The Adventures Of Ranger Ramona

CHAPTER ONE

Ramona put her windows down and took a deep breath of the fragrant forest air. She loved that smell, fresh and clean and wild. For the past half hour, tall pines had formed a solid green wall on either side of the highway, broken only now and then by a meandering stream or a roughly cut logging road. From the seat beside her, she heard the flapping of the plastic clothing bag. She smiled thinking about its contents. Most little girls grew up dreaming about wearing their wedding gowns. All she had ever wanted was to one day don the gray and green uniform of a Maine Forest Ranger.

She saw a dark object in the road ahead, and tapped her brakes. As she slowed, she recognized the lifeless shape as a porcupine. She cautiously steered her truck around it, realizing that she had seen very little roadkill on this stretch of highway. It was not for lack of wildlife, she figured, but infrequency of traffic. She had seen a few deer and plenty of squirrels and wild turkeys. She had seen a good number of ravens as well, and that pleased her. She liked ravens, she considered them smarter than many people she knew.

The road made a wide bend to the left and she began to descend a long slope. The forest tapered down to scattered stands of trees and a broad valley vista opened before her.

The Wiscapasett River wound across her view, a blue ribbon on a field of green. There was another spot of blue further on, which she realized must be Merganser Pond, where wealthy folks from Massachusetts and Quebec spent their summers.

There were scattered patches of farmland and scars of cleared land beneath the power lines, but most of the valley floor was covered in dark green forest. Even the town of Saw Whet was mostly hidden by it. The smaller community of Reed's Corner and Beartown, the even smaller Wabanaki village, were lost altogether beneath the canopy of trees. Beyond the valley, a series of rolling hills stretched to the horizon. The Canadian border ran somewhere through them, but the forest stretched on.

As she neared the bottom of the slope, she passed a few double wide trailers, most of them surrounded by satellites of bikes, toys and assorted trash, and here and there she saw small, weatherbeaten clapboard houses. She passed a woodlot where a man in overalls was driving a team of draft horses dragging a tremendous log. He waved at her and she waved back. A little further on, a woodchuck sat on his haunches on the roadside and watched her go by, and she waved at him as well.

Just beyond a dirt road marked with a wooden sign pointing the way to the town dump, she entered Saw Whet itself.

A dozen roughly paved side streets led off either side of Main Street, none of which seemed to contain more than four or five houses. She saw the volunteer fire department and the town's small library. She smiled at a memory of her father telling her that one of the special things about New England was that even the smallest town has a library. She remembered all the time she had spent in theirs, reading everything she could find about fish and trees, woods lore and wildlife.

Next to the library was Saw Whet Variety and Hardware, and she laughed when she noticed it contained a Dunkin' Donuts. No, Dad, she thought, the special thing about New England is that even the smallest town has a Dunkies.

Downtown Saw Whet consisted of two blocks of brick store fronts, about half of which looked to be occupied. There were no more than a half dozen cars parked in front of them. The only other moving vehicle on the street was a UPS truck, traveling in the opposite direction.

It didn't seem like a place where much was going on, although she knew from her research that it would perk up once the vacation season got underway and was something of a boom town every year during hunting season. A slow paced life was fine with her. She did not consider herself unfriendly or anti-social, but she really did prefer to be alone most of the time, in the woods or out on the water, rather than partying or going to clubs.

She liked sex, liked it a lot, but she didn't like the baggage that inevitably came with it. She always made it clear that she intended to keep things casual, and there had been plenty of men, and a few women, who had been eager to agree to that, but it always seemed to end in anger or indifference.

Beyond downtown, across the narrow Wiscapasett bridge and just past Saw Whet Superette Market, she saw the familiar logo of the Maine Forest Service and turned into the gravel parking lot in front of the station.

It was, appropriately she thought, a one story log building, with a wooden plank porch running the length of the front facade. Ramona parked near the steps. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

You've waited your whole life for this, she thought. Let's go.

She mounted the stairs and stepped inside. The main room of the station ran the length of the building. To her left was a round formica table, surrounded by a half dozen folding chairs, and a counter holding a coffee maker and a mini-fridge. There were three doors in the far wall. The one on the left was marked as storage, the center one as the rest room. To the right, a woman sat at a desk, behind an outdated computer monitor. She seemed to be guarding the third door. Its sign proclaimed it to be the office of Lieutenant Wesley Bebb, station commander.

