“I’m cold.”
“We won’t be in here for much longer. Stop fidgeting.”
“And it’s dark.”
Emily struggled to ignore her irritating friend, yet she couldn’t help but admit that Olivia was right. It was frigid and cramped in here, and even from her position she couldn’t see more than a circle of light at the end of their pipe.
They were tucked down close together inside a culvert that ran beside Jakob’s Lane, Emily in front and Olivia just behind clutching her ankles. Emily could just make out the dirt road ahead of them through the opening, and her eyes were at knee height for most passersby—not that they saw many passersby.
Water was seeping through her dress and she knew her mother would yell at her as soon as she got home, but she didn’t mind. Outside the culvert it was a beautiful spring day, the sun just past its precipice, and she was hungry. She knew Olivia was hungry too, but they didn’t talk about it.
Hunger was just a fact of life she came to terms with long ago, but she noticed it more now that she was about to get food. Her stomach felt like it was eating itself.
“Can’t we hide behind the trees this time?” Olivia asked, her voice echoing through the pipe.
“No, she’ll see us,” Emily said. “Don’t be a fathead.”
“We always hide in here though. She’s probably expecting us.”
Emily didn’t have a suitable reply. They sat in silence, then she felt Olivia squirming against her calves, sloshing water on her bare skin. She thought to say something and just sighed instead.
“Are we going to get in trouble?” Olivia asked.
“No, OC. We won’t get in trouble.”
“But what if she tells on us?”
“She won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“’Cause she hasn’t yet,” Emily replied.
“Oh yeah,” Olivia said. There was a short pause, then: “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why hasn’t she told on us?” Olivia asked.
Emily hesitated. “She just won’t,” she said. Truth be told, Emily had no idea why the little girl from up the street hadn’t told on them. They had been here, inside this culvert, lying in wait for her half a dozen times, and still no one else seemed to know about it.
Each time their fear and guilt made them promise each other it would be the last; Emily worried that when she returned home her parents would be there waiting for her: Dad’s punishment with a belt was terrifying enough, but Mom always sent Emily to cut her own switch.
And she could never find one that wouldn’t hurt.
But there was no punishment after that first time. Nor any subsequent theft, which meant the little girl wasn’t telling anyone. Emily didn’t even know the girl’s name, even though she lived less than a twenty-minute walk from her home.
All she knew was the girl came from a rich family—always walking in expensive clothes bought in a store—one of the few in the neighborhood, and she didn’t go to their school. Her father was a thoroughbred horse trainer at a nearby track who worked for a wealthy owner. But even with the girl going to a different school she would have no trouble figuring out who they were and tell someone what was happening to her.
So why hadn’t she?
“I think I see something,” Emily whispered over her shoulder. Her voice echoed all around in the culvert and she winced, certain her words could be heard well outside. She peered through the opening and tilted her head to get a better angle, then saw a pair of shoes slip by along the road.
Emily scrambled forward out of the culvert and onto the road only a few dozen feet from the passing girl. She was small, maybe two years younger than Emily, and pretty with shoulder length blonde hair. She had a school bag over her shoulder.
Jackpot. The little girl jumped when Emily appeared from her hiding place, but didn’t flee.
“Don’t run!” Emily shouted anyway.
She heard more scrambling in the culvert and a few seconds later Olivia appeared beside her.
“Take her bag, OC,” Emily ordered.
The little girl looked down at the ground. She held the bag out in offering. Olivia stepped forward and snatched it, yanking it open.
OC’s face lit up.
“Oh, oh! There are chocolate drops in here. And cinnamon rolls, and a cookie!”
Emily stepped beside Olivia and peered over her shoulder. It was true, there was a little pouch of Cinnamon Rolls sitting on top of the girl’s papers and books. She snatched it out and tore the bag open. The smell almost overwhelmed her and she found herself smiling. She pulled one of the rolls out and ate half in one bite, offering the other half to Olivia.
It was delicious, better than she’d expected, and she couldn’t stop grinning. There were even chocolate drops, a real treat. They removed the foodstuffs from the bag—this was the remains of the little girl’s lunch, she realized in amazement; the things rich kids have—and then tossed the bag back to the girl.
The girl deftly caught it, but kept her eyes on the road at her feet.
“Wow, this is…this is smooth,” Olivia mumbled. Emily nodded, taking one of the chocolate drops and popping it into her mouth. Her stomach still felt like it was churning, but now in a good way. She felt warm, closing her eyes and savoring the chocolate as it melted.
The elation built up and then drained away, though, just as it always did, and she began to feel remorse for her actions.
