Author: Don Lake

Yvette knew it was a crazy idea.  How could anyone think a microchip, injected into a person’s body, could seek and destroy cancer cells?  Still, there was nothing to lose.  They’d cut off her boyfriend’s leg if it failed anyway.  But, it worked.  And it worked agin on her aunt.  Then, when she tried to tell people her secret, no one believed her.  Only her old friend, Elena, now deeply involved in the local gang and drug scene, offered any help at all.  Together, they set off on an adventure to prove to the world that cancer was conquered.

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Chapter 1

The envelope sat alone on the narrow table in the entry hall, face up, clearly showing the University of California at Santa Barbara Graduate School of Engineering logo in the upper left hand corner. Gabriella’s mother walked past it several times that sunny, San Diego spring day. Each time she did, she smiled and thought how proud she was of her eldest daughter. Even if that envelope didn’t hold what Gabby hoped it would, consideration was an achievement.

Gabby parked in the driveway a little after six, came in through the garage, and plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table. “That’s it Ma. I did it. Today was the last class at San Diego State. Finals next week and I’m done.”

“You should be happy.” “Just exhausted. Wow! My favorite. That really smells good. Something special happening tonight?”

“Maybe.” Maria Cabrera wiped her hands on her apron, retrieved the envelope from the hall, and set it in front of her daughter.

Gabriella picked it up. Her hands shook so much she needed both of them to hold it still enough to read.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“I’m scared, Ma. What if …” the hard bang of the front door slamming shut caused her to jerk her head around.

“Hi, Gabby. Hi, Ma. Hey, that smells good, what’s up?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to slam the door?”

“Gotta celebrate. Won both the hundred and two-twenty today. Blew those Morse High girls away. They don’t call me Corvette for nothing. Whatcha got there Gabby?”

“The letter from UCSB.”

“Well open it,” Yvette said. “You’ve been waiting for it forever.”

Gabriella carefully slit open the envelope and removed the tri-folded letter. She unfolded it. As she read she began to slowly rise from her chair. Then, she leapt into the air, tossed the letter toward the ceiling, and screamed, “I’m in! They accepted me! And they gave me a technician’s job for twenty hours a week too. Woo-Hoo!”

Yvette wrapped her arms around her sister and gave her a bear hug.

Gabby collected the letter from the floor. “I can’t believe it. Me, in the Micro-Electronics department. Man. And my job’s in the Detector lab. How great is that?”

Both young women grabbed their phones and started texting. Maria picked up the handset with the twenty-foot extension cord, and began dialing. Less than an hour later Uncle Pedro and Auntie Beth arrived carrying a casserole overflowing with enchiladas. By dusk the Cabrera house was crawling with friends, neighbors, and relatives. Uncles Jack, Roberto, Dan, and Ben were playing Mariachi music around the fire pit. Laughter echoed everywhere.

Only Yvette and her six-foot-nine boyfriend, Daryl, sat quietly together. Every few minutes Yvette repositioned the ice pack on his outstretched leg. “My knee just hurts all the time. They say it’s just growing pains, but I know something’s wrong. It started hurting really bad at basketball camp. I just know there’s a problem in there,” he said.

“It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” “It’s not broken. There’s something else. I wish they’d find out what. I hate not knowing.”

* * * * *

Seven weeks after her junior year ended, Yvette was still working for her Aunt Blanca. “You’re amazing,” Blanca told her that Monday morning. “No other high school kid has lasted this long. Keep up the good work. Only three more weeks until school starts.”

Yvette sighed, got out of her aunt’s car, and walked toward the first house of the day. She’d been on a crew that cleaned four houses a day, six days a week, all summer. “FAST AND THOROUGH’ was the motto, and fast and thorough was what she was during her work day. Tired was what she was every night.

That night, after finishing the day with the largest, most knick-knacky house of her entire schedule, she collapsed in a chaise lounge under the pepper tree in her backyard. Her phone rested on her lap, but she laid her head back and closed her eyes rather than start texting. The Laker’s theme song ring she’d programmed for Daryl shook her out of her reverie.

“Hello. How’d it go at the doctor?” “Cancer. They found bone cancer. Osteosarcoma.”

Yvette screamed.

“They may have to chop my leg off at the knee.” Yvette screamed and sobbed at the same time. Her mother pushed open the screen door and ran to her youngest daughter.

“ ‘Vette. ‘Vette, are you there?”

Maria snatched the phone out of Yvette’s shaking hands. “Hello. Who is this?”

“It’s me. Daryl.”

“What’s wrong? Yvette’s collapsed into a crying blob.”

“They told me its cancer. They may have to chop my leg off.”

Maria sank into a chair next to Yvette. “Oh no. I knew you were in pain.”

Yvette grabbed the phone back from her mother.

“Yes, Mrs. Cabrera. But it’s a good thing I was. Without the pain it may have gone on much longer without being detected.”

“Daryl. Say it isn’t so. Say you’re joking.”

“I wish I was. The pain was the thing. There’s something special about cancer cells that cause them to hurt, at least when they’re in joints and organs. It feels like acid or something was poured in there.”

“Acid.”

“Well I don’t know that it’s acid, but that’s what it reminds me of after watching all those scary movies.” “What are you going to do?”

“The doctor is going to try some stuff, he says there’s not much anyone can do, except get lucky or cut the leg off.”

Yvette screamed again.

* * * * *

A week before the fall quarter started, Gabby drove home for a weekend with her family. Yvette sprawled on the living room couch, waiting for her sister, and trying to recover from her last day of house cleaning until Saturday. After a noisy reunion, the dinner dishes were cleared, washed, and put away, Gabby got a box out of her duffel bag, and sat with her mother and sister at the kitchen table.

“You guys won’t believe the cool project they’ve got me working on in the Detector Lab.”

Gabby took a small bottle, sealed with a plastic cap, out of the box. “Ma, ‘Vette, this is the greatest invention of all time.”

“Come on Gabby. All Time?” Yvette said.

“Top ten anyway.” Gabby held the bottle up to the light. “See these little flecks in there? Well, those are special micro-circuits, not only in what they do, but how they’re made.”

“Very nice, honey,” Maria cooed.

“Listen, those circuits are built on silk. Silicon micro-circuits on a silk substrate. We call it ‘Silicon on Silk’.”

“So.” Yvette looked half interested, half bored.

“SO! You see, silk dissolves in blood. Sooooo, you put these into the blood stream and they go around measuring things, or detecting things, and the body just naturally gets rid of them a couple days later. Just like if you get some dirt or something in a cut. Isn’t that cool?”

“I guess,” Yvette said.

“Now these here, they even have some iron on them, so once they’re in the blood stream you can use a magnet to steer them to the place you’re interested in. Steerable Silicon on Silk.”

“And that’s good, because?” Yvette asked.

“Well,” Gabby hesitated. “These ones were supposed to detect acid, and when they did, emit a short stream of electrons that an external meter could detect. They didn’t detect acid particularly well, and the electron beam killed the cells it hit, but it did earn it a name.”

“Let me guess,” Yvette said. “Streaming Steerable Silicon on Silk.”

“Hey, ‘Vette, very good. You’re right. The whole unit is called SSSS, pronounced sis.”

“I’m still not clear on the concept,” Yvette said.

“It’s a research tool. First, you inject one of these into the blood, and steer it to a spot in the body. Then, if what the device is programmed to find gets found, it emits a stream of electrons. It’s as easy as that.”

“Let me see if I’ve got it now,” Yvette said. “First you shoot up, then you take it to a place that hurts, then it goes ZAP, and then the hurt is gone.”

“Yeah. Kinda. Sure.” Gabby said. Yvette jerked bolt upright in her chair. “Really?”

“Really.”

Yvette looked in the box. She counted five bottles in it, each holding six micro-circuits.

