GOOD NEIGHBORS

GOOD NEIGHBORS



After the last of the bad weather had passed Jerry Spitz went outside to assess the wind damage. It had been a whopper of a storm even for April in Plainville, the town that served as God's testing site for bad storms. As everyone in the small Nebraskan community knew, the Almighty tried out the worst storms here first. If the Strong's barn was still up and the Mahoney sisters hadn't died of fright then it was safe to send the storm on down to Lincoln and the rest of the country.



From the front porch it was easy to see that Jerry was going to have a busy weekend. An army of sticks and brush had invaded the yard and the front gate sagged from the wind's pounding. The blue Chevy on the street was tinged with film and it would have to be washed. The three azaleas beneath the front window were now squashed and lopsided and ugly. There was also a bright red shirt caught around the top of one of the wooden fence posts. It seemed funny that it had picked that spot to rest.



Jerry planted his hands on his wide hips. Looking across the devastation, he tried to decide just what to tackle first. It would be wise to avoid the mud swamps until the yard had a chance to dry out. He would leave the debris and the bushes until later. If it was a choice between washing cars or fixing gates Jerry would pick the fixing every time so he pampered himself a bit and put the gate at the top of his list. He went around back to get his toolbox from the shed.



The back yard wasn't in much better shape than the front but it didn't matter so much. No one looks at a man's back yard. Eventually it would get straightened up but not today. Jerry did take a minute to twist the gang wires behind the iron trellis and shift that unwieldy thing back in its place next to the house. He wrecked his thumbs. Wincing and flexing, he moved to the shed, wondering why he hadn't used pliers. Instead of struggling and sweating, and abusing his thumbs that way. Usually he was smarter than that.



The shed door hinge had a new squeak that Jerry treated to a squirt from the dusty blue oil can. Inside the shed was dry, not a speck of moisture anyplace. He looked. In corners and under shelves but it was bone dry. It was an old wooden shed with ten years of wear on the roof. His father had built it long ago and it was satisfying to see that there were no drips or spots of water on the concrete floor.

That scarred red toolbox was heavy today. Some days it was. It was a clumsy walk through the wet grass to the front gate. Jerry set the toolbox down on the walk outside the fence with relief. He spotted Al with a rake in his hands next door. Wearing that odd square straw hat to protect his pale skin from the emerging sun. Al called over the fence, "Some weather."



"Only lasted two hours," Jerry answered.



Al said with a laugh, "Two of the longest hours I can remember."



"You have one on your roof," Jerry said. "A limb."



"Where?" Al's voice rose with curiosity as he perched a long hand near his forehead. "I can't see."



The tree limb was tucked between the front gable and a dormer and nearly out of sight. Jerry pointed to the thin crooked vein rising up from the trunk of it. "The valley. Come on this side."



Peering at the gray roof, Al stepped awkwardly toward the fence. "Still don't see," he said.



"Al, it's right there."



"I don't see."



"It's there," Jerry said. "Do you need glasses?"



"Well, if I can't see it, I can't see it." Al's voice was filled with complaint. The red and black checkered shirt fluttered around his lanky body as he strained upward. The rake dropped. Al hopped up and craned his neck sideways. "What? That?"



Jerry was brushing a small mud spot off his jeans. He looked up.



"You mean that little stick?" Al asked.



"That little stick is part of a bigger stick."



"Well." Picking his rake back up, Al frowned a little. He adjusted his hat. "Wind will blow it down."



"Probably," replied Jerry. He began studying the gate hinge that had popped out of whack.



"What do you want me to do? Go get the ladder?"



"It's your roof."



"It will be okay."



"Probably."



"Jerry, if you're saying I should go climb up there, just say it."



Jerry was frustrated. He was trying to estimate the hinge situation and the conversation was distracting. He offered his advice, "Yes, I think you should but it's your roof, Al. You want to take a chance it will tear a shingle go ahead."



