by Penn Gates
“Have a seat, George. Let's wait for the others. No use repeating things." Nix gestures at the only other chair in the room. “Or—how about you and me getting a few more chairs in here?”
He turns on his heel and walks back into the hall, Nix right behind him, where they almost collide with Margaret and Michael. “Chairs,” Nix says. Michael nods and turns back toward the kitchen. By the time Cash joins them, there's a ring of chairs around her desk that makes the office look more like a kindergarten class than the principal's office.
“Nice,” Cash laughs. “Tell us a story, teacher.”
“Good of you to join us,” Nix snaps. How could she spill her guts last night, like she was at some New Age encounter group? “Can we please just get on with this?” she says. “There's a lot to discuss.”
Cash ignores the last empty chair and leans instead against the bookcase. “Shoot,” he says agreeably.
“Everybody here knows we got a visit from some of the guys over at Turner's farm,” Nix begins. “They're hungry and scared. They don't know how to prepare for the coming winter, although they're smart enough to know they should be working at it."
She looks around. “I’m sure you’ve also heard that Frank and I were friends in high school, so I know the place. When his dad inherited the farm, he basically bulldozed everything and started over. He built a ranch house with a propane furnace. Tore down the old barn and built a high-bay machine shed for all his brand new farm equipment. Went into no-till agri-farming in a big way. Even got rid of all the farm animals. This idiot bought the idea that you could automate farming and live like an assembly line worker.”
“Better even,” she adds, “Because the enclosed cab of the tractor was air-conditioned.”
“I'm surprised he didn't lose the place,” Cash comments.
“Me, too,” Nix says. “But that's beside the point, at the moment. It's not sustainable in a world without electricity, fuel tankers, or grocery stores.”
George frowns and opens his mouth to speak.
Nix cuts him off. “There's no doubt in my mind, George, that you could whip that place into a working farm—but those guys can't. And there's another, bigger problem—Frank himself. He's the owner, and unfortunately, it turns out he's also a drunk. He carted the entire alcoholic beverage section of Walmart back to his place instead of more food for the young men living with him.”
“Oh my,” Margaret says softly.
“So these guys want to come live with us?” Michael asks, his voice hard.
“Not all of them—but a lot of them,” Nix answers.
“What's in it for us?” Michael asks.
“Michael Shirk!” George says in a shocked voice. “Charity asked for is charity given.”
Nix glances at Michael. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but she sees something glint in his eyes. And she knows the little punk has manipulated his older brother into committing to a position before thinking it through. Another thought hits her. Did he think this up himself or did he have some help? She glances at Cash, but he looks like he's deep in thought.
“Margaret,” Cash says suddenly. “Based on the daily milk and egg production and an average harvest from the garden, would we have enough to support, say ten extra people?”
“Don't forget the wild game I bring in,” Michael adds, “And the fish.”
Now Nix is sure of it. Whether Cash has talked to him or not, Michael is definitely up for giving these guys a new home. And probably for exactly the same reason. Michael sees the wisdom of a strong defense just as clearly as she and Cash do. But that isn't what she’d been thinking about last night, she realizes. It was rescue that had been on her mind.
Margaret holds up a hand for silence. They know she's doing a lot of adding and subtracting in her head and they quiet down immediately. Finally she says, “If there is a good harvest—if the game is as plentiful as it was last winter—if the cows and chickens go on giving with their present generosity—” She nods to herself, then looks around the room. “Yes, I think we can.”
“George,” Nix says. “What about the crops you guys planted to feed the livestock? Does it look like we'll have enough to keep the animals healthy?”
“It is looking very good,” George answers, “But I cannot foresee what the Lord might send.”
“I really miss The Weather Channel, too,” Nix says. “But I'll take that as a conditional affirmative.”
Margaret clears her throat, a polite indication that she wants to speak again.
