She found a box of stick matches, swiped the head of one on the rough igniter surface on the side of the box, and touched the flame to the paper. She looked up to make sure that the handle on the smokestack was turned up so as not to smoke out the cabin before closing the door.
Mia placed her hands in front of the stove, palms out, and could already feel the heat wafting off the cast-iron which served not only as a source of heating the cabin, it also had a cooking surface. There was the drawback that after considerable use, the air in the cabin would become too dry to breathe though there was a workaround.
She took a pot down from a shelf and went over to the sink. She worked the hand pump a few times to get the air out of the line before water started gurgling out in short gushes into the pot. She placed the pot of water on the cooking surface so that steam would later humidify the inside of the cabin.
Mia would have to keep a strict watch over Casey whenever he was crawling about and keep him away from the stove. She had visions of him standing, grabbing the pot handle, and pulling the scalding liquid down on him.
And where was the nearest hospital? Or doctor for that matter? What if Casey did hurt himself or got sick? Where would she take him? Not being able to answer those questions meant that she had to watch him like a hawk, every second, of every day.
But what choice did she have? If they hadn’t gotten the offer from Clay’s uncle, who knows where they would be. Her parents were spiteful zealots and kicked her out of the house once they learned she was pregnant. That’s when she moved in with Clay and his mom.
Jobs were scarce and Clay could only find odd jobs and never steady work.
Once Casey was born, the Morgan home suddenly seemed too small with just a ten-pound addition. How much room did a baby need?
But then, as her grandmother used to say, things happened for a reason.
Clay’s mom met someone that was halfway decent. One thing led to another, and before the dust could settle, they were talking about marriage. Clay never talked much about his father who stepped out on him and his mother and never came back, when Clay was only five years old.
Mia knew there was no way one more person could be living in that house.
That’s when Clay’s mom wrote her brother. Two weeks later, Clay’s uncle sent a reply inviting Clay, Mia, and Casey to come stay with him.
And here they were.
There was still a lot to do, unpacking suitcases, finish offloading the car, setting up the playpen—even though she had to substitute a cushion for the missing section of vertical slats on one side—and the highchair, not to mention sprucing the place up.
Not that the cabin was neglected; it just needed a woman’s touch.
She shuffled over to the fireplace and looked at the two carbine rifles hanging over the mantle. Four boxes of ammunition were on the shelf next to a faded photograph in a cheap frame.
It was a picture of Clay when he was just a boy, standing alongside his uncle, each sporting big grins as they showed off their bountiful stringers of fish.
They could have easily passed for father and son.
6
Ethan hefted the heavy chainsaw and went down one side of the tree, cutting off the branches from the trunk into loose piles. He went back and trimmed off the small limbs and twigs, instructing Clay to gather them up and toss them into the woods for compost. The large boughs were cut up for the wood-burning stove and stacked in the bed of the Scout truck.
They completed the process on the other side of the tree, which left the larger task of sectioning the tree trunk into rounds that would be split later for firewood.
Ethan started at the base, sawing through the trunk. After completing the cut, he moved up a couple feet, and set the rotating teeth onto the bark and worked the saw into the soft wood.
Clay’s job was to push each section out and wheel it like a tire onto the shoulder of the road, forming two separate groups; one for Rolf, the other for Ethan.
Ethan switched off the motor and placed the chainsaw on the ground. He looked over at Clay, who was walking back, wiping his gloves together to remove some of the sticky sap.
“How about we take a little break?” Ethan said. “Care for some jerky?”
“Sure thing, Uncle Ethan.”
Ethan went over to the truck and opened the door. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the thermos and grabbed the paper sack of pemmican. Sauntering over, he sat down on a stump, and offered Clay the sack.
“Thanks.” Clay opened the bag, took out a long strip of dried venison and handed the sack back to his uncle.
“Smoked it myself,” Ethan said proudly and drank some of the lukewarm coffee.
Clay held onto the end and put the salted meat between his teeth and bit down. He tugged and gnawed, and kept trying to chew the tough marinated meat, refusing to give in, like a persistent dog with a rawhide bone.
Ethan burst out laughing. “Son, you best suck on it, less you want to pull out a tooth.”
“Oh,” Clay said and let the end hang out of his mouth like a flatten stogy.
“So, how you holding up?”
“I’m okay,” Clay replied, taking the jerky out of his mouth to give his jaw a rest.
“As you’ve probably noticed, we do things a little different around here.”
“You mean what you did with Mr. Becker?”
Ethan nodded. “Folks in these parts don’t have a lot of money. That’s why most people barter. Most everyone has something worth trading.”
“The only thing I got is my car,” Clay said.
“You got two hands. Some people don’t have the knack to fix a roof, put up a fence. I do. I can teach you.”
“I’d really appreciate that, Uncle Ethan.”
“Good. Because I have another job lined up. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Do you think Mia and Casey will be okay?”
“I don’t see why not. Blu’s there and the cabin’s well stocked.”
The road was cleared and there was nothing more for them to do but come back later and haul away the rounds to be split for firewood.
