Four Miles to Pinecone by Jon Hassler

Author:Jon Hassler [Hassler, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-80203-3
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-07-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I was the only passenger to get off the bus in Pinecone. Uncle Chad shook my hand while Aunt Gert squeezed my arm and told me I was growing too fast. They both called me Tommy.

The three of us climbed into Uncle Chad’s pickup and drove north out of town. After we had gone about four miles on the highway, we came to a sign that said CHAD’S CABINS, and we turned onto a dirt road that dipped and rose through a thick pine forest. The sun hadn’t set yet, but the trees were so thick and close to the road it was like driving through a tunnel, and Uncle Chad had to turn on his headlights.

“There’s nobody staying in the cabins this weekend,” he said. “We didn’t take any reservations because of the wedding we have to go to. So all you do is turn people away if they come looking for a place to stay. Gert don’t want to come home to a bundle of dirty bedsheets.”

“Oh, hush,” said Aunt Gert, sitting between us. “You know very well we had no reservations in the first place. You needn’t lie about your business to Tommy like you do to your resorter friends. Tommy’s your nephew.”

“All right, Gert.”

“Labor Day weekend is never very busy around here,” said Aunt Gert. “It’s too chilly this far north.”

We drove over a hill I remembered from previous summers. The lake lay before us, orange in the sunset.

“The lake is even prettier than I remember it,” I said.

“You bet it’s pretty,” said Uncle Chad. “And that ain’t all. Leaf Lake has the clearest water south of Canada. The bottom is all clean sand, and the walleyes are so thick you get sick of catching them. Besides that, the nights are cool.”

Just over the hill the road divided into two narrow driveways. I knew the one on the left was Uncle Chad’s, but he took the one on the right.

“We’ll drop in on Lester Flett for a minute,” he said, “and let you get reacquainted.”

I recalled that Lester Flett, who lived in a little cabin at the edge of Uncle Chad’s property, used to hire out as a fishing guide. It was said that he was once a newspaper reporter in Minneapolis, but he turned his back on civilization and lived like a hermit.

“Is Lester still a fishing guide?” I asked.

“No, he doesn’t do much guiding any more,” said Uncle Chad. “Fact is, he doesn’t do much of anything. He’s generally what you might call a brush rabbit.”

“Now, Chad, he’s a friend of ours,” said Aunt Gert. “Don’t call him a brush rabbit. He’s over for coffee almost every day, and he’s as friendly and polite as he can be.”

“I never said he wasn’t friendly and polite. Brush rabbits are generally friendly and polite. Especially when there’s some bread and jam goes with the coffee. A man like Lester Flett who lives off the land learns to take his nourishment wherever he can get it.

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