My Near-Death Adventures (99% True!) Read online

  “Interesting,” Stinky Pete says. “Well, I’m a firm believer in honoring your mother and father.”

  “What about honoring your granny?” I ask. “Do I have to do that, too?”

  “Well, I have to think she probably has your best interests in mind,” Stinky Pete replies. His head rests against the building, his eyes are shut, and he’s smiling. “And she’s not nearly as bad as you think, so I’d say honor your granny as well.”

  The door slams and we both jump to high Heaven.

  “Stanley Arthur Slater, I believe I was very clear in my instructions that until you stop feeling faint in the head, you will be parking yourself in our room, at the table, or in your bunk, and focusing your efforts on activities that are decidedly not physical.” Granny’s hand clenches a carving knife, and her eyes burn over the rims of her spectacles.

  I slowly get up from the bench. Stinky Pete gives me a salute, and Granny grabs my ear, the tender part at the top, mind you, and drags me to my doom.

  I am trapped in our room until the Good Lord raptures our souls, I reckon.

  Honor your granny.

  That’s the last time I take advice from someone with “stinky” in his name.

  Pssst!” Geri whispers. “Get up!” She happens to be the loudest whisperer in the history of whisperers.

  I raise myself up on an elbow and wipe the sleep from my eyes. “What are you doing here?” I ask groggily. It’s possible this is a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on what happens next.

  Credit 27.1

  “You need to get out of here,” Geri whispers from the back door.

  Suddenly I feel wide-awake. “Why? What’s happened? Has a loup-garou been spotted? Is someone coming to kill me?” I yelp.

  “No, you chowderhead.” Geri snorts. “I need some excitement, and you need some fresh air. Doctor’s orders. The last of the men left the cook shanty about five minutes ago, so we have an hour before your mama and Granny come to check on you. Come on!  ” she says, her eyes an intense blue even in the dim light of our cabin.

  I climb unsteadily from the bunk, throw on my coat and hat, and follow Geri outside, her half-buttoned coat trailing behind her like it’s trying to keep up.

  “I’m dying,” I say to her as we sneak out. I really don’t feel well, and although Geri is not known for her accurate medical advice, I really have nowhere else to turn; Granny will confine me to bed for all my livelong days, or at least until I’m twenty-two, and there won’t even be any hope Mama will reconsider her stance on the river drive.

  “Leave the diagnosing to me, please,” Geri replies.

  “No, really, I feel dizzy. Mama says I have dark circles under my eyes. I constantly crave bacon. These unending days of isolation are taking their toll,” I plead with her.

  Credit 27.2

  Geri stops and looks at me. “You’ve been in that room for no more than two hours. One, if you count the hour you spent on the porch with poor Mr. McLachlan. So stop with the dramatics.” She takes off and I have to jog to keep up. “If you have anything,” she yells over her shoulder, “it’s tedium!”

  “Tedium?” This sounds serious. “How much longer do I have to live?”

  “Hard to say,” Geri answers. “Now, I have been bottled up in that cook shanty for months. I think it’s time to finally have a little fun.”

  I have flashbacks to October and the leaf fire behind the house but tag along behind her anyway. “Look, is tedium deadly? Is there a cure for it? Is there any hope for me?”

  “Well,” Geri says, “there’s no hope for you, but there is a cure for tedium, sometimes referred to as acute boredom, and I’m about to show you what it is.” We near the outhouses, a place I usually avoid since the smell alone makes a man question his need to go to the bathroom.

  “It’s in an outhouse?” I can’t imagine a worse cure. I might rather die.

  “Here’s the plan,” Geri says. She has pulled to a stop and is staring at the empty outhouse nearest to us. “We’re going to tip this baby over.” Her eyes gleam in the dusky light.

  “Are you kidding me?” I hiss. Of all the featherbrained ideas, this takes the cake. But I can tell it’s too late—there’s no stopping Geri when she’s got an idea in her head. It reminds me of the time she talked me into walking out on the ice in the harbor because it was “as solid as a rock.” Of course, I fell in and she didn’t.

