The Big Black Trunk

By Mary Rice Somerville

Smashwords Edition 1.0

Copyright Mary Rice Somerville 1995, 2011
ISBN 978-1-61061-392-7

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This is a boy’s story, so let’s let a boy tell it. His nickname is JG and at thirteen he is already an Eagle Scout. His Dad said, “JG, since you want to be a writer, why don't you put our story on paper? You’ve got that old typewriter and plenty of paper. What happened here last night is more gripping than anything you could make up.”

So JG agreed, starting at the beginning.

Chapter 1 SPRING BREAK, AND HOW!

My sleeping bag was so wet that, when I rolled over, it squished. Is there anything more miserable? I could hear the steady downpour outside in the spring chill. Dad and Mom were snoring. Dad could sleep through anything; probably he had a carefree conscience, not like mine.

We had asked him if rain would keep us from making the trip. Actually, he knew that if he didn't keep his promise to take us camping during our spring break it might be a long time before he could do it again. That's the trouble with being a successful businessman.

Dad thought toy logs were too wimpy for his boys. He brought us up here to start a real cabin several years ago. It was Sol's sixth birthday, the day after Christmas, and cold as whiz.

He used the chain saw to cut down tall, straight poplar trees, whacking off the branches for us to stack. He made cabin-sized logs, notching the ends and layering them in a square, leaving a gap for a door. We stood around, shivering, trying to keep a warming tire going with the small branches. At the right time, we helped with the lifting.

On this trip, he planned to put up roof timbers, so that we could really use the cabin for camping. He also hoped we could gather rocks for a chimney. He wanted his boys to be rugged, and not sit around like house babies.

You should have seen us as we started out, it would have made a great photo. We were so excited!

JohnB had to take his pillow, of course. He was spoiled to that pillow and said he couldn‘t sleep without it. He hung his guitar strap over his shoulder, so that he could carry the heaviest part of the grub in a box. He‘s the oldest.

Scopi, you say that "Sco-pie," had to take his new telescope, he's the kind who will do it even if it weighs fifty pounds and the path is straight uphill for a mile. He thought he might be able to see more of the sky with the extra altitude, but I told him the woods would be in his way. He‘s a year older than I and a lot smarter. I had to admire his spunk, even if he didn't take my advice.

"Dad, I’ll make another trip to bring more food. There are some weird things going on in the stars. Maybe I can show you tonight," Scopi suggested, "if the sky clears up."

"Can I tie my load onto the goat?" begged Rooster. "Please let me, Dad. I can carry something else. We‘ve got to take care of her anyway. Will it be too much for her, with her pregnant?"

Dad had to stop what he was doing and weigh the question. Mom was on Rooster’s side. His legs were short for his age, and she thought Narnia wouldn't mind. Besides, the goat could nibble the briars around the cabin site.

Dad looked up at the clouds and decided, "Yes, take Narnia, but be quick. We‘ve got to get going. Maybe we‘ll have a good sky tomorrow night, Scopi."

Sol carried his load on his back in a knapsack that I made for him in my Scout work. His gear was light; clothes, snacks, and a tiny transistor radio. He had his walking stick in one hand and his sleeping bag in the other. He looked so proud.

Dad carried the saw and the gas can, but of course he always had his binoculars around his neck. It was a delicious prospect for him to spend four whole days in the woods alone with his family. He loved birds, flowers, and all wildlife. Maybe he should have been a biology teacher instead of a building contractor.

I packed very sensibly, that's one of the things you learn in Scouts. Besides clothes, I had my Swiss Army knife, Band-Aids, flashlight with batteries, writing supplies, soap and towels, snakebite kit, and ax. I did forget my underwear.

Mom took part of the kitchen equipment and her yarn bag. That’s how she enjoys herself -- knitting. She hates to waste time even when she's resting. She likes to talk but doesn't get much chance now that her sons are big enough to argue on any subject.

We gave our chickens some extra feed. I didn‘t kiss them goodbye, I am not crazy about chickens. I hate what they do in the yard right where I am trying to slide into first base. Dad had plenty of money and could have bought a truck full of eggs, but Mom always liked to play the farmer‘s wife. Maybe God picked her out special for Dad, His knowing the sort of future we were going to have.

It was late in the afternoon when we got all the way up to our cabin. Dad was helping us tack on a big tarpaulin for a roof when it began to rain. But did I say, "Rain?" I should have said, "DUMP!"

We were all inside, even the goat, when the plastic began to sag. Dad held the middle with Sol's walking stick for a few minutes, and then he let me hold it while he went outside to cut a real pole. When he got it set and working right, he took Narnia out and tied her to a nearby tree.

"Oh, Honey," moaned Mom. "I know you have to put her out, but I just hate to see her so wet and cold." When she saw that Dad was drenched, she felt even sorrier for him.

Nobody cooked that night. We had our pork and beans right out of the can. Nobody watched the birds at their evening feeding or gathered yellow dog tooth violets or looked for pink lady slippers. We huddled together in a wet heap, trying to be cheerful.

Rooster pulled out his bag of Halloween goodies that he had been saving for six months. He gave us each a candy com if we promised to suck on it for at least an hour!

We told jokes and stories until we fizzled, then Dad turned on the radio. It was amazing how radio waves could travel through all that falling water. "Heavy rains in the mountainous areas," said the weather report. But, of course, West Virginia is all mountainous!

