Redemption Mountain (49 page)

“I'll learn as we go,” said Charlie, with a quick smile.

Buck leaned in a little closer. “Listen, Burden, I got to tell you…” He lowered his voice further. “I ain't got a hundred bucks on me, so…”

“We're not going to lose,” said Charlie. “I guarantee it.” Buck shook his head as he stood up, pulling his gloves on.

Frenchy and Dogface had taken their shirts off, though the air was cooling rapidly. Tying a fresh bandanna across his forehead, his orange gloves tucked into the front of his pants, Frenchy walked over to Charlie. He looked like a professional wrestler.

“Okay, Charlie,” he said, pointing to a spot ten yards away. “When she starts to go, you move quickly to way back here. Don't go directly behind the stump, and don't wait. When you hear it crackin', you go quick, aye, Charlie? And you watch overhead. Dese trees be bringing down some limbs.” Charlie looked at his escape route and nodded.

“Okay,” said Frenchy, as he went back to his tree. “You say when.”

Charlie and Buck started in front of the tree with a horizontal cut for the notch. With their first few strokes, Charlie realized how difficult a task it would be. When they completed the notch, it seemed to Charlie that they were already too far behind to catch up. With his back to the other tree, Charlie could hear Frenchy and Dogface stroking their saw at a faster and more powerful tempo than Buck and he.

Buck glanced toward the other tree. “We're okay, Burden. Just lean into the cut.” Gradually they settled into a powerful rhythm, with Charlie trying to copy Buck's technique. He was impressed with Buck's strength, as his shoulder and neck muscles bulged with each stroke. He also admired Buck's focus and drive, as his eyes burned with the flame of competitiveness. It occurred to him that Buck was having his first enjoyable moment of the day. He was a match for either of the Canadian lumberjacks. Now if only Charlie could hold up his end.

After ten minutes, Charlie's hands and arms were burning. He tried to use more leg and back, but he could feel the fresh scar tissue across his back protesting. He was having trouble catching his breath, and sweat was pouring into his eyes, but he couldn't let go of the saw. “Doin' okay, Burden,” Buck encouraged. “Stay strong. Long, strong pulls. You got it.”

Charlie set his jaw and ignored the pain, concentrating on each pull. They were about a foot into the tree when they heard Frenchy and Dogface hammering in the wedges. It wasn't a good sign. Charlie looked over at Buck, who shook his head.

They cut hard for another few minutes before Buck stopped. “Wedges,” he said breathlessly, scrambling behind the tree, picking up the ax and the big wedge for the center of the cut. Charlie welcomed the moment of relief from the saw but found he had trouble making his arms work. Finally he got a wedge into the cut and managed a feeble hit with the maul just as Buck landed a massive blow to the big wedge with the back of the ax.

“Watch out,” said Buck, taking a step toward him while bringing the ax back for another swing. Charlie had barely moved when Buck brought the ax through the air with a powerful swing, landing a loud, metallic blow dead on Charlie's wedge, sending it well into the cut.

For the next ten minutes, they leaned into the saw with long, powerful strokes. Charlie's hands, arms, and back were beyond hurting, and his long-sleeved T-shirt was now completely dark with sweat. The wound on his back was burning, and he thought he could feel skin tearing apart with each pull of the saw. Liquid seeped down his back, but he couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood until he looked down and noticed the creeping ooze of dark maroon on the left side of his shirt at the ribs. Inside his right glove, he could feel the burn of torn blisters and the slippery combination of blood and loose skin.

“Doin' great, Burden. Doin' great,” Buck spit out between breaths. “We're gonna beat these assholes.”

Charlie squeezed his bloody right hand tighter around the wooden handle. They were halfway through the trunk when a cold wind started to blow. The sun had disappeared and the temperature was dropping quickly. Twigs and small branches rained down on them as the tops of the trees swayed menacingly in the darkening sky. Charlie could feel the chills and nausea of hypothermia as the wind blew against his sweat-soaked clothing.

“Dogface is crampin,'” Buck whispered excitedly. “Dog's crampin' up.”

Behind them, the other saw had slowed its pace noticeably. Charlie turned his head for a quick glance and saw that Dogface had a look of excruciating pain. As he turned back to his own tree, Charlie vomited on his right arm, a milky liquid sprinkled with what looked like small pieces of apple skin. He spit repeatedly to try to break the long strings of saliva that hung down from his mouth to the front of his shirt, before deciding to ignore them.

