AT DAWN, JETHRO WAS already outside, boiling and waxing his traps for another day on the trapline. The pelts always brought in a little more income to help the family, and it gave him a little chance to get away from the routine of caring for the animals and chopping wood every day. It took a little more skill and cunning than tossing handfuls of scratch between the chickens and the goats, making sure they got their fair share.
He had learned from the locals not to use traps directly as they came from the manufacturer, but instead, he waxed them. Otherwise, after one or two winters they were rusty and nearly worthless. Some of his neighbors dyed their traps, which made them more rust-resistant but not really rustproof. Only the wax did that.
As Larry hobbled out to the porch to watch, Jethro was putting a large pot on the fire in the middle of the yard, with enough water to cover the traps. He then added the traps and heated the water to boiling. After it was boiling, he added a couple of lumps of beeswax and removed the pot from the fire as the wax liquified. The melted wax floated to the top of the water. He then took a hook his son had fashioned, slowly pulled the traps up through the layer of wax, and set them aside to dry and harden.
Watching the process was fascinating, and Larry wondered where this city-born college professor had ever learned such an art. Again, his respect and wonder for the man increased.
“So, do you make much money off the animals you trap?” Larry asked.
“Enough to make it worthwhile. And it gets me away from the homestead some.”
Larry was surprised that Jethro actually needed to get away, considering this guy was pretty far “away” already. Larry’s mind flashed back to the times he’d seen large RVs parked outside farmhouses and barns during cross-country road trips he’d made. On seeing them, he always wondered, Where do country folk go to get away from it all? Aren’t they pretty far from it all already?
“Where’d you learn trapping?” he continued.
“A couple of old-timers from Little Mountain were kind enough to let me follow along for a season, as long as I swore not to use or divulge their best set locations. Anyway, I could probably catch more if I really set my mind to it, but with other things to do with the family and the animals and all …” he trailed off while hanging the last trap on the cooling rack. “But my son’s learning and picking up some of the slack. In fact, he was the one who spotted you out on that rock where you busted your leg. I was saying you were just a snag of old leaves and branches, but he insisted. I guess you might say you owe your life to that boy.”
“I suppose I do,” Larry responded, looking down at his leg, still swollen and bandaged but fortunately not aching as much as it had been. They didn’t have much in the way of painkillers in their little cabin in the woods. Not even liquor … which wasn’t surprising, considering. “And he’s pretty good with a carving knife, too. These crutches work almost as well as real hospital ones—at least from what I remember from using some after a football injury in high school.”
Jethro nodded. “I keep telling him to work on some decorative pieces that he could sell down in the store in the valley, but he keeps saying he’d rather make something useful, not just ‘pretty.’”
“Hm, sounds like me, I guess. I always try to be practical. I guess I’m that way about this religion stuff, too. I don’t know what practical use it is. It’s maybe good for kids to keep the under-the-bed monsters away at night. ‘The angels will protect you,’ parents could say to get their kids to go to sleep at night. Instead of bothering them by needing to sleep in Mom and Dad’s bed, that is.”
“Sounds like you have little to do with children, huh?” Jethro said.
“Oh, I suppose not.” Larry shrugged. “Not that I have anything against them. To me, they mostly just get in the way,” he said, realizing how awfully bitter that sounded, especially in the presence of a father of three.
“Well, yeah, they can be hard to handle when they’re small. But, thank the Lord, they grow into ‘real people’ if you give ’em of chance.” He said the last part with a slight twinkle in his eye.
Larry wondered whether he was replaying some pleasant—or maybe not so pleasant—childhood memories.
“Raising kids out here must be an extra challenge,” Larry said.
“Well, yes and no. You replace some challenges with others. The book of Job says, ‘man is born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upward.”
Oh, the Bible again. “That sounds rather depressing. I thought the Bible was one of those positive-thinking books.”
“No, it’s definitely for ‘mature audiences only,’” Jethro responded. “There are really not too many characters or circumstances in it that are totally ‘positive,’ as you might say. In fact, some of its main characters were adulterers, extortionists … even murderers.”
Larry raised his eyebrows. “Murderers? In the Bible?”
“Haven’t read much of it, have you?”
“No, not those parts, I guess,” Larry said, then laughed, trying to save face.
Jethro gave a little smile. “Well, you’re not the only one out there who has a false preconceived notion of what’s in that big old book.”
* * *
The day was stretching into dark. Timothy was out on a special errand. He was trading some home-canned goods with the neighbor over the rise to the north. It was a fair distance, and he had quite a load, so he had taken the horse. He had started out early to make the best of the day. But now the light was starting to fade. And as the dark crept in, so did a slight fear for his safety. The entire family, from the oldest to the youngest, knew this area very well—like the proverbial “back of their hand.” But things happened at night that didn’t during the day, and his mother was becoming worried.
