Lift Me Up: The Story of Mike Tolman

By Xlibris US

Michael C. Tolman was born May 25, 1957 to Rex and Elizabeth Corbett Tolman. He was taught well and grew to be an honorable man of his word, a man who kept commitments. Mike was diagnosed with Small Cell Lung Cancer; he endured two surgeries followed by radiation and chemotherapy. His body was weak but he was determined to finish his treatment and return to the
Virginia Roanoke Mission to complete the unfinished service he had promised. Commitment. He often thought of Jessica, the beautiful girl he met at Ricks College in
Rexburg, Idaho. They had agreed to meet after their missions, when the time was right. He lost his battle on May 1, 1979.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493196975

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The truck rattled as it left the highway and came to a stop on the dirt road that separated the acres into same-size plots. The old man leaned forward, resting his head on his hands, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. This is hard, Son. It makes it all so real.

Ed left the keys in the ignition, slammed the door and walked through the rows of headstones. It was only fifty yards or so, and it shouldn’t be this hard, but his chest and back hurt and the air scorched his lungs. He stopped often to catch his breath, wondering if he might be having a heart attack. He imagined the headline of the weekly newspaper if he died right here: Dead Man Found in Cemetery. This was his first visit to the cemetery since Mike was buried three weeks ago.

He knew Maud had stopped by last week; it wasn’t any thing they talked about yet, but after fifty-some years of marriage, he just knew. Every person has to face grief alone before he can be of use to another. That was why Maud had come there alone, and why he was here now. Some day, when the pain became a dull ache, they would talk up the memories.

Mike’s parents and grandmother had picked out the headstone. Ed said he had the daily chores to get done. Yeah, the chores could have been done later: he just didn’t want much to do with that part of admitting Mike was dead. Ed was glad the stone was already in place as a proclamation that would carry Mike’s name into the future. Ed gazed across the rows of headstones realizing how many others had faced the same pangs of sorrow he was feeling today.

Ed remembered when Mike was a little dickens, too small to lift a full shovel of dirt but he had to have some boots so he could help his dad irrigate. He was just a few years old then so bad weather, more frequently than not, flooded over the top of the boots. The child never let that bother or discourage him; he just sloshed along like any grown man. Mike had loved tractors and trucks. He got a toy bulldozer for Christmas one year and he moved more dirt with that toy than some operators do with a big D4 Caterpillar bulldozer. At least, that’s what the boy thought he had done. He loved that toy. So many good memories.

Ed stared at the artwork on the head stone; the mountains, a stream, and a cowboy on a horse. It was nice, real nice. He couldn’t imagine Mike without a horse, hat, and bandana. He remembered how Mike’s father, Rex, would hold his son in front of him in the saddle long before the child could even walk. Heck, Ed had watched Rex grow to be a good man. Ed was pleased when Elizabeth said she planned to marry Rex.

Rex understood the special connection between Ed and Mike. Rex was always good to let the boy come to Hat Creek to work along side Ed and eat his grandma’s cooking. Good memories, Mike, good memories. I remember when the Lord sent you to us. You were a little wiggly bundle of flesh and bone, dominated by an over ambitious spirit. My gosh, you were such a joyful package. God is good, and we were so blessed to have you in our lives, but my heart is sore in having you gone.

Ed took his Stetson off and hit it against his leg three times, like he always did. He knelt down, holding his hat with one hand and touching the headstone with the other. His fingers traced the words carved in the stone: Michael C. Tolman; born May 25, 1957; died May 1, 1979. He was just twenty-two. Much too young. Tears stung his eyes. Mike had asked for so little and given so much.

Michael. Son, he said bowing his head. We miss you; his voice choked. I miss you. His shoulders shook from the sobs that racked his body. Then, when the spasm of grief stopped, all around him was quiet, calm. He took his hanky out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. I got up early today, Michael, and I watched the sun rise. It peeked from behind the mountains, hovered for a bit, and then blessed Hat Creek and all with its warmth and glory. But, try as it might, it didn’t warm my heart. It made me come here to talk to you.

Ed paused and looked up at the blue sky and across the green summer fields. "I remember how you loved to climb Taylor Mountain, stand at its topmost place and sing out, ‘Oh Ye Mountains High where the clear blue sky arches over the vales of the free’ at the top of your lungs. I’ll never hear that song without hearing your voice and seeing you in my mind of memories."

