Ripples Through Time (3 page)

“Yeah, you’re not fooling. It’d be wrong.”

That didn’t make her feel any better.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, her tossing the
hay up top and him carrying it to a corner of the loft and piling it. “She
invited me to supper,” Emily said.

“Who?” Buell asked.

“The girl. Mary. ”

“The one you stole from? Hang! She must be really lonely to
invite you.”

“Since I stole from her?”

“No, because she’s inviting 
you
,” Buell said,
laughing. “Gonna go?”

Emily shook her head. “No.”

"In my book, you should.”

“I haven’t asked mom or dad.”

“They’ll let you.”

Emily hesitated. “I don’t think I’m keen…”

“Are you sauced? Probably all the cinnamon rolls you could
want.”

“Is that all there is to you Buell? You think with your
stomach.”

“Wish I’d stolen from her,” Buell ragged. “I’d go to her
house for dinner. But I don’t have rich friends.”

“She’s not my friend,” Emily replied.

“Maybe she should be. I doubt she has many.”

“I stole from her.”

“Then tell her you’re sorry.”

“Shut up Buell.”

He did, to his credit. Emily was confused enough as it was. She
still felt guilty for what she had done, and more than that she felt inferior. How
could Buell possibly think it was acceptable to go to this little girl’s
expensive house and eat her food? She’d stolen from her!

How could Mary’s family not hate her when it was so easy to
hate herself? Why would Mary invite her? Was she making fun of Emily? It didn’t
make sense. Nothing made sense right now. 

Why was life so complicated?

A few minutes passed with the only sound the fluttering hay
she was throwing and her breathing and then she wiped her brow off. “I couldn’t
go anyway. I don’t have the right kind of clothes. The best thing I have is my
Sunday dress and it’s not half as nice as what she wears every day. And maybe
this is a setup and she wants to get back at me for robbing her.”

“Well, if it is, maybe you should do it anyway. After all,
you did rob her, and what’s the worst that could—whoa!”

She heard a board crack above her head and looked up just in
time to see Buell stumble over the edge of the loft and out into open air. His
pitchfork—thankfully—went flying well beyond the end of the wagon, but she
heard a thud as Buell’s arm whacked against the side of the wagon on his way
down. He hit the ground with a grunt. 

“Buell!” Emily shouted, dropping her pitchfork and running
to the edge of the wagon and looming over. He was rolling on the ground,
moaning with his eyes closed. His right arm looked like it was bleeding, but
she couldn’t tell from where. 

Emily jumped off the wagon and knelt next to him. She
grabbed his shoulders. “Lay still,” she ordered, examining his arm. There was a
deep gash with blood pouring out, and it looked like his forearm was bent a few
inches the wrong direction. Buell didn’t respond, just kept moaning, and she
didn’t know what to do. 

“Hang on, I’m going to get mom,” she said, then took off at
a sprint.

Buell wasn’t able to talk much because of the pain, and
Emily couldn’t bring herself to look at his arm for long. It made her feel
nauseous. Her mom had dressed it up as well as she could, but she kept telling
Buell that the bone ‘had to be set.’ Emily wasn’t quite sure what that meant,
but she knew it wasn’t good.

Usually when their dad said that about one of the cows it
meant it was about to be sold for slaughter. She didn’t think that was what
they meant, but her rampant imagination wasn’t quite willing to overlook the
possibility. They were waiting for dad to get home so they could take him to
see a doctor. There was one less than twenty-five miles away, which was lucky.

Emily left shortly after her mom showed up to check Buell’s
arm; it was still bleeding, so mother had taken an old shirt and wrapped it
tightly around the gash. And when Buell started screaming in pain as she
wrapped his arm…well Emily just decided to be somewhere else.

She had run off to take care of the chickens. They needed
fed and she had to gather up the eggs. It was nice having busy work. Something
to take her mind off the cut in her brother’s arm. 

Her father would be home soon. He worked in the town at a
race track. He cleaned up after the horses and spread manure in the fields for
all of the rich owners. That meant he probably worked for Mary’s father
cleaning stalls.