We fought and scrambled to make ourselves beds, passing the flashlight back and forth. Then Dad pulled out his pocketsized Bible, pulling off his glasses to read the tiny print. I’m sure that he was trying to settle us down, reading about those old kings of Israel. I got so confused and disgusted with them that I fell asleep.

But in the middle of the night, I put out my hand and found that we were floating. The rain had poured off the plastic and had oozed under the logs on all sides. I found that I wasn't the only one in misery.

"Dad, I can't sleep," moaned JohnB. "Would it be all right if we turned the radio on real low?" "Sure, son," Dad whispered sleepily. "It might help us all."

There was some music, a talk-show program, world news, and then the weather. It seemed a volcano had erupted somewhere.

"I listen to the news every day at home," muttered Mom from under her blanket, "I haven't heard anything about a volcano." This volcano, the announcer said, had happened over a year before in the Pacific, and it was supposed to be the cause of all our weird weather and sore throats.

Daylight finally came, camouflaged by dark clouds and rain. Breakfast was scheduled to be pancakes and sausage over a campfire, but we passed around the raisins and goodies that were brought for snacks.

I tied a couple of socks together pretending that they were a doll. "My name is Judy Miller . . .," I began in a high, girlish voice. She carried on until the whole family was dabbing at their eyes from laughter. In an emergency, I had to think of something to lift the mood.

It was a very long three days. I think Mom had a little fun with her knitting and no cooking, but we boys were climbing the walls. We were so used to fighting each other at high speeds in computer games that we didn't know how to be still for a minute. Dad tried to slow us down by quizzing us on our schoolwork and general knowledge. I saw him look over at Mom with horror. I guess he had never thought to check up on our education before.

On the fourth morning, Dad went outside early, determined to start a fire. We could hear his ax biting into a big log, opening up some dry wood. At last some real food. All of us were wet, weak, and hungry.

The sun rose and the rain slowed to a drip. Suddenly, far down below, we heard a gigantic thunderous roar. Jumping out of our sleeping bags, we grabbed each other. Dad stuck his head into the cabin, looking really scared.

He yelled, "What is it? Are you all right?"

The noise sounded like a tidal wave or a speeding train. We heard snapping, banging, and bumping. Mom thought she heard screams. It must have been about five minutes before peace returned, and we could hear the crackle of Dad's fire again. Sol was crying. Someone had stepped on him.

We scrambled to find our clothes, getting in each other‘s way. I was the first one dressed.

"I’m going down the mountain and take a look. I’ve got to see what‘s happening."

Scopi was ready next, "Me, too. I’m with you, JG."

JohnB had already thrown his poncho over his bare back.

"Oh, no! No, you're not," yelled Mom, "Honey, don't let them out of your sight," she pleaded.

Dad did some quick thinking. "Scopi, concentrate on the radio and try to find out what happened while I serve these flapjacks. JohnB and JG, stretch out a dining fly over my cooking stuff. Mom, please help Rooster and Sol with their clothes, we ‘ll feed them first."

The activity helped to control our panic, and we listened to the buzzing and static on the radio while we worked.

"Here’s some news, Dad. Ten inches of rain have fallen in West Virginia since midnight. Isn’t that like a cloudburst? The Syrians are threatening Israel again. Hey, here’s news from Capitol City. There are flood alerts for our county and the Highway Department says that there are some impoundments which are reaching the critical level," reported Scopi.

"What is an impoundment, Dad?" asked Rooster. I noticed as Dad stiffened, forgetting the pancakes. He looked up into the sky and said a few words to God. Then he went back to his cooking, sobered and silent.

OUR FAMILY THEME-SONG

by Bishop Thomas Ken 1709

All praise to Thee, my God, this night
For all the blessings of the light,
Keep me, oh, keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thine own almighty wings.
Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done,
That with the world, myself and Thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed,
Teach me to die, that so I may
Rise glorious at the judgment day.
Oh, may my soul on Thee repose,
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close,
Sleep that shall me more vigorous make
To serve my God when I awake.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him, all creatures here below,
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

CHAPTER 2 IN SHOCK!

Obeying Dad was hard but we struggled against our emotions until we had finished.

"Now can we go, Dad? Please?"

"Rinse and stack your dishes, then you can cut out," he agreed.

Leaving all our stuff behind, even the goat, we plunged down the mountainside. Mom hung onto limbs and saplings, carefully avoiding the old, muddy logging path. Everything was so wet! She tried to find footing in the leaves and grass of the underbrush, but we boys didn‘t care about safety. We slithered down, thinking only of speed.

The sky was showing cheerful spots of blue. We skirted along the old barbed wire fence, keeping to the left of the raging creek. As we came out of the bushes into the clearing, everyone gasped. No one could speak, for what was there to say?

The river was at our feet. It was so impossible, so ludicrous, so ridiculous, to have the river tum into a lake, forty feet up our mountain, covering all of our known world and lying right there in front of us. We looked out over the smelly, murky water; but where were our home, post office, grocery store, school, both bridges, and highway?

The water went down quickly, even as we watched. When a dam breaks it gives a big flush, swooshing down the riverbed until it spends its power, leaving behind the usual remains and a lot of mud and crud.

It was Saturday morning. Were our school friends watching cartoons and eating toaster tarts when a wall of water appeared out of nowhere and washed them away? Did the man-made dam do a sudden split, or was there a tiny crack that got out of control? Did the owner of the mine know? Surely he would have sounded an alarm, or was he off on a vacation trip with his own sons?

