He hadn’t been sure how she was doing when she’d told him she was pregnant. Or how she felt about James. That made it difficult for him as her father to know what to feel. James had always seemed nice enough.
After breakfast, Anna had a manic energy that set Samuel’s nerves on edge. She had already rearranged the spices and organized the junk drawer. Now she was cataloging the canned goods.
Maria set Abi and Noah up with some games and toys, relics from summers with grandpa that she’d found from some secret stash. Then she set about cleaning up the dishes, leaving Samuel and James leaning against the kitchen counter picking the remains of breakfast from the kids plates.
Samuel dreaded facing the damage to the house, but it was solid and unavoidable.
“Feel like tackling another tre,e James?” He crunched on a slice of bacon. “Ever used a chainsaw?”
James shook his head. “Weed-whacker’s as heavy as I go.”
“Well, I hope I can get Grandpa’s chainsaw running or we’re gonna have to break out the crosscut. I don’t think the little battery powered saw will have much impact.”
“Crosscut?” James asked. “What’s that?”
“You better hope he gets the chainsaw running,” Anna called over her shoulder from the pantry. “Crosscut saws cleared the forests, but they take two strong people and a lot of work. That’s when they’re sharp; Grandpa’s saw hasn’t been sharpened in 50 years.” Her face broke into a smile.
Leaving the women to their own coping strategies, Samuel led James down the squeaky rough-hewn stairs into the unfinished basement. He pushed open the door into the dank garage, empty except for the old fiberglass canoe Anna’s brothers had found adrift. A smile forced its way onto his face as he remembered canoeing on the lake. The water had been still and the moon bright, but he’d almost capsized them when he moved in to kiss her.
He’d need a ladder to get up on the roof. Grandpa’s rickety old lean-up wasn’t tall enough. He’d need something bigger.
They rummaged, collecting tools, a couple pairs of gloves, some rope, and a tarp that would be good to toss brush on to haul away. Maria came to join them after a while, wiping her water-wrinkled hands on her pants.
Maria picked up one of Grandpa’s old hand-planes. “I remember helping Grandpa smooth the wood to replace a step back there. I think it has my initials burned into the bottom.”
Samuel lifted a few long pieces of plywood to the side and set aside a stack of boxes where he thought the saw had been. Grandpa had been cluttery, but predictable.
“What do you think happened to Grandpa?” Maria asked.
Samuel shrugged. “Who knows? I’m glad we didn’t have to find him in his bed.” The old man had taken to Maria much more than he had to Samuel. And from what Anna said, with more compassion and consideration than the old man had ever shown her.
Sawdust, oil, and dirt coated the old Husqvarna chainsaw, but the rubber cap on the spark plug was clean and new. That was a good sign. He checked the tank. A little fuel sloshed in the bottom, so he poured in more of the gasoline/oil mix. “Always use the chainsaw gas. It’s a mix of gas and oil.” James and Maria nodded.
Samuel stared at the old saw, trying to remember if there were any tricks Grandpa used to start it. Finally, he picked it up, hit the choke and jerked the starter cord up while dropping the saw. It sputtered and coughed. A couple more pulls, a couple of pops, and he got a short, loud run from the saw. He fiddled with the choke and tried again. His shoulder ached from whacking the tree limbs off the day before. He’d spent too much time in an office doing accounting and not enough time out doing real things—no use for accountants anymore. If only Brad could see him now. He took a deep breath and grimaced at his daughter. She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Want me to try?” James offered. “I got the touch with weed-whackers.”
He was a big kid and in much better shape than Samuel. “Sure. It’s just particular.” He handed the saw by its metal bar to James. “Grandpa always gets it by the second or third time.”
James hefted it, made sure he had open space and copied Samuel’s drop and pull tactic. The saw roared. Maria covered her ears and Samuel winced. James handed it back and Samuel engaged the trigger; the chain spun, but it sounded dry. He squeezed the oiling mechanism and tried again. Nice.
