Garrett was enjoying himself infinitely in the carefree way that comes when a big burden is lifted.
He gawked from a distance, watching Lumberjack’s battle of wits with a rock he was attempting to split open for whatever reason. The rock was winning. Since he’d been watching, Garrett counted this as Lumberjack’s third attempt to set the heavy boulder on top of a larger slab of rock and balance it while he reached for his chisel and hammer. The behemoth let go of the boulder completely the first time so he had both hands free to pick up his tools, and at that the round boulder did what round boulders do; it rolled right onto his toe. The heavy boots he wore were for cushioning from just such a mishap, all the same the blow catapulted Lumberjack two feet in the air, spastically convulsing every muscle in his hands; hence he dropped the tools on his other foot. The result was a kind of mountain jig around the yard Garrett had never witnessed before, accompanied by a wheelbarrow full of nondescript hollering. Not one word of vulgarity could he hear, though. Garrett smiled at the simple man, watching him pick up and dust off his hat, placing it back on his head after scratching the side of his scalp, evidently perplexed.
On Lumberjack’s second attempt he repositioned the smaller boulder back on top of the larger one, adjusting it back and forth until he thought it felt seeded in. He wasn’t falling for the same blunder twice. Facing away from the stone he used his rump as a brace while he stooped over to retrieve his tools. Regrettably his considerable backside was too accommodating; it shoved the boulder off the slab in the opposite direction. Garrett had to jam his knuckles in his mouth to keep his merriment under wraps.
Exasperated he was losing a battle of intellect with inanimate objects, Lumberjack plunked the hammer and chisel down on the slab of boulder to go retrieve the other rock. The chisel immediately rolled and collided with the hammer, sending them both crashing to the ground.
Lumberjack was having a stellar moment, while Garrett was finding himself on the receiving end of some rib-tickling, impromptu entertainment. Somewhere around the middle of observing the hulking mountain man’s dilemma, Garrett suddenly took a liking to him. Working out in the sun several hours a day alongside this three-ring circus might be just what he needed to feel human again. He easily pictured himself getting into the bare-chested routine; using the greater part of the day to rid himself of the returning, pasty-faced office pallor once and for all, then finishing up the afternoon standing next to the middle-aged Sasquatch to use him as a sun blocker.
His sympathies went out to the poor misfit as he saw Lumberjack once again pick up his tools in one hand and palm the boulder in the other, looking from his left hand to his right, stumped over how to proceed. Garrett left the shrubbery’s shadows and hurried over to help his new coworker out of the pickle he was in. Lumberjack didn’t seem overly surprised to see him walk up and lend a hand. Either he’d already been briefed, or he had a bit of a problem focusing in-depth on more than one thing at once. Flip a coin, there.
“Hello, Lumberjack. My name is Garrett Sharrock . . . Gary.” Garrett extended his hand in greeting, however the gesture seemed to throw Lumberjack into a tailspin since both of his hands were full. Garrett took the boulder from Lumberjack and tucked it under his arm. “I’m here to help you . . . whatever it is you’re doing,” he added.
Lumberjack motioned for Garrett to set the stone down on the big slab. “I figured as much,” he said in a tone that Garrett thought harbored some resentment. Garrett understood. After all, in a manner of speaking he was invading this guy’s cubicle.
“So,” Garrett brought the boulder out from under his arm and turned it over in his hands; “what is it you’re doing?”
Lumberjack nodded at the stone. “This here’s a geode, I think. I’m tryin’ to crack it open and have a look inside. Place it on this here slab, if you would.”
“I thought geodes were smaller than this,” Garrett said, doing as instructed.
“They are, usually. Findin’ ‘em this size is rare. That’s why I wanna’ crack it open . . . see if there’s some pretty formations in there; if so, it could be worth some money.”
Lumberjack readied his chisel and hammer for a strike.
“Uh, sorry to bring up a sticky point, but if this actually ends up being worth something, wouldn’t it belong to Mr. Pomeroy?” Lumberjack looked confused. “You know, your boss? Thaddeus, I mean; he owns this land, right?” Garrett tactfully pointed out. “So anything of value I would think should belong to him . . .”
