Never Too Far (10 page)

They didn’t build a fire or eat that night. Joe was afraid to venture too far away, afraid to even scrounge something up like wild mushrooms. Staying close to the wagon at least felt safe. He changed out of his torn pants and into his spare pair. Then he wrapped himself in a blanket beside Mary. He felt her shivering, so he opened a wing of his blanket and gathered her next to him. She nestled under his arm with her head on his shoulder.

Once again he heard the leaves scraping together as another gust of wind cut through the treetops. It sounded like a whole other world out there that they couldn’t get close to. He felt trapped in the forest, trapped under its black dome. But it felt good to have Mary beside him. He liked how snug she fit under his arm and how the sharp bones in her shoulder seemed to soften against his body. She curled in tighter. Her hard round stomach squeezed
onto his lap. All he could think about was making sure she felt secure.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” she murmured.

“You sure? You’re not feeling any pain anywhere? You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

They were quiet for a moment. The warmth of their bodies swaddled in the blanket created a comforting womb against the cold darkness. An owl hooted above them and Joe flinched. After a while the forlorn sound became more reassuring, like the owl was looking out for them in the otherwise eerie stillness.

He recalled the barn owl that made a nest in the hayloft back home. He checked the three baby chicks in the nest every day after the mother flew away to get food. One day he found one of the chicks had fallen from the nest and lay dead on the ground. Its mouth was wide open as if it died in mid-cry. Distraught over the death, Joe went to his brother Frank, who’d said, “It’s only an owl.”

“How’s the baby?” Joe asked.

“It’s asleep.”

“Asleep? How do you know that?”

“It’s not moving.”

Joe paused.
“What does it feel like, when it does move?”

“It feels funny.”

“Funny in that your stomach feels funny, like you’re sick?”

“No. Funny in that it’s alive inside me.”

“Alive inside you,” he repeated, half-amazed and half-confirming it to himself.

“Sing,” Mary said.

He felt her shiver. So he sang softly.

“Sleep my child and stars attend thee,

All through the night.

I my loved ones’ vigil keeping…”

He sang until her body relaxed and her head drooped under his chin. The darkness pressed in on them. He wished he could see the stars, just one, just one star shining brightly in the black sky. He knew it was childish to think, but he hoped somehow the dark leaves would open a space above them and he could catch a glimpse, a glimmer of one star. It would’ve been a comforting sight and made it easier to sleep.

Finally,
Joe did close his eyes, after he said a little prayer to Virid to ensure that the morning would come without a disturbance and that Mary and the baby would never come to harm.

Chapter 18

The next morning Joe awoke at first light when the forest was still dusky but beginning to brighten. He noticed some specks of light sneaking through the thick canopy of leaves. Maybe that was a sign. He tried to follow one of the tiny beams up through the dense leaves to see if he could catch sight of the sky, but it was still impossible.

When he got up, his knee felt stiff, although not painful like when he had stood on it the other day. He shook it out, bending it and snapping it straight, until he felt it was in good shape. Maybe that was a sign too. He felt only good things ahead after yesterday. They still had a little bit of food left, but not enough to fill them up for one meal, so it was important that he hunt something down.

He grabbed the Calvin rifle and then stopped. If Frank was there, Joe kn
ew he would say to use the bow and arrow to hunt with and save the bullets for protection, but Joe didn’t want to risk missing a possible meal with the less reliable bow and arrow. Besides, he was a good shot. It would only take one bullet for a sure kill. So off he went with the rifle, traipsing into the trees for something to eat. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t take long and he’d be back before Mary woke up.

After a while of seeing nothing but trees and fallen branches, he stopped and sat down to rest a minute. He was afraid he’d gotten his hopes up. If he didn’t find something soon he would have to head back to the wagon. He’d already left Mary alone too long. If she awoke and he wasn’t there, he was sure she would panic.

