Patience County War (Madeleine Toche Series) (6 page)

“You mean all I had to do was kill a lion and I could have married Ua?” Joseph shouted.

“Well killing a lion will pretty much do it in the eyes of the tribe. Very few warriors do it single handedly.”

“If I had known that I would have killed one with my bare hands!”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways!”

“Hallelujah,” Joseph laughed.

The marriage was indeed big, and eventually it became time for Ua, Joseph, and the boy to go back to meet the great warrior John Trunce and see Joseph’s land. Within the span of one day, after all of their travel documents had been obtained, Joseph, Ua, and Nathan, as they decided to give him an English name along with his Masai name, were standing on John Trunce’s porch, Joseph in the firm embrace of his colonel. The old dog even shed a tear.

S
unday came and Sam was able to walk through the woods to his parents’ house. He got started early so he could meander a little bit along the way. There were several places along the trail to lolly gag and swim if he wanted. Immediately behind Sam’s home a hill went up for another half mile or so before cresting a ridge and starting down into a pocket valley that Turner’s creek ran through. It was all on family land and unspoiled. There had never been any development and it was an old growth forest. Sam was on a well-traveled trail that hooked up with trails all over the county.

The morning was already sultry and was promising to turn into another scorcher, but it was somewhat cooler under the oaks and maples and was even more pleasant as Sam made his way down towards the creek. The creek was fed by both a spring and runoff back in the hills several miles away. Sam had been to the source many times. It was a deep blue pool that seemed to originate out of a sheer rock face that was a couple hundred feet straight up. It was part of a state park where visitors were monitored for packing up their trash and told not to swim in the spring. The one time Sam and Nathan did they found out the water was extremely cold right at
the source, which seemed to deter all but the hardiest of swimmers. Farther down on to “family land” the creek took many bends and curves, and there were many spots quite deep enough for swimming, diving, and fishing. Sam and Nathan had swum in these holes countless times and camped throughout. It was a place that a person could disappear into.

Sam took off his shoes and waded into the shallow edge of the creek. The water was cold enough to make his toes curl. He bent over and used his well-worn pocket knife to cut several large handfuls of watercress and slipped them into the wicker basket next to the mushrooms he’d gathered in the forest. He had learned his ability to forage off the land from his dad and Dr. Harper, and now that legacy would make a fine addition to the Sunday Potluck.

He finally came to a clearing at the edge of a meadow; about fifty yards down was Sam’s parents’ home. He could already see all the cars parked in the drive for the ritual of Sunday dinner. In the shade at the back of the house was a large stone patio with a built-in combination stone grill and wood-fired oven. The patio was dominated by a huge wooden table that was at least thirty feet long and built from enormous planks fastened together with construction bolts that were the biggest he’d ever seen. Seated around the table were his family and friends, as diverse a group as you’d find anywhere in the world. Foremost in the group was Nathan Harper, all seven and a half feet and five hundred pounds of him.

Nathan had just kept growing after he moved from Africa with his mother and father. Nathan looked every bit the African Prince. His skin was jet black and shown with a vitality and sheen that exuded good health. He was huge in every respect, from the spread of his massive shoulders and back to his huge but proportionate head. He had arms and legs as big as rolls of tar paper, his face proud and handsome. When Nathan saw Sam, he stood and embraced his friend as if he hadn’t seen him in years, even though it had only been a couple of days. Sam and Nathan had grown up together from the age of twelve. Until Sam moved away, they’d spent every free moment with one another, fought at each other’s side, learned about girls and the world together. When they were twelve years old, their fathers had started to train them in all of the physical Ranger skills, teaching them to shoot every manner of firearm, to fight with knives, to hide, to ambush, to track.

One summer, the four of them lived with the Masai and all learned the Masai skills. The Masai warriors and their chief were especially impressed
with John Trunce. They could sense the true warrior in him. John was the first Trunce to become a Masai warrior. He simply stole away in the dead of night and returned the next morning with a dead lion, killed with a wooden spear hacked from a tree. Nobody asked for details and nobody questioned the kill. John had suffered some scrapes and bruises and a serious claw mark across his right leg for his trouble. The only person that he shared the secret with was Sam. John had set a spring trap for the lion with himself as bait. When the trap sprung and dragged the lion aloft, John rammed the spear into the lion’s heart. He had done his lion anatomy homework and figured out where to stab the beast. He had practiced at home with a couple of wild boars. They weren’t as big as the lion, but were probably meaner. Two summers later when Sam was in college he spent a second summer with Nathan and the Masai and tried the same trick, but the rope broke just as Sam stabbed the lion with a spear, missing the heart but significantly slowing the lion down. That lion stalked Sam through the veld and brush for hours. The battle was epic, and Sam had to utilize every hunting skill the Masai had taught him. Sam was dealt several glancing blows by the lion’s claws and one deep one to his shoulder. The lion eventually couldn’t climb and Sam waited him out for a full day and night. The lion eventually passed out and died from loss of blood. Everyone back at camp was concerned except for the Masai. Nathan had to restrain himself from going to look for his friend, but he knew that if anyone could kill a lion and get away with it, Sam could.

