Executor of Mercy

By Edmond Alcid

In the rugged bush of Northern Ontario, a small bush plane crashes. On board is a ten-year-old boy and the pilot. In the early 1960's the only one capable of finding the crash site is Hag and his blood hound Wojo. Hag enjoyed the good life of living in the wilderness until events leading up to the crash and the search was hampered by his companion. Wojo has shown signs of rabies. It is too late when Hag discovers that the infected scratch on his arm was from his dog. There in the middle of nowhere a sick man and the boy he finds develop a bond that is stronger then life it self. Survival is the utmost of importance when there is a lifetime of growing up ahead. An adventure bigger than the wilderness of Northern Ontario.
Quotes:
A powerful story. I was shocked by the ending. As heartfelt as the movie Old Yeller.
I cried for the boy, I cried for the dog and I cried for Hag.
A great story Idea, it could have really happened especially here in Northern Ontario. This is truly a Canadian story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365820823

Book preview

Executor of Mercy

Executor of Mercy

EXECUTOR

OF

MERCY

A

NOVEL

BY

EDMOND J. ALCID

MOOSE HIDE BOOKS

imprint of

MOOSE ENTERPRISE PUBLISHING

PRINCE TOWNSHIP

ONTARIO, CANADA

cover photo by Mike Mousseau (Big Mike)

EXECUTOR OF MERCY

by

EDMOND J. ALCID

Copyright November 18, 1998

Published September 1, 1999

by

MOOSE HIDE BOOKS

imprint of

MOOSE ENTERPRISE PUBLISHING

684 WALLS ROAD

PRINCE TOWNSHIP

ONATRIO, CANANDA

P6A 6K4

web site www.moosehidebooks.com

NO VENTURE UNATTAINABLE

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED, THIS INCLUDES STORING IN RETRIEVAL SYSTEM OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM BY ELECTRONIC MEANS, MECHANICAL, PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING OR OTHER, WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS PUBLISHER.

THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES AND INCIDENTS ARE EITHER PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL EVENTS OR LOCALES OR PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

CREATED IN CANADA

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Alcid, Edmond, 1953-, author

Executor of mercy / Edmond Alcid.

ISBN 978-0-968490-97-6(pbk).—ISBN 978-1-927393-45-1(pdf)

I. TITLE.

PS8576.0977E94 1999jC813'.54C99-901113-8

PR9199.3.M677E94 1999

PS8576.O977E94 2017C813’.54C2017-901666-0

EXECUTOR

OF

MERCY

CHAPTER 1

Get back, you mangy hound. yelled a ragged man in his mid forties. He was not an old man, but his features showed the lines of age, of a time spent in the rugged bush of Northern Ontario.

Hag slammed the wire cage door shut. Holding the mesh door closed with a heavy foot he sat back on the damp ground. Woven fiber shredded as he pulled free his shirt from a blood-soaked forearm. Rich black blood bubbled from the ragged line of punctures set deep into his flesh.

Wojo leaned against the wire mesh with a friendly paw. He panted unaware of the pain he had caused or why he had inflicted the wound. Glancing up, Hag peered deep into his dog’s eyes, they were not the eyes of a dog that would deliver such a vicious strike.

From the corner of his eye, Hag caught the reflection of the sun sparkling off of an object in the distant sky. To a north-eastern direction, he turned his head. For a moment, the sharp pain in his forearm subsided. Low on the horizon the unmistakable shape of a two-seater bush plane could barely be seen. Hag watched without intent as the plane disappeared over a far range of the Canadian Shield. ‘Too low.’ Hag knew that the plane was flying too low, he dismissed it from his thoughts. Maybe the plane was landing on an inland lake. ‘The plane’s approach is wrong, there are no lakes in that area large enough to land on.’  Hag shook his head from side to side. He did not understand the reasoning, the logic behind the low flying plane, or why Wojo had bitten him.

With his foot sill pressed firmly against the mesh of the dog pen, Hag sat there disillusioned. As confused was Wojo as he looked out through the mesh into Hag’s eyes. Both sensed the reality of this peril but the cause of the attack was a mystery.  Laying backwards onto the grass, a foot propped against the pen door, Hag gazed skyward. As a page turns, time turns back, to the early years that lead Hag to this place and time.