"Don't let that water touch you, boys," warned Dad. "It will be dangerous for a while. You know those outdoor toilets upstream? The contents will all be coming this way."

"Oh, yuck," I groaned, wondering if we would have to take those typhoid shots as we did the last time the river came up in our yard.

After a long silence, Mom whispered, "No house."

"No business," joined Dad with a sigh.

"No piano," JohnB said, sadly.

"No school," cheered Scopi. "Hooray!"

"No computer," said I, the hopeful writer.

"No ball field," groaned Rooster, the best pitcher on his Little League team.

"No big black trunk." Sol had always wanted to be wise like Solomon, and sometimes he was. In those few moments he had already realized that our trunk full of baby shoes, report cards, and awards was the one thing that could never be replaced.

"Are we homeless?" asked Mom, the home-maker.

"Almost, sweetheart," said Dad in a comforting voice as he put his arm around her waist, "but not as homeless as our Master. He had nowhere to lay His head. He’s given us a vacation cottage in the mountains as if we were still rich people.

He turned us around and headed us up the hill, not whistling. "We're going up there to have a prayer meeting, committing ourselves to God, thanking Him for our safety, and asking His mercy on others. You realize where we would be if we had not gone camping this week-end."

The climb was awesomely quiet. We all wanted to go to Heaven, of course -- but not anytime soon. When we got back to our fire, it was only a pod of red coals. Dad split more wood, hoping to find something dry. The sun was shining in earnest. The golden sparkle of the wet leaves never gave a hint of the muddy disaster down below or of the loss of everything we owned.

We rolled some logs around the tire to make a circle as we always did at Scout camp. Dad got us singing "Amazing Grace," which fit the occasion and sounded good, coming from the heart.

One by one, we each said a prayer aloud. Dad's was first, thanking God again, and asking Him to help those who must have lost their homes, too, and maybe their lives.

"Father, please show us if there is anything we can do for our neighbors and community."

Scopi's prayer was last. "Since You saved our lives, maybe You have something special planned for us, Father. Please help us to know what it is. We'll try to be ready for anything. Amen."

The silence was broken with an announcement by Dad; "Family, we've got a big decision to make about our future. What should we do? Should we make this our new home site, rebuild back by the river, or move to the city?"

I liked the way Dad included us in things. JohnB was almost sixteen. We three teenagers would be making decisions of our own before long. Even the little guys liked to have their opinions and to be heard.

Dad wanted Mom's ideas first. "What do you think, honey? Do you want to be a hill climber? You wouldn't have to worry about getting enough exercise! You'd have a better shape than all of the other women," he grinned.

"Of course, I’d be the only woman," she pointed out. "But what about the children? How would they get to school?"

I saw Scopi drop his head.

Dad wrinkled his forehead. "This land is steep. No one else would want it, but it's all ours. Great-great grandpa was smart enough to keep the mineral rights. Nobody is going to be stripping coal out from under us. The logs are free. We have lots of growing muscles here, but you are right, honey, I don't know how we could get around the school law."

In the last few years, the government was getting harder and harder to obey. We couldn't go anywhere, buy anything, or do anything without our ID cards. Little kids all had to go to day care, and there was a new worldwide law about only two kids allowed for each family.

"Let's just hide up here, Daddy, and live off the land," begged Rooster. "Me and Sol knows how to hunt squirrels. We can eat roots and berries like the real pioneers, besides, the school is washed away." Then I said, "Isn't it going to be years before we have a new bridge? The county isn't going to want to build one just for us with all the houses gone. Maybe we should move into town."

"Let's just stay up in here and never be seen again," Scopi muttered. He really liked the school books. When he started algebra, he found he could take the two T’s of his real name, Scott, and make them look like pi. He’s called himself that ever since. But he’s always hated going to school.

It was JohnB’s turn. "Do you mean live up here, like forever, with no cars, or girls, or Scouts? Mom, how could you live without a phone or neighbors? What about mail and stores? And Dad, how could we live if you didn't have a job?"

"I would have a job, son. I would be building this family a new home. Isn't that a man's responsibility? Most of the stuff is free if we have the gumption to get hold of it. Money and electricity are newfangled inventions, JohnB -- and telephones," he said as he glanced cautiously at Mom.

"We've lost a fortune in vehicles and lumber and in the house," he continued. "For years no one has been able to get flood insurance. Even if I could get to town and show my ID, there's not much in our account. With this new machine money, people don't feel that they have to pay their bills."

"Do you mean we really are poor?" wailed Sol. "I always felt sorry for poor people."

"Sol, buddy, start feeling sorry for us." I advised.

"We don’t have one computer or a single game to play on it."

"But, Daddy, I don’t know how to be poor," he cried, grabbing Dad around the legs. "How does it feel?"

"About like this," said Dad. "You know, sitting on wet logs in front of a smoking fire, wishing for cartoons and sausage and hot biscuits."

"Oh, well, then it won‘t be too bad. I thought you had to be miserable to be poor," Sol chuckled.

We all felt comforted and actually prosperous, but what could we do about our future, and how would we be able to help anyone else?

"Oh, Dad, speaking of cards, have we lost them?" asked Mom anxiously.

"Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. Maybe you didn't think to bring yours, but I can't breathe these days without mine."

He reached into his back pocket and held up the plastic card that controlled all his buying and selling.

"See, just like they told us. It is safer than money -- - if we don’t lose it."

"We can't really take a vote about our fixture, can we?" Mom noted realistically. "We don’t have much of a choice if we don't have any money or business."

