WOOD-CHOPPING, 101

The Past

Twelve years before Glimpses into the Future

A Sunday afternoon in February, during Black Jacket…

The trip bringing his nephew to Sleepyside from St. Mark’s Juvenile Facility proved to be interesting for Bill Regan.

“I asked Mr. Maypenny to raise you for your own good,” Regan was saying defensively as he tightly clutched the steering wheel of the Subaru station wagon used by the Wheelers’ staff. Driving was his least favorite activity, and it made him too nervous to shift his gaze from the road to the sullen teenager on the seat beside him.

“Being stuck with some weirdo hermit in the middle of the godforsaken forest is ‘for my own good’?” Dan snorted in disbelief. “I sure would hate to see what would be ‘for my own bad’.”

“You certainly aren’t shy about running your mouth,” Regan remarked. Although his tone was stern, there was a trace of admiration in his voice. “You remind of someone I used to know.”

“Who?” Dan snapped.

“Me.”

Dan sighed wearily, lifted his leather hat with one hand, and raked the other hand through his shaggy black hair. “If you were in my shoes, would you want to stay with this Maypenny dude?”

“When I was your age, I woulda given anything to be able to live with Mr. Maypenny,” Regan answered brusquely. “Instead, I was stuck in a crowded room with thirty other teenage boys, never having a moment of privacy, never having one-on-one time with an adult who cared about me, nev---”

“Okay, I get the point,” Dan interrupted with a wince. “So, what’s Maypenny like? Why does he live out there out on the edge of nowhere, all by himself?”

“Mister Maypenny,” Regan corrected firmly. “I don’t know too much about him; nobody does.”

“Great,” Dan mumbled grumpily under his breath. “You’re probably sending me to live with an ax murderer.”

Regan smirked at his nephew. “He’s not an ax murderer. He’s just a nice old man who lives off the land and never hurts anyone. He’d break his neck to help a neighbor out, but would rather die before asking for help from anyone else.”

A loud rumbling in Dan’s stomach made him think of another very important question. “Does he cook good?”

“His hunter’s stew is legendary,” Regan replied with a broad grin. Hearing some muttering, he looked over sternly at Dan. “What did you say?”

“I said, I hope it’s not made out of real hunters.”

Dan’s stomach flip-flopped as Regan eased the station wagon onto the piece of land that vaguely resembled a graveled driveway. He glanced out the car window at a rustic log cabin that looked like something from the pioneer days. The home didn’t look very big; of course, compared to his cell at St. Mark’s, it was huge. A stone chimney climbed the left side of the house, and Dan noticed a huge cloud of smoke billowing out the top. Although he hated to admit it, the place looked cozy and even inviting.

As the teenager got out of the car, a tall old man with snow-white hair stepped from the house and onto the small porch. He held up a gnarled hand in greeting. Dan had to raise his brows as he appraised his new guardian’s outfit. The senior citizen was clad in a thick, green cable-knit turtleneck sweater, tan flannel knickers, and hunting boots. Mr. Maypenny’s outfit resembled an eclectic combination of fisherman, old-fashioned golfer, and hunter. In all his fifteen years, Dan had never seen someone dressed so strangely.

While Regan walked over to the porch, Dan hurried to get his bag from the back. He spent a bit more time than necessary gathering his sparse belongings, keeping one eye on his duffel bag and the other on the pair in front of the house.

“Hey, Dan!” Regan called over to him. “You get lost over there? C’mon!”

Grumbling under his breath, Dan slung his bag over his shoulder and trudged over to his uncle and his new landlord. His back was slouched over and his head was tilted toward the ground, the leather band of his peaked black hat shielding his face.

Regan cleared his throat nervously. “Dan, this is Mr. Maypenny. He’s kindly offered to take you in.” When Dan didn’t move, his redheaded uncle peeked over at him out of the corner of his eye. Subtly poking the teenager in the arm with his elbow, Regan murmured, “Say hello, Dan.”

With his face still turned downward, Dan mumbled a barely discernable greeting. He wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

“Speak up, boy,” Mr. Maypenny barked, his mouth pinched with irritation. “Don’t you want to be heard? A man should speak with confidence, and if you can’t speak that way, maybe you should remain silent.”

Surprised, Dan whipped his head up to look at the old man, surprise etched on his features.

“Stand up straight,” Mr. Maypenny ordered, making a down-and-up motion with one of his gnarled hands. “You look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, bent over with that bag on your back like that.”

Mouth agape, Dan did as Mr. Maypenny said, more out of shock than obedience.

“And close your mouth, son. You look like a fish.”

Wordlessly, Dan clamped his lips together.

Regan covered his mouth with one freckled hand, trying to hide his amused grin.

Mr. Maypenny stuck out one hand to Dan, who stared at the old man a bit quizzically. Sighing heavily, Mr. Maypenny gave his hand a wiggle. “Don’t you know how to shake hands, boy?”

Dan tenuously clasped the hand that was offered to him; however, he was so astonished by Mr. Maypenny’s actions that he could barely grip his fingers around the old man’s.

“Shake like a man, Daniel,” Mr. Maypenny commanded sternly. “It feels like I’ve got a dead fish in my hand. People remember a good, firm shake. Like this.” He proceeded to give Dan an example of “a good, firm shake”.

Dan practically yelped as the old man squeezed his hand tightly. Mr. Maypenny had surprising power for a man of his vintage. Dan tried to wiggle his hand away, but his fingers remained firmly enveloped by Mr. Maypenny’s.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Daniel,” Mr. Maypenny said politely.

“Pleasure to meet you, too,” Dan muttered, his eyes fastened on the ground below.

“Look me in the eye,” Mr. Maypenny directed, his voice a little more gentle but authoritative nonetheless. “My father once told me that a man could always look those to which he spoke in the eye if his conscience were clean.”