Al exploded, "I'll go get the ladder then." He angrily flung the rake at the tall maple tree in the front of his yard. "I hate that thing. I should just cut it down." Legs whipping back and forth, he hurried toward the back of his house.



Jerry watched the rake spin slowly across the light blue sky. It bounced off into an evergreen bush. He noticed something unusual in the boughs of Al's maple and he peered. It looked like maybe there was a loose limb up there. A puff of breeze erupted and Jerry saw the object of his attention shift. A thick limb had broken off and was lodged in the branches of the tree, he was convinced of it.



The breeze was cool and he folded his arms over his chest while he studied the situation. That limb looked like it was in a difficult spot to get at. Too far out for a ladder. He decided he would take care of the hinge and then give Al a hand getting that limb down out of there. He wasn't sure how it could be done yet, but between the two of them they would figure out a way.



Rubbing his arms briskly, he wondered why he hadn't worn more than just the tee shirt. With the sun fighting those clouds in the west it wasn't as warm as he had expected. Just then the sun exploded out of the gray haze and the air warmed up instantly. He took a deep breath and sighed. The air smelled fresh and clean. If the sun could stay out it would be a nice afternoon. He hoped it would.

Jerry eased into a crouch before the gate and he frowned at what he saw. That hinge was in bad shape. Both hinges needed attention. The top one was distended from the post and the bottom hinge had shifted down toward a weather crack. It wasn't something that happened all at once and he wondered how he had let it get this bad. He'd noticed a wobble in the gate's swing but somehow it hadn't seemed important. And now he had a mess to deal with. There was no excuse for bad maintenance and he promised himself to be more responsible in the future.



A howl of pain came from Al and Jerry heard a resounding clatter as he dropped the aluminum ladder. Jerry stood to look at his friend. Poor Al had somehow banged his shin and it must have been a doozy because he was limping in a little circle and moaning. He saw Jerry and stiffened up. Then Al looked at the ladder in the grass and back at Jerry, saying, "See what you made me do?"



"You all right?"



"No."



"Be careful, Al. I have to get some supplies."



"What's wrong with your gate?"



"Gate's broke," Jerry said with a hint of humor. He headed for the back of his property. "You have a loose limb in the tree. I'll help you when I'm done."



"What?"



"There's a broken limb up there. I'll help."



"Where?"



"In the tree."



"But where in the tree? You can't show me?"



"Be right back," Jerry said. He was passing the house when a car slid to a stop over the asphalt and stopped. He looked back at the street and recognized the gray sedan immediately. "Hi, Mary." Throwing an arm up, he waved to Mary Blankenship and her daughter Cindy. "Hi,

Cindy."



"Hi, Mr. Spitz," Cindy called out. She was a happy bundle of curly black hair, sky blue eyes, and enchanting dimples, and everyone in town adored her.



"What a storm," Mary said as she leaned closer to the passenger window.



Jerry and Mary had gone to school together and they had been as close as two peas back then. She was married now but they would always be good friends. He flashed her a smile and said, "We made it." He asked about her husband, "How's Bill?"



"Busy cleaning up. We have a mess over there."



"I'll bet."



"Hi, Cindy," Al said. "Hello, Mary."



"Hello, Mr. Taylor." Cindy's voice had turned shy.



Mary said, "Hi, Al. Transformer out in Maysville. Bill heard it on the news."



"That was fast," Al said. "That storm just went over."



Mary smiled and her green eyes shone with mirth. She said, "The Action News." She glanced down at Cindy. "We should go."



"Mommy," Cindy said. Then she cupped a hand and began whispering to her mother.



"Oh, Jerry," Mary said. "We would like to invite you to a very special young lady's birthday party next Sunday."



Jerry pursed his lips and said, "Tomorrow? No, I'm sorry I'm very busy tomorrow."



Cindy knew he was teasing and said with a laugh in her voice, "In a week from tomorrow I will be six years old. On April twenty-ninth. And you're invited, Mr. Spitz. In a week from tomorrow, not tomorrow."



