Redemption Mountain (48 page)

Charlie watched as Buck methodically cut through some large limbs, working steadily along one side of the fallen tree. While Buck didn't have much going for him in terms of people skills, he was a true craftsman when it came to cutting trees, moving the powerful saw like an extension of his arm, with no wasted motion. Down at the other end of downed trees, Frenchy and Dogface moved through their work at a similarly efficient pace.

Charlie went to work on his tree, clumsily at first but quickly gaining confidence. Soon he was ripping through the limbs, some a foot wide. After an hour, the sun had risen high enough to reach them, and Charlie was sweating profusely. He stopped to take off his sweatshirt, then saw Buck coming toward him with his own two-liter water bottle and Charlie's little Dasani bottle. He tossed the small one to Charlie. “You're gonna need more water.”

“Think you're right,” Charlie agreed, drinking most of it. Buck took the small bottle from him and filled it from his.

“That'll last you to the break,” he said, handing it back.

“Thanks,” said Charlie, but Buck had already started off toward his saw. They each limbed several trees before the ten-thirty break.

“Union rules, no exceptions,” Buck said, as they walked toward the van and the orange water bucket. Frenchy and Dogface were already at the truck, eating apples. Frenchy reached into a bag and tossed one to Charlie. The Canadian grinned.

“Hey, Charlie, you cut da wood like an old-time logger up dere. I watch you sometime and you do some good work. First day and you keepin' up okay dere wid Bucky, for sure.” He looked over toward Buck with a wide grin. “'Course, Bucky ain't a real logger, though. More of a painter or a sheetrocker maybe, when he gets da work, aye, Bucky?” Dogface laughed.

Buck ignored the Canadians, reached into the bag, took out two apples, and sat down on an old stump. Charlie slumped onto the back bumper, drinking water and wondering if he was going to last all day.

Frenchy laughed. “You'll be okay, Charlie. We cut seven, eight more trees before lunch, and den afternoon be much easier. We get done early. Maybe have some fun,” he said, with a wink to Dogface. “Hey, Bucky, how's dat soccer team of your wife's?”

Buck scowled to hide his enthusiasm, but his voice gave him away. “Won again last night. Eight-nothin' ass-kickin'.”

“So when do they go to dat tournament in Charleston?” asked Frenchy.

Buck shook his head. “Nat don't think they're goin' now, 'cause o' their two best players got suspended. She got a meetin' next Tuesday to try to appeal, but it ain't gonna do no good.”

“Where's the hearing going to be?” asked Charlie.

Buck eyed Charlie warily for a few seconds before answering. “Kyle Loftus's office in Welch. Prick scheduled it for two o'clock, just to make it tougher for Nat to be there.”

Charlie wondered if Natty would even go to the hearing now, but for what he had in mind, it almost didn't matter. He tossed his apple core into the weeds and filled his small bottle at the water cooler under the amused eyes of the loggers.

“I need to check in with the plant,” said Charlie, starting out toward the hill. “See you up top,” he called to Buck. Charlie unzipped the pocket on the side of his bag and took out his cellphone. He found several numbers for Vernon Yarbrough. He chose the lawyer's cellphone—he didn't have time to leave voice-mail messages.

“Yarbrough,” the lawyer growled.

“Hello, Vern; Charlie Burden. I need a favor.”

“Uh-huh, a favor.” Charlie could hear a door close as Yarbrough paused. “Now, Burden, why don't you remind me just why it is that I should give a flying fuck about anything you might want?”

Charlie had expected the response. “C'mon, Vern, you're more of a team player than that. Plus, you're forgetting how I saved your ass on the Redemption Mountain thing.”

“Saved my
what
?” Yarbrough said loudly.

Charlie moved into the woods to stay out of Buck's earshot. “Okay, Vern, listen. You're still on retainer to OntAmex, and when I'm here, I speak for my client. Plus, this concerns DeWitt's granddaughter, and it could help in the eminent-domain hearing.”

After a few seconds, Yarbrough gave in. “Okay, Burden, what's it about?”

Charlie explained about the Charleston tournament and the suspensions. “The hearing's next Tuesday, in Welch, at this guy Loftus's office.”

“Not much time to get ready,” said Yarbrough.

“I know. I just found out about it.”

“So what do you want me to do?” asked Yarbrough.