Dad stood up, put on a voice like a preacher, and began to make a speech: "A man wants to make his family happy and stay within the laws of the land, but since God Himself has made me the head of this family, I believe that all of you would grow up to be better men if we could live up here and rough it. We have the land from the top of the ridge all the way to the river. It ought to be a big enough yard for you growing boys. Mother and I could share with you the education that we already have. We could get books, make a nice home, get to know each other, and trust God for everything. Now, that‘s my vote. I don't know why we can't do it if we want to. We won’t be hurting anyone. We don’t seem to have any vote in the new government, but we can live for God no matter what the other people do."

We boys kept quiet. I could understand Dad's desire to bring us up according to his own ideas, but could we really give up our old way of life? Was this going to be permanent? Would we never go to Scouts again? Or to any church? How would we buy groceries and get them all the way up to our campsite? It sounded more scary than fun to me, but Sol and Rooster were thrilled. Mom bit her lip and stared in wonder at her man.

JohnB strummed on his guitar, while looking out through the trees across the valley.

"Let's call our place ‘Reptile Ridge'," volunteered Scopi.

And that was the beginning of our new life.

CHAPTER 3 SETTLING IN

"Whatcha gonna to do with that big old black pot?" Sol asked.

"Put my stuff in it to carry up the hill. Mom can cook in it over the fire," retorted Rooster. "I don't care if it‘s heavy."

"Well she won't do much cooking without any food," Sol noted.

Dad had let us go downhill to explore and look for our neighbors. I nearly felt sick when we found no sign of their houses or cars. Our little country road had nearly disappeared under the acres of mud. Now we could realize that it was good that Granny Hill had died already. There was nothing left of her home.

It was awesome to poke around where our own house had stood. Everything man-made was swept clean, but there stood the little apple tree that Sol and Rooster had bought with their own money and planted for Mom on Mother's Day last year.

The chain for the goat was still hanging on the sugar maple. We took it, glad that Namia had gone camping with us. There were rat tracks everywhere on the sandy river banks. Ugh!

"The Swiss Family Robinson got lots of stuff from their shipwreck to help them out," Scopi reminded us. "Maybe we can find the remains of ours."

We picked our way downstream, searching the debris for anything that looked like ours. When we had covered the familiar mile toward our old school, there was our house, slammed up against the old bridge abutment, smashed flat.

Dad had built it himself. It was a big two-story country house with a windowsill for Mom‘s African violets and secret hideouts and passageways for us. The garage was tailor-made for the work truck and our two nice cars. Over that had been a huge playroom for rainy days.

It was the funniest thing, but on the way back we found Mom‘s red bathrobe hanging up in a tree. Why that, and only that? There were plenty of muddy garbage bags, plastic jugs, and wet paper diapers clinging to the trees. Pieces of lumber and broken furniture littered the sandy banks.

What we didn't find was food. Our camping meals were all gone. These people who want to live off the land better not try it in April. We didn't know anything about digging roots, and there were no berries, or gardens, or fruits hanging on trees at that time of year.

As we sat around the campfire that night we had a round of confessions and apologies. Our family had never been on a total fast before. I felt spacey, maybe even spiritual.

Dad asked JohnB and Scopi to go across the river the next day and find out about the other people and what was going on. He and Mom both had terrible sick headaches from no coffee. He asked if I would supervise Sol and Rooster in getting our new home tidy.

It was early morning when the big boys set out. They would have to pull off their pants and shoes to wade across the river. We watched wistfully as they waved good-bye.

First, Mom asked us to go hunting for a spring for clean drinking water. Water? Why, it would take a whole waterfall for JohnB. Since he discovered girls, he took a shower every day, just for the fun of it! I could see that Scopi was headed in the same direction.

Rooster and Sol thought it was fun, tramping around in the woods, circling our cabin site, kicking up leaves. We were all wondering how to find a spring.

"JG, could you be our Scoutmaster? Can we have a troop of just two? You could teach us everything," they begged.

Maybe this new life was going to be better than I thought. I was flattered and comforted. Little brothers were really special. I was glad the new rules hadn’t gotten them.

We found purple blooms up in one big bush. They smelled wonderful. When we took some to Mom, she told us that they were lilacs and a sure sign that a woman had lived up here in the past, planting this bush at the comer of her cabin.

Violets were everywhere -- - purple, white, and yellow. There were dark red trilliums and Jack-in- the-pulpits. It was fun to explore our "yard" and "farm."

We thought that we might have discovered old, worn-out apple trees. There were no leaves yet, but lots of tiny buds. Maybe the same lady who planted the lilac had set out those fruit trees and also the daffodils that were blooming up there, all alone, waiting to be admired.

"Look over there, JG," called Rooster. "See those birds? See how they dip their beaks and then look up at the sky like our chickens did when they were drinking water?"

What a break! Some little banty chicks were making their own living up there in the woods, drinking from a leaf-covered pool. I could actually see water bubbling from the ground, and a steady trickle running down through the rocks toward the creek. Not only did we have at spring near our cabin, but we had friendly feathered neighbors.

Sol ran back to camp to get some tin cans for digging, and we had fun scooping out a water hole about as big as a sink.

"Let’s make a rock wall around the rim," suggested Rooster. "We don't want any crawly things to get in our cups."

Mom was happily surprised when we brought the big black pot full of clean water for her "kitchen." "Don't we need something like a garbage pit, too?" Sol asked.

