The Second Born: The Reverend’S Ways

By Arnold Robinson

Our mother sang Peace in the Valley with our father, who is pastoring his own church now. But the good life wouldnt last long, indebted by a sawmill and threatened by new temptations that the devil would lure our father into. Thrown into the world of logging and pulpwood, wed meet a whole different breed of people, one whom Id call my friend even with his vulgar poetry and ways of doing things, another whom Id eventually threaten alongside my father at gunpoint. Something had been haunting my brother to the point of madness, and Id now be part of it, staring at the old mans Bolivia watch lying beside our bed. Would the terrible deed fix anything or just make it worse as we struggle between right and wrong and life and death?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524582050

Arnold Robinson

I am finished with my three book series, The Second Born. For many years I kept this story to myself thinking it might not be book worthy. But in 2001 I read a book that lit the fire in my heart, the very thing I needed, to write this novel. And for many years I worked on it with every chance I got. The Dead Giants, The Reverends Ways, and The Gant House all tie together to reveal the struggles in a young boys life in a place where change never came easy. From personal experiences of love and sometimes its tragedies come the settings for ones best works.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Arnold Robinson.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2017901811

ISBN:                  Hardcover                        978-1-5245-8207-4

                            Softcover                           978-1-5245-8206-7

                            eBook                                978-1-5245-8205-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Front cover photograph by Rye Sluiter http://ryesluiterphotography.zenfolio.com. Used with permission

Rev. date: 04/05/2018

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

750971

CONTENTS

Chapter 1   The Confrontation

Chapter 2   A Man Named Calvin

Chapter 3   The Return Of Bill McCoy

Chapter 4   Calvin Moving Away

Chapter 5   The Dream

Chapter 6   The Move To Greenfield

Chapter 7   Who’s Convertible

Chapter 8   Calvin Returns

Chapter 1

The Confrontation

W here a large white oak tree once stood was now a stump that James and I had declared our observation point. It looked as if a part of the mountain had literally swept out into the field, where it tapered to a steep point fifteen or so feet above the field itself. Surrounded by small chestnut trees and other bushes, it was almost impossible for anyone to see us. To the north and about fifty yards on up the valley was the place that Dad and Bill McCoy thought was the best spot for our sawmill. Kincade Creek lay thirty yards or so beyond that where huge towering Sycamore trees lined the small creek, blocking most of the view of our land where it ran all the way to Route 124. Looking back down the valley we could see the better part of our farm, with the exception of the big tobacco barn and the field with Red’s milking shed.

On quiet days especially in the morning hours anything going on around the house could be heard from this distance. But that was fixing to change once the sawmill got up and running. Possibly the one single view that we’d appreciate more than any was one where a car could be seen coming all the way from the bridge while stirring up a cloud of dust. There’d be no way anyone could ambush us from our private vantage point.

On the other side of the gravel road was our two acre tobacco crop or ‘baccer’ as it was commonly called in these parts. It ran all the way from the bridge to the sharp curve where our two houses sat up high, looking down on the road. Cozy I’d always thought was the way they were built snuggly into the side of the mountain.

But the last view, the one we’d be part of now, was directly behind us and up the side of the mountain. Roughly a hundred acre forest spread throughout the valleys and to other long points such as our hiding place. I slid our gallon jug of fresh water along with the buscuits that we’d eat at break into the shady side of the stump. I was just getting ready to go and find James where he’d stopped cutting the day before when the sound of singing came triumphantly up the small valley. I jumped up on the stump for a better view. There will be peace in the valley someday our mother sang from her garden accompanied by Judy and Bertha Mae.

Echos rang throughout the hollers when they joined together to belt out the chorus. But as glorious as it all sounded I knew that my mother sang of a different valley, her rewards in heaven when her life’s long work on earth was over. She’d certainly have no peace on earth with our fathers’ continuous backsliding ways and even worse, now we might lose our farm because of his ‘unfruitful’ ways.

I was distracted with the sound of the kitchen screen door slamming shut with Donald leading his followers straight to the well and appointing Larry to operate the hand pump. It was a crazy mix of sounds with Mom and the girls singing and Duck as he’d been nicknamed talking loud so that the boys understand him.

Ronald give me that dipper! He said. And by the time his words made it to me he was finished and passing the dipper to Larry. He along with Ron, and Larry headed for the ‘baccer field with their hoes slung over their shoulders. Robert and little Joe, too young to do much of anything trudged a ways behind. They’d be useful to go fetch something if Duck needed.

The activities were all good in the way that they distracted me once again from my every day worry that dad was loosing everything we’d worked for. Sad, I thought that it isn’t James and me still doin’ the hoein’. I wished things could have stayed the way they’d started out, with us just having the ‘baccer field and a ten acre corn crop to tend. Ten acres was a good-sized field to hand pick, but the boys were old enough to help now. I envisioned the same cornfield that Mr. Cox had described from his porch before we’d bought his farm. It just seemed a simpler time when all we had to worry about was the mortgage that came in once a month.

It was with Mr. Coleman’s offer to buy our timber that the seed was planted in our dads head that here was a way for him to save face and the farm. We’d go into the timber business and that put us even farther in debt.

