Redemption Mountain (47 page)

“Pretty much,” said Charlie, as their pancakes arrived.

When they were nearly finished, Ellen looked up and smiled.

“Hello, Miz Charlie, I am the Pie Man,” he said, stopping next to the booth. Pie held his hand up to Ellen for a high-five.

“Good morning, Pie Man,” she said, touching his hand lightly with her palm.

Pie stared at her for a moment, then turned to Charlie. “Hello, Charlie.” They exchanged a high-five, and Charlie pulled the front of Pie's Yankees cap down over his eyes, making him laugh.

“Thomeday I will become a engineer like Charlie,” Pie said proudly.

Ellen touched the boy's shoulder. “That's wonderful, Pie Man. I think you'll make a terrific engineer.”

“C'mon, Pie, your pancakes are ready,” Eve called from the kitchen. Pie ran off.

Ellen eyed Charlie as he looked out at the street. “He's delightful.”

“Yes, he is.” Their eyes met for a few seconds, but neither one spoke.

Finally, Ellen broke the silence. “Let's take a walk, Charlie. Show me your baseball field.” They left the restaurant and walked slowly down the hill toward the athletics fields, now under construction.

“You really have to go back to New York tonight?” Charlie asked.

Ellen nodded. “I have a luncheon tomorrow. I'm joining the board of the Westchester Arts Council.”

Charlie smiled. “That's great, congratulations.” Ellen's new position as the president of the country club was already paying dividends. “How's the house?” he asked.

“It's coming along,” she said, with a tone that told Charlie it was going to cost them another fifty thousand before she was done. “Planning a Christmas party for the club people and the neighborhood. And, of course, any of your friends you want to invite.”

“Sounds great,” said Charlie, quickly pushing the idea out of his thoughts. They stopped at the site of the children's library, and Charlie walked Ellen around the footprint of the new building. His excitement was palpable as he described the activity rooms with their skylights, the computer room, and cozy reading nooks.

“Maybe we can get some books from the Westchester Library Association,” Ellen offered. “I'll bring it up at the next board meeting. Could be a nice charitable project.” They crossed the new soccer field as Charlie pointed out the features of the athletics complex. Between the soccer and baseball fields, they mounted the wooden steps of the newly constructed gazebo, while Charlie described the landscaping that would eventually complete the parklike setting. Ellen sat down on a bench inside the gazebo and gazed out at the site. “You've been busy here, Charlie. This is quite an undertaking. Is this normal? A project like this for such a small town?”

He joined Ellen on the bench. “Well, we owed this town something, and we needed some good PR.… It'll be a nice park when we're done.”

“That's good, doing something nice for these people.” Ellen's voice fell away as her eyes drifted out toward the surrounding hills. They sat quietly, enjoying the morning sun as it warmed the air. Then she spoke again. “So, Charlie—have you slept with her yet?”

Charlie stared out at the field. One of the things he loved about Ellen was her perception. While she loved to talk, Ellen was one of the world's great observers and listeners. She could sit quietly in a room full of people and, minutes later, tell you everything about them. There was no sense in trying to mislead her. Charlie squinted briefly, with a twinge of emotional pain, and looked over at his wife. “No.” He managed a weak smile.

“But you plan to?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don't know. It's a little complicated.”

“Because she's married?”

Charlie chuckled. “Because
I
am.”

Ellen turned away, staring up at the red stone buildings at the top of the hill.

Charlie wondered whether she was thinking about the prospect of losing him or about opportunity. He had no doubt that, in the circles in which she now traveled, Ellen—with her looks, intelligence, and sophistication—could easily bag one of Westchester's upper-tier, old-money scions and move effortlessly into a life of wealth and leisure that would make the Dowling Farms house look like servants' quarters. That was another thing he loved about Ellen. She could always take care of herself.

Finally she turned back to Charlie. Her face showed no anger or jealousy. “She's a lovely girl, Charlie.”

“She's
different
, all right.”

“May want to rethink the hairdo, though,” Ellen deadpanned.

Charlie smiled and got to his feet. “I guess you didn't buy that act she and Hank put on.”

