Blackwater Ben

by William Durbin

  Nevers stepped a few paces away and tossed some tea at Ben, but the push came around the corner just as Nevers let loose. The half-frozen tea spattered onto his face.

  Everyone stopped laughing. The push looked mad at first. Then he smiled at Pa. “What's this, Jack? Some new recipe?”

  “Want to try, sir?” Nevers said, holding out the dipper. After looking over his shoulder to see if anyone else was watching, the push said, “Don't mind if I do.” With a grin he bent down and scooped up some hot tea.

  SNOW SNAKES AND HODAGS

  After the lunch dishes were done, Ben and Nevers walked down to the bunkhouse for a visit. Even with the sun full in the sky, the cold stung Ben's cheeks.

  Nevers scrunched the snow under his boots. “I don't care if it gets down to sixty below if we get double Sundays out of it.”

  “Two days off in one week!” Ben said. “Even if we have to cook, not hauling those frozen dishes back from the cut saves us a heap of boiling and scraping.”

  Just before they got to the bunkhouse, Ben said, “I think I figured a way to get back at those jacks for tricking us.”

  “What you got in mind?”

  “Let's visit the pencil pusher.”

  Wally scoffed when he saw the boys. “I suppose both of you gazebos went and cut yourselves this time.”

  “Nope,” Ben said.

  “Did you come to bother me about hiring on as log drivers?”

  “Not that, neither,” Ben said. “I need a bottle of castor oil.”

  The pencil pusher grinned meanly. “Got the bloats, eh?”

  “I been feeling poorly.”

  Wally picked a greasy-looking green bottle off his shelf and plunked it on the counter. “This will get you trotting to the outhouse before you can whistle ‘Dixie.’ ”

  When Wally started to write down the cost of the castor oil in his ledger, Nevers said, “You can charge half to me.”

  “You bound up, too?”

  Nevers nodded and made a pained face. But the minute they got outside, he grinned. “Are you planning what I think you are?”

  “The only way to get back at those jacks is through their stomachs,” Ben said. “And as strong as Pa seasons up his beans, I figure no one will notice if we stir in a little castor oil.”

  “For good measure I'll borrow a board from the wood butcher and nail the outhouse door shut when we spring the trick.”

  “We'll teach them to scare us.” Ben chuckled. “I'll stash this bottle in the cookshack.”

  “See you in the bunkhouse,” Nevers said.

  On his way to the bunkhouse Ben swung by the filer's shack. At first Charlie only talked about how hard it was going to be for the company to fill its contract if the weather stayed bad. Then Ben looked up at his mother's photograph. “Do you know where that was took? I don't have a single picture of my mother.”

  Charlie put down his file and rubbed his eyes. “I'll be straight, lad. I've told you every detail I can about Lucinda Warren. You've got to remember that as smitten as I was, I only spent a few months with her. Your father knew her for years.”

  “For a while I thought Pa was gonna talk more, but he's barely said a thing lately.”

  “The bigger the hurt, the longer it takes to heal.”

  “You're the same as Pa,” Ben said, his voice rising more than he'd planned. “You want to keep everything to yourself.”

  Charlie looked at Ben, but he didn't say anything.

  “The trouble with you is you've been hiding in the woods too long. You're like that Thoreau fellow who went to Walden Pond. Only difference is you never came back.”

  Ben slammed the door behind him. Not caring which direction he went, Ben marched past the blacksmith's shop and down the road. But the cold air brought him to his senses. Why had he yelled at Charlie? It wasn't Charlie's fault that Ben's mother had died so young. How could he have been so stupid? Ben kicked an ice chunk, and it flew into a clump of frozen hazel brush. Feeling foolish, he covered his ears with his hands and jogged back to camp.

  When he stepped into the bunkhouse, Windy yelled,“Close that door, you gazebo. I've burned up two days' worth of wood already.” The card players cussed him for letting in a draft.

  Ben took a seat by Nevers, who asked, “What took you so long? You look froze.”

  “I went for a little walk.”

  “In this weather? You must be getting as batty as that old dentist.” Nevers went back to watching the card game.

