A Clearing in the forest by Gloria Whelan Read Free Book Online Page B

difference to you, but I worked a lot around diesels.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œWell, my dad, he’s got a lot of old cars and trucks and we do repairs, rebuild the cars and trucks …” He wanted to tell Pete what he could do, but he didn’t want to sound like a smartass.” I just like to work around engines,” he finished off.
    â€œYeah? Are you giving me the straight stuff? How about welding?”
    Wilson nodded.
    â€œI guess we can try you out, but first off you go up to the platform where T. K.’s working on the pipe and tell him you’re starting out and don’t know nothing and he’s to show you around up there. Then see the motor man, name’s Ferrelli, and tell him you’re a big engine man and for the time being you can run around there with an oil can. And remember to keep track of the tools. Anything that’s missing comes out of my pocket.”
    Wilson understood the labels.
    â€œCoffee break’s in here, follow the guys in,” Pete continued. “Coffee only, you hear? If I find so much as a drop of booze within a mile of this rig, the man who’s got it gets his bottom kicked by me personally. Now get going.” He pushed the plate of cookies toward Wilson to show him the speech was a formality, but Wilson was thinking of other things and missed the friendly gesture.
    The mud sucked at Wilson’s feet as he walked toward the derrick. A narrow ladder ran up along the scaffolding to the tower. The first few rungs didn’t bother him because he was too busy watching the big yellow block that held the drill shaft. The block was at least twenty feet high. Everything there seemed outsized. Looking down, he thought he recognized Lyle Barch. He had heard Lyle was working on one of the rigs and was sorry it was this one.
    Wilson’s hands were getting sweaty and he was having trouble getting his breath. Heights always made him queasy. The only way he could bring himself to continue up the ladder was to stare hard at the rung right in front of his eyes, study all the shades of gray and brown and black in the metal, really look at it as though it were a painting or something he had to memorize. If he looked up toward the top of the tower or down to the receding ground, he got panicky.
    When he finally pulled himself onto the platform, he was horrified to see the floor was nothing more than a strip of metal grating. You could look down between the slats a hundred feet to the ground.
    â€œWelcome to the ‘Top of the Rig,’ gourmet lunches and dinners, bar always open.” T. K. reached into his back pocket, took out a bottle of Jack Daniels, tipped it, and swallowed. He offered it to Wilson, who hastily shook his head, looking over his shoulder as if Pete might be floating around in the air up there watching them.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, buddy?” He shifted the last piece of pipe out of its slot and looked like he was getting ready to start down.
    He was tall—six-feet-four or-five. Wilson felt like Jack climbing the beanstalk and meeting the giant. Would he leave him here alone? Wilson grabbed the railing and managed to answer the man. “Pete told me to report to you, then go right down and work with Ferrelli.” The lighting up here was strange; the red glow from lights along the side of the derrick gave everything an unearthly look.
    â€œFerrelli? Hell, we could use a man with us. Well, since you’re up here, I’ll give you the five-dollar tour. Next time be sure you wear a safety belt. Heard the score on the baseball game?”
    Wilson looked dumbly at him, too frightened to hear anything, but T. K. didn’t seem to notice and went right on talking in a friendly way. “That crazy pitcher the Tigers got—the Bird—I’d give a lot to get down to Detroit and see him. Working this shift, I don’t even get to see him on TV.”
    Shouting over the noise, T. K. started