He turns back to the computer as if ignoring me.
“Kindred souls,” he says to himself with a laugh.
I go to the door to leave.
“I’ll look it up on the computer,” he says softly.
I turn to smile at him, but he is typing on his computer.
He doesn’t even know when I leave.
The book is old, with yellow, brittle pages. I look at the pictures first: farmers cutting sod, piling one brick on top of another, no trees in sight. There are women in long skirts, children and chickens nearby scattered across the yards, family dogs sitting there. I think of Lucy. Any one of these dogs could be Lucy.
It gets darker, and I turn on the light and lie down on the bed with the book.
“Jake?”
Mama whispers to me, and I wake up quickly as if she has yelled, the book falling to the floor. She leans down to pick it up. She leafs through the book, then hands it back to me.
“It’s late, Jake. Almost midnight.”
I yawn.
“Billy told me,” she says.
There’s a silence then, the only sound the wind outside my open window.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says.
“I’m not going to do it.”
Mama walks to the door.
“Why do you sound angry?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“You know,” she says, turning. The light in the hallway shines through her hair.
“When you were born, Billy loved you right away. When I see the two of you together …” She takes a breath. “Sometimes I think you were born for him.”
I look up, but she is gone.
And I know. I know that I’m not really angry. I am afraid. Afraid that I can’t build the sod house that Billy wants so much.
I turn out my bedside light. Then I turn it on again, and put the sod house book under my pillow and turn off the light again.
Kindred souls.
All I hear is the wind.
6
Birth and Death
On the last day of August, in a wild rainstorm, Rosie the cow has a calf.
“I didn’t know she was going to calf,” I say to Papa, looking out the window.
He has just come in dripping, his hair plastered to his head.
“Well, she knew,” says Papa with a smile, taking a towel from Mama to dry his hair.
“Always in the rain,” says Mama.
“Always,” says Billy at the kitchen table. “You know why?”
Billy is looking at me, but it is Lida who answers.
“Predators,” she says. “Coyotes or wolves. The rainwater washes off the scent, so it is safer for the calf.”
Billy nods at Lida.
Lida is the expert on farming, both machinery and animals. She keeps the animals healthy and the tractor in working order.
“We lost lots of calves to coyotes early on,” Billy says with that faraway look he gets, remembering. “Birth and death. Close together on a farm,” he says. “Very close,” he adds in a soft voice.
Mama looks up at Billy and then at Papa.
“The calf is in the barn,” Papa says.
Lida takes Papa’s hat off the hook by the door and puts it on, then her rain slicker.
“I’ll go make sure,” she says. “The wind is picking up.”
“Wait for me!”
I grab my coat and rain hat.
Together Lida and I run through the yard, the wind whipping around us. Suddenly my hat blows off, tumbling across the yard. I chase after it and can hear Lida laughing. I almost fall in the mud as we open the large wooden paddock gate.
“Look,” says Lida.
She takes my arm and pulls me into the barn. It is quiet all of a sudden. The smell of hay and animals fills the air.
Lida points.
There is Rosie, staring at us warningly. Next to her, almost under her belly, is the calf, beautiful and clean, with a white face and ears.
The other cows and Chico are at the back of the barn.
“Rosie is keeping the rest of them away,” says Lida.
“Oh,” I say. “Oh, look at you,” I whisper.
I kneel down, trying to get closer, but Rosie moves in front of her calf.
“You’ll have to wait until she gets used to having the calf,” says Lida. “Rosie’s protective.”
Lida scoops out some grain from the grain bin. She drops some in front of Rosie. The other cows look over and start moving toward us.
“Oops,” says Lida. “Have to feed the crowd.”
She takes grain to the rest of the cows in the back of the barn. Then she drops down and peers at the calf closely.
“A boy,” she says.
I smile at Lida in the warm, dry, sweet-smelling barn.
“A boy,” I repeat.
“Well?”
