by Kelli Kimble
Mother was at the table alone, sipping coffee and listening to the radio. When I came in, she started.
“Iris, dear. Why are you up so early?” As she said it, her eyes scanned over me and her mouth turned down. Before she could comment on my attire, I rushed through an explanation.
“I got a job doing work around a farm just outside town. I’ve got to go, or I’m going to be late on my first day.”
“You . . . you got a job? Already?” Her hand fluttered near her neck. In spite of what Daddy had said, she thought that I should be finding some nice boy to marry and settle down with, not degrading myself with money-grubbing.
“Yes. I’m supposed to be there at seven.” I went to the counter and took bread from the bread box and slid it into the toaster before pouring myself a glass of milk.
“What exactly will you be doing at this job?”
“Odd jobs. Around the farm.” I gulped down the milk, earning a hard look from Mother.
“Work on a farm is hard. You’re going to get callouses.”
“I’ll wear gloves, Mother. I’ll be fine.”
The toast popped up. I grabbed it from the toaster, bobbling the hot bread between both hands, and headed to the door. I didn’t want to answer any more questions. “I’ll be home for dinner. Bye.”
“Remember your manners,” she called out. She’s going to have that engraved on her headstone, someday.
My bicycle was propped against the side of the garage, where Daddy had left it after he fixed the tire. I did a quick inspection of it while I ate my toast. It seemed solid enough. I mounted it and rode out to the street, turning towards downtown.
Yesterday, I’d asked Miss Cucciolo, the school librarian, if she knew where the Thompson farm was. She’d given me detailed instructions and even drew a map. I memorized it but had it carefully folded in my back pocket just in case.
The route would take me into town, past the fire station and the library, then down Sycamore Street, straight out east. I’d not been on this side of town much – not that there was a lot to see. I passed a car repair garage, and a dry goods shop. Then there was nothing but houses until I reached the town limits. The sidewalk abruptly ended, and the yards yielded to fields of corn and hay.
I checked my watch. I still had fifteen minutes, and only a mile more to go. I should be there in plenty of time.
My mind wandered. I wondered what it was going to be like to work for Mr. Anu. Would he be a nice boss? Would he holler at me or dock my pay when I made mistakes?
I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost passed the driveway. The mailbox was set on the other side of the road, and only an apron of gravel marked it as something other than a ditch. Weeds grew on either side, masking it until I was right on top of it.
I stopped and checked the number on the mailbox. ‘Thompson’ was still hand-drawn on the side of the metal with white paint. I took a deep breath and steered my bicycle up the winding driveway. Nervous about being late, I pushed through potholes and bumps without concern for whether I could maintain control of the bicycle.
The house was a good quarter-mile from the road and shaded by a cluster of large trees. It was white with black shutters, two stories high, and had a porch extending across the front. The roof was slate, and the windows were tall and skinny, with the panes separated by a neat grid of white trim. The windows upstairs were all open and must have been without screens since the curtains were fluttering out like trapped butterflies.
Mother would not approve of such abuse to the window coverings..
Beyond the house was a large freshly-painted red barn, with doors open onto a yard where Mr. Anu’s truck was parked. I stopped and parked my bicycle next to the truck. There wasn’t anybody outside. Since the barn door was open, I tried there, first.
“Hello? Mr. Anu?”
I took a hesitant step inside, nervous that I was breaking some unspoken rule. It smelled of damp, old hay, and horse manure. My eyes adjusted quickly, and a tractor materialized out of the darkness in the middle of the barn floor.
I called out louder this time “Mr. Anu? It’s me, Iris. I’m here for the job.”
A scuffle behind me startled me, and I turned to find Mr. Anu, coming around his truck. He was dressed the same as I’d seen him the other day; only today, his overalls were smeared with grease.
“Well, hello. I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said. He was rubbing an oily red rag over a piece of metal. It smelled like gasoline. I wrinkled my nose as the sharp scent cut through the rounder smells in the barn.
“I came for the job,” I said, taking a step forward. “If you still need help, that is.”
He pushed the rag into the pocket of his overalls. “I was expecting a boy or two. Are you sure you want to do this kind of work?”
I steeled my spine. “I’ll do whatever work you set me to, sir. To the best of my ability, of course.”
His eyes squinted shut, causing them to twinkle in the dim light of the barn. Was he laughing?
“I’m sure that’s true, but I need a strong back. Are you going to stack hay bales? Plow a field? Handle a horse?”
My resolve slipped. I’d ridden a pony once at the county fair but had no idea if I could handle a horse. I wasn’t even sure what he meant by that. Would I be riding the horse? Or guiding it on some kind of wagon? And how heavy was a bale of hay?
“I tell you what,” he said, leaning against the barn door. “Let’s call today a trial period. I’ll give you some tasks, you’ll try them out, we’ll see what you can do. At the end of the day, we’ll decide together if you’ll keep the job.”
My heart fell. There was no way he was going to keep me on, not if he needed me to do heavy physical work. “Will you at least pay me for today?”
“I’ll pay you for any day you work.”
