by Amber Fallon
By the time we reached McRory’s the sun was up to the top of the sky and sweat was pouring off Pa and I, soaking us through like we’d been dunked in the well. It felt good to get in out of the heat where the sun couldn’t reach us. I could already feel my skin starting to turn a color, but I didn’t mind. It would be good for me to get brown again instead of sickly and white like I had got over the winter. McRory’s wasn’t a big place, but it was stocked with damn well everything I could imagine. It was owned by a man named Ira McRory. He was tall, taller than my pa by a good bit, and broad in the shoulders, with light blue eyes and dark hair gone gray around the forehead. He ran a clean shop and did a good, honest business keeping the local farmers plied with everything from bolts of fabric for the women to make clothes from to seeds and saplings, guns and ammunition for hunting, and even kept a trade in sweets and paperback books. It was the latter I held more of a fascination with, ever since I learned how to read, though I knew better’n to let that on. Instead I stood by the counter and held my place as Pa marched in with his head held high. I watched him go, thinking how proud I was of the man what had raised me.
EIGHT
Pa bought us some sodas which was an unexpected treat. I drank mine down and felt the fizz tickle my tongue. It was cold and sweet. I wished I could share it with Ma and Mabel, fool thought that was. I knew it would be warm and flat by the time we made it home, but that didn’t prevent me from feeling just a little twinge of guilt at the sweet I was enjoying without the company of my ma and sis.
I watched as Pa finished up his drink in one great swallow. He left me sitting on a stool in the front of the store by the soda fountains as he went to talk to Mr. McRory. I couldn’t help but lean over and look in the direction of the hunting knives. They were lined up like soldiers in a glass display case hung on the wall. I finished my own soda, barely tasting the last few swallows and walked over to the case, leaving the empty glass on the counter with foam running down the insides. I had my eye on one of those fine pieces of steel in particular, a 7” long blade with a carved ivory hilt and little brass accents. It was a beauty of a knife, one I’d be mighty proud to call my own. I was imagining how it would feel in my hand, the heft of all that sharpened metal, when I overheard my father having an argument with Mr.McRory.
“You don’t have to bring that kind of trouble down on us all, Langdon!” Mr. McRory was saying, “We don’t need it, not on account of a few animals taken up living out back of your shed. Why for half a dollar, I bet you could hire those Haversham boys out Faterville way to do that job for you, keep it local.”
Pa used his serious voice, “I don’t aim to hire no Havershams, Ira. I don’t like it none neither but it’s got to be done. Now I paid you good money on the barrel head, you stand aside and let me make my call.”
I could hear in Pa’s voice that he wasn’t going to be put off from what he’d come to do. That odd nervous feeling had come back to settle in the bottom of my stomach like a big old rock. I almost wished Mr. McRory would stop Pa from making his call and we could just go home to the farm and let everything lie as it was, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Pa wouldn’t back down, not when he’d given Ma his word. Mr. McRory sounded angry and afraid, and I knew that those were two powerful feelings, powerful enough to compel some men to do awful things to one another, but I knew that he was good and decent, and that he’d give in and let my Pa have his way.
Now I knew I shouldn’t be eavesdropping like I was so you can believe I didn’t want to be caught in the act. I near jumped out of my skin when Mr. McRory came from the back room where he kept the telephone. He didn’t seem to notice me at all, though. He just looked at the floor like he was sad about something.
“Your father’s a stubborn old fool,” he said after a moment had passed.
That angered me.
“I won’t hear you say not a word against my pa!” I said, turning towards Mr. McRory with a look that said I was fixing to fight.
But he just looked even sadder.
