IT HAD BEEN three weeks ago. He was not supposed to hitchhike. It had been drummed into Dec since he was a kid. But he was almost sixteen; he wasn’t a kid anymore. Besides, it was an emergency. He had to get home, and when you lived half an hour out of town in deep country, there weren’t that many options.
He hadn’t known about the Art Club meeting to talk about next fall’s trip to New York. He hadn’t known about Dad going to Kingston for the day, either. He only found out when he phoned home for a lift. That’s when he learned that Sunny’s babysitter had a chiropractor’s appointment and could only stay until five. Birdie wouldn’t be finished work until six.
It was that simple.
He had already walked to the western edge of town, when the water-haulage truck pulled over. Dec almost choked as he opened the door. The cab was so filled with smoke it might have been on fire. He started coughing and backed down the step.
“Jesus on life support!” said the driver. “Sorry, man.” He rolled down his window and flicked his cigarette outside. He started making a noise like a fire alarm as he waved his arms at the fug in the cab. “Damn stupid habit, eh?” he said and laughed.
Through the clearing smoke, Dec noticed the man’s teeth. They were movie star teeth, a little yellow but straight and lots of them. He was somewhere in his thirties with a terrible mullet and big sideburns and Chinese letters tattooed the length of his neck. But his smile was infectious. If Dec had second thoughts about accepting a ride in a moving smokehouse, the smile charmed him into the cab. He slammed the door and the water-haulage man worked through the gears to get his rig back on the road. There wasn’t much traffic on County Road 10. There never was.
“Here,” said the driver, reaching into his shirt pocket. He handed Dec a crumpled pack of Players.
“I don’t smoke,” said Dec.
“Me, neither,” said the driver, talking loudly over the drone of the engine. “Do me a favour and get rid of’em.” He burst out laughing again. “Save me from myself, buddy. Save me!“
Dec reluctantly took the package. He felt like the butt of a joke he didn’t get. The driver’s eyes were glittering or maybe just watering from the rush of air coming in through his wide-open window. Now he flashed his movie star teeth again. “If I tossed ’em out the cab, I might get pulled over for littering, right? And I don’t want to give the cops no excuse. No way. Not with my rep.”
Dec nodded. He slipped the mostly empty cigarette package into his breast pocket. For some reason, the driver roared with laughter again. Dec grasped the door handle.
“I’m already breakin’ the law,” the man said. Without taking his eyes off the road, he leaned towards Dec. “And you’re my accomplice.” They were rolling along by now. There was no chance of escape. Dec glanced at the driver, who was smiling through squinty eyes. “You’re in over your head, kiddo,” he added. “You’re in big time.”
Dec stared at the tattoo on his neck. The man turned and flashed another smile. “You’re thinking, ‘Jesus H. Christ, I just hitched myself the ride from hell.’ Am I right or am I right?”
Dec shrugged, and that set the driver chuckling again. “You want to know my crime?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a reply. “‘Course you do, being my accomplice and all. Well, I’m taking this here back road so as not to get weighed.” He glanced at Dec. “I said weighed, boy. W-E-I… whatever. Get it?”
Dec didn’t.
“You see, the Department of Transport up there on Highway 7 got their weigh station open today and I’ve got too much load on.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “Just water,” he said reassuringly.
Dec managed a grin. The guy was harmless. “You sure it’s not bootleg liquor?” he asked.
The driver cocked an eyebrow. “Now, there’s a plan,” he said. “You got any?” Dec chuckled. “We could be a team,” the man continued. “You source things out, ride shotgun, I lug the stuff.”
Dec nodded. They were nearing Cupar. It was only fifteen minutes past Cupar to his place.
“We could start off small. Just water,” the driver said. “We could steal all the water in Lanark County.”
The laughter burst out of Dec before he could stop it.
“Eh?” said the driver. “You up for that?”
Dec nodded. “Count me in.”
