

STRUGGLES OF A COUNTRY BOY

by

Herb Blanchard

Struggles of a Country Boy

by Herb Blanchard

Copyright 2011 Herb Blanchard

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover photo & others from the author's collection

Also by Herb Blanchard published at Smashword

An Okinawan Affair

Shuri Gate

My Life Before & Without Boomers & Yuppies

BOOK DESCRIPTION

This is the fictionalized story of the author's growing up years during the 1950s. It is the story of a troubled boy, a dysfunctional family and how the boy learned to cope with the adversities life threw at him.

The 1950s was the time when it was generally thought the ideal way to raise a boy was to live in the country, give him a dog, a .22 rifle and let him roam the open fields and woods and for Brad Burgess this was indeed the case. Although he was a troubled youth Brad was a unique person and his way of dealing with the adversities in his life were often dangerous for a young boy but showed great courage and a strong will for survival in a world he did not completely understand. Brad's major problems were precipitated by his mother. It becomes obvious to the reader that she had major mental problems. Her rages were short lived but extremely dangerous for a boy who could easily trigger one or be in the way when life took a twist his mother would be unable to deal with. Her dissatisfaction with life was not particularly different from other people's but the way she dealt with it was.

Brad was sexually abused by his ten year older half brother before he entered the first grade and again later when he was 7 and 8 years old. We see the effect of this abuse on his relationship with people, particularly women, though no connection is ever made between the abuse and these relationships in that era of time.

Brad learned to protect himself in a family environment which at times appeared to be uncaring and against his best interests as a young man. While at the same time he discovered the good in his away-from-family environment, in the people he got to know and those who got to know him for the caring human being he developed into.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my paternal grandmother, Clara Burgess Blanchard.

The only sane person in the family.

ONE

The image of the black cast iron skillet raised like a prehistoric club over her head, and the wild primitive look in his mother's eyes would stay with Brad Burgess forever.

The sharp crack of breaking glass slashed the stillness of the Burgess kitchen drowning out the dull thud of the wooden chair striking the French door.

It was carelessness, but the thirteen year old boy hadn't placed the chair in front of the French door with all of its little pieces of fragile glass.

Brad was skinny and small for his age, but wiry and fast from many hours of roaming in the woods, and he had developed a strong instinct for self preservation which made him react instantaneously.

It was just a split second after he had humped the chair up onto its back legs, felt it slam into the door and heard the sound of shattering glass that his hazel eyes took in the hunk of swinging iron. Terrified, Brad bolted off the chair. A fraction of a second and he was in a crouching gallop going around the towering, enraged female figure who stood between him and escape. Brad swung himself through the doorway into the narrow hall skidding on a throw rug in his haste to escape. He caught himself on the ugly black varnished maple buffet with the cracked marble top. His balance regained, he sprinted down the dimly lit hall towards the back of the house.

He slowed just enough to jerk open the door into the pump room. Two quick steps skirting the water pump and pressure tank and he was across the room.

His right foot came up to kick the scarred door blocking his way. He struck the door with all his strength.

The door snapped open with a shower of wood splinters from its tired frame. The brass striker plate spun by his ear like a piece of hot shrapnel.

The door crashed against the wall and bounced back.

Brad caught the rebounding door with a small, dirty hand slamming it back towards the wall in one flowing motion.

It's open! Brad thought when he saw through his tears of fright that the outside door was open. Less than fifty feet away was the safety of the trees.

Is she chasing me? I don't dare look back, passed through Brad's mind as he vaulted onto the broken granite rocks which formed the stone wall which ran around the side and back perimeters of the house.

The shock of landing on the slabs of granite hurt the balls of his feet through the worn, paper thin soles of his cheap sneakers.

Brad felt secure the instant he entered the woods. This was his domain, his sanctuary. Here, he could escape from the raised voices, arguments and physical threats which were part of his everyday life. He slowed slightly before trotting deeper into the trees where he was sure no one could see him from the backyard.

His heart was still pounding when Brad wiped the tears from his cheeks and bent forward, with his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

A slow change came over Brad as he caught his breath. He raised his head, stood a little straighter and looked around his little piece of the New Hampshire forest. He listened to the familiar sounds of the woods, adjusted his ball cap low on his forehead before looking back towards the red trimmed, white bungalow. Satisfied that no one was pursuing him, he turned back towards the house.

His mother's rages never lasted long. In minutes, sometimes only seconds, and they were over. But it was the lack of any expression of remorse that hurt. Even a quiet "I'm sorry, Brad," would have dulled his pain. It was not like he wanted to be held or hugged. That didn't happen in his family. A ritual peck on the cheek at bedtime was all of the physical contact in the Burgess household.

"The hell with her!" Brad spoke loudly to the trees while he wiped the last traces of his tears away.

It only took him a couple of minutes to slip through the door from the porch and into the house. He got his .22 rifle from his bedroom before quietly going back towards the front of the house. Instead of going directly outside Brad took a half step into the kitchen and in the doorway looking slowly from the pieces of glass scattered in an arc around the French door and the offending chair to his mother's rigid back as she stood motionless in front of the kitchen stove. He continued to stand in the doorway and scuffed a nervous toe against the threshold. He shifted the little rifle from one hand to the other when he wiped his clammy hands on the upper leg of his thin dungarees.

He stared at the rigid back and felt the lump of emotion in his throat. That awful sense of being alone was returning to overwhelm him again. He shook his head sadly. Hot tears welled in his eyes as he slipped quietly back out the door.

"Let's go, Rusty." He spoke in a subdued voice to the brown and white mongrel bitch who had been lying in ambush behind the stonewall.

The two friends started up the driveway towards the neighbor's place. It was the only other house within a mile. While Brad lived right on the state road, the French's house was a quarter of a mile up a sandy lane from the narrow highway. Brad followed the driveway past the barn and with the big New England farm house on his right, went down the gentle slope to the creek bottom where the French family had their acre of vegetable garden.

"Maybe the woodchuck is out, Rusty. Stay close now."

He tried to snap his fingers to call her to him. As usual he blew it. All he got was a muffled sound like two pieces of cloth rubbing together. And as usual, the dog ignored him. She took off at an aggressive trot for the farmhouse's wide country porch. Brad didn't pay any more attention to his two year old mutt; she was rubbing noses with the French's collie-cross, who was her mother.

Rusty followed Brad everywhere. She was loyal to a fault, but had absolutely no discipline. She did just what she wanted to do. Anyway, it didn't matter, his mind was on the possibility of shooting the fat woodchuck who had taken up residence in the French's huge garden. Brad wanted to get the laugh on Doctor French's two grandsons, Robbie and Ernie, by doing it. Brad didn't really like them and was sure the feeling was mutual, particularly Ernest who was the oldest. Smart-assed bastard, Brad thought, distracted from his mission for a second by envy and resentment. Carefully, Brad kept the newly painted garden shed between himself and the rows of vegetables. He set each foot down deliberately, quietly stalking closer towards the garden and its elusive resident.

When he reached the corner of the freshly painted white garden shed he turned towards the big white farm house which stood only fifty or so feet away.

Brad felt a quick flash of heat rush across his face as his thoughts went back to an afternoon last summer.

It was right after lunch on a hot, late June day, the second week of school vacation. He walked up to the French's looking for Robbie and Ernie to go swimming.

When Brad reached the big barn he decided to look for the boys out by the farm pond first. He started across the front lawn walking towards the cool looking water when he saw Rita French, Robbie's and Ernie's mother stretched out on a white blanket by the edge of the man-made lake. The thirty-something mother was clad in short-shorts and a skimpy halter top. So taken by the female figure before him all Brad could verbalize was, "H-h-i, Ri--ta."

"The boys aren't here, Brad. They went to Nashua with their father." Rita flashed even white teeth which were in sharp contrast to her overall mahogany colored tan.

"They won't be home until supper time. Come here, Brad. Do me a favor, will you?"

Rita raised up and took a red tipped hand from under her dimpled chin, patted a spot on the soft, cotton blanket next to her bare right shoulder.

Brad hesitated when he reached the edge of the white cloth and looked down at the skimpily clad 'mother figure' below him. He felt the heat of his blush race up the back of his neck and into his ears. The boy felt a cold sweat breakout on his head when he realized Rita was watching him stare at her barely covered breasts.

"Here, Brad," she had a soft understanding smile when she patted the blanket again, "I need you . . . ," she was still smiling softly and ignoring Brad's discomfort which was increasing each time she moved to make room for him on the tiny blanket, "to look at my back and be sure I'm not getting too much sun. Look close for small white blisters, Brad. I don't want to peel and ruin my tan."

Brad was dying, his heart was racing and he could hardly breath. His thoughts were confused and racing in all directions at once. He was in a situation way beyond his years.

"Here Brad, put some of this on my back. It's a special formula that I read about in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING. It won't let your skin dry out. Are there any blisters?" Rita was holding a small glass bottle in her left hand, close to her breasts.

Brad watched the shimmering mixture with fascination. He was sure it was made of exotic oils and perfumes. The bronze liquid rippled against the inside of the clear glass bottle with each tiny motion of Rita's tiny, soft hand. Brad reached over her shoulder and hesitantly took hold of the small bottle.

"I don't see an-ny. Y--ur back is all oily, Rita."

She took the bottle from his hand. "Never mind then. If there are no blisters and there's still oil on me, I don't need you to rub more on me." She turned around and lay back down on the blanket.

"Good-by, Brad, I'll tell the boys you were here."

He bounced up onto his feet and hurried away.

"I hope she isn't mad because she caught me looking at her boobs." Brad spoke quietly to himself with feelings of wonder and guilt as he trotted across the wide, green lawn in his rush to get away from this seductive creature. "Damn! I hope she doesn't tell my mother. If she does I'll really be in trouble."

He turned back to be sure Rita was still on her blanket and not hurrying into the house to call his mother. He saw the inert form on the blanket much as he had left her.

Brad blinked his eyes, wiped away a trace of spider web from his face. He thought of all the agony he had suffered since that day. Every time the phone rang had become a traumatic moment for him. He was sure it was Rita calling Carrie to tell her the awful thing her son had done. Whenever he had the faintest inkling his mother and Rita might be talking to each other the pit of his stomach would knot up in fear. It had happened over three months ago and he was still living with the guilt of wanting to see and touch Rita's bare breasts.

He turned back towards the garden. "Bitch," he said aloud and started across the vegetable patch kicking at the rows of dried up string bean bushes as he went. The woodchuck was forgotten for the moment.

"Come on, Rusty!" Brad hollered at his dog.

He heard the mongrel racing after him when he entered the trees and stepped onto an old logging road which was so overgrown with brush that few people knew of its existence. It led to a newer road which would take him to the south end of the sugar maple orchard. Close to the orchard was the slab-sided cabin which he used as a hideout.

The trees and brush had encroached into the center of the road, but he could move swiftly and quietly through the smaller weeds and grasses growing in the wheel ruts. Coming around a bend in the road he could see where the trees gave way to a large sun-lit meadow. On a small knoll to his right, East, stood a huge sugar maple, his landmark to the cabin. Brad was sure the ancient giant was five or six hundred years old. To the north of the massive old tree was the slab-sided cabin. In its front wall were two windows whose panes of glass had twisted and distorted with time. They made the sun dance and race about the walls whenever a faint breeze would move them in their loose fitting frames. The front and only door was split, Dutch style. It was made of thick pieces of rough white pine which were gray and cracked with age.

Just before he stepped into the clearing Brad saw the cabin's door was ajar, not much, only several inches. When he was here on Wednesday or Thursday evening, he couldn't remember which, the door had been open then also. But he had closed and latched it after checking inside for a stray porcupine that he might collect the bounty on.

Brad looked around and listened for any strange sounds and also for Rusty who was nowhere in hearing or sight.

I wonder where that mutt is now?

Brad slipped through the brush around to the west side of the clearing. It was a maneuver he had used before to scare the French kids when they had hid from him in the cabin.

Creeping quietly to the front corner of the one room cabin, Brad stopped before stepping around the corner towards the front door. He felt the hair raise on the back of his neck. The palms of his hands became slick and wet. His heart raced.

The soft footfalls on the cabin's worn pine board floor penetrated the thick slab walls only as pressure and faint squeaks of the boards. The footfalls were quickly followed by the solid thump of a heavy body dropping to the floor.

Though scared, Brad clung to the corner of the building with his left hand. His right hand held the .22 out around the corner pointing towards the front door. Behind his little rifle, one slow step at a time, Brad steadily crept around the corner of the cabin. One uneasy step at a time he made his way towards the open door.

THUMP! Thump! THUMMP!

Brad's heart did a skip and threatened to quit.

The familiar jingle of the dog's chain collar and license tags erupted from inside the cabin when she chased another flea up her side and across her ribs.

"You fucking jerk! Where did you come from? You scared the shit out of me! Someday I'm going to shoot you just to get even." Brad hollered false threats at his dog when he stepped up onto the slab of gray granite that served as the cabin's front step.

With her eyes laughing and a smile on her glossy black lips, the brown and white mutt charged out the door around Brad's legs. She was in close pursuit of another nonexistent rabbit.

All of the furnishings, except for a couple of built-in shelves hanging on the walls, had been removed from the cabin years before. Brad and the French boys had dragged an old bed frame to the cabin the summer before and it was there if someone was brave enough to sleep over.

Not completely satisfied the cabin was empty, Brad looked around carefully. There was no place to hide at the west end where the huge rough rock fireplace took up the whole end wall. He looked across the rock hearth, worn and polished by use, to the bed of cold ashes pushed up into the back right corner of the firebox. It was the remains of the last fire he had built in the late spring, when it was still raining. Wet and cold he had stopped at the cabin to get warm and to dry out after coming off of the mountain. But mostly he had just been killing time. It had been too early to go to a house full of relatives, none of whom he really liked or cared about.

Brad looked over the rest of the room to satisfy himself it was empty before flopping down in the doorway to catch the last bit of afternoon sun.

If I go back just when dad gets there from work she won't say anything to me about the window.

TWO

It was a hard day for Brad. The thought of going back to his house had nagged at his mind most of the day. When he had left for school that morning his mother had been in her bed in the throes of a migraine and was constantly moaning.

She reminded Brad of his sister Greta's cat. It had been hit by a car and for two days laid in a rag-lined cardboard box moaning and growling softly until it finally succumbed to its injuries.

The smell of his mother's bedroom was the combination of a sweaty, sour body and that awful Rexall Balm she used for her headaches. To Brad the balm's overpowering smell of eucalyptus and camphor was ten times more potent than the odor of Vicks Vaporub's that was liberally smeared on him whenever he caught a cold.

On the first day the smell wasn't very strong, but by the third morning the hall leading to the bathroom and his room was so foul and strong Brad could no longer stand it. He would go out through the side porch door and around the outside of the house to come in through the pump room door. It was the long way around, but easier on his stomach.

While the school bus carried him closer to the source of his anxiety Brad was desperately hoping his mother felt better and was out of bed so he could go squirrel hunting. He was sorry his mother had a bad headache but he really didn't want to hang around the house to hear and smell her agony.

The yellow school bus rounded a sharp bend then followed the blacktop down a short hill. They were entering the grove of ancient oaks where Brad hunted squirrels when George, the burly bus driver, hollered over his shoulder.

"Hey, Brad!" George's deep voice made Brad leave his thoughts of his mother.

"Did ya see' m, Brad? He crossed the road right in front of us!"

"What, George? I didn't see anything." Brad got interested in a hurry and his mood immediately switched gears.

George was a hunter and fisherman. He and Brad often talked hunting and fishing on the long rides back and forth to school. Brad knew if George hollered about seeing something it would be of interest to him also.

"Biggest damn cat I've seen in years. And he's crossing roads in broad daylight no less. You'd best get your rifle and go after 'em, Brad!" George was shaking his head vigorously in disbelief.

George drove the big, forty passenger school bus faster than he normally did. When he swung it around in the mouth of the French's driveway it leaned heavily into the turn and its rear tires slid on the gravel before George got it stopped with the mud splattered front step hanging over the Burgess' flagstone walk. George was anxious to get Brad on his way after the big cat.

George ignored the French boys. They had crowded up behind Brad, and were fighting with each other, as usual, to see who would be the first off the bus. Brad knew George wouldn't open the door until he was through talking. For some reason Brad could never comprehend, the Frenchs didn't get the message. No matter how much of a rush they were in, Ernie and Robbie wouldn't get off the bus until George wanted them to.

Brad didn't think George liked them very much, but George never said much out loud, good or bad, about anyone.

"I think that cat is headed for the big ledge behind Ballou's sawmill. That's where people have been seeing him crossing the state road at night.

If you go over the ridge Brad, and come into the ledges from the top, you might get a shot at him. But be real quiet and take your time."

George swung the shiny metal door handle with the flourish of Arthur Fiedler bringing in the strings section. A gentle slap on his small backside from George's work worn hand hurried Brad on his way.

"See ya, Kid, and good luck!" George hollered after him as Brad hit the flagstones on the trot and an instant later threw open the front door.

Brad thought of his mother lying in bed barely in time to catch the heavy maple door and prevent it from slamming open. A quick look down the hallway towards his parent's bedroom and with an equal mixture of dread and hope he realized she was still in bed behind the closed door. He stood stock-still in the doorway dreading the moment when her plaintive cry would summon him to do her bidding.

Brad was mentally hurrying George and his bus on their way. He was anxiously aware that his mother might have heard the bus and would already be wondering where he was.

When he heard George shift the bus into fourth gear and the bus's rumble fading up the hill Brad slipped back outside closing the door quietly behind him. He hurried to the corner of the house and cautiously looked towards the French's. The boys were out of sight so he stepped around the corner.

He stood on the old granite stonewall which ended at the house under one of his bedroom windows. He felt lucky for the moment. There was no one around to wonder why he was going into his house through a window. Mentally crossing his fingers and hoping the window wouldn't screech out an alarm Brad slowly pushed it up. He also hoped his bedroom door was still closed. The last things he had done this morning, before running out to catch the bus, were to hid his .22 rifle under his bed and to close his bedroom door. The good natured George had kidded him about crowding his luck since it was a seven mile walk to school in Wilmet if George should take it into his head to leave without Brad.

It had been well worth the kidding from George and the dirty look from fat Greta for holding the bus up. He wanted the door closed in case he had to slip in to his room after school. He thought he might want to change his clothes and get his .22 rifle without his mother knowing he was there.

The door was still closed. Now the chances of his mother hearing him come in and go out through his bedroom window were slim. He would just be extra quiet.

Brad had already decided if she called out for him he would pretend he was not there. She could not be sure whether he had got off the bus or not. For all she could tell, only the French boys had been on the bus.

Besides, sometimes I wait in Wilmet for Dad instead of riding the bus. Anyway, Greta will be here before long. Brad rationalized. She can wait on Mom and clean-up the kitchen before Dad gets home.

In under fifteen minutes Brad was quietly climbing back out of the window and onto the stonewall. His rifle lay in the grass where he had lowered it out of the window with the piece of nylon parachute cord which was still attached to the stock.

He was ready to go after George's cat.

It was a hard forty minute climb to the crest of the ridge. Brad went over the top picking his way through the low bush blueberries and head high birch and beech saplings.

The chill of the cool fall breeze blowing on the east side of the ridge hit him as he broke over the rocky spine. The wind was light, but it held a strong promise of frost before morning.

With the slowly setting sun on his back he kept going down the east slope until he hit the upper part of the granite ledges where he could rest before descending further down the ridge. His shadow on the ground ahead of him had grown in length and he knew that he was running out of daylight fast and could only halt for a minute or two. Before he started to hurry down the ridge again the sun was barely hanging above the purple hills forming the southwest horizon.

A fast, quiet quarter of a mile more and Brad could see Ballou's sawmill. The mill sat next to the highway a half mile as the crow flies from where Brad was and five or six hundred feet lower at the foot of the mountain.

Between Brad and the mill were a series of vertical faced ledges with massive piles of jagged granite boulders at their feet. The smallest of the rocks were the size of fifty-five gallon oil drums, while the largest ones were as big as good sized houses. All were aged dark gray and streaked with green and silver-gray lichens. The rocks had been broken off the face of the ledge and stacked haphazardly by the last glacier as it crept southward. The great sheet of ice had slowly receded thousands of years ago leaving a unique architecture of tunnels, crevices, and holes in its wake. These natural structures became the homes and sanctuaries for countless animals. The foxes, bears, bobcats and any other creatures which needed shelter from January's sub-zero cold and deep snows or the torrential spring rains had sought refuge here over the ages.

Brad reached the garage-sized slab of granite he was seeking. The huge block of igneous rock appeared to be teetering on the very top edge of the tallest cliff on the ridge. It also sat the highest up on the ridge. This vantage point next to the gray giant was one of Brad's favorite spots on the mountain. He looked off to the southwest thinking about the rapidly sinking sun as he caught his breath.

Darkness was approaching faster than Brad cared to think about. He contemplated hurrying down the ridge to the next ledge. This ledge was the closest to the gravel road which ran along the bottom of the ridge next to the sawmill.

I don't believe the tom is up this high, he's down below. Brad thought. At that moment he had no doubt in his mind the big cat was below him and hurried down the ridge to find him.

Brad reached the lower ledge just as the last sliver of a faded orange sun slipped out of sight behind the distant Pack Monadnock Mountain.

The lower ledge was the second largest in a series of cliffs. At its foot lay the biggest pile of fractured granite slabs on the mountain.

Brad had tracked a smaller bobcat, one he was sure was a female, into these catacombs last spring. He thought there was a good chance she had a den and maybe a kitten or two hidden down there.

He and George knew the big cat was a tom. So either he was out scouting for a mate, or had already found one in the rocks below.

"Come on, Kitty. Come visit your girl friend," Brad called softly to the cat, but more to himself, from where he was sitting on the very edge of a vertical face, among a few mountain laurel branches which were clinging in desperation to the bare granite. He was sure the next snow or heavy rain could uproot them and send them hurtling down onto the jagged rocks sixty feet below.

Lower down the slope, the night shadows were rapidly eating up what little daylight remained, and the ragged edged boulders were beginning to merge together in the diffused light. Brad stared down at the base of the cliff where he had stopped tracking the little cat in the spring snow. He imagined a liquid shadow pouring across the flat top of a slab of granite. It was a little off to the right of where he had been watching. Not even his teenage imagination would accept what he was seeing. Not until a second, smaller shadow, bellied across the same slab did Brad believe what he was looking at.

Brad nestled his single shot .22 rifle against his shoulder. He swung the front sight across the rocks towards the flowing shadows. A hound-sized lump appeared in front of his sights. It was crouched on top of a white quartz streaked block of granite less than seventy feet from Brad.

Even in the rapidly failing light Brad could see the fire in the huge yellow-green eyes. He was intimidated by the flash of large white canine teeth between sneering pink lips.

As he watched an intense yellow eye in front of the knife blade rifle sight Brad squeezed the slack out of the trigger. The intensity of the eye forced him to look over the top of the rifle barrel and full into the cat's fiery eyes.

The fire flashed brighter in his eyes for a fraction of a second. Then the cat broke his stare as he casually turned his head towards his mate.

As if on orders from the male the little she-cat dropped from sight between two slabs of the dark gray granite.

Brad watched the small white patches on the tom's ears disappear when the cat laid his tufted ears down against his head and spit noisily with a flash of long canines just before he too faded into the deepening shadows.

He swung his rifle around anxiously. Brad couldn't see anything but dark lumped rocks and the deepening dark void where the cats had disappeared. All the time Brad was searching the emptiness below him he wondered why he hadn't shot the cats. They were each worth twenty dollars in bounty money. He could not come up with a satisfactory reason for letting them escape, especially the huge male bobcat.

Off in the distance, the bulky square shadows of the stacked lumber stood out in Ballou's mill-yard. Brad watched a set of yellow headlights hurry across the straightaway in front of the bulky shadows and heard the hiss of the car's tires cutting the quiet of the night.

"Now what?" He spoke out loud in a quivering voice while he wiped first his right hand and then his left on the leg of his dungarees. Even after going through the ritual twice his hands were still slick with nervous sweat.

"Too bad I didn't bring a flashlight. It sure would help." Brad spoke louder this time, as if he were talking to a hard of hearing friend.

His knees felt weak when he stood up and his first few steps were clumsy. He tried to make a lot of noise to be sure the cats heard him. He wanted them to leave or stay hidden deep under the rock pile.

"You guys stay there!" Brad hollered out at the cats. His voice puffed full of bravado.

His hands were shaking while he tried to uncock the stiff springed hammer on his rifle. The serrated knob on the hammer bit deep into the soft flesh on the inside of his thumb.

"Oh, the hell with it!"

Being scared was making Brad impatient, but he knew it wasn't safe to crawl down through the thick brush and over the rocks in the dark with his rifle cocked and ready to fire.

He didn't bother to aim. It was just a matter of pointing the .22 towards a big white pine and pulling the trigger.

The quick flash of fire from the short barrel momentarily ruined his night vision. For several seconds it made the night seem even darker.

In the evening quiet the sharp crack of the .22 echoed off the hills and reverberated up and down the valleys.

When the quiet returned it was quieter than before. The rustling of the small nocturnal animals and the twittering of the birds while they were settling down for the night had stopped. It was if all life on the side of the mountain was holding its collective breath and waiting to see what would happen next.

Gradually, the scratchings, peeps, and chirps increased in number and volume. There were even a couple of hearty tree frogs joining into the chorus far below in the creek bottom.

I guess no one told them it was close to freezing and was going to frost.

Brad started to pick his way through the thick brush and around the jagged rocks going across the slope.

It took him several long minutes stumbling around in the growing darkness to find a place on the steep-sided ridge where he knew he could descend through the grove of mixed red oak and beech trees with an occasional fir sapling. The forest floor was just as steep and rock strewn, but in the shade of the two and three hundred year old hardwoods, the laurel and juniper bushes couldn't get a foothold. Once entrenched, the bushes would have spread into a head-high, almost impregnable mat as they had over a lot of the mountain's West and North sides. Even in the dark Brad could see the outlines of the larger rocks so he didn't stumble as often as he had when he was traveling in the brush.

When he came to Stoney Creek he stood on its steep bank for several minutes listening to the rush of the water. It was not a friendly burbling stream. Thirty feet across the creek was the dirt road he wanted to be on. If he crossed here, instead of upstream on the old wooden bridge, he would save himself over a mile of hiking in the dark of the night.

The instant he plunged his right foot into the icy water Brad was sure he had screwed up. As he put more of his weight on that foot the swift current tugged at his leg threatening to sweep him off his feet and the water was far colder than he thought it would be. The blackness of the night made it impossible to see where he was stepping.

The rounded stones on the creek's bottom were slick and offered no traction to his worn sneakers. Each step was like putting one ball bearing on top of another. The knee deep torrent kept tearing at his calves trying to upset him. By shuffling slowly along he managed to travel the thirty feet to the far bank.

Finally after several tries he got his right foot planted against a small boulder next to the bank.

He was clutching his .22 in his left hand with a white knuckle grip which was cramping and hurting his fingers.

One more time Brad lunged for the steep roadside bank. His right hand grabbed for a hand hold in the whip-sized willows growing on the bank above him. Struggling to get a hold on the bank's face put Brad on his knees against the rocky slope.

Two more tries to lift his right knee higher up the steep bank failed. On the third try he made it by forcing his knee against a rough, oval shaped stone. He felt the burning of skin peeling from the side of his knee.

Pushing with his knee and with a hard tug on the handful of willow stems in his right hand pulled him out of the creek's icy grip.

He felt the asphalt road through the squish of his wet sneakers and hoped in vain that it was not yet six-thirty. He was sure it was well after supper time. Even though he had made good time since crossing the creek he knew from times before it was a twenty minute walk up the dirt road to the State highway. He couldn't see his "Big Ben" pocket watch, but he was sure that it was at least quarter to seven.

He knew the sound of the engine and the look of its tired headlights. His father's old Chevie was coming around the curve a quarter of a mile or so down the State highway behind him.

Brad's first thought was elation. It isn't as late as I thought. It can't be, Dad is just getting here. But his better sense and instinct for time told him his first thoughts, before he heard the Chevie, were correct. It was almost seven o'clock and his dad was also running late.

Brad thought seriously about a way to delay the inevitable confrontation. At least he could postpone it temporarily. All he had to do was to step into the roadside brush before the yellow beams of the headlights hit him. He still had plenty of time to disappear into the gloom. But Brad admitted to himself he was really afraid of the dark and enough was enough for one day. His heart had finally settled down to its normal slow tick and his hands were no longer shaky and sweaty.

The faded brown interior of the old car smelled musty. Like old, rotten grain sacks. Brad thought and took a chance on opening his window an inch or so to get some fresh air.

"Close it! As wet as you are, you'll catch pneumonia."

Harold shifted into third gear and allowed the hot smelling engine to smooth out into a dull throb before saying any more. "You're out kind of late aren't you, Brad?"

"Did you work overtime, Dad?" Brad ignored the question which didn't really demand an answer. He had trouble understanding why his father asked those kind of questions. He does it all the time, to everyone.

It really smells in here.

Brad turned the window crank slowly and allowed the window to drop down less than an inch. He hoped it was an acceptable distance.

"Yeah, got stuck in Miss Hendricks' yard again first thing this morning."

"Sorry. If I had known that you were behind, I could have helped you after school."

"You're too small. Besides, last time you helped me, you sprayed kerosene in old man Snyder's spring."

Brad clutched his .22 tightly between his knees and fought back the tears. It was always the same. Why won't they leave me alone? Why are they always telling me what I can't do? Well, I can damn well do more than they think that I can.

Brad took a long shaky breath. He wiped his runny nose on the too short sleeve of the corduroy shirt which he used for a hunting jacket and tried again.

"Coming home on the bus tonight, we saw a big bobcat. It crossed the road right about here." Brad pointed through the dirty windshield towards where the grove of old oak trees lay hidden in the dark night.

"Oh yeah. How is your mother?"

"I went up above Ballou's to find him. George said the cat would go up in the ledges behind the sawmill." Brad paused.

Harold was still sitting in the driver's seat after turning off the foul smelling engine.

In the sudden silence Brad hurried on. "I saw two cats up there in the big cliffs. I could have shot at least one of them!" His boyish enthusiasm was starting to pick up speed. "The cliffs are really high up there. You can't see them from the road."

"She must still be in bed I don't see any lights on. Get that brown paper package off the back seat. Now damn it, be careful! It's the glass for your mother's window that you broke."

"Ya, okay. I don't think Greta is home yet either. She and lover boy must be in Wilmet yet." Brad added. He was successful in getting the result he had expected. Even in the dim glow of the feeble yellow dome light he saw his father's jaw muscles tighten. Bringing up Greta's boy friend was a touchy thing in the Burgess household and would always provoke some kind of reaction. Brad hated his sister's grimy lover Edgar, and put him down every chance he got.

Brad was bursting to share his experiences of the evening with someone. He was sure Harold wouldn't let him use the old wall-mounted crank telephone to talk to George. The phone was across the hall from his parent's bedroom and under no circumstances would he be allowed to do anything which might possibly disturb his mother. Behind the closed bedroom door she would be in her bed curled up in the same fetal ball. Suffering the same migraine she had been suffering since yesterday morning.

When Brad heard his father running water and rattling their breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink he went to the phone. He was sure if he was careful no one would hear him using it. He quickly swiveled the brass and Bakelite mouthpiece down as far as it would come. By standing on tip toes Brad could talk into the mouthpiece. He listened to the black ear piece for just a second to be sure that no one was using the party line. Swiftly he made a loop in the brown cotton covered ear piece wire and snagged the shiny brass shutoff hook. He pulled the hook down against the oak cabinet into the off position. You aren't going to get me this time. Brad remembered one of the few times when he had forgotten and kept his hand on the brass hook when he had cranked the magneto to ring for the operator. He could still feel the lump on the back of his head from a couple of weeks before when the electrical shock bounced him against the heavy, ugly maple buffet.

He stole another quick look around the doorway into the kitchen. The water faucet came on and Brad rapidly cranked the phone as quick and short as he dared. He hoped that if his dad heard it he would think it was someone ringing off the party line. But on the other hand Brad wanted the operator to know he needed her.

Almost immediately the operator responded with, "Number please?" letting Brad know she hadn't been too-busy or preoccupied.

"BJ? This is Brad Burgess. Can you ring George, the school bus driver for me, please?" Brad spoke low and quick. He stole another fast look towards the kitchen while he listened to BJ. She was the youngest of the five telephone operators. Even so Brad thought, she sounds pretty old, maybe twenty two or three, or even as old as twenty-five.

"Sure, Brad dear, hang on now."

Brad took a deep breath, exhaled quickly and waited. First he heard a long ring followed closely by two evenly spaced shorter ones. In the background, the rattle of dishes and his father sloshing dishwater blotted out the electrical hiss that the phone always emitted.

"Hello?" Came the soft melodious voice of Muriel Sampson, George's petite, and Brad thought, very sexy wife.

"Muriel? This is BJ. How are you dear?"

"Oh, fine BJ. You're working the swing shift this week?"

"Oh, yes. Sara is on vacation and "

Come on for Christ's sake. Brad thought. But he would not interrupt. It wasn't right to interrupt an older person, especially when they were doing something for you. Of course, he was capable of talking for himself. He could butt in and ask Muriel if George was there.

"Oh, I am sorry, Brad." BJ cut herself off as if she had read Brad's impatient mind. "Muriel, Brad Burgess wants to talk to George. Is he there?"

"No, he isn't BJ.

"Brad, how nice!" The sweet voiced Muriel proclaimed. "Can I help you? George is at a Volunteer Firemen's meeting and won't be home until really late, maybe nine or even nine-thirty."

Brad knew as sweet as she was Muriel wouldn't shut up if he ever gave her a hint of what he wanted. Also, BJ was still listening and would keep on listening.

It was great when he talked with George though. He always told the operator to stop listening. "We're going to talk man things," he would say, "now do you want to make ole Brad here blush?"

If it was BJ on the line, she would laugh in her deep strong voice and tease back, "I can take a hint now, George Sampson.

"Good-bye, Brad. Ring if you want me." And she would unplug her 'gossip wire' as George called it.

"No, that's okay, Muriel, I'll ask him on the bus in the morning, thank you. Bye now." Brad hurried to finish when he heard his father's heavy boots coming across the red and green speckled gray linoleum. It was then he realized all of the kitchen sounds had stopped.

"Who were you talking to? I didn't hear the phone ring."

"It didn't. I called Andy about history class." Andy was Brad's best friend and sometime hunting partner.

"Well, never mind. Just don't bother your mother. Supper is almost ready."

What does 'never mind.' mean?

Brad started for the kitchen with a frown on his forehead as he thought about it some more.

He looked at the simple meal. Boiled potatoes reheated in the frying pan and cold pot roast his father had cooked for supper on Sunday. For a vegetable, there were canned peas which Brad could see were bigger than double ought buckshot and were sure to be almost as hard.

He was having a problem hiding his disappointment. It was important to Brad that he tell someone about his adventure. Anyone who would listen. He really wanted to tell George. George was always a good listener. And Brad was sure George would understand why he hadn't shot the big tom. As well as why Brad had stayed on the mountain until well after dark. Brad had confided in George one time that he was afraid of the dark. George had told him not to worry about it. The more Brad was out in the woods and in the dark the quicker he would get over it.

THREE

Brad squirmed around between the warm sheets after some of the cold predawn air had invaded his bed when he tried to look out of the high windows on the opposite wall of his bedroom.

Even though the sun hadn't risen above the hills to the east he could see it promised to be a crisp, clear Saturday morning. Squirrel and bird season would open at sunrise and he was going hunting.

It had been too quiet around the house for a couple of weeks. In fact, it had been that way since he broke the window in his mother's French door and it worried him. He also realized that during the past two weeks there had been hardly an argument from anyone in the household. Even his sister wasn't talking back in her high whining voice about wanting to spend all of her time with her grimy anemic looking boyfriend Edgar.

There were the usual silences at the supper table. Supper was always a rather boring, every night occurrence and last night had been a typical evening in the Burgess household: There were moments of sheer quiet between the lively tidbits of, 'pass the salt.'

"Eat your beets, Brad."

"I hate them. They make me gag."

"Eat them anyway." His father commanded.

"Shit!"

"What did you say!?" His father's voice never got any higher. It would just get louder and louder as his eyes flared brighter and brighter. It was really scary to Brad. He always tried to avoid pushing his father too far. Usually he couldn't help it. The words just seemed to come out by themselves.

"Nothing! I didn't say anything!"

"You did too! You swore. I heard you," Brad's older sister, squealed on him again.

Why do you do that to me? Dad wasn't going to do anything until you had to open your big fat mouth. Brad glared across the table at the overweight sixteen year old.

God. I hate you.

He tried to zap her with his mind. But he decided that it was useless. This is too much like trying to talk with a slug. Brad thought.

Brad flopped over onto his belly, buried his face in both hands and tried to wish the unwanted images away. He wasn't even out of bed. The sun was still just a figment of the morning's imagination, but he felt his whole day would be ruined unless he could escape from the house right now.

It took him twenty long minutes to make it out the door to freedom.

The sun was just clearing over the low easterly hills and cracking open the dark valleys when Brad silently slipped the door latch back into place. His dog was chasing shadows ahead of him. Under his thin flannel shirt a peanut butter and jelly sandwich oozed grape jelly onto its wax paper wrap. He trotted across the paved road and slipped under a wooden gate ignoring the warning posted on the green board in yellow letters. It proclaimed to any who bothered to read it: WILDLIFE SANCTUARY: NO HUNTING.

It had taken him most of an afternoon pretending he was his mother, (his voice was still too high to fool anyone that he was his father), to reach the Game Warden. "No Mrs. Burgess. It is not a real or legal animal preserve.

Yes ma'am, your son can hunt there. If he doesn't trespass."

"What?"

"Yes ma'am, he must have the owner's permission to go onto the land. And yes, he must have a hunting license."

"Shit! Let them city people catch me hunting on their land. They could have said yes when I asked them, instead of being so damn uppity and mean." Brad talked quietly to himself while he quickly walked away from the gate on the freshly graveled road.

When he was out in the woods, he either talked to his dog, or to himself.

"Well, at least it's a one way conversation." He always rationalized out loud whenever he felt strange about his lonesome conversations. Particularly after his brown and white mutt overheard him and gave him one of her through-the-top-of-her-eyes looks. It would immediately make Brad defensive as if she had accused him of something. He never could quite figure out what she was accusing him of.

Brad never bothered to tell his parents he needed a hunting license to roam with his rifle or the small fact that he had to be sixteen to get the license. He just kept breaking the law and avoiding people he didn't know or trust whenever he was away from his house. His parents neither knew such laws existed nor seemed interested in finding out about hunting seasons and such.

He opened the bolt of his single shot .22, dropped a hollow point, Super X cartridge into the chamber and quietly slipped the bolt home. The serrated steel of the hammer bit into the cold flesh of his small thumb and index finger while he struggled against the heavy hammer spring to cock the rifle. Brad knew the feeling well but still continued to wince in pain every time he attempted to cock the round ended hammer. The loud click of the hammer locking back brought a smile of success replacing the frown of his struggle.