The woman looked up. "Can I help you, dear?"

"Yes, thanks, I'm the new ranger. Reporting in to Lieutenant Bebb."

The woman stood. Ramona was tall, but the woman topped her by several inches. She must be over six feet, Ramona thought.

"You're Greentree?"

"I am."

"Well, ain't that a pisser. I'm Martha. Nice to meet you."

She held out her hand and Ramona shook it. "I'll let the big cheese know you're here," she said.

She rapped on the door. "Chief, the new ranger's here." She winked at Ramona. "Gonna be great to have another gal around."

Ramona could not make out the muffled response from behind the door, but Martha opened it and gestured with her head. "Go on in, dearie."

Ramona ducked around her. The office was small and overfilled with shelves and filing cabinets.

Lieutenant Bebb sat behind a cluttered desk, partially hidden by a row of fishing trophies. He was a slightly paunchy man, with a high widow's peak. He looked up at Ramona over a large pair of very thick glasses.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

"Ranger Greentree, sir."

"You sure?" he asked, picking up a folder from the desk and looking inside it.

"Yes, sir. Ramona Greentree."

He held the folder close to his face.

"I thought that said Raymond. You sure it ain't a typo?"

"If it says Raymond, it is a typo, sir."

"You're not Raymond? You got a brother?"

"No, sir."

He gestured for her to sit down. There was a copy of the Bangor Daily News on the only chair. She moved it to the desk and sat.

"Oh thanks," the lieutenant said, "I was wondering where I put that."

"You're welcome, sir."

He continued to peer at Ramona's file.

"What about Greentree, is that right?"

"That's my name, sir."

"Well, with a name like that, I guess you had to grow up to be a forest ranger."

Ramona shrugged, "Or an arborist."

He squinted at her as if he thought she might be making fun of him. "That would have been a good choice," he said.

You mean a good choice for a girl, she thought, but said nothing.

"Looks like you pretty much aced your training. Passed through the academy with top marks. Associates degree in forestry."

"And one in criminal justice, sir."

He nodded his head, finally looking as if he thought she just might really be his new ranger. He flipped through her file a few more times.

"All right," he said at last, "You're on duty starting tomorrow morning. Be here, dressed and ready to go at six. It's still pretty dead around here, but it will pick up in a few weeks. Memorial Day weekend, that's when the summer folks will start to show up. So, for now, I'll have you ride along with Piney for a day or two before you go out on your own."

"Sounds good, chief. They told me that the Service arranged a place for me to stay?"

"Yeah, we have a place that we have used before with new rangers. Martha will go over all that with you."

Ramona sat and waited while he looked down at the paperwork on his desk. wondering it he was through with her. After a minute, he looked up over the top of his glasses and simply said, "Go."

Martha was pulling out her chair and sitting down as Ramona stepped out of the lieutenant's office. She wondered if she had been listening at the door.

"He said to talk to you about my accommodations," Ramona said.

"Yep," Martha replied, gesturing for her to sit down.

Ramona sat across the desk from her as she rummaged in her top drawer and pulled out a ring holding a single key and a U-Maine Black Bears fob. She pointed in the direction of town.

"You go back over the bridge, and just on the other side, you will see River Road on your left. Turn there and go up about a half mile, until you come to a great big yellow farmhouse. That's Mrs. Lucinda York's place. Her husband was chief of the station here for thirty years. Just turn in and go past the house, there's a dirt road goes back a ways, and right down by the river, there's a nice little cabin. All furnished. Wood stove. Real nice. She makes it available to us, because, you know, the late husband."

"Sounds great," Ramona said, taking the key.

"If you want lunch, there's Kitty's Cafe on Main Street, and House of Pizza down a touch further."

"Thanks, I think I'd like to go to the cabin and unload my stuff."

"Alright, dear. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Ramona followed Martha's directions and had no difficulty finding the yellow farmhouse. When she turned in, she saw a plump, elderly woman in the yard, scattering feed to a dozen black and white chickens.

The woman waved, and Ramona laughed as she watched the chickens scurry back and forth, following the motion of the woman's hand. Ramona rolled to a stop. She got out of the truck and walked toward the woman.

"Hello, are you Mrs. York?"

"What's that?" the woman asked, "Are you looking for the new ranger? He ain't showed up yet."

