Sleigh of Hope (10 page)

Two of the mill hands said they would contribute enough venison for four families.

Overwhelmed by the magnitude of everyone’s generosity and what he was getting himself into, he looked at Rebecca for help. “I’m going to need a list for all of this stuff and where it should be delivered.”

“You’re going to need another wagon,” she said, her eyes as wide as her smile.

Anna embraced them both as she’d done when they visited her home. “It might save you time if everyone drops their baskets at the Hermitage House and you pick them up there,” she said. “I have a house full of women who love to cook, and we can add a few baskets to your collection.”

“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Levens,” he said, relieved that he wouldn’t have to manage all this alone.

“Adam and I might be able to add a few quails or a turkey or two to fill your pots and ovens,” his dad said.

Adam’s jaw dropped. “Really, Dad?”

“If Mrs. Levens and her friends are willing to do the cooking, I’ll take you hunting tomorrow morning.”

“Absolutely,” Anna said. “We all know which neighbors are in need. Let’s gather their names and I’ll make a list so Adam knows where to deliver the baskets.”

“I can help with the list and the cooking,” Faith said, which was immediately chorused by the other women there.

“Can’t we just deliver the birds uncooked?” Adam asked.

“Sure,” Faith said. “But if I were on the receiving end I would be delighted to have a meal delivered that I didn’t have to cook.”

The ladies laughed and agreed.

“All right,” he said. “But it’s going to be hard to keep my hand out of those baskets with everything smelling so good.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t pick,” Rebecca said, swinging her gaze to her father. “I can help deliver the baskets, can’t I?”

Cyrus saved him from answering. “Leo and I will drive one of the wagons,” he said, his eyes reflecting his pleasure in having Leo at his side.

Adam’s heart sank. He’d been hoping he and Rebecca and Leo could drive their own team and make deliveries together. Swallowing his disappointment, he said, “Thank you, Uncle Cyrus.”

“Bring Leo to our hunt in the morning?” his father said. “I’m sure a few more birds in the oven will be well received by our neighbors.”

“We’ll be there.”

“Dad, some of these people need wood right now. I don’t think we should wait two days to deliver it.”

“We’ll send the crew around with deliveries tomorrow morning. We can send out a few more wagons on Christmas Eve to keep those folks warm through the winter.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Adam scanned the faces of those around him. “Thank you, everyone.”

His father stood, hands on hips, eying him closely. “This is becoming a big job, son. Can you manage all this?”

“Yes, sir.” He lifted his chin and looked proudly into his father’s eyes. “But not with the toboggan.”

Laughter filled the Cavney house. After the tragedy of losing so much to a fire, it was nice that their first memory in their new kitchen would be one of community and laughter.

Chapter Seven

O
ne of Adam’s favorite things to do was to hunt with his dad. Scout loved the hunt as much as he did. But today Adam would hunt with Leo.

After settling the team and wagon beneath a shelter on the backside of Kent’s farm, the five of them followed a rutted wagon road along a frozen cornfield. At the north corner post of the split rail fence around Kent’s cow pasture, Adam entered the woods. A sprawling sumac with flamboyant cones of red berries created a stark but magnificent contrast against the muted brown tree line.

His uncle Boyd entered the woods behind them and headed a safe distance west of Adam and Leo, but close enough to signal for help.

Adam’s dad and uncle kept walking. They would enter farther down the wood line to the east.

As Adam moved into the forest it got colder and darker, but he knew these woods well. “This way,” he said, indicating a partially worn path that wove through tall evergreens and thick, leafless birch, oak and maple trees. “This isn’t a trailhead,” he said, “but it will get us deeper into this woodlot without a lot of trouble.”

With their rifles safely on their shoulders, they navigated the woods with Scout tracking quietly. They stepped over fallen trees, and pushed past the frozen canes and dried stalks of what would become thick underbrush by summer.

“I hope you know where you’re going,” Leo said. “I’d hate to get lost out here.”

