CHAPTER 22

I could thank my fourth-grade science teacher, Mr. Johnson, and Ralph for what little I understood about blocks and tackles. Our class had been divided into teams of two and assigned a project about how the laws of physics were used to help people in everyday life when they didn’t have access to fancy machinery or equipment. Ralph’s uncle worked for a moving company in Chicago, where they often had to move big pieces of furniture like pianos or king-sized beds into apartments by hoisting them up and through big windows using pulleys and ropes. My team had built a miniature block and tackle and moved heavy blocks into a large Lego building using our pinky fingers. We’d gotten an A on our project.

The barn’s block and tackle was as simple as the one we’d made, just bigger. The large metal hook from which the pulley hung was attached so it could move back and forth along a fifteen-foot-long rod; only right now it was pulled as far away from the hayloft as it could be. The rope on the right of the pulley hung all the way to the ground, with a large knot tied at the bottom so that it could never be pulled all the way through. The hook was on the other, shorter, end of the rope. If I could figure out some way to attach myself to the rope on the right, I could pull the rope on the left and easily haul myself to the top. Lester could climb onto me and we could lower ourselves back to the ground. Easy-peasy.

Pulling on the rope, I moved the block and tackle along until it was as close to the hayloft as it would go. But I couldn’t figure out how to attach myself to the rope. When I tried to stand on the knot my feet kept slipping off. I tried to climb it instead and got exactly nowhere. For some reason I had forgotten that, like Lester, I didn’t have an athletic bone in my body. What I really needed was some kind of seat to sit in like I saw the Coast Guard use on TV when they rescued people who fell off their boats. I had no idea how to make one, but I knew someone who did.

“Lester, when your summer camp went to Cape Enrage last summer, didn’t you rappel down a cliff?”

Lester looked at me as if he thought this was a very strange time to be discussing his field trip. “Yes …”

“Did they show you how they made seats out of rope when they need to save someone?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure I can remember what they said. Why don’t you Google it?”

“No bars, remember? If we’re going to get you down, we’re going to have to do it without the help of all of the brains in the universe. We’re going to have to rely on our own brains.”

Lester sat back on his heels. “I don’t know, Tracy. I don’t remember.”

“Think! You’re so good with mechanical things. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Do you want to get down from there and go home or not? You either have to remember, or I have to go out in the storm and get help.” I glanced outside over my shoulder. It was still raining hard, though there hadn’t been a flash of lightning for about ten minutes.

“Okay, okay, let me think.”

Rather than standing there making him nervous, I wandered around the barn giving him some room. It smelled like hay and damp fur and old wood, but I kind of liked it. On the wall near the door was an old calendar: Dewolfe Hardware, 1975. I wondered why someone would keep such an old calendar. The picture was faded and looked almost like an old painting—the colors were all washed out—but it was fun to see the old cars parked in front of the store. Dewolfe Hardware had closed long before I was born, but it looked like the kind of place I would have loved to shop.

“I remember!” Lester called down. “It’s called a Swiss seat!”

“Great. How do I make it?” I looked up, waiting for instructions.

“You take the rope,” he began and then stopped. “Argh! You need to be able to use both ends of the rope. If you pull more rope down, you won’t be able to haul yourself back up. The seat takes a lot of rope. It’s got to go around your waist and legs a couple of times and then be knotted real tight.”

I grabbed the rope and tried to do what Lester suggested but he was right—by the time I followed the instructions and had myself encased in rope, it was completely impossible to reach the hook on the other side. I untied myself and plopped back on the floor, defeated.

“It was a good idea,” Lester offered, his voice quavering. “Do you want a piece of licorice? I was rationing it in case I was stuck in here for weeks.”

As soon as he said licorice, I remembered Lester riffling through his knapsack that morning, as clearly as if it were a movie being projected on the wall. I saw Silly String, walkie-talkies, a notebook, licorice, and a rope.

“The rope!” I cried. “Lester, do you still have that long yellow rope in your knapsack?”

“I forgot about the rope!” he shouted. “After Zach left I thought about tying the rope to something up here and trying to climb down, but I couldn’t find anything to tie it to and I was too scared I might fall. I’m not very strong you know.…”

“Well I can use it. Throw it to me!” A second later a long yellow coil landed with a thump on the floor beside me. Lester talked me through the complicated knots to create the Swiss seat and how to firmly attach our family’s new clothesline to the old rope. When I was done, I pulled with all my might. Everything held. Time to go get Lester!