“What should I do first?” I jutted my chin up, trying to believe that I could do whatever he set me to. Remember, if you want to go to college, this is it. The drugstore doesn’t pay 50 cents an hour to sweep floors and scoop ice cream.
“Weeding. The garden needs tending. Did you bring gloves?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll show you where you can find some. Come on.”
He set the metal part in the truck bed, then turned and headed behind the house. The garden was enormous – probably 100 feet long and 20 feet wide – and fenced in with chicken wire. It was also completely filled with weeds. There was a small shed that might have once been a chicken coop. He opened the door, and the rank ammonia scent of their droppings mixed with dust and mildew swept over me. Definitely a chicken coop. I covered my nose with my hand and fought back a gag.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You’ll find a hoe, gloves, hand tools, and buckets in here. Take the weeds over to that pile after you’ve pulled them.” He pointed to a mound at the other end of the garden, just outside the fence. “I’ll show you what needs to be done.” His legs were so long that he barely needed to lift them to step over the fence. I, on the other hand, had to balance on one foot and lift my other knee to my chest to clear it. By the time I’d gotten over the fence, he was midway to the other side.
“This side is mostly spent, so leave it for another day. I need you to concentrate over here.”
I pushed my way through the weeds and found he had an oasis in the center that had been recently weeded. An orderly line of green was emerging from the soil.
“I’ve got some more fall planting to do. I want you to clear this section, starting here.” He dug the heel of his work boot into the soil to mark the spot. “And going over to here.” He walked 20 feet or so and marked another spot. “All the way to the fence. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“All right, then. I’ll be in the barn if you need anything.” He started to walk away.
“Mr. Anu?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a water pump somewhere, where
I could get a drink?”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded towards the house. “Back door is open. It goes right into the kitchen. Find yourself a glass and you can help yourself to whatever you want to drink. I’d appreciate it if you took your shoes off before going inside.”
“Yes, sir.”
He left me alone. I checked my watch. It was a quarter after seven. I decided to work for an hour before breaking for a drink. I went back to the coop and held my breath as I reached for the bucket and gloves. I took them to a safe distance from the coop and put on the gloves. Their smell made my eyes water. I returned to the starting spot and started weeding. And weeding . . . and weeding.
“How are you doing?” Mr. Anu was standing on the outside of the fence, looking down at me as I kneeled on the ground. He held out a glass of ice water. The ice reflected the sunlight as he handed me the glass, and I realized the sun was now high overhead.
“I’m almost done,” I said. I wiped a trickle of sweat off my forehead and accepted the glass. The ice formed a dam against my lip that felt almost as heavenly as the water that splashed over my tongue.
“You’ve been working for four hours. You need to take a break. Come, sit with me on the porch.”
I heaved first one leg and then the other over the fence. I was getting so tired; I wasn’t sure I’d be able to climb over the fence again. But I couldn’t stop. I needed that money. You can do this. I followed after him, pressing the cool glass against my cheek.
The porch floorboards were painted a battleship-gray that was starting to flake around the edges, revealing a slightly lighter shade of gray beneath. An alley cat that had been sitting on the rug beneath the front door darted away as we climbed the steps.
“That’s a pretty cat,” I said, trying to make conversation. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. He’s not my cat.” He eased down into a rocking chair, and I sat in the one beside him. A small table stood in between us with a potted geranium on top. I hate their cloying scent, and I leaned away from it. A half-eaten bowl of kibble sat on a placemat beside the front door. Was he feeding the cat, even though it wasn’t his?
“Tell me about yourself, Iris.”
I spewed out the facts that adults always seemed to want to hear. “I’m 17. I go to school at Salvation High. I’m a senior this year, and I’m a pretty good student, so I want to go to college next year. I’m a cheerleader. I don’t have any siblings. My father sells insurance, but I’m not sure he’s very good at it – or maybe he just doesn’t have enough customers here.” I paused. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and I’d said too much about my father.
He clucked his tongue. “Tell me about your people.”
“My people?”
“Yes. Where you’re from.”
“Georgia. We moved here just last year.” A fly buzzed past my ear and I waved it away.
“I meant, what is your lineage? Your ancestors must come from Europe, judging by your complexion.”
“Oh. My father’s family is Dutch. My mother’s family is a mix.”
“Mm.” He nodded and removed his baseball cap. It was hot out, and his dark hair was plastered to his scalp. He set the cap on his knee. There was a dark ring of sweat marking it.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Egypt.”
“Wow. What’s it like there?”
“Hot. Tell me, what do you think of your classmates?”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to sound like a snob.
“Is that why you’re here? Because you couldn’t find anyone else who was willing to come?”
“No. Not at all,” I said, though there was a tiny kernel of truth there. “Like I said, I want to go to college. It’s just that it’s expensive.”
“Do you know how much a college education costs?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
“Mm.”
I gulped down the rest of my water. “Maybe I should get back to work.”
“The weeds are done for today. I want you to do something else.”
“All right.” I waited for him to tell me what it was.
The cat returned and jumped into his lap. He scratched it behind the ears, and it produced a rusty purr.