“I’ve been up there two months now,” Gabby said, “and already I can make these. In fact I made every one of these.”

Maria said, “You made these?”

“Yeah, Ma. The lab’s kinda like a special kitchen. I just follow the recipe, and then bake them.”

“My goodness.”

“These don’t work quite the way the professor wants them to. We’ll be starting a new design next week. That was lucky for me. It gave me time to learn without pressure. They all liked what I did.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Maria said.

“Since these are obsolete, I get to keep them as souvenirs. Cool, huh? The people at the Detector Lab are really great.”

Gabby put the sixth bottle back in the box. “For now, I’ll keep them here in my closet. My place in Goleta doesn’t even have room for an extra pair of shoes.”

Yvette took the box, carried it to the bedroom she and Gabby shared for sixteen years, and carefully put it on the closet’s top shelf. When she returned to the kitchen, she heard her sister saying, “The thing is, Ma, all this is a super-secret. Nobody can say anything about any of it. But, I may get to write up some of the technical descriptions for the patents. How about that?”[/toggle]

[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 2″ title_closed=”Excerpt 2″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]

Chapter 2

It took Yvette until lunch on Monday to find Elena. Once good friends, they’d drifted apart when Elena began dating a member of the Verde Cruz gang. Now all Yvette could be sure of was that Elena would know where to get what she needed.

Yvette finally saw her old friend when Elena walked into the cafeteria. Yvette slid into line next to her just before the pile of trays next to the salad bar. “Hi, Vette, been awhile. How ya doin’?”

“Movin’ fast.”

“I heard. You were all-city last spring, right?”

“Yeah. Got lucky. You still runnin’ with the Verde Cruz guys?”

“Still am. Once you start it’s hard to stop.”

“I can imagine.”

Neither spoke again until they’d each picked up a tray and set them on the three stainless steel bars in front of the Jell-O. “El, I need a little help. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I’m gonna shoot-up. Can you get me a needle?”

The shorter girl turned and looked up into her old friend’s eyes. “Don’t do it. Especially you. Don’t do it.”

“It’s not what you think. Really.”

“It never is. Don’t do it.”

“The needle has to pass an object a hundredth of an inch wide. I think I need a special needle.”

“You’re right. They call those gutters. Weird for the first time.”

Yvette reached under the protective glass cover and slipped a Taco Salad onto her tray. “Can you get it? I’ll pay.”

Elena laughed. “Gear is free. You pay for what’s inside.”

“Um, I’ll be doing my own insides.”

“Oooooh, bad idea, Vette. You’re likely to kill yourself. Better to have a good supplier.”

“Can you get me what I need, even if I don’t buy anything?” “For you, Vette, sure. Meet me and Roberto in the parking lot after school tomorrow.”

* * * * *

Yvette arrived at the lot the next afternoon with her backpack slung over her shoulder and a leather briefcase big enough to hold two three-ring-binders in her hand. On her second scan of the cars in the lot she saw Elena leaning against the trunk of a candy-apple red, lowered, and flamed ’57 Chevy. Yvette waved, and then walked through a row of parked cars to meet her friend.

“Hi, El.”

“Hi Vette. I’ve got what you asked for, but I really gotta tell you again, it’s a really bad idea to make your own.”

“Got it.”

Elena held out a dark green, velvet box, about the size needed for a necklace. “Nice,” Yvette said.

Elena smiled. “Green velvet, the mark of the Verde Cruz. Everything’s first class.”

Yvette opened the box. Inside lay a milky, plastic syringe with gradations marked in CCs on one side. With the plunger depressed, it was about four inches long. Yvette snapped the box shut.

Elena then held out a second green velvet box, this one about the size needed for a bracelet. Yvette opened it to find three shiny silver needles, each embedded into a milky, plastic, threaded, circular block.

“Some assembly required,” Elena said. “You fill the syringe through the opening, and then screw the needle into it. Every time you use the needle you clean it. Boil it. The plastic won’t melt.”

Yvette examined the tip of one of the needles. It was cut on a diagonal, pointed and sharp, but with a large slot for the liquid to flow through. “That should do it.”

“It’s what you asked for.” Looks like I’ll need a pretty good vein for it.”

“Yeah, full-on mainline. Be careful.”

* * * * *

Daryl and Yvette sat side-by-side in the back of Daryl’s pick-up, leaning against the cab, their legs stretched out toward the tailgate. The Sycamore above them showed the first signs of fall in the yellow late afternoon sun. The happy squeals and laughs from the children playing on the climber at the other end of the parking lot washed over them. Yvette leaned over, kissed her boyfriend, and said, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Yvette slid down until her lap was next to Daryl’s aching knee. She unzipped the leather case, took out the larger green velvet box, a small bottle of water, a pair of tweezers, and one of the bottles holding the Silicon on Silk micro-circuits. She propped the syringe, open end up, between her legs. She carefully picked up a micro-circuit with the tweezers and dropped one, and then a second, into the syringe. Then she poured enough water in to reach the 100CC mark. The tiny pieces of silk floated on the water. Slowly, making sure not to spill the liquid in the syringe, she removed a needle from the smaller case, and screwed it onto the syringe.

“Okay, I’ve got that part right. I think.”

Daryl nodded.

Then she took a cotton ball out of the case and handed it to Daryl. “When I pull the needle out, you press this down on the spot, and hold it there until the bleeding stops.”

“I will.”

Yvette then took a small horseshoe magnet out of the case, removed the iron bar held between the magnet’s two legs, and balanced the magnet on her lap. Next she removed a bungee cord from the case, wrapped it around Daryl’s thigh a few inches above his knee, twisted the ends together, and handed them to Daryl.

“Roll over. The vein we want is on the back of your knee.”

The tall boy rolled onto his side, exposing the back of his knee below his basketball shorts to Yvette.

“Good. Now twist and tighten the bungee cord. When I see the vein, I’m going to stick the needle into it. Go on, twist.”

After a few seconds, Yvette pushed the needle into a blue line in Daryl’s leg, and prayed. With one hand she held the magnet against the skin, keeping it just below where she thought the tip of the needle should be. With the other hand, she slowly depressed the plunger until it was empty.

“Okay, release the bungee and be ready to hold the cotton.”

A few seconds later, Daryl said, “Ready.”

Yvette gently pulled the needle out of the leg. “Got it,” Daryl said. Yvette then slowly slid the magnet along the back of Daryl’s leg until she came to the knee joint. Once there, she counted to ten, moved the magnet a half inch, counted to ten again, and repeated the procedure until the ends of the magnet had rested on every square inch of the knee. As she moved from spot to spot, she watched a purple blood bruise slowly spread across Daryl’s knee and creep up his thigh. “Did you feel anything? It looks ugly.”

“Nope, didn’t feel a thing.” Daryl leaned back against the cab.

Yvette unscrewed the needle, put it back in its box, put the syringe in its box, put the bar back across the magnet’s legs, and then put everything back into the leather case. When she slumped back against the cab, he put his arms around her, held her until she stopped shaking, and then gave her a long, gentle kiss.

“How did you know how to do all that?” he asked.

“I didn’t. I made it up.”

“Do you really think it’ll work?” She looked into his eyes. “No.”

“Me neither.”

Yvette added, “But no harm done. Those micro-circuits will dissolve and go away in a couple of days, no matter what.

* * * * *

Yvette’s phone began blaring the Laker’s theme song three hours before Daryl was to pick her up for the evening’s football game. “Hey, Vette, get on down to the gym. You’ve got to see this.”

Ten minutes later Yvette walked into the gym, passed the practicing girls’ volleyball teams, and entered the side of the auxiliary gym area set aside for basketball. One group of boys were playing five-on-five, full court. Several other players sat by courtside awaiting their turn. Yvette leaned against the wall and watched.