“But if you’re worried, I can take you back and do the job on my own.”
“No way, Uncle Ethan.”
“All right then.”
***
Mia stared at the clock on the mantle. It was a few minutes past noon which meant that Clay had been gone for more than six hours. She had spent the entire morning doing things around the cabin. Most of their clothes she had arranged in a bedroom dresser after unpacking the suitcases and the overflow of clean items that were in the laundry basket.
She’d nursed Casey and fed him a jar of baby food—yams and peas—that he didn’t care for as most of it ended up on his bib or on the tray of his highchair. He was cranky as he was getting another tooth. She prayed he didn’t get an ear infection, as she’d heard that usually happened whenever babies were teething.
But Mia, a young mother of eighteen, was doing her best. She had never felt close to her own mother as the woman was always scornful and never showed affection.
So even though raising Casey was a daunting and tiresome full-time endeavor, Mia wouldn’t have wanted it any other way because now she had her very own family.
Clay, a man that she truly loved, and Casey, her beautiful baby boy, who she would protect with her very life.
After some coaxing, Mia finally got Casey to take a nap in his playpen. She decided it would be a good time to go outside and bring in whatever was left in the trunk of the car and get it done before Clay came home.
Home. It was hard to imagine.
Mia went over and opened the front door onto the porch.
Blu immediately sat up on his haunches to greet her.
“Well, hello.”
Blu swished his tail in response.
“So, are you here to watch over us?”
The coonhound responded with a boisterous howl.
Mia raised a finger to her lips. “Quiet down
. You’ll wake up Casey.” She walked out onto the porch and went down the steps. Blu followed a few steps behind.
Clay had parked the car twenty feet from the cabin near a patch of tall grass by the framed-in outdoor shower.
Mia reached into her jean pocket and took out the car keys. Not paying attention to what was in front of her as she walked, she searched for the trunk key on the ring.
Suddenly, a force bumped her and she staggered sideways.
Blu bolted passed her.
“Hey, why did you…?”
That’s when she saw the viper coiled under the rear bumper of the Oldsmobile. She recognized the thick body covered with black crossbands on yellowish brown scales.
It was a timber rattlesnake. And its venom was deadly.
Blu stuck his head under the bumper and pawed at the snake.
“Blu! Leave that fool snake alone!”
She ran over, grabbed the dog by the collar, and yanked him back, just as the snake lunged…
Setting its fangs into the hard rubber of the rear tire. The snake’s body lashed as it struggled to pull free.
Still holding onto Blu’s collar, Mia inserted the key into the lock and opened the trunk. She reached inside, took out the L-shaped lug wrench, and with the beveled end used for popping off hubcaps, she stabbed the snake through the head.
She dropped the tire iron and decided to leave the dead snake where it was and let Clay dispose of it.
“Come on, Blu. We better go inside. I’ll bet you’re thirsty.”
The canine howled and dashed up the porch steps into the cabin.
“Crazy dog,” Mia said with a smile.
***
Ethan drove through a plot of rust-colored pastoral land to a single-story house not too far from the edge of the forest. A wraparound porch stretched around to the side yard.
“This is Alberta’s place,” Ethan said, stopping the truck and shutting off the engine. “I promised her I’d do a quick patch on her roof while she was visiting her sister.”
He got out of the truck then reached behind the bench seat. He pulled out a tool belt and fastened it around his waist.
“How do we get up on the roof?” Clay asked.
“There’s a ladder round back.” Ethan unlocked the toolbox mounted behind the cab and lifted the lid. “Grab about five of those shingles and that box of roofing nails.”
Clay stacked the composite squares and slipped them under his arm. He picked up the box of nails, which was half full.
They went up the steps and followed the porch around the side of the house.
“I don’t hear the dogs. Alberta must have taken Samson and Beulah with her to Porterville.”
“Those are Blu’s parents?”
“That’s right.
Ethan stopped short.
“What is it?” Clay asked.
Ethan pointed to a badly dented metal shed that looked like it had been run over by a boulder. The door was bashed in. Bags filled with dog food had been taken out and ripped to shreds, the nuggets strewn all over the ground next to an open gate of a cyclone fenced-in kennel.
“Clay, go fetch my gun.”
The young man put the shingles and the box of nails on the deck and dashed to the truck. He came back and handed Ethan his rifle.
Ethan ejected the 4-round magazine to make sure it was full and rammed it back inside the forestock. Pulling up the bolt handle, he slid the bolt back, raising a bullet into the breech. He threw the bolt forward, pushing the bullet into the chamber, and flipped the bolt handle down.
As they stepped warily toward the rear of the house, Ethan and Clay witnessed more destruction.
Some of the railing had been torn down, the four-by-four posts snapped in two like matchsticks.
When they rounded the corner, Ethan stopped to cover his nose.
“Uncle Ethan, what’s that god-awful smell?” Clay said, taking a step back.
The backdoor, what was left of it, was lying on the rear deck. As they approached, they saw that the wood around the doorjamb was splintered, and there were only the screw holes where the hinges were once anchored.