I thought about what my Grandma Mollie had told me at a much younger age. Why, honey, you can’t go back if you ever want to get ahead in life. It was something that’d stick with me forever, seeing the expression on her weary face reflected from the yellowish flickering flame of a blackened coal oil lamp. And from that lamp she’d work late into the night making brooms to sell in town and be thankful for the small amount of money she’d get for them.

The old-timers at Turners store had advised me to enjoy everything while I could. ‘Why, thangs change so quick you cain’t hardly keep up!’ they warned further. But it sounded as if there was something in the past that they all wanted to grasp once again. I thought about how just a year ago the springs was still a place to play in and have fun; but now we’d practically drag ourselves there to wash off in the evenings, too tired to play much. It was, however, a place for James and I to reminisce of happier times.

Are you gonna just sit on that stump all day? James asked, sneaking up behind me.

Shit, James, you scared the hell outa me! I said, settling myself back on the stump.

What was all the serious thought about? he asked, sitting down where our view was of the boys hoeing the baccer.

I wish that it was still us out there hoein’ that shit, James. I nodded. By now we’d be racin’, ya know, and thinkin’ about divin’ into the springs a little later.

Yea, I know, he slowly agreed. But you’d be complaining about it right now, that it is too damn hot to hoe. And I truly know that your lifelong ambition would be to work a hoe like me. He grinned, shoving an elbow into my side.

Give me a break! I shouldn’t even associate with a hoe mongrel like you anyway, I laughed. But at any rate, I still wish we could go back to those times, don’t you?

Yea, sometimes I do… His words faded.

Our reminiscing ended when Bill McCoy cleared the bridge trailing dust on his way to the mill. We watched as he drove past us never having a clue that we looked right down on top of him. He had the motor and blade on the back of his truck. Dad had originally planned to get the blade and we’d put it on. But Bill was trying to make up for ordering the wrong parts for the motor overhaul, so he’d take the burden of installing it himself.

Well, I guess it won’t be long now before we start makin’ some ‘real money,’ as Dad puts it.

We’ll see, he answered.

The two of them spent the best part of the week aligning the mill to the newly overhauled motor. They’d used Kate to pull all the parts into place. Now they were having a real hard time getting the carriage to line up right. They’d get a piece blocked up off the ground; and as soon as they tried to connect another piece, it’d all come loose, crashing down, which brought on plenty of cussing from both of them.

This is better than TV, James pointed. Most times he’d leave the saw in the woods. But at morning break, he’d bring it with him to sharpen the chain after our biscuits were eaten. They’d cussed and kicked everything that wasn’t the real reason the mill had fallen. They both ran out of breath at about the same time sitting down to smoke another cigarette or two. I placed my hand behind my ear as Dad would have, and asked James.

Did ya yer that?

Yer what? he played along.

Ya didn’t yer that ringin’ sound when Dad’s gone-ass bone hit the metal on that carriage when he sat down? I joked loudly. James would never hold back on a good laugh, and wasn’t doing so this time either, which might have been the reason Dad focused in on our very spot before, looking on up the hill a little farther.

Shit, he’s looking this way, James. Quiet down a little, I hissed. It didn’t matter what you were doing when Dad wanted you. He’d yell or whistle until you answered.

Arnold Ray… The echo shot across the valley several times. James jumped to his feet, grabbing the chainsaw in one hand. We ran up the small trail that the animals had carved on their way to and from the creek. Finally, far enough away from our hideout, he gave a couple quick yanks on the rope to start the saw.

The noise was loud enough, when it just sat there idling, but a squeeze of the trigger sent smoke into the air before raising so deafening a roar that nothing could be heard above it. That, of course, was all in the plan as James stood there waiting for Dad to yell again, then he’d work the throttle about as good as I could the squeaky board in the floor at the house.

With a series of throttle movements, he’d match dads yells echo’s and all, it sounded. We laughed harder than ever at Dad’s drowned-out words, which we knew pissed him off. Even though James didn’t like it, I’d bark cuss words to Dad and Bill, never to be heard by them.

Arnold Ray, I need you to come down here right now, he screamed just before James hit the throttle once again. I changed the wording to his pleas.

Arnold Ray, please come down here to the mill, honey, I need you, I sang loudly. If you can do this for me, I’ll give you the rest of the day off to go play in the springs. It got so bad that James had to look away as I sang by myself. I’d also have my way with Bill, calling him everything bad that I could think of. Dad and he were a lot alike in so many ways and we weren’t surprised when Bill drew back and threw a wrench over in the tall weeds when it slipped and busted his knuckles. We laughed to no end watching him and Dad combing the weeds hunting for it as he couldn’t get a hold of me and James for help.

We could’ve helped with the assembly, but Bill thought it best that we keep getting logs and stay the hell out of his way, and we wholeheartedly agreed.

Well, I’ve laughed long enough, and my tears have dried up, so I guess I’ll take a load of logs down to the mill. Did you get a path cut so I can get to um?

Yes, he laughed. That was done earlier while you were still sleeping, he joked.

Now that’s bullshit, and you know it, Doodle, I shot back.