From fifty feet away, his constant critic snapped her head around and threw a glare at him for his intrusion into the quiet of their domain.

The boy-sized .22 was the love of Brad's life. He remembered the day a year and a half before when he had finally reached his goal of $15.98. That was the price of the single shot rifle in the Sears and Roebuck catalog and a carton of .22 long rifle shells at Joslin's hardware in Wilmet.

Brad had not eaten hot lunch in the school cafeteria since the day after Labor Day which was the day school started that year. Instead, he smuggled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from home under the constant threat of Greta squealing on him. He knew if his sister discovered what he was doing, she would tell his mother. There was no doubt in his mind the result of that would be for him to go back to eating those terrible unappetizing school lunches.

The $1.22 per week for school lunch went into his cache along with the State's fifty cent bounty on each of the porcupines he had killed with a stick during the summer. To collect the bounty he had to cut the head off each porcupine and present it to the Town Clerk. He had greedily hoarded his money until he had enough for the rifle and a carton of 500 .22 shells.

His struggle to raise money continued. Only now it was to buy .22 shells for the little rifle. He always seemed to fire the shells faster than he could come up with the fifty-two cents to buy a new box of shells. Brad had found a friend in Oscar the clerk in the hardware store. If Brad could scrape together five dollars, Oscar would sell him a carton of ten boxes of fifty .22 cartridges and throw in an extra box for free. But at a dollar and twenty-two cents a week for hot lunches it took a while to roundup the five dollars. Saving his hot lunch money to buy shells was almost the same as getting an allowance like his classmates. At least that was how he thought about it. The illusion of an allowance was there.

With the .22 hanging from his right hand he hurried after the brown and white mongrel. His fingers were carefully wrapped around the trigger guard and his small thumb was stretched to its limit encircling the upper part of the serrated steel hammer. He did this to hold the hammer back should the trigger get pulled accidentally. The little rifle had no other safety.

It was turning into a hot Indian Summer day. Brad tied the sleeves of his lightweight, brown corduroy jacket around his skinny waist before he unstuck his shirt from the smear of jelly on his stomach.

A half hour ago, he had eaten the squashed peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich. After eating the sandwich he was still hungry enough to lap the smeared jelly and peanut butter from the wax paper wrap even though the heat was melting the wax. Now his mouth felt hot and gummy from the jam and wax mix.

The exceptionally dry summer and fall constantly changed the face of Brad's world. The small water holes and beaver ponds were slowly drying up, and the hidden springs of clear, cold water had retreated into the rocks and gravel. The other signs of the year-long drought were in plain evidence as the thirsty alder and willow leaves twisted and shriveled, their way of conserving moisture, in the heat along with the cattails. The usually lush green rushes had turned prematurely brown and hard, and were rattling in the warm breezes.

When Brad realized how high in the sky the unseasonably hot October sun was, he guessed it was about noon time. He pulled on the short piece of rawhide boot lace which was tied to the right front belt loop of his worn dungarees. His Big Ben pocket watch was hanging from the end of its leather leash, and clunked along as usual. Its hands read 12:32.

"It's too early to go back to the house, but I really need a drink of water. Wait a sec, Doc Flanders has a spring in back of his place. I can get a drink there." Brad was talking to himself again since his dog was too far away to hear him. She was chasing an imaginary bear and wasn't interested at all in what Brad was talking about.

Brad searched his memory for the way to Doc Flanders' spring, and he remembered seeing a sign pointing out the trail to the spring.

I think it's right behind the house where all of the doctor's scenic trails start.

He's kind of weird, but he's a nice guy. He won't mind if I get a drink out of his spring.

Brad decided that was the thing to do. It was only about a half mile to the Flanders' place. It was closer than any other water he knew of except maybe his own house which he definitely didn't want to get any closer too, and he knew that it wouldn't take him long to get to the doctor's.

Brad tried to whistle up his dog. It didn't work, as usual. He still couldn't whistle loud enough to get her to pay any attention to him. So he hollered, as usual.

Before turning away from the swamp, Brad looked toward the puddles where there was usually a foot or more of murky swamp water in the low spots between the huge red cedars and scattered clumps of small stunted black spruces which grew under the dominate shadows of the cedars.

The brown and white dog charged across the swamp in answer to Brad's shout. Her tongue lolled out almost to the soggy ground and her belly and legs were covered with black mud. She skidded to a stop next to Brad's legs. An exuberant shake slung big gobs of oozy, putrid black mud up and down the legs of his faded dungarees. She jumped belly-deep into the nearest puddle of black coffee-colored water. The pool was as big around as a washtub and nearly as deep. She splashed around in the green slime covered water for a couple of minutes before sticking her nose into it. She pulled her head up and started snorting and blowing before thirstily gulping down some of the green algae and black water.

"You gross bitch get out of there!" Brad hollered in frustration. "I'm dying of thirst, and you have to drink that cow piss? Come on, let's go!"

The easy tempered dog smiled and enthusiastically wagged her white feathered tail at him, before thrusting her muzzle back into the lumpy black water.

Brad walked away in disgust.

The white sign distinctly said MINERAL SPRING, in bold black lettering, and had a broad black arrow pointing at the right hand fork of one of the doctor's trails. Brad had never seen or drank from a mineral spring before. He was not even sure what it was, but he did remember hearing someone say they sometimes smelled of sulfur, but usually in New England, they just tasted like rust. Brad didn't really care what the water tasted like it just had to be wet and cool. It didn't even have to be cold. Merely cool would be fine. And he was sure it would be safe to drink. Doc Flanders would never say there was a spring there if it wasn't safe to drink from. I'm sure of that.

Brad was hot as he hurried up the trail toward the spring. His tongue had started sticking to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't swallow or spit out the cottony scum that was stuck in his throat.

The trail was easy to follow, so Brad hustled right along up over a rock ledge covered with stunted blueberry bushes. He sidestepped around a patch of juniper that in the dry heat smelled like gin.

"There it is!" His feet felt lighter, and he could already feel the moisture in his mouth. He looked all around the black on white sign proclaiming MINERAL SPRING, in crisp, sharp letters. He couldn't see any dampness on the ground, hear water running, or see another path which could lead through the surrounding brush to a spring house which was common in these parts. There was only a dry, rocky knob encircled by head high scrub pines scattered throughout the waist tall pucker brush.

"Shit! Where's it at? I don't see any water! Find the water, dog! Where's the damn water?"

Brad went back the way he had come. He looked carefully on both sides of the meticulously cleared path for a wet spot or an elusive trail. Impatient and thirsty, he trotted back to the sign, hesitated, looked around at the black letters again. Brad turned away, ran up the trail a short ways and snapped back towards the sign. His eyes blazed with anger. His stomach knotted. He screamed his frustration at the top of his lungs. "You bastard! You dirty bastard!"

Brad ran back to the sign. Each breath was coming as a gut-tearing sob. He skidded to a stop in front of the offending sign before throwing his little rifle to his skinny shoulder. The bullet bored a round, insignificant hole into the white paint and through the soft pine board directly in the center of the first 'Rs' loop.

Brad looked again at the short piece of sash cord that was carefully tied to a fence staple on the right end of the sign. Hanging from the cord was a 8" hunk of rusty, coiled iron spring.

FOUR

When he first opened his eyes he didn't know what had woke him. The fall sun hadn't yet cleared the hills to the east. The sky was still an inky dark blue with a couple wisps of icy mare's-tail to the north.

That's what woke me. Brad thought when his nose twitched as the aromatic threads of freshly brewed coffee slipped under his bedroom door. He didn't waste any time getting dressed and going into the kitchen. He stopped in the bathroom only long enough to pee and splash some water on his ash blond hair.

The residue of a week's use of Vitalis glued his hair in place for the day. After a week even his cowlick would stay in place.

Brad had wanted to talk to somebody all week about what he thought of as 'Doc Flander's dirty trick'. He had stopped trying to share things with his parents a long time ago. They were always too busy doing nothing to have any time for him whenever he tried to share things with them. His friends, George and Muriel were away for the weekend, and besides Brad wanted to go to the farm today. The farm belonged to Charlie Carr, their family milkman and a special friend of Brad's. Charlie was somebody Brad felt he could talk to about anything.

Two years ago, when the Burgesses had bought their house, the milk delivery service seemed to have been part of the purchase. Actually, Charlie's small dairy farm only provided enough milk, cream, butter and eggs for him to have a few regular customers such as the Burgesses and the Frenchs. Charlie worked full time at the grain mill in Greenfield which was northwest of the Burgess's on route 31 between Wilmet and Peterboro. On every Monday through Saturday morning he drove his black 1938 Ford 4-door around his route and dropped off his customer's milk on his way to work. On Sunday mornings he slept-in an extra hour and took his time, so he could visit with his customers and collect.

It had become a habit for Charlie to stop at the Burgess kitchen, have a cup of coffee and chat for a while. Last summer the shy thoughtful bachelor had invited Brad to come up to the farm on Sundays. Charlie lived with his seventy-five year old widowed mother, two dogs, nine milk cows, several cats, a couple of pigs and innumerable chickens.

The farm became a refuge for Brad and he looked forward to the weekends when he could escape the tension of the Burgess's house. For a few hours he was in the company of someone he could talk to and share experiences with.

Charlie taught Brad about farm life. Brad learned the values a country kid should be taught and learned how to drive a truck and a tractor, pitch hay, milk a cow by hand, split firewood and deliver a calf. Charlie taught Brad the value of hard work and how to reap the benefits of the land by showing him the results of their shared work which was a field full of crops ready for harvest, calves growing up to produce milk and beef and a warm house when it was ten degrees below zero outside on a short January day.

Brad was staying out of his father's sight while he was waiting for nine o'clock to roll around. That was when Charlie always showed up on Sunday mornings. Brad knew something was on his father's mind, but as usual Harold wasn't talking. Brad figured that if he stayed scarce until Charlie came, then he would slip out of the house before Harold got around to saying what was on his mind.

When he heard the old Ford pull into the driveway, Brad went onto the side porch to ask Charlie if he could go to the farm. Before Brad could get any more than "Good morning!" out, Harold came around the side of the house and invited Charlie in for coffee.

From the moment Charlie sat at the kitchen table with his parents, Brad's concept of time matched what he was seeing on the kitchen clock. The clock's sweep second hand slowed to a crawl, the minute hand vibrated in place every few seconds, and the hour hand froze on the nine. Brad was sure every minute he stayed there was bringing him closer to whatever his mother and father had decided would be his fate on this beautiful, clear fall day. Brad had overheard enough to know he was going to be put to work in the yard, but he hoped it would be overruled when Charlie said he needed Brad's help this weekend.

Carrie was complaining to Charlie about how hot it was on this warm Indian Summer morning in mid-October when Brad finally ran out of patience and interrupted his mother.

"Can I help you today, Charlie?" Brad felt the tension roll around the kitchen table as he spoke. He almost heard the crackle, hiss, and pops of the atmosphere and as he stared at a worn spot on the kitchen linoleum, knew that he had screwed up again.

"Sure, Brad, If it's all right with your folks." Charlie answered him quickly and with a small laugh.

Brad was sure he should have gotten up before dawn to escape before anyone else was out of bed, but now it was too late!

Harold shifted around in his chair. He rattled a spoon against his coffee cup and as the seconds dragged by he looked toward his wife. He waited for her to butt-in and give Brad the bad news. As usual Carrie refused to come to her husband's aid.

Brad searched his parents' faces for some kind of clue but could only see the look of contempt for his father radiate from his mother's eyes.

Harold took a last sip of his cold coffee before he lowered the boom on Brad's plans. "You're going to help me put up storm windows. After that's done you can help your mother. That damn maple tree has dumped leaves all over the side yard.

"More coffee, Charlie?"

Embarrassed for himself and Brad by the tension surging about the room and the tone of the man's voice when he spoke to his son, Charlie refused quietly. "I'd better get along. I still have milk to deliver. Thanks anyway.

"How about next weekend, Brad? I'll need some help bucking firewood."

Carrie answered before Brad could. "That would be fine, Charlie. We're sure you could use the help." Her voice was sugary and pleasing. She knew Charlie would knock a couple of dollars from next month's milk bill for every day Brad worked on the farm.

Brad walked to the black Ford with Charlie and was grateful for Charlie's smile of reassurance when he gripped the boy's shoulder. He watched the old Ford disappear around the corner before he ran for the back of the house where he had heard the boys' voices. The French brothers were meandering down their driveway towards Brad's house.

"Brad!" Robbie, who was dark and stoutly-built, hollered loudly. "Want to go for a hike with us? We're going over to the Simpsons'."

"Shut up! You idiot!" His older brother slugged Robbie solidly on the back of his right shoulder.

"How come, Ernie? How come you hit me?" Robbie asked as his large brown eyes flooded with tears from the hard blow.

"Not so loud. We don't want everyone to know where we're going. Besides, we told Mom that we was just coming down here.

"Ya want to go, Brad?" The cocky, freckled faced boy asked.

He was looking down on Brad, like he did every chance that he got. Although he was the same age, only three inches taller, and almost as skinny, he managed to double the three inches through bluff and intimidation.

Brad didn't like his neighbors. But they were the only kids close to his age within five miles. If he wanted to chum with anyone, he was stuck with them.

"You're going to Simpson's? How come?"

"Ya. Maybe Elinor's shade is up again." Ernie laughed a dirty laugh as he punched the air near Brad's arm.

Embarrassed, Brad could feel the heat run up the back of his neck. He swung away from the other boys with a careless twist of his upper body to conceal his real thoughts.

"I'll tell my dad we're going."

Brad went into the back of the house with no intention of asking or telling his father about the boys' trip. He was just stalling for time until he could come up with a reason not to go.

Thoughts of another time at the Simpson's came flooding back into Brad's consciousness.

Last summer the three boys were fishing their favorite stream and all had caught their limit of trout when they started looking for the quickest way home and found themselves on the creek bank behind the Simpson's house. The Simpsons lived on a dirt road south of Brad's. It was only a half mile cross country to Brad's by way of the railroad tracks and the old grist mill, but the trip was at least two miles by road.

All three boys agreed that the fastest way to go was to cut across the Simpson's neatly landscaped backyard before crossing the creek on the covered bridge. After crossing the bridge they would be next to the railroad tracks with a little over a quarter mile to walk through the timber to the state road, then about another half mile to their houses.

Neither Brad nor the French brothers knew the Simpsons as a family. They all knew the dad, Bud, who worked in Tibbet's Machine shop which was the local sweat shop in Wilmet. Elinor Simpson was an only child and a senior at Wilmet High.

All of the high school boys agreed she had a fantastic body, but she was different, therefore ugly as sin.

Brad and Ernie as the resident experts from Wilmet Junior High, which was in the same building as the high school, agreed with the older boys. All three swaggered into the Simpson's backyard intending to cut diagonally across the lawn to the nearby road.

It was hot. The late afternoon sun was beating into an open window on the back of the light brown house. Brad spied the girl first. Ernie and Robbie stumbled over him when he stopped short next to a huge lilac bush.

"What's?" Ernie started to bitch before Brad could shush him.

"Look! In the window! Gaaad! She has a tan all over!" Brad whispered hoarsely while he pointed with a grimy, shaking finger. The well developed, young body stayed in view for just a short moment which was only as long as it took Elinor to drop her bath towel onto the foot of her bed, turn to her dresser for her hair brush and then step behind the open closet door. The image of a small, warm smile as she hummed to the soft waltz music that drifted from her hi-fi, stayed with Brad. "She's beautiful, she's gorgeous," He said quietly.

"Huh? What'd ya say Brad?" Ernie whispered.

Brad shook his head emphatically! Then he mouthed "Let's go!"

But the three boys stayed clustered around the lilac bush with their mouths open and eyes glued to the blue stripped bath towel laying on the bed in a pool of hot, yellow sunlight.

The modest shorts and sleeveless blouse the Japanese girl wore when she stepped out to retrieve the towel held no special interest to Robbie and Ernie. Brad felt immediate guilt about spying on the gentle teenager. All at once she was a person he was sure he wanted to know better.

FIVE

"Well? Can you go? Come on, let's go!" Ernie demanded impatiently, snapping Brad back to the real world when he stepped through the paint chipped back door into the backyard.

"Come on! Let's go!" Ernie ordered.

"No. I can't." Brad lied. He made his voice climb a couple of octaves and grow louder in mock indignation.

"I've -- I've got to rake these stupid leaves!" He grabbed the rake he had left leaning up against the clothesline pole and started raking randomly in an angry burst of energy.

Brad knew he was mad and frustrated not because he couldn't go with Ernie and Robbie, but because they were going to invade Elinor's privacy and he could not stop them from doing it.

He was having trouble admitting his guilt for spying on Elinor and seeing her shapely nude body. Whenever he came face to face with her in the hallways at school, Brad wasn't able to look her in the eye. Nor did he want anyone to know how excited he got each time he watched the gentle sway of her slim hips.

To Brad she wasn't ugly as sin. He knew she was really beautiful and he had no doubts that he was in love with her.

Twice Brad had come close to admitting his love aloud and had proven his love when one of the school loudmouths had made derogatory remarks about her looks and ancestry. Brad had called him on it both times and still could not understand the reaction his actions had provoked from his classmates. He was still having a hard time figuring out the reason he had provoked the wrath of most of the teachers and some of the school board members when he had a little go around with one of the basketball players. He hadn't really hurt him too much. The six foot tall boy had only favored one knee for a week or so after Brad had planted the side of his boot into the jock's kneecap after he had called Elinor a Jap whore.

Brad struggled with himself to put the beautiful girl out of his mind, and as he succeeded, he let himself get carried away by the colorful array before him. On the ground lay brilliant reds, soft golds and yellows, and mellow browns.

The sugar maple leaves smelled acrid and earthy as he heaped them into a huge pile for his father to burn. He felt almost cheerful after rationalizing how much work he would really have to do and how soon he would be able to go hunting.

His stomach had been telling him for sometime it was lunch time when Ernie and Robbie strutted back into the yard. They had been gone for so long Brad had about given up on seeing them again that day. He just figured they had left the Simpson's and kept going into the small town of Lynd. But the confident I-told-you-so look on Ernie's face threw Brad off and his buoyant mood drifted down like one of the maple's frost bitten leaves. He was sure they had seen something and had again violated Elinor's privacy.

Before anyone else could say a word, and much to his brother's chagrin Robbie burst out with the truth. "There wasn't anybody home! The house was all locked up and their car was gone."

Brad felt elated. Robbie had let the truth out before his brother could lie about seeing 'ugly Elinor' naked again.

Life did do us small favors after all. Brad thought as he attacked the head high pile of flaming red and gold leaves. His spring-toothed steel rake collided with the old phony spinning wheel that the previous owners had left sitting in the rock garden. It fell over with a thud. One of its unpainted legs and part of its rusty top fell off and rolled away into the leaves.

"Oh, damn! I should have moved it!"

"Ha-ha! You broke it, Brad!" Ernie hollered. He tightened the screws some more in an attempt to exact some revenge for Robbie telling the truth about their unfruitful trip to the Simpson's.

"Your mom will raise hell with you now."

"I didn't break it. See it comes apart. This top comes off here, and those legs fall right off." Brad held the body of the spinning wheel up in the air before he shook the remaining two legs off, and then paused to pull a wooden splinter out of his hand.

"Come on! Help me play a joke on my mother."

The two boys were quickly caught up in Brad's carefree mood. It only took them about two minutes to disperse parts and pieces of the spinning wheel about the rock garden.

Brad tossed the two and one half foot wheel over a leaning clothesline post with a smile. In his lighthearted mood, he hollered, "She'll flip over this!"

Brad didn't see his mother watering her plants in front of the living room windows and he had no idea that she saw her precious spinning wheel pieces being scattered throughout the garden.

In his playful mood Brad didn't see the rage in his mother's eyes and he didn't understand the rigid set of her body. He couldn't see the heavy, hardwood yardstick hidden at her side. To him it was all a good joke. The spinning wheel came apart and went back together easily. No harm done.

Ernie and Robbie stood off to one side of the yard when the back door slammed open. There was no doubt in their minds what was happening when they saw the rigid walk and Carrie's attempt to conceal the yardstick. A quick glance at each other and they were across the yard and scrambling over the stonewall to reach the safety of their driveway.

Brad watched the two boys move for the wall and caught the looks of alarm on their faces and wondered what was going on. Then he saw the flash of the swiftly descending hardwood and felt her vise-like grip on his small upper right arm. She forcefully swung him around.

At first he was numb. The yardstick just jarred him. Although he was terrified by the unexpected assault, the first few blows did not seem to hurt. It was only after several of the sword-like slashes struck him, that the burning streaked across his skinny buttocks and the back of his thighs.

The sharp-edged stick struck again and again in quick succession. The hits sent shocks of agony up and down Brad's legs. An extra powerful wave of pain went up his back and around to his stomach when a blow struck high and seared the tender flesh on the small of his back.

The sound of his mother gasping for air reached his ear. Her breath was hot and smelled of stale coffee and tobacco as it blew across his face. She was sucking in mouthfuls of air in rhythm to the rapidly swinging arc of her arm.

Brad felt her left hand momentarily loosen from around his arm. The next time he felt the hand lose its grip, a quick twist of his upper body and he was free of her hot sweaty grasp. A last blow was already cleaving the air. The narrow side of the stick-sword caught him painfully on the top of his right shoulder. His right arm went numb and immediately swung uselessly from his shoulder as he ducked through the head-high pines that bordered the west side of the Burgess's backyard. One more long step and Brad was out of her reach and safe. Safe in his sanctuary, the forest.

With his heart threatening to burst out of his chest and a huge lump in his throat which gagged him at each breath, Brad skidded to a stop behind the security of a dense clump of young black spruce. Quickly checking his back trail he was startled to hear a loud rustling in the thick carpet of dry leaves coming from the direction of the house. The reassuring sight of his brown and white mongrel charging through the leaves toward him made him realize his mother had never left the lawn and open yard. Neither his mother, nor anyone else in the family would trespass into his dark domain of dense trees and thick brush which was full of strange squeaks, rustlings and musty smells.

When he tried to wipe away the tickling sensations his tears were making on his dirt smeared cheeks, his right arm refused to move from the shoulder. He tried again. This time by just moving the injured arm from the elbow. An excruciatingly painful jolt of electricity shot up the length of his arm. The pain spread through his neck, encircled his right ear and arced across his cheek bone. He clenched his eye lids tightly in an attempt to neutralize the pain which squeezed his right eyeball.

Afraid to stay so close to the house, Brad bit back his sobs, and with Rusty clearing the trail ahead of him, he went deeper into the forest. He knew exactly where he was going.

Moving as rapidly as his flopping right arm would allow he covered the half mile to the old sugaring road amazingly fast. He stepped out of the trees and gained the brush-free and relatively speedy passage of the road.

He stumbled up the old road with fresh tears flowing freely. Brad was forced against his will and better judgment to stop when the tears all but blinded him. He quickly wiped the tears away with the knuckles of his left hand.

Before moving on, he made an attempt to relieve the searing pain of his right arm. Even the slightest swinging motion created a surge of shocks up his arm. Brad grasped his right wrist with his left hand to immobilize it against his rib cage. As he moved on, the pain continued to shoot up his useless arm across his shoulder blades and up into his neck. He knew it wasn't doing much good to hold the arm while he kept bouncing it against his rib cage as he continued to hurry up the road toward the sugarhouse.

The majestic old sugar maple stood on the edge of the clearing like a giant sentinel. Brad could easily hide next to its six foot diameter trunk where its lowest limbs were still fifteen feet above his head. Its cracked and jagged gray bark was uncomfortable on his cheek, but he leaned motionless against the maple.

In front of him, the cabin's door stood open and the afternoon sun formed a pool of golden light on the worn floor boards just inside of the pine slab walls. From the shelter of the old tree, Brad watched the cabin's front door and windows.

He could now lift his right arm waist high and his tingling fingers rested on a forgotten galvanized iron sugaring spout protruding from the shaggy gray bark.

Slowly he wiped the remains of his tears away with his dirty left hand while Rusty trotted across the clearing. Before Brad could call her off the brown and white mongrel leaped over the granite slab front stoop. She glowed yellow for a second when she passed through the blaze of afternoon sunlight before disappearing into the dark bowels of the rough walled interior of the cabin. In seconds, she reappeared. Her nose to the floor as she raced across the length of the cabin then across the gray stone step and back out into the clearing. Her nose still on the ground, and her tail swinging in rapture, the dog charged up the small knoll to where Brad stood and flopped down at his feet.

Satisfied by his dog's behavior that no one was in or around the cabin Brad thought out loud, "That damn Ernie probably left the door open again, he never closes it."

His passage to the cabin was marked by the distinct swish of the stalks of dried up rye grass and goldenrod on the legs of his dungarees.

The sunlight flashed off of an age distorted window pane making Brad jump and his heart race. He froze in the middle of the clearing feeling vulnerable and alone.

His dog had disappeared behind the cabin but came trotting around the left side of the building at that moment.

Seemingly unconcerned she approached the front door again, jumped onto the granite step and stopped, turning towards Brad she asked him what the holdup was. Relieved he continued toward the cabin.

Brad sat on the bare wired bottom of the old bed frame and cradled his still tingling arm in his lap. It was only a couple of minutes before he decided the wires were hurting his skinny butt too much so he moved to a large splash of sunlight on the floor next to the north wall. The sun streamed through one of the windows on the front wall and warmed the worn wooden floor with its waning heat.

The sun warmed his upper body while he leaned back against the rough pine board wall with his hurt arm resting on his belly. His dog lay beside him, her backside scooted along the wall as she tried to share his small patch of solar heat.

He slid down the wall a bit further to relieve a couple of tender spots on his butt. The sudden jabbing of pain from the motion brought him up straight. A couple of seconds and the electricity-like shocks lessened enough so that he could again relax.

Brad tugged on the rawhide lace attached to his Big Ben. The silver dollar sized watch came out of its resting place in the front right pocket of his dungarees. It was almost five o'clock; he had been in the cabin for about three hours.

He had regained the basic use of his right arm, though it felt heavier than normal. Whenever he attempted to use his arm it was not without a bit of sweat and considerable effort to overcome a residual stiffness and pain which refused to release their grip on his mistreated muscles and nerves.

Brad explored his right shoulder gingerly with his left hand. The muscles on the top were tender and sore. After some gentle probing he detected the swelling of a bruise created by the yardstick. He could make a small amount of electricity fire down his right arm by putting pressure on the largest of his shoulder muscles. Involuntarily his right hand would start to open until he released the muscle.

He couldn't prevent the grimace that he made when he finally worked up his nerve to stand up.

It feels like I slept on it too long. Brad flexed his right hand open and closed then slowly twisted his wrist and elbow in a half circle. He strode across the cabin toward the door no longer worrying about losing his arm. The vision of a white gowned, smiling doctor holding his detached arm had flashed through his mind when his fear was at its peak. This vision from his over active imagination could now pass into oblivion.

In the early dusk Brad stood next to the trees at the edge of the Burgess backyard and watched the rear of the house long enough to be sure no one was outside in the yard. Rusty lay at his feet panting softly and watching her young master with her knowing, soft brown eyes. Satisfied that no one was outside or watching for him from inside the house, Brad slipped over the wall into the backyard. He cut diagonally across the yard to another part of the stonewall and stood next to the three foot thick trunk of a tall white pine.

It took an effort, but by using just his left arm he swung himself up and hooked the back of his right knee over a leg-sized limb. Using his still weak right arm to help, he pulled himself into the lower branches of the tree.

He sat fifty or sixty feet above the ground for several minutes as he plotted an act of revenge against his mother. An act which as usual would never come about. He would just forgive and forget. Exactly as his tears dried up and were forgotten the slowly fading tingle in his arm would stop and be forgotten also.

In the rapidly gathering night Brad watched his fat sister waddle out onto the driveway from the front of the house. A while before, she had hollered for him several times from the front steps before going back into the house. Now she was back. Brad continued to ignore her while he looked down into Their world. He felt independent and very brave up in the tree. He was concealed among its great limbs and a multitude of soft, clean-smelling needles. He felt above her and her kind, the people of the clan. People who were nothing without each other to brag to, lean on and lie to, but the worst of all, to use. Like now his mother was using his stupid sister. The old Lady never had the guts to face him whenever she lost control. Even her maternal instincts weren't strong enough to make her admit she had screwed up and hurt her child. Nor was it strong enough to make her run to him, hug him to her breast and say she was sorry.

"Brad! Brad! I know you're here! Your stupid, dirty dog is here! Come on, you brat! Supper is almost ready!"

Greta looked around nervously when she was through bellowing her dire threats like a dying cow. She didn't like being out in the rapidly fading light of early evening with Brad sneaking around. His sense of humor made her uneasy because she couldn't understand him. She knew he could come out of the deepening shadows at any time and scare her half to death. Her thoughts made her voice lose its force and the superior tones she affected whenever she was forced to deal with her younger sibling.

"Come on, Brad, you're going to get in trouble if you don't come in right now!"

Her voice was starting to break on the high notes from the stress of her predicament. She couldn't decide who she was more scared of: her mother who demanded she not come in until she found her brother: or of Brad, who she was sure hated her.

Brad smiled slightly when he felt the power he held over her.

He was thinking about how Greta looked like an overweight crab when she suddenly turned, and scuttled back around the house in the deepening shadows of night. He also knew she was going to squeal on him again.

She's going to get me in trouble.

Silently, he slipped down out of the tree. His sneakers whispered on the gray broken slabs of granite which made up the stonewall. He took a long bound onto the night blackened grass and started for the back door with a smile on his lips.

"Ma! Brad won't answer me!" Her heavy, clomping walk stopped abruptly. She glared at Brad with hate in her eyes.

He never looked up. He just kept smearing the homemade butter onto his boiled potatoes while out of the corners of his eyes he watched his sister's face turn bright red.

SIX

The wet sticky remains of last winter's snow drifts were still over his knees making it hard work just to walk up the old road and he could feel the sweat from his exertions trickling down between his prominent adolescent shoulder blades.

Behind him, Brad's new blue dungarees had marked his passage with watery blue streaks in the slushy snow.

The naked upper branches of the sentinel sugar maple were visible above the smaller trees. With his good eyesight and vivid imagination, Brad was sure he could see its buds were starting to swell.

It's almost April, the buds should be getting bigger.

Behind a screen of young birches and maples, the slab-sided cabin was not yet in sight when Brad forced his way through the last of the wet corn snow. He stepped out onto the snow flattened brown grasses and leaves on the roadbed.

With a buckskin clad hand he brushed away a trace of sweat that had found its way from beneath his red wool cap and was tickling an eyebrow. A small, pleased smile came to Brad's face when he looked at the buckskin gloves for the thousandth time and remembered their softness on his cheek and the warmth of his fingers. The gloves had been a 14th birthday present from Charlie Carr in January. They were definitely the best present Brad received that year. They were even better than the carton of .22 shells George and Muriel had given him for Christmas.

With a deep sigh of pleasure Brad strode off towards the sugarhouse with the spring sun continuing to warm him. As usual, his little .22 hung from his right hand and swung with each stride as he hurried along on his errand.

When he heard his brown and white mongrel's heavy panting and crashing passage through the brush followed by a sudden sharp yip. Brad threw his rifle up to his shoulder.

The dirty white snowshoe hare had stayed hidden under the brush pile for as long as it had dared. The mutt charging over its hiding place proved more than it could take. For the first twenty feet of the chase Rusty was right on its heels. But after those first two jumps the dog had lost her race. She was far outclassed by the big-footed hare.

Brad was sure the snowshoe was doing about forty miles an hour when it crossed the road in front of him. His right hand came up to pull back the stubborn hammer on the little rifle. The boy watched the brown and white hare streak between the patches of snow while he was still trying to cock the hammer of the .22. The hammer finally locked back with a loud CLICK. In the same instant the snowshoe disappeared over the small knoll on Brad's left. He squeezed the trigger anyway as the rifle sights crossed a twelve inch beech tree.

The mongrel never even flinched when the little .22 bullet snapped over her head on its way into the tree.

Brad shrugged and dropped another Winchester Super X hollow point into the rifle. He closed the short bolt before hollering at his dog. "Rusty! Come here, Jerk! Rabbit season is closed anyway."

The fresh image of the two-toned hare in his head made Brad chuckle to himself as he reached down to scratch his mongrel's ears. He thought the hare's coloring was really weird though he knew it was normal for a Varying Hare to shed its white winter coat for a fresh brown summer jacket.

It is another definite sign of spring, he thought to himself as he slapped the dog on her butt and ordered her away. "Get going, dog! And stay out of the sugarhouse!"

Instead of going straight to the cabin like usual, Brad turned right. He went over the top of a little knoll and down toward the creek bottom into a thick stand of mixed white pine and hemlock. Here and there, the dying and half rotten remains of an ancient sugar maple stood amongst the younger evergreens.

Brad realized a lot of people visited the cabin, but few (of these visitors) knew that the purpose of the cabin was to house the sugarhouse workers. Fewer of these same visitors realized the sugarhouse stood in the creek bottom below it.

Soon he heard the small spring fed creek burbling out from under a rock seventy yards or so up the hill from the hundred year old sugarhouse. The creek was less than two feet wide in most places and ran only two or three inches deep. Brad knew from many trips in the heat of the summer and in the dead of winter that it usually ran the same size year round. It was never any smaller and seldom larger. Even at the end of a heavy snow melt and the hard spring rains which followed, it grew very little.

The water was so cold it hurt his teeth anytime he stuck his face into it and sucked a mouth full of the crystal clear liquid. Brad liked its flavor and smell of the granite and quartz it boiled out of.

He pulled off his new buckskin gloves then tucked them into the waistband of his pants before he braced a bare hand on each side of the creek and carefully lowered himself onto his knees. The wet cold from the damp soil penetrated to his right knee cap and his snow wet dungarees trickled ice cold water into the tops of his calf high rubber boots.

He puckered his lips and noisily sucked some of the cold water into his mouth. The shock brought a grimace to his face and made him gasp. While still breathless, Brad sucked his lips against his front teeth and probed them with his tongue to relieve the pain of the cold shock. Brad stood as the pain subsided and still a little breathless turned downstream to where the little creek disappeared through the sugarhouse's brick foundation.

Ever since he had discovered it three years before, the sugarhouse and its history had fascinated him. When he first saw it, the frame building had seemed immense even though the rough board exterior was dwarfed by the huge old trees that surrounded it. The diagonal pattern of the weathered board front was interrupted by two openings. A window was to the east, on the left. On the right was a larger opening, large enough for a horse to enter. The double doors which had hung on it were now lying on the ground in a bed of rotting maple leaves and hemlock needles.

Each spring the clear, slightly sticky sap collected from the numerous sugar maples on the ridge was brought to the sugarhouse to be evaporated and transformed into sweet, golden maple syrup. Some of the syrup was evaporated even further, and turned into pure maple sugar.

Barely visible from where he stood, running almost the full length of the sheet iron roof, was a wooden louvered cupola. This was where all of the steam from the huge evaporating pans escaped the building.

A pickup truck sized galvanized iron tank stood outside on the west side of the sugarhouse. This side of the building had a granite foundation which was set into the side of the knoll. The remains of an old sledge trail ran through the trees above the tank. Brad knew ox and/or horse drawn sledges brought the maple sap from the lower ridge to the west and dumped it into the iron tank. It stayed in this tank until the sap already in the shallow evaporators was boiled down into syrup and had been transferred to tin cans.

Running through the trees over Brad's head, was an elaborate galvanized iron pipe system. This myriad of pipes brought the sap off of the higher ridge to the east and into an identical iron tank on the east side of the sugarhouse.

The pain riddled "Yips!" and sudden barking from his companion snapped Brad from his reverie.

He snatched up his .22 and took off on a dead-run for the sugarhouse.

Brad jerked back the hammer of the rifle in one motion. His thumb automatically held the hammer, and his fingers were cupped around the stock and trigger guard to protect himself from the trigger catching on the brush and the rifle going off prematurely.

The foul smell of porcupine feces was stronger than usual and Brad knew before he slipped through the door opening that there was at least two porcupines inside the building.

He ran down the left side of the waist high, red brick firebox to where Rusty was constantly yipping, crying and growling at the same time.

He saw her white feathered tail wag furiously as it stuck out of the iron bound door opening in the bricks. This door led into the dark ash-filled brick firebox. The shallow galvanized evaporating pans sat on top of the brick walls.

Brad heard the scraping and rustlings that only quill pigs can make, coming from under the shallow pans. Their stench was terrible and growing stronger as he came to the opening.

He thrust his left arm into the opening and grabbed the dog's leather collar. With a jerk he brought his hand and the mongrel out through the iron rimmed opening.

"Oh! Oh, shit! God damn! Sit damn it! Sit down! Oh, shit!" His rubber booted foot caught the brown and white dog on the chest as the irate animal tried to squeeze back into the opening through the red brick wall. As he felt his grip slipping Brad grabbed her collar tighter. He set his rifle in the galvanized iron evaporator so his right hand would be free to grab the cast iron firebox door. Long ago the door had come off of its hinges and was now lying in the porcupine dung which covered the wooden floor. He jammed it into the opening to prevent his struggling dog from going back into the firebox. It would also keep the porkies inside the firebox until he could deal with them.

The dog's continual whining and crying made him realize something else was wrong with her. Down on one knee, Brad pulled his friend over to him and turned her head to face him. She yelped and cried at his touch. Even in the weak light seeping in through the dirt encrusted windows, Brad could see several quills sticking from the side of her muzzle below her right eye.

Animals and porcupine quills were not new to Brad. He hurried the stubborn dog out of the sugarhouse since he was sure he would need a pair of pliers to pull the quills.

Not only did she object to being led, she was very aggressive. Right now she wanted back into the sugarhouse to do battle with the foul smelling thing that had hurt her. For Rusty, it would be a losing battle, but nonetheless, she wanted a battle of revenge.

When they broke out into the meadow from the cooler creek bottom, the warm noon sun met them. He leaned his little rifle against the sentinel tree before forcing the exuberant dog to sit long enough for him to look at her face in the bright sun.

It's over a mile walk to get a pair of pliers. Maybe I can pull them out without any. I don't think they're in all that far. If I nip the ends with my knife they should come right out.

Pure luck, he thought, when several quills came right out of the dog's face.

"Alright!" He hollered as he held up the quills in front of the panting and whining mongrel.

"Shut up and hold still. There's only one left!"

The remaining quill was causing Brad some second thoughts about trying to pull it out with his fingers. It appeared to be deep in the side of her nose and very little was sticking out to grab onto.

His companion watched him with her soft brown eyes and he could see the trust and love which only a creature like this mongrel could hold for a person.

Brad made a move toward the remaining quill and touched it lightly. Even Brad's light touch made the dog jump and whine quietly. His fingers started to shake and he felt cold even in the warm spring sun.

"Oh, shut up. Don't be a baby." He spoke softly. He became older than his years when he realized the trust she was placing in him.

He spit on his thumb and index finger before rubbing them together. He grasped the quill, barely getting a grip on the short protrusion.

A soft, "easy now, hold still," a short, "yip", and a sudden jump as the dog got her feet under her and it was over. Her pink tongue licked her nose, wrapping itself up, over and around her muzzle and a tiny spot of blood disappeared.