"Have I ever once missed one of your birthdays?"



"I don't remember when I was little, but I don't think so."



"What time should I come?" Jerry asked.



"My dad says you are always welcome at our house, but if you just want to come for the party you should come at two-thirty o'clock."

Mary gave Cindy a little hug.





"I'll be there," Jerry said.



"We just came out for gas for the hedge clippers," said Mary. "We should get going."



"Bye, Mr. Spitz. Bye, Mr. Taylor."



Jerry and Al gave Cindy an enthusiastic send off and her tiny hand flapped like crazy as she sang out one last goodbye. When the car drove away Al said, "I can't believe she's six already."



"It's hard to believe."



"Is that it?" Al said as he pointed to the top of the maple tree.



"Twenty feet up. In that crotch."



"I see. Oh boy. How we going to get up there? We can't put a ladder on that scrawny branch."



Jerry said, "Get up there and shake it. Lean the ladder on the trunk."



"You think?"



"I hope that works."



Al was doubtful and he remarked, "I'm not sure my ladder will even reach that high."



Jerry started toward the back of his yard, saying, “Hope so. Let me fix the gate and we'll see."



"You have to do that now?" asked Al in a whiny voice. "This is an emergency situation."



"Just give me fifteen minutes."



"Jerry, it's an emergency. Oh, go ahead then."



Jerry called back, "Why don't you attend to your roof while you wait?"



"What? That little stick? Jerry, we have an emergency situation."



"Suit yourself."



"What?" Al's voice dropped. "All right. I'll take care of the roof, but you have to hurry. That storm might come back, Jerry. If that storm comes back, I won't be worried about a stick like that. I'll be worried about wind blowing that broken limb down into the road."



"We'll get right to it when I'm done."



It only took Jerry a few minutes inside the shed to gather up the carpentry sundries he needed. He used a battered gray bucket to haul the wood dowel, the glue, and the shims to the gate. As Jerry passed, Al fretted from the top of the ladder that he had placed against his tan house, "I can't hardly reach it, Jerry." There was a grunt. "I can't reach all that way."



Depositing his bucket next to the toolbox, Jerry looked over. He was unsurprised by what he saw. Al had his ladder in the wrong spot. He was trying to stretch to reach that limb on the roof when it was clearly out of reach. Jerry said unhappily, "Al, get down." He eliminated the emotion from his voice so the older man would know how serious he was. "Get back down and move that ladder where it should be."

Al slumped in his place at the top of the ladder. A few seconds passed before he said, "You're right." He descended slowly.



As Jerry turned his attention to the gate he heard the rattle and clang of the ladder. And Al's triumphant exclamation, "There! Is that in the right place?"



Amused, Jerry glanced Al's way. "Looks good. Just be careful."



"I am being careful. I moved it, didn't I?"



Jerry smiled. Hard not to, sometimes, with a next door neighbor like Al. He had a heart as big as the whole state of Nebraska, but when God had doled out common sense, Al hadn't gotten a very large portion.



A red pickup truck slowed and stopped, then parked. Jerry saw that it was Fern Anderson, who owned the Gas Mart out by the highway. A cousin of Al's by marriage, Fern often dropped by just to say hello. Fern was an Iraqi war veteran, the best softball player in Bower County, and he had a laugh they could hear all the way down in Lincoln. Jerry was sure he enjoyed the boisterous man's company as much as Al did.



The truck door slammed like thunder and then Fern asked in a loud voice, "How you like my new haircut, Jerry?"

Jerry took one look at the giant smile ripping across Fern's face and laughed. Above that smile were shining brown eyes and above those eyes, a bulging dome of flesh. Jerry couldn't remember having ever seen Fern with more than the slightest trace of hair. Once it started to grow Fern shaved it away himself.



"I left a little behind the ears this time," Fern said. "You can't see it, but it's there."



"How have you been?"



"Oh, fine, fine. You know Jennifer won an award? For her painting."



