Waiting for Harvey (The Spirits of Maine) (22 page)

A family of raccoons waddled leisurely out from under the thick boughs.  Two of them chattered noisily as if they were arguing.  I heard a sound that made me think of a man calling “no” from a distance repeatedly.  The raccoons ran toward the cabin and scurried around the side.  The noise increased as it drew closer.  A Black bear lumbered out of the woods and bounded across the clearing.  He showed no interest in the raccoons. 

As I watched the bear shambling along the path, I heard a woman weeping.  I turned back and saw a spirit kneeling in the clearing.  It was a young woman in a long dress.  She wore a band around her head with a feather tucked upside down at the back of it.  She bent low, fumbling with something on the ground.

Slowly, she lifted the thing and I saw a small bundle tied to a board.  When she moved closer to the porch, I realized it was a baby.  An overwhelming sense of sadness filled me, and I choked back tears.  The poor woman clutched the board to her and staggered forward, sobbing.  She stumbled, and I jumped up to help her. 

I felt an icy sensation along my arm and realized Harvey had touched me.  He shook his head gently from side to side and I sat again.  She was not of the living and there was nothing I could do to help her.  My heart was breaking, watching her as she struggled with the board.  Alone and grieving the loss of her child, there was no one to help her.  I couldn’t watch anymore and dropped my head.

  Long minutes passed before the crying subsided at last.  I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand and looked away from Harvey.  I wished for big, puffy clouds to blot out the light from the moon and the stars, but they didn’t come.  Eventually, the owl provided a distraction as it flew low over the clearing again.

Some time passed before another spirit appeared along the trail.  He was a small man, dressed like a Canadian fur trapper from the 1800s.  He hobbled along the path with his rifle in one hand and a long stick in the other.  As he neared the cabin, I noted the damage to his face and the side of his head.  Clearly he had suffered a tortuous death.

“A bear,” Harvey sighed.

I thought of the Canadian Lynx that had attacked me and shuddered.  I couldn’t imagine how horrifying it must have been to confront a raging bear.  The night air had chilled and a dense fog settled low over the floor of the clearing.  I sat there beside Harvey, waiting patiently.  A few more animals loped by, but there were no more spirits to be seen. 

Without a word, I stood and limped back into the cabin.  The door stood open, and I waited for Harvey to follow.  When I stuck my head out through the doorway at last, he was gone.  I didn’t know if he had followed the other spirits or if he remained on the porch, unseen to me.  I closed the door and shambled painfully back to the couch.  The damp night air left my bad leg aching.  Quickly, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

*

In the morning, I woke feeling as if I’d drunk a vat of cheap wine the night before.  I sat on the edge of the couch with my head in my hands, trying to recall the events of the previous night.  Slowly, I remembered the images of each ghost that I had seen.  It had been a magical night that I would never forget and one that I hoped never to repeat.  The idea that I had been so at ease with the dead unnerved me.

The fire in the stove had gone out.  I had forgotten to add more wood the night before.  For days, I had used it for cooking but had little need for the added warmth.  Early spring had delivered several delightfully warm days, but a bitter blast of cold air from the north had chilled the cabin again.

I was cold, achy, and hungry.  I limped down the steps to the root cellar.  There was little to choose from and I wished for a traditional breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and juice.  A cup of strong, hot coffee would clear my head and improve my mood.  Irritated, I trudged up to the kitchen again.  I looked around at the small cabin and grumbled.

My mood didn’t improve as I struggled to pull on my boots with only one hand to work with.  My useless left arm hung limp, mocking me as I fumbled with the laces.  I cursed everything under the sun as I wrestled with the remains of my winter coat.  Sullenly, I plodded out to the porch.

The weak sun burned behind the clouds.  Bad weather was coming.  The scent of snow hung in the air.  Mumbling a stream of obscenities, I moved toward the wood pile.  I kicked at the small mound of logs that remained.  Weeks earlier I had complained to Harvey about the dwindling wood supply.  His response was that the forest would provide, but the pile was still shrinking.

