“Humbling, isn’t it, what people have to bear,” I said quietly. Bone breaking abuse, life-guzzling addictions, death of loved ones. No one was exempt from the egregious cruelties of life. I knew. I heard about them day after day in my counselling work.
“Did I ever tell you about seeing her sleeping down here?” Madge continued. “She was curled up under a tree! Just like a bag lady. It was pathetic.”
I shook my head sadly. I didn’t know Elfreda well, but from what I’d heard, the woman was exceptional, when sober. She’d championed the opening of a women’s shelter in town, set up a food bank, raised money for needy children. Before the tragedy in her family, she’d organized some of the interesting old ladies in town for outings, discussions and social reform. They called themselves The Granny Group. Over the winter, I had led them in an exercise class once a week, although Elfreda hadn’t been there in a while. When she was, she had the quickest wit of them all.
“I just hate to see such a fine old lady go down the tube like that. Isn’t there anything you can do?” urged Madge.
“I wish. But my mother’s alcoholism taught me well. You can lead a horse away from water, but you can’t force it not to drink.”
Madge adjusted the orange sweat band around her forehead. “Well,” she said unhappily, “we’d better push off.”
We turned to walk back through the trees.
“What the hell is – ”
“Going on,” I whispered. I tried to swallow but my throat was dry. Pickup trucks were parked out by the road and men were cordoning off an area around several of the big trees. Two men in hard hats and steel-toed boots were standing beside Skybrusher. A chain saw was at their feet.
| Chapter 2 |
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Surely in God’s name, they’re not –” My voice died in my throat, along with my hope. Numbly, I watched as one of the men walked around the circumference of the tree calculating its width.
“They are!”
Madge’s words sounded far away as if I’d already begun running across the park. I saw my hand raise involuntarily in some feeble attempt to stop her words from coming towards me.
In front of me the air lightened as if I were standing on the edge of an abyss. My legs itched with an impulse to run away before something dangerous happened. Because something dangerous was close to happening. Very close.
I watched the man lift the chain saw, heard the engine explode into a hard, biting sound and felt Madge grab my arm. A sick dizziness came over me. My legs quivered, caught between running towards the men and running away. Then a great gust of energy thumped against my back and swept me forward.
As terrifying as it was to feel myself careening through space towards these men, a great relieving emancipation swept over me. I was no longer holding myself back, no longer enduring the outrage of complacency. In a frenzy of exhilaration, I flung myself over the yellow tape barrier, my body demanding to be reckoned with.
The man holding the saw jabbed at a switch and the machine stopped. The two men stared at me as they might a rabid dog.
“What’s going on here?” I tried to make my voice sound authoritative, but calm.
There were two men. One was round-bellied and compacted and looked as if he’d been stuffed into clothes that were far too small for him. The other man was thin with a face as closed off as a boarded-up house.
“We’ve been hired by the owner of this property to take down these trees …” said the thick-bodied man. He rolled his eyes. They looked as hard as bowling balls. “So the construction – ”
“Construction? What construction?” someone called. I looked up and saw that a crowd was gathering around us.
“I thought this park belonged to the town,” I said, ignoring the panic that was fluttering in my belly.
“All I know is we’re to take these down. There’s six condos going in here.”
“How come we never heard about it?” another voice shouted from the crowd.
The heavy man’s face became red and dark like a bruise. He looked down at his saw. “We’re not here to talk about it. We’re here to do it.”
I stared at him disbelievingly. Refusing to look at me, he leaned over and yanked the cord of the machine. The saw burst into a hard, metallic whine. In a frighteningly abrupt movement, he swung the buzzing saw against the tree.
I flung my body against the trunk, inches from the bite of the saw.
“Curt, stop!” the thin man shouted.
Stubbornly, Curt gnashed the saw into the tree, cutting the wood just inches from my body. Wood chips spit into my face.
I saw people’s mouths open to scream. Feeling faint, I closed my eyes.
Get out of here, Jessie. Now!
The sound of the saw was so horrible I wanted to cover my ears, but I was too terrified to move. I pushed my back into the tree, feeling its strength and stillness against my spine. Beneath me my feet burrowed into the ground like roots. When I opened my eyes, I saw Madge, as if in slow motion, bounding forward and grabbing Curt’s shoulders. Thrown off balance, he dropped the saw. The engine spluttered and quiet shot through the air.
“Bitches!” Curt spat.
Charlie growled at him and moved his body against mine.
Eying the dog, the other man said, “What we’re doing is legal.”
“It might be legal, but it isn’t right,” a strong male voice said in a low but commanding tone.
I followed the voice to a man in the crowd. Harley. It was Harley who had spoken. Wearing a wide-brimmed leather hat, he was standing beside a bicycle. Despite the seriousness of the moment, I grinned at him. A wry smile crossed his mouth.
“Legal is enough.” Turning to me, Curt added, “Now, are you going to be a nice lady and move, or am I going to call the cops and tell them how crazy you are?”
Wordless as a tree, I stood. Beside me, Madge widened her stance and crossed her arms.
Curt scowled. “I’m going to get the cops.” He strode from the park.
People rushed towards us, all talking at once. Some patted me on the back, others twittered with disapproval.
“You just about got yourself sliced.” Harley looked at me with wide, appraising eyes.
“Thanks to Madge,” I said. Feeling weak, I put my arm around Madge’s shoulder to prop myself up.
“Teach’em to mess with the likes of us,” Madge boasted, laughing nervously.
Harley’s eyes roamed solemnly through the boughs above him. “Too bad. Some of these must be over a hundred years old. Real elders.”
I looked at him hard. “It’s not over yet.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The way I figure it, the cops will be here in five minutes and the trees will be down in ten.”
“And you’ll be in jail in fifteen,” Madge said to me, pouncing in right after him. “For obstructing or some other thing they’ll dream up.” She moved from one foot to the other. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy the idea of going to jail. I think we should get out of here while the getting’s good.