Ellen laughed, rising from the bench. “Not for a second.” Her eyes narrowed as she took a step closer to Charlie. She crossed her arms and looked out at the field. “I knew the moment she opened the door … that I'd be losing you to her.”

“Ellen,” Charlie protested softly, “That's not—I don't know what's going to happen. We haven't even—”

“Charlie, Charlie,” she interrupted, coming closer. She put a hand on his chest and paused to compose her thoughts. “Listen, Charlie. You've been a wonderful husband and a perfect father, but just because our children have grown up doesn't mean we have to shrivel up and die.” Her eyes were slightly moist. “I love you, Charlie, and I always will, no matter what happens. But you need to find out … what you want, what you need in your life. And God knows … you need
something
different, Charlie.” She touched his arm briefly. “So you need to explore this thing with, um…”

“Natty,” he said.

“If you don't, you'll always wonder, and it'll never be right with us again.” She looked into Charlie's eyes and smiled. “Believe me, Charlie. I know.”

*   *   *

A
FTER AN EARLY
dinner in Welch, Charlie and Ellen drove back to the plant. The OntAmex helicopter was waiting, ready for takeoff. Charlie stowed Ellen's Louis Vuitton bag while she buckled in. She'd removed her cellphone and a copy of
Town & Country
from her shoulder bag and placed them on the seat next to her. As the large blades began to turn, Charlie leaned over and kissed his wife goodbye.

“Good luck, Charlie,” she said. “See you at Thanksgiving.” Charlie nodded and squeezed her hand before leaving. He stood next to his car and watched the helicopter lift a few feet into the air before spinning around to the north. Through the window, Ellen waved, the cellphone already at her ear.

 

CHAPTER 28

 

T
he ground fog clung to the low spots like thick smoke, hiding the pavement in front of the Lexus. Charlie crept along Cold Springs Road, peering out the passenger window for the turnoff to the lumber camp. Finally he started to see cars and pickups parked in the weeds on the shoulder of the road. He found a spot for his car and took his athletics bag from the trunk.

He was fifteen minutes early, but a dozen men were already waiting in groups of two and three, talking, smoking, and sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups. He could feel their eyes on him as he made his way down the steep dirt-and-stone road.

Charlie entered the equipment shed and introduced himself to the foreman, a big, red-faced Irishman named Devine. “All ready for ya, Mr. Burden. Got ya teamed up with some of our best boys.” He looked down at the roster on his clipboard. “Mr. Garvey said to just make sure you don't get hurt out there, so we got ya with some real good woodcutters.” He handed Charlie a plastic-wrapped package of chaps. “C'mon, I'll introduce you to the boys.”

They walked around to the side of the shed, where several battered utility vans were being loaded with equipment. Two men were carrying large chain saws, which they deposited on the floor of the van. “G'mornin' dere, boss,” one of the men said, in the heavy French Canadian accent that Charlie had become familiar with in his college hockey days.

“Frenchy, Dogface.” Devine gestured to Charlie coming up behind him. “This is Mr. Charlie Burden, fella I was telling you about. Charlie's going to cut some wood with you today. Your job is to make sure he don't get hurt.”

Charlie winced a little at Devine's warning as he shook hands with the two men. Frenchy was at least six foot six and had the physique of a world-class weight lifter. His neck, shoulders, and arms rippled with muscles, and his huge hand felt like it was made of iron. His dark hair was pulled back into a short ponytail under a red bandanna.

Dogface was a foot shorter and looked a little older, but he had a similar physique on a smaller scale. He had a long, bony face with a long nose and sunken cheeks. His massive forearms were covered with tattoos. Both men glanced at the brand-new chaps Charlie carried under his arm, then back to Devine.

The foreman avoided their eyes, studying his clipboard. “You boys'll be limbin' and buckin' today out at pole eight.”

Both men frowned. “Aw, c'mon dere, boss,” said Frenchy, “don't be wastin' us on dat baby stuff. We got a lot a da big trees to bring down out dere.” Dogface shook his head and went back to loading the truck.

“We got a mess o' logs at pole eight to get ready for the helicopters, so that's where we need you.” Devine rapped his pencil on the clipboard, indicating that the discussion was over.