  She parks her feet behind the outhouse and pushes and rocks and pushes the wooden structure with all her might.

  “Hey!” a voice hollers from inside. I widen my eyes in shock. There’s a person in there! “Hey! What’s going on?” the voice yells again. But rather than frightening Geri, the fact that someone is in the outhouse seems to be encouraging her. And I recognize that voice. It’s Mr. Crutchley. My sworn enemy.

  Geri stops pushing for a moment. “Since when is Mr. Crutchley your sworn enemy,” she whispers.

  “Since now,” I say. And since I overheard Granny’s evil plan to have him marry Mama. I start pushing on that outhouse with all my might.

  “Hey! Hey!” Mr. Crutchley yells. “Stop! I’m in here!”

  We keep rocking the outhouse until the entire thing flops over onto its front, plopping down smack-dab on the door, trapping that horrible excuse for a man inside the privy until the cows come home. Hopefully with his pants around his ankles.

  Geri grabs my arm and hauls me toward the cook shanty, shaking with laughter. We slip in the door and plop down on the bottom bunk. I have not laughed this much since Conrad McAllister had Mrs. Cavanaugh’s pink unmentionables on his head.

  Geri wipes her teary eyes and gasps through her giggles. “Oh, Stan,” she says, “you surprised me! I thought for sure you would chicken out like you usually do.”

  Credit 27.3

  I stop laughing, because this is not funny. “Excuse me? Who are you calling a chicken?” I ask, pointing a finger right at her nose. “I would not mess with me, if I were you.”

  We can still hear Mr. Crutchley pounding on the outhouse walls, yelling for help. Geri pops up, wiggles her fingers in my direction, flips her hair, and leaves.

  That girl infuriates me. I do have to admit, however, that even though she’s a horrible cousin, as far as making a fellow feel better, she really is just what the doctor ordered.

  Credit 27.4

  Credit 27.5

  I am not dizzy.

  I am not dizzy.

  Mama feels my forehead. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  “Not dizzy, I assure you of that!” I say. The room sways like the time I stood up in Uncle Carl’s boat when we were fishing.

  Apparently it is a well-known rule that you’re not supposed to stand up in a boat when you’re fishing. This is because it can lead to possibly capsizing the boat and sinking your uncle’s fishing pole, lures, and lunch box. And then you will not have any food and might be made to row the whole way back. And you’ll be hungry. And wet. And your uncle Carl will be mad.

  Not that I know anything about that.

  Mama is folding clothes, organizing her toiletries, and putting everything into our crates. Uncle Carl should be here in the morning to take us to St. Ignace, where I will go to school, make new friends, and probably die of boredom.

  “So,” Mama says, looking hard at me, “you wouldn’t happen to know anything about an outhouse being tipped over, would you?”

  “Huh?” I ask as I burrow my nose more deeply into the pages of Huck Finn. “Did you say something, Mama? You are aware how dizzy I have been lately, right?” I place my hand against my forehead like I’m having a fainting spell.

  “Mmmm-hmmm.” Mama nods.

  “I mean, I’ve not left this room except to go use the water closet. And I haven’t seen anyone for weeks. Mr. Crutchley, especially. Because I really, um, wouldn’t want him trapped in an outhouse or anything.”

  Mama drops the magazines she’s holding and they fall onto the table with a thump. She grabs Huck Finn and throws it on m
y bunk. Then she grabs my hand, pulls me up until I’m standing, and marches me into the kitchen.

  “This,” she says through her teeth, “is not acceptable behavior.”

  “But, but!” I protest. “It was all Geri’s idea!” Geri is at the sink, peeling potatoes. She looks quickly in my direction, glares, and points the potato peeler at me.

  I am not afraid of a potato peeler. I am not a potato.

  Credit 28.2

  “Geri.” Mama stops short of the door. “Is this true?”

  Geri turns to Mama and bats her eyelashes. “Why, Aunt Alice, I hope you know I could never do anything like tip over an outhouse.” She gives a charming little laugh. “Oh, I’m too petite and delicate for that. And,” she continues, “I could never, ever do anything to possibly hurt a fellow human being. Especially dear Mr. Crutchley.” She nods and bats her lashes some more as I glare at her behind Mama’s back.