Bill spit baccer everywhere. I’d stood up from the log I sat on and could clearly see where he’d spat. Pissed off, I pointed out that he should be spitting off to some other place than on places where we might sit. He would laugh all the while, saying he would never do such a thing as I’d accused him of. There was a right-out shitty look he gave me one day when he pointed to Dad a dedicated place to set down. My suspicion grew that he was spitting toward the horses when they’d stop close to him at the mill. To mess with me even more, he’d have his jaws all puffed out when I’d look his way; then as soon as I’d look back, they’d be back to normal while he clutched at his throat as though he’d swallowed it. He was just an evil son of a bitch at best, I thought. He always gave me an uneasy feeling, and when I’d get back into the woods, I’d look all around the bottom of my pant legs and shoes. I looked back at him one time after checking myself out. He knew of my suspicion as he laughed while wiping his mouth all the way to his ears.

They finally got everything lined up and started the motor one morning. I couldn’t believe that such a small engine as a flathead 6 could make so much noise. Bill took the muffler off, saying it had more horsepower without it, especially after it had just been overhauled.

Without being told, Bill’d put himself in charge of me and everything else when Dad wasn’t there. He’d run his jaw at me when Dad or James was around but picked on me most when we were alone.

I’d just walked over the hill and on to the mill where the horses stood with their logs behind them. I started driving the hooks back out with the small sledgehammer I carried with me just for that reason.

Ya need to put that coffee can over the exhaust pipe every night, and don’t forget it! He barked the order with only me there.

Hey! That ain’t my job. I continued hammering away at the grabs, never looking up at him. You run the mill and are right here at the end of the day, so you kin do it every night yourself! I went on about my business, disconnecting the animals’ singletrees and then leading them away.

Well, if rain gits into that motor, ole Jim’ll shit a brick when we’ve got to overhaul ’er again. He wiped his smile clean of baccer with a dirty hand. Just never you mind, I’ll just tell Jim to have you do it. He suddenly became pissed off.

Well, go ahead and tell him, Bill, but I ain’t gonna do it, so you might as well get yer mind right about that.

Twelve o’clock rolled around; and as James and I started for the house to eat, Bill motioned to us to come over to the mill.

I need you, boys, to hold this Goddamned blade up while I put the nut on, he said, all the while shaking it loosely in his hand like he was getting ready to throw a dice. James turned quickly to address him.

It’s time for us to eat, Bill, so we’ll help you as soon as we get back, OK! Baccer juice seemed to add a flavor to the cussing such as Bill was doing right now. The thick tar wasn’t just juices from between his teeth—now they had been contaminated with the worst cuss words I’d ever heard as he readied to spit again.

Fifteen damned minutes ain’t going to hurt you, boys, so you need to get your asses over here now. He pointed to the blade. I’d do as James did, considering Bill’s threats.

Now, Bill, maybe you should eat while we’re gone, and that way, we’ll all be ready when me and Arnold get back. We’ll see you in a half hour. He turned away as I stood there showing Bill my thin smile for a second longer. We’d gone a fair distance before Bill’s rampaging finally faded out.

The giant pot of pinto beans and all the cornbread disappeared quickly as the boys talked about how hard they’d worked hoeing the baccer. Larry, who didn’t take so much of Duck’s orders anymore, shot back that they would have got more done if Duck would carry his own hoe from plant to plant instead of having one of the boys do it and then wait till he got there. It was good to hear them carry on about who was the fastest hoer of them all.

Well, are you ready? James said to Bill as he and I picked the big blade up while holding it steady at the threaded hole. Not a word was spoken as Bill slid the washer in place and then tightened the nut. The job was finished when he hit the side of the blade with the wrench ringing like a thin bell.

Well! Looks like ole Jim timed this one just right, Bill remarked at the cloud of dust that’d trailed Dad all the way to the mill. He was visibly excited climbing out of the car, quickly raking his hair back over his head.

All right, that’s it! Bill said upon Dad’s approach, wiping grease from his hands with an already-greasy rag. Well, I guess these boys can get their asses on back up there in the woods now, Jim. I’m through withum less’n you got somethin’ down here forum. He spat between in the narrow space where we stood.

Oh, I’m sorry, James said. I didn’t know that you were finished with us, Bill. I mean, normally, when you get help from someone, you thank them for it. I mean . . . that’s the way normal people act. Isn’t it?

Bill gave him a stern look with a slight turn of his chin as if he were going to spit again. After sizing James up for the moment he spat off to one side. Maybe James’s challenging look told him what he might encounter had he spit our way again.

No, I thank we’ll be all right for now. Boys, let’s just keep gettin’ more logs down here, Dad advised.

Yea, you better get aplenty, ’cause when I git here tomar morning bright and early, they ain’t gonna last long, Bill boasted.

And why can’t we get started today? Dad asked. His patience had been tested for some time that the bills were mounting and not a single log had been cut.

I’m just down in my back a little after wrestlin’ with that damned motor to get it overhauled. But I’ll be ready tomar, and like I said, this little jag a logs here ain’t a gonna last long. He shook his head. Now I’ll see you tomar morning, Jim.