Billy looks up from the kitchen table as we rush out of the rain into the house.
“A boy,” Lida says.
Billy grins.
“Billy,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“Billy,” he repeats. “I want to name him Billy. That means there will be a Billy around here for a long time.”
There is a sudden silence in the room.
“But you’re Billy. And you’re here for a long time,” I say to him.
“Not forever,” says Billy. “I shall pass out of the picture one day. I plan to do so.”
I look quickly at the portrait of us all, hanging over the fireplace.
“He doesn’t mean that picture, Jake,” whispers Jesse.
I know that, and Jesse’s whisper brings tears to my eyes.
“No,” I say, ignoring Jesse and Billy.
Billy reaches out and takes my hand.
“No,” I say again.
Billy’s hand is dry.
“There will be no worrying here,” says Billy. “You hear?”
He says it very quietly, as if he’s saying it to me alone, but I know everyone else can hear.
I swallow and nod.
“There will be no worrying. There will be great joy because we have a new calf named … Billy!”
We all call out “Billy” together, and I can’t help smiling. Billy does that to me, even though, if he asked, I would tell him I am not full of joy.
It’s dark. Everyone has gone to bed. My bedroom door is open. I always sleep with it wide-open so I can hear Billy. I hear the clicking of Lucy’s nails on the wood floor and a sudden sound that I know is Lucy jumping up onto Billy’s bed.
When I look up, Jesse is leaning against the door frame.
“What?” I ask.
“You know, you may as well go along with Billy. He is powerful. You can’t change some things.” Jesse clears his throat and looks embarrassed.
“I know. There are some things you can’t change. No matter how hard you want to.”
And then Jesse is gone. He appears and disappears like Mama. I almost imagine I can see the outline of where he stood. In Billy’s room Lucy yawns a loud dog yawn.
I close my eyes.
Maybe I’ll do it.
7
Chickie
“So,” says Billy at the kitchen table, “we had a sod cutter like this.”
He points to the picture in the book: a farmer standing by some horses, getting ready to pull the cutter. Lucy lays at his feet, her eyes looking steadily at Billy.
Lida nods. “I’ve seen those in old barns. Rubin has one, I think. You could ask Rubin.”
Rubin is our neighbor a mile away. Sometimes he still uses horses for some garden plowing because he loves his horses.
“Nope,” says Billy. “It’s you I’m asking.”
“You need the right grass, you know,” says Lida. “Buffalo grass, or wheatgrass.”
“Yes,” says Billy. “Or what we have out there. Indian grass.”
Billy leans back and grins at Lida. “And you,” he says, “can learn how to cut the sod.”
Lida si
ghs and looks sideways at me. “I’m not saying I’ll do it, Billy,” she says. “But I’ll study it.”
“That’s good,” says Billy. “Jake will need that.”
I stare at Billy. I feel my face get hot.
“I didn’t really ever say I’d build a sod house!” I say. My voice is loud in the room.
Billy rubs his head as if it hurts.
Lucy whines.
“Jake,” warns Mama.
“That’s right,” says Billy. “You didn’t say you would.”
He stands up. He holds on to the table for a moment.
“You all right, Billy?” asks Mama.
“Tired.”
Mama puts her hand on Billy’s forehead.
“You have a temperature!” she says. “You’re hot.”
Mama makes Billy sit down. He is so much taller than Mama, but she sits him down as if he’s a child. Lucy sits up and puts her head on Billy’s leg.
“Lida. Call Doctor Miller. The number is on the refrigerator.”
“No,” says Billy. “I don’t want her. She’s bossy.”
“So are you,” says Mama. “And you flirt with her every time you see her!”
“That’s because she’s beautiful,” says Billy. “But bossy.”
Mama sits next to Billy and puts her arm around him and kisses him on his cheek.
“So are you,” Mama repeats softly.