"Good thinking, Sol," she agreed. "Wait until we get a shovel for that project and some real garbage."

What we needed the most was an outhouse, but bushes would have to do. I learned something new: never use poison ivy for toilet paper!

Mom got us to put up a clothesline to dry out our sleeping bags. Then she wanted the goat moved away from the clothesline. Did you know that goats don't like grass? We chained her near some honeysuckle vines that were turning green. She was the only one with a nice, full tummy. Mom was eager to give us fresh milk after Narnia's baby was born, but some of us were not too excited by the idea.

Dad was as hungry as we were, but he distracted himself by working with his saw. His favorite hobby was making firewood. We offered to help, but he thanked us and let us go down to the river to wait. The water was clear and almost pretty. Rooster looked along the edge for a good fishing hole and nearly fell in when he slithered across a big slick of mud.

"Let's slide!" he challenged. He was smart enough to take off his pants. He started further uphill and had a great trip -- - right into the river. Sol spotted an old plastic bucket and brought up water to pour onto the mud to make it even more slippery

We were sliding and hollering and pouring on water like hoodlums when we suddenly spotted our big brothers, staring at us from the other side of the river.

"Boys!" yelled JohnB. "That looks like fun."

He jerked off his pants and shoes, put a big bundle on his head, and sloshed across to join us. Here came Scopi, holding a box, not a bit sure of this ridiculous sport, but it did look tantalizing.

"Did you all get some food?" we begged. "Food, you know, food!"

"We‘d better get out of here and get these army rations up to Mom and Dad. Hurry, JG! Get a move on!"

But I never could find my pants and my only underwear was in shreds. I wrapped long grasses around my waist and tied it with a piece of electric cord that was hung in the weeds. I probably looked like a hula girl.

We had a happy reunion.

JohnB gave the report, "Dad, our Scouthouse is far enough up the highway that it didn't get wet, and it‘s been turned into the post office. The mail lady was nice to us. She nearly cried as she took our names off the Missing list that was tacked to the front door. She had piles of mail all over the floor. I don't know how she` found ours, but she handed it to us with a smile. She said, ‘I’m so glad to know that your family is safe.’”

"Dad, lots of our school friends are gone and some of your men. It's awful. There are over a hundred names. The kids that are dead are our friends who were really the true Christians. Why would God let that happen?”

Then she pointed to the poster on the wall about the Red Cross trailer at the new Methodist Church. She told us, 'There have been so many disasters that the Red Cross is only giving out Army survival packs. There are no pillows, or sheets, or blankets. No typhoid shots -- not this time. There just aren't any supplies or health care workers.’"

Dad listened with tears, and, looking at Mom, he began digging in his pocket for a handkerchief. Then he nervously opened his letters. We boys looked over the junk mail. Those bright photos of things to buy seemed to come from another planet.

"Children," he said in a low, kind voice. "Do you remember how we told God last night that we loved Him and were sorry for our sins and how we needed His help? Do you know how hungry we've been? This letter here in my hand shows that the help that we were praying for was already on the way. One of my biggest customers has paid. Here is the credit slip for thousands of dollars. We do have the money to build a home. It's got to be a miracle! I’m so grateful. Why would God want to be so good to us?"

"But, Mom, listen to this: this is even better! It's from the Superintendent of Schools: ‘Dear New World Citizen, if the recent flooding has made it impossible for your children to attend school, they will be excused without penalty until other arrangements can be made.’”

"Yes, double yes!" some yelled, but JohnB and I were a little more restrained. We weren't completely sure.

"JG, could I use some of your paper and your pencil. Let's start making a list. On Monday, it will be my turn to go across the river," Dad announced.

It was just like Christmas, our getting into those Army meals. We didn't even need a cooking fire. Somehow, you just rigged up the package of food and put it in the plastic bag with a little water and, whammo, it made heat. There were candy bars, chewing-gum, and drink mixes, crackers and grape jelly, matches, wet towelettes, and spoons. Our parents were more than thrilled to have the tiny pouches of coffee powder and creamers. But, maybe the best find was toilet paper!

It was a joyful time. Our list used both sides of the paper. We sang a few hymns and fell into bed. I could hear both of my parents whispering late into the night, while I kept trying to count enough sheep to fall asleep.

The List: mattresses; one double and five or six single thin foam pads with cloth, zippers, and thread for sturdy covers.

Ten or more thermal blankets to add to sleeping bags, washable in case of "accidents," and light enough for summer. More pillows and pillowcases. About two dozen bath towels and dish towels with washcloths for both. Soaps and shampoos.

Eight metal water buckets for hauling water. Plastic no good. Eight metal garbage cans with lids for catching rain water. Eight plastic garbage cans for storage of out of season clothes.

Four wash tubs, old-fashioned wringer, clothespins, lots of soap, old washboard, more clothesline.

At feed store 50 lb. sacks of seed corn and wheat. Hand grinder that will hold up to hard use.

Books, deodorants, seeds, building supplies, ETC.

CHAPTER 4 BOATS

The next day was Sunday. JohnB loaned me some of his pants and underwear, and I was glad to feel respectable again.

Back in the past we always went to church. We had a good old-fashioned pastor who preached to us out of the Bible. He told us about a big peace and safety movement coming soon in the world that would fool many nations. He had already warned us about the new money system long before it happened. His preaching made some of the people mad, and they didn't come back. We couldn‘t believe it when we heard that he had committed suicide -- or the newspaper said he had.

