“Chuck is now resting among the trees,” the moose replied. “It is no fun for someone such as myself to give chase to one who refuses to be chased. Hmm, so there I left him to his rest.”
***
As it turned out, Uncle Chuck wasn’t really resting—not in the sense Stomper had meant. Actually he was in pretty rough shape from his attempted escape and needed a good bit of help. Being unable to outrun the moose, he had eventually taken a desperate dive off the road and into a very thick section of woods. He tumbled and rolled downhill into a little ravine of sorts, and there, in a sense, came to rest. His method of escape worked as far as discouraging Stomper from further pursuit, but otherwise it didn’t help Chuck much.
Dad ended up calling in the town rescue squad after finding him moaning and groaning in the ravine. Once the rescue crew arrived, they surveyed the situation and then promptly called the volunteer fire department to cut back the tangled brush, dense undergrowth, and all the thorny raspberry bushes Uncle Chuck had lodged himself into. Before long the road between the inn and the ski hill was lined with trucks, all with their lights blinking, like in a parade. Some of the neighbors from down the road even came up to partake in the spectacle.
In time Uncle Chuck was freed from the thorns and brush. The rescue crew then strapped him securely to a backboard and covered him with blankets to extricate him from the woods. Because he’d hit his head pretty hard, first on the sign, then on a tree, he was complaining bitterly of extreme pain in his head and neck, and also his arm. The rescue crew suspected a possible spinal injury, as well as a broken arm, and so decided to take extreme, slow precautions before moving him.
“Better safe than sorry, Chuck,” they kept telling him, as Mom, Dad, Ginny and me watched from the roadside. But no matter how much they tried to gently care for him, Chuck kept on complaining bitterly and struggling through the whole extraction process. It started bad and only got worse as time went on. He was scolding everyone in sight, cursing them terribly, barking wicked threats at them and their families, and ranting madly about an army of talking animals who were all conspiring in a sinister plot to destroy him.
All in all it took just under an hour to finally get him up out of the woods. As they rolled him past us on the stretcher toward the ambulance, he seethed and thrashed like a fish out of water, almost tipping the stretcher over. His eyes were wild and bloodshot and swollen, and it was clear that no matter how badly he was injured, in his rage all he could think of was lunging at us—most likely me. Due to all the struggling, it took all three of the rescue men to successfully load him into the ambulance without dropping him. Even after the doors were closed we could still hear him bellowing, though greatly muffled.
After securing the door, the lead paramedic, Captain Billy Goodwill walked over to us and remarked, “Phew, he is not a happy camper, let me tell you.” He then glanced down at me and said, “Now don’t you go repeating any of them bad words you just heard, Ethan. Just ’cause he’s your uncle, and you love him so, don’t mean you need to be saying everything you hear him say.”
I nodded and smiled.
“That’s the spirit,” he said. “Smiling through the pain as you worry over your poor uncle. Brave little guy. You’re too young to let these sad circumstances hold you down.”
“So,” Dad said. “What can you tell us?”
“It’s pretty bad, I have to say,” answered Billy. “You’ll have to forgive me for not having better news.”
“I forgive you, Billy,” Mom offered with a smile.
Billy nodded, assuming that she was only being polite and said, “In addition to his injured neck and broken arm, sadly, he’s become so emotionally and mentally overwhelmed that he’s started foaming at the mouth. That’s never a good sign. And he keeps on ranting about some monster moose, some rabid coons, and some vicious wolves trying to kill him. We found scat all over his coat. I’d guess he fell in it and got to constructing all sorts of strange explanations. It’s a sad, sad state to see an otherwise proud man sink to.”
“Oh boy,” Dad sighed.
“Yeah, but don’t get too alarmed just yet, Russ. These kind of things—these complete mental and emotional breakdowns—they come and go, sort of like the seasons. It’s sure not the end of the world, if that’s what you’re fearing. Not in most cases anyway. And the encouraging thing is, in spite of how miserable and hopeless he must be feeling after all he’s gone through here today, old Chuck hasn’t forgotten you. Not one of you. Why, he’s mentioned you all multiple times since I’ve arrived. Even the dog, Ginny.”
