The Serial: Far From the Rowan Tree Day 51

From the wilderness beyond the car came that wild, mad, eerie howling that I had heard that first morning at Red Deer

Ronald lifted up the bonnet but it was too dark to see anything and we didn’t have a torch. Getting back into the car he said: “We’ll just keep going as long as there is light left. “Perhaps, if we’re lucky, the moon will come up and we can drive home by moonlight. Now that Edmonton’s well behind us there’s no traffic to speak of.”

“Eventually the car lights went out altogether and we were forced to stop.

“I think the car battery must be discharging instead of charging. There is nothing I can do about it here,” said Ronald.

The moon did eventually drift over the horizon but it was only a golden crescent which lay like a slice of melon on a dark backcloth – beautiful but not enough light to see by.

The road loomed darkly in front of us. We still had a long way to go. We reckoned we might be about half way home. Apart from the moon and a sprinkling of stars there was no light and no sign of any habitation.

“We’ll just have to wait until some car passes,” Ronald said.

Helpful We had been told that any driver on the road was helpful to another if they were stuck. A breakdown could happen to anyone and one might be many miles from help. In winter time, in the sub-zero temperatures of this far northern land it could be a matter of life and death.

“If we do have to wait till dawn,” Ronald continued, “Jacobs isn’t going to be too pleased. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“To pot with Jacobs!” I said, getting a bit ratty. “He’ll just have to wait.”

“Will we have to stay here all night?” A boy’s treble voice piped from the back seat. The question came from the ever-wakeful Richard. The other two boys had fallen asleep.

Mahri-Louise, who had been sleeping in my arms for some time, woke and started to cry. We explained to Richard what had happened.

Usually willing to concede to any adventure, he didn’t sound too happy. I managed to quieten MahriLouise and for a while all was still.

“What’s that funny noise outside, Daddy?” Richard’s voice piped up again.

Ronald rolled down the window. A thin cloud spun across the moon’s bright crescent making it into a ghost of its former self.

From the wilderness beyond the car that wild, mad, eerie howling that I had heard that first morning at Red Deer, once more took over the surrounding world, bringing my flesh out in goose pimples. Quickly Ronald shut the window.

“You know these big light-coloured dogs we see in Jacobs’ fields sometimes? The ones that run away if they see you but always stop and look over their shoulders at us before they disappear?” he said.

“You mean the coyotes?” said Richard, a little disparagingly telling us he didn’t need all this kid-type explanation.

“Yes, the coyotes,” Ronald confirmed. “That’s the noise they make at night when they’re calling to one another.”

Howling Oddly, Ronald and I had hardly heard the howling of the coyotes since coming to Sandyhills, although there were plenty of them around.

Richard had probably never heard the noise before. They certainly were in good voice tonight.

Perhaps all the rain had something to do with it, relieving parched throats.

Richard didn’t seem entirely convinced that such ordinary harmless-looking dogs as the coyotes he had seen could make so fearsome a sound. Was Daddy telling tales?

Lying to keep something from him so that he wouldn’t be frightened? In the back seat Michael stirred.

“Are we home?” he asked in a sleepy voice. “No we’re not,” said Richard before I had time to say anything, “we’re stuck and outside there’s ...

“Richard be quiet!” I said breaking in before he said any more. I dreaded the reactions of Michael to the weird howlings beyond the car window.

“Let’s sing a song – it’s a long way to Tipperary,” I began; Ronald, Richard and Michael’s sleepy voice joined in.

After the song had petered out, I said: “I know what. I’ll tell you a story, then after that, we’ll sing more songs.” I made up a fantastic tale about some daylight event to keep them all from noticing the night. Then we had more songs and a story from Ronald and more songs. Eventually, even Richard fell asleep.

The night now became very quiet, even the coyotes were silent. I fell into a short series of cat naps with one ear always alert, listening for the hoped-for sound of an approaching motor.

It must have been in the small hours of the morning when I first heard it in one of my wakeful periods.

Ronald wound down his window. Unmistakably we could hear the sweet drone of a motor approaching – music to our ears.

Simultaneously we looked round and saw through the rear window, two beams of light, dusty and dim at first, then brighter and brighter. Suddenly the noise and the lights were upon us.

Drunk A car drew up with a squeal of brakes, throwing a cloud of gravel around us. A young, broadshouldered man jumped energetically out of the driver’s seat.

“You folks sure look stuck!” he said through Ronald’s open window. “Where you making for?”

“Sandyhills and we are!” Ronald barely had time to explain the situation before the young man said: “Soon fix that!” and had opened the boot of his car bringing out a stout rope.

Then with quick deft movements he got back into his car, drawing it immediately in front of our one. He jumped out again to tie our front bumper to his back one and we were off at speed, swinging along the gravel ruts.

It was only then we noticed that the car we were so dangerously following was filled with young men in soldiers’ uniforms. Occasionally, a window would open, we would hear a wild whoop and a beer can would be flung out the window.

“They’re all drunk,” I said. “Keep on the brakes, try to slow things down a little! What can we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do!” Ronald replied, “other than keep singing and trust to luck!”

(More tomorrow.)