on the exposed rock and patches of moss which were scattered along its top edge. When he was directly below the teetering boulder he turned uphill and slowly started to make his way up under it. He had picked his path wisely and Brad knew as long as he didn't hurry the short climb would be steep and hard but not noisy.

  He stopped to rest for the third time in less than fifty feet when he reached the place where he could stretch up just enough to look into the entrance of a hole under the outside edge of the teetering boulder. He held his breath for several seconds as he stretched higher. The morning sun was still low enough to light up the under side of the rock giving Brad a good view of the den’s entrance. He took a half step, then another half step and he could see down to the first turn of the den. There was fresh dirt pushed up on the outside edges of the hole and a flat spot which looked as if an animal had been lying right in front of the den's entrance. As he crept upward and closer Brad could make out the shadowy outlines of round quarter-sized, four toed tracks in the dust. He dropped down onto his hands and knees and by grabbing a beech sapling Brad pulled himself up onto the soft dirt platform in front of the den.

  He lay on his belly not breathing just listening for any signs of life in the hole. When he ran out of air and was forced to take a deep breath, Brad pulled his knees up under him and pivoted slowly to his left. Now he could see around the south side of the boulder and there in the dirt was a small narrow and well used trail under the granite slab's overhang. In most places it was too low for him to negotiate even on his knees. The tracks he had noticed earlier seemed to be everywhere and Brad checked them closely to be sure that they were cat tracks and not gray fox tracks. He couldn’t find any sign of claw marks on the front of the four small toe pads and in the soft dirt Brad found sharp outlines of the pad's structure.

  Its got to be a cat. Even with the notches in the back of the big pad, the front of it is concave. I think it's a little too big for a gray fox. It sure isn't a red fox with those lobes in the big pad. Nope! It's got to be a little she-cat.

  Now that he was positive of what he was looking at Brad started to investigate more thoroughly and closer around the entrance to the den. The cat smell was strong in the soft dirt the cat had pushed out of the den and there were several partridge feathers and part of a bird's foot just over the bank from the den.

  Stinks! Smells like that dumb cat Greta used to have.

  Brad snickered to himself while he remembered how the male cat had peed in everyone's shoes.

  I hope mama isn't home. I want to get a look inside this hole and she just might not like it if there's a kitten in there.

  Carefully the lean boy drew himself up into the front of the entrance. With his left hand in the soft dirt supporting his weight Brad leaned down into the mouth of the den.

  Alright. Look at the size of that track. It isn't much bigger than the pad of my thumb. There's a lot of those little ones inside the den.

  I wonder how many kittens she has?

  She might be around here. I think I'd better get out of here before she shows up.

  Crawling part way on his belly, part way on his knees and the rest in a sort of duck walk Brad came around the south end of the granite slab. He rose up on tight muscled legs and took three quick steps out into the open on the very top of the rock face.

  The small she-cat was stretched out, sunning herself, on a barrel-sized piece of rock just above the edge of the drop off.

  Brad's hands dragged at the .22 still slung across his back. The sling hung up on his ear and he felt the warm blood trickle down his neck when the sharp edge of a brass sling hook cut him. He kept struggling with his sling while he watched her start to draw her legs under her. She held his stare and with no visible motion or physical effort she was up in a crouch. All of her muscles were taunt and ready to launch her off of the rock.

  He made one more attempt to swing the .22 up into line for a shot at the cat. He blinked when the sling dragged across his face and he heard her hit the dry leaves behind the rock and heard one more smaller thump before she was out of sight and hearing.

  Shaken, Brad leaned back against the rock and tried to remember what he had seen and all he could recollect was the image of a tawny brown form with black and white spots crouched on the rock. But he distinctly remembered and had no trouble visualizing the cat's intense yellow-green eyes and the hidden fire they held when he had looked across the twenty feet separating them.

  I've never been so close to a bobcat. Boy, she looked mad and scared at the same time.

  When his hands stopped shaking and his heart was no longer galloping across his chest, Brad pushed himself off of the boulder and stepped up to the edge of the rock face. He went to where he could see down into the rocks below. Another step and he could also look around the underside of the teetering boulder to the fresh pile of dirt in front of the cat's den and the steep slope which ran down in front of it.

  For over two hours Brad sat quietly on the edge of the cliff. He had his right leg folded under him sitting on his ankle. The .22 Springfield was propped on his left knee and its stock was snug into his right shoulder while he watched for the cat to come back to her young.