As the big tree swayed, Charlie heard the trunk groan and felt the roots heave beneath his feet. The wind had knocked loose some large dead limbs, and one crashed through the branches above them, splintering into a shower of dead wood. Charlie realized the danger they were in. These trees weren't going to go quietly.

“C'mon, Burden, don't let up!' Buck yelled. “We're almost there.”

Then the wood popped like a firecracker next to Charlie's ear. The cut had widened several inches, and when Charlie looked up, both trees were leaning slightly downhill. Buck was in front of the tree now, driving the ax violently into the notch to adjust the fall angle. “She's goin', Burden, move back!” he shouted.

Charlie pried his hands off the saw and tried to run back to the spot Frenchy had pointed out, but his legs gave out at the knees. He scrambled slowly over ground now littered with twigs, branches, and pine needles, feeling the earth heave under him as the roots strained to keep the old trees upright.

Then an ungodly explosion of cracking wood made Charlie spin around to watch the violent ending. He was amazed to see Buck standing next to the tree, watching as both trees began their long, final trip to earth. Frenchy, also oblivious of the danger, stood between the two trees, hands on hips. The trees crashed thunderously down the slope, sending a cloud of dust high into the air and illuminating the area around them with daylight, as if the window shades of the forest had been thrown open.

Charlie watched the two men for their reaction. They both stood motionless for several seconds. Then Buck bent at the knees and sprang into the air, letting out a mighty whoop. He jumped on top of the fallen tree, arms raised in the air. “Yeah, baby!” Buck strutted down the log, bobbing his head like a turkey. “Direct fucking hit is what I'm lookin' at here, woodcutters.” Buck was grinning from ear to ear as he came back up the log. “Hey, c'mon, Burden!” He waved a hand, motioning Charlie forward. “You gotta see this!”

Charlie struggled to his feet and limped toward the fallen tree. He was beginning to feel his arms and hands again and barely managed a smile. Buck disappeared once more, dancing down the trunk of the tree. Frenchy met Charlie at the top of the slope, his hand extended. “When was da last time you have dat much fun, aye, Charlie?”

Charlie laughed. “Yeah, been a while.” He looked down the slope and saw Buck standing next to the flattened water cooler. Charlie realized it was the first time he had seen Buck smile all day.

Frenchy clapped his hands. “Hokay, boys, good job.” He handed Buck two hundred-dollar bills and winked at him. “Next time we don't give you Charlie for a partner.”

Charlie sat down on the stump, exhausted, watching Frenchy and Dogface walk down the hill. Behind him, Charlie heard Buck drop his bag on the ground. He turned his head just in time to see Buck pull out a long hunting knife. The blade glistened in the dim light. Charlie glanced downhill for the other men, but they were nowhere in sight. He instinctively tightened his back muscles.

“Hold still,” said Buck, gingerly peeling up the bottom of Charlie's bloody shirt. The razor-sharp knife sliced easily through the middle of the wet shirt. “Shit, Burden, little grunt work and you city guys fall apart.”

“It's an old wound,” said Charlie. Buck handed him a clean long-sleeved shirt from his bag and a bandanna to wrap his hand in. The shirt felt warm and dry. Charlie put it on but stayed on the stump, too tired to move.

Buck reached into his front pocket and pulled out the bills that Frenchy had given him. “Here's your hundred.” Charlie took it and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Buy you a drink down the Roadhouse, if you're goin',” said Buck.

“No,” Charlie said. “I think I'll get my hand wrapped and go soak in the tub.”

Buck looked down the hill at the flattened water cooler and laughed. “Well, I got three days off and a paycheck, plus a hundred o' Frenchy's dollars in my pocket, so I'll be goin' on a little toot myself.”

“Maybe you should just go home, Buck.” Charlie tried to sound friendly.

“Yeah? What do you know about my home, Burden?” Buck spit out angrily.

Charlie didn't want to get into it with Buck, and he shouldn't have said anything, but now he had no choice. “What I know, Buck,” he said calmly, “is that one of these days you're going to be my age, and your kids will all of a sudden have grown up, and you'll have missed out on the most enjoyable thing there is in life. Being a father. Being a father to great kids, like you've got.” He frowned with disgust, because he knew that Buck didn't get it. “You're going to miss it all, Buck, and you'll never get those years back.” Charlie pushed himself up from the stump to try to end the conversation.