Hesitantly, Dan lifted his chin to look at the taller man. His sullen, onyx-colored eyes met sparkling gray ones. Mr. Maypenny’s face was weather-beaten, but kind. By the ruddy tones of his skin, it appeared he spent a lot of time outdoors. His forehead had deep creases, and several laugh lines accentuated the corners of his eyes. The twinkling eyes and rugged jaw hinted that he had been a ladies’ man years ago. However, a long, beak-like nose would have kept him from being considered conventionally handsome, even in his youth. He was several inches taller than Dan, and though he was haggard and thin, wiry arms hinted at the strength the teenager had already witnessed during their handshake.

“Welcome to my home, such as it is,” Mr. Maypenny told him kindly. “I’m mighty proud that a fine, young man like Regan here would entrust his only nephew to my care. I’ll do my best to make sure you’re well-fed, healthy, and strong.”

“What about happy?” Dan prompted sarcastically, a smug expression on his face.

“Well, that’s up to you, son,” Mr. Maypenny responded wisely. “I can take care of the outside of your body, but the inside’s up to you.”

Dan clearly had been put in his place. The smirk disappeared and was replaced by a scowl.

“Who’s hungry?” Mr. Maypenny asked, in an attempt to change the subject. “I’ve got a fresh pot of hunter’s stew bubbling on the stove, warm homemade bread cooling on the counter, and peach cobbler just begging to hop in my belly.”

“That sure does sound good, Mr. Maypenny,” Regan began, “but I’d better be going. I’ve been away from the horses all day, and it’ll be time for their evening meal before you know it. Besides, you and Dan need to get to know one another.”

“As do you and Daniel.” Mr. Maypenny’s tone was polite, but his message was clear. “Perhaps next time you’ll be able to join us.”

“I’ll be over as soon as you invite me,” Regan agreed a bit sheepishly.

“Then we’ll see you Thursday,” Mr. Maypenny said. Although he was smiling, his tone made it clear that he meant business. “That should work well, since you’re off on Fridays. No need to get up early the following morning. We’ll have lots of time to chat in front of the fireplace, and better make one’s acquaintance.”

“Thursday will be good,” Regan answered, nodding his head. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

A sound resembling a snicker came from Dan, but the snickering ceased once he received a stern glare from Mr. Maypenny.

“If you need me for any reason, just holler. I’ll be either in the stable or at the apartment.” Regan turned his full attention to Dan, placing a firm hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “You do what Mr. Maypenny tells you. I’d hate to have to get up in the middle of the night and take you back to St. Mark’s because you’ve copped an attitude.”

Dan looked up, his dark eyes wide with surprise. “You’d do that?”

“Try me,” Regan replied. His tone was not nasty, but it was clear he was serious.

“Now, Regan,” Mr. Maypenny replied, his whiskers twitching. “There’s no need to threaten the boy. I’m sure after a few days of Maypenny Boot Camp, he’ll be a model prisoner.”

Dan looked over at the old man to see if he was joking; he gulped loudly as he took in Mr. Maypenny’s evil smile.

Feeling a little apprehensive himself, Regan cleared his throat. “If you need any money for school stuff, you let me know.”

“You’ll give me money?” Dan questioned hopefully, one dark eyebrow raised in skepticism.

Regan shook his head. “I’ll take you to the store to buy whatever you need. In fact, why don’t I pick you up Friday after school so you can buy some new clothes?”

“My clothes are fine!” Dan shouted defensively.

Regan sighed wearily, and placed his freckled hands on his hips. It was apparent he was quickly losing patience with his nephew. “Wear what you want. But before you leave for school in the morning, make sure you’ve taken black shoe polish and painted over those white letters on the back of your leather jacket.”

“Why?” Dan lifted his chin defiantly. “Gotta problem with cowhands?”

“No,” Regan said, his tone growing weary. “But I do have issues with no-good kids who want to ruin my nephew’s life. When I see you tomorrow, I expect to see that gang name covered up.”

“Fine,” Dan conceded, albeit reluctantly. He exhaled loudly to show that although he would do what his uncle had asked, he wouldn’t like it.

“I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow morning so I can drive you two to catch the bus for school,” Regan said.

“ ‘You two?’ ” Dan repeated in disbelief. He peeked over at his strangely-dressed guardian. “Why does he have to go?”

“Mr. Maypenny will be making sure you get on the bus and make it all the way to school,” Regan explained. “Then he’ll get you enrolled in Sleepyside Junior-Senior High. The office will be expecting you. I’ve made arrangements with a man who works at the bank to bring Mr. Maypenny home during his lunch break.”

Dan’s lower lip protruded in what could almost be construed as a pout. “Why can’t you take me? You’re my uncle.”

“Dan, I’ve explained this to you a thousand times,” Regan said, frowning. “For right now, it’s best that the kids around here don’t know that you’re my nephew.”

“You ashamed of me?” Dan lifted his chin proudly, his coal black eyes sparking with challenge.

“Of course not,” Regan answered impatiently. “I talked to my boss, Mr. Wheeler, about you already. I felt it was best to be up front and honest with him about your past.”

“Who else have you told?” Dan’s dark eyes were now flashing with anger. “Have you hired a plane to skywrite it at school tomorrow?”

Regan drew a hesitant breath and ran his fingers through his copper-colored hair. “I only told the people that I thought needed to know. I talked to Mr. Wheeler, along with Mr. Maypenny and Mr. and Mrs. Belden.”

“Who’re they?” Dan demanded loudly.

“Some nice people who I went to for advice,” Regan said. “I talked to Mrs. Belden and told her that she could tell her husband.”

“How do you know she won’t blab it over the whole country?” Dan questioned, his tone expressing hurt.

