Dangerously Below the Horizon

Krista Wilde

My real Ma is dead. I hear the kids in the schoolhouse whispering behind my back, calling me the “Ma Murderer”. Sometimes when my cousins are trying to get a rise out of me, they call me that too. Most of the kids at school and all of the cousins are bigger than me, so I know I don’t stand a chance. Plus, the beatings are shorter if I stay quiet

My new Ma is beautiful. She has shiny long hair that she keeps in a thick braid and her eyes are as big as daisies. I made a picture of her when I was a little kid and used wild daisies for her eyes and made a braid from horse hair ,the horses didn’t mind the haircuts. She loves that picture and still has it on top of the pantry. She says it’s extra special because I made it and because her name is Daisy. In the summertime, when the daisies are in bloom, I pick some for her after, I have done my chores. She puts them in her hair, and looks even more beautiful, or in a vase on the table. Pa pushes them out of the way and asks gruffly, “Why do we need these weeds on the table?” But Ma cleans off the table after he leaves and proudly places the vase of daisies back in the centre on a crisp white linen doily.

Pa wants me to call her Daisy, not Ma, but I don’t listen to him. He gave up punishing me for it long ago. Now, when I call her Ma all he does is frown at me. I like to call her Ma and I know she likes it too. I see her eyes twinkle when I do.

I don’t remember when Ma arrived because I was just a baby. Pa had to write letters to faraway places to find a new wife. He couldn’t have been expected to take care of a baby and a farm as a widower. And besides, babies are women’s work. Ma answered his letters and took a long train ride to come to us. Secretly, I think Pastor Hanson helped him write the letters, Pa couldn’t have written anything good enough to get Ma to come. Pa isn’t a sweet-tempered man but if Ma has regrets, she never lets it show. She goes about milking the cow, washing clothes, tending the garden and all, without complaining.

It’s fall now and she’s canning the vegetables from the garden. Despite being busy, she always has time to hear about my day or about the book I’m reading. Pa says my first responsibility is the chores but Ma says that reading books are important, so sometimes she lets me stay in a little longer to finish my chapter.

Pa wants me to be strong, like him. He says I need to be tough to take over the farm because there’s no one else. Pa and Ma never had children of their own. Pa had wished that God would bless him with many children but all he got was me. And I’m not big like him. Despite having plenty of food to eat, my arms are skinny and you can see my bony knees and skinny legs through my pants.

Once when he was really frustrated with me for not being able to saddle the horse on my own, he said, “how could a skinny runt like you have killed your Ma?” I think he misses my real Ma.

Ma explained that Pa is not really mad at me for killing my real Ma; after all, lots of ladies die in childbirth and you can’t blame the babies or the mothers. She told me that only God knows why he takes some of us early and leaves others. She says that all she knows is that she is very glad that God left me for her to find. Besides, Ma says that I will grow to be big and strong like Pa someday and that it’s just going to take some time.

It’s my job to clean the chicken coop. It’s important to Pa that I work more to become big and strong, so I don’t stop to rest. I can see Pa approaching. He walks with long strides, his big hands swinging back and forth with each step.

“This is supposed to be done so you can go goose hunting with your cousins the day after tomorrow,” Pa says with a scowl on his face.

“I don’t want to go hunting with them anyway,” I reply, wiping the sweat from my brow. And I mean it. I hate going anywhere with my cousins. They are bullies.

“This year you’ll be able to shoot a goose yourself though,” says Pa encouragingly.

“I can hardly shoot the gun at a target, let alone a flying bird,” I say defeatedly.

“Tomorrow, we’ll practice,” replies Pa.

I’m shocked! Pa actually feels bad for me? This must be important..

The next morning, true to his word, Pa comes into the kitchen holding the 12 gauge.

“Come on ” he says.

“Where are you off to with that thing?” asks Ma.

I see Pa has the pistol tucked into his belt. Ma doesn’t like the pistol. She says they’re bad because people only use them to kill other people.

“We’re going out practicing so he’s ready for goose hunting this weekend”, Pa replies.

“Surely you aren’t sending him out with those boys? Last year he came back covered in bruises and had a black eye!” Ma says with a frown. “Those boys are nothing but trouble.”

“Well maybe if he wasn’t such a wimp, they wouldn’t pick on him,” Pa replies.

Ma puts her arm around me and says “Look Pa, he ain’t in a hurry to grow up. He doesn’t have to prove anything to them”.

She’s right. I don’t have to prove nothin’ to my stupid cousins, but I do have to prove to Pa that I’m no wimp.

“Let’s go”, I say to Pa, blinking back tears.

Ma shakes her head in frustration as we walk out the door.

Practicing with the 12 gauge turned out to be a disaster, as I thought. The kickback is so strong that it nearly knocked me over. Although Pa may have been disappointed at first, he cheered up when I asked if we could shoot the pistol. It turns out I am pretty good at it. I hit the target and Pa actually smiled!

