by Penn Gates
“I'm gonna make us a floor for the ages.”
“You can do that? Put bricks in a house?”
“Don't see why not. You'll like it—no splinters.”
Nix gives him a quick kiss. “Sounds like fun. Sorry I won't be able to help you, but my break's over and I've got to pick another dozen bushels of tomatoes before suppertime.”
She steps back into the kitchen where five young women are working on various stages of the canning process. “This place is like a tropical rain forest,” she comments. “I hope all of you are giving yourselves regular breaks for a few gulps of oxygen.”
Nix glances at Margaret, who looks sad—as she has since George left. But Nix is pretty sure the source of her sadness is not so much the absence of her brother as the fact that he left without performing a wedding ceremony. Now Margaret and Doug will never marry. Which is exactly what George wanted.
As is always the case, the thought of George creates a flurry of conflicting emotions. Not a day goes by that she doesn't wonder if he's alive, while still feeling a constant dull throb of anger towards him that plagues her like a toothache.
She sighs and grabs a couple of bushel baskets. Got to fill them up, got to keep the supply equal to the demands of the kitchen. As she methodically plucks tomatoes, she wonders again why Margaret won't look at other options. Nix has even suggested a Quaker style wedding, where there is no clergyman officiating. Vows are said in front of the community as witnesses to the couple's commitment to each other.
Margaret had just shaken her head and said, “It is not our way." Nix had never fully noticed the strong family resemblance between George and his sister until that moment.
Nix catches sight of the pick up rattling up the drive. Michael has taken to driving himself where he wants to hunt since George left. Another unhappy Shirk. He's inherited the responsibility for the dairy cows and the daily milking. Ironically, now that George is no longer there constantly reminding his younger brother, it's not our way, Michael has very little time to do anything different.
◆◆◆
Nix drifts slowly awake, her sleep interrupted by mourning doves calling to each other somewhere outside the shack. She's always loved these birds, with their beautiful, mournful sound and the sky blue underside of their gray wings. Evolution, she supposes. Harder to be seen from the ground—but what could threaten them from below except hunters with guns? How did evolution know to plan for that?
She senses Cash stirring next to her. “Do you think George is still alive?” Nix asks.
Cash rolls over and props himself up on one elbow. “I don't know—probably not.” He looks down at her. “What brought that to mind? You haven't mentioned him in a month.”
“Maybe I dreamed about him. Must have been a nightmare,” she smirks.
“You've had more than one of those,” he comments. “You never talk about ‘em.”
“Don't want to,” she says and sits up. The murky dreams are always the same. She hasn't had them for years—until that diabolical camper appeared.
“Why not?” Cash persists.
“Because you can bring on nightmares by eating sunflower seeds before bedtime,” she says, naming a snack the Mennonite kids are wild about. She has no idea if this is true, but Gramps used to always say that about peanuts. Close enough.
Cash looks at her like he always does when she tries to divert his attention, but he doesn't ask any more questions.
“It's Sunday, isn't it?” Nix asks. “Sometimes I forget. Maybe that's why I thought of George. He was —I mean—he is such a Puritan.”
“If he got where he was headed, he won't be a Puritan,” Cash points out. “He'll be one of the crowd again.”
“Look at the color on that maple at the edge of the woods,” Nix says because she suddenly doesn't want to speculate about George any more. “Autumn's coming fast—it’s my favorite time of year. The air is crystal clear after being so muggy all summer. I know I could levitate a couple inches off the ground if I put my mind to it.”
“Let's take a drive," Cash says suddenly and laughs. “God, it feels good to say that. It's like we won the lottery with that tanker parked back of the barn. We won't have to worry for a year.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing special. We could check up on Mr. Forrest. And maybe nose around, see what we can find.”
“Ha! I knew it. You want to go looking for nuts and bolts and engines and thing-a-ma-jigs.”
“No I don't,” he says, trying to look innocent. “Maybe we could go to the movies instead. Grab a bite to eat at that new restaurant.”
