mean he isn't going to be there?" asked Pierson. He wasn't sure whether this news was good or bad because his brain's processing department wasn't open yet.
"No, he'll join us toward the end of the summer. He had to go to a series of shows and asked if we wanted a change of scenery. That's how this whole idea started," Dad said as they drove down the street.
"Gee, Dad, how come Uncle Sam never invited us to his place before?"
Dad sighed pensively. "Whew, that's a rather long and complicated story. Let me give you a condensed version. My brother has always been a loner, and we had a vicious argument many years ago. I won't bore you with the details but because of that fight, we grew apart and lost touch. Over the years, I guess we've both mellowed, and now those reasons seem very silly. We've been talking again, and I think this offer of the cabin is his way of breaking the ice."
Uncle Sam was to blame for their exile. Alarmed, he quickly added, "How will we survive out there by ourselves if it's as rustic as you say it is? Who's going to tell us where everything is?"
Dad chuckled, "Sam said he left notes for us. Besides, who do you think taught him everything he knows?"
Pierson could see his father's grinning face and raised eyebrow in the rear view mirror. "Okay, okay. You win. I won't say another word until we get there." He was too tired to talk anymore. "Come on, Kiwi. It's you and I back here." He put on his headphones and settled in with the dog for the long drive.
* * *
It seemed as though they had been driving forever. The fact that his arm felt like a wooden tree stump might have had something to do with his waking. Maybe it was the one-hundredth exclamation of, "Isn't it beautiful?" that did the trick; Pierson wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was stiff, tired, hungry and sick of driving. Besides that, his right arm now had a pins and needles sensation from his having slept on it. Exactly how long did it take to get to the back of beyond?
"Nice to see you're still with us," said his dad. "You've been so quiet since the last stop we thought we'd left you somewhere. We're almost there."
"Really?" Pierson could hardly contain himself. The thought of being anywhere was an improvement over riding in the van. Instead of sulking, he looked out the window and took notice of his surroundings. The small winding road didn't afford much view, but for a kid who had spent his life in the suburbs, the lack of population was a little frightening.
''Where is everyone?" he asked after watching the emptiness go by for a while. "I haven't seen a house for miles."
"It’s mostly farms out here," answered his dad. "I told you it would be rustic."
Don’t you mean desolate?
In the distance he could see a small sign, and he strained to read it. It said: WELCOME TO BROOKWOOD, POP. 204.
"We're here," said his mother excitedly. She started to reorganize the snacks they hadn't finished during the trip.
"Ma, the sign said this town has a population of two hundred and four people. We have more kids than that at my school!"
"That's what he meant by a small country town. Uncle Sam said around here everyone knows everyone else. Now help me look for his road. He said it's about three miles outside town," replied Dad. He sounded tired and irritated. Pierson knew better than to keep complaining.
They soon passed another small sign saying: LEAVING BROOKWOOD. HAVE A NICE DAY. Pierson clamped his lips shut to keep himself from uttering any comment Instead he concentrated on helping to find his uncle's road.
"There!" his mother shouted. He glanced where she pointed and saw a tall, H-shaped wooden frame near a gravel road. A large brass bell hung in the top part of the H. Across the middle of the frame, HOLIDAY HILL FARM shone brightly in bold red letters.
"All visitors staying at Holiday Hill kindly proceed to the left," said his dad, imitating a tour guide.
"Some holiday!" Pierson mumbled quietly. He was failing miserably at keeping his mouth shut.
The van shook and bumped up the narrow gravel road. Behind them thick dust swirled up in a cloud, sure to coat the leaves of the many trees with a fine film of white.
"Dad, how far is the house from the main road?" He wanted to know how far he would be from fellow human beings.
"I think it's about a half mile."
Pierson did a few quick calculations and realized he would have to jog three and a half miles to find civilization. Impatiently waiting for a break in the trees, he wondered if any famous long-distance runners had started their careers this way.
His mother was the first to spot the cabin. "It needs a little work—no, lots of work and plenty of flowers—but I think it's dreamy."
"And my worst nightmare," whined Pierson, as his dad stopped the van to view the scene before them.
In the clearing stood a small, deserted log cabin–a real log cabin. The interlocking logs reminded Pierson of the log kits he had enjoyed when he was younger. The windows were small and had wooden shutters, some badly in need of repair. Standing like a sentry, the chimney contained layers of round multicolored river rocks. A post and rail fence meandered from the cabin to the fields, but there were no flowers, no bushes, no landscaping.
On one side of the cabin lay a pile of wood, stacked neatly, probably waiting to be carried inside for a fire. On the other side stood an old-fashioned water pump; a wooden bucket hung from the nozzle. Farther away from the cabin were smaller, unidentifiable structures.
Dad broke the heavy silence. "Come on, Pierce. It's not that bad."
"Get real, Dad. I know you said Uncle Sam is an unusual sort of guy, but even Daniel Boone wouldn't live in a place like this."
"I think this is going to be an adventure we'll talk about for years to come," stated his mother.
"At least that's something we all can agree on," said Pierson and his father in unison. They slapped a high-five and grinned.
The gravel road crunched. Driving up behind them were Aunt Maggie and Will.
"What perfect timing," said Dad. The caravan moved towards the cabin.
Trying to catch a glimpse of Will, Pierson stared out the back. Through the window, he could see that Will's face wore the same scowl he'd had the last time they had met. Pierson wondered if it had been put there surgically. How could anyone wear the same expression for so long?
Dad had barely stopped the van when Mom jumped out, running to greet her sister and nephew. As she did, a bag of pumpkin seeds splashed and sprinkled over the console and front seats.
"What a mess," exclaimed Dad. He put one foot out the door to brush the seeds onto the driveway. However, as his other foot came off the brake, the van moved forward and knocked him off balance. The van coasted toward the cabin, picking up speed. Dad was running full steam, trying to pull himself into the seat and apply the brake. Pierson scrambled over the luggage, hoping to dive bomb into the front seat. With a hefty grunt and a burst of speed Dad jumped forward, landed on the seat and slammed the pedal. The jolt threw Pierson and the dog to the floor.
"Good save, Dad," yelled Pierson as he scrambled out of the van.
"Are
