After River by Donna Milner Page B

living with him. Sometimes Morgan and Carl joked about finding him a lady friend. One evening after milking, they went too far and offered to fix him up with Widow Beckett. As they followed him out of the barn Carl said something about how the Widow ‘must be pining for a man to warm up her bed.’ Jake’s face darkened. He turned around and grabbed Morgan and Carl by the backs of their collars, lifting them off the ground.
    â€˜You two little buggers better keep your filthy gobs shut!’ He held them up in the air; their arms and legs flailed, gumboots fell into the dust. ‘Any more dirty talk like that and I’ll tan your asses so hard they’ll blister for a year.’ He released them. They thudded to the ground, grabbed their boots, and scrambled away.
    Neither of our parents had ever ‘tanned’, spanked, or hit any of us. The idea that anyone would was as insulting as it was frightening. It took Morgan and Carl a while to resume their teasing ways, but in all the time Jake was with us, I never heard them mention women to him again.
    Between Jake and Boyer there was a civil respect. Boyer treated him with the courteous regard of a youth for his elder. And Jakeseemed to hold a grudging admiration for Boyer’s devotion to his family and the farm. At least until after Boyer turned sixteen.
    When Boyer seemed in no hurry to leave school, Jake saw it as his duty to start prodding him. He made grumbling remarks at the supper table each night. ‘Sure could use an extra hand around here,’ he muttered to no one in particular; or, ‘I won’t be around forever, yer know.’
    â€˜You’ll not learn anything about dairy farming in those books,’ he said whenever he saw Boyer with a novel in his hands.
    â€˜The mine is hiring,’ I heard him remark one afternoon when Boyer was seventeen. ‘With this year’s price of hay going crazy your folks could use the extra income.’
    The mine? Boyer working at the mine ? I looked at Boyer as he opened the door to the stairway with an armload of books. He hesitated for only a second before he started up the steps.
    Jake called after him, ‘Hey, book-boy, got any girlie magazines in your stash up there?’
    Boyer stopped on the first step, turned, and held up the books. ‘Would you like them, Jake?’ he asked. ‘They’re my school books. I won’t be needing them any more.’
    For the first time I could remember, dinner was eaten in silence that night. After the milking, Mom came up from the dairy, went straight to her bedroom, and closed the door behind her. Morgan and Carl washed up without their usual jousting and then, without a word, went into the living room. As I finished the dishes I heard the familiar whip-crack of the Rawhide theme coming from the television. I made my way up to the attic where Boyer sat on his bed reading. He looked over the top of his book as I entered.
    â€˜What are you reading?’ I asked and plunked myself down at his desk.
    â€˜ The Catcher in the Rye ,’ he said and held up the book so I could see the title.
    â€˜Can I read it when you’re finished?’
    Boyer placed a bookmark in the pages. ‘I don’t think this would hold your interest right now.’ He threw his legs over the bed. ‘Let’s find you a better one.’
    â€˜Did you really quit school?’ I asked as he scanned the shelves.
    â€˜Yes, I did.’ He reached up and pulled a couple of books from the top shelf.
    â€˜Why?’ I fought back the tears welling up in my eyes. ‘Are you going away?’
    â€˜No, nothing’s going to change,’ he said and turned to face me. ‘I’ll still be here every night.’ I could hear the false cheerfulness in his voice.
    â€˜It’s Dad, isn’t it?’ I blurted. ‘Just because he hated school he expects everyone to.’ An anger surfaced with my words that surprised