Garrett trailed off, curiously distracted. Lumberjack had interrupted him with a hmmmph, laid the tools down on the slab— a little more carefully this time— grabbed the boulder and nimbly chucked it over the property fence line in true Olympic form.
“Well, look what we have here . . .” Lumberjack cleared the fence in an easy hurdle. The surprisingly agile claim-jumper picked up the stone and turned it over in his hands as he’d seen Garrett do. “Jest look what I found!” he clucked.
Garrett smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I get it,” he laughed quietly as the stone was hoisted back over the fence and repositioned for another try. “But what do you say if Thaddeus catches you out here doing this, though? I’d hate to get fired twice in one day.” Garrett’s last words were mumbled to avoid being overheard.
Lumberjack pointed to a low rock wall separating the side garden from the front yard. “That wall’s been an ongoing repair project, ya’ might say, for a long time. Keeps boss from findin’ me out here with nothin’ to do,” he grinned, and at that the two men set about splitting open a very unlikely nest egg.
As the sun pinnacled in the midday sky, the two men took a lunch break under the tallest ponderosa Garrett had ever seen. Lumberjack was brooding over the morning’s dismal failures, splitting open several specimens they’d dug up only to find no due reward inside any of them. The only thing Garrett was brooding over was how incredibly sore he still was, though the little physical labor he’d actually put forth loosened the kinks in his overstrained muscles somewhat. He could tell, however, that he wouldn’t be jumping fences after Lumberjack anytime soon. It had taken quite a bit of painstaking effort for Garrett to ease his frame down along the base of the tree and sit on the ground, but an effort made all the more worthwhile with the sandwich and iced tea Belinda brought them to enjoy. He could definitely get used to this.
Lumberjack sat down beside Garrett and was doing a respectable job ignoring him while he gulped down his sandwich in moody silence, other than the industrious chewing and swallowing noises. Garrett quickly grew tired of the annoying racket, deciding it might be a good time to strike up conversation. Maybe he could prevail upon the big man to use his mouth for something a little less offensive.
“Lumberjack; how’d you get a name like that?” he asked.
“From pa,” he answered between bites of sandwich.
Garrett fought back a snort. “Okay, that wasn’t what I meant. I guess what I’m asking is; why did he name you that?”
“I dunno’,” he said.
“Didn’t you ever ask?”
“Nope,” Lumberjack swallowed a bite with gusto.
“Ever?” Garrett’s voice rose skeptically, and it got Lumberjack’s dander up a mite.
“What’re ya’ drivin’ at?”
“Oh, I dunno’,” Garrett grinned; “like maybe sitting around one night— you know, the whole family’s chowin’ down on dinner, gabbing across the dining table while ma passes the taters and gravy— didn’t you ever get it in your head just sitting there at that big ol’ table to pipe up and ask; ‘Gee, dad, why’d you decide to name me Lumberjack?”
Lumberjack shook his head. “Nope. We ate off T.V. trays.”
Garrett couldn’t hold back the snort this time. “Of course you did,” he smirked, chuckling. “Look, forget I asked.”
“Suit yourself.” Lumberjack shoveled in his last bite of sandwich, then dusted off his pants and stood up.
Watching the giant of a man rise so spry on his feet quickly sobered his comrade. Following suit would be a painful undertaking. And whatever else it would be, including embarrassing and pathetic, it most definitely wouldn’t be spry. Garrett wanted nothing more than to sit a few moments longer, deciding to take another crack at conversation.
“So, Lumberjack; I take it you’ve lived in this town awhile?” he asked.
“Longer than I care to remember, I expect.” Lumberjack reached down and picked up his brimmed hat, balancing it on his thinning, fragile strands.
“I’ve been here awhile myself . . . long enough to realize there’s some really weird shit— uh, stuff going on around this place.”