"No, Ma'am," Ramona replied, patting herself on the chest, "I'm the new ranger."

The woman looked puzzled for a moment. "You're the new ranger, you say?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Ramona held out her hand. "My name is Ramona Greentree."

The woman looked around, as if hoping there would be someone nearby who could confirm what she had heard.

"Well, I'll be. A woman ranger." She shook Ramona's hand. "Can't imagine what my Dave would have thought of that."

"There are a few of us now, Ma'am."

"Hmm. Well, welcome. The cabin is right around that stand of birch yonder. It's open, the key is on the table, if you need it. Now, I usually tell the new fellas that I would appreciate it if they didn't bring any wild women back here, and if they did, to keep the noise down. But I suppose I don't need to give you that talk."

No, Ramona thought, unfortunately, you probably don't.

"I imagine you'll be pretty busy," Lucinda continued, "But if you ever want to come up to the house for a cup of tea, why you just stop by."

Ramona thanked her, returned to her truck and drove past the trees until the driveway curved toward the river and sloped down to the cabin.

The cabin was constructed of weathered clapboard, about twenty feet square. It nestled under a massive white pine, and the tin roof was covered with brown needles. The river flowed quietly by, less than fifty feet away. Home, sweet home, Ramona thought as she turned off the engine.

She entered the cabin, and it looked very familiar. There were others like it all through the New England woods. One room ran the length of the house, furnished with a wooden table and a pair of metal frame kitchen chairs at one end, and a worn couch and an oak rocking chair at the other, pulled close to a large wood stove. Near the front door there was a set of wooden shelves, holding a few books; field guides mostly, along with a handful of novels by Louis L'amour and Stephen King. There was a stack of jigsaw puzzles, a few board games and a couple of decks of cards.

On the far side there was a small kitchenette in the left corner, containing an ancient enamel cooking stove and an avocado colored refrigerator. In the center was a recessed double bunk sleeping alcove, and next to that, the bathroom. Ramona looked in and saw that it was a pretty tight fit; a toilet, sink and shower stall crammed into what was little more than a large closet.

The walls were bare, except for a poster above the table emblazoned "Women of Baywatch", and a small framed picture next to the door. Ramona stepped closer and looked carefully at the picture. It was a faded print of a painting. A lamb cowered in a snow bank while a collie stood over it, its head thrown back, howling for help as the snow swirled around them.

She stared at the painting. She found it oddly, almost embarrassingly, moving. That's us, she thought, looking closely at the collie. That's the Rangers. That's me.

She had brought only a couple of boxes of belongings and two plastic trash bags filled with clothes, and it took her just a few minutes to unload the truck. She hung her uniform on a coat hook next to the door.

When she finished unpacking, she flipped through the kitchen cupboards and looked in the refrigerator. There was a half full box of stale saltines in the cupboard and a single can of Moxie in the fridge. Better get stocked up, she thought. She drove to the Superette and bought a few bags of groceries and a six pack of Sam Adams.

She made herself a simple supper, a pork chop and some canned corn, then took one of the beers outside. She found a canvas camp chair leaning against the side of the house and carried it down to the river's edge. The sun was low in the sky and the evening was starting to come alive with the songs of insects and frogs. She sat and watched the sun set, just taking it all in. She'd taken the classes, she had done her training. Tomorrow, she would really be a ranger.

When it grew dark she finished her beer and went back into the cabin. There was no television, but a big plastic radio sat on a small table in the corner. This radio is probably older than I am, she thought, probably even older than my parents. She turned it on and scanned the dial. She only found three clear stations; one played country music, one was a religious program and the third was broadcasting in French.

She turned off the radio and undressed for bed. She climbed into the lower bunk and although she found it surprisingly comfortable, she thought she might be too anxious to sleep. But once she closed her eyes, sleep came within minutes.

CHAPTER TWO

Ramona was outside the ranger station at ten minutes to six. There was no one there. The sky was a clear blue, but the grass was damp with dew and sprinkled with new mushrooms.

Just as the dashboard clock switched to 6:00, a Forest Service jeep pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to her. The ranger who got out was tall and lanky, with tired eyes and a droopy gray mustache. He was smoking a cigarette, and as walked toward Ramona's truck, he stopped, snuffed it out on the sole of his boot and put the butt in his short pocket.

