When Kenny said all of that, I hesitated, trying to find the right words to reply to him.
It didn't seem right to be cruel to him, when he was so obviously baring his soul to me. I still had questions I would have liked
answered, but something within me, (most likely my conscience), urged me to acknowledge what he'd said.
"Okay," I said.
When he gave me somewhat of a questioning look, I knew I hadn't made myself clear.
"I believe you. That you weren't the one that shot my dog."
To say that Kenny looked relieved would have been an understatement.
"Gosh, Harlie, that's great," he said. He wasn't smiling, or anything like that, but he looked relieved for sure.
"Warrior probably recognized you," I said. "That's why he kept barking at you. And picking you to jump on."
"Probably," Kenny acknowledged.
We were quiet again for a few minutes. Kenny stopped standing so stiffly, and sat on the porch railing, still twisting his hat.
"Can I ask you something?" I asked.
He looked instantly nervous, on the alert, but nodded. "Yeah."
"Why did you get involved in all this? Doing things to hurt neighbors, people you've known for years?"
He was quiet for so long, looking off towards the pastures, that I thought maybe he wasn't going to answer at all.
"Just bein' stupid. Drinking too much, and then letting myself be talked into stuff. And, I told myself that I'd give some
of the money to my folks, to help with the hospital bills."
"But, how could you?" I asked. "Help run the Mustangs, when you knew they'd be killed?"
"I didn't give that part of it any thought," he said flatly.
I felt as though I didn't want to talk any more. What else, was there, to say?
I stood up. "I'll go try to find Guthrie," I said. I knew that it was highly unlikely that even if I did find Guthrie, I would be able
to convince him to come and talk to Kenny.
I started down the front steps, when I heard Kenny say, "I'm sorry."
I stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked back up at him. I didn't know what to say then. He did seem sorry, though.
Sorry and sad.
I nodded. "I know."
7
I made my escape around the side of the house, going to where I'd seen Guthrie at earlier, with Evan. But, they were gone
from there now. I looked in all the places in the back yard, and in the orchard, with no success. I looked all thru the barn, and
then, just when I was getting ready to call out for him, I heard a shout of laughter, and male voices.
I went around the back side of the barn, where there were hay bales and concrete blocks to sit on, and there I found Guthrie. And, also,
Evan, Ford and Daniel. They were sitting around in sort of a semi-circle. Another joke or whatever
must have been being told just as I came 'round the corner, because there was another bout of laughter. I came closer, taking
note of the beer cans that had been emptied, and dropped to the ground.
"Hey, Har," Ford said, looking up at me, with a grin.
"Hey," I answered, and stood there, resting my hands on my hips. I kicked at the pile of cans, just lightly. "You guys have
been busy."
"Those are from the other night, goof," Evan corrected me.
"Kenny and his folks still here?" Daniel asked me.
"Yeah." It was seeming to me that they had all stopped talking when I came up. Or telling their dirty jokes, or whatever.
None of them said anything, or moved to stand up, so I went to sit beside Ford on his hay bale.
"He really wants to talk to you, Guth," I said.
At first Guthrie was silent, scratching at the dirt with a stick. "Nope," he said, finally.
"He says he might have to go to a detention center," I added.
No response from Guthrie at all then. Ford and Daniel both looked regretful.
After another silent few moments, I said, "So what are you guys going to do? Just sit back here all day?"
"Good work if you can get it, huh?" Evan asked, nudging Guthrie in the ribs.
I wasn't sure just what was going on, but it seemed to me as though 'the brotherhood' had gathered around Guthrie,
to support him. I felt sort of left out for some reason. Which was really dumb, is what I told myself. After all, I didn't want
Guthrie feeling badly.
"Well, I had to talk to Kenny," I said, emphasizing the word 'I'. "I had to listen to what he had to say. Why don't you just
do it and get it over with?" I asked that, and directed my words and look at Guthrie.
"It's not the same thing," Guthrie said, not looking at me, but still tracing lines in the dirt with the stick.
"I don't see what's so different about it," I said. Afterwards, I couldn't really say what had come over me. Just a bit earlier,
I'd been upset at Daniel because he'd been prodding at Guthrie, telling him off. I'd been in Guthrie's corner, feeling as though he
shouldn't have to talk to Kenny until he was ready. Now, though, I looked around the circle, and felt pure orneriness rise over me.
