SKYLARKING

Author's note: I have always been struck by John's use of the word 'skylarking' in "Threshold of Courage,"when he comments on what he thinks Mano is up to. It sounds odd coming from him somehow. It just means frolicking or horseplay….horseplay would make sense on a ranch. But according to some dictionaries the word's origins are nautical; playing in the rigging of sailing ships. Which is really a reach from Arizona. All of that has literally nothing to do with this story about John and Buck as young boys. Other than it gave me the title. Hope you enjoy this.

It was a perfect early spring morning in western Virginia. The mist was just beginning to lift and the air was already warming as John and Buck Cannon made their way to school. Occasionally, the boys were able to ride one of the farm's two mules the 3 miles or so, but not often and not today. Spring planting had already begun and their father begrudged his sons' absence and certainly wasn't about to add to the labor shortage by letting them take a mule. In fact, it was only the quiet persistence of their mother that had them still in school at all. Many of their classmates had already dropped out to do seasonal work on their families' farms and indeed, many boys of John's age had already left school for good. "We are lucky to even have a school in these parts," she had said quietly, "and my boys are going to get every drop of learning that is out there. Not just pick out a word here and there...proper reading and writing...proper numbers. And that's is flat.," she finished. And the three Cannon men knew when she used that expression all discussion was over.

And so the boys, much to Buck's increasing frustration, were trudging back to school every day til the it closed in just a few more weeks. "We been cooped up all winter," he was protesting to his older brother as they dodged one of the many puddles caused by a heavy rain the night before. "Like a bunch of broody hens. Nobody pays attention now! Just starin' out the window." He sighed dramatically.

"And," he said, with no small measure of disgust, "the girls keep making googly eyes."

John, as usual, said nothing and Buck found himself addressing his brother's back. This past winter it seemed to Buck that his brother had about doubled in height and now Buck had to scramble to keep up with John's long strides. Still, Buck had his own kind of persistence.

"That Ella Mae Jenkins sure makes googly eyes at you!" he said cheerfully.

John stopped abruptly and turned to face his brother. He said not a word but the narrowed eyes and twitching jaw muscle said enough.

"Well," Buck said, looking away…

They continued in silence for awhile, but Buck couldn't contain himself for long.

"What good is what we are learnin' doing us, anyway? I can read fine...well, pretty fine anyway...and count up to what I need AND add. Some. What GOOD is it all?" he demanded again.

John remained silent but Buck was by now relentless. "Don't you hate been inside all the time when we could be out here?" He gestured to the surrounding country side, just bursting into spring.

John sighed and turned at last to face his brother. "I want every last thing I can get out of that school. Get it while I have the chance."

"But WHY?" Buck repeated. "What for?"

"I don't know." John admitted.

"But if you don't know what you need it for, how do you know you need it at all?" Buck finished with an air of someone who had won a long running game.

But John didn't look defeated. He just looked at Buck and said, "I just do." And turned and continued on his way.

Buck shook his head and followed. But again, he couldn't restrain himself for long.

"It's just not FAIR that we have to be inside," he said in something between despair and a whine. Adding, "Ma says I got spring fever." He kicked at a loose stone in the road "John? What's spring fever?"

John actually laughed. "Its what you got," he said over his shoulder.

It always made Buck happy when he could make John laugh. He didn't know exactly why, but it did.

Then Buck said, "Ma says you got growing pains. What's that?" He trotted to come up beside his brother. John shrugged. "I dunno exactly. But sometimes my bones ache and Ma says its growing pains."

"Does it hurt real bad?"

"Nah...not too bad...well, sometimes bad enough. But not often. And anyways, Ma says I'll get past it soon."

John shifted the strap that bound two books and his lunch tin to a more comfortable position over his shoulder. Buck carried no books but he too had a tin with his lunch. Each boy had a large chunk of cornbread, two hardboiled eggs, a thick slice of ham and sometimes an apple or pear. But the cold storage apples and pears were withered and dry, only fit for cooking, so they made do without.

Buck was now whiling away the walk by swinging the tin at the end of the strap, letting it go to sail up in the air and attempting to catch it on the way down. He was successful only about half the time and when the tin clattered on the road yet again, John warned. "You better be careful...Ma will have your hide if you dent that."