Daryl, a full six-inches taller than anyone else, and almost a foot taller than the boy guarding him, dribbled beyond the three point line waving a play to his teammates. He took one step right, passed, spun, took two giant steps down the lane, caught the return pass, stopped, and shot a five-foot jumper.

“Too close!” yelled his defender.

“Sorry.” “Hey, man. You’re too tall. You gotta stay outside to make things fair.”

“Sorry. It’s been awhile.”

After Daryl’s team made their eleventh basket, the losers left the court, and Daryl rushed over to Yvette. “Did you see that? Did you?”

“Yeah. A little awkward, but not bad.”

“No, not that. I’m out here. No pain, nothing. Everything’s fine again. Isn’t that great? Gotta get back out there. Pick you up at seven.”[/toggle]

All Lolo wanted to do was to get an A on her freshman science project.  She didn’t want to scare anyone, well maybe just Sam, the class bully.  She didn’t want an accomplice, especially Rye.  And she surely didn’t want to incur the wrath of Sacajawea and the entire Nez Perce tribe.  But since she did, she had to deal with it, somehow.

[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 1″ title_closed=”Excerpt 1″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”] Lauren slammed shut her laptop when she heard the screams, and dashed up the stairs. Her little sister, Brianna, gestured wildly at her collection of birthday cards on display on the kitchen window sill. Every one of the musical ones was singing.

At the sink their mother jabbed at the buttons of the blender in front of her. The electric can opener and the electric wine opener ground away on the adjacent counter.

“What happened? Are you OK?” Lauren yelled above the noise.

“Everything started all at once,” her mother said.

Lauren gagged at the orange goo splattered all over her mother’s face, the kitchen walls and ceiling.

Her mother picked up the can opener and asked, “How do I stop these things?”

Lauren pulled the can opener plug out of its wall socket. It stopped. Then she unplugged both the blender and the wine opener. They stopped. Brianna opened and closed each of the musical cards. Each quit making noise.

“Thank goodness. Look at this mess. Look at me. There’s acorn squash all over everywhere.”

“Mom, what in the world happened up here?” Lauren asked in her normal voice.

“I don’t know. All of a sudden everything just started. It was like a ghost blew through the house. Weird.”

“I thought I felt a gust of cold air right when it happened,” Brianna said. “I didn’t know whether to scream or shiver.”

“You screamed.” Lauren said. “You both screamed.”

Lauren’s mom plugged the blender back into the wall. Nothing happened. When she pushed a button it hummed to life. Another push and it stopped. Brianna opened one of her cards. It sang. When she closed it, it stopped. Lauren plugged in the can opener and wine opener. Both stayed quiet.

“It looks like everything is back to working the way it is supposed to. Brie, come help me clean up this mess. Lolo, are you done with your homework?”

“Almost Mom. The science project is taking longer than I thought it would. I was working on it when you screamed. It’s due tomorrow.”

“Then you’d better go finish it.”[/toggle]

[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 2″ title_closed=”Excerpt 2″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”] Lauren carried her laptop, science project, and her report around school all day until she finally got to her 5th period science class. The teacher stood at the door collecting each student’s report when they stepped into the classroom. At the sound of the bell, he shut the door, marched to the head of the class, and said, “Those of you who would like to get extra credit by demonstrating their project to all of us, raise your hands.”

Six students held up their hands. The teacher noted the names on separate scraps of paper, put them in a jar, shook the jar, held it front of Ryan, and said,

“Mister Hardtke, please draw the name of the first demonstrator.”

“Hey, Rye,” came a baritone voice from the back of the class. “You finally got something you can do.” Several classmates laughed.

Lauren sat quietly, bent over her desk with her head in her hands. She leaned back and looked up when Ryan called out, “Robert Thompson.”

He and three others demonstrated before Lauren grabbed her backpack and started for the front of the classroom. “Hey, Lolo,” came the baritone voice from the back. “You doing boring again?”

Lauren turned toward the voice. “Cover your eyes, Sam, or you’ll be blinded.”

Lauren set her laptop on the table, connected the cable to the dark green board, positioned the board so that the narrow end pointed toward the ceiling, and the LEDs facing out toward the class. “This is my Fibonacci based, music driven, light generator,” she announced.

“Fibonacci is a specific numerical sequence. I used it to determine the position of the light emitting diodes, or LEDs, for you Sam and all the rest of you who are technically challenged.”

A low oooooh spread across the classroom.

“The music determines which lights are when, and how bright they are. I picked the first movement of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony as the music. It’s only got four notes, so even Sam can understand it.”

Ryan laughed. Everyone else turned to look at Sam. “Dazzle me Lolo. You do it good and I’ll name a pass after you.”

Several students laughed. Lauren did a little curtsy.

She reached over and hit a key on her laptop. Ta-Ta-Ta-Tah rang out at the highest volume the laptop could produce. The LEDs erupted in brilliant light in synchronism to the rhythm of the music. The smoke and gas detector in the ceiling joined in with an ongoing series of high pitched screeching noises.

“Hot stuff, Lolo!” Sam yelled. He jumped up and dashed toward the door.

“Fire drill! Fire drill! Everyone out. Assemble at the far end of the parking lot,” the teacher hollered over the din.

The students gathered their things and fled the classroom. Lauren stuffed her laptop and project into her backpack and left them. Ryan followed her. They could hear alarms screeching from all over the school as they hurried down the hall toward the double doors that led to the student parking lot.

“How’d you do that, Lolo?” Ryan asked when they were far enough away from the building to be heard.

“I didn’t.”

“Sure looked like it.”

“Pure coincidence.”

All of the students in Orofino High stood in class groups in the warm May sunshine. Every teacher took attendance. The screeching stopped abruptly thirty seconds before the bell rang ending the school day.

“Going to math club, Lolo?” Ryan asked.

“Yes. I guess it’s OK to go back in.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”[/toggle]

[toggle title_open=”Close Readers Group Discussion Questions” title_closed=”Readers Group Discussion Questions” hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]

1. The ghost in Sacajawea’s Ghost stems from a glitch in electronic technology, yet everyone involved immediately assumes it to be ghost. Why? What alternative explanation is available to everyone but Lauren and Ryan?
2. A major theme throughout the story is the puppy love Ryan has for Lauren. Does he know what’s happening to him? Is he even capable of understanding his feelings? What are her feelings for him?
3. Lauren uses her ‘feminine wiles’ to get Ryan to do things for her. Are her actions instinctive? Is she a manipulating, controlling person? What are her motivations?
4. The status of the American Indians underlies many of the story’s characters actions. Are the Indians an unjustly discriminated group? Do they have privileges unavailable to other Americans? What should be done to change things?
5. Fame and fortune motivate most people in the media industry, no matter how large or small their stage. Is it right to for the media to exploit cultures and religions to advance a career as Geoffrey did?
6. Those in power frequently use their position for personal greed at the expense of those they control. Do the Nez Perce Chief Timothy and the business consultant Ken over use their power for their own benefit?
7. Religion can range from corporate to emotionally manipulative. Both occur in this story. Are such extremes valid? If so. Why?
8. Central government extends its reach everywhere, including to small, rural towns like Orofino. Is such an omnipresent reach justified? Would the characters in the story be better off with more, or less, Federal government intervention?
9. A major theme of the story is that music can be used to manipulate human behavior in many cultures for a variety of reasons. Have you ever been used by music? Have you ever used music to attain your goals?
10. Lauren manages to conceal her actions from her parents. She even gets them to help her in several small ways. Can most teens successfully do that? Or, do parents condone such behavior? If so. Why?[/toggle]

RoboDoc is the story of Jerry Kindall, a high school senior and the best video game player anyone had ever seen, his girlfriend Sarah, who gives Jerry a Christmas present of her pregnancy, Jerry’s first job, his hard-nosed ex-Marine boss Hank, and Max, the robot he brings to a level of success unimagined by any and all involved. Jerry and Sarah make the difficult choice of having their baby. Although they are not ready for the physical and emotional hardships that decision entails, they take on the challenge. Jerry, Sarah, and Max grow and mature until Max’s success triggers greed in those around them, and potential mortal danger to them all. Set in the development laboratory of a medical technology company and the surrounding San Diego neighborhoods, spotlights the best of America’s youth and its innovation.