An hour later Dr. Miller gets to the house. She is little and cheerful, with black hair. Billy is in bed with Lucy. I’m sitting next to the bed. Mama rocks in the rocking chair Billy’s mother brought from far away.
“A new calf!” she says happily as she comes into Billy’s bedroom. “And I see a dog.”
“Hello, Chickie,” says Billy.
“Stop flirting,” says Dr. Miller, laughing. “I’m a professional doctor.”
Dr. Miller pats Lucy, and Lucy wags her tail.
“The calf is named Billy,” I tell her. “Billy named him.”
“I see,” says Dr. Miller.
“This is Lucy,” says Billy.
Dr. Miller takes out her stethoscope.
“Everyone else can leave. Open your shirt, Billy.”
“Lucy stays,” says Billy.
“Lucy stays,” repeats Dr. Miller.
“I’m not really sick, you know,” we hear Billy say as we leave to stand in the hall.
“Then you won’t need me,” says Dr. Miller.
“What do you know about sod houses, Chickie?” asks Billy.
“Stop talking. I’m listening to your chest.”
In the hallway I start to cry.
“I yelled at Billy,” I whisper to Mama. “I’ve never yelled at Billy before. Ever.”
Mama reaches over and takes my hand.
“It’s my fault,” I say.
“It’s all right, Jake. Billy doesn’t care.”
She pulls me into her arms until Dr. Miller comes out to tell us that Billy has bronchitis.
“I’d feel better if he were in the hospital, but he won’t go unless Lucy can go. I’m worried about pneumonia. I’ll come by tomorrow morning. Please call if he has any trouble breathing. He needs rest and medicine.”
“He needs chicken soup,” says Mama.
They are both wrong and I know it.
I finally know it. He has told me. He has told us all. And now he has talked about it to Dr. Miller.
What Billy needs is a sod house.
8
Billy’s Rule
Lucy won’t leave Billy’s bed. She keeps watch while he sleeps, and watches him when he takes his medicine and eats chicken soup. Sometimes when I look in his bedroom, Billy is sleeping with his hand on Lucy’s head. Billy doesn’t talk much. That’s how I can tell he’s really sick. He never once talks about the sod house. He’s pale and doesn’t get out of bed very much the next day, except for once when I find him looking out the window to the slough.
Today I stand at his doorway, watching him breathe.
“Jake?”
I jump.
Billy doesn’t open his eyes, but he knows I’m there.
“Take Lucy out, will you? She won’t leave the bed.”
“Sure, Billy.”
“Lucy, Lucy.”
I call softly, but Lucy just looks at me.
Billy smiles.
“You’ll have to take her,” he says.
I take Lucy by her collar, and she jumps off the bed. She turns once to look at Billy, then follows me down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out into the yard.
It’s clear and warm, with no clouds in the sky. Too sunny for me. I shade my eyes and watch Papa’s tractor in the fields. Lida comes out of the barn, and she shades her eyes, too. I look up at the clump of Russian olives by the slough. I climb up the hill, Lucy still with me, until I get to the rock. Lida comes up behind me.
We don’t say anything for a minute. Then Lida looks down at me.
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” she says.
I nod.
“It will keep him happy. It’ll make him well again,” I say.
Lida sighs.
“I don’t know if it works that way, Jake.”
We turn to watch a car drive up the long dirt road to the house. Dr. Miller’s car.
Lida leans over to pat Lucy. Lucy turns and begins to walk back down the hill to the house.
“I just don’t know,” says Lida behind me.
Dr. Miller’s red car is small and dusty from driving on dirt roads.
“Hello, Lucy,” she says, bending down to stroke Lucy.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s not acting like Billy,” I say.
Dr. Miller nods.
“He’s sick. We’ll see if he calls me Chickie,” she says.
Together we walk up the porch stairs and into the house. I open the kitchen door for Dr. Miller, and she pats me on the head when she goes by, a soft pat that makes me feel better for some reason.
“Mama’s in Billy’s room,” I say.