When Nathan had gone to kill his lion, his greatest trouble had been getting close enough to spear it, as lions are not stupid and any animal would flee from a five hundred pound man with a spear that looked like a flag pole. The Masai weapons makers had made Nathan several spears in his size. They looked a lot more like fence posts than spears, with the blade portion viciously long. Nathan practiced daily all of his life with his spears. It reminded him of his people and heritage.

Nathan never hunted with a gun, but loved to hunt and did so only for food. He learned from some of the good ol’ boys in Patience how to hunt with a bow. He was deadly with a slingshot and could knock down birds in flight by throwing a rock. If Nathan had extra game he shared it with friends and neighbors. The very best kept secret about Nathan was that he excelled as a cook, learning at the town’s restaurant by the river. While Sam goofed and flirted with young girls in the front, Nathan was back in
the kitchen and garden learning cooking skills. He kept a large library of cook books that he constantly added to, and he studied many different styles. His produce and skill in harvesting wild foods were both legendary. Nathan was a man who stuck with the things that interested him and those were the things that he excelled at. He was concerned about what was happening in the world, but didn’t diversify into many different pursuits. Nathan did most things by hand, except for plowing the larger fields. Most of his income came from the specialty produce he provided to fine restaurants across the county. He had established a profitable business doing so, often delivering his produce by UPS. He also raised ducks and geese and made his own goat cheese, all of which he sold in one form or another for great profit. He lived comfortably and frugally.

John Trunce also strode over and hugged Sam. He had never been the strong silent type, and had always expressed his love freely to his family and friends. It was probably John’s love for the people who he cared for that made him such a fierce foe and warrior. When he fought for his country in foreign wars he saw not a faceless nation but his family and friends, and he fought for his men and his buddies. He had always been a front line soldier, had been wounded many times, had suffered diseases and was tough as nails. His combat experiences were with him every day but had never damaged him psychologically or changed his lust for life and experience.

“How’s your wolf-dog, Dad?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure if I’m keeping him or he’s keeping me,” John answered, smiling. “He sure keeps an eye on everything, me included.”

Sam waved to Lisa Coleman, who was seated next to Nathan, along with John’s mother, three of Sam’s uncles. John’s Vietnam buddies, Crockett and TJ were also there, along with a smattering of close friends and other relatives. One place was left empty for Tracy, Sam’s older brother, who came once in a blue moon, when he was able.

The table was covered with side dishes and platters of fried chicken, catfish and beef roast. Dishes were passed back and forth while everyone talked at once.

“Sam, spook anything up in the woods on the way over?” Nathan asked piling chicken onto his plate.

“Hope you saw some more chickens,” Crockett laughed, eyeing Nathan’s growing pile.

“TJ, is my car done yet?” Sam’s Uncle Bill shouted from the other end of the table.

“Just these mushrooms and greens for salad,” Sam said adding his own words to the jumble of conversations.

“No bad guys, I hope,” John added.

“No Dad, I think we ran all the meth makers and dealers out for good.”

There were general murmurs of assent from all over the table. Everyone had pitched in to help Sam run the dealers out of town when he got back from Detroit. The drug war might be going on elsewhere in the nation, but Sam won the drug war in Patience County.

The Sunday Potluck continued until dark. When people finally started to wander home and to an early bed, Sam did the same, wondering what the new week would bring.

V
irgil Ward looked out his window and said to his wife, “Them trucks keep driving up the old logging road. Did somebody buy that old saw mill up there, Martha?”

Martha paused with her hands in the dishwater, shook her head, and sighed. A man like Virgil should never retire. He was tolerable when he was at work. Now he was underfoot all the time.

“Virgil, leave it alone. If whoever owns the property has a problem with it I’m sure they’ll complain.”

Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of any chore or errand that Virgil could do to occupy himself. The lawn looked like the greens at the Master’s golf tournament. The car was cleaned and tuned like it could run at Indy. The garden was immaculate. Virgil was a perpetual motion machine. He’d been with the postal service his whole life. Now they only let him volunteer a few hours at the nursing home. He drove the residents to distraction.

When he first retired he would sit and stare at her in the kitchen telling her what to do. That lasted a couple of months until she took after him with a broom handle. He was shocked, but got the message. She loved her
husband and he had always been a good provider, but she couldn’t have him around all the time. It was just too tiring.

“I don’t know, Marty, maybe I should call the Sheriff.”

“Virgil, you do not need to bother Sam.”

“Well, I’m going to do something about it.”

“All you are going to do is to get yourself into trouble.”

With that, Virgil walked out of the house and got into his farm truck and drove out of the yard.

About two miles over the hill from the Ward’s, two men sat outside of an old storage shed, next to the broken down remains of an old band saw rusting in the sun. The younger one was in his early twenties, big and doughy, peering through greasy ribbons of stringy black hair that fell over his face like a curtain. “How long will it take Doc?” Greasy asked with a fidgety glance towards the shed.