Once she finished with the chickens she moseyed back to
Buell, not in any particular hurry. She walked through the barn, trying to
ignore her brother’s screams. Nothing would happen until dad got home.

Her father was famous around the racetrack, but not
necessarily for being good at what he did. He drank a lot and was notorious for
missing work; but that didn’t mean much to Emily. She was just glad when he did
go to work so he wasn’t around the house. She loved her father, she just didn’t
particularly like having him around.

She gently patted a few of the horses on the necks, listened
to them whinny, and then climbed up to the loft where Buell fell from. She
studied the area, wondering what went wrong.

It didn’t take long to figure it out: one of the
two-by-fours along the edge had snapped. The barn was old, so the break was
understandable, she just couldn’t believe how unlucky it had been. 

If the wagon hadn’t been there Buell would have hit the
ground, had the wind knocked out of him, and been up and walking a few minutes
later. Instead he would have to go see a doctor—a rare occurrence to be
sure. 

Buell finally stopped screaming and was moaning when
father’s truck finally pulled up. Emily was at the edge of the loft, sitting
and watching with her arms wrapped around her knees. “Get down from there!”
Emily’s mother shouted. “The last thing we need is to have to pay for another
broken arm.”

Emily didn’t reply, just went back to the ladder and climbed
back down. When she made it back outside. Dad was there as well. He was
shouting as Emily walked up and threw his hat on the ground, but Emily couldn’t
tell what he was saying. 

Probably cursing. He liked to do that a lot. 

He walked over to the barn and Buell, anger evident on his
pockmarked face, and scooped his thirteen year old son up in his arms. Emily
was standing just inside the barn, unmoving and hoping her father wouldn’t
notice her. She didn’t like being around him when he was like this.

He lifted Buell up and hesitated when he noticed Emily
standing in the barn entrance. “Come. I want to hear what happened.”

“No she has work to do and—” mother started, yet when father
leveled a look at her she fell silent. 

Emily was used to her parents fighting. Her mother could
hold her own and was more than willing to get in violent screaming matches, but
occasionally a look from her father was all it took to let her know there
wasn’t going to be a debate. 

This was one of those times. He stared at her for a few more
seconds and then turned back at Emily. “Come.”

Emily didn’t dare disobey.

The ride to the doctor’s home was quiet. She was worried
that her father was going to blow a fuse. The truck jostled along the road,
bouncing in each hole they passed. Every once in a while her father would grill
Emily about what happened, but after a few questions he seemed satisfied that
it wasn’t her fault. 

Normally she liked taking trips with her father, especially
when they went to town to shop, but right now she felt more uncomfortable than
anything else. 

Buell sat between them, his head lying on father’s shoulder
and his hurt arm resting on Emily’s knee. Her blouse was mostly red now, as was
a good portion of her bib overalls, but she didn’t mention it. Her skin itched,
but she wasn’t even sure if she was willing to scratch it. 

Buell was still moaning occasionally from the pain and
seemed barely coherent. She had seen him hurt himself a lot, but never like
this. This was something new.

“Stay here,” father said when they were parked. He pulled
Buell out of the truck and carried him to the door. Without free hands, he
kicked the base of the door and waited. Emily saw the door open and they
disappeared inside. 

She waited in the truck, tapping her fingers against her
knee, and tried to amuse herself by humming. She ignored the blood on her
overalls and looked out the window at the expensive house, wondering what it
would be like to live here. 

The doctor also served as veterinarian for the racetrack, so
he’d come to their farm often to look after the horses. He had a lot of money,
but he was one of the few rich people that sent his children to their
school. 

That was only because his wife was their teacher though. They
were the only family that drove to school every day. She was a nice woman and a
good teacher, and Emily couldn’t help but wish her own life was like theirs. Then
she could be Mary’s friend. Maybe.

It was half an hour before her father reappeared at the
truck and climbed inside. By now it was getting late and the sun was setting. He
started the engine and pulled away from the house and onto the road. 

