Read Online The Buffalo Soldier by Chris Bohjalian - Free Book Online
Authors: Chris Bohjalian
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he had most nights in this house where he just couldn't seem to get comfortable, and he'd heard her quiet sobs in the bedroom down the hall. At first he had thought he was hearing some wild animal outside the house--a coyote maybe--and then he imagined it was some local dog that had wandered away from the village. For a brief moment he had even wondered if he was hearing a ghost. One of those little girls, perhaps the one in whose bed he was sleeping and whose presence he was sure he sometimes felt.
But then he understood it was only Laura, and he grew embarrassed for her. Nevertheless, he climbed from his bed--astonished by how cold the wooden floor was on the soles of his feet--and tiptoed across his room to turn on the lamp on the bureau beside the window. He chose not to switch on the floor light near the bedroom door, because that one had a hundred-watt bulb in it and was much brighter: It would be more likely to toss a throw rug of light through the slit underneath the shut door, and alert Laura to the fact that he, too, was awake and had therefore heard her weeping. Then he jumped back into bed and pulled the quilt up over his shoulders.
He'd never before heard her cry, and he was sure it had something to do with her daughters. Her children. He wished he knew how to ask her to tell him about them--not because he thought she needed someone to talk to or because he believed he was capable of offering her comfort by listening, but simply because he was interested. How could he not be? When he was alone in his dark room at night, he had the sense that someone was with him--a sense that wouldn't go away until he'd turned a lamp on.
He realized he didn't even know what the girls had looked like: In no room in the house had he come across photos of them either hung on the walls or resting on bureaus.
Unfortunately, he couldn't imagine how to initiate a conversation about her children, or what he would do if she actually told him any details. And so all he knew for sure was that they had been twins and they had died in the flood some years earlier. But that was about it. He thought they might have been in the third or the fourth grade when they'd died--just a little younger than he was--but he wasn't positive.
He decided he would have liked to have known at the very least where they had been when they drowned, because it hadn't been on the Sheldons' property. That was clear. The house was too high on the hill, and there wasn't any water.
He assumed that they'd been at the river in the village. He'd been living up in Burlington at the time of the flood, but he remembered hearing that rivers all over this part of the state had poured over their banks. He guessed it was possible that they'd just been washed away. But he also knew that the people who had the dairy farm on the other side of the trees had a small pond, and he wondered if they had died there. Maybe