The Big Black Trunk
By Mary Rice Somerville
Copyright Mary Rice Somerville 1995, 2011
ISBN 978-1-61061-392-7
This is a boy’s story, so let’s let a boy tell it. His nickname is JG and at thirteen he is already an Eagle Scout. His Dad said, “JG, since you want to be a writer, why don't you put our story on paper? You’ve got that old typewriter and plenty of paper. What happened here last night is more gripping than anything you could make up.”
So JG agreed, starting at the beginning.
Chapter 1 SPRING BREAK, AND HOW!
My sleeping bag was so wet that, when I rolled over, it squished. Is there anything more miserable? I could hear the steady downpour outside in the spring chill. Dad and Mom were snoring. Dad could sleep through anything; probably he had a carefree conscience, not like mine.
We had asked him if rain would keep us from making the trip. Actually, he knew that if he didn't keep his promise to take us camping during our spring break it might be a long time before he could do it again. That's the trouble with being a successful businessman.
Dad thought toy logs were too wimpy for his boys. He brought us up here to start a real cabin several years ago. It was Sol's sixth birthday, the day after Christmas, and cold as whiz.
He used the chain saw to cut down tall, straight poplar trees, whacking off the branches for us to stack. He made cabin-sized logs, notching the ends and layering them in a square, leaving a gap for a door. We stood around, shivering, trying to keep a warming tire going with the small branches. At the right time, we helped with the lifting.
On this trip, he planned to put up roof timbers, so that we could really use the cabin for camping. He also hoped we could gather rocks for a chimney. He wanted his boys to be rugged, and not sit around like house babies.
You should have seen us as we started out, it would have made a great photo. We were so excited!
JohnB had to take his pillow, of course. He was spoiled to that pillow and said he couldn‘t sleep without it. He hung his guitar strap over his shoulder, so that he could carry the heaviest part of the grub in a box. He‘s the oldest.
Scopi, you say that "Sco-pie," had to take his new telescope, he's the kind who will do it even if it weighs fifty pounds and the path is straight uphill for a mile. He thought he might be able to see more of the sky with the extra altitude, but I told him the woods would be in his way. He‘s a year older than I and a lot smarter. I had to admire his spunk, even if he didn't take my advice.
"Dad, I’ll make another trip to bring more food. There are some weird things going on in the stars. Maybe I can show you tonight," Scopi suggested, "if the sky clears up."
"Can I tie my load onto the goat?" begged Rooster. "Please let me, Dad. I can carry something else. We‘ve got to take care of her anyway. Will it be too much for her, with her pregnant?"
Dad had to stop what he was doing and weigh the question. Mom was on Rooster’s side. His legs were short for his age, and she thought Narnia wouldn't mind. Besides, the goat could nibble the briars around the cabin site.
Dad looked up at the clouds and decided, "Yes, take Narnia, but be quick. We‘ve got to get going. Maybe we‘ll have a good sky tomorrow night, Scopi."
Sol carried his load on his back in a knapsack that I made for him in my Scout work. His gear was light; clothes, snacks, and a tiny transistor radio. He had his walking stick in one hand and his sleeping bag in the other. He looked so proud.
Dad carried the saw and the gas can, but of course he always had his binoculars around his neck. It was a delicious prospect for him to spend four whole days in the woods alone with his family. He loved birds, flowers, and all wildlife. Maybe he should have been a biology teacher instead of a building contractor.
I packed very sensibly, that's one of the things you learn in Scouts. Besides clothes, I had my Swiss Army knife, Band-Aids, flashlight with batteries, writing supplies, soap and towels, snakebite kit, and ax. I did forget my underwear.
Mom took part of the kitchen equipment and her yarn bag. That’s how she enjoys herself -- knitting. She hates to waste time even when she's resting. She likes to talk but doesn't get much chance now that her sons are big enough to argue on any subject.
We gave our chickens some extra feed. I didn‘t kiss them goodbye, I am not crazy about chickens. I hate what they do in the yard right where I am trying to slide into first base. Dad had plenty of money and could have bought a truck full of eggs, but Mom always liked to play the farmer‘s wife. Maybe God picked her out special for Dad, His knowing the sort of future we were going to have.
It was late in the afternoon when we got all the way up to our cabin. Dad was helping us tack on a big tarpaulin for a roof when it began to rain. But did I say, "Rain?" I should have said, "DUMP!"
We were all inside, even the goat, when the plastic began to sag. Dad held the middle with Sol's walking stick for a few minutes, and then he let me hold it while he went outside to cut a real pole. When he got it set and working right, he took Narnia out and tied her to a nearby tree.
"Oh, Honey," moaned Mom. "I know you have to put her out, but I just hate to see her so wet and cold." When she saw that Dad was drenched, she felt even sorrier for him.