Brad's friend looked up at him with brown eyes full of gratitude, there were a couple of quick wags of her white feathered tail and she was gone.

You, wimp. Brad thought as he watched her white tail disappear down the road. He knew the dog would beat him to the house and she would be hiding under his bed when he got there. She had finally run out of anger and with the loss of her anger had gone her desire to do battle.

Alone, Brad returned to the sugarhouse and found the porkies had made good their escape. They had somehow left the brick firebox. The cast iron door was still where Brad had jammed it into the opening, but the pitch black interior was quiet.

"Damn, there goes a dollar in bounty!" He spoke out loud when he realized he wasn't going to find the quill pigs.

Disgusted, he went about doing what he had come to do and that was to take as many of the two and a half gallon tin sap buckets as he could carry. The Frenchs had given him permission to use the buckets and also to tap as many of their sugar maples as he wanted.

Throughout the afternoon Brad made the two mile round trip to the sugarhouse carrying six or seven buckets and their lids on each return trip. The last trip he made was for a bucket full of spouts. Some were galvanized iron, but there was also a great many older ones. These were hand carved out of maple and birch with a forged iron ring to hang the bucket from.

At the Burgess's house with his gathering and collecting over Brad took one of the galvanized buckets into the kitchen where his mother stood at the sink with her back to him.

"What are you doing, Brad?"

"I need some hot water to wash my sap buckets with. Charlie said to get them good and clean because they haven't been used for a long time. Can I get it in the sink?"

"Get what?"

"Hot water to wash the buckets."

"Not now. Can't you see I'm busy washing out a few things, I'll let you know when I'm through."

Brad looked into the sink. He saw a tee shirt and pair of his shorts along with a pair of his father's white work socks. He could smell the strong, nose twitching odor of bleach and wondered. In the corner of the glossy white painted kitchen stood the new wringer washing machine his mother had put up a howl for all last summer.

SEVEN

Even though the mid-June sun boiling through the eight foot tall windows was incredibly hot, a cool breeze flowing through the corner classroom made it bearable. Mr. Sargant, the high school principal and algebra teacher, told the boys to open the windows all the way. With only fifteen minutes of class remaining he left them to do their homework.

In and out of the way corner of the room Brad sat on the back of his chair. With summer vacation just a few days away, he was thinking about how fast the year had gone by. How uneventful it had been. He knew that he would be spending time on Charlie's farm, but beyond that Brad didn't really have clue to what the summer held for him.

From his perch he not only overlooked the park and school ball diamond, but could see anyone entering either the high school or the new elementary school next door. Before class started Brad noticed a familiar girl's figure walk across the short distance between the high school to the elementary school. He was still wondering if his eyes and mind were playing tricks on him. When the bell which signaled the last class change rang, Brad had decided he was mistaken and she wasn't there. He was vaguely disappointed, and strolled down the side of the classroom looking out each window as he passed it. He was really still clinging to a little bit of hope that the rumor he had heard was true and he had really seen his friend.

Brad stepped into the crowded hallway against the traffic flow of junior and senior high school students heading for their classes.

Damn! They're like a bunch of sheep. Miss Estes standing there by her classroom door looks like a pissed off old dog ready to nip someone's butt.

A glimpse of her coal black hair out of the corner of his eye was all Brad needed. He swiveled to his right in time to see the familiar shapely hips and legs retreating down the stairway. The image of the softness of her dark brown eyes dominated his mind and quickened his pulse. Her shoulder length black hair reflected the sunlight in miniature rainbows when she tilted her head in greeting to one of the teachers.

He paused, but only debated with himself for a fraction of a second. He knew if he took a short cut down the 'up' stairway to the ground floor, he could intercept her before she reached the front door.

His passage down the stairs took some skillful dodging of the hurrying students and teachers coming up the stairs to descend the same stairs.

Brad felt a large hand grab for his ankle which he sidestepped easily, but he almost barreled into Miss Bishop the young and very sexy new math teacher. Any other time he would gladly have careened into his favorite teacher's book filled arms, but now he didn't have time for there was a more important woman headed for the front door. He glanced over his shoulder as he continued headlong down the stairs and he caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the school jocks staring down at him with a malicious grin spread from ear to ear. He knew who had tried to trip him. He couldn't be bothered enough to care. He just wanted to get down the stairs.

"Slow down, Brad!" A loud feminine voice followed him down the stairs.

He knew it was Miss Bishop and raised his right hand in acknowledgment but never slowed down. He knew he was safe from any retribution.

There were only two of his classmates on the bottom and final flight of stairs. Brad descended the stairs three at a time partially riding down the shiny oak banister on his right arm. Sliding across the hallway on his leather soled penny loafers he was just in time to watch the heavy oak front door swinging shut on its pneumatic closer. The threat of two days expulsion loomed before him when he hit the thick brass crash bar on the run sending the heavy double doors flying open. The heat of the afternoon sun struck him in the face and the taste the fresh breeze carrying a hint of perfume hung in the air. At the bottom of the foot polished granite stairs she had stopped and turned to the sound of the doors crashing open. Her dark brown eyes widened in surprise, while her lips, colored with a touch of a soft pink to set off her golden complexion, curved up into a charming and sincere smile.

Brad's heart melted as it had dozens of times before. He knew the smile on his face was big and stupid. He felt self conscious and at the mercy of the events about to unfold here on the granite steps. Worse yet he was at a complete loss for words. The smile stayed glued to his lips and his words refused to come out. The terrible thoughts which were crawling through his mind kept trying to articulate themselves in place of the words he wanted to say.

She'll think I'm retarded if I don't say something.

What can I say?

Hi! It's nice to see you. I'm a jerk and a boob who nobody likes or takes seriously. But I'm in love with you and I want to screw you.

Shit! Talk sense jerk.

Her black hair reflected the sunlight like a freshly broken piece of obsidian. She wore it swept down towards her gently slanting left eye and pulled back from the right side of her face. It was as Brad remembered it.

The girl's pleasant and welcoming smile along with Muriel's advice, "If you can't think of anything else to say Brad, just tell a woman something she wants to hear," prompted him to talk as the words finally made their way through his molasses mind.

"Your hair looks just the same. It's still as pretty as ever."

"Well, hello to you too, Brad. Yes, thank you, it's still the same."

Brad knew in an instant that it had worked. He went down the stairs two at a time hurrying to reach where Elinor Simpson stood with her right hand out to him and the prettiest, softest smile Brad had ever received in his life still on her lips. He realized she was smaller than he remembered. She was at least two inches shorter than he.

"Won't you get in trouble coming out here during school hours, Brad?"

He listened to her husky voice and felt the familiar shiver go down his spine before he answered.

"Probably. But that's alright, I only have a study hall and nothing to do in it. I'll just tell Miss Estes that I have a stomach ache."

Their friendship renewed itself when they both laughed and enjoyed the inside joke. The old maid school teacher known to all, teachers and students alike, as Miss Estes, never questioned a teenage girl's excuse that she skipped class because of stomach cramps. It was the joke of the school.

They stood at the bottom of the stairs still holding hands. Elinor's small hand was soft and delicate in Brad's larger, callused grip. Her head was cocked attentively to one side. Though now an older woman of nineteen, Elinor was giving her full attention to fifteen year old Brad as an old friend and an equal.

"I really am glad you saw me Brad, I wanted to talk to you before I left. I'm only going to be staying with my folks for a few more days."

"I was sure it was you right away. How come you're here? At school, I mean."

"I came to get a copy of my high school record. I'm going to college in California next fall. Did I tell you? Oh, no! I haven't seen you to tell you. I'm sorry." Elinor went on in a burst of enthusiasm. "My husband is in the Navy. We're going to be stationed in Long Beach for the next three years so I transferred my credits from Keene Teachers College so I can get my degree while we're there."

"Then I won't see you again? Before you leave, that is?" Brad felt a surge of disappointment when he realized Elinor had a husband. If the talk had been true two years ago, she also had a baby.

"Oh, no! I'd like to see you again before I go. In fact, my folks are having a cookout Sunday and I want you to come. You have to come, it will be fun."

"Well, I don't know, I may have to work." Brad started improvising excuses. He had never been there, and though he knew her father and liked him, he wasn't sure he wanted to go to their home.

"Say you'll come Brad Burgess. My sister will be there."

Brad felt dumb. Sister? What sister? The look of disbelief on Elinor's face did not help him. "I . .I!" He stammered as the flush of his embarrassment turned his face bright red and burned his ears. Her warm hand tighten on his, and felt her warm breath on his cheek when her lips brushed his cheek.

"I thought you knew Ginny was my half sister. I think everyone else between here and Nashua knows it. Not that it's any of their business." Elinor continued to hold his hand and the gentle smile on her lips reassured Brad. "I suppose you think I have a baby too." Elinor said it as if she was reading Brad's mind. She studied him through her long dark lashes her eyes intent but always gentle. "Well I don't and I never did. I was never pregnant. "So, are you coming to our cookout?"

With a light heart Brad nodded a smiling yes before he spoke: "I'll be there. What time?"

"Ask Ginny tomorrow she'll know then. Tomorrow is Friday, right? June thirteenth?

"I hope you aren't superstitious. You aren't are you, Brad? "

She doesn't know anything about it yet, so don't expect an answer before tomorrow." Elinor let go of his hand and stepped back before speaking again. "See you Sunday. Right?"

As he turned away and started up the steep gray granite steps, Brad smiled, raised his right hand in a small wave and answered, "Sunday!"

Brad had worried most of the evening and this morning about the consequences of his invitation to Elinor's cookout. He had never said more than a passing 'hi' to Elinor's half-sister Ginny. Now he had to discuss with her the time of the cookout and what to bring and wear.

Everyone was going to first period except Brad. He just sat and watched the door at the back of the room. He was sure Ginny would be waiting for him in the crowded hallway where everyone in the whole senior and junior high school would see him make a fool of himself. His hands were damp with sweat and a scenario of rejection passed through his mind. It was the same disaster he had been anticipating all of last night.

"I'm sorry, Brad, but Elinor didn't mean it. We're having a cookout but you aren't invited, because my new boyfriend is coming instead.

Oh, no! You don't know him. He is from Amherst and goes to Dartmouth. He's a junior, you know. Oh, you don't know him? How stupid of you."

"Brad. You had better get to class. The voice of his homeroom teacher broke through his reverie. Brad jumped out of his seat and started for the back of the room.

"I'm going Mr. Getty, I was trying to remember where I put my homework."

Brad panicked as he realized the class charging into the room was Ginny's English class. He bolted for the door and into Ginny's arms.

Ginny looked at him expectantly, she said something Brad couldn't decipher, and then waited patiently for him to answer.

Brad studied the gentle curves of her small adolescent breasts. As usual when dealing with a woman, even a fourteen year old woman, Brad remained speechless. He felt the heat run up his neck, spread through both ears, and create that awful clammy feeling in his armpits. Not even Ginny's open face and her Elinor-soft smile could overcome the panic he felt. He hurriedly turned away. Muttered, "Hi, Ginny," under his breath before fleeing down the hall.

In his haste to retreat he almost wiped out Miss Bishop; again.

"Slow down, Brad!" Again reached his ears.

He stopped at the door to the biology lab and turned back to where he had left Ginny staring after him. The two women now had their heads together looking in his direction. Brad became even more self conscious than he had felt short moments before.

Although the contrast between the two women was distinct Brad could not really tell who looked the oldest. Ginny had an intimidating maturity that made up for her young years and Joanna Bishop's soft features seemed to disavow their years. Ginny had an olive complexion, while Joanna was fair with startling green eyes and a hint of red in her shoulder length brown hair. Although Ginny's short pixie cut wasn't the shiny black of her half-sister's, it was still a very dark brown. Her eyes, like Elinor's, were deep, soft and a dark brown.

"Are you going to talk to her or be chicken forever?"

Brad stopped dead in his tracks halfway through the door leaving Miss Bishop's math class. The soft intimate tone of her voice brought a smile to his face before he turned and walked back into the classroom.

"Sit down, Brad. I'll give you a hall pass to get into study hall or better yet you can go to the Post Office for Miss Lynn." She spoke softly with her usual self assurance.

"I understand you were about the only friend Elinor had in this school when she was here. Did you know that?"

Brad remained mute for several seconds. He was not prepared for this kind of conversation and was not at all comfortable. This was a side of his favorite teacher he had never seen before. In reality he was infatuated with Joanna Bishop, and was having trouble dealing with this before unknown side of her.

"I never thought about it one way or another. She was always easy to talk to so I did. That's all."

"She was a very lonely girl and had never been accepted here even by most of the teachers, but you never thought about it. Did you?"

"I don't know, she's just a pretty girl I happened to like and could always talk to. Usually."

Joanna's perfume slipped across the desk top which separated them. It made Brad think of a spring night, warm and still.

"I visited with Elinor a lot during the last couple of days. Do you know what she told me?" Brad's friend paused. Studied him with her intense green eyes for a moment before continuing, "Obviously you don't. When you were thirteen, you punched out a classmate. The following week, you got suspended for two days after kicking one of the school's varsity jocks in the kneecap the night before a major basketball game. All because some people were making derogatory remarks about 'Japs and Jap lovers'."

"That's not quite the way it was." Brad said with a sheepish look on his face. He forced himself to look her in the eye which gave him his courage back. Now he realized she was on his side. She was unlike the teachers and coaches who only cared about their basketball star.

Miss Bishop interrupted Brad. She didn't want him to justify his actions to her. "Do you know Elinor's mother? Or, have you ever seen her?"

"Well, sure. They live near me. I go by their house sometimes when I go fishing" Brad answered.

Joanna laughed quietly, her even white teeth showing slightly between her red lips.

"Elinor said you were the most naive person she has ever known. I'm afraid I have to agree with her." She paused and studied Brad's eyes before going on.

"Brad, Elinor's mother is Japanese. The girls' father met her when he was stationed at the Treasure Island brig before the war. She was born in Japan but raised and educated in Oakland."

The sensitive woman could see Brad was confused and embarrassed so she did her best to put him at his ease.

"I guess if you never came face to face with a person and if you weren't concerned enough about her nationality it would never occur to you she was anything but another American."

"I'm confused, if Elinor is half Japanese, then Ginny.

His friend raised her hands into the air in a sign of surrender. Her pleasant friendly laugh sparked through the room.

"That's a different story and I'm not going to get into it. I didn't mean to talk so much as it was. So now hurry to Miss Lynn's room and find out what she needs at the post office!"

"But, Ginny?"

She smiled. "Just go, Brad, the girl will tell you the rest if you will just talk to her. She wants to be your friend, whether you know it or not. Now go!"

The brass bar gave easily when he bounced his hip against it and the big oak door swung open quietly on its well oiled brass hinges.

He was carrying several large manila envelopes in his hands and there was almost thirty dollars of Miss Lynn's money in the front right pocket of his slacks when he stepped out into the warm air.

She was standing off to one side, almost on the outer edge of the steps and at first he didn't notice her. Brad turned to the small sound her soft leather slipper made against the granite step. Their eyes met across the short width of the steps.

"Hi. Are you going to the Post Office for Miss Lynn?"

Ginny's voice was soft and mellow to Brad's ears. He held her gaze while he waited for her to continue. Truthfully, he knew he had lost all ability to talk to this very pretty girl. He had always been sure she would never be interested in talking to him much less being his friend.

She went on obviously giving up on any response from Brad. "Do you mind if I walk with you? I have the money from Saturday night's Sock Hop to put in the bank and Miss Bishop thought it would be a good idea if I went with you instead of alone."

"No, oh! No, I don't mind. Let's go!" Brad could feel the heat of his blush. His courage faded as he stammered out the words and struggled to meet her eyes.

Ginny broke their gaze by looking down at her feet before she gracefully swung her right foot out around her left and came a step closer to Brad. She gave a short giggle and looked up at him. You had a visit with my sister yesterday." It was a statement of fact. "Do you want to come?"

Brad knew it was a question he would have to answer. Looking down to were she stood one step below him he realized she was not so tall after all. He could easily look over her head from his one step advantage. He continued to study the top of her head and finally found his voice again. "Sure. What time?"

"We'd better go or the bank will close before we get downtown." Ginny reminded him.

Ginny started down the stairs ahead of Brad making him hustle to catch up with her on the concrete sidewalk.

"Anytime after lunch will be alright."

They walked side by side their shoulders comfortably touching every few steps. Brad watched her out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want her to catch him staring, but he was still trying to figure out why everyone else knew she was Elinor's half-sister.

Her nose was not at all like Elinor's small Asian nose. Brad thought of a term he had heard somewhere which fit Ginny's nicely, feminine Roman. Not too big. Straight, tapered and a little more noticeable than some.

"Elinor said you didn't know we were sisters. Is that true? You really didn't know?"

"No, I didn't. It's true. I guess I never thought about it. And I never saw you with her or with Bud. He's your father, isn't he?"

Yes, but my mother was Italian not Japanese. That's why Elinor and I are half sisters. My mother died when I was only eight months old. So I don't remember her at all. My Gramma raised me, and I lived with her until last year when she died." Ginny spoke in a quiet, hushed voice and the light wind in the new leaves almost covered her voice. Brad was close enough to hear her. He felt the heat from her hand though he wasn't conscious of her taking his in hers.

"We'd better hurry, Ginny. It's already ten till three." Brad could see the clock on the old brick town hall. "I'll come Sunday if you want me to."

"Of course I do. Besides, Dad said to tell you he has a new bow for you to shoot."

"Come on, we'd better hurry! Ginny was still holding Brad's right hand and pulled it against her waist before they started to run up Main Street towards the bank.

EIGHT

Brad was leaning back against the weather bleached skeleton of an oak which was about 500 years old; his feet were propped up on a hunk of granite whose speckled white, gray and black surface was smeared with blue/green lichens. The almost summer sun was flashing and dancing on the specks of white quartz and black obsidian embedded in the granite outcroppings around him. At 2,000 feet above sea level the light breezes warded off the heat of the sun so he felt cool and refreshed after his climb to the top of Lynd Mountain.

From his lofty viewpoint Brad scanned the horizon picking out the peaks he considered part of his domain. To the southwest the morning sun was sparkling on the windows of the Pack Monadnock Mountain fire tower. As the crow flies it was only five or six miles away, but it was a 45 minute drive just to get to the bottom of the mountain.

To the northeast standing twelve hundred feet tall was Joe English Hill. Its dome-shaped rock face boldly dominated the smaller rolling hills and river bottoms surrounded it.. Joe English was the only hill of consequence between the tiny town of Lynd and the city of Manchester. This strange shaped piece of rock had been used by the military during WWII as a bombing range. The range had not been used for many years and the predominant bomb used had been a small cast iron affair loaded with a smoke producing charge of black powder guaranteed to give off a huge puff of blackish smoke when it detonated.

Often Brad would sit on his mountain and daydream about airplanes and fearless pilots dominating the air over Southern New Hampshire. He would watch the skies surrounding Joe English and soon his imagination would see the swift silver P-51 Mustang fighters and the twin boomed P-38s hurtling out of the sun making their destructive runs on the granite enemy.

His backrest had a trunk over four feet around void of any bark. It bore the scars and remnants of charcoal from the numerous blueberry pasture fires which had eventually killed it. No tree could survive for long in the middle of a cultivated blueberry pasture. Each spring after the sun had started to turn warm but the snow was still laying deep in the shade of the hand-built stonewalls, the farmers would trudge up the steep roads to burn their pastures. The ash fertilized the low growing blueberry bushes and the fire removed the competition by killing the fresh greening sprouts of alder, birch and willow bushes setting up the pasture for another productive year.

The high pitched screech of a hawk as it soared across the top of the mountain made Brad look up into the upper branches of the once magnificent huge oak he was leaning against. The limbs, though worn blunt by time and weather still held the hawk's nest of piled up twigs and branches securely in their grasp. The pair of hawks had been gathering the nesting material from the slopes of the mountain for several seasons, and the nest had grown so much in height over the last three years Brad was beginning to think it would eventually fall out of the tree.

Loud and angry voices had penetrated Brad's bedroom walls until well after midnight last night. They had made it impossible for him to go to sleep. Before he finally drifted into sleep he made a conscious decision to leave the house at first light and escape into the hills for a day by himself.

The shadows were long and weak when Brad woke from his short and restless night's sleep. He knew it was still early and he didn't have to think about where to go. He just wandered about the hills seeking privacy and escape from the turmoil of his family. Wherever his legs took him was fine with him. So when he reached the top of the mountain he stopped, not so much to rest, but to enjoy his world and contemplate life.

Right now life was pretty complicated in the Burgess household. It seemed to be impossible for anyone to enjoy life even a little. A week ago Greta had announced her plans to quit school at the end of her junior year and marry her true love as soon as she turned eighteen. Her birthday which was in six more days was the day she had picked for her wedding.

Their mother had immediately come down with another migraine.
Brad couldn't understand what the fuss was all about. Greta had few if any friends at school, and besides she could barely pass her classes.

He dozed with the sun still warm on his face and listened to the song in the hawk's high pitched cries. The turmoil of his family momentarily forgotten and his thoughts pleasant. A smile replaced the frown Brad had been wearing for several days. He felt better than he had for a long time and enjoyed letting his mind wander. He dreamt about his new friend. Her soft feminine image flooded his mind's eye and her sweet soft voice still murmured in his ear. He looked off to the west towards Ginny's home. He wondered if she was there and contemplated hiking off the mountain to her house. He thought about the clothes he had on and changed his mind. He had put on an old pair of dungarees that had hardly any knees left in them. They were about two inches short and had stains down the left leg. He was positive he didn't want either of the Simpson girls to see him dressed this way.

I can sneak into my room and put on a pair of school pants then go over to Ginny's. That's what I'll do!

A trail ran south along the ridge line just three or four hundred feet below where Brad was sitting before turning West so it wasn't long before he was on the trail and headed West down towards a lower part of the mountain. There was a place halfway down the mountain where he could climb out onto a granite ledge and look directly into the Burgess's yard. Often when they had company he didn't want to see, Brad would check from his viewpoint to be sure they were gone before he went down the mountain.

Today was no exception. Although it was Saturday, Brad knew his father would be at work but he wasn't sure if Edgar would already be there or not.

Edgar had been the problem last night as he out-shouted everyone about the upcoming marriage. Other than losing some sleep Brad could care less about Edgar and last night. Though a week ago he had tangled with Edgar over Rusty, Brad's brown and white mutt. He had caught Edgar teasing the simple, trusting dog. Edgar hadn't know Brad was still in the house.

He was getting ready to go hunting and already had his cartridge belt on with his skinning knife hanging from it. As soon as he heard his dog being teased, Brad stepped into the living room holding his .22 rifle at hip level. Although he was terrified of the tall gangly, wannabe biker, he stared into Edgar's eyes for several seconds before telling him to leave his dog alone. As he was turning away from Edgar he added that if Edgar ever touched her again he would "be sorry." Brad called his dog to him before he turned and left the house. Fearfully Brad went across the yard. He was sure Edgar would attack and destroy him at any second.

Reaching the safety of the trees, with the dog at his heels, Brad stopped and listened to Edgar and Greta hollering at each other. Shaking his head Brad looked down at the panting mongrel. "They deserve each other dog. I'm not going to get near him again. He scares me."

Remembering, Brad looked for the would-be biker's faded black Mercury 2-door from the safety of his ledge.

Shit. Edgar is there. Guess I'll go up to the blueberry pasture and check the cows.

With his .22 swinging easily in his right hand Brad turned around and headed back up the mountain.

After a short ten minute climb he could see the south slopes of Rose Mountain two and a half miles away. Around on its northwest slope another quarter mile or so beyond where he could see was the fenced pasture where Charlie Carr kept his yearling stock each summer. It was about two miles from the farm and off the beaten path so whenever he was on the mountain Brad would drift over that way and check on the heifers and steers they had put in the pasture several weeks before.

In the pass between Lynd Mountain and Rose Mountain was a small, fast running mountain stream. In the creek were seven and eight inch native squaretail trout. Just the right size to eat. And on more than one occasion Brad and his dog had made a meal of the sweet tasting trout.

After crossing the high open pasture land, Brad dropped down into the tree line. As he entered the trees he turned a bit more to the west. He wanted to hit his favorite spot on the creek. He moved fast through the terrain between the two mountains. It was rocky, full of ledges and several huge white pines that had been blown down in the hurricane which had been the scourge of the Atlantic seaboard in September of 1938. Reaching the creek at a series of one and two foot drops where the crystal clear water ran from one hogshead-sized pool to another. Each miniature fall made its own unique rush of sound which harmonized into a gentle blend of small cascading waterfalls and gurgling rapids. Brad sat on a moss covered rock near the middle of the group of small falls. He could smell and feel the cold moisture laden air drifting up from the creek. It felt good on his hot face and upper body.

With his skinning knife it only took Brad a couple of minutes to cut a six foot piece of willow switch. From the small purse-sized leather pouch on his belt, Brad dug out about twelve feet of gut fly leader and a small bluish gray mosquito fly which he tied onto the leader material. He tied these to the tip of the willow switch to make a fishing pole.

One of Brad's favorite trout spots was only a hundred feet or so down the creek from where he'd started. The water had undercut a piece of granite ledge creating a kidney-shaped eddy that was dammed up by the roots of a blown-down hemlock. The pool was several feet across and four feet deep under the ledge. Always the perfect lair for a squaretail or two.

He slipped through the brush and trees and approached the pool from the upstream, uphill side. Cautiously he poked his willow rod through the brush overhanging the water. With a flick of his wrist he sent the tiny blue-gray fly sailing out to the middle of the water where it cascaded into the pool. The feather mosquito touched the water and bobbed across the surface several inches before being rolled under by the eddy's undercurrent. The fly disappeared in the roiling water, but Brad could see the gut leader being swept in an arc toward the undercut rock. The leader straightened out with a snap from the force of the current which spit the fly out into the burbling flow at the base of the pool.

The fish's off-white belly flashed in a tiny spot of sunlight as it rolled out from under the log dam. The gut leader twanged on the willow pole when Brad set the hook. He lifted the seven inch trout out of the stream and swung it into the relative safety of the brush and leaves on the uphill bank.

That's a start. One more for me, and one for Rusty.

Brad flicked the fly back into the water.

He hadn't expected to catch a fish from under the log. Before he had caught them where his fly was now drifting in an arc with the current into the undercut of the ledge. The arc snapping out of the leader and the sudden dipping of the willow pole were the only warnings that a larger than normal trout had struck his fly. He never saw a flash of its off-white belly before the hungry fish rolled under and inhaled the small feathered concoction.

Brad jerked against the tugging and in his excitement sent the trout sailing across the creek while the fly it had spit out snapped past his ear. He dropped the pole and in two jumps from rock to rock he was across the stream and grabbing for the slippery trout. It was flipping and struggling between the rocks to get back into the icy water. Brad finally slipped a finger into its gills. He carried the trout up away from the creek and set it safely beside the smaller fish he had caught only a moment before. The big trout had a deep belly and thick slab-sides which made it a meal in itself.

That one has got to be almost a half pounder.

It was just a short way further down the hill to a small flat where, hidden amongst some chest-high boulders that lined this side of the creek, Brad had built a stone fireplace. Here in the moist creek bottom he could have a fire anytime year round.

While the fire popped and crackled its way into a bed of coals, Brad gutted the fish and rinsed them off in the cold water. He cut two lengths of willow from the butt end of his fishing pole. On each of these eighteen inch lengths of stick he hung a split trout. When the flames of his fire died down he propped the fish over the bed of fresh coals and let them roast.

Brad sat in the only patch of bright sun penetrating the thick foliage. He had his back against a small sun warmed boulder. His dog was stretched out next to him panting quietly in the shade. Both of their bellies were full of trout and the Baker's semi-sweet chocolate that Brad had swiped from his mother's kitchen. He kept a store of chocolate and some salt in the survival pouch hanging on his belt.

"Come on dog! Let's go!"

His friend was on her feet her tail wagging exuberantly before Brad got a chance to move. Instantly she was running upstream towards the spot she knew Brad would across the dirt road.

"What have you been doing today? You look beat."

Brad hadn't quite made it to the highway before he met Charlie.

"I went up and checked the stock. They kicked the spring full of dirt again."

"I know. They keep stomping the bank down into it. I guess we'll have to take the tractor up there and make the whole spring bigger and shape the bank so the dirt won't fall in.

"Get in. I'll give you a ride home. I have to go by Joanna's this afternoon. You might as well go with me and we'll do it now."

"What Joanna?"

"Bishop of course."

Brad stood in silence for several seconds leaning on the driver's door looking off into the mountains.

"Are you going to get in, or are you going to walk home?"

Brad turned towards his friend before speaking.

"You mean the teacher? Miss Bishop? From Wilmet? He asked Charlie before hollering at his dog.

"Rusty! Get in the car stupid!" Brad held the door open for his dog before he flopped down onto the front seat and closed the door.

"Since when have you been visiting Joanna Bishop, Charlie?"

"Yes, Joanna Bishop, Wilmet High School math teacher. Ever since you introduced us at Joslin's hardware store last month".

Charlie turned away with a smile and started his new-used 1950 4-door Ford.

"You going to Wilmet with me or not?"

Not waiting for an answer Charlie backed the car around in the narrow gravel road and started back the way he had come.

"What time is the cookout at Simpson's tomorrow? Joanna said you would know."

"So that's why you traded cars. You wanted something sharp and cool to impress a school teacher with. Is your mother still pissed off about it?"

"She is always, as you so indelicately put it, 'pissed off'. It doesn't matter what I buy or who I see, she gets upset. I'm afraid this time she is in for a long siege of being 'pissed off'.

"I thought she was mad just because you bought the car. Did you tell her you were going out with someone?"

"I think your mother told her, Brad. Somebody did anyway. Right after Joanna and I stayed overnight in Boston on her birthday."

"The Saturday night when I helped your sister milk? That weekend?"

"Yes. That's when I came home to cold stares."

"Ha-ha! That's funny!"

"What's so damn funny about that?"

"The afternoon, when your sister picked me up to help her, my mother told her you had a hot date with some woman you had picked up in Mack's Tavern!"

"I have never been in that low life beer joint much less picked someone up there! Damn! No wonder they were so mad!

"So what time should we be at Simpson's?"

"Ginny said they don't go to church. It wouldn't be any big deal anytime after lunch. "Who else is going? Anyone you know, Charlie?"

"Joanna didn't say, she just called me at work and asked if I wanted to go with her. How come you're going?" Charlie asked warmly with a big grin. "I didn't know you had a girl friend, much less the two Simpson girls. You could do a lot worse. But both?"

Brad ignored Charlie and his question. He hid his embarrassment by turning to look out the side window.

"We should drop your dog off, and tell your folks where you're going.

Shouldn't we? Isn't that what you want?" Charlie persisted.

He could feel Charlie watching him and since Charlie was driving well below the speed limit Brad knew his friend was waiting for him to talk. Charlie could always tell when he had something on his mind and needed to talk.

"I-I'd." Brad turned back to the window.

"Did I say something wrong, Brad? If I did, I'm sorry."

"No, it isn't you. I don't want to tell anybody at home about going to Simpson's tomorrow. I'm just going to lie. I don't think my folks like the Simpsons. My dad called Mrs. Simpson a 'Jap whore,' when Elinor was in high school. And my mother told me Elinor wasn't worth my time and getting kicked out of school fighting about her.

"So I haven't said anything about her being home and me going over there. To their house."

"I'm sorry, Brad. You're probably smart not to say anything to your mom and dad about the Simpson's then."

"Can you just tell my folks we're going to Joanna's?"

The Ford picked up speed and Brad heard the automatic transmission shift into third gear.

"I think we can do that." Charlie answered quietly.

They rode in silence until Brad's house came into view.

"Can I drive your car someday?'

"Tomorrow." Charlie answered absently as he pulled into the Burgess's driveway.

"Don't worry about your clothes tomorrow. No one will care if you don't wear new clothes to a cookout.

"And why don't you meet Joanna and I at the old grist mill about noon. We'll eat lunch and go for a swim before we go to Simpson's. Okay?"

Brad nodded and wiped the tears from his eyes. He slammed the car door before turning and running for the house with his dog at his heels.

"I'll be right out!" He hollered back over his shoulder.

NINE

When he hauled Big Ben out of his front pocket, Brad could not believe it was about 1130. For almost four hours he had been fishing his favorite holes downstream along the railroad right-of-way on the two mile stretch between Lynd and the ruins of the old grist mill where he was going to meet his friends at the millpond.

He had caught ten or twelve trout but kept only the five largest and each was a native weighing about a half pound or more. He watched them lazily drifting against the current with a rawhide lace through their gills.

Charlie is always on time I'll bet he and Joanna are at the millpond waiting for me. Brad's mind was busy as he climbed the steep bank from the creek to the railroad track. Staying on the tracks until he reached the gravel road where he was only a quarter of a mile from the millpond.

He turned the corner at the top of the hill where all that remained of the old grist mill was the huge foundation stones next to the road. He looked to see if Charlie's Ford was parked by the pond. It wasn't there, so Brad decided to cut across the pile of head-high stones to the millrace and try his luck in the swift water below the dam. This spot managed to produce several nice trout each year but so far this year the several he had caught there were barely big enough to keep.

He had only gone a few feet into the rocks, where the roar of the water rushing down the granite millrace started to block out every other sound. The thumps and clatter of the covered bridge's loose plank decking barely reached him and he turned back to the road as he sensed rather than heard an engine. When he reached the shoulder of the road he knew it was a slow moving Ford.

There was no mistaking the light green of Charlie's new/used Ford. When it pulled up along side him the first things Brad noticed were her deep brown eyes and soft smile.

"How come you're coming from that direction?"

"Hi, Brad. Are you getting hungry? You'd better be, we brought a huge lunch.

"We also brought along a friend of yours. That's why we came this way."

Joanna's bright smile always reflected her moods, but Brad really didn't notice. His eyes were drifting between the pixie-cut hair and soft smile in the back seat.

"I do believe you two know each other. Come on, someone say something. Anything. Anything at all." Joanna Bishop was as persistent as she was soft hearted.

"Hi, Brad. Catch any this morning?" Ginny slid forward on the seat and rested her chin on the back of Joanna's seat. Her eyes were intent when she looked Brad in the eye waiting for an answer.

"I've got five real nice ones."

"Think you could catch two more this afternoon? If you can, I'll fix them on the barbecue for us tonight."

"I can try. Two more shouldn't be hard to catch out of the millpond. Want to do it now? I was just going to try it at the foot of the dam."

"I'm hot and hungry. Let's go for a swim first. If anybody wants to go fishing they can do it after lunch. Okay, kids?" Joanna spoke up before she turned to Charlie and tossed her ponytail. Brad had seen her do it many times when she was being playful.

"I'm all for it. I'd like to get cooled off before lunch." Charlie answered. "Got your swim trunks on, Brad?"

Brad stood next to a dark, nearly black hunk of granite where he could sit to take off his wet hunting boots. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of having worn his nearly new school pants fishing so his friends wouldn't see the worn out dungarees he wore most of the time.

He hitched his yellow plaid swim trunks up to his waist when he went around the front of the car and started towards the path leading to his favorite swimming spot.

Ginny slammed the back car door and followed him towards the pond.

Brad took exactly three steps in front of the Ford when he sucked in his breath and stopped dead in his tracks.

She had taken off the old shirt which was probably her father's, and Ginny had on a tight one piece black swimsuit. Her legs were long, slim and about the color of amber. Her womanly hips were set off by her tiny waist which Brad was sure he could easily circle with his hands. Her breasts were not nearly as small as he had imagined. The tight, low cut black suit showed a woman's cleavage which never showed in her modest school clothes.

She has grown up. What a build. He thought to himself.

Ginny walked towards him with the soft feminine Simpson smile on her full pink lips. She held out her left hand to Brad when she reached the front of the Ford.

"Come on, show me where to go in."

Brad knew he shouldn't stare but he couldn't contain himself. At that moment he had fallen hopelessly in love with Ginny Simpson and there was no doubt he lusted for her body.

Standing next to him she was creating feelings in him like a graduation into puberty. The heat of his desire made his whole body hot and clammy and his thoughts were out of his control.

"You live around the corner but don't know where to swim? You're kidding, right?" Brad took her hand and started up the path running along the creek bank.

Sixty or seventy feet further up the bank was a big box-elder with huge branches overhanging the millpond. A piece of big fat manila rope with several big knots tied in it was hanging from one of the tree's larger branches. It made a fantastic swing and was a fast non-retreating way of getting into the cold water of the mill pond.

With a small laugh Ginny let herself be led towards the tree.

Her hand felt small and delicate in his; Brad felt protective of this lovely creature.

"I just moved here last winter. Remember? I never had anyone to show me around before now. Come on! Last one in is a sissy!"

"You guys coming, Charlie?"

"We'll be there in a minute, Brad!

Brad turned back toward the car in time to see Joanna step into Charlie's arms.

Brad stepped up to the edge of the pond and untangled the rope from the bushes before climbing up onto a boulder under the box-elder.

"Like this!" He hollered when he leaped from the boulder and swung out over the water.

The cold was mind numbing as he entered the millpond feet first. The black water closed over his head. He went straight down almost twice his height before rolling head over heels and going down headfirst groping for the bottom. At ten feet the water was so black he could barely see his own out thrust hands. The bright June sun never seemed to penetrate more than six or seven feet of this tannic laden stream.

He felt the familiar slow burn as it started in his esophagus and spread in both directions. Brad's nostrils felt like they were on fire long before the pain and fire in his lungs told him that in a very short time he would have to surface.

He took one extra thrust with his legs, and a last strong pull with his arms before he gave up.

God, that hurts. Let out some air. Just a little. That's enough. I'm not going to make it back up to the top.

It was just a hint of panic. It wasn't dangerous, not yet, but Brad was confused and scared.

Where's up! Which way is the top.

Near the bottom and looking down and to the side had made him lose what little sense of direction he had kept in his descent.

Follow your bubbles. That's up, air always rises.

Brad remembered the advice from a movie about the Navy frogman he had seen not long ago. He forced his head upward as he exhaled more of his precious air to follow it up.

Above him he could barely see the sun flashing on the tiny waves which were rippling across the surface.

His head broke through the wall of silver in an explosion of expelled air and gulps of desperation as he tried to suck the hot oxygen loaded air down into his lungs.

Right over his head the rope was still swinging slowly. Three quick strong strokes took him back to the bank and Ginny.

"Oh, that looks like fun. Did you go to the bottom? You were under so long!" Ginny clapped her hands and did a little dance around the base of the tree while Brad clambered up the rocks onto the bank.

Brad struggled to control his breathing, so he wouldn't sound like an panting dog when he answered her.

"I can't touch bottom in this hole. Nobody I know ever has. It's really deep."

"Help me up on the rock, I can't wait to try it'."

Brad put his right hand on Ginny's waist to help her get onto the steep sided boulder. His hand slid off her waist and down onto the tight stretched nylon covering her bottom. He couldn't move his hand, it was stuck like a magnet to her young firm body. She rose onto the top of the rock and turned towards him. His fingers traced a gentle path across her shapely behind before dropping down onto her thigh when she leaned towards him.

With a soft smile and gentle pressure against his hand, Ginny turned back in the direction of the millpond. "Give me the rope, Brad. I can't wait to do it!" She smiled down on him.

