Knife River by Baron Birtcher

Author:Baron Birtcher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2024-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

INTERLUDE III

(1964)

“WHAT ARE YOU doing out here?” Paul said. He was filthy with hog mud and dried chicken dung from his work.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Heather said. “I asked Sarah to drop me off after practice. She’s on her way up to Lewiston.”

Paul cut his eyes across the feeding pens, where his father was clearing a layer of green scum from the surface of the retention pond with a long-handled net. Paul waved his arm and got his father’s attention, called out when his father looked up, his expression one of consternation and disquiet at seeing Heather at his son’s side.

“I’ll be right back,” Paul called out, waiting for a moment before his father gestured a grudging assent.

It was late afternoon, the fence that surrounded his house strung with dead leaves and brush that had been trapped by the wind. The sky overhead reflected the dim haze of slash fire smoke, and an eclipse windmill ginned noisily in the field behind the old oak near the driveway.

“Don’t get too close to me,” Paul said to Heather. The corners of his mouth angled upward, but his stomach was twisted in a knot. “I smell like pig crap.”

Heather laughed at his sudden admission, brushed his cheek with her fingers as if she didn’t care.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “I figured you’d probably be working. I’ve lived in this place for a while, I know what farms are like.”

“Do yourself a favor and stay upwind, at least.”

Paul led her behind the old oak, where a long time ago his father had strung a length of old fence lumber as a seat for a swing; he’d hung it with an old rope from a branch that reached out from the trunk like an old woman’s knobby hand. Paul brushed the dust off the swing with a handkerchief he had tucked into his pocket and held it for Heather as she sat down. She was dressed in a pair of culottes, a loose-fitting white blouse, and the saddle shoes that cheerleaders wore as a part of their uniforms. It was clear she had hitched a ride at the last minute with one of her friends after practice, even if she hadn’t admitted as much.

She swung back and forth in slow, gentle arcs as Paul sat cross-legged on the edge of an irrigation ditch, resting his wrists on his knees. She smiled and looked off into the distance, where the train tracks cut through the valley beside the riverbed, her face patterned with filtered sunlight and the shade of the oak.

“I haven’t seen you around much at school,” she said. “I was beginning to think you were hiding from me.” Her tone suggested she was teasing him, but both of them knew there was more than a hint of truth hidden there.

“My dad said he needed me out here. Between work and tryouts for baseball, I haven’t had much extra time to hang around after the bell.”

Heather looked at him in that direct and unflinching way that sometimes made him so self-conscious.

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