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Authors: Marie Sexton
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that?” Aren asked.
Jeremiah didn’t stop what he was doing. “Lots of chores to be done,” he said. “Since I’m the boss, I get first choice.”
“And this is your first choice?”
“Today, it is.” Jeremiah shrugged. “Simple. Something I’ve done a thousand times in
my life. Lets me think of other things.” He tossed another pitchfork full of soiled straw out of the door. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’d like your permission to move into the empty house.”
Jeremiah finally stopped what he was doing. He planted the tines of his pitchfork in the floor and turned to look at Aren, leaning on the handle. “Deacon tell you why it’s vacant?”
“He said it’s haunted.”
“But you want to live there?”
Aren did his best not to squirm under Jeremiah’s scrutiny. “I thought maybe I could
rent it? We could negotiate a fee from my salary—”
“Not mine to rent,” Jeremiah said, yanking his pitchfork free and turning back to his task.
“It’s not?” Aren asked. “Whose is it?”
“Deacon’s.”
Nothing could have surprised Aren more than that. “But he said he didn’t own any part of the BarChi,” he said. “He told me—”
“Look, son, what he told you ain’t none of my business. Up to him what he wants you
to know and what he don’t. All I’m saying is, that house ain’t mine to rent. You get his permission, that’s good enough for me.”
It wasn’t hard to find Deacon. He and some of the other hands were branding cattle,
and Aren could hear him yelling out orders from the other side of the courtyard. One glance at the men going about their task told him it wasn’t a good time to ask Deacon for anything, and he decided supper—the late day meal Aren still thought of as dinner—would be soon enough.
He arrived at the kitchen as the hands were leaving. Deacon was nowhere in sight.
SONG OF OESTEND
Marie Sexton
52
“Sit!” Olsa commanded him. “Those damn boys ate all the ham, but there’s still beans
and cornbread, and I saved you a bit of cheese.”
Cheese was something of a treat. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant special
treatment from Olsa, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Thank you,” he said as she put the food in front of him.
“I hear you don’t want to go to town with Brighton and Garrett,” she said.
“No need to,” he told her.
“Those women at the McAllen Ranch aren’t motivation enough for you?” she asked.
He ducked his head and ate more beans. If there was one thing he’d learnt from Deacon and Olsa, it was to keep his mouth shut and eat while she was still happy, because there was no telling when she’d snatch the food away. He glanced at the doorway, hoping Deacon would arrive soon.
“He’s coming,” she said. Her blank white eyes seemed to give her an uncanny ability to see through walls and into minds. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it. “You be careful what you say,” she said. “It’s a touchy subject.”
“How do you know—?”
But Deacon arrived at that moment, cutting off Aren’s question. “What’s a touchy
subject?” he asked as he sat down next to Aren.
“Aren has something to ask you.” She stood and shuffled to the other side of the room to get Deacon’s supper.
Aren felt his cheeks turning red. He turned to look at Deacon, who was watching him
with his eyebrows up and laughter in his eyes. “You change your mind about going to
town?” he asked.
“No,” Aren said. “It’s not that. It’s about the house.”
“What about it?”
“Well, I hate the barracks. I’d really prefer to not sleep with the hands, and—”
“I don’t know why you’re talking to me,” Deacon said as Olsa put his plate down in
front of him. “Hey!” he said to her. “How come Aren gets cheese and I don’t?”
“I’m not wasting my cheese on you. Not tonight.”
“What’d I do?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Yet.”
SONG OF OESTEND
Marie Sexton
53
He sighed and
Jeremiah didn’t stop what he was doing. “Lots of chores to be done,” he said. “Since I’m the boss, I get first choice.”
“And this is your first choice?”
“Today, it is.” Jeremiah shrugged. “Simple. Something I’ve done a thousand times in
my life. Lets me think of other things.” He tossed another pitchfork full of soiled straw out of the door. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’d like your permission to move into the empty house.”
Jeremiah finally stopped what he was doing. He planted the tines of his pitchfork in the floor and turned to look at Aren, leaning on the handle. “Deacon tell you why it’s vacant?”
“He said it’s haunted.”
“But you want to live there?”
Aren did his best not to squirm under Jeremiah’s scrutiny. “I thought maybe I could
rent it? We could negotiate a fee from my salary—”
“Not mine to rent,” Jeremiah said, yanking his pitchfork free and turning back to his task.
“It’s not?” Aren asked. “Whose is it?”
“Deacon’s.”
Nothing could have surprised Aren more than that. “But he said he didn’t own any part of the BarChi,” he said. “He told me—”
“Look, son, what he told you ain’t none of my business. Up to him what he wants you
to know and what he don’t. All I’m saying is, that house ain’t mine to rent. You get his permission, that’s good enough for me.”
It wasn’t hard to find Deacon. He and some of the other hands were branding cattle,
and Aren could hear him yelling out orders from the other side of the courtyard. One glance at the men going about their task told him it wasn’t a good time to ask Deacon for anything, and he decided supper—the late day meal Aren still thought of as dinner—would be soon enough.
He arrived at the kitchen as the hands were leaving. Deacon was nowhere in sight.
SONG OF OESTEND
Marie Sexton
52
“Sit!” Olsa commanded him. “Those damn boys ate all the ham, but there’s still beans
and cornbread, and I saved you a bit of cheese.”
Cheese was something of a treat. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant special
treatment from Olsa, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Thank you,” he said as she put the food in front of him.
“I hear you don’t want to go to town with Brighton and Garrett,” she said.
“No need to,” he told her.
“Those women at the McAllen Ranch aren’t motivation enough for you?” she asked.
He ducked his head and ate more beans. If there was one thing he’d learnt from Deacon and Olsa, it was to keep his mouth shut and eat while she was still happy, because there was no telling when she’d snatch the food away. He glanced at the doorway, hoping Deacon would arrive soon.
“He’s coming,” she said. Her blank white eyes seemed to give her an uncanny ability to see through walls and into minds. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it. “You be careful what you say,” she said. “It’s a touchy subject.”
“How do you know—?”
But Deacon arrived at that moment, cutting off Aren’s question. “What’s a touchy
subject?” he asked as he sat down next to Aren.
“Aren has something to ask you.” She stood and shuffled to the other side of the room to get Deacon’s supper.
Aren felt his cheeks turning red. He turned to look at Deacon, who was watching him
with his eyebrows up and laughter in his eyes. “You change your mind about going to
town?” he asked.
“No,” Aren said. “It’s not that. It’s about the house.”
“What about it?”
“Well, I hate the barracks. I’d really prefer to not sleep with the hands, and—”
“I don’t know why you’re talking to me,” Deacon said as Olsa put his plate down in
front of him. “Hey!” he said to her. “How come Aren gets cheese and I don’t?”
“I’m not wasting my cheese on you. Not tonight.”
“What’d I do?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Yet.”
SONG OF OESTEND
Marie Sexton
53
He sighed and
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