"I heard," Jerry said. An image of Fern's eleven-year-old came into his mind. She was a thin girl with thoughtful brown eyes, and she seemed withdrawn from the world most of the time. Her asthma, and a freak accident involving a windmill that had left her a bit crippled on one side when she was a child, these things had somehow pushed her into a shell. Everyone in Plainville just loved that little girl to death. "You must be proud."



"Oh." Fern became sheepish for a moment. Then he nodded, smiling. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, "We are. It's only a ribbon from school. But we are proud of that girl."



Jerry had not seen the painting of children playing by the creek but several people who had, had gushed over Jennifer's talent. He said, "I heard it's beautiful. That painting."



"Don't know where she gets it from. That girl of mine can really paint, Jerry."



"Is that Fern?" Al was shouting from the top of the ladder.



"Hey, Al! What are you doing up there? Cleaning your gutters?"



"No. This thing." Al sounded perplexed. He had the limb near the edge of the roof, but it had somehow ended up directly in front of his ladder. Now he was trying to edge out of its way so he could drag the limb off the roof. It was a foolhardy way of doing things.



"Al," Jerry said in an impatient voice. "Will you please move the ladder so you won't be in the way when that thing comes down. Don't be in such a hurry."



Fern said, "Alvin, just get down. Let me do it." He went over to Al's yard.



Jerry opened his tool box and extracted pliers, two screwdrivers, a small battery operated drill, a pry bar and a hammer, and a carpenter's pencil. He spent the next ten minutes replacing bad wood in the gate post with dowel, shims, and glue. Then he reattached the hinges where they belonged and the gate was fixed. It swung like a new gate and latched with a sharp click. Jerry put everything away as he scolded himself for forgetting one essential tool, a rag to clean the glue off his palms.



He grinned when he remembered that there was a rag handy. That red shirt that had gotten stuck on the fence would do just fine. He retrieved it and ground the coarse fabric over his palms. Some of the glue had dried and his hands wouldn't be perfectly cleaned, but it would do.



As Jerry finished wiping his hands he surveyed the scene beneath the maple tree next door. The aluminum ladder was propped against the tree now. The ladder was too short and its top rested on the dark trunk at least two feet under the branch that held the broken limb. Fern stood next to it with his broad arms folded, gazing upward. Al had his hands deep in the greenery past the tree, as he sought to recover his rake.



There was a new face over there too. One with freckles and surrounded by thick strawberry blonde hair. Thirteen-year-old Petra James from down the street. She was standing behind the tree. All Jerry could see was sparkling scarlet hair, blue coveralls, and a bony elbow that gleamed in the sun. She noticed Jerry and stepped into view, asking, "Mr. Spitz, how are you?"



"Good, Petra."



Fern laughed and said, "I think you need a longer ladder, Al."



Al had his rake. He brushed it free of sticks, saying, "That's the only ladder I have, Fern, and you know I don't have another ladder."



"I can get Merle's, maybe," Fern said.



"Is it longer?" Al asked.



"I don't know. I think so."



Jerry was surprised that they were discussing Merle Getz. As far as he could recall the town's postmaster had no use for a ladder. He lived in a small apartment. "I don't think Merle has a ladder," Jerry said slowly.



"No, big Merle," Fern explained.



Now Jerry understood. Fern was talking about Merle Andresen, who had a farm miles from town. He was more than ninety years old and rarely came into Plainville anymore. Jerry hadn't seen him in years. He remarked, "You might want to call Merle up before you go all that way. Ask him if he knows how long his ladder is."



"That's a good idea," Al said cheerfully.



Petra pulled something from her overalls and offered, "You can use my cell phone."



"Would you look at that." Al said. "You have a cell phone."



"A lot of people have cells, Al," Petra said.



Al gingerly accepted the phone. He stared at the small black device. "I don't know." He scratched, first his ear then his neck. "Maybe I should use the phone inside the house."



