They used to be friends, though, Katherine Barlow and Trout Walker.
Fourteen-year-old Trout kept sneaking peeks at her, turning his brown eyes from the open Texas sky to that golden hair, shining brilliantly in the sun.
Katherine's hands stuck out far on either side, helping her keep graceful as she crossed the wiry log fallen across the creek feeding off the lake. She had so much balance, being so much younger than him. So much shorter.
He knew he had to beat her across. He let half his body hang over the water as he slipped around her, and one hand held her waist, just making sure she wouldn't fall off in the process.
"Hey!" she shouted. Trout wavered as he moved quicker, his feet almost tripping as one moved in front of the other. Finally, he jumped onto solid land, standing tall and proud until she jumped off, too, a couple of seconds later. She put her hands on her hips, looking so unique with her rose-colored dress just a little bit dirty, fat books bulging from the nice little bag slung around her shoulder. But, definitely, she looked unique in a good way. Beautiful.
Her anger hadn't lasted long, though, if it had even been there.
They both sat down in the dewy green grass, feet dangling over the thin, shallow valley and the strip of emerald water. There were long, silent moments before either one of them talked.
"Does my dress look a bit dirty to you?" she inquired, looking up at him with in inquisitive blue eyes. She smoothed out the long pink skirts with both her petite hands. Trout looked at them; the dress and the hands, and shrugged rather nonchalantly.
"I guess, a little," he says.
She turns her head to the side, the corners of her lips curving into a crooked smile. But her eyes were full of wonder. "My daddy would kill me over a big stain in a new dress. It isn't that bad, is it?" Trout opened his mouth to reply, but she kept on talking. "Perhaps he could wash it in the creek. Do you think that would get the dirt out?"
Trout's eyes widened.
Katherine rolled her eyes and pinned a wisp of blond back into the neat head of fastened curls behind her. "I don't mean taking off my clothes and washing them. That would be rather improper, especially at my age; I was talking about just getting in the water and washing the skirts."
Trout would have argued that the dirt wasn't that bad and that the odd manner in which she would clean it might smudge and spoil her dress. But it sounded fun, and he would take the blame for the wetness and smudges, Daniel Barlow wasn't one to punish his daughter terribly over a small offense such as this. "Okay," he agreed.
They rolled down the grassy hill leading to the valley, and leapt into the swimming hole at the mouth of the creek, laughing and splashing. This was the friend's haven in Greenlake, Texas. It was their watery heaven.
Greenlake, Texas was heaven.
When the sun began to ease down across the horizon, the dirt patches were lighter but still there, rather runny. Katherine was sure they would dry invisible.
Katherine and Trout had arrived on Beaut, Katherine's favorite horse; russet-colored filly from her father's stables. The horse's ears were erect as the fair-faced child pulled a cube of sugar from her bag, holding her hand out in front of her in a sign of greeting. Trout patted her coarse, shining neck, breathing in the scent of pine and outdoor air. Katherine untied the old, undone rope from the tree, gathered it together and stored it in the saddlebag. Trout helped her up Beaut as any gentleman would do, and then mounted himself.
Katherine spurred the horse to a gallop, and the boy had to crane his head to the side to avoid being beaten with a coil of her hair. He was almost frightened as, when the trees whirled by, he'd look up to see and oak or birch directly in front of them. Katherine would always steer right or left just before they'd crash into it, scaring both her friend and the horse. She loved doing so.
He smiled as he heard her musical laugh ring out through the open fields of farmland, riding along fields of wheat or corn or cotton. This is why he chose her for a friend; her enthusiastic outlook on the world, her joyful personality.
They were approaching a short, decaying wooden fence lined with wires, and Beaut because slowly resistant, and it was too late when Trout saw the large bull snake slithering on the uprising dirt. The horse reared, holding Trout but throwing Katherine. He tried to hold her, but her arm and soft, pliant skin twisted out of his grasp, and there was a loud ripping noise as her dress tore into a long, jagged rip, and, Trout was sure, her thigh and upper-calf. He jerked Beaut to a stop and leapt from the saddle, bending down next to her and gently pulling the spoiled riding dress up to were he could see the wounds. She screamed rather brusquely as he placed his hand on her arm.
"I'm getting you back to your daddy and, pretty soon, to the Doc," Trout instructed.
"No!" Katherine whined sharply. "He'll skin me alive!"
"The doc?" Trout asked.
"My daddy!"
Trout laughed dryly, shaking his head. "When he sees this…" he said. "Well, let's say this barb wire has already skinned you 'purty bad."
He cradled her back to Beaut, where he took the reins and rode carefully back into town to the Barlow's little horse farm.
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Daniel Barlow examined his daughter's bloody leg with furrowed eyebrows. "Darlin'," he said. "We'd better take you to Doc, so he can stitch you up 'fore it gets any worse." He sighed, bunching up the fine pink cloth. "You've ruined your ridin' dress."
Katherine's face flushed of color, and Trout didn't know whether it was over the dress, or the mention of stitches. The room -the house- was silent, with only Katherine, Mr. Barlow and Trout standing still in the little area of chairs and sofas.
