This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [40]
In the quiet of her departure,Summer sat thoughtfully. A big June bug buzzed against the glass window pane. Behind the house, she could hear Sadie scolding. Down by the creek, a mockingbird sang. Then she heard the sound of a male voice and Slater and John Austin rode into the yard. Summer watched the man on the big horse and the boy on the sorrel. Her little brother was slipping away from her.
Slater dismounted and glanced at the boy. The kid had grit and staying power; he had taken him over a rough trail and the tyke had hung on like he was glued.
“Get off the horse, John, and come ‘round and talk to her. She’ll learn you’re not afraid. That’s the first thing she needs to know about you. After that, she’ll know who’s boss and will be your best friend, could save your life someday. You take care of her and she’ll take care of you.” He talked evenly and confidently, showed the boy how to strip off the saddle and bridle, stood aside while John Austin struggled, and then helped him tturnthe mare into the corral.
“You’re not going, are you, Slater? Can I come with you? Can I look at your books?”
“I’ll bring some over for you after you finish your chores.” They walked to the woodpile. “Stack this wood in a neat pile, John. And gather the chips in that tow-sack and leave them outside the back door for the women to use to start the fire.” Slater picked up the axe that was lying on the ground and sunk the blade in a log. “Never leave the axe on the ground when you’re through with it. Always sink the blade into the stump and it will stay free of rust. Another day I’ll teach you to use it. Now I’ll show you how to stack the wood so if we get a downpour it won’t all get water-soaked.”
As long as Slater worked, John Austin worked. When Slater stopped to roll a smoke, John Austin stopped until Slater motioned him to continue.
An hour later, the two of them walked into the kitchen. Slater hung his hat on a peg and stepped outside to the washbench. John Austin, his face covered with sweat, bark and wood-dust, headed for the table and snatched a cake from the pile of freshly sugar-dusted doughnuts.
Slater appeared in the doorway. “Wash first, John.”
To Summer’s annoyance, her brother sat down at the table and stuffed his mouth with the warm cake. Before she could say anything, Slater spoke again.
“Up, John!” It was as unexpected as the crack of a whip.
The boy looked at his sister and wiped his hands on his shirt. Summer’s face flooded with embarrassment.
“John Austin!” she hissed. At that moment, she could have slapped him.
“Did you hear me, John?” Slater was behind him. He glanced at Summer. Her face was flushed, but her chin was up and her eyes wide.
“He doesn’t usually. . . .” she began.
John Austin glanced unconcernedly at Slater. Summer would take care of it. She always did. He reached for another cake. A hard brown hand engulfed his, and he was lifted from the chair.
“It’s time you had a lesson in obedience and manners, boy.” He headed for the door. Summer’s heart leaped into her throat when her brother looked back at her with pleading eyes. “Get out to the woodpile and finish stacking the wood. Then, wash your hands and apologize to your sister and Mrs. Bratcher. Do you understand?”
There was a long silence when Slater turned from the door. Summer stood, dusting the hot doughnuts with sugar, not trusting herself to words because they would have been indignant ones. They would have been in defense of herself, and only partly because of John Austin.
“Well?” A flicker of anger was in his eyes. “You allow him to get away with such behavior? Run rough-shod over you? Haven’t you taught him any manners?”
Manners? Obedience? How could this man know what it was like to raise a fatherless boy? A daydreamer of a little boy, who had been hers to care for and to worry about while caring for a sick mother. Summer’s face, in the soft light of the kitchen, was stolid, her eyes like empty