“You mean McDonald’s,” Owen corrected.
“Is that your idea of big?”
Anna said, “Sounds like someone is still hungry.”
“You got any pie back there?”
“Dammit, Red,” Owen interjected. “We’re talking about a moose, not pie.”
“Well, the discussion is whetting my appetite. What you got there, Anna dear?”
“Apple. And we can do it à la mode, if you’d like.”
“See how she talks to me, Owen? Like she doesn’t know that Marcy is my girl.”
Even Anna had to laugh at that. “Okay, mister, no ice cream for you.”
Red patted his belly. “I think we’ll pass on the pie, too. If my middle gets any tighter, something will have to give.”
Owen said, “I’m just curious about something. I’ve never seen such big tracks before. My guess is they belong to a huge bull moose, but is that possible so early in the year? I mean, they haven’t had time to regain the weight they lost over the winter. And this guy had to be not only big but heavy, too, to make such deep prints.”
“Could be a pregnant female,” Red offered. “They’ll be dropping their calves any day now.”
Owen leaned back on his stool, a thoughtful look on his face as he folded his long arms in front of him. He was so tall that, even sitting at the counter stool, his feet rested flat on the floor. “Well, all I know is, I’d sure like to get a look at the animal that left those tracks.”
The café had emptied out considerably since the lunch rush ended. Anna wound her way through the room collecting dirty dishes and napkins in a plastic tub. Her strawberry-blonde hair was held back with tortoise-shell barrettes. Red thought she carried her motherhood well, with a healthy glow in her freckled cheeks and a mature cast to her blue eyes. He waited for her to return behind the counter before he asked, “I ever tell you two about the moose I saw up Highway 1 a few years back?”
“Was this the time you’d been out drinking all night?” she asked.
“Hah, hah, very funny. As it so happens, I was working that day.” Red took a drink of coffee, and Anna had to smile looking at the pair of them. She couldn’t help picturing Laurel and Hardy sitting at the counter. Owen Porter was tall, quiet, and slender, while Red Tollefson was short and chubby, allegedly the brains of the pair.
“The first time I heard that story I was working here full-time,” she said.
“What moose?” Owen asked. “I never heard you talk about a moose.”
“Maybe I will take a slice of that pie,” Red said, squirming on his stool to get comfortable. “And cut one out for Owen here, too. I don’t want him interrupting my story.”
Anna set out the slices of pie, adding fresh napkins and forks. Then she started rinsing the tub full of dishes for stacking in the dishwasher, and with the clinking of plates and cups in the background, Red began his story.
• • • • •
“We were repaving that low stretch of highway up past the Finn town. It was pretty late in the year, probably October or early November. Whenever it was, the moose rut was in full swing. I sent the crew home at the end of the day, then spent some time securing all the equipment. When everything was safely locked away and ready for another day of work, I went back to my pickup to drive home. Unfortunately, I’d left my lights on all day, and the battery was dead.
“I had no way of jump-starting it, and this was before cell phones were common, so in the end I decided to take the Ken-worth home. That was the flatbed rig we used to haul our heavy equipment around. In just a couple minutes I had the D-9 Cat chained down tight on the trailer, fired up the big Cummings diesel, and soon thereafter I bounced the heavy rig through the ditch and up onto the blacktop.
“In retrospect, I should have unhooked the trailer, but my thinking at the time was that it would be just my luck that some fool would come along in the middle of the night, hook up to it and steal the whole rig. So anyway, I ended up taking all eighteen wheels home with me.
“It was still light out but getting on to dusk. Definitely suppertime. I wound through the gears, noting the total absence of traffic. Of course, that’s not so strange way out there on a weekday evening. Anyway, I’m coming down the highway just fine when I see this enormous animal walking down the middle of the road, following the center line like a drunk trying to prove his sobriety. I slowed down as I got closer, and the creature turned out to be the biggest bull moose I’d ever seen. His rack had to be better than four feet across.
