Kicking Against The Goads Read online



  Kicking Against The Goads

  By

  Darrel Bird

  Copyright 2010 by Darrel Bird

  Kicking Against the Goads

  Part 1

  On that cold November morning, Joe Blankenship awoke before dawn, as usual, and shivered. He hurried into the living room, opened the door on the Earth stove, and stirred the glowing coals. He tossed in some small kindling, and shoved a log of firewood in on top of it. He pulled on his socks and shoes against the cold floor and headed for the coffee pot. Nobody but Joe would drink his coffee; because he made it so strong it would melt the proverbial horseshoe. He puttered around the house a few minutes until the coffee was ready. Unlike Jena, his wife, the minute he woke up, he was awake and ready to go. His wife was a sleepyhead who would not awaken for another couple of hours.

  He and his wife had been married a long time. He had married her when she was at the bottom of the ninth of seventeen, just about to head for first base on eighteen, and he was still in the service. They had had nothing in common, and still didn’t, except a love of kids, dogs, and a deep enduring love for each other that had overcome the hardships of the years.

  Joe grabbed the pot and poured himself a cup of coffee. He slopped in some milk from the refrigerator, then walked over and sat down in the overstuffed chair by the wood stove. The fire had begun to put off welcome heat. The crackle of the fire was a prelude to the waking clatter of the rest of the family. As usual when he was the only one up, his mind began to work on two or three subjects at once, and he felt a depression roll over him like a black cloud.

  This was one day Joe had dreaded seeing arrive, because today he would be leaving their home, alone. No matter how bad it had ever previously gotten, Joe and Jena had always found their hands seeking out the other’s as they stood together against the world. As he sat and sipped at his coffee, he felt the hot liquid warm his body as he reflected on the events that had brought him to this morning.

  They had bought this house with its three acres two years ago, and they had had such dreams. It had seemed to be a gift from the Lord. Then two years ago he had agreed to work for his buddy Ralph in his remodeling business. He and Ralph had gotten along well at first, and business was good. They were both Christians, and both had children to feed. They both worked hard, but the amount of work had slowly declined. Ralph had hired crew that he shouldn’t have hired, and had tried to grow the business too quickly. He had taken on more contracts and promised starts more quickly than they could get to them. To get them finished on time, Ralph had hired his brother, a friend from church, and a high school kid. They were all inexperienced, slower than molasses, and weren’t driven to hard work.

  Joe had tried to talk to him about it, but it did no good. So instead of Joe and Ralph working together as they had in the beginning, Ralph now spent most days running around in his pickup instead of swinging a hammer or wielding a paintbrush. Ralph hadn’t called him in a month, and the last time Joe had called him, Ralph had promised work but never came through.

  Monday a week ago, Joe had driven to town for something or other. As he drove down the street, he saw Ralph’s familiar Dodge pickup at a local bank, and then he saw the crew on the scaffolding, working on the exterior of the building. Joe was stunned. Judging by the progress they had made, he could tell they had been working on the bank building at least two days.

  Joe parked a block away and watched the inexperienced crew at work. He and Ralph had done well and made good money because they worked well as a team and were efficient at what they did. He liked all these guys, but being likeable did not make them good at the jobs they were doing. Joe knew why they were working and he was not. It was because he was the highest paid one on the crew. But it still stung Joe clear to his soul. He felt betrayed, not only because Ralph was his friend, but also because Joe considered him a close brother in the Lord. Joe had slowly driven the twenty miles home. The whole way up the road that snaked its way through the mountains, he thought about what he had witnessed in town.

  As Joe sat there and stirred his coffee, he thought of all the years he and Jena had been married. They would do well for a while, and then things would slowly go to hell in a hand basket. Joe and Jena had both “gotten saved” about fifteen years before; they both loved the Lord and experienced his presence. They knew that the hand of God had overshadowed their lives, but Joe could not fully understand what that meant. He had to make a living, and that was all there was to it. It seemed that nothing ever turned out the way he planned, no matter what he did. He felt like it had all gotten him nowhere.

  He prayed constantly, and didn’t think his prayers were being answered. And yet, when times got bad, God would cause something to happen that would provide just enough to feed them. It was always just enough and no more. The truth was, God would bless Joe up and down with the presence of the blessed Holy Spirit, and Joe knew he was always with him.