[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 1″ title_closed=”Excerpt 1″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]She sat waiting on the lowered tailgate of a faded green, old pickup jammed into a spot in the student parking lot. She didn’t wave when she spotted him starting down the stairs next to the Grossmont High School sign. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting here forever!” she said when he reached her.

“Hey, the bell only rang five minutes ago and the science building is all the way across campus,” he said.

He slid up onto the tailgate next to her. When he leaned to put his arm around her, she yelled, “Don’t touch me! Stay back.”

He dropped his arm. “What’s wrong? Our last Christmas break in high school starts today. No classes for two weeks. Presents for everybody. You’re supposed to be happy.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said in disgust. “I’m three weeks late for my period, so I took the test today. I’m pregnant.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. You promised you’d be careful. You did it. Beast!”

“I was. We were,” he stammered.

“What’ll I tell my father? He’s gonna kill me,” she said.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, stunned.

“Not so loud. Everyone can hear you.” She put her hand over his mouth.

“What’ll I do? I’m scared. What’ll I tell mom? What’ll I do?”

He wrapped his arms around her. She stopped shaking, put her head on his shoulder and started crying. He held her until he felt her go limp. “Just don’t tell anybody, Sarah. Don’t tell your mother. Don’t tell your friends, nobody. Don’t say a thing to anyone. We’ll figure it all out by the time school starts again.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t, I mean, I’ll try.”

“This is all going to be all right. Don’t worry,” he said.

“I am worried. I’m scared. What’ll I do?”

“OK then, be worried. Be scared. It’s natural. Just don’t tell anybody. Don’t act nervous. Act like you’re having a great Christmas,” he said. “Really. Who knows what next Christmas will be like?”

Sarah stared to cry again.

“Remember, don’t tell anyone until we figure out what to do.”

“I’ll try. I’ll try my very hardest.”

“You’ll do fine, I know you will,” he said. Then he hugged her again.

* * * * *

The day after Christmas Jerry’s dad somehow managed to hear the doorbell over the sounds of the video game blasting from the family room. He opened the door just as the sound of the loudest explosion yet echoed through the house.

“Hi Sarah,” he said. “Come on in.”

The two walked into the family room. “Jerry,” his dad said. “You’ve got company. I’ll be in the shop if you need anything.”

“Hang on a second,” Jerry said without turning his head. The action on the 54 inch wall mounted monitor continued for a few seconds before it paused. A second or two later the screen went dark. Satisfied, Jerry swiveled his chair around.

“It’s you. I didn’t expect you so early,” he said. “This is the upgrade to GI Sweeper. Got it for Christmas.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Are you feeling OK? You look a little pale.”

“A little sick this morning, but I didn’t throw up.”

Jerry jumped up from his chair. He moved to Sarah’s side, took her hand, and led her to the leather couch. “Here, sit down.” He put his arm around her and gave her a hug.

“I’ve decided what to do,” she said.

Jerry sat quietly, waiting.

“I’ve really thought about this. I’m not too good at school, so I decided a career isn’t for me. I haven’t got any special talents. All I know is that I really like kids.So, I decided that what I’m here on earth for is to be a mother.”

Jerry stared into her eyes.

“I’m going to have my baby, Jerry.”

Jerry’s head dropped. He put his hand over his forehead. He gazed down at his lap. Neither spoke for several moments.

“I’m going to have my baby. I’m going to raise it, care for it, and turn it into a wonderful person. I’m going to do it whether you’re around or not. It’s my baby. I’m going to take care of it.”

“It’s our baby,” Jerry whispered.

It was Sarah’s turn to stare.

“I’ve thought a lot too,” Jerry said. “I decided that it was your choice. I’m glad you made it. I decided that if you were going to have it, then I would be right there with you, all the way, no matter what. I’ll be there to take care of you and the baby. That’s what I’m supposed to do. That’s what I want to do. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Sarah hugged him. She cried. When she could finally talk, she asked “What’s going to happen?”

Jerry whispered into her ear. “I don’t know. All I know is that a zillion others have gone through it and lived happily ever after. We will too.”
[/toggle]

[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 2″ title_closed=”Excerpt 2″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]Jerry trailed behind the wheelchair across the large open room. Hank threw open a set of double doors and rolled into a small room, not much bigger than a walk-in closet.

The two of them stopped in front of what Jerry thought might just pass for a very large beer keg; round, silver, and flared at the base like bell bottom pants. Protruding from each side was one of its four arms. Equally spaced around the top were twelve high-speed combination color, black-and-white, and infrared television cameras. The whole assembly sat on a chassis sporting a pair of caterpillar treads. Three different antennas poked up out of the top.

“Nice,” Jerry whispered under his breath.

“Don’t let it fool you,” Hank said. “There’s really not much to it. Disposable you know. Your truck has much more in the way of mechanical stuff than RoboDoc. It’s a simple machine. Except for the electronics, of course. They’re really something.”

“Sir, I figure the first thing is to make it move,” Jerry said.

“Right on, Boot. There are four wheels under that belly. Two steer, two are fixed. You get to decide which two are which.”

“Wheels, sir? I just see tracks.”

“Wheels for smooth surfaces. He’ll do thirty on a road,” Hank said. “The tracks are for rough terrain.”

“Vision, sir?”

“Day, night, bright, dim, he can see in any condition. In any direction. Binocular vision too. All you have to do is pick which cameras to use.”

“Really, sir.”

“Yep.”

“Can he recognize where he’s going, sir?”

“Good question, Boot,” Hank laughed. “There’s basic daylight road capability already installed. Night, especially night off-road, well, we’ve got to teach him that.”

“Does he know any evasive moves? Any moves at all?” Jerry paused a moment before adding, “Sir.”

“Now then, Boot. You’re the video game expert. You’ve got all the moves down pat. All you have to do is teach them all to him.”
Jerry shifted his gaze from RoboDoc to the man sitting in the wheelchair beside him.

“You got ‘em,” Hank said. “You teach ‘em.”

“Sir, I crashed a zillion times learning some of those moves. What if RoboDoc crashes and breaks?” Jerry asked.

“Start slow, but RoboDoc’s tough. I doubt you’ll break him. If you do, it’ll give the lads up front something to work on to improve him.”

“I see, sir.”

“Besides, you’ll have everything worked out on the simulator first,” Hank said.

“Right, sir. I forgot.”

“If it simulates right and crashes in the field, or the other way around, well, the guys up front need to know that too,” Hank said.
Jerry went up and touched RoboDoc’s arm, and then the shiny body. “It’s cold, sir.”