"Let's eat, kids!" Charlie hollered from the car. He had just climbed out of the water further downstream. There was more sun and the shallower water was warmer there.

"That means you too, Lady!"

Joanna was lazily swimming the length of the millpond. She stopped to raise her head out of the water and stuck her tongue out at him. "Bring me a sandwich, Lover!" She hollered back across the pond.

As he slipped the khaki pants back over his almost dry swim suit Brad felt the warm glow of friendships like he had never felt before while he watched the women pick up the remains of their lunch. Joanna had given him a jean jacket she no longer wanted, and Ginny had confiscated it to wear over her wet swim suit. He watched her bottom move under the short jacket when she stooped and picked up her tennis shoes and threw them into the trunk along with her father's old dress shirt.

"Don't let me forget these, Brad."

"OK. Are you guys going fishing with me or what?" Brad asked.

Brad picked up his fishing pole and start toward the millpond. Ginny followed and he felt her hand grasp his and walk closely behind him.

Charlie and Joanna left for the Simpson's house leaving Ginny and Brad to finish catching supper. Joanna waved happily when they drove off and turned to Charlie saying something which made him laugh and look towards Ginny and Brad on the dam.

With three more nice square tails added to their stringer Brad thought about going across the upper millpond instead of walking all the way around to the road and crossing the creek on the covered bridge.

"Do you want to go across the dam, Ginny? We'll get wet to our waists, but we won't have as far to walk."

"Sure. Why not? We still have our swim suits on.

"Have you ever done it before, Brad?"

"Last summer when I wanted to fish from the other side I did. It's all gravel behind the dam."

"Lead the way." Ginny laughed reaching for Brad's hand.

Out on the middle of the dam they were balancing carefully on the slippery hunks of granite which were once part of the old spillway. Brad was leading Ginny, by the hand she had refused to release, towards the deep black water at the center of the dam.

Brad led her across the dam and up onto a small sunlight knoll overlooking the upper millpond and the covered bridge.

They stood amongst the pungent ferns on a patch of soft mossy grass for several minutes before Ginny finally broke the silence.

"How did you find this place, Brad? It's so pretty."

Ginny slipped Brad's jacket off of her shoulders and dropped it on to the ground. She stepped closer to him.

He was fascinated by the golden hue of her shoulders as the jacket slipped down her arms and fell onto the ground. She shrugged slightly to make the straps of her black nylon swimsuit slip off her shoulders. The velvety white skin on the upper part of her breasts lay exposed to the warm sun and his eyes.

"Your pants are all wet. Are you going to take them off?"

Ginny took another step closer smiling and reaching for the waistband of his pants.

Brad felt her soft curves under his hands..

Brad felt great as he let the remnants of his early morning dream fade in and out of his conscious mind. The bare wood floor was cool on his feet, but he didn't feel it. Quietly slipping into his clothes he smiled in anticipation of what the day held in store for him.

He could hear his mother's strange sleep noises coming from the twin bed behind him as he quietly closed the bedroom door behind him.

Damn! Why does she sleep in my room?

At around 0700 Brad heard his father get up and a short while ago the aroma of fresh brewing coffee drifted down the hallway.

"Morning Dad." Brad spoke when he stepped into the kitchen.

"Brad. Where are you going so early? Are you working for Charlie today?"

This was more than his father had said to him all week.

"No. Charlie and Joanna are going somewhere this afternoon."

Brad finished pouring his coffee before turning to face his father who was sitting at the kitchen table.

"He'll probably be here in a few minutes." Brad added.

"It's too early, Brad. He won't be here until nine."

"He's going away. He said he'd come early."

"No, he won't! He never gets here before nine on Sunday's. You know that, Brad."

"He has to be in Wilmet by ten. There is no way he can be here at nine and get cleaned up to be in Wilmet at ten!" Brad bit his lip and turned away. He could see the fire in his father's eyes, and he knew he would never win. Brad also thought he had already said too much about Charlie's business.

"I'm going fishing. I asked you and Mom last night and you said I could."

Brad felt defensive. He knew he had to get away before he said more and got into deeper trouble.

Maybe I should have told him I was going with Charlie. Now he is going to get mad and not let me go anywhere.

Brad watched his father's face to see if he was getting angrier or if he had chosen to forget about it.

"I'm going to drive to Lynd and get a Sunday paper. Do you want to go, Brad?"

Obviously, his father had decided to drop the whole thing.

"No thanks. I'm going to cut down to the railroad track and fish down to the trestle."

"You stay off that trestle. Someday the train will catch you on it."

Brad nodded in agreement.

He doesn't even know the train only makes one round trip a day on regular work days and never comes during weekends. Besides it only goes about 30 mph.

How come you're in such a rush?" His father asked as he was climbing into the old Chevie and Brad was starting across the road..

"No reason. Just want to go fishing before it gets hot." Brad answered with a smile playing across his mouth. Small bits and pieces of his dream were still playing around in his head.

TEN

Brad's .22 rifle hung across his back on its' homemade sling, and he held his fishing rod in his left hand. The barely visible trail leading up from the creek to the tracks was steep and dangerous with loose gravel and rocks. The surplus WWII gas mask case hooked to his belt held his worm can, spare hooks, a few flies and leader material as well as an extra box of .22 shells that he had bought with the proceedings from his last porcupine hunt. The case hung awkwardly and slapped his thigh with every step but wasn't heavy enough to affect his balance.

When he reached the railroad tracks at the end of the trestle, Brad had started gathering an arm load of creosoted wood chips left over from some track and tie maintenance. For a few minutes he had tossed the chips from the trestle into the rapids seventy or eighty feet below and tried to hit them with the Springfield semi-automatic he now owned. The tubular fed .22 rifle was used and a common model so Brad had been able to work out a deal he could afford.

Immediately after he got the rifle, he figured out how he could empty the fifteen round magazine with a quick squeeze of the trigger. Four squeezes and he would shoot more than a box shells.

He didn't want to shoot up anymore of his .22 shells so Brad just continued to sit on the wooden train trestle listening to the roar of the creek below and watching the pile of huge granite boulders which were part of the railroad grade across the creek. A woodchuck had a hole amongst the boulders and he was lazily watching and half hoping the grizzled rodent would climb up onto the dirt stained rock it habitually sunbathed on.

He couldn't hear her above the sounds of rushing water but the flash of white through the brush on the downstream side of the track caught his eye. When he turned to watch, his brown and white mongrel charged up the bank towards the woodchuck hole he had been looking at seconds before. A small cloud of yellow dust rose from the dirt in front of the hole and Brad knew the chuck had just slid back down the bank and into the safety of its den as the fast moving dog approached.

Shit! Where was that damn thing. I didn't see it in those rocks.

Brad was disgusted with himself for not getting a shot and took it out on his dog.

"Come on dog! Rusty! Get over here!" He hollered above the roar of the rushing creek. The loyal dog ran up the bank at the sound of her master's voice. She scampered onto the railroad embankment but stopped at the trestle. She looked down between the ties at the rushing white foam below and whined quietly to herself.

"Come on! Get over here you bitch!"

He waited a moment, then thinking about the time, jerked his Big Ben out of his pocket. It was eleven-thirty and he had over two miles to go.

Brad turned away from his dog and started trotting up the tracks towards the millpond.

In less than a minute Brad stopped and turning to look over his shoulder. His friend was still on the other side of the trestle. Without a thought he started back to help her.

"Come on." He reached down and ruffled her neck fur before grabbing her chain collar. Dog and master went through this struggle every time they tried to cross the trestle. Brad knew once she got several feet out onto the trestle Rusty would run to the safety of the other side.

Within minutes he could barely see her white feathered tail swishing back and forth. She was a quarter of a mile or so ahead of him searching the railroad grade for animal trails.

His leg muscles were protesting the uneven gait he had been maintaining while he trotted on the railroad ties between the tracks. They were not spaced evenly and hard to hit an even stride on. When the pain became too severe and his legs started screaming about the abuse Brad tried to balance on the iron rail itself. For a few yards it worked fine. As he increased speed he lost his balance more often. After he slipped off of the rail several more times he dropped back onto the uneven wooden ties.

When Brad passed the trail leading to his house he had a quick look of his dog heading for her dinner dish.

He was down to a fast walk on the worn footpath in the soft and crumbled track ballast when he came around the corner and into sight of the millpond.

Charlie's green Ford was parked under the shade of the birches and alders growing around the pond. Brad could see Charlie swimming in the mill pond. Someone whom he was sure was Joanna Bishop was sitting in the sun on one of the many granite boulders along the bank. Though he was disappointed when he didn't see anyone else with his friends Brad hurried along the trail. He turned towards the Ford when he reached the place where the path and road intersected.

"There he is.

Hello, Brad." Joanna called out and started to walk towards him.

What a body. Gee. Brad watched the graceful sway of her hips and the slight jiggle of her breasts under the tight two piece swimsuit she wore. A bit of tanned, hard belly showed above her brief bathing suit bottom. She stopped less than a foot in front of Brad and in her bare feet he realized she was slightly shorter than he was in his hunting boots.

I'm as tall as she is. With a smile, he looked down into her eyes. In the bright mid-day sun the red highlights showed in her brown hair which she had pulled back into a ponytail and the ends were still wet from swimming.

"How's the water? Cold, I'll bet. The upper pond is warmer than this one."

"Hi, Brad. It is cold. I only stayed in about three minutes, but Charlie has been in and out for a half hour. Is there any beach or place to get in to the upper pond?"

"No. It's real shallow and muddy even behind Simpson's house.

"Sorry I'm late. I went too far down the tracks early this morning."

"Your not too late. We've been waiting lunch for you. Are you hungry?"

"Got your swim suit on, Brad? Come in and get cooled off!" Charlie hollered from the middle of the pool.

"Okay. I'll be just a minute. Is the trunk open? I want to put my rifle and fly rod in there."

"No, but Joanna knows were the keys are."

After she had unlocked and raised the trunk lid Joanna took a Sears shopping bag out of the trunk which she handed to Brad with a smile.

"They're yours, Brad. I hope they fit. I've already washed and shrunk them hoping they'll fit OK."

After laying his gear carefully in the trunk he took the offered bag and took out the first pair of Levi's he had every owned, along with a red, yoke front cowboy shirt with small round mother of pearl buttons down the front.

"I'll take them. You can try them on after your swim." Joanna took the shopping bag and left Brad to get ready to go in the water.

Scrambling up into the box-elder was the easy part. Now he stood on the huge limb the swinging rope was tied to. The surface of the dark, tannic saturated water was nearly twenty feet below him. Brad was sure nothing lay in ambush under the sun streaked pool. Many times he had swam and dove there with the French brothers and none of them had ever found the bottom or even a rock within reach of the surface.

While he appeared to be looking down at the water he looked through the tops of his eyes out to where Charlie and Joanna drifted lazily along with the current. He knew they were watching him too.

Wasn't that why he had climbed so high? So they could watch him make a fantastic dive out of the tree?

God! This is scary. I've never been this high before except to tie the rope on. Even then he had felt uncomfortable being so high above the dark water.

Should I cannonball or just dive?

Brad's leg muscles catapulted him off of the limb and out of the green leaves. He arched smoothly into a swan dive before tucking his head between his shoulders and bringing his hands together in front of him a flash before he entered the water like a sharp pointed knife.

Down into the black water. It closed over him like a dark shroud while the trail of silver bubbles tickled up his legs. After an explosion of golden light the sun faded to nothing behind him.

When he felt his momentum slowing Brad started strongly frog kicking and with powerful strokes from his slim arms he pulled himself deeper into the black void than he had ever been before.

Brad thought of his early morning dream as an omen. He twisted his body upward. Paused to let himself drift upward before he started to pull himself up through the dark water.

He reached for the gold and silver dancing light and in a ball of hot expelled air broke through the surface and gulped a huge mouthful of fresh, hot summer air!

Breathless he kicked for the shore.

After clambering up on the hot granite boulders he stopped to catch his breath. I'll bet no one ever went that deep before. Brad thought to himself with some pride.

"Brad! Are you ready to eat?" Charlie hollered above the rush of the millrace water.

"I'll be there in a second." Brad managed to holler while he worked himself up into a sitting position on the gray boulder.

He was still feeling a bit unsteady when he walked slowly along the trail towards the car.

"Thank you for the jeans and shirt, Charlie. I've never had a pair of Levi's before. Mom said they were too expensive and were the same as the dungarees she bought for me, but I don't think so. They're really neat!"

"You earned them with all the work you have done for me, Brad. I just wish I could do more for you. Joanna helped me get them and like she said it was her idea to wash them so they'd be shrunk and you could wear them today."

"Are you guys ready to go? The Simpsons were expecting us an hour or so ago."

ELEVEN

She was small but not necessarily the smallest woman Brad had ever known. He would be able to easily see over her head if she hadn't put her shiny coal black hair up like the Japanese women in the National Geographic. Instead of a kimono and carrying a parasol, she was dressed in light blue shorts which were fitted enough to show off her shapely figure and a light yellow silk blouse.

"I am Yoshiko Tamaka Simpson. And since my family all seems to have deserted me, let me welcome you to our home."

Brad stood speechless beside Joanna as this lovely Japanese woman who spoke perfect English took them into her heart and made them part of her family.

He watched as she gracefully and with self confidence stepped forward to take Charlie's right hand in her left and Joanna's right hand in her right hand. Her deep brown eyes were just like Elinor's and she moved with the same graceful movements as he had seen Elinor do so many times.

"Please. Everyone except my daughters calls me Yoshi. I'm afraid we're just normal Americans and the girls call me Mom."

"Mother? Did I hear a car?"

"Usually she calls me Mom." Yoshi corrected herself and smiled. The smile turned to a sweet quiet laugh.

"Yes, Dear. Our guests have arrived."

"Oh great. Brad have you met my mom."

The pretty young girl who came from the back of the ranch house appeared to be a slightly larger version of her mother. When she stood beside Yoshi, Brad could see the age difference between the women, but Elinor's mother just did not look like a mother to him.

The girl was dressed in a blue one piece sun suit trimmed with white anchors and thin white stripes. She had her shoulder length black hair pulled back into a ponytail tied back with a bright red thong.

Elinor gave her mother a quick hug before throwing her arms around Brad and hugging him fiercely.

"Mom. This is my best friend from 'good old Wilmet High', Brad Burgess."

With one arm still around Brad, Elinor went on.

"My new friend Joanna Bishop. If you haven't guessed Mom, Joanna teaches at the high school. I think she spends most of her time trying to keep Brad and others like him out of trouble and get them ready to face the cruel world.

"But you, dear Sir?" Elinor addressed Charlie before she smiled and looked askew at Joanna.

"This is my friend. You know Elinor, I work on Charlie's farm!" Brad jumped in and introduced Charlie. Quietly he added. "He and Joanna are friends too. I introduced them!"

Brad felt the heat of his blush run up and across his neck to inflame his ears.

Why did I say that? Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?

He looked around to cover his embarrassment, avoiding everyone's eyes as he tried to seek escape within himself.

"We have just started seeing each other and as Brad said he introduced us for which I am grateful." Joanna jumped in to extract Brad once again.

"In Joslin's hardware store no less." Charlie laughed his quiet pleasing laugh.

"Please, let's go into the backyard. I believe my husband is around there messing with the barbecue or some such thing.

"Where is your sister, Elinor? Reading again I'll bet."

"Wrong this time, Moms. Listen."

"It's too hot to play basketball! Is that really what your sister is doing? I swear, that girl ended up with some Japanese blood in her. She's so competitive."

Brad listened to the thump of the ball on concrete and tried to find the source with his ears but the echoes around the light brown house and up and down the nearby creek made it impossible to pinpoint where she was.

She's on the other side of the garage, Brad. You can go around this way if you want." Elinor pointed towards the white trimmed double door garage which was a miniature of the ranch house.

"That's okay. I want to see your dad's new bow. He told Ginny I could shoot it today."

"Come on Dad's around here." Smiling to herself Elinor led Brad away from the adults and towards the far back corner of the spacious backyard.

"Well, hello, Brad! I'm glad you finally made it."

"Hi, Bud. How ya doing."

Brad didn't know Bud very well and it had been quite a while since he had seen him. Unlike his daughters Bud had blue eyes and light brown hair. And he was big. Bigger even than Charlie who weighed around one hundred and eighty pounds and stood just a hair under six foot. Watching Bud come towards him Brad surmised he weighed a bit over two hundred pounds with just a little fat on his six foot two inch frame.

He offered Brad a huge hand. "Come on this way, Brad. I've got a hunting range set up here in the pucker brush."

The big soft spoken man led Brad away from the creek and down a short hill which faced the gravel road. Bud's bow, quiver and a rack of target arrows sat on what Brad first thought was a picnic table. As they approached the table Brad realized that it was a rugged shooting bench and Bud had also built a rifle range against the hill.

"We own four hundred feet of road frontage which runs back to the creek. Only the first hundred feet where the house sits is any good for anything. The rest is like you can see, all pucker brush and hundred year old stumps. It makes a nice spot for a range though, and I managed to cut enough brush to get this hundred yard rifle range."

"Dad! Dad, are you and Brad down here?"

"We'll be at the bench in just a minute, Ginny. Why don't you meet us there." Bud hollered back at his youngest before turning to Brad.

If you want to shoot some more your welcome to. But I have a feeling I'm being hunted down to be put to work. I have to do any barbecuing or campfire cooking that goes on around here. Yoshi says Americans cremate and destroy everything we cook on an open fire. So she refuses to have any part of it.

"Ginny?"

"I'm at the bench, Dad"

Brad followed Bud along a narrow trail through the head high brush. They were out of sight and hearing of the creek, but in the June heat, Brad could smell the water.

"I brought you each a Coke. You've been down here shooting for two hours. Is it so much fun, Dad?"

"Of course it is. Besides, you know your old man, any excuse to play." Bud answered.

Ginny stretched up and kissed her dad on the cheek then came around the bench to where Brad was standing.

"Don't let him bore you, Brad. He'll stay down here all day if someone will listen to his war stories. Want to take a walk down to the millpond for a swim with us? Dad is going to help mom get supper." Ginny said very pointedly and smiling at her father's scowl.

"Did your mother put you up to this?"

"Dad. Of course not. You know Yoshi would never do such a thing!"

Taking his hand Ginny started to lead Brad down the short hill to the gravel road.

"Come on. Elinor and Joanna are waiting for us in front of the house."

"Where's Charlie?" Brad asked.

"He's in the backyard flirting with Yoshi. I can see why you like him, Brad. He really is a nice guy."

Ginny watched her father out of the corner of her eye to see how he took her remark about Yoshi and Charlie. Her smile spread and while Brad studied her the smile became contagious. He too started smiling and they both laughed out loud when Bud grimaced and muttered something about middle aged mothers.

"I know what she's doing. She's laying the ground work so your Miss Bishop can trap him." He added while he gathered up his bow, quiver and arrow rack. "Good thing you're still too young to get married Brad, or else they'd be plotting against you too."

"Let's hurry I'm dying in this heat. Have you still got your swim suit on, Brad? I hope so!" She squeezed his hand and her laugh tinkled like a happy bell.

"How come you didn't come up and shoot some baskets with me? I didn't even know you where here until a few minutes ago. I was hot and went to get a Coke."

"I don't like basketball."

"You don't like it? How can you not like something as exciting as basketball?"

"I don't know I just don't like it. I guess because I'm not any good at it."

"That's okay. I know a lot of kids who aren't any good at fishing, skiing and other stuff you're good at.

"We'd better hurry. I think someone is getting impatient."

"Come on you slow pokes." Joanna hollered from the shade of a clump of white birches on the corner of the bright green front lawn and graveled driveway.

Brad didn't paid any attention to what Ginny wore until they reached the millpond and he watched her plain white blouse go flying onto the boulders under the trees. The shirt was followed closely by a pair of maroon basketball shorts to reveal a snug form fitting blue tank suit with a small modest skirt. He stopped and watched her step up onto the rocks which were overhanging the pond by the road. Her breasts were smaller than he had imagined them when he saw her in her gym clothes at school. Small but big enough to tweak his imagination and lock his eyes onto her suit top.

Ginny turned and, smiling, threw Brad a visual challenge.

Brad knew she had caught him staring at her boobs and the thoughts of his early morning dreams flooded him with guilt. Shame faced, and afraid one of the girls would see the bulge under his trunks or the red he felt run up his back and neck, Brad ran for the boulders and the safety of the pond.

He threw himself from the highest boulder which happened to be the one next to where Ginny and Joanna were standing.

A huge brown and white rock lay just under the surface directly below Brad's diving platform.

Gut wrenching terrified screams escaped both women at the same time.

"Brad! Lookout for the rock!"

It was impossible to separate their voices, and Brad didn't care to as he cleaved a slice through the water in a long shallow dive which took him to the right of the highest part of the boulder and over where the water covered it the deepest. To anyone who didn't know it appeared as if he had crashed onto the top of the boulder.

He surfaced in the middle of the pond and with long slow strokes swam towards the spillway and dam oblivious to the panic which had taken place behind him.

He kept to himself until he saw them gather up their clothes. Joanna was walking by herself along the edge of the pond towards the dam. He swam to meet her and climbed onto the rocks next to the spillway.

"She spoke barely loud enough to be heard above the rushing water. "What's the matter, Brad? Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine. There's nothing the matter."

She looked at him with questions in her eyes.

He knew Joanna well enough to realize that he wasn't going to get away with such an answer.

Twice he started to speak. She waited and watched him patiently while he stared off to where the sisters had started walking up the dusty road towards home.

"Girls scare me. I never know what to say. When I do say something they don't take me seriously."

She studied his face. Brad could see her trying to make up her mind whether or not to pursue it further. "Are you afraid of me, Brad?"

Brad could hear the concern in her voice and knew she cared. He thought about it before answering.

"Not as a teacher but as a girl I am."

"You're afraid of me as a woman? Really, Brad?"

"Yes, ma'am." He wasn't sure she really believed him.

She reached out for his hand but Brad stepped out around her.

"We'd better catch up with the girls." He started up the path towards the road.

"Brad?"

"Yeah."

He felt her reach for his hand only this time he was not successful in slipping away from her grasp. She held him firmly by his forearm.

"Wait a minute. Please? I'd like to talk about this, Brad."

He flipped his wrist and felt her soft warm touch slide from his forearm down across his wrist and off of his finger tips.

"I don't! All the talk in the world won't do any good. It's a waste of time!"

"That sounds like a quote to me. Who said that to you, Brad. Was it your father? Who Brad? Tell me."

"My father hasn't said that many words to me at one time in my whole life. What makes you think it was him anyway?" He flung his words at her.

He hurried up the path ahead of her but when he reached the top of the knoll he stopped and turned to see if she was behind him.

She was still standing by the creek, a confused look on her face as she stared up at him. He could see she was deep in thought. Her green eyes were hidden behind half closed lids and long lashes, and although he wanted to leave he wouldn't leave her behind.

Maybe she does believe me.

It was several long seconds before she noticed him waiting. When recognition came she looked at him, smiled and started up the knoll towards him.

They made no attempt to catch the Simpson girls. The woman and boy walked slowly up the gravel road in the late afternoon heat hand in hand. Each wanted to talk to the other but neither was able to find the words they needed.

I hope she isn't mad at me. I guess she is about the only teacher in the whole school who cares about me. Really, one of the few people in the whole world who care about me at all.

Brad watched her out of the corner of his eye while they walked up the road.

Boy, she's pretty. Damn! Why does she have to be older than I am?

When they reached the Simpsons' yard Elinor and Ginny waited for them, but Brad cut across the lawn leaving Joanna without a word before they reached the girls.

When he slowed down at the corner of the house, he heard the sounds of little girl giggles and whispers while they hurried across the lawn and up the front steps into the house.

Brad walked slowly around to the back of the house where he knew he could find Charlie and Bud. Here he would be able to avoid everyone, and they would not even notice.

"Here. Put this on, you're starting to shiver."

He looked up at Elinor, but ignored the jean jacket she held in her hands.

He felt her body heat and smelled the clean woman fragrance which was hers alone when she pushed him over with her hip and slipped into the padded wooden lawn chair next to him.

"This chair wasn't made for two people, but since neither one of us are very big, I guess we'll fit. Even if it is a little tight." Elinor laughed her soft, quiet laugh as she pushed against Brad some more with her hip and thigh before trying to hang a jean jacket over his shoulders.

"Put out your arm and I'll slip it on for you."

Brad looked across the open pit barbecue to where everyone else was sitting in a cluster and chatting about who knows what. No one appeared to be paying any attention to what he and Elinor were doing.

"Don't stand up, I can get it on you. Spoil sport." She chided him lightly. He saw her soft brown almond shaped eyes and pink lips smiling in the dusk.

"So move over so I can sit back down." Brad liked the feel of her body against him, and in the evening chill their shared warmth was welcome to them both.

They sat in a comfortable silence and listened to the conversations across the barbecue pit for a long time.

"I don't understand." Brad broke their long silence poking Elinor softly in her ribs with his elbow as he spoke.

"You don't understand what?"

"You're older than Ginny, but your mother is married to Bud now. Maybe I'm a little slow. But the years and your ages don't add up that way." Brad laughed softly to himself.

He shifted around and put his left arm across the back of the chair behind her shoulders.

She reached up with her left hand and took hold of Brad's hand squeezing it lightly while pulling it down onto her shoulder.

"My mom and dad never had a chance to get married before Dad was shipped overseas. Back to China. He was what they called a 'China Marine'. He had already done a tour in the interior of China.

As soon as the Marine Corps figured out Mom was Japanese they started losing Dad's paperwork and generally making the marriage process pure hell."

"Then they shipped him back to China?"

"Yes. Mom was a student at Berkeley and he was stationed on Treasure Island as a brig chaser when they met in May of 1932.

"They had finally got all the paperwork done the week before Thanksgiving in 1933. Daddy put in for leave over Christmas and they were planning to get married then.

"On December first they loaded him on a ship for China."

"And you were on the way?"

"Yeah!" Elinor smiled and laughed happily. "I was the result of the last time they saw each other until ten years later."

Ginny had drifted towards them from the other side of the fire. "The conversation is too dry over there. You know adults.

"What were you guys talking about. You shut up. Something I'm not suppose to hear?"

"Actually, I was telling Brad our life stories, Ginny."

"Oh, fun! I love to shock people with it. It's just so unconventional most people either think I made it up, or else they think its immoral."

Ginny sat down on the grass sideways in front of her sister. After she had settled herself she reached up with her right hand waving it slowly in front of her sister. Elinor took it. Still holding Ginny's hand and without thinking Elinor placed Brad's right hand on Ginny's and the three sat quietly holding hands.

Brad felt the warmth of their clasped hands on his left knee. Pleased, he wished it could go on forever.

"Where did she come from?" Brad pointed at Ginny with his chin and laughed.

Brad had never felt this close to any girl before. Here he was with two. He knew each was his friend.

"My mom was Dad's high school sweetheart. They graduated from high school in Nashua together but instead of getting married Dad wanted to go into the Marine Corps." Ginny answered for her sister.

"And Mom wasn't hearing that, so she broke up with Dad when he was in boot camp." Ginny added.

"He did a two year tour in China and came back to San Francisco. Actually, Treasure Island."

Elinor picked up when Ginny stopped. "Then he met Yoshi, my mom.

"Just before he was shipped back to China he had to take a prisoner from Treasure Island to Portsmouth Naval Prison.

Ginny picked up the story's thread from Elinor. "My mom found out from his family and met him there. They had a kind of reunion. No! Nothing happened. Not then anyway. At least Dad swears to Yoshi it didn't." Ginny giggled and squeezed her sister's hand.

"It took four years of letter writing and two years of living together at Camp Pendleton before you were more than a gleam in their eyes, Ginny.

"After Ginny's mother died and the war started Dad began looking for my mom again. You have to remember, he didn't know anything about me.

"I was almost ten before I met this huge white man and Mom told me he was my father. I always knew my dad was white and Mom made sure I knew he loved me very much, but the realization of it never came to me. It couldn't because I was always around Japanese people and never around any white people except the internment camp guards and supervisors.

Even in the deepening twilight Brad could see the tears of remembrance sparkling in Elinor's eyes. He tightened his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him wiping her damp cheeks on the shoulder of his wash softened jacket.

The three sat quietly together for several minutes before Ginny broke the spell.

"I'm cold. I'm going in and get my sweater."

Brad and Elinor sat holding hands.

Brad finally worked up his courage to tell Elinor something he had wanted to tell her since the day he had glimpsed her slim naked body pass through the patch of sunlight streaming in her open bedroom window.

"I'm sorry you're so much older than I am, Elinor, because I love you."

She turned to him and met his eyes. They were close enough to almost touch noses. She shifted her bare silky legs across his thighs and slid onto his lap locking her small hands behind his neck. She rested her forehead on his. She spoke in soft mellow tones. "I know exactly how you feel, Brad. I used to get so lonesome and felt like such an outcast in high school that I made a pass at a thirty year old guy. I never let him do anything to me but he sure wanted to. That was when the story about me being pregnant got started. When my mom heard about it she sat me down and we had a long talk. You became somewhat of a Simpson family hero and were my only real friend. I fell in love with you right then and there sitting at the kitchen table with my mom. A thirteen year old, eighth grade boy who was four years younger than a wise lady of seventeen and she was ready to throw herself into his arms."

She stopped talking for several minutes and Brad could feel their tears mingling where their cheeks lightly touched.

"You became the man I so desperately needed.

"Thank you, Brad. Thank you for being my friend." Elinor's voice had deepened and softened to almost a murmur before she finally kissed him firmly on the lips.

"I'm going for a walk. Tell Joanna and Charlie I walked home, will you please?" His voice had become husky with emotions he had never felt before and could not recognize. "He'd better be good to you."

"He is. Oh, yes, he is and we love each other deeply, Brad.

"Good-bye my friend." Elinor said softly to Brad's back when he walked into the trees.

TWELVE

The summer hadn't worked out at all as Brad thought it should and looking back he thought it really stunk. All summer he had agonized over his loss of Elinor and his lack of courage for not asking Ginny to go out on a date. In his self imposed state of cowardliness Brad avoided the creek and most of his favorite fishing holes. They were all within walking distance of the Simpson's home and he couldn't take the chance of running into Ginny. Brad's mind was in a turmoil as he attempted to comprehend all that was happening to him and around him.

The last few days of vacation had been hell for him. He had anticipated the first morning of classes when he would get to school and find Ginny waiting for him on the front steps. He was terrified of the possibility of coming face to face with her but couldn't explain even to himself why he was so afraid to confront her. Nor could he understand why he felt so guilty about his thoughts and vivid dreams of her. It was not as if Ginny or anyone else could know what his private and innermost thoughts were, but why should he feel this much guilt about them? These were the thoughts that had plagued Brad all summer.

The relief he felt was enormous when on the first morning of school he had scrutinized everyone around the front entrance and didn't see the familiar brown pixie haircut. His relief was short lived when he started sweating and worrying all over again. He realized the stay might only be temporary. She's already inside the school.

For the rest of the week Brad skulked around the halls trying to stay one jump ahead of Ginny and was prepared to escape her notice when he encountered her. His relief finally came from an unexpected source.

On the first day of school and during his first study hall of the year Brad had seized possession of his favorite study hall desk. It was in the far back corner between two sets of windows. Although he had been subjected to numerous dirty looks from the 'in-group', one of the high school's most distinctive sub-cultures, he ignored them as he slid down in the hard and uncomfortable wooden seat and tried to read more of James Michener's Return To Paradise.

I'm a sophomore now. You guys can stick it. I'm not the lowliest of the low this year. Brad thought proudly to himself.

The bad part of his homesteading the back corner of the study hall was the constant bombardment by the so-called studs on the make with their latest skirt and causing much tee-heeing and giggling of teenage girls sitting in the desks around him. Added to the silly girl sounds was the steady murmuring of the gossip mongers who also resided nearby.

Brad made it a point to make sure the study hall teachers knew he was not part of this school sub-culture; therefore he was not liable for any of the noise or commotion emanating from the back corner of the room. He knew within a week the troublemakers would all be rounded up and separated by moving them to various parts of the huge study hall and when all of the shaking and sword rattling was over he would end up with the back corner of the room to himself. That is if he didn't count the nerds in their dark rimmed glasses with their pocket protectors full of pens and pencils and lugging around a foot tall stack of grocery sack covered school books up and down the halls. In the meantime he would tolerate the buzz of activity and listen to any of the gossip which might interest him such as what he had just heard.

"She thinks she's better than we are. I heard that she told her father she wanted to go back to Elmdale High." Murmuring voices of indecipherable words. "She had a boy friend, but he dumped her this summer."

"Well, she's just like her stepsister it was probably some older guy."

"Yeah! They like the older experienced guys."

"The only bad thing is she's such a great basketball player. It's too bad Elmdale's getting her back."

Brad was stunned. It had never occurred to him Ginny wouldn't come back to Wilmet High. Her sister graduated from here and Ginny started here last year when she came to live with Bud and Yoshi. He slumped further down in the uncomfortable chair with his book completely forgotten as the pendulum of the huge study room clock swung off the remaining few minutes of the study hall.

They must be talking about Ginny. But the jerks don't even know Elinor is her half-sister not her stepsister.

If I ask any of them they'll have the story all over school before the dismissal bell that she's my girl friend. Damn! Who can I ask?

In his mind's eye Brad went over the faces in the seats around him. What he sought was a friendly face belonging to a girl he thought he could trust to tell him the truth and not make fun of him.

Brad had a sort of friendship with Annie Phillips one of the girls who like him,was a long ways from even the outer fringe of the 'in group' though she was very cute and petite. He never thought of her as a full card carrying member of any of the school's sub-cultures even though she spent time with members of a couple different groups.

Looking around and he found her sitting two rows over and two seats in back of him. He stole a look in her direction and thought about their relationship. They had been in the same classes since the seventh grade and he saw her off and on all summer for the last two summers when she baby sat for his neighbors, the French's.

Damn! She's watching me. She is cute. Boy, what a great body. I wish I had the guts to ask her out. She probably wouldn't go out with me anyway so why bother. Besides, I don't have any money or any way to get into Wilmet to take her out.

Her smile showed small, even white teeth behind red lips that his mother and the PTA had said were too red. "Especially for a teenager, but she's just like her mother anyway." Brad wasn't quite sure what they meant by that, but he knew it was not a compliment to either Annie or Mary, her mother. Mary worked as a waitress in Berube's Lunch Counter and Newspaper Stand in Wilmet and Brad as well as almost all the high school kids knew her.

It was just seconds before the end of the period bell when every one would return to their home room before the final dismissal bell at 3:10. Brad's palms were damp and his mouth went dry as he moved towards the back of the room to get closer to Annie. He saw her look directly at him trying to catch his eye, but he avoided it when his courage failed him and he beat a hasty retreat back to his seat.

Annie got swallowed up in the students leaving the study hall who were surging through the halls like a flock of sheep. In an flash of bravery Brad tried to find her but couldn't. When he got to his homeroom desk he realized she was already there ahead of him putting her books away.

She's going to leave before I find out. I should have asked her coming out of study hall. She's going to be out of here in a minute for the weekend, I'd better say something.

Brad practically ran across the intervening four rows of chairs before Annie appeared to hear the racket of his passage and looked in his direction. She finished putting her things away in her desk before turning halfway back towards Brad. This time he found the nerve to catch and hold her intense blue eyes. She held is gaze and she waited at her desk for him.

Her smile grabbed and held him giving him the courage to speak.

"Were those guys talking about Ginny Simpson?"

"Oh, hi Brad. Yeah, they were. I knew it was you who went with her this summer, but I didn't say anything. And yes, she is back in high school in Elmdale."

"Thanks. But we really didn't go together. I just went to her house to a cookout when Elinor came home to visit."

"Come on, Brad, tell me the truth. I saw you with Ginny before school got out last June. Besides, Ernie French told me you had a thing for her and went over to her house lots of times this summer."

When she smiled, Annie's blue eyes turned up slightly in the corners giving her an impish look even while she was intently studying his face and eyes.

"Ernie's a liar." Brad tried to hide his discomfort. Annie was hitting too close to his real feelings.

"Want to take me for a Coke, Brad. "I believe you and I don't really like Ernie either."

The flush of embarrassment deepened the pink of her cheeks and Brad watched her right earlobe, the only one he could see behind the flow of healthy and shiny straw blond hair. It had turned red and he wondered what could be the cause her discomfort.

"He tried to take off my bra and pinch my nipples last summer when I was baby-sitting for his little brother. He really scared me and he only stopped because I threatened to tell his mother."

"No. I - I've got to get milk and eggs for my mother and take them home."

"Ri-i-ight. Annie's pleasant quiet laugh softened the spoken word of disbelief and she squeezed Brad's right forearm with a small gentle hand before turning and walking towards the back of the room leaving Brad standing alone by her desk.

"Call me sometime, Brad."

With a smile of thanks and a wave of his right hand, Brad watched the small blonde's shapely backside go across the back of the room and into the hall.

I'd better get to Joanna's room, she said she wanted to start my algebra lessons again. Besides, I'll bet she knows about Ginny. Brad thought as he followed Annie into the hallway.

He was watching Joanna Bishop's trim figure and saying nothing as she wrote some practice problems on the blackboard for him. He really hadn't said much at all since he came into her classroom.

I bet she knew and never said anything to me all week. If Elinor didn't tell her, then she would see Ginny wasn't enrolled in any classes.

I wonder if Charlie knows about it?

Joanna didn't look up or even slow her rapid pace across the blackboard.

"Your very quiet, Brad. Do you have a problem? Or maybe you'd like to ask me something?" She spoke in her deep sexy voice which she saved for out of the classroom and her friends.

Many times in the first year her voice caught Brad by surprise and every time his reaction would bring a deep and sexy, but gentle laugh from her.

He watched her as she continued to create problems across the width of the board.

"You knew she wasn't coming back. Why didn't you tell me?"

Why am I so upset? She isn't here and so now I don't have to worry about her.

"I expect you're talking about Ginny? Truthfully Brad, I'm very confused about what you want to know and if you really care."

Joanna turned and walked to where Brad sat on the back of a chair. She laid the papers and chalk she was carrying onto the desk in front of him. For several seconds she studied his eyes. Her steady green eyes level with his.

"I don't know what happened between you, Brad. But obviously I was wrong in what I thought and you care a lot about her. I know from talking to her that she thinks a lot of you, also. Or, at least she used too."

Deep in thought, Joanna placed her right hand on his shoulder. Her red lacquered thumb nail slowly traced up Brad's throat to his jaw bone where it hesitated before she moved her whole hand and continued to caress the line of his jaw with slow gentle strokes of her thumb.

"Actually you would have had a chance to put some input into her decision to go back to Elmdale High."

"What do you mean? No one said anything to me. I haven't seen anybody in the family since the cookout."

"Remember Charlie asking you if you wanted to go with us to the Simpson's about two weeks before school started? You told him you would ask your folks and get back to him?

"But you haven't seen Charlie since. Remember?"

"Brad nodded sheepishly knowing he had goofed.

"Besides, you haven't ask your parents permission to do anything for months. You've been doing just as you please all summer.