Nix momentary irritation dissolves into laughter. “All right, you talked me into it. The girls from the camper really need coats. I shudder to think what Brittany will come up with for outerwear. The poor things are already dressed like characters from a Dickens novel.”
“Ain't gonna find the latest clothes in an attic,” Cash comments as he starts to dress. “So, if we're goin' on an adventure, get your overalls on, girl.”
“Come to think of it, maybe I'll keep my eyes open for some jeans,” she says thoughtfully.
◆◆◆
“I should come along, too,” Brittany says. “I know everybody's sizes and what they need—and you don't.”
“Cash and I were going to spend some alone time,” Nix says.
“No you're not,” Brittany says accusingly, as if she's caught Nix in a lie. “You're already taking Terry with you.”
Nix grits her teeth. Why is Cash dragging one of the guys along? Never a moment of peace and quiet—which will be especially true with Brittany in the truck cab.
“I give up,” she says aloud. “Be outside in ten minutes, or we'll leave without you.”
The ride into Hamlin is largely silent after all. Nix is pissed that Cash included Terry without telling her, but it's hard to know if Cash is aware of her mood or is lost in some intricate plan that's just occurred to him. Hopefully, Brittany is picking up on the fact that her presence prevents Nix from talking it out. Whatever the reason, she is uncharacteristically quiet. Glancing in the rear view mirror, Nix sees Terry huddled in the bed of the truck, looking unhappy. Good, then it's unanimous.
When they pull up in front of Forrest's grocery store, Nix gives Brittany a nudge. “Come on, Princess, get out so I can.”
Brittany opens her mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. She opens the door and jumps down.
“I'm not comin’ in,” Cash says. “Terry and I are goin’ over to the feed store.”
“Suit yourself,” Nix snaps and walks away.
It takes awhile before Mr. Forrest comes to the door. He seems slower and more disoriented every time Nix visits.
“Nix. how are you? How's your grandfather?” the old man asks. He looks at Brittany. “Is this one of your friends from school?”
“Gramps is fine, Mr. Forrest,” Nix tells the old man. She's tired of explaining that Gramps is dead.
“Do you want a jawbreaker?” the storekeeper asks with a twinkle in his eye. Lately, it's not been enough to accept the golf ball sized candy with a thank you. The old man insists she stick it in her mouth and enjoy it while she visits. “I know Mrs. Forrest thinks it's unladylike,” he says with a wink, “But you have a lifetime to be proper. You're only a kid once.”
Nix hears Brittany stifle a laugh and she steps on her toe. The muffled laugh immediately turns into a yelp and Nix feels a tiny glow of satisfaction.
“Where is Mrs. Forrest today?” Nix asks.
The old man turns and readjusts a few perfectly aligned cans on the shelf behind him. “She's at a meeting to plan for the church bake sale,” he says without looking at Nix.
This is always when Nix goes from feeling impatient with him to wanting to cry. Somewhere deep inside, Mr. Forrest knows he's pretending and feels ashamed, but his desperate loneliness makes him hold on to the delusion.
“You know, maybe you could come out and—”
&nbs
p; The bell over the door tinkles and Nix turns to snidely ask Cash if the feed store was closed on Sunday. But it isn't Cash.
It's Jason, and his once carefully styled hair is greasy and looks like it's been cut with sheep shears. Behind him are several guys she doesn't recognize.
“Well, I'll be damned,” Nix says.
Jason ignores her because his red-rimmed eyes are fixed on Brittany. “Hey babe, it's been awhile!” He turns to the young men behind him. “Didn't I tell you she was hot?”
Nix is suddenly glad Brittany intruded on this trip because while all these cretins are feeling up Brit with their eyes, it gives Nix a chance to pat them down with hers. She's dealt with guys like this forever. Little weasels, always looking to get something for nothing, but one or two of them are something else. They watch Jason with amused expressions, as if he's performing a stupid pet trick. They're letting him think he's in charge, Nix realizes. But why?
Mr. Forrest has suddenly shrunk in on himself. He seems—afraid. Have they been stealing from him? Or bullying him for sport?