“Well, this was just the most incredible thing ever. He sauntered along at a leisurely pace, head wagging from side to side, drool dripping off his face, walking right down the center line. He had white stockings on three of his legs—that is, from his knees down the course hair was pure white. Otherwise, his fresh winter coat was thick and black. Despite the drool, I have to say he was one of the handsomest critters I’ve ever seen. It was neat following him in the Kenworth because I had such a great view from up in the cab. I wondered where he was going, and why he used the highway to get there. He sure wasn’t in any hurry, though, just sashaying down the road the way he did. I idled along behind him for ten or fifteen minutes, until my belly started growling and I remembered it was suppertime.
“I eased in closer behind him, looking for room to pass. You know how there aren’t any shoulders out there, just boulder-strewn rough ditches, and then the woods. I nudged up on his right side, but with the long flatbed trailing behind, there was no way to get around him. I tried his left side, too, but it was just too tight. I suppose I could’ve made it in a pinch, but with my luck the outside trailer wheels would’ve dragged me into the ditch, or I would’ve cut it too tight and taken out the moose.
“So once again I settled in behind him. He paid me no attention whatsoever. I tell you, I could’ve crawled down that road faster than he walked it. I opened my window and yelled at him, but all I got was a shake of his big, burly head. About this time, my stomach began doing most of my thinking for me. It was getting dark, I was hungry, and I really wanted to be home. So, in a fit of impatience, I reached up and gave a blast on the air horn.
“Well that got his attention. I had to stomp on the brakes when he suddenly stopped and turned to face me. I tell you, I don’t know if it was the low lighting or just my eyes playing tricks on me, but when he looked up at me in the cab, that angry old bull was the scariest looking thing I’d ever seen. Like I said, thick gobs of drool hung from his mouth and beard. Heavy strands of swamp weeds clung to his antlers, and his eyes were so wide and crazed-looking that I could see the whites all the way around them. It was just reflex that made me hit the air horn again.
“Bad idea. He backed up a step or two, and then charged the Kenworth like a nose tackle off the line of scrimmage. The whole truck shook from the impact. Two or three times he head-butted the grill, and then so fast I couldn’t believe my eyes, he turned around and started kicking with his hind legs. My God, that old boy was pissed off! He put all his weight into it, rocking the cab with the fierce pummeling.
“Steam soon appeared over the hood, so in desperation I again rolled down the window to yell at him. In a split second he charged around the front end to lunge at my door. I dove across the seat as one of his antlers jabbed through the open window at me. The other antler caught on the metal bracket holding the outside rearview mirror. Thrashing about to free himself, he yanked and heaved with all his might, rocking the cab from side to side, until the whole mirror unit tore right off the truck. Then he turned and started kicking again, the mirror and bracket flopping around on the end of his antlers. He kicked my door so hard I thought for sure it would fall off.
“Well, fortunately for me, about that time another vehicle came along from the opposite direction. It must have been a tourist, because I didn’t recognize the little pickup truck. By now my mirror was shattered across the highway, and thick plumes of steam billowed out of my hood. I had to shut the rig down when the temperature gauge pegged out
in the red.
“Anyway, this new guy saw right away what was happening. He tried to help by pulling up and laying on his horn. Well, you can guess what happened next. The old bull took one look at that little runt of a truck challenging him and went after it like a bully in the schoolyard. By now it was pitch dark. If I hadn’t been so upset, it would’ve been funny as all get-out to watch that little truck retreating in reverse down the highway, the moose in hot pursuit. Headlights flashed back and forth from ditch to ditch as the driver made hasty corrections in his retreat.
“It wasn’t long before peace and quiet settled in over the highway. I had to climb out the passenger side because my door was too battered in to open. The stars were out, and I stood in the middle of the highway looking at my truck. It’s hard to picture a big rig like that Kenworth sitting broken and forlorn in the middle of the road. Steam hissed from the punctured radiator. The headlights were on, but in the early evening darkness and fog the tall cab looked like a giant ghost truck. It was like a Hollywood movie set, or the scene of a horrible accident, with shattered glass everywhere and brackets and hardware strewn across the highway.