“Of course it is, Boot. You haven’t given it life yet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’ll be your second life this year, eh, Boot?”[/toggle]

[toggle title_open=”Close Readers Group Discussion Questions” title_closed=”Readers Group Discussion Questions” hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]

1. What does the title “RoboDoc” suggest to you? When does Max appear in the story as a baby, and how does he mature? Is the prospect of having robots become doctors a good thing or not? Why?
2. Throughout the novel, Jerry, Sarah and Max must face life changing decisions at different stages of their individual maturation. How does each character’s response evolve as the story progresses? Are the characters able to understand the relative importance of each decision when t occurs?
3. Few high school boys ever try to support the girls they impregnate, and fewer still succeed. Jerry does. What elements in his character and background compel him to make the effort? As the pregnancy progresses, what elements reinforce his resolve?
4. The character of Sarah undergoes dramatic changes in the novel. She goes from her first appearance as a frightened, pregnant teen-age girl, to a secure bride-to-be and mother-to-be. Why do you think she originally choose to have intercourse with Jerry? Do you think she fell in love with him then, or at any time in the story? When did she consciously realize he was the right boy for her?
5. Jerry is forced to work in a strict military like environment all night, yet must change into a high school environment tempered by romance during the day. How does he manage that? Do the other characters relate to his plight? If so, how?
6. Hank fills many rolls in the novel; disciplinarian, teacher, counselor, protector, savior mentor. What essential elements of his character remain steadfast during all these rolls? Is his identity influenced by those around him? In what ways does Hank represent the typical R&D first line supervisor?
7. Jerry realizes early in his job that he is, in a very important way, giving “life” to his infant robot. How does that realization affect his relationship with Sarah? Does she understand and relate to his relationship with Max?
8. A family’s religion can affect teenagers in a variety of ways. How did her family’s religion affect Sarah? How did it affect Jerry? How did it affect Sarah and Jerry’s relationship?
9. What is the significance of removing Max’s programming after every shift? Did Hank choose to do it too soon? When confronted, did he reveal his order too soon? Did this activity make Jerry and Hank good or bad employees?
10. Max’s unexpected success has a significant impact on all the authorities within the company, and by the company’s customer, the US military. The affects include greed, technical admiration, protectionism, and exploitation. Which characters were affected in which ways, and why?[/toggle]

 

Boy meets girl, aaah, love at first sight! But what happens when a real flesh and blood girl steps in between the boy and his first car? Any of a million different things can happen, but what actually happens depends on the car, and the times. Orofino Wheels tells the stories of five different couples and their cars, each story set in a different time- the Roaring Twenties, the Depression Thirties, the Postwar Forties, the Rock-and-Roll fifties, and the Vietnam Sixties – and each with a car of the times. The cars evolve, the times change, but true love is timeless.

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Chapter 1

The first time he saw her, she was in the way. He had to edge around her, making sure he wouldn’t touch her somewhere he shouldn’t, and then he had to find what he was after in her shadow. But, she smelled good. He would never forget that smell. Somehow, she was the only one that ever smelled that way. When he asked his dad about it, he just said, “Boys will be boys, it just happens.”

In the following few days, whenever he brought up her name, his friends made fun of her. No style, they said. Too big, not fast, and never would be. It wasn’t always that way. He looked it up in the old newspaper in the library. The day she arrived on the train from Spokane, she drew a crowd at the station. When she first went down Main Street, at least a dozen men followed her. A few said it was just because she was black, but most thought she was the best thing that ever hit town.

Bjorn Bergstrom, everyone called him BB, was sixteen that summer of 1926. His father, Sven, brought BB, and the rest of his family, to Orofino two years before. Sven came to manage sector three for the Camas Prairie Railroad. The company provided a house on the still unpaved corner of Fourth and Main, gave them passes to Lewiston, Kamiah, Weippe, and Grangeville, and expected Sven to grow the road’s lumber and grain shipping business. For BB, it all meant that he never knew a day he wasn’t around machines, usually with a wrench in his hands.

* * * * *

The next time he saw her, he was following his uncle Ollie, and pulling a battery charger behind him. “Make sure you disconnect that battery before you start charging it,” Ollie said. “No telling what might be draining it.”

BB and Ollie sat on the driver’s side running board waiting while the battery charged. “You know, son,” Ollie began, “Your grandma quit driving almost two years ago. Don’t know why. Maybe she just got too old. Maybe the car broke.”

“You think the car’s broke?”

“Maybe not broke. Maybe just sick. These old nail-head sixes have this funny rocker arm lube system. Works great when it’s clean, but will ruin the valves when it’s not. Around here, going up and down the mountains and all, you can easily burn the oil and turn her into a hayburner. Yeah, you gotta change the oil and clean the wicks every five-hundred miles or so.”

BB stared at his uncle.

“If you’re gonna drive this beast, you gotta learn how to do all the maintenance it needs. She’s not like today’s cars.”

“Gee, Uncle Ollie, Grandma gave it to me. I’ll take good care of it. I swear.”

BB took a rag out of his back pocket and started to brush the dust off of a fender.

“Let me tell you something, BB. If you go around in something that looks good, but doesn’t perform like it should, everybody will know you’re a fake, a con-man, or a show-off. That’s a bad reputation. Better your machine runs good, and you can fix anything that goes wrong. Then you get a reputation as a real man.”

“That’s what I want.”

“Well then, son, when you drive this old car, you better know exactly how she’s doing by how she feels, and how she sounds. Take your time. And, get it right.”

BB reached under the front seat, and pulled out the manual. Just reading the title on the cover made him smile. ‘1920 Buick Model K-Six-50 Seven Passenger Sedan.’ It was his, sick or not.

Ollie got the old Buick started, and nursed it the three blocks from Grandma Ingrid’s shed to the back of Sven’s covered side yard. BB and Ollie managed to get all four wheels off the ground by jacking her up, and then resting each axle on a Lodgepole Pine round. When they finished, Ollie brushed his hands together, and said, “There you go. It’s yours to get running right. Good luck.”

BB started by taking the wheels off, removing the inner tubes, and patching them so that they would reliably hold air. He put an emergency patch kit in the drawer under the rear seat. The manual showed twelve grease fittings. Ten were easy to find. BB searched for over an hour to find the other two. He gave a sigh of relief when he discovered the last one was a half inch from the log holding up a rear axle. It took the grease.

BB lay in the dust of the side yard, wiping the grease gun clean, when he heard a young voice behind him say, “Hi, BB.”

“Well hello, Dennis. How’s my favorite six-year-old neighbor kid?”

“You’re all dirty. Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m working on my car. I’m making it run right.”

Dennis lay down next to BB, and scooted under the Buick. “You doin’ somethin’ under here?”

“Yeah. I put grease in all the nipples. Can you see any?”

Dennis reached up and wiped the excess grease off of one of them. “Yeah,” he said. “This stuff is yucky.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait ‘til I drain the oil,” BB said.

“Can I help?” “Nah. You’re too small. You can watch, though, if you promise to stay out of the way.”

“I will.”

BB slid a large pan under the crankcase, put a wrench on the drain plug, and slowly began turning. At first, nothing happened. After another turn, a few drops came out. Then, all at once, the plug dropped into the pan, and oil gushed out of the drain hole.

“Whee! Look at that,” Dennis cried.

BB snatched the rag out of his pocket, and wiped the oil off of his hand, arm and the wrench. The two boys lay under the car, waiting for the last drop of oil to dribble out of the crankcase, and looking at the underneath of the Buick. Dennis pointed to a bulge in the rear axle. “What’s this?” he asked.

“That’s called a differential. It makes sure the rear wheels roll right when you go around a corner. One has to roll faster than the other, you know.”

Dennis pointed to a long rod. “What’s this?”

“That’s the drive shaft. It sends the power from the front of the car to the back. It’s got U-Joints.”

Dennis pointed at the large metal cone near BB’s head. “What’s that?”

“That’s the transmission. It chooses what gear to be in. This car has four different ones.”

With that, Dennis scooted out from under the car and said, “Bye,” and ran off toward his house.

“Someday, he’ll understand and not get bored,” BB said to the last drop of oil plopping into the pan.

Next, BB tried to remove the valve cover without ruining the gasket. He failed. But he did manage to get all six wicks out of their sleeves, clean them with kerosene, and get them reassembled.

BB jumped when he heard is father say, “How’s it going?”

“Okay, except for this gasket. It’s ruined. It was really stuck. Sven looked at the valve cover, and the top of the engine block. “You gotta get those surfaces clean, or it’ll leak like the dickens. Use a wire brush and lots of kerosene.”

“I will.”

