recited “An Ode to the Tamarack River Ghost,” a somewhat embellished version of how Mortimer Dunn met his fate.
Fred laughed. “I know that. I suppose now you’ll tell me you’ve seen the ghost and heard the song.”
“I might have,” said Oscar quietly. “I just might have. Happened last spring. It was a still night, right after the ice on the river went out. I was right here in this park, came here to see the ice break up. Something to see, you know. Big chunks of ice spilling over those rapids, smashing into little pieces.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d seen the ghost,” said Fred.
“Well, I don’t tell you ever’thin’.”
“Guess not,” Fred said, a bit miffed at his friend.
“Anyway,” Oscar continued. “I was standing here, thinking about that log drive back in 1900. It was early in the morning, sun hadn’t got up yet. And a bit chilly, too. Couldn’t sleep, so I came down here to watch the river ice go out.”
“So when you can’t sleep, you come down here to the river?”
“Not always, but I did that day. Ice going out is always kind of interesting to see; I like the sound of the river when it’s running full, too. Nice sound.”
“What about the ghost? You gonna tell me about the ghost?”
“Well, hold your horses, I’m gettin’ to it.”
“About time.”
“I was just standing and taking it all in—the coming of spring, the old river runnin’ wild, the smell of the season’s first new growth—when I heard it. Had to listen real careful, ’cause the sound was kind of dim, kind of dim it was.”
“That’s because your hearin’ ain’t so good anymore,” said Fred.
“Speak for yourself, but I could hear it. Could hear the sound pretty good. It was the sound of a little bell, the kind of bell that hung from the collar of the ghost’s dog. It was that kind of sound, clear as could be, after I focused in on it.”
“Probably ice melting and chunks running over the rocks—sometimes that sounds like a little bell ringing.”
“Ah, but there was more. Wasn’t just the bell ringing. I could smell it.”
“Smell what?”
“Tobacco smoke. Pipe tobacco smoke. And I remembered Mortimer Dunn smoked a pipe.”
“Musta been somebody else in the park, smokin’ a pipe that morning.”
“Fred, there was nobody else here, I was all alone. And I know what I heard and what I smelled.”
“That it? That’s all to the story. You heard a bell ringing, and then you smelled tobacco smoke.”
“There’s more.”
Oscar reeled in his line and tossed it out again.
“Well, you gonna tell me the rest?” asked Fred.
“You wanna hear it?”
“Well, sure. You don’t tell a damn story and then stop in the middle of it without tellin’ how it ended. What kind of story is that?”
“Thought maybe you wanted to go back to payin’ attention to your fishing.”
“I am payin’ attention to my fishing. You gonna finish the story or not?”
“Ain’t much more to it,” said Oscar. He cleared his throat and continued. “And this part’s a little more sketchy.”
“Well?” said Fred.
“I felt like another person was standin’ right next to me. I couldn’t see nobody, but it sure felt like somebody was standin’ there. And the weirdest part, when I sensed the other person nearby, the smell of pipe tobacco smoke was strongest.”
“Couldn’t see nobody else, huh?”
“That’s what I said, but sometimes you can’t see a ghost. The more I thought about it, the more sure I became that the Tamarack River Ghost was watching the river with me that morning. That old ghost is out there lookin’ for his resting place, and when he ain’t doin’ that, he’s takin’ care of this valley. You bet he is.”
“Gives me the shudders just to think about it,” said Fred. “You oughta add what you just told me to the tale you tell at the festival. Put a little scare in the folks.”
“I might just do that. Might do that.” Oscar reeled in his fish line.
Fred laughed. “I know that. I suppose now you’ll tell me you’ve seen the ghost and heard the song.”
“I might have,” said Oscar quietly. “I just might have. Happened last spring. It was a still night, right after the ice on the river went out. I was right here in this park, came here to see the ice break up. Something to see, you know. Big chunks of ice spilling over those rapids, smashing into little pieces.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d seen the ghost,” said Fred.
“Well, I don’t tell you ever’thin’.”
“Guess not,” Fred said, a bit miffed at his friend.
“Anyway,” Oscar continued. “I was standing here, thinking about that log drive back in 1900. It was early in the morning, sun hadn’t got up yet. And a bit chilly, too. Couldn’t sleep, so I came down here to watch the river ice go out.”
“So when you can’t sleep, you come down here to the river?”
“Not always, but I did that day. Ice going out is always kind of interesting to see; I like the sound of the river when it’s running full, too. Nice sound.”
“What about the ghost? You gonna tell me about the ghost?”
“Well, hold your horses, I’m gettin’ to it.”
“About time.”
“I was just standing and taking it all in—the coming of spring, the old river runnin’ wild, the smell of the season’s first new growth—when I heard it. Had to listen real careful, ’cause the sound was kind of dim, kind of dim it was.”
“That’s because your hearin’ ain’t so good anymore,” said Fred.
“Speak for yourself, but I could hear it. Could hear the sound pretty good. It was the sound of a little bell, the kind of bell that hung from the collar of the ghost’s dog. It was that kind of sound, clear as could be, after I focused in on it.”
“Probably ice melting and chunks running over the rocks—sometimes that sounds like a little bell ringing.”
“Ah, but there was more. Wasn’t just the bell ringing. I could smell it.”
“Smell what?”
“Tobacco smoke. Pipe tobacco smoke. And I remembered Mortimer Dunn smoked a pipe.”
“Musta been somebody else in the park, smokin’ a pipe that morning.”
“Fred, there was nobody else here, I was all alone. And I know what I heard and what I smelled.”
“That it? That’s all to the story. You heard a bell ringing, and then you smelled tobacco smoke.”
“There’s more.”
Oscar reeled in his line and tossed it out again.
“Well, you gonna tell me the rest?” asked Fred.
“You wanna hear it?”
“Well, sure. You don’t tell a damn story and then stop in the middle of it without tellin’ how it ended. What kind of story is that?”
“Thought maybe you wanted to go back to payin’ attention to your fishing.”
“I am payin’ attention to my fishing. You gonna finish the story or not?”
“Ain’t much more to it,” said Oscar. He cleared his throat and continued. “And this part’s a little more sketchy.”
“Well?” said Fred.
“I felt like another person was standin’ right next to me. I couldn’t see nobody, but it sure felt like somebody was standin’ there. And the weirdest part, when I sensed the other person nearby, the smell of pipe tobacco smoke was strongest.”
“Couldn’t see nobody else, huh?”
“That’s what I said, but sometimes you can’t see a ghost. The more I thought about it, the more sure I became that the Tamarack River Ghost was watching the river with me that morning. That old ghost is out there lookin’ for his resting place, and when he ain’t doin’ that, he’s takin’ care of this valley. You bet he is.”
“Gives me the shudders just to think about it,” said Fred. “You oughta add what you just told me to the tale you tell at the festival. Put a little scare in the folks.”
“I might just do that. Might do that.” Oscar reeled in his fish line.
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