“Holy smokes!” I watched in horror as it appeared that whole log-filled load was about to spill right over. A couple of fellas jumped out of the way. The other team of horses jumped around.
“Haw! Get on boys!”
Urged on by Mr. Walker, Bob and Sammy fought the shifting weight of the sled.
In the commotion, I’d lost sight of Roget. But now, I saw him. Somehow, he’d gotten down off the load and around in front of that slowly slipping sled. He stood there where that whole load could come right down on him. With his peavey, he hooked a log from that third row, tugged it down, and thrust one end down onto the frozen ground. Then, he tugged a few more down, bracing the load. With the weight lightened and those logs bracing against the sideways slide, the sled stopped. It was canted sideways and Bob and Sammy were off the trail hip deep in snow and jittery, but all right. Mr. Walker spoke softly, calming them down.
“Merde!” Exploded into the silence. “Merde!” Roget continued on in French, gesturing with his hands at the ground, shouting at everyone and no one in particular.“Paille,” he said. “Where is the straw?”
“There’s no straw on this hill,” Walker observed.
Cy chose that moment to toss his head, and bells tinkled merrily through the woods. Roget, Walker, and all of the other men on that crew looked right over at me.
That’s when it hit me and my heart sank into the giant gaping hole that opened in my stomach. This was one of the small logging trails that I hadn’t gotten around to putting straw on the night before, and I hadn’t remembered to warn Mr. Walker that morning.
Chapter Seven
~ Punishment ~
The Push sent for me after supper. He was waiting for me at Dob O’Dwyer’s office. Roget and Mr. Lynch were there, too. I had never been so scared in my life. Was I gonna get fired? Was Mr. Lynch gonna wup me for putting his team in danger? Or was Roget gonna kill me and get the whole business done with?
Mr. Daly spoke first, “Sevy, there could have been a serious accident today.”
I nodded.
“Men and horses could have been hurt or killed because you weren’t responsible. You understand that, boy?”
I nodded again, swallowing the enormous lump in my throat. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. I noticed I was looking down at the floor. I made myself look up again ‘cause my Pa always said to look a man in the eye, even when you’ve done wrong.
“I... I’m real sorry, Mr. Lynch. I meant to tell Mr. Walker that I didn’t get straw on those last couple trails. I was so tired.”
Moving like greased lightning, Roget grabbed me by the front of my shirt. “You think that being sorry is enough?” He let go of me and I fell back. He waved his hands about, real worked up. “You think now that everything is all right? I told you before, Joe, this is no place for a school boy.”
“Let’s be clear, Fabien, no one got hurt,” the Push stated.
Roget spat on the floor in disgust. “The Northwoods is no place for a boy.” Shaking his head, he went over to the mantle and leaned up against it, staring down into the flames.
“Sevy,” Dob spoke up calmly from his seat behind the desk. “An accident was avoided, but barely. On a logging team, each man has to rely on the others to do their jobs. If someone doesn’t, well, then a fellow can get hurt. Or worse.”
“It was so late and I was...” I shut my trap when I saw the Push raise his hand.
“I’m not interested in excuses,” he said. “Excuses don’t do anyone any good when a man gets hurt or killed because of a mistake. Sorry don’t feed his family.”
“No excuses,” I repeated softly. I set my jaw and nodded my head. All three men were staring at me and I knew that what I said next really mattered, so I thought for a minute. “You’re right. I don’t have any excuses. I made a mistake, plain and simple. But it won’t happen again. I mean I can’t promise I won’t ever make a mistake again. But I can tell you I won’t make this one. I’m learning more each day. I...” My voice trailed off as I watched an unspoken communication passed between Dob and the Push.
“The problem ain’t that you didn’t get all the trails iced, you know, boy,” Mr. Walker said. “I wouldna gotten ‘em all done myself. But you gotta let the other men on your team know the score, so no one gets hurt.”
“Yes sir.”
“Send this boy home to his mama,” Roget said. “He will be glad for it. I hear him crying into his pillow a night.”