“Did you have something to add, Margaret?” Nix asks, going along with the girl's Mennonite humility, especially in the presence of males. She clenches her jaw until it makes her teeth ache to keep from pointing out that Margaret has been more concise in her analysis than anyone else.
“It seems to me the extra mouths to feed are attached to strong backs and arms, and those will help us with the harvest. And perhaps we will be able to plant more next year with the extra help,” she adds before lapsing once more into silence.
“Where will we put them all?” George asks irritably, and Nix realizes that his abrupt change in mood is probably because part of him has just realized these young men come from the same world as Brittany.
“Brit and I have started cleaning out the new wing upstairs,” Nix says. “There's four large rooms and one small, and the best part is, there's an old stairway in back that’s been closed up for years.” She doesn't look at George, but she knows she's talking to him when she adds, “The upstairs bedrooms in the old house and the second floor of the new wing can be completely sealed off from one another.”
“How long will it take to get those rooms cleared out?” Cash asks.
Nix frowns. “Maybe a week. Every room is packed with junk, and we haven't even started digging through it.” His expression says that's not what he wants to hear. He's really worried about those kids, too, she thinks. Which means—maybe I'm not going all soft and girly after all.
“I had an idea last night,” Cash says. He looks straight at Nix. “You may not like it when you hear the whole plan, but here it goes—the old chicken coop.”
“What're you talking about?” Nix says, but George is smiling and nodding.
“We can build some bunk beds,” Cash says. “They'll be out of the way at first—until we get to know ‘em better. Troublemakers never can hide for long.” He grins. “Good behavior will be a condition of movin’ up to the house, and when it starts to get cold, anyone who's a problem will suddenly try a lot harder.”
“I like it,” she says. “An elegant solution.”
“Have you seen the chicken coop?” Cash asks. “Elegant ain't the word I'd use.”
“I'll move out there, too,” Michael says suddenly. “Somebody's got to keep an eye on those guys, at least at first.”
“You most certainly will not!” George says loudly. “God alone knows what kind of people they are, and I will not have you corrupted by their profanity and—”
“Oh zip it, George!” Michael says. “Why don't you worry about the important stuff for a change?”
Nix feels guilty, but only for an instant. It's true that Michael has picked up that particular expression from her, but so what? George unfailingly goes for the detail instead of the big picture. Why is he so willfully blind to the serious problems they face?
Cash speaks before the brothers' disagreement escalates into an argument. “I got a plan to get a little discipline instilled in these guys before any trouble starts." He grins. “They're goin’ to boot camp! They just don't know it yet."
He glances at Nix to see her reaction. “Uniforms, I think,” he says in an abominable German accent. “Brown shirts, perhaps. What do you think, fraulein?”
He turns to Michael, “So I'll be out there with them—and so will Jason and Freddie, the pussies—because they need to toughen up. I’d like you up at the house with Nix at night—just in case Franks gets up the gumption to come looking for his lost boys. But feel free to join in the fun and games
durin’ the day—not that you need it.”
“Any other potential problems that come to mind?” Nix asks.
No one speaks up.
“Then, all in favor—let’s see a show of hands.”
It's unanimous, although George is the last to raise his arm.
“Oh crap!” Nix says. “I should have told everybody to hang around the house. We need to let them know what's going on before it happens.”
“They should all be waitin’ outside,” Cash says.
“Because?“
“I told 'em to,” he says, “Before I came in here.”
“Of course you did,” Nix sighs. “I should have known you would.”
◆◆◆
Nix feels the waves of passive aggression radiating from Frank like heat from a fever. He wouldn't hesitate to screw us over if he could do it without risking his own skin, she thinks, but she keeps a friendly smile pasted on her face.
“So how have you been, Frank?” she asks, although it's obvious he's not doing well. His facial hair is somewhere between stubble and beard, the skin beneath as gray as the hair, and his eyes look in need of a tourniquet.
“You gonna stand around in my driveway and make small talk, pretend like you're here for a visit?” he snarls. “You came to steal my crew.”