"Har," Evan said. "Just leave it."
"I'm only pointing something out," I persisted.
"Well, don't," Guthrie muttered.
"I can say what I think," I insisted. "This is America."
From around the front, we could hear the sound of the Harris's truck starting up. And then, the crunching of the tires
as they began down the driveway.
"Well, they're gone now," I said, standing up, and dusting the hay off the back of my shorts. "It's safe for you to come
out of hiding now, Guthrie."
As soon as I'd said it, I was sorry. It was a really mean thing to say, with Guthrie having such a hard time as he was.
Guthrie's expression registered shock. And then, anger.
"Harlie-" I heard Evan begin.
Guthrie stood up so quick that Evan stopped talking, as Guthrie brushed past me. I thought for a moment that he might
actually ram right into me, but he didn't. He disappeared from sight. I stood there, and my heart was sort of pounding.
And then, I looked to the three that were still seated there, in their little semi-circle. And, wowzer! What a bunch of
looks I was being given now! Disapproval all the way around.
"What?" I demanded, and my tone came off pretty darn flippant.
"Why'd you say somethin' like that?" Evan demanded of me.
"Yeah. You didn't need to," Ford added.
I was trying to formulate a response, when Evan went on. "We just got him to feelin' a little bit better, and you
come around back here, and say somethin' like that."
I looked to Daniel, hoping for support, but his expression was serious, and like I said, disapproving. No support, there.
And then, I did what I do best at times. Shot off my mouth.
"Oh, right," I said, raising my voice. "I had no business coming 'round, and interrupting the whole 'brotherhood' thing
you guys had going on! Excuse me!" And, with that, I turned to stomp away, heading towards the house. A plastic feed bucket,
blown from the barn by wind, was right in my path. I gave it a vicious kick. Which sent the bucket flying alright, but also
succeeded in hurting my foot, since I was wearing sneakers and not my boots.
"Two words, Har!" Evan yelled after me. "Reagan Clark!"
That would have stopped me in my tracks, but I didn't want Evan, or any of them, to see how much that bothered me. Comparing
me to Reagan! And I was feeling especially wounded. I can usually count on Ford and Daniel, or at least one of them,
to support me most times.
I went toward the feed shed, shoving aside feed bags which hadn't been properly stacked, by whoever it was that put them in the shed.
"Probably Guthrie," I muttered to myself uncharitably.
I needed to get to the goat feed, so I could do my chores. It was, unfortunately, behind all the wrongly stacked ones. I scrambled up
onto the pile, and worked my way over until I was in between that stack and the goat feed. I scooped out what I needed, and then
began to scramble back up on top, to once again get out. In fury, I shoved as hard as I could at the top sack of feed. I was successful in
the dislodging, so successful that it fell off the other side, bumping into a roll of water and bursting open.
I knew even before I crawled over, that the sack had burst, and that there was feed all over the floor of the shed.
I stood there, surveying the mess, whilst holding my small bucket of goat feed.
"Bat shit!" I yelled, not caring if anyone heard me. I went on out of the shed, slamming the wooden door, but not stopping to
latch it.
I went to feed the goats, spending a few minutes petting Elwood P. Dowd, and his two wives. When I made my way back to the
feed shed, to return my bucket, I found the door open again, propped with a cement block. I crawled back across the stacks yet
again, and felt, before I heard, someone at the door of the shed.
When I turned round from hanging the bucket up, Brian was standing there.
He didn't say anything, and I, out of contrariness, didn't either.
"Are you the one that made this mess?" he asked me, gesturing to the feed all over the floor.
"It was an accident," I said.
"I didn't say it was done on purpose. I asked if you were the one who did it."
"Somebody left the feed sacks right in the way," I balked. "Instead of stacking them where they belong."
His expression went from serious to stern at my last comment. And, I knew I'd only made it worse. Brian isn't real
big on excuses.
"Yes, I did it," I said, with a suddenness, and in a less respectful tone that I should have. "I'll clean it up."