“Unaccustomed to the sudden quiet, I watched down the roadway for a minute, but the moose and his new victim were long gone. At least, I hoped for the stranger and his fancy little truck that he was long gone. Like I said, this was before everyone had cell phones, so I just stood out there waiting, hoping someone else would come along to lend me a hand.
“Then I had an idea. I climbed back in the cab and turned on the CB radio. Of course, there wasn’t much chatter on the air, but I put out a call on the trucker’s frequency for Black Otter Bay information. I tell you what, it sure was nice to hear Mrs. Virginia Bean respond to my call. You know she monitors the airwaves from her home base in town. I remember her handle back then was ‘Thunderbird.’ She often sits up at night listening to the truckers talking on their way up and down the shore between Duluth and the border.
“Turns out, she was playing cribbage with the sheriff, so Marlon Fastwater got on the air and I gave him my location. I didn’t tell him what had happened, just that I was broke down up on Highway 1. He called out a wrecker to help pull the Ken-worth off the blacktop. You know, I never did see that little pickup truck again, but I’m glad to say I didn’t see any more of that moose, either.”
• • • • •
Anna Eskild leaned over the counter and jabbed an index finger against Red’s chest. “You’re a big fat liar, Red. No way is a moose going to shut down an eighteen-wheeler.”
The retired crew foreman sat back in shock. “Liar? Anna, honey, you’ve never seen an animal like that moose. He was so big, he nearly looked me eye to eye through the windshield of that Kenworth.”
Owen Porter guffawed. “Come on, Red. He’d have to be at least ten feet tall to do that.”
“Well, that’s what he was, then.”
Owen snickered while stealing a look at the door as Sheriff Marlon Fastwater entered the café.
Red, unaware of the sheriff’s entrance, continued his argument. “You’re talking measly pie tins, Porter. The fellow I saw left tracks the size of trash can covers.”
Anna said, “You know, Red, you can’t blame us for being a little skeptical. That’s a mighty big story you’re telling there.” She was pouring Fastwater’s coffee, and Red had yet to notice the sheriff’s arrival. She grinned at Owen. “Maybe we should get another opinion, or ask an expert to confirm the story.”
Red spun around on his stool to argue, then eased up when he suddenly spotted the sheriff sitting next to him.
“Confirmation on what?” Fastwater asked.
“You remember that moose up on Highway 1?” Red asked. When the sheriff didn’t immediately respond, he added, “You know, a few years ago, Marlon. Remember how that moose smashed in my Kenworth?”
The sheriff took his time, sipping his coffee, looking at the three of them bunched up at the counter.
“Remember how I called you and Mrs. Bean on the CB radio?”
Fastwater finally nodded. “Yep, I can confirm that.”
Owen Porter spoke up. “But the moose, sheriff. Red says he was as big as the cab of his truck.”
“I never saw any moose.” Fastwater winked at Anna.
“Ah, Sheriff,” Red complained. “Come on. You saw the damage to my rig.”
Again Fastwater nodded. “Sure, I saw the truck. The grill was busted in and the door was dented and scratched. About what you’d expect after working way out in the country like that. Could’ve been a run-in with a tree or a mistake with the backhoe, but again, I never saw any moose.”
Owen laughed. “There you go, Red. At least I have some tracks to back up my story.”
“I can’t believe you people,” Red proclaimed, getting to his feet. “I get attacked by a moose the size of a small house, and all you can do is laugh. I could’ve been killed out there.”
“Now don’t go away mad,” Anna said. She wore a look of sincere contrition. “If you want, I’ll believe you.”
“Don’t bother.” Red slapped some cash on the counter. He wouldn’t stay mad for long, and they all knew it. By this evening, the whole thing would be forgotten.
Owen said, “I’ll tell you where I saw those tracks, Red, and you can go see them for yourself.”
“Shut up about the tracks, Owen. I’ve already seen the biggest moose there is to see. Who cares about some stupid tracks?” He headed for the door, adding over his shoulder, “I need a nap. All this moose talk wears me out. I’ll probably need an antacid, too.”