A blush of shame rose in my cheeks. Roget had to be lying, I assured myself. I wasn’t ever loud enough that the other fellas could hear me, was I?
I looked at each of them in turn, but there was no softening of their expressions. Logging was a serious business. For a few seconds, no one said a thing and I figured that I was a goner.
Finally, Dob spoke. “Gentlemen, it seems a bit extreme to me to fire Sevy over a mistake which didn’t have any consequences,” he observed as he drew on his pipe. “We are all too worked up about something that just didn’t happen.”
“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Mr. Walker offered me an apologetic glance. “My horses could have been hurt.”
“Still, there was no real resulting loss. I do the books here,” Dob continued. “In real money, the boy cost the company a half day’s work from Fabien, Christian, and the other members of their team. I’m talking about the time it took to straighten up the mess. The way that I see it is that the most fair way of handling the entire situation is to dock Sevy’s pay to make up for the lost work. I think we should give him another chance, Mike.” Dob was on my side, though I didn’t know why or how.
The Push and I eyeballed each other. I didn’t let myself look down though I shook in my boots.
Mr. Lynch looked away first. He exhaled slowly, running his fingers through his hair. “You understand, Sevy, that being part of a logging team means being responsible for every other man, no matter if you are sick or tired or both. You got that?”
Hardly daring to breathe, I nodded. “I do. I understand.”
“You mean to keep this schoolboy then?” Roget demanded, disbelief thickening his accent.
“This isn’t up to you, Fabien,” Dob responded.
“Nor to you, old man.” Fabien sneered. “You aren’t in the woods with this child.”
“No, it ain’t up to either of you,” Mr. Lynch said. “This is my job. Settle yourself, Fabien. All right, Sevy. We’ll dock your pay. But one more mistake and you’re on the first supply sled out of here. You hear me? We can’t afford no more.”
“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” I exhaled in relief. I wasn’t gonna get fired.
“You are all fools,” Roget snarled. “I will not work with a child. Put me on another team, boss, or I quit.”
“Fabien, I won’t tolerate any man threatening me.” The two men squared off, like they was gonna fight. I’d seen other fellas my own age do the same before tusselin’, but it was different when the fellas were big and thick with muscle. “You’ll work where I tell you to work. And no more fool talk about quitting.”
“He is a boy. He has no place here. Send him home to his mama.”
“That’s enough, Roget.” The Push’s tone was ominous, but Roget was too worked up to care.
“You keep this boy or keep Roget, the best lumberjack in the Northwoods.” Roget shoved a thumb into his chest.
“Don’t talk like a fool, Roget. You know no one will pay you what you get at this here camp.”
Roget spun on his heel and stomped out, muttering in French. On the way out, he slammed the door.
Dob calmly adjusted his spectacles.
“I don’t mean to make him quit,” I said, knowing there really was no choice between an experienced woodsman and a wet-behind-the-ears boy. “I’m not ready to take the long walk, but I won’t make another mistake like that one. I’ve learned.”
The Push held up his hand. “Fabien won’t quit. That Frenchman threatens quitting at least twic
e every season... Still, it’d be a good idea to switch you to another team.”
“Since Grant broke his arm, those Swedish boys have been short handed,” Dob offered. “They won’t care who you send them.”
I ignored the insult, too scared and desperate to stay on.
The Push nodded. “That’s what we’ll do then. Take care of it, Dob. I’ll go talk to that bull-headed Frenchman.” Then, the Push headed out, too. I was left alone with Dob.
He peered at me through his spectacles, one bushy eyebrow cocked. “Don’t let me down, Sevy.”
“I won’t, Mr. O’Dwyer. I promise you, I won’t. And thanks.”
“Roget doesn’t like you and the Push is going to be keeping an eagle eye on you. You have your fate in your own hands. Don’t make another mistake. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir.” I headed out of that shack feeling relieved and worried as all get out. I wanted desperately to talk with someone about what had happened, but I wouldn’t. I was too embarrassed. I decided I wouldn’t even write about it in my letters home. Excuses and apologies weren’t worth the paper they were written on. If I got fired, we would have to go through our savings to pay for just livin’. The money Pa’d saved up to buy us a farm gone once again. It was all up to me. I felt like I carried the weight of the world on my two shoulders.