Lucy and Dr. Miller disappear down the hallway.
Lida gets two glasses of water and ice from the refrigerator. She hands me a glass.
We sit at the kitchen table. It is quiet until Mama comes into the kitchen with Dr. Miller. Dr. Miller goes to the phone and dials. Mama looks pale, almost as pale as Billy looks.
“Billy will be better off in the hospital. We can keep an eye on him night and day,” says Dr. Miller.
And then Papa and Jesse are there, too.
Papa puts his arms around Mama.
“He’ll be close by, Charlotte,” he says. “We can visit him every day.”
Dr. Miller hangs up the phone.
“The ambulance is on its way,” she says.
“What about Lucy?” I ask suddenly.
Dr. Miller looks at me.
“There are rules, Jake,” she says softly.
“Rules?” I say loudly. “Those are your rules.”
“Stop, Jake,” says Papa.
“What about Billy’s rules?” I say.
I know I will begin to cry, the second time in two days. Mama is already crying.
“Billy has a rule about Lucy,” I say. “They have to be together. Lucy came to Billy! That’s Billy’s rule.”
Dr. Miller stares at me. She reaches over and takes my hand, and we hear the ambulance coming up the dirt road.
“That’s Billy’s rule,” I say again very softly before Dr. Miller puts her arms around me.
9
The Pact
Lucy stands next to Billy’s bed and stares at the stretcher, something new in Billy’s bedroom. Mama keeps her hand on Lucy’s head.
“Hello, Mae. Hi, Robbie,” Mama says to the EMTs.
“Hi, Lottie. How are you feeling, Billy?”
Mae stops when she sees Lucy.
“Is she friendly?”
Billy nods.
“She is just protecting me,” he whispers.
Mae smiles.
r /> “Well, tell her we are protecting you, too, Billy,” she says.
Billy beckons to me, and I come into the room.
Mae and Robbie shift Billy from his bed to the stretcher. Billy pulls me closer.
“You take care of Lucy,” he whispers. “You sleep in my bed and she’ll be all right. Not happy, but all right.”
“Your bed?”
I don’t want to sleep in Billy’s bed. That’s Billy’s bed, not mine. Billy should be there. Not me.
“Promise me, Jake?”
Billy looks at me sternly.
“I promise,” I say.
Billy pats my hand.
They take Billy through the kitchen, where Lida, Jesse, and Papa are standing.
“We’ll come see you,” says Papa.
“Bring decent food,” says Billy, trying to be funny.
“Not a bad idea,” says Dr. Miller, smiling, opening the door for Robbie and Mae.
We all walk out onto the porch as they open the doors to the ambulance and put Billy in.
“I’ll call you later,” says Dr. Miller, getting into her car. “You can visit starting at seven.”
The ambulance goes off. We stand, still and quiet, and then suddenly Lucy leaps off the porch.
Jesse makes a grab for her collar, but she dodges him.
She is off down the road, following the dust of the ambulance.
“Lucy!” calls Mama.
Lucy doesn’t stop or look around, but the ambulance stops.
“Go get her, Jake,” says Papa. “Take a rope from inside the barn.”
I run off to the barn and then down the road.
Robbie stands by the ambulance, waiting.
“That happens a lot,” he says. “That dog loves Billy. She’ll try to get away again.”
“Come on, girl,” I say, realizing that I sound like Billy. I tie the rope to Lucy’s collar.
The ambulance goes off. Lucy pulls, trying to run off again, but I hold her. I turn around and pull her. She’s strong, and she keeps looking back to the ambulance going off. But after a while she turns and follows me. Then she walks next to me all the way home, unhappily, her tail down.
Papa is back in the fields with Jesse. I walk up the stairs to the porch and into the kitchen. Only Lida is there.
I can hear Mama down the hall, rustling around in Billy’s room.
I take the rope off Lucy and hang it on a hook. Lida puts her arms around Lucy and pets her.