Mud
"What is that? And that? And… JARROD THOMAS BARKLEY!" yelled Victoria.
Jarrod Barkley, who'd just recently turned seven and wondering if he'd live to see eight, winced at his mother's use of his full name. He looked anxiously from behind the safety of the railing. "Yes Ma?"
"You know I don't like when you call me that," chastised his annoyed mother. "Mama or Mother," she reminded.
"Yes, Mama?"
"Is this your doing?" His mother pointed to the trail of mud on the stairs.
Jarrod looked down at his boots. The red clay clinging to the tips was a perfect match to the trail. "I guess," he mumbled.
"Didn't I tell you to stay out of that mud?" she asked.
"I tried but it's everywhere," he explained.
"Yes, now it is everywhere," she agreed. "Take them off and give them to me."
He hesitated.
She looked up. "NOW, Jarrod."
He dutifully removed his boots and dropped them down, narrowly missing his mother's head by inches. "Oops, sorry Ma….Mama."
She shook her head and pointed toward the kitchen. "Bath."
"Don't need no bath," he protested. "See, the rest of me is clean." He walked away from the railing and stood at the top of the staircase and held up his hands.
Victoria looked up and frowned. Her eldest son's perception of clean was somewhat off. The only thing that wasn't covered by the mud were his palms and how he'd managed to keep those undamaged was a mystery that probably wasn't ever going to be solved. Just then, a small brown haired head poked around Jarrod's right knee.
"Jay, play with me?"
"Sure, Nicky." Jarrod smiled down at his younger brother.
"Nicholas, back to bed," ordered Victoria. "Unless you want to take a bath with Jarrod."
The little boy quickly disappeared down the hallway.
"But Ma, I don't want to take a bath," protested Jarrod.
With a quickness that surprised most who met her, Victoria ran up the stairs and grabbed her son. As she led him to the kitchen, he tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of her firm grasp. It was like trying to unclasp a vice. She ignored his pleas, as well as the clumps of mud dropping on the carpet and pulled him into the kitchen. With a stern warning for him to stay put, she began filling up pots of water and placed them on the stove. She brought in the large bathing tub, filled it and instructed Jarrod to undress. It wasn't until she'd promised to cover her eyes and not peek that he complied.
"Seen you since the day you were born, no need to be modest now," she chuckled. "At least let me help get that mud out of your hair."
Jarrod grimaced and used his hands to cover his lower body while his mother scrubbed his hair. When she'd declared him clean enough, he grabbed the towel out of her hand and quickly wrapped it around his midsection. He was out of the kitchen and up the stairs in a flash. Victoria looked at the trail of wet footprints and shook her head. While her younger son pretended to sleep and her older one tried to think of an excuse to get out of punishment, Victoria cleaned up the mess. She had just finished and was checking on the boys when she heard the front door slam.
"VIC, I'M HOME," barked her husband.
"Tom, must you always be so loud?" she yelled back from the hallway.
"Sorry," he said in a quieter voice. He took off his hat and gun belt and set them carefully on the table near the door. Thirst called him to the study, where he filled a glass with whiskey. Smiling, he lit a cigar and sat on the sofa. He put his booted feet up on the table and leaned back.
"THOMAS BARKLEY!" yelled Victoria Barkley. "IS THIS YOUR DOING?"
He jumped and almost dropped the cigar onto the fabric. He set it down in the ashtray and walked out of the study. "What's the matter?" he asked worriedly.
Victoria scowled and pointed. "That and that and…." There was a trail of mud, identical in color but larger than the one left by Jarrod. It led from the front door to the study.
Tom looked down at his mud covered boots.
She shook her head and held out her hand. "Give them to me."
He took them off and handed them to her. "I tried to stay out of it but it's everywhere."
"So I've heard," grumbled Victoria.
Tom watched her carry the boots to the front door and grimaced as she flung them into the yard. She closed the door and shook her hands clean.
"I'll be glad when the summer drought replaces the spring thaw," she remarked. "I'll get a bath ready for you."
"Help me wash my hair?" he asked.
Victoria smiled. "Of course."
He eagerly followed her to the kitchen.