She opened her eyes again and saw the little girl still standing in front of her, looking at the ground and twirling the dirt with her shoe. Her bag was slung over her shoulder again and hands locked behind her back.
Every other time the little girl ran off as soon as they stole her food, but this time she stayed.
A long moment passed, the only sound Olivia chewing on a cookie.
Slowly the silence became unbearable.
What is she waiting for?
“We’re…uh…we’re sorry we took your stuff,” Emily offered, turning to Olivia for support. Olivia just stared back at her, a blank expression on her face.
The girl didn’t respond.
Emily felt more remorse as time passed, realization sinking in of what they had done.
Whenever the little girl ran away and left them with the stolen food, it was as though they had achieved victory over an unknown enemy and were enjoying the spoils of war. But now with the victim still here, it just felt like eating candy they stole from an innocent little girl a few years younger than themselves.
“I would pay, if I could—”
“My name is Mary Monroe,” the little girl said suddenly, keeping her eyes to the dirt. Emily and Olivia exchanged glances. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Emily hesitated. “Thanks.”
“And I wasn’t going to eat that stuff anyway. My mom always packs me too much candy ‘cause I say I’m extra hungry. I was just going to give it to you. Do you like horses?”
Emily nodded.
“I love horses. I think they are pretty, but my mom won’t let me ride them. She tells me it’s too dangerous. But I like to go to the races with my father. Do you like to go to races?”
Emily nodded again. She was starting to feel sick once more, but this time it wasn’t from food or hunger. She stared at the little girl, locked in place and unable to speak.
“I should go,” Mary said, glancing up at them and flashing a smile, then looking back at the dirt. “My mom said I could ask you over for supper if you want. Or invite you to come see our horses. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Then she was gone, disappearing up the road.
Emily sat alone in her room, staring at nothing. The only light source she had was a little greasy window halfway up the wall behind her, and it didn't give much light even though it was only midday. Her mother didn’t want her burning candles until it was pitch black outside, and only then for schoolwork.
A banner hung along the wall that read: ‘Congratulations Burming Class of ’38,’ but that was the only decoration in the room. The banner wasn’t even Emily’s, but belonged to her sister Janis, who didn’t like it hanging in her own room. Emily thought the caramel-colored banner spruced up her abode at least a bit. It was at least more colorful than the blandness of the rest of the house.
Her home was old, decrepit, and cramped with seven people living in it. But it was still her home. She could hear the bustle from the other side of the wall as her family talked and ate, but she was off in her own world of self-induced guilt.
The commotion gradually died down and she heard the door opening as people funneled outside; dad and her brothers to work in the fields, mother to finish laundry, and her sister to play with paper dolls—cut out of magazines. She always hid in the garden to avoid work.
The house fell quiet, but only for a few minutes, then she heard the house door open again and footsteps tap their way to her room. Her door opened without a knock, and she saw Buell standing there, peering in at her.
“You missed lunch,” Buell said.
“I’m not hungry,” Emily replied.
“Dad wants you to help with the hay. He had to drive to town, so it’s just me and you today.”
“Why do I have to help? Why not Janis?”
“She’s a girl.”
“I’m a girl too!”
Buell grinned. “News to me.”
Emily sighed. “Janis has that stupid heart flutter and mom won’t let her do any real work.”
“Don’t snap your cap. I still need help. Don’t worry, I’ll let you climb on top and stack it.”
Emily shook her head, standing up from her floor mattress and following her brother outside. “You know I’m stronger than you. I’ll throw them up to you.”
He snickered. “You sure you aren’t a boy?”
“Shut up,” Emily said. They walked to the barn and grabbed two pitchforks, and then Buell climbed up the side of the barn to the loft. There was a ladder inside, but he never used it. No matter how many times mother berated him.
The loft was only twelve feet in the air, and Emily didn’t figure his climbing to be unsafe, but she knew her mother liked to worry about things just for the sake of worrying. She thought to mention it to Buell, just to elicit an angry response, then changed her mind. She wasn’t in the mood to make jokes; she felt too guilty about Mary.
“So where were you this morning?” Buell asked, as if reading her mind.
“What do you mean?” Emily asked, climbing onto the wagon and scooping some hay. She flung it up at the loft, then sneezed. She hated working with hay because of the dust and how itchy it made her skin, but if they didn’t get it all in the loft dad would get angry. God, forbid it rained and they hadn’t finished the job.
“Well, you were supposed to be at school before me, but when I showed up I found out the principle cancelled, and when I got back home you weren’t here.”
“I was busy.”
“Flapping your lips?” Buell asked. “Goofing off?”
