Goshen Road Read online

  “Jesus Christ!” Bertram swore, shaking his head, turning back to the house again. “Rose, get one of the girls out here to pen up these birds. I told you I wasn’t going to be able to mind your flower bed and listen to the game.” He stubbed out his cigarette, felt around for the volume dial on the side of the radio, exhaled smoke, and looked over at Lux. “Son of a bitch! Clemente’s on deck.”

  “Hey, Lux,” Billie Price said, swinging out of the screen door, her elbows sticking out of her blouse as she clutched the beer under her thin arms. She gave two to her dad and one to Lux. Her slim face, dark eyes half-buried behind dark bangs, was all grin. Behind her, with a wooden bowl of table scraps and torn-up bread, Dessie appeared, wearing her sweater, skirt, and knee socks from school. Lux caught Dessie’s eye, then turned to look at the side yard, where chickens scratched at the base of fruit trees and lilac bushes had begun to bloom; beyond, the garden had already been hoed into dark rows. Dessie’s stocking feet trotted past Lux down the stairs, calling, “Come, chick, chick; come on chick, chick.” Hens and roosters, clucking and flapping from all directions, followed her to their pen in the backyard. Lux caught himself staring at Dessie. Her blonde hair hung in waves down her back. Her hips looked soft and round, her legs seemed longer, her pale green skirt flared as she stepped past him. Cheeks flushed, Dessie returned to sit on a hanging swing on the far end of the porch next to her sister.

  “Damn, them things are so stupid,” Bertram said. He gave up on the volume and began shifting the antenna to catch a better signal from KDKA. Lux began to relax. “They sure is, Coach,” Lux nodded. “Especially them purebreds.”

  Bertram held his hand in the air. It was a full count, and all went quiet while they waited to see if Clemente would come through for the fans. The screen door opened once more for Rose. She was a petite woman, her gathered light-brown hair was streaked with silver around the temples, and though she was more fine-boned and slender than her husband, she had the same ample look. Bertram had often said that if he ate too much, it was because Rose cooked too well.

  “Luther Cranfield, how are you? The girls said they saw you at the high school,” Rose said in a hushed tone; she wiped her glasses on her apron and waited until Bertram, disgusted, dropped his hand as the inning was over. “How’s your father getting along these days?” Rose asked. Her eyes fixed on the eyepatch as if she were trying to decide how bad the injury was, and whether or not to ask about it. It made Lux want to scratch; he rubbed the cold can of beer back and forth between his palms.

  “Pa’s about the same as ever, Mrs. Price, thank you for asking, and I’m healing up fast, Mrs. Price, thank you. Another couple weeks, maybe, I’ll be good as new,” Lux said, his voice cracking more than he’d wanted it to.

  “Well, it’s nice to see you up and about so quickly,” Rose replied. She looked over the steel rims of her reading glasses, gazing past Lux toward the side yard. She seemed to be taking stock of the flower bed below. She settled herself into the wide porch swing between her daughters and took two steel knitting needles and a tangled ball of pink yarn out of the pockets of her apron. Something about Rose’s round-rimmed glasses, her gray eyes, and the beige ruffles of the apron reminded Lux of a barred owl guarding her nest, plush yet watchful. To Lux’s relief, Rose held off on further questions about his eye and about his old man. Billie scanned the ammo box, passed it to Dessie, who turned it over, ran her index finger along its deep creases and folds, and shook her head in disbelief at the way the steel frame was crushed. She stood and handed it back to Lux, then returned to her place on the swing.

  Bertram swore under his breath at the baseball score, then lowered the volume on the radio. He and Lux began talking about the chances of this year’s high school baseball team making it to the state finals, then switched to how A-1 had a great crew, and how impressive it was that the men had found Lux and cut him out from under that limb so quickly. Lux agreed, adding that he was grateful to Alan Ray, who’d had first aid training in the national guard.

  “Tell you what,” Bertram said. “Every crew should have somebody who’s been in the service or took some first aid training. A fellow like that could save a life in a pinch. Not a bad idea to keep that hard hat handy, too. Not a lot of men would have the good sense to keep a hat on their heads when they cut timber.”

  “I can thank my ma for that,” Lux said. “I gave her my word when I first started clearing timber.”

  Everyone nodded, and Rose looked up from her knitting. “Lux, I believe Alan Ray saved more than your eye, he saved your life,” she said. “It’s one of those sayings that is said too often, but the Holy Father works in mysterious ways. He knows why you and Alan Ray happened to be working together that day.”

