Tim Washburn - Powerless

“I guess I’ll just have to be extra sneaky.” Zeke lowers his head for another, longer kiss but the spell is broken when Carl enters the kitchen.

“Orry.” Carl smiles sheepishly, or as much of a smile as he can muster with a broken jaw. “Zee, any more jery?”

“You bet. I forgot you didn’t get anything for dinner last night. I’ll put a pot of broth on for you.”

Carl waves over his shoulder as he slinks out of the kitchen.

“What happened to him?” Summer whispers, leaning into him again.

“He went looking for water and ran into some young boys with baseball bats. Broke his jaw and busted a couple of his ribs. But he’s tough. He’s been a trouper through all the travel.”

Summer turns and pulls a pan from the cupboard as Zeke’s brain cartwheels with emotion. His hand trembles slightly as he pours water into the pan and adds several strips of the jerky before carrying it outside to the fire.

The laughter of the children splashing in the cold water drifts on the breeze. Zeke turns in that direction and catches sight of his sister naked from the waist up. He turns away, feeling the blush in his cheeks. Even though Ruth is his sister, he hasn’t seen that much of a woman in a very long time.

He moves the jerky around in the pan with an old wooden spoon as his eyes search the field for any sign of the turkeys. Off in the distance he hears an old tom gobble, and his mouth starts to water. While the broth simmers, he slips back into the house.

“Summer, where’s the shotgun?”

“Behind the front door. Did you see the turkeys?”

“No, but I heard them.” Zeke retrieves the gun and cracks open the breach to make sure a shell is seated. “How many shells?”

“There should be five in there. If you don’t bring us a turkey with five shots, you may be sleeping in the barn after all.”

Zeke smiles. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping in the barn.” He quietly makes his way out the door, easing the screen shut so he won’t spook the soon-to-be dinner. He slides through the barbed wire fence and stalks across the pasture, pausing every few seconds to listen. He works his way to a small ridge where the land falls away to a small stock pond in the distance. At the peak, he squats down and peers over the ridge. About a dozen turkeys are picking at the acorns under a large oak tree about a hundred yards away. Too far to do any damage with the 12-gauge. Slowly, and as low to the ground as possible, he creeps closer. Turkeys are blessed with incredible eyesight, able to pick up the slightest movement.

He drops to a crawl and after ten minutes of crawling on his stomach through the tall grass he’s within shotgun range. He eases the barrel through the waving grass and sights in on the closest birds. The shotgun explodes and the bird drops to the ground as the others start racing away. Zeke jumps to his feet and quickly jacks another shell into the chamber. He sights down the barrel at the fleeing turkeys and squeezes the trigger. Another bird drops. He jacks another shell, but the turkeys have raced out of sight, taking cover in the thick underbrush along the tree line.

He scoops up the two dead birds and begins field dressing them. With two quick slashes of his knife, he reaches in and pulls the entrails out. The warm blood coats his hand, making his grip slippery. He grabs the two birds by their feet and snags the shotgun from the ground.

Summer meets him at the fence and he hands off the shotgun. “No barn for me,” he says as he parts the barbed wire and climbs through.

Summer smiles. “I was just providing a little incentive.”

His knees weaken at the thought.

Noah and Emma are waiting for him in the backyard. Emma walks up close and stares at the birds in his hand. “What’re those, Uncle Zeke?”

“Turkeys. Like what we have at Thanksgiving.”

His comment confuses her. “Aren’t they s’posed to be white?”

“These are wild turkeys. But they’ll taste better than those white ones, I promise. Do you and Noah want to help pull the feathers off?”

She shrugs and puts one small foot atop the other. “I dunno. Are they dead?”

“Well… yeah, they are. C’mon, I’ll show you how.” The children follow their uncle toward the fire.

Summer returns from the kitchen with a large pot and hands it to Zeke. He carries it to the well and fills the pot with water and returns it to the fire. When the water is warm enough, almost boiling, he quickly dunks each turkey to help loosen the feathers. Ruth steps outside and he can tell she’s none too happy about Noah and Emma getting dirty again after she had already cleaned them up.

“C’mon, sis. We could use your help.”

“Yeah, Mommy, come over,” Emma says, already covered with feathers.

Ruth walks over and begins plucking at the feathers. It’s not long before all three are giggling and feathers are swirling in the breeze.

Zeke steps away and wipes the feathers from his shirt. “If you guys have this under control, I’m going to wash up.”

“Go, Zeke, we’ve got this handled,” Ruth says.

As he’s passing the back door Summer reaches out to hand him a bar of soap.

Zeke stops and puts his hands on his hips. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing, sir.” She giggles as he grabs the soap.

Zeke ducks into the barn and strips down to his boxers. At the pump, he fills a bucket with water. Though the water is freezing cold, it feels good to put some soap on his body after nearly two weeks. He soaks the rag that Ruth had used and carries it into the barn to wash his more private areas and pulls on a pair of jeans and a shirt he’s worn only a couple of times. After slipping into his boots he grabs the only luxury items he packed for the trip—a toothbrush and toothpaste. When he finishes washing the road grime from his mouth, he rinses out his filthy clothes and hangs them on a rusty nail in the barn to dry.

From the barn he watches the scene up at the house. Ruth and the kids are laughing as Summer works around the fire. He fingers the locket around his neck, struck momentarily with remorse. He sighs and tucks the enclosed picture of Amelia back under his shirt. By the time Zeke returns to the house, the birds are plucked and Summer is sliding two heavy sticks through each one to hang over the fire.

Ruth blows a feather from her face. “Does Uncle Zeke want to take his adorable niece and nephew back to the well?”

He stammers for a moment, looking at his boots.

“I’m kidding, Zeke. Did you leave the soap down there?”

“Yeah, right at the base of the pump.”

As she walks by, she leans in and gives her brother a peck on the cheek. “You smell clean, Zeke. Summer’s going to like the new you,” she whispers in his ear. She pats him on the butt like he’d just scored a touchdown, then leads the kids back to the well.

The aroma of cooking turkey lures Carl out of the house. “Amn a mells ood,” he mumbles. “Ere’s Ru?”

Zeke nods toward the barn. Carl walks down to join his family and he’s soon down to his boxers, splashing water on the kids. After a short time all four trudge toward the house, shivering.

Summer giggles at the sight. “There’s a couple of clean towels in the bathroom. Help yourself.” She turns to Zeke. “I think I’ll wash up before dinner, too.”

Zeke tends the fire, burning through reserves of self-control to not sneak a peek of Summer washing up. He mindlessly stirs the coals and pokes the breast of one of the turkeys to check for doneness. Summer returns, her curly hair dripping water onto her T-shirt.

“I’m going to dry off and set the table.”

“Your hair always this curly?” he says for something to say.

Summer holds the screen open and looks back over her shoulder with a playful smile lighting her face. “You don’t have a straight-hair fetish, do you?”