by Gary D. Svee
“Fair?” he asked.
“Fair.”
The boy turned to leave, and Standish realized that he wanted the boy to stay.
“What’s your name?”
“Archibald,” the boy said.
“That’s a lot of name to carry around.”
Ma calls me Arch. She says we’ll work up to the whole name a little at a time.”
Standish smiled, and the boy’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I was.… The word caught in his throat. “I know I don’t look like much, but I’m a hard worker. I really am, and I’d work for.…”
The boy turned away from Standish, staring at the door. Standish could see the boy’s shoulders rise as he took deep breaths, steeling himself to continue. “You wouldn’t have to pay me. I’d work all day for…for a can of those peaches.”
“Take one.”
Arch’s back stiffened. “Said I would work for a can of peaches. If you don’t need any help, I’ll just go home.”
“Take a can of peaches.”
“Nope,” the boy said, stepping out of the cabin.
“Wait.”
Arch turned.
“Fact is I could use some help, specially since I have these chicks to take care of.”
“Don’t make pets of them.”
“Why?”
“Makes it harder to eat ’em.”
Standish nodded. He looked at the boy staring defiantly from the cabin step. Childhood, at least most of childhood, had been scrubbed from him some time ago. Montana makes short work of childhood.
“You ever do any surveying?”
“I can learn. Ma says I learn real fast.”
“I’ll bet you do. This isn’t real surveying. We just need to pick a place for a root cellar, make sure that we build it square.”
“Put the door on the south side,” Arch said. “That’s the way our cellar sits. Keeps the entrance open in the winter.”
Standish nodded. “Makes good sense.”
“That’s the way my…dad did it.”
Standish leaned back on the back two legs of his chair. “How about you work with me today, and we’ll decide how to pay you later.”
“Can of peaches,” the boy said.
“Could be that you would get two cans of peaches.”
“Could be I’d get none.”
Standish cocked his head. “Could be. Could be that we’ll work until you earn a can of peaches, and then we’ll decide what your pay will be for the rest of the day.”
It was Arch’s turn to cock his head. “Could be,” he said.
“First things first,” Standish said. “We have to get these chicks into a box.”
“Can’t put them in until they’re all hatched,” Arch said.
“Why?”
“Because the stronger ones will kill the new chicks.”
“That’s kind of the way it is with chickens, isn’t it?” Standish said.
Arch nodded.
“So will you watch the chicks until they hatch?”
“Not much to do.”
“If we can turn those chicks into egg layers, they’ll be worth a can of peaches.”
Arch leaned back on one leg, balancing that equation. He and his mother had chicks and they had chickens. Didn’t have any canned peaches. Right now, he’d trade all the chickens they had for a can of peaches.
“If you say so,” Arch said.
Standish smiled. “You do that while I figure out some way to keep some of the food cool.”
“That don’t take much figuring,” Arch said.
“So how would you keep the food cool?”
“I’d put it in the cooler.”
“I’d put it in a cooler if I had a cooler.”
“You have a cooler.”
“No I don’t.”
“Okay, you don’t.”
One of Standish’s eyes squeezed nearly shut.
“You’re a tough little nut, aren’t you?”
“That’s what Ma says.”
“Alright, you win. Where’s the cooler?”
“You’re standing on it.”
Standish’s other eye closed nearly shut. “Don’t much like being sassed.”
One eyelid crawled shut on Arch’s face. He shook his head then. Standish could tell the boy had little patience for ignorance.
“You got a rope?” the boy asked.
“Of course I’ve got a rope. How the hell would I take care of my horses without a rope?”
“Horse,” Arch said. “You have one horse. Hortenzia belongs to Klaus.”
Standish was about to snap back, and then he saw cracks appearing on the boy’s face.
“You knew Klaus?”
“Best friend.”
Standish nodded. “Rope hanging in the barn.”
The boy didn’t move.
“Would you get it?”
“Can of peaches for the first half of the day?”
Standish nodded, and the boy ran off.
Standish shook his head. What in the hell was he getting into?
Arch came back with a pulley and the rope. Must be the pulley to the barn loft, Standish thought. No, it wasn’t big enough for that. Arch dropped the rope on the floor at Standish’s feet, and stepped over to the table, tugging a chair over.
“Move,” Arch said, pushing on one of Standish’s legs.
Standish moved.
Arch picked up the rope and pulley and climbed on a chair. He threaded the rope through the pulley and reached over his head as high as he could to loop the pulley over a hook Standish hadn’t noticed. Arch jumped down from the chair, pulling the short end of the rope with him. He tied the rope loosely to the chair, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. He opened the long, gleaming blade and stuck the point into what seemed to be a crack in the floor. The handle of a slide bolt popped up, and Arch slid it to the open position. He pulled on the bolt, and a door about three-feet square hinged up.
Standish leaned over to look in the hole. A metal box stood below, its top flush with the bottom of the flooring. Wire shelves disappeared below in the darkness.
Arch connected the rope to a bar across the top of the metal box and pulled it up with the pulley. There, in the middle of the cabin floor was a metal pantry. Standish could see that the hole was lined in metal, too, the light glinting off the floor.