"Anyway, that was the night the decision was made.

"There was too much residue left over from Elinor going to school here and then when Ginny moved in with Bud and Yoshi it put the same stigma on her. Maybe not as strong, but when you have no real close friends, it can be damn rough!"

Brad seemed to be studying the floor when he quietly asked what he really wanted to know. "Is she still living with Bud and Yoshi?"

"She's living in Elmdale with her aunt. Sylvia Bertoni, her mother's sister. She runs the Sylver rooming house on Maple Street. I for one can't see any point to her coming back to Wilmet High. She's really better off in the bigger school and with the kids she grew up with who remember her Italian mother not her half Japanese sister and Japanese stepmother."

"She isn't going to come back here again then?"

Brad bit the inside of his mouth in an attempt to stop the tears he felt welling up in his eyes.

I don't want to cry in front of her. She'll think I'm a big baby.

He tried to turn away from her but Joanna held his face with both hands. In her eyes he could see the sympathy she felt for him.

"It's hard to lose a friend, Brad. Even when you didn't know or would admit the person was a friend. You can still call her, or even go to Elmdale to see her."

Right! I can see me asking to call Ginny in Elmdale. That's a ten cent call we can't afford. Or asking Dad to drive me there so I can take a girl to the movies.

He didn't care about his tears anymore. Joanna's hands were comforting. Their touch made him feel warm and a lot stronger than he had felt moments before.

"You do confuse me, Brad. I'm sorry it's this way, but that's the truth of the matter and I'll probably never figure out what you're thinking. I doubt if you will ever share your complete thoughts with me. I don't think you can share them with anyone. I hope some day you'll learn how to do it. But anyway, I'm here anytime you decide you want to talk to someone.

You and Ginny have a lot in common. Do you know that? More than you or anybody else probably realizes. You're both deep and very fragile. You would be good together if you ever find out how to approach each other.

Brad?" She spoke so soft Brad wasn't sure she had actually spoke to him until he looked into her eyes. There was no need to answer her. The tears were welling into the corners of her brilliant green eyes. They made them more compelling than ever.

"Charlie and I have broken up."

Brad could hardly hear her so he leaned across the desk towards her. He caught whiffs of the subtle spring flower perfume she had put on early this morning and he was so close to her he could feel the warmth of her face on his.

"It was my doing not Charlie's. I just couldn't take anymore of his mother's bullshit.

I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that."

"It doesn't matter I know what you mean she isn't exactly a friend of mine."

"She'll do anything to stop him from marrying anyone. It wasn't just me, any woman who goes with Charlie is going to have to deal with her. I guess I'm not strong enough to handle her. Charlie is a nice guy and will be a good catch but I don't want to wait for my mother-in-law to die so I can have a whole husband."

Brad stood up to get her a Kleenex from the box on her desk. When he handed it to her he tentatively put his right arm across her shoulders. He expected her to pull away, but instead she leaned sideways and pressed her left hip against him.

They stood motionless for several moments just touching at the hip and were quiet except for Joanna softly blowing her nose and trying to dry her tears.

Joanna turned, looked the caring boy in the eye before kissing him softly on the forehead.

"Thanks for listening, Brad.

"Now, let's do some work before we have to go home."

Brad smiled while he studied her face.

"Do you think I will ever learn this stuff, Miss Bishop?"

"Of course you will. With a teacher like me, how can you fail, Brad?"

THIRTEEN

An hour ago it had still been dark when he had started hunting up the side of the mountain. For Brad the anticipation of a deer hunt in a foot of fresh powder snow was an exciting beginning to Christmas vacation. The clear Arctic air was tinkling like broken crystal wine glasses and each step of his heavy hunting boots brought a protesting squeak from the fine grained snow which had stopped falling just a short while ago. There wasn't a cloud to be seen anywhere from his vantage point high up on the south shoulder of Lynd Mountain. There was just an endless expanse of bright cerulean stretching from mountain top to mountain top.

Brad studied the new snow around him in amazement. He had never seen snow falling when it was so cold nor could he remember snow of this texture before. He had no idea what the temperature was, he only knew it was colder than he had ever experienced in his young life.

It was the third day since the Winter Solstice for 1952 and the sun's radiant heat was weak and puny against the surge of bitter cold Arctic air which had rushed in along with the first snow of the year. The sun's rays bouncing off the new undisturbed snow fields around him were strong enough to bring tears to his eyes that were barely able to run down his cheeks before they would freeze and fall off like miniature icicles. Within minutes after he stopped walking Brad's feet grew uncomfortably cold and he began stomping his feet against the bitter cold that was starting to seep into his thick leather hunting boots and through the single pair of wool socks he had on that filled up all the extra room the boots allowed

He dropped over the east side of the mountain and started down the ridge on a game trail which ran to the southeast. It would take him into the huge patch of mountain laurel which covered several acres maybe a quarter of a mile and halfway down the ridge below him.

He had not found any tracks in the fresh snow but he had found deer in the laurel patch before and he thought he had a good chance of finding a old amorous buck heading for the patch to woo the does Brad was sure had gone there to escape last night's storm.

As he cautiously made his way down the mountain Brad swapped his single barrel, 16 ga. shotgun from hand to hand and then from under one arm to the other as his hands became colder in the old wool gloves he had on. Last night as he was getting ready to go hunting Brad started looking for some warm gloves but could only find these worn out ones of his father's. They had been tucked down and forgotten in a bottom corner of his mother's linen closet.

When he reached the upper edge of the laurel patch Brad climbed up onto a car-sized granite boulder trying to see over the six and eight feet tall evergreen bushes. Looking for a place to put his shotgun down, Brad stomped the snow down in a wash tub sized circle next to an overhanging maple sapling. He knocked the cold powder snow from the maple's limbs with his toe then leaned his shotgun against one of its spindly branches.

Brad was becoming aware of how really cold it was as he started to feel a creeping deep numbness in his hands and feet. Even his knees and upper legs were feeling the affects of the sub-zero cold through his cotton long johns and flannel lined dungarees.

He pulled off his gloves and unbuttoned the middle two buttons of his red wool jacket so he could pull the bottom of the red cotton sweatshirt out of his pants. Then he could slip his cold numbed fingers into his armpits. While his hands drew the heat from his body Brad continued stomping in an attempt to get the circulation back into his feet.

The first sign of life he saw was about seventy yards further down the slope when something brushed against some laurel branches. Its movement sent the fine powdery snow off of the leathery green leaves that were curled like miniature green cigars to protected themselves from the bitter cold. The fine grained snow drifted through the air in a miniature blizzard. Brad stood stock still on the rock and he could feel his heart thumping against his ribs.

Where is he? There has to be something moving under that snowfall since there isn't a speck of wind to knock any snow off the trees.. Easy, slow down!

He hurriedly pulled his hands out from under his shirts and bent only far enough to pick up his shotgun by its barrel while he watched a bit of grayish-brown sliding behind the dense screen of branches and green leaves.

There's another one! Downhill.

It's coming this way.

Be careful. Bring the gun up slow and get ready when it steps in the clear.

He cupped his right hand carefully over the shotgun's hammer and slowly drew the cold steel back with his palm until it clicked on full cock with a muffled snap.

Damn! Where'd it go?

Brad kept searching the brush with his eyes. His gun hanging at his side held loosely in his bare right hand. All of his senses were homed in on the shadowy forms below him. He couldn't feel the sub-zero cold steel nip and bite at his hand and fingers, nor realize he was unconsciously stomped his ice cold feet on the snow covered rock under them. Brad was straining to see more of the vague forms gliding through the thick evergreen bushes. He got careless and fixated on the amorphous images below him and didn't hear or see the animals which were walking across the open hardwood forest twenty yards above and slightly behind him. The nearest deer above Brad was an old barren doe. She had stopped and became part of the trees and rocks as she stared at the weird-shaped lump on the rock below her. Behind the big doe two of this year's fawns, belonging to the smaller doe bringing up the rear, also stopped. Their ears twitched and the larger of the fawns stomped his right front foot quietly in the deep powder. His more excitable and protective sister fluffed her tail out in typical whitetail warning before stomping with both front feet in a hopping dance step. She took a few stiff-legged steps closer to the object of her unrest, passed her sibling, then stood motionless except for her slowly flaring and unflaring white tail hairs. The fawn's tail finally stayed flared out full-size. The hairs kept quivering showing her excitement and fear. The smaller mature doe was strolling along behind her children. She had her nose down and was searching the cold powder for an acorn or two she knew was buried under it.

A warm trace of man smell on a tiny vagrant puff of frigid air brought the small mother's head up. Her baby's tail was flared wide and quivering excitedly in front of her eyes. Then she saw a foreign shaped entity floating above the new snow. Terrified, she blew a long piercing alarm through her nostrils.

Jesus Christ! Where did she come from.

They're all around me.

Brad threw the shotgun to his shoulder and pivoted around while he tried to get the shotgun's round brass front sight on one of the swiftly moving deer but ended up watching them over the barrel of his shotgun while they raced for the protection of the laurel patch. All through the dense brush white tails flashed and grayish-brown bodies jumped up from under the protective snow ladened branches. A blizzard of white powder flew to obstruct Brad's vision as he tried to recover from the doe's loud cry of alarm. His heart beat harder against his rib cage. Out of the corner of his eye and below him Brad caught the subtle movement of a larger deer and a flash of yellow antler tines. Vainly he tried to find the deer which belonged to the antlers. He again caught a quick look of antlers rising above the bushes but the buck disappeared after one more teasing glimpse.

Brad knew the country well and there was no doubt in his mind about where the buck would head as it slipped downhill away from him. With no further thought about the rest of the flashing white flags of alarm and nervous does blowing from their hiding places in the dense brush, Brad jumped off the boulder and ducked under the laurel bushes. He slipped and slid on the rocks and roots which were concealed under the fresh coat of white powder as he hurried down to where he was sure the buck would come out of the laurel patch. Brad's heart raced at the exciting prospect of getting a shot at the big whitetail buck and he no longer felt the bitter cold of the frigid Arctic air.

When he approached the lower edge of the dense laurel thicket he slowed down to listen. He could hardly hear his own passage through the forest except for the whisper of an occasional branch whipping in the frigid air behind him. The fresh new snow was acting like a huge blanket of soundproofing

He's going to come out just below the top of the spine on my right. He'll be behind either the big rocks or the oak trees.

Be quiet. One step at a time. There he is!

The shotgun flashed up to his shoulder and the hammer coming back make a loud metallic snap.

No, it's a rock. Damn. He's here somewhere.

Brad slowed to a very careful walk and could feel the dampness across his back as he cooled off and his feet were on fire as the blood continued to rush into his cold numbed toes after his dash down the ridge.

He couldn't feel his trigger finger growing numb and stiffer after being exposed to the bitter cold for several minutes without even the questionable protection of the wool gloves. The air smelled frigid and blue. His nostrils kept freezing together when he inhaled and his boots were crunching and squeaking on the cold snow when he stepped under the protecting branches of a big hemlock. Under the tree the snow was only an inch or so deep.

One cautious step at a time, he crept around the barrel-sized tree trunk and searched for the buck amongst the rocks and trees on the hogback to his right.

Where is he? He's got to be here.

Damn. I'm cold.

Brad put his right hand back under his shirt for a couple of minutes as he slipped quietly through the light brush around the tree and started working closer to the hogback.

He had been juggling the shotgun around while he tried to keep his hands warm and he almost dropped it when he tried to swap hands under his shirts at the same time he was hugging himself with both arms to save as much body heat as he could.

Damn, it! There he goes!

The buck made its move when Brad stepped out of sight behind the narrow trunk of a smaller hemlock. Brad stepped out from behind the tree in time to see the flash of sunlight on polished antlers. The buck had his huge rack laid back onto his shoulders and was into his second bound. Another jump and he was across the top of the hogback safe from the 16 ga. rifled slug Brad belatedly fired at his front shoulder.

I've got to move fast to beat him to the road. I can get another shot at him when he crosses the blacktop if I hurry.

Damn! Damn! I'd better make sure I didn't hit him. Shit! I don't want to climb the hogback for nothing.

Brad fought his excitement and the almost overwhelming urge to break into a downhill run in pursuit of the big deer.

I've got to make sure I missed him.

I gotta hurry he's going to get way ahead of me if I don't.

No, he isn't! If I don't chase him he'll slow right down to see if I'm following him.

Give him time to settle down. And at the same time I can be sure he isn't wounded. I don't want to leave a wounded deer out here to suffer.

While Brad carefully worked his way up to the top of the rocky knoll he kept fighting the urge to run up the hill.

Right away he found where the buck had stood between the trunks of two large oaks and blended into the rocks and trees around him. Brad found two sets of jump marks which went up to the top of the knoll and the third set just over on the other side which led to a series of tracks where the buck changed to a fast walk as he went downhill towards the state highway.

Just what I thought he would do.

Brad stopped on the top of the hogback to catch his breath but he was too excited to rest very long. Within a few seconds he started downhill following the fresh tracks in the powder.

The crash the buck made as he jumped over a blown down tree startled Brad and he threw the shotgun to his shoulder.

He saw just a flash of gray-brown and the buck was gone.

Brad crossed the highway at a trot and immediately turned downhill to start looking for where the buck had crossed the snow covered pavement. He had not seen the buck's track going to his right when he came off the ridge so Brad knew the buck had traveled somewhere off to his left and had probably turned downhill just after Brad left his track for a faster and easier route off the ridge.

Stomping his feet loudly and flailing one arm at a time across his chest, Brad struggled to warm up and fight the bitter cold.

It's going to get warmer. By noon it will be nice and warm.

Where did he cross? I'll try down on the corner by the old road.

Brad hurried down the snow covered highway to where an old Concord Coach road was intersected by the newer asphalt highway.

On a sweeping curve in the highway the brush wasn't quite as thick on the south side of the road and within four or five steps Brad was on the almost brush free surface of the old coach road. The old road ran down by the old grist mill and across the creek on an old rock arch bridge. Once across the creek Brad knew the buck could follow the road for about a mile before he would lose it in the tangle of an old logging operation.

Brad stopped on the curve in the blacktop and pulled his right hand from his left armpit to get his Big Ben out. It was a struggle, his fingers were so numb he could hardly hang onto the rawhide thong the watch hung on. It was just after 9 o'clock.

It didn't take me long to come off the mountain. Let's see, fifteen minutes to the creek. If I don't find his track after I've crossed the creek, I'll come back here and find one of the smaller bucks.

Brad pulled a bite-sized hunk of semisweet chocolate from his sweatshirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth. It was frozen solid but he didn't mind as it slowly melted in his mouth. Besides, it was all he had brought to eat with him except for the bullion cubes, salt and sugar in the survival kit hanging on his belt.

Not even noticing his shivering from the sweat of his exertions and standing too long in the bitter cold Brad hurried down the old coach road towards the creek crossing.

Instantly his shivering stopped, his heart accelerated and a surge of adrenaline coursed through his arteries. He had almost stepped on a huge, perfectly shaped buck track which was going away from him down the middle of the road.

Judging by how long he had screwed around coming off the mountain, how long it had taken him to find the track again, and how fast Brad believed the buck came off the mountain added to the fact he had never seen a buck hang around between here and the creek before, Brad was sure the deer had a long lead on him.

Trotting through the fresh powder on the old road was fairly simple and it only took Brad eight or ten minutes to reach the creek. Another three or four minutes and he was up on the rocky knoll above the ruins of the grist mill. On the knoll overlooking the creek and his back trail, he found where the buck had stood behind a large rock on the edge of the road to see behind him. The buck's tracks said he was confident that no humans were behind him and he had meandered up the road nibbling on some bushes as he went.

Brad's breath was boiling out like clouds of steam and the second he stopped on the knoll to inspect the buck's tracks, the chill penetrated to his damp skin.

Maybe I should quit. It's really cold and I don't feel good.

He was cold all over and his hands had hardly any feeling left in them and were making it difficult for him to hang onto his lightweight shotgun. His feet felt like shapeless lumps attached to the bottom of his legs and he kept tripping over small rocks, sticks and other insignificant things buried under the powdery snow. Brad stood and looked at the set of buck tracks still following the road and knew he couldn't give up.

He's going to turn pretty soon and head back to the does.

Several times as they traveled uphill, the buck straightened out the long sweeping curves in the road by following a path off the corner and cutting across the hill to intersect the road further up the hill. Each time after Brad struggled through the thick brush to follow him, the deer would turn back onto the road and continue to follow it upward.

Periodically Brad stopped to watch and listen. He was sure he had seen something moving ahead of him. It was more of an impression rather than actually seeing the deer.

Tired and numb, Brad stood at the end of the road looking into the brush fields that had been created by a clearcut logging operation about twenty years before. It looked impassable but Brad knew from experience he could get through it but doubted he would ever see the buck to get a shot.

I'm so tired. Damn, I'd like to take a nap. This gun weighs a ton. Maybe I'll just leave it here. I can come and get it after lunch. That's a good idea. I won't have to carry it back and forth if I do that.

He leaned the shotgun against a willow bush, not paying any attention to it when it slipped through the fine willow twigs into the deep powder.

I'm forgetting to do something. What was it Charlie told me to do? Oh, well, I'll think of it. After I go take a nap.

In the fog induced by the hypothermia that was rapidly overtaking him, Brad turned away from the willows and brush field to start down the logging road towards the highway.

About fifty yards down the road Brad stopped and stood staring down into the snow where his feet were buried in the fine powder.

I forgot my shotgun! I'll have to go back and get it. No! Charlie can bring it down.

That's what I forgot, my shotgun.

Slowly he turned around and climbed back up the hill to the end of the road.

For several seconds he stood staring at the willow bush where he had leaned the gun.

What do I want? I'm forgetting something.

Finally, he kicked around at the base of the bush, and slowly shook his head.

Wonder what-t-t ---- t-time--s--s - s? Brad fumbled around trying to find the watch's rawhide thong. When he finally found the lace it was a struggle to hold onto it with his fat, numb fingers. After a minute, he gave up and kicked at the base of the willow bushes some more.

Charlie must have taken it. It ain't here. Oh, what's this? Charlie left his rifle for me. OK. I'll use it instead of my shotgun.

Brad stooped over and took a slow motion kick at the little single barrel shotgun almost falling headlong into the whip-sized willow bushes. Slowly he bent down a second time and pulled the shotgun out of the snow and carefully stood up before tucking it under his right arm and starting down the road.

I'-l--ll t--take Charlie's rifle home to him.

Brad stumbled over his brown and white mutt as he struggled to open the storm door latch. But even the simple metal latch, which only had to be lifted straight up, confused him. He finally slipped his wrist under it and raised it with his arm.

Standing in the relative warmth of the entryway Brad struggled to break his shotgun open while his dog danced around him also wanting into the warmth of the house. Brad finally gave up trying to unload the shotgun and set the loaded gun into a corner of the enclosed entry before trying to open the inside door.

"Brad, what kind of racket are you making? God, just open the door and come in.

"Where have you been anyway. It's almost lunch time. You'd better fix yourself something to eat."

His mother left the door open when she turned and went back into the living room carrying her green tin watering can.

"Hurry up and get that door closed!"

"Okay. I'm freezing. Can I take a hot bath?"

"No. You had one Saturday night. Just wash your hands that will warm you up.

"Yeah. OK."

Brad slammed the door closed with his foot and hurried towards the bathroom. The warmth of the house made him want to pee really bad. Reaching the bathroom he danced around in front of the toilet. First he tried to open his fly buttons. When he failed at that, Brad tried to get his belt off, but couldn't manipulate the simple buckle with his cold numbed and badly swollen fingers.

The hell with it.

He sat on the toilet seat while the faucet ran to get warm water into the sink.

Tears ran down his cheeks in frustration as he peed his pants out of necessity. The pain was excruciating and he could only hold his hands in the sink full of water for several seconds before the pain would force him to pull them out.

"Brad?" He looked at the door and bite his tongue, he did not trust himself to answer.

"Brad? Answer me, are you in there."

Fuck no. It's Santa Claus.

"Yeah, I'm here."

He spoke as quietly as he could in an attempt to control the tears in his voice and glared at the door as a wave of nausea hit him.

"Don't use a bunch of hot water and you had better eat some lunch now. Don't wait so you won't ruin your supper."

Brad reached for his Big Ben and realized it was still dangling out of his pocket. He remembered something banging the back of his right hand and thigh as he came off the mountain.

He shook is head as fresh tears started and he plunged his hands back into the cool water.

It was only two minutes after noon.

FOURTEEN

Her hand tightened on his and drew it down onto her lap. Her wool slacks were tight across her thighs and he could feel the strength of her legs when she stirred in her seat moving closer to him. In the flickering light of the movie he studied her face trying to read her thoughts and figure out how far she would allow his hands to go .

Ginny leaned her shoulder against him and Brad felt the back of his upper arm pressing lightly against the curve of her young breast. She drew closer to him and her warm breath touched his ear that still felt cold from the outside air's sub-zero temperature. Subtle feminine scents filled Brad's nostrils. The sharp smell of her lamb's wool sweater mingling with the Ivory Flakes it had been washed in and the hint of lavender from her bath soap.

The sound of gunfire erupted through the darkness. Ginny jerked at the sudden sound and involuntarily squeezed his right hand making him wince from the pain of the broken frostbite blisters in its palm. The shots also startled him and he turned quickly towards the big movie screen at the low end of the theater.

The image of her dark pixie cut and olive complexion remained behind and became superimposed over the huge figure of Gary Cooper as he stood in a narrow dusty alley with a Colt Single Action Army in his fist at high noon.

"Brad!? I asked you what happened to your hands?"

He stared into Annie's intense blue eyes.

What does she want?

He still wasn't comprehending her question that had startled him out of his daydream and the lingering hint of lavender was making it harder for him to separate his reverie about Ginny from reality.

She smells like that. Nice.

He returned her gaze across the aisle between their seats. Brad realized it was Annie's sweater which smelled so good and it had been her breast he had felt when she had bent over to look at his left hand. It was Monday the 5th of January and their first day back to school after Christmas vacation, and all day he had been avoiding questions about his sore hands. Brad was hoping for some peace and quiet so he could read during study hall, but he had not counted on Annie's curiosity and concern for him. She had moved into the desk on his left after Thanksgiving vacation and usually left him alone other than a pleasant hello smile and a 'see you tomorrow' when class ended. But today she was being persistent in getting his attention and demanding answers to her questions.

"I got frostbite. Deer hunting."

Well, maybe now she'll leave me alone now.

Brad turned back to The Cruel Sea which he had flat on top of the desk and holding it open with his right forearm so he wouldn't have to use either hand to hold it.

"Frostbite? Let me see them again." Annie demanded. "How did you get frostbite?" There was no mistaking the disbelief and concern in her soft voice. She turned slightly away from Brad so that she could sit on the very edge of her chair. Her straw colored hair spread over Brad's arm and shoulder when she bent down to look at his hands again.

"They look awful. Did you go to the doctor's?"

No! Don't you know we can't afford to go to the doctor?

She studied the palm of his right hand while still waiting for an answer and she gently lifted his left hand off of his desk and looked at the discolored skin of his thumb and first two finger tips.

"You're going to lose those nails." She said in a very matter-of-fact tone and so sure of herself that Brad shifted his gaze back to her face.

"Well? Did you?" This time she demanded an answer.

"No! I didn't. My mom said there wasn't any need to. Anyway, they'll heal pretty soon."

"Well I think you should go to the doctor. They look terrible, and they could get infected.

"You're limping. Did you hurt your feet, too?"

Brad looked towards the front of the room to where Miss Hurley the study hall teacher was correcting papers at her desk and Brad hoped she would look at him so he wouldn't have to answer anymore of Annie's questions.

Boy, is she nosey. I don't know why she cares anyway.

She makes me horny though when she leans over my desk and I can see her bra. She has freckles on the tops of her boobs.

Brad kept looking in the normally impish blue eyes and the soft look of concern they now held. Their intensity made him answer even though his conscious mind didn't want to.

"It isn't bad. Nothing like my fingers and I'm not going to lose any toenails."

The petite blond slid back onto her chair before turning to check that Miss Hurley was still busy at her desk.

"You get your driver's license this month don't you, Brad?

"Are you going to ask me out after you do?"

Like I'm taking the test next week, January 6th.

He felt trapped like a little boy caught playing with matches and knew that his face blazed a hot fire engine red. He had no way out, but he had no answer either. He mumbled the only answer he could think of.

"I don't think my dad will let me take the car out at night."

"We could go to Elmdale on Sunday afternoon, to a matinee."

"I'll ask my dad."

One part of Brad's mind was ecstatic about the prospect of taking Annie Phillips out on a date, while the other part was terrified and full of all of the reasons to why it wouldn't work.

Today was one of the few days in Brad's life when he felt like one of the luckiest kids on earth. He was taking the steps two at a time going up to Bouncer Sargant's office to get a pass to leave school at two o'clock. In just over an hour he would be out the door and heading for Peterboro to take his driver's test. Today was his sixteenth birthday and three days ago a January thaw had arrived in southern New Hampshire. It melted the roads down to bare asphalt and relieved any worry of their 1938 Chevrolet giving any cold weather fits. His luck kept holding.

Brad wasn't worried about the headmaster turning down his request for time off to take his driver's test. It had always been a tradition at Wilmet High for everyone to get an afternoon off to take the test. So he walked boldly into the high school office.

One of Miss Lynn's business course students sat at the front receptionist desk to answer the phone and student's questions. Behind her was the office of Bouncer Sargant, the headmaster.

Kenneth 'Bouncer' Sargant had got his nickname from his reputation of bouncing trouble makers and delinquents off of the walls in his office. Whether he really did or not was always a point of dissension amongst the students. He didn't believe in corporal punishment as far as striking a student with his hand, fist or otherwise, but most of the students thought that he didn't have any problem with slamming them against the wall next to his desk where the paint seemed to bear the proof of the legend.

"Brad, come on back here!" The ex-Army Major ordered before Brad got a chance to ask to see him. Now a Major in the Army National Guard, Bouncer had seen action in the European Theater and definitely was not a wimp.

"Here's your pass Brad, and good luck.

I didn't even have to ask for it. He had my pass ready.

Brad could not believe Bouncer had anticipated his request and was being so cheerful about his desire to get out of school early.

"I've watched you drive, Brad, you're a very good driver so you won't have any problem passing the test. Just relax and you'll do fine.

"Is your mom going to pick you up here at school?"

"Yes, sir. She said she'd be across the street about two o'clock."

Brad realized when Bouncer stood up he was not really a huge and menacing monster. He was really a nice guy about 5'10" and 175 pounds and the hand he offered Brad was about the same size as his dad's and not any softer.

"Happy birthday, Brad."

He sure is being nice to me. He shook my hand. Damn.

Brad choked up when he tried to say "Thank you, Sir." He hurriedly turned away so the observant brown eyes wouldn't detect the tears which were threatening to run down his cheeks. Bouncer had been the only person all day to wish him a happy birthday and good luck on his driver's test.

The only person he had seen before he left the house for school this morning was his father, and he could not remember anytime in his life when his dad had said happy birthday or how do you feel and any of those other sentimental phrases people who love each other say. As usual his mother wasn't out of bed. She never got up before nine o'clock. So Brad had fixed his own breakfast and got himself ready for school just as he had been doing since the fifth grade. Even on his birthday.

I wonder where she is? It's 2:10.

Damn. I hope she didn't forget me.

Brad kept fretting as the low January sun sank deeper in the west. He and his parents had agreed he would take his driver's test early in the afternoon before the water on the roads would start freezing for the night. But if his mother didn't hurry, it would be after 3 o'clock before they got to Peterboro for his test.

The cool air was starting to bother Brad's hands which were slowly healing. So far he had only lost the nail on his left index finger and it was sensitize to the touch. His left thumb and second finger could not stand to be out in cool air at all. Gingerly he wrapped the end of his index finger in the palm of his left hand with his thumb curled over the tender skin left by the missing nail before slipping it into his coat pocket.

Damn! That hurts. Puts goose pimples on my teeth when it touches the cloth.

He shivered in reaction to the drag of the cloth and clenched his front teeth together.

There she is. About time. It's almost 15 after two.

"I tried to be on time, Brad. But your sister called from California. Her baby is due in March and she wants me to go to Torrance and stay with her. Edgar said he would send me the money to fly out."

He watched his mother out of the corner of his eye as he drove the old Chevie out of town and headed for the road up over the mountain.

"You're not going over Temple Mountain are you? You know I don't like that mountain road."

"We're late now. It's almost 15 minutes shorter to go over Temple Mountain so we can make up most of the time."

And knock off the baby talk.

He had noticed amongst other things, his mother had taken to sweet talking in a childish, almost a baby talk voice, about anything she didn't agree with or like.

"Well, be careful and don't drive too fast around those curves."

"Are you going to California?"

"I think so. Your dad and I will have to talk about it, but Greta is having a hard time and is pretty sick, so I think I should go as soon as I can.

"I made you a birthday cake. Are you sure you don't want someone over for supper?"

"Thanks."

Brad ignored the question about supper. They had talked about it one other time last week and he had declined the offer.

I don't want anybody around that long since you and dad always ended up arguing about some stupid thing. I know tonight or tomorrow night, but probably both nights, you're going to argue about going to California.

He kept his thoughts to himself and drove in silence for several minutes.

"Is your hand still sore? You keep taking it off of the steering wheel."

"It's alright. There just isn't any callus on it and it stings when I hold the wheel too tight."

So much you care. It's the first time you've asked about my hands since the day after Christmas. And you never even noticed that my foot was sore.

"How long will you stay out there? California."

"I don't know. It will depend on how sick Greta is. I don't think more than a week or two after the baby is born."

"You'll be back by spring break if the baby is suppose to be born in March?"

"When is Easter vacation this year? Do you know?"

"It's the first full week of April. I think the sixth."

"Oh, I'll be home by then."

With his mind full of questions, Brad watched his mother out of the corner of his eye while she sat beside him looking out her side window.

She has changed since Greta got married and left and she's using another name all of a sudden.

"Why are you using Carolyn instead of Carrie? Isn't Carrie on your birth certificate?"

"Yes, it is. I'm tired of having a name that's like a hick's. I like the sound of Carolyn.

"I used Carolyn before I married your father and I want to go back to it."

"You used Carolyn when you were married to your first husband?"

She just nodded and turned back to the window and into herself.

Brad knew the discussion was over and he wouldn't get any more out of her. He had learned a long time ago the fastest way to end a discussion with his mother was to bring up her first husband, the father of his ten year older half brother.

"Are you going to take her out, Brad?" His best friend Andy was asking from the other end of the phone line.

Brad had called him right after he had come in from school and found his brand new driver's license in the mailbox. He wanted to share his achievement with someone who cared and since Brad was 6 months older than Andy they were talking about double dating now that Brad could drive.

"I'd like to, but I'm not sure if my dad will let me drive at night, especially in the winter. "You know how they are, Andy. Neither my mom or my dad want me to take her out so they will use the car as an excuse to stop me from going out."

"Do you think they'll let us double date if you take somebody else?"

"I suppose. Yeah, I think they will if we go from your house and your folks know where we are."

"Okay. Just don't tell them who you're taking. Or say something like, 'I'm going to ask Ann Marie Sullivan.' You and I know she won't go out with you, in fact you don't want to take her out. Then she turns you down and on the spur of the moment, since you have to have a date to double date, you ask Annie.

Simple, Brad? Of course."

"I'll do it, Andy. Tomorrow at school."

"Why not now, tonight."

"Too many ears around here. Besides it's too soon to ask her".

"Stay over my house tomorrow night, we can do it then. That shouldn't be too soon, Thursday night, for a Saturday night date."

"Okay, I'll ask Ann Marie tomorrow morning before class and we can call Annie from your house tomorrow night."

"I was thinking more like you could walk her home from school, Brad."

"You're sure she's going to say yes, Andy. I'll do it as long as you're sure she's not going to turn me down."

"She's not going turn you down, Brad. Take my word for it, I have it from the very best source that Annie wants to go out with you."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you that, you'll just have to take my word for it."

"You're taking Janice out aren't you? That's who told you, her best friend and your latest girl friend.

I'm right aren't I? Andy, answer me."

"You'll see Saturday night, Brad."

FIFTEEN

Brad slipped the new leather sling over his head so his .22 rifle hung upside down across his back with the stock behind his right ear. He was standing on the bank of Stoney Creek watching the mocha colored water racing down the rocky creek bed. He gave the rifle sling a last tug to settle the .22 on his shoulder before stepping off the bank and into the swirling knee deep water.

Within two steps, the fast running, ice cold water numbed his feet and legs. It tugged and grabbed at his legs almost upsetting him while he tried to balance himself on the water-rounded rocks littering the creek bed. Several careful short steps and he would be able to reach a birch sapling hanging over the stream. Brad stretched his arms out ahead of him, grabbed the sapling and swung himself up onto the bank.

He stomped the excess water out of his leather boots before starting up the hill through the big oaks and beeches growing between the rock faces and huge boulders that littered the mountain side.

I hate to leave Rusty by herself. It seems like she spends a lot of time in the house since Mom left in January for Greta's, but she would screw up my cat hunting by running up and down the hill.

A train of unwanted thoughts started running through Brad's mind.

I wonder when Mom will get back from California. She's been gone for about four months. She said she'd be back in time for spring break and that was over six weeks ago.

It doesn't seem right to me. Her staying out there and leaving Dad and me alone here. I guess she doesn't really care about us.

Brad looked up at the series of rock faces that extend six or seven hundred feet up the mountain above him. Each face was from fifty to almost one hundred feet high and he was going to climb each one in hopes of finding the bobcat several people said they saw crossing the road by Ballou's sawmill, and he was sure it was one of the cats he had seen in the ledges a year and a half ago.

One of the old-timers from Lynd said that years ago the she-cats would move into these ledges early in the spring to have their young and then spend the summer in the immediate vicinity raising their kittens.

Going uphill from Stoney Creek the hillside got rapidly steeper and the dark gray weathered granite boulders became more numerous and larger.

Brad slowed, almost stopping, before he slipped quietly between several car-sized boulders laying at the bottom edge of the lower face. Two more steps and he could see the gigantic pile of boulders at the foot of the face. He stopped, still breathing hard from the steep climb. He slipped the rifle sling over his head and off so the rifle was ready to use. He leaned his left shoulder against the nearest rock to break up his outline and to brace himself if he wanted to shoot.

That's where the little she-cat went two winters ago. Right under the rock with the big gob of quartz and mica on its face. If she crawled in there, and then went back towards the face her den must be under those big flat rocks over to the left.

When his breathing settled down and he could hear something besides himself grabbing huge mouthfuls of air, Brad eased himself further in between the huge stacked up boulders.

He stepped next to a bucket-sized rock and a shower of last fall's dried up oak leaves flew up around his knees. He jumped back and threw the .22 to his shoulder pointed down into the leaves!

Snake!? A timber rattler?

His heart raced up into his throat, but his hands were still steady on the rifle.

I don't see or hear anything. I hate these rocks. If there are snakes anywhere around they'll be here.

Brad studied the leaves at his feet. Seeing nothing moving or suspicious, he slowly shifted his feet.

There it is!

He jammed the .22 towards the three foot long, brown speckled snake and thumbed the rifle's safety off when the snake twisted around and one end rose towards him. As Brad pivoted towards it the snake disappeared into the leaves as quick as it had appeared.

His heart sped up to emergency and his breathing stopped. Still not breathing, his eyes probed the pile of oak leaves where he last saw the snake.

Move back. Get out of here. It's hiding under those leaves.

Brad set his right foot back behind him and started to shift his weight onto it.

It rose up out of the leaves, one end was under his left foot, the snake's other end twisted towards Brad's exposed left shin. His right foot came forward and he kicked as hard as he could and the brownish-gray oak branch snapped in two and flew apart.

God damn limb. It could have been a snake. Everyone says there are rattlers around here.

For twenty more minutes Brad poked and searched around the largest of the rock falls on this side of the mountain before he worked his way across to its far end.

If I go up around this end I can climbed the hill at the north end of the face instead of climbing the rock face itself. Then I can come out just below the upper ledge. I want to look at the hole up there where I found the big cat track last winter.

He slipped his left arm back through the sling on his .22 and with it again hanging muzzle down across his back Brad started climbing the steep hillside. Carefully one step, one hand hold at a time he climbed parallel to the outside edge of the vertical rock face. He stopped every few feet to carefully turn his back to the slope and look back and down to where he had just come from.

It would be neat if a cat would come out of those rocks down there. I could get a good shot at it from here.

He looked up before starting the climb again.

Climb some more, I guess. Damn! It's still a long ways to go.

Brad came to a short rock face extending forty or fifty feet to the side in each direction. It barred his upward progress unless he wanted to drop down and climb back up part of the near vertical climb below him. Without any further thought he grabbed a handful of foot tall mountain laurel stems growing out of the top of the five foot high wall. With both hands he carefully started to pull himself up the rock face.

First he heard the smaller roots snapping and popping. Then he felt the bushes start to lift up and tear away from the rock.

When he look across the top of the ledge he realized the laurel roots were just growing across the rocks. Barely hidden under a thin layer of topsoil and the bright green Burned Ground Moss which was also clinging precariously to the granite black from time and weather.

The laurel roots kept ripping out and Brad felt himself slowly slipping down the rock face.

A quick look back at the steep two hundred and fifty foot slope stretching down below him and Brad jerked on the shrubs one last time. With a knee banging hump upward followed by a gut wrenching twist to the right and he was half kneeling and half sitting on the upper edge of the ledge.

That's a long way down.

I made too much noise. He reprimanded himself knowing he had been careless in his choice of handholds.

He struggled out of the rifle sling while he knelt on the edge of the rock face before allowing himself to flop down and roll over onto his back to catch his breath and let his shakes settle down.

Still flat on his back Brad pulled on Big Ben's rawhide thong and behind the scratched and scarred plastic face read 10:02. For almost an hour he had been working his way up through the ledges trying to find the bobcat and its den.

Just a little ways and I'll be up to the top of the first face. Time to move on.

Twenty feet above and a few feet to his left was his favorite spot to sit in the faces. Up by the garage-sized slab of granite which seemed to be just teetering on the lip of the ledge.

Brad looked around trying to find a quiet as well as the easiest path up the steepest part of the climb while he slipped the rifle's sling back over his head. He knew he would still need both hands to climb no matter which way he went from here.

He picked his way across the small bench he had just climbed by stepping on the exposed rock and patches of moss which were scattered along its top edge. When he was directly below the teetering boulder he turned uphill and slowly started to make his way up under it. He had picked his path wisely and Brad knew as long as he didn't hurry the short climb would be steep and hard but not noisy.

He stopped to rest for the third time in less than fifty feet when he reached the place where he could stretch up just enough to look into the entrance of a hole under the outside edge of the teetering boulder. He held his breath for several seconds as he stretched higher. The morning sun was still low enough to light up the under side of the rock giving Brad a good view of the den's entrance. He took a half step, then another half step and he could see down to the first turn of the den. There was fresh dirt pushed up on the outside edges of the hole and a flat spot which looked as if an animal had been lying right in front of the den's entrance. As he crept upward and closer Brad could make out the shadowy outlines of round quarter-sized, four toed tracks in the dust. He dropped down onto his hands and knees and by grabbing a beech sapling Brad pulled himself up onto the soft dirt platform in front of the den.