“I wouldn’t have talked to her about it if she was a gossip,” Regan retorted a bit crossly. “I know Mrs. B. pretty good, and if she says she won’t tell something, she won’t. I trust her.”

“Good to know you trust someone,” Dan mumbled under his breath.

“Dan, once you’re here for awhile and we know that you’re on the straight and narrow, I’ll be sure and hire that airplane to skywrite it all over Sleepyside that you’re my nephew. Until then, it might be best just to keep that fact to ourselves.” Regan looked at the teenager imploringly. “Please, Dan?”

“I won’t say a word,” Dan agreed reluctantly. “Besides, I’m not all that sure that I want to claim you.”

“Fair enough,” Regan said, the corners of his lips twitching as he fought the urge to smile.

“Then it’s settled,” Mr. Maypenny broke in, hoping to keep the two temperamental relatives from arguing further. “Regan, we’ll be waiting here at 7:30 on the dot. I’ll enroll the boy in school, and then Peter Belden will take me home.”

Regan nodded, and then added, “And Dan will black out that stupid gang na---”

“It’s not stupid!” Dan interrupted loudly.

Mr. Maypenny held up a hand to silence him. “And Dan will paint over the name of his former gang, because that part of his life is over, and we want to see him make a fresh start.”

The two Irishmen hung their heads guiltily.

“Now Regan,” Mr. Maypenny said, “unless you’ve changed your mind about joining us for dinner, you’d better get back to Manor House and tend to those horses. If my nostrils serve me correctly, our dinner is ready.”

“I’ll be going then.” Regan cast his nephew an entreating glance. “Dan, I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t give Mr. Maypenny any trouble.”

“I said I wouldn’t,” Dan clipped brusquely.

“He’ll be fine, Regan,” Mr. Maypenny assured firmly. “I’ve minded a child or two in my day, and although I’m several years older now, I still know how to use a willow switch. Daniel may be able to outrun me, but I’ve got the knowledge of the preserve on my side. He could run, but he couldn’t hide.”

Dan peeked warily over at the old man, not knowing what to think about his humor. Never in his life had he met a character like Mr. Maypenny, and he was rather taken aback.

In contrast, Regan chuckled at the statement; he had seen the twinkle in Mr. Maypenny’s eyes, but he wasn’t about to tell Dan that. However, the red-haired groom was confident that, if need be, in spite of Mr. Maypenny’s age, he was quite capable of keeping his nephew in line. With a parting wave, Regan walked back to the station wagon.

Mr. Maypenny had noticed Dan was watching his uncle’s departure a bit wistfully and placed his arm around the young man’s shoulder in a slightly protective manner. Dan, used to strange adults shying away from him, found that type of familiar gesture unnerving. Although he attempted to back away, the old man did not budge from his sheltering stance.

“C’mon inside, lad, and I’ll show you around.” Mr. Maypenny removed his arm from around Dan’s shoulders and motioned towards the door of the cabin.

Dan nodded in agreement and followed the old man in the house. Once inside, he looked around curiously, appraising his new digs.

“I’d wait until after supper to give you the grand tour, but seeing as how there isn’t much, it shouldn’t take long.” Mr. Maypenny chuckled. “This is the living room/kitchen/dining room. As you can see, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s been a good, comfortable home to me for over forty years.”

“It’s okay,” Dan said with a shrug. Although his tone implied that he was not impressed with the abode, that could not be farther from the truth. He looked admiringly through the house, studying the construction with great fascination. Thick cedar beams formed the ceiling of the cabin, while pine wood planks, set at an angle, gave the rustic interior walls an outdoorsy feel. Even the floors were made from wood; three-inch wide slats of knotty pine lumber were laid with fastidious care throughout the floors of the house.

The kitchen was in the very back of the cabin. Though it was small, delicious smells emanated from that part of the dwelling. The stove and refrigerator were akin to dinosaurs from decades past, but they seemed to be in working order. Above the sink, there was a small window overlooking the large garden outside. Past the kitchen was a tiny workspace, an old-fashioned ringer washer and a slightly more modern dryer taking up most of the space.

There was a small dining area off to the left, where a table with four chairs sat in the middle of the space. It was already neatly set for three, although Dan noted that one place setting would not be needed. An antique china cabinet stood against a wall, containing a set of blue dishes that looked very old. On either side of the cabinet stood a chair that could be brought to the table if more seats were needed. From the ceiling above the table, a chandelier fashioned out of antlers hung down. Against the other free wall, there was a large, black wood-burning stove.

Dan’s eyes then studied the living room in which he stood. A plaid couch and chair, made out of a sturdy tweed material, were positioned in an L-shape around the stone fireplace. A simple coffee table was placed in front of the couch, a large Family Bible on top. Above the stone hearth, a huge twelve-point buck’s head hung, regally looking out over the room’s inhabitants. Several other pictures, as well as a stuffed bigmouth bass, graced other walls in the space. Suddenly seeing something amiss, Dan’s eyebrows drew together in a knot above the bridge of his nose. “Where’s the TV?”

“The what?” Mr. Maypenny inquired as if he had not understood the words Dan spoke.

“The television,” Dan clarified. “Don’t you have one?”

“Of course,” Mr. Maypenny answered matter-of-factly.

“Well, where is it?”

“Out in the shed behind the cabin,” Mr. Maypenny replied. “It hasn’t worked for over twenty years, and I pile things up on it in my building.”

“Didn’t you get a new one?” Dan asked, surprised that anyone would be able to live without a television for two decades.

“Don’t need one,” Mr. Maypenny responded with a shrug. “Couldn’t get the blasted antenna to pick up anything decent out here anyway.” He turned and walked over to a door beyond the dining room.

“This here’s my bedroom,” Mr. Maypenny continued. He opened the door so Dan could look inside. “If you ever need me, day or night, I’ll be here. Just be sure to knock first, in case I’m entertaining a young lady.”

