Leaving Blythe River: A Novel (7 page)

Ethan shook his head and locked himself in his bedroom.

A few minutes later his father called through the door.

“Ethan? I’m going for a run.”

“Fine. Go.”

“I’m taking the bear spray with the holster. But there’s a spare can in the pantry.”

“Whatever. I’m not going out there.”

“It’ll be hours. I might do about eighteen miles today. So don’t get worried. Just figure I’ll be back before sundown.”

“The longer, the better.”

Ethan heard no reply come through the door. He might have heard a sigh.

When he heard the front door slam, he ventured out to use the phone. To call his mother.

He had to leave a message. Well, three messages. Ethan was glad his father would be gone for a long time, for a number of reasons.

When she finally called back, Ethan didn’t hear the phone ring. He just heard her voice on the machine from his bedroom. The ringer must have been turned off on the phone. He ran to pick it up, but the first thing she said stopped him.

“Honey, I know,” she said. “But you have to know no place is completely safe. I was thinking it was a place that would improve your opinion of
people
. Just carry your bear spray and learn as you go. I really think it could be good for your confidence. I know you’re upset, but . . . please give it a chance. That’s all I ask. Just try it. Love you, sweetie.”

Then she hung up.

Ethan just stood, staring at the phone and wishing he had stayed for the rest of Ranger Dave’s lesson.

Chapter Six: Horses

Three weeks before his father disappeared

It was a Saturday, and Ethan had been counting on his father going out for a much-of-the-day run. He usually did on the weekends. But on this Saturday his father was nursing a slightly pulled hamstring, and stayed home.

So Ethan had to be the one to leave.

It was just after dawn, and still quite cold at the high altitude that had unfortunately become Ethan’s life.

He strapped on the bear spray with the holster, the one his father usually carried when running. He pulled on his winter parka and boots and stuffed gloves into his pocket.

“Where are you going?” his father asked as Ethan opened the front door.

Ethan stood a moment, light, dry snow swirling into his face.

“What do you care?”

“It’s always smart to tell somebody where you’re going.”

“Why?”

“In case you get lost.”

“I’m not going to get lost. I’m just going to walk down the road. If the road doesn’t get lost, neither will I.”

“Which way?”

“What?”

It felt cold now, with the wind sweeping past him into the house, and Rufus had bounded out of his line of vision.

“Which direction are you planning to walk down the road?”

“Oh. Well. Let’s see. Which direction has the most grizzly bears? Figure that out and then figure I went the other way.”

Ethan stepped out and slammed the door behind him. Hard.

He set off down the road, glancing nervously over his shoulder every third or fourth step.

He’d been trudging cautiously along behind the bounding Rufus for ten or fifteen minutes when he was startled by movement at the corner of his eye. It made his heart race instantly and caused him to miss a step.

He’d just reached the first house. The closest house to the A-frame. It had whitewashed board fences along the road in two sections, breaking in the middle to line both sides of a long, rutted dirt driveway.

It was along this driveway, outside the confines of the fence, that Ethan caught the movement. Two large animals barreled in his direction. But when he turned his head to face the danger, shocked into blankness, he saw they were not grizzly bears. Only horses. Two young-looking horses, chestnuts, their winter coats shaggy and thick. They looked almost like twins, except the white blazes on their long faces didn’t match. They wore leather halters. Ethan could hear and even feel the drumming of their hoofbeats on the hard ground.

“Stop ’em!” a voice bellowed out.

But Ethan didn’t see anybody, and couldn’t locate the pleading disembodied voice. So he just stood still at the head of the driveway, watching the horses gallop closer. Just as it struck him that he’d best get out of the way so as not to be trampled, he heard the voice again.

“You there! Head ’em off! Please!”

“How?” he shouted, still not knowing whom he was talking to.

Then he saw the man. He was behind the fence, near a rough barn that looked like a good wind could take it down. He was maybe fifty, with a gray beard and a ring of gray hair over his ears. His bare scalp glowed strangely red from either sun- or windburn. He had a potbelly. A little bit like Santa Claus might look, Ethan thought, before you got him cleaned up for the holidays.

