V. Larch trees
"These are my favorites, the needles are like they’re made of what’s inside the teddy bears."
Previous chapter recap —
Wayne and Ian, the auto shop owners, plan on tracking the group to put their hands on the horse tranquilizers.
During the first day of the trip, Merle (the B.C. sanctuary manager) informs J.R. that he has no intention of including Hedy in his operations despite her gift with maps.
Companion Playlist —
Chapter V. Larch trees
Nam Nam rears again, his hooves sinking in the swampy heaps of soaked grass. Jean, on his back, holds on the best she can to the neck strap and squeezes her knees around her horse's flanks to stay on. She clicks her tongue and guides him away from the river, raising her voice, “Current’s too strong, Boggs, they won’t make it!”
Boggs battles with his own mustang who’s also getting panicky about the size, sound, and speed of this river they have to cross, and now all the horses feed each other’s agitation. It’s a concert of snorts and groans and a ballet or neck swings and quick turns. Boggs decides to jump down, a firm grip on the lead rope. “Oneida, you give it a try, c’mon!”
But Oneida also gives up and gets down from Munly who wants out, out where they come from, back there to the dry land. Only Hazel is still on her mare Verlaine, alongside the shoreline. She guides her slowly toward the water, exposes her to the current so she’ll realize it’s not so bad and everyone can cross it, “Show them how it’s done, girl”, but Verlaine resists, stubborn, and joins the protest.
Hedy stands a little behind, wrapped in her blanket, studying a specific section of a map while keeping an eye on everyone. She hears Boggs yelling, “South, let’s head south, up the current, we’ll find a narrow spot!”
The girls lead their horses away from the shoreline, twisting their ankles in the tall grass and cursing these lands. When they’re close enough, Hedy shouts, “Mistake, South is a mistake, Mister Boggs, no, no, we need to head North, up there!”
“Kid, I appreciate you, but, right now, you ought to shut it.”
“I swear Mister, South is a mistake, useless and wasteful, yes, we are bound to be stuck if you–”
“The river comes from the South, ain’t it? We follow where it comes from, we’ll find narrow spots, kid! Enough!”
“Narrower means stronger currents.” Hedy shows the section of the map she’s been looking at, “The river’s mouth opens in about three kilometers North, here, I’d say three points two, maybe more, maybe three points three, but it becomes almost double the width, and more width means the current spreads and becomes less strong, it’s not entrapped, yes, yes.”
She offers Boggs the map and continues, “South-east, down there this way where the river comes from, there’s a junction where another river dies into this one, yes, so we’d have to cross smaller rivers, but–”
“That’s what we’ll do, kiddo, smaller rivers.”
“But they’ll be deeper with stronger current, horses can’t do that, horses will prefer longer but shallow, yes, longer but shallow, that’s what they prefer.”
Boggs pauses. Looks South and North like they could confirm or deny. It’s about three in the afternoon, and these crude oil clouds caught up on them, followed them all day. They move like an avalanche toward them now, the kinds full of hail and wrath, they’ll pour on you and rivers will throw up all their muddy waters on the land. It’ll start in less than an hour.
And right now, all Boggs can do is stick his nose to the map, undecided, feeling shitty and small. Jean presses him, “C’mon Boggs, let’s pick one, let’s keep moving no matter what.”
“Boggs,” Oneida says, her voice like a hot chocolate, “the main problem isn’t the width but the current. The horses can walk in shallow waters all day.”
“Even if that river’s mouth opens up North don’t mean current will be that soft. Could still be nasty for these puppies.”
A pause. All eyes on these clouds. Everyone silently prays for them to take another route like they all suddenly became very Catholic.
Hazel breaks the silence, “Let’s go North. Let’s do what Hedy says, let’s head North, where it’s wider.” She nods her head, eyes anchored in Boggs’, gently commanding.
The cables to secure the trail cam around the birch are as thick and rigid as those used in bike locks. The camera itself is a box smaller than an internet modem, with some cheap camo patterns all over so animals wouldn’t spot it too easily. The actual small camera is in the middle, protected by a cage of solid plastic.