The old man laughed uproariously, as if he had just thought up the funniest joke ever told. Dan smiled nervously and glanced around the room. A neatly made queen-sized bed, a four-drawer dresser, and a matching nightstand were the only furniture in the room. A hooked rug in primary colors was placed in the center of the floor, giving the space a cozy appearance.

“Nice furniture,” Dan commented, forgetting to maintain his surly attitude. He rubbed the fine maple wood of the four-poster bed appreciatively.

“Thank you. I made that myself,” Mr. Maypenny told him, without a trace of arrogance. He led the way out of that room and opened a door past the living room. “This is the bathroom. Nothing fancy, but a heap better than the outhouse I used to have. Actually, I’d still have that, but Bobby Belden almost fell down in the toilet a few times, and I sure wouldn’t want to go rescue him.”

Silently, Dan counted his blessings that the bathroom had been constructed before his arrival. He nodded in approval as he beheld the bathtub with its hunter green shower curtain, the toilet, and the small sink by the door. The only decoration in this room was a bath rug.

Their final stop on the tour took them to the western-most room of the cabin. “This will be your bedroom, Daniel.” Mr. Maypenny stepped aside and motioned for Dan to go ahead of him.

Dan walked in the room, not knowing what to expect. However, after a quick appraisal, he was pleasantly surprised. A full-sized bed stood with its headboard against a window. It was crafted of oak and crafted so that it doubled as a bookcase. Several books were placed on the shelf, as well as an old-fashioned alarm clock and a tiny lamp that could be used for reading. A hunter green quilt, with faint pine trees embroidered on it in white thread, was placed neatly atop the bed. An antique highboy was on one wall, and a small desk on another. The closet door was open and ready for Dan to hang his clothes inside. Another hooked rug in different shades of green sat in front of the bed.

“Hope it suits you,” Mr. Maypenny said.

“It’s nice,” Dan told him. Compared to his room in the cramped apartment in New York that he had shared with his mother, this was a slice of Heaven.

“Feel free to put your clothes in the dresser and the closet,” Mr. Maypenny offered. “All I ask is that you keep it tidy in here. I’m an old man who’s set in his ways. I’ll get mighty upset if I see a pair of dirty underwear hanging on the doorknob.”

Dan smiled slightly. “I’ll keep it neat.”

“Well, that’s about it,” Mr. Maypenny said, slapping his hands against his funny-looking knickers. “Are you hungry?”

The teenager nodded in reply.

Mr. Maypenny led the way into the kitchen and motioned for him to sit down at the dining room table. “Go ahead and sit down, Daniel. Tomorrow, you’ll begin your chores, but tonight, you’re my special guest.”

In no time at all, Mr. Maypenny had laden the small table with many delicious-looking things: a basketful of warm, crusty homemade bread, a small crock of freshly churned butter, a jar of crabapple jelly, a pitcher of iced tea, and the “legendary” hunter’s stew of which Regan spoke. After they had filled their plates, Dan hungrily scooped up a bite of stew. Just as he began to chew, he heard Mr. Maypenny clear his throat.

“Dear Lord, we thank you for this day.”

Dan ceased his chewing, and peeked across the table. Mr. Maypenny’s head was bowed, his eyes closed, and his hands clasped in front of his plate. He quickly imitated the old man, swallowing whole the bite of stew he had in his mouth.

“Thank you for bringing Daniel to this house. Give him a peace that can only come from you. I pray you grant Regan wisdom as he takes on the responsibility of raising his young nephew, and please be with me as well. Bless this food to our bodies, and thank you for your promise of provision. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”

“Amen,” Dan whispered. He waited until Mr. Maypenny took a bite, and then he followed suit, taking time to savor it this time.

If nothing else, the food was good here.

The next morning a banging on his bedroom door roused Dan from a sound sleep. With a groan, he folded the pillow around his ears in an attempt to block it out; however, the banging not only continued, it got louder and more persistent. Dan peeked up sleepily at the alarm clock. 5:00 A.M.

“I’m still sleeping,” he mumbled with a yawn.

Suddenly, the door whooshed open and Mr. Maypenny stepped inside. “Rise and shine, Daniel!” As if the noise was not bad enough, the old man flipped the light switch. The room was illuminated, 75 watts’ worth.

The teenager moaned, burying his face in the mattress underneath him. “Go away,” he muttered sleepily. “It’s only five o’clock. Regan won’t be here until 7:30, which means I can sleep for another two hours.”

“No, that means you only have a little over two hours to do your chores, eat a hardy breakfast, and clean up,” Mr. Maypenny corrected.

Dan looked up, his brow furrowed in surprise. “Chores?”

“Yes, I told you last night that you’d begin your chores tomorrow, which is today,” Mr. Maypenny explained cheerfully. “So get out of that bed before I bring in the water hose.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dan dared, his tone doubtful.

“I would and I have.” Mr. Maypenny’s smile was the smile of the truly evil. “The water hose I use in my garden is directly outside your window. Considering that it’s almost freezing outside right now, that water will be mighty nippy.”

“Aw, it’s probably frozen.” Dan laid his head back on his pillow.

Mr. Maypenny shook his head, the wicked grin still planted firmly on his lips. “Oh, no. I bought a special kind that’s insulated. It’s guaranteed not to freeze up. Now get out of bed. I’d hate to buy a new mattress because I’ve soaked that one. In fact, that’s why I had to buy that one…”

Quick as a wink, Dan bolted out of bed with newfound zeal. He shivered as the cold air hit his bare legs.

“Get dressed and then come on into the kitchen,” Mr. Maypenny said. “It’s warmer in there by the stove.”

