9 Tales Told in the Dark 6

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  “Bombs fell,” Kyla said, letting go of me and smoothing out her sundress. She loved her sundresses. “All over the world. We weren’t hit because we live way out in the country, but that might not matter cause the radiation may float around in the air, or get in the water, or the weather may change and kill us.”

  “Hush,” Mom said. “We don’t know anything yet, Kyla. You know what they say about assuming things.”

  “Yes, Mom,” she said. She held her thumb with her other hand and leaned a shoulder into me. I wrapped an arm around her and looked to Mom.

  It didn’t feel like the world was over.

  Really, so what if there was no more television. We didn’t watch it much. We’d have to learn how to live without electricity, sure. And there was water. I guess the pipes underground would stop working, but we had wells we used for the gardens and cattle.

  “What are we gonna do?” I asked.

  Mom came and wrapped both Kyla and me in a hug. I was taller than her. That meant something extra it seemed like, like maybe I needed to pull a little more weight for the family, especially for Kyla. Mom and Dad were sure to be extra busy.

  We moved to Great Uncle Jack’s farm that very day. He had over a hundred acres of good flat pasture with a seasonal creek and a couple of good crappie ponds. It lay at the foothills to the mountains. Most everybody did their hunting up there.

  “This is where we are going to live … forever?” Kyla asked again. She hadn’t spent that much time away from home.

  Dad was off talking to the uncles and the other old people while Mom, Kyla and I were fixing up the room we were to share. A couple of the cousins my age ran past our door, but I didn’t go off to hang out with them. Mom and Kyla needed me.

  “You know what safety means?” Mom asked Kyla as they put sheets on the beds.

  Kyla glanced my way before answering. I gave her a smile and unloaded another box.

  “It means being careful. I’m careful,” she said.

  “I know you’re careful,” Mom said. “But being safe means more. We are going to live together so we can watch out for each other and work so everybody has what they need.”

  “Ok,” Kyla said.

  What Mom said sounded good, but my family had always been Dad, Mom, and Kyla first. As far as whom I was going to watch out for, they were top priority. I put an arm around Kyla and she relaxed some.

  Dad returned. “Come on Jerol. We’ve got some moving to do.” He had his deer rifle across his back. I grabbed my twenty two from the corner.

  We’d driven the truck and trailer down to Uncle Jack's farm loaded with all the important stuff from home like the livestock, the clothes, the guns, some pictures. We’d left plenty though.

  “Be careful you guys,” Kyla said. I gave her and Mom a good stare. I couldn’t shake the weird, unreal feeling of it all. Nobody seemed to be in charge … Not really anyway. And I’d just got out of school. The certainty I’d never go back … ever, didn’t seem possible.

  Our driveway set back a good football field from the road and had a bend in it with some trees to block the view. As we made the crook Dad slammed on the brakes and cut the engine.

  “Son of a bitch,” he growled and jumped from the truck.

  I was behind him in no time flat. Our front door was open. We’d left the house all locked up. Dad pulled the gun from his shoulder, flipped the safety off, and fired. I don’t know why, but I kept hearing that safety click off in my head, over and over. He’d done it in anger, had broke his own rule, the one he’d taught me when I was seven and he was teaching me to shoot the BB gun I’d got for Christmas. ‘Guns and anger don’t mix’. That was the first rule.

  He strode to the house. I made to follow him.

  “Stay with the truck.” I did as I was told. I tried to watch all over in case people were out in the woods, but mostly I just watched him walk to the house and disappear inside.

  It felt like a long time, but it probably wasn’t. Dad came out, walking slow, eyes looking everywhere like I should have been doing. Then I saw smoke. At first I thought it was from the chimney, which didn’t make any sense. It was May, after all. Then I realized it was the whole roof smoking.

  My mouth must have been hanging open because Dad came along and closed it with one of his fingers.

  He got in the truck and started the engine. There was fire in the windows. Shingles slid off the roof.

  “Jerol, let’s go.”

  I managed to get in the truck, but didn’t remember using my legs.