  Joe’s brother, who lived in Las Vegas, had called him a few months before. He had asked Joe to come down to Vegas and work for him, but Joe didn’t want to leave Oregon and their home. He told his brother he would think about it, and left it at that. Then came the day when he saw that work crew on a job he should have been working, and he knew he had to do something. When he got home that day, he called his brother and agreed to come down.

  Joe worked on his second cup of coffee that morning. He always understood that God knew his every thought, so he was just honest about them. He knew God heard them all, and figured if God had anything to say, he would say it.

  He sat there and worried in his coffee cup. He had traded his work truck to a guy he didn’t even know, for a customized Dodge van, title for title. The guy had come to the house two days ago and asked him if he would trade his truck for the van. The van ran perfectly, and Joe figured it was a God thing. He was going to take their dog, a big yellow Labrador named Boomer, and the trailer, and then head out.

  His wife was going to stay there with the kids and try to sell the house, the rest of the furniture, and the horse. She would join him in Vegas when he found a house. Joe hated like the dickens to give up this house and three acres that sat atop a beautiful mountain. He could sit in his upstairs office and see forever. How many people could boast of having a view of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Baker, and Mt. Hood? The ground was rich and would grow anything, so they had a good garden that year. The kids loved being on the place with their dog -- who hated cats -- and a horse that would break through three strands of barbed wire just to graze over on his neighbor’s pasture.

  That horse was one worthless nag, but the kids loved him, so Joe had kept him. He had chased him all over creation and back, because at least once a week the deputy sheriff that covered that part of the county would drive up to the house in the patrol car and tell Joe where the horse was presently staying, eating somebody else’s hay.

  Joe grew more depressed as he sat there; knowing what had to be done. He didn’t like it, but not liking it didn’t change things, one way or the other. Joe didn’t understand God at all, but he hated to admit it. He knew God, and he wasn’t about to go cursing him nor complaining to him. He knew eternity waited for him, and as the old song goes, “We’ll understand it better by and by.”

  Joe had faith in God that he would supply their needs somehow, because he always did. At times Joe had the feeling that God deliberately kept him crushed under his heel. It felt like a big foot right on top of his neck, holding him to the ground. He also knew the source of those thoughts, and he could almost see the leering face of Satan. He knew Satan hated him for his undying faith. He knew that as well as he knew his own face in the mirror.


  He heard Jena head for the bathroom, and then heard the commode flush. She walked into the living room frizzy-headed and sleepy-eyed, plopping down in her chair.

  “Are you going to go this morning?” she asked as she looked over at him. She already knew the answer.

  “Yeah, the trailer’s hooked up. Unless you got any other idea!” he added sharply. Joe could sometimes be sarcastic, but he didn’t mean anything by it. He just disliked foolish questions, when the answers were obvious -- at least to him, and his sarcasm was always at its worst when he was worried. Then he said more gently, “I should be in Vegas day after tomorrow. You need to start breakfast.” She got up tiredly and headed for the kitchen.

  He smelled bacon frying. Jena came back into the living room, and this time she eased down on Joe’s lap and rested her head on his chest. He inhaled the sweet smell of her hair, and he felt panic rise at the thought of leaving her alone. Nothing ever broke until he left the house, but as soon as he left, even if it was just to go hunting, everything on the place fell apart. Then he always felt guilty when he got back. Jena couldn’t fix a broken fingernail, much less anything around the house. Joe wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

  “I love you, Joe.”

  “I know,” he answered, and he choked up a little. He didn’t want Jena to see how troubled he was.

  After a few minutes, she got up and went back to the kitchen to finish breakfast. They ate in silence. By then the kids were stirring around, and it was almost time for Joe to get going.

  He walked through the kitchen to the back door and yelled “Boomer, com’ere boy!” The large Lab trotted out from the insulated pump house where he liked to sleep. Joe snapped a leash on his choke chain and led him around the house to the van. He opened the door and Boomer jumped in. The horse came around to the fence, thinking he might get a little early feed. Joe walked over and rubbed his muzzle, then walked back to the van.