He paused speaking and looked for the meadowlark that was singing its welcome to the day. Haying time just won’t be the same without you, Mike. You were too young, not quite ten years old, when I caught you pulling the slip loads of hay from the field to the stack. Later, I found out you had been driving the hay baler, too. Everything you did was done well. No job was too hard for you.

The old cowboy was quiet for a few minutes. Oh, Mike. I knew if I could just say what I needed, my heart would be mended a bit. You were so valiant, Son. So strong. I’m sure when you entered the Kingdom of God, you kinda’ peeked in, hovered a bit, and then blessed the heavenly host with your presence just like our sun did this very day.

He used the headstone for balance to help him to his feet. I’m getting somewhat old and stiff of body; I’m pretty darn sure I’ll be seeing you before too long. Maybe you’ll be the one to lift me up like I did you when you were too little to get somewhere yourself. I like that idea. Just reach down and give me a hand up.

He stumbled a bit, realizing he had been on his knees far too long. His chest didn’t hurt much now, and breathing was getting easier. I’ll look forward to that, Mike. Meanwhile, all I ask is that you fill the crisp mountain air, the tall grasses, and the changing of the seasons with your spirit ’til we meet again at Jesus’ feet. He put his hat on, walked to the truck, got in, and started the engine. He paused before turning out on the highway, and looked back at the grave: So long, Partner. Grandpa loves you. He was glad it was a long drive home; it gave him time to think on happier times.

CHAPTER 2

The sun rose over the mountains sharpening the crisp morning air. Mike and his grandpa had talked about this day for what seemed to be a very long time. Sometime, Mike. Sometime you’ll be able to go on a ride with me. You’ll be my sidekick. Just you and me, Son. But not until you are big enough.

He was not yet seven years old, but grandpa had him stand against the doorframe. Now stand straight and tall, Mike, Grandpa said as he laid the ruler straight on Mike’s head and drew a new line. Mike held his breath waiting for the results. Move aside now so we can take a look. Well, look at this, Maud. He got a new mark. Looks like he’ll ride his own horse when he goes with me tomorrow.

Grandpa, can I really?

Yes siree, Son. You made your mark.

Mike was so excited he could barely sleep that night. Grandpa had declared that he was big enough… man enough… to ride alone. He had reached that point in his young life where he measured up to the call. He pushed his feet down toward the end of the bed and stretched his body out as far as he could so there would be no chance of shrinking while he slept. Grandpa woke him up early and they ate the hearty breakfast Grandma made for them. Sausage gravy and biscuits, eggs, blueberry pancakes, orange juice, and a glass of icy cold milk.

Good breakfast, Maud. Thanks, as always.

Grandpa grabbed his hat and their lunches, kissed Grandma goodbye, and headed for the doorway. He paused, "You coming or not, Mike?

I’m coming! He walked alongside his grandpa, trying to match his long stride.

Grandpa had rounded up the horses before breakfast and had them saddled up and waiting at the fence. He packed the lunches in the saddlebag and made sure the cinch was tight on each saddle. He looked at Mike. He’s such a good little guy, he thought to himself. He has such a game spirit for such a little boy.

Are you ready to ride, Son?

Yes, siree. Lift me up, Grandpa. Please, please, lift me up.

So you’re old enough to ride like a man, huh? Well, let’s see. He lifted him up to straddle the mare and adjusted the stirrups to fit. Hold on to her, Mike. She’s a fairly tame gal, but you hold on tight. She can be a real pill sometimes. ‘Hear?

I will, Grandpa. I will.

The old man turned away from Mike and Old Lady, smiled with pride, and kicked his boot against a rock trying to hide how tickled he was at what was happening, then swung his body in to the saddle. Mike pulled his felt cowboy hat down hard on his head and tied his bandana around his neck. The dogs, Skeeter and Brandy, made short runs back and forth between the horses and the house, barking with excitement. Mike gripped the saddle with his legs and held tightly to the mane, rein, and saddle horn. He tried to mask his excitement of not only sitting atop Old Lady by himself, but also that Grandpa trusted him to help move the cows to better pasture up on the high range.

Just hold on there, son. We need to say our see-you-later to Grandma. We can’t leave until she says we’re ready.