  Maybe she won't be back as long as I'm here. Besides I'm getting hungry.

  After waiting in vain for so long he pulled his leg out from under him and sat with both feet dangling over the rock face. From way down in the front pock
et of his blue jeans Brad dug out a couple of cellophane wrapped caramels Joanna Bishop handed to him as he walked out of her math class yesterday afternoon.

  "You might get hungry tomorrow when your hunting."

  While he unpeeled the cellophane from around the candy and put the caramel on his tongue to melt Brad remembered that was all she said before smiling and winking at him.

  How did she know what I was going to do? Brad wondered who had told her.

  They'll make my stomach think it has had something to eat even if I don't like them.

  I hope Dad stops at the store and gets some groceries on his way home tonight.

  He really didn't have any idea how much longer he sat there looking at the cat's den. But the shadows were as short as they were going to get today. Brad dragged Big Ben out to see how close it was to the time he thought it was.

  No wonder I'm hungry, it's after noon. Ben say's it's 12:15.

  Think I'll go over the top of the mountain it will be quicker than going back down to the road. Besides, the worse part of the climb is below me.

  Brad was wandering down the trail rather than hiking. He had let his mind drift as soon as he hit the top of the ridge and picked up the trail which would take him off the mountain and into his front yard.

  I can't believe I asked Cynthia to a show and she said she'd go. I just hope Dad doesn't change his mind about me using the car. Not like he and Mom did when she was getting ready to go to California.

  Brad would break out in a sweat whenever he remembered the double date he had with Annie Phillips, his friend Andy and his girl friend and how after his parents had agreed to let him use the car for the date had reneged at supper time on the night of his date. They said his mother might have to go to her sister's house in Newton because she was leaving for California by plane the next night.

  Brad never could figure out why his mother had to go to Boston 24 hours before she was leaving for California. And why he had to call off the first and only real date he had ever had when he was going to drive his date to a movie. For weeks Brad had been unable to face Annie and although she said she understood and was as friendly as ever Brad stayed shy and embarrassed about the whole episode.

  He had not asked any girls out since then.

  Finally last week he had found the nerve to ask out a girl from Greenfield. He had known Cynthia ever since he started working for Charlie. Cynthia Parker's dad worked at the grain mill with Charlie and the family was one of his milk customers. Whenever Charlie stopped at their house on weekends to deliver milk Brad remembered Cynthia being there. She was the same age he was and went to high school in Peterboro. He always thought she was kind of a cute strawberry blond with an ample supply of freckles. And recently he had noticed she had a woman-sized bust and hips. At first he couldn't believe it when she said she wanted to go out with him and it was only after she added, 'I didn't think you would ever ask me out, so I asked you.' that Brad believed she really wanted to go out with him.

  SIXTEEN

  Several times in the last few minutes Brad had walked back into the kitchen to look at the electric clock. He stared at the clock as its sweeping second hand crept across the twelve twice before he went back out onto the side porch to watch for the green Pontiac to come down the hill.

  He's going to be late and he promised he would be here on time. Damn!

  Brad wiped his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans before opening the door and going out onto the front lawn to wait for his dad.

  Last night as soon as his father had come in from work Brad had confronted him about his date with Cynthia. He got his dad to promise to have the car back by 5 o'clock so Brad could clean it and still have time to eat supper before he picked Cynthia up.

  Brad patted the right front pocket of his jeans and felt the small bulge of the folded bills Charlie had given him yesterday morning after Brad told him he had a date tonight. Charlie had known the few dollars Brad had left from selling some furs wouldn't be enough money for his date. Brad had been hoping his dad would loan him enough to squeak by on since he was suppose to start doing some plowing and harrowing for a neighbor of Charlie's next week and could pay Harold back out of that money in a week or so. Brad felt better knowing he wouldn't have to ask Harold for the money. It was a lot easier to have Charlie offer it and to pay him back with work.

  His brown and white mongrel heard the familiar engine long before it started down the hill or Brad could hear or see it. The dog ran towards the road and sat down on the very edge of the strip of asphalt looking up the hill and waiting.

  "Your full of it, dog! He isn't coming yet."

  Rusty turned her brown and white face to Brad and pulled her upper lip back in a smile before she snubbed him with her nose in the air.

  Well, he isn't too late. I'll still have time to eat if Dad is going to fix it.

