“I’d like that,” I said, needing a friend more than ever. And with one as smart as her, I could learn a lot by being her friend.
I took one of her panniers and we trudged up the old metal steps, the tower slightly swaying, the stairs rumbling protests as we climbed toward the top. We stopped a moment and Pearl searched the mountain-layered horizon. I pointed out the snow curtain, sheets of white heading toward Troublesome.
When we reached the last landing where the metal platform under the cab led up to the trapdoor, Pearl whisked out a cry.
I peered over her shoulder. Someone had taken a hacksaw to four of the metal steps and cut them off, making it impossible to reach the trapdoor that led up inside the cab.
She cried out once more and pointed to the trapdoor and the half-broke padlock on the outside latch.
I stared at the ugly words scrawled across the door in red paint. PUT BACK ON YOUR APRON & GO BACK TO YOUR KITCHEN—BITCH
I gasped and uttered a curse, an anger rising for the horrible man who did this.
Pearl grimaced and put a clenched fist to her hip. “I bet it was Robbie Hardin. At the station this morning, he tried to coax R.C. into betting how long I’d stay. Wondering aloud how fast I’d hightail it down the mountain and back over to my cozy kitchen in Somerset when the first storm came in, or when I faced my first wild creature.”
“The Hardins always had a mean streak in them,” I said, remembering the whispered talks between my folks about how Mama’s librarian supervisor, Harriett Hardin, had been responsible for getting my papa jailed and then banished from Kentucky.
“Well, I’m not going back to any kitchen,” she spat out. “I’m here to stay. Stay.”
I put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Stay, dammit!” She raised the words to the forest, pounding a fist atop the steel railing, sending out her battle cry, and in it, I heard the screams of my mama, felt the pain she and Papa had suffered earlier.
And then whether it was because she was overwhelmed or exhausted from the trip, or maybe both, she cried and howled her curses to the heavens.
I stared down at my mud-soaked slippered feet, wringing my hands, wanting to help and be a friend to her, needing to curse and wail my own sufferings. Finally, I said shyly, “If you want, Pearl, you can stay at my grandparents’ cabin until the ranger station can weld back new steps. There’s plenty of room and I can help settle you in. Retta won’t mind me coming tomorrow. It’ll be fine,” I said, though I knew from my folk, nothing was ever completely fine in Troublesome.
“That’s real neighborly, Honey, and unless there’s a motel, I’ll have to take you up on it.” She swiped a palm across her damp eyes.
“No motel here unless you want to rent a room above the Company store… That’s if there’s any vacant.”
“Thank you, your family’s cabin will do just fine.”
Below, Junia called out a low haw. I peered over the railing, studying the beast. She lifted her muzzle and gave three short bursts. Her ears were parked stiff, not relaxed, her stance shifting and worrisome.
Mama taught me long ago: Look at the beast, the bird, the wild dog, the critters, and listen closely because God spent all their might on the ears so they would have protection. And that safeguard is what ensures ours.
I searched the forest below, looking for any movement or sign of something amiss. I couldn’t help feel that someone was watching back. Again, Junia raised warnings, and I glimpsed how her always-distrustful eyes were now watchful for our protection.
Glancing up at the trapdoor, I knotted a fist, disgusted with the cowardly welcome Pearl had received from the men. Again, Mama’s piercing screams echoed in my head, and I felt an angry tear slip down my jaw and vowed somehow to fight like this brave fire lookout.