“I see,” Dad said.
“Boy, it’s a shame about his fancy suit of clothes,” Billy remarked with a whistle. “If I know Chucky, they must have been mighty pricy, given that he takes such pride in his appearance and all. It sure is sad seeing such fine clothing all ripped to shreds like that. Good for nothing but polishing the fire trucks with after this. And that’s not counting his pants. Those we were forced to bag as Hazardous Materials. You see, in all his panicked fits, unfortunately for us all, his bowels completely evacuated. And I mean completely.”
What does that mean? I asked Ginny.
You can ask your father, later, she said.
“Sorry, Billy,” Dad mumbled. “I’m very, very sorry.”
“Yeah, you and me too,” Billy replied. “It bothers me because I consider myself to be an optimistic man, as well as one who hates seeing nice things go to waste. When I get to thinking about it, I’m sure there must be plenty of folks out in the world that walk around every day without any britches at all. So, seeing a perfectly good pair destroyed like that for no good reason, it just drives the irony home to my heart. But on the flipside, truthfully we had no real choice in the matter, Russ. Those pants are far beyond any hope of salvation. Of course we had to cut them off anyway, being tangled and immobile as he was. That’s standard procedure. Had to wear our face masks and surgical gloves the whole time.”
“You don’t need to tell us anymore,” Dad said. “I trust you, Billy. And I can see it’s been tough on you.”
Billy shook his head sorrowfully. “I can’t imagine losing my pants on a brisk day like this. But you know, it gets even stranger than that. What perplexes me most from this whole fiasco is the sting marks. Yeah, you heard me right. Sure enough we found stings all over Chuck’s head, face and hands. Somehow, wandering about as lost as he was, he must have disturbed a hornet’s nest buried deep in all that tangled undergrowth. You might think I’m crazy, Russ, but I swear it’s the truth. A few of them were still buzzing around when we hauled him out. Saw them with my own eyes. Have you ever in your life heard of such a thing at this time of year?”
“No,” Dad said. “That’s very … odd.”
Odd but fitting, Ginny whispered.
“Odd is exactly right,” Billy nodded. “But being an optimist, I say Chuck’s darn lucky not be allergic to stings. Couldn’t have been any fun to endure, but he’ll come out a stronger man having undergone such dreadful hardships. And there’s a silver lining too—a lesson we can all take from this mess.”
“Is there?” Dad said.
“Sure is. And not only that, but I think I know exactly what went on here today.”
We all stood silently, wondering if Billy could have possibly extracted the truth from Chuck’s garbled ranting.
“Stress,” he finally answered, and we all relaxed as we realized he had no way of knowing the actual truth. “It’s no friend to any of us,” he explained. “That’s the truth and the lesson. You folks hold onto that one. Hold it close.”
“We will,” Mom said.
“Yeah, the holidays probably pushed him over the edge. They can be mighty stressful to some folks. That’s not to say the pressure of everyday life isn’t hard enough on a fellow—traffic, taxes, putting food on the table, the constant threat of impending economic collapse hanging over us all, as we push on in vain against a headwind in an increasingly hostile world, often times staggering in
figurative darkness as we lurch toward a completely uncertain future. And that’s not even mentioning the Soviets, with all their intercontinental ballistic missiles pointed right at us, just waiting for the order to push the launch buttons. Heck, after all that, there’s no time left to worry about floods and tornados and rogue waves and super volcanos popping off at will. Not even the dinosaurs could survive all that.”
Dad cleared his throat.
“My point is,” Billy said, “that kind of pressure builds and builds all year long, until, wham, along comes the holidays, piling in on top of all the rest. For some it’s a burden too heavy to carry. As for poor Chuck here, where he’s such an ambitious fellow, and likely worrying about you all, I’d bet you twenty dollars it was seasonal stress that finally brought him to this lowly state.”
“The holidays can be busy,” Dad agreed.
“Here’s my theory,” Billy said, leaning over and pointing at the ground. “Look closely at these tracks. Most of them are covered up now from all these trucks moving through, but if you look closely, you’ll see some big old moose tracks leading right up the road.”