  Lux shifted his gaze from Rose to Dessie. “Just what Ma would have said, Mrs. Price. Not saying I ain’t grateful, but they ain’t saved my eye yet.” Dessie had been staring down toward her dad’s radio, as if the Pirates game was all that mattered, but now her blue eyes met Lux’s. “They might not save it at all,” he said. “I’ll know more when the bandages come off.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he wished he hadn’t said quite so much. Christ almighty, he thought, last thing he wanted was anyone’s sympathy.

  Lux felt heat rising through his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the rush of the beer combined with an awareness that he had no idea what he should say next. He wasn’t about to dwell on the accident. He didn’t feel like talking about the Pirates or backtracking to his years on the mound. You were the first thing I saw, so beautiful in the morning light, a sign that things would all work out was too full of weight to toss out there. He wondered if Dessie was happy about him stopping by. They’d known each other for years. She was the girl with bright blue eyes and a ponytail, fun to talk to at practice, willing to set aside her homework, grab an oversized glove to fill in as an outfielder or catcher. At first, she could hold her own, but at some point the boys just got faster and stronger. He’d needled her about her baggy gym shorts, also about throwing like a girl. She could give it right back. If he blew through the signs or if he’d grumbled at an ump’s call, she’d mention that kind of thing, not mean-spirited, but with a twinkle in her eye. She took after her dad that way. They both had the same effect, something made him light up, try harder. Lux took a gulp of his beer, wiped his warm face with the back of his sleeve, kept his thoughts to himself, and enjoyed the safety of silence. The hell with it, he thought. She could take him as he is, and that’s what she should do.

  Billie spoke up. “Hey, Lux, are you going to come back to school now? Varsity could use a good pitcher.”

  “A one-eyed pitcher?” Lux stretched out his fingers and cracked his knuckles on his right hand, shaking his head, “No. Anyways, I don’t need to,” he said, looking at Bertram for agreement. “Pine’s coming in from Kingwood for framing, hardwood’s going out the door as fast as it comes in, cherry and walnut is up, and there’s plenty out there to cut. The mines need locust props, too. Boss says he’ll find something for me to do inside at the mill next week. That’s OK for now, but I want to get back into the woods.” Bertram nodded. Lux noticed Dessie didn’t look up. She was straightening out knots in Rose’s yarn.

  Lux finished his beer. “I brung this for you to keep,” he told Dessie, setting the flattened ammo box beside her on the arm of the porch swing. He glanced at her; though she kept her gaze down, she had that little grin that was tricky to read. Then, turning toward the Jeep parked at the pull-off along the main road, he said, “Hey, Coach, could Dessie come out for a drive sometime?” The green Jeep stood high on oversized tires. Its top was off, and two squirrel tails hung from the roll bars. Despite sheet-metal patches on the body, it looked clean and cared for.

  Bertram crushed the empty beer can between his palms and chuckled. The porch swing creaked as it swayed back and forth. The knitting needles kept on ticking against each other, but Rose lifted an eyebrow and gazed over her glasses across the porch at her husband. Dessie
’s eyes fixed on the tangle of wool in her mother’s lap. Her cheeks had turned almost the same shade of pink as the yarn.

  Billie looked at Dessie, smiled broadly, then glanced back at her Dad. “Hey, Daddy, can I go, too?” she asked.

  “I believe Lux was asking Daddy about Dessie, Sis,” said Rose, “about whether we can spare her, come spring, one of these Sunday afternoons.” Rose kept her eyes fixed on Bertram, whose dimples had become more pronounced as his grin widened.

  “I didn’t know you were allowed to drive with that eyepatch on, Lux Cranfield,” Dessie said. She stood, picked up the ammo box, stepped into the house and disappeared. The porch swing rocked as Rose grabbed for her yarn.

  Lux watched the screen door spring shut, and then looked back at Bertram. “Of course I can drive! I can even drive the front-end loader and the forklift at the sawmill,” Lux answered, staring back at the closed door.

  Bertram sat forward in the chair and nodded at Lux. “Well, then, I reckon you’re a twice-lucky man, Ace,” he said, tapping his cigarette pack into the palm of his hand.

  “What d’ya mean, Coach?” asked Lux.