Dad’s whistling was frail at best when Bill drove off.

We hain’t made a penny from this mill yet, and as soon as we get to the point we can, that son of a bitch goes home for the day! I spouted, getting their attention. Dad studied the ground for a while, walking in a confused circle. Without speaking, he shook his head, walked to his car, and drove away.

I’d smelled beer on Bill and told James that it wasn’t the first time either when the low-down asshole stood to close to me. I figured that to be the real reason for his early departure.

James wanted to stay around a while longer to check the mill out.

It sure looks simple, doesn’t it, James.

I think I could have put this together better than what they’ve done, James boasted. Look, there’s a couple of places that the carriage doesn’t even match up right, he pointed. And Bill forgot to put this bolt in. He extended his hand. Hand me that wrench over there, Arnold.

Only under one condition, I said, holding it behind my back.

And what might that be? He frowned.

That be that you don’t throw the damn thing off in the weeds somewhere. Our laugh was spontaneous. You know, it’s gonna be bad news if this thang’s tore up all the time, James. I mean to hear Dad talk we’re on the verge of losin’ everythin’ and that’s on a day by day basis anymore.

Well, truthfully, I don’t see it that way, he said. We make more money from pulpwood than it takes to pay our bills—not a whole lot more, but enough.

It’d been another long day when Mom sat down to eat with us that evening. Everyone else had finished and gone on about their ways. I told Dad about Bill spitting at me that evening at supper. He laughed it off, saying, Ah, ole Bill’s just messin’ with you, Arnold Ray! He’s just different in a lot of ways. I guess you could say he’s backwards about a lot of thangs.

But he doesn’t need to be spitting towards anybody. James gripped his fork.

Oh, and by the way, Dad said, I need you to make sure there’s a can put over that exhaust every night.

Who are you talkin’ to? I looked all around the table, trying to contain my anger.

I’m talkin’ to you! He quickly looked up from his plate.

Well, you . . . kin pass the message back to Bill that I ain’t gonna to do it. He’s right there at quittin’ time, so he can put it on before he heads out to start his drinkin’! I don’t guess he told you that me and him already talked about this?

Arnold Ray, it ain’t Bill that’s askin! This is me tellin you to put the Goddamn can over it.

I ain’t doin it! I done told Bill, and now I’m tellin’ you! I told you about him spittin’ at me and the horses and all you kin do is laugh it off! He ain’t gettin’ his way with me! He’s just a whiny prick wantin’ to blame someone for his mess ups. How do we know that motor got overhauled right or not? So if I don’t cover that pipe up, it’ll be my screwup—someone for old Bill to put blame on. He can cover it, and that way, all blame can be put on him in case somethin’ goes wrong with that motor. I ain’t doin it!

Dad broke out into some crazy spasm of a whistle before going in to the living room to watch the news. I felt bad that I’d cussed in front of my mother, because just like she’d told me time and again, it didn’t sound Christian like. I spooned my cornbread under my hot soup beans, covered them with chopped onions, and then began eating.

I had to say that I was shocked the next morning as I headed to milk Red when Bill come flying down the road turning quickly into the field that led to the mill. Dad’s curious whistle coming from the kitchen also seemed to indicate his surprise at how early Bill got there.

The motor roared to life as I approached, and, with the exception of Sam, the animals flexed their ears to a sound they were all too familiar with. All the while Dad and Bill yelling over the noise of the motor while checking everything out.

I took the animals on to the woods out of sight of the mill. Then I circled around to meet James, who waited at our observation stump. Bill ran the carriage back and forth a couple times before he and Dad rolled the first log onto the carriage using two four-foot can hooks. The motor labored at first as Bill drove the log directly into the blade. In a matter of a few seconds, a slab fell to the side of the carriage. They rolled it to where the flat spot was on the bottom where they’d cut another slab from its side. Two more rolls, and the log was cut square. Once this was completed, they cut lumber off until the log was reduced to a seven-by-nine-inch beam, which would be sold as a cross tie. I had to admit that seeing the first slab of wood that made us money gave me a better feeling, along with the smell of fresh-cut wood filling the air.

It’ll be the real money now, James. I was thinkin’ the other night that maybe Dad can make two farm payments a month, with us fixin’ to make a lot more money. Do you think he’d go for that if we demanded it?

James snickered at my joke and was about to say something when, about halfway through the next cut, the sawmill had become a no cuttin’ son of a bitch, as Bill screamed over the noise. He made an adjustment on the wide belt that ran between the motor and the big sprocket beforehand, turning the blade for a visual alignment. He and Dad agreed to the fix. Bill was attempting the cut again when all of a sudden, the motor strained, almost killing it. Above all the noise, and it being aplenty, the words were clear when he threw the transmission into neutral. You crooked cuttin’ bitch, he said, repeatedly jerkin the transmission in and out of gear. James had been right about the alignment of the carriage when Dad and Bill spent the rest of the day reworking all of it. I thought he and Dad had a lot in common the way they half ass done things.