Nobody cooked that night. We had our pork and beans right out of the can. Nobody watched the birds at their evening feeding or gathered yellow dog tooth violets or looked for pink lady slippers. We huddled together in a wet heap, trying to be cheerful.
Rooster pulled out his bag of Halloween goodies that he had been saving for six months. He gave us each a candy com if we promised to suck on it for at least an hour!
We told jokes and stories until we fizzled, then Dad turned on the radio. It was amazing how radio waves could travel through all that falling water. "Heavy rains in the mountainous areas," said the weather report. But, of course, West Virginia is all mountainous!
We fought and scrambled to make ourselves beds, passing the flashlight back and forth. Then Dad pulled out his pocketsized Bible, pulling off his glasses to read the tiny print. I’m sure that he was trying to settle us down, reading about those old kings of Israel. I got so confused and disgusted with them that I fell asleep.
But in the middle of the night, I put out my hand and found that we were floating. The rain had poured off the plastic and had oozed under the logs on all sides. I found that I wasn't the only one in misery.
"Dad, I can't sleep," moaned JohnB. "Would it be all right if we turned the radio on real low?" "Sure, son," Dad whispered sleepily. "It might help us all."
There was some music, a talk-show program, world news, and then the weather. It seemed a volcano had erupted somewhere.
"I listen to the news every day at home," muttered Mom from under her blanket, "I haven't heard anything about a volcano." This volcano, the announcer said, had happened over a year before in the Pacific, and it was supposed to be the cause of all our weird weather and sore throats.
Daylight finally came, camouflaged by dark clouds and rain. Breakfast was scheduled to be pancakes and sausage over a campfire, but we passed around the raisins and goodies that were brought for snacks.
I tied a couple of socks together pretending that they were a doll. "My name is Judy Miller . . .," I began in a high, girlish voice. She carried on until the whole family was dabbing at their eyes from laughter. In an emergency, I had to think of something to lift the mood.
It was a very long three days. I think Mom had a little fun with her knitting and no cooking, but we boys were climbing the walls. We were so used to fighting each other at high speeds in computer games that we didn't know how to be still for a minute. Dad tried to slow us down by quizzing us on our schoolwork and general knowledge. I saw him look over at Mom wi
th horror. I guess he had never thought to check up on our education before.
On the fourth morning, Dad went outside early, determined to start a fire. We could hear his ax biting into a big log, opening up some dry wood. At last some real food. All of us were wet, weak, and hungry.
The sun rose and the rain slowed to a drip. Suddenly, far down below, we heard a gigantic thunderous roar. Jumping out of our sleeping bags, we grabbed each other. Dad stuck his head into the cabin, looking really scared.
He yelled, "What is it? Are you all right?"
The noise sounded like a tidal wave or a speeding train. We heard snapping, banging, and bumping. Mom thought she heard screams. It must have been about five minutes before peace returned, and we could hear the crackle of Dad's fire again. Sol was crying. Someone had stepped on him.
We scrambled to find our clothes, getting in each other‘s way. I was the first one dressed.
"I’m going down the mountain and take a look. I’ve got to see what‘s happening."
Scopi was ready next, "Me, too. I’m with you, JG."
JohnB had already thrown his poncho over his bare back.
"Oh, no! No, you're not," yelled Mom, "Honey, don't let them out of your sight," she pleaded.
Dad did some quick thinking. "Scopi, concentrate on the radio and try to find out what happened while I serve these flapjacks. JohnB and JG, stretch out a dining fly over my cooking stuff. Mom, please help Rooster and Sol with their clothes, we ‘ll feed them first."
The activity helped to control our panic, and we listened to the buzzing and static on the radio while we worked.
"Here’s some news, Dad. Ten inches of rain have fallen in West Virginia since midnight. Isn’t that like a cloudburst? The Syrians are threatening Israel again. Hey, here’s news from Capitol City. There are flood alerts for our county and the Highway Department says that there are some impoundments which are reaching the critical level," reported Scopi.
"What is an impoundment, Dad?" asked Rooster. I noticed as Dad stiffened, forgetting the pancakes. He looked up into the sky and said a few words to God. Then he went back to his cooking, sobered and silent.
OUR FAMILY THEME-SONG
by Bishop Thomas Ken 1709
All praise to Thee, my God, this night
For all the blessings of the light,
Keep me, oh, keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thine own almighty wings.
Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done,
That with the world, myself and Thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.
Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed,
Teach me to die, that so I may
Rise glorious at the judgment day.
Oh, may my soul on Thee repose,
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close,
Sleep that shall me more vigorous make
To serve my God when I awake.
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him, all creatures here below,
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.