He lay on his belly not breathing just listening for any signs of life in the hole. When he ran out of air and was forced to take a deep breath, Brad pulled his knees up under him and pivoted slowly to his left. Now he could see around the south side of the boulder and there in the dirt was a small narrow and well used trail under the granite slab's overhang. In most places it was too low for him to negotiate even on his knees. The tracks he had noticed earlier seemed to be everywhere and Brad checked them closely to be sure that they were cat tracks and not gray fox tracks. He couldn't find any sign of claw marks on the front of the four small toe pads and in the soft dirt Brad found sharp outlines of the pad's structure.

Its got to be a cat. Even with the notches in the back of the big pad, the front of it is concave. I think it's a little too big for a gray fox. It sure isn't a red fox with those lobes in the big pad. Nope! It's got to be a little she-cat.

Now that he was positive of what he was looking at Brad started to investigate more thoroughly and closer around the entrance to the den. The cat smell was strong in the soft dirt the cat had pushed out of the den and there were several partridge feathers and part of a bird's foot just over the bank from the den.

Stinks! Smells like that dumb cat Greta used to have.

Brad snickered to himself while he remembered how the male cat had peed in everyone's shoes.

I hope mama isn't home. I want to get a look inside this hole and she just might not like it if there's a kitten in there.

Carefully the lean boy drew himself up into the front of the entrance. With his left hand in the soft dirt supporting his weight Brad leaned down into the mouth of the den.

Alright. Look at the size of that track. It isn't much bigger than the pad of my thumb. There's a lot of those little ones inside the den.

I wonder how many kittens she has?

She might be around here. I think I'd better get out of here before she shows up.

Crawling part way on his belly, part way on his knees and the rest in a sort of duck walk Brad came around the south end of the granite slab. He rose up on tight muscled legs and took three quick steps out into the open on the very top of the rock face.

The small she-cat was stretched out, sunning herself, on a barrel-sized piece of rock just above the edge of the drop off.

Brad's hands dragged at the .22 still slung across his back. The sling hung up on his ear and he felt the warm blood trickle down his neck when the sharp edge of a brass sling hook cut him. He kept struggling with his sling while he watched her start to draw her legs under her. She held his stare and with no visible motion or physical effort she was up in a crouch. All of her muscles were taunt and ready to launch her off of the rock.

He made one more attempt to swing the .22 up into line for a shot at the cat. He blinked when the sling dragged across his face and he heard her hit the dry leaves behind the rock and heard one more smaller thump before she was out of sight and hearing.

Shaken, Brad leaned back against the rock and tried to remember what he had seen and all he could recollect was the image of a tawny brown form with black and white spots crouched on the rock. But he distinctly remembered and had no trouble visualizing the cat's intense yellow-green eyes and the hidden fire they held when he had looked across the twenty feet separating them.

I've never been so close to a bobcat. Boy, she looked mad and scared at the same time.

When his hands stopped shaking and his heart was no longer galloping across his chest, Brad pushed himself off of the boulder and stepped up to the edge of the rock face. He went to where he could see down into the rocks below. Another step and he could also look around the underside of the teetering boulder to the fresh pile of dirt in front of the cat's den and the steep slope which ran down in front of it.

For over two hours Brad sat quietly on the edge of the cliff. He had his right leg folded under him sitting on his ankle. The .22 Springfield was propped on his left knee and its stock was snug into his right shoulder while he watched for the cat to come back to her young.

Maybe she won't be back as long as I'm here. Besides I'm getting hungry.

After waiting in vain for so long he pulled his leg out from under him and sat with both feet dangling over the rock face. From way down in the front pocket of his blue jeans Brad dug out a couple of cellophane wrapped caramels Joanna Bishop handed to him as he walked out of her math class yesterday afternoon.

"You might get hungry tomorrow when your hunting."

While he unpeeled the cellophane from around the candy and put the caramel on his tongue to melt Brad remembered that was all she said before smiling and winking at him.

How did she know what I was going to do? Brad wondered who had told her.

They'll make my stomach think it has had something to eat even if I don't like them.

I hope Dad stops at the store and gets some groceries on his way home tonight.

He really didn't have any idea how much longer he sat there looking at the cat's den. But the shadows were as short as they were going to get today. Brad dragged Big Ben out to see how close it was to the time he thought it was.

No wonder I'm hungry, it's after noon. Ben say's it's 12:15.

Think I'll go over the top of the mountain it will be quicker than going back down to the road. Besides, the worse part of the climb is below me.

Brad was wandering down the trail rather than hiking. He had let his mind drift as soon as he hit the top of the ridge and picked up the trail which would take him off the mountain and into his front yard.

I can't believe I asked Cynthia to a show and she said she'd go. I just hope Dad doesn't change his mind about me using the car. Not like he and Mom did when she was getting ready to go to California.

Brad would break out in a sweat whenever he remembered the double date he had with Annie Phillips, his friend Andy and his girl friend and how after his parents had agreed to let him use the car for the date had reneged at supper time on the night of his date. They said his mother might have to go to her sister's house in Newton because she was leaving for California by plane the next night.

Brad never could figure out why his mother had to go to Boston 24 hours before she was leaving for California. And why he had to call off the first and only real date he had ever had when he was going to drive his date to a movie. For weeks Brad had been unable to face Annie and although she said she understood and was as friendly as ever Brad stayed shy and embarrassed about the whole episode.

He had not asked any girls out since then.

Finally last week he had found the nerve to ask out a girl from Greenfield. He had known Cynthia ever since he started working for Charlie. Cynthia Parker's dad worked at the grain mill with Charlie and the family was one of his milk customers. Whenever Charlie stopped at their house on weekends to deliver milk Brad remembered Cynthia being there. She was the same age he was and went to high school in Peterboro. He always thought she was kind of a cute strawberry blond with an ample supply of freckles. And recently he had noticed she had a woman-sized bust and hips. At first he couldn't believe it when she said she wanted to go out with him and it was only after she added, 'I didn't think you would ever ask me out, so I asked you.' that Brad believed she really wanted to go out with him.

SIXTEEN

Several times in the last few minutes Brad had walked back into the kitchen to look at the electric clock. He stared at the clock as its sweeping second hand crept across the twelve twice before he went back out onto the side porch to watch for the green Pontiac to come down the hill.

He's going to be late and he promised he would be here on time. Damn!

Brad wiped his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans before opening the door and going out onto the front lawn to wait for his dad.

Last night as soon as his father had come in from work Brad had confronted him about his date with Cynthia. He got his dad to promise to have the car back by 5 o'clock so Brad could clean it and still have time to eat supper before he picked Cynthia up.

Brad patted the right front pocket of his jeans and felt the small bulge of the folded bills Charlie had given him yesterday morning after Brad told him he had a date tonight. Charlie had known the few dollars Brad had left from selling some furs wouldn't be enough money for his date. Brad had been hoping his dad would loan him enough to squeak by on since he was suppose to start doing some plowing and harrowing for a neighbor of Charlie's next week and could pay Harold back out of that money in a week or so. Brad felt better knowing he wouldn't have to ask Harold for the money. It was a lot easier to have Charlie offer it and to pay him back with work.

His brown and white mongrel heard the familiar engine long before it started down the hill or Brad could hear or see it. The dog ran towards the road and sat down on the very edge of the strip of asphalt looking up the hill and waiting.

"Your full of it, dog! He isn't coming yet."

Rusty turned her brown and white face to Brad and pulled her upper lip back in a smile before she snubbed him with her nose in the air.

Well, he isn't too late. I'll still have time to eat if Dad is going to fix it.

He watched his father pull the '49 Pontiac close to the lawn so Brad could vacuum out the interior.

"Is that close enough? I guess you can turn it around to get the other side if you have to."

"I think it will reach OK, Dad."

"What time are you going to leave?"

"I have to be at Cynthia's by 6:30. The show starts at 7.

"When're we eating?"

"That's what I was trying to figure out.

"If your ready to leave by 6, we can eat then and you'll have plenty of time to pickup your girlfriend before half past. OK?"

"I'll get started on the car now. Then I can take a bath and change before 6."

Brad had just pushed his chair back from the table and started to get up when Harold spoke for the first time through the whole meal.

"You've still got a few minutes. Sit down, I'll feed the dog for you later."

Brad tried to catch his father's eyes but Harold was avoiding eye contact and Brad didn't like it. He knew if his father wouldn't look him in the eye he had something on his mind.

"I got a letter from your mother today she's talking about not coming back."

Harold kept looking at his plate and was silent for a long minute.

"I don't have much time, you'd better hurry up, Dad."

"She wants to stay in California. We will probably move out there after you get out of school in June.

"Edgar says he can get me a job at North American Aviation and it will pay three or four times what I make here and you can finish school out there."

"I'm not sure I want to go to California." Brad quickly injected. "I know I don't want to be anywhere near Edgar.

"Maybe I'll live with Charlie."

Brad got up from the table but hesitated instead of walking away. The conversation wasn't over with, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it and didn't want to be pinned down.

"I've got to go. I have to pick Cynthia up in five minutes."

"Brad."

"I've got to go, Dad. Besides, I don't think it makes a damn what I want. We'll do whatever Mom wants us to do."

Brad drove the three and a half miles to Greenfield faster than normal. He didn't want to be late getting to Cynthia's house.

He was more upset about the idea of moving to California than he had first thought when his father brought it up. All the while he drove his mind was whirling with confusion. The more he thought about it the less sure he was of his true feelings. It wasn't as if he had any real ties in Southern New Hampshire. Although he loved the country and the outdoor life he led, Brad thought that there was no one to keep him here.

The front door opened just before Brad stepped up on the bottom step leading to the Parker's front porch and a smiling Cynthia stepped out. Her strawberry blond hair was almost shoulder length with enough curl to frame her round face. She wore a green plaid cotton dress with a small white collar and a tiny piece of lace at her throat. There was a row of large green buttons on the front as far down as the thin, white leather belt around her tiny waist. Brad could see the strain on the buttons across her breasts and had a problem looking anywhere else except at the hint of the lacy white bra showing between the buttons.

"You're not late, but if you had been a little earlier I would have asked you in. My parents aren't home yet.

Can we go, Brad? I don't want to miss the start of the movie it's suppose to be really good."

"Sure, why not.

I was afraid I was going to be late, My dad didn't get through work until late then he had to fix our supper."

Brad open the passenger door of the Pontiac and when Cynthia slipped past him to get in he felt the touch of her hip brushing against his belly. When the slowly sinking sun showed behind her for a fraction of a second he saw the outlines of her shapely young thighs and Brad realized she didn't have a slip on under her light summer dress. His nostrils caught a faint trace of her perfume which lingered when he closed the door.

After he had settled himself behind the wheel and started out of Cynthia's driveway, he felt her slide the rest of the way across the front seat which was almost as wide as Brad was tall.

Their bodies touched from shoulders to knees and Cynthia's left hand rested easily on the upper part of his right thigh.

Brad felt himself growing and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

I hope she doesn't move her hand and find out I have a hard on. She'll sit on the other side of the car if she does.

Her hand touching me there feels good. I like that.

During the eight mile drive, Brad listened to Cynthia's chit-chat about Peterboro High School and he enjoyed the feel of her body against him. She was being very liberal about allowing him to enjoy it.

When they reached the new piece of straight road which stretched out for over a mile towards Peterboro Brad took his right hand off of the steering wheel with the intention of placing it around her shoulders. But before he could lift it up, Cynthia grasped his hand and guided it down into her lap.

I can't leave my hand there. She didn't know where she was putting it.

Brad slowly pulled his right hand free as the end of the straight away approached and as soon as he could steer the car again with one hand he rolled his window down about an inch.

"I'm a little warm. Are you OK, Cynthia."

"Oh, sure." She giggled. "I can always get a little closer to you."

Although Brad had been to the Peterboro Theater many times this was the first time he had been there on a date.

Several couples were arriving at the ticket window when he and Cynthia walked across the wide concrete sidewalk in front of the theater holding hands. Brad listened when Cynthia spoke to two of the girls and realized several girls and their dates seemed to ignore her and were talking quietly amongst themselves while they covertly watched Cynthia and himself.

"Come on, Brad. Let's go up in the balcony, the air conditioner blows up there and it's cooler."

Cynthia seemed immune to all that was going on around her. She paid no attention to the sidelong glances which were being cast her way as she led Brad up the stairs into the darkness of the balcony.

Since Brad didn't know anybody who went to Peterboro High except Cynthia he couldn't tell friend from foe, but it was obvious to him some of the looks passing back and forth from the couples around them weren't from friends.

While they settled themselves Cynthia brushed and accidentally pushed against Brad several times and soon he was in a constant state of excitement from the warmth of her body touching his and the soft give of her breasts on his arms and chest.

For several minutes they sat shoulder to shoulder watching the newsreel and waiting for the cartoon to liven up the screen. Neither had spoken since the theater lights had gone down.

Brad felt the nervous dampness in the palms of his hands.

I'd like to feel her boobs some more. I wonder if she'll let me? She'll probably get mad if I do, I'd better not.

Brad squirmed a little in his seat before finally putting his arm across the back of Cynthia's seat just as Porky Pig declared "ThThTh-at's aaaall folks" and disappeared into a swirl of color.

Cynthia reached up and brought Brad's right hand down over her right shoulder and absently toyed with his fingers while she slid closer to him and laid her left arm over the armrest and into Brad's lap.

The heat of his blush and the sweat forming in his armpits made Brad uncomfortable and feeling feverish when Cynthia gently pulled his right arm further down across her shoulder squeezed his hand and then pressed it into her left breast. Brad felt the roughness of lace and realized that she had put his hand inside of her dress and that his hand was cupping her breast and the warmth he felt was her bare skin.

Guiltily, Brad swung his head around and searched the dim faces nearest to them to see if anybody had noticed or were watching. But every person he could make out in the dimly lit balcony was engrossed in Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr locked in an embrace as the surf washed over them.

It's getting hot in here.

Just then there were two loud clicks from behind them and he heard the fans come on and within seconds he felt the air stirring from behind and coming down the lines of seats towards the screen.

"Wait a minute! I have to button my dress before the lights come on."

All around them people were getting out of their seats as the movie credits rolled down the screen and Brad knew at any second the house lights would be turned up and what Cynthia was doing would be quite obvious. Nervously he watched her fingers struggling with the oversized buttons and he couldn't understand why she was having so much trouble getting them buttoned.

"What are you laughing at?" Brad asked her as she finally stood up and reached down for his hand.

"Never mind. I'll tell you later. Come on, let's go."

Cynthia tugged him out of his seat and they hurried down the stairs and out across the lobby. When they started across the sidewalk towards the parking lot Brad slowed her down with a gentle pull on her arm.

"Do you want to get something to eat? We can go to the Oaken Bucket."

He had never been in the Oaken Bucket, but he had heard kids in his class say they went there to eat after they played basketball games in Peterboro.

"No, thanks, Brad. I'm not hungry. At least not for food.

"Come on! Let's get in the car."

Cynthia led them around to the side of the theater and held tight to Brad's hand when they hurried across the parking lot. As they walked she swung his right hand behind her and pressed it against her butt.

The muscles in her upper thigh and butt rippled and played under his hand. She slowed down and leaned against him in the dimly lit parking lot.

Confused and disturbed. But enjoying what was happening to him, Brad felt a new surge of excitement with each touch of Cynthia's hip and thigh against him and his hand continued to caress her backside.

"Open your door and I'll slide in ahead of you. Hurry!" Her voice was deep and barely audible.

There was barely room for Brad to get under the steering wheel since Cynthia had only gone in far enough to let him get next to her. Without a word she put both arms around his neck and pulled his face to hers. Her lips were hot and moist. She opened her mouth and her tongue came against Brad's lips with an urgency and persistence he couldn't understand. Her tongue slipped between his teeth and flicked the tip of his tongue.

"We can't stay here." Her voice was low and ragged. "Let's go to Sunset Lake. It will be quiet and pretty there." Her voice was stronger and more under control when she slide over to give Brad more of the seat so he could sit all the way under the steering wheel.

"What were you laughing at when you were." His voice trailed out.

"When I was what, Brad?"

"You know - - , buttoning your dress?"

Cynthia was smiling and Brad thought she was kind of laughing at him.

"What did you say Brad? You're talking too soft."

"Why were you laughing when you were buttoning your dress in the movies?" Brad was laughing at himself along with her.

"I put bigger buttons on my dress to make them easier to undo in the dark. But I didn't make the new button holes large enough for them."

"Oh." He didn't understand it and decided he had been embarrassed enough so he kept quiet.

"Did you like the movie, Brad? I thought it was great. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, it was."

But Brad's mind wasn't on the movie they had just seen.

Cynthia snuggled against him as they drove in silence. Both of her hands held Brad's right hand on her bare legs well above her knees. His mind was in a turmoil. He knew what he wanted and he knew what Cynthia was suggesting. But he wasn't sure if it was right or not and most confusing was whether Cynthia really meant what her body language was saying or was she, as he had heard other boys call some girls, a "cock teaser". Nothing he had ever seen or heard about Cynthia led him to believe one way or the other about her. Never had she done anything or said anything in front of Brad to make him believe that she was an easy lay, or that she would lead him on.

If I try to screw her she might let me. But I'll be in real trouble if she doesn't want me to and then squeals on me.

Shortly after they had started back towards Greenfield and Sunset Lake Brad's stomach muscles tightened up and started to ache. Now as he turned the corner onto the lake road, he could hardly draw in a deep breath without being in excruciating pain.

"Brad, we can park by the camp gate. You know the little beach were I saw you last summer? The people who own the children's camp own the beach too. They told me we could use it anytime we wanted to."

Brad gently pulled his hand out of hers so he could negotiate the turns between the trees and drove onto the edge of the sandy beach.

There was a three quarter moon just coming up across the lake and a little to their right. In its increasing brightness Brad could see Cynthia's bare legs as she turned part way around towards him before pulling her shapely legs up onto the seat next to him. Her cotton dress was hiked up across her upper thighs and a hint of pink silky panties were peeking out from under its hem.

For several minutes they sat quietly together.

"I need some air, it's too hot in here."

"Here let me open the window, Brad."

The knots in Brad's stomach jerked a notch tighter and threatened to jerked him over double when she reached for the window handle and he realized the warm silky feeling his hands felt were Cynthia's bare breasts. She had unhooked her bra and pulled it above her full breasts.

He felt her elbow rubbing against his thighs as she tried to crank down the window. The next time around she stopped cranking with the side of her elbow pressing his erection against his thigh.

He moaned softly more to himself than to her and he pulled her to him by her breasts.

"Ohh! Not too hard, Brad. It feels good but don't pull them. Squeeze and rub them. There. There. Ohh, just like that."

Their mouths met and mutually they started to slide down on the seat. Cynthia spread her legs as she turned onto her back and Brad started to come down on top of her.

The pain shot through his stomach like a flaming arrow when he tried to straighten out and he froze half twisted around.

God! That hurts!

She grabbed him up by the shoulders before speaking. Her voice was deep and quivering with passion. "We can't make love because I'm having my period. But I'll come if you play with my breasts and suck my nipples."

Brad heard her words through the fog of his agony as his stomach rolled and he felt the bile rise up in his throat.

"Let me out of here! I'm going to be sick!"

The door flew open when he slammed the handle down with the palm of his left hand. Brad half rolled and jumped out. His vomit splatter on the rear tire but missed his pants and shoes.

Brad felt Cynthia's soft warm hands on his shoulders while he was bent over retching into the sand. For a long time she held him until his stomach seemed to have settled down and some of the knots loosened their grip and allowed him to slowly straighten up and turn to her.

When he looked at her the first thing he saw was concern and a little bit of fear in her eyes. Her strawberry blond hair had fallen across her face and was hanging down over her right shoulder. Her dress was still unbuttoned and her bra was pulled up across her upper chest.

She has beautiful knockers and her nipples are so big and pink.

Seeing where Brad was looking made Cynthia suddenly get self conscious and she turned her back to slip her bra over her breasts and began to buttoning her dress.

"I guess it must have been my supper. I haven't felt good all night."

Brad stepped over to her. Laid his arm across her shoulders before speaking again.

"Come on, I'll take you home before I get sick again.

Are you OK, Cynthia?"

There were tears in her eyes when she turned and finished doing the last button up on her dress, she just nodded yes. She stood in the bright moonlight facing Brad. A smile started tugging at the corners of her lips. Gradually her whole face lit up with a smile.

"You'll probably never know what you've missed Burgess. I have a feeling you won't stay around long enough to ever find out how good we would have been together."

Her eyes again brightened with tears as she climbed into the car.

After Brad got in and had the Pontiac started Cynthia slide back to the middle of the seat and rested her hand on his knee.

They rode in silence for the two miles back into Greenfield. Each teenager was looking into their own thoughts.

Brad felt there was no rhyme or reason to his thoughts. His straight-laced, hypocritical New England upbringing kept rearing its ugly head trying to place blame. And blame should be placed on the immoral. But his own free-mind kept fighting back that no one had to be blamed. And Cynthia's morals and values were her own and were based on something he didn't know about.

Several times during the short trip a knot would twist and burn in his stomach making him jerk and bend at the waist. Each time it happened, he felt Cynthia's hand tighten on his knee and the pressure of her shoulder against his would increase.

"I don't have to go right in. But I guess you don't feel too good. Huh?

"Obviously you know I'm not a virgin. I've been had before." She spoke softly and matter-of-factly with no emotion in her voice. But the fingers of her left hand were digging into Brad's knee and her right hand was white knuckled as she squeezed the door handle.

"Fact is, it was my brother. The first time and bunches of other times. When I was about seven and he was fifteen the first time.

After that it didn't much matter who did it.

"I didn't mean to hurt you Brad." Her emotions started to betray her. "I thought you were taking me out so you could get some. Just like every other guy who ever asked me out."

Brad heard the tears in her voice.

"Go out with Cynthia Parker and have a good time. She'll let you do anything to her or her to you for a show and a box of popcorn."

When she slipped out the passenger side door her tears were flowing freely down both cheeks but she was holding herself in control.

He watched her leave the car and run onto her front porch.

She hesitated on the top step and for just an instant Brad thought she was going to turn around; she didn't. The door slammed shut behind her.

SEVENTEEN

The speedometer never got past thirty not that it mattered. It was a rural road and at this time of night there was very seldom any other traffic. Brad drove past his house and through his tears saw his father had left the outside light on for him. In another half mile or so and the stacks of lumber at Ballou's sawmill came into sight around the bend just as he came to Crane Road. It was a shortcut across the back side of Lynd mountain and he turned left onto it and started meandering through the back roads of his country.

He popped the glove box open and as he drove slowly along the narrow gravel road he fumbled around in the dark until he felt the leather cartridge belt and holster that held his .22 revolver.

Stoney Creek swept away to the northwest and left a wide flat bench where over a hundred and fifty years ago the Crane family had built their farm. Brad didn't know who owned the farm now. Not that there was much left to it. All of the buildings had collapsed a long time ago after many hard winters and heavy snowfalls. He thought that maybe Charlie Ballou owned it along with his sawmill a half mile or so back down the road at the intersection with the state highway.

A hundred yards away Brad could hear the waters rushing down Stoney Creek when he opened the Pontiac's heavy driver's door. He stepped out into the dew soaked weeds and pasture grasses to relieve himself. His bladder had felt like it was going to burst ever since he and Cynthia had walked out of the theater in Peterboro but he had been too embarrassed after his one attempt to get Cynthia to go to the Oaken Bucket Restaurant to stop anywhere else while she was with him.

At least my stomach doesn't ache anymore. It must have been something we had for supper.

In the hour or so since he and Cynthia had left Sunset Lake the moon had been climbing in the sky so it was now shining almost straight down onto the remains of the old farm. Here and there Brad could pick out the bones of the old buildings by the silvery wet sheen of the moonlight reflecting on the dew which had collected on the old pieces of wood. The timbers and planks had taken on a ghostly, almost surreal appearance in the moon's bright white glow. He came here often to hunt for grouse in the old fruit orchard. It was behind the pile of hand-hewn white pine timbers which were all that remained of the old barn. Once he had tried the hand pump which stood on a concrete slab just a few feet to his right. He was very surprised when it actually pumped up some water though it was dirty, the color of rust and smelled bad, like something dead. Next to the pump stood a jumble of rotten and twisted clapboards which marked the grave of the two story farmhouse where several generations of Cranes had been raised until they disappeared in the depression years somewhere between 1929 and 1939.

I wonder if they had a happy life here? Maybe one of their sons made his younger brother do bad things too.

Brad turned back to the car and reached across the front seat to pick up his holstered .22 revolver. It only took him a second to fasten the cartridge belt around his waist and another minute to take the cylinder out of the H&R 922. He slipped 9 Super-X hollow points into the cylinder before replacing it in the revolver's frame. He shoved the gun into the holster on his right hip before he started away from the Pontiac.

I don't need my flashlight, the moon is really bright tonight.

A game trail ran from the gravel road where Brad parked to what remained of the homestead's front yard. From there the trail followed the old barnyard lane between the chicken coop and hay barn. He didn't have any trouble following the line of wet silvery weeds and tall grass bordering each side of the trail across the barnyard and down the lane into the cow pasture, then into the orchard.

The rushing and burbling of the water in the creek grew louder as he moved between the lines of gnarly old apple and pear trees.

I never noticed that peach tree before. Ugly old thing stuck in between the apple trees.

Brad stopped next to a tall pear tree which was leaning over towards the creek and he looked to his right for another marker. He was searching for the root wad of a huge old sugar maple which had fallen last month when the high waters from spring runoff had undercut the creek bank around the three hundred and fifty year old tree.

The sugar maple's 6 foot trunk was lying diagonally across the creek with its top partly down in the far side of the creek to form a dam of sorts partially obstructing the creek's flow. The water was forced to eddy around and under the rough barked trunk. Some of its leaves clung perilously to life and although they appeared silver in the bright moonlight Brad knew they were a healthy green and had been growing rapidly during the two weeks since he had discovered the newly fallen monarch. Brad vaulted up onto the silver/gray trunk and stepped out over the water. He turned to face downstream before sitting down on the dew coated bark. He felt the cold moisture penetrate through his slacks but in a short time his body heat made the wet bearable to sit on. The dew laden air smelled clean and fresh as it slowly drifted down stream in the night time down slope air currents.

With his feet hanging over the swirling stream Brad studied the turbulent water in the moonlight as it rolled out from under the tree where a line of silver and gold streaked foam formed along the far shore and against the tree's partially submerged trunk. A thin vaporous shadow raced up the creek towards him and startled Brad until it descended on him and forced him to look up towards the moon.

That cloud is like gauze. It makes a shadow but it's so filmy and high it doesn't seem to belong to us.

He studied the sky some more. There's more of them down south. I wonder if they'll cross the moon, too?

Cynthia's brother is a lot like mine. They're both bigger and a lot older than we are. I guess they kind of act alike in other ways, too.

I always thought her brother was real nice. Like the time he took a bunch of us skiing before I had my license.

But everyone thinks my half brother, Richard, is nice too. Especially the women he flirts with.

Brad wiped at the tears which were running down across his cheeks and in the cold night air feeling like ice water by the time they slipped over the high part of his cheeks.

Why am I thinking about this? Because Cynthia told me about her brother doing it to her. I guess I'll get in bad trouble if anyone finds out I did it to Greta. Even if I was only about five the first time and she told me I wasn't big enough. She said only Richard's was long enough and big enough to make her feel good.

Brad leaped to his feet! In one motion he drew the .22 from its holster and thumbed the hammer back! He squeezed the trigger and thumbed the hammer back as fast as he could to empty the revolver into the creek.

He jumped off the log into the dew soaked brush and not bothering with the trail trotted back towards the road. He could feel the dampness soaking through his pants legs and felt them slapping coldly against his calves and shins as he trotted back to where he had left the car.

The big straight 8 engine started easily and in seconds he had the fan pouring heat out of the heater onto his ice cold legs while he rubbed his bare arms to get them warm.

He sat for a long time with the engine running and the heater going full blast while he shivered and struggle to get warm. His pants dried out rapidly and the skin on his legs finally felt warm to the touch. Even when he shifted around on the seat his butt felt warm and dry. He had been shivering periodically and a while ago when he tried to reload the revolver's cylinder his fingers shook so much he dropped a whole box of .22 shells on the front floor of the car.

Maybe now I can get some shells into the cylinder if I can find enough shells on the floor to fill it.

That's OK. I've got the gun loaded and about forty more shells in my belt.

Damn, I still feel cold.

The same thoughts he had had while he listened to Cynthia talk about her brother molesting her kept running through his head and no matter where he went or what he did he couldn't stop the words or blot out the ugly images which were racing across the screen of his mind.

Brad's half brother saying, "It won't be dirty. See, I'll wash it off." Flashed across his thoughts.

Then the slow-motion picture which kept rerunning itself time after time appeared. His brother's large hands holding his own huge erection over the bathroom sink while he washed it in warm soapy water.

"See, it's clean. Lick it."

Then he felt his half brother's hand take his and lead him back to the bedroom they shared. His brother laid on his back and push Brad's head into his crotch.

"Put it in your mouth. Suck me off. Come on, suck. Oh! Oh! More - more! God damn it, don't stop! Put it back in your mouth."

Brad kicked the dash of the Pontiac in frustration. He slammed the clutch pedal to the floor and jerked the car into gear. In a spray of gravel he drove in a circle around the farm house before speeding down the gravel road going nowhere in particular, just driving into the night.

He drove through Greenfield and looked down the side street towards Cynthia's house for the third time in the last hour. It was only 4 o'clock in the morning and there still weren't any lights on.

The morning sky was a faint pink with purple traces across the eastern horizon as he drove towards Wilmet. He didn't know where he was going, he only knew he wanted to escape from the haunting, recurring visions and the guilty feelings they kept bringing to him.

Cynthia is still in bed. I really don't dare call her anyway. She probably won't ever talk to me again.

Dad will get up at 7, so I've got to be back before then. I'll go by Annie's. Her mother goes to work really early sometimes.

A quarter of a mile south of Ballou's sawmill Brad met Jim Lorain's milk truck headed out to pick milk up from the farms around a five or six town area.

Wonder who's driving this morning. Drives like Jim, he's going kind of slow.

The lights were just coming on in the coffee shop when he cruised down Main Street in Wilmet.

Funny time of night to be cruising Main Street. I think I'm the only kid in town out of bed and on the street.

He slowed and almost stopped at the Phillips's house. The porch light and behind it a small kitchen light were on. It was still dark enough so he could see the glow of his brake lights in his rearview mirror as he drifted slowly down the street riding the brakes on the heavy Pontiac. His hands clutching the steering wheel felt clammy and numb.

There's no one up yet. Her mother probably isn't even working this morning.

Annie wouldn't want to see me anyway.

EIGHTEEN

"Brad. Brad. Wake up.

Are you going to sleep all day? It's almost 10 o'clock.

Where did you go with the car last night? You burned up half a tank of gas."

"I just drove around for a while."

"With your girl friend?"

"No. By myself."

"Well, get up if you want to use the car this afternoon. I have to work for a while but if you take me in you can have it."

"OK. I'd like to go chuck hunting for a while."

"I put all your .22 shells on your desk, Brad. They were all over the floor of the car."

"Yeah. Thanks. I dumped the box accidentally in the dark when I got here last night."

"Annie Phillips called you about an hour or so ago."

"Oh. Did she say what she wanted?"

"No. Just for you to call her if you wanted to.

She was real sure about that. Call if you want." His dad added from the hallway just before he turned into the kitchen. "She'll be home all day. Made sure about that too."

Brad stopped the big green Pontiac on the cross street where he could see Annie's house. The house looked quiet in the bright noonday sun. He watched two small boys, a five and a six year old zip across the street as fast as their tricycles would zip and seconds later heard Annie's small voice raised to its utmost when she squealed on the kids to their mom, a Korean War widow, and the Phillips' next door neighbor.

"Susie! They're out in the street again!"

A half smile twitched at his lips and Brad had the courage to put the car in low gear and start down the street. He pulled into the driveway barely far enough to get off the street and just sat there quietly watching the back door where he was sure Annie had just gone.

"I would have settled for a phone call, but I hoped you would come see me.

Want to get out and come into the house. No one is home but me."

Startled Brad turned towards the front of the house. She stood less than three feet from his left arm. The first thing he noticed was the line of freckles across the bridge of her small nose had gotten more numerous and darker in the spring sun.

"Are You Irish?"

Her quick soft smile was the best and brightest thing he had seen for what seemed like weeks.

"Yeah, I'm half or so I guess. Whatever made you ask that, Brad Burgess? Do I look Irish all of a sudden?

I know. I'm turning green." Her laugh sounded to Brad like a music box playing a sweet love song.

"Yeah. I guess you do. Look Irish, not green."

He kept looking and followed the scattering of freckles down her cheeks and onto the very bottom of her throat where most women get sunburned and Annie had a wild profusion of freckles.

"Come on in where it's cool and drink a Coke."

"I'm going chuck hunting. Do you want to go with me?

"I'm not going to walk anywhere. Just ride the roads if that worries you." Brad was quick to explain when he realized he really wanted her to go with him and he wanted to do what would please Annie.

"Will you take me to Purgatory Falls!? I've never seen them and I wouldn't mind walking a little. Especially if we can go to the falls.

I'm going to change my clothes. I was just about to put on my shorts when you showed up."

Annie opened the car door and took Brad's left hand off the steering wheel before speaking again.

"Come on in while I change. We can have a Coke. If we don't finish it we can take it with us."

Her small soft hand felt good when she took his hand off the steering wheel and wouldn't let go. It was as if she was afraid he would chicken out and run away.

"I've got to stop at the lunch counter. I want to tell my mom where we're going." She spoke back over her shoulder while she led Brad towards her front door. Without a word being spoken she led him through the living room into the kitchen and up to the refrigerator before she let go of his hand with another of her soft warm smiles. Annie opened the refrigerator door and handed Brad the first curvaceous green Coke bottle she took from the tiny freezing compartment. Though the dark brown liquid sloshed freely, the outside of the bottle was speckled with frost and Brad knew it would be riddled with ice crystals when it passed through his teeth.

"Work on that while I change."

Before she closed the door into her bedroom Brad looked around her into the obviously feminine room. He was sure it was as tiny as the rest of the house seemed to be. The house was a lot smaller than the one he lived in but it seemed warmer, brighter and more lived in. A home he felt he could sit in the kitchen and slump over the kitchen table while he sipped icy Coke out of the bottle. Just before he sat down on one of the blue plastic covered kitchen chairs he noticed a new shiny brown Emerson radio on the counter next to the sink.

"Can I turn the radio on?"

"Sure. It's already tuned to WHDH in Boston."

The face of the tuning dial reminded Brad of a clock. It was round and the pointer was like clock hands locked forever opposite each other.

Her easy grasp on his shoulders made Brad start. He had not heard her come out of her room over Johnnie Raye drawing tears from CRY as he had been doing for the past 18 or 19 months.

"Are you ready to go, Brad?

"Want to take another Coke with you?"

"No. No, thanks. This one is enough. Are you going to take one?"

"Sure, then when yours is gone we can share mine."

Brad watched her walk the couple of steps to the refrigerator and he couldn't help but to look and admire her body.

Those light blue Bermudas look really nice on her. She has a cute figure. Nice butt.

Annie hadn't been out of the car for five minutes to tell her mom where they were going before she had come back and bounced happily onto the Pontiac's big wide front seat and slid across the gray/brown cover until her bare knee and upper thigh came against Brad's leg.

"That didn't take you long. What's in the bag?"

"Our lunch. Mom made us a couple of BLTs and threw in some Boston cream pie. She says you love it."

"How did she fix it so fast? And how does she know I love Boston cream pie? I only eat it every time I have the money to buy my lunch at the lunch counter. "I'm starved. It's really nice of your mom to give us lunch."

"I know, because your broke."

"I didn't say that."

"I'm sorry Brad. I know you didn't say it. I just guessed since you didn't ask me to go to lunch you probably didn't have any extra money."

Annie swung the conversation around to where it had started.

"I called her while I was changing my clothes to ask her if I could go with you. She said she would fix us some lunch if I could figure out how to get you to pick it up."

"Am I that hard to get along with?"

"No! Just a little too proud. But I lo \- like you for it."

Her fingers felt dry and cool when she pushed them into his tightly clenched fist. Brad had no idea how long he had been holding his hand so tight but the rush of blood into his fingers when Annie forced him to move them burned and hurt at the same time as it felt good.

The rush and roar of Purgatory Falls made it almost impossible to talk. The air was heavy with mist that was swirling up from the crashing water. Annie stood close with her hip against his. Though she was laughing as the moisture dripped from her face, Brad couldn't hear her. Only the toss of her head and expression of glee told him what a good time she was having. Slowly they started up the trail away from the falls still hanging onto each other.

Brad felt her rub her face against the side of his shirt, then she took his arm and wiped it across the side of her arm.

"The water tickles. Besides, it's cold." She laughed and hugged him pressing her full, youthful breasts against his chest. Her lips on his felt cool for an instant, then became hot and soft.

Walking up the trail Annie was watching Brad with concern in her eyes.

"Do you feel OK, Brad? You look tired and as if you're in pain."

"I am tired and I'm starting to get a headache."

"We can go home if you'd like. I've had a great time and I'm glad you brought me out to the falls. I didn't know they were so big and noisy.

"I think it's almost 4:30. What time do you have to pick up your dad? By 5 o'clock?"

"Somewhere around five he said. He isn't on the clock. Today is all overtime on his own to get the company caught up. So he comes and goes as he pleases."

"Do you want to drop me off on your way to get him? I wouldn't mind if you did so you won't have to bring me back home.

I don't know why I brought her with me. We haven't hardly talked to each other all afternoon.

I like her, but I don't know what to say half the time and I'd like to hold her and kiss her again, but I don't think she wants me to.

"I think we are going to move to California sometime this summer. My mother told my dad she wanted to stay out there and we should sell the house and move out there if we wanted to."

"Do you want to go, Brad? We only have two more years of school left. Wouldn't you want to finish school here with us? After all we've been together for five years already.

I would really miss you a lot."

Brad turned to the petite blond who was still sitting tight against his right side as he drove, but she was facing the other way studying the houses as they drove down her street.

"I have to go pick up my dad. I'll see you later."

"Will you call me tonight, Brad? Maybe after supper I'm not going anywhere and I don't a date."

"I'll try. Bye."

NINETEEN

"What do you mean. Are we going to sell the house and move out there or not!?

"Dear, Dear? Will you listen to me? We have to know now. If we're staying here Brad goes back to school next week and he isn't even registered for this year because you said you wanted to stay out there.

"I know God damn well we can't afford this telephone call, but I also know we have to make a decision or better yet you have to make a decision. Either you're coming back here, or we're moving out there.

"Today is the 29th of August. Brad only has ten days, with a long weekend in between, before school starts. We're long past the time of deciding what we're going to do."