“I know this area like I know my own hands. This is one of the places Faith and I come to collect roots and herbs.” Adam pointed to an open area of conifer trees. “I pick wild mushrooms over there in the summer and fall. On the far edge of this woodlot there’s a swampy creek with a big beaver dam and a whole mess of blueberry bushes along the banks. I get berries fat as my thumb in July. We get leeks out near the dam, too, and they’re not easy to find.”

“Leeks? No thanks.”

Adam grinned. Leeks weren’t his first choice either, but he ate them. “We get water cress, cattails and colt’s foot there, too.”

“Do you eat all that stuff?”

“Not all of it. Faith uses some things to make salves and oils and poultices.”

“For what?” Leo asked, ducking beneath a low tree branch.

“Aches and pains, mostly. She makes ointments for rashes and syrup for coughs and powder for headaches.” Adam shrugged, noticing fresh tracks in the snow. He wasn’t hunting hare today, so dismissed the tracks and continued to scan the area. “She has something for just about everything.”

“It’s giving me a headache just thinking about all this.”

Adam laughed. “I’ll get some willow bark and make you tea for your headache.”

Leo snorted. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

“Faith has been teaching me since before I was crawling. She’s doing the same with Cora.”

“I guess it would be good to know, but right now I’m more concerned about what type of animal is stalking us.”

“It’s probably a coon,” Adam said with a laugh. “There’s a slew of them in these woods.”

“I hope it’s not a bear.”

“Naw. Most bears will be hibernating by now. I suppose it’s possible to come across a black bear if she’s chased out of her den for any reason, but I haven’t noticed any tracks.” Suddenly, he slowed and pointed into a dense cluster of pines. “Look at that wood hen,” he said quietly, eyeing the chicken-like bird.

“You gonna shoot it?” Leo whispered.

Adam shook his head. “I’ll save my shots until we get to my lucky hunting spot. We’ll get our birds there. Scout will flush ‘em for us and we’ll have a better chance to get more.”

No matter how difficult the walk in, or how miserable the weather, Adam loved hiking the woods and fields. There was less chattering and scurrying in the winter months, but the forest was still very much alive.

Tracks of coon, deer, hare, and coyote peppered the snow. Adam observed every track, every sound, until he came across the telltale arrow marking. He turned to Leo and pointed at the fresh track. “Turkey,” he whispered. “And it’s heading right toward my hunting spot.”

Slow and quiet they approached an area about a hundred yards from the beaver dam, and settled in. The cold seeped into his clothing and down the neck of his jacket. He shivered and inhaled the icy air, using the freezing sensation in his chest to keep alert.

Within minutes, Boyd joined Adam’s hunt and brought down two quails.

Adam was about to bring down their third bird – a big fat tom.

With a slight movement of his hand, he set Scout into motion. The dog shot through the woods and flushed a rafter of turkeys.

Three shots rang out. Two birds fell. Two families would be fed.

Scout collected the quail and brought it to Adam. He dropped the bird on the ground then darted off to retrieve the turkey.

“Scout’s not a bird dog,” Leo whispered from a few feet away. “How did you train him to do that?”

“My uncle Boyd taught him.” Adam returned Leo’s grin as Scout struggled to drag the heavy turkey back. With a quiet laugh, he fetched the bird himself. He gave the dog a good scratch behind his ears then gestured for him to sit.

Amazement filled Leo’s expression. “I want a dog like that.”

Adam nodded in acknowledgement, hoping this was the beginning of a new and better friendship with Leo. “I got to watch him, though. Sometimes he forgets the birds aren’t his.”

Leo grinned.

Together they field dressed the birds, bound the tom by its feet to a rope and put the quail in a burlap sack. Carrying the roped birds and sack over their shoulders, they moved deeper into the woods and continued the hunt.

The snowfall grew heavier, and by the end of the morning the cold and snow forced them to head back to the wagon.