Charlie smiled. “Do what you do best, Vern. Show up at the hearing and plead Mrs. Oakes's case. Get Loftus to lift the suspensions.”

“And all this has what to do with the eminent-domain hearing?”

“Vern, you do this, and I'll see that Natty Oakes doesn't testify at the hearing.”

Yarbrough laughed. “Burden, that girl can get up and dance naked on the judge's bench, for all I care. She can testify 'til she's blue in the face—come December, we'll still be makin' footballs out o' them pigs and havin' a nice chicken barbecue up on that farm.”

“Well, Vern, you're probably right,” said Charlie, “but the PUC might not like some of the things she says.” The threat sat between them like a lit firecracker, while Yarbrough quickly reviewed everything that Charlie Burden could possibly know.

They both knew which side Charlie was on, so the propriety of his passing information on to Natty Oakes for her to make public was a moot point. Finally, in the face of uncertainty, which all lawyers detested, Yarbrough chose the path with the least risk, as Charlie knew he would. Showing up in Welch to stare down a small-town insurance man wasn't heavy lifting for Yarbrough. It would be a day's worth of billable hours, plus some inflated travel expenses. “Okay, Burden, okay,” he conceded. “I don't need anything you're sellin' today, but I'll help you out. Can't promise anything, because we don't have a lot of time.”

“See you Tuesday.” Charlie put his phone away and went back to work.

Like Buck one tree over, Charlie fell into a productive rhythm, proceeding steadily down the tree trunk, the rest of the world blocked out by the noise of the saw. He was beginning to understand how the solitude and closeness with nature made loggers love woodcutting to the point that all other work was unsuitable.

At lunchtime, Frenchy and Dogface laughed when they saw Charlie's tiny peanut butter sandwich. Frenchy insisted that Charlie take half of his second roast beef sandwich, and Dogface tossed him an orange. Charlie sat on a warm boulder, enjoying the stillness of the woods. The cloudless sky had turned a dark blue, and the sun cut through the cool autumn air, soothing his aching thighs and shoulders. He lifted his face to the sun, the sweet smell of fresh sawdust and tree sap in his nostrils, and wondered if this wasn't the best occupation in the world.

It was three o'clock by the time Buck and Charlie finished limbing and went back to where they'd started, to begin bucking the logs in half. This felt more like lumberjacking to Charlie. Even as his arms began to shake with fatigue, he reveled in the satisfaction of what they'd accomplished. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. Just after four o'clock, they met Frenchy and Dogface in the middle. “Hokay, Charlie,” said Frenchy, turning off his saw. “Das a good job you do today.”

“We all done for the day?” asked Charlie, his arms aching for rest.

Frenchy hefted his bag over his shoulder and picked up his saw. He looked toward Buck, who was already halfway to the truck, then up to the pine forest farther down the ridge. “Well, Charlie, maybe we still got some fun ahead of us before we go back.” He turned and grinned at Dogface. “Aye, Dogman?” Dogface shook his head. Frenchy laughed.

When they reached the truck with the equipment, Buck was sitting on a stump, waiting. “Bucky, you do some good woodcutting today,” said Frenchy.

“Great,” said Buck. “Now let's get the fuck outta here. I got a beer waitin' for me down the Roadhouse.”

Frenchy dropped his saw and duffel in the sand. “Hey, what's the hurry dere, Bucky? Still is early, and maybe Dog and me, we got a little proposition for you and Charlie, aye?”

“I don't want to hear it, Frenchy. Let's go.”

Frenchy walked down the road in front of the truck. “C'mon, Buck,” said Frenchy, “I want to show you something you don't see so very often.”

Buck sighed, but his curiosity was piqued, and he followed Frenchy down the gully, trailed by Charlie and Dogface. Frenchy walked about fifty yards down the road, then started up the slope toward the ridgeline, stopping halfway up.

“What's the deal?” asked Buck.

Frenchy looked up the hill. “See dem two big firs, side by each up dere, Bucky?”

Charlie looked up to where two magnificent firs, each over one hundred feet, dominated the ridgeline. At their base, they looked to be at least three feet wide. Both wore red spray-painted
X
's, marking them for removal.

“We'll cut 'em down tomorrow,” said Buck, turning to go back.

