Harley: One Man's Journey, Dust in the Lane and Other Short Stories

By Joan Blake

This anthology is a collection of short stories inspired by growing up in the Maritimes. There are stories of loss and redemption, finding peace within and without, confronting fear, and growing up in a small town. These stories will bring you back to a much simpler time, while realizing life is never simple.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joan Blake
• Release date: Jan 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781778007903

Book preview

Harley: One Man’s Journey, Dust in the Lane, and Other Short Stories

Joan Blake

ISBN: 978-1-7780079-0-3

© Joan Blake 2022

© cover photo Joan Blake 2021

Dedication

Disclaimer

Acknowledgements

Harley: One Man’s Journey

Harley’s Missing

The Search

The Old Cottage

Leaving the Old Cottage

The Fire

The Rescue

Bud and Jake’s Decision

Alice in Hospital

Alice Goes Home

Dust in the Lane

Going Home

The Climb to Mann’s Peak

What Day Is it?

Run for Your Life

Mystery in the Green Clock

About the Author

Other Works by Joan Blake

Dedication

This collection of short stories is dedicated to the many people who influenced my life growing up in the small farming and fishing community of Black Point, New Brunswick. To my grandfather, Ion Hamilton, whose art of story telling sparked my interest in making sure the stories were repeated.

To my sister, Vivian, who patiently listened to the many stories I told and to my parents who encouraged me to continue with the stories that would have been lost if they were not written down.

Disclaimer

These short stories are a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

I am enormously grateful for the continuing support of the Stittsville Creative Writing group for their guidance and encouragement to see this project to print.

I also want to thank three very important people who have helped edit my collection of short stories: Kris Brabant (Algonquin College), JJ Carrier (Journalist) and RJ Partington (Writer and Author).

A very special thanks to RJ Partington who has helped with the layout and production of this collection.

I thank you all.

Harley: One Man’s Journey

Harley’s Missing

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Bud called out Harley, where are you? Bud listened for a response. Silence -- he heard only the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant echo of his own voice.

Where could the old man be this time? Bud thought aloud.

With Harley, you could never be too sure. In the past year, the disappearing had become more frequent—people started to talk.

Old Harley's losing control of his senses, some would say. Others said, Maybe it's time he moved from his old shack. How could they say that about Harley?

He lived his own life, never bothering others with his problems, and lately Bud thought Harley just had too many things on his mind for people to understand. Even though folks talked about Harley, they cared for him, and every time Harley disappeared the neighbours would organize a search party.

Search parties had become frequent. Bud and Jake were not sure why, because Harley always came home.

Sometimes it would be a week or more, but eventually Harley came back.

Once Harley went missing for eight days and on that occasion, the local forest rangers were called in to help with the search.

People thought something had gone wrong. Maybe he was hurt, lost or kidnapped. Who knows what went through the minds of the villagers?

The story grew out of control. It was the first time Harley had been away for that long and people were concerned. With the number of people who turned out to join in the search, they found him all right - between a few bales of hay in a neighbour's barn, sleeping off the effects of his home-brewed whiskey.

Bud thought this time was different.

Harley had been drinking heavily for three weeks with no stopping, and this was not his style. Oh yes, he liked to drink, but never this much.

People were saying he had good reason to drink—the government had taken away Harley's fishing license for cod and salmon. They also placed a ban on fishing lobster in the bay.

Fishing was Harley's life—it was all he knew. Drinking became his escape from the reality that set in when he found himself sitting looking out over the still waters instead of loading his boat with nets at the start the fishing season. Maybe this time the neighbours were right -- Harley could be in trouble.

Bud and Jake decided to join the search party. They had known Harley since they were kids.

Harley was someone they looked up to, and had taught them a great deal about growing up in a place that suffered from economic depression.

This was their third day searching for old Harley, and they were getting tired. The old man had them stumped.

Where was Harley hiding? Was he hiding?

Bud and Jake had been searching the fields and wooded area around the old cod fish drying racks since early morning and found nothing. Now, with the noon sun burning up the sky, the day was starting to get hot.