“Just busy,” Emily said, adding finality to her tone. She continued flinging the hay up, closing her eyes most of the time so she wouldn’t get falling hay dust in them.
“Okay fine. Don’t tell me,” Buell said. “I didn’t really care anyway, was just asking.”
“I was with OC,” Emily said. Then, before she could stop herself, she added: “We stole some girl’s food.”
“Oh really? What did you get?” Buell asked. If there was any trace of disapproval in her older brother’s tone, Emily couldn’t detect it. “And who from?”
“The little girl up the street.”
“Butch’s daughter?”
Emily nodded. Buell whistled through his teeth.
“That’s brave sis.”
No, it isn’t, Emily knew. It’s selfish and cruel. “We stole her cinnamon rolls and cookies. I feel really bad about it.”
“She goes to Mooreland Elementary, right?” Buell asked. “I’ve seen her on the road lots of times.”
“Her name is Mary Monroe,” Emily replied in relief. With how bad she felt, it was nice to get it off her chest, and she knew that Buell wouldn’t tell mom and dad. They had an unspoken agreement between them to not rat each other out. She could never tell her sister, Janis, who would go right to her parents with the information. But Buell could be trusted.
“Cinnamon rolls,” Buell mused. “I haven’t had one of those in forever. I might have to steal from her one of these days.”
“You can’t,” Emily blurted, then blushed. “I mean you shouldn’t. It’s wrong.”
She knew her brother would never see her flushed face, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. She expected some sort of snarky comeback from Buell, teasing her for defending the same girl she just stole from earlier today.
Instead, he said:
“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?” he asked, incredulous. Then he laughed: “Hang! She must be really lonely to invite you!”
“Since I stole from her?”
“No, because she’s inviting you,” Buell said, still 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? They probably have 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 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 the 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 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.
Her mother was a little surprised when Emily said she didn’t want supper considering she had skipped the midday meal as well, but she didn’t press the issue. Emily went into her room and lay down on her bed, miserable and depressed. Buell was better, but still in pain after her father wrapped his arm. The bone was broken and he had to set it, which meant a lot more screaming from her brother.
All she could think about was Mary. She’d stolen from her half a dozen times and never given her a single thought. Why was this time different? What had changed?
Everything, she realized. Nothing would ever be the same.
A few hours later she heard a knock on her door and opened her eyes. She let out a big yawn, rubbing the sleep away. Her mother was standing in her doorway.
“Uncle Vic’s here, and he brought his radio,” mother said.
“A horse race?”
“No, not tonight. The Kentucky Derby isn’t until next week.”
Emily let out a sigh. If only. “The Grand Ole Opry?” she asked. It was technically called ‘The Prince Albert Show’ but everyone knew of it as the Opry.
Mom nodded. “Come on, or you’re going to miss it.”
Emily followed into the living room where everyone was gathered and took a seat next to her sister Janis. Her uncle was fiddling with the radio, and all they could hear was static, but after a few minutes they heard the station pick up. They listened in silence for a while, then Janis leaned over to Emily:
“How’s Buell?” she whispered.
“He’s going to be okay,” Emily whispered back. “That’s what dad said.”
“Natch,” Janis said. “Then why you so upset?”
“I’m not,” Emily said.
“But—”
“Leave it.”
Those were the only words anyone spoke during the entire show, and other than that the only sound was the Grand Ole Opry broadcast with Red Foley.
Emily doubted that Janis really cared; she never really got along with Buell and only tolerated him because they were related. The show played until midnight, then went off the air and was replaced by static.
Gradually the living room returned to normal, and they filtered out to their respective rooms and beds. Normally after listening to the show, the boys would go out hunting for outhouses to tip over, but without Buell feeling well the adventure wasn’t even offered. Janis was one of the first to go to bed, followed by her parents and cousins. Uncle Vic left and Emily was alone.
She went back to her room and climbed into bed. It was a quiet night after a long day. They wouldn’t have school the next day either, and there wasn’t much work around the house, so she would have a relatively free day.
She felt tired, but didn’t think she would be able to sleep; yet when she woke up the next morning, she didn’t remember falling asleep or dreaming.
She remembered her last thoughts to be about Mary Monroe and how confusing life was. Why did Mary invite her over after Emily robbed her? Did Mary actually want to be her friend? Could she be friends with Mary?
Nothing made sense.
It made even less since when she woke up Olivia up the next morning from her house up the road. Together they headed back to the same spot where they waylaid Mary the morning before and waited. She couldn’t decide if she was there to rob Mary again or ask to be her friend. Everything was just too confusing.
But life was sweet.