Ian adjusts it and looks over his shoulder to see the camera’s field of view. He’s midway through a little hill, just a few feet above what looks like a deer path, with a river down there in the distance. Above him, when the slope of the little hill stops and it becomes a flat clearing, there are vestiges of a firepit and a picnic table. It’s a designated campsite, and his brother Wayne said the group will camp there for sure, it has to be there, it has to be the spot this guy Tad talked about.
They still installed five other trail cameras elsewhere since dawn, playing the guessing game, putting themselves in their shoes, trying to imagine where they’d camp. Had to be a large enough spot to accommodate all of them plus horses, and there had to be wide access for the pickup and the trailer. A few hours earlier, Ian asked “What if they split and they sleep at different spots? What if they just decide to spend the night alongside a dirt road instead? And what if they changed plans and booked something indoors ‘cause of the storm?” before his brother told him to shut it while he was checking on the feed of the cameras they had already installed. He could monitor each one of them on an app and also received a notification when one of them detected movements and snapped pictures.
Ian makes sure the trail cam is all set and sits down on the deer path for a second. It’s late afternoon but already as dark and bleak as dusk, these mean and angry clouds eating all the light. It’ll be a bad one.
If he runs over there, in this direction, Wayne would lose sight of him early on. It dips toward the river and he could continue to walk in these bushes, completely out of sight. He would follow the river until Skakeetna Lake, then he’d only be a couple miles from Auburnville. He's got a good protein bar in his pocket and enough cash with him for a night in the town’s motel. He heard they just opened a small auto shop there, a young mechanic like him could be a good fit. Twenty Canadian dollars an hour to start, renegotiate after the trial period, showing them how good he can be with engines. Maybe there’ll be a music store, too, and he’ll finally try out one of these saxophones, the ones jazz musicians use. Meet someone and share a basement suite. Save up enough during the wintertime and then see if they could get pre-approved for a mortgage, or even take out a loan to buy an empty plot of land and build their own little nest. She’ll join the local book club, meet every last Tuesday of the month around a slice of rhubarb pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. “You girls oughta come to the house next weekend, Ian will fire up the barbecue”, she’ll say. He’ll make his way up in the auto shop and have his own office one day, spending some time with paperwork and expanding and diversifying and maximizing revenue and by then he’ll know what these words all really mean. He’ll say he has no idea who this Wayne Bilberry is, the one who serves seven years in Headingley for robbing some girls in a reintegration program. Never heard of him. He knows male friendships are rare and feeble, but he’ll try to connect with someone he could talk to about things he otherwise doesn’t. And this friend will listen and not judge and offer good advice. He’ll drive twenty minutes to the nearest farmers market to get these specific juicy red grapes his wife has been craving lately with her mama belly, and he’ll finish putting insulation in the attic and set up a brand new water pump in the basement before dinner time so there wouldn’t be any more flooding in the–
“Fucking meditatin’ over there, eh?”
Ian turns toward Wayne, who stands near the firepit on top of the small slope.
“C’mon Ian, three more cams and we good. C’mon, before it rains on us.”
These mean and ugly clouds started vomiting just five minutes ago, just when Hedy shouted to the group that they should reach camp anytime now.
They crossed the river with ease. It did open like Hedy planned, twice the width, and the currents were still strong but not enough to spook the horses. She remembers Oneida gave her one of her little winks when they reached the other side, and she could swear she even felt Jean tap her shoulder, the “good job” kind of taps.
Boggs leads the way on the small deer path, Hedy still right behind him, both squinting to protect their eyes from this thin and cold rain that gets to the bones. There’s a small turn there, narrow, that everyone takes slowly, and the first hail starts falling. First tiny lumps of ice. It only takes ten seconds for the ground to turn white with hailstones, millions of them bouncing off the land like white grasshoppers, beating down the plants and leaves and trees. The women speed up, knowing camp is just behind that little corner, and they pass in front of the birch tree Ian was a couple hours ago. His trail camera securely attached, impeccable view of the riders just a few feet away, could almost touch them.