He motioned to the kids to open the door. It wouldn’t matter if he’d yelled. The damn thing was loud enough to wake the devil. Maria pushed the latches aside and shoved the garage door up over their heads. James hauled the rest of their gear outside.
Samuel walked out of the garage with the idling saw, stepping carefully across the brush that had grown up.
Outside the storm had left the sky clean and blue. Samuel felt the beginnings of winter’s chill in the air. November was here, and the frost would come soon. All the more reason to get this tree the rest of the way down and the house patched. It would be good to have a start on next years’ wood too, even if it was wet alder.
Samuel let the saw rumble beside him as he surveyed the damage. The big alder had taken down a couple smaller trees. What a mess.
“Okay,” he hollered. “We’re gonna clean up the limbs first. Work away from each other for safety. James, you cut off the big limbs. Maria, you get the little ones with the machete.”
Maria nodded and surveyed the pile of tools James had leaned up against the wall. She pulled a machete from the stack, ran her finger along the blade and grinned. She shouted, “It’s sharp.” She headed to the base of one of the smaller trees, pulled down by the big one and whacked at the little limbs.
Samuel turned back to James. “Okay. You make an undercut like this.” He cut a third of the way into one of the big branches until it started to lean. Then he pulled the saw back and moved the blade to the other side. “Always keep the saw where it’s not gonna get stuck if the tree shifts. That sometimes breaks your chain, bends the blade or worse.” He made the back cut, and the branch fell gently to the side of the tree. “Got that?” he yelled at James.
“Yeah.” James reached his hand out.
Samuel stopped short of placing the saw in his hands. “Don’t screw up. We’re hours from a hospital and everyone there is dead anyway.”
James’ face stayed dead-pan. “Love you, too, Dad.” He grasped the handle next to Samuel’s hand and pulled it from his grip.
Samuel’s face cracked into a smile. He clapped James on the shoulder. “I’m going to check out the roof,” he yelled pointing at the damage to the house.
James nodded.
The tall ladder was nowhere in the garage, so he wandered down toward the creek where it looked like Grandpa had been doing some building. Grandpa had replaced the old bridge with a bunch of logs laid parallel across the creek, cabled together with some old steel rope. The gaps were filled in with dirt and gravel, wide enough for a vehicle to cross.
Behind him, the chainsaw rumbled.
Across the creek stood a new pole building, its green steel siding and roof contrasting with the crumbling remnants of the old barn. The pile of rusted parts that had once been an old Mercury coupe sat nearby, its windshield intact, though opaque.
The big three-legged ladder, handmade from three long straight alders, had the bottom legs stretched out so that the tripod was stable. He hefted it off the ground and then decided carrying it by himself would be a mistake.
He stood for a bit surveying the scene. He’d seen pictures from the 1950s when this field had been cleared of trees for grazing livestock. The garden that supplemented their diet was closer to the house, but the creek had undercut it after a major tree fall.
The Lake Quinault Rain Forest had done much to reclaim its hold on their land. Alders dotted the field. He and James could take them down for firewood and clear the land at the same time. He shook his head. Homesteading was not the dream he had for his later years. At least he was still in decent shape physically.
He headed back to the house. James, or even Maria, coul
d help him move the heavy ladder.
The roar of the chainsaw grew as he got closer to the house. He heard a loud crack and a whoosh. Sounded like the tree had settled. He broke into a jog and crossed the log bridge. Depending on which way the tree slid that could be problematic.
As he cleared the rise, James began to cut into the tree, now canted at a more extreme angle. It had fallen on one side of the stump and was now bent like a bow tensed and ready to fly. Maria whacked at the branches on this side of the downed tree. If James cut all the way through—Oh, God.
“Stop,” Samuel yelled. No use. The saw was too loud. He ran as he watched the chainsaw biting deeper, spewing sawdust. “Maria!”
He was closer, but the saw was almost through. Time slowed. Samuel saw it all in his mind, flashing forward to Maria on the ground.
“Maria!” he yelled again. This time she heard him. She turned toward him, confusion creasing her face. The tree split.
Samuel grabbed her arms and swung her away from the tree. The cracking tree slammed into his back and drove him forward into the ground at Maria’s feet.
