A Week in the Woods (17 page)

“Oh,” said Mr. Maxwell. “Right. It's a nice one. Good and sturdy. Mind if I borrow it?”

Mark looked surprised, but he said, “No . . . you can use it.”

“Good,” said Mr. Maxwell, “because it looks like a good cane to me.” He tossed the sleeping bag to one side and struggled to his feet. “I know you've got a couple of flashlights. You say you've got a map and a compass?”

“Right here,” said Mark, patting his jacket pocket.

“Great,” said Mr. Maxwell. “Then let's get this fire put out and break camp. If we go due east anywhere below Barker Falls, we'll run smack into the main trail. Can't miss it. I'm guessing it's about maybe an hour from here—at my speed, that is. We get to the trail and head down, and by sunup, we'll be almost back at the campground. Probably make it in time for breakfast. First morning it's always pancakes. Ready to go?”

Mark was ready.

Mr. Maxwell had to stop every fifteen minutes or so and rest. He didn't complain once as he limped along, but Mark could tell by the way Mr. Maxwell breathed that each step was painful. It ended up taking them almost four hours to hike down to the campground.

By the time they arrived breakfast was over, but the kitchen crew was happy to fire up the griddle and make a special batch of pancakes for the returning adventurers.

The ranger came in as Mark and Mr. Maxwell were having seconds. “Bill! Am I glad to see you!” Reaching out to shake a hand that was sticky with maple syrup, he said, “And you must be Mark Chelmsley. Gave us all a scare there for a while. Glad you're both back safe and sound.”

Mr. Maxwell wiped off his chin. He winked at
Mark and said, “Jim, this boy and I were a little disappointed that you didn't have a big posse all set to come rescue us. We thought there'd be dogs and helicopters and state police all over the place this morning. It's almost like you didn't care.”

The ranger smiled. “When Mrs. Leghorn came and told me what you told her to, well, as far as I was concerned that was the end of it. She said you'd found the boy and that you'd bring him back soon. So you know what I did? I sat down and read the paper for a while, then I went home, ate a nice dinner with my wife, watched some baseball on TV, and went to bed. And look, you're back—soon, just like you said! Now, I won't say that we weren't all a little concerned. Especially early this morning. Mrs. Leghorn came and told me that we had to call the whole program off and get the National Guard in here. But I told her that we'd wait and see till about noon. So really, you two got home about three hours early!” Looking down at Mr. Maxwell's right leg, he said, “What happened? Bear getcha?”

Mr. Maxwell smiled and shook his head. “Nope. A rock.”

The ranger said, “Well, if you need someone to drive you over to the clinic in Bushelton, let me know.” Then looking at Mark he said, “I'm mighty glad old Bill found you, young fella.”

Mr. Maxwell shook his head. “It didn't happen that way, Jim. We found each other.”

Ten minutes later the boy and his teacher stood outside the door of the main lodge. Mr. Maxwell said, “I've got to go get this ankle looked at. Think you can find your way back to the Raven's Nest without getting lost?”

Mark grinned. “Can do.”

“Okay then. See you later.” Mr. Maxwell turned and took a step, then quickly turned back. “Oh—almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket and took out the knife. Holding it up he said, “Tell Jason that I'll keep this for him until the end of the week, okay? And tell him that I'm going to have a little talk with him. About obeying rules.”

Mark said, “I'll tell him. Thanks, Mr. Maxwell.”

And Mr. Maxwell smiled and said, “Thank
you,
Mark.”

* * *

When the orange buses rocked to a halt in the school driveway late Friday afternoon, a friendly mob of grown-ups was waiting. Every child stepped down into a cheerful flurry of hugs and hellos. Even some of the boys who thought they didn't want to be hugged and kissed put up with it. It had only been a week, but it had seemed much longer.

“Mark! Over here!”

Mark turned and saw Leon waving at him. Then Anya got out of the car and started waving too. Mark ran down the driveway and gave them each a hug.

Anya kissed him on the cheek. “It is too quiet with only Leon around the house! I am so glad you are home.”

“Me, too!” said Mark.

As Leon put the framepack into the trunk, he asked, “You had a good time?”

“It was great! We did some hiking, and we stayed up late one night and looked at the stars through telescopes. And I saw an eagle and some bear tracks—it was great!”

Mark got in the backseat, and while they waited for the cars ahead of them to move, he leaned forward and kept talking. “Yeah, and on the third day the guys in my cabin got to help the ranger check for missing trail markers, and he said that we . . .”

There was a knock on Leon's window. Leon lowered it, and Mr. Maxwell said, “Mr. Lermentov? I'm Bill Maxwell, Mark's science teacher. We talked for a couple minutes on Monday afternoon, and I wanted to let you know I was sorry if my call worried you. I know the ranger called a little later to explain the situation, but I wanted to thank you myself for being so understanding.”

Leon shook the hand that Mr. Maxwell offered, and said, “Of course, Mr. Maxwell. This is my wife, Anya. We are glad to meet you. We have heard of you often from Mark. And he's just telling us how he had such good fun.”

Mr. Maxwell smiled broadly and said, “Best week ever.” Then bending down so he could look into the backseat, he said. “Mark, this is for you.”

And Mr. Maxwell handed him the knife in its leather sheath.