She looks over his shoulder at the hip-roofed ranch with aluminum siding and a picture window that would look more natural on a storefront. The place has central air, if she remembers right, but during the hottest days of summer that sealed window facing west has got to be a real liability without electricity to run the A/C.
“You don't own these guys, Frank. And we didn't recruit them. They came to us for help." She knows she should stop there, but she can't quite make herself. “Apparently things aren't going too smooth over here.”
Frank glances around like he wonders what she's talking about. “Things are fine and dandy,” he says, “Just fine and dandy.” His gaze falls on Michael, standing to her left. “'Course I'm not lucky enough to have a bunch of damn Dutchies to work my farm,” he sneers. “I haven't had cow shit on my boots for a long time—because I've had more important things to do with my life.”
“You never had cow shit on your boots,” Nix snaps. “Your daddy didn't keep a cow or a barn to milk it in." She forces herself to shut up.
“Hey there, boy,” Frank says to Cash, who's moved just behind Nix. “How they hanging? Or haven't they dropped yet?” Frank laughs uproariously.
Cash takes a couple of steps forward to stand at Nix's side. She senses the tension in his body, but his face creases into the familiar, good-natured grin. “How ya been, old man? Still keepin' it up?”
Frank transfers his attention to Nix rather than respond to Cash. “Guess that makes you an old lady,” Frank says to her, “Since we're the same age.” He snickers. “Unless you're trying to keep that a secret for some reason.”
“Whatever,” Nix says and shrugs. She's relieved to see that while Frank has been venting his displeasure in her direction, Jason has gotten the ten guys who've elected to leave into the back of the truck, along with their backpacks.
“Listen, Frank—let’s not have any hard feelings. The way things look, we're probably going to be neighbors again for a long time.” Nix holds out a bag. “We thought maybe you guys could use some fresh vegetables.”
Frank knocks the bag from her hand. “Blow me, bitch—like you did in high school!” he shouts. “I don't need your God-damned charity!”
He doesn't even see the punch coming. Suddenly Frank's laid out on the ground, with Cash standing over him, breathing hard. “Let's see if you can talk with that mouth now, asshole.”
Nix stares at Cash. “Really?” she says. “What happened to 'in and out with no violence'?”
“Oops,” Cash says. “Sorry." But he doesn't look sorry. He looks like he wants to do it again.
“Let's get out of here before we start World War III.” Nix turns and stalks toward the pickup, aware that eleven sets of eyes are watching from the back of the truck. She knows they saw what just happened, but what did they hear? Probably everything. That fucking Frank! I hope his liver explodes—tonight!
On the way back to the farm, the silence is so heavy it could be weighed on a scale. Nix is in the driver's seat and Michael sits between her and Cash, who is staring stonily out the passenger window. The Mennonite boy shifts restlessly and twists around to look at the guys crammed into the bed of the pickup. Nix knows he wishes he was back there with them. As a matter of fact, so does she.
She grips the steering wheel like it's a life preserver that will keep her from being swept away by rage. Any real control over that bunch begins with the promise of an orderly, secure existence. Having a temper tantrum in full view of the troops is out of the question. What pisses her off most is that Cash did have a temper tantrum, but because he's male, it will only prove he's got the chops. She, on the other hand, held on to her temper in the face of every provocation, and she'll still lose respect because a fucking drunk alluded to a sex act she performed on him more than twenty years ago.
After what seems an eternity, Nix parks the truck on the gravel apron in front of the machine shed.
Cash jumps out immediately and speaks to the new arrivals. “Just leave your gear. We'll grab some grub and then head down to your new quarters." He pauses. “Let me rephrase that—it’ll be your new quarters when y’all help remodel it. Tonight we'll be roughin’ it.”
“There's no room in that big house for us?” somebody grumbles.
“Can we have a campfire?” a more optimistic voice asks.
“Good idea, Bob,” Cash says. “How are you at buildin’ fires?”