I’d been pulling logs for a while now; there were two hundred and sixty to be cut up. The way things were going, it’d take a while for old Bill to cut them all up. And that would be after they finally got everything ironed out and went to cutting again. But finally the saw was running good once again, and in a couple days there’d be a truckload of cross ties and lumber. We guessed that wasn’t fast enough for Dad, who came up into the woods to tell us that it was time for a payment on all the other bills for another month.

We’re gonna need some more of that quick cash until we can get a little more ahead. He paced back and forth. Boys, now we need a load of pulpwood a day for the next two weeks. After shaking his head with some hesitation he continued. I hope by then Bill’s got a few loads cut, or I’m about ready to get rid of the mill. He went on and on about how all the unexpected bills from the mill had set us back a lot.

There was no protest on my or James’s part, though. We’d do whatever it’d take to keep the place we loved so dearly but more impotant a permanent home for our mother.

Do it for the sake of the family! James would say when an unexpected challenge would pop up that I might complain about.

The heavy lifting of pulpwood day after day had made both of us very strong. We’d work together loading the bigger pieces that were placed on the very bottom of the load. But seldom after that would we need help with the medium to smaller pieces.

Man versus wood, James laughed. The best way to load a piece by yourself was to stand it up on one end at first. Then lay it across a knee at about its center, to balance the weight. Then by placing both arms around the bottom and giving it a quick heave, you’d lift it onto the truck’s bed. The new game now was to throw a large piece up on the bed and make as much racket as you could.

You knew when you’d got a good one—the kind that rolled and spun at the same time, pounding on the truck’s bed. A short nod from the other person gave the approval that it was OK now to go straight to a muscle flex of your arms, then to let every animal in the forest know what you’d just done. James had perfected the Tarzan yell as it echoed down through the valley. I, on the other end, was almost finished with my voice changing but it still petered out at times. James could pick up thirty or forty pounds more than me, so I had to make up for the difference with a louder yell.

My yell didn’t bring all our horses running to me like when Tarzan called in the elephants. Actually, I think they would have run the other direction instead. I’d hear a tree fall, crashing to the ground, and as the echo came back across the wide valley, it was interrupted by a mighty yell from James, as the saw idled to a stop. He teased all the time that my yell sounded more like Jane’s, which always started a good wrestling match. He’d never know how many times I’d yell, practicing while he sawed away.

We asked Dad on his return how much the load had weighed. Our second week yielded eighty-six thousand pounds of pulpwood hauled to the paper mill in Chillicothe. That was our best week, forty-three tons loaded by hand. Even though there’d be plenty of weeks when we’d come close, we never would break that record. Every evening when Dad announced the weight, he’d be sure to let us know that he thought maybe we could do better.

Old Bill was having himself another bad day when he yelled at me.

Catch that damn slab! He pointed as the big blade neared the end of a log.

I’ll get it when it hits the ground, I yelled and motioned over the noise. That really pissed him off, and I wasn’t so sure that he didn’t call me a name or two. I kept remembering what James told me about being careful working around him. And for that very reason, I’d picked out a couple good-sized saplings and placed them close where I could get to them if I needed to wear them out on his head and ass.

At times I’d stop the animals at the edge of the woods until Bill’d stop flipping out before I’d let them go on to the mill. He spooked them constantly, and I was becoming more and more convinced that many times it was on purpose. It seemed Bill had a fit or was yelling all the time about something. Going apeshit was what James called it. Even though we couldn’t see each other because of a holler separating us we’d yell apeshit to each other when he’d be on one of his rampages.

Even when the mill was working fine, Bill could be heard screaming at just about everything. My favorite was when he complained that the slabs were getting too deep for him to work around.

Well, move ’em, you lazy prick, I’d say as the noise from the mill deadened my words. I helped James as much as I could when the mill didn’t need more logs. I’d wade back through broken limbs of a fallen tree, measuring the log lengths and marking them with a hatchet cut.

There was a place, next to the field where horseweeds grew seven to eight feet tall, and James had declared this place as his toilet. The perfect size leaves, he declared. There weren’t many times that he wouldn’t go there after our return from lunch. Myself, I wanted a place farther up in the woods.

A few times I’d fall a tree or two while he was away doing his thing. He’d said it was OK, but that I shouldn’t get carried away. Or at least that’s the way I wished he’d said it. I could handle the saw just fine now that I’d gotten stronger, but it wasn’t the thing that I’d want to do all day. I didn’t like staying in one place for long periods of time. Logging was more like me, as I could be on the move all the time. But I still wanted to impress on him that I wasn’t bad at using the saw myself.

I could see him walking across the field to the creek to wash his face and hands. I’d guessed that I could fall three or four before he made it back up the mountain, but now I’d have to hurry a little. He’d advised that you needed to cut them as you went up the mountain. But I’d found a cluster, and I wouldn’t have to move much to cut them. I was almost through the first tree when it leaned heavily against two others that blocked its fall. It was the very thing James had told me that I shouldn’t do. In my haste, I had not cut the notch long enough to correct the trees’ fall! Not a problem, I thought, glancing to see James still at the creek. I’d simply fall another one on top of it that would send them both crashing to the ground.