Chapter Eight
~ Frost Bit ~
After the “incident,” the days flew past in a blur of working, eating, and sleeping. Determined to prove my worth, I worked harder than I ever had in my life. The crew I was with was headed up by two Swedish brothers, Olaf and Johannes Jensson. Big, blond, burly fellas, they went by Ole and Johan. They didn’t say a whole lot, but they also didn’t give me any grief. They were just glad to have an extra pair of hands out in the woods.
Christmas came and went and wasn’t like any other Christmas I’d known. I didn’t even realize it was Christmas Eve until midway through the morning. We got to head in early that day and we had Christmas Day off. But I would have preferred to have worked as usual. Sitting around camp, I felt like the loneliest person in the whole world. Mr. Walker and Dob invited me to play cards with them back at the bunkhouse, but I didn’t have the heart for it. I missed my ma and pa, and Marta and Peter. I missed Christmas treats and presents. I missed all of it; I was homesick, real homesick. And for once I wasn’t the only one. There were some other sorrowful-looking jacks wandering the camp, thinking about their kinfolk who were far away. Harold put together a special dinner for us, but it all tasted like sawdust to me.
Thankfully, the next day was back to business as usual. That morning, I was one of the first up. I hopped out of my bunk, put on my gear, and headed over to the stove where a pair of my Canadian greys was hanging from a rail. I pulled on those thick wool socks that were nice and warm. Then, I grabbed my boots.
I shoved one foot in and felt my foot slide a little. I wiggled my foot around, then felt a warm, wet liquid penetrate my sock. I pulled my foot out, touched the sticky mess on my sock, sniffed it, and then tasted it. Syrup.
“Dog-gone-it.” Someone had poured syrup into my boots.
While other fellas were heading over to the cookshack, I was trying to clean out my boots. My socks were soaked, so I peeled that pair off. I grabbed my other pair of wool socks from where they were hanging. But they were still wet from the day before, and I sure didn’t want to put wet socks on. It was cold outside, well below zero.
By then, I was one of the last fellas in the bunkhouse. I heard the door slam. I looked up.
Roget.
I paused, self conscious that I wasn’t quite ready yet. He eyeballed me and sniffed. Some part of me deep inside still wanted to impress him, to show him I deserved to be out in the Northwoods, a lumberjack, just like he was.
That was what decided me. He wasn’t out the door before I stuck my bare feet into my still sticky boots, pulled on my coat, stuffed my mittens into my pockets, and pulled my toque down on my head. Heading out, I grabbed some grub on the way by the cookshack, and then joined the other lumberjacks on their way out.
It was a good logging day. It was cold but the sun was shining bright and reflecting off the snow. I worked with Aaron Hawkins. He was a patient man who had sons of his own that were just a little younger than me. Working methodically, and talking to me all the while, he taught me the job of barker. Now, it came to me easy enough. I didn’t have to think real hard, and the day flew by, and I knew I was one day closer to going home.
Johan and Ole worked their crosscut saw as a team. Now, I watched Roget and his partner, Adam, a fella who was half Chippewa Indian, work. Those two were regarded as the best at our camp. They were artists who did their work with flamboyance, grace, and a complete lack of fear. More often than not, they preferred to go after a tree in the old way, with a single bit axe. They stopped and argued frequently. Still, they were usually the best producers for our camp. These Swedish brothers had an entirely different style of logging. They didn’t say much and they weren’t interested in doing anything fancy. They simply wanted to cut down as many trees as fast as possible. They could place a tree as it came down as well as any fella, but they didn’t care to show off by having it do anything fancy like drive a stake into the ground. Still, the Johnsens worked brutally hard and cut down an enormous number of pines. Hawkins and I had a tough time keeping up.
First, the brothers took turns using an axe to chop a gouge into the side of a tree. The point of this gouge was so that the tree fell in a certain direction. Then, they tirelessly dragged their enormous cross cut saw back and forth across the opposite side of the tree.
