by Lois Lenski
The forest was a menace, a hiding place for cruel animals, for dangerous trees that killed men or maimed them for life. How could he ever have loved it? It turned on everyone who tried to be its friend. Billy had said once of Joel’s dad: “If he keeps on working in the woods, it’ll get him some day. He’ll get his!” Horrible thought—or was it a premonition?
Joel stumbled and fell full-length on the ground, sobbing. He beat the earth with his fists and cried out, “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” He cried until he could cry no more.
Exhausted he lay there, he never knew how long. He lay there as the gales continued to blow over him. He lay there and the woods and all else faded away as he lost consciousness. A long time afterward he stirred. Had he fallen asleep? How could he have slept when his whole world had gone mad about him? Had he slept his fears, his fatigue, his nightmares away?
He stirred and stretched. He felt strangely calm now, as if a hard-fought battle was over at last. But still he did not open his eyes. He did not want to come back to life, to have to face reality.
Then he felt something, something touching his arm. It felt like something licking him. One of the dogs, maybe. But no, he had left Corky at home. Something was licking him, on the arm below the elbow. He opened his eyes and there was a baby fawn!
He lay still, not daring to move for fear of frightening it. Soon it danced away and joined the mother deer. They skipped away together.
Joel sat up and looked around.
What time was it? How long had he been lost in the woods? The dark clouds had blown away, and the sun was shining. The sun had not set yet. In August the twilights lasted till nine or ten at night. How long had he been sleeping?
The blow was over. The forest was still now—peaceful and quiet. A little red pine squirrel caught the boy’s eye. Up and down and round about it jumped, cutting down cones, scolding and chattering. What a clown it was! Joel held out his hand and the little fellow jumped up on it. It eyed him with its bright little eye and began to scold. Then it jumped to a stump and nibbled on a pine cone as big as itself.
Joel could not help laughing.
The forest was quiet again, a haven of peace and rest. He did not want to go, but knew he must.
How? Where? Could he find the way home alone?
First he must think things out. What had Dad told him to do? Oh, yes, how could he have forgotten? When lost in the woods, there’s just one rule to follow—go down hill, keep going down hill. There’s always a creek and a road at the bottom.
It was a long trudge and Joel never knew how long it took him. He fell many times, but got up again and started over. Hours later he reached the valley road, and a man that he knew picked him up and drove him to the Drum Cash Store.
The store was closed for the night, but a light was on in the kitchen.
Joel hurried up the woods road to go home. He could not get there fast enough. He knew that food and bed waited for him there. He was tired as he had never been tired before, tired in every bone and muscle.
It was dark now. The long daylight had come to an end.
Funny, there were no lights on in the house. Had everybody gone to bed early?
The dogs came tearing out to meet him. All three of them jumped on him and nearly knocked him over. Joel was glad to see them, but too tired to enjoy the force of their welcome.
“Get down! Get down!” he yelled. “Let me alone, I tell you!”
Nobody came out of the house.
Why didn’t somebody come? Why didn’t they ask, Where have you been? Why did you stay away so long? Don’t tell me you’ve been lost in the woods! Don’t tell me you’ve been lost on the mountain! Don’t you know your way around better than that?
No voices, no questions, no bawling out for getting lost.
No sisters, no Dad, no Mom.
Joel stomped into the house and switched on a light. The door had been left wide open. No supper on the table, the table not even set. No food had been cooked on the stove.
Had Mom and the girls gone to town on a shopping spree, and forgot to come back? Had they been wrecked in the car and got killed? But Dad—where was he? He’d have come home from the woods hours ago. Where could Dad have gone?
It was too much. All this, after what he’d been through. Joel could not take any more. He’d have to find out. There was only one person who would know—Myra Ross at the store, in bed or not. She always knew everything.
Back to the highway he ran and pounded on the store door.
He waited a long time, then pounded again. “Let me in!” he shouted.
At last, Myra called out, “Who’s there?”
“Me, Joel Bartlett!” he answered. “Let me in, I say!”