Brad sat staring at the TV set not seeing or hearing it, but listening to his father's side of his parent's phone call. He could never remember hearing his father stand up to his mother so persistently. Normally it would be 15 seconds of his father raising his voice before the female dominated man would turn chicken and allow her to have her way. All summer long the decision had bounced back and forth between: 'We're going as soon as the house is sold to': 'Your mother will be back in a week or two and then we will decide if we're moving to California or not.' So far the house hadn't been put up for sale and his mother hadn't come back from California.

"Well, OK. He starts back to school on the eighth. He can use the car, he's been using it all summer. He drops me at work and keeps the car."

Brad turned to look down the hall where his father was. He had been quiet so long Brad wondered if he was still on the phone. But it was only that the phone call had finally turned as all of his parent's arguments did. His mother was now dominating and setting terms and conditions. Harold was now just nodding animatedly and trying to interject something into a conversation which had turned one-sided against him.

"I think so. I'm sure he has some decent clothes to start school in.

"He's been working part time all summer if he needs something he can buy it. He bought new hunting boots and a wool jacket so he can't be too broke."

What the hell do you mean, I can buy clothes? You wouldn't let me work full time most of the summer. I don't have enough money to buy school clothes.

"I don't care. I just want to know when your coming home."

Brad no longer made any bones about listening in on the conversation. He got out of his chair and walked down the hallway and leaned against the door jamb next to his father and listened. From where he stood he could clearly hear his mother's voice.

"Greta still isn't able to do a lot. The baby is a handful for her to pickup, and you know how Edgar is, he isn't going to help her with any woman's work like changing a diaper or cleaning house."

"Wouldn't it be easier if I just put the house up for sale, and as soon as it sells Brad and I can drive out there?"

"Harold, I've told you before I'm not sure I want to stay out here forever. I really don't know if I want to live here at all.

"Just stay there in New Hampshire and when I make up my mind I'll decide what to do.

"I'm going to hang up now and don't call me anymore, we can't afford these long distance calls."

Brad could see his father was infuriated with his mother and frustrated by not being able to communicate the need for them to make a decision. Yet other than raising his voice and having his eyes on the verge of jumping out of their sockets, Harold was in control of himself. Definitely not in control of the situation though.

"You heard your mother, I guess you'll go back to school in Wilmet next week.

"Will you have any trouble getting your schedule or do you want me to call Sargant and talk to him?"

"No, you won't have to, I already stopped by his office on Thursday to ask him about it.

"The only problem is that everyone else did their schedules in June and they got the pick of the classes. I'll have to take what no one else wanted.

"Next semester and next year I'm going to have a really heavy load if I want to get into college. I won't be able to take the other required math courses until my senior year because they're already filled up for the rest of this year."

Brad pulled the Pontiac onto the road's extra wide shoulder near one of the Whiting Dairy's huge hay fields. Many times since he had got his driver's license he would stopped here when he was hunting woodchucks. But this morning the field was a familiar and comfortable place less than a mile from the high school where he could think about the start of another school year and the coming days.

There's one. You're lucky this morning, Chuck.

Other than glancing over into the back seat to reassure himself that his .22 Hornet was still in its case on the rear floor, but Brad made no attempt to reach for it. He kept watching the grizzled rodent as it waddled along the upper ridge of the field about one hundred and fifty yards from the road.

He's about a fat damn thing. A cold, long winter's coming.

The thoughts of such an adventure as moving out west had so fired his imagination that Brad could not help but brag and loudly declare he was through with New England and was going out west to make his fortune. He had walked out the front door of the Wilmet High School in June sure he would never enter the school again. Now, three months later he was going to have to walk back through those same front doors and he would have to eat crow and he didn't like it one bit. Brad felt betrayed by his parents, particularly by his mother who seemed to have instigated the idea of moving to California and then became indecisive about the whole thing.

Life is so damn unfair. She doesn't care about me at all, only thinks about herself all the time.

It was normal for Brad not to see more than two or three of his classmates through out the summer and this summer had been no exception. He had worked hard at avoiding Annie for some reason he could not comprehend, but she had called him four times during the summer anyway and forced him to tell her what was going on and assure her he was all right.

I can't figure out why she calls me. I only see her in school and I've never taken her out except the day we went to Purgatory Falls.

She's the one person who seems to understand what is happening to me. She said her father had done things like my folks are doing before her mother left him and finally divorced him. But her mom is a neat person not like my mother at all.

Maybe I would ask her out if I had the money. If she would go with me?

Dad told me not to take the job driving tractor on Matt Wilcox's farm because we would be moving soon and it wouldn't be fair to Matt for me to quit so soon after he hired me.

I'm fair! But I have no God damn money except what I earn working part time for Charlie.

In his frustration Brad slammed the steering wheel with the flats of his hands.

The rumble of a big vehicle coming from behind him made Brad look into the rearview mirror just in time to catch a quick glimpse of George's smiling face and see his big hand move for the chain which actuated the trucker's air horn he had installed on the ugly yellow school bus.

Brad jumped but couldn't help but smile as the bus he had ridden back and forth to school for five years roared across the flats towards Wilmet High leaving behind the stink of diesel fumes and a thin blue exhaust haze swirling down the road.

Damn, George! That's about the hundredth time he's got me with that horn!

With a smile still playing at his lips Brad turned the key on the Pontiac and smiled wider as the big, powerful straight 8 roared into life. Brad thought about how many times George had bragged to the kids about how big an engine the school bus had and how fast it would go if he really wanted it to.

He thinks he's got such a hot engine, huh? Just wait George, I'll get even with you.

He squeezed the big green car between the back of George's school bus and the edge of the lawn to reach a parking spot the school buses had blocked. There was only one other student's car in the lot, the rest of the eight or nine cars belong to teachers.

Looks like Bob worked on his model A coupe some more this summer. His new black paint job sure looks nice.

OK! Who's going to be here for teachers?

"Hi! About time you got here."

The passenger door had opened so quick and quietly she took Brad by surprise. By the time he turned Annie was on the seat beside him and was talking as if continuing a conversation they had already started earlier this morning.

"Joanna isn't coming back. Did you hear?

I'm so mad. I wanted to take her math class first semester.

"Did you hear me Brad? She and Joe Barlow are married and going to have a baby. Damn! What a way to start a school year."

"Hi, Annie. Where did you come from? I didn't see you anywhere before I parked."

"Which was the whole idea, but you're so late I almost gave up and went inside. I knew you would park somewhere else if you saw me waiting for you so I stood in the boiler room doorway.

"The janitor caught me, but I told him I was waiting for you and he just walked away. Have you got something on him or what? The boiler room is off limits but as soon as I mentioned you he left."

"He and my dad used to work together I guess he kind of looks after me some."

"Well come on, Brad. The bell is about to ring, and we're going to be late the first morning of a new school year.

"Will you wait for me and take me home after school so I can get to work on time?"

"I don't know, Annie. I might leave early and go hunting after lunch."

"Oh, OK. Thanks anyway, Brad.

Why is she being so snotty? What'd I say wrong?

On the second day of school Brad dropped his dad off at work before driving up Wilmet's main street at 7:25. The town was already busy as was usual for a small New Hampshire town. The lunch counter had been open for almost two and a half hours and Brad knew Annie and her mother would be working side by side as they had been doing for the last three months. Annie started working at Berube's lunch counter just before summer vacation had started and since school started again she would work from 5 A.M. until 7:45 when she would make a mad dash to change her clothes and get to school before the tardy bell would ring at 8:05. At 3:10 she would hurry down the hill into town and then work until 6 on weeknights and 8 on Friday and Saturday nights.

I'll go into Berube's to get a cup of coffee and a doughnut before school. Maybe I can give Annie a ride to school. I guess I should have taken her home last night.

He wheeled the heavy car around the traffic dummy on the west end of town and started back down Main Street towards Berube's while he watched the dummy's yellow warning light blinking in his rearview mirrors.

I like her, but I never know what to say to her and besides, I'm not sure how much she really likes me. Everybody says she goes out with older guys, and if she is, I know she's getting laid.

He bounced the car's right front tire against the high granite curb.

Damn! I've got to watch what I'm doing. If I bust a tire, Dad will get pissed.

The huge brass cow bell mounted over the door on a piece of springy steel bonged merrily when he opened and closed the door. The several regulars who were there for their morning coffee every morning, except Sunday and only missed then because Berube's was closed, turned to see who had the audacity to enter their domain. A couple of the men turned away with no trace of recognition even though Brad had been in their businesses and they knew him by his first name. Norman Mills the new owner of Berube's sat on a stool near the middle of the counter. He always had a good word for everyone even before he bought out old man Berube and had just ran a small news stand with newspapers and the inevitable magazines in the restaurant.

"Morning, Brad. You're around early.

Mary! Brad needs a cup of coffee so he can get started on his second day of school for the year."

Next to Norman was Oscar Dubee. This small quiet man was liked by all who knew him and he had been giving Brad buys on ammunition as long as Brad had known him.

"Hi, Norman. Oscar.

"How is your new job, Oscar?"

Oscar had got laid-off from the hardware store after working there for fifteen years to make room for the owner's brother-in-law who had trouble holding a job elsewhere, and everyone who knew about it including Brad, was up-in-arms and threatening to boycott the store.

"I'm afraid the machine shop isn't quite the same as a store, Brad. But we'll make it. Thanks for asking."

"You going to go coon hunting with us this fall, Oscar? We've got a great new Black and Tan pup."

"I just might do it, Brad. Just so long as I don't have to climb the trees. But I hear your pretty good at that."

"I guess so. It's lots of fun anyhow."

Brad looked around for Annie and when Mary brought him a steaming mug of coffee he looked at her with a questioning look.

"She left already, Brad. The minute you walked in the front door she went out the back."

"Oh, I was going to ask if she wanted a ride to school. I guess she doesn't."

Mary continued to stand in front of Brad. First she slid the mug a little closer to him and then she picked up the sugar jar and moved it closer to his right hand.

"Need some sugar, Brad?"

He looked into her smiling eyes. Annie had told him her mother was forty-something but Brad couldn't believe it. She had hardly a wrinkle on her face not like his mother whose face showed a mass of wrinkles. Mary's soft brown hair framed her face and was long enough to be pulled back into a modified ponytail which added a feeling of youth to her image.

"My daughter's a little upset with you, Brad. Did you promise to take her home and then to work after school yesterday?"

"Not really, Mary. I told her I was thinking about leaving early and going chuck hunting, which I did. I skipped my last period study hall and left.

"I didn't really skip. Mr. Getty said I could leave since no one had any school work to do any way.

She's mad about that? I didn't want her to get mad but I wasn't there."

"Don't worry about it, Brad. I'll talk to her."

"Tell her I'm sorry. OK?"

"OK. I'll do that for you.

"When is your mom getting home, Brad? Annie said she's on her way from California."

"Dad thinks she'll get here sometime before Friday. She called from Albuquerque late Monday, Labor Day and said they were leaving there after they had supper."

"So she got a ride home with someone?"

"Yeah. She caught a ride with Larry James. Do you remember him, Mary? He used to work at the machine shop."

"Oh, yes. I remember Larry very well." The heavy sarcasm would have been hard to miss.

Brad studied Mary's face for several seconds but couldn't read anything on it.

"I'll see ya, Mary. I've got to get to school."

"Sure, Brad. Have a good day.

"Brad?"

Her voice stopped him as he was reaching for the door handle and he felt her step up behind him.

"Talk to Annie if you get a chance. She isn't really mad at you."

Brad studied the car ahead of him on Maple Street. He was just a block over from the school and curious to who was getting to ride in the candy apple red model "B" Ford roadster. The car was familiar but Brad was having trouble placing who it belong to.

It's Tubb's. That's Warren's old oxidized black model "B". What's he doing here?

Brad knew Warren had graduated three years ago then he remembered Warren's kid sister Amy was a senior this year.

I'll bet Warren is bringing Amy to school this morning. It kind of looks like the back of her head. But her hair maybe shorter and darker though.

Damn it, that's Annie getting out of his car. No wonder she's acting so funny towards me.

Warren's getting some of that, huh?

Brad felt her eyes glare into his through his windshield and across the twenty feet which separated them when she slid out of Warren's souped-up model "B" Ford.

He felt a knot start in his throat and the muscles just above and behind his ears tightened and begin to ache almost instantaneously when their eyes met.

Why do I feel like this? I've never hardly kissed her and everybody knows she runs around with and screws older guys like Warren.

TWENTY

The look which flashed across his father's face showed Brad the real meaning of the expression 'if looks could kill'.

Brad and his parents had just pulled into their driveway and were getting out of the Pontiac when the big shiny black Buick Roadmaster pulled into the driveway behind them. The setting sun hit the Buick's windshield making it impossible to see who was behind the steering wheel. The quizzical look on his father's face told Brad he wasn't the only one who didn't recognize the new 1954 Buick. But his mother's eyes lit up and a tiny smile played at her lips.

That's the first smile I've seen on her face since she came back from California. I wonder who that is?

Before anyone else could move his mother hurried to the driver's side of the shiny black car and opened the door. It wasn't until the man stood his full 6' 2" height and embraced his mother that Brad recognized Larry James. Brad glanced towards his father and saw recognition on his face closely followed by that look of hate which flashed across his face. The look was immediately replaced by a smile as he stepped up to shake the hand of the bigger man who was holding Brad's mother in his arms.

When will they start arguing? They haven't said a word to each other since Larry left two hours ago. At least when Mom was in California I never had to listen to them fight and Dad was a lot easier to get along with by himself. I want my bedroom back, too. She's been here for almost two months and hasn't slept in her own bed yet. Brad thought after he had finished the last of his supper and rose from the kitchen table.

"Are you working tomorrow, Brad? If you aren't I'll take the car in the morning. I'm going to work at least half a day, if not all day."

"No, I'm not, Dad. I thought I'd go up on the mountain bird hunting until about noon and then I'll be back in case Charlie wants me to work in the afternoon.

"It's so hot and dry the hunting isn't too good anyway, and by 11 o'clock it's absolutely rotten."

Brad turned and stood in the doorway to the hall from the kitchen out of curiosity. He wanted to know why Larry had been there and why his mother had turned quieter and moodier than she had been since she came back from California.

"Has Larry found a job yet?" Brad asked to promote some sort of reply from his parents then waited patiently for an answer.

"He isn't looking for one." Carolyn answered her son being unusually slow and quiet. "He buried his mother last week so he's decided to go back to L.A. and he wanted to know if we wanted him to take anything to Greta or if we knew whether we were going to move to California or not.

"I told him since Dad couldn't sell the house we wouldn't be going out there anytime soon.

"I'm not sure I want to live out there near Edgar and Greta. Besides L.A. traffic is terrible." Came from his mother as an after thought.

Brad was amazed at how deep the hardwood leaves were piled up on the forest floor everywhere he went. There had been a lot of warm weather but no rain to speak of since the first killing frost early in October so the leaves were as dry and brittle as tissue paper.

He could hear his brown and white mongrel charging around over a hundred yards uphill from him as the big sugar maple leaves cracked and popped under her feet. He stopped to listen since it was almost impossible to hear anything when he was walking through the leaves himself. He heard the barking of the big male gray squirrel his dog had run up one of the oak trees which stood isolated among the maples. The squirrel was cursing and threatening all kinds of violence from its safe perch 10 feet off the ground and just a short leap from the trunk of a massive maple that it called home. In a fraction of a second the fluffy tailed rodent could be on his way to the safety of the tree's dizzy heights if he thought the dog was becoming too much of a threat to his well being.

Downhill, towards the old logging road which went to the cabin and sugar house, Brad heard two more grays join in and bolster the courage of one of their own. As he stood and listened the chorus spread across the hillside for as far as he could hear and Rusty started her ritual charging from tree to tree, squirrel to squirrel, attempting to intimidate them into the higher branches of the trees.

Where does that fat mutt get so much energy? She's been up and down the hill at least ten times since we started.

Brad circled around the lower edge of the orchard and tried to time it so about 10 o'clock he would be at the spring. He had pilfered the makings of a ham sandwich from his mother's kitchen, and a box of Jiffy cornmeal muffin mix that he liked to nibble on dry right out of the box. Now, mid-morning and his hunger was starting to overwhelm his urge to hunt and he wanted a drink of cold spring water to wash down his lunch.

Though he had told his parents one thing he really had no intentions of being back before noon time. In fact, he was thinking he might just hike over to the farm this afternoon and meet Charlie there even if he didn't work. He could hunt birds around the edge of the cow pasture and in the old orchard just before dusk when they came in to feed on the small withered apples.

Over the burble and gurglings of the small spring fed creek Brad heard a Ruffed Grouse take flight from a knoll next to the sugar house and he stopped and listened to locate his dog. He tried to figure out if she had flushed the bird or if it was spooked because of the dry noisy leaves underfoot. He listened and finally heard the mongrel panting as she trotted along his scent trail from the front of the cabin and down into the drainage. She was over a hundred yards from the bird when it had taken flight.

Boy, they're spooky. That's the third one I've flushed so far this morning and I haven't got a shot yet because their so far away. After a break I'll get back on the logging roads and skid trails and go uphill towards the ridge. It will be a little quieter and maybe I can get a shot at one or two.

The icy water chilled his mouth and sent feelers of pain racing through his tongue and teeth. He swallowed quickly and then sucked warm outside air through his teeth to neutralize the cold. He smiled and greedily sucked up another mouthful of the crystal clear liquid. This time he held the water in his mouth and after it had warmed up slightly he sloshed it around in his mouth to wash away the gritty, dry feeling along with the sticky half dried spit which coated his throat.

"You're greedy. Damn! You can't have all of the sandwich, only the crust." Brad fed his mutt the upper crust of his sandwich while she sat next to him on the damp stream bank and begged for more. He slit open the Jiffy muffin mix with his skinning knife and poured some of the dry yellow mix into the palm of his hand for her. Her moist pink tongue slurped up the sweet mix and she slobbered on his fingers in her anxiety to get every fine grain of sweet cornmeal.

"OK. OK. Have some more.

"This has got to be better than the plain cornmeal the mountain men and long hunters used to eat. We can at least eat this raw. Huh, Dog?"

The dog ignored the offered second helping and everything Brad had to say besides. She had decided the mix was too dry for her taste and hurried down the bank to reach the crystal clear water. She noisily inhaled several mouthfuls from the two inch deep stream of icy water before she flopped down on her right side in the middle of the creek bed.

"Come on, Dog; let's go"

If I take the middle road I can hit the stonewall just below the blueberry pasture and then cut across the pasture to the back road into Lynd. If I want I can walk out the Crane Road and go to Simpson's or to my house.

Brad picked his way from one logging spur to another then he went up a series of skid trails which were starting to grow up in willows and every other kind of tree seedling which could take root in the granitic soils.

Where the cat skinners dove their big machines down over the short steep pitches the last two spring runoffs had washed and torn away what little topsoil had survived the initial logging and in some spots even the rocky sub soils had been scoured down to bare granite bedrock.

Brad stuck to these scoured areas where he could walk quietly since there were few if any leaves underfoot and the dirt which did remain was hard and rocky. The last few steps before the flat bench that Brad was heading for were steep and treacherous with loose rock and dirt lying on top of an almost vertical rock face. When he was still a couple of steps from the top Brad stopped to look and listen. The flat was several acres across with very little underbrush and a little patience could get a wise hunter a grouse or two.

There's the stonewall. I hit it right where I wanted to.

What was that noise? The stupid dog. There she goes over the wall into the cultivated blueberry pasture. What's she doing?

He watched as his brown and white mutt came back out of the pasture towards the wall then she jumped up onto a large flat granite boulder that was part of the stonewall. She balanced herself on the top of the wall for several seconds as her nose worked overtime across the top of the rocks.

She sure smells something on the wall. That jerk, she can't walk the wall like a cat. She's going to fall and bust her stupid head.

Brad was watching when the dog jumped off the wall back into the blueberry pasture and raced up the long slow hill towards the top of the mountain before she disappeared from sight and hearing. It wasn't unusual for her to race about and go off on a track by herself and Brad promptly forgot about her.

I never realized there were so many oaks on this bench before.

He stood quietly and let his eyes wander across the trunks of the young trees which had taken root on the flat some forty or fifty years ago. The trees averaged about 14 to 16 inches in diameter and every other one had the smooth green/black bark of a young oak. About a third of them were shiny, steely gray beech trunks.

Lots of good deer and bird feed here with acorns and beech nuts. That brush looks like service berry bushes. The deer will eat those buds, too.

Brad had taken only two steps onto the flat when the Ruffed Grouse rocketed out of the oak and beech leaves fifty or sixty yards away and then continued to sail downhill to take refuge in an isolated stand of hemlock and firs.

Damn! I never flushed him.

Rusty came boiling back across the stonewall! Barking and baying, making murderous sounds she cleared the wall by a foot.

Brad had never seen her react this violently before. She continued to sound like a cat hound when it is running hot on a bobcat track. Brad scanned the area she was charging into trying to see what she could be after. Simultaneously he heard claws tearing into the bark of a live tree and caught a glimpse of a yellowish gray streak going up and around the trunk of a foot thick oak.

What the hell was that!? She's put something up that tree. Listen to her bark, damn.

Brad ran towards the sound of Rusty's insane growls and bays with his single barrel 16 ga. shotgun half way up to his shoulder.

He dodged clumps of brush and vaulted over two rotten, downed trees and a boulder.

Two more long strides put him under the oak and next to his hunting partner.

She was intense on howling and baying at the oak and Brad looked up to where she was pointing with her insane antics.

Fifteen feet up the oak quietly sitting on the lowest limb was the first bobcat Brad had ever treed.

The cat drew its pink lips up and back in a snarl revealing long shiny white canines before it spit at the mongrel harassing it from below.

Those teeth are huge. I hope it doesn't jump if it does it will kill Rusty, she can never take on a cat that size. Damn, he's big.

All I have is birdshot for my shotgun. If I don't kill it with the first shot it will get Rusty. I'll use my revolver.

Just take your time and be careful.

Brad transferred his single barrel shotgun to his left hand before he drew his .22 revolver. Quietly, one slow step at a time he started to work his way as close under the cat as he could.

I don't want him to jump.

Nine shots then I'll have to pull the cylinder out to reload. I'll never have time to do that.

The cat was getting nervous and started to anxiously stretch up to its full height while balancing on the one inch diameter branch it had decided to stand on.

Brad watched in amazement and with more than a little respect as the cat spit and hissed its defiance to the dog. It was spitting and snarling and never once looking towards Brad, the dog was its enemy and right now she was threatening the cat's well being.

Here goes. Cock the hammer. Aim between its eyes. Now squeeze - - - slow-l-l-l-y.

The small 37 grain hollow point snapped out of the short four inch barrel.

The cat kept looking down at the dog. It was starting to crouch lower, as if to get closer to its tormentor.

Brad took two steps to his right to get a better angle at the cat's face.

Cock it. There, now squeeze - -sl-l-o-owl-ly.

Another little .22 bullet snapped out of the barrel.

The cat crouched lower. It had its ears laid flat back on its head and was snarling steadily at his dog. The feline gaze never left the dog. Even when Brad hurried around the tree and stood right under it, the cat glared at his feet. Here its four legged tormentor jumped about snarling and barking. Brad had never seen this normally meek and mild dog behave so viciously.

OK. One more shot. Cock it. Aim right between the eyes. Squeeze - - -sl-lo-o-wer.

The cat jumped up to its full four-legged height and glared directly into Brad's eyes. He could see and feel the fire leap from the cat's flashing yellow/green eyes.

Son-of-a-bitch, I wounded him.

In one motion he dropped the small revolver back into its holster and threw the shotgun to his shoulder.

He's turning away from me. He's going to jump. Look at those muscles bunch up.

When the brass bead front sight passed across the cat's left front shoulder Brad fired.

In slow motion the yellow body lift off the branch, made a rolling turn before floating to the ground headfirst.

Still in slow motion Brad watched his brown and white dog drift across the ground after the wounded cat.

The dog and cat disappeared into a furious blizzard of yellow and brown spotted fur and dried brown leaves.

The snarling and spitting sent shivers up Brad's back as he jumped towards the fighting animals. He dropped the shotgun into the leaves and pulled the revolver into his right hand.

One more step and I'll be there. I've got to get the cat off of Rusty.

He cocked the revolver's hammer and bent towards the violently wrestling combatants.

There! Its neck!

With one sweep of his left hand Brad grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck and lifted.

He didn't feel the additional weight of the dog although Rusty had the cat's throat in a death grip and wasn't about to let go.

Brad never slowed the sweep of his arm until the cat cleared the ground. His nose was just inches from the cat's face when he brought the revolver up and jammed it into the cat's ear.

He felt the cat jump twice and heard two muffled reports before the cat went limp in his hand.

"Rusty?!"

The dog had let go just as Brad fired his revolver but she immediately tackled the dead cat when Brad dropped it.

"Here, Dog, come here! Damn it let go!" Brad argued with his hardheaded dog.

"Are you OK. Here, lay down."

Brad checked his friend from one end to the other and could hardly find a hair out of place. When he was satisfied he wasn't going to find anything on the dog Brad turned his attention to the bobcat.

"Let's check its claws and see if he has any of your fur in them, dog.

"What's this. I hit the stupid thing in the front leg with the .22. No wonder he got pissed off."

"Look at that claw, it's huge. At least four times bigger than a house cat's.

"Hey, Dog, he isn't a he. It's a she-cat. She doesn't have any kittens though. At least none nursing."

As he spoke Brad turned to look at his dog and realized she had already wandered off and was busy trailing something through the dry leaves.

"Your probably backtracking the cat, stupid."

The dog just kept going, not paying any attention to Brad's words at all.

Have it your way. Brad thought as he watched his friend turn towards the stonewall.

He saw her climb over the wall while he searched the pockets of his jeans for the two foot long hunk of rawhide lace he always had to carry game. With deft fingers he tied the cat's front paws together with one end of the lace and its rear paws with the opposite end before slinging the still warm carcass across his right shoulder. With the soft fur against his left side he bent over and picked his shotgun up out of the leaves. With a well practiced motion he flipped the spent hull out of the chamber and dropped in a fresh load of birdshot.

Never again will I hunt without some buckshot and a couple of rifled slugs in my pocket.

"This cat is pretty long, but I don't think it's very heavy, Dog. "I can feel its ribs under all this fur.

"Come on, Rusty, let's go down the hill. Come on hurry up."

As usual the dog took her time and while Brad picked his way down through the skid trails and logging roads he started day dreaming.

Twenty dollars, not bad for a sixteen year old kid. Now I'm a real bounty hunter.

The bounty is almost half the cost of a new Winchester 30-30. But I could buy a really good used Winchester for twenty dollars or less.

I think I'll call the gun shop when I get off the mountain and see if they have a Winchester for about twenty bucks. Maybe less 'cause I'll need two or three boxes of shells to sight it in with before deer season.

Confusion was his first feeling and slowly the confusion was replaced by just plain hurt feelings as he began to feel she was making fun of him. He stared at Annie's straw blond head after his initial attempt to look her in the eye failed when his self imposed guilts crowded to the surface of his mind.

She has always been nice to me, I should have called her. I bet she knows I dream about playing with her bare boobs.

I don't know why she's being mean now and saying shitty things like this to me?

"Brad? Did you hear me? I asked how it felt to be a celebrity?"

"I heard you."

I think she's still making fun of me. And everybody in our class can hear it.

"What do you mean a celebrity? I just shot a bobcat."

"Right! That's what I mean. Like every sixteen year old boy goes out grouse hunting on Saturday morning and shoots a bobcat when it attacks his dog!"

Where did she hear that? I never told anybody the cat attacked Rusty.

"It didn't attack my dog. At least not until I shot it out of the tree. Who told you that anyway?"

"Brad Burgess don't get mad at me, I'm on your side."

The heat of his embarrassment traveled up his neck then spread across his cheeks before it finally ended in his ears as it always did. He knew they were bright red and this added to his agony in attempting to face this petite girl he kept dreaming about dating and having for a girlfriend and maybe, just maybe, if he ever got lucky enough, to make out with.

Why do I act like this? Why can't I just be cool and talk normally to her?

"It really makes me mad when people make up things and change the truth about the things I do or know."

"You shouldn't think so much about it, or worry about it. Just be yourself, Brad. When you behave like this, it makes it awful hard to lo-- like you. Sometimes you can make me so damn mad I never want to see you again."

Annie turned away and started up the aisle towards her desk.

"Until next time, then I want to be your friend again." She spoke softly over her shoulder but never slowed down.

"I'll see you later, Brad!" She turned and came back to him.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, pooh. Never mind, bye. I'll see you later." Exasperation was clear on her face when she finally turned and left him standing by his desk.

She didn't ask me to the Sadie Hawkins dance Saturday night. I guess I won't go.

TWENTY ONE

"Listen to that pup run! He's on a hot one alright!"

Jim Lorain was a big, dark French Canadian who was probably three quarters Indian and he owned the 18 month old Black and Tan pup they were hunting with. He also owned a big Redbone hound which was Brad's favorite. They had run Big Red, the Redbone, for three nights this week so Jim said the old dog had to have a couple of nights off.

"He sounds like he's tracking good, Jim. At least for a pup."

"I think he's going to be a go-getter, Brad. He's right tight on that coon's ass now. He sounds a little strange though."

"Blackie is baying like he's a little pissed off, Dad. You don't suppose he's on a house cat do you?"

"No. No damn house cat could last that long, Joey. He's already been on him for ten minutes. I think it's just a wise old coon that's giving the pup a work out."

Joey Lorain, Jim's youngest of twelve kids, shook his head slowly as if doubting his father but Brad could see he wasn't going to argue with him.

"He's coming off the ridge, Dad. Is he going for the creek?"

"That pup isn't water smart. Jump in the Jeep, quick!

We'll go down to Wilcox's intersection. Then if the coon goes for the creek you and Brad can run him down or get to him before he drowns that stupid dog.

"Jesus Christ, be careful though. Don't shoot the God damn dog just because the coon is sitting on his head and trying to drown him.

"Hit him with your damn flashlight or something. But don't try to shoot the son-of-a-bitch."

Brad and Joey exchanged glances in the dim light of the Jeep's narrow back seat and snickered. They had both heard the story at least a thousand times by Brad's reckoning.

One of Jim's older boys had tried to shoot a coon off a hound's head in a creek much like this one and killed a two hundred and fifty dollar dog.

Brad also knew Jim had never forgiven his son and the boy, now a full grown man with kids of his own, never again hunted with his father.

Twice during the half mile trip to Wilcox's intersection Jim stopped the Jeep in the middle of the road and everyone held their breath until they heard the pup baying loud and clear and still a little mad.

"He's still coming down the ridge but not so straight down now, so you boys jump out here and if he starts across the road scare the coon up a tree or back up the ridge.

I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

As soon as the Jeep roared off down the road, Brad checked both his flashlights. A small, two "D" cell light he used once in a while for walking. And a six volt lantern style was hanging from a leather strap on his left shoulder.

Each of the boys carried a .22 semi-automatic pistol with a spare magazine and had a skinning knife in a sheath hanging from their belts.

"Did you get that High Standard sighted in, Brad? Or was it just you?"

"I think a little of both, Joey."

Although Joey Lorain was two years younger than Brad, they had been equal coon hunting partners for a couple of years. They were stomping their feet more from nervous energy than in an attempt to keep their feet warm even though the November air was getting chilly. They kept waiting and listening to the hound as he turned across the face of the ridge for the third time instead of continuing towards the road.

"Damn! What's he doing, Brad? He sure is running a long time for a coon."

"Here comes your dad, maybe he has an idea."

The Jeep was still out of sight but the boys could hear the typical Jeep drive train whine as Jim hurried it up the road.

Brad's nervous excitement grew when he realized the dog had swapped ends and was coming straight down the ridge towards them.

Over the engine roar and Jim's hollered orders, the boys heard the young dog's bay change. It was now an angry howl as he confronted his prey face to face for the first time in the chase. He was conveying to the humans that it was no longer just fun and games. The game had turned deadly serious for the eighteen month old pup.

"He's running like hell straight down into Matt Wilcox's pasture, Jim. He'll come out there by those big bull white pines."

"You boys get in there. Now! If we're lucky he'll tree the coon in one of those white pines." Jim added as he jammed the Jeep into gear.

As Brad and Joey ran off in the dark towards the rapidly approaching hound, Brad heard Jim holler, "I'll drive around to Matt's driveway and come in from down below." and the Jeep roared off again.

After over a hundred yards of dodging and twisting through brush and sharp needled juniper bushes, the boys stopped and listened to locate Blackie by sound. They both hoped the coon had finally treed somewhere nearby.

"He's over towards Matt's driveway about two hundred yards or so, Joey." Brad hollered at his partner.

Brad led off, but soon the boys became separated in the pitch black and confusing terrain where the brush and small trees grew in clumps and cow trails led all over and around the broken ground of the cow pasture.

That's all this piece of ground is good for, cow pasture. Brad thought as he jumped over a clump of juniper.

"Damn junipers!" Brad hollered aloud as he tripped again on some of the ground hugging juniper branches.

Although he stopped often to listen to the hound and was sure he knew where the dog was, Brad didn't realize how close to Blackie he actually was until the hound crashed through the brush next to him. After a greeting of wet slurping tongue and some of his high pitched tree bark Blackie led Brad to a huge bull pine on the edge of the pasture.

Before Brad could holler for Joey, he felt his partner come up quietly beside him.

"What do you suppose is in that tree?" Joey whispered into Brad's ear.

"Probably nothing. He might have been chasing Matt's house cats around in circles."

Both boys laughed quietly since they both knew of Matt Wilcox's penchant for having barn cats. There were about twenty-five cats hanging around the Wilcox's barnyard on the last count. They were also aware of Jim Lorain's penchant for getting rid of excess house cats all over the area. He really hated cats and blamed them for every drop in game population from Ruffed Grouse to White-tailed deer.

The flashing of lights in the distance caught the boys attention and as they traveled most of the time without using lights, they looked down on anyone who required a light to travel in the woods at night.

"You stay here, Brad. I'm going to meet them and tell them to put out their lights."

Brad looked at his partner in agreement since without a word passing between them, and regardless of their kidding about house cats and no raccoons in the tree, they were thinking the same thing. They were both convinced there was something other than either a raccoon or house cat in the huge pine tree and they didn't want it to get spooked by the hunter's lights and jump out of the tree and lead the hound on another long chase.

"OK. Good luck, Joey." Brad spoke softly then turned and walked up under the pine beside Blackie.

Brad had been sure Jim had his mind made up there was only a wise old coon up the tree and wasn't about to listen to his youngest's theories about anything else being in the tree so it surprised him when the old man stopped. Then Brad heard Joey talking in low tones to his father.

"I think we have something besides a coon up there, Dad, and if we do, the lights might make him jump."

Jim turned off his flashlight and told the other men behind him to do the same and Brad watched as the flashlights went out one at a time.

Huh! He did it.

Brad thought he had heard an old pickup rattle up Matt's driveway behind Jim's new Jeep, so he listened carefully for several moments.

Yep. I'm right. That drunken damn Ray is with Jim. Shit! Joey will never be able to shut that loud mouth up. Good thing Jim is here. He at least won't let Ray have a gun. He'd be afraid the jerk would shoot the dog.

Brad listened as the small group of men stumbled through the darkness towards him.

You can always tell the city guys. Brad smiled to himself and listened to a fresh outbreak of cursing.

With a boost from Matt Wilcox, Brad grabbed and swung up on the lowest of the huge bull pine's limbs. He reached above him but could barely touch the bottom of the next limb up. With a little jump he encircled the eighteen inch diameter limb with his arms and pulled himself up until he could hook his right heel on the top of the limb.

Wonder if I should ask Matt to pass me my big light? This tree is going to be a bitch to climb, I don't think I'll take the big light with me. Here comes Joey up the other side of the tree.

This thing is huge.

One more limb up and the boys were on opposite sides of the tree and about twenty feet above the ground and in the pitch black of a dark-of-the-moon night were out of the sight of the hunters on the ground. Brad quickly flashed his small light across the top of the limb he stood on and on the underside of the branch above.

These branches are as big as a whole tree. A coon could be hiding anywhere up here.

"YOU KIDS FIND THE FUCKIN' COON YET."

"Shut up, Ray!" Joey hollered down from his side of the tree.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? YOU CHICKEN OR SUMPIN? CLIMP FUCKIN' HIGHER! GOD DAMN WIMPY KIDS!"

"Joey. I'm going to drop my flashlight on that asshole's head if he don't shut up."

"Save it. You'll just lose it and not hurt the drunk anyway."

"WHO'S A FUCKIN' DRUNK? I HEARD YOU, YOU LI'L FUCKIN' PISS ANT."

In the quiet following Ray's outrageous bellowing Jim's deep base boomed through the branches even as he tried to keep it down.

"Here, Ray. Take this branch and go over here on this side of the tree."

Brad heard the two men move around the tree below him and held perfectly still and quiet were he was. Experience had taught him that sometimes when someone on the ground moved it would force the coon to give himself away to anyone in the tree with it.

"If your big mouth makes the coon jump, he will jump right here. And when he does, you hit him on the head with this branch."

"Gimme your .22 rifle, Jim. Then I can shoot the sum-of-a bich."

Brad held his breath and waited for Jim's slow answer.

"No. I'll keep the gun."

"But the fucking kids have guns. I kk-nw! Cuuuse seen lem."

"Ray?"

"Yeh, i-Jim?"

"Shut-up before I turn the dog on you."

"Yesss-ir."

Well finally. We now all know he's terrified of dogs.

If we're lucky he'll fall down and freeze to death some night.

Two years of putting up with that damn drunk.

"See anything, Brad?

There's nothing on this side." Joey spoke to Brad in a quiet tone the boys often used when communicating in the woods. Seldom could anyone else in the hunting party hear them.

"Not so far. Quiet a sec."

What was that? Sounded like claws on bark. Brad listened intently but could only hear his own labored breathing and once in a while a faint rustle of pine needles and an expelling of breath drifted around the tree from Joey's side.

There. That was the same sound. Something is going up the tree ahead of me.

Brad flashed his small light through the limbs above him but saw only dark green pine needles and reddish-brown shaggy bark.

"See something, Brad?"

"I heard something up above us. Sounded like it was climbing.

"Watch yourself, Joey. It might swing under the branch when you pass it."

Joey laughed softly. "You remember that, huh?"

"Yeah. It was so funny who could forget?"

Brad snickered as he recalled Joey climbing past a big coon which had swung under the branch Joey was standing on. Then when it saw Brad coming up below Joey the raccoon panicked and let go. It must have been thirty feet off the ground, but it still got up and ran away with everyone on the ground standing around and watching it go since no one could believe the animal could survived such a fall.

Another five or six minutes and the boys were almost nose to nose since the white pine at about eighty feet above the ground was only ten inches or so around.

"Want me to check the top, Brad?

"I think I can see it better from my side of the tree, Joey. Hold still here and I'll go up."

It just took Brad a couple of minutes to go as high in the tree as he could. The only thing remaining above him was the fall sky full of stars and somewhere, unseen, a new moon.

"I can't find anything. I'm coming back down, Joey. I don't think there's a coon here, but if there is, he's below us."

Brad hollered down from his lofty perch. "What's Blackie doing?"

"He's sitting under the tree looking up and crying. He still thinks we have something up there, Brad." Jim answered from the ground.

"I'm coming down. I haven't seen anything up here, Jim."