But frustration overwhelmed me when the other tree didn’t do as I’d expected, and now it also was bound up against the first. Panicked, I spotted the tree that would surely bring them all to the ground. From where he stood at the creek, James looked up the mountain curious. Maybe he could see the trees were leaning in a strange way. Now he hurried across the field as I drew my attention to the big black oak. I knew he’d have wanted me to stop right there so he could figure out the best thing to do. But I couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing I’d done the very thing he’d warned me of.

James had never hung three trees up at one time—a record that I didn’t want I was thinking when the big tree gave way crashing into the other two. But my celebration was short-lived when it too came to a groaning halt, pinned mangled up against the others.

Now I was pacing, studying the snarl of twisted mess, trying to figure out what the hell happened to gravity. I grabbed the saw, once again attempting to go up under them and cut the single son of a hanging-up bitch down that they all were hung up on, when James arrived to investigate what I’d done to bring on such cussing.

Calm down, he advised. I know what you’re thinking, but that is not going to work. It’d be an invitation to suicide! He snatched the saw from my hand, shaken up some by what I might have done if he hadn’t been there. You need to think before you just jump in there and do something! he scolded. It’s all in where you cut the notch, Brub . . . and looking at these stumps, you didn’t quite have them in the right place. He pointed. Give me a minute. I’ll figure out what we can do to bring them down. He studied the situation while rubbing his chin.

I got it, I said without thought. I took Kate down to the truck, gathering the chains that we used to boom loads down with. I could see James shaking his head with disagreement when Kate pulled the long string of chains to where the trees were all entangled.

Don’t tell me, let me guess? he asked, not sounding too surprised.

It’s the only way to do it, James. There ain’t no wind blowin’ today to make ’em go down the way they fuckin’ should.

You’re not going to do what I think you’re going do, are you, Arnold. You know the slightest breeze could bring them all down on top of you, he warned.

James, they got a long way to fall. Hell, I could be halfway to the mill before they hit the ground. I laughed. But joke as I would, James saw it differently.

No, I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. Arnold. We’ll just leave them there, and I’d guess by the morning, they’ll be on the ground. That’s a whole lot of weight hanging up there, and eventually, that’s what’ll bring them down. He picked up the chainsaw and then headed over the hill, leaving me to ponder his solution. About halfway down, he turned once more; and knowin’ the way I was, he warned me again to not do something stupid.

Stupid, I said in a low tone. Why is my idea so stupid? I waited till he started the saw and was about halfway through a cut when I started dragging the chain over the hill to the mess I’d created. And besides, he’d told me many times that if you mess something up, you should be the one who fixes it.

I walked Bill to the lower end of my mess, positioning him to where the trees wouldn’t reach him if for some reason they fell the wrong way. I’d pulled several logs at one time with him, but this would be the hardest thing he’d ever attempted to move on my part. I pulled the chain over the hill, wrapping it around the middle tree in the tangle, when suddenly a loud snap from above sent me running up the side of the hill. A large limb broke off and crashed right where I’d been standing.

Close one, I said out loud.

Arnold, you’re a dumb ass! I knew you’d do some dumb shit like this! That damned limb would have killed you had it hit you. Don’t you ever think before you do anything? At times, I’m telling you, I think you’ve got problems in your head.

I’m sorry, James. You were right all along. I should have waited. But you were right also when you told me about fixin’ fuckups when you make them.

You got to be shitin’ me. Even a dumb ass could understand the meaning better than that. He shook his head with disbelief.

OK, OK, I’ll go back down and disconnect it. I laughed.

No. Just pull the damned thing down so I can go back to work and not worry about what a stupid-ass thing you might do next if this doesn’t work. He crossed his arms, waiting for me to give Bill the command.

Back, back, I directed as Bill swung his massive head back and forth to the solemnity of my command. OK, come on, big boy, I said, stepping clear after connecting the singletree. He leaning forward, pushing his full weight into the harness as leather and chains tightened to their fullest. Massive muscles bulged in his back legs as his back straightened completely. Blood veins grew to their fullest as hooves pounded at the ground.

Shwooshmmp! The trees fell about in all directions, sending a wave of wind and debris past us. James, satisfied that all was OK for now, headed back over the hill.

I scratched Bill’s head for a long time, thanking him dearly as he’d pulled me out of a huge bind.

We sat at our hideout eating our biscuits while watching Bill cut a log into pieces of lumber. Our talk was all about Bill’s big pull—a feat that I couldn’t wait to tell the old-timers about with my next trip to Willow Springs.

Ya know, James, I don’t think ole Bill likes bein’ around ole Bill much. I don’t think he trusts him.

James almost choked on the mouthful of water that he drew from our jug.

Do you know what you just said, Arnold? You made it sound like Bill doesn’t like being around himself! He laughed, pointing towards the mill.

What I meant to say was that Bill the horse, doesn’t like bein’ around that son of a bitch, Bill the ass. He shook his head slightly trying to hide his grin. So you know what? I’m gonna start callin’ him Mr. Bill!

Why, Arnold, what a great idea! he agreed, jumping to his feet. If you call him Mr. Bill, I’ll bet in no time he’ll stop spitting at you.