The man held his hands wide at his sides and waved them upward in a pantomime of how you stop a horse. He seemed to honestly suggest that Ethan stand in front of the runaway pair and risk being trampled.

Just as Ethan prepared to walk on, he heard the last desperate word.

“Please!”

Deciding he could always jump away at the last minute, and assuming he would, Ethan positioned himself at the head of the driveway and raised his hands. To his amazement, the spooked pair of animals stopped, tossing their heads and snorting their opinions. Time stretched out, the moment frozen. Then Mr. Grungy Santa had them by their halters.

“Holy cow, did you ever just save my ass,” he said to Ethan. “Gate didn’t latch proper. You look cold. You want some coffee or hot cocoa or something? What’re you doing out in the middle of nowhere all by yourself?”

It sent a jolt through Ethan’s gut, because it reminded him of the cop. That dreadful night. The way the cop asked him what he’d been doing out in the city alone. Was it too dangerous, just walking down the road as he’d been doing? Should he not be out here?

The man led the two young horses back down the driveway toward the gate. Ethan followed. Partly because a conversation had been started, and was clearly not finished. Mostly because it seemed safer to be with someone else. Anyone.

“I’m staying just right up the road,” Ethan said.

He watched the horses’ flanks shift under their shaggy coats. Watched their tails swish nervously.

“Oh. Up in that A-frame? The rental?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.”

“Okay,” Ethan said. But he didn’t know the man’s name, so he didn’t know anything else to call him. He waited, but more information didn’t arrive.

He looked down the road toward town and saw Rufus standing alone, looking to see which way Ethan had gone. Ethan cupped his hands around his mouth and called the dog’s name as loudly as he could manage.

Rufus’s head came up, and he bounded in Ethan’s direction. The horses spooked and jumped, dancing and throwing their heads.

“Sorry,” Ethan said.

He followed the man and the horses through the gate.

“Get that shut behind us, okay?” the man asked him. “Make sure it really latches. In other words, be smart. Not like me.”

Ethan had to take off his gloves to secure the board gate, the metal of the latch cold against his fingers. The man let go of the twin halters, and the chestnut horses cantered away, disappearing behind the barn.

Rufus ducked through the boards of the fence and joined up with Ethan.

“Yearlings,” the man said. “Not much training yet. You have no idea how much trouble you just saved me. No idea. I would’ve had to go out searching. On a horse. With a rope. Only it’s not easy to rope two colts more or less at once. I likely would’ve had to pay somebody to go out with me and track ’em down. Might’ve taken days. I owe you one. So, look. Hold tight to that dog. Some of the mules are none too friendly. I got one who’ll trample a dog if he gets half a chance. And don’t you get near him, either. He bites and he kicks.”

“Maybe I should be going,” Ethan said, his voice trembling just slightly.

“Don’t worry, they’re in that big corral. Let me get you some coffee to warm you up. That A-frame, you say? I saw there was a guy living there now but I didn’t see any kid. I mean, until this. Wait. You’re too young to drink coffee, aren’t you? I’ll make some cocoa.”

“I drink coffee,” Ethan said, holding tightly to Rufus’s collar.

“Still and all, I don’t want to be the one corrupting a kid.”

“I’m seventeen.”

The man leveled him with a stare that made Ethan’s face feel hot. “Really?”

“I know I don’t look it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I take people at their word. Besides. Not everybody looks their age. Now you take Jone. Our neighbor in one of those houses downhill. She’s seventy. Got children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren over on the Blythe River Reservation on the other side of the foothills. And she’s beautiful. Doesn’t look a day over fifty. You know Jone?”

“No, sir. I haven’t met any of the neighbors. Except you. Just now.”

“Well, there aren’t many to meet. At least, not until July or so when we thaw out for real. In the winter, and in spring like it is now, it’s just me and Marcus and Jone. If you ever meet her, put in a good word for me. With Jone. Not Marcus. I don’t care so much about him.”