“Shut up, Jason,” Brittany says unexpectedly.
“I been bragging about you to my posse. What's wrong with that, baby?” Jason says and leers at her as he wipes his runny nose on his sleeve.
“I'll just bet you have,” Brittany sneers. She addresses the other young men. “He and I never hooked up,” she says disdainfully. “I have higher standards than that.”
“Skank!” Jason yelps.
Unexpectedly, Jason's friends burst into laughter. “Burn!” one of them snorts and it's unclear whether he's referring to Brittany's remark or Jason's retort. Possibly he himself doesn't know.
Jason turns back to Brittany. “You'll be sorry for that, bitch!" The threat is as phony as Jason's alpha male image, and everyone in the room knows it but him.
The bell jingles again as the door opens and hits someone standing in front of it.
“What the fuck!” the guy snarls, then catches sight of Cash.
“Sorry,” Cash says mildly, but he has his finger on the trigger of his rifle, its barrel pointing toward the floor. “Never knew it to be so crowded here before. Move in a little, will ya?” he asks as his eyes find and lock onto Nix. His nod is barely discernible, but Nix understands the message.
“Brittany,” Nix says suddenly, “Let's go put the kettle on." She pulls the girl after her as she goes behind the counter and puts her arm around Mr. Forrest's shoulders. “Let's make some tea,” she urges him.
As soon as she gets them behind the curtain hanging between the store and the old man's living quarters, she grabs Brittany's hand and places it on Mr. Forrest's sleeve, at the same time pointing towards the back. Nix pulls her gun and listens at the curtain.
“So Jason,” Cash says, “Who are these fellas? Ain't you gonna introduce me?”
“This is the asshole who thinks he runs St Clair farm,” Jason sneers.
“No, see, you ain't got that right,” Cash says, really laying on the hillbilly accent. “I'm in charge of defendin’ St Clair farm. Nix runs things—you of all folks oughta know that, Jason.”
One of the guys who seems amused by Jason steps forward. “My name is Sammy.”
“Cash Hatfield. Pleased to meet ya.”
“We just stopped by to see if the old man had any milk or eggs to trade for some canned goods.”
Nix is sure Cash has noticed they haven't brought anything in with them, but he lets it go.
“Prob'ly not,” Cash says. “We usually bring the stuff in on a Wednesday. We just stopped by to say howdy.”
“Well, buddy,” Sammy says to Jason, “We probably should get going—don’t you think?”
Jason turns and stomps out of the store, followed by everyone else. Sammy is the last to leave. He smiles in Cash's direction and gives a salute with two fingers, which turns into a pantomime gun he aims and fires. Then he's out the door.
Nix pushes the curtain aside with her gun. “That was a little intense,” she says.
“Boys will be boys,” Cash drawls, “But a couple of 'em ain't exactly boys.”
“Jason is a pig!” Brittany says from behind Nix.
“No argument there,” Nix replies, “But never mind that. Where's Mr. Forrest?”
“He's just sitting at his little table and staring out the kitchen window,” Brittany whispers. “It's like he closed up and went away somewhere when those guys came in.”
“I noticed that,” Nix says. “I got the feeling he was afraid of them.”
Cash clicks the lock shut on the door and walks behind the counter. “Let's go talk to him. He can't stay here alone any more.”
“Wait. Where’s Terry?”
“He’s out of sight across the street—just in case. We saw their truck go by and figured we better check ‘em out.”
“Listen, as far as the old man is concerned, I'm just going to invite him for Sunday dinner. Once he's at the farm, he's gonna stay there,” Nix says. “How's that for a plan?”
“Devious,” Cash says. “But are you gonna hold him at gunpoint if that don’t work?”
She looks down and realizes she's still holding her gun. She slips it in its holster before she says, “I'll tell him Gramps is out in the dairy barn and wants him to stick around so they can play checkers. And then I'll give him another excuse after that one. He'll go along with it because he wants to stay in his fantasy world and pretend his friend is still alive.”
By the time they talk Mr. Forrest into accepting their invitation the air is beginning to cool off. There might even be a frost tonight.