They drove in silence for a few minutes; her father didn’t
even acknowledge her sitting next to her. But she didn’t mind: she liked the
anonymity. But she was really worried about Buell. Finally, her anxiety got the
better of her.

“Is Buell going to be okay?”

It was a full minute before he responded. “He’ll be okay,”
father said, his voice quiet. He looked over at her, and she could see wetness
at the corner of his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

Emily wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself.

“I hope so,” Emily muttered. Her stomach growled and she
realized how long it had been since she’d eaten. The only thing she had that
morning was the candy she stole from Mary, and she hadn’t had much yesterday
either. She hesitated, then said: “Dad, I was invited to a friend’s—”

“You hungry?” he interrupted. “I’m starving.”

She nodded. “Uh huh.”

“What were you going to tell me?”

“One of my friends invited me to come over for dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“No,” Emily said, then shook her head. “Maybe, I don’t
know.”

“You don’t need to go to anyone’s house.”

“But—”

“No, Emily. Leave it.”

He steered the truck off the dirt road and up to a small
diner and gas station. Emily thought to object again, but to be honest she was
kind of relieved. There was no point worrying about Mary’s invitation, because
she didn’t have permission to go.

“Where are we?” she asked as he parked.

“Getting food.”

They were going to eat out? Emily hadn’t eaten out more than
a few times her entire life. She could hardly believe it. 

“This is the only restaurant I’ll eat at,” her father
explained. “They have fine hamburgers.”

She couldn’t think of a suitable reply. Her mouth was
salivating, and she reached to open the door. “No, you stay here,” he said. “I’ll
only be a couple of minutes.”

She nodded and sat back in the seat. He climbed out and
headed into the diner. There were no other cars in the parking lot, or on the
road for that matter.

She was starving now, and the thought of eating a hamburger
sounded fantastic. She thought back to the last time she’d eaten out and
couldn’t remember when it might have been. Her last meal this fancy was
Christmas, and she wasn’t sure what inspired her dad to bring her here. Maybe
he was feeling bad for her, for what she had to go through with Buell, or he
was just trying to be nice. He wasn’t usually that nice to her. Maybe he felt
bad for telling her she couldn’t go to Mary’s.

She had no idea, and to be honest she didn’t really care.

Ten minutes passed, then that dragged into twenty, and she
began to worry. What was taking so long? She kept humming, kicking her feet
against the dashboard, and finally climbed out of the truck. She decided to
make sure he was okay and nothing had happened. 

She walked up to the diner and reached for the door, then
hesitated. She could see through the glass window, and in the middle of the
store she saw her father putting his pants back on and a woman straightening
her blouse.

Emily wasn’t dumb; she knew exactly what that meant, and she
knew better than to be caught peeking. She hurried back to the truck and
clambered inside. Five minutes later her father came back out with a tray of
food. He smiled at her and handed her a hamburger and a bottle of soda. 

She could smell the food and couldn’t help but grin.

“Enjoy,” he said, pulling the truck back on the road. Emily
took a huge bite and savored the flavor, closing her eyes. It was amazing, and
the soda was just as good and sweet. She coughed when she first sipped it,
unused to the bubbles. The meal was delicious, one of the best she’d ever had,
and she took her time with each bite all the way home. 

Neither of them spoke, too focused on their bounty, and
Emily realized that with a full stomach the world could make sense again.

“You know, come to think of it, maybe it would be alright
for you to go to your friend’s house,” he said.

“Really?” she asked. 

He nodded. “Just let me know when, and I’ll tell your mom.
Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, suddenly thrilled and apprehensive. She
had permission, which meant now she had to find out if Mary meant it when she
invited her and OC over.

When they were close to the house her father spoke to her:
“Now, I wouldn’t say anything to anyone when we get home,” he said, then
casually added: “about the food…”

Emily just nodded.

Her mother was a little surprised when Emily said she didn’t
want supper considering she had skipped the midday meal, but she didn’t press
the issue. Emily went into her room and lay down on her bed, fuller than she
had been in days and enjoying the relaxed feeling.