  The top of the stove and the first joint of the chimney pipe were cherry red, and the draft plate rattled from the rush of air. The lower logs on every wall were covered with a thick coating of white frost. Poultice Pete had both his mackinaw and hat on. “You might as well turn those earflaps down, too, you big sissy,” Swede said to him.

  “Don't mind if I do,” Pete said. Laying his cards on the table, he pulled his flaps over both ears.

  “Hold up the game, why don't you!” Swede shouted.“In all my days I have never seen such a pack of lily-livered lumberjacks.”

  Packy finally spoke up. “If you're so set on proving your stupidity, why don't you take your Swedish fiddle out to the cut and drop a pine on that thick skull of yours?”

  “His fiddle?” Nevers looked at Ben.

  “His saw.”

  “Don't you call me a thick skull,” Swede said, looking down at Packy's feet. “You're the one that don't have brains enough to wear boots in the wintertime.”

  Packy had to laugh at that, and the tension eased. Ben looked under the table. Though Packy was barefooted as usual, he was keeping his feet off the floor by resting his heels on the bottom rung of the chair.

  Without looking up from his whittling, Windy asked Nevers, “What does our Carolina boy think of Minnesota winters now?”

  “Ben and I decided it's boot-squeaking cold,” Nevers said.

  “I'll bet you miss home in weather like this.”

  “Maybe a smidgin.” Nevers cracked his knuckles as he talked. “But once my ma died, I couldn't get shed of that place fast enough. It might be warm in Carolina, but the nice weather breeds a heap of ornery critters. And I don't just mean gallinippers like you got around here.”

  “Gallinippers?” Ben asked.

  “That's what we call mosquitoes. But they're nothing compared to the copperheads and rattlesnakes and biting spiders.”

  “We got our share of snakes around here, too,” Jiggers said.

  “Would you play cards!” Swede yelled.

  “What's he mean?” Nevers asked.

  “Jiggers is talking about snow snakes,” Windy said.

  “Snow snakes?”

  “The cold don't bother them because they travel under the snow,” Windy said. “On a day like today they burrow deep under the drifts and hide.”

  Nevers's eyes got big.

  “That's why you got to be on the lookout when you bend down to pick something up out of the snow. They'll grab your throat quicker than you can blink,” Windy said.“And we got other animals you haven't heard of.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the hodag. It's about the size of a small steer. Though it moves slow, it's as smart as a whip. It's got a hairless body covered in a striped and checked pattern like the mackinaw coats the jacks wear—that's why they're so blamed hard to see in the woods. Instead of a horn, the hodag has a large, spade-shaped bone that blocks his vision. Being that he can only look up, his main diet is porcupine. He meanders through the woods, peering into treetops. Whenever he spots a porky, he blinks his eyes and licks his chops. Then he probes the ground with his spade bone. Once the roots are loose, he steps back and rams the tree with his head. As soon as it topples over, he straddles the trunk and walks along it until he finds the stunned porky, which he swallows headfirst.”

  “How do they live in the winter?” Nevers asked.

  “When fall comes, they rub against a big ole balsam and cover up with pitch. They roll around in a patch of hardwood, coat theirselves wi
th leaves, and lie down and nap till spring.”

  “If only you jabbermouths would do the same,” Swede said.

  A SOGGY OUTFIT

  The following morning, when it came time to deliver breakfast, Ben dreaded facing Charlie. He turned to Nevers and said, “Would you like to take a turn at bringin'—”

  “Stop right there,” Nevers interrupted him.

  On his way to Charlie's, Ben watched a raven flying over the bunkhouse, holding a branch in her claws. That meant she was already building her nest, and despite the cold, spring would be coming soon.

  Ben thought about rapping on the door and leaving Charlie's tray on the steps. But he knew he'd have to face him sooner or later. When Ben knocked on the door, his knuckles hurt from the cold, and he wished he'd worn choppers.

  “Come in,” Charlie said.

  Ben stepped inside and, avoiding Charlie's eyes, set the tray on the table.

  Charlie saved him by asking, “Is it still a little nippy?”