  Jena and the kids were standing there, the kids looking a little bewildered and frightened. Joe knew they didn’t understand why he was going, although he had tried to explain it to them.

  Jena grabbed him and kissed him long and hard, with tears streaming down her face. Joe reached down and hugged the twin girls, tousled the hair of the two boys and turned and crawled into the van. He cranked it up and put it in reverse.

  “I’ll call you,” he said. He drove down the short gravel road to the highway, made a left, and headed for Portland.

  In an hour, he was through Portland and on the I-84, heading up the gorge. In two hours, he passed The Bridge of The Gods, which spanned the Columbia River at the narrows. Boomer stuck his head between the seats as if to say, “Are we there yet?” Joe gave him a scratch behind the ears, and Boomer went back and lay down.

  The van had been converted and had a short sleeper in the back. It was covered with thick carpet on the floor, walls, and ceiling. There was even a CB radio overhead. It was cozy, and Joe felt he had gotten the best of the deal. He had seen God work enough miracles in their lives to know that it was no coincidence. If Joe had been in his pick-up he would have had no place to sleep, and he couldn’t afford motel rooms.

  He grabbed the CB mike, and turned it on to channel 19, which was the trucker channel for that part of the country. He gave a call, and a voice came back right away. It was a trucker headed for Portland. Joe thanked him, and explained that he was just testing the radio. He told the trucker where he was headed.

  “Good luck, buddy,” came the squawky voice of the trucker. “There’s ice past The Dalles.” Then he signed off.

  As he got past The Dalles, Oregon, he could see the sheet of ice on the road, and more on the bridges. He drove about twenty miles further north and had just crossed a long bridge, when a pickup pulling a fifth wheel trailer began to jackknife on the ice. He knew that if he slammed on the breaks he would do the same. The pickup and trailer now sat crossways in the road, giving him nowhere to go.

  He yelled, “Daaaaang!” as he felt his wheels begin to skid on the ice. The van felt like it was speeding up instead of slowing down. He was heading straight for the pickup, which was now almost facing him head on. The van kept sliding, but then it slowly skidded to a stop within about two feet of the front of the pickup. Joe checked his mirror and tensed his body, waiting for the cars behind to plow into him. They had miraculously managed to stop, and Joe just sat there, his legs quivering. The man in the pickup gradually got the truck turned, and, after seesawing it a few times, headed east again.

  Joe said, “Thank you, Lord!”

  Boomer came sticking his big head between the seats to see if he was being called for dinner. When he saw that wasn’t the case, he pulled his head back, and, turning around a few times, lay back down for his favorite pastime, which was sleeping.

  By last light, Joe came to the foot of Cabbage Mountain. He had no more started up when he hit heavy snow. He stopped at a turnout to put on the chains, but discovered the chains didn’t fit. “Nothing to do than go on.” Joe said as he jumped back into the truck, his hands freezing cold.

  He reached the top of Cabbage Mountain and was in the high country. There was snow everywhere, but the trucks kept it packed down into ruts. He drove four more hours and a call came over the CB. He grabbed the mike, and a voice came on.

  “Hey, buddy, in the blue van! Where you headed?”

  “Vegas,” Joe spoke into the mike.

  The trucker said, “Buddy, trucks are spinning out all over the place up ahead of you and the road is closed past the next town.”

  “Thank you for alerting me,” Joe replied.

  “Sure thing, buddy. No use settin’ on the side of the road all night. They won’t open the road till morning. Take the next exit and you will find a motel.”

  Joe said a prayer of thanks for the radio and the truckers. He saw the exit for the town and headed off the highway. He wound his way down into a small town, saw a motel sign, and pulled in. The room rate wasn’t too steep. Still, Joe hadn’t figured on staying in motels.

  He unlocked the door and went in. The room was nice and warm, so he shucked his clothes and jumped in the shower. After standing a long time under the hot water, he rolled back the covers on the bed and lay there.

  He was worried and up tight about the whole trip now. He worried about his family, too. They would likely be getting snow, and they had nothing but the old Chevy clunker that had seen its better days a hundred thousand miles ago. He lay there and felt the old depression roll in on him. He thought about everything that had happened during the last week, and of the circumstances he now found himself in.

