by John Grisham
In a low voice, Hardie said, “We met at the farm last night, the whole family. Everyone’s really upset by this, Theo.”
Also in a low voice, Theo replied, “Has anyone talked to a lawyer?”
“Yes. My dad met with one yesterday for a long time, and the guy said the same thing. If the state wants to take our land, then it can do so. Of course, it has to pay us, but with eminent domain the state can do whatever it wants.”
Theo shook his head. Hardie went on, “My poor grandparents are so upset by this. They’ve been married for fifty years and they’ve lived in only one place—the farm. If they have to leave, it’ll just kill them. Both of them were crying last night. It was just awful. They don’t care about the money, and they don’t want the state to write them a check. They want to keep their property. It’s more than just land, Theo, you know?”
Theo was listening as if he knew precisely. Hardie said, “We gotta figure out a way to fight this thing, Theo.”
Theo wasn’t sure how he had been drafted so quickly into the fight. “What do you mean?”
“According to my dad, it’s a simple matter of politics. There are five members on the County Commission, and they have to approve the bypass. Those of us who are opposed to it have to get organized and convince the commissioners it’s a bad idea. My dad and my uncles are trying to organize things as quickly as possible. They think it might be a good idea for our Scout troop to get involved.”
“Why?”
“Because, Theo, this bypass could do some real damage to the environment. All of the city’s drinking water comes from the Red Creek, and no one knows how much the bypass will affect it. Plus there will be all this truck traffic zooming by Jackson Elementary School. Think of the noise and exhaust fumes. It could be terrible. What if we talk to the Major about making this a project for the whole troop?”
“I’m not sure the Major will want to get involved in local politics.”
Hardie thought about this for a moment, and said, “I think we should talk to him this weekend. Find a quiet moment, and just run it by him. It can’t hurt anything.”
“Let me think about it,” Theo said. He was a little irritated Hardie would bring up such an unpleasant issue at a time of great excitement, but he gave him a break. Theo tried to imagine how he would feel if the government wanted to bulldoze the Boone home and the rest of the neighborhood to build a parkway. Of course he would be upset.
Chapter 7
The first view of Lake Marlo was always exciting, and everyone on the bus was anticipating it. The highway peeked over a steep hill, and suddenly, spread below it, were the beautiful blue waters that stretched a mile wide and seemed to run forever to their source. The lake was surrounded by rolling hills, and a long earthen dam ran half a mile to the east and kept the water contained. Because it was a state park, there had been no development along the shores—no houses, condos, marinas, no clutter. The lake was lined with narrow beaches, rocky points, and secluded bays. It was the perfect place for a bunch of Boy Scouts to get lost in the great outdoors over a long weekend.
There were dozens of campsites around the lake, and of all varieties. The choices ran from the fancier places with slabs and sewers and electrical hookups for recreational vehicles all the way down to the primitive sites tucked away on far sides of the lake. With Major Ludwig at the wheel, the Troop 1440 bus always headed to the same spot, a site known as Enid Point, far away from the dam and the more civilized areas.
Theo had earned his Camping merit badge months earlier. A requirement was to keep a camping diary, which he had checked the night before. In his two years as a Boy Scout, he had spent twenty-one nights at Lake Marlo, either under the stars in perfect weather or in a pup tent when things were damp and cold. The previous summer, the troop had camped at Enid Point for seven consecutive nights. Various fathers, including Mr. Boone, had hauled in food and supplies. It had been a magical week, and Theo had been terribly saddened when the adventure was over.