“Did you look under the backseat, or maybe in Grandma’s shed for a new one? Maybe there are some spares somewhere.”

“I’ll look.”

“If you can’t find any, go down to Triple-A Auto Parts. They sell rolls of gasket material. You make an outline of what you need with butcher paper, then you trace onto the gasket stock, cut it out, and by jiminy, you’ve got yourself a gasket. Just make sure you cut very carefully. Any slip or hole, and it’s ruined.”

“Thanks, Pa, I’ll do it

.” * * * * *

BB couldn’t wait for Saturday to arrive. He’d shown his dad how well the old car ran on Tuesday, but had to wait until Sven had a day off to try it out on the road. Saturday morning the sun shown at dawn for the first time all spring. BB thought it a really good omen.

Before they took the Buick off the blocks, Sven sat BB behind the wheel. “We start by working the pedals. Let me see how you do the clutch. It’s pretty heavy. You need a lot of strength.”

BB pushed the clutch pedal down with his left foot.

“Not so fast,” Sven said. Let me see you let it up slow. You’ve got to feel the clutch engage. That’s important.”

BB pushed the clutch in, and gradually let it up. About halfway he stopped, and held it. “I think it feels different right about here.”

“We’ll see. Now, start her up.”

BB set the spark advance to the cold start position, pulled the choke, turned the key, pushed in the clutch, and pressed the starter button. The engine belched once, blew a puff of smoke out of the tailpipe, and roared to life. Sven gave the thumbs-up sign. BB waited a few seconds, and then moved the spark advance. The engine settled into a smooth idle.

“Nice work, son. She sounds really good.”

A big grin lit up BB’s face.

“Okay, now let’s see you work the gears. Put her in first, and let out the clutch.”

BB jammed the clutch pedal all the way to the floorboard, and moved the floor mounted shift lever into the lower left position of the shifter’s H-pattern.

Sven said, “Don’t forget to give her a little gas when you feel the clutch take hold.”

BB nodded, took a deep breath, and began to let the clutch pedal come up off of the floorboard. A couple of seconds later, the car lurched, the engine coughed but kept running, and the rear wheels began to spin. Sven broke into a loud laugh. “Not too smooth there BB,” he said when he got control of himself. “Now try second.”

BB pushed in the clutch, moved the shifter to the second position and gunned the engine when he felt the clutch take hold. “Easy there, easy. You rev that engine too much before the clutch is fully engaged, and you’ll burn her up in no time.”

A red blush crawled over BB’s face.

“Try third.” BB shifted.

“That’s better. Now brake with your right foot and try it again.”

After ten times through the transmission sequence, Sven said, “Okay, BB, let’s get her down and try her out in the street.”

Ten minutes later, the Buick Six-50 sat on its wheels, idling smoothly, BB behind the wheel, and Sven in the front passenger seat. “Okay BB, put her in first, slowly steer her straight to the street, and then stop.”

Two lurches later the car slowly rolled through the Bergstrom’s side yard. She stopped, and stalled, at the curb. “Not bad, BB,” Sven said. “Just remember, driving means doing lots of things at once. You work the pedals with your feet, the steering wheel and gearshift with your hands, the road front, back and both sides with your eyes, all the while listening to everything going on around you. And, you do all that at the same time, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now take her out onto Main, and head for the station.”[/toggle]

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Chapter 5

He smelled it long before he saw it. Somehow, the low, gray, winter mist that hung in the Clearwater River Valley softened the sounds, but spread the aromas. The ground covered with snow seemed to exaggerate the intensity. Not that the distinctive smell of rye based moonshine could be mistaken for anything else. The odor in the alley behind the house made him guess at least a case must have fallen off of a truck close by.

Dennis saw it when he reached the side of his house, or at least he saw enough through the crowd of people, to figure out what happened. He couldn’t remember such a crowd since BB and Helga drove off after their wedding reception. He saw the front end of a logging truck resting in the back seat of a Model-18 Ford. The truck didn’t look hurt at all. The Ford would never roll down a road again.

The people mulled around the crash site waiting for Doctor Morgan to arrive. When he did, he had his young son in tow. “My car, oh my God, look what happened to my car.”

The uniformed police officer said, “You reported it missing three days ago. Looks like somebody wanted it to run shine.”

“That’s what I get for buying that V-8 engine. I figured I needed the speed to rush to my patients in emergencies. Now look.”

The doctor let go of his son’s hand to pry open a door and look inside his ruined car. The boy immediately made a bee-line for the snow piled up by the roadside. When he stepped past it, and headed for the railroad tracks, Dennis went after him. He scooped the boy up from between the rails, and said, “Hey, little guy, where you goin’? What’s your name?”

“My name is Galen, and I’m going swimming.”

“Not today, there’s ice in the river, but I’ll bet I know something even better. Wanna try?”

“Okay.”

Dennis carried his charge across the street, up his driveway, and into the garage where a 1930 Ford Fordor Sedan with a blown engine, sat parked. He snatched the inner tube that leaned against her, hiked up Canada Hill to the alley, turned right past the Bergstrom’s house, and stopped at the vacant lot. He put the tube on the snow, held it while he settled on to it, and then set Galen on his lap.

“Ready, Galen? Hold on.”

Dennis pushed off with both hands, got the tube started down the steep part of the hill, and wrapped his arms around the boy.

“Whee!” Galen screamed until the tube came to rest at the snow pile at the edge of Main Street.

“Faster, faster, faster.”

“Okay little fella, up the hill, get going.”

This time they took a flight of stairs up from the alley, and climbed a little higher, before they stopped. Dennis himself positioned himself, had Galen pile on, and then started the tube sliding down the snow. They picked up speed, flew off of the cliff above the alley, bounced once, flew onto the lower hill, and didn’t stop until they hit the snow pile.

“Faster, faster, faster, more, faster,” Galen yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Okay up the hill.”

They went past where they’d started before, and climbed until they came to a low hanging tree branch. When ready, Dennis grabbed the branch, swung on it, and launched the tube, the boy, and himself down the hill. They flew off of the cliff, almost cleared the alley, but hit the far edge. The tube flipped sideways, threw Dennis face first down one side of the track, and rolled Galen down the other.

The doctor rushed to pick up his son. “Oh, tiger, are you all right?”

“Whee, faster, faster, more, faster.”

“No, you’re all wet and covered with snow.”

“More, faster.”

Dennis retrieved the tube from across the street, and went to join Galen and his father. The doctor looked at him, and said, “I know you, you’re Dennis Petty, the banker’s son.”

“Yes, sir. I live next door there.”

“More, faster, faster.”

“He liked it,” the doctor said.

“It’s fun.” Dennis paused. “Uh, sir, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” “What are you going to do with your car?”

“Junk it, I suppose. Why?”

“I was wondering if I could have it.”

The doctor furrowed his brow. “I don’t know why not. Why?”

“I’d like the engine, and maybe the transmission if it still works. It’s to go into the old Model-A we’ve got. Her engine’s blown. I’d take care of junking the rest.”

“Uh, sure, if the insurance company doesn’t care. They’ve got to get me a new car, but I can’t imagine them wanting the old one for any reason.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You go over there and tell the tow truck guy where to put it.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

* * * * *

Dennis waited until after supper to put on his coat, and walk through the gently falling snow to the Bergstroms house. Sven answered the knock. “Hello, Dennis, come on in.”

Sven closed the door behind them, and said, “What brings you over here on a night like this?”

“I’d like to ask a favor, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like your permission to borrow some of your tools. I plan to replace the engine in my old Model-A, and you know my Pa, he doesn’t have many tools.”

Sven smiled. “Sure, Dennis. Hardly anyone’s used them since BB left. Help Yourself.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care of them.”

“I don’t have the engine hoist here. There’s one down at the yard though. You tell Jock I told you that you could borrow it. He’s slowed down some, and only works afternoons, but he’ll give you a hand with it.”

