It's Time to Say Goodbye

By JACK STUBBERFIELD

This story starts in the summer of 1958. The protagonists, Kate and Ned, eleven and twelve years old, meet and become friends in the tiny community of China Creek, located at the confluence of Ahbau Creek and the Cottonwood River. Through no fault of their own they become targets of a nefarious group wanting to rob the local store and post-office. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police manage to arrest "the gang"after this grouphasa violent altercation with the kids, and they are sent off to prison.

The story culminates in the summer of 1962 in the Peace River Area, in the general area around Chetwynd and Dawson Creek. Kate and Ned have an encounter with "Willis" who has managed to escape his incarceration, and has located Kate for revenge.

When the Cariboo highway changed locations in 1958, the original community in the story lost its school,its store, and its community dance hall. The grocery store and post office burned to the ground in1957, and was immediately replaced with a temporary structure that served for several more years. This little hamlet slowly withered and died on the vine with the relocation of the Cariboo highway between Quesnel and Hixon in 1958.

The second community in the story, the Village of Little Prairie was re-named Chetwynd in the summer of 1958. The Pacific Great Eastern railway had just arrived and the town was a typical construction town during this time period.

The surrounding country side was teeming with deer, moose and wild chickens of several different varieties. A few elk herds were starting to proliferate in this area as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452053264

JACK STUBBERFIELD

Jack Stubberfield was raised and lived in the wilderness of the Pacific NorthWest - primarily central British Columbia. He fished and hunted this area with his dad for many years, and still does with friends and family; never forgetting the wisdom passed on by his best friend and mentor Ned Stubberfield. Jack had several hair-raising experiences with both grizzly bear and a serial killer over the course of his life. He met and became friends with a lot of interesting people, from all walks of life; most of them having the the same love for the wilderness that he has to this day.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

MING LOOKED AT THE handful of little nuggets he had taken from his sluice box. It was the first week of August, in the year 1862, and he had come halfway around the world to find gold in this wilderness. Fortune had smiled on him and the hardships he had endured to get this far were now forgotten. This wealth, once smuggled back to his family, would make them rich.

As a small boy in China he had dreamed of one day sailing away to America to find his fortune. The wars and intrigue had been going on for many years and his family was lucky to have survived with their lives. It had been a tremendous stroke of good luck when his uncle had found him a job in a the galley of a Yankee clipper, leaving Asia with a cargo of silk and spices, and headed for the port of San Francisco on the eve of the great American gold rush. He had been thirteen years old.

Once at sea and completely on his own he was vulnerable to the whims and desires of the Captain and his crew. He was astonished and sickened at what he was expected to do with some of the older crew members. He wanted to cut their throats while they slept but he soon realized he had no options, so he did what they wanted just to survive. He jumped ship at the first opportunity and made his way to the alleys of San Francisco where the ship had docked. He quickly found work and made friends among the Chinese community. Ming followed his dream of looking for gold and eventually found himself in the rough and tumble gold fields of California.

Eventually the gold rush in California had played itself out and he had, along with many others, followed the dream north to the gold fields of British Columbia, where he eked out a living working at hard manual labour.

He had made the decision to strike out on his own once he had saved enough for a grubstake, and it had been many hungry months before he had found this beautiful little creek. Each day was fraught with danger of every conceivable kind and nature. His worst fear had been the great bear that had raided his campsite on more than one occasion, and he was always looking over his shoulder as he worked.

The stinking remains of a very large and hairy, man-like creature had greeted his arrival on this creek, and had almost caused him to move on. Although very superstitious, after long contemplation he finally decided that this creature’s rotting corpse posed no threat, and had set up a temporary camp not far away. After studying what was left of this strange animal lying on the gravel bar, he made some notes and drawings for future reference. It would have stood about eight feet tall and must have weighed well over eight hundred pounds. Most of the hair on its upper torso was about four to six inches long, coarse over the extremities, and silver tipped on the shoulders. It reminded him of him of the hair of a llama that he had seen when his ship had stopped for fresh water and refurbishing after riding out a huge storm. He couldn’t decide if it was a primitive man, or perhaps related to the mountain yeti of Asia. In the end he covered it with a pile of stones and burned incense over its final resting place.

It was a good decision, because it was the next day on this very location that he had found the first yellow flakes of gold mixed in with the black sand on the gravel bar next to the water.

Looking at the rainbow forming after the slight summer shower, he clasped his weathered hands together, bowed low towards the creek that had given up its treasure to him, and made the sign of the dragon, his family’s good luck charm.

CHAPTER 1

THE SUMMER OF 1958 -----

NED STOOD TRANSFIXED! THE sun was shining and a slight breeze was ruffling the leaves on the cottonwoods. He could hear a salmon moving up the creek to his right as it struggled over the shallows. He had been waiting impatiently for their run to begin and the splashing aroused his atavistic instincts. His ancestors had been hunter gatherers and would have been proud of this small warrior with all his senses on high alert. It was the first week in August and the arrival of the salmon had also brought the resident grizzly; he had seen his tracks the day before. He wasn’t afraid of much in the bush, but he was afraid of the bear. He had seen him on the creek last year and he was a monster.

He stared across the little clearing in front of him and thought he saw something move in the foliage, but thinking his eyes were just playing tricks on him, he started slowly forward.

His mind was on the fish, and he wondered if he should have told his mom that he would be late for supper. An uneasy feeling settled over him when he reached the edge of the little meadow and got closer to where he thought he had seen something move. He studied the soft ground looking for deer and bear sign, and began to relax. This was going to be a good day.

Just into the woods the trail was wide and muddy in spots, and as he glanced down he froze, all his senses ready for flight. He felt a painful tightening in his chest and his knees were suddenly a little rubbery. He had almost missed it, a man’s fresh boot print in a damp spot of ground. He stood listening and looking for any movement. Had someone been watching him? After several minutes he moved quietly back the way he had come.