Dan hurriedly found his standard attire: tight black jeans, a white T-shirt, cowboy boots, and his black leather jacket. As he pulled on the jacket, he looked at it a bit mournfully. As previously instructed, his old affiliation had been blotted over by black polish. Deep down, he knew that he needed to get away from the Cowhands; however, there did not appear to be anyone else who cared about him. Regan sure don’t give a rip about me, he mused mournfully. That thought saddened him more than he cared to admit.

He clomped out into the main room of the house, more delicious smells tantalizing his senses. As he sat down at the table, Mr. Maypenny brought him a plate heaped with sausage, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast. A glass of orange juice was already waiting for him at his designated spot at the table.

Dan inhaled deeply. He had never smelled anything so good in his entire life. His mother, bless her soul, was a loving, caring, generous woman, but cooking was not among her many talents. Her specialties were TV dinners, frozen pizzas, canned soup, slightly burned toast, and Little Debbie snack cakes.

Although Dan was starving, he was not going to be fooled again. He did not so much as pick up his fork, waiting for Mr. Maypenny to join him and ask the blessing on the food. He looked into the kitchen and noticed the old man was standing in front of the sink. “Aren’t you eating?” he inquired, more from impatience to eat than consideration.

“I already ate,” Mr. Maypenny answered. “I’m just cleaning up some of these dishes before I take you outside.”

Dan briefly wondered what they would be doing outside, particularly in the dark, snowy, freezing weather. With a shrug, he dismissed it from his mind and enjoyed his breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, after a scolding from Mr. Maypenny about how impractical his cowboy boots were for traipsing around the snowy woods, Dan was hopping up and down in the cold arctic weather trying to keep warm. Mr. Maypenny had asked him to go on outside, and he would be out there momentarily. Hearing the sound of crunching snow behind him, Dan turned his head, gasping at what his eyes saw. The sight before him reaffirmed his previous suspicions.

Mr. Maypenny was an ax murderer!

The strange old man swaggered towards him, his evil grin planted firmly in place. He was clad in a heavy flannel winter coat, a furry cap that had flaps to protect his ears from the cold, and thick, woolen gloves. And in those gloved hands was an ax, which appeared to be something out of medieval days. Dan practically expected to see dried blood covering the blade, leftover from his past kills.

Mr. Maypenny swung his weapon a few times, almost as if he were warming up before the murdering spree began. Dan’s eyes bugged out of his head. He wondered briefly if he should turn tail and run, but the old man’s ominous warning the previous night echoed in his mind.

He can run, but he can’t hide.

Dan stifled a scream as Mr. Maypenny walked closer to him. He decided to take his chances with the forest, but when he tried to move, he found that he was frozen to the spot. He practically collapsed in relief as the old man handed the fierce-looking weapon out to him. Not taking the gift horse by the mouth, Dan quickly accepted the ax. The weight of the tool surprised him.

“What’s this?” he asked tenuously.

“Don’t they teach you kids anything in the city?” Mr. Maypenny sighed in exasperation, obviously believing the city slicker standing in front of him had never before seen any of the equipment used in the country.

“Well, I know it’s an ax,” Dan replied with a roll of his eyes. “I just don’t know what you want me to do with it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mr. Maypenny corrected with a smug smile. “This is a maul, not an ax.”

Dan made a big show of rolling his eyes again, this time accompanying it with a labored sigh. “What’s the difference? I mean, who really cares?”

“I care, and for that matter, you should care, too,” Mr. Maypenny snapped. “Axes are used for cutting and chopping, and mauls, or splitting wedges, are used for splitting wood into pieces.”

Dan merely shrugged his shoulders. “So? I don’t see why that matters to me. You can’t expect me to go out and chop down some tree.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Maypenny answered, that wicked smile not budging an inch. “I’m far too cautious to send a novice lumberjack into the dark woods, daybreak an hour away. You’d probably cut off one of your feet.”

Dan was not sure, but he thought there was an insult veiled somewhere in that statement. He looked down at the heavy maul he held in his hands, a puzzled expression clouding his sullen features. “So, why did you give me this? Just to show me that I didn’t know the difference between a f…freakin’ ax and maul?”

“Come with me, Daniel.”

Dan warily followed the old man down a path. A thousand crazy thoughts flitted through his mind, all of them highly implausible but extremely frightening nonetheless. Should never have watched all those flippin’ horror movies, he mused wryly, wondering if Mr. Maypenny was some sort of lunatic mentor for serial killers.

However, instead of some dank, dark, killing chamber, the old man led him to a large three-sided shed. A slanted tin roof kept the things under it reasonably dry, and if any moisture managed to seep through, the shed’s contents had been placed under a big blue tarp. Mr. Maypenny pulled on a string which hung from the ceiling, turning on a light bulb high above. Then, he pulled the tarp away, revealing hundreds of logs.

“Wow,” Dan murmured. “That’s a lot of wood. Why do you need so much of it?”

“Daniel, if you haven’t noticed, our cabin is heated by the fireplace in the living area, as well as by the stove in the dining area. Another stove outside powers a huge generator, which gives us electricity. All of which use wood. And, in case you don’t know, there’s a shortage of suicidal trees in this area, lining up to offer themselves as sacrifices to our stove gods.”

Dan failed to see the humor in Mr. Maypenny’s diatribe. “Well, I know wood doesn’t just hop in the box by the stove.”

“Then you probably also know that these huge logs won’t fit into any of the aforementioned stoves,” Mr. Maypenny cracked dryly. “We need to split them. Or rather, you need to split them.”

Dan’s eyes widened, and then shot over to stare at the old man in disbelief. “What’re you talking about?”

“Daniel, I agreed to let you live here on the one condition that you work,” Mr. Maypenny explained. “As a boy, I was taught that if a man didn’t work, then neither would he eat. In this case, that lesson is particularly true. If you want heat, food, light, and hot water, you will split these logs.”

“I don’t know how,” Dan admitted with a scowl.