“Harvey!  Harvey Cloutier!” I shouted.  Birds scattered and small animals scurried for cover.  I called to him repeatedly, but he refused to answer.

Furiously, I thundered along the trail, feeling the pain increasing in my left leg.  I grabbed the wood I found and threw it back toward the cabin.  I must have looked like a madman.  I raged for almost an hour before I finally amassed a pile beside the porch. 

My head was throbbing when I stumbled back inside.  I lit the fire and waited impatiently for the air to warm.  Standing at the window, I chewed the crunchy fried bark chips.  They were flavorful, but I wanted hash browns.  I wanted pancakes with maple syrup.  I wanted a warm cinnamon bun, dripping with a sweet glaze! 

“HARVEY!” I roared.

Still no response.  My frustration swelled and fed my anger.  I was fighting mad and alone in the cabin.  The only sound was the crackle and pop from the burning wood in the stove.  The comforting tick, tick, tick, of the clock on the wall was gone.  The batteries had given out, and the lifeless hands hung at six.

Through the morning, the sky darkened abnormally.  Snowflakes fell and a blanket of white covered the dead grass.  The wind shared my foul mood, shaking the trees mercilessly.  I paced the floor, stopping periodically to call for Harvey again or to cuss at my situation. 

Night came early as leaden clouds stretched across the heavens.  The windows rattled and I felt a draft near the floor.  The woodstove struggled to keep the cabin warm as the temperature plummeted outside.  I put on another sweatshirt and attempted to read, but my mind refused to let go of my anger.  I wanted a confrontation. 

The storm escalated and the snow accumulated rapidly.  I opened the door several times to gauge its progress and to look for any deliveries of food.  In only a few hours, nearly eight inches of fresh snow had settled on the porch.  I was grateful when it slowed during the night.  Disgruntled, I ate more of the pine chips, stoked the fire, and went to sleep.

*

“Good morning,” Harvey announced, cheerfully.

He sat in his favorite chair, with one leg draped over the other.  His hands worked to smooth the fabric of his pants.  He cocked his head to the side and looked at me thoughtfully.  I pulled myself up into a sitting position on the couch and shook away the cobwebs of sleep.

“Where have you been?” I asked, still feeling irritated despite a full night of sleep.

“The time shared on the porch drained me.  I needed a spell to recover from it,” he responded, casually as if it was a common thing.

“Harvey, this is not working!” I snapped and kicked the quilt away from my sock covered feet.

“You’re very dramatic this morning,” he replied and smiled.

“I need wood for heat and to cook with,” I ordered.  “The firewood John left is almost gone.  After that, there is nothing but green branches and sticks.  I can’t burn green wood, you know that!”

“The forest will provide,” he offered flippantly.

“Like it provided my supper last night?” I stood and glared down at him.

“You are becoming greedy, Erik.  You’ve been spoiled by my daily gifts.  Maybe it’s time for you to go out and hunt for your own food again.”

“It’s time for me to get out of this stinking cabin and away from you!”

“Erik, don’t be childish.  If you’re hungry don’t whine to me.  Get your gun and go get your own supper.”

“That’s another thing!” I shouted.  “I’m almost out of ammo for John’s gun!”

“I can teach you to make a bow and arrows.  It’s a skill you need to learn.”

“Dam…” I caught myself, before I finished the thought.  With my mouth snapped shut, I hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door.

“I’ll take care of you today, Erik!” he called to me.  “It’s bitter cold outside and we can’t expect you to go out and hunt like the men in my day did,” he taunted.

“Harvey, don’t pretend that you’re doing favors for me!” I roared as I kicked the door open.  “I’m not here of my own free will.  If you force me to stay the least you can do is provide food.”

“I thought you would see things differently after the night I shared with you on the porch,” he protested.  “That was a gift that few men will ever know.”

“It was also a harsh reminder that I will likely die if I stay here.”

“I won’t let you die, Erik.”

“No, you won’t let me die.  You’ll let me become incapacitated.  You’ll happily let me weaken until I can do nothing more than sit in this cabin and talk with you.  I’m a man not a puppet!”