“Not much to keep it cool,” Standish said. “What did he do, put ice in it?”
Arch pointed to the shelves. “Touch ’em.”
Standish did. They were cold, cold as the water in the creek.
“What the hell?”
“Pipe goes around and around that box,” Arch said, pointing at the metal box in the floor, “and then it comes out over there at the spigot.”
Incredulity spread across Standish’s face. “I’ll be damned,”
Sharp pain cut Standish’s wonder short. “What the hell?” Another sharp pain from his leg. Standish reached down and rubbed his shin. “Why the hell did you kick me?” Arch’s leg swung back, and Standish held out his hands. “Wait a minute. Why are you kicking me?”
“Ma won’t allow me to swear. Won’t allow me around anybody who does. We made a deal. I work half a day for a can of peaches. Then we decide what the rest of the day is worth.”
Standish sat down on the chair Arch had dragged over, and gently massaged the bruise.
“So?”
“Can’t work if you go around swearing. You quit or I do.”
Standish shook his head. Then he flinched. Wouldn’t be surprised if the kid could read minds. Wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was lining up on the black and blue spot on his leg.
“Tell you what. I’ll watch my cussing if you’ll watch your kicking. You figure, I got a shot coming, you tell me about it, okay?”
Arch shrugged, “Okay.”
“So you’ll watch the chicks while I load this up?”
Arch nodded, stepping to the box.
Standish had bought mostly canned good
s; no need to keep them in a cooler. But there were some things.… The cheese. The big round of cheese he had bought in the Last Chance Emporium. Standish had bought the cheese on impulse. The thought of having cheese was more than he could resist
Standish grabbed either side of the wax-coated round. He lifted, the muscles swelling along his neck. He shuffled toward the shelves, walking carefully to be sure he didn’t step into the cooler hole. He slid one edge of the round on a shelf and pushed it on. He took a deep breath and looked up. Arch’s face was a study of rapture. He was holding one of the little chicks in his hand, but he seemed to have forgotten it was there.
“Peterson,” Arch said.
Standish waited, but Arch said nothing more. The two stood there for what seemed an interminable time. Standish broke the silence. “Peterson?” he asked.
Arch nodded.
Standish stood and stuck both hands in his back pockets. “So?”
Arch jerked back from the fringes of heaven. A question rippled across his face and settled there.
“So?” Standish repeated.
“So what?” Arch said.
Standish ran the palm of his hand across his cheek, the roughness reminding him he hadn’t shaved that day. “So what about Peterson?” he asked.
“Peterson?” Arch asked, running a finger the length of his nose.
“You said Peterson.”
Arch nodded.
“So why did you say it?”
Arch swallowed visibly. “That,” he said, pointing his chin at the cheese, “looks like cheese the Peterson family makes.”
Standish’s eyebrows drew into a straight line. “Now that you mention it, I think the shopkeeper said something about it being Peterson cheese.”
Arch swallowed again. “The Petersons make the best cheese ever.”
“You’re an expert on cheese?”
“Only know Peterson cheese. Every time we go to the Emporium, Mr. Kennedy gives me a slice of Peterson cheese. Guess I know as much about it as anybody.”
“Might be you could do me a favor.”
“Might be.”
“Maybe you could taste this cheese. See if it’s the real thing.”
Arch’s jaw was twisting his lips into odd shapes. “Might be I could do that for you.”
“Maybe you could hand me that knife.”
Arch picked up the butcher knife from the table and gave it, handle first to Standish. Standish poised the knife over the round.
“You don’t do it that way,” Arch said.
“So how do you do it?”
“Set it up on one edge, so you can cut a wedge out of it. You cut it off one end like that; the cheese is more likely to dry out.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mr. Kennedy.”
“The shopkeeper?”
Arch nodded.
“Guess he should know.”
Standish laid the knife on the shelf beside the round and rolled the cheese up on one edge. He cut then to the center of the round and positioned the knife to make the second cut.
Arch interrupted. “I probably won’t be able to tell if its Peterson cheese with a little piece like that.”
Standish nodded. “An expert knows what he needs.” He cut a larger wedge from the cheese, the wax curling under the blade of the knife. He lifted the wedge out then and handed it to Arch. Arch took the cheese as though it were the Eucharist. His eyes closed with the first bite, and Standish could almost taste the cheese just by watching the boy’s face.
Arch’s eyes opened, and he took a deep breath.
“Peterson cheese?”
“Yup, it’s Peterson cheese.”
“Good?”
Arch cocked his head. “Take another slice for that.”
Standish grinned. “You take your cheese seriously, don’t you?”
Arch nodded.
Standish poised over the round. “This enough?”
“Maybe a little more.” Arch stopped. He scratched his cheek. “My Ma knows cheese. Maybe we should cut her a piece, too.”
“To get a second opinion?”
Arch nodded.
“Maybe I should cut myself a piece, too, just to be sure.”
Arch nodded again.