“A good word?”

“What do you take in your coffee?”

“Oh. Um. Cream and sugar?” It came out as a genuine question. As if he wasn’t sure how he took his coffee and was counting on this man to say if he was right.

The man disappeared into his run-down house. Ethan wandered over and leaned on the top rail of the big corral, watching horses mill and crowd each other away from a feeder full of hay, teeth bared as necessary. But when one of the mules came trotting in his direction, long ears laid back against his neck, Ethan jumped away fast, pulling Rufus back with him.

“That’s the one you gotta watch out for.” The man’s voice startled him from behind. “That’s Rebar. That’s the one that’ll bite you or kick you quick as look at you. Usually a bad-tempered horse or a mule, they’ll bite or kick if you give ’em cause. But not this guy. He’ll seek you out for it.” He handed Ethan a steaming cup of coffee in a chipped, ancient mug. “Never met a creature on God’s green earth with a snarkier disposition. Unless it was Jone.” But still he got a dreamy look in his eyes on that last sentence.

“So why do you want me to put in a good word for you?”

“Did I not mention she’s beautiful?”

“Oh. Right. But you also said she’s seventy.”

“And that she doesn’t look a day over fifty?”

“Right.”

The biting, kicking mule retreated to the hay feeder again, so Ethan leaned on the fence rail beside the man and sipped his steaming coffee. It was so strong he felt for a moment that the kick of it might take off the back of his head.

“Whoa,” Ethan said. “Strong.”

“Yeah. Kicks like Rebar, huh? The only way to go. Man does not live by wimpy coffee. I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Oh. Ethan.”

“Well, you really saved my ass this morning, Ethan. I feel like I can’t say thank you enough times.”

“How would I put in a good word for you?”

“You mean with Jone?”

“Yeah. If I ever met her.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just say what you feel. Like ‘Gosh, that Sam is one hell of a fella. Nice guy.’”

“I barely know you. Why don’t
you
tell her you’re a nice guy?”

“Don’t think I haven’t tried. But what good does that do? Every guy’ll tell you he’s a great guy.”

Ethan wondered briefly if his father thought of himself as a great guy. And would still tell you he was. Probably.

“So what do you use all these horses and mules for?”

“Pack.”

The single word meant nothing to Ethan in that context. He waited, thinking Sam would say more.

“Pack?”

“Yeah. You know.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“I’m a pack guide. It’s how I make ends meet. People want to go up into those mountains. Want the full-on wilderness experience. But it’s hard hiking. Over thirteen thousand feet of elevation on some of those passes. Takes your breath away, literally. Lot of steep uphill. And not many people want to carry forty, fifty pounds of tents and sleeping bags and supplies up those steep passes, enough to live on out in the wilderness for days. And most don’t know what they’re doing enough to get into the mountains so deep. So I take ’em in on horseback with ponies and mules carrying the supplies. Hey, maybe that’s what I can do to repay the favor. I know it doesn’t seem like much, just standing in the way of those yearlings and waving your arms to stop ’em, but think about it. What were the chances you’d be there at just the right moment? I could go a month sometimes with nobody walking down the road across my driveway. And even that’s in the summer. And there you were. Like my own little miracle to start my day. Not so little, really. Ever been up on that Blythe River Range?”

“No, sir. Sam.”

“Prettiest place on God’s earth, and I’m not just saying that. I’ve seen a lot of places. I could take you up there. No charge, but you have to tell your friends about Friendly Sam’s Pack Service.”

“I don’t have any friends,” Ethan said, effectively stopping the conversation.

They leaned and sipped in silence, the clouds of steam they blew looking thicker and more dense after gulps of the hot liquid. The sun was up over the mountain now, so it would warm up soon. Might even get up into the fifties as the day wore on.

“Now why would that be?” Sam asked at last.

“I have friends back home,” he said. “Just not around here.”

“How long you been here?”

“About three weeks.”

“You go to school in Avery?”