I . . . I was talkin about the horse, jackass! Slowly James rolled his eyes to meet mine inviting the challenge. No way in hell he could keep up with me on foot, and I was faster than him too when it came down to making quick moves on the other person when wrestling. Lately, I’d become much stronger and moved like lightning, ready to pin him to the ground, or I’d continued to hope that is.

We wrestled all over the place, including on our big oak stump. We were close to the edge of the field when James slipped out of the hold I’d put on him. He didn’t believe my excuse that I’d slacked up when I said I was afraid that Bill might see us. Both completely out of breath, we’d rest a while longer before going back to work.

In the end, James agreed it was a good idea to separate the two Bills by name. After all, one of them was a gentleman, so ‘Mr. Bill’ fit the big horse like a glove. At some point, I’d have to explain to Dad what I’d done.

I could tell that Mr. Bill didn’t like being around the other Bill, as he’d lay his ears back anytime he was near. And a couple of times, I saw what looked to be baccer spit on his big rump. I think he spat on all of ’em when I wasn’t lookin’. I was about ready to have a cussin’ match with him the next time I saw it, though.

Why don’t you just ask him to stop doing it? James suggested. A little weary of the whole thing, I took James’s advice and talked to Bill about it the next day. I made sure no one was around, thinking Bill’d make a spectacle of it, only to embarrass me in the end. Dad had left, taking our first load of crossties to Bainbridge. James was busy sawing away in the woods.

There was no better way I figured than to just come out and confront him man to man.

Easier said than done as I fumbled for the right words.

Bill, I think you’re spittin on the horses, and maybe even me, so I’d like for it to stop right now. Too late, I thought I should have told him to stop and not have asked. By doing so, I’d simply given him fodder for an answer.

He laughed, spitting off to the side, denying he’d do such a thing.

It must be comin’ from up above! He pointed with a grin. I felt degraded in my attempt to make things better between us now, all I wanted to do was knock the hell out of him.

From the very first day the mill had been producing, Bill complained of the pile of slabs that he’d trip over when rolling a log for the next cut. He hinted to Dad that he might have to hire someone to offbear. There was nothing easy about any of our jobs, but being an offbearer was probably the hardest of all when it came right down to it.

Well, it’ll have to come out of your own pocket, Dad shut him off quickly. Ole Dean’s sawyer manages to keep up with them. Slabs would pile up quickly, making a real hazard to work around. In a matter of a couple hours, Bill would be pushing them out of the way. Easy to see that it slowed his production down a lot. I started moving as many as I could between loads. Only trying to help, I asked that he stop the carriage long enough for me to pass as I carried one to the other side of the mill. My request seemed to piss him off.

Go around! he spat. It was shortly after that I’d started noticing baccer juice on some of the slabs. I told James about how much of an effort he’d have had to make to spit that far.

So piss on him, James! I ain’t carryin’ slabs that that asshole’s spit on. I’m tellin’ ya, someday I’ll bring a club upside his damned head, so help me God. James listened to my threats, as always, before telling me to do what I thought was best but to be smart about it.

Dad made it back from Bainbridge in time for us to get a load of pulpwood loaded for the next morning. We’d finished tightening the boomers down to secure the load.

James, don’t ya think it’s a little strange that Bill’s still here? Watcha think they been talkin’ about all this time? After wiping his eyes clear of sweat, he nodded toward Dad and Bill, coming in our direction. We sat on the side of the truck as they neared where Bill spat a wad on the truck’s tire as he stopped.

Now I don’t keer if’n you boys stack ’em t’night or first thing in the mornin. But I don’t want to come in here and see that nothin’s been done with that fuckin slab heap! Bill said matter-of-factly before continuing. I’m sick and tired of trippin’ over ’em all day . . . ’n if’n you jist gotta git up earlier to git it done, then that’s OK too, ain’t it, Jim? Dad had no sooner started nodding his head when James erupted.

Whoa . . . hold it right there. His words boiled from his mouth. Now, I’ve got a good idea, Bill, so see what you think about this. His words were slow and factual as he jumped off the side of the truck and landed close to where Bill stood looking him straight in the eye.

Arnold’s got lots of chores still to do after we get home, and I’m sure tired from working that chainsaw all day . . . and then loading wood while you just pull the lever to run the carriage back and forth all day. Now, what we’ll do is this . . . James started a slow-walk in a different direction before whirling with a pointing finger. "We’ll move as many as we can right now, before we just got to go home. So what I’m thinking is that, you come in a little early and finish up what we don’t get moved. What do you think about that?" James’s bold question dared Bill.

I think you sound like an asshole, boy, Bill said, bracing himself and backing up a step or two. I thought there was goin’ to be a fight right then and there.

Well, call it whatever, but it’s a fact, Bill! James wasn’t backing down.

You don’t talk down to me, boy, like I’m a nobody! Bill pointed, shaking a finger. James took a couple steps in Bill’s direction. He’d pushed James too far.

You do your job, and we’ll do ours. I really don’t want to hear shit from your mouth anymore! James glared at him. And this is a warning. If you ever spit baccer on me or Arnold, or even the horses or the fucking slabs as far as that goes, you and I am going to tangle! I jumped from the truck landing beside my brother. James would fight Bill, and I’d fight Dad—my battle plan if it came down to it. I thought Dad had sided with Bill since day one, so why would today be any different?