Silently, Mr. Maypenny took the splitting wedge from Dan. He selected a log from the pile and walked over to the large, round stump. He placed the log onto the stump, standing it upright. He planted his feet but kept his body limber, making sure Dan saw him do this. With the strength of a man half his age, he swung the heavy maul back over his head, and then brought it down with a whoosh. The log split into two pieces, both having fallen onto the ground. He picked up one of the halves, made a point of showing it to Dan, and then placed it upright on his “anvil”. With just as much power as before, he cut that piece in half as well. After the entire log was quartered, he handed the maul back to Dan.

“Ignorance can no longer be your excuse,” Mr. Maypenny stated matter-of-factly.

Although Dan had skipped school more often than he had attended the past two years, he was an intelligent person. He leveled his eyes at the taller man, his spine stiffened in challenge. “Are you calling me stupid?”

Mr. Maypenny calmly shook his head, his smile not moving an inch. “There’s a difference between ‘ignorance’ and ‘stupidity’,” he said sagely. “Ignorance is a lack of knowledge. For example, I’m ignorant about finding my way through the streets of New York City. Stupidity, however, is willful ignorance, choosing to ignore the knowledge one’s offered.”

Dan bristled past the old man and wrenched the splitting maul out of his gnarled hands. “I’m not ignorant or stupid,” he snapped angrily. “I’ll show you a thing or two about cutting wood.”

Mr. Maypenny stepped aside and motioned for Dan to proceed. He watched wordlessly as the young man mimicked his actions. However, Dan neglected one important step.

Dan mustered all his power to raise the heavy maul behind his head, gripping the handle more tightly than necessary. Forgetting to keep his body relaxed, he aimed for his target, swinging down with great, uncontrolled force. However, he missed both the log and the tree stump anvil, instead hitting the ground with the splitting wedge. The jarring blow caused him to stagger sideways, and as his feet stumbled around, they crossed paths with a stray log. He ended in an undignified heap on the ground, thankfully keeping the maul a safe distance from his body.

Mr. Maypenny did not say a word. He walked over to the disgruntled teenager and stuck out his gnarled hand in an offer to help Dan to his feet.

Dan, a trail of obscenities being hurled under his breath, ignored the old man’s hand and stood on his own. “Stupid ax, errr, maul,” he said out loud. “Didn’t swing right.”

“I believe the error laid in the hands of the one wielding the tool, rather than it the tool itself,” Mr. Maypenny observed evenly.

Dan glared at over at him, his coal black eyes shooting daggers. He swaggered back over to the tree stump, trying to ignore the pain in his hip where he had landed on a rock. Angry with Mr. Maypenny, the maul, the log, and life in general, he swung the splitting wedge powerfully, putting all his rage into his actions. However, his undisciplined swing caused the metal bit to hit the log at an angle, causing the wood to go tumbling off the tree stump. The bit bounced off the anvil, onto the ground below. After two mighty swings with the maul, the log remained untouched.

Dan stomped over to where the splitting wedge had landed and picked it up, whispering every vulgarity known to man as well as a few that he invented. He stalked back to the anvil, but as he raised the maul, Mr. Maypenny stopped him.

“Set your feet, Daniel, but don’t stiffen your body,” Mr. Maypenny calmly instructed. “Keep it relaxed and limber. Grip the handle firmly, not tightly, so you’ll retain control.”

Dan silently did as the old man ordered.

“Now, before you swing, concentrate on the log you wish to split,” Mr. Maypenny continued. “Swing with strength, but focus your power. Visualize the log splitting into two pieces.”

With a determined expression, Dan did exactly as Mr. Maypenny said. He concentrated hard, and then swung downwards with the maul. Although the wedge bit hit the log slightly at an angle, a good-sized hunk of wood was knocked loose. He looked up at the old man, a proud expression on his face.

“I did it,” he murmured in surprise.

“Yes.” Mr. Maypenny didn’t bother telling the young man that a chip off the old block did not constitute a successful blow with the maul. He wanted to raise the boy’s confidence, not crush them entirely.

“Try it again, Daniel,” he said encouragingly. “Except this time, make sure you aim the maul bit directly in the center of the log. Remember to concentrate and focus.”

Biting his lip, Dan followed the directions to a T. This time when the maul came down, it split the log into two perfectly even pieces.

“Whoo-hoo!” Dan cried joyfully, raising the splitting wedge in jubilation. “Look at that!”

“Very good, Daniel,” Mr. Maypenny congratulated. He walked over to the teenager and placed a hand on his shoulder. “As you continue, keep in mind that chopping wood is a lot like life. To be successful, one must stay relaxed, clear one’s mind of all distraction so one can focus on the task at hand, concentrate upon one’s goal, and strike with controlled power.”

He pointed one gnarled hand at the pile of logs. “Chopping a load of firewood is your goal for now, Daniel, but each log symbolizes something greater. It pictures your life. You haven’t had it easy so far, son. I’m not some old, naïve man; although you weren’t responsible for all of your hardships, you were responsible for some. Bettering yourself won’t be easy, especially if you’re stiff, undisciplined, unfocused, and filled with rage.”

Dan’s sullen eyes turned to Mr. Maypenny. His face was clouded with confusion. “You know what happened to me. How can you expect me not to be angry?”

“Oh, I expect you to be angry,” Mr. Maypenny clarified. “However, I don’t expect that fury to rule you. Use your anger in a constructive manner; channel those vengeful feelings to your strength, your determination, your resolve. Don’t allow yourself to be ruled by rage, or else you’ll stagger and miss the target. Only when your temper’s in check will you be able to reach your goal.”

Dan nodded thoughtfully.

“Try it again,” Mr. Maypenny directed. “And this time, pretend the wood is the goal you most want to attain.”