Lumberjack suddenly stilled. He looked down, pondering the top of Garrett’s head for some time. Christ, Garrett hoped the gorilla didn’t have a problem with cursing. He was in for it, if he did. Getting on this man’s wrong side right off the bat wouldn’t be his first choice in optimum work environment. Garrett squinted up at the shadowy obelisk, whose features were obscured from the sunlight outlining him. What was the son-of-a-bitch doing; looking for the perfect spot to plant that chisel in his skull?
A full minute of silence stretched out before Lumberjack came to a decision and slowly slid back down next to Garrett, getting closer. If the conversation went too much further along these lines he didn’t want it overheard. Though he didn’t hold much for the town’s veiled threats, why fly in the face of common sense? he’d always told himself.
“Weird, ya’ say? Well, ya’ don’t begin to know the half of it, lad;” he said quietly, tucking up his legs and resting his elbows on the frayed kneepads. Garrett stared at Lumberjack with a start, wondering whether this backward cohort might actually turn out to be someone who could help him make some headway.
“That’s the problem, Lumberjack; I don’t know any of it,” Garrett coaxed, as nonassertive as possible. He didn’t want to scare this one away. “No one will tell me.”
Lumberjack lifted off his hat and balanced it on one knee, rubbing a hand across the top of his hair. “I expect that’s jest as well. Some things’s jest better off left alone.”
“I’d be happy to leave them alone, if I knew what things we’re talking about,” Garrett sulked. “Everybody’s been so busy warning me to watch out, they’ve all forgotten to tell me what I’m supposed to watch out for. Or they just flat refuse. Nice, huh?”
“Nope. But not surprising,” Lumberjack sighed. “I don’t much care for the way folks treat strangers around here. I was one once, and I’ve seen ‘em be, well, downright cruel . . . lots a times.” He paused and stared off, likening back to some distant, disquieting memories, but quickly the rueful panorama vanished and he got back on track. “You’re wantin’ me to fill in some of those missing pieces, I expect.”
Garrett let out his breath in fragmented bits. “Yeah, if you could. I’d sure like to know what hovers over this town that’s got everybody so spooked.”
“Funny choice ‘a words . . . spooked;” Lumberjack laughed lightly, shifting his weight to get comfortable, apparently preparing to ramble out a long story. The next few words out of Lumberjack’s mouth confirmed it.
“It’s a curse, is what it is. And, well . . . it began a long time ago. From what I hear tell, long back ‘bout when Prescott got its start. Times was real tough, then. People was scared, hungry; it was all the good folks could do jest to make it from day to day . . .”
“Kind of the way it was everywhere back then,” Garrett interrupted. Lumberjack’s scowl impressed upon him the necessity of not doing it again.
“I expect as though you’re probably right about that. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout everywhere else, I’m talkin’ ‘bout here . . . if ya’ want me to, that is. I ain’t got all day.”
“Sorry,” Garrett offered.
“So, where was I?” Lumberjack looked up at the sky briefly. “Well, so the story goes; ‘bout that time folks ‘round here thought things couldn’t get no worse. No one smiled; no one had time for anythin’ happy or fun— nothin’ beyond workin’ their guts out to survive. Well, along comes a young couple; kids of two of our best families, back then. People say as they fell madly in love. They got engaged, and the whole town jest busted at the seams in joy! It was the first time in a long time folks ‘round here had anything to celebrate, and I hear they did it up right. The whole town got involved in throwin’ parties, planning the weddin’, and mostly wishin’ the couple every happiness.”
“But, wouldn’t ya’ know— on the way to his own weddin’ the young lad got hisself killed. Trampled under his carriage, I heard; thrown off by a spooked horse and then dragged off ‘n’ the middle a nowhere. Legend says that horse was an animal of magical beauty; a white stallion saddled up from Phoenix jest to pull the weddin’ carriage. Some says that horse was the devil dressed in white. Some says no. But that horse was a stranger to the town, too. Word was that the town had already gotten itself so knee-deep in misery that the bad energy around it had taken on a life of its own. And when that animal smacked into the edge of it, it reared up and ran away, draggin’ that good lad under the wheels. No one ever saw it or him again. They both jest disappeared . . . like magic. Least, that’s the gossip about it.” Lumberjack stretched out and crossed his legs, taking a look around to make sure his boss wasn’t in the vicinity before continuing.