We all looked down at the tracks to humor him.
“I’ll bet you,” Billy surmised as he stood straight again, “Chucky was probably just going for a quick walk to clear his mind before going in to wish you all a happy day. Why else would he be down here if not worrying himself sick about you all, or counting the shopping days left to find you all just the right Christmas gifts? Now, being a clever man, Chuck must’ve spotted those tracks. But, being as terribly stressed as he obviously is, he must’ve imagined those tracks and scat to belong to a killer bull, who, for reasons existing only in Chuck’s mind, was bent on causing his personal destruction. From that point there’s just no telling all the strange directions his troubled mind could’ve lead him off to. Maybe he went wandering off the road because he was talking to the trees—like in them Hobbit stories. Or maybe he was hunting for the Easter Bunny, trying to reclaim his lost childhood. Or hoping Santa Claus might be coming to town to make everything right in the world. The fact is, Russ, we just can’t be sure.”
My father made a sudden choking sound. He had started to laugh, then bent forward and coughed a few times to stifle it.
“Hey now,” said Billy. “I know it looks bleak, but don’t you worry yourselves. Once we get him to the hospital, none of this will matter anymore—not hornets or moose, thorn bushes or anything. They’ll give him a thorough brain scan to check for any possible damage. And that’s before having him undergo a very intense psychological analysis to get to the root of the problem. Nothing but the best possible treatments for old Chuck.”
“Phew,” Dad whistled. That should be pricy.
“I know you’re worried,” Billy continued, “but this is the best thing for him. Chucky needs the kind of help you and I aren’t cut out to offer him. You trust me on this. As a loving brother, the best thing you can do is take a step back and let him get the professional help he so desperately needs.”
Dad nodded and took a long, deep breath. Then he started scratching his stubbly chin.
“Now,” Billy went on, “when you go to visit him, like I’m guessing you’re already planning, I’m sure you’ll find him in a nice private room on the fourth floor. That’s up in the psychiatric wing. There he can scream and holler for days and days, till his voice gives out, and nobody will think any worse of him for it. And after he’s finally settled down some, I’m sure they’ll remove his restraints, fix him up with his own personal gown, and maybe give him a nice, soothing sponge bath. From then on it’ll be smooth sailing. He’ll have plenty of quiet time to unwind and get a firm hold on reality. And after all that, when the team of specialists finally agrees to clear him for release, they won’t just send him home to cope all on his lonesome. No way. Chuck might think it best to rush home, get back to life and put this whole mess far behind, but they won’t let him cheat his self that way. No, sir. They’ll set him up with many, many hours of the best therapeutic counseling money can buy. Speaking as an optimist, I’d say it’ll only be a matter of a few months—maybe six to ten at most—before old Chucky is feeling just as good as new.”
“Oh,” Dad said, fidgeting a little. “I don’t know if that’s all necessary, Billy. Maybe he’s just in shock right now. Maybe we should—”
“Look,” Billy said in a softer tone, setting his hand on Dad’s shoulder. “I hate to lecture you, being a grown man and all. But you should know better by now, Russ. It’s the eighties for crying out loud. A man shouldn’t have to feel ashamed for publically expressing concern about his stricken brother. Leave all that macho stuff behind you now.”
“Well,” Dad began.
“No, no, let me finish, Russ. In the face of personal tragedies like this, it’s perfectly natural for a man to put a brave face on and pretend he’s not scared half to death. Truthfully, though, behind the brave face, I’m betting you’re feeling awfully shaken up inside, after seeing your brother pop a screw loose like he did. Heck, you might even be feeling like you could just … fall to your knees at any moment and burst into tears.”
Dad kept nodding and scratching his chin. He couldn’t make eye contact with Billy.
“What I’m trying to say is,” Billy continued, “I see what’s going on here. You’re wearing that stoic face just to impress me. Well let me tell you, buddy, there’s no need. If you’re feeling sad, you just go right ahead and let it out. Better to deal with it now, before it builds up and sends you off the deep end with him. Go ahead now, cry. I won’t think any less of you for it. And I doubt your little fellow here will think any less of you either.”