It didn’t hurt. Was that a bad thing?
~
Maria crawled around a mess of branches. What the hell? She stared at her father lying on his side, unable to make sense of what had happened. Had he knocked her down?
The chainsaw sputtered to a stop. James stood with the saw in his hands, his mouth agape, his eyes wide and unblinking. The tree still vibrated, the leaves swished back and forth through the air.
Her dad lay there, not moving or making any sounds. “Dad,” she shouted, scrambling over the branches toward him. Her voice rose to a howl. “ANNA!”
Her scream cracked James’ frozen stance. He dropped the saw on the branches and stumbled to his knees next to her.
Maria reached out and touched her father. He was still breathing. Thank God. She didn’t see any blood. “Daddy?” Her mind swam, drowning in thoughts. She’d gotten a first aid card once. What the hell was she supposed to do besides not move him? “James. Get Anna. Now.”
“Right.” He nodded and pulled himself to his feet, stumbling over branches as he tried to run.
Maria crawled around to make sure he wasn’t bleeding on the front. “Daddy?” She touched his face.
His eyes snapped open, wildly searching left-to-right until they settled on Maria. “Need to fix the roof.” He shook his head as if to clear it, and a grimace of pain shot across his face. His eyes closed.
“Daddy,” she begged. “Daddy!” She brushed the hair from his eyes.
His eyes opened again. He looked calmer. “What happened?”
“You saved me.” The door behind her opened and she heard running feet. Her father’s eyes followed Anna’s arrival. “You’re going to be fine, Daddy.” At least he seemed able to track movement.
“Oh, my God.” Anna knelt her hands exploring his head. “Samuel. Where does it hurt?”
“I’m going to be fine.” He tried to sit up and groaned.
“Stay still, Daddy,” Maria begged.
His eyes closed and he settled back into the brush. “Hurt. Lots of places,” he said, letting his breath hiss out. “Mostly my side. Probably broke a rib.”
“We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“NO.” His eyes were clear. He grasped Anna’s hand. “No. That’s a death sentence.” He fell back against the ground, lying there, staring up at the sky. “Got the wind knocked out of me. I feel better already.”
“What the hell happened?” Anna demanded.
James cleared his throat. “I was cutting.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “Then he was there. It was my fault. I didn’t know.”
Maria’s heart continued to pound. “It’s okay, James. I’m all right. Daddy will be okay.”
“I will. I am.” Her father agreed. He tried to sit up again, but his eyes registered pain.
“Please.” Anna’s hand pressed on his chest. “Don’t move, Sam.”
James’ deep brown eyes studied Maria. “I could have killed you.”
Maria’s hand fell to her belly. Her stomach tightened.
“But you didn’t,” Anna barked. “We need a way to get him inside without moving him much.”
“There were some long pieces of plywood in the garage,” James said.
Maria kissed her father and said, “Stay chill, Dad.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Come on, James.”
In the garage, Maria and James found a bowed piece of plywood. “Not sure it’ll be stable enough.” She glanced around looking for inspiration. She needed two-by-four lumber or something like that. Two-by-two would do in a pinch. Then her gaze caught on a short wooden ladder. “Grab that. We can strap the plywood to it.” She pulled a couple bungee cords off a hook. They were extra stretchy, but they’d work. James laid the ladder down and pulled the plywood over it. Maria wrapped the bungees diagonally and across the corners to hold it steadier.
She grasped the ladder; the handles stuck out far enough. James picked up the other end. She shook it hard, back and forth, up and down.
“What the hell, Ria?”
“Seeing if they’ll hold.”
“You could’ve warned me.”
“Sorry.” She gritted her teeth. “Let’s go.”
James turned around and stepped ahead. The contraption pulled forward then banged back into her shins. When they reached her father, he smiled up at them from the ground. “Nice makeshift backboard, Ria.”
“I get my makeshiftedness from my father.”
They placed the board up to his side.
“Anybody know real first aid?” Anna asked.