He had barely finished his sentence when Grandma came scurrying out of the cabin, scooting the dogs aside with her foot. Get out of the way, you silly old dogs. Her eyes flashed with concern at the sight of her two cowboys ready to ride. She bustled over to the pole fence, wiping soapy water off her hands with her apron. Now listen, you two, she looked directly at Mike, you be mighty careful. Old Lady is gentle enough, but sometimes she’s downright aggravating and grumpy, like someone else I know. She reached up and patted Grandpa’s chaps-covered leg. You know, Ed, she cautioned, his mom won’t let him come up here with us again if anything… .

Now, Maud, I know, I know. His folks are reasonable, and besides, nothing will happen. I’ll take good care of my partner here. He’s not a baby, you know.

Grandma smoothed her hair as she went on, "Well, don’t forget it. And be on time for supper.’

We’ll take it easy. He clicked his horse to go. Come on, Mike. I’ll be close behind you so we can hear each other better. When things narrow down, you keep a head of me and lead. The old cowboy jerked his horse into a wide turn and hollered over his shoulder to Maud, We’ll be back for supper and we’ll be even hungrier by the time we get those old cows moved. Mike set the pace and Ed followed.

Maud squinted and shaded her eyes from the sun with one hand and straightened her wet apron with the other as she watched until her men disappear over the first hill; then, she worried herself back to the kitchen as snapshots of cougars, coyotes, wolves, and rattle snakes shadowed through her mind.

We got our work cut out for us, Mike. We’ll be riding up Cabin Creek and take sixty-some cows over to green feed on the east side of the Mountain, said Grandpa, half talking to Mike and half muttering to the air, so they can get their fill before the next move. Then, there’s the roundup.

Mike nodded in agreement. He was sure he’d be able to ride with the fall roundup crew. He’d been riding in the pickup with his Mom and the camp stuff and food. He asked his dad and mom if he could ride this year and they said he could if he did his chores without being reminded. He also knew that how he did on this ride would be a measure of what he would, or would not, be allowed to do in the future. He knew this was a first step and that he could soon be taking on more responsibilities. In fact, if he did well, he might even be able to help with branding the late-born calves.

The valley was beautiful this time of year. The sagebrush released its pungent smell when it hit against the legs of the horses. He’d been out here before, but it was always riding with someone. Today, he was seeing it, smelling it, while riding alone in the saddle.

Glancing back toward the cabin, he thought how much he loved it there. The log house had been dragged up from a gulch and renovated by Grandpa. There wasn’t electricity at Hat Creek Ranch yet. Gas lanterns would flicker at night, giving light enough to read by. Wood was chopped, stacked, and then hauled inside to the woodbin. The old wood stove cooked their meals and heated the cabin. There was no TV or radio sounds. The joyous sounds of talking, laughing, and singing were more pleasant to listen to than any old radio noise. How could anyone not love it here?

The kitchen had a cook stove, sofa, cupboards, and a large rectangular table that could seat at least a dozen hungry people. Through the kitchen doorway was a small living room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. Grandpa had added another room on to the log part. He said it gave a room for visitors. It was decorated with photographs, artwork, letters, and notes from grandchildren surrounding a card entitled, Cowboy Code. It reminded Mike of his grandfather and father who lived the law of the land. He was sure they expected him to do the same. The Code said it was important to make folks feel welcome, to be respectful, to show care for others, and to look out for each other. It said you had to be honest and never break your word. To be a cowboy and a good man, you had to take care of your animals and not cause anyone or anything pain or grief. He wished he could remember the words. Grandpa had told him not to worry about memorizing the words, but he was expected to understand what it said.

Are you okay up there?

Just looking to see how far away we are from the cabin. Look, Grandpa. We’ve gone a long way already.

Sure enough. Grandpa reined in his horse, took off his hat, pulled his sleeve across his forehead, and said, Yup, pretty far. But now, look up ahead, son. Always spend your time looking at where you’re going, not worrying where you’ve been. It makes for a better ride. See those big mountains? That’s where we’re going. Up there through the good smelling pine to where the deer, bears, and cougars live.

Will we see a big black bear, Grandpa?

Grandpa didn’t answer. He gave a half turn of his head that indicated we just might. "The slopes are steeper now, Mike. It takes a different kind of riding. If I were you, I would give Old Lady her head; she has made this ride many times. Just gentle her, praise her, and trust her. We have to keep moving along. We have one more smooth riding, and one more climb. Then we’ll