“Did he take enough food of his own—for both directions, that is?” Mary asked.
“I was already out at the woodlot before he left,” Jethro responded. “But he’s old enough to take care of himself.” He’d always been the stronger of the two when it came to challenging his children to be self-reliant. “And I think he always keeps some spare jerky in his saddlebag.”
Saying nothing, Mary went about cleaning up after supper, assisted by Rebecca, the older of the two girls. The mother couldn’t help glancing out the window at the encroaching gloom.
They had their usual Bible reading. Larry still sat separately, but Jethro knew that, despite the other book he was leafing through, Larry’s ear was cocked in the direction of the group.
The girls then settled into their studies as Mom and Dad read and spoke softly.
As the daughters were finally washing and preparing for bed, the sound of a horse whinny came from out in the yard. Then came the noise of boots on the porch and finally the door swung open, admitting a gust of damp, night air.
The boy shuffled in. His head was down, and he seemed to be overly burdened with the sack of canned fruit on his back. He moved slowly to the table to deposit his goods. As he did, his parents immediately sensed a strange odor emanating from his clothes. Even over the smell of a well-ridden horse and the forest-laden air, the scent was acrid and strange. Mary was the first to signal her awareness of the unusual presence by a slight twitching scrunch of her nose as her eyes circled in the direction of her husband. He was also aware and nodded slightly back in her direction.
She only knew it was an odor, or more like a pungent fragrance, that she was unfamiliar with. Jethro, on the other hand, knew well what it was. The sense brought back scenes from his college dorm, with guys stretched out on the floor in darkened rooms … the glassy eyes that registered the pain of the overhead light he had naively clicked on after returning from an evening in the library … the mumbled curses from spaced-out roommates … the dirty socks thrown in his direction … and the strange paraphernalia and cheap ashtrays on the milk crate positioned between the beds.
“Where you been, son? Your mother was worried,” was Jethro’s opening gambit. He needed to buy time to think through this new development. It was going to be rough and he knew he’d want to talk over the situation with his wife to decide on the best approach. So he kept it neutral.
“I … got lost … lost my way in the dark on my way home … back from the Jaegers’ place.”
A slight slurring could be heard in Timothy’s voice, confirming his father’s suspicions and starting to fill in the picture for his mother.
“Well, we’re just glad you got back safely,” Mary said, deciding to play it cool too—for now. “Did you put the horse up proper?”
“I, uh … I think so …” he trailed off, looking down at his shoes.
His father knew that was a lie but forced himself to remain in his chair, saying only, “Okay, get those dirty clothes off and get some sleep. We have a lot of work tomorrow on that irrigation ditch.”
“’Kay,” Timothy mumbled, and then shuffled toward his bed, slowly unbuttoning his coat as if he had forgotten how.
His father sighed slowly to himself, pursed his lips slightly, then nodded to his wife, motioning for her to meet out on the porch. When they were certain Timothy was asleep—which hadn’t taken long—they both rose deliberately from their seats and wandered out the door, trying not to let it slam as they exited.
They each took their favored places on the high-backed cedar rocking chairs that were their son’s masterpieces—and their pride and joy. It felt ironic in the moment, Jethro thought, as he slid back on the well-worn slats. This time neither of them rocked.
“I presume you recognized that smell,” Jethro said, half under his breath.
“Yes, it took me a few minutes, but, yes, I did.”
“Do you think it was from the Jaegers’ place? That was the only place that he went today … at least that we know of.”
Mary gave a little shrug. “I guess we have no way of knowing … until we talk with him.”
“And, of course, that’s only half the issue. Other than that, it’s ‘why?’ and ‘for how long?’”
“The Jaegers don’t get into the city much, if that’s where it came from.”
“No, but it wouldn’t be the first time that hill folk grew their own.”
“Why do think he did it? Or has been doing it?”
“He is still an adolescent, no matter how grown up he seems. And that’s the time for boys to experiment with things, no matter what they’re taught at home. Fully developed brawn doesn’t mean a fully developed brain.”
“I suppose not. I remember the stories your mother told me about you.”
Jethro had to smile. “Gee, thank you, Mom.”
Mary smiled back, then looked serious again, saying, “But … we do have to talk with him.”
“I know that. I’ll have to take him aside right after chores.”
“Assuming he gets up in time for chores.”
Jethro nodded. “Oh, he’ll be getting up, if I have anything to say about it.”
“Well, it’s been a long day … too long.”
“Yeah,” he replied.
They both rose wearily from their chairs. The dim light flared momentarily across the yard before the door swung shut behind them.
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