OK, OK, boys! That’s about enough! Dad finally spoke up. Bill, let’s call it a day. Everybody needs to calm down some. They walked to Bill’s truck, where they lit a cigarette watching us while they smoked.

I’m not giving you—James pointed—the satisfaction of standing there and watch me stack slabs! he yelled at them. They looked to agree and then left shortly after.

I think we should move them and be done with it, Brub, James reckoned. We worked on into the dark, carrying the slabs away from the mill where we’d cut them into firewood in late fall after they’d cured. We tossed the last slab at the end of the heap when I suggested what we should do with them from here on out. James laughed, picturing how Bill’s splintered ass would look. Once again, I’d milk Red with a lantern that evening.

James never said much about the incident, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to take any shit from Bill McCoy. He’d used the F-word with intent.

Dad had no choice but hire someone to keep up with the slabs as Bill seemed to get slower by the day. And of course, Bill had a feller in mind that’d come over after we were pretty well finished for the day and work a few hours.

Now with his constant complaint over all the bills there was to pay, Dad’s thoughts seemed to give a fair warning of what might be expected. ‘Remember the Sabbath and keep it Holy,’ he’d preached many times. Exodus 20:8 was one of the few passages I’d quote to James anytime we’d go sanging on a Sunday to buy a few things. I thought it the worst sin of all to sang for cigarette money on a Sunday.

But I knew that somewhere in his Bible he’d mark places that’d justify our need to work on the Sabbath. He already said he didn’t think the Lord would mind if it meant keeping your family from starving to death or losing what you’d worked so hard to get. After all, it was the Lord’s will that we buy the farm. I dug deep into my pocket to find the arrowhead that I’d give some credit to as well.

I stood waist-deep at the springs late one evening, pondering Dad’s constant threat of the need to work on Sundays. James and I’d talked about it before he headed back to the house. Changes had come way too quickly in my life, I thought as the small gravel that lay at the bottom of the springs dug into my feet, hurting somewhat. I didn’t have the thick, hard callus buildup from running barefooted from daylight till dark. It’d been sometime back that Mom had declared the celebrated day that the ground was warm enough that everyone could go barefooted. Of course, some had been sneaking around taking their shoes off much earlier such as I would have done if I had the chance.

But now with the logging business in full swing, I’d have to wear shoes the better part of the day. But old habits were hard to put away that after work, I’d kick them off as the well-worn path to the springs felt so good.

Noticeable by the way James and I’d gingerly placed our steps, Duck followed teasing us and calling us ‘tender foot,’ which all the brothers got a good laugh out of. Maybe Duck’s remark about tender feet had some merit to it. Without them being their normal hardness, he was right in a way. I didn’t like getting chicken, horse, or cow shit on the bottoms of my feet much anymore.

I sank neck deep thinking of how I’d spot Duck and the others heading for the springs after hoeing the baccer, or just to go play in the cold water to cool off. At times of silence standing on top of a point, I could hear them laughing from where the two forks came together. My stomach hurt with the thought that I wouldn’t have a single day to run and play with my brothers and sisters anymore.

Rebel jumped to his feet wagging his tail while circling the spring to where I’d pulled myself upon the bank.

I thought of the many things I’d miss around the house by being in the woods the better part of the day.

Dad’s pet peeve, the one I enjoyed the most, was when he’d get chicken shit on his shoes expressed by a sour whistle. He’d have the younger kids do a cleanup after we’d get back from church on Sunday, as he’d invited a preacher over for dinner. We’d tried such methods as shooing them away, which didn’t last but a minute or so before they’d start clucking to gather their chicks and be right back in the yard in no time. Throwing corn cobs turned disastrous when four young chicks were killed in a day. The front door, with exception of Dad, was off limits to all during the summer. Only the back door to the kitchen was used so Mom could see that no one traipsed anything into the house.

You march right back outside and wash your feet! she’d tell those she suspected of not doing a very good job of cleaning them.

There was always something to laugh about that involved chickens, however.

Oh, yuck! someone’d say, and we’d laugh before even looking, knowing that they’d stepped in a pile of fresh chicken do-do.

The old concrete pad around the hand pump stayed pretty well wet throughout the day, whether from people wetting their head down or getting a drink to avoid going into the house. And from under the spigot was also the place that Oh, yuck would be washed away when sliding one’s foot in the grasses wouldn’t clean them.

Stains of all colors would literally have to be worn off over time, usually in the fall when shoes would be worn on a regular basis once again.

It saddened me to think that there was so much that I wouldn’t be a part of anymore.

We’ll come back down tonight, boy, after everyone has gone to bed, I assured Rebel.

The air hung stagnant as heat and humidity captured the day. Short rains helped somewhat, but afterwards, the sweat was almost unbearable. With periods of time that it didn’t rain, the log trails roused dust with every trip the horses made. They’d be lathered up after just a few trips with the stink of sour sweat. Their leather harnesses soaked, reeking so bad that I had to hold my breath takin’ them off in the evening. The morning wasn’t as bad; some of the smell would