Shane slid his legs into bed. His knee cap, poked by the sharp and sturdy edge of straw beneath cloth, incited a gasp that rushed a wind of alcohol soaked breath into Sarah’s face.
“Is that whiskey I smell?” Sarah asked.
“I had a little,” Shane replied.
“You reak.”
Shane nuzzled up against Sarah, yet Sarah stirred and rolled Shane to face away from her.
“I don’t want to smell you all night,” she declared.
Shane breathed silently unsure of how to retaliate in this battle.
“I can’t sleep with you hovering over me,” she continued. “I can’t sleep with Peter snoring like a cow in the next room.”
Shane was groggy from heavy drink so he retired any urge for argument. He sprawled across his side of the bed anxious to doze and fade away from new comments to spring from Sarah’s mouth. As Shane predicted, her lips sprang into motion.
“Last night I dreamt I was out working in the fields and the noon sun was so scorching that it cooked me. Then the fields started to eat me. I cried for you to save me but you were still in bed recovering from drink. So you did not save me.”
“It was just a dream.”
“It felt quite real.”
“Morning, Esther.”
Esther coughed and then nodded.
“I’m off to barley pulling,” Shane announced. Esther looked at Shane with eyes of mellow pride – the kind of pride that kin refrain from outright expressing yet harbor behind the muscles of a hardened face with pure and gleaming fondness.
Shane stepped outside and could see his breath. The seasons are turning sooner, he thought. Autumn was approaching, stirring the urgency to collect a ripe harvest. Shane spent a moment stroking the manes of his two horses before commencing the day’s labor.
Shane reaped the land. It was his livelihood and his means to support the people dearest to him: his wife Sarah, his father Peter and his Grandmother Esther. All four cohabited the humble cabin which held a small kitchen and a den adorned with deer heads and fish skins among slabs of wood above a fireplace with a few books resting on the slanted surface. Below, cushioned chairs held the history of imprinted backs and butts. Two small living quarters opened through two narrow doors along the wall opposite the fireplace. One room had a bed for Sarah and Shane. The other room had a bed for Grandmother Esther and a hammock for Peter in the corner. Each room had two thin windows that crinkled like paper in the wind, permitting in the winter’s biting draft numbed only by aggressive sips of whiskey.
Their barn housed a cow for milk, sacks of barley, a wagon and two cats that protected the barley from the pillaging of field mice. The barn found itself mostly empty each autumn as Shane hauled the collected sacks into nearby towns and sold them. The earnings allowed him to purchase tools, ammunition and a plentiful supply of the family pastime: whiskey.
That morning as the chimney puffed smoke and Shane whipped his hoe into the sky, letting gravity rip it to the ground, the man paused and searched for the best word to describe how he now felt: irked. He could picture his father inside the warm cabin enjoying a hot steaming cup of coffee spiked with drips of whiskey. Shane burnt up with jealousy and thought of how badly he desired a glass; how badly he deserved it. After all, Shane was the workhorse who reaped sustenance for this household. He counted the days to when he’d commence his sojourn into town. “It cannot come sooner,” Shane muttered.
Whiskey disappeared at a fast rate with Peter’s consumption. Many years ago Peter suffered a back injury when thrown from a horse. He considered himself lucky in consequence compared to his late wife Beth, whose neck snapped loudly and instantly. The tiny bones in Peter’s vertebrae never quite healed properly, resulting in a perpetual back pain for which whiskey was the best medicine. Shane cursed Peter on a regular basis for draining the supply. Peter would only laugh and declare it as the doctor ordered.
Shane returned from the distraction of envy to fling his hoe into mother earth. Peter stepped outside, sipping from a steaming mug. Shane silently cursed him. Peter waved. Shane spat then nodded. Peter stretched then grabbed at his back and grimaced. “Boy does he look ugly when he does that,” Shane sighed.
While Shane was hauling the barley over the course of the afternoon, Sarah had managed to spot a wild turkey rustling in the grasses behind the cabin. With a battered rifle, she shot this bird.
That night, the Bowermaster family sat down to eat the turkey. They perched around an almost square table, with thick uneven knots that held the weight of their hungry elbows. Shoddy cabinets stood warped from damp weather. The brick oven blazed beside them, stringing beads of sweat from their foreheads. It was cramped and cozy. Each had a glass of milk to go with their meal. Peter had an extra glass. It was a glass of whiskey.
“Easy on that,” Shane pointed out.
“I drink what I need to,” Peter replied.
“How much do we have left?”
“We have half a jug.”
“Goddamnit!”
“Shut your trap son, if you realized my pain –”
Shane whipped up his hands covered in blisters from the grit of palm skin against wood.“Pain? Pain! Are my toils forgotten and not rewarded?”
Peter slipped into a red faced silence. After a quiet moment, Peter pushed his glass towards Shane.“You can finish my glass Son.”
“Don’t fret Dad, I won’t take your precious medicine away from you.”
“Take it.”
“Forget it.”
“My joints are throbbing, I’ll finish your whiskey,” Esther chimed in. She reached across the slanted table and grabbed hold of Peter’s glass. Esther opened her throat and guzzled. Both Shane and Peter’s faces elongated with regret.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Shane.”
“You gonna sneak the rest of the jug tonight while we all sleep, you selfish son of a bitch?”
Esther howled and Peter grinded his teeth while his face flushed blood red. With his right hand he lashed his son’s cheek. Shane stood with a jaw tightening upon the rush of injustice and hatred. He stepped back and breathed. Through quick breaths and a nervous chuckle, Shane spoke, “We better put Dad to bed, he’s a little drunk and angry at the world again,” Shane announced.
The story continues!
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