   

A brown Ford truck, more rust than colour, rattled to a stop on the soft shoulder of a narrow highway. Dust filled with salt billowed behind the truck obscuring Hag’s view. Hagard Travis had just finished his spring semester at Queens University in Toronto. This summer he had decided to take a job at a tourist camp north of Wawa, Ontario. At the age of twenty, he felt like a little kid. Hag had been waiting for a ride on this forsaken section of highway for a day and a half. It was obvious that he felt dirty, alone and helpless. 

In Nineteen-forty-nine there was not much of a highway between Sault Ste. Marie and Wawa, Ontario. Most of the sections were still gravel based and dusty. In the two days that Hag had been hitching for a ride this truck had been the third vehicle to pass by. No way was he going to let dust prevent a long-awaited ride.

How far are you going, Sony? asked the driver, a man aged before his time. Snuff dripped from his toothless mouth. Pushing the dripping snuff back into his mouth with the back of a hand, he asked. Is the dust stuck in your mouth boy?

Yes, a bit. choked Hag, wiping dust from his eyes. I am going to a camp Nanami, north of Wawa.

Well, hop in. Watch out for that broken seat spring.

Hag eased onto the edge of the seat very carefully placing his pack down between his legs. With a jerk the truck lunged forwards, shaking endlessly, shaking the seat spring loose. Without a sound, Hag moved his soft butt cheek. Regardless of the pain the spring would cause there was no way he was going to give up this ride.

I am going near but not right into Wawa. yelled the man above the rattle of the vibrating truck. With a spit of snuff out through the open window, he continued to talk as if he had never had the chance to talk to a person before. Yeah, I work logging up there. You are lucky I had to make a trip to the Sault to get truck parts. You might have been stuck on this highway for days, not many travelers come this way. You are sure lucky I came by. I tell you . . ."

Hag watched the driver spit again out into the dusty wind. It was going to be a long three-hour drive to Wawa with him talking like that. Nodding his head in agreement, every once in a while, Hag slowly dozed off to sleep, a needed sleep. Not the rattling of the truck, the popping of the spring nor the endless talk of the driver would disturb a needed dreamless sleep.

Hag had only read about Northern Ontario, and not wanting to spend another summer working in a factory, he applied for work at a tourist camp up north. All he knew about the camp was that it was in the middle of nowhere with nothing but bush for miles around. Knowing there would be no place to spend his low wages, Hag figured he would be able to save as much as his chums working down south. He did not wish to sweat away the summer in a southern factory. Any way, he wanted time alone to figure out in what direction his career was to head.

Not knowing what was ahead intrigued him. The unknown was spooky, but being able to conquer the unknown meant becoming a man. Going to this camp to work just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

You know, I spent . . . The driver spit again into the wind blowing in through the open window. . . . most of my life hauling, cutting and doing odd jobs as long as I can remember. Got eight kids. My wife say’s I spend too much time at home. She makes me come home once every two months now.

Stiffness of being in one place too long woke Hag from his sleep. Hearing the driver talking made Hag wonder if he had dozed off for just a short time or had the driver been talking for the duration of the drive. Bracing himself when the truck slid to a rattling stop on the shoulder of a turn off, Hag feared that the truck was heading for self destruction.

Now I hardly see my wife. This is as far as I go kid. Wawa is just ahead on up that road.

Hag slid painfully from the seat. Thank you for the ride, I appreciate the . . .  comfortable ride. Hag said, slamming the rusted door closed.

Glad to have met you. Hope you have a nice time at camp Nanami. I once was up at that camp, once. What is your name son?

Hagard Travis.

Putting the truck into gear, the driver spat black snuff, at which Hag smirked. Well Hag, keep a look out for those giant mosquitoes.  Waving an arm out of the window as he left, the driver continued to talk. My kids sometimes wonder where . . .