Taking a deep breath, Dan looked down at the log, projecting his feelings about life onto the log sitting on the anvil. With each swing, his task grew easier. Log after log, he worked until it was almost time to meet Regan.

Later that evening, an angry Dan slammed the door leading into the cozy cabin. He looked up into the disapproving eyes of Mr. Maypenny.

“There you are, Daniel,” the old man greeted. “I’ve been worried about you.”

However, the sound of female chatter coming from outside distracted Dan and he forgot to reply.

“There are some birdfeeders that I need to fill up, as well a---”

“I’ll do it,” Dan interrupted, hoping he could disappear before Mr. Maypenny’s guests arrived. He had little desire to talk to either of them again after the incident with Susie a few minutes ago.

“That’ll be fine, Daniel, but before you go, I ha---”

“I know where the feed is,” Dan broke in as he walked towards the back of the house. “I saw it earlier this morning. I’ll follow the trails to the feeders.”

Before Mr. Maypenny could finish his thought, he heard the back door in the tiny utility room slam shut. Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he went on into the kitchen to stir the cocoa he had cooking on the stove; he thought for sure Dan would want some after his long walk home.

It was not long until Trixie and Honey stopped by to look at his almanac. The Bob-Whites were planning a fundraiser and needed to know what would be the best day to schedule it. It was on the tip of Mr. Maypenny’s tongue to ask the girls if Daniel could help with their event, but he felt Trixie acted a bit peculiar when she mentioned that she had met the boy at school. The girls’ visit did not last long; as usual, they, Trixie in particular, were a whirlwind of activity and had to leave for home.

Trixie and Honey didn’t notice the angry glare, watching them from the woods as they rode away from the cabin. Dan had finished filling the birdfeeders and was waiting for them to leave so he could go back inside. Seeing the girls again refueled Dan’s temper, and he marched into the house, blazing with fury.

“Daniel?” Mr. Maypenny’s voice was well-modulated, although it was obvious that he wasn’t pleased with the boy’s behavior. “When you’re closing the back door, a gentle push will suffice.”

“Sorry,” Dan mumbled, his voice not sounding very contrite.

“We had visitors while you were away,” Mr. Maypenny told him. “Trixie Belden and Honey Wheeler. They mentioned meeting you at school.”

“They met me, all right,” Dan growled. “If you ask me, they’re two spoiled little bi---”

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say, Daniel,” Mr. Maypenny interrupted, his gray eyes steely and his voice stern. “Those sweet, little girls mean a lot to me, and the next time you even begin to call them a vulgar name, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. And not with that store-bought kind, either.”

Dan sighed loudly, his gaze downward. “They may be sweet to you, but they don’t like me much. And neither does their good-lookin’ little black-headed friend.”

“And did you show yourself friendly?” Mr. Maypenny inquired pointedly.

Dan shrugged in response.

“Then you have no right to complain.” Mr. Maypenny stared hard at the young man. “Didn’t you make any friends today?”

“A couple,” Dan muttered. “Tim Cramer and Bruce Finley.”

Mr. Maypenny pursed his lips in disapproval. “I’ve heard of those boys. They’re nothing but trouble, and you should stay away from them. What did you think of the Bob-Whites?”

“Those dorks with the matching red jackets?” Dan hooted. “How dumb can you get?”

“The Cowhands wore matching jackets,” Mr. Maypenny commented.

Dan rewarded him with a scowl. “That’s different.”

“Of course it is.” Mr. Maypenny smiled knowingly. “I know you aren’t fond of either Trixie or Honey yet, but what about the others?”

“That blond kid was okay,” Dan answered half-heartedly.

“Martin Belden?”

Dan nodded in response. “He kinda talked too much, but I s’pose he was friendly enough.”

“Mart’s a very nice young man,” Mr. Maypenny said. “I’ve found that he tends to talk when he’s nervous. If you give him a chance, I’m sure you’ll find him to be a good companion.”

“Whatever,” Dan muttered, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“What did you think of the older Belden boy, Brian?”

Dan snorted scornfully. “Do you mean the cocky dark-haired Cary Grant-type with the arrogant, I’m-better-than-you smirk?”

“Well, that’s who I was talking about, although I wouldn’t describe Brian in that particular manner,” Mr. Maypenny replied evenly. “Maybe when you meet the other boy who hangs around the Bob-Whites, Jim Frayne, you’ll feel more comfortable around them. You and Jim have a lot in common, you know. He was on a field trip today, but I’m sure you’ll meet him on the bus tomorrow.”

“If you’re talking about the redheaded dude that looked like an advertisement for American Eagle with his plaid shirt and yuppie brown leather boots, then you can forget it.” Dan snarled his lips to show his disfavor. “I saw his picture and name slapped all over the Honor Roll bulletin board in the hallway at school.”

“Jim and Brian very nice young men who would be your friends, if you’d give them half a chance,” Mr. Maypenny pointed out.

“Neither one of those do-gooders would wanna have anything to do with me.” Dan squared his shoulders in defiance, raising his chin obstinately. “That dumb club took one look at my jacket and decided I was bad news.”

“And yet you took one look at Jim’s clothes in the picture and decided he was a ‘yuppie’, and that the Bob-Whites were ‘dorks’ because of their matching jackets.”

Dan’s eyes hardened into chips of steel, displeasure etched on his square jaw. He hated it when the old man was right, and he was quickly discovering that Mr. Maypenny was correct more often than not.

“Daniel, I think it’d be wise for you to go outside and chop some wood.”

“After all the work I did this morning?” Dan asked with a groan. “My hands have blisters on them. My blisters have blisters.”

“I think you need to remember what we talked about earlier,” Mr. Maypenny remarked. “You know, the part about controlling your temper.”

With a weary sigh, Dan started for the door. However, Mr. Maypenny halted his progress.

“Before you go outside, there’s something for you in your room, Daniel.”

