Trapper Boy (2 page)

Chapter 2

“E
veryone take their seat,” Mrs. Johnson said. “After today, many of you will be going on to high school. I will miss you, but I'll see you from time to time. If you ever have any questions, please feel free to come and see me.” She cleared her throat and said, “It's time to award the prizes to the top students in French and English. The French award goes to John Wallace Donaldson.
Très bon, Jean
,” Mrs. Johnson said.

“
Merci beaucoup, Madame
,” JW said, accepting the silver dollar, sliding it into one of the pockets of his satchel. He anxiously waited to hear her announce the winner of the English prize.

“Although there was only one prize in the French category, I'm happy to say there are a few prizes in the English one. It was a very tight race, and I'm proud of all of you. As you know, the first place winner will receive a set of five books.”

JW looked around the classroom, trying to figure out who the other winners might be.

“Third prize goes to William Gillis. Well done, Billy.”

JW watched as Billy put the coin in his pocket and returned to his seat.
One down,
he thought.

“Second prize goes to …”

All eyes turned to the classroom door as Mr. Robinson, the principal, entered the room.

“Good morning, children.”

“Good morning, sir,” they replied.

“Congratulations to all of you heading to high school next year. Enjoy your summer.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Robinson nodded at Mrs. Johnson and left the room.

“Where were we? Oh yes. Second prize goes to Daniel Harrietha. Well done, Danny.”

JW saw that Danny received money, as well as a ribbon for second place. He shifted about nervously in his seat as he waited for the first place winner to be announced. He'd been sure that either he or Beth would win, but there was only one prize remaining, and that meant one of them would go home empty-handed.

“And now, first place goes to Beth Jessome,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Congratulations, Beth.”

JW's heart sank as he watched Beth walk to the front of the class to accept her prize. He'd noticed she'd looked at him on her way. His eyes were drawn to the set of books she carried back to her desk. He couldn't believe that he hadn't even placed in the top three. He had worked so hard.

“And the other first prize winner is John Wallace Donaldson. Congratulations, John Wallace. The first time we've ever had a tie.”

JW looked at Mrs. Johnson, who was smiling, then looked at Beth. It took him a moment to understand that he'd won too, and he started smiling. He looked at his teacher's desk, but didn't see any more books. His elation was short lived. He supposed his mother would be happy with another silver dollar, but he'd had his heart set on winning the books.

He rose from his desk and started toward the front of the class, when Beth pulled at his shirt.

“Sit down! Mrs. Johnson said she will see you after class,” Beth said, trying to keep her voice low. But one kid snickered, “Look at the love birds.”

JW dropped back into his seat, his shoulders slumped. He had worked so hard for the books, but at least Beth had them. He wondered if she'd trade him for the silver dollar. Instantly he knew he couldn't even ask her, because he had already promised his mother the silver dollar. Mrs. Johnson called everyone's name as she handed out the report cards. JW saw several kids hang their heads when they learned they would have to repeat the grade again. His mood changed when he considered how fortunate he was to be going to high school next year.

All his classmates had left before Mrs. Johnson called him to the front of the class. He shuffled forward, trying to put a smile on his face.

“I have those grade-eight books that you asked for. Some of them are not in the greatest of shape, but all the pages are intact. Why is it that you want them?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

“I love books, and in case I ever want to check on something, I'll know right where to look.” JW hesitated for a moment before adding, “I was helping Mickey McGuire for awhile after he went to the coal mines, but the hours were too long for him in the pit, so he had to give it up. If he ever wants to pick it up again, I got all the books and scribblers. I mean I
have
all the books and scribblers.” JW smiled again. “Thanks for all the help this year, Mrs. Johnson.”

“You're welcome. It was a pleasure having you in the class,” she said, handing him a small box. “I put your prize in with the school books. Have a great summer.”

“You too, ma'am,” JW said. He hurried to catch up with Beth.

“What did she want to see you after class for?” Beth asked.