Was fear tempering the usual bitterness in her voice? “I earned my first aid card in P.E. a few years back,” Maria offered, not confident that any advice she offered would be good. “James is a life guard.”
“At church camp,” James said. “I know about saving someone from drowning, but not much else.”
“I’m going to be fine. Why is no one listening?” His voice changed to a singsong lower tone. “Well, Samuel, they didn’t listen to you before…”
Anna chuckled grimly and glanced sideways at Maria.
Maria shrugged and smiled. “Shut up, Daddy.”
“Yeah, Sam. Take it easy.” Anna gestured for them to put the board down. “Let’s get you onto this without moving you more than we have to.”
The grimace on her father’s face told Maria all she feared. He was not okay.
CHAPTER NINE
MARIA’S HEAD NODDED DOWNWARD AS she watched her father’s breath, her hand absentmindedly stroking the kitten in her lap. Stay awake, sleepy head. He’d saved her life the day before yesterday. And her baby’s. Maybe her young body would have bounced off the tree better than his, but then again, her body, and the baby inside might have taken the hit even worse.
A horrible bruise colored up her father’s side, but nothing seemed to be sticking out wrong. They loaded him up on ibuprofen and acetaminophen and used an ice pack when he could stand it. They kept him awake all day and into the night to verify he didn’t have a concussion.
He’d slept all day yesterday as they took turns watching him. Four hours on a shift. About three in the morning, Anna had awakened Maria. The old faux digital clock flipped the minute tabs over to 6:20 as she watched.
To keep her mind busy for 40 more minutes, Maria reopened the old, brown hardcover of the Hardy Boy’s Mystery, The Hidden Coins. She’d read it when she first came to Quinault. It helped her stay awake, but as she neared the end, it got harder and harder.
Something fell in her lap; Maria thought it was a tree limb, leaped to her fee. The cat jumped away, taking only a little of her skin. It skittered out the small gap in the doorway as the book hit the floor. “Wide awake now,” she whispered to herself. She knelt to check her father’s breathing, since he hadn’t woken from the sound of the falling book. To her relief he was still sleeping peacefully.
The book stared back at her from the f
loor, closed. She picked it up, realizing she had lost her place. Her phone buzzed. The alarm flashed: Seven in the morning. Last night Abigail had begged for a shift, so Anna said she could do a half shift until nine while everyone else was getting up. It would give her something to focus on other than feeling icky.
Maria sighed, leaning forward and kissing his warm forehead. “I love you, Daddy.” She held back the tears for Abi’s sake. There had been enough tears.
She slipped quietly down the hall, opening the door, Abigail stared up at her. “You get any sleep, little sister?”
Abigail sniffed. “It’s light out,” she said as if that explained everything.
“Do you need to go potty before you sit with Daddy?”
“No, I—” A cough cut off Abigail’s answer. She shook her head as her lips tightened in a very Anna-like structure.
Maria fought the urge to smile. Eight years old going on eighteen. “Okay. Bring a book or something to draw on, okay?”
Abigail rolled her eyes as she slipped on her backpack. “I was already ready.”
Maria wished she still had the ability to believe she knew everything. “Of course, you were.”
She helped her little sister get settled in. Then Maria listened to his heart and kissed him on the head.
Abigail looked on seriously. “He’ll be fine, Ria.”
Maria nodded to her sister, not daring to speak, and stumbled back down the hall, knocking on Anna’s door. “I’m heading to bed. Abi is with Dad.”
The bed she shared with James was empty. How long had he been up? Her head hit the pillow, and she pulled the covers up, not bothering to take any clothes off. I can dream something nice. But since she’d gotten pregnant her dreams were weirder and weirder, so it might be nice to sleep without dreaming.
~
Despite her exhaustion, Maria only slept a few hours. When she woke to the sun streaming through the window, she felt the need to get up, even though she had been up most of the night. She wandered out to find James and Anna sitting at the kitchen table and just staring over empty bowls of soup. Maria served herself a bowl and sat next to James. He stared out at the lake, but scooted over to her when she sat down.
Deserted Lands (Novel): Toils and Snares Page 7
