White Pine (14 page)

I don’t know what got into me, but then as
bold as brass, I said, “But have you ever given one to a fella
before?”

Of course, that made her blush. She turned,
like she was gonna to walk away.

“It was real nice of you to give it to
me.”

Suddenly, I knew that this was one of those
times where you have to man up or regret it forever after. I folded
that bit of paper back up. “Thank you, Addie.” Now, my heart was
pounding fit to pop out of my chest, but I reached out and took her
hand and I held onto it. Somehow words came to me. “I’ll keep it.
Not on me during the contest, in case I end up in the drink, but in
my jacket on the shore.”

“You won’t. End up in the water, I mean.” Her
eyes were bright and warm and on me and I was aware of her down to
the tips of my toes.

“Hey, Sevy.” Hugh was back now and running up
to us. Adelaide dropped my hand. “I know who the other finalist
is.”

“I have to go. Find my pa, I mean.” She
turned on her heel and high tailed it out of there. I watched her
link up arms with Kate and then start whispering to her the way
that girls do.

“What did she want?” Hugh asked gesturing at
her with his thumb.

“To wish me luck.” He didn’t need to know
about the four-leafed clover.

He snorted. “Well, you’re going to need it.
It’s you and that Roget fella. I heard folks talking and they say
he’s really good, likely, the best in these parts.”

I groaned and tugged my fingers through my
hair.
Why did it have to be him?

“Well, is he as good as they say?” Hugh
demanded, pulling my hands away from my face. You woulda thought he
stood a chance to win a hundred dollars.

“Yup, he sure is. And then some.”

* * * *

It was near sunset by the time Roget and I
stood side by side on the beach eyeing the log. It was getting
cooler now and I shivered in the evening breeze that was coming up
off the lake. Folks were gathering around the bonfires that had
been built on the beach. Everyone looked like they were having a
real good time, everyone, that is, but me.

I felt sick, not pukey sick, but bone cold
and tired. I was tired from all of it, from the winter spent
lumberjacking, from the river drive. I knew I wasn’t gonna win.
Roget was just plain better than I was and probably ever would be.
All day long, I’d caught glimpses of my friends from the logging
camp. Most of them had been cheering me on. I wondered who they’d
be rooting for now. I closed my eyes, clearing my head.

While we waited standing there on the little
beach, some big wig from one of the lumber companies that had put
up the prize money gabbed on. I just wanted to get it over with. I
closed my eyes, clearing my head.

“Sevy.”

I opened my eyes.

“Sevy?” Roget said just loud enough so that
only I could hear him.

“What?”

To my surprise, he held out his hand.

I stared at it. It was huge with black hair
on the knuckles and scars that stood out against the tan of his
skin. They were a real lumberjack’s hands, big knuckled and
scarred. I glanced down at my own hands, which were pale and
unmarked, in comparison, but near as big.

“So, it comes down to us,” he commented with
one eyebrow arched. “You have done well to get this far.” Still, he
held his hand out to me, waiting

I exhaled slowly and then I took it, but not
for him, for me. We shook. He gripped my hand hard, the way he
probably gripped an axe handle. But I didn’t give him any
quarter.

“May the best man win,” he said.

Hearing that, something sorta snapped inside
me. He probably thought I had no chance, but I was done taking
it.

I looked away from him and fixed my eyes on
that thick log of white pine floating in the bay. Neither of us
said another word. I wish I could paint a picture of how it was.
There was a hint of the moon in the sky, the sunset was beginning
to set but it was still bright enough to see. The water was smooth
and dark.

When that lumber company fella was done
chatting up the crowd, we waded out into the icy water, moving
slowly to the log. At a signal from an official, we both bellied up
to it, from opposite sides. Now, Roget sized me up. But I eyeballed
him right back and we waited.

The eerie cry of a loon broke the
stillness.

“Gentlemen, are you ready?” the official
called from the shore.

Moving slowly and carefully, the way I’d done
in the backwaters of the Chippewa, I turned and stood. Roget did,
too, though we were facing in opposite directions. I could hear
someone breathing real loud, then I realized it was me.

There was a gunshot, the signal to begin, and
I stopped thinking.

Roget moved first and I just followed the
roll of the log. My knees were bent, my feet, light, my arms,
extended out to help balance me. Despite the pounding of my heart,
I forced my breathing to be slow and controlled. Burling was about
rhythm and control. It wasn’t about going as fast as you can; it
was about staying within yourself and not fighting either the
motion of the log or of the other man.

As we rolled the log, ripples began to move
out from it. And, to my amazement, I wasn’t running or fighting for
balance. I wasn’t even afraid of losing. I was dancing. My legs
were moving smoothly and easily, and I felt like I could keep on
forever. My balance was as good as if I was walking down the center
of Barstow Street. I laughed out loud.

“Eh boy, let’s see what you got.” Roget took
my laugh as a challenge.

“Fine, old man,” I taunted.

He grinned back at me.

Now I made my feet fly, forcing the speed of
the turning log faster. Roget kept pace, as I’d known he would.