Fern moved a bit and altered his view of the limb trapped up in the tree. He said, "I have an idea. Wait a minute." The big body snapped sideways and he moved toward his truck in long loping strides. "I bet I can get it down."



Jerry had wandered to the front of Al's yard now and as Fern passed him, he asked, "What do you have in mind?"



"Just watch." Fern scooped a ratty old softball from the bed of the pickup and tossed it and caught it one-handed.



"This I want to see," Jerry said, smiling.



"You don't think I can? You just watch me."



Jerry announced, "Babe Ruth here is going to save the day."



"Give me some room," Fern said.



Al was still struggling with the concept of using a cell phone. The phone sat in the middle of his palm as he stared at it. Petra gently ridiculed his old fashionedness. Al returned the phone, saying, "Thank you, Petra. Appreciate the offer." He was obviously relieved to be rid of it. Affection pushed the girl's thin pink lips into a tiny smile as the two of them moved toward the evergreens.



Jerry suppressed the urge to challenge Fern to a friendly bet. If Fern lost the bet, he would likely insist on another, and maybe they could stand there all day while he flung that ball up in the tree. Fun was fun but Jerry was determined that this thing would not blossom into a circus. He had things to do and that limb needed out of that tree.



"Now, stand back," said Fern in a booming voice. "Everybody stand back."



Petra squealed out suddenly, "Go ahead, Mr. Anderson. You can do it."



"Stay back," advised Al. "That ball's going to come back down like a rocket."



Fern's biceps bulged out from the short sleeves of his brown collared shirt as he swung his arms around and stretched. He challenged, "You want to bet a dollar, Jerry? Five. Five dollars says I can knock it down in three tries."



"Not me."



"Al, how about you?"



Al piped up, "Are you crazy? Fern, I am not betting against you."



"Now, stay back," Fern said as he arranged himself in the right spot beneath the tree.



Jerry judged that the chance an errant rebound would bust out a window in Fern's truck was practically nil. Still, he drifted over that way. It did not hurt to have a precautionary nature. Propped back against the truck, he waited for the show to begin. He laughed when Fern urged, "Come on, Jerry. One dollar. Three tries."



"Nope."



"Al? You sure?"



"I told you no, Fern. Now come on."



"Come on, Mr. Anderson."



"All right," Fern said, cocking his right arm way back. "Here goes!" His body seemed to double in size as it exploded upward. The ball left his hand in a blur. It brushed the dangling loose limb and disappeared into the branches above with a clattering series of clicks. The ball's path was mirrored with a rustle of green leaf and shaking, as if a wind had swooped up through the tree.



Jerry peered, following the ball's flight as it bounced upward slower and slower. For one second he thought it might get stuck up there. Then the scarred grey sphere slid away from the top of the trunk and began its long trip back down. It tumbled and knocked around, skidding sideways and hopping erratically through the brown branches.



The ball hit a thick bough and shot out of the tree. Al threw one arm out in an impossible attempt as it gamboled off into the brush. "Nice try," he said, going after it. When he reached the edge of the lawn he scratched his neck and muttered.



"It had the power," Fern said.



"That was awesome," said Petra. "You'll get it on the next try."



"I can't find the ball." Al had his straw hat off and he was fanning himself. "I can't see it."



Jerry studied the tree. He'd noticed a thick hedge of branches ringing the trunk just above the top of the ladder. It appeared that a longer ladder might be useless. The thick limb on which the broken branch rested was over this barrier and unreachable. He wandered under the tree, considering the situation. There would be no way to get up there and shake that limb.

Fern said, "Where is it?" He was moving across the lawn, scanning the landscape. "Where's the ball?"

"I can't find it!"



"Simmer down, Al," Fern counseled. "We'll find it."



"I think it bounced this way," Petra called out. She scampered toward the weeds beyond the yard.



The more Jerry examined the broken branch, the more obvious it became to him that Fern's attempt to dislodge it with a ball was useless.