The two stood in the kitchen savoring the cheese. Then Standish carried the round back to the cooler shelf. He was turning to see what else he had that might fit into the cooler, when Arch tapped his shoulder. The boy was holding a clean dish towel, damp with water from the spigot.
“You put this over the cut,” Arch said. “Can’t be too wet, and it can’t be too dry. This is just right. It’ll keep the cheese from drying out.”
Standish picked up one side of the cheese, and Arch slipped one edge of the towel beneath and then draped the remainder over the top.
“How are the chicks doing?”
Arch’s face fell. He ran to the box, and his head dropped, making him seem even smaller than he was. He reached into the box and gently lifted one of the chicks, holding it against his chest.
“This is the runt,” he said. “They ganged up on him just like they always do. I’ll take him home with me, and I’ll keep him alive. Then I’ll bring him back to you.”
“Why don’t you keep him?”
Arch looked up, stricken. “If I keep him, I won’t be able to.… I couldn’t kill him.”
Standish sighed. “Why don’t you go get some hay from the barn, and a handful of oats?”
Arch looked at the chick, and his face wrinkled as his mind ran through the possibilities.
“Just set the chick beside the box. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Arch nodded and ran through the door.
Standish shook his head. The boy had two speeds, eating and full-speed ahead.
Standish leaned back. The strings outlining the root cellar were in place. As near as he could determine with only a compass to guide him, the building would lie north and south with the door to the south. It wouldn’t be very large, fifteen feet by fifteen feet, but it would store enough foot to keep him through the worst winter. An involuntary shiver ran up Standish’s back at the thought of another bad winter.
Arch had proven himself to be a good worker. He wasn’t easily distracted once he set his mind on a task. Standish explained each of his decisions to the boy. Arch absorbed information as tree leaves absorb the rays of the sun. The hard work would be tomorrow. Standish couldn’t see how Arch could be of much help in digging the hole, but odds were that the youngster would find a way to make himself indispensable.
Standish waved. “Arch, let’s call it a day.”
Arch wilted. “Lots of sun left.”
“It’s going to be a hard day tomorrow. We should get some rest tonight.”
“We?”
“Sure. You’re my hired hand, aren’t you?”
Arch’s eyes disappeared into the shadow of his eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Hired man? Thought that was just today.”
“Yeah, but you worked so hard, I’d like you to come back tomorrow.”
Arch looked down at his feet. Fascinating, they were, encased in worn-out shoes with tattered laces. “Have to ’gotiate.”
“That’s the way it is with labor and management.”
Arch nodded, the weight of the labor market on his shoulders.
The two walked side by side to the cabin. Standish nodded at the case of peaches against the east wall of the cabin. “Why don’t you get one of those while I get the cheese out of the cooler?”
Standish glanced at Arch as he was tying the pulley rope to the top bar of the cooler shelves. The boy had two cans of peaches, one in each hand, weighing one against the other. He put down one, and picked up another, going through the same process. No different, Standish decided, than a shopkeeper biting a gold piece to ensure that it was legitimate.
The cheese was cool, and Arch was right about the damp cloth. The cheese looked freshly cut. He turned the round up on one edge, and was about to start
the cut. Arch appeared at his elbow.
“Might as well cut both pieces in one.”
“Both pieces?”
“The piece for my Ma so she can give a second opinion about how good it is, and then the piece for me for working all afternoon.”
“All afternoon? I thought it was you who said that it was too early to quit.”
“Management sets the hours.”
Standish nodded.
He moved the knife to cut a larger portion.
“Little cheap with that.”
Standish sighed. “How much is fair?”
“About there,” Arch said, putting his finger on the round.
Standish nodded.
“Ma makes the best bread ever.”
“That your opinion?”
Arch shook his head. “Everybody says so…well, everybody used to say so before.…” Silence stretched.
“Before what?”
Arch’s face twisted into a grotesque mask. He didn’t answer the question.
“Ma would make some of that good bread if she had some flour. You could see how good it tastes. It’s crusty, and.…” Arch swallowed.
“How much flour do you suppose your Ma would need to bake some bread for you and for me?”
Arch scuffed his shoe on the floor. “Probably quite a bit.”
Standish looked around the room. “How about that pan there?”
Arch nodded.
“Want me to help you carry all this.”
Arch shook his head violently. He stepped toward Standish, his face dull red and ugly. “You go near my Ma; I will kill you dead.”
The hairs on Standish’s neck bristled.
“See you tomorrow, Arch.”
Arch nodded and disappeared through the door.
CHAPTER 3
Miles Standish lay on his back with his knees pulled up. Lying awake in bed was a waste of time, but it was hours before light. Not much he could do in the dark.
He rolled over to his side, reaching for one of the matches he kept on the stand beside his bed and his hunting-cover pocket watch. The match flared. A little after three. He set the match to the kerosene lantern. The lantern wrapped Standish in a globe of soft yellow light. Shadows rose from the cabin’s corners to investigate the fuss. Standish might have had a cigarette if he had any tobacco, and if he hadn’t stopped smoking. A cigarette would taste pretty good at a time like this.