"Ranger Greentree, I presume," he said, extending his hand to Ramona as she climbed out of her truck. "I'm Clarence Martin. Everyone around here calls me Piney."

"Piney Martin?"

Piney shrugged. "It's not a great nickname. I know they are pretty much calling me a tree weasel, but you know what? Being called Clarence ain't much better."

"I guess not."

Piney mounted the porch and unlocked the station door. "What about you?" he asked. "The whole name or just Mona?"

"Whole name."

He nodded and they went inside. There was a row of mail slots beside Martha's desk. Piney went over and checked his, took out a few sheets of paper, glanced at them quickly, then dropped them all in the wastebasket.

"Nothing important," he said. He sat down in Martha's chair and put one booted foot up on her desk.

"Well, I'm supposed to be training you, I guess, or giving you an orientation or something."

Ramona sat down across from him.

"I looked through your file from the academy. Looks like you done right well. I thought, this must be a country gal. Where you from?"

"Born in Bucksport, grew up in a little town in Hancock County called Healyville."

'I know it," he nodded, "Out by Lake Helena. I was stationed in Ellsworth for a few years. Well, I'm supposed to go over all this balderdash in the handbook, but you been to academy a lot more recently than I have, so I reckon you know it better than me. I think the best policy is we hit the road and you move on from studying the map to learning the territory."

"Sounds good to me."

"Then let's go."

Their first stop was Saw Whet Variety. Piney pulled up to the pumps to fill the jeep's tank. He took out his wallet and handed Ramona a ten dollar bill.

"My wife is a good woman and she makes me a fine breakfast, but she struggles with her weight, and we keep no sweets in the house. While I gas up, I want you to go in and get me a large coffee with cream and double sugar, and a custard donut. Get yourself whatever you want."

"I can get my own..." Ramona began, but Piney held up his hand.

"You're buying tomorrow," he said.

"Fair enough," Ramona replied. She went inside and bought Piney's order, and a coffee and blueberry muffin for herself.

"Piney! Hey Piney!" she heard someone calling as she walked back to the jeep.

A bowlegged elderly man in a battered Carhartt jacket and a frayed Red Sox cap was scurrying across the street toward them.

"Ah, Jeezum crow," Piney muttered as he hung up the gas nozzle.

"Piney, Hold on up!"

"What is it, Hank?"

"You found them wolves yet?" Hank asked, stopping in front of them and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Hank, I'm telling you, there are no wolves in these woods. Nearest wolves are up in Canada."

"They are out there, Piney, and you know it."

"You ever actually seen them?"

When Hank shook his head, his whole body shook with it. "No, course not. A wolf is the most elusive creature on god's green earth." He scratched his head, pushing his cap askew. "Except for maybe a lynx."

Piney leaned closer to him. "You ever seen a lynx, Hank?"

"Course I have, I lived here my whole darn life."

"Well, there. You say a lynx is more elusive than a wolf, but you seen lynx. So, if there were wolves, you'd have seen them. You're hearing coyotes."

Hank looked flustered. "Weren't no god damn coyotes."

He looked at Ramona for the first time. "Who's this?" he asked.

"New ranger. Ramona Greentree."

Hank wagged a finger at Ramona. "Well, let me tell you, it's my belief that women can hear better than men, so you keep your ears wide open in them woods, ma'am. You'll hear 'em."

Piney opened the door of the jeep, gesturing for Ramona to get in as well.

"You listen for them wolves, Ranger Greentrees. Piney's a good man, but he's stubborn. Won't admit he's wrong. You got new ears."

"Bring me some scat, Hank, or a picture of tracks," Piney said to Hank as he got in the jeep.

Ramona waved to Hank as they pulled away. He pointed at her. "You'll hear 'em!" he called.

"He's been hearing them phantom wolves for a good ten years," Piney said as they drove out of the lot.

"Any sign of coywolves?" Ramona asked.

"Now and again one wanders through, but hybrids are rare by their very nature. Still, that's not a wolf, and surely not a whole pack of them."

They headed south out of town. Piney drove about a mile, then turned down an unmarked dirt road and began Ramona's first tour of the area. She didn't bother trying to remember all the twists and turns. It would be pointless to try, and besides, the service jeeps came equipped with excellent GPS systems. He showed her the locations of a couple of summer camps, and some secluded areas that were often used as informal campgrounds.