Hue bounced in the seat, hanging on with one arm while holding the groceries with the other, as his mother, Mary, guided the smoking truck into the driveway just as it died from overheating.
“Ah, we made it,” she said, as stream spewed out from under the hood.
“I knew we would, Mom,” Hue said, his knuckles white from clutching the dashboard.
“Will you open the door Hue, while I get the groceries?”
“I can get the groceries Mom,” he said.
“Are you sure? They’re pretty heavy.”
“I can get them. No problem,” he said.
“All right then, but let me know if you need any help, okay?”
Hue shook his head. “I won’t need any help.”
He lassoed the groceries in his arms and scooted backwards out of the truck. Although he was barely able to see over the top of the bags, he circled the long way behind the truck to elude the stream gushing from under the hood.
The truck’s long life was coming to an end, if repairs weren’t soon made, but Mary had no money for repairs or another truck. She just hoped it would last a few more months and a few more miles before it completely gave out.
While Hue struggled with the overstuffed groceries bags, Mary held open the door to their timeworn mobile home.
“Honey, are you sure you don’t need any help?” she asked.
Hue stumbled on the uneven dirt path. “Well,” he said, grunting between breaths. “You can take one bag, I guess.”
Mary smiled. She was so proud of her son, so proud he wanted to help.
***
Hue emptied the groceries on the counter, while Mary stocked the cupboards. Since his father, Howard, had passed away, Hue had tried to be more helpful around the house, but there were just some things an eleven-year-old boy could not do.
“Would you put the bread in the microwave, Hue, so the mice won’t get it?”
“Mom, if we had a cat we wouldn’t have to worry about any mice.”
Mary closed the cupboard door. “Honey, you know we can’t afford any pets.”
“We wouldn’t have to feed it Mom. It could live off all the mice it caught.”
“There’s more to having a pet than feeding it,” Mary said. “A pet has to have a place to sleep. It has to be groomed. And what if it got sick? You know we don’t have the money to pay for a vet.”
“But Mom, I don’t have anyone to play with.”
“I know honey. I’m sorry. Maybe we can go visit your cousin Bobby later this week.”
“I don’t like playing with him. He never lets me touch any of his stuff, plus he’s snooty. I wish Dad was still here.”
Mary rested her cheek on her son’s head. “I know, I wish Dad was still here too.”
Hue moped into the living room, hoping watching TV would brighten his mood, but instead of seeing a picture, the screen was snow covered and static filled. He stared at the fuzzy image and, for a brief second, thought he glimpsed something, but then it faded away before it really appeared. He tossed the remote on the couch and went outside, behind the trailer. He eyed the short, rusty antenna and shook his head, wishing for cable. He took a hold it and wiggled it to what he thought was due north.
Back in front of the TV, he tilted his head, but the screen was still static filled and, more annoyingly, this time, it hissed like a bag of angry snakes. He glanced into the kitchen where his mother, busy with work, hadn’t noticed his plight. He stared once more at the TV and wondered why the reception was always so poor. It had to be good sometime, did it not? Trying to figure out the mechanics of TV reception seemed pointless. He clicked off the uncooperative thing and laid the remote on the counter.
“Mom, can I go to the creek?” he asked.
Mary clanked a pot. “Only for a little while,” she said. “Supper will be ready soon.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, racing for the door.
“Be careful! Don’t get wet!” she yelled just as the door slammed shut.
***
Hue followed the winding, country road to the nearby creek. Along the way, he booted weeds and threw rocks at distant trees. Hue and his father had walked this road, many times before, pretending to round the bases after hitting the game-winning home run at the World Series. It was a cherished memory Hue would never forget.
Leatherwood Bridge also stirred memories. It was where a yellow-and-red banded snake had bitten his father. It had been an extremely rare and poisonous species not found locally and thought to be long extinct. He had been unable to survive.
And now, even though the snake had been captured and deposed of, Hue would thoroughly comb the bridge before getting too relaxed. Although his father had said a good-luck spirit lived under the bridge, Hue wasn’t so sure. After all, the never-seen spirit hadn’t been good-luck for his father.
Leatherwood Creek, which shared its name with the bridge, wound through Shawswick County and many years ago was as wide and deep as any proud stream. Now, filled with geodes and rotted trees, it was more narrow and shallow, and somewhat less proud. Yet its lack in vigor hadn’t stopped Hue and his father from having rock-throwing contests by its banks.
As Hue canvassed the bridge for snakes, he gathered a number of flight worthy rocks. He scanned the creek below and noticed a school of fish hovering in the shallows, next to a cluster of geodes. He tossed one of the rocks in the air, caught it one-handed, reared back and hurled it like a Major League pitcher. The rock’s path, however, was woefully untrue, and the fish remained undisturbed. Dismayed by his pitiful throw, he rifled another rock at the unsuspecting fish. He missed again, although, this time, the rock ricocheted close enough to startle the fish, scattering them like dandelion seeds in a puff of wind.