Anna covered a laugh, while Sheriff Fastwater grinned into his cup of coffee. As Red went out the door, Leonard came in, accompanied by Matthew Simon. Leonard’s shiny black hair hung in a loose braid from under his sheriff’s department cap, and Matt was fresh off a day shift at the taconite plant. While the two men strolled up to the counter, the sheriff signaled Owen closer. When the bearded, rangy man awkwardly leaned toward him, Anna stepped in close on the other side of the counter, too. Fastwater took a quick glance behind him at the door to insure that Red had left, and then turned his attention to the pair of listeners, saying, “After we got the truck towed off the highway, I stayed behind to clear debris off the blacktop. I swept up glass and bent pieces of metal and hardware. At the far side of the road I found the biggest moose antler I’ve ever seen. Just the one,” he added, holding up an index finger. “But it was firmly entangled in a bracket from a rearview mirror.”
Owens’s eyes went wide. “Wow,” he said. “No kidding, Sheriff? Kind of backs up his story, doesn’t it?”
Anna laughed. “Don’t ever let Red know that. We’d never hear the end of it.”
“So you knew about this, too?”
Anna smiled, but Leonard interrupted to answer for her. “Hell, Owen, we all knew about it. Keeping it an inside joke is the only way we can tolerate listening to that moose story over and over.”
Owen looked at the sheriff. “I can’t believe you never told him.”
“No reason to. It doesn’t prove anything.”
“And it’s more fun this way,” Anna added.
She held up the pot of coffee for Leonard, and when he nodded, Matt said, “Make it two.” They took seats at the counter next to the sheriff.
“But you said the mirror bracket was still attached to the antler.”
“Owen,” Anna said, still wearing a broad smile. “We’ve been friends a long time. But don’t you dare say a word about this to Red.”
Owen opened his mouth to argue, but she set the coffee pot down and leaned across the counter to place a finger over his lips. “Don’t you dare, Owen. We’ve kept this secret for ten years now.”
Matt said, “Now that Owen is in on it, is it still a secret if everyone but Red knows?”
“Everyone in town is in on this?” Owen asked, incredulous.
“Well, it’s been at least ten years,” Leonard said. “You know how word gets around in a small town.”<
br />
Owen had to smile. He felt a little smug now that he was in on the secret, even if he was the second to the last person to know. “I guess it is kind of funny,” he said to no one in particular. “Red always has an answer for everything.” He laughed and looked at Anna. “He sure has some bad luck sometimes, though. Did you hear about his snowblower? Instead of fishing for the opener like he always does, he spent the day and twenty bucks tuning up that old beast of a machine. Then he put the wrong gas in it by mistake and screwed up the carburetor.”
Everyone laughed. “Just goes to show,” Leonard said, fingering his coffee cup. “He needs to keep his priorities straight. Fishing always comes before chores, right?”
Anna said, “Okay now, Owen. Red never told us about wrecking his snowblower. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You keep quiet about the antler, and I’ll never let him know you told us about using the wrong gas.”
The sheriff was still grinning as he sipped his coffee. He looked at Anna and said, “It’s good to have you back in the café. It’s been long time.”
“Yeah. Other than a few hours here and there, little Christopher and the greenhouse keep me pretty busy.”
“Where’s Marcy? She’s not sick, is she?”
“No. She just took a few days off. She asked me to cover for her.”
Owen Porter got to his feet. “Well, if Matt’s here, I guess the day shift is over. Time for me to get work.” He took his boxed-up sandwich from the counter and nodded his farewells to everyone.
Anna cleared away his dishes and said, “I think Marcy was going to Duluth. She said something about hitting the casino.”
Fastwater grunted. “She’s never gone to the casino before.”
Matt suddenly spoke up. “She’s kind of doing me a favor, Sheriff. She took Abby to Duluth to stay with Jackie for a few days.”
“Abby?” The sheriff leaned forward to look down the counter past his nephew in order to skewer Matthew Simon with his black-eyed stare. “You said she didn’t want to go.”
Black Otter Bay Page 17