"What's with the attitude?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Nothing," I said, and scrambled up, and scooted my way across the stack again. There was hardly room for Brian to stand
there, let alone me, too. So I sat where I was, on the stack of feed, dangling my feet.
Instead of saying anything then, Brian stood there for a long few moments, regarding me in sort of a quizzical way, and then
he said, "What is it?" very quietly.
"The boys-" I said. "They're all just a bunch of-" I let my words trail off into nothingness.
Brian's eyebrow went higher. "A bunch of what?"
"Pains in the butt," I said, and I thought that he looked a little amused.
He stepped over, and leaned against the stack, standing right beside where I was sitting.
"What have the boys done now?" he asked.
"They had Guthrie out behind the barn, and they were all talking. And then, I went back there, and they-" I hesitated. If I told
Brian that I'd felt left out, he'd tell me I was being silly. And if I told him that I'd said something cutting to Guthrie, he'd likely tell
me I'd been wrong. And, I knew that already.
I settled for saying, "I said something sort of mean to Guthrie. And Evan told me I was acting like Reagan."
Brian looked at me questioningly. "Who's Reagan?" he asked.
"Reagan Clark?" I prompted.
"That Clinton's daughter?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And I take it that that's some sort of an insult?" Brian asked. "Telling you that you're acting like her?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe Evan didn't intend it that way-" Brian began.
"He meant it," I said, talking over Brian. "He knows how Reagan acts, and he knows that I know just what he thinks of her, too."
"Just how does she act?" Brian asked.
"She's snarly and hateful," I said. "And rude. A prima donna."
"Oh," he said, and I thought that he sounded amused again. I gave him a quick side glance to see if he was.
In answer, he gave me a small smile.
"It's not funny, Bri."
"No, I'm sure it's not," he said, but still looked as though he was going to grin.
"I maybe say things sometimes that I shouldn't," I admitted. "But, I'm not a prima donna," I finished with finality.
A quick second later, I looked at Brian's profile. "You don't think I am, do you, Bri?"
"Of course not."
"This has been a stupid summer," I said, with sudden fierceness.
"It's been eventful, that's for sure."
"Stupid," I maintained.
"Why do you say that?" Brian asked.
"Kristin. Having to be in that hellish house with Frank. And then the Mustangs-being hunted down and butchered. And-Guthrie. It
seems as though things with Guthrie and me this summer are either really good, or really bad." I sighed in frustration.
"It's too bad about Kristin, alright. As far as you and Guthrie go, you two are solid. You'll come thru it okay together." Brian said.
I waited, but he didn't say anything about the Mustangs.
"What about the horses?" I prompted him. "Probably hundreds of them-"
"The people responsible are gonna be held accountable, peach."
I felt weird, and sort of weepy. I laid my cheek against his arm. "It just makes me so sad, Bri."
"I know."
After a couple of moments, he shifted, and put his arm around my shoulders, and for a few minutes I just relaxed, feeling
better after he hugged me.
"Mrs. Harris is really upset, huh?" I asked, still leaning into him.
"Yeah."
"Kenny told me that he might have to go to a detention center," I said, without raising my head.
"Yeah. He might."
There followed a few more minutes of silence, and then Brian gave me a squeeze. "I need to get to work," he said.
"Okay," I said, sitting up straighter.
"And you have a mess to clean up," he added.
I sighed. "I'll get a broom."
7
I went in search of the barn broom, and had looked several minutes, still without finding it. I finally located it, laying behind
an old rowboat that Ford had towed home from a friend's house. I was walking fast with it out of the barn, muttering about how nobody could
seem to put things where they should be. And I plowed right into Daniel.
"Hey," he said, keeping hold of my arms for a moment, and taking a step or two back. "Where are you goin' in such a hurry?"
"To sweep up a mess," I said.
"So therefore the broom," he said, and grinned at me.
I didn't smile back. I was starting to feel mad again. My calming time with Brian had already worn off.
"Sherlock Holmes," I said, a touch sarcastically.
Daniel did sort of a puzzled double-take at me. "You're sure touchy."
"It's my time of the month," I said, hoping to embarrass him. That was how hateful I was feeling. Daniel didn't look embarrassed, though.
He didn't look amused, either. He just looked contemplative, his forehead furrowed with lines, as though he was puzzling me out.
