I didn’t see much of Tate the weekend after Thanksgiving. Every time I called, she was resting and then she went back to school one day earlier than me. She didn’t explain why, just called one morning and said she’d decided to leave. I stayed in the workshop, determined to get finished with another design before I left. My decision to leave school after the semester was over was on shaky ground. Just like Tate had made her decision to go to the doctor, based in part on my encouragement, my decision to stay in school was now tethered to Tate.
My latest design was a charm bracelet for Tate for Christmas. It would be a surprise. I’d made it out of silver, but the charms themselves would be made out of a different metal each. Christmas was special at our house. Our Mama had made it special.
Like Thanksgiving, Tate’s Christmases had been more about being grateful for a roof over her head and food in her mouth. All that would change if I had any say so.
I loved the heat of the workshop. Stockton had kept it just like our dad did and it reminded me of him every minute. When I heard the stroke of Stockton’s hammer on metal, it was like he was with us.
“What did Preacher have to say to you the other night when you took Tate home?” Stockton stopped his hammering and pointed the question at me. It was weird for Stockton to ask me such a thing, usually he minded his own business. He was a hands-off kind of parental figure, at least for me. He had to watch West like a clock.
“Why?”
“Because I need to know what a good talkin’ to sounds like to get prepped for Willa dating.”
I threw down my own tool and whipped my head around. “Well, shit fire and save the matches, Stock. You’re not gonna let her date, are you? Not until she’s at least thirty.”
Apparently, all it took was one week back home and my words went from semi-country to full on hillbilly.
He shrugged. “I guess I have to. The shotgun hasn’t had much use lately. It needs something to do. She and Cami are always fixin’ their damned hair and putting shit on their eyes. It was better when Willa was just climbing trees and beating up boys. Now she’s talking on the phone and asking me for a cell phone. I just want to beat down any boy who calls the house. Make a list for a week or so, and then just make a day of it.”
We both laughed, mostly. The truth was that if anyone hurt Willa, there were plenty of mountains and caves where bodies were never found.
I thought back to that night, when Preacher took me outside. I was scared to death. It was bad enough he was her grandfather, but he was the preacher. He baptized me and her. By the time he was finished though, I was just happy to walk away with his blessing.
“He asked me if I was just playing around or if I really cared about her. Then he told me how him and Preacher wife courted and didn’t even kiss until their wedding day. He reminded me that some things are best left until marriage. And then he threatened parts of me that I never thought I’d hear Preacher mention.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t say anything, just stood there, nodding like a damned fool. What did you think I was gonna do, admit that I’d kissed her in the baptismal?”
He chucked his hammer on the floor.
“Bridger! You didn’t! Please tell me you didn’t. That sounds like some West trouble.”
Silence was the only answer my brother got.
Admit nothing—that was the best policy.
Stockton started hammering again before long and then I heard the fizzle of the hot metal as it was plunged into the barrel of water. He got a smaller hammer from the wall, one used for more specialized shaping. “When Willa starts dating, I’m just gonna make you and West come home for the weekend. West should be able to scare them off with his weirdness and you and I can be the brutes who make sure they stay away.”