“No, no,” Dad stammered. “It’s not that, Billy.”
Billy smiled, patted my dad’s shoulder and said, “Ah, I’m touched, old friend. Don’t worry, I won’t push you. I can see what you’re about. You and Ellie and Ethan have got each other to lean on. I’m sure you’ll grieve and work through your feelings together, all in good time. It’s just a crying shame Chuck won’t be here to enjoy the majesty of the season with you, here in this beautiful place, as I’m sure you’re all wishing he could.”
We all looked at each other. No one dared say anything.
Billy brushed away a tear from his cheek, cleared his throat and said, “Look at me getting all choked up. How unprofessional. My apologies, folks. Now, back to business. What about Palleta? Do you think it would be comforting for Chuck to have her ride down with us?”
“She’s still refusing to come out of the house,” Mom said. “We should probably let her unwind a bit before we push her to make any decisions.”
“I reckon you’re right, Ellie,” Billy said with a nod. “Give her some time, some hugs, and lots of love and support. Come to think of it, it’s probably for the best this way. Between the revolting stench in there, and Chuck ranting like a lunatic and struggling so fiercely, and the boys having to hold him down while trying to keep from getting sick themselves, that rescue truck isn’t a fit place for man nor beast. Certainly not for a classy lady.”
At last Billy turned and walked over to the ambulance and started to climb into the cab. The moment he opened the door we heard Uncle Chuck’s muffled ranting become loud and clear once more. The wrath pouring from him flowed like a rushing river of garbled curses mixed with frantic gurgling sounds, snorts, grunts, groans and gasps. In a way he sounded wilder than the animals currently hiding behind the inn.
Mom, standing behind me as Uncle Chuck’s voice became clear through the open door, cupped her hands over my ears. Dad thanked Billy for all his help.
Billy Goodwill looked back to us before climbing all the way into the ambulance. He smiled a sad, sympathetic smile and said, “By golly, if you could only see yourselves from my view. It’s like looking at a postcard of a perfect family—a strong family, sticking together just as they should in these tragic times. Why, even the dog looks concerned. Bless your hearts.”
I’m a wonderful actres
s, Ginny whispered, and I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing.
Dad smiled sheepishly and said, “Thanks again, Billy.”
“Stay strong,” he said. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, given these sad circumstances and all, I’d like to encourage you to cut yourselves some slack. In spite of this shocking setback, I believe in my heart that Chuck would want you to do your best to enjoy the rest of this day. Don’t guilt yourselves for being phony, pretending to be happy while you’re crying inside. Doing so might feel like you’re painting lipstick on a pig and trying to pass her off as a prom queen, but for Chuck’s sake, dig deep and find the strength to carry on.”
“You have my word,” Dad said.
Billy tipped his hat to us. “Happy Thanksgiving, folks. Count all your blessings. I know I’m very thankful to be driving this rig rather than attending to the victim. Phew!”
Dad waved but said nothing more. Billy pulled his shirt collar up over his nose, slid in the cab and closed the driver’s door.
“Those poor men,” Mom said as we watched the ambulance pull away. “We should send some sort of a thank you gift over to the station.”
“Some doughnuts and coffee from Dunkin’s might be a good start,” Dad said.
“And a pine tree freshener for the ambulance,” Mom said.
“And while we’re at it, free skiing for life,” Dad added.
Chapter 14
The ambulance and fire trucks had no sooner left when a noisy old tow truck came rattling up the hill. The driver slowed, rolled down the window and asked where to find Palleta Dewfield. “Called me ’bout an hour back. Said I was the only one answering the phones on a holiday.”
Dad directed the driver to the remnants of Uncle Chuck’s car and helped him get into position to tow it aboard, while Mom went inside to check on Palleta.
“Dang,” said the truck driver and gave a long whistle. He was a large, rugged man and his clothes looked as if he’d been swimming in grease. “Do I dare ask what happened?”
The Earthkeepers Page 15