Curious where they had fled to, Hue went to the creek and found that the cluster of geodes was actually an island of rocks, formed by a recent downpour. Eyeing the shallow stream between him and the rocky island, he was almost positive he could jump its span. He backed up and leaped forward, low in the air. He fluttered mostly across, landing just short of the other side. One foot plunged in the water while the other slipped on the rocks of the island. He stumbled forward awkwardly, his hands and knees scraping against the rocks before he could stand himself upright. He brushed off the bits of gravel and twigs embedded in his skin. He looked down at his muddy, wet shoe.
“Oh man, Mom’s going to be mad,” he muttered to himself.
“Don’t get wet,” she had said, and here he was getting wet.
While he mulled his bad luck, he gazed over the water, feeling like Christopher Columbus, discovering new land.
He raised his hand over his head. “I claim this territory and name it Hue’s Island.”
Below him, he noticed the fish had returned, milling carefree about. Evidently, they were oblivious to their new monarch.
“Hear me!” he said. “I am King Hue, your new ruler. You are now the property of the Kingdom of Hue.”
He dug into his pocket and found a partially eaten candy bar. He broke off several pieces, and arched them, one by one, to his new servants. The jittery fish flashed away, but then returned just as quick for their first royal meal at the hands of their new king. They swiftly devoured their feast and then waited patiently for more, pacing back and forth at the feet of their king.
Hue smiled. This was almost like having real pets. “Hear me my royal fish I shall—” His wristwatch beeped. “I shall be back tomorrow,” he continued. “You are free to roam the royal waters.”
He turned and took a long running jump, this time clearing the stream, landing both feet on dry land. There was, however, still little he could do about his one wet shoe.
***
Hue thundered through the front door as Mary set the table and the aroma of meatloaf filled the air, watering Hue’s mouth and grumbling his stomach.
“I was wondering where you were,” Mary said, then noticed his wet shoe. “ Hue Herbert Huxley! Take those shoes off! I told you not to get wet.”
“I know, I know Mom. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened.”
Mary gazed into her son’s sorrowful eyes.
“All right,” she said. “But you need to be more careful. Now, take those shoes off and put them outside before your food gets cold.”
Hue smiled, thankful for having the best mom in the world.
***
As the sun sank behind the neighboring hill, Hue visited the shed behind the trailer. His father had built it for extra storage, but Hue, all the while, had wanted to use it as a clubhouse.
He lit a candle from the drawer of an old desk and then from another drawer removed some pieces of wood and two Fighting Rooster pocketknives.
He stared at the matching pair of knives and thought about when he and his father had come here to whittle. They had kept the activity from Mary because of her motherly nature to worry about everything. Howard, however, not wanting to catch Mary’s wrath, when she did find out, had properly educated Hue on the safe handling procedures of a pocketknife.
Howard had introduced his son to whittling after Hue had seen a cowboy whittle in a movie. Within a week, Howard had bought the two pocketknives so they could whittle together.
At first, Hue didn’t understand the purpose of it. It seemed pointless, shaving curls of wood onto the floor. Yet, over time, it became something the two enjoyed doing, and as they whittled, they talked about nothing in particular. Spending time together was the point of whittling.
***
A knock came from the door.
“Hue?” called the voice.
“Come in Mom,” he said.
Mary peeked in. “Whatcha doing?”
“Just reading.”
Mary sat on the bed. “What are you reading?”
“It’s called, A Spell for Chameleon.”
“Would you like me to read to you?”
Hue handed her the book. “Thanks, Mom.”
Mary read the cover. “Fantasy, huh? I used to read Greek and Roman mythology. You know, fantasy had its origins in mythology,” she said.
Hue scratched his chin. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well,” Mary said, “maybe next time we visit the library we can get a book on mythology. But for now we’ve got—” She glanced at the cover again. “A Spell for Chameleon to read.”
***
The rattling noise of the lawnmower woke Hue from his slumber. He rolled out of bed and shuffled to the window, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He saw his mother in the yard, struggling with the mower, trying to push it through the overgrown grass. He snapped awake and exchanged last-night’s pajamas for yesterday’s clothes. He raced into the living room and paused at the phone, then laid the receiver on the counter and went outside. He slipped on his sneakers and sprinted across the yard, calling for his mother.
“Mom, you got a phone call!” he yelled.
Mary shut off the mower. “What did you say?”
“You’ve got a phone call.”
“Who is it?” she asked.