“Well, you might say . . . the whole town never recovered. I hear folk’s spirits jest shriveled up ‘n’ died right then ‘n’ there. But the lass? Well, she was destroyed, complete and utterly. Folks said they could hear her broken heart wailin’ from one end ‘a’ town to the other, and it affected everyone who heard it most horribly. The energy, or whatever ya’ choose to call it; the air, the space around town got so depressing no stranger wanted to come here, ‘cause they could all feel it. Not for a long time would anyone new ever set foot b’tween Prescott’s borders. Meanwhile, the lass couldn’t be helped, though I expect everyone tried best they could. She did herself in rightly by, screamin’ how it was the only way they’d ever be together.”
Lumberjack stopped for a long swig of his iced tea, while Garrett made use of the few seconds breather. “She committed suicide?” he asked.
“Killed herself, yes,” Lumberjack wiped his mouth carefully on the handkerchief he’d brought out of his breast pocket. “Least how that’s what I heard. Now, if ya’ thought the town was in a bad way before, after she did herself in, ya’ can’t begin to imagine how really bad things got. Not only were the folks doubly sorrowful as both their best kids were taken from ‘em so suddenly, but the spirit of the lass began to appear around the cemetery at night, weepin’ ‘n’ wailin’ how she couldn’t find her man. I hear she was jest as destroyed over it then, as she was when she was alive.”
Lumberjack scuffed out a small round stone with the toe of his shoe- ever an eye peeled for a geode- while mulling over just how much more he wanted to say. He bought himself a few more seconds’ time with a final gulp of his tea, loudly chugging down his last timeout, Garrett saw gladly.
“I kinda’ think,” Lumberjack settled back into subdued conversation; “maybe because the young lass committed the big sin of takin’ her own life, that’s why she wasn’t able to join him in heaven. I think maybe that was her punishment, having ta’ spend eternity lookin’ for the lost love she’d never find.”
“Well, the lassie’s sightins’ became more ‘n’ more common. Folks was so afraid of her they’d lock their doors as soon as the sun went down. But then she started gettin’ spotted smack durin’ the daylight, so there was nothin’ folks could do but try to ignore her and go ‘bout their business best they could; try to turn a deaf ear to her constant crying. If, as someone did approach her, she’d hurry up and disappear anyway.”
Lumberjack dabbed at the sweat collecting on his brow with his handkerchief, even though it wasn’t remotely warm under the shade of the huge ponderosa at this stage of winter. Garrett shook his head, a slight movement so not to rouse the storyteller’s attention. The big man was not only getting caught up in his story, he’d also found a new technique for stalling to replace the iced tea.
“So this goes on some years,” Lumberjack put away the handkerchief. “Folks by that time made progress towards gettin’ over the tragedies— gettin’ back to the business of the livin’; so I expect the bad feelins’ around the town slacked off some, because finally in walks a stranger, a young lad lookin’ for work.”
“Right away the lad spots the lassie’s ghost cryin’ as she walks through a field—” Lumberjack’s voice lowered as his story’s subject matter became more sensitive— “well, possessed he is, right from the start. He talks of nothin’ but her, folks see him spendin’ all his time lookin’ for her, callin’ her name, and once he finds her he never lets go. It takes a long time, but he finally gets her to stop lookin’ for her lost love and start fallin’ in love with him! And she does!” Lumberjack seemed scandalized over the idea. “She comes to be as in love with him as she was her killed love. I hear tell that the more in love she got, the more ‘real’ she got— kinda’ crossin’ over from spirit ta' flesh— and he’s runnin’ around town all excited like, shoutin’ to the heavens how in love he is.”
“No one warned him that she was, well, you know . . .”