“How do you feel about laundry?”
I frowned. Laundry was Mother’s domain at home. She spent every Monday washing, wringing, and hanging all of our laundry – all while wearing a horrid-smelling pair of rubber gloves. She’d often begged Daddy to buy her an automatic washing machine, but he said they were a waste of good money.
“What about it?”
He gestured towards the house. “You might have noticed that there is no Mrs. Anu.”
My eyes followed the direction of his hand. Ah. This is about me being a girl.
“Mr. Anu. You asked me to weed the garden, and I haven’t finished. Maybe we can talk about your laundry,” I cut my eyes back to meet his, “when I’ve finished the task you set for me.”
His eyebrows went up, and the hand he’d been scratching the cat with momentarily stilled. “All right. You can leave that glass there. I’ll take it inside.”
I set the glass on the table and stood. My legs were wobbly, but I willed them to carry me forward and they did. I marched down the steps and around to the back of the house, Mr. Anu’s eyes following me until I passed the corner and out of sight.
I’d never dared to challenge an authority figure before. My heart was beating against the inside of my chest like a trapped bird. Nevertheless, a sense of pride in pursuing the completion of the job he’d given me was there. Maybe I didn’t have as strong of a back as a boy, but I wasn’t going to be coddled.
It took me longer than I’d expected, and I was covered in dirt and dead leaves – and probably bugs – but I finished weeding the section he’d given me. I put everything away and went to the barn. Mr. Anu was bent over the engine of the tractor. Parts of it were arranged in an array on a tarp on the floor. He was using a tool that made a rhythmic ticking sound, which reminded me of sleeping with the window open on a summer night.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Anu? I’ve finished with the garden.”
He didn’t look away from the engine. “Wonderful news. Can you hand me a screwdriver? From the bench beside the door?”
I went over to the bench, a heavy wooden table with racks and pegboards hung above it. It was arranged the way I’d expect to see the tools of a surgeon: meticulously placed and all shining as if they’d been sterilized. The bench itself was perfectly clean; no tools were on it and even though the air in the barn was dusty, the surface gleamed in the light coming from the doorway.
Nothing struck me as being a screwdriver.
“See the ones with red handles? A metal rod that’s flat on the end? Bring me the middle one.”
Ah. I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach it, and it was heavier than I’d expected. His head was still burrowed into the engine, but his hand was held out. I set the screwdriver in it.
“Excellent. Thank you.”
Not knowing what else to do, I watched. Mr. Anu inserted the metal end of the screwdriver between two pieces and angled the tool, trying to pry the two apart. His forearm flexed, revealing a ropey muscle. I averted my eyes like I’d been caught staring while he had his shirt off.
“Is there something else you’d like me to do today?”
The ticking sound resumed, then stopped.
“Have you had your lunch?” A clang of metal-on-metal.
“Lunch?”
“Yes. Noon has passed.”
I glanced at my watch. He was right. It was almost 1:30.
“No, sir.”
“See to it, then.”
I hesitated. Was I to go inside and just help myself? He said nothing more, so I went into the house. A pair of his shoes were lined up neatly inside the door, so I left mine there, too.
The kitchen had three windows. Two windows faced the backyard, overlooking the garden. The s
pace in front of them was open and occupied by his kitchen table. Beyond the table, there was an icebox, and, next to that, a door that might have been a pantry, or a stairway to the cellar. The cabinets were mustard-yellow, and the countertops were worn white porcelain.
I opened the icebox. The cool air that rolled out over my ankles felt divine, but I didn’t lurk. Mother insisted that the icebox was not for browsing. Anyway, there was nothing in there to see. A pitcher of lemonade, a bottle of milk, a bowl of eggs, and a few bottles of beer seemed to cover it. I didn’t open any of the drawers. Maybe he had some peanut butter and bread?
I had my head inside a cabinet of dusty canned goods, looking for a jar of peanut butter when he came up behind me.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh,” I jumped and covered my mouth with my hand. “You startled me.”
He crossed his arms and glared down at me. “Why are you going through my things?”
“You told me to have my lunch . . .” I wanted to kick myself. My cheeks started to feel hot. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Anu. I misunderstood. I didn’t bring lunch. I thought you meant for me to come inside and fix something.”
The left corner of his mouth twitched.
“I’ll bring lunch next time.”
“Since you seem to know your way around the kitchen, why don’t you fix me something, too.” He strode to the table and pulled out a chair. It squealed across the linoleum floor. He sat, keeping his eyes latched on me.
“What would you like?”
“What were you going to make?”
I licked my lips. Would he think me childish? “Peanut butter sandwiches. With jelly if you have it. Or honey.”
His eyebrows went up. “Intriguing.”
“Do you have any? Peanut butter?”
He shrugged. “The Thompsons might have left some behind. Look around.”
“Where’s your bread?” I said, beginning to search the cabinets.
“The bread box.”
Judging by the mold, the bread was a month or more old. And though I’d checked every cabinet, there was no peanut butter, jelly, or honey.