  Bertram settled back in the recliner, stretched his legs out, and flicked up the cap on his Zippo lighter, striking the flint. “Well,” he answered, “a man that can get work is a lucky man for one thing, and you didn’t hear me tell you ‘no,’ now did you?”

  LUX STEPPED over the planks on the Prices’ swinging bridge, not wanting to look awkward by making a grab for the cable handrail. The boards swayed under his bootheels as he made his way to the pull-off. He gunned the engine, waved his cap, and headed for home. Instead of taking the blacktop, he cut over the hill on Chestnut Ridge, winding back and forth on a gravel road that narrowed as it climbed until it was little better than a tractor path over the ridge. He wondered whether asking Bertram was the right thing, a needed first step, or was it the wrong approach? He wondered what Rose thought. Now everyone in the Price family, and likely very soon everyone at school and in town too, would know. Screw it, he thought. He was glad that he asked Bertram, not that he planned it, but those words came spilling out of his mouth. Now they were as solid as the steering wheel in his hands, and he could not take them back.

  The Jeep’s tires skirted the flinty creek bed and climbed toward the ridge. Whenever the road leveled, through stands of sumac and flowering dogwood that had not yet leafed out, he could see fields set back against steep hillsides, homesteads in the full flush of springtime, a few cows or a draft horse or two, pale lilac bushes, a barn, a home, a chimney with smoke trailing upward. The gravel lane crested the wooded hilltop and dropped into a steeper, narrower valley. Further out from town, the road was rougher, folks had moved on. Hand-hewn log cabins and small barns stood empty in fields, siding boards curling away from the framing. Some homes had burned, and some had rotted once the roofs had begun to leak. All that remained were stone chimneys or the barest glimpses of flower-lined paths to sheds or outhouses that had long since sagged into hillsides.

  Driving the county back roads, taking it slow, opening another beer, Lux thought about what it took to hold a homeplace together. Some folks seemed to know more than others about making their way on the land. His dad’s elder brother, Uncle Ron, pushing sixty now, his sons and their kin, they knew. They could cut lumber, mill boards, put up hay. They had it all, right there, a flock of chickens, a cow for milk, they could butcher their own hogs, set out traps or hunt for meat, even a pond for bluegill and bass. If a man wasn’t scared of a little hard work, Lux thought, that man could find himself a piece of land set back on some quiet country lane and have just about everything he needed.

  Lux turned down a steep cutoff and wound his way toward his pa’s place, shifting into low to crawl the Jeep across the water bars and head onto an unpaved lane. Once he’d started working full-time, Lux had thought he’d help fix things up, maybe cut some locust posts, pick up slab wood and framing from the mill, and build a garage or at least a tall toolshed with a wide enough roof overhang to park under and keep out of the weather while working on cars, hang shelves for tools, but Everett had shot that idea down, saying, “I don’t want to see a bunch of no-account poles sticking up out of the ground once you figure out you got a real job on your hands,” then adding, “I won’t have you starting nothing you ain’t man enough to finish.”

  Lux held his tongue. It was risky to take up for himself. The old man’s gray eyes turned as flat as the heads of steel tacks. He wasn’t above reaching for his belt if he thought he was being crossed. Since Mother died, his old man dug in over the least thing. Well, let him be the ruler over his own sad kingdom. Pa seemed to have let everything go, his tools, his things, his own self. Things don’t need to go like that, Lux thought. He had no one to blame but his own prideful self when rain rotted the handles of the tools left strewn in the yard, or when the tractor brakes rusted and seized to the rotors.

  No truck was in the yard. That meant Pa’s old Ford had started, and he’d taken himself to town, stopping at the ABC store for Rebel Yell and a carton of Pall Malls. With a sense of peace that came over him when he had the place to himself, Lux started on evening chores. He fed the two coonhounds, cleaned their runs, and drew fresh water from the spring. Next, he had to fill the wood box with split firewood. All the while his thoughts circled back to Dessie. When she didn’t say no, did that mean yes? What would it take to get her to talk straight to him, he wondered. Usually girls chased him, a working man with money to spend and time to waste. But he was not that man anymore. That man had been staying out too late, wasn’t clearheaded at work, had almost got himself blinded, or worse, killed. That man got schooled, got lucky, got a chance to do it right.