Ethan aimed his rifle and pointed the muzzle at the doorway.
Standing at the threshold, they could see the devastation to the kitchen. The cabinets had been ripped from the walls. Spilled flour dusted the floor along with mashed food cartons and shredded grain sacks.
The legs had been broken off the kitchen table, and the chairs were lying on their sides, one reduced to kindling like something with enormous strength had stomped the piece of furniture. The cooler had been upended, and what meat that was left behind, chewed and slobbered.
“Looks like we’ll be here for a while,” Ethan said. “I can’t let Alberta come home to this.”
“Ah, jeez,” Clay said, pointing at the corner of the kitchen where a large animal suffering from diarrhea had left wet brown splats all over the floor, and then must have stepped in the runny feces as the scat was smeared all over the floor.
“There’s a shovel by the shed.”
Clay left to get the shovel.
Ethan stared at the foul crap on the floor. “Damn things.”
7
It was an hour away from sundown when Ethan and Clay finished their noble attempt at restoring Alberta’s home to some semblance of its original self. For five hours, they’d hauled out debris, swept, scrubbed the filth off the floor, and did repairs.
Ethan fabricated and affixed new legs to the kitchen table. He was able to hang one cabinet back on the wall though it was missing both of its doors.
No matter how much they tried, they could not get that damn smell out of the house. They figured eventually it would dissipate on its own.
Clay helped Ethan with demolishing the damaged porch. After rummaging in another shed, Ethan found some posts and two-by-fours that he used to rebuild parts of the railing. He told Clay that they would come back at a later time to finish the job and throw on some paint.
Ethan had gotten creative and taken an interior door—unfortunately, it was to Alberta’s bedroom—and was able to use it to replace the kitchen door that had been torn off.
The metal shed was a total loss.
Ethan wrote a short note explaining what had happened, in the event that Alberta should decide to come home earlier than planned, and left the message with his chicken scratch on the kitchen table.
As Alberta wasn’t due back for another few days, Ethan figured he might be able to do a few quick jobs in exchange for enough foodstuffs to restock some of her kitchen.
By the time they arrived back at the cabin, it was nightfall.
“I’d call that a full day, wouldn’t you?” Ethan said as he shut off the truck’s engine.
“Hope Mia was okay I was gone so long.”
They got out of the truck. Clay was a little slow going up the steps to the porch.
“Still holding up?” Ethan commented, following behind.
“I’m all right.”
As soon as Clay opened the cabin door, they were greeted with the wonderful aroma of stew, which was simmering in a large pot on the wood-burning stove. A crackling fire radiated warmth and cast an orange glow about the cabin’s interior.
A lantern on the drain board provided ambient light on the small kitchen table where three bowls with spoons and cloth napkins were arranged on a checkered tablecloth.
Ethan and Clay stood amazed.
Mia stepped from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her slim waist. “Hope you two are hungry?”
“You might say we worked up an appetite,” Ethan said, giving Clay a wink. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall as he closed the door.
“I could eat a horse,” Clay proclaimed. He took off his coat and draped it over the back of the chair by the fire.
Ethan and Clay sat at the table and put their napkins on their laps. Mia took each bowl and filled it with hot stew. She brought over a basket of fres
hly baked biscuits, already buttered, and placed it in the middle of the table.
“I must say, Mia, this looks mighty good,” Ethan said.
“Well, thank you, Uncle Ethan,” Mia said, sitting down across from Clay. “It’s okay if I call you Uncle Ethan?”
“Seem strange not to.” Ethan smiled.
“So, how was your day?” Mia asked.
“Got that tree cut up and off the road,” Ethan said. “Be splitting it up tomorrow.”
“Clay?”
“Well…” Clay hesitated then glanced over at Ethan who was earnestly enjoying his stew to see the troubled look on his nephew’s face.
Ethan soaked up the last of the broth in his bowl with a biscuit, stuffed it in his mouth, and sat back in his chair. “Mia, I have to say you’re a fine cook. You might want to share that recipe with Alberta.”
“So she can cook it for you?” Mia asked, smiling as she ate her supper.
“Now don’t get me wrong. Alberta’s a fine cook…it’s just…” Ethan was getting a little flabbergasted.
“Now I get it,” Clay said. “You’re keen on her.”
“Why do you say that?” Mia asked.
“Well, we were out at her place today and—”
“Clay,” Ethan said abruptly. “There’s no need to go into all that.”
“Go into what?” Mia asked.
“We had to fix her house up a bit,” Ethan said.
“A bit? You should have seen it, Mia. The place was destroyed.”
“Did someone break in?”
“More like something.” Clay turned to his uncle. “Tell her, Uncle Ethan.”
“Clay, just let it go for now. Is that coffee I smell?”
“Sure is,” Mia said and stood up, collecting the empty bowls. “Let me get you a cup.”
“So where’s Casey, in his crib?” Clay asked.
“Go see for yourself.”
Ethan got up, walked over to the stone hearth and tossed another log onto the fire, creating a brief bright flash.
The Beasts Of Stoneclad Mountain Page 3