I walked on past him, and went to the feed shed, where I began sweeping up the spilled grain with a vengeance.
The dust was thick from my sweeping, and I had it all in a pile before I remembered that I didn't have anything to sweep it into. Such as a
dustpan. I debated whether to go look for one, and decided my patience wasn't long enough for that.
So I just swept it right out the door of the shed, where a few of the pellets caught on the threshold of the doorway, and the rest
went out. By the time I was done, there was a pile of the feed, right there in front of the door. I sort of stomped it down a
bit flatter, and then went to put the broom away.
The burro had made himself scarce for the last day or so. I'd only seen him at further distances. But I reassured myself
that he was still hanging around. I went then, out into the pasture with the horses, looking to see if I could see him anywhere.
The bull seemed content enough, standing under a tree, and switching his tail back and forth, and sort of looking around, as if
a king surveying his kingdom. I kept a wary eye on the bull, as I trekked across the pasture. Old Charlie, faithful as always, ambled along
behind me, as if to keep me company. But, even after walking quite a ways from the herd, I couldn't see any sign of the burro.
That fact helped cement my bad mood. I was walking back, when I heard a whistle, and then my name being
called. "Lunch!" Daniel said, waving to me from where he stood by the corral.
I walked back, feeling as if my legs were suddenly too heavy.
Daniel was quiet as I slipped thru the slats of the gate.
We stood there for a couple of seconds, just looking at one another.
He still looked as though he was trying to study me.
"I'm sorry I called you Sherlock Holmes," I said.
"It's okay."
We began walking towards the house together.
"Want to go to the mall tomorrow?" he asked, as we walked.
I gave him a knowing glance. Whenever Daniel's been home, and has to leave again, he always leads into it this way. "You have to go, huh?"
"On Tuesday. I thought we could go do somethin'. The mall, or a movie, if you want."
"Yeah. I'd like that. A movie sounds fun."
"Okay. We can look in the paper. See what's showin'," he said.
I nodded in agreement, and we went into the back door, where the kitchen was already full of McFaddens, ready for
their lunch.
Guthrie, of course, made no attempt to talk to me at lunch. I was still feeling persnickety, so that was alright by me. The talk turned
to the evening, when Adam and Hannah, Brian and Clare, and Crane and Cindy, were going to go out, all together, to supper and a movie.
Hannah ran her gaze over the rest of us at the table. "Can you all keep an eye on Isaac? I'll have him fed, and bathed. You'll just have
to play with him for a while, and then give him a bottle before bed."
"I'll do it," Ford spoke up.
"Okay, thanks," Hannah said, smiling at him. She turned towards Evan, and said, in conversation, "Are you and Nancy going out tonight?"
"She might come over later. Her aunt's visiting, to talk about wedding stuff."
"Wedding 'stuff'?" Hannah asked him, accentuating the word 'stuff'. "We need to be kept in the loop about all that, too, so we
know what we need to do to help."
"Yeah, okay," Evan said, with the careless shrug of a guy who has no idea how much work a wedding really is.
"What about you two?" Hannah asked, turning to Guthrie and I. "Any plans for tonight?"
I shook my head, and Guthrie said, "Naw."
"Maybe you should try calling Kristin again later on today," Hannah suggested, quietly.
"Yeah. I will."
"What about you, Daniel?" Hannah asked, moving on to the next McFadden.
"I'm gonna meet up with some guys in town. Have a game of pool," Daniel said.
Hannah nodded, apparently content that she'd settled the whereabouts of all her 'babies'.
As soon as I'd eaten, I checked the dishwashing chart, relieved that I wasn't on it. I didn't feel well. I had a nagging headache,
and the whole 'shobbly' feeling that I get sometimes, with diabetes. And that I hate. I was trying hard to appear to feel fine. I didn't want
anybody fussing around.
I'd done my chores, so I knew I had at least a few hours to myself. I thought about taking a book and going to the creek, but decided
that I didn't feel like doing that, even. I filled a glass with ice water, and went upstairs to my room, where I closed the door, and took off my
shoes. I switched on the small fan that sets on my desk, and laid down on my bed, on top of the comforter.
I didn't feel well. Not well at all.
7