Myra opened the door and said, “So it’s you. Fine time o’ night for a kid like you to be comin’ home.”
“Where’s my folks?” demanded Joel. “I come home and there’s nobody there. No supper and the door wide open.”
“Worse things than that can happen,” said Myra, grimly. “Come in and sit down.”
“Where’s my folks?” demanded Joel, his voice still louder.
“Don’t wake up the whole neighborhood,” said Myra.
She had a bright red dressing gown on, and a frilly cap over her curly hair. She looked as if she had been sleeping and was still only half-awake.
She took Joel by the hand and pulled him in. She pulled him into the kitchen and told him to sit down.
“Where’s my folks …”
“You had anything to eat?” she asked.
The boy shook his head. “What I want to know is …”
Myra went slowly to the icebox, fixed a plate of cold meat and cheese and put it in front of him. She laid out some slices of bread and poured a big glass of milk.
“Now, eat!” she said. “When that’s all gone, I’ll talk to you.”
Joel was hungry all right, so it did not take him long to gobble the food.
Myra sat by, half-asleep, and watched him.
“You sure were hungry,” she said.
“You’d be hungry, too,” began Joel, “if you …” Then he stopped. He’d never tell her what had happened to him.
“You look kinda ragged and beat up,” said Myra.
Joel shut his mouth tight. He’d never tell her, no matter how much she hinted. He’d never hear the end of it if she knew.
“I asked you …” he began.
“Yes, yes,” said Myra, “and I guess I might as well tell you. You got to know sooner or later. Your dad got hurt in the woods today.”
She said it in a quiet voice as if it was nothing at all.
Joel’s face went white and he began to shake all over.
Dad got hurt … it couldn’t be true. Not Dad. Not Dad. Nothing ever happened to Dad. Joel’s world went topsy-turvy again.
“What’d you say?” asked Joel, when he could speak.
“Your dad got hurt,” said Myra calmly. “They took him to Medford Hospital in the ambulance. Your mom and the girls drove down to be with him. They’ll stay there till they find out how he’s gettin’ along—a few days, maybe longer.”
Joel gasped. He could not believe it.
“He hurt bad?” He managed to get the words out.
“How should I know?” said Myra.
“Didn’t they …” Then he stopped.
“You’re to stay here, your mom said,” Myra went on.
“Here?” asked Joel. “Me sleep here?”
“Yes,” said Myra.
Chapter Ten
THE TREASURE
It was hard getting used to the fact that Dad was in the hospital. Mom went several times a week to visit him and often Jinx and Sandy went along. But Joel refused to go.
“Got things to do at home,” he growled.
The hard part was hearing everybody ask about Dad, and listening to their comments.
They said: “Every logger gets it. He had it coming. He went scot-free too long.”
“We all
have to go some time. If we’re careless, we may go sooner.”
“No logger goes till his time comes!”
“Big Joe’s been mighty lucky! His luck couldn’t hold.”
“Accidents don’t just happen. There’s always a cause, you know.”
It hurt Joel’s pride that Dad was helpless in the hospital, and not out in the woods doing a strong man’s work.
And of course, Billy Weber, even Billy, Joel’s best friend, had to rub it in.
“I told you he’d get his one of these days,” said Billy darkly. “I told you every logger’s got all his bones broke.”
“Shut up!” shouted Joel.
Dad’s previous accidents, his concussions and his broken ribs and noses—all these were nothing. It was the real thing this time, so bad Joel could not talk about it. Dad was on the critical list at the hospital.
He could not admit it to Billy, but maybe Billy was right and Dad had really got his.
No! Joel would not even think about it. He remembered what a strong man Dad was. He’d pull through, sure, just as he had so many times before. Joel just had to believe that.
Joel wished Mom would stop talking about the accident. But she had to tell her story over and over. Joel heard it so often he felt as if he had been there himself.