  He watched his father pull the '49 Pontiac close to the lawn so Brad could vacuum out the interior.

  "Is that close enough? I guess you can turn it around to get the other side if you have to."

  "I think it will reach OK, Dad."

  "What time are you going to leave?"

  "I have to be at Cynthia's by 6:30. The show starts at 7.

  "When’re we eating?"

  "That's what I was trying to figure out.

  "If your ready to leave by 6, we can eat then and you'll have plenty of time to pickup your girlfriend before half past. OK?"

  "I'll get started on the car now. Then I can take a bath and change before 6."

  Brad had just pushed his chair back from the table and started to get up when Harold spoke for the first time through the whole meal.

  "You've still got a few minutes. Sit down, I'll feed the dog for you later."

  Brad tried to catch his father's eyes but Harold was avoiding eye contact and Brad didn't like it. He knew if his father wouldn't look him in the eye he had something on his mind.

  "I got a letter from your mother today she's talking about not coming back."

  Harold kept looking at his plate and was silent for a long minute.

  "I don't have much time, you'd better hurry up, Dad."

  "She wants to stay in California. We will probably move out there after you get out of school in June.

  "Edgar says he can get me a job at North American Aviation and it will pay three or four times what I make here and you can finish school out there."

  "I'm not sure I want to go to California.” Brad quickly injected. "I know I don't want to be anywhere near Edgar.

  "Maybe I'll live with Charlie."

  Brad got up from the table but hesitated instead of walking away. The conversation wasn't over with, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it and didn't want to be pinned down.

  "I've got to go. I have to pick Cynthia up in five minutes."

  "Brad."

  "I've got to go, Dad. Besides, I don't think it makes a damn what I want. We'll do whatever Mom wants us to do."

  Brad drove the three and a half miles to Greenfield faster than normal. He didn't want to be late getting to Cynthia's house.

  He was more upset about the idea of moving to California than he had first thought when his father brought it up. All the while he drove his mind was whirling with confusion. The more he thought about it the less sure he was of his true feelings. It wasn't as if he had any real ties in Southern New Hampshire. Although he loved the country and the outdoor life he led, Brad thought that there was no one to keep him here.

  The front door opened just before Brad stepped up on the bottom step leading to the Parker's front porch and a smiling Cynthia stepped out. Her strawberry blond hair was almost shoulder length with enough curl to frame her round face. She wore a green plaid cotton dress with a small white collar and a tiny piece of lace at her throat. There was a row of large green buttons on the front as far down as the thin, white leather belt around her tiny waist. Brad could see the strain on the buttons across
her breasts and had a problem looking anywhere else except at the hint of the lacy white bra showing between the buttons.

  "You're not late, but if you had been a little earlier I would have asked you in. My parents aren't home yet.

  Can we go, Brad? I don't want to miss the start of the movie it's suppose to be really good."

  "Sure, why not.

  I was afraid I was going to be late, My dad didn't get through work until late then he had to fix our supper."

  Brad open the passenger door of the Pontiac and when Cynthia slipped past him to get in he felt the touch of her hip brushing against his belly. When the slowly sinking sun showed behind her for a fraction of a second he saw the outlines of her shapely young thighs and Brad realized she didn't have a slip on under her light summer dress. His nostrils caught a faint trace of her perfume which lingered when he closed the door.

  After he had settled himself behind the wheel and started out of Cynthia's driveway, he felt her slide the rest of the way across the front seat which was almost as wide as Brad was tall.

  Their bodies touched from shoulders to knees and Cynthia's left hand rested easily on the upper part of his right thigh.

  Brad felt himself growing and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  I hope she doesn't move her hand and find out I have a hard on. She'll sit on the other side of the car if she does.

  Her hand touching me there feels good. I like that.

  During the eight mile drive, Brad listened to Cynthia's chit-chat about Peterboro High School and he enjoyed the feel of her body against him. She was being very liberal about allowing him to enjoy it.

  When they reached the new piece of straight road which stretched out for over a mile towards Peterboro Brad took his right hand off of the steering wheel with the intention of placing it around her shoulders. But before he could lift it up, Cynthia grasped his hand and guided it down into her lap.

  I can't leave my hand there. She didn't know where she was putting it.

  Brad slowly pulled his right hand free as the end of the straight away approached and as soon as he could steer the car again with one hand he rolled his window down about an inch.

  "I'm a little warm. Are you OK, Cynthia."