“I’ll do it. Thank you again, sir.”

” * * * * *

Saturday morning the sun shone, the snow had all melted, and the late March air gave the hint of an early spring. Dennis, in just his T-shirt and jeans, sprawled across the fender of the half-wrecked Model-18, socket wrench in hand, struggling to loosen the engine mount bolts. He’d easily disconnected the hoses, belts, and electrical connections. Just the engine mounts slowed him down.

“Excuse me.”

The unexpected female voice made him twitch, and bump his head on the hood. He turned to see his classmate, black haired, dark eyed Carolynn, standing behind him.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect anyone. Especially you.”

“I won’t stay long.”

“No, it’s okay, I need a break anyway. These bolts are stubborn. I guess the kerosene needs more time to soak in. What’s up?”

“My brother left something in the car. He asked me to come and get it.”

“Your brother stole Doc’s car?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s just the driver.”

“Oh. You know the police checked it pretty carefully.” She looked down at her feet. “It’s pretty personal. Could I look?”

“No. I will. Where is it?”

Carolynn hesitated. Finally she said, “Okay. It’s behind the vanity mirror. You know, on the passenger side visor.”

Dennis climbed in through the driver’s side, flipped down the visor, and said, “It’s all sewn together.”

“Look carefully, on the right side.”

“Oh, I see it now.” He pushed the fabric slightly away from the mirror, and extracted a small piece of paper. On it, he read,

I Love You

425 Mountain View

XXXXX Lil

He handed the slip of paper through the broken passenger side window.

“Thanks. Whatcha doin’?”

Dennis climbed back out before answering. “I’m puttin’ this flat-head into my Model-A. It’s pretty easy. Ford made it so all the engine mounts match up. Say, could you give me a hand for a minute?”

“Sure. Why?”

“One’s stuck. I need more muscle.”

He picked up a three-foot piece of pipe, slipped it over the handle of the socket wrench, and said, “This’ll give me more leverage. Here, I’ll pull, and you push. On three, ready?”

On the count of three they both grunted, the bolt came loose, Dennis fell back against the fender, and Carolynn fell on top of him. She stayed that way for a few seconds. Dennis thought, “She’s warm.”

When they got themselves sorted out, she said, “You make sure you put the Model-18’s radiator in your A, and use anti-freeze, it’s a better heat conductor than water, and if you ever take the engine apart, polish the exhaust channels. These early flat-heads overheat real easy, so do what you can to keep them cool.”

“The exhaust channels?”

“Yeah. The block’s casting is rough. You polish them, and it’ll help make the exhaust flow smoother, and that will help keep the temperature down.”

Dennis stared at her. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“My brother, he talks about it.” She smiled. “Bye, Dennis, thanks. When you get that old A runnin’, let me know. I’d like to see how you did.”

He watched her walk away, down the driveway, and up Main Street. All the while he couldn’t help thinking about overheating.[/toggle]

A simple, gray metal box, sat, waiting in the abandoned cabin in the mountains for Kayla for over sixty years.  The box held only two items; a dairy, and a leather pouch filled with gold nuggets.  150 years had passed since gold was first discovered in the Bitterroots.  Was there more?  Kayla’s journey to find out changes her life, and the life of those around her, more than she could ever imagine.

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Chapter 1

Lucille made sure she got down to the lobby early enough to get her wheelchair positioned just right between the fireplace and the direct view to the front door. Life in the independent living facility was necessary, almost pleasant; Lucille couldn’t complain. Every Thursday afternoon, after the last high school class let out, Kayla and her little dog Gidget came to visit her in Brookside Landing. Little Gidget, in Lucille’s mind, was the cutest, lovingest, dog in the whole world. Gidget made Thursdays special.

At ten past four the front door opened and a black and white streak dashed across the carpet, made a huge leap into Lucille’s lap, stuck her white tipped front paws on Lucie’s chest and began dispensing dog kisses. Lucille grabbed the miniature Boston Terrier with both hands, laughing uproariously, and began rubbing the little dog’s head and back. Eventually Lucille got Gidget to sit on her lap while she stroked the warm, white chest with one hand and her belly with the other.

“Good afternoon, Lucille,” Kayla said. “How’s Gidget’s very best friend in the whole world doing today?”

Lucille was grinning so broadly she couldn’t answer.

Kayla slipped a couple of doggie treats into the pocket of Lucille’s wheelchair, and then sat on the arm of the overstuffed chair next to it. “I got these treats over at the Frontier Market. Timmy’s decided the folks who buy his wine all have dogs. He’s put in quite a variety. Gidget really likes these.”

“Ah, the Frontier Market,” Lucille sighed. She leaned her head back, relaxed her shoulders and her eyes glazed over, but she never stopped petting Gidget.
Kayla recognized the signs. She knew the very best thing she and Gidget could do was to get the old folks to relax and talk about the old days. She never got tired of hearing the stories, even if she’d heard many of them several times.

Lucille got into full swing. “Right after the war, back when Orofino was just a little logging town, the Frontier Market was the very latest thing. It was the brand new supermarket. I’ll never forget. I had a crush on Joe Henderson. When he came back from overseas, they took him on as assistant manager. Mostly he worked afternoons and evenings. I sure spent a lot of time after school shopping there.

“Joe did okay for a while, but something about the war got in his head somehow. After a year, maybe a little more, he moved out of his place in town. He moved way out, almost to Potlatch corporation headquarters, and up a dirt road into the mountains. Sometimes in the winter his old pick-up couldn’t make it down into town.

“He’d built himself a strange cabin, at least the way he described it to me, it seemed strange. The whole back wall was a sheer rock cliff. Said he’d seen them like that in France. Nice spot though, right on the creek and a meadow. Can’t drive there anymore. They damned up the creek and the lake covered up the road. Too bad. It was a unique place, the way he did it. Then, one day, we didn’t see him anymore.”

Kayla said, “I know that dam and lake. It’s Deer Creek reservoir.”

Lucille’s head nodded forward. Her hands stopped stroking Gidget. Kayla gently picked up her dog, smiled at the sleeping octogenarian, and walked into the dining room where others waited for their turn to pet Gidget.

[hr]

Spring burst onto the Clearwater River valley that Saturday morning in late April. The sun shone. The sky was a cloudless blue. The temperature soared into the seventies by nine. After months of rain and low clouds, the world suddenly changed to a verdant green.

Kayla sat staring out her living room window glowering at the motionless trees. “What’s the matter, Honey?” her mother asked.

“There’s nothing to do in this stupid, tiny town. I’ve got another year-and-a-half before I get out of here and go to college. Boring. Look, even Gidget’s snoring.”

“C’mon, Kayla, there’s lots to do. Go fishing. Pick wild flowers. Hoe the garden. Clean your room. Why, the possibilities are almost endless.”

“Aw, Mom,” Kayla moaned. Her thoughts wandered, until what Lucille and told her popped into her head.

After a few minutes Kayla went into the kitchen where her mother was busily peeling apples for a pie. “Mom, maybe I will go fishing. Can I take the canoe up to Deer Creek Reservoir? I’ll bet I could bring home some big trout for dinner.”

“Yes. Please do. Get outside. Take the four-wheel drive pick-up in case the road’s muddy.”

By ten Kayla had the truck loaded. By eleven, even after a stop at the Clearwater Sports for bait, she had the canoe poised to launch on the lake’s boat ramp next to the dam. She knew Deer Creek Reservoir well. She and her father had fished it many times. It was where she learned how to canoe and she’d often paddled to the spots where she knew the big ones hung out.

By eleven-thirty she had a fourteen and a sixteen inch trout on her stringer. Fifteen minutes later she’d caught a third, cleaned all three and had them in her ice chest. At noon she had the canoe well above the lake’s water level, and tied to a tree ten yards west of where Deer Creek emptied into the lake. “The old road,” she thought, “Should be around here somewhere.”