"Aw," Buck said, "its already so dented a few more can't hurt." He tossed the tin again.

"Maybe," said John, watching him almost catch it, "but if it lands wrong too many times you might not be able to get it open. And you ain't gettin' any of my lunch."

This thought hadn't occurred to Buck, and he carefully tested to see if he could get the tin open. To his great relief, it still turned, but he decided to stop tossing it. For now.

They were within a mile of the school house but they paused to look at something that continued to intrigue them both, weeks after it had first appeared. A heavy winter snow melt had combined with several spring rain storms to turn the mild mannered stream that meandered near the road into a boiling mad thundering river. The whole area upstream had been flooded, with many homes, people, and livestock washed away in an unstoppable torrent. The place where they paused was where the waters had gouged a brand new gorge into the landscape; the stream bank had been eaten away and undermined so deeply in this particular spot that, looking down, the boys struggled to see the bottom clearly.

Part of what always made them stop at this place, was their running catalogue of items that the surging waters had left stranded on the banks after they finally receded. Lots of fencing, some drowned chickens, (the bones of which were now disappearing in the earth), bits and pieces of quilts and pillows; a severely dented kettle, a plow handle half buried in the mud, random bits of harness, a mashed stove pipe hat, and a delicate lace glove half way up the new banking, had all been identified. But most intriguing of all was the half of a stuffed chair. It was a dark purple color...Buck thought it looked like blood but John just rolled his eyes at that...and it's stuffing hung sadly from where it was broken apart, one arm lost to the storm. Today, they spotted some sort of bird, ("a wren, I think," said John), tugging at the horse hair innards. "Must be for a nest," Buck said wisely.

Unlike much of the flood's debris, this particular item was only about a third of the way down the newly made and very steep banking. And they often speculated on where it might have come from. Certainly not from one of the hardscrabble farms among which theirs was one. "Way up stream," John had said, "where the rich people live. Madison. Maybe even Charleston." "All the way from Charleston," Buck repeated in an awe struck voice. As much for the idea of such a city as the distance traveled by an unmoored chair.

They scanned the banks hopefully, looking for something new to add to their list. Cautiously, they crept closer ...but not too close...to the edge.

"That a rifle?" Buck said pointing.

"Where?"

"Over near the glove...'bout half ways down."

John took a tentative step closer.

Buck knew that John had a fear of heights. Not that he would ever admit to it. In fact, John would grit his teeth and climb up every tree and into every hay loft and onto every roof rather than give in to it...let alone admit it to anyone. But, in the way of brothers, Buck knew it was there.

With a gleam in his eye, and from behind, Buck gave John's back a short sharp jab; not enough to make him fall off of course, but just to see him jump. And jump John did. About a foot off the ground.

He whirled around on Buck. "Goddammit Buck! That's NOT funny."

Buck laughed. He thought it was pretty funny. And then, just because he couldn't help it, he said, "I'm gonna tell Ma you profaned!"

"You little snake, I'll wrap you around a tree if you do." Seeing his brother's expression, Buck stopped laughing. John ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Where's my books?"

He turned back to the banking. His books and lunch tin had come off his shoulder and were now half in and half out of the strapping, lying closer to the edge. John took one long stride to pick them up.

And then...well...then what happened happened so slow and fast at the same time that his whole life long Buck could never clearly describe it.

Suddenly, the ground beneath John's feet gave way. He half turned and tried to get back to some sort of solid ground, but it seemed like the whole earth just collapsed beneath him. Buck lunged forward and grabbed for John's shirt...got part of a fistful and then found himself pulled by John's weight into what first seemed mid air and then became the inside of an avalanche of dirt and dust and stones and flying mud. After a minute, or a few seconds, or a year, he came to an abrupt but surprisingly un-painful halt. He rubbed his eyes and coughed out a fair amount of dust, and found himself wedged into the purple stuffed chair.

His heart was pounding so hard and his breath coming so fast, he couldn't move, couldn't think. He was never so scared in his whole life. Not even that time Pa shot a mountain lion just a few feet from him.

