Christopher Buehlman - Those Across the River

She’s fourteen, you jackass!

It was as if she remembered her posture at just that second, and tried to pretend a string was attached between the top of her head and the ceiling. She darted an eye at me again.

Son of a jackass! Grandson of.

A cloud of flies, and flies for his eyes.

“So how are things going with the book, Professor?” Dora said.

It was hard to tell if she was amused, vexed or oblivious. Scratch the last one; Dora was never oblivious. She was smiling just a little.

I tried to gloss past the subject of my largely unwritten white elephant, but Dora wasn’t having any; she focused her questions on the Confederate cavalry, provoking me into an impromptu lecture about which I felt very passionate until I could see that she had snared me into making myself boring to our young guest, who was now flicking around the flyswatter that had been sitting near her as if in mockery of the saber blows I had been describing.

“Have you ever seen a saber?” Dora asked Ursie.

“My great-granddaddy’s is hangin on the back wall of the fillin station,” Ursie said, now using the swatter to push her empty lemonade glass around on the table near her.

“Frank, why don’t you use that flyswatter to show Ursie how a Southern gentleman might strike from horseback with a saber?”

I was game. I got up and took the swatter, crouching a little as if astride a charger, pretending to trot. Both of them started chuckling. Then I lashed out in a deep, pretty lunge and swatted hard at a housefly, which had been resting near Dora. She shrieked and jumped marvelously (although the fly buzzed off without even a bent wing) and then both girls laughed hard, Dora so hard she got a cramp under her rib, which made Ursie laugh more.

“Can your daddy do that ?” I asked, making big bug eyes at Ursie.

“Oh, Mr. Nichols,” Ursie said when she could talk. “You’re much faster than my paw with a swatter. He ain’t fast like that… Momma has to catch Sadie when she runs… Cause his belly’s big an his legs is skinny… Oh my God, I cain’t stop laughin.”

Of course, that was the moment her father chose to come up the walk. I doubted he had heard any of that, but he was a somber, serious man, and must not have thought much of a grown couple horsey-laughing with his child. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from braying again when I saw just how correct Ursie’s assessment of her father’s legs-to-belly ratio had been. With his knobby knees swimming in his trousers and his white belly pushing against the buttons of his shirt so one was open, he looked like Jack Sprat with a bun in the oven.

“Afternoon, Mr. and Missus Nichols. Hope you don’t mind if I interrupt. Now, Ursula, you get on back home. You know I got work and your mama needs help. You come back on Sunday if you feel like a visit. Sorry about that, folks; we got pests enough without this’n here drinkin up your drinks.”

“She’s been a perfect lady all day long,” Dora said, “and we’ll be glad to have her over on Sunday or any other day.”

Ursula went with her father, dragging her oversized boots in the dust as she walked, and she did not look back at us. She very consciously did not.

“SORRY I WAS flirting a little.”

“You both were.”

“You know I don’t mean anything by it, I hope?”

“No. I think you probably draw the line at college sophomores. I’m just glad I squeaked in.”

“You’re wicked.”

“Everyone’s wicked. I was worse than her at her age. It’s harmless enough. You’re the best-looking example of what a grown-up man might look like in this town. And I guess she’d like to strap on my long legs and take them for a spin, but she’ll find out pretty soon the boys will like her short legs just fine. Just the same, I don’t think I’ll want to make love tonight.”

“No?”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t entirely like the way I feel just now. I’m not even twenty-five yet. I’m not supposed to feel old. How do you do that to us? How does every one of you manage to do that to every one of us?”

After school the next day, Dora went to see Mr. Woodruff, the father of Sarah, her most promising student.

I went with her.

Sarah had not shown up again after the Falmouth boy was killed, which didn’t surprise Dora. Half of her students were still out, protecting the nest or being protected in it. Or just pulling up potatoes and okra because nobody cared about Manifest Destiny with Tyson’s skinny little ghost howling by the locust tree.

Eudora didn’t like this Woodruff man very much.

It had been he who told the class on the day that Tyson’s body was found. Just came in without knocking, barked out the news without a sliver of discretion, and took his girl off by the arm. And in that drawl so thick it sounded like he had been dropped on his head as an infant.

It would be hard to get Sarah back from such a man.

She had her lips pursed and a worry line on her brow when I knocked.

Mr. Woodruff looked at us as if he were a bear who couldn’t understand what a couple of deer were doing knocking at the entrance to his cave. The rain was coming hard, so he invited us off the dripping porch and inside. The porch with its puddles. The porch with its mosquitoes and mosquito hawks and moths and flying ants still crucified on the rusting screen, and gouges in the screen where part of it hung and made a lip. Perhaps the bugs had been left to warn others.

“How are you doing?” I said, offering him my hand, but quickly retiring it unshaken.

“I’ve come to talk to you about Sarah,” Dora offered.

He grunted.

When he finally saw that we weren’t going away, he let us into the house and we all sat in homemade chairs in the close space of the front room. The air was thick and hot and damp. Sarah looked up from the chicken she was plucking in the kitchen and peeked through the doorway, but she did not risk a hello. I guessed she never knew exactly when to speak in this house, but with her daddy it was good to err in favor of silence.

“Well, talk then,” he told Dora.

That drawl. He could have made a lullaby sound hostile.

“It’s just that Sarah is very badly missed in school. She has quite a lot of talent and she likes to learn. She…”

“She has a talent for gettin in trouble is what she has. More time she spends away from home, more trouble she gets in.”

Sarah kept plucking.

A horse whinnied somewhere out back.

Mrs. Woodruff appeared from another room and wordlessly poured a glass of tea, which she then brought to Dora. Just to Dora. No ice or sugar. Weak tea from the look of it; they were using their tea bags twice or more. I thought she might not have time to drink much before things with the father soured, but then I looked through the doorway to the kitchen and saw that Sarah was looking at Dora, grateful for any ally.

Yes, get me back in school, tell me about planets and clouds, and especially airplanes that fly all the way across the sea to France. I’ ll name the capitals of all the states right now if you will just take me by the hand out of this place.

“Mr. Woodruff, I assure you that she will get into no trouble while she’s under my watch. She’s such a good student. If you just let her finish…”

“What for? Ain’t no work.”

“Not now, but hard times come and go…”

“Ain’t been no hard times like these. These is the end times.”

“Maybe. But if not, and work picks up, you’ll be glad to have a daughter who can get herself hired anywhere she wants, and not just in a mill.”

“Please, Daddy,” Sarah said from the kitchen. Quietly. Barely as loud as the rain outside. Oh, God, to be shut up in the house with this man smoldering all day like a fire that might lick out.