He still dreamed of it often. During a dreary day at school, he would gaze through the windows, see the hills in the distance, and remember those wonderful carefree hours when he and the other Scouts roamed around the lake hiking, backpacking, and studying nature. They spent hours on the water, working on merit badges for Swimming, Rowing, and Lifeguarding. The Major held classes on first aid, cooking, and at night, astronomy. The days were lazy, but the Major was always pushing the boys to learn and achieve more. The First Class Scouts were pushed to achieve the rank of Star, then Life, then Eagle. There were currently 120 merit badges in the book. “You shouldn’t stop until you have at least half of them,” the Major was fond of saying. Sixty merit badges? It seemed impossible. Truman, a fifteen-year-old Eagle who had led the Warthog Patrol for three years and was the finest Scout in the troop, had earned forty-seven merit badges. His sash was heavily decorated and the envy of every kid in the troop. But the Major gently challenged him to do more.
Theo had already decided that in addition to being either a lawyer or a judge, he would definitely be a scoutmaster. He knew the job paid nothing, but if the Major could do it and do it so well, then he could certainly try.
The bus bounced along a gravel road and worked its way slowly up and down hills covered in thick trees and undergrowth. As they retreated from civilization, it usually took thirty minutes from the first sighting of the lake to their arrival at Enid Point. The gravel turned into dirt, and Theo could not help but remember a camping adventure here when heavy rains washed out the road and the troop was stranded for an extra day. That was the same trip when most of the pup tents began sliding downhill in the mud, and the boys had to scurry to the bus before they nearly froze. At the time it was a nightmare, but now the story seemed funny and was retold often.
Luckily, Enid Point was deserted; there were no other campers. The troop had reserved a large section, but other campers usually complicated matters. The Major huddled with the five patrol leaders and laid out the campsite. The tents and supplies were quickly unloaded as the thirty-eight Scouts hustled about. It would be dark in an hour, and as usual the patrol leaders wanted the tents up and organized by dark with dinner on the grill. Around a central fireplace, the five patrols laid out their tents in neat rows, like spokes on a wheel. Each two-man pup tent was identical to the others and pitched exactly four feet away from the next. The Major believed in strict organization and expected the campsite to be as perfect as possible.
Theo and the other leaders went through their duty rosters and assigned tasks. Friday’s dinner was always a quick one, and by dark the boys were bunched around the campfire, eating hot dogs and marshmallows roasted over open flames. Mr. Bennett, of the Old Goats Patrol, smoked a pipe, and the fragrant smell wafted over the campsite. Mr. Hogan, Al’s father, began telling ghost stories and proved quite talented. By the third one—a detailed account of a headless ax murderer last seen somewhere around Lake Marlo—the Scouts were huddling even closer together. It was a troop ritual that the fathers were expected to handle the tall tales that naturally came with campfires, and, of course, the goal was to terrify the boys as much as possible.
A favorite nighttime hike was along a rocky path that bordered the shore of the lake. After dinner and ghost stories, flashlights were unpacked and the Major led the troop for a long, casual walk. They stopped on a sandy point with waves lapping the shore and looked above. There was a half moon, and because of clouds, almost no stars. The Major said they would try again on Saturday night. At ten, they were back in camp and preparing for the night.
Sleep was always difficult the first night. There was too much excitement at being in the woods, away from home, tucked into a warm sleeping bag in a small tent, with the sounds of crickets chirping and frogs croaking and deer snorting. Theo and Woody talked and listened to the murmurings from the other tents. They could hear the men, the Old Goats, talking and laughing by the campfire. Every half hour or so, the Major would patrol the site and tell the boys to quiet down and
get some sleep. Eventually they did.
Theo awoke early and eased out of his sleeping bag. He put on his hiking boots and managed to crawl out of the pup tent without waking Woody, who appeared to be dead to the world. The sun was barely up, the air was crisp and cool, and the men were drinking coffee over a roaring fire in the center of the campsite. The Major had a pot of hot cocoa on a grill, and he poured Theo a cup. Why did it always taste so much better outdoors? Other Scouts staggered over, all wiping sleep from their eyes and unaware of how wild their tent hair really looked. They were boys—who cared? Their mothers and sisters were miles away. Looks and hygiene were not important, not on a camping trip. They had no plans to bathe or brush their teeth until they got home, though the Major would remind them of these necessities.