Frenchy grinned and put his huge hand on the foreman's shoulder. “Okay, boss man,” he said, winking at Charlie. “We have a good time prunin' da bushes today. And, Mr. Charlie, we take good care of him, Dogface and me and Bucky. We bring him back tonight, good as a shiny new penny dere, aye?” Frenchy pulled an old canvas duffel from his shoulder, tossed it into the truck, and headed for the driver's seat.

Charlie wasn't sure if he'd heard Frenchy correctly, but Devine confirmed his fear. “Where the hell is Buck, anyway?” the foreman asked.

“He's bringing the water, boss,” said Dogface. It all clicked in Charlie's head.
Of course Pat Garvey would've told Devine to put him with Buck. He'd made the call for Buck to get him his job, so Garvey would naturally think there was some sort of relationship.

Then Buck Oakes was standing next to Devine. He put a heavy plastic water bucket down at his feet and stared coolly at Charlie.

“Buck, guess you already know Charlie Burden here. Says he knows how to use a chain saw.” Devine looked over at Charlie. “That right, Burden?”

“I've used a chain saw,” said Charlie, holding out his hand. Buck took his hand briefly. Up close, he looked bigger and more powerful than he'd appeared when Charlie saw him in his truck. He had the neck and shoulders of a football player, and his black mustache, goatee, and small dark eyes projected an ominous aura. Standing this close to Buck, Charlie could feel the anger and violence lurking just below the surface.

Frenchy stuck his head out the window. “C'mon dere, let's go, aye, Bucky?” He banged the outside of the door with a huge hand. “Got us some wood t'cut.”

Dogface took a seat up in the cab with Frenchy, while Charlie and Buck climbed into the back. They sat facing each other on benches that ran along both sides of the van. Stuffed under the benches were chains, pulleys, coils of heavy rope, boxes of various tools, and a large first-aid kit. On the walls hung a selection of handsaws, pry bars of various lengths, and two very old two-man crosscut saws. Charlie noticed the ancient saw behind Buck. “You still use those?” he asked.

“Naw, not really. Frenchy and Dog like to take down a tree with it once in a while. For the
art o' lumberjackin'
and that kinda shit. They're both fuckin' nuts.” Buck busied himself adjusting the tension on one of the saws, making it clear that he wasn't in the mood for any more idle chatter.

After a rough ten-minute ride through the woods, the truck lurched to a stop in a clearing covered with piles of logs awaiting the mill. Looking around, Charlie could see hundreds of stumps scattered on either side of the path and tried to imagine the labor needed to cut down that many trees on this kind of terrain. This was clearly work for rugged men who knew their trade, and Charlie started to feel guilty for thinking that he belonged out here, even for a day.

Frenchy and Dogface were at the back of the truck before Charlie could untangle himself from the equipment at his feet. They unloaded all of the equipment, and only then did Charlie survey the job ahead of them. Up the slope, on the high side of the gully, a sea of brown, gold, and green foliage covered an area about the size of a football field. It was impossible to tell how many trees were down.

Frenchy and Dogface strapped on plastic leg protectors that looked as if they'd been through the First World War. “Okay, Bucky, why don't you and Charlie go down the end dere, and me and Dog'll start up here,” said Frenchy, looking up the slope. “We'll meetcha in the middle,” he added, smiling at Charlie. The incline was steeper, and the trees a little bigger, where Frenchy and Dogface would be working.

Buck shouldered his bag, grabbed a saw and one of the gas cans, and started for the far end of the field of fallen trees, leaving Charlie to carry the other saw and the oilcan. By the time Charlie reached the top of the slope, he could hear the high-pitched whine of the other chain saws. Buck walked Charlie up to the top of the slope between the first two trees and showed him how to cut a limb lock. Then it was Charlie's turn. He had to pull the starter rope a few times to get his saw running. “Good,” said Buck. “How's that feel?”

“A little lighter than I thought it would be.”

“We'll see how light it feels about three o'clock,” Buck said. He pointed out a twisted limb for Charlie to cut. After a couple of tentative incisions, Charlie managed to shear off the limb without any pitch back. Buck nodded, put his ear protectors in place, and moved over to another, larger tree.