  However things worked out with his eye, Lux was pretty sure Bertram would take up for him. Marriage was in the air this spring, and a few school friends had summer weddings planned. In some ways, Lux had a head start as a workingman, not a schoolboy. He’d worked part-time at A-1 for three years; he was full-time since the first of the year. Though some of his salary went to his pa, each week Lux added to a roll of bills stashed in a tobacco tin in the eaves. After his injury, the Workmen’s Comp paid the hospital, and his boss had handed him sixty dollars in cash. If his eye did get better, he wanted to cut the largest trees for veneer wood, where there was some real money to be made. But even if he’d have to work inside at the mill, it would be steady work. Dessie by his side, and a place of their own, he could make it all work out.

  In the dim light of dusk, Lux stood back a good thirty feet from the wheelbarrow and tossed splits of stovewood from the log pile. Aiming with one eye he did just fine, hitting his mark with almost every underhand toss. Lux pushed the full wheelbarrow up the muddy path, stacked stovewood in neat piles in the wood box beside the pantry door, and returned to the woodshed for a final load. The moon was rising. The air was still and warm. With luck, he’d be out with his coonhound before Pa got home.

  Damn his old man, and damn what he says about Bertram, Lux thought, setting the wheelbarrow back behind the woodshed. Bertram was a pipeline inspector. He had nothing to do with Pennzoil putting in a right-of-way. What man in his right mind would bite the hand that feeds him? The gas company saved his ass by leasing mineral rights, and Pa spent most of his time in a slat-back rocker on the front porch, swigging whiskey, living off royalties. Plus, Bertram was twice Pa’s size and twice as fast. After Pa got up in his face, Bertram pushed him out the backdoor, set him on his ass in a muddy alleyway beside the dumpster, and told Pa that if he didn’t watch himself, the law would show up to keep the peace the next time Pennzoil brought a crew up to check the lines.

  Pa wasn’t hurt, but he was sore. He told anyone who would listen that someday he was going to drop a tree across the right-of-way to keep Pennzoil vehicles off his land. The old fool ought to know enough to let go when he was licked. But he held onto that anger, talking about how he sure showed them, didn’t he. When it came to his old man, reason flew out the window
. Sooner or later, Pa would find out Lux had his eye on Dessie, but for the time being, the less said, the better. Lux could almost hear his Pa’s voice, raising the stakes, saying, Boy, y’ain’t got no business starting nothing y’ain’t man enough . . . Yes, he’d heard it all before. One thing was certain, he was not about to tell his old man that the steel ammo box had found its way to the Price family. Some things Lux couldn’t control, and some he could.

  IT WAS almost too dark to see, but Lux had saved the best chore for last. Passing the corncrib, Lux took a handful of sweet feed as a treat for his mare and put it in his shirt pocket to see if she could smell it out. With a long, loud whistle, he headed to the paddock. When Uncle Ron had offered him Calamity Jane, right off Pa said, “There ain’t no such thing as a free horse,” adding that the only thing more useless and wasteful of money than owning a horse was owning one that was ornery and skittish. “Your uncle’s only giving you the damn thing ’cause he can’t do nothing with her hisself.” Uncle Ron had taken up for Lux, saying since Lux’s mother Aletha had just passed, it would be good for Lux to have the mare to care for, and that he’d take CJ back if it didn’t work out.

  That was a couple of years back. At first the mare hung back, hard to catch, and even harder to mount, but she’d just needed some daily attention, and a few treats. Now, one whistle and she came trotting over with her colt Dakota, both of them eating out of his hand. Lux stroked the slender nose of the mare, rubbed her neck under her mane, and gently worked a burdock burr from her forelock. Jealous of the attention, Dakota butted his slim chocolate-brown head between them. Slow and steady, ain’t that the best plan, Lux thought, enjoying the night air, the sweet smell of warm horse.

  Lux took a final glance to make sure the horses were safe for the night, and gazed up toward the eastern sky, where Venus shone as bright as a searchlight and the almost full moon had begun to rise above the ridgeline. It all felt so right, like there was a reason he saw Dessie, her smile, her wave that morning after the accident. He’d felt something, like that little tug on the crown of his head, like that sense his mother was beside him. Aletha would tell him to pray for guidance and allow the Lord to help. He needed some time alone with Dessie, not standing- around-being-stared-at-on-the-porch time, not even Sunday dinner time. Just the two of them, do a bit of straight-talking, get her to trust him. It was a matter of timing, of figuring out the right thing to say, the right time and place to say it.