As the troop slowly came to life, there was more and more talk of breakfast. Before long the smell of bacon sizzling over an open fire filled the air. For the Falcon Patrol, Theo, who had already earned his Cooking merit badge, was helping Phillip work on his. Phillip was in charge of preparing breakfast for the eight Falcons both Saturday and Sunday, and had planned the menu in detail. For Saturday, it was scrambled eggs, link sausage, and jam on wheat bread grilled in a skillet. Phillip cooked over a low-impact fire as Theo supervised and the rest of the patrol scoured the area for firewood. The Major stopped by for a friendly reminder about the importance of campsite sanitation.
After breakfast and cleanup, the troop divided into small groups. Truman, an Eagle Scout, left on a twenty-mile hike with five others, all pursuing their Hiking merit badge. Gavin, a sixteen-year-old Eagle and the oldest guy there, left with three others in two canoes for a trip across Lake Marlo and back, a voyage that was expected to take eight hours. Other groups worked on the basics of Camping, First Aid, Nature, and Fishing.
Hardie had explained to the Major that he and Theo needed a short, private conversation with him. And during a lull in the activities, the three managed to ease away from the campsite. They hiked for ten minutes, climbed a small hill, and found a secluded spot on a rocky ledge with a great view of the lake. Hardie wasted no time. He launched into a history of his family’s farm and described with great feeling how much it meant to him. He explained how the bypass would destroy not only the farm, but a lot of his family’s history. His grandparents would be forced to move. He argued that Boy Scouts had the duty to protect nature and the outdoors, and the entire scouting handbook was filled with notions of conservation and protection of the environment. He wanted the entire troop, indeed all three of the different Scout troops in Strattenburg, to get organized and fight the bypass.
Theo just listened and nodded when needed. He could tell that Hardie’s sincere plea was not being well received by the Major. When Hardie finished, the Major said, “I understand how you feel, but this is not a project for us. Based on what I’ve read and heard, this is something the politicians are fighting over. The governor wants the bypass. Some state senators north and south of Strattenburg want the bypass. Our local leaders are not sure, but they will be forced to make the decision.”
“But it’s not right and it’s not fair,” Hardie insisted. “How can the state take your property for a bad project?”
The Major smiled and pointed. “Look at this beautiful lake, Hardie. It was not created by nature. No sir.” He pointed to another spot, sort of in the center of the lake. “Out there in the middle, it’s about two hundred feet deep. There used to be a town there, a very small town called Coldwater. The Enid River ran through the center of the town, and about every five years the river would rise and rise and eventually flood, and not just the town of Coldwater. It was a wild river with a history of chaos. It would flood for miles up and down this valley. The farmers and landowners lost their crops, homes, and businesses, and they complained for decades about the flooding. Finally, about sixty years ago, the state decided to build a dam, tame the river, and stop the flooding. They created this lake. Herbert Marlo was the governor back then.” He pointed to the dam, far in the distance and barely visible. “But guess what. Many of the people who lived around here did not want to give up their land. In spite of the flooding, in spite of everything, they fought the project. They hired lawyers and went to court and did everything possible to stop the dam. It took years. Have you heard the term ‘eminent domain’?”
“Theo explained it to me,” Hardie replied.
“Without the right of eminent domain, the state could not have built this lake. One landowner could have blocked the entire project, and flooding would have continued. Without eminent domain, there would be no dams, lakes, highways, state parks, canals, ports, lots of things, Hardie. It’s not pleasant when you’re on the bad end of eminent domain, but it’s important for society as a whole.”
“But this project was necessary. The bypass is not.”
“There are those who think it is. It’s shaping up to a nasty fight, and the Boy Scouts have no business in the middle of it. If you think it’s wrong, then you should fight as hard as possible. Get involved. According to the newspaper, there are several groups already lined up to oppose the bypass. Use your energy there, but leave the troop out of it.”
Theo was not surprised at the Major’s position. The bypass smacked of politics, and it was no place for scouting. They hiked back to the campsite, where a long swim was being organized.