  The going had started getting rough the minute he passed The Dalles. The ice had slowed him down, and now he lay here in a motel because the road was closed. He thought about whether he should just turn around and head back in the morning, but he knew he wouldn’t. He was just not a man to reverse his decision once he made one. He lay there and worried another hour before he dropped off to sleep.

  He awoke about seven and got a cup of coffee across the street. He let Boomer do his business in the parking lot, and then pulled back onto the highway. The snowplows had cleared the road during the night, and the wind did the rest. He felt the gusts rock the van as he made the long circuitous route to catch the I-15, where the 15 would drop back out of the mountains of Utah to Vegas.

  Flying snow and passing trucks with trailers obscured his vision in places. He was on edge all morning, and his shoulders were aching with tension and fatigue.

  About midday, Boomer started farting. “Giiaaa!” Joe exclaimed as he franticly rolled down the window. The cold air hit him with a blast of icy breath. When Joe thought it was safe he rolled the window back up. Pretty soon, Boomer lit off another one, the stench hitting him full force. Back down came the window, and now the van was like a chunk of ice.

  Boomer stuck his head between the seats as if to say, “Whut’s
up?” Joe looked at the big yellow dog and started laughing. It relieved the worry and tension, as Boomer kept farting about every five minutes.

  Joe prayed to the Lord to watch over him and his family, for he knew they were all depending on him to get to where he was going and send for them. They depended on him; he was responsible for them, and when he thought about it, he began worrying again.

  He was not making good time, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was hungry, so when he finally saw a restaurant, he pulled off the road and into the parking lot. There was nothing but woods and hills all around, so he let Boomer out for a run. Boomer lit out for the woods. Joe called for him, but Boomer paid no attention. Boomer usually came when called, but this time he disappeared in the woods. Joe started to worry about Boomer coming back, which put him a foul mood.

  “If he ain’t back by the time I eat, he is a left dog!” grumped Joe, and he headed for the restaurant.

  When he came back to the van about forty-five minutes later, still angry at the dog, there was Boomer sitting looking at him, his tail swiping the snow. He slid the door back, and Boomer jumped in, wagging his tail. Joe could have sworn that dog read his mind and knew he’d better be back at the van when Joe got there.

  “You best get in there!” Joe said loudly, and slammed the door shut. He felt a little better with some hot food and a Thermos full of coffee, so he turned the radio on and listened to some music. The wind-driven snow was still a problem, and in some places he couldn’t see ten feet ahead.

  He began to feel uneasy again, and his shoulders tightened with the strain of driving in the blinding snow. He had a sense of dread, and he began to wonder if he was alone. Maybe God didn’t give a hoot about him or his family.

  “Hell, nothing ever goes right anyway!” he muttered to the road. He felt a twinge of guilt, because he hardly ever used unseemly and unnecessary language, and it made him feel worse.

  Joe didn’t realize that he had been gradually accelerating. He was soon doing seventy in very dangerous conditions, but his mind was elsewhere. He crossed over a bridge just before the road rounded a bend. Suddenly, a squall of snow blanked out the road. When it cleared, there was a car stopped dead in front of him.

  Joe yanked the wheel, and the van skidded off the road. Climbing an embankment, it glanced off a rock and rolled over onto the passenger side. Everything went round and round as Joe heard the sickening screech of metal on rock. Then he lost consciousness.

  He awoke still strapped in by the seat belt, so he reached for the buckle. He screamed in pain as he unsnapped it and dropped down into the passenger seat. He lay still, trying to breathe. When he moved, a sharp pain shot all the way down his left side.

  Eventually a head appeared in the driver’s side window, which had been broken out. He looked down at Joe and said something, but Joe was too wracked with pain to make out what the man said. In a few minutes, he heard a siren off in the distance, and soon it came whooping up, stopping on the side of the road.

  The driver’s side door opened with a yawn, and hands reached in to pull him out. Joe screamed again as the pain tore through his side. He heard Boomer whimper from the back, and Joe grabbed the man’s arm and said through clenched teeth, “Dog.”

  The man said, “Ok, buddy, take it easy.” They pulled him through the door and laid him gently on a gurney, then rolled him into the ambulance and closed the door.