I was okay at first, but about five feet off the ground, I began to feel woozy. Despite my gentle hand-over-hand technique, my seat was swinging from side to side. And when I looked down? That was the worst. I pictured all kinds of scenarios, and they all ended the same way: me crashing to the barn floor and breaking my neck.

I stopped hauling and hung there, taking deep breaths and trying to think of anything other than the fact that I was hanging on very dubiously tied ropes without a net to catch me. I started back down.

“What’s wrong?” Lester called out.

I looked up at his anxious face and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this. It’s so high. What if I fall? What if we fall? I feel just like I did on the Ferris wheel at Old Orchard Beach. I think I might faint.”

“Tracy, you’re safe. You’ve tied these as well as any ropes I saw the guides tie at Cape Enrage. I know you’re scared of heights, but I’m scared of dark places and creepy-crawly things and I want to go home.” Home came out as a wail.

I took another breath and closed my eyes. This time, instead of imagining us crashing to our untimely deaths, I pictured us on the ground, high-fiving, fist pumping, hugging. I imagined telling Ralph all about my daring rescue and how impressed he’d be and how he’d forgive me on the spot because I’d been so brave. I opened my eyes and began climbing again.

In no time at all, I was eye-level with Lester. The air was mustier the higher I went—and hotter. Lester was lucky it hadn’t been a sweltering day. The hayloft would have been broiling in that kind of weather and the heat would have triggered his asthma.

At the very top, I reached for a wooden beam and was able to pull myself over so that I was actually sitting on the edge of the loft. “Okay, climb on and hold tight.”

Just as Lester began to edge himself in my direction, something darted from the pile of hay behind him. We both screamed and the thing yowled and hurled itself in my direction. I imagined a rat or a raccoon or a hibernating bear and clung to the wooden beam for dear life. The thing kept coming, hidden by piles of hay and screeching like a banshee, although, to be honest, it was impossible to tell where its screams started and ours ended.

“It’s a monster!” Lester shouted, scooting as fast as he could in my direction. I held out my arms toward him, but just as I was about to grab him, something black and furry jumped into my arms instead. I screamed. The thing did, too. I was about to drop it when I realized it was a black-and-white cat.

“It’s a kitten!” I shouted.

“Mrow,” the kitten murmured, as if this was just a normal day in the barn. And then Lester and I both began to laugh hysterically, all the way through him climbing into my lap and wrapping his arms around my neck, all the way back down to the ground, and all the way through untying the elaborate knots. We were still laughing as we walked out of the barn, the kitten following happily behind us, until a steamroller of a thunderclap passed over us and Lester began to sob uncontrollably.

“C’mon,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll double you on my bike. Where’s your bike anyway? I didn’t see it when I got here.”

“That’s because it’s down in the ditch.”

“How did it get in the ditch?” I pictured the cars I’d passed on the way to the farm and how I knew they couldn’t see me well because of the storm. Thinking of Lester’s bike in the ditch made me feel sick again.

He sounded much calmer than me. “Oh, I fell off it going around a turn and the bike tumbled in. I couldn’t get it out by myself. Dad’s going to have to come back with me.”

Mom and Dad. How was I going to explain all of this to them?

“Okay, hop on. Oh wait, you should probably go pee out behind the barn first.”

“I don’t need to now,” he said, proudly.

“How come? Did you go up in the hayloft?” I was pretty sure I hadn’t felt anything wet when I’d brought him down.

“No. I just decided maybe I didn’t need to go to the bathroom after all, that I need to learn to hold it in, even when I’m nervous.”

I climbed onto my bike and Lester arranged himself awkwardly on the carrier that was attached to the back of the seat. As we rolled down the long driveway I could feel his whole body shudder.

“You saved my life.”

“You tried to defend my honor.”

“I can’t believe you climbed up to get me. It was amazing.”

“I’m kind of amazed myself.”

“Do you think your fear of heights is gone now? Ralph told me they have a Ferris wheel at the Exhibition in Fredericton.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” And then the sensation of the chair rounding the top of the Ferris wheel returned. I shook my head. “Nope. I think I’ll stay on the ground. Unless you need saving.”

“I won’t.”

I smiled. The two of us were quiet the rest of the way home.