"Sacred
Trust"
Published as ebook on Amazon
Available
from Kindle Books
Moosewood
Communications Publisher
Author: Wayne D. King
Chapter 6 Thomas
Herbert and Michelle wheeled their shopping cart through the doors of the IGA in Colebrook, New Hampshire. The cart, loaded with groceries for their fishing trip, looked like it was on the last leg of a recycling marathon, having survived as it passed from one chain to the next on down the line until it reached its final stop here in Colebrook. Herbert was passing through the doors when the latest issue of the Colebrook News and Views caught his eye. Herbert grabbed the paper, stuffed it into one of the bags and continued on toward the jeep.
They had just gotten into the Jeep when “he” appeared, coming around the bend in the road, leading a cart trailed by five dogs, all of mixed breed. He had the appearance of a wild man or an eccentric miner from the west, his hair flying all over and unkempt, his beard just a continuation of the hair framing his entire face, what little one could see of it. As if that weren’t enough to catch your attention his pack animal, pulling the cart, was - by God! - a moose.
A Moose!
Hitched with a full harness to the cart, a rack of antlers that would do the biggest bull in the swamp proud, and pulling the cart along next to the mountain man just as calm as you please.
A moose’s rack - the term often used for its antlers, are largely a function of the animal’s diet. So even though Thomas’ pack animal was by all accounts of average size, his rack was outsized and thus gave the appearance of a massive bull. He was obviously well-fed, though Thomas’s gaunt frame gave one the impression that food was not a priority.
So this was the Mooseman.
Herbert and Michelle were not alone among those who had joked about this legendary character for years - neither one believing that he actually existed. Whenever they packed up to go on a fishing trip up north they would always make a show of packing their cameras and tripods, remarking that they might see the Mooseman, but they never believed that it would actually happen - yet here he was in the flesh.
The Mooseman was an enigma; a ghost who roamed the part of New Hampshire’s North Country known as the Great North Woods. North of the White Mountains, the Great North Woods is a vast, fertile area where earth and water are braided together in a tapestry of streams, rivers, lakes and land. Like the rivers, streams and air that weaved their way through and above the tapestry it was not bound by human made geographic boundaries, even barriers imposed by language. So the northern region of Vermont, the Carrabassett region of Maine and even Canada were part of both the natural and human ecosystems of the region. Cemeteries were populated with family names that bridged geography, race, religion. Roads, rail lines and well worn Indian trails conjoined states; and legends - like Metallack, Chocorua, Moll Ockett and Roger’s Rangers, were shared across boundaries.
This was the haunt of Thomas, The Mooseman; Where he came and went - largely unnoticed. Many a young journalist had tried to track down and interview the Mooseman but he had always managed to evade them; in part by having more homes than John and Cindy McCain or other representatives of the uber rich who breathed the rarified air of the one percent. But unlike John and Cindy, none of the residences would be listed in the Realtors MLS or the tax roles of the local community. Some were shared, by virtue of their status as public buildings - like the cabin atop Mount Cabot. Most were simply woven into the fabric of the region: A longhouse built of saplings, bark, leaf litter, and branches, well hidden on the second Connecticut Lake and another in the area of Metallak point on an island of Lake Umbagog; a cave on Roger’s Point, named for the famed scout and warrior Robert Rogers, whom the Indian people called the “White Devil” though they both despised and admired him; a fishing camp deep in the woods of Vermont along the Connecticut River with escape routes by land and water.
The locals insisted he was real but most folks chalked the Mooseman up to the legends and lore of the Great North Woods and didn’t give it any more credence than the Loch Ness Monster or a similar critter that locals claimed plumbed the depths of Lake Winnipesaukee - “Winni” they called him. . . or her.
But at long last, here he was; and Thomas was his name.
Thomas . . . no last name, just Thomas, like Cher or Sting or Bono; (at least that was all he cared to share with his neighbors).
The legend was that Thomas was a direct descendant of Metallak, an old Indian who was said to ride into town on a moose that he raised from a calf given to him as a gift after he went blind in his nineties. In fact, it was said that Metallak continued to ride that moose until the moose died at the ripe old age of 25, leaving Metallak broken hearted and eventually claiming him too.
Metallak, the “Lone Indian of the Magalloway”.
The “Lone” Indian not because he was the only Indian but rather because he was the last of his tribe, a branch of the Abenaki Nation known as the Androscoggin or the Cowasuck. Androscoggin, being the more poetic moniker, it became the name attached to one of the big rivers running through the region. Cowasuck, for obvious reasons, never caught on.
Despite the common assertion that Metallak was the last of his line, Thomas claimed that he was in a direct line of descent from one Molly Susup, reputed to be the love child of Metallak and Moll Ockett, a famed Indian healer of the region. Both Metallak and Moll Ockett traveled in intersecting circles and both moved easily between the worlds of the native peoples and the white settlers.
Thomas, circling back, named his moose Metallak. His pack of mongrel dogs were similarly named for many of the more widely known historic contemporaries of Metallak and Moll Ockett.
And so Thomas meandered into town drawing surprisingly little attention. Given his motley entourage, one might have expected that his arrival would have caused quite a stir but it was midweek and it seemed as though Thomas’ comings and goings had become of little consequence to the local folks and he avoided the weekend crowds for that very reason.
As he drew nearer to the town core Thomas started to pass by a parked truck sporting a Polaris Electric logo.
Not knowing he was being observed by Michelle and Herbert from the safety of their Jeep, he glanced around.
Herbert watched as the Mooseman bowed his head and reached down.
“What the . . . “ Michelle whispered as he pulled down his zipper.
“Shhhhh” was Herbert’s reply.
Stealthily Thomas removed the gas cap and then he stood, stretching his right arm above his head as if he were yawning and using the opportunity to assess whether he was still unobserved, he proceeded to urinate into the gas tank.
Perhaps it was just the quiet of the moment or the neck of the nearly empty gas tank created just the right sine wave to amplify the sound of his stream but as Herbert and Michelle struggled to keep from laughing, the thunderous sound of Thomas’ piss cut through the afternoon air and the glass of their car, stopping for a moment and then resuming loud and proud, over and over, until relief was at hand, and with a groan Thomas completed his business.
Without bothering to re-trouser himself, Thomas reached into his pocket and produced a packet of sugar, shook it, ripped it open and added it into the tank for good measure, a sly smile spreading across his face as he did.
Having completed his priority task, Thomas flipped his member back into his jeans and zipped up, adding a little gleeful jump at the end of the motion, and with a spring in his step turned toward Metallak and winked.
The moose was nonplussed.
“On Dasher” he said in a bit of a historic play and the old moose resumed his shambling pace, passing the jeep where Herbert and Michelle sat motionless, hidden behind tinted windows.
As they passed by Herbert noticed that the back of the cart was filled with grade stakes, trailing pink ribbons.
It was an odd coincidence that the newspaper he had grabbed on his way out of the store, had fallen from the bag, revealing its headline: “Vandals Hit Granite Skyway Survey Site” blared out above the fold.
Did you enjoy reading this?
Thomas is only one of eight interesting characters that make up “The Trust” a group of compatriots drawn together by the desire to stop the construction of a huge powerline from Canada.
"Sacred Trust"
Published as ebook on Amazon
Available from Kindle Books
Moosewood Communications Publisher
Author: Wayne D. King
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Other books by Wayne King
"Sacred Trust" Published as ebook on Amazon
Available from Kindle Books
Moosewood Communications Publisher
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