“She had some old school books that I asked her for,” JW said, holding up the small box. His eyes wandered to her prize. He could see
Treasure Island
and
The Count of Monte Cristo
on the top. He didn't need to ask to see the others, because he knew every title that was in the set of five books. He wondered if Beth cherished the books the same way he did. He put his satchel over one shoulder and moved the box to one arm. “Want me to carry your books?” he asked.

“I think you got just about all you can handle,” Beth said. “But thanks just the same.”

They talked about winning the English prize and promised to meet tomorrow to discuss fixing up the old fort, both agreeing that it would make a great place to change into their swimming clothes. The walk home from school always seemed longer because there was no hurry to get home. Beth's mother was waiting in the doorway as they arrived at her house.

“Are you coming in then, John Wallace?” Beth's mother asked.

“No, ma'am. Ma's waiting,” JW answered. Saying goodbye to Beth and Mrs. Jessome, he headed for home.

Chapter 3

JW
pushed open the door leading to the kitchen. His mother was busy putting biscuits in to bake, and he could smell the stew that was bubbling on the back of the stove. Large beads of sweat glistened on his mother's forehead. The temperature had to be in the nineties. The coal stove's fire was raging, and with the temperature pushing seventy outside, he wondered how she could stand the heat.

She turned to face him. “Well then, how did you do?” she asked, taking his report card from his hand. “My, but you done grand,” she said. “Did you win the books like you hoped?”

“No, I tied for first prize, but Beth got the books. I think I got another dollar,” JW said and noticed the excited look in his mother's eyes.

“I'm sorry you didn't win the books, dear, but the dollar will come in handy,” his mother said.

“Yeah, I know, Ma.” He pulled the dollar from his satchel. “This one's for the French prize, and this one,” he said, opening the box, “is for …” JW's eyes opened wide. The five books that Beth received weren't the only set. He had his own set too. “Oh gee, Ma, look, I got books too,” JW said, filled with the glee that only total surprise can bring about.

“Goodness, you won both the French and English prizes! My, but aren't you the smart one,” his mother said. “Your father will be proud. You've got more schooling than half the county, all you'll ever need.”

“No way, Ma! I plan on going to college, so I can visit faraway lands,” he said. “I'll show Da later. Right now I gotta feed Lightning and pull a few weeds.” JW went upstairs to change.

Chapter 4

L
ightning gave a low whinny as JW entered the barn and moved aside as he shovelled out the stall. Then the horse stood patiently as JW lifted and cleaned each hoof, patted Lightning's withers, filled the bucket with water and threw fresh hay in the stall. Their old horse was named Lightning because of a jagged patch of white on his forehead that resembled a bolt of lightning and stood out against his black coat. Lightning wasn't really a pet, but JW treated him well. He earned his keep by plowing the patch of earth where they planted vegetables in the spring, and he put his head down in the fall as he pulled home the wood that would supplement the coal used during the winter months. Like all the other miners, his father had had his working hours cut, and JW knew that the days his father had off would be used to get wood. He had spent some time during the previous summer working in the woods with his father and expected to do the same this year.

Gulliver waited for JW to come out of the barn. His tail wagged and his head shook, while the rest of him went into a full-body shuffle. They were best friends. JW reached down with his left hand and ran his fingers through Gulliver's fur. He picked up the hoe with his right hand. “Wish the vegetables grew as fast as the weeds, ole boy,” he said. He walked between the rows and noticed that the carrots and turnips were beginning to sprout, as well as the lettuce and radishes. The big patch of potatoes was on the other side of the barn and was a tomorrow job. He and his father had planted extra this year. JW remembered some of the miners coming to their house during the past winter and his father giving away some of the food they had stored. The men's faces were gaunt. The long strike of 1925 had taken its toll. The Company Store had closed as a result of the strike, and the out-of-work miners had nowhere to turn and no way to feed their families. They were proud men, reduced to asking for help from friends.