Waving dust away from in front of his face, Hag watched the billowing dust roll behind the truck. Turning up the road, he limped his way into the town of Wawa. Not much of a town thought Hag. Several houses, many more just tar paper shacks. Several general stores and four hotels lined the main street. Hag was to meet a Mr. Tumkin at the Penny grocery store on Tuesday morning. Tuesday morning had become late afternoon when Hag began his search. If he missed Mr. Tumkin he would have to walk the thirty odd miles to the camp or wait a week until Mr. Tumkin’s next grocery trip.

With a fast-paced limp, he rushed to the Penny store. Pushing the creaking screen door open, he directed his question towards the store keeper. Sir, has a Mr. Tumkin been here?

Are you the new help he was waiting for? asked the keeper, peeping over small round spectacles.

Yes sir, I am. Hag answered, with a hopeful anticipation in his tone.

Staring out through the letter painted front windows, the keeper searched the parking lot across the street. With a fait smile he turned. Son, if you hurry and if Sid, Mr. Tumkin is in a good mood you still may have a job. You do know he has been waiting for you all day. He has never waited for anyone before.

Following the keeper’s stare, Hag peered out through the window hoping to see a pleasant looking man and not a tyrant the keeper made Mr. Tumkin out to be.

See that short pudgy man getting into that old flat-bed truck, well that is your Boss.

Thank you. said Hag over his shoulder, his legs hurrying out through the door.

Good luck kid, you may need it. Over his spectacles, the keeper watched to see the out come of Hag’s first meeting with Sid Tumkin.

Mr. Tumkin! yelled Hag running as fast as he could across a wide gravel road. Mr. Tumkin’s truck began to back from its parking space. Mr. Tumkin. I am Hagard Travis.

Old brakes squeaked to a stop. Sid Tumkin eyed the fresh-faced boy then he glanced back across the street. Through eyes red from the day of drinking in the local hotel he peered harshly into Hag’s eyes. Sticking out his arm waving a finger about, Sid attempted to give Hag a piece of his mind.

I have been here all day waiting for you. Martha is going to wonder what took me so long. Why are you limping?

I . . . I sat on a broken seat spring all the way up here. Hag shook out the stiffness in his leg.

There is work to be done and it is getting late in the day. If you are coming, then get in.

While Hag hurried to the other side, the truck pulled ahead out onto the road. From across the street, in his grocery store, the keeper smiled watching Sid’s new helper running alongside. The new tenderfoot strained to get into the open door of the flatbed truck.

Without any further words, Sid weaved his old green truck down the Chapleau Highway. In Nineteen-forty-nine the highway was more often called the Chapleau dirt road. Just out of sight of the town, Sid came to a dead stop on the middle of the road.

Kid, you drive. That was all he said. Sid slid across the seat forcing Hag out of the door.

I do not know where to go.

I will tell you where to head. I have had a few too many drinks to keep this old truck on the road. roared Mr. Tumkin when Hag set the truck into motion. I ain`t a hard man, but at times I have to be. I will tell you what. When we get to camp, you introduce yourself to Mrs. Tumkin. Keep her occupied while I sneak off to bed. I . . . will forget about the fact that you were late thus forcing me to wait and have too many drinks. Deal?

Yes sir.

Okay, take a left at that clearing, then straight ahead for twenty miles. You will not miss the place. I will just rest my head for a bit.  Not a minute passed before Mr. Tumkin’s nose began to omit strange snoring sounds.

Smiling at the essence of Mr. Tumkin, Hag knew that the toughness was just an act. Underneath that stiff face Mr. Tumkin was just as nice as could be. Hag hoped this was to be the case. Glancing over every-once-in a while he assessed the character of his new boss. Mr. Tumkin looked scruffy with a day-old growth of a beard that sparkled white against facial skin that seemed to be permanently wind burnt. Slouched over in the truck seat he reassembled a small man, even smaller than his slouching stance when he walked. Hag thought that maybe it was because of the drinking Mr. Tumkin had done during the day. Pinkish skin showed through the thin grey hair that was finger-combed over his scalp. A decision to like the man was not hard to make, Hag did like him.

With the lateness of the afternoon the sun began to cast long shadows across the old bush road. Hag knew now why Mr. Tumkin did not want to drive, there was not much of a road to drive on. Going off of the main path and the unknown of the dark bush would be staring the tenderfoot right in the face.