Kayla began her search by standing next to the canoe looking for a road, a path, or some flat place where a pick-up could have driven through these trees sixty-five years before. When that failed, she began walking in ever larger concentric circles. Eventually, she found a deer path about thirty feet from the creek. She finally decided, or perhaps imagined, that the trees on one side of the path were older than then trees on the other. Hoping her conclusion that the younger trees had grown between the old tire tracks was correct, she set off up the trail.

After almost a mile of hiking, she spotted a cliff through the trees. A few hundred yards later she entered a grassy meadow with the creek bubbling through it. She could almost see the trout swimming in the clear, sparking water. Between the creek and the cliff were several gnarled fruit trees, all in full bloom. Beyond the fruit trees, at the base of the cliff, sat a worn looking log cabin.

Kayla forged through the knee deep grass until she stood before the cabin’s covered front porch. The porch extended the full thirty feet of the width of the cabin. The roof of the porch was torn and holed. The cabin itself sat underneath the cliff’s overhang. Kayla could almost feel the ancient stream rushing past the cliff, slowly eroding its way into the rock. The overhang protected the undamaged cabin’s tar paper roof.

When she carefully stepped up onto the porch, the boards squeaked. She jumped, but kept going. She tried to look through a window, but the gray covering of dust and dirt kept her from clearly seeing anything inside. She went to the door and tried the knob. It turned. She pulled on it. Nothing happened. When she gave it a sharp tug, it moved a little. Three yanks later it opened with a creak.

Kayla took a deep breath, and took one step inside. The entire cabin was one long, skinny, room. To her left she saw a bed, a dresser, and a pair of overstuffed chairs; to her right, a wooden table, two straight backed chairs, and a sink with a hand operated water pump mounted on its counter. Closed cabinets hung from the wall above the kitchen counter. A kerosene lamp sat in the middle of the table. Everything was dusty, but dry, and somehow familiar.

Kayla peered down at the floor. It was completely covered in faded green linoleum. She looked around at the walls. One was a rock cliff. The other three were debarked logs. All the gaps between the logs were stuffed with mortar. Large logs, anchored into holes in the cliff, spanned the open space and supported the roof. None of the windows were broken, or even cracked. Kayla imagined who ever had lived here simply packed up and left, fully expecting to return after a long vacation.

The one thing that wasn’t pristine was a book case hung on the cliff face. The upper right hand corner looked warped, or somehow twisted. Kayla left a set of footprints in the dust walking over to it. All of the shelves were empty, and just as dusty as everything else. Kayla carefully examined the bookcase. She uttered

“Oh,” when she found a set of hinges on the bookcase’s side opposite the twisted corner.

Kayla rolled her shoulders, took a firm grip on the twisted side of the bookcase, and tugged. The hinges screamed in agony, but they let the bookcase swing away from the cliff. There, dug into the cliff, Kayla found a hole about three feet in diameter and too deep for the available light to reach the far end. Sitting just beyond the hole’s entrance, sat a box. ‘I’ve come this far,” she said aloud. She reached into the hole, picked up the box, carried it to the wooden table, and gently set it down.

The gray metal box measured about eight inches thick, a foot wide, and perhaps sixteen inches long. Rust spots shown through the paint in a couple of places. A hinge ran the length of the lid. Opposite the hinge was a hasp with a brass padlock looped through it. The key was still in the lock. Kayla turned the key. The lock popped open. She removed the lock, took the hasp in her hand, and pulled. The lid swung open. She stared, motionless, at its contents.
Inside, filling the entire space was a leather bound book with the words “Holy Bible’ embossed in gold letters on its cover. Kayla opened the cover. Inside the cover, printed in large, black calligraphy, were the words, ‘In this book lies the truth.’

Kayla turned to the first page. She gasped when she saw that all the pages were hollowed out. In the six by eight inch hole were two things; a leather bound book with the word ‘Diary’ embossed on its cover, and a small leather pouch held shut by a rawhide drawstring. Kayla picked up the pouch. It was surprisingly heavy. She opened it and peered inside. Her eyes grew wide. Even in the dimly lit room she could see the gold glistening.

She hefted the bag in her hand several times before tightening the drawstring, placing the pouch back into the box, and picking up the diary. At the top of the first page, in neat cursive writing, were the words ‘Joe Henderson, May 7, 1946.’ She flipped through the pages. The further into the diary she got, the worse the writing became. All she could read of the last entry was the date, ‘December 25, 1947.’[/toggle]

[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 2″ title_closed=”Excerpt 2″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]The next afternoon, Kayla rushed home from school, collected Gidget, and sped to Brookside Landing. Gidget made it to Lucille’s lap even before she’d bothered to shake the rainwater off of her back. After a brief greeting, Kayla left Gidget with Lucille and went to see if Burt was waiting for them in his wheelchair. He sat in his usual spot next to the coffee pot.

Kayla rolled a chair over and sat next to him. “Good afternoon, Kayla,” Burt said. “Where’s Gidget today?”

“She’ll be here in a minute, just as soon as Lucille lets her go.”

Kayla paused. “Excuse me for asking, sir, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been looking up old mining claims, and found one under the name Burt Heuer. Would that happen to be you?”

“Oh yes, that was mine. I must say, it worked out great.”

“Oh?”

“You see, it was all Joe Henderson’s idea. Joe was a great guy. A little strange there toward the end, but once he decided he liked you, he’d do anything to help you.

“We’d just gotten back from overseas, Joe was Army, I was Navy. Anyway, he’d gotten this new-fangled map, said it was the greatest thing that ever happened around here. It was a topo map. Didn’t mean too much to me at the time. The ocean’s surface doesn’t change much, you know.”

Gidget jumped of Lucille’s lap, dashed out of the lobby, across the dining room, and leapt into Burt’s arms. “Good girl,” he said softly. “Good girl,” and started gently petting her.

“Anyway, I was trying to get enough money together to buy my own place, when Joe showed me the map and a little pouch of gold. Said he’d show me where it was, but I had to dig it out myself, and, I had to put a claim in somewhere along Canal Gulch or very close to it. In those days, to legally own gold and cash it in, you had to have a claim. So, I picked one from the old days that’d expired, and filed. That’s what you found.”

“Canal Gulch?”

“Sure. That’s where the first gold was discovered in Idaho. It was easy for folks to believe that there was still more in there.”

“Hey, Burt,” a voice called out from across the room. “You gonna let someone else pet Gidget?”

“In a minute, Gertie,” Burt yelled back. “In a minute.”

Kayla picked up Gidget and carried her to a circle of ladies sitting in the sun by the back window. When she returned, she asked, “What happened then?”

“Well, Joe took me to this spot. It was along a creek, northeast of Pierce, several miles out. I don’t know how Joe’s old pick-up ever made it. It was an abandoned logging road. Ox trail most likely. Probably better today if they went in and recut that area.

“We parked above a sand bar and hiked back in a mile or more, until we got to a rocky outcropping. Joe had tools there and everything. I remember we worked all day in just one hole. I got enough gold from it to make my down payment. We filled the hole and stashed the tools before we left.

“I only went there twice more; it was Joe’s after all. I went once to get the down payment on the stock for my new place, and then once more, about six years later, when things got tight and I needed to get through tough times. Once I took some of his gold to be sold, but he never asked me for anything else.

“I never repaid Joe. By the time my ranch was paying off, he was long gone. Too bad. He was a really special person to me, and to several others around here.”
Kayla asked, “Did Joe ever say anything about a place in France called La Roque-Gageac?”

“Not that I remember. Why?”

“I think he may have had an Army experience there.”

“You know, young lady, most of the guys never said a word to anybody about what happened to them in that war, even if it ate at their insides. We all just put it behind us and moved on.”[/toggle]