  “Jerol, listen up.”

  My throat was tight. I was afraid my voice might crack or sound weak and shaky.

  I coughed. “Yes Sir,” I said. Dad got us out of the driveway and onto the road leading back to Uncle Jack's place.

  “Never, ever bend on your principles.”

  “What are principles?” I asked. Bluffing like I knew something I didn’t was as bad as lying to Dad and lying was one of the worst things a man could ever do.

  “You know what principles are. You just don’t know the word. Our house was ransacked, searched over and vandalized. We’d been gone for a couple hours and somebody had already broken in and went through what we’d left behind.”

  “When was the last time we locked our doors?” he asked.

  I knew when. Kyla had been so proud. “The day Kyla was old enough to trust her not to go wandering away at night.”

  I knew trust. Trust was one of the first things I learned. There’d been love, then pride, then trust.

  “That’s right. We don’t usually lock our doors. But I did today and our house got broke in to, probably by one of our very own neighbors.”

  We pulled into Jack’s drive and on around through the gate into the innards of the farm. He killed the engine and looked at me.

  “I know you’re scared Jerol. So am I. But, never forget who you are, or where you came from, or what’s right and wrong.”

  “I'll never forget, Dad.” My voice did break, but Dad didn’t seem to notice.

  “That’s all principles are. Doing what you know to be right, no matter what, cause you have to.”

  We built fences. We dug new wells. We set up a few extra greenhouses. The crops were taken extra special care of. The Uncles took down the fences from way out and reset them closer so we could see the cows better. The chicken coop was expanded. Another barn was built. There was always a job that needed done. Everybody worked. The only difference for me was that I didn’t get paid for it.

  I spent an entire day digging a root cellar. Other cousins came and went, called to other jobs by one adult or another, but not me. I dug and dug and dug.

  The sun was on the horizon when Pa came by.

  “You had enough?”

  I’d been digging so long that I bout forgot I had a voice. I didn’t stop moving my shovel when I answered.

  “I had enough hours ago.”

  Pa pushed back his old straw hat and showed me a wrinkled smile.

  “Suppers on.”

  It took an effort to stop my body from shoveling. I climbed out of the hole I’d dug.

  “The ladies gonna be mighty proud of that cellar when it’s done,” he said and patted me on the back.

  The ladies were mainly Nan and Uncle Jack’s wife, Jo. They took care of all the stuff that related to food, clothes, medicine, beds … Well, a lot of things. Pa and Great Uncle Jack mainly did the outside stuff. Uncle Jack was better at the farming and animals. Pa was better at all the building. They both were good teachers. All the older people were good teachers.

  “Maybe I should renegotiate my rates,” I said.

  “Try that on Nan and Jo and see what they say,” Pa replied.

  I shook my head. “Naw, I ain’t that crazy yet.”

  Supper was the best time of the day because just about everybody got to sit down for fellowship. It’d have been nice if everybody could have eaten at once, but it wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon. We always had guards watching the place an
d scouts and hunters out on different kinds of missions.

  Nan and Jo pushed a bunch of tables together every night and broke out the nice tablecloths as well as the old china and silverware.

  Kyla sat on my left and Cousin Tom on my right. Little Ellie sat next to Kyla on the other side. She never left Kyla’s side and I was glad. Kyla needed someone to talk with since I was outside all the time.

  I wasn’t let in the house much during the day. There was too much going on. I did, though, sneak a peek at Kyla to make sure she was alright. Mom said Kyla learned faster than anybody in the house. I saw with my own eyes Nan and Jo smile the pride smile when Kyla was working the foot pump sewing machine. It’s a particular type of smile, the pride smile. It takes in the whole face and neck and shoulders, sometimes even the chest. As a kid, I’d learned quick that smile. There wasn’t a much better smile in the world.

  Supper was yeast rolls, some wild dinner salad, and smoked deer. Deer had become a pretty big staple, as had wild salad. The ladies put on their bonnets and went hunting wild greens every day.

  It was Uncle Merro’s turn at Grace. The adults passed the honor around. Uncle Merro never seemed to like it, though.