“I know, son, and I’m sorry.” He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. “Fear can do things to people. I can’t claim to understand it myself, but I know what I’ve heard and it ain’t good for none of us. You be careful, Dell, you hear? Your pa is sending your ma and sister over to Granby. See if you can’t go with them. Don’t be a fool, boy. Graveyard’s full up with fools.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, looking at Mr. McRory and feeling fear and doubt growing in my heart. I didn’t have to wait long, though. Pa came through the big double doors soon after. I couldn’t read the expression on his face at all, and that scared me more than anything else so far had been able to. I always knew what my pa was thinking. Ma used to call us to peas from the same shell we were so much alike in some regards. To see him in a way that was unrecognizable put the fear in me beyond what I had thought possible. He walked past me, looking at Mr. McRory with something like disdain in his eyes, or maybe it was guilt. I couldn’t be sure which one it was, but it damned sure wasn’t brotherly love. “It’s done.” was all that he said and I wasn’t rightly sure to which of us he’d said it. He didn’t slow down or wait for me, so by the time I realized he aimed to leave the store I had to run a bit to catch up with him.
“What happened, Pa?” I asked when I got close enough for him to hear me without having to shout. Looking at my pa, I suddenly realized just what it was he was feeling, and why I hadn’t been able to recognize it before. My own pa was scared, and scared bad. He was putting on a brave face, I could tell that much, but he was more afraid than I had ever seen him. I felt cold all over at the realization.
“Some folks are gonna come over to the house.” he said. Suddenly, he looked old in my eyes. Fear seized my heart like a cold vice and wouldn’t let go. I took pause, afraid my feelings would leak through the surface like a missing roof tile would let rain leak in.
“What sort of folk?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know, “And when?”
Pa walked with his head down and moved more quickly than I believe was comfortable for him. My pa was in good shape, but farm work does take a toll on a man after he does it a good long while. My pa looked old and he looked weary. He didn’t answer my questions, and I didn’t figure it would be a bright idea to ask again so soon, so we went on in silence to wait for the Scullory brothers to pick us up and return us to home.
NINE
Despite how terrible hot it was outside, I had gooseflesh. Neither Pa nor I spoke a word to each other the whole way. It was a long, quiet walk and it gave me time to think about what had happened back in town. I looked for sign of the strange preacher man we’d seen before but it looked like he’d plum vanished. I didn’t feel right about it. Looking around at the area where he’d been made his words come back to my head like lightning. “BOY!” he’d thundered, his fingers digging into my skin like the tines of a fork, “There are some things what are supposed to be left to the dark places!” What had he meant by that? Did he know about the warblers? I was sure if I said anything of it to Pa he’d tell me I was being a fool to listen to the ramblings of a sick old man. Instead I held my head low and trudged on down the path, wondering what the future held for me and my family.
TEN
Pa and I sat in the back of the pick-up truck with sacks of grain and corn and listened to the wind blow by us. I didn’t want to be a bother so I held my tongue as best I could. I looked at my pa a few times but each time I did it just made me more scared of what I saw. I wished I knew more about who he had called and why everyone seemed to think it was such a terrible idea. The warblers were bad, I knew that much. I did know that if you just left them alone that they would breed and get out of control and infest other farms in the area, so it was hard for me to understand why everyone seemed so against getting rid of the damned things in whatever manner was necessary. I tried not to think about what kind of a thing could scare so many grown men but it was impossible to keep it off my mind f
or long. Dozens of visions flashed through my head; powerful men with fists the size of hay bales and muscles like oxen, wild Indian savages with exotic weapons carved from the bones of their enemies, gangs of game hunters with muskets and rifles that thundered like storm clouds rode across my imagination on steeds as black as night and as white as snow. I wondered who was coming. Who could be so frightening they’d put so much fear into so many people? I reckoned whoever it was had to be strong and tough as rocks to handle getting rid of the warblers, but that didn’t mean they were someone to be scared of. It had to be something else and I aimed to find out what it was. I thought about ways I could do that very thing as the truck drove on. Perhaps I had use for Nathan Scullory after all. His pa had said he’d be coming home soon. Maybe he knew more about the warblers and could tell me something helpful.
ELEVEN
“When will Nate be coming back home for a visit?” I asked Larry, breaking the long held silence.