Finally his brain and body started to work again. Carefully, he stood up from the chair and looked around. Dust and chunks of mud were still settling all around him. Some of the sod where they had been standing rolled slowly past him.

"John?" His voice came out like a whispery rasp. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder. "JOHN!" Nothing.

Holding onto the sofa for purchase, Buck moved to where he thought he could get a better look. And there, down almost to the very bottom...to the stream itself...he saw it. The blue of John's shirt, unmistakeable in all the brown around them.

Buck didn't wait. In a kind of semi-controlled slide, that ripped a few holes in the seat of his britches, he made his way down to that blue.

John was lying on his back, head turned slightly to one side, one arm across his stomach. He looked like he was asleep, but Buck knew he wasn't; not a good sleep anyway.

"John?" Tentatively, he gave his bother's shoulder a gentle push "John? John, wake up."

John didn't respond. His eyes didn't even flutter. He was breathing, but his skin was a terrible ashy color. And Buck noticed something else. Behind John's head, a red stain was beginning to form and grow.

Buck sat back on his heels. He didn't know what to do. He was terrified and he didn't know what to do. So he did what humans who were terrified and didn't know what to have done since nearly the beginning of humans. He said the 'Please Prayer.'

"Please, John, please wake up. Please someone, please help us. Please God, I'll be better, just let him wake up." Variations repeated over and over. And finally, just, "Please."

To no avail. John continued to lie there and the red stain, now turning a rusty brown, continued to slowly grow. Buck took a trembling breath and tried again to think what he could do. Suddenly, he remembered that time Pa had stood up hard into a barn rafter when they were storing hay and how he looked like John did now. And how he had gone runnin' for their Ma while John stayed with Pa. And when they had come back, how she had stopped and grabbed a big ladle full of water and sprinkled some of it on Pa's face and he woke up. He didn't have a ladle, but he had the water in the stream and he had his hands.

He scrambled the few more feet to the stream and, cupping his hands as carefully and tightly as he could, he made his way back to John's side. He let the small amount of water that had made it fall onto John's face. Nothing. But, Buck repeated the process and this time, there was the slightest flicker of an eyelid. Buck yelped out loud with excitement. As he made his way back to the stream for more water, he noticed one of their lunch tins lying nearby, open and empty...its contents who knew where. He grabbed half of the tin with another whoop, and quickly filled it with water.

When he got back to where his brother lay, he could see that though his eyes were still closed, John had shifted his body slightly. Figuring if a little water was good, a lot would be better, Buck dumped the whole cup of very cold water on his face.

John sputtered and gasped and half sat up and immediately lay back down. "Wha..." he coughed and then winced and grabbed at his head, blinking in confusion.

Buck started to cry. Not a blubbery kind of crying, but he couldn't hold back tears of relief as John's face got some color and he sat up on one elbow. Quickly, Buck wiped his tears away.

"What happened?" John asked, with a groan.

"Um, well, the banking done give way...a lot of it!...and we both fell down and I got stopped by the chair but you made it all the way down here and you didn't wake up and I throwed some water on your face and then I throwed some more water on you and I think you might have a cut on the back of your head 'cause there is some blood." Buck ran out of breath.

John reached to the back of his head, winced and withdrew a bloody hand. He took a deep trembling breath and let it out slowly.

"Can you stand up?"

John tried out his legs by moving them around a bit and bending his knees. Since they seemed to be working, he said, "Yeah, I think so." He rolled onto his knees and got one foot underneath him and then, suddenly, threw up.

Buck dashed back to the stream for another cup of water.

John managed to rinse out his mouth but then had to lay back down. Everything was spinning and he didn't seem to be able to see clearly. Everything had a sort of fog around it.

Buck sat back on his heels again and just watched.

John thought it would be about the most blessed thing in the world to go to sleep; he just felt so tired and heavy. But some instinct told him that that would not be a good idea. So, in order to keep awake as much as actual curiosity, he said to his brother. "Tell me what happened again?"

Buck stood up and walked a few feet away. "Well like I said, the banking just collapsed...right out from underneath us and we both fell." Buck gave a nervous laugh. "Funny how that old chair just reached out and grabbed me. You weren't so lucky... I guess." he added, faltering a little.