The new minister who took over the church was very polished. After a few weeks he politely invited us to attend some other church. We were stunned! We didn’t know what we had done.

Mom and Dad suffered and prayed a lot, but they felt that we should accept it and quietly move on. They wondered if there was some jealousy since we were probably the best workers in the church, and the richest.

We had to drive a long way to find a new church. One Sunday Dad announced that he wasn't going to make the trip again to listen to that sentimental hogwash. In the back of the van we were punching each other’s shoulders, hearing that we wouldn't have to go to church anymore. I guess God was getting us ready for our future.

We couldn‘t exactly go to church, but our parents were determined to make Sundays different, and they stuck with it even up on our mountain. After breakfast, Dad taught us some of the Shorter Catechism. It was all questions, and we had to memorize the right answers. He promised each of us a Swiss Army knife if we would do it and do it right. We knew that Dad was itching to teach us how to whittle. Also, we did a lot of singing out of the old hymnbook. Prayers were short, taking into account young wigglers and skeptical teens.

Mom had made two rules for Sunday; don’t work, and don't try to be good.

"Do you really mean it, Mom?" asked Rooster, with that special shine in his eyes.

"Yep, I found it in the Bible," she said, confirming her authority. "This is the day we are supposed to lean back and let Jesus save us. Isn't that sweet?"

For lunch there was another round of Army food, then it was playtime. Dad got down on his knees with a piece of bark, scraping little roads in the dirt, making tiny bridges, planting twigs for "trees." He had Sol and Rooster making a whole park with picnic areas and campsites. It nearly made me cry to watch my Daddy play. Our disaster was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Monday morning came with birds, sunshine, and excitement. There was chicken stew for breakfast for all us soldiers. Mom and Dad savored their coffee while going over The List.

Dad laced up his boots, had a few hymns, a big family prayer, and started out.

Mom called after him, "Be sure and get some bleach, honey. We don‘t really know if this water is safe to drink. Hope it is easy to find a ride."

We all waved goodbye, wishing we could go, but Dad had big things on his mind and didn't need any of our help.

"What do you want us to do today, Mom?" asked Rooster. He always had energy to burn, but I felt like I was coming down with puberty or something.

"Do you want to go to the river?" she asked. "Go and have yourself some more fun, boys, but please stay out of that nasty mud. You could really use those shots after the stunt you all played the other day. JG, I’m tempted to tell your Scoutmaster that his Eagle has turned into a pig!"

Scopi got the hatchet. Sol took a ball of string and a knife. Rooster brought a towel and more rations. JohnB got some clean water to drink from the spring, and down we went. I took my notebook and pencil.

When we got to the river we agreed on a project: a boat. There had to be some way that we could help Dad get back and forth with all stuff he was planning to buy. He wanted to get tin panels for the roof and Lucite for windows, besides nails, groceries, and clothes.

"Look, boys," JohnB shouted, "see this old set of steps here on the bank? Can't you see a flat-bottomed boat going back and forth, making trips to haul stuff, and looking just like a casket?"

When he got a big idea, he was so enthusiastic that we usually followed meekly along. What else could we do? He said that we could knock off the flat parts and then nail them back along the edges of the big side boards. With some mighty pounding, first to get the thing apart, to straighten the nails, and then to get it back into its new shape, his idea actually worked.

"Resin, boys. We need some pine pitch to put in the cracks," he ordered.

"Clay will work, JohnB. We've got plenty of clay," insisted Scopi.

"Where's Sol?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know," JohnB answered grumpily. "Wasn‘t he here a minute ago?"

"We've been concentrating so much on this boat that we haven't been thinking about anything else," said Scopi.

We yelled, "Sol! Sol! Where are you, buddy?" We began to panic.

"Wait," said Rooster, "be quiet a minute. I think I hear something upstream."

Around the bend here came that kid brother of mine, riding down the middle of the river, poling along with a broken bamboo fishing pole, looking like King Tut coming in from a big victory.

"Sol! What‘s holding you up? How did you ever think of such a thing?" we asked.

"It's a jug-a-maran. I made it up. It really works," he grinned. "See, I just threaded those empty milk jugs on these poles and lashed them together with my string like you showed me, JG, from the Scout book."

We all wanted to take a turn. It wasn't going to be much use for hauling cargo, but it was the most fun we ever had, riding around on milk jugs in the Bad Old River!

By the time we heard the truck coming, we had caulked up the casket with enough pitch to make it watertight.

Dad was amazed by our work. When we brought him over, nice and dry, the cracks began to leak.

"You‘ll need to get some more resin to get it right, boys, but that boat is strong and can do most of the hauling tonight anyhow."

It was our job to take load after load across the river. Dad had even remembered to get me some new underwear.

It was getting too dark for taking everything up the hill. Scopi had the idea of making a storehouse in the old coal mine. We could stuff everything in there since it was near the river, then bring up our loads as needed on a daily basis. Dad was thankful for the suggestion.

By bedtime, everything was put away and we were sitting around our tire, drinking hot chocolate, eating hot dogs, and roasting marshmallows.

Ah, life was good.

CHAPTER 5 WOLVES?

We had a secret that we never did tell Mom and Dad. They gave us an afternoon off, and we went out hunting for excitement on the other side of the ridge where we found three wild ponies. They had probably escaped the flood farther upriver and had scavenged their way into our area. They were thin and mangy, but lots of fun to catch and to try to ride.

"Let‘s herd them up and take them home," said Scopi.