I hope they piss and moan for a week, Nix thinks viciously. She doesn't glance at Cash or anybody else as she heads into the house.
Michael got a deer the day before, and M & M and Brittany have made a huge pot of venison stew. They eat at the picnic table again, mainly because the kitchen will no longer hold everyone, and Nix idly wonders what they'll do in the winter. Eat in shifts? Serve in two rooms, kitchen and dining room? That's an idea. She pushes her food around on her plate. Her stomach is still burning with anger and she finds it impossible to swallow anything. She notices Brittany is picking through her dinner, too, and Nix is guessing that a lesson in where meat really comes from has finally made vegetables more appealing.
“Hey Brit,” Nix says. “Sorry we didn't have a chance to talk this morning. You really blew me away by just leaving the book on my desk. It was like Christmas morning.”
Brittany almost purrs. “It was so tempting to look at it—but I didn't. I thought someone of the same blood should be the first to open it after all the years it lay hidden.”
“Now you're sounding like one of those hokey, supernatural thrillers.”
Brittany frowns. “Well, anyway, it's found.”
“Why don't we take a look at it after supper?” Nix asks. She knows her timing is off, as usual, but hey, better late than never.
“OK,” Brittany says, and she's smiling again. “Maybe we should ask Margaret to join us since she'll be doing the herbal medicines." She lowers her voice. “Don't tell her about the witch thing, OK? I don't think she'd like it.”
“Mum’s the word—and by the way, I don't like the idea, either.”
“Hey Cash,” Jason says, from farther down the table. “Do you think I could bunk with these guys? It would feel good to be around my own kind again.”
Cash puts down his fork and fastens his attention on Jason. “Your kind? What the f—” He glances at the Mennonite girls. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Wise-acrer?”
Jason flushes bright red. “Don't call me that!” he yelps. He notices the new guys looking at him with curiosity. “That's just a stupid nickname that little prick Michael made up because my name is Whittaker. It doesn't mean anything.”
Surprisingly, George speaks up. “Do not be modest, Jason. You have worked hard to earn that n
ickname. You have been mocking my family for how we dress and talk, but all the time you are pretending it is just a joke. You mock even our beliefs."
Now everyone at the table is paying attention.
“You are not only a wise-acrer,” George says firmly, “You are intolerant of anyone who is different than you.”
“I am not prejudiced!” Jason whines, staring directly at Marcus, the one black member of the team. “That is not cool.”
Marcus stares back at him with a look of distaste.
The silence is total. No one speaks up to defend Jason, not even Brittany. In fact, Nix noticed she nodded in agreement while George had his say. Jason stands there for almost a minute before he walks away, shoulders slumped. Nobody goes after him.
“Well, that certainly put a damper on the party,” Nix comments.
“He had it comin’,” Cash says. “Everybody who lives here is the same kind—a survivor! Anybody who don't think so, can get the hell out." He picks up his fork again and stabs a piece of venison.
Nix notices that Martin is looking at Cash with something close to adoration. I should have said that, Nix thinks. I'm so worthless when it comes to encouragement. All I've ever been good at is intimidation.
“Maybe that's what Jason will do,” Michael says hopefully. “Just get out.”
“Don't worry, he'll be back,” Nix tells him. “As soon as it gets dark.” She rises and looks down the table at the newcomers, some of whom are mopping their plates with biscuits. “Show the people who cooked for you a little gratitude. When you're finished, grab your plates and put them on the table outside the back door.”
While all the guys climb back into the truck, Cash approaches Nix. “I'll be up in awhile. You and I need to talk.”
“It can keep 'til morning,” she answers. “I'm too tired to argue. And anyway, I promised Brittany we'd look at something she found. She's been waiting since yesterday.”
“Tough shit,” Cash says. “I'm comin' back up.”
“And miss telling ghost stories 'round the old campfire?”
“Expect me,” he says over his shoulder and slams the truck door hard enough to make the windows rattle.