My pa jumped when I spoke aloud but he tried to act like he hadn’t. I pretended I didn’t notice. Larry looked backwards into the truck bed where Pa and I were sitting on sacks of grain. I wished he wouldn’t do that while he was manning the wheel of his truck. Didn’t seem safe to me somehow, though I was sure if I’d said anything about it my pa would’ve died of shame right there. I had thought about what would happen if that truck hit a rock or somesuch and flipped over and spilled us all out on the road like my sister’s scatter jacks, but those pictures were awful scary so I tried hard not to think on them too much.
Larry smiled back at me, the corners of his eyes wrinkled up and those wrinkles filled with the dirt and grime of a hard day’s work so that they looked like dusty cobwebs on his red face when once again they settled. “Why, Nate’s coming back for a visit just this very week. Should be here abouts tomorrow or Thursday I suppose. Are you wanting to see his new medals, son?”
I nodded, but I hadn’t known anything from Nathan’s medals, new or old. No, I wanted to talk to him because I reckoned someone from the City would know better just who or what it was my pa done made a deal with. If he wouldn’t tell me himself I would have to find out on my own.
Larry looked pleased and I reckon I couldn’t hold it against him none for being a mite too proud of his own boy, despite my own feelings towards him. “I’ll send him over once he gets here. After his Ma is finished with him, of course.” Larry made a face what showed all too clear how he felt about the womenfolk and their ways.
“Thank you, Sir.” I said, polite as could be.
Larry nodded and turned back to the road and I breathed a little easier, both on account of his driving and the idea that soon I might have answers. If whoever it was who was coming didn’t do it before Nathan arrived.
My nerves were worn just about raw by the time we reached home. I could tell looking at Pa that he felt the same way. It was a strange feeling, seeing your pa like that. I had grown up feeling like my pa was the strongest, bravest man in the world, and here he was afraid of something I didn’t understand. It made me feel old beyond my years. I wondered if this was what it felt like to be a grown man, seeing all that you knew put to ruin when you looked at it from the other side of childhood. I hoped not. If that was the case, adulthood looked to be mighty depressing in my eyes.
A short time later, Larry stopped the truck, prying me from dreams about strongmen and ancient warriors. Pa and I climbed out over the gate this time so as not to upset all the grain what was stacked up so neat. We stood by the road a minute as the Scullorys drove away, Pa shading his eyes from the sun with one callused brown hand as he watched the truck clunk off down the road trailing a plume of dust. When it had rounded the corner that lead past our farm and onto Scullory ground, Pa turned back towards me. He put his strong hands on my shoulders and looked me right dead in the eyes. His face was somber, the fear I saw before gone now like a shadow at noontime. My pa was not a small man, and his likeness had been passed down to me. I was only fourteen but I was tall for my age, nearly as tall as my pa and taller than Ma by a hand’s length. Pa’s expression was grave, his eyes bore into me like worms in the loamy earth after a rainstorm. I felt a lump rise up in my throat.
“Dell,” said Pa in a voice that I understood meant he was about to say something awful serious. I listened intently. “You’re getting to be a man now, son, and a damned fine one at that.” Despite how serious the tone had got, I couldn’t help smiling. “I’m sending your ma and your sister over to your aunt and uncle’s out there in Granby until the situation with the warblers is dealt with. I’d like for you to stay here and help me man the farm in their stead.”
I thought about what Mr. McRory had said to me about that, but I knew I didn’t much have a choice. Pa wanted me here on the farm and here was where I would stay whether I was afraid or not, which by that time I reckon I was. Part of me felt good about being handed such responsibility, and about being called a man by my father but another part of me was even more afraid, part of me felt like my father wanted me to stay so he didn’t have to be alone to face whatever was coming to deal with the warblers and that seemed downright cowardly of him, me being just a boy and all.
What if Mr. McRory had been right and I’d be better off going with Ma and Mabel? What if something bad happened while they were gone? I’d never see them again, never see my sister grow up and marry off, let alone finding a wife for my ownself. It was awful hard to be thinking such things, worrying about what the future would bring and where it would leave us. I loved my pa something fierce, but the fear in my stomach over what might be coming made me feel sick and weak with worry.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. My pa needed me. I made up my mind right then and there that if something awful was going to take place that I wanted to be there, right beside my pa like a good son should be, to do what I could to protect us both and the home of our family.