  We bowed our heads.

  “Lord,” he cleared his throat. We waited. “Lord, thank you for this bounty set before us.” He paused. I had the urge to peek at him, but resisted. “Thank you too, Lord, for our good fortune this past month or so. Help us to… Keep us safe, Lord. Amen,”

  I chimed in my Amen along with everyone else and dug into the food. Uncle Merro may not have been too good with people, but he was the best hunter the family had. Dad said so. So did Pa.

  Chit-chat was the best sound of the day, the best background noise ever while I ate. I’d come to rely on its daily occurrence every night. It meant things were okay.

  We were all about done eating when Dad stood up.

  “Cheryl and I are going to see if her folks are alright.”

  The rest of the family nodded their heads in agreement, but not me. Mom and Dad should have talked to Kyla and me first, though I knew why they hadn’t. We wouldn’t have wanted them to go.

  “Will you watch over Jerol and Kyla while we’re gone?” He asked everyone. Kyla leaned against me. I put an arm around her. I could feel the rest of the family watching us.

  “Jerol, Kyla … Dad and I won’t be gone long,” Mom said. “We just want to check on Grandma and Grandpa Swardin.”

  I knew. Mom had never been able to raise Grandpa Swardin on the CB while we still had the generator running. Mom’s side of the family lived closer to the city. There was worry about the city people not being able to take care of themselves and about what they might do.

  “I don’t want you to go,” Kyla said. I gave her a squeeze and blinked quickly so nobody would see the tears in my eyes.

  “We don’t want to go, Sweetie,” Dad said. “But we owe it to Mom’s folks. It’s been over a month. Things are pretty well established here.”

  “Haven’t seen a soul out in the woods that wasn’t family,” Uncle Merro said. He was the family appointed ‘Chief’ of activities outside the farm. Word had it that our neighbors had all left to join up with their families in big groups just like we had. Since our family was mostly right here we got the right to claim it as ours.

  “Maybe things aren’t so bad out there,” Dad said. Mom looked off like she didn’t want to look at anybody. Kyla was crying pretty steady, but was being quiet about it. Ellie held her hand.

  “We’ll take care of the young-uns,” Pa said. “Don’t worry none. Go see about your folks, Cheryl.”

  I stood and got Kyla to stand with me then steered her toward Mom. Mom bent and picked her up. Kyla started crying all the harder. I watched Mom carry her back to where we all slept together in our little room.

  Everybody got quiet after Kyla left. Dad and I were the only ones standing. He took my shoulder and led me back to where Mom and Kyla were. Nobody said anything else.

  Mom and Dad left real early the next day. I stood with an arm around Kyla and watched Mom and Dad ready up a couple of our horses.

  Mom hugged us first. I committed to memory the feel of her arms around my neck, her smell, her smile.

  “Take care of your sister,” she said.

  “Always,” I said.

  “Be smart. Learn everything,” Mom told Kyla. Kyla gave her a nod. I think she was afraid to talk.

  Dad grabbed my shoulder. His hand was the strongest, most durable thing I’d ever known. He gave my arm a good long squeeze and looked for a long time into my eyes.

  “You got this?”

  “I’ll do what right. Hurry home.”

  He nodded then grabbed Kyla in a bear hug, whipping her around in a circle.

  “Don’t you cry, little one,” he said. “We’ll be home before you know it.”

  “I love you, Dad,” she choked out.

  “I love you, Princess. Always.”

  Nan came out and grabbed Kyla to help with canning. Ellie was there too, as back-up I suppose. Mom and Dad got on their horses and trotted away.

  The root cellar hole was a welcome sight. I wanted the quiet and the sweating.

  My mom and Dad were gone. And, I was digging a hole.

  I was halfway through swinging a shovelful of dirt when I realized how absurd that was. Kyla was inside learning how to can. My ten year old sister was learning a useful skill and I was digging. My parents were gone. I was responsible for Kyla. Me first, then the rest of the family, but me first. That was my job now that Dad was gone. Keep Kyla safe.