Once a tree was down, then Hawkins and I got to work making the log smooth, so it would drag more easily in the snow. We chopped away all of the branches and the bark. Then, the teamsters snaked the logs to the logging road where they were picked up by a sled.
That morning, Johan and Ole were really flying.
When Hawkins paused to catch his breath, he commented, “Those boys never slow down.” He grinned as he wiped at his face with a wadded red handkerchief. “Those two are like to wear me out.”
“They’re not going to wear me out,” I commented then spit in the snow. I started to take my coat off.
“Keep that on, Sevy. It might still get colder today, ‘specially if the wind whips up. Don’t want that sweat freezin’ on you.”
For a moment, I thought about my sockless feet. Even though my body was good and hot, I could feel the cold seeping into my syrup-wet boots. But I wasn’t gonna let that worry me. I was just going to keep working, and eventually they would warm.
That morning fairly flew by we were working so fast and hard. Lunch was hurried and quiet as we were all near starving. We gave all of our attention to our grub. I was near done with my beans, biscuit, and salt pork when I noticed that it was kinda hard to move my toes. My right ones were worse than my left, but I kept wiggling them hard. They were stiff and felt like they had pins and needles sticking into them. I thought about riding back to camp with Bart and tending to my feet when Johan stood up, setting his plate back down on the wagon.
“Back to work,” he directed.
About an hour later, I knew something was wrong with my feet. I stomped on the ground, trying to get the blood pumping. I’d heard stories about jacks loosing limbs because of frostbite. I should of taken someone else’s woolies. But now that all the fellas were ready to work, I didn’t dare say a thing. Anyway, there’d be just a few more hours until dark.
We worked hard all that afternoon. As usual, I was dog tired before the sun went down, and in January the sun goes down pretty early. There was good news, though. My feet had stopped hurting and feeling cold. They felt kinda wooden, but not painful anymore.
We made it back to camp just before supper. So, I didn’t take off my boots until I was sitting on the preacher’s bench getting ready to hit the hay. A bunch of other fellas in the bunkhouse were already bedding down for the night. I took a seat on the pre
acher’s bench to get a good look at my feet, which had been feeling mighty peculiar all through dinner. I pulled off my right boot. Then, I eyed my foot. It looked kind of whitish, like the blood had been drained from it, and the skin was strange, too, sort of like wet paper. It was ice cold to the touch.
I was still eyeballing it when Dob O’Dwyer spoke up, “Sevy, you been frostbit.”
I heard a low whistle. Mr. Walker came up, staring right at my foot.
“How do they feel?” Dob asked.
“They don’t really hurt. But they feel sorta strange. Kinda tingly.”
“Sevy, that there’s frostbite,” Walker stated flatly.
Dob sat down beside me and picked up my left foot. He looked it over. “You have to get these taken care of, Sevy.”
His words struck fear in my heart. “I don’t want to lose a toe.” My voice cracked and quivered on my words.
“Sevy,” he directed. “Take off your other boot.”
I did as I was told and pulled off the other clodhopper. This foot felt strange, too, but didn’t look quite as bad. It was more pink than white and I had more feeling in it.
“Those feet need doctorin’,” Mr. Walker agreed. “You may need to see a sawbones. You bought some tickets for Doc Jones, didn’t you?”
I bit my lip. I hadn’t bought the tickets. On the job, lumberjacks often got hurt. It was a risky business. So, they generally bought tickets for care from local docs. Back in Eau Claire, after my pa broke his leg in the sawmill, he used those tickets to get his leg set. But I hadn’t wanted to spend money on myself. I’d wanted to save as much as I could. I’d been fooling myself, thinking I wouldn’t get hurt. But now I was out of luck. I was hurt and had no money or tickets to pay a sawbones. I shook my head “no.”
The bunkhouse door swung open and Fabien Roget came in. He took in the three of us, all standing around somber-faced.
I dropped my eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze. I’d messed up again and I didn’t want to hear what this man, who didn’t think much of me, had to say about it.
White Pine Page 6