  Joe could see the outline of the ambulance attendant talking to a cop in the strobe of the flashing lights. The ambulance attendant turned, and he heard the driver’s door slam. The engine started. The other attendant came to the back from the cab and began preparing his arm for an I.V. The ambulance was warm, but Joe grimaced with the pain in his side at every little bump.

  At the hospital, the doctor told him he had two broken ribs, and that one had punctured his lung. He had various cuts and bruises, but none of those was too serious. A nurse came in and gave him an injection, and he drifted off to sleep.

  The next day he called Jena and told her what happened. He told her to stay put until he called her again. They talked for a while, then hung up, and he drifted off to sleep again.

  About three o’clock that afternoon a man came into his room and asked Joe if he could sit down. Joe nodded at the chair by his bed. The man looked like a mechanic in his blue pants and shirt. The name ‘Earl’ was stitched above the pocket. He looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies. Earl told Joe he was the one that had towed the van into town.

  Joe told him the title was in the glove box, because he didn’t have the money to pay him for the tow, or to fix the van. Earl just nodded. Then he asked him where he was headed. Joe told him, and Earl again just nodded. As Earl sat there, Joe was getting the idea that nodding his head was Earl’s favorite pastime.

  “How long do you figure you will be laid up here?”

  “The doctor said a couple of days.” Joe explained about the punctured lung, and Earl nodded his head slowly, as if all the previous nodding had slowed him down a mite.

  Earl reached into his shirt pocket and handed him a card that read, ‘Earl’s Garage and Body Shop’ ‘We do good work.’ Earl sat there, nodded a couple more times, and then said, “I gotta go back to work, but when you get free, could you come see me at the shop?”

  “Sure,” Joe replied, thinking the man would probably give him his belongings from the wrecked van and then send her to the wrecking yard for his tow money.

  A little later, a cop came into Joe’s room and stood at the foot of his bed. He informed Joe that he was the officer who attended the accident, and he asked Joe to describe what had happened. He wrote everything down on a notepad as Joe related the whole accident. The cop said, “Thank you.” He closed his notepad, and turned to go. Then he turned back and asked if a man named Earl had come by.

  Joe said that he had, and the cop waved his notebook at Joe and said, “See ya.” He figured they might rig a ticket on him, this being a one-red-light town and all, but he was too heartsick to care.

  The next two days moved slowly, but he felt his strength returning as the days wore on. The doctor came in on Friday evening and asked Joe how he felt. Joe flinched as the doctor poked at his side.

  “You gonna release me?”

  The doctor looked at him closely. “I would like you to stay here until Monday.”

  Joe said a little loudly, “Doc, I don’t have the money to pay the hospital bill I already rang up! I need to get moving.”

  The doctor just looked at him and said, “You don’t worry about that. Now you just lay here till Monday. Will you promise me, Joe?”

  “I will,” Joe said, looking into the doctor’s kind eyes.

  “My bedside manner must be improving,” the doctor said, and laughed.

  Joe just nodded his head; he found this all bewildering.

  He stayed in the hospital until Monday morning, and he felt good except for some soreness in his chest and legs, but he had been up and walking.

  About seven, the nurse came in smiling, with a big plate of eggs, bacon, and coffee. It hurt to swallow but Joe finished it all. The doctor came in at nine, felt his ribs, and said he could be discharged from the hospital. The charge nurse came and wheeled him to the front desk. They handed him some papers to sign, and then wheeled him to the door. A taxi was sitting there with ‘Dan’s Taxi Service’ written on the door in block letters. When he saw Joe and the nurse, he came around and opened the passenger door.

  “I didn’t call a taxi,” Joe said. The driver just smiled.

  “Goodbye Joe. I’ve enjoyed having you as a patient,” The nurse said as she turned to go.

  “Earl told me to bring you down to the shop,” the taxi driver announced.

  Joe crawled into the front seat. The driver left with a lurch, and drove swiftly down the town’s one storefront-lined street, Main Street. “What else?” Joe muttered.

  Th
e taxi pulled up in front of a large old metal and brick building with the word ‘Garage’ over one door and the words ‘Body Shop’ over the other door. There was a sign that said ‘Office’ over a smaller door to a room that looked as if it had been tacked on after the fact.