Chapter 8
After lunch, the Falcon Patrol left camp and headed for the peak of Mount Thatch, a leisurely five-mile hike that would consume most of the afternoon. Mount Thatch was nothing close to a real mountain, but more of a tall hill with some big rocks on the top. It was thick with woods and trails and adventures, and had the reputation of being well stocked with copperhead snakes. Neither Theo nor any other member of the Falcon Patrol had ever seen a copperhead, or a rattler, or any other poisonous snake for that matter, but deep in the woods there was always the chance of a sighting. Four months earlier, Al Hogan of the Warthog Patrol had spotted a copperhead near the peak of Mount Thatch, and this had thrilled the troop like nothing else. In the frenzy of the moment, Al had snapped a photo with his cell phone, posted it on Facebook, and half the kids in Strattenburg had seen the snake. When sighted, it was barely two feet long and lounging peacefully in the sun. Twenty-four hours later, though, it was being described, by Al, as “massive and very aggressive.” He was lucky to have survived the encounter.
When the Falcon Patrol marched out of camp, all eight Scouts had backpacks with water, snacks, and first-aid kits. The enemy was out there, waiting, and the Scouts were prepared. The Major warned them to be careful and instructed them to return at precisely 4:00 p.m. He kept a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt and wanted updates on the hour.
But the snakes were either hiding or too frightened to attack the Falcons, and the hike proceeded with no drama. At the peak, Theo and his gang sat on rocks and ate cheese crackers and looked at the gorgeous lake below them. Theo, the wise, old historian, told the story of the small town of Coldwater and the floods and how it was still out there, two hundred feet below, an entire town wiped out. Woody called him a liar. They argued and bickered and finally bet one dollar. Theo couldn’t wait to get back to camp and have the Major verify the story.
On the descent, with Theo in the lead and some of the others straggling behind, the lazy afternoon changed quickly when Percy yelled, “A copperhead!”
Every Boy Scout patrol has at least one kid who is always screwing up. The kid who forgets to pack his socks and underwear; the kid who knocks over the watercooler; the kid who forgets his flashlight and toilet paper; the kid who gets scared in the middle of the night; the kid who gets sick and vomits too close to the tents; the kid who pees too close to the tents; the kid who burns the pancakes; the kid who leaves dirty dishes; the kid who lets the campfire go out; the kid who’ll always be a Tenderfoot because he’s not smart enough to advance; the kid who can be dared into doing anything; and the kid who’ll do anything in an attempt to prove he’s either cool or bra
ve.
And, the kid who thinks a copperhead is something to play with.
In the Falcon Patrol that kid was Percy.
On a rocky ledge near a cliff, there was indeed a copperhead, a long, thick one, frozen for the moment and glaring at the humans as they gawked at him. The eight Scouts formed a nervous semicircle and stared in disbelief at the deadly creature, which, before now, existed only in the brightly colored pages of nature books. It looked much more dangerous in real life. Aside from the danger, though, the snake’s color and markings were striking. It was a very bright copper, a shiny color that seemed to glow in the sun.
It was twelve feet away, a safe distance, and it showed no sign of attacking. The boys showed no sign of advancing upon it, at least for the moment. Theo knew the boys should back away and clear the area. He knew that as the patrol leader it was his responsibility to order them away from the danger. He knew this, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the snake.
“Is it really a copperhead?” someone asked.
“Sure it is,” Woody said. “Look at its color and markings, and look at its triangular-shaped head. That’s where the venom is.” Woody had owned several snakes, of the nonpoisonous variety, and knew more about the reptiles than anyone else, though at that moment there were several experts in the group.
“It seems big for a copperhead,” someone said.
Indeed it did.
“I think it’s a male,” added another.
“You can’t tell with snakes,” Woody said. “You have to pick ’em up and look on the underside.”
“Let’s pick him up,” Percy said.
“No way,” Theo barked, and the very idea of advancing on the snake made everyone take a step back.