The limb was resting on a bough, where the bough split off into a vee. The thick heavy end of the broken branch was hidden, with only its long tapering end in view. It would be a miracle if Fern managed to knock it down with a softball.



Petra found the ball. She threw it to Fern, and they came back toward the tree. Al gave Fern a shout of encouragement. Jerry headed back over to his place to get a rope. He was sure they were going to need one. He told Fern, "Good luck."



"You're not going to watch?" Fern was disappointed.



"No, go ahead," Jerry said. "You've got two more tries."



"We didn't bet." Stalking beneath the tree, Fern searched for the best spot to make his next throw.



"You can do it," Petra said.



Jerry saw that Al was still standing at the edge of his yard. Beyond the yard was a field and beyond that was the Porter place. Will Porter was a small man, with a ring of red hair surrounding his bald head. He stood in front of the white house, near the edge of his spotty lawn. He and Al were talking. Will was a generally soft spoken man but when he laughed he did it with a loud cackle. Jerry offered a wave and a hello on his way toward the back. Will cackled and asked, "Where you going? You don't want to miss this, Jerry."



"I'll be back."



Jerry used the side door to go down into the basement of his brown house. He uncovered the stout rope that had been lying on the workbench for years and carried it back outside. The rope's dozens of coils made a heavy burden that unbalanced his body and he was forced to move with a lurch.



There was laughter under the maple tree in Al's yard. Petra and Al were making a commotion because Fern had caught one of his own throws. Will Porter had disappeared. Al yelled at Jerry, "You see that?"



"No, I missed it," Jerry replied, breathless from lugging the rope.



"You should have seen it, Jerry." Al was clearly excited and a childlike grin curved across his face.



Fern threw the ball again and it hit the broken branch. The branch wobbled and settled back into its place. Fern complained, "Almost had it that time. Here." The ball had come down near Petra and she tossed it back. "Okay, get ready." Fern pulled his arm back to throw. "This is it!"



Fern nearly fell over he threw so hard. The ball whipped upward through the tree, barely hitting any limbs. It flew out of the maple and landed in Jerry's yard, bouncing to a stop not ten feet away from him.



Ignoring the ball, Jerry went around to Al's yard. "Aren't you going to get it?" Fern asked. "Jerry?"



"Let's try and get this rope over it," Jerry suggested. He dumped his load near the tree with relief. "We can tie the rope around it and pull it down."



Fern insisted that he was now warmed up and he would get it the next time. "One more throw," he assured in a booming voice.



One more throw turned into two, and then ten more. Finally Fern admitted defeat. Then he tried tossing the rope up over the limb. The rope was far too heavy. Jerry was in a quandary over the whole thing. He was out of ideas for the moment. Fern resumed throwing the softball, along with Petra this time and they made a game out of it.



That's when Will showed back up. With a black antique shotgun. "She's loaded and ready to go," he said. "Stand away now."

"No, Will," Jerry protested.



"You are not going to shoot my tree," Al said.



Will insisted, "It will get the job done. It will work."



"You'll kill my tree. No."



Petra had a worried look. "Mr. Porter, I don't think you should."



"All right." Will was angry.



Fern said, "It's not a good idea, Will."



No one said anything for a few seconds. "What else are you going to do then?" Will asked, his dark eyes flashing with triumph. The barrel of the gun tipped upward.



"You are not killing my tree, Will."



"Then what are you going to do?"



Al said, "I don't know. But don't you shoot my tree."



A squeaky voice rang out suddenly, "Hi, Petra!" It was Sam Sayers, a tow haired boy who was smaller than his ten years. No one had seen him ride up on his blue bike. "You want to come to the creek?"



Petra moved toward the street. She declined Sam's offer, explaining what was going on.



"Catfish will be biting after a storm," Sam said. "Go home and get your pole. I'll wait here."



"No, Sam. I can't right now."



Petra and Sam argued a bit. They were long standing fishing buddies and he was disappointed.