Frenchy grabbed his arm. “Bucky, dem two trees is like identical twins. Same size each one, same wood. And look how
big
dey are,” he said, pointing up. “Bucky,” he implored, “we may never get da chance again to take down such a tree by hand.” He clapped a big hand on Buck's shoulder. “Like dey did in da old days, aye?”

“None of that shit today, Frenchy. I ain't in the mood.” Buck shook his arm free and started to walk away. “Plus, Burden ain't a woodcutter.”

“I tink Charlie must be more woodcutter den you, for walking away from a tree-cuttin' contest.”

Buck stopped in his tracks.

Frenchy held up a fifty-dollar bill. “Fifty bucks for da first tree down, me and Dog, you and Charlie, wid the two-man saws. Pick your tree.”

Buck wasn't used to backing down from a challenge. His eyes flickered for a moment up toward the big trees, then back to Frenchy. “That's stupid,” he spit out quietly. “Burden ain't a woodcutter,” he turned again and started down the hill.

“We'll do it,” said Charlie loudly before Buck could leave. “You got a bet.”

“Hokay, Charlie. Attaboy!” Frenchy looked at Buck and pointed at Charlie. “You see dere, Bucky? Charlie, he's a real woodcutter, he is.”

Buck strode over to Charlie and pulled him far enough away from the others so as not to be overheard. “Burden, you don't know what the fuck you're gettin' into here. You ever take a big tree down with a crosscut saw dull as a butter knife? Halfway through, you'll think your back is on fire and your arms are gonna fall off.” He didn't wait for an answer. “Listen, Burden, these guys, they're pros at this. This is what they
do
, Frenchy and Dog. They enter lumberjack contests. Shit, they been on
ESPN
.”

Charlie took a deep breath and glanced at the Canadians, who smiled back. “So what?” said Charlie. “Fuck 'em. We can beat these guys.” He whirled away from Buck and went back toward Frenchy and Dogface. “You're on,” said Charlie, reaching for his wallet. “But it's two hundred—a hundred bucks a man,” he said, pulling out two hundred-dollar bills.

Frenchy grinned broadly and clapped his hands together loudly. “Das why you da big mule, Charlie!”

Buck pushed past Charlie and moved up the slope, eyeing the two big trees. “One condition,” he said, turning to Frenchy. “Gotta hit the water bucket with the trunk.”

Frenchy laughed and threw away his apple core. “Whatever you want, Bucky,” he said, starting off down the hill with Dogface. “We land dat tree smack on Charlie's little bitty water bottle, if dat make it better for you,” he called back. They laughed their way down the slope.

At the truck, Buck and Frenchy threw several iron wedges, a maul, and an ax in their bags, then pulled out the long two-man saws. They sprayed them with oil and examined the teeth and handles, finally agreeing that there was no advantage to either saw. At the orange water bucket, Buck filled his plastic bottle, then put the two-liter bottle to his mouth, drained half of it, and handed it to Charlie. “Drink it all,” said Buck. “You're going to need it.”

Buck kicked over the water cooler, sending the remaining water into the sand. He tossed his bag to Charlie, hefted the saw over his shoulder, picked up the empty water bucket, and started up the hill.

The two fir trees were twenty yards apart, and, to Charlie, they were even bigger than they looked from the bottom of the hill. Buck took his time examining both trees before he chose the one on the right. Buck and Frenchy hiked down the slope to position the water cooler. They maneuvered a loose stump to a spot where the falling trunk of either tree would hit it without interference from the high branches. They negotiated a position equidistant between the two trees and placed the orange plastic cooler on top.

Buck jogged back up the slope. “Let me see your hands,” he said to Charlie, rummaging in his duffel bag. Charlie took off his gloves and displayed his palms. Buck pulled open a jar of Vaseline and smeared Charlie's hands with it. “You'll be bleedin' through your gloves in ten minutes without this.” Buck showed him how they would cut a notch centered on the line to the water cooler. He kept his voice low. “Frenchy won't bother with a notch. He'll figure he can hit it without one, but this's real stringy wood.”

Buck explained how they would cut on a slightly downward angle about a foot into the tree, then hammer the wedges in, to keep the saw from binding. “Tree settles down on the saw, you're done.” Buck picked up a handle of the saw to show Charlie how to grip it. “Lean into the tree and pull hard, don't push, and don't stop. Use your legs, your back, and your arms, all together.”