Despite having to go hunting with my cousins, I am still happy after yesterday’s practice with the pistol. I was up early and finished my chores. Ma packed my lunch and she has given me a candy stick. Pa says candy will stunt my growth but Ma knows I like it. Sometimes when she goes to town to pick up supplies, she’ll buy one for me. She’s the kindest person in the whole wide world. But, she doesn’t know that the cousins will just steal it from me, so I decide to hide it and have it when I come home.

I make my way to my bedroom to hide my candy before cousins arrive. As I walk past their bedroom, I notice that Pa’s pistol is in its holster hanging on the bedpost. Pa is gone to butcher pigs with some of the neighbours and I’ll be home from goose hunting long before him, I thought. I smiled, Ma will never notice the pistol’s gone and it might come in handy with those nasty cousins. If I can show them I can shoot, then maybe they won’t bother me no more.

Quietly, I take off my coat and put on the holster. My coat hangs halfway down to my knees. Pa bought it three sizes too big saying I would grow into it. Lucky for me, it covers the holster completely.

I hear the cousins shouting my name. “Come on runt, time to kill some geese,” calls Chester. He is my oldest cousin. He’s not very tall but he’s stocky and strong. When he punches, it really hurts.

Ma is in the kitchen and she has a worried look on her face.

“You’ll be back at sunset?”

“Yup,” I reply in the most cheerful manner I can muster.

“Not a minute later than that sun touching the horizon or I am going to get very worried. Are you going to the slough out through the back of the Walker place?” Ma asks.

“Yup,” I reply with a forced grin.

“Be careful today, Billy. I think those boys are still too young to be shooting guns,” she says anxiously. “Pa will be working late and too busy to come look for you. If something happens and you don’t come back on time, I…”

I cut her off before she can finish. “I’ll be fine,” I say with a real smile this time, thinking of my hidden pistol. I give her a kiss on the cheek and scurry out the door before she notices the gun.

We hunt, or the cousin’s do anyway. I walk behind and they occasionally whistle at me like a dog to catch up. The sun is getting low and it’s quickly getting colder now; not much longer until sunset. Chester takes a rope that has the geese tied by their necks and flings it over my shoulders. “Since you are too useless to do anything else, you can carry ‘em back,” he says with a sneer.

We walk through the field and head towards a small clump of aspen trees. The dripping geese have made my clothes wet and I can feel a chill sinking into my bones. The weight of the birds makes every step hard. I am pretty sure I am carrying half my weight in dead, smelly geese but I know better than to complain or ask for help.

“Let’s go through the bush,” barks Chester, “it’s the quickest way to the road if we head through there. We’ll come out at the old Walker place.”

I’m relieved to take the shortest route home. The Walker place has a small caved-in barn and a decrepit house. No one has lived there for many years.

“Did you know that there’s a creep snatchin’ up kids?” my cousin Walter asks. Walter is Chester’s younger brother. He likes to twist arms.

“No, there’s not,” I say. Do they really think I am gonna fall for this?

“Yeah, sure is,” says Robert. He is six feet tall and only fourteen years old. He likes to kick. “The creep has taken five kids this summer! Word is that he tortures ‘em before he kills ‘em. The sheriff has found bodies but he hasn’t told the public yet because the mothers would be beside themselves.”

I try to look unconcerned. The weight of the birds is making the rope cut into my shoulders and the pistol is weighing heavy on my waist.

“He ‘specially likes small kids. Like you, runt,” says Walter. “Rumor has it that the sheriff thinks he has Floyd Stone.”

Floyd Stone disappeared in spring. He was out checking fences and hasn’t been seen since.

“I heard that the sheriff thinks he probably has ‘em boys tied up in an abandoned farm,” says Chester.

“Probably hidin’ out in an old farm like the Walker place,” says Walter.

“We walked right by the farm this morning and didn’t hear a thing,” I say with confidence.

“That’s just it! No noise at all and that’s why it’s strange,” Chester whispers, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I’m not scared,” I say as I think of my pistol.

“We’ll see about that!” Yells Robert. And with that, the cousins all take off running through the trees.

I run after them, but the birds are heavy, and the pistol is knocking on my thigh. Out of breath, I slow to a walk. The sun is dipping dangerously below the horizon.

I make it to the edge of the bush and see the farmhouse in front of me. I know that behind the farmhouse is the driveway which makes its way out to the road. I stop and listen intently. I do not hear the cousins. Carefully I make my way through the tall grass.

Not so much as a cricket is chirping.

Crunch-crunch-crunch. Is that me making that noise? I stop but the noise continues. Its footsteps! As quietly as possible, I drop the geese and rush to take cover behind the house. I feel for the pistol.

Don’t be scared. You have a pistol. I gently pull it out and pull the hammer back. I can hear the rustling of the long grass. It’s a single person coming down the side of the house. I have nowhere to hide.

A figure appears at the corner. It is twilight now, and I can only make out the dark outline of a person.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” I choke out.

“Billy…?”

But it’s too late. My finger has tightened on the trigger. The shot rings out in the crisp fall air…

Days later, I take the dried daisies from the picture on top of the pantry and I put them over closed eyes. Her hair still shines beautifully in the casket. They close the lid and carry her out of the church. I follow behind.

I could hear the people in the last pews solemnly whispering, “That poor boy; he killed his Ma.”