“I got to start on cuttin’ the corn tomorrow,” Cash says. “If it rains, we're screwed.”
Chapter 26
Nix doesn't want to leave the warmth of the shack and start the day. But Cash is already in the machine shed working on something or other, while she has to meet Michael and talk about dairy cattle.
Soon, she and Cash will need to move up to the house and sleep in Gramps' old bedroom. Even though it is quite literally a shack, she loves this place. It's a refuge from the constant questions and demands to settle disputes and eyes always on her. Are they looking for mistakes or watching for cues on how to behave? She never knows but, either way, it's nerve wracking.
A soon as she's gulped down a cup of the strong coffee Cash left on top of the wood stove, she finds her coat and hunches her shoulders in anticipation of the cold. There was a hard frost again last night and the ground sparkles with it. Here and there the last of the autumn leaves still cling to bushes and trees, and this morning they look like they've been sugar-coated. Beyond the farmyard, barren fields stretch into the distance. It will be many months before they bring forth wheat and corn again. The frozen grass crunches beneath her feet as she walks toward the dairy barn.
Even at these temperatures, the windows are slightly open. It's amazing how much heat a herd of cows can generate. Michael hasn't complained about the dairy operation since he took over, although Nix is acutely aware of how much he hates doing it. She's hoping he hasn't decided to rebel against the role. If he has, she can't blame him. Tapping him for the job was kind of profiling. Let the Mennonite kid do it—they all know about farming. But just because it's a stereotype doesn't make it false.
Three quarters of an hour later, Nix escapes the cow shed, grateful for the fresh air even if it's still hovering around freezing. The other thing a dairy herd produces besides milk is methane gas, and she wonders if her clothes are going to smell like cow farts all day.
Michael has just delivered bad news. He's done some investigating, and the cattle fodder they produced this past summer is disappearing at an alarming rate. Damn George! Did he have a secret plan for keeping the herd producing milk until spring? If he did, he decided not to share it before he abandoned everyone counting on him.
Nix spots a small group of girls, standing with heads bowed, just beyond the orchard in the St Clair burial ground. It’s easy to pick out Dicey because her hair is a splash of red
in the black and white scene. Nix squints just a little. Another of the girls from the camper—Nix thinks it's Cynthia Reed—is down there with them. Her husband was killed during the violent aftermath of Geezer, and somewhere out there is her baby—maybe alive, maybe not. Not knowing is the worst thing, Nix thinks. And George isn't even my kid.
Brittany's presence along side the two who are mourning their losses is more of a puzzle to Nix. Her need to be the center of attention isn't as obsessive as it was when she first arrived. Nix still questions the girl's motives, but keeps her doubts to herself. Being supportive and empathetic makes a person important to others. Nix hates herself when she thinks like that, but nothing in her life has convinced her that people are capable of being selfless—or even unselfish, for that matter. Whatever Brittany's motivation, she has a knack for dealing with emotionally wounded people. For the first time it occurs to Nix that the girl may have deep wounds of her own hidden by that airhead exterior.
Nix is considering a walk down to the cemetery herself to visit Gramps' grave, when a sound like a dog yarking up a bone shatters the frozen quiet of the morning. She reaches for her gun without thinking. If it's a sick coyote she'll put it down before it attacks one of the smaller kids.
There it is again—that sound. She glances quickly over her shoulder toward the house. A figure in a hoodie has fallen to his knees a dozen yards from the porch steps and is doubled over in pain, coughing in gut wrenching spasms.
Nix jams her gun in its holster and sprints forward just as the back door crashes open and Margaret leaps the steps, two at a time, her apron flying. With a feeling of dread, Nix slows her pace just enough to allow Margaret to reach him first—because of course it's Doug. Who else has lungs so damaged that it sounds like he's choking on chunks of them when he has a coughing spell?
By the time Nix gets close to the two of them, Margaret is holding on to Doug to keep him from pitching forward. Oh Christ! Nix thinks. Please, don’t let him die. Give him a little more time. Is that too much to ask?