Furrowing his brow in confusion, Dan changed direction and went into his room. There on the bed was a pair of waterproof work boots, a pair of brown Carhartt long-sleeved overalls, a sturdy pair of matching gloves, and an insulated hat.

“Thought you’d need some better clothes for working outside in,” Mr. Maypenny said in an offhand manner from behind him. “I know you don’t want any clothes for school, but I figured this was different.”

Dan studied at the items on the bed. He had heard of the brand before, and knew this stuff had to be expensive. “I can’t accept these,” he choked out.

“You can’t continue wearing your school clothes outside,” Mr. Maypenny rationalized. “You’ll ruin them and be forced to go shopping with Regan. Although I’m sure he could find a nice Western shirt with fringes on it for you…”

Dan made a slight gagging sound. He looked back at the strange old man with whom he was staying. “Thank you,” he said, a slight catch in his voice.

“You’re welcome, Daniel. Put them on, and then you can split some more firewood.” He turned and walked back into the living room.

Ten minutes later, clad in his new work clothes, Dan prepared to attack a load of logs with a newfound zeal. As he opened the back door, Mr. Maypenny’s voice stopped him.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour. I’ll call you before it’s ready so you can wash up.”

“Okay,” Dan agreed, his tone a bit less sullen.

“And Daniel, if it makes you feel better, Trixie didn’t like me very well either when we first met.”

Dan nodded as he walked outside. It did make him feel better.

The next day at school was a bit more peaceful than the previous one. Of course, that could have been due to the fact that Dan ignored the Bob-Whites entirely and spent all his time with Tim and Bruce. When he got home from school, he was surprised to see Mr. Maypenny rocking in front of the fireplace reading the evening edition of the Sleepyside Sun. Usually the old man was working in the kitchen preparing supper.

“Daniel,” Mr. Maypenny greeted, looking up from the newspaper. “How was school today?”

“Okay, I guess,” Dan offered with a shrug of his shoulders. He sniffed the air and was surprised to find that the room was free from the aroma of food.

“I suppose you’re wondering why you don’t smell dinner cooking,” Mr. Maypenny surmised with a grin.

“Sort of,” Dan answered honestly. If nothing else, he did enjoy the food here. Regan was right; Mr. Maypenny’s hunter’s stew was divine, no matter what it contained. Last night’s pinto beans were quite good as well, and so was the sweet cornbread he had made in a heavy cast-iron skillet.

“That’s easy to explain,” the old man replied in a jovial tone. “Tonight you are going to cook supper, under my guidance of course.”

Dan hooted with laughter. “Me? Cook?”

“You learned how to split firewood, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s different. Cooking is woman’s work,” Dan said scornfully.

“Is that so?” Mr. Maypenny inquired, quirking one white, bushy eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah.” Dan shifted nervously as he felt Mr. Maypenny’s eyes boring into him. “I’ll chop wood, fill birdfeeders, and set out salt blocks, but cooking is for girls.”

“All right then,” Mr. Maypenny agreed, a broad grin on his face. “You may go outside and do manly things.” He shook his paper, rattling it a bit more than necessary, and returned to his reading.

Dan’s eyes narrowed, and although he had permission to leave, he remained rooted to the spot, watching the old man with great curiosity. After a moment or so, it became clear that Mr. Maypenny was not going to begin dinner preparations either. He cleared his throat, trying to muster his courage.

“Ummm… What’re you doing?” Dan asked anxiously.

Mr. Maypenny lowered the paper a bit and peered at Dan over the top, his old-fashioned half-glasses perched precariously on the tip of his beaked nose. “What does it look like? I’m reading the paper.”

“Well, what about dinner?”

“You said cooking was woman’s work,” Mr. Maypenny explained matter-of-factly. “I’m waiting for the women to do it. I’m sure whatever they make will be delicious.”

Dan curiously glanced around the cabin. “What women?”

“The ones who’re going to cook our dinner, lad,” Mr. Maypenny said with a chuckle.

“But there aren’t any women here,” Dan cautiously pointed out.

“Exactly.” Mr. Maypenny folded his newspaper and neatly placed it on the coffee table. “Daniel, there are jobs that need to be done each and every day. Yes, typically the women of the household cook; however, some of the finest chefs I know are men.”

“Yeah, but they get paid for it,” Dan argued stubbornly.

“I know just as many who only cook for their own enjoyment, and they do a marvelous job.” Mr. Maypenny stood walked over to Dan. “Your problem is pride, son. Cooking’s not only for women. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been doing it ever since you got here, and although I’m not the most debonair man around, I think it’s apparent that I’m not a woman.”

Dan had to smile in spite of himself. “No, you’re definitely not a woman.”

“And do you question my masculinity?”

Dan glanced warily at Mr. Maypenny’s sinewy arm muscles. Although he had to be in his early sixties, the old geezer looked tougher than nails. “No, sir.”

“Then get in the kitchen.”

Swallowing his pride, Dan did just as Mr. Maypenny ordered, and he did it quickly for good measure. With a look of chagrin, he obediently tied the apron that the old man handed him around his waist.

For the next two hours, Dan learned quite quickly that roasting a hunk of venison was just about as difficult as hunting, shooting, and skinning the actual deer. He sliced his fingers peeling potatoes, cried like a baby cutting up onions, grated his knuckles removing the outer layer from some carrots, and burned his hand putting the roasting pan into the oven.

Cooking was war.

Spying the young man’s look of frustration, Mr. Maypenny chuckled. “Son, after dinner I think you need to go chop wood.”

“I think you’re right,” Dan wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Chopping wood sounded really good right about now, especially compared to the prospect of finishing dinner. He’d rather have a maul in his hands than a stirring spoon any day.

Besides, Dan was kind of anxious to get the hang of this wood-chopping thing.