“There will be food at your door soon,” Harvey told me and he was gone again.

I stared at the empty chair, amazed that he could be so ruthless and furious that I couldn’t retaliate.  I listened to the wind howling through the trees and racked my brain for alternatives.  The cold draft near the floor burrowed through my socks.  Growing more irritated, I pulled my boots on and worked the laces. 

Tugging at the boot lace, I noted a small tear in the side of my right boot.  It must have happened the day before when I searched angrily for branches.  I stomped into the kitchen and yanked the top drawer open.  The roll of silver duct tape sat there, with only a foot or so of tape left on it.  I tore a piece from it and slammed the drawer shut, splitting the wood on the front of it.

With my boot patched with the duct tape, I resumed my pacing.  I was far too angry to sit.  I had never been a violent man.  Even in college I had never been in a bar fight or lashed out at anyone in anger.  Yet a rage was burning inside me and there was no way to quell it.

I picked up a log and opened the door to the woodstove, intending to toss it in.  Foolishly, I jerked the door before the latch released and damaged it.  The heavy piece of cast iron hung at an angle, and I stood looking at it as my mind raced.  Wildly, I turned and hurled the log through the front window.  A blast of cold air blew in, but I remained hot with rage.

With my damaged boot, I kicked over the wood stove, spilling hot coals and burning wood out onto the floor.  The brisk wind swirled through the cabin, blending snowflakes with the rising smoke.  The worn quilt was draped over the end of the couch and it quickly caught fire. 

I did nothing to slow the spread of the fire.  As the flames climbed the wall behind the couch, I felt intense relief.  My prison was burning!  I grabbed my coat and the walking stick.  Smiling like the Cheshire cat, I limped out onto the porch.  With the fire growing rapidly, I moved out into the clearing to watch it.

“What have you done?” Harvey shrieked as he appeared at my side.

“The stove fell over,” I lied, unconvincingly.

“You’ve ruined everything, you stupid fool!”

“I’m leaving, Harvey,” I shouted over the roar of the fire.

“You will remain!” he called back.  “The shed will provide shelter for you until you can build some kind of shack.  Its spring and…”

“NO!” I thundered.  “I’m going!” I yelled and marched along the game trail away from the fire.

“I will not allow you to leave, Erik!  I will not!”

“Kill me if you will, but I am going!”

“I don’t have to kill you, Erik.  You will surrender under the pain of another attack.  Don’t force me hurt you!”

“Do your worst, Harvey!  Send the bear if you have to.  I will die before I will return and after I’m dead I will still reject you Harvey!”

“Erik!  ERIK!” he shouted my name repeatedly as I passed through the trees and out the other side.  His voice filled the air and I shuddered but I would not turn back.

The wind carried the smoke throughout the woods and the frightened animals fled.  I hugged the edge of the trail as they ran by me in a state of panic.  I felt a twinge of guilt for disrupting their home with the fire, but there was no other way.  If there had been another option, I would have taken it months earlier, before suffering so much.  For my sanity, I had to believe that there had been no other way.

The frightening hiss of Harvey’s whispered words tormented me as I maneuvered around the end of the fallen tree.  I expected to be greeted by a pack of coyotes, but there were none.  Nothing but a snow covered road and fleeing wildlife.  I trusted that they knew where to find safety, and I followed their path along the road.

I walked to the end of the fire lane and turned right onto the next road.  I stopped briefly to zip my coat up higher and brace myself against the cold.  Gradually, the wind calmed and I saw fewer animals and birds.  The snow in the air settled on the ground, and the woods fell silent.  My limp worsened as the temperature dropped further and I walked on.

Several times I stopped to look behind me.  I was sure that I heard the crunch of footsteps on the snow, but nobody was there.  Tired and thirsty, I needed to sit and rest.  I scooped up a handful of snow and put it in my mouth.  It quenched my thirst but chilled me further.  Too much energy was required to melt the snow.  I couldn’t afford to waste my body heat.