To his left he heard something rustle. He turned his head. The noise was less of a rustle now and more of a rutting sound. Then he saw it, a barrelback pig. He tried not to make the slightest sound as he rolled over gently on his side and then flat on his belly. He dug his elbows into the ground and leveled the rifle. The barrelback scuffed at the dirt with his snout and grunted like he was frustrated with whatever he was trying to dig up. But then it shuffled forward so its head was now in back of a tree, which only left his backside as a target. Joe thought about waiting for the pig to move again so he could get a head shot, but on second thought the pig might decide to wander off and he’d get no shot at all. He took a chance. He aimed for the leg. He hoped to crack it good and prevent the barrelback from running too fast too far. That way Joe could catch up with it and kill it with a shot in the brain. Right when he was about to shoot, he felt something touch his leg. He twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of Mary kneeling behind him. He couldn’t believe it.

When he turned again to the barrelback pig, it must’ve sensed something was amiss because it wasn’t making a sound. It was ready to bolt, Joe thought. In his haste to get a shot off, he squeezed the trigger without lining up the sights properly. The pig squealed and ran. Joe jumped to his feet, cocked the Calvin, and went bounding over fallen branches and darting in between trees until he saw the pig again. It tore around the upturned roots of a fallen tree. Joe slowed down, raised the Calvin and fired, but the blast only bit a chunk of bark out of a tree. He stopped for a moment, panting, his nerves jittery, and then ran in the direction he’d last seen the pig. However, after hopping over a cluster of rocks, it was obvious the barrelback had gotten away. Joe was so frustrated he could’ve screamed.

He trudged back to Mary who was still sitting in the same place where she had startled him. She’d gathered a pile of mushrooms in the skirt of her dress.

“What’s wrong with you!” he shouted. “I had a perfect shot on that pig before you scared it away. Now we got nothing, thanks to you. A bunch of stupid mushrooms aren’t going to fill us up. But a whole pig would’ve.” 

Mary shook the mushrooms out on the ground and stood up. Then she did something that made Joe feel awful. She grabbed a branch and handed it to him, after which she turned her back and crouched low on the ground. She presented her curved back to him, expecting him to beat her with the branch for what she’d done wrong. Joe looked at the branch in his hand and then at Mary hunched over. He suddenly realized what cruelty she must have endured. No wonder she hardly spoke. No wonder she hid her face all the time. She didn’t think she was worth anything to anyone. Joe flung the branch away in disgust. When it cracked against a tree, Mary flinched. Joe wiped his face with a quick swipe of his sleeve and sniffed.

“I’m sorry,” Joe said. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

He set the rifle against a tree and knelt down beside her. He laid his hand on her back. Her body twitched at his touch.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He slid his hand along the hard bumps in her spine. “I would never hurt you. Never in a million years. You understand? We’re in this together. You and me. I would never let anything bad happen to you. It’s okay. I know people must’ve treated you bad before but I wouldn’t do that. Never.”
             

Mary finally stirred. She lifted her head and then straightened her back and slowly sat up.

“That’s good,” Joe said.

Below the sagging brim of her hat was a tear hanging from her chin.

“Everything’s fine now,” he said. “Let’s get these mushrooms you found.”

He picked them up until he had a handful. Mary pulled out the hem of her dress to make a basket for him and he dropped in the mushrooms. He split one open to make sure they weren’t poisonous and saw the slender hollow space in the center.

“These are good ones,” he said. “These are perfect.” 

On their way back to the wagon, they got lucky, but it was luck in which they would have to act fast. Draped over a tree limb was the limp carcass of a dwarf deer. Its throat was torn out, leaving a bloody gaping hole, and its stomach was ripped out too. Dried blood coated its thin legs. It was a kill belonging to some big cat. Maybe it was a panther of sorts who had dragged the kill up into the tree for safekeeping, which meant it must not be that far away. Joe had to work fast. He climbed up the tree, crawled out on the limb, and used his pocketknife to slice and saw off a hind leg before he jumped to the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Mary shored up the ends of her dress around the mushrooms, bunching them against her belly, and ran with Joe as he cut through the trees with the Calvin in one hand and the deer leg in the other. When they got back to the wagon, he chucked the leg and the rifle in the cab while Mary unloaded the mushrooms in a pot. Then they quickly scooped the blankets together, tossed them in the wagon, and Joe hitched up Lester and Sam.