Al said, "I guess I should go call big Merle. About that ladder."



"No, you can't use a ladder," Jerry said. He went to Al's side and gestured at the tree. "Where are you going to put it?"



"Oh." Al made a long face. "Well, I don't know."



"He's right," said Fern. "No place to put a ladder up there."



"I guess we got no choice," Will said.



Al snapped, "Go put that thing away. You are not shooting my tree, Will."



"Can I try, Mr. Taylor?" It was Sam.



Al blinked, unsure of what he was being asked. "Try?"



"To help."



Fern laughed. He picked the softball up from the grass and shook it. "Let's give him a chance. Why not?"



"No, not with that," Sam said.



Petra told Sam in a low voice, "They have to tie that rope to the broken branch somehow. And pull it down."



"I know," Sam answered.



"I'm sorry," Jerry said. He lifted one end of the rope. "It's just too heavy for you."



Fern laughed. "It's too heavy for all of us."



"I know," Sam said. He was fitting the two halves of his fishing pole together. He ran the line through the grommets and attached a lead weight to the end. Everyone watched him walk confidently into the yard and under the tree. With one quick flick of his wrist he cast the line up and over the end of the tree limb. "Can you tie it to the rope please, Mr. Spitz?"



"Well, I'll be," Al said.



"Sam!" shouted Petra and then she laughed.



"I can't believe that," Fern said. "Good idea, Sam."



Will stared at the shotgun in his hands and said, "I guess we don't need this after all."



Without a word, Jerry tied the end of Sam's fishing line to the rope. He fed the rope upward as the boy reeled his line in. There was one tense moment as the rope nearly slipped off the branch but Sam repositioned himself and kept that from happening.



When the rope was within reach, Jerry untied it from the fishing line. He tied a slip knot and carefully tugged at the rope, maneuvering the knot up around the broken branch. He looked at Sam, who was already back by his bike and disassembling the pole. Jerry told him, "Looks like you saved the day, Sam."



Sam beamed. Then he said shyly, "I just want to go fishing is all." He grinned at Petra. "Are you coming?"



"I'll go home and get my pole," Petra said.



Fern took the rope from Jerry and moved to the side of the tree. "Stand back." A grunt exploded into the air as he yanked at the rope and the broken limb tumbled down and landed in the grass with a thump. He handed the rope back to Jerry with a smile. "Problem solved." He told Sam, "You put that bicycle in the truck. We'll swing by Petra's for her gear and then I'll drive you down to the creek."



"That was a good idea," Will admitted grudgingly. Everyone knew he was disappointed he hadn't gotten a chance to fire the shotgun. "I'll see you." He started for his house.



"Thanks again, Sam," Al said.



Sam's voice was filled with pride, "Glad to help, Mr. Taylor."



After Fern, Petra, and Sam had driven off, Jerry and Al exchanged an amused look. "How many fishing poles you have, Al?" Jerry asked.



"Oh, about three."



"I have two." Jerry chuckled. "How long do you think it would have been before we thought of that?"



"Well." Al removed his hat and scratched the side of his head. "Never maybe."



"I know. Isn't that something." Jerry had his rope untied from the branch and he was coiling it back up.



"He's a smart boy."



"He is," Jerry agreed. He gently tossed the rope over the fence and walked around to his yard.



"Where are you going?" Al asked. "Aren't you going to help me with this thing?"



Jerry picked the rope back up. "Help you what?"



"Drag it in back. I can't just leave it here."



"No. I have work to do. Just look at this yard."



"Well, what am I going to do?"



"You have a chain saw, don't you, Al? Cut it into pieces."



"I don't know if I have any gas in it."



Jerry said, "Gas in my shed. You know where."



"Thanks, Jerry."



"Don't mention it. That's what neighbors are for." As Jerry carried the rope back in the house he shook his head and smiled. He sure liked living in Plainville. It was a town where your neighbors were just like family. He was certain he would never want to live anyplace else.