  “It was twenty-nine below by my—” Ben stopped.“I'm not supposed to tell anyone I've been reading the push's thermometer.”

  “We can keep it our secret,” Charlie said. “The exact temperature doesn't matter to me. I can gauge how much set these misery whips need by eyeing the frost on the windowpane.”

  “Charlie,” Ben began. “I'm sorry for spouting off like I did.”

  “There's no need to apologize, squire.”

  “I know you've told me all you can about my mother. I just feel like a big chunk of my life is missing. I never even knew what she looked like till I saw your photograph.”

  “You don't have a picture of your own mum?” Charlie asked.

  “Pa's only photograph is all blurry and water stained.”

  “It's natural for you to grab on to every little fragment.”

  “But I shouldn't have yelled at you.”

  “I had it coming. I've been thinking about what Lucinda would've thought of a fellow who ran off and hid in the woods like I have. Remember how your mother thought that Thoreau made the proper choice in leaving Walden Pond?” Charlie paused and looked at the window again. “You're right to say I've put in a whole lot more time in the woods than Thoreau ever did.”

  “So what'll you do?” Ben asked.

  “For now I'm going to eat some breakfast and file some more misery whips.”

  “And after that?”

  “There'll be lots more saw blades and breakfasts coming my way.”

  The next day Ben and Nevers decided to play their trick during breakfast. Nevers distracted Pa by asking,“How do you know the right amount of starter for those sourdough flapjacks of yours?”

  While Pa was explaining the finer points of his sweat pad recipe, Ben poured the castor oil into the beans. He had planned to stop at half a bottle, but since Pa was so busy with his flapjack lecture, he decided to empty the whole thing.

  When the fellows sat down to eat, Ben was worried that they might notice a funny taste to the beans. Though a few of the jacks frowned, they dug right in and cleaned their plates as usual. Meanwhile, Nevers slipped out the back door.

  “What's that pounding outside?” Packy asked when he heard Nevers nailing on the outhouse.

  “Must be woodpeckers,” Swede said.

  As the men were drinking their last cups of swamp water, Ben heard some stomachs rumbling. Then, as the mixture took effect, a few of the jacks started to shift nervously on their benches.

  “Would you fellows like to add a little more flavor to your beans?” Ben asked, holding up the empty castor oil bottle.

  Packy shouted something in French, and he jumped up and ran out the door with a dozen fellows trailing behind. Ben could tell when Packy reached the outhouse door because he yelled again, twice as loudly. Pa walked outside to see what was going on.

  Nevers came back looking pale. “Do you suppose they're gonna kill us?”

  “Is it bad?” Ben asked.

  “There must be twenty fellows at the edge of the woods with their pants dropped.”

  What seemed like a long while later, Packy dragged himself back to the door of the cookshack. Pa was with him. Ben was glad to see that Packy didn't have an ax in his hand. “The boys have been talking,” the Frenchman started. “They all thought that you'd crossed the line with that little stunt, but then I reminded them that they'd crossed it first with that dead body trick.”

  “They ain't mad, then?”

  “Oh, they're plenty mad, but they figure things are even now.”

  Pa was not so kind. “Don't never forget you got lucky this time, boys. And if you ever mess with my cooking again, I'll send you both down the road.”

  By week's end the weather had warmed so much that water was dripping off the cookshack roof. After breakfast on Friday, Pa sent Ben to the clerk's shack with an order. “By the look of those icicles, spring can't be far off,” Ben said.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Wally said. “I've seen it snow up here on the Fourth of July.”

  “I suppose the thaw means you'll be hiring log drivers soon.”

  “We gotta get the timber out of the woods before we can worry about driving it to the mill.” Wally turned his attention to his ledger book.

  Later that same morning, when the push was finishing his blackjack, Ben said, “Isn't this warm weather nice?”

  “Are you nuts?” the push said. “If it ain't too cold in this place, it's too hot. I swear that purgatory would be an improvement after spending a lifetime logging in Minnesota.” He banged down his cup and marched out the door.

  “What's wrong with him?” Ben asked.

  “The sleds'll bust through the ruts if it gets too warm,” Pa said.