"OK. Just take your time, Brad. It's awful dark up there. Can we help with a light from here?"

"No. That's OK. I can see down better without any lights below me."

Where can that damn thing be. Somehow Joey and I passed him without seeing it. This is about where I heard it climbing. Right where the branches started to get easier to climb. I'm still 50 or 60 feet off the ground.

There.

"Hey! There are claw marks in the bark up here." Brad hollered down to the rest of the hunting party.

From here down the branches get pretty wide apart. Probably six feet or so down to the next one from the branch I'm standing on.

Brad slid his butt down against the pine's trunk to sit on the limb he had been standing on. Sitting astraddle of the limb which was bigger around than his thigh, with a foot dangling on each side of it, he listened and searched the blackness for any shape out of place amongst the fine pine branches and needles.

What's that? Almost out on the end of the limb below me.

Brad bent down hanging his head almost under the limb in an attempt to get more light behind a dark lump which seemed to be suspended amongst the dark green pine needles.

I'll drop down to the next branch.

Carefully, he slid his right leg up and across the branch and twisted his body downward while he reached for the limb below him with the toes of his leather hunting boots.

Where is the limb? Its got to be right under me.

Barely hanging onto the big limb above him with both hands, Brad slowly lowered himself a fraction of an inch at a time.

Well, where is it?

Slowly he released some more of his grip on the upper limb. He felt the rough scraggly bark start to break and crumble under his finger tips and his grip start to slid down around the limb. The sweat broke out across his back and dripped under his armpits. His palms grew damper and continued to lose their grip as more of the bark crumbled under them.

There it is. About time.

The limb under him felt secure and big enough for him to put both feet across it sideways and lean his right shoulder on the tree's trunk. He stayed that way until his shaking stopped and he caught his breath.

Brad studied the dark mass of branches and pine needles out on the very tip of the branch he now stood on. It took him several minutes to find the lump he had been watching from above.

"Brad? Brad? You OK?"

He answered barely loud enough so the men on the ground would hear him. "Yeah. Mm, OK."

Brad continued to look towards the dark lump. Not directly at it, but next to it so his vision wouldn't lock on it and make it do things like move when it really didn't.

"Brad!" Jim hollered with concern in his voice.

"I'm just resting, Jim. I'll be down in a minute." He answered as quietly as he could.

It moved. The upper, small part moved. I know it did.

Slowly, Brad slid his left hand down around to his left rear pocket where his two-cell flashlight was. His right hand came up around to his right side and unsnapped the safety strap holding his .22 pistol in its holster. He slowly slipped the black, short barreled pistol out of the leather and brought it up in front of his face.

Where did it go? There. In the same place.

In one fluid motion, Brad flicked the pistol's safety release off with his thumb and brought the flashlight up next to the gun and turned the piercing beam of light on.

The bobcat's yellow-green eyes flared in the sudden beam of light and its mouth opened in a snarling flash of white fangs.

I can't shoot. I don't know where anybody below me is.

The rippling of bunched muscles signaled the bobcat's next move.

When it hit the next limb down all Brad could see was the top of its broad flat head with white spotted, black tipped ears flat against it. Through the sights of his pistol, centered on the cat's head, Brad could see the bouncing beams of the other hunter's flashlights.

A flash of time and the short black and white tipped tail was disappearing into the darkness when the cat jumped for the ground.

"WATCH OUT! BOBCAT COMING DOWN!" Was all the time he had before a blood curdling scream reached his ears.

"IT'S GOT ME! HELP! I'M BEING ATTACKED!"

Blackie's deep, angry bay tore through the night and he was only out voiced by Jim Lorain.

"Matt. Grab the dog's leash. God damn! Hang onto him!"

Brad heard the sharp angry snaps of Joey's .22 pistol from the bottom limb of the pine as he emptied the pistol into the night.

"Jesus Christ, I'm bleeding! Help! I'm bleeding!" The drunk continued to scream.

Brad jumped downward from one limb to the next until he hit the ground beside Joey who was just one jump ahead of him.

"Fast trip down. Where was he?"

"Hiding out on the tip of the big branch that looks like a clump of small trees about quarter way up.

Bastard wasn't very big but he scared the shit out of me."

The boys stood and watched as Matt Wilcox tended to the stricken Ray who was continuing to moan and carry on as Matt, the ex-navy corpsman, tried to find something wrong with him.

"God damn you, Brad Burgess, I know you did that on purpose."

"What are you talking about, Ray. Your the one who dumped beer all over himself and thought the cat attacked him."

"He did attack me. He came right out of the tree on top of me and it's all your fault. You made him jump on me. Fucking kids anyway."

"Ray, that's about enough. You go along with Matt now and don't you ever ask to come coon huntin with us again. I've had it with you, if you hadn't been laid out on your drunken ass in my way when the cat jumped, I could have shot it and made twenty bucks in bounty!"

Wow. I have never heard Jim so hot. I'm glad it's Ray he's mad at not me.

"Come on boys. Let's go coon huntin".

TWENTY TWO

The blacktop was just starting to dry off after an all day rain, but the puddles on the shoulders were still overflowing, and the sun wasn't quite history for the day when Brad saw the first hint of white vapor drifting from his mouth and nose.

"Isn't this a little early in the year for a carnival? You know, April showers and all that shit, Rick."

"Just don't walk under the edges of the tents when someone is shaking the rain off of them, Brad."

"That's cute, Rick. Really cute.

"I can't believe we had to park so far from the carnival. Half the town must be here." Brad observed as he and his classmate Rick Paro walked up the shoulder of the state highway towards the gravel parking lot at Teddy Landgell's auction barn. The carnies had set up the first carnival of the season there for the weekend.

Rick had been in Berube's when Brad went in to have a Coke and to see if Annie was working. Even though he and Rick weren't best friends, they had been friends since junior high. Rick had a dark complexion and was about three inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier than Brad's 5' 2" and 110 pounds.

It took Rick only as long to convince him they should go to the carnival on the west end of town, as it took Brad to finish off a small Coke.

"OK friend; where is this fabulous horse racing booth you made so much money from since school got out today."

"Over this way. At the far end of the midway.

"Annie and Janice were playing it this afternoon when I left and I think they each made a couple of bucks.

"Brad, I think you were the only kid in the good old class of '55 who wasn't here right after school got out today."

"All twenty-seven of you, Rick?"

"Wel-ll, maybe fifteen of us would be closer to the truth."

"I didn't even know the carnival was open so early, but I suppose you townies have nothing better to do after school than go to carnivals." Brad teased with a smile. He knew Rick had wanted to live out of town, but both his parents worked in the local mills and could never afford to move into the country.

The smells of hot buttered popcorn, hot dogs and damp, mildewed canvas drifted through the air as they turned off the blacktop and started to walk across the wet gravel to the closest row of tent covered game booths.

Everywhere Brad looked there were strings of clear glass light bulbs draped across the fronts of the tents and as the sun finally disappeared behind the hills, the yellow glow they radiated increased in brilliance. Here and there in the wet, cold night air some fog would form and drift through the area producing an aura of mystery.

"These lights are spooky in the fog, aren't they, Brad?

"This is it. You pay 25¢ and bounce the tennis balls with this handle. Every time you put a ball through the square hole up there on top, your horse goes up the track a little further. Obviously, whichever horse reaches the end of the track first, wins."

"But they have prizes, Rick. I thought you said every one was making money when they win?"

"We were. The guy will give you odds for another 50¢ and pay you off in cash instead of prizes."

"Good thing. I wouldn't want to win any of that junk."

"Take this handle, Brad. I won a buck on it just before I quit to go home to supper."

After several tries, Brad began to get the feel for the game but still hadn't won any races. Always missing by a short horse length each time.

"Maybe I won't make a buck or two here." He spoke to no one in particular before turning towards the person who had just step up beside him.

"Have you made enough money to take me on some of the rides, Brad?"

"Hi, Annie. No, actually I think I'm getting ripped off."

"In that case let's go get an ice cream cone. My treat."

"I'll settle for a cup of coffee. It's cold out here tonight.

"Where did you come from, Annie? I heard you were with Janice, so I figured you would be in Elmdale or Nashua by now."

"How much did you lose, Brad?" Annie ignored his question and comment.

"A buck and a half. Plus the 25¢ a game for five games."

"That's $2.75, Brad. I believe you're right, you got took."

"I guess I'm a slow learner. I didn't realize what the guy who was running the booth, was doing until just before you came."

"What was he doing, Brad?"

"Didn't you see him fixing the horses to win or lose when you were playing, Annie?"

"No. But I won five dollars from him after school. You know, I was losing at first, then it seemed like my horse got faster than all the rest. That's when I started to win"

"Did the guy keep going into the tent behind the track."

"Yes, he did, several times while we were playing.

What was he doing, Brad?"

"I think he can adjust each horse. If one started winning, and he didn't want it to win, he could slow the horse down by making it go a shorter distance each time it moved. If he wanted a horse like yours to win, he would make it go further each time the ball went in the square."

"That jerk! Not only that, but he made a pass at me and he's old enough to be my father."

Brad felt her small cold hand tighten on his as she talked and they meandered across the parking lot. It was then he realized she was holding his right hand and both of their hands were in his jacket pocket. It had seemed they had picked up an old habit left over from previous encounters.

"I thought you liked older guys.?"

Brad felt her hand and the rest of her petite body go rigid at his words. He waited for her to pull her hand free when the expression on her face changed from one of friendly contentment to confusion and Brad thought he detected some anger. When she spoke he knew his interpretation of her body language was correct.

"Who said that about me? Either Bob or Joey, or both, I'll bet. It probably was. If not directly, then they surely started it." She added in an angry outburst.

"Why would they start a story like that? They aren't my favorite people either, but I heard it all over from several different kids around school."

Her straw colored curls bounced against her head when she whipped her head around to look Brad in the eye, but she still didn't pull her hand free. To the contrary, she held his hand tighter than ever.

"Four summers ago we were swimming in the river and they wanted to make it with me but I wouldn't let them. They got mad and started to make up stories about me.

"You probably never heard about it, Brad, because you never hung around Wilmet until this year, but everyone else in our class did.

"How about Warren? You dated him last year, in our junior year, and he's what, four years older than we are?"

"That was only because you made me mad."

"I made you mad?"

"Yes. You wouldn't take me out. Besides, I only went out with him four times."

"How come you didn't go out with him more? He always had plenty of money and a car.

"He wanted something I couldn't give him."

When Brad looked her way, Annie avoided his eyes, but they kept holding hands and walking along the carnival midway in a companionable silence.

Brad finally broke the silence and spoke with an unusual softness in his voice that made Annie turn to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you mad or upset you.

"I'm not mad. Thanks, Brad." She spoke so quietly that Brad had to lean towards her to catch all she was saying.

"For what?"

"For caring whether I was upset or mad or both I guess."

"Let's go get on the swings, Annie. Then we can get that coffee."

"Wow, I'm dizzy." Brad leaned on Annie's shoulder as he playfully staggered down the midway.

"I was doing fine on that swing until we started twirling each other in opposite directions. If I don't toss my cookies I'll be lucky!"

"Oh, come on you sissy. Take me on the merry-go-round." She laughed at him quietly.

"Woman. Don't you ever get tired of these rides?"

Annie grabbed Brad's hand back and half dragged him across the end of the parking lot to where the carousel music was blaring above the roar of the carnival's diesel generators.

"No, but I am getting cold."

"Want to go sit in the car then? " Brad asked her. "It has a good heater."

"I thought that you'd never ask. Come on."

"It'll be a bit of a walk. I had to park about four blocks away."

"That's OK. I don't mind."

They walked hand in hand in a comfortable silence. Every time they passed under a street light, one or the other would turn and catch the other looking at them. They would giggle together self consciously.

Brad unlocked the passenger's door and stepped back to open it. Annie stepped in front of him and simultaneously their self restraint melted. She turned into him just as he put his hands on her waist and stepped a bit closer to her. He felt her arms on his neck and under his hands he felt the tight muscles of her lower back and hips.

"You feel a lot warmer than I do." Annie looked up into Brad's eyes and her soft red lips opened slightly as her eye lids slid down and dark lashes shaded what little of her intense blue eyes remained.

Her mouth tasted moist and hot to him and he could smell her feminine scents. A little rouge, face powder and a subtle fragrance like spices that he couldn't tell where it was coming from, but he knew it was part of her.

She's a lot smaller than I thought she was. I guess maybe I've grown some this year.

Her breasts feel good against me, and she tastes so good.

"The door handle is in the middle of my back."

She spoke so softly in his ear, that it took Brad a second to realize what she had said.

"Kiss me once more and then let's get in the car."

Brad felt his heart start to beat faster again. It was already on overtime, but her gentle voice in his ear and the realization she wanted him to hold her and kiss her, even with the door handle in the middle of her back, excited him more.

"I think someone is watching us from across the street."

"It doesn't matter. I don't care if everybody knows I kissed you.

"Do you care if someone sees us, Brad?"

"No. Hell, no. I'd do it anywhere and in front of anyone."

She laughed softly with him.

"Start the car and let's get warmed up. I'm still cold even after you kissed me."

The Pontiac's heater was pouring out heat and its big straight 8 was ticking just above an idle while Brad guided it down the main drag of Wilmet with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right arm around Annie's shoulders. Their bodies were touching from their shoulders down to their hips and knees. Annie's small left hand rested on Brad's right leg just above his knee making a warm spot through his fog dampened blue jeans.

She feels good sitting against me. I think she really likes me, too. I wonder if she'll go out with me again?

"Shall I drive to Elmdale and we can get something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry, but if you are I'll go with you or if you'd like we can just go for a ride. I don't want to go home yet, Brad.

"You know, it's going to be really strange. In another two months we'll be out of school and every one will be going in different directions. There won't be many of our class still here next fall." Annie was thinking out loud.

"It will change as soon as we graduate. I've put in for a job on the Canadian border for the summer." Brad added his thoughts to hers.

"You're going to UNH aren't you, Brad?"

"I got my acceptance letter last week. But I'm not sure I'll have enough money."

"Did you get the scholarship you put in for?"

"I haven't heard yet, I don't think they tell us if we've got it or not until about June."

"What time is it, Brad?"

"I don't know. Probably about eleven-thirty or so. The dash clock is right some of the time, and that's what it says."

"It's so peaceful here. How did you ever find this place?"

They were in the middle of the Pontiac's wide front seat. They had slid just far enough over so Brad could get out from under the steering wheel and had stayed there. Annie had her feet up on the passenger's side of the seat leaning back on Brad who had turned sideways and had both of his arms around her upper body.

The cold front and all of its moisture had passed by leaving it colder than it had been for several days. The half moon showed silvery on the wet brush at the top of Crotched Mountain where Brad had parked in a grassy clearing. Behind them, a few remaining fruit trees and a rotten wooden watering trough told the story of another displaced New England farm family. Below them to the south, at the foot of the mountain, the moonbeams were twinkling across the smooth surface of Sunset Lake.

Brad drew her closer to him and brushed his lips across the top of her head.

Her hair smells like Prell. Clean. She feels so good in my arms. I'll bet she'll get mad if I try to feel her boobs.

"Are you warm enough.?"

"Yes, thanks. But I guess we'd better go home. I told my mom I'd be home early and I think early was an hour or so ago.

Brad?"

"Yeah?"

She twisted around in his arms and looked him in the eyes.

"Will you call me, and take me out again? You didn't two years ago when you said you would."

"I know. I'm sorry, but I didn't take anyone out."

"That really doesn't help, Brad. I wanted to do things with you. But I guess you didn't want to do things with me. You just wanted to hunt and fish.

"So. Are you going to call me?"

"I will, Annie. I promise."

"If you don't, you'll have to find dates for the Senior Prom and our Commencement dance. But if you do call, you have all the dates you need."

"It sounds like it's all decided."

I want her back in my arms. I don't dare take her back, she'll probably get mad at me. Here goes nothing.

Brad applied a gentle pressure to her upper arms and expected to meet resistance and was prepared to release her immediately, but instead she came into his arms and raised her face to his. Her lips parted in the sexy way she had of holding them and looked into his eyes.

"Annie? Thanks. I do like you a lot."

"If we're going to make out some more before you take me home, we had better do it. It's getting late.

"Brad." Annie's voice was low and hoarse. "I want to do it with you. But not now. Later when I'm sure you'll stay with me. So please don't ask or try to make me."

"You know that I wouldn't do that, Annie."

"I know, I just wanted you to know that we will do it someday."

The next time she spoke was so soft Brad never heard them. Later in the wee hours of morning, as he lay in bed trying to ignore his mother's snoring so he could fall to sleep, the words kept wishfully racing through his mind.

"I love you, Brad. With all my heart I do."

He was sure that is what she had said in those moments of tender feelings.

TWENTY THREE

"Who are you going to take to the Commencement Dance, Brad?" His friend, Andy, broke into Brad's thoughts as if he had been reading his mind.

"Annie Phillips. I hope." Brad added hesitantly.

"I'm not sure she'll go out with me though, I haven't taken her out since the Senior Prom."

"There's a story going around that her ex, Jackie Powers, has sworn to beat up anyone who even tries to take her out, and if she wants to go anywhere she can go with him or not go at all.

I don't think it would be a good idea to take her, Brad. That Powers' crowd are mean kids and they've supposedly beaten up two or three guys in Elmdale for messing around with their girl friends."

"I've heard the same stories Andy, but I don't care about Powers or his crowd. Anyways, Annie hasn't gone with him since before Christmas vacation.

It doesn't matter anyway. I'm pretty sure she won't go with me."

"What are you talking about? I think you're wrong, besides you haven't even asked her so how do you know she won't go?

I've been your best friend since before the seventh grade Brad, and in all that time have I ever mislead you? I know of what I speak. I think she dumped Powers so she could go to the Commencement Dance with you."

"Andy, you're absolutely crazy. I believe you, but what makes you such an expert on Annie all of a sudden? Why should she do that? She only went to the Senior Prom with me because she already said she would way back in April.

Besides you just told me I shouldn't take her out because her ex will beat me up. Make up your mind and answer my question."

"How many other times did you take her out? None. Zero. You never took her to a show or even to a ball game.

"Ask yourself. Is she worth getting in a fight over? and if you think she is ask her out. I know she'll go out with you because she told my girl so, if you would ask her."

Brad's expression was noncommittal as he looked at his friend, but his mind was busy with his doubts. Well, it's too damn hard to take a girl out. I'm almost always broke and I have to fight for the car whenever I do get a date.

Brad tried not to think about the one time he had told his mother he wanted to take Annie out on a date. It was shortly after Easter vacation and he had some extra money from working for Charlie Carr.

"Who is your date with, Brad?"

"Annie Phillips."

"Oh. She has no father and her mother works at the lunch counter in Berube's?

I don't know, Brad. You'd better check with your dad. He might need the car Friday night."

Later that night he worked up his courage to ask his father for the car. "Dad, either Friday or Saturday night it doesn't matter we can go either night."

"Brad, are you sure you want to spend the money? You know you don't really have enough money for college yet. Maybe you should think about saving it?"

"Besides Brad," His mother got back in the act again while Brad was trying to convince his father to let him use the car. "The Senior Prom is in a couple of weeks isn't it? Who are you taking to that? Wouldn't you rather spend your money on the nice girl you're taking to it and to your Commencement dance?"

There is no way I'm telling them I'm taking Annie to both those dances. Shit! They'll find some reason not to let me use the car for either of those dances if they find out.

I'll ask Charlie if I can use his car Saturday night to take Annie to the show in Elmdale.

"That isn't true, Andy. I took her to a movie a couple of Saturdays before our Senior Prom. You remember, we saw you and Margie at the diner in Ponemah."

"OK, so you took her out on one other date. Anyway, what I'm getting at is if you will ask her to the dance, we can go on a double date. Margie likes Annie and besides it was her idea we double date."

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it. I'm sure she won't go with me.

" Besides, maybe I don't want to get in a fight over her. And you just told me not to take her out."

"Jerk! What is there to think about? You've already decided that she's worth getting in a fight over, it's written all over your face, and anyway, Powers isn't going to pick a fight with anyone from Wilmet High when most of the Wilmet school body is together in the same place.

"You'll never know until you ask her and you won't have any trouble with a ride if we double date.

"Did you tell your folks you're going to ask Annie to the dance?"

"Even if I do ask Annie, and she say's she'll go with me I won't tell them. I already told 'em I was going stag."

Andy pulled his dad's two tone blue '52 Lincoln into the curb in front of Berube's Luncheonette and Newsstand. It was one of the classiest cars in town and the boys had a great time running around in it. They knew the girls loved it too.

"You have no time left to look for a date. The dance is next Saturday night. This is Friday night. Count them, seven nights.

"If you really want to talk to Annie, I'll bet she's still working and you can walk her home. Now. And you can ask her to the dance. Tonight."

"I really don't know if I want to take her."

"Bullshit. You've wanted to take her out all through high school. You would give anything to make it with her."

Brad slowly pushed on the chrome door handle. When it released with a snap he was so intent on finding an excuse not to confront Annie, the opening door startled him and he had both feet on the pavement before he could even think of not getting out of the car.

"I'm going to pick up Margie. We'll swing by Annie's house and see if you want to go somewhere with us in about 45 minutes."

She won't go. I'll bet she won't even talk to me.

"You ask her for me, Andy. Better still, get Margie to ask her."

"I'm leaving. You ask her."

Brad looked up to the clock tower on the Wilmet City Hall before stepping up onto Berube's front step.

Almost 8 o'clock. Maybe Norman had let her off early tonight.

No. I heard her tell someone she had to work every hour she could to make enough money for her new gown.

"Brad, I thought that was you standing on my step like a waif. Come on in so I can lock the door behind you.

"Thanks, Norm. Is Annie still working, or has she gone home?"

"You, my young friend, are in luck, not only is she still here," Norman lowered his voice before going on. "She was just talking about you. She hopes you're going to ask her to your Commencement Dance next Saturday night.

"I'll hurry her along, Brad. Sit down while I tell her you're here."

"Hi, Brad."

"Hi. I--ah-hh, came by to walk you home. Andy dropped me off so I don't have a car."

"OK. It's warm out and you know I don't mind walking. I'll be ready in just a minute. Do you want to wait here?"

"Get finished up, Annie. I'll give Brad a Coke on the house to keep him quiet and happy."

In less than ten minutes Brad and Annie were walking slowly down Main street. A car passed quietly by going west but there was no one else walking.

"Norman's a nice guy."

"But he doesn't pay much."

They looked at each other and laughed. They were both used to the lack of money and could appreciate the circumstance more than most kids their age.

"I haven't seen you very much, Brad. We don't even have any classes together this semester. Just home room."

"I'm getting caught up on all my college required courses. Most of the kids are skating this year but I goofed up so I have a big load."

"Our grades will be out Monday. Then it will really be over and we can relax.

"Your grades have been really good this year, Brad. I don't think you have to worry about them."

"I forgot you've been working in the office this year. I guess you know everyone's grades."

"No. Just yours and Janice's. You're my two best friends and the only people who count."

Brad felt their shoulders touch lightly when he turned in surprise.

She's so nice to me and is really interested in my grades. I never thought she cared so much for me.

I'd like to hold her hand. It's not even dark yet and it might bother her. I'd better not touch her.

If I ask her about the dance she's going to turn me down. I know she is.

"Are you in a hurry, Brad? It won't be dark for a while."

"No. I wasn't planning to do anything except to walk you home."

"Let's walk for a while then."

"Would you like to go somewhere in particular?"

"No place in particular. I just thought we could take a walk. Where did you leave your car?"

"It's at Andy's."

She'll probably wants to go home now. She's going to think I set it all up and won't want to go anyplace with me.

I can feel her close to me. If I touch her hand maybe she'll hold it.

"Brad?" Her voice was so soft he had to leaned closer to hear her.

"Huh?"

She sounds unsure of her self.

"Can we walk over to Andy's and get your car? I'd like to go where you took me after the carnival. Do you remember?"

Who could forget. Holding you and making out with you on top of Crotched Mountain was the highlight of my year.

"I remember, it was Crotched Mountain and I'd like to take you up there again.

Do you want to call your mom, or swing by your house before we go to Greenfield?"

"I called her from Berube's before we left and told her I was with you and would be late.

"Do you go up on the mountain a lot? With girls?"

"We go up there hunting. You're the only girl I've ever taken up there."

Can I hold her hand? She doesn't seem to be mad at me. And she wants to be with me.

Walking slowly along side by side with Annie, Brad's heart started racing and skittering when he reached out and tentatively touched the side of her small soft hand. Annie turned the palm of her hand towards his and when her fingers encircled his they felt warm and dry. She squeezed Brad's fingers, moved her body closer against him, and it was just like she belonged there.

The down slope evening breezes hadn't started yet and only the Quaking Aspen leaves were reacting to the light vagrant breezes which kept slipping across the top of the ridge. Down below in the valleys that the daylight had already deserted, house lights were twinkling on here and there and although they were few and far between in this rural area, Brad could pick out a street light or two that he knew. A third of the way up in the sky from the western horizon Venus dominated even the sun's fading reds and purples.

Brad could feel Annie's rhythmic breathing against his rib cage as he held her tight and for a minute thought she had fallen asleep until she spoke quietly.

"I love this. It isn't very often I get to be alone in a place like this and can enjoy, I guess, just being."

"You're not exactly alone. I'm here too."

"You don't count. You're part of what I'm feeling and you belong here on this mountain and in the forest with me."

"I'm not sure I can handle all of this poetic talk. Brad interjected

Annie went on, ignoring Brad's interrupting comments. "We should enjoy the next few weeks together, Brad. I think we'll probably never see each other again after graduation week."

He watched the last of the reds fade away from around Venus and he felt Annie snuggle tighter against him. He had no answers and no idea of how to deal with her thoughts.

She's crying. Why in hell is she crying? I didn't touch her.

"Annie, you OK?"

"Sure, Brad, I'm fine. Have you got a hankie, please?

"Are you going to take me to the Commencement Dance? I hope so because I have a brand new gown to wear."

"Y-y-yes. If you want to go with me."

Hot damn. She asked me. She really asked me to take her to the dance.

"Can we have dinner in Elmdale before the dance? And go to get something to eat after the dance is over?"

"Of course. Everyone in the senior class will be doing the same thing."

"You won't drink will you, Brad? All those other guys, especially the jocks will be drinking beer or Coke with aspirin in it. You won't will you?"

"No. I don't drink, you know that."

"Yes I know, but sometimes people do weird things graduation week."

I'd like to kiss her. She smells so good and I have a hard-on. I hope she doesn't feel it. I'll die if she knows I have a hard-on.

As if Annie knew of Brad's desires, she turned her face up to him and in the soft glow of early evening showed him that she too felt something between them.

TWENTY FOUR

The Phillips's driveway seemed narrower than ever when Brad jockeyed the big green Pontiac in to it. He immediately wondered why he hadn't been smart enough to park on the street.

Before he got out of the car Brad wiped the nervous sweat off his hands on the liner of his double breasted suit jacket.

It was only the second time he had worn the charcoal gray suit and he still wasn't comfortable in it. On the night of their Senior Prom Annie told him how much she like it on him so he decided to wear it again. Besides, it bought for graduation and the Commencement Dance also being the only suit he owned.

It appeared that everyone in his class and family considered last night's graduation exercise as the big event of the year but Brad just considered it as anti-climatic to finishing his senior year with a high enough grade point average to get into the University of New Hampshire. Tonight was the event of greatest concern to Brad and images of all the possible things which could go wrong had been flashing through his mind all day.

Murphy's Law, something is going to go wrong. Annie is either going to change her mind or something will come up with Mom so I can't have the car.

I'll bet I'm going to go up to the front door and her mouthy little brother is going to be there to tell me Annie isn't home, or she's sick in bed and won't be able to go.

Oh, God, Powers found out she is going with me and beat her up. Shit! Would he?

Before he hurried across the scraggly and dusty brown lawn, he stole a quick look at the new graduation gift from his grandmother Benrus on his wrist.

I'm early, it's not quite 6:30. Oops, her corsage is in the car.

The transparent lidded flower box was still safe on the back floor behind the driver's seat exactly where Brad had put it when he left the florist's in Elmdale. He picked up the box gingerly not quite sure how fragile the soft yellow rosebuds were.

When he turned back to the house Annie's mother had opened the front door and was patiently waiting for Brad. Her usual friendly, motherly smile made Brad feel secure and welcome.

"Hi, Mary. Not working this afternoon?"

"Where have you been, Brad? This is Saturday. You know, my day off."

"Oh yeah. I remember."

"Come on in. My daughter and your girl friend is anxiously awaiting your arrival. Even if you are early."

"Mom, you're going to embarrass me. Aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. Brad understands and he knows me well enough to know I'm just teasing a little to make him feel welcome."

Brad quickly looked around the inside of the house as he stepped through the door. He was expecting to hear Annie's brother's big mouth at any second.

"He's across the street. Mom gave him strict orders not to come home until we've left."

Annie was standing in the door to her little bedroom. Brad's eyes found hers and couldn't turn them loose. Their intense blue was holding his heart and mind. Both kids smiled shyly and Brad slowly broke his gaze away to let his eyes travel across her face and hair.

She had her straw colored hair brushed out softly around her face and the Cameo earrings Brad had given her last night for graduation were peeking out beneath it. Their soft green background matched the green of her sleeveless gown. He let his eyes go down her 5', 85 pound body and smiled in appreciation of her young woman's figure.

What a body! And she is so cute and soft looking.

"They're beautiful, Brad. Oh, Thank you so much.

Here sir, is your boutonniere. It's not as beautiful as my corsage but it will have to do."

"I don't think I would want anything as pretty as your corsage. People might look at me funny."

"I thought we were going with Andy and Margie?"

"I changed our minds."

I hope she doesn't care. I really don't want to be tied down with them all night. I'd rather bring her home alone.

"I thought it would be easier if we met them at the restaurant. Later we can do what we want."

As he held the passenger's door for her she hesitated and looked him in the eye before asking, "Do what, Brad?"

He felt the instant rush of heat across his cheeks and wrap around his ears and up the back of his neck as it always did when he was embarrassed.

She can see how red my face is. Damn it, why do I have to blush like this. Some people are lucky and never show their blush.

She might not want to go back up on the mountain tonight since she's all dressed up and if her mother said anything to her about us being out so late the other night.

"I thought maybe, well, huh.

"Maybe what, Brad?"

With a soft smile Annie kept sliding across the seat until she was on his side of the middle then she was almost under the steering wheel when she stopped. She slipped her left hand and arm under Brad's right arm which he was raising towards the gear shift lever. When he turned to her he couldn't help but lean closer towards her. She met him part way with soft pink lips slightly parted.

She isn't wearing red lipstick that's why she looks so soft.

"I hate to interrupt. But you should take a wrap with you, Annie."

"Thanks, Mom."

Brad watched the interplay between mother and daughter with interest. They had been in the middle of a less then chaste kiss when Mary had walked up to the car yet she had waited quietly until they separated before speaking. Annie showed no sign of being embarrassed or put out at her mother in anyway.

They met Andy and Margie in Elmdale for dinner as well as over half of the senior class and they all drove the four miles back up the highway to Wilmet and the high school gymnasium in an uninterrupted string of cars.

Annie and Brad shared the whole evening with no one but themselves. Neither asked to or accepted a dance with anybody else and between dances they sat quietly in a dark corner across from the stage and next to the folded up bleachers talking quietly or just being content to be in each other's company. When the bandleader announced the start of the last set of the evening, Brad took Annie's small hand in his and led her slowly out on to the middle of the basketball floor. The varnished hardwood floor reflected the blue and pink overhead lights and here and there was a streak of cornmeal on the floor. The slow waltzes flowed through them and they separated themselves further from the rest of the world in their own cocoon of caring and love. Brad continued to be amazed by what he was feeling for this petite woman. Not only was he continually aroused by her closeness and needed the trust she was placing in him, but he felt protective towards her like he never had in his short life for any other person.

Brad and Annie moved slowly in rhythm with each other. As the music slowed and came to an end they and many of the others on the packed dance floor just stood in place for many long seconds.

"Shall we go?" Brad spoke first breaking the magic spell of those last few minutes of being high school kids in love.

"Do you want to try to find Andy and Margie?" He added.

"We kind of told them we'd go get something to eat with them, Brad. At least I told Margie the last time I saw her in the ladies room. We could duck them if you wanted to, Brad."

"No. I don't think we should. In fact if I don't have to drive to Elmdale and back, we can sit in the back seat of the Lincoln and make out.

"Oow-oo! I didn't think it was that bad an idea."

"It was the leer on your face that deserved the punch in the arm, not the idea, Brad Burgess. Beside, I like the idea of making out with you right now. A little anyway."

"What does a little mean, Annie?"

"You'll see, we still have all night and it's only midnight."

He felt a nudge against his leg under the table.

"Brad, look who's at the end of the counter."

"I've been watching him. He won't look at me, but he tried to catch Annie's eye a couple of times before she and Margie went into the ladies room.

"Let's pay and then catch the girls when they come out of the restroom. I don't want to let him get near her without me close by, Andy."

"He doesn't worry you? He scares me, Brad.

"I'm sure those two in black jackets in the booth behind him are part of his gang."

"Count heads, Andy. It looks like Wilmet about forty and Elmdale ten. And of those ten only two are friends of Powers'. I'm not worried as long as he doesn't say anything to Annie.

"Come on, hurry up so we can get up to the counter before the girls get here."

"What do we have here? A pair of Wilmet wimps?" The words came out of Powers' mouth in a sneer and from the booth behind him his pair of followers snickered loudly.

"Powers, can you count?"

"What you mean jerk? Of course I can count."

"Are you a gambler then, Powers?"

"What's your problem, midget?"

"I'll give you odds of about forty to three that you had better stop bothering Annie Phillips."

The teenage bully stepped closer to Brad and leaned down in an attempt to intimidate him.

"And just what does that mean? Am I suppose to be afraid of you, midget?"

Brad started to feel the fear of the confrontation. Powers was four or five inches taller and sixty pounds heavier than he was. If the other Wilmet students decided they didn't have enough school spirit left to back him up Brad knew he was in deep shit.

Maybe I've overloaded my ass. He might not back down and all these high school heroes from Wilmet may just ignore the whole thing.

"She's my girl and you stay away from her, Powers."

"Oh, right. I'm real scared."

Brad watched Powers' two friends get out of the booth and start to step up beside their mouthy leader and caught an expression of uncertainty come into Power's eyes. Brad got a feeling of having someone step up behind him and knew it wasn't Andy. His friend wouldn't run, but he wouldn't crowd someone like Powers as Brad was doing.

"I'm tired of hearing you threatening a girl so why don't you swing at me, Powers? Then I can use a baseball bat on you with a clear conscience. You know, it would be self defense then bastard."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Brad. Mr. Powers is going to apologize to Annie and then he is going to leave here." Joanna Bishop's soft familiar tones were a surprise to Brad. He hadn't seen her since they had left the dance and surely didn't know she was in the restaurant. He turned his head slightly and saw Annie's intense blue eyes watching him. There was a tear running from the corner of each eye but her face was softened by the small smile which was pulling at the corners of her mouth.

How long has Annie been standing there?

Brad smiled back as Joanna Bishop-Barlow stepped up beside Annie and her husband, Joe Barlow stepped up beside him. Joe was 5'11" and weighed a shade over two hundred pounds. He was an ex-sub sailor from World War II who worked on construction and still wore a crew cut.

Joanna spoke again. "Good bye, Mr. Powers. But don't forget the apology before you leave."

"Brad? Will we see you again before you leave for your new job up north?"

Brad remembered Joanna always had a knack to change the subject and go to something more positive after any kind of confrontation.

"I'm leaving Sunday morning, Joanna. I have to be in Berlin, Monday morning to start work."

"I think the kids really want to leave, Joanna. Tonight and tomorrow won't be time for parents and old school teachers." Joanna's new husband added.

"She's not an old school teacher, Joe, she's a great school teacher."

"You can knock off the flattery, Brad. I can't help your grades or get you out of detention anymore.

"Can I share him with you for a minute, Annie?" Joanna asked the younger woman.

Her arms were strong across the back of his neck and the familiar scents made him inhale slowly through his nose to enjoy her closeness. Brad knew he would always remember her and the feel of her baby belly against him when her lips touched his in an unsisterly kiss.

"I always felt you should have been ten years older, Mr. Burgess." She spoke quietly with her lips touching Brad's ear as she gave him a last hug before stepping back beside her husband.

Brad was sure no one would ever know how strong his feelings and emotions for this lovely lady were. He thought they had left him but her touches ignited the passions he had always managed to keep buried deep in his subconscious.

The small hand was tentative at first, but when he took it and squeezed she realized he needed her and Annie slipped her left arm around Brad's waist and placed her warm, soft body against him as they walked across the parking lot to Andy's Lincoln.

"You really like her, Brad and there's nothing wrong with that. Maybe some day you'll feel about me like you do now about Joanna."

Brad turned to Annie and quietly studied her expression. It was a combination of; 'I'm right and you know it.', and hope.

Andy dropped Brad and Annie in the school parking lot and left to go partying and parking with Margie who was now a new senior.

Brad drove out of Wilmet with no verbal communication between them, just a comfortable silence. He started for Greenfield and Crotched Mountain.

Brad drove along the narrow country road carefully taking his time. Several car loads of high spirited teenagers had caught up to them and he had pulled over to let them pass amongst invitations to go to after dance parties or a shot out of a bottle of Seagram's Seven and one offer of a whole six-pack of Millers.

Please stop at the lake for a minute, Brad. I have to do something with this gown it isn't very comfortable to wear in the car."

Brad pulled into the small sandy parking area at Sunset Lake next to the big wood framed ice house. He opened his door and got out to stretch and take off his suit jacket before jumping back in the Pontiac to escape the cool 2 A.M. air. In the dark he really didn't pay too much attention to what Annie was doing except he could hear the familiar rustling of her gown.

"Ready?" Brad asked her as he slid back under the wheel and felt her come against him on the seat.

"Yes. I want to go up on the mountain. Can we?"

"Sure."

Brad liked the feel of her body against him under the shared warmth of her wrap which she had draped across their shoulders. She feels softer and the cloth under my hand is so smooth.

He drove even slower up the hill as if to drag out the joy of what they were about to see from the top of Crotched Mountain.

He felt her body move against him as she settled herself against him and laid her head on his shoulder. Her lips brushed his cheek and he turned into her body with the moonlight flooding through the windshield to light up the whiteness of her slip and freckled skin of her bare shoulders.

She took off her dress. She's so pretty and she has nice boobs.

Brad tentatively leaned towards her and let his lips trace the top of her cleavage and his heart jumped when she pressed herself up against him and pulled him tighter into her body.

"I love you, Brad, please come back to me."

He lifted his face from her breasts.

"What? Did you say something, Annie?"

Her lips silenced his.

###

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

The author is retired and living in the Puget Sound area of Washington State. He is a Vietnam Era veteran who spent several years stationed in the Far East with several tours in Vietnam. As a young man he attended UNH intermittently and worked in the logging camps of Northern NH and Maine. After the Vietnam War he remained in the Pacific Northwest as a flight instructor, working for the US Forest Service and as a Deputy Sheriff.