"Do you want Dad to kill them?" barked JohnB. "You know what he always does with unwanted strays."

"But we do want them," chimed in Rooster.

"Yes, and what will we feed them in the winter?" JohnB sneered.

"Oh . . ."

"They are surviving over here on their own. Let‘s just keep it our secret and try to help them make it," JohnB proposed.

And so we agreed.

I caught a black mare and tamed it enough so Rooster could get up on a stump and throw his leg over her back. We older boys watched in wonder as he gripped his toes under that filly's belly, dug his fists into her mane, and raced around the woods like a banshee. As he headed our way, he would leap off while the pony was going full tilt. He did this several times, getting jolted and bruised.

"Why do you keep doing that, Rooster?" we asked. "We'll catch her for you so you can get off."

"No, no, no." He shook his stubborn head. "That's how the boys did it in the Pony Express"

Rooster was just the right nickname for him. Years ago my little, green Easter chick grew up to be a big, mean, white rooster. One day it pranced up to my baby brother, who was crawling in the grass. It hopped on his head and sunk its claws into the baby's scalp, leaving a crown of bloody puncture wounds. That day the bird went into the pot, and the baby became "Rooster" to dignity the event. But, I was mad about losing my pet.

It was nearly impossible to keep our secret the day that we found the black mare's half-eaten carcass. The other two ponies were not telling. How we wished they could talk! The unknown murderer haunted our waking thoughts as well as our dreams. What we wanted to know was: would it get us next?

Several nights later we heard a big racket. Part of it was Dad‘s trying to find his shoes in the dark, and part was Narnia's bleating, and part was wild barking and thrashing around in the woods. I hid in my sleeping bag, but JohnB and Dad went out.

We heard the most awful whacking and yelling. I was sure that it must be wolves. We could hear Mom in her corner making her emergency "Help!" prayer.

The noise went on for a few minutes, then something happened that we never would have dreamed; Dad opened the door and shoved Narnia into the cabin. She was bleeding on the underside of her belly, which was all spread out for the time of her delivery. She was stiff with fright.

Dad wrestled her to the floor and tied her tight to the table legs, spread-eagle style. He began to rub her underside with clean rags dipped in bleach,

"It was dogs," he announced. "It was hungry dogs that have gone into wild packs since the flood."

I whispered in Rooster‘s ear since it was nearest to my mouth, "I guess that‘s what happened to Black Beauty."

Aloud, I asked, "What will we do, Dad? How will we be safe?"

"Robinson Crusoe made a fence of poles, but that would take us all winter," muttered Scopi.

"Do they just come at night?" asked Mom. "Do they always attack under the belly?"

"Do they eat people?" asked Sol, in a trembly voice.

We all laughed, but nobody looked happy in the flickering light of the fireplace.

"JG, you've always had a strong stomach, I’m going to need you to help me save Namia's life. Her womb is punctured and the fluid is running out. If her baby dies inside of her, we'll lose them both. She‘s looking weak already. Get the paring knife sharpened up, and then wash your hands super clean."

The other guys pulled the covers over their heads, glad to be out of the action, but I was feeling pretty important.

I had to root around in the shadows for the whetstone, but I got the knife to a fine hone while Dad pried open Narnia's mouth and poured in a little cold coffee.

"Here," he whispered, "you hold the light while I make an incision." Then he called, "Mom, if you can do it, please find us some white thread and a needle. We're going to need the antibiotic salve, too."

Actually, the surgery in the half-dark was fascinating. After Dad made a neat cut right down the middle of the pregnant belly, the skin peeled back on both sides, showing the seeping uterus wall. I could see wiggling going on inside the womb.

Dad took a deep breath, held the knife close to the blade tip and made another long slice. Out came a slimy glob, with little hooves kicking off its covering. Dad helped with the knife, but, by then, here came another, and then one more!

"Work on them, JG, while I work on Narnia," he ordered.

I did what he had done, letting the babies loose from their sacks. One of them was not moving, it looked blue. I grabbed up a dishtowel and started to rub them as we had seen wild animal mothers do in the TV nature shows.

"Dad," I asked, "should I cut their cords?"

"No, let them alone. Maybe Namia will be able to do her part when I get her sewed up."

By now, several sets of eyes came out from under the covers to stare. "Triplets, boys. Triplets! We‘re rich!" It was Rooster, the optimist.

Mom offered to get some warm water and a pan, but Dad still hoped that Narnia could lick the babies and get them going in the natural way; and maybe she could, for she was struggling to get up.

Dad did his best to sew up long cuts. He laced the womb first, trying hard not to contaminate her insides, and then he pulled her soft stomach hide together. Before he let her stand up, he took a long, clean rag from Mom and wrapped it around the goat‘s middle like a binding, hoping it would hold her like a girdle.

Namia wouldn't accept any water. She went right into the job of licking each tiny body, even the dead one. Dad finally had to help her get the placentas loose. I bundled all the mess into a plastic garbage bag. Mom brought some warm water, and I was more than glad to wash up.

It took us a long time to relax, the drone of Dad's voice was the best sedative.

"Now, boys, we‘ve done all we can. We’ll let God take care of things while we rest. Don't get your hopes up too much. Try not to be disappointed if nothing works. We've done our best. And thanks a lot, JG, you were as steady as a rock."

"But, Dad, we‘ve got to find some way to get rid of those dogs, “called Sol, the thinker.

Lying there in the dark, we could hear the sounds of tiny sucking, and we gradually fell asleep.