Hue shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
As Mary left, Hue glared at the mower. It had always caused him some kind of trouble. He took the starter rope, pulled hard and fast, three times. Winded, he huffed and wiped sweat from his nose. He tried once again, pulling harder three more times. The mower sputtered and refused start. His hands on his knees, Hue rested as he caught his breath. He took a hold of the handle with both hands and propped his foot on top of the mower, then gave it his hardest jerk. The rope reeled quickly out then stopped abruptly, sending Hue’s hands flying over his head. He landed hard on his rump as the mower shot out clouds of smoke and revved awake.
***
Mary held the receiver. “Hello?” she said, hearing only a dial tone. “Hello?” she repeated. Mary shook her head at the phone and hung it up. Through the living room window, she saw Hue pushing the mower. She wondered if anyone had actually called. She smiled. “You’re such a good boy,” she whispered to herself.
***
Mary drew patterns on plywood, cutting them out with her jigsaw. Once assembled, the pieces would become a small-scale replica of a Costa Rican ox cart design she had reproduced from a postcard. Nancy, her mailperson, had sent the card last winter when she and her husband had visited Costa Rica during their winter vacation. Mary hoped the new item would sell as well as her other wooden toys.
Mary’s woodworking had come from Howard, who had worked with wood since he was a young boy, helping his father. She had spent many hours helping her husband work his craft. Howard had been able to shape meaningless chunks of wood into appealing toys. Now, out of financial need, Mary continued the craft.
Hue entered. “Mom, telephone,” he said.
Mary looked up, annoyed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “Really, Mom.”
Mary looked skeptical.
Hue laughed. “I’m sure Mom,” he said. “Come on, I’ll go with you.”
Mary laid down her tools and wrapped her arm through Hue’s as they left together.
Mary answered the phone, Hue at her side. “Hello?” she said.
“Is this Mrs. Mary Huxley?” asked the voice on the phone.
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“Hello, my name is Nathan Edwards. I work for the law firm Jimenez and Taft—”
“I’m sorry,” Mary said, interrupting. “I don’t have the money right now.”
“No, Mrs. Huxley. I’m not collecting a debt. I’m looking for some information.”
“Oh, what kind of information?” she asked.
“My law firm represents Herbert Robertson Properties—”
“Isn’t he the millionaire owner of Westward Park?”
“Yes, he is.”
“What would he want with me?”
“He’s looking for a special piece of property. Many years ago, this place was called Shawswick Station. Have you ever heard of it?”
“Well, I live in Shawswick County. But, I guess you know that. I’ve never heard of Shawswick Station. What kind of station is it?”
“It’s a railroad or was a railroad station. Mr. Robertson wants to rebuild the historic site. His great grandfather, Albert, was married at the station.”
“Ah, that’s so sweet. I wish I could help. It’s just that I’ve never heard of it and would have no idea of where it could be. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“Let me leave you my number. If you learn of anything, you can call me. Mr. Robertson is offering a handsome reward for its whereabouts. Do you have a pen?”
Mary jotted the number down and hung the phone.
Hue looked puzzled. “What was that about?” he asked. “Are we in trouble?”
“No honey, we’re not in trouble.”
A sudden thud from outside caught Mary and Hue’s attention. They rushed to the backdoor.
“It’s a raccoon, Mom!” Hue shouted from the doorway.
Mary stepped back. “Use the broom to shoo it away! But be careful,” she said.
Hue grabbed the broom and circled cautiously around the raccoon, which now had entered the overturned trashcan. Hue raised the broom over his head and whacked the container.
“Get out of here, raccoon!” He shouted, whacking the trashcan again. “Come on, get out!”
The fur-spiked raccoon waddled out of the trashcan, its ears perked straight up. Hue had never encountered such a large raccoon before. He backpedaled, giving himself room to run, but instead of attacking, the raccoon retreated away. It seemed it had had enough of all this whacking and yelling. Hue, nonetheless, was skeptical and lifted the broom higher.
The raccoon, however, continued to march away. Hue smiled. He thought the battle won, but the confrontation was not entirely over. The raccoon had one final thought for the broom-wielding boy. It whipped around and gave Hue its meanest snarl.
Hue’s smile faded away. “Go on, get out of here. Or I’ll clobber you!” he said, his voice trembling slightly.
The raccoon bared all its teeth, yet it wasn’t a stupid animal. It knew who had the upper hand. It slipped away to fight another day.
***
Hue had forgotten about wanting to use the shed as a clubhouse. His mother didn’t use it and surely won’t mind if he did. He could call it Hue’s Clubhouse, or Hue’s Hut, or Hue’s Fortress. Whatever he named it, it’d be cool just to have. He could cut spy-holes around it so that no one could sneak up upon him. But what about all this stuff littered about? He could probably throw most of it in the loft.