Buck had an angry, confused look on his face. “Maybe you'd like to be goin' home in place o' me. Like those boys was sayin' at the Roadhouse that night? All that stuff about runnin' with Nat and pallin' around with the kid.” Buck's voice was getting louder, and he was inching closer to Charlie as he spoke. “And who knows what else you been doin'!”

Charlie wanted to let it go, but he wasn't going to back down. “Nobody's been doin' anything, Buck. The Pie Man was the first person I met down here. He's a great kid, and I like him a lot. Natty showed me her running trail, and I ran with her a couple of times. That's it, Buck.” Charlie reached down for the crosscut saw.

Buck wasn't ready for the conversation to end. “Yeah, well, maybe you oughta just stay away from my family,” he said, “and keep the fuck out of my business.”

Charlie threw the saw down, moved in front of Buck, and put his face up close to the younger man's. “Buck, you can go on being a shitty father and your kids'll do all right, anyway. And you can keep on being a shitty husband, and someday you're going to lose Natty, whether I got anything to do with it or not.” He pushed his finger into Buck's chest. “But,” he lowered his voice, “you ever hit that girl again, I'm comin' after you. You understand me, Buck?”

Buck swallowed hard and glared at Charlie, but he didn't move for several seconds. Finally, the loud horn of the truck blared from the base of the hill. They both looked down to see that Frenchy had turned the truck around to head back and had his head out the window. “C'mon, dere, girls,” he yelled. “You can fuck echudder up de ass all daway back now. Let's go, aye?”

They rode without speaking. As they neared the foreman's shed, Charlie said, “Listen, Buck, thanks for all your help today. I enjoyed it a lot, even pukin' all over myself.” Buck couldn't help smiling. Charlie held out a gloved hand. “You're a great woodcutter, Buck. I'd cut down a tree with you anytime.” Buck took his hand briefly and nodded almost imperceptibly.

The truck stopped at the shed and Buck started to get out. Charlie spoke again. “Do me a favor, Buck, will you? When you do get home, tell Pie about how we beat those two lumberjacks. How we cut that tree down and landed it right on top of that water bucket. Pie will get a real kick out of that.”

Buck hesitated for a second. “Yeah, sure,” he grumbled. “I'll tell him about it.”

 

CHAPTER 29

 

T
he road to Welch was deserted when Natty reached town at nearly 2:00
P.M.
It wasn't always like this, she recalled. When she was a kid, it seemed like the huge coal trucks were always coming and going—straining and belching black smoke in one direction, banging and rattling their empty bins on the return.

Natty thought she knew where the Loftus Insurance Agency was, but as she drove down Main Street she began to get anxious about being late.
It would be just like Kyle to cancel the hearing if she was a minute late.
She sighed as she remembered the futility of the whole thing.

Then she saw the blue Lexus parked in front of the insurance agency, and her heart raced. She hadn't expected Charlie to show up after his wife had come to town, but there was no mistaking that car. She pulled in, leaving a few spaces between her car and Charlie's.

Out of habit, she arranged the shock of hair a little lower over her left eyebrow. She leaned forward and looked in her visor mirror at her eyes, then lifted her chin to see her mouth, before slumping back in her seat. Natty recalled Ellen Burden standing in the hallway outside Charlie's apartment, looking so perfect, her silky hair shining, eyes made up like a model's, her lips painted an elegant dark red. She wondered if she should start wearing a little eye makeup and maybe even some lipstick once in a while—as she did for a time in high school, before Buck came back. Before she got too busy with so many other things. She pushed the mirror away and reached for the door handle.

Through the insurance agency window, she saw Charlie seated in a waiting area, surrounded by green plants. He was wearing a black blazer, a white shirt, and a silver tie. His professional attire seemed strange to her, as if he were a different man from the one she knew.

Entering the office, she saw several women behind a counter, busy on their phones. A man stood waiting with a handful of papers and a license plate. Natty felt intimidated by the professional look of the office. She was also nervous about seeing Charlie for the first time since she'd met his wife and realized what a charade this fantasy of hers was.