He was twelve years old and not much got by him in the bush. He wore a razor sharp belt knife and always carried matches and a salmon snare. He knew with a small head start he could outrun anything in these woods. However, he now had a bad feeling about continuing up the trail along the creek and felt good about his decision to return to the house.

He quickly crossed the small clearing glancing back over his shoulder, and with every step he felt a little better. He crossed the stream that ran into China Creek and looked up at the house that sat on the knoll overlooking the small valley to the west. He wished his dad was home from construction.

He walked in the front door and saw that his mom was home. She said, Back so soon Ned? I thought we’d have fish for breakfast. He walked past her and said, Naw, I changed my mind. She gave him a quizzical look. He didn’t have to tell her he had gone fishing. She knew him well, and he could tell she knew something wasn’t quite right.

Peg was a willowy woman of Scottish and French descent, and had more energy than anyone he knew. He loved to listen to her play the piano, and often wondered at her amazing psychic ability. Looking at the fresh baked bread and honey buns, he marveled once again at how lucky he was to have her as his mom. She set a bowl of soup and a fresh slice of bread in front of him and said, Ned you must tell me if something is not right. With your dad away I don’t want any surprises. She made a pot of tea and gave him another one of her looks.

I will mom, he said. He didn’t want to worry her, and he would check it out tomorrow. A heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and he had no appetite for the soup that sat steaming in front of him. A mile from their nearest neighbours he knew they were easy targets.

CHAPTER 2

FOR A BIG MAN, Willis moved quietly in the bush. He had spotted the boy from the road a week earlier, and had twice since parked his car about a mile away and moved on foot to within eyesight of the house. The trail paralleled the road and had made his stalking easy. He would have to be careful. He admired the tattoo on his forearm and knew he did not want to go back to jail. Stalking this boy, however was something that he could not resist; the boy was not the first and he would not be the last.

He stood now behind a clump of brush waiting for his prey to go past him, his mind going back over the past few minutes. He had been about to cross the little meadow to get into position to observe the house when the boy stepped into the clearing on the far side. He had run back up the trail about a hundred yards to where he now waited quietly.

He had seen the woman and little girl two days ago, but no sign of the man. He must get home late. No matter.

Where is the little prick? He had a hard time standing still, and put his hands around an alder about the size of the boy’s neck, squeezing until his hands hurt. He thought about what he was going to do to this slim blond boy, and with a start he realized another ten minutes had gone by. Just then he heard the sound of a twig snapping on the trail.

He felt his throat thicken in anticipation; he had seen the knife and knew the boy would be fast. He was getting fully aroused and fondled himself casually while his imagination went into overtime.

The noise on the trail was getting closer. He was unfamiliar with noises in the bush and wondered what the hell this boy was up to. After several more minutes listening to slight rustling sounds, he couldn’t make himself wait any longer and stepped into the trail where he found himself looking into the startled eyes of a small red fox. The fox dived into the bush in a flash of furry red panic.

Willis raced up the trail to the edge of the clearing. The boy was gone, gone like smoke. He felt the rage start to build. He stood for five minutes, had a cigarette and stubbed it out under his foot. He felt cheated and swore that he’d make the boy scream when he got his hands on him.

While he stood and thought about the boy something in his mind went click – click - click. It was the sound of a camera that he had been unable to forget since being forced to endure unspeakable humiliation at an early age.

Willis was a bully and liked to hurt people. He had started early with his little brother’s best friend and had found he liked to molest little boys. His jail time had been for misdemeanors and so far he had never been caught for his more heinous activities. He was a monster, devoid of empathy or feelings for others and completely consumed with the self- gratification he got by inflicting pain. He wanted to hurt this boy, and he stood for a long time staring at the little house on the knoll.

CHAPTER 3

SHE STOOD IN THE front yard looking across China Creek and the small valley in front of the house. Peg wished once again that her husband was home. They only had a few weeks to go and they would be moved; she could hardly wait. This had been a great place for the past several years. It had a small school and store, and it was not too far to the next large town. However, things were changing. It was the seventh of August, 1958, and Louis was never home now. He was far away on construction, and last week she had noticed strangers observing the house as they drove by.

This was something new; until recently they had known everyone in a twenty-mile radius and everyone visited.

Mom, can we walk to the store? her little girl Rose piped up from the house. Okay, get your coat, Peg called back and realized the child was quite oblivious to any forebodings that she had been feeling recently. As Rose took her hand and they started down the road to the store her mind went back to yesterday and the strange way her son Ned had acted coming home early and staying around the yard. She would have to talk to him later this evening. He had headed back up the creek about an hour ago, giving her a smile and promising to catch a fish.

Rose loved the store; she chirped incessantly and didn’t pay any attention to the tall man smiling at her antics, and almost didn’t hear Mike from up the road ask her if Ned knew who owned the old burgundy Plymouth he’d seen parked back in the trees not far from their house. She certainly had no idea that this tall man had stayed here overnight about a year ago and had left a suitcase that he had come back for that same day. Ned had found it and turned it in, not trying to open it to see what was inside. The tall man (Carl) had asked to talk to Ned, and after asking him if he had opened it, looked into his eyes, and made the decision to give him a ten dollar reward. Now he was back: he had stayed again for one night, and was once again leaving.

On the way out to his car, Carl noticed the old burgundy Plymouth they were talking about pull up to the pump. A rather large oafish fellow got out from behind the wheel and started pumping gas. Carl’s eyes got hard as he noticed the prison tattoos. Remembering the conversation from inside he realized quickly that this man might be stalking the little girl and her family, and his eyes grew as hard as slate. He had had to