Once they were back on the road, Joe felt relatively safe again. They would have to wait a while before they found another good place to pull off the road where they could build a fire and cook the meat. The pot of mushrooms rattled on the bench next to Mary. From the corner of his eye, he saw her sneak her hand into the pot and take out a mushroom.

“You know,” he said, “why don’t we just eat those. Why don’t you hand me some.”

The road dipped, rose, and dipped again into a damp misty valley. Roots from the trees crowded the road and squirmed and bubbled across the slick rocky surface. Despite Joe’s efforts to weave around them, the wagon bounced and bumbled. At one point, the tire rim caught on a knot and the wagon jerked to the side. Then the rim broke free and the wagon snapped back into alignment. Joe didn’t like where they were at. He told Mary to hold the rifle in case anything came swooping out of the mist at them. Eventually the road began to ascend. They rose above the mist, which drifted away behind them like a cloud. The road smoothed out again, but Joe was still afraid to stop.

The mushrooms had barely put a dent in his hunger. His stomach growled. Then it dawned on him that they could eat the deer leg now. Why not? He reached down at his feet, clutched the leg by the ankle, and dragged it up to his face. He looked at the shiny purplish meat from where he’d severed the leg. He’d never eaten raw meat before, only cooked or dried, but what difference could it make? Animals ate raw all the time. If he was going to do it, though, he had to plunge in all the way. He thrust the raw meat into his face and chomped onto a chunk of rubbery wet muscle. He twisted the leg and pulled until the chunk ripped away. It tasted more gamey than what he was used to, but other than that, it didn’t taste too bad. He chewed and ground the hunk of meat until it was soft and pulpy enough to swallow. He glanced at Mary. Her floppy hat was turned toward him, and he knew she was watching him, even though he couldn’t see her eyes. He handed the leg to her and watched as she held it with both hands and gnawed at the raw meat.

Chapter 19

He heard what sounded like rain in the distance. The further they went along, the louder the rain sound grew until it seemed right on top of them. It had to be some kind of river, Joe thought, a fast-moving one with noisy rapids.

In time, they came to a small bridge made of blackened logs with a railing on each side.
It spanned a deep narrow ravine or more like a gorge. Joe assumed the rushing river was down below somewhere. The bridge tilted slightly and didn’t look all that safe to cross. The air was humid. The rain sound was more like a roar now. Joe got out of the cab and walked to the bridge.

What was most puzzling was how wet everything was, like after a long rain shower. The tree bark looked soaked. The road was coated in a glaze of moisture. Both Lester and Sam licked the damp stones and dirt to get any kind of water they could.

When Joe reached the edge of the bridge, he noticed patches of green and rust-colored moss scattered in the crevices between the logs. More patches dotted the bark on the railings. The bridge clearly wasn’t meant for heavy loads, maybe a man and a horse at most. Certainly not two horses and a wagon, at least not at the same time, which made Joe wonder if there wasn’t another way. He didn’t remember seeing any other trails or roads splitting off into the forest. Maybe the bridge was sturdier than it appeared. He took a few steps onto it and rocked his body. The bridge didn’t sway or creak. As a matter of fact, it seemed solid. 

That’s when he felt the faint touch of moisture on his face. He looked to his left, diagonally through the rocky sides of the gorge, where he saw a cloudy fog bubbling up from below.
He leaned far over the railing, not even thinking whether or not it could hold him, and stared in wonder at what opened beyond the narrow walls of the gorge. White water spilled off a high ledge and plummeted into a steaming pool below. So that was the sound of rain. A waterfall. Of course. How stupid of him. The cool mist sprayed right against his face. He slid his tongue over his lips and tasted the mossy wetness. It tasted beautiful.