For the first time in his life, Hag had seen wildlife in its natural environment. A swift red fox darted between the head lights of the truck. Further along a slow-moving porcupine ambled across the road. Hag beamed with delight at every sighting. Too soon ended the twenty-mile trip. Many more animals might have crossed the old skid road. In the lateness, Hag’s grumbling stomach craved nourishment. A good night’s sleep would also be of welcome.

Hello, you must be Mr. Travis. beamed Mr. Tumkin’s wife. I am Martha Tumkin. Mrs. Tumkin waited at the door while Hag slammed the truck door shut.

Hag greeted Mrs. Tumkin with a friendly hand shake. At the same time, he tried to balance his duffle bag, trying not to play out a Buster Keaton silent film scene. Mrs. Tumkin emitted a warm motherly image, like his own mother. Following the friendly woman into the lodge, Hag had a feeling that this was going to be a great summer. What could go wrong in a place like this?

Sid Tumkin peeked from behind the tailgate of the truck. Seeing Martha making the boy welcome, he made a dash for the darkness at the side of the main building. Only shadows of buildings and the dark landscape slept beneath the northern blue moon. Sid was heading to the back entrance to join the night and sleep off his day of drinking.

From the twelve-foot dinning table, Hag eyed his new surroundings. This was like something that would only have been seen in the movies. From the stone fireplace that lined one whole wall to the many animal trophies that adorned the log hued walls. High back chairs, massive rugs and the stained-glass windows held his eyes in awe. All this, and he was sitting right in the middle of it. This probably would be the first and last time. A guest he was not, his job would be a jack-of-all trades, a waiter, a buss boy, handy man, a type of job that would not be boring. Hag was looking forward to the challenge.

Mrs. Tumkin? Hag began to ask, his voice echoing strangely in the empty room.

Do not worry son. smiled Martha. It will not be this quiet for much longer.

Where is everyone? Do all help and guests go to sleep this early in the evening?  Hag accepted the bowl of soup Martha offered with a jolly smile.

In another day or so there will be so many people here, you will wish there were two of you. If that old man of mine gets to fishing, he will have you doing all of his chores. Martha pointed a strict finger towards Hag. And do not let him get away with it.  Turning with a stern smile, she added. I think this summer is going to be just dandy, just dandy.

A bit chubby and in her mid fifties, Martha seemed to be the one most would want to confide in. Her pure white hair framed a rosy face that seemed to beam all of the time. Sid may give the impression that he ran things around the lodge, but most insiders knew that Martha was the backbone of this tourist resort. With her smiling face of softness to her grand-motherly fluffy hair, she was always warm hearted to everyone.

Down that hallway, a fourth door on the left. Have a good night’s sleep, Mr. Travis. Martha left Hag to swallow in a few moments of relaxation before sleep would conjure up wilderness dreams.

With the first golden rays of the morning sunlight, Hag rushed to get outside. Waiting for him was everything that he could not see in last night’s darkness. Along the shoreline of a deep blue lake, the lodge resembled a picture post card. Rustic log buildings were connected by weaving board walks that gleamed grey white from years of being bleached by the weather. Smiling, Hag was happy that this was not an old factory that he would be sweating away his summer in. A flip of his wrist and he watched a stone skip across a glass like lake. It was the first stone in a long time that he could remember making five perfect skips. He was just a kid; a lake was just a pond in a farmer’s field years and years ago. For lingering moments Hag seemed lost in his childhood wishing that the pond could have been this place.

Liz, come look, it is a boy, a man!  blurted a red-haired girl, she pressed her face against the bedroom glass. He must be the new boy Ms. Martha was telling us about.

Liz, a slim tall girl peeked with little interest over Violet’s shoulder. Ms. Martha said he was a young boy. That guy is not young at all!

I know, the boy is cute. giggled Violet, her finger twirling her long ringlets of hair. Cute, not like that dud Mr. Tumkin hired last year.

You did not say that when he asked for your address at the end of the season.

I was just being nice. I made up a false address, yours. Violet cringed into the corner of the window ledge from Liz’s look of horror. I swear I did not.

Oh, you rat! roared Liz as she threw a pillow at her friend.