  “I can recall losing the roads twice myself,” Windy added. “Both times the company couldn't fill their contract, and the crews never got paid. I figure one bad season wouldn't bust these folks, but you never can tell.”

  When the temperature stayed above freezing for three days in a row, the push took Day aside after breakfast.“You set to switch to night hauling?”

  “I warned the boys to be ready,” Day said.

  The next day the teamsters napped in the bunkhouse through the afternoon and didn't start running their teams until the rest of the fellows had gone to bed. Day finished his last load just before breakfast, and he beat Packy to the cookshack for the first time all year.

  “How did it go?” Pa asked as he hung up the Gabriel horn.

  “The road's holding,” Day said, “but if the water tank crew can't ice the ruts, we'll lose her pretty quick.”

  The jacks came in from the woods, looking just as tired as Day. “Way the water's dripping off the trees,” Jiggers said, “we might as well be working in a rainstorm. That bunkhouse is beginning to smell like rotten pond scum.”

  “What's the use in bothering to hang up our britches at night when they can't even dry?” Packy said, pulling at the seat of his pants before he sat down on the bench.

  “You should sleep in your pants, like I do,” Swede said. “That way your body heat dries them out.”

  Packy was about to answer back, but a look from Pa quieted them both down. The swampy smell of wet wool rose from the tables. Some of the fellows stunk so bad that Ben figured their clothes must be getting moldy.

  Two jacks quit that day. The push, who normally got angry when men left in midseason, said, “I might quit myself if I didn't have to run this soggy outfit.”

  THE TWO-DAY BLOW

  When cool weather returned, the mood of the camp immediately improved. Even Pa relaxed a little bit. One afternoon he said,“Why don't you boys show me that scone recipe of yours?”

  “Are you serious?” Ben said. “What, did somebody die?”

  Pa smiled. “I was serious last time, but that trick with Slim went over so good, I plumb forgot to follow up on the scone making. The jacks liked 'em so much, it will be a nice treat.”

  “Should I write the recipe down for you?” Ben asked.


  “You know I don't believe in putting recipes on paper. I like 'em right here”—Pa tapped his temple—“where I can't lose 'em. You boys start in and I'll watch.”

  Ben and Nevers baked up forty extra scones this time, but the jacks were so hungry that all two hundred forty disappeared.

  The change in weather brought both good news and bad news. The good news was that the roads firmed up and the trees stopped dripping like leaky faucets. The bad news was that a snowstorm blew in ahead of the cold front.

  Ben was driving the swingdingle back from the cut on the afternoon the snow began. The wind had switched to the north early that morning. Dan's hooves crunched with every step, and the sleigh runners made a crackling sound as they skimmed over the ice crust. The snow started with the same wispy flakes that had been falling all winter, but as the wind picked up, the snow was soon stinging Ben's cheeks. By the time he had unloaded the swingdingle, the storm had turned into an all-out blow.

  A short while later Day stopped by the cookshack and asked, “You mind if I borrow your cookees to help me hook up the snowplow?”

  Ben had to blink to see as he and Nevers waded through the the calf-deep snow and helped hitch an eight-horse team to the log plow. “We may have to add another pair,” Day hollered over the wind. “I'll take a swing and see how it goes.”

  That afternoon Ben visited with Charlie. Lately, he and Charlie had been talking about Le Morte d'Arthur. By reading a few minutes on Sunday afternoons, Ben had got through most of the story. He thought the saddest part was when King Arthur's loyal knight Lancelot fell in love with Queen Guinevere.

  “Don't be too hard on Lancelot,” Charlie said. “Arthur deserves a share of the blame for leaving his wife alone.”

  In the middle of a conversation about Camelot, Charlie's eyes lit up. “That reminds me of an autumn afternoon when Lucy and I hired a carriage,” he said. “We had a picnic beside that waterfall north of town. She brought along a loaf of bread and a book of Shakespeare's sonnets. I furnished some wine and cheese. As we took turns reading those poems, the mist above the falls was lit with little floating rainbows. That was about the most peaceful moment I've ever spent on this earth.”