  I tossed the shovel and climbed out of the hole. Uncle Merro was around. He always stayed close in the day after he said Grace to make sure all the other guards and scouts knew the schedule.

  He was just about to leave. He had on his pack, which meant he was going to be gone at least overnight. Uncle Jack was with him. I walked up. Great Uncle Jack smiled. Uncle Merro just glanced at me.

  “I’m going with you,” I said.

  “You want to go with Merro out scouting?” Uncle Jack asked.

  Merro turned kind of sidelong in my direction, like a profile paying attention.

  “Your father wanted you to wait,” Merro said. He still didn’t look me in the eye. It was strange not to have an adult look you in the eye. I’d thought at first that Merro was just not confident, that he was scared. Dad had told me different. He’d said Merro lived more on the inside than most is all, said that’s what made him a better hunter, the animals couldn’t tell he was there.

  “Dad’s gone. I want to learn how to better protect my sister,” I said.

  They both knitted their brows at me.

  “Kyla is my responsibility. Digging a hole does not help me do that.

  Merro still wouldn’t look at me. I grabbed his face with both hands and stared at him in the eye. Screw his hiding away. He could hide away on his own time.

  He looked at me and I almost lost my resolve. Dad was right. Merro did hide himself inside, but there was no way he did it just to be a better hunter. Uncle Merro, the single, thirty-something year old bachelor, my dad’s brother, had a fire, an intensity, just visible in his eyes that made my insides quiver. There was a life there, not a spark of interest, but a flame of focus, that made me flinch. No wonder he didn’t let that out. People wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  “I … I want to learn,” I managed.

  Merro held my eye for just an instant longer. I did not look away. He took my hands and pulled them from his face. In a blink of an eye he was once more standing like a glorified profile.

  “That’s good enough for me,” he said.

  So I trained. Merro didn’t talk much in the best of times and talked even less while out in the field. He taught by showing. I followed and did as he did. We trapped. We explored. We hunted for the family. We scouted for signs of trouble. We ventured up the mountain higher than I’d ever been.

  Time passed fast while I was out ranging. I came to see thi
ngs different. Days didn’t matter as much anymore, not like they did back at the farm. I started to feel like part of ‘it’, part of the world, of nature. I started forgetting about the hardships of maintaining the yoke of civilization, of learning how to combat nature’s pathway, of our constructed sense of community.

  Responsibility kept me anchored, though. Kyla.

  I checked on her every few days during my stops to give my report to the elders and drop off food.

  “Jerol,” she’d whispered during one of my check-ins.

  “It’s been a long time. Where are Mom and Dad?” She looked around like she was embarrassed to ask. “Nobody’s talking about it. Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

  I glanced around the farm. People were doing chores. My family didn’t like to talk about things they couldn’t change. I knew that. Plus, the nitty-gritty truth of it was that each individual family within the larger Lowrin group looked after itself first and the larger collective second.

  “Let’s have us a talk with Nan,” I said. Her whole face lit up with hope bright enough to make my heart ache. It’d been a month or so. Mom and Dad should have returned.

  Nan was shelling early pintos while sitting on the old green wool divan Pa had brought from their house. A fire crackled a little ways off. Nan’s old iron percolator sat churning on a little grill over the coals.

  “Why hello Jerol. Hello Kyla. How are you two doing?” Nan just gave us a little of her eyes before setting back to work.

  “You heard any word from our Mom or Dad?” I asked.

  Nan stopped her busy hands and looked at me steady.

  “I don’t know, Jerol. Whose to say? All we can do it pray.”

  Kyla cried all of a sudden and threw her arms around Nan. “I miss them, Nan. Why haven’t they come back? I love them. Don’t they love me?”

  “Hush, Kyla. Of course they love you. Of course they do. You want to pray?” Trust Nan to fall back on prayer when she didn’t have an answer.

  “You want to turn it over to the Lord? Let him take your cares away?” She asked. God should be thanked for the opportunity to succeed, nothing more. He gave us our ‘cares’ so we could ‘take care’ of them.