Bud had packed a few beers in his knapsack and figured they were due for a rest break.

Jake agreed—though, to be honest, Jake was always ready to take a break. They found a large shade tree and lay down.

Bud, Jake said, if you were in old Harley's boots, where would you go to sleep off the effects of that potent drink he makes?

Potent drink you say. Humph, I guess it's potent enough. Have you ever tried it? Bud had a twinkle in his eye.

Can't say I have, but I can tell from your smile you've shared a few with old Harley, Jake said with a chuckle.

You're right, and if I were him now, I'd go far away, where no one would find me. Anyway, Harley ain’t stupid, I’m sure he's okay. He just wants to be by himself and drink his worries away. Fine reward for fighting in Europe and risking his life. The government really doesn't care about the little guy.

Bud was stepping onto his soapbox, and it was hard to get him stopped when he started. Jake liked that about Bud, he had his own views, and no one could change them.

Bud and Jake went back a long way, but Jake learned long ago to listen and keep his views to himself when it came to talking with Bud. Bud liked to express his opinion—especially if it was different from everyone else.

Jake had to admit that there were not too many times his views were different from Bud’s.

What harm was Harley doing by catching a few fish to eat and to sell? Bud had become philosophical suddenly. It's not like he was fishing the bay dry. Harley was the only one fishing the south side of the bay, so what was their problem? Bud gave a big sigh. The government’s too big for the little guy to fight.

Jake looked over at Bud and savoured the sip of beer he had just taken and then closed his eyes.

Bud and Jake silently thought about their old friend. Harley was an overly complex man—most folks thought of him as simple. To others, he was just a crazy old man.

The kids around town often taunted and teased him. Bud and Jake never did that—they respected him, because for some of them, Harley was the only father figure they knew.

Nowadays, the kids thought Harley was a freak. He was a big man, about 6 foot 4 inches tall and maybe 300 pounds, yet Harley was gentle and kind in every way. He would give you the shirt off his back, his last drink, or his last cigarette. Local farmers could count on him when it came to hay making or potato picking, and he never let them down. Harley was smarter than he let on.

Jake took in a deep breath of fresh air, remembering the smell of Harley’s little shack.

Jake could not forget the smell of the chewing tobacco Harley used. The place smelled of it all the time.

Harley had an empty tobacco can placed inside his shack and another one outside by his nets to use as a spittoon. Harley would chew for a while then spit, take another chunk and chew again—the ritual continued over and over. It was truly a disgusting habit, but it was one Harley loved.

Jake remembered watching Harley rip off a chunk and place it in the pocket of his cheek and savor the taste.

Jake had to admit that he tried it once: Harley offered Jake some when he was about 14, and like any curious teenager Jake tried to chew that old tobacco. It made him sick as a dog. After that experience, Jake made a pledge with himself never to try it again.

Harley's teeth were brown from it, or maybe that was just because he did not have a toothbrush. Whatever the reason for his brown and missing teeth, Jake was not about to join in the habit of chewing tobacco, even though Harley said it would grow hair on his chest.

Jake thought of Harley's past. Harley took pleasure in fishing and pride in caring for his equipment.

Did the government understand what it meant to him?

Did they know how it felt to bring in his boat, hang up his nets, sell his lobster traps and get rid of his buoys?

Bud's voice suddenly interrupted Jake’s thoughts.

Hey Jake, how long do you think it will take before we find him?

Blinking his eyes, Jake turned to Bud. I don't know. Harley is such an eccentric old man that he could turn up in a minute or wait a week. Who knows?

Why do we look for someone who will eventually come home?

It gives us something to do.

Something to do? Bud said with surprise in his voice. I actually have better things to do than look for an old man who will turn up when he decides it’s time to come home.

Yah, but you know Bud, this time I think maybe something has happened to the old man. I have this sick feeling in the pit of my gut and it just won't go away. Jake spoke with concern in his voice.

Sitting up Bud said, Jake, what's an old man like Harley to do now that he can't fish?

I don't know, I just don't know. Jake’s words drifted off with the afternoon wind.