The humidity was so low that Monday, Mom had expected Dad home early. He ought to appear any time, but he didn’t. It got later and later. Still he did not come. Where was he? Why didn’t he come? She drove the old Ford down to the store to find out.
Then the crummy pulled up without him.
“What’s happened?” Mom asked. “Where’s Big Joe?”
“He stayed to work on the shovel,” Al Duncan told her. “He’ll be back later.”
So Mom started for home. Just as she turned in at the woods road, an ambulance whizzed by, the siren screaming. Mom went right back to the store. Everybody was buzzing around to find out who had been hurt. But nobody told her anything. They knew it all the time, but were too cowardly to tell her.
So she went home. Dad wasn’t there. It was way past time for him to come home. He never stopped at the tavern the way a lot of loggers did. He always came straight home. But where was he? He didn’t come.
Even when you know it’s going to come, you are never prepared, she told herself. Why be afraid? Big Joe is a logger. I knew it when I married him. I’ve got to live with it. The loggers’ wives were all alike. They hated logging, but the men were stubborn and kept on loving it. The loggers’ wives, Mom told herself, and even their children lived under the shadow of fear. It was no way to live, she’d get Big Joe out of the woods, take him away to the city … but she knew he’d never go. Even the children—there was Jinx crying her eyes out because Dad had not come home …
Somebody was at the door. It was Uncle Irv, Mom’s brother. His face was white, so she knew before he spoke.
“That was HIM in the ambulance!” she managed to say.
Irv nodded and put his arms around her. Jinx and Sandy came and they all cried and sobbed together.
Irv told them what he knew, but it wasn’t much.
“A widow-maker came down, hit him on the head and tore the muscles of his shoulder,” said Irv. “He saw it coming and stepped back, but the wind started blowing right then and it swerved over and got him.”
So Dad was on the critical list. There was nerve injury, the doctor said and other effects. It was terrible to listen to all the details. Dad, the fearless high climber, not afraid of anything, was down in bed and nobody knew when he’d get up again.
Life at home was not the same without Dad. Days and weeks passed by somehow, one just like the other. All the spice had gone out of daily living. A heavy cloud hung over the home, the cloud of fear and anxiety.
Uncle Irv and Uncle Curt brought their families to visit, but even Mom wished they would go away. She did not want sympathy. It was bad enough not knowing if Dad would ever get well again, without listening to the doubtful words of sympathy that even her kinfolk tried to give. Everybody said it was a blessing he did not get hit on the spine. That was the worst of all, it meant paralysis.
Mom complained about the trips to the hospital.
“I’m wearing my tires out, putting on so much mileage,” she said. “Fifty miles each way and all those pesky curves on that mountain. I wish I never had to drive it again.”
One day when she came back, she sounded more cheerful. Uncle Irv had stopped in, and Joel came up to hear her report.
“I found out what’s botherin’ Joe,” she told Uncle Irv. “He’s worried about money.”
Uncle Irv smiled. “Him with the highest-paid job in the woods! That makes me laugh!”
Joel knew that all loggers were heavily insured, and that the insurance covered accidents on the job. It paid hospital and doctor bills and 25 per cent of a man’s wages.
“Well,” said Mom, “there’s payments due on a number of things, this living room set and …”
Irv interrupted. He looked at the chairs and davenport. “They’re not paid for yet?” he asked. “Why, they’re wore out already.”
The two big dogs jumped off the davenport and part of the stuffing fell on the floor. Joel picked it up and tried to push it back in.
“What Joe gets from the insurance will just about pay for the groceries,” said Mom. “School’s opening soon and the kids all need new school clothes.”
“Nellie, you always were a spendthrift,” said Irv. “Don’t you ever save anything when going’s good? When you gonna learn to save a few pennies?”
Mom went on. “But what’s on Joe’s mind is the timber. If the taxes are not paid, he’ll lose the timber.”
Irv frowned. “That’s a horse of a different color. The kids can go to school in rags …”
“Not me!” broke in Sandy. “I’ll be in first year High. I got to look decent. I need a new skirt and a coat and …”
Uncle Irv turned on the girl in anger.