TWELVE
I chose to swallow my fear and be the man my father wanted me to be, the one I hoped he saw in me. The one I hoped I’d become, though maybe not so soon as was being forced upon me. We don’t chose our paths, Ma would say, the road we walk is chosen for us. I thought about asking Pa once more about what was going to happen and who he had called, but I thought better of it just then. Instead I nodded resolutely.
“Okay, Pa, whatever you think is best,” I said.
He smiled then, but it was somehow sad.
“You’re a good son,” he said and squeezed my shoulder as we walked towards the house.
I was feeling dark and lonely though the sun was high still and beating down on us between the shadows of branches we passed under. I looked back over my shoulder one more time as we left, looking out to the road. I almost felt like something might be coming up behind me.
THIRTEEN
Supper the following night was the last meal we’d all be together for as a family until after the warblers had been dealt with. I didn’t suppose I knew how long that would be, but the way Ma was acting it was fixing to be a while. I don’t reckon she knew any more than I did, but she sure cooked up a storm. It seemed like everything to be had in the pantry had been boiled, baked, or stewed and laid out, either on the table or in boxes for Pa and I to eat after Ma and Mabel were with our relations. I suppose it was her way of dealing with the fear I knew she felt.
Pa looked at all of the food Ma had so lovingly prepared for us all and said, “This looks like a mighty fine meal. Fit for a king!”
Ma smiled back at him, though I could tell there was tension in the air all around. Everything felt forced, like it was some sort of a play put on for benefit of myself and Mabel. Mabel was sitting solemnly in her chair, looking at me with her big round eyes. I sure was going to miss her. Her and Ma both. Once again I hoped the whole mess would be over soon.
We ate our meal mostly in silence, no one wanting to say what was really on our minds. There were a lot of painted on smiles around that table. I supposed that if something horrible were to occur, it would be b
etter for those of us what lived through it to remember them that didn’t with smiles on their faces.
I wasn’t accustomed to thinking such dark thoughts. It chilled me that in such a short time I had taken to it as naturally as a fish to water.
After a time, I supposed everyone had finished eating. We sat in silence with our stomachs full but our hearts strangely empty for a stretch before Ma got up and began to clear the table. It was almost like breaking a spell. Pa stood up, wiping crumbs from his mouth with an old hanky before tucking it back into his pocket. Mabel began to fidget in her chair, shifting and reaching for things on the table. I moved to help Ma clean up, but she shooed me away, so I went outside to watch the sunset before dusk came on and the warblers woke up, mean and nasty as ever, all leathery wings and claws and hunger.
I stood on our rickety old porch, looking out towards the peeling paint on the back shed as the sunset drained like a stuck pig, bleeding out red all over. A gentle little breeze blew up, whispering in the grass and lifting my hair a bit as it came. The earth smelled clean and right, but underneath it I could catch scent of the warblers, a sick sweet smell like rotting meat mixed with the stink of the outhouse in the heat of summer. I listened hard, straining to hear the monsters moving inside the shed from where I stood, but all I could hear was the wind and the sounds of Ma tending to the washing up inside.
How many warblers were out there? I wondered. How many had it taken to kill and eat up my dog? How many would it take to do the same to me? My fists clenched around the old wooden railing, splinters coming off in my hands as flakes of old paint fell to the dirt below. I wanted them dead. I felt bad for that, in all honesty, but I couldn’t change the way I felt. Ma and Father Timmons said we should wish ill on no living creature, but those things had killed my dog and I knew in my heart they’d kill my sister, my ma, and everything I had ever loved if they only got the chance. How could I keep from hating them? How could I hear them every night and not dream of seeing our land strewn with their dead bodies, our shed finally clear, and our home once again safe for Mabel to play at her whim?