  He thanked the driver as he pulled away and he walked into the office. He found Earl sitting there doing paperwork, wearing what looked to be the same blue uniform he wore when he first met him. He looked up as Joe entered, stood up, and reached across the desk to shake his hand.

  “Thank you for coming down. Glad to see you are on your feet again. We have your dog. He’s tied out in the shop; the boys have taken up with him and have been feeding him.”

  Joe looked at him in surprise. “Was he hurt badly?” he asked.

  “Naw! He limped a little for a while, but he’s just fine now. Your van is in the shop in the back. We fixed it up for you. All the boys worked on it.”

  “Mister, I don’t have the money to pay you. I’m sorry,” Joe said as he looked away.

  “I know. You told me. Come on out and we’ll get her started and out the door.”

  Joe followed Earl out into the big garage building, and as soon as Boomer saw him, he lunged at the rope to get to him. Tears welled up in Joe’s eyes as he walked over to the big dog. Boomer jumped up on him, licking the tears off Joe’s face. Joe ruffled his fur, scratched him behind the ears, and hugged the dog.

  He saw a mechanic walk back to a nice-looking cream-colored van, start the engine, and drive it forward and out of the shop. Earl handed him his keys and motioned to the van. Joe just stared at the van with its faultless paint job, new tires, and new wheels shining in the morning sun.

  “But that’s not my van!” Joe said.

  Earl hung his head and said, “Well, the boys took the liberty to fix it up for you… that is your van. And the boys don’t want no pay now, you hear?”

  Joe walked over and stared at the van. He didn’t know what to say. The van was almost unrecognizable from the outside. Even the dash had been painted, and there wasn’t a dent or a scratch on it. Joe looked at the new chrome wheels and tires.

  “But who paid for all this?”

  Earl just looked away and said, “Never you mind about that. Your trailer is in back, and if you will pull around we’ll hook her up for you.”

  Joe was bewildered, but he got in the van and started it up. The engine sounded much better than before. He pulled it around to the back of the building, and there was the trailer. They had disassembled, re-welded, and painted it.

  Two mechanics came through the back door and grabbed the tongue of the trailer. Joe heard the tongue snap into place. With a rattle of the safety chains, the mechanics motioned him forward, and then walked back into the shop. He pulled the van around to the front of the shop again, and a mechanic stood holding Boomer by a leash. The mechanic slid the door open and gave Boomer a hug. Boomer jumped in, and he closed the door then turned around and headed back into the shop. Earl walked up to the side window and stuck his hand through the window.

  “Good luck son.”

  “Sir, I don’t understand all this,” Joe said as he shook Earl’s hand.

  Earl looked at him for a few seconds, as if he was trying to make up his mind about something, and finally said, “Son, that was my family in that car. If you hadn’t swerved they might have all been dead. That cop that came to see you was my son, and his daughter was in that car and the hospital kept you there so we could get the time it took to fix it up. Now the boys wanted to do this for you so you just take this van and head on out to where you were going.” He turned abruptly around and walked back into his office.

  Joe sat there amazed as he stared at the retreating figure. He cranked the van and started toward the highway, but he could barely see through the tears that flooded his eyes. He was still batting at the tears as he pulled back on to the main road. The powerful van surged forward as if it couldn’t wait to go.

  He pulled the van over to the side of the road and unclipped the inside hood of the van. There sat a new motor. Everything was new, clear down to the wiring harness. He just sat there and stared at it. Then he got out of the van and looked again at the faultless paint job. The tears started again. He leaned against the van and wept for the first time in years, as he felt the sweet presence of the Lord. Finally, he was able to start the van again. It came to life with a roar and he headed toward Vegas.

  He drove out of the Utah Mountains and felt the weather change as he dropped down into the beautiful canyons that lined the side of the road. About sunset, he saw a sign that read, ‘Las Vegas 20 miles.’ Boomer stuck his head between the seats. Joe ruffled his fur and said, “We’re about there, boy.” Boomer seemed satisfied with the explanation and lay back down.

  Boomer had gotten over his farting fit before the accident. Musta been something he et, Joe thought as he drove the remaining miles.