John had been listening with his eyes closed. But he suddenly opened them wide and looked at Buck. "You pushed me!" He got up onto one elbow and ignoring the dizziness and waves of nausea, repeated, in a dangerously quiet voice, "You pushed me."

"I did not! I didn't push you off. I'd never..."

"Not off the edge, maybe," John yelled this time, "but you pushed me so I dropped my books and when I went to pick them up…" he shuddered and lay back down.

Buck looked down at this feet. "It wasn't my fault," he said defiantly. And then, more softly, "It wasn't my fault. I was just skylarkin'," he added, eyes downcast.

He knelt back down by his brother. "John, I'd NEVER meant..."

Wearily, John turned to face his brother, "I know. But...you always never mean..."

"I knowed," Buck said softly.

John took a deep breath and managed to get into a sitting position. There was no nausea this time and though his vision was still blurry he told himself it was getting better. He sat for moment, gathering himself.

"John?"

"What?" He snapped.

"Well, I just think we better try and get a bandage on your head, because it still bleeding. Slowed a lot but still bleeding."

John dug in his pocket and fished out his knife in its small leather holder. He started to struggle out of his shirt. "Help me get this off, will ya."

"What you gonna do?" Buck asked as he helped his brother.

"I'm gonna cut the sleeve off to make a bandage for my head."

Buck looked genuinely shocked. "You can't do that! Ma made you that shirt special – for school and church even!" He clutched the shirt to his chest.

Despite himself, John laughed...even though it made his head hurt more. "Buck you got the dangest.." ...John fished his fuzzy head for a recently learned vocabulary word..."priorities sometimes."

He reached for the shirt, which Buck reluctantly gave up. Carefully, John cut the sleeve out at the shoulder. "Take it and get it wet...but then wring it out good," he said handing the sleeve to Buck.

Buck came back with the sleeve dripping water...John sighed and re-wrung it himself. "Here, now tie it around and make sure the knot is over where its bleeding. Tie it tight."

Carefully Buck did as he was instructed. "Is that too tight?" he asked as he finished the knot.

"Nah. Its alright." Blinking to try and get his eyes to focus better, John took another deep breath and slowly got to his feet. He swayed slightly and had to put his hand on Buck's shoulder, but he stayed upright. He wasn't dizzy and his vision really did seem better.

"How you feel?" Buck asked. "You look good. Your eyes aren't all funny the way they were earlier."

John nodded and took a few tentative steps, looking around to figure out how far they were from school.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "where are my books?"

"Books? I ain't seen 'em. All I found was the lunch tin. "

"We gotta find em. They're not mine."

John stumbled a few steps…

"All right, all right" Buck said. "Lemme look. You just try and stay on your feet."

Buck ran off and shortly John heard him yell, "Found em!" Buck came back stumbling though the debris field, holding the two books over his head like trophies.

"Lucky they came down almost to the bottom...no way are we getting back up that bank."

John nodded as he took the books, intact if somewhat the worse for the fall, and the one tin they had found and wrapped them in the remains of his shirt. "Here. You carry these."

"We just have to stay along the stream bed until we get to where the old bridge was." John stood up straighter. "The banks aren't so steep there and we can use the bridge timbers to haul ourselves out. Should be right around that bend. Then we will only be about ¼ mile from school."

He headed off with regained stability in his legs. Buck scrambled to keep up.

After they had walked for a while, Buck said. "John. John, whatcha gonna tell them? Mr. Adell and the others at the school. And Ma and Pa."

"About what?"

"You know. About how we come to be down here." Buck caught up to his brother and got around in front of him, forcing him to stop.

John looked at him square with eyes that were no longer clouded...that were, as their Ma said, "as clear blue as water."

John shrugged. "I'll tell em what happened." Buck's shoulders slumped.

"We were looking at things in the gully and suddenly the ground gave way under both of us. Must have been last night's rain. Anyways, you ended up in the chair and I ended up at the bottom. A few bumps and scrapes but we're all right now."

Buck felt a second wave of relief flow through him. But he asked "Are we all right, John? Are we all right now?"

"Yeah," John said with a small smile. "But we are gonna catch it being so late to school."

They set off again.

"John? You think they'll give us lunch?"

The End.

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