  Mama tilts her head and smiles at Geri, patting her cheek. “I’m sorry I doubted you, dear,” she says, then squeezes my hand and pulls me out the front door.

  I turn around to look behind me and Geri is leaning against the doorway, smirking.

  “But, but!” I protest.

  “But nothing, Stanley. Trying to blame all of this on your sweet cousin.” Mama sniffs.

  “But—but it was her idea!” I sputter.

  “Listen, son.” Mama stops in the road right outside the van and makes me look her in the eye. “Men do not blame others for things they bring upon themselves. They take responsibility for their actions. Now you are going to take responsibility and apologize to Mr. Crutchley.”

  She stomps up the stairs, pulling me along. Through the door I spy Mr. Crutchley behind the counter with Uncle Henry.

  “Get in here. Now,” Mama says, opening the door. As soon as Uncle Henry sees us enter, he makes a beeline for the back room. Mr. Crutchley grins as he spies Mama, but the grin quickly loses its shine when he sees me.

  “Oh, hello, Stan.” His mouth says hello and the smile stays on his face, but his eyes say, “You have killed my pet chicken and eaten its innards. I will avenge its death!”

  “I have not killed your pet chicken or eaten its innards, Mr. Crutchley,” I clarify.

  Credit 28.3

  Mama and Mr. Crutchley look at each other and then at me.

  “Um, Mr. Crutchley, Stanley is here to apologize.” Mama squeezes my shoulder and pushes me forward. Mr. Crutchley leans against the counter, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He looks like he’s waiting for something.

  “Stan! He is waiting for something,” Mama says crossly.

  Mr. Crutchley smiles at her sadly; then he stands straight and says, “Alice, let me make this easier on the both of you.” He nods sympathetically and places a hand on my shoulder. “Obviously this is a boy who needs a man around. Otherwise I’m sure he’s destined for a life of delinquency and crime.”

  Mama’s mouth is slightly open and her head tilts to the side.

  Mr. Crutchley puts out a hand to hold Mama’s wrist. “Let me take care of this,” he reassures her. “I’ll just grab a switch from the willow by the river. A few hard swats will be a good reminder of how we expect Stanley to behave.”

  Mama frowns and shakes her head like she’s brushing cobwebs from her brain; then she wrenches her wrist from Mr. Crutchley’s hand and drags me out of the van, spitting words as she leads me to the cook shanty.

  “Can you believe the nerve?” she says, marching down the road. I have to jog to keep up with her or risk having my arm pulled from its socket. “Am I doing such a poor job raising this child on my own that everyone and his brother seems to think they have to give me advice?”

  I glance behind me at the van. Mr. Crutchley looks a bit like a lost puppy, staring from the doorway.

  Credit 28.4

  I smile at him because I won this little battle. If Mama has to choose between Mr. Crutchley or me, it’s pretty apparent who the winner is.

  Geri.

  “Is everything okay, Aunt Alice?” she asks as we stumble into the kitchen. “Dear Stan, are you all right?” Her voice is so sticky sweet that if you tipped her over, syrup would pour from her mouth.

  “Yes, dear,” Mama says, and she drops my arm with a sigh, pats Geri’s shoulder, and heads to the sink to wash her hands for the dinner prep.

  Geri grins at me. “Did you get in trouble?” she whispers.

  “No,” I answer. “But no thanks to you.”

  “Oh, I knew it would be okay,” she says with a wink. “Plus, if your mama marries Mr. Crutchley, you two will have to get along. This was a good test!” she adds cheerily.

  What? First Granny, now Geri. Mr. Crutchley? My father? Why do people keep thinking this is an option?

  “Well, he’d be a good provider,” Geri says with a shrug. “And he dresses nicely. And your mother looked quite taken with him yesterday when he presented her with Mr. Mark Twain’s most recent novel.”

  This is the worst news I’ve heard since Granny arrived at our door. Seems like Mr. Crutchley found the key to Mama’s heart—she’s a sucker for a good book.