“Good stuff.” The driver rolled up his window to block out the noise. Dec watched him reach for his cigarettes before remembering he had given them away. “After we drain the county dry, we could start in on milk. Dawn raids on all the dairy farms.”
Dec laughed again. “Sort of work our way up to the hard stuff?”
“Now you’re talking,” said the driver. “You are just reading my mind, mister. But that’s not the end of it. Hell, no! I’m thinking the big money is in nuclear waste.” Then he lowered his head and peered into his sideview mirror for a good long moment. He let out a showy sigh of relief. “Phewww! Thought we had the fuzz on our tail there for a minute.”
Dec turned to look. The road was dead empty for as far back as he could see.
“I know this secret road up ahead,” he said. It was a foolish comment, just something to say. Just to keep the conversation rolling.
“That’s good to know,” said the driver. “Secret roads come in handy when you’re messin’ with stolen goods. What is it? An old prisoner-of-war camp or something like that?”
They were gearing down to pass through Cupar. Dec checked his watch. He would be home in plenty of time. This had worked out okay, he thought. Not only a ride, but a stand-up comic as well.
“It’s where the county road sort of swerves south,” he said, slouching in his seat.
“I know the spot. A few miles up ahead, right?”
Dec nodded. “The old county road used to follow the river. But there’s this big hill in the way and it gets too narrow for a two-lane. So they built the new road.”
The driver nodded, genuinely interested, and Dec realized he had said too much. The deserted road cut across the back end of the Steeple estate. It wasn’t public knowledge.
“It never hurts to have a hidey-hole or two,” said the water-haulage man, and he flashed Dec an easy grin.
Dec turned to look out his window. The Eden River came into view, turgid and brown, thick with run-off and yet still frozen in places along the banks. His companion was humming now. Everything was fine, Dec told himself, until the truck started to slow down.
At first he thought there was engine trouble. But there was no rattle, no smoke. The driver brought the rig to a stop without even pulling over.
“Is that the road?” he said.
They were at the very point where the two-lane highway started its long slow curve south, directly in front of the entrance to the old road. There was a deep ditch bridged by an overgrown and crumbling culvert. Beyond it the brush closed in.
You would never see it. Never. Not unless you were looking for it. If you were driving, you’d be too busy following the pavement, your gaze drifting southward. If you were a passenger, you’d likely be looking at the view to your right, where the Eden widened and was lined with willows, as pretty as a picture on a calendar.
“It’s completely grown over,” said Dec, backtracking nervously. “I wouldn’t want to take a chance.” He didn’t turn to meet the driver’s eye. He imagined this guy was crazy enough to try it.
But the water-haulage man just laughed. And then he stopped laughing. He wasn’t looking at the old road anymore. His eyes had wandered up to the tree-covered hilltop.
“Will you just look at that,” he whispered.
Dec didn’t need to look. Were it summer, the crest of the hill would have been a sea of green. In fall it was a sea of red. Only in winter or in early spring, like right now, before the leaves had unfurled, could you hope to catch a glimpse of Steeple Hall. Even then it took a keen eye to see it. You had to stare at the exact right place until the tower and chimneys and gables detached themselves from the camouflage of distance and forest and became something solid, something man-made.
Dec grunted. Then he made a point of looking at his watch. Once again the water-haulage man put the truck in gear, but this time without a word. Another couple of minutes and the road curved west and soon enough they came to Camelot. A plain split-level you would never look at twice.
“This one is me,” said Dec.
The driver applied his air brakes and brought the truck to a stop right at Dec’s driveway. “Hey, now ain’t that something!” he said. Dec followed his gaze to the mailbox on the other side of the road. It was a replica of Steeple Hall. His father had built it in his spare time. And since his father had nothing but spare time, it was intricately done, a marvel of craftsmanship. A passerby wasn’t likely to know about the house upon which it was modelled. But when the driver turned to shake Dec’s hand, the boy could see that he had made the connection, all right.
“Adios,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” He pumped Dec’s hand. “Amigo,” he added with a grin, his eyes shining like all get out.