After a few moments, I felt some resistance
to the speed I was setting. Roget was slowing the log down. Using
the strength in his legs, he suddenly forced it to turn in the
opposite direction. Then, he pushed it faster and faster still.
Then, he started mixing things up, giving me all he had, throwing
in a lot of changes of direction, slowing down and speeding up. But
I kept my eyes fixed on that log and I went with it. He controlled
the motion of that log for several long minutes.

Sure, my legs were burning and my lungs were
pumping like a bellows, but I knew he had to be hurting as well. It
was then that I made my move. I forced my legs faster, pushing the
speed back up.

Roget kept up with me. And now the duel began
in earnest. Back and forth, each of us using our strength and
balance to control the roll of that pine. Roget didn’t hold back or
go easy on me. He gave it all he had, and I took it and came back
for more.

But I was flying. As if from a long distance,
I heard people shouting, calling my name and Roget’s. But I focused
on my job, staying upright on that log. I could do it! I knew I
could. He had to be tiring. I was going to win! I just knew it.
Then, I looked up. For a second, I glimpsed my family, standing on
the shore, waving and cheering.

It was then that I made my mistake. My right
foot slipped, probably because I’d gotten distracted for just that
second. I tried to catch myself, but I was tipping forward. Then,
the oddest thing happened. In my panic, I looked over to Roget. He
saw that I was in trouble, and then he slowed the speed of the log
roll. He slowed that log so I could regain my balance. Now folks on
the shore couldn’t see it, but I knew what he’d done. He’d saved
me.

We kept on, for a while longer, but the next
thing that happened was even crazier yet. I felt that log slow down
even more, and then Roget’s arms began to wave, like he was losing
his balance. Astonished, I watched as he slipped down into the
water with a splash. And just like that, I’d won.

Folks were yelling and screaming as I slid in
after him. I came up gasping against the cold water and I stared in
astonishment at him. He was grinning and he raised two fingers to
his forehead in a salute.

Someone plunged into the water beside me,
grasped my hand, and held my arm up. “Our winner!” People were
shouting and clapping, but I broke away and ran through the water
after Roget.

I grabbed him by the shoulder and I spun him
around. I gripped his shirt in both of my fists. “Dog-on-it! You
let me win. That’s cheating!”

Even though I was in his face and yelling at
him, that fool Frenchman grinned at me, his teeth big and white
against his black beard.

“You can’t let me win. You can’t just do
that. I coulda beat you fair and square. This ain’t the way it’s
supposed to go.”

“Sevy, the best man won. It is as it should
be.”

Then, he just turned and walked away from me.
Immediately, I was swallowed up by my family and other
well-wishers. My pa pounded me on the back, as proud as could be.
My brother and sister were all over me. Folks were congratulating
me. I tried to tell them all that Roget had let me win, but no one
listened.

In all the confusion, I didn’t even see where
Roget went to. I wanted to talk to him, to make sense of what he’d
done and said. Turns out, those were the last words I’d ever hear
him say.

We celebrated that night until late. Everyone
was there, my family, friends, and most of the fellas from the
camp. It was near dawn before things settled down.

A few days later, when I was sorting through
my gear from the logging camp something heavy dropped to the floor.
Thank goodness, it missed my feet. It was a knife and one I’d seen
before. I reached down and picked it up. It was a Jim Bowe blasé,
Roget’s knife. He’d left it for me.

Final Thoughts

With the hundred dollars from the logrolling
contest, my earnings, and the money my folks had saved up, we
finally had enough money to buy a nice piece of land just outside
of Eau Claire and a team of horses, too. Buying that land meant the
world to Pa. He’d finally achieved his dream.

That summer we were real busy with planting
and building. All of us kids had to pitch in. Pa was a hard worker,
but the leg slowed him down some.

Even with the new farm, I went back to school
that fall, and to my surprise, I found it tolerable. It was a heck
of a lot easier than lumberjacking or setting up a farm.

With the first frost that fall, I felt an
itchin’ for the fresh cold air of the Northwoods. I saw jacks
shopping for their gear, strutting through town, and I felt a
hankering to be one of them again.

Some folks say that the pine will run out one
day, that lumbering is wasteful and that the way that we do it
ruins the land. I’ve seen it with my own eyes and I’ll be the first
to admit that it’s a shame to cut down those giants and leave
nothin’ but scrub in their places. This may sound crazy, but when
you walk into virgin timber, it’s like being in a church, and there
isn’t anything sadder than a cutaway.

I expect the great pines will be gone one day
and so will the jacks who took them down. Those fellas, good or
bad, were real and alive in a way that other folks just don’t
understand. When a cool wind blows out of the north, my heart still
beats a little faster. I’ll never forget Dob, Bart, the Push, the
Swedish brothers, all the others and but especially not Fabien
Roget. Other folks can come and go from your life, but you never
forget legends.

THE END

Glossary of Terms

À bientôt
—French, See you soon

amen corner
--corner of a logging
bunkhouse used for talking and storytelling

black tar
—coffee

bluebacks
—ticks

caulks
—studs on a horse’s shoes that
provide traction