Aquifer: A Novel Read Free

Valoura, taking her under her wing since their mother was always busy with the eight younger children.
    Ellen slowed her gait to a brisk walk and approached with a worried expression. She stopped just a few feet from her younger sister where she hesitated a second. As Valoura took the final step to close the gap between them, Ellen reached out and grasped her sister’s free hand. “Doc’s here,” she said with grave concern.
    Valoura stopped suddenly, frozen in fear. She dropped the water bucket with a crash, spilling the cool water onto the narrow dusty path. Her lower lip began to quiver. “They can’t do this to me. Papa has to understand! Help me make him understand!”
    “But Valoura, don’t ya see, it’s the only way,” Ellen tried to explain.
    But Valoura didn’t hear the words. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she briskly walked past Ellen, then began to run up the path that led to the house.
    *
    Otho and Doc stood beside the DeSoto talking in the front yard of the ram-shackled, run-down Ozark cabin that looked like a good sneeze would destroy. Thirty years earlier the farmhouse, bunkhouse, garage and barn had been built by the land owner as a hunting lodge. He had hoped to make his fortune by luring duck hunters and fishermen from the big cities. But his dreams had never materialized. The Great Depression affected not only Wall Street and Main Street but even backwoods hunting and fishing guides. Finally he abandoned the project. Fifteen years earlier he had leased the land and buildings to Otho on a year-to-year basis.
    Valoura’s mother, Armenda, reluctantly stood in the doorway of the screened-in porch, propping the screen open with her elbow as she observed Doc and her husband. She desperately wanted to hear what was said and to be part of the important discussion underway. Nevertheless, she knew her place and resigned herself to defer such talk to the menfolk.
    Otho reached into his hip pocket and took out a plug of tobacco. With his pocket knife he cut off a chunk, stuffed it into his mouth and slowly began to chew. Chewing tobacco was his only vice, but one which thoroughly disgusted his wife.
    Chickens scratched in the dirt nearby as several young children ran wildly through the yard, rolling an old car tire with a toddler spinning inside. They were headed to the edge of the hill, just past the out-house, to roll their younger sibling down the gentle slope into the meadow where the cows grazed. Funny thing about young children, no matter how poor they were, they never knew it.
    At the far corner of the yard, near the screened-in porch where Armenda stood, Otho’s oldest son, Lee Roy, was swinging a heavy sledge. It took several cords of wood to get them through the winter. The head of the wedge he used to split the tough oak logs was flared and splayed by the many poundings it had received at Lee Roy’s hand. Stacked against the side of the cabin was a large pile of already split wood, but this was kitchen-stove wood. Wood for the fireplace and the heating stove was stacked at the back of the cabin.
    “Any idea who the father is?” asked Doc.
    “Nah. She just said he was the son of some slickers down here on vacation,” answered Otho.
    “Sorry to hear that. City types have no respect for our way of life. I ought to know, I used to be one. The family I found is a good one though, Otho. I can’t tell you who they are, of course, but I can assure you that they’ll do well by the child.”
    At that moment Valoura breathlessly ran around the corner of the cabin. She stopped for a moment to size up the situation. Then she cautiously approached the two men. She knew that this was man-talk . It was best to not barge in on their conversation.
    “Then it’s settled. The child goes to them!” Otho stated emphatically, spitting tobacco juice onto the ground as if that finalized his decision.
    “Papa no!” shouted Valoura, unable to restrain herself any longer in this tense situation. “Ya