Leo hoisted the burlap sack of quail over his right shoulder and two roped hens over his left. “I guess you do know these woods,” he said. “Best hunt I’ve ever been on.”

Grinning, Adam carried a tom on each shoulder. The trek back to the wagon with the extra forty or fifty pounds on his back was going to be rough. With each step he felt the spurs of the fat tom poking into the back of his jacket. Despite the struggle of carrying them he smiled thinking of what he and Leo had accomplished together.

When they finally staggered out of the woods they came out ahead of Boyd. They unloaded the heavy game then drove the wagon back onto the rutted path and waited for the others.

Boyd unloaded a burlap bag and trussed hen slung over his strong shoulders. He peered into the wagon and whistled. “Looks like you boys did all the hunting today.”

“We sure did. I thought you’d bring Sailor with you,” Adam said, wishing his uncle would have brought his dog along.

Boyd grimaced and leaned against the wagon. “That boy is a menace. He would have been a bad influence on Scout.”

“Probably,” Adam agreed with a laugh. “But Sailor knows the best tricks,” he said to Leo. “Wait until you see what he can do. He’s a great dog.”

“That he is.” Boyd knelt to scratch Scout’s head. “And so are you. Did you get any birds?”

 Scout madly wagged his tail, trying to lick Boyd’s face.

“Where’s your dignity, boy. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

Leo and Adam laughed as Boyd hand-wrestled Scout. The dog rolled in the snow, growling playfully and doing his best to clamp his jaw over Boyd’s gloves. The horses blew and stepped in place, rocking the wagon as if to hurry them along.

Adam’s father exited the woods about twenty feet away, bundled up and covered with snow like the rest of them. Cyrus followed him out. When they got to the wagon, Adam’s dad shook his head and looked at Boyd. “I reckoned you’d be at the center of the commotion.” As they placed their birds in the wagon, his eyebrows lifted. “Who got all of this?”

Adam proudly gave him the count. “Together we got two toms, six hens, and seven quails,” he said with excitement. “That should feed ten or more families, and that doesn’t count what the others are contributing.”

His dad clasped his shoulder. “I guess it wasn’t my lucky hat that made you a good shot.”

“No, sir. I think Leo was wearing the lucky hat today. He got the most game.”

“Good job, boys. Let’s get home and ready these birds for the oven.”

Preparing them would take a good bit of time. They had field dressed their birds and saved the gizzards, which would have to be soaked in salt water, but the birds would have to be boiled, plucked and cleaned, which could take hours.

The thought of waiting hours to eat made Adam’s stomach growl. “Let’s eat first,” he said, shivering as he climbed into the back of the wagon. “I’m starving.”

Leo climbed in behind him, dusting a good inch of snow off his hat and shoulders. “Me, too.”

Scout barreled in with a happy yip and immediately began sniffing the birds.

“I won’t argue,” his father said, climbing onto the seat with Boyd and Cyrus. “I’m hungry enough to eat my hat.”

“Might as well,” Boyd said, “it didn’t bring you any luck today. You got two measly hens. I suppose you’ll blame that on your old shoulder injury.”

With one quick shove, Adam’s father pushed Boyd off the seat. The youngest Grayson brother landed feet first, stumbled sideways and sprawled onto his backside in the snow.

Stunned, Adam and Leo sat in speechless shock.

Cyrus laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the wagon seat.

Duke rotated his arm and shoulder and looked at his brother. “Shoulder seems to be working fine.”

With a laugh, Boyd bounded back onto the wagon and plastered a fistful of snow down his brother’s neck.

Duke yelped, but he was smiling ear to ear.

Adam exchanged a look of disbelief with Leo. He had heard the Grayson brothers bait and jest with each other every day at the mill, but he’d never seen them tussle.

As Duke dried his neck, he spoke over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, boys, we’ve been doing this for years. Our roughhousing is all in good fun.”

Filled with surprise and wonder, Adam sank onto the cold wagon bed beside Leo.
So this is what it’s like to have a brother...

Chapter Eight