(Her mother had died of influenza when she was a baby.)
At Doctor Hawthorn's it wasn't much different; Trout held her hand while Daniel talked, watching her leg as if he feared it would run away. Doc had a smile affixed on his face, nodding and watching the two children. He told Katherine's father he was welcome to leave, he knew he and Jonathon Wadley had plans to go hunting.
Trout wondered if he should leave, too.
No. She wanted him to be there.
He did wander around the office as Doc mended Katherine's wounds, looking at pictures of the doctor and his wife, Millie, old friends and landscape. He peered out the window, noting that the sky was the color of a robin's egg, flushed with pink the color of…
That old ripped riding dress. A lovely shade of pink roses or carnations, cotton candy.
He watched the Wadley man and Daniel Barlow cut through the brush, their rifles over their shoulders, laughing and yelling unintelligible things. Trout had a gun of his own; though it wasn't much and it wasn't used often, only when he'd go off with his father and the other men. Katherine said that guns were destructive and should only be used when a hungry man needs an animal. Her decision was based entirely contradictory from her father's. That was another thing Trout liked about her; she had a mind of her own.
A wispy cloud floated across the sky, lone and almost a soft grey. He studied that for a moment, only until Doc came into the room, next to Katherine, her right leg bandaged in white gauze, a simple smile stretching across her face.
"It may hurt a bit," Doc said. "But she'll be able to walk just fine. It's more in the thigh; she would be temporarily immobile if it had gotten any farther down. Good thing she's got such little legs…"
Trout nodded, smiling back.
Katherine walked, a little stiffly, towards him. "Did my daddy go hunting?" she asked, always jubilant.
"With Jonathan Wadley," Trout added.
"Hmm…" she said. "Could you come back to my house to keep me company? We could feed the horses and then I could show you a bit of poetry I've been working on…"
Katherine had a strong interest in poetry, and Trout knew it was her main dream to become a schoolteacher when she grew to the right age.
"Sure," Trout said.
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The horses had been graciously fed extra. Extra feed, a carrot from both the children, and a pat on the head. Twice.
Trout enjoyed the poetry, found it magical. But he had no interest in writing and poetry whatsoever. He didn't have an education, you know.
They sat on the oak window seat, next to each other, reflecting on the day. She had unpinned her hair and was wearing a new dress; blue as the afternoon sky with white accents. Both her hands sat on it, tucked and still, while her left leg swished back and forth. Suddenly, her attention turned to behind her, out the window, to three men, one with a rust brown jacket, one dressed in black, one with a leather vest.
"Do you hear them?" Katherine asked, standing.
"They're yelling something," Trout confirmed. "But I don't know what."
Trout recognized all three of them. One was the deputy, one Jonathan Wadley, one his father, John Walker…
"Where's my daddy?" Katherine yelped, her voice glazed with rising panic.
Trout had no answer.
She rushed downstairs, through the living room and out the door. Trout jogged behind her, a bit frightened, his head spinning with thoughts. "Wait, Katherine!"
She only picked up speed as she reached the three familiar, red-faced men.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice quavering.
"Katherine…" Trout's father laid his hand down on her shoulder. Trout didn't like the tone of his voice. His eyes were filled with worry.
"Where's my daddy?" Katherine cried.
The deputy sighed and shook his head at Wadley. John Walker just patted her shoulder again. "It was an accident," he said. "I'm sorry, sweetie."
A lump was stuck in Trout's throat.
"Where's Daddy?" she whispered.
"He's gone."
"Missing?" Trout asked, though he knew the answer.
"He's not with us anymore," the deputy sighed, reaching out towards the girl. Katherine ducked away. She was frozen, but long streaks of tears gilded down her cheeks.
"Oh my God." She clasped her hand to her mouth, though it didn't restrain the tears.
"I'm sorry."
"He was my daddy!" she screamed, stumbling back. "He said he'd always be there! He's gone… He's gone…"
Trout wanted to fix it… He watched his best friend loose what's most important, and he couldn't do anything…
"They'll bring him in," said the deputy to John.
"Where's she going to go?" Trout demanded. "She has nobody!"
"There's a relative in northern Texas, her uncle and aunt, Will and Nora Barlow."
It wasn't long before he began crying, too. He wanted to hug her, cry with her, but she had strayed away and wasn't letting a soul near her.
The men began fading away, and finally, they were alone.
"He's gone," she repeated.
"I'm sorry." That was all Trout could say. He was sorry.
She stumbled forward, wrapping her arms around him and letting out fresh tears. He wanted some way to make her feel better, but he didn't know how. There was a moment, just a pause, when see stopped for a breath and stepped back. Her eyes met his, and he pulled back a bit of her hair, taking caution. She sniffed a bit.
I kissed her.
He really didn't know why. He wanted to make her feel better and it just… happened. She slipped away, taking one final glance at him before running, running as fast as she could possibly go, away from the world… Away from death.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;