  Geri thinks he’s the key to my finally getting to the river drive, but I’m not so sure it’s worth the price I’ll have to pay.

  Credit 28.5

  Quiet murmurs cause me to look up from my father’s letter. Although I’m not known to overreact, the scene before me is stranger than two cats on a swing.

  Credit 28.6

  Stinky Pete. And Granny. Peering in my direction and whispering.

  After the incident in the bunkhouse, they may not be sworn enemies, but they certainly aren’t best friends. This can only mean one thing.

  The world is ending.

  Or Stinky Pete wants me severely punished for beating him at cribbage last night. Again.

  I am a whiz at cribbage, I don’t mind saying.

  “Alice,” Granny says, “change of plans.”

  Mama wipes her floury hands on her apron as she approaches the devilish duo.

  Credit 28.7

  “What’s that?” she asks.

  “Well,” Granny explains, looking over at me but not lowering her voice. In fact, her tone sounds more like a warning. “Peter has offered to watch after Stanley during the river drive.” She waits for Mama’s response, but Mama is frozen to the spot.

  Stinky Pete winks at me.

  “But, Mother,” Mama argues, “you were the one who rejected the idea in the first place! And I agreed! The river drive is much, much too dangerous for Stan. You saw what happened with the ax.”

  What is the big deal? Men often have accidents with sharp things. It’s how the mama’s boys are weeded out.

  “And he didn’t even pick up the ax. Imagine what could happen near water. And with peaveys.”

  That word still makes me cringe.

  “And logjams and dynamite.”

  Well, chop off my legs and call me Shorty! Did she say “dynamite”? This day has definitely taken a turn for the better.

  Stinky Pete grins at Mama, who is sputtering and carrying on like a train barreling down a track.

  “Now, ma’am, Mrs. Slater, he’ll be fine. I promise I will keep an eye on Stan and won’t let anything bad happen to him.”

  Mama looks at him skeptically and starts to erupt. Stinky Pete backs up against the table.

  “You!” She pokes him in the chest. “This is your idea? Like you think you know what’s best for my son?”

  He looks at Mama like everything she says is a sweet melody but holds his hands up in a “Not me!” gesture.

  Granny pipes up. “No, Alice, it was my idea.”

  Which is more than slightly suspicious, but also lowers that woman’s Evil Rating to a solid 72.6 percent.

  “What?” Mama screeches. Geri stops her potato peeling and glances at me in shock.

  I have to admit, my mama does not usually act like someone has wound her up like an eight-day clock.

  Granny continues without
an apology. “Listen, you are not quite financially ready for this next step, even with the extra money I’ve been saving.” Granny puts an arm around Mama’s angry shoulders. “You need the money, Henry needs more cooks, and Stanley will be kept occupied so you don’t have to worry about him. It’s only logical.”

  Mama spouts off something about my being “accident-prone” and a “menace to all around.”

  I am just about sure that Butch Cassidy’s mama would never call him “accident-prone.” Although, as an outlaw, he probably is a menace to all around.

  Credit 29.1

  Geri sidles up to me. I cover my letter, an unnecessary move since her attention seems to be elsewhere. “What has gotten into your mama?” she asks, glancing in Mama’s direction. And then she says, “Aw, do you see Mr. McLachlan? The way he looks at Aunt Alice, it’s like he’s got his heart on his sleeve.”

  “What do you mean his heart is on his sleeve? You need to get over there right now and take care of that, missy! This is a major medical emergency!” I pull on her arm, but she shakes it loose.

  “Stan, it’s just an expression. It means he likes her.”

  “Of course I knew that,” I scoff. Actually, I did not know that, but it’s true that Stinky Pete is gazing at Mama with a twinkle in his eye.

  He is even more dangerous than I thought. Maybe even more dangerous than Mr. Crutchley.

  Mama’s dull roar has quieted down. For now it seems like she’s just giving Stinky Pete a laundry list of ways to keep me safe. “Under no terms is he to leave your sight.” Stinky Pete nods. “Nor will he be handling anything sharp,” she says as she pokes him in the chest.