Chapter 29: The Settling — Part 3

Blake gives Heath a prop up into the tree, her backpack full of anchors, straps biting into her shoulders, rope up there are well. It is the last tree, and Blake has learned now not to look up, partly because Heath, playing the part of squirrel, knocks a lot of bark loose as she climbs, but also because she’s wearing a short kilt skirt — the kind a cheerleader or anime high school girl would wear, apparently perfect for climbing. When asked on its origin, Heath would only answer that Daria got it for her. Blake doesn’t have an urge to press on where Daria would acquire such a garment, or why she would give it to Heath.

She’s wearing the right kind of underwear, at least. Blake thinks, not for the first time, keeping his eyes firmly between his toes.

Heath is braced against one of the highest branches, legs straddling the crotch as she sets her backpack on another branch. First, she eyes her height against the other tree, young eyes still keen enough to see the shining metal loop in the distance. Once she is certain she’s high enough, she pulls out the hand drill, set with a one inch bit, still sticky from the last tree, and starts the tedious process of drilling in a three-inch hole. The tree is already trying to heal even as she sets the thick plastic into the hole, screwing it into the tree with a hex wrench that looks more like a sawed off crow bar than a screw setter. She repeats this twice, thanking the tree as she goes, and then uses the same hex piece to screw the closed eye hooks into the three insulating anchors. For the last time, Heath pulls a thick weatherproof cord from the pack, and runs the rigging knots exactly the way Blake has shown her.

The bright orange polymer cord is half as thick as her pinky, and is supposed to be UV resistant and strong enough to walk like a tight rope. Because of this, it is mostly inflexible. Heath’s hands ache by the time she’s done knotting the cord, looping and using a metal crimping tool to lock the loose end around the second closed eye hook. She has to test it to make certain the double crimping will hold, ensure she’s gotten the knots right, and then she has to spool it a second time, because Blake wants the cords to be double redundant. So she tosses the first spindle out past the branches, and starts in on the second.

Heath’s legs are wrapped against the tree trunk as she works, keeping her balanced, and she’s just finished the second one, and is ready to head down when she looks past the trunk, into a nearby clearing. Her eyes blur and then come into focus on what she sees there, and she wipes the sweat from her head as she braces herself for the short climb back to the ground. She sees Paige and Daria are in some kind of a struggle. At first Heath is worried: She’s never seen anything like what Daria is doing, Daria’s hands are up Paige’s skirt, and Paige looks like she’s crying, her body wracked with what seems to be sobbing.

By the time her rational mind has caught up with what is really happening, Heath’s body has become hot, and the pressure of the tree between her legs, which before had been platonic, is now starting to feel like something more. She pushes instinctively into the tree, much like Paige is pushing herself against Daria, and for the briefest moment, the two of them form a rare kind of synergy, as if Paige’s orgasm is something inside Heath, years of pent up pressure exploding from within. Heath, having never felt the rush and warmth is at first confused, clinging to the tree as her heart races and her body tingles. Heath’s not looking at them anymore, realizing that she’s being rude, and also a little afraid that Daria will know she’s been watching.

Instead, Heath hangs onto the tree until her body stops trembling and the fear and excitement are replaced with sleepy, unexpected warmth that she finds both wonderful and unbearable. She looks toward the other two trees, through an opening in the branches, and unwraps a large section of cord, throwing the last spindle out past the branches. The spindle, made to hold 500 yards of thick cord, bounces off the edge of a lower oak branch, landing with a thud on the bottom near its companion. Backpack returned to her shoulders, Heath dismounts the branch, squirreling her way down to the lowest branch.

She’s hanging from the branch, wondering of she should risk the drop, when she feels Blake’s massive hands on her hips, and once she’s sure his grip is firm, she lets go. His hands feel coarse even against her black tennis style sports panties, and his grip is somewhat like the cord she has just fought with. But she can feel love in his touch, though he doesn’t let his hands linger once he’s set her to the ground. When she turns to look at Blake, her cheeks are flushed pink, while a lopsided smile is plastered to her face. His eyes are already drifting to the concrete foundation built between the other two trees, each of which have already been set and corded.

Blake’s hand rests on Heath’s shoulder as they walk the short distance from tree to tree, gathering the spindles and rolling them out to the foundation, where the antenna, firmly assembled, waits with inert patience to be hoisted into the air.

“Blake?” Heath begins, as they walk back to the foundation for the third and last time.

Blake’s hand is on her shoulder, and he taps out a curious. “Yes?”

“I’m getting older. I think you need to find me a husband soon.” Heath says, and even she knows it sounds silly.

Blake smiles, the hiss of his own giggle catching him off guard, and his fingers start tapping out a response, just in case she’s in a mood to read an insult into his whispering laughter. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The antenna, comprised of three copper pipes set equally apart with a massive copper cord between them, is framed up and ready to be raised. Set into the concrete foundation are six support struts, each of them ending in a block and tackle, the kind of which can sometimes be found on poles for reeling up volley ball nets. Blake sets the cords through the insulated double blocks built into the nine-foot long antenna frame, and then into the block and tackles, pulling each one tight enough to suspend the antenna a few feet off the ground. Locking the cord into the spindle catch for the tackle, Blake points to the far tackle, and Heath heads on over to it.

Blake and Heath work together, cranking opposing cords until the antenna is raised high into the air, suspended by six thick orange cords, whose tension can be adjusted to allow some directional tuning. The copper wire runs down its center, through a ceramic insulator, and to the ground, where Blake ties it into a grounding switchbox that will convert the antenna to a lightning rod when not in use. When he’s done tying the antenna in and testing the straps, he puts a loving arm over his sweaty daughter, giving her a squeeze.

“So … We going to test it out tonight?”

“Storm’s coming.” Blake says, signing with a single hand.

“Tomorrow then?” Heath asks.

“Soon as the sun sets.” Blake answers.