Both watched from behind the curtains of their room, watching an unaware Hag throwing stones into the lake. They eyed his slim features, his almost Elvis hair cut. Unlike the men and boys from around the area, his facial features were softer giving the impression that he came from the city. Violet glanced over her shoulder at Liz. Her eyes were fixed on the new help. Violet had a revelation that this was going to be Elizabeth’s summer of romance.

Hagard? called out Martha from the porch of the kitchen. Breakfast is almost ready.

Rushing, Hag headed up the hill towards the calling voice of Ms. Martha. He did not want to be tardy on his first day on the job.

Have a seat anywhere Hagard. said Martha, smiling over a hot plate of flapjacks that she handed to him.

Mrs. Tumkin, would you mind calling me Hag. Hagard seems too formal. I feel like, big-city important with that name. Hag sounds more down to earth.

Well, Hag, most people call me Ms. Martha, and you may bring in these flapjacks to the dinning table.

For the last time, this season, the big dinning room table would be used by the staff. Placing the flapjacks in the centre of the table, Hag took a seat across from Mr. Tumkin. Before the plate reached the table’s surface, Sid pierced a fork into a stack of hot jacks.

Eat up kid before the women-folk start clearing the table. said Sid without looking up at Hag.

From the corner of his eyes, Hag glanced at the two plates beside him and the one at the head of the table. He knew one setting was for Ms. Martha, but the other two? If they were for the female help and Mr. Tumkin went fishing, this summer’s work was cut out for him.

Hag, I would like to introduce Elizabeth and Violet. Ms. Martha said as two shy girls took their seats beside Hag. Girls this Hagard Travis, Hag for short.

Standing slightly and taking a second look at the girls he nodded but did not make eye contact. Violet nudged Liz with her arm, Liz blushed while she giggled.

You were in your bed a little early last night, Sid. Martha broke the silence with her inquisitive assumption. Are you not feeling well?

Sid raised his blood-shot-eyes only high enough for them to come in contact with Hag. With a slight sway of his head he winked towards his associate. No, no, I just wanted to get an early start on the day and get Hag settled in.

The day started over two hours ago. Martha sarcastically said with an understanding smile. Passing the maple syrup to the girls, she winked acknowledging her ability to tease her husband.

CHAPTER 2

Before the day was over, Hag received his first taste of work and of the temperaments of the tourist as they arrived. It seemed that he was making endless trips between cottages and sorting out luggage. Soon he had developed a rhythm even though he had fallen into the trap Ms. Martha had warned him about. He liked Mr. Tumkin and did not mind the work when Sid went fishing.

It took a while but with time and help from Violet, Hag worked up the nerve to ask Liz out for walks when time permitted. He found it hard to court her, there was no malt shop or a theatre to take her to. Liz on the other hand was happy just to spend moments with Hag. Unlike southern girls that wanted to be wined and dinned, Hag was impressed that Liz felt that, that was not important. After all, Liz knew that Hag needed the money he earned a college education.

On one of their walks together Hag and Liz climbed to the edge of a cliff not far from the lodge. From fourteen-hundred feet up on a ledge they gazed out over the surrounding wilderness. As far as they could see, the land was of rugged beauty. Mountains, valleys, lakes and marshes owned the surface of the earth. From their perch both felt nature’s mystique, they were in awe of the grandeur. Unlike the simplicity of the panoramic view down in its bowels, the land was sometimes impassable. Cedar swamps so thick that walking between trees was like trying to penetrate a riot. Muskegs and marshes were as bad as quick sand waiting to swallow the unexpected, unwilling to give up its captured prizes. For Hag and Liz, sitting up high on the ridge looking down upon the splendor of the wilderness, the perils of the unknown were left unknown.

Well? Violet asked as Liz closed the bedroom door behind herself. Well how did it go? Sitting up on her bed with burning inquisitiveness, Violet stared, waiting for an answer.

A flush faced girl leaned back against the closed door. He kissed me. sighed Liz, her palms felt cool despite the warm night.

Giggling into her hand, Violet crawled to the end of the bed for more of the story, she had to hear more. Was it a long kiss, well, well?

A caring kiss. I think he likes me.

That is, it? Violet flopped back onto her bed disappointed. "I get more details from a paperback