J.R. burrows the last peg around a large canvas tent in the middle of the camping site, the large trailer right in the middle of this flat clearing, two other tents already set up around it. Hailstones bounce off his hat, bounce off his shoulder, off the ground, a constant rumbling that smothers any other sound. He clocks Boggs and Hedy first, jumping down the mustang, the three other women behind. J.R. points at some spruces nearby, “Get ‘em under the trees, under the trees!” and everyone runs under this canopy to protect their horses.
Hedy watches Boggs, Oneida, Jean and Hazel attach their horses around tree trunks, the beasts upset about the lumps of ice hitting them. Everyone is tender and caring, like mothers to newborns, it’s nothing but “Hush now my baby don’t you cry” and “I got you, you’re OK, you’re OK my love.” Oneida even puts her hat over her horse Munly’s head to protect him, her eyes like melted butter. “Hush now my love”, with nice warm and comforting pets around the nose and neck, “hush now it’ll be over soon, nothing can happen to you, I’m right here.”
J.R.’s voice cuts through the hail storm that gets even stronger, “In the tents, everyone, in the tents now!” But Hedy makes a run for the trailer, goes to the very back where there is an opening at the top, a small square window with bars like in prison cells. She can see Wrench inside, stamping his hooves on the ground, moaning and groaning in there, electricity in his blood and eyes. Hedy puts her hands through the bars and touches his head, and even though he dodges it a few times, his space is so confined that she makes contact anyway. “Hush now, it’s me, it’s Mama, Wrench it’s me, yes, yes.”
Hail ceases to exist to her for a split second and no one’s around and it’s just her petting Wrench, calling him “my love” and saying “it’s Mama” and “I’m here for you”, a delicate gloved hand over his black fur and she could swear it actually helps, it soothes him, yes, she could swear he’s getting less agitated, yes, she’s sure of it. He recognizes her.
She snaps out when J.R. grabs her from behind and carries her toward a canvas tent, Hedy searching for the ground with her wiggling feet. He guides her inside, where the hailstones ricochet on the canvas like a million stings, but at least it’s dry in there.
“I said to go in the tents, said that to everyone, fucking had to check on everyone and look for you in this storm, eh! You gotta listen, you gotta do what you’re told, Wrench is in the fucking trailer, he’s the safest from all of us, god damn, Hedy!”
Her brother had the same bursts of anger back then, a darkness in the eyes and napalm in the voice, and she knew the tactic was just to look at the ground and make herself as small as possible till it all burns out. J.R. regulates his breathing, tries to lock eyes with her. Looks at her like he’d look at a cat after raising his voice at him for being bad, something suddenly infant-like in the gaze, the realization that, well, the cat just doesn’t know any better.
Hedy senses the breach but keeps her eyes low on the ground, playing with some hailstones. “I wanted to make sure he was safe, the girls took care of their horses, I wanted to do the same, Wrench is my horse, I’m his Mama, Boggs said that during the training, I’m the Mama of Wrench, I wanted to be the Mama and see if he was hit by the hail bullets.”
J.R. nods. Even scoffs at some point. “ The hail bullets”, he mumbles to himself. “You think you’ll be able to ride him one day?”
“I’m sure of it, yes. I touched his nose twice already.”
“Merle from the sanctuary said you had to ride him before we get there, so. We’ll work on it at the camps, in the evenings and before departures. Everyday. Boot camp style.”
“You made a deal, he said he agreed?”
“We’re working on something, yeah.”
“I hope there are larch trees at the sanctuary, these are my favorite, the needles are like they’re made of what’s inside the teddy bears.”
“They sure are.”
“And I’ll be with people and we’ll go have picnics under the larch trees and we’ll look at maps on the sanctuary with Wrench. And Mister Merle said it’ll be home for me too, right, that’s the deal you made with him? People will ask me ‘Where’s home?’ and I’ll say it’s at the sanctuary with the horses and that’ll be the correct answer, isn’t it? And sometimes, some days, we’ll sit under the larch trees and some people will even forget I’m not like them, won’t they?”
J.R. scratches his throat. Thinks of a delicate way to burst that bubble, but you just don’t crush a limping kitten under your boot. “We won’t even need blankets to sit on, the needles will be soft enough”, he says as he watches a hailstone melt in the muck.
Chapter VI on October 29th