CHAPTER 6 ENEMIES?

Narnia lived and so did one spunky little baby. We called him Billy the Kid and had a lot of fun out of him. He buck danced around, over, and on top of everything!

"Dad, how about if we build a tree stand like a deer hunter does and take turns staying up there all night? We could have a pile of rocks and cream anything that comes on our place. Please let us, Dad. Please let us give it a try," begged Rooster.

Probably the World Government was right in I taking away everybody's guns, but didn't some people actually need them? How is a policeman going to come and help you hunt wolves in the middle of the night? But then, how could we call them?

Dad listened quietly and weighed Rooster's idea. He knew, and we knew, that Rooster was the best shot in the family. It frustrated me that my younger brother could always hit the bull’s-eye when we were practicing with rocks or homemade arrows.

"Do you think you boys could build it? How would you get the boards up there?"

JohnB burst in, "But, Dad, don't you remember how we got that huge birdhouse up on that slippery pole for you for your birthday? Of course, my chest hurt for a couple of months afterward, but you are looking at the man who can do it, and we have plenty of short boards lying around here."

Dad seemed convinced and gave a go-ahead nod, which sent us all out in the yard to yell and argue and try to use the hammer at the same time.

We did get a contraption nailed together by dark. Everyone wanted to be the first to sleep up there. I don't know why. One false move, and ....

We decided to draw straws and the shortest boy got the shortest piece. Sol was envied and given a lot of advice. I worried about him because he's the one who had dreams about flying off the roof, and sometimes we had to grab him and shake him into reality. But, nobody asked my opinion.

He took his sleeping bag and a few snacks while we all helped gather up a good supply of rocks. Narnia was tied to the tree under him, all innocent of her role in this affair. She was happy to have her little son jumping all around her. No rope was going to tie him down.

After a few bedtime stories, Dad started in on the history of Europe, which didn't put any of us to sleep. Then he tried us out on conjugating Latin verbs. That did it.

In the night, we heard the Encounter. Sol was yelling his head off while Narnia was bleating in a panic. Some sort of beasts were growling, until one let out an earsplitting howl of pain.

We all raced to the scene. Sol had dropped the flashlight; and, when we found it, we discovered a starved Collie-type dog knocked cuckoo right at our feet. It was bleeding on the head. His companions were headed up the mountain, yelping as they went. Sol shinnied down the tree in his underwear and threw his arms around the old mutt's neck.

"Dog, Dog, I’m so sorry I hit you. I promise I’ll never hit you again. Oh, please open your eyes and tell me it's all right. You are a beautiful, wonderful dog. Oh, please don't die," walled Sol.

We looked from one to another, eyebrows raised, snickers stifled. It looked pretty obvious that we had gotten the wrong man for this job. What in the world were we going to do with the dog if it lived? In a few minutes it opened its eyes and started licking Sol's face.

"Oh, Dad," begged Sol. "Look at this poor dog. It’s probably a very good dog if it had food. Oh, Dad, please let me keep him for my very own. I promise I’ll take care of him. Can I, Dad? Please, can I?"

I was glad that I wasn't a father yet, because I could see that common sense was not what Dads need most. On the other hand, I have heard that dogs are a necessity for farmers and pioneers. Maybe we fell in that category. Did we need protection?

A few weeks later Sol had gotten that dog as tame as a baby rabbit. It followed him everywhere. We found it had one quirk it had picked up in its mysterious past. If we played cops and robbers and stuck out our pointer finger like a gun, it came flying through the trees and attacked us on the wrist. We were amazed by this, and thought that it must have been a movie stunt dog.

One night while we were sitting around our tire, the dog, lovingly named Prince Caspian, went racing down the hill, his fur spiked up along his backbone. In a couple of minutes we heard men's angry, loud voices and the sound of something rolling down the mountain.

Dad grabbed the dog rope and the flashlight, while we all hurtled along behind him. When we got there, Caspian was standing in one spot, guarding something at his feet. When Dad got near enough, he jumped back in surprise. There on the ground under Caspian's dripping jaw was a black heavy-duty pistol. We waved the light around in every direction but saw no one. Did we have enemies?

The kiss of a dog
Is a kiss of death
Its slimy old tongue,
Will take away your breath.

by JG

CHAPTER 7 THE BUILDING BUSINESS

Dad had cut a lot of good logs with the chain saw. There was beautiful virgin timber, growing on hillsides too steep to harvest. Ideally they would have seasoned all winter, but having the house ready before snow was our goal. We also built first, our outdoor toilet, and last, our sleeping porch. It was going to be a real home.

"I’ve never tried to build a fireplace out of rock, but if I can get to the library I’m sure that I can find the directions. There are plenty of rocks in the creek. Do you fellows think that you can help carry up the cement?" he asked.

I felt my legs getting weak at the thought, how many bags would it take?

After weeks of struggle, that chimney turned out to be a masterpiece and a great family victory. It really "drew," as Dad quoted from his directions.

Mom had been a good sport about camping all summer. She tried not to think of all the nice things that we used to have. She said that she turned a page in her mind and tried to never look back. But one time I found her crying out behind the outhouse.

"Oh, Mom, what's the matter? Are you sick?"

"No, no. Thank you, honey. It's not that."

"But, what is the trouble, Mom? Can you tell me?"

"Well, I’m afraid I might hurt your feelings. It's just that . . . I can't find any good preacher on the radio and . . . we have so much peace and quiet . . . and togetherness. I guess I miss my lady friends."

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