As he moved things around, one item caught his eye. Wrapped in a quilt and tied with twine, it was about five feet long and curved slightly. He swooped on it like a Christmas present.
It was an ornate bow with intricate carvings and strange symbols along its span. A yellowish white, it was made of bone or ivory and appeared centuries old. It must have been his father’s. He took it from the loft and hung it on the wall, next to the door.
***
In the tranquil waters beneath Leatherwood Bridge, Hue’s royal fish suddenly scattered up and down stream, while at the same time, all the birds in the trees exploded away as if shot from a cannon.
A calm stillness fell and everything held motionless as if time had stopped. A moment passed and a gust of wind disturbed the stillness, swooping down onto a sandbar, spinning itself into a tight dust devil, throwing debris into the turbulent air. A translucent sphere waxed into existence, in the middle of the devil, pushing it outward to swirl around the sphere while flashes of light casted long, quick shadows as lightning struck within the globe. A nebulous figure materialized within its center, pressing through time and space. A second more and the sphere came into this world, only a brief moment to stay before it faded away, leaving the sandbar quiet, calm, and now occupied.
***
On the tailgate of his mother’s truck, Hue sat bored, with nothing to do. He swung his feet, studying a band of ants, dragging a mostly dead spider. He watched them haul their prize, envisioning the fierce battle that must have taken place between the two warrior species. Hue noticed a branch was blocking their path. He recalled his father saying to help those in need. Although the ants weren’t people, they were in need and it shouldn’t matter anyway. He jumped from the tailgate and removed the branch, letting them pass. He scratched his initials in the dirt with the stick, wondering whether he should use two “H’s” or three. Better use two, he thought, he wouldn’t want anyone asking his middle name.
“Hey, bonehead! Get out of the way!” A loud voice shouted.
To Hue’s dismay, it was the last person he wanted to see. Being insanely bored was better than having his cousin, Bobby Cobb, around.
“Get out of the way!” Bobby yelled again from the window of his mother’s new pickup truck.
Hue stepped to the side. “Do you want me to—” he started to say when the truck’s horn drowned out his question.
Bobby stared at him oddly. “What are you playing with, a stick?” he asked.
Hue threw it down. “No,” he said, brushing his hands.
Bobby and his mother, Elizabeth, waited in the truck for Mary to answer the horn. Elizabeth was Mary’s half-sister, who had married Robert Cobb, a snobbish local lawyer. Some people called him Bob Cobb, as if it were one name. Bobby was their only child, and they spoiled him rotten. Hue was thankful he didn’t have any more cousins, especially if they turned out anything like Bobby.
“Mom’s taking me to pick out a pet,” Bobby bragged. “She said I could have any pet I wanted. Isn’t that awesome?”
Hue stared at the ground. “Yeah, that’s awesome,” he mumbled, though he thought it wasn’t.
Bobby admired his fat cheeks in the truck’s side mirror. “I guess your mom won’t let you have a pet, huh?”
Hue hung his head even lower. He didn’t want to answer. He knew what Bobby said was true. Fortunately, he didn’t have to answer Bobby’s huh. Mary arrived with a box of wooden toys, sparing him a reply.
“Hi, Elizabeth, Bobby,” Mary said, smiling. “Hue, did you say hello to your aunt?”
“Hi, Aunt Beth.”
“That’s Elizabeth, Hue,” Elizabeth said.
“Elizabeth,” Hue repeated.
Elizabeth looked inside the box. “Is this all you have?”
“I’m sorry,” Mary said. “I’ve been busy trying to catch up on housework.”
Elizabeth glanced at the mobile home. “That’s not a house, Mary. It’s a trailer. You don’t have housework. You have trailer work.”
Mary glanced at the ground. “Well, it’s a home to us.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Whatever, I really need more of these wooden toys.”
Mary perked up. “Are they really selling that well?”
“They’re doing okay,” Elizabeth said, looking away. “It’s just that I have to sell them so cheap.”
“Do you have any money for me?” Mary asked. “My truck could use a new radiator.”
Elizabeth primped in the mirror. “I’m sorry. I forgot to bring any. I do have some money, but I promised Bobby I would buy him a pet today, and you know how boys love pets.”
Mary glanced at Hue. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Well, I got to run,” Elizabeth said, starting the truck. “Can you put those in the back?”
Mary placed the box of wooden toys in the truck’s bed and waved bye as Hue watched Bobby cram a candy bar into his big mouth and then discard the wrapper in their yard.
Hue hugged his mother. “Mom, one of these days, I’ll buy you a house. A real house.”