Mark looked confused. “But . . . Jason . . . “

Mr. Maxwell shook his head. “Jason wouldn't take it. He said it was yours now. So I guess it is. Well, I've got to run. Nice to meet you folks.”

And with that Mr. Maxwell turned and went back toward the buses, the cast on his right foot making him sway from side to side as he walked.

Mark lowered his window and leaned out. “Mr. Maxwell?” he called.

Mr. Maxwell stopped and turned around.

“I . . . I'll see you on Monday.”

Mr. Maxwell smiled and nodded. “You bet, Mark. See you Monday.”

* * *

As Anya opened the door from the garage to the kitchen, the phone was ringing. She answered it and then called, “Mark . . . it's for you. It's your father.”

“Hello?”

“Mark! Good to hear your voice, Son. We knew you'd be getting home about now. Heard from Anya about that business on your camping trip. Everything work out all right?”

“Yup,” said Mark. “It all worked out fine.”

His mom joined the conversation, and she said, “But you
were
lost on a mountain all night? All by yourself? Is that right?”

“Not all night,” said Mark, “and I wasn't really lost. I had a compass and everything. It was just too hard to hike in the dark. And I got tired, too. I'll tell you the whole story when you get home.”

“That'll be sooner than you think,” said his dad. “Your mom got worried, so we hopped on the Concorde this morning and flew into New York three hours ago.”

“You were worried too, Robert!” said his mother.

“Sure, I was worried too. I admit it. So anyway, Mark, we're going to spend the night here in Scarsdale and drive up tomorrow. Be there about lunchtime.”

“Great!” said Mark. “Because . . . I want to talk about something . . . with both of you.”

“You bet,” said his dad. “We'll talk, we'll do a little hiking, maybe drive up to Hanover—it'll be a great weekend.”

“Talk about what?” said his mom, and Mark could hear the concern in her voice.

Mark hesitated, then took a deep breath and said, “I want to talk about maybe staying here. Like going to school in Whitson next year. Because they've got a good accelerated program at the middle school—my friend Jason says so. And Jason's big brother? He went to school here, and he just got accepted into Princeton, so
the schools aren't bad, they couldn't be. And . . . and that's what I want to talk about.”

There was a long silence on the line. His mom spoke first.

“Well . . . I thought we had this all worked out Mark, about next year and Runyon Academy? And really, I think that . . .”

His dad broke in, “Mark? Absolutely. If you want to talk about it, we'll talk. That whole Runyon thing? That's not written in stone. So tomorrow you and your mom and me, we'll all sit down and talk about it. That sound right to you, Lo?”

Mark heard the tiniest hesitation, but his mom said, “Of course . . . Yes. We'll talk about it. Because all we want is what's best for you, Mark. That's all we want.”

The conversation seemed to have hit a stone wall.

Then Mark's dad said, “I was putting a coat in the closet here Mark, and I saw some of your stuff—your lacrosse stick and some soccer balls—sports stuff, mostly. You want me to toss anything in the car before we come tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that'd be great. Bring the stick and both of the balls, and my soccer shoes, too. I think they'll still fit.”

Mark's mom said, “Mark? I'll hang up now. See you tomorrow. I love you, dear.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

After the click his dad said, “So, anything else I should bring?”

“Can't think of anything . . .” said Mark. Then, “Wait. . . where are you now, Dad?”

“In my office on the second floor.”

“Could you go down the hall to my old bedroom?” asked Mark.

“Sure. Hold on a sec.”

Mark heard the casters of the desk chair, then footsteps, and he could picture his dad going out of his doorway, then turning left and walking beside the curving banister to the third door on the left, Mark's old room.

“Here I am, Mark, but there's nothing here, remember? You cleaned the place out.”

“Okay,” said Mark, “now go over to the radiator by the window.”

“The radiator? What for?” asked his dad.

“Are you there?” said Mark.

“Yup. Listen. . . .” And Mark heard a clank as his dad tapped the phone against the metal.

“Good,” said Mark. “Now, tip the radiator back toward the wall a little, and look under the right front leg. . . . Do you see it?”

“Wait . . .” said his dad. Mark heard a soft grunt of effort, and then, “A
penny?
You're having me do all this for a penny?”

“Do you have it?” asked Mark.

“Yes, I've got it,” said his dad.

“Great. You can bring it with you tomorrow, okay, Dad? And don't get it mixed up with your other change, okay? I want
that
penny.”

“I get it,” said his dad. “This is a lucky penny, right?”

Mark said, “Yeah . . . sort of.”

“Haven't I always told you there's no such thing as luck?” and as he said that, Mark could picture the look on his dad's face.

“I know that,” said Mark. “It's . . . it's just a penny, Dad. I left it there when we moved, and now I want to have it up here in New Hampshire. That's all.”

A quick moment passed, and his dad said, “Sure. I understand, Mark. I'll keep this safe for you.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” His dad was quiet for a second or two, and then he said, “So, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

And then his dad said, “I'm proud of you, Son.”

His dad had said those words to him before, probably dozens of times. But as Mark heard them this time, the words sounded different, and they felt different. Everything felt different.

Mark drew in a deep breath, and he swallowed hard, and he blinked his eyes a few times. Then he smiled and said, “Thanks, Dad. See you tomorrow.”

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