“Well, you’re not going to get them!” he said. “If your Mom’s too soft to bawl you out, your Uncle Irv will have to do it. You can stop being selfish and think of someone else for a while.”
Sandy subsided in teen-age tears.
Jinx came up and sat on Uncle Irv’s lap.
“Could I get a job, Uncle Irv?” she asked. “I’d help pay for the davenport. I’ve got five dollars from peeling poles and twenty dollars of my prize money.”
Joel reached out and kicked her on the shin.
“Stop showin’ off!” he growled. “Nobody’d hire a silly galoot like you! Besides, what could you do?”
Jinx turned on Joel and pounded him with her fists. Mom shooed them both out into the yard. The dogs leaped on them and began a frantic barking.
It was after a visit from Dot Kramer that Mom got her big idea.
“We’ll go cone picking,” she said firmly. “We can pick and sell enough cones to pay the taxes, pay up on the living-room set, and meet those bills at Penney’s and Ward’s.”
“You mean go up in the deep woods and pick cones and drag ’em down?” asked Sandy. “You won’t catch me helping. Donna and Sherry Kramer told me what nasty work it is. You get covered with pitch from head to foot.”
Nobody listened to Sandy.
Jinx was eager to go, always ready for new adventure. Girls of her age did not get to the woods as often as boys, or as often as they wanted to go.
But it was hard for Joel. He had a difficult decision to make. After his experience in the big blow, he never wanted to go to the woods again. Getting lost was no joke. He had never told anyone what happened. No one had noticed that anything was wrong except Myra Ross, and he had never told her a word. She had not asked questions, either, thank goodness. Nobody knew a thing about it. They had all been concerned over Dad’s accident.
Joel did not want to go back to the woods. It was a terrible place, the forest was an enemy. It destroyed everybody who loved it. Look what a beating it gave him when he got lost, loo
k what it did to all the loggers, breaking their bones, look what it did to Dad, half-killing him. Joel was through with the woods, his mind was made up. He would never be a logger and spend his life in the woods.
Then, too, this was funny business, Mom going to the woods, Mom who had never even seen Dad fall a tree, let alone top one, who didn’t know a donkey from a shovel and who hated everything about logging. Nobody could even drag her to the woods up to now. Was all this just talk? Or did she mean what she said? It sounded phony—Mom who never saved a penny in her life was now going to pay off all the debts and taxes!
“I won’t go!” said Joel firmly.
“But, Joel, you love the woods …” Mom began.
“I’m not going!” shouted Joel, angrily. “Nobody can make me!”
“Oh, if only Dad were here,” said Mom, half crying.
But she went ahead anyhow. She went to the Forest Service and got her cone-picking permit. The Forest Service would buy the cones for the seeds in them. The cones had to be closed, with seeds still inside. When the cones opened up, they shed the seeds and were no good. The Forest Service used the seeds for replanting. They paid four dollars a bushel for Douglas fir cones, and more for smaller ones. The best cones were to be found at high elevations, above thirty-five hundred feet. The fall was the season for cone picking, late September, October, and November, up to Thanksgiving. They had to be picked before frost.
Mom went ahead with her plans. Uncle Irv said she could use his pick-up and Dot Kramer was to go along the first time to show her where to go.
Next morning, Mom and the girls dressed in their oldest shirts and jeans. They tied scarves around their heads. They hunted up heavy gloves to wear and put buckets and gunnysacks in the truck. Mom packed a basket of lunch.
They all piled in the truck and Joel watched them drive off.
Were they really going? Joel could not believe it. Mom was a greenhorn in the woods. So were Jinx and Sandy. Mom did not know a bobcat from a cougar, a sugar pine from an oak, a bat from an owl, a snag from a living tree, a chipmunk from a flying squirrel. How could a woman like that make out in the woods? The girls were soft, too. Picking cones was hard work, not just play like picking wild flowers for a bouquet. Sacks of cones were heavy—who was going to lift them?
