My Father Like a River Read Free

looked more like a raft than a
porch. Firewood was stacked on one side, and closer to the door an axe leaned
between a shovel and a hoe. She let her eyes settle on the axe long enough to
make sure he noticed it. Sinkler saw now that she was younger than he’d thought,
maybe eighteen, at most twenty, more girl than woman.
    â€œHow come you not to have chains on you?”
    â€œI’m a trusty,” Sinkler said, smiling. “A prisoner,
but one that can be trusted.”
    â€œAnd all you want is water?”
    Sinkler thought of several possible answers.
    â€œThat’s what they sent me for.”
    â€œI don’t reckon there to be any money in it for
us?” the girl asked.
    â€œNo, just gratitude from a bunch of thirsty men,
and especially me for not having to haul it so far.”
    â€œI’ll have to ask my man,” she said. “Stay here in
the yard.”
    For a moment he thought she might take the axe with
her. As she walked into the field, Sinkler studied the house, which was no
bigger than a fishing shack. The dwelling appeared to have been built in the
previous century. The door opened with a latch, not a knob, and no glass filled
the window frames. Sinkler stepped closer to the entrance and saw two
ladder-back chairs and a small table set on a puncheon floor. Sinkler wondered
if these apple-knockers had heard they were supposed to be getting a new
deal.
    â€œYou can use the well,” the girl said when she
returned, “but he said you need to forget one of them pails here next time you
come asking for water.”
    Worth it, he figured, even if Vickery took the
money out of Sinkler’s own pocket, especially with no sign up ahead of another
farmhouse. It would be a half-dollar at most, easily made up with one slick deal
in a poker game. He nodded and went to the well, sent the rusty bucket down into
the dark. The girl went up on the porch but didn’t go inside.
    â€œWhat you in prison for?”
    â€œThinking a bank manager wouldn’t notice his teller
slipping a few bills in his pocket.”
    â€œWhereabouts?”
    â€œRaleigh.”
    â€œI ain’t never been past Asheville,” the girl said.
“How long you in for?”
    â€œFive years. I’ve done sixteen months.”
    Sinkler raised the bucket, water leaking from the
bottom as he transferred its contents. The girl stayed on the porch, making sure
that all he took was water.
    â€œYou lived here long?”
    â€œMe and Chet been here a year,” the girl said. “I
grew up across the ridge yonder.”
    â€œYou two live alone, do you?”
    â€œWe do,” the girl said, “but there’s a rifle just
inside the door and I know how to bead it.”
    â€œI’m sure you do,” Sinkler said. “You mind telling
me your name, just so I’ll know what to call you?”
    â€œLucy Sorrels.”
    He waited to see if she’d ask his.
    â€œMine’s Sinkler,” he said when she didn’t.
    He filled the second bucket but made no move to
leave, instead looking around at the trees and mountains as if just noticing
them. Then he smiled and gave a slight nod.
    â€œMust get lonely being out so far from everything,”
Sinkler said. “At least, I would think so.”
    â€œAnd I’d think them men to be getting thirsty,”
Lucy Sorrels said.
    â€œProbably,” he agreed, surprised at her smarts in
turning his words back on him. “But I’ll return soon to brighten your day.”
    â€œWhen you planning to leave one of them pails?” she
asked.
    â€œLast trip before quitting time.”
    She nodded and went into the shack.
    â€œT he
rope broke,” he told Vickery as the prisoners piled into the truck at quitting
time.
    The guard looked not so much skeptical as aggrieved
that Sinkler thought him fool enough to believe it. Vickery answered that if
Sinkler thought he’d lightened his load he was mistaken.