JW's stomach growled. The sun was heading toward the west, so he knew there were only a few hours of sunlight left in the day. He hurried to the kitchen. “Ma, can I get a bite of the stew so I can go fishing?” he asked. He watched her fill a bowl. “Where's Da?”

“He's been kinda restless today, so he's still lying down,” his mother answered.

“He's alright though?” JW asked. He remembered how tired his father had looked this morning.

“Just tired is all, dear,” she said. “When are you gonna start on the fort?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Tomorrow, after I get the potatoes weeded, so I have to get up early,” he answered.

JW ate the stew quickly and thanked his mother, then grabbed his fishing pole. He stopped behind the barn, where he moved aside a few boards and picked a dozen fat worms out of the ground below. An old rusted can lay close by into which he put a little earth, then the worms. Gulliver bounded along beside him, happy to be with his master, as they ran the last five hundred feet to the muddy riverbank.

There had been a lot of rain this spring, and the water in the brook was deep and moved quickly. JW dropped a piece of deadwood into the stream and watched the currents pull it toward the pond that flowed through to St. Andrews Channel, then out to the ocean.

JW imagined himself as captain of the deadwood ship, travelling the raging waters, skilfully manoeuvring each twist and turn. He ran alongside on the bank, following his ship. He no longer cared about the fish in the brook. He was more interested in the ship's journey to distant lands.

The piece of deadwood entered the pond, currents hurrying it toward the mouth where the beaver dam usually kept the water level high. JW noticed the dam had broken away, and water flowed freely to the mouth and out to the waiting lake. He watched the deadwood ship go under the train trestle on its way to the lake, the ocean and to lands filled with mystery and adventure.

Gulliver barked and the spell was broken.

“Let's go, fella. Time to catch some fish.” Retracing his steps, JW noticed a dark pool that appeared deep and still. The worm on his hook dangled as he dropped it into the deep water. Immediately, the line pulled tight and the rod bent almost in half. Thinking the line was snagged, JW pulled the rod sharply to one side hoping to loosen the hook. He was amazed to see the biggest trout he had ever seen jump from the water. His knees trembled and his hands shook. The trout disappeared under the water again, and JW thought it had escaped the hook. Then it surfaced again, and he felt like Captain Ahab trying to capture Moby Dick.

The fishing rod was an old one; his grandfather had owned it. He had heavy-gauge line tied to the top two eyelets. The piece of line was about twenty feet in length. His excitement grew as the tip of the rod continued to bend closer to the ground. He expected it to break at any moment. He was sure he would lose the fish, leaving only a “one that got away” story. His arms flexed as he tried to prevent the fish from escaping downstream. JW stood his ground and then decided to head upstream against the current. At first the strain seemed too much, but little by little, JW felt the trout weaken. He pulled old Moby from the water and watched as it gasped, its energy spent. He had won the battle, but didn't feel that great about it as he watched his opponent struggling for life, the hook lying beside it. Somehow the hook had only held long enough to land the mammoth fish.

The trout was longer than his forearm. Several scars, from other battles, marked its face. JW stood in amazement before bending to pick up Moby. It seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, but he knew it was closer to four or five, which was still huge by all accounts. His heart wasn't into eating this majestic fish.

“Whatcha got there?”

JW startled at the voice behind him. He turned to see his father.

“Wow, that's some fish,” his father said. “I heard stories about trout this size, but that's the biggest I ever seen. We could stuff him if you'd like.”

“You know what I'd really like to do? Set him free,” JW said. As if on cue, the fish snapped its large tail and fell to the ground. Its next move sent it over the bank and into the water. It spent a moment on the surface, winded by the exertion, then snapped its tail and dove deep into the water.

They laughed and talked of the size of the fish and of the fine job JW had done in school as they headed toward home. They had caught enough fish to make the evening's meal, only briefly mentioning to JW's mother the big fish that got away. He wasn't sure she would have understood his desire to set it free.