“A ghost? Nope, not that I know of. I expect he knew, though . . . I mean, you’d think it’d be pretty easy ta’ tell the one from the other. But I guess it made no difference. One day they were spotted sittin’ on a faraway bench at the outskirts of town right around dark, and someone saw them fall into a real humdinger of a kiss. Their first, I’ll bet . . . ‘cause as soon as it was over the lass sighed out loud, real happy I hear say, then faded away. She wasn’t ever seen again, neither.”
“That’s when the curse really dug in,” Lumberjack sighed. “The lad— Billy, I think that boy’s name was— Billy was so torn up he destroyed himself sometime after, and sad ‘n’ wailin’ his ghost was soon seen around town looking for his lady ghost. ‘Cause apparently once she’d found love again with Billy when he was alive, the lady ghost was released somehow with their first kiss, and she went on to someplace he couldn’t follow. Maybe she gets to heaven at last, and he jest couldn’t find his way there.”
“Time goes by and the bad energy starts settlin’ down again, then comes a new family movin’ ta’ town with a young daughter, who spots Billy’s ghost, and smitten rightly by takes up with him. In time she gets him to forget his lost love and they fall in love . . . and so on, and so on . . . up ‘til this day, I hear. So each time some poor young stranger be bewitched and taken over, the forces around the curse jest seemed to get stronger . . . so much so that now I hear it’s downright dangerous to come anywhere near the ghost. A lad can get attacked. I say lad because it’s a lady ghost now, I think.”
Garrett nodded his head, too stunned to comment. He left further questions dry in his throat until he could slow down the hyperventilating. Trying to rationalize all he’d heard wasn’t cutting it this time. One little pitfall stood in the way: He’d already been up close and personal with the dangerous ‘lady ghost’ . . . more than once. Garrett felt a cold chill shimmy from the base of his neck to his tailbone.
“Everyone whose fallen victim to these ghosts through the years, they’ve all committed suicide?” he managed to ask.
“One way or another, I suppose. One . . . he fell to bein’ a complete drunk; passed out one night on the railroad tracks, and that was the end ‘a him. Another took somethin’ called Laudanum - too much of it. Some jest flat took to their beds and died ‘a grief. But so far as I know, no one ever got away once they got that spell put over ‘em.”
Garrett was seriously shaken up. “No one ever tried to help them, none of them?”
“Nope, and that’s as why I don’t cotton to how new folks is treated in this town. Long time ago, folks got together here and decided the curse wasn’t gonna’ go away, so it was gonna’ become a rule not to say anything to no visitor about it— a punishable rule, ta’ boot. Better to lose a stranger, they all said, than anyone of ‘consequence to the town.’ So ta’ this day, from the minute they is old enough to understand, young-ins are whispered their warnings every night to keep ‘em safe as they get tucked in their cozy lil’ beds, while strangers such’s yourself are left to fend off certain doom all on your own.”
Lumberjack smiled sideways at Donovan, enjoying the theatrics. Then his eyes grew serious. “And, mind you, lad . . . none of ya’ have.”
Lumberjack sighed, resigned. “So, now ya’ know all there is to know; and you ain’t no stranger no more. Now ya’ know to stay away from any lady you bump into whose feet don’t quite touch the ground.”
Lumberjack stood, and this time Garrett attempted to follow him up. Observing Garrett’s tortuous progress, Lumberjack stretched out a hand of assistance, which Garrett gladly took. Once Garrett secured a reasonably upright position he found himself nose to nose with Lumberjack, who was looking over Garrett’s scrapes and bruises on his face for the first time with a great deal of scrutiny . . . and wasn’t too pleased about what he saw.
“Or does that warning come too late, I expect?” he whispered, uneasy, yet in awe.
Garrett shrugged, not wanting conversation to head down that direction at all. “I expect,” is all he would say as he simply walked away to resume work.
His thoughts, however, were anything but simple. Armed with knowledge, perhaps now there was something he could do— maybe somehow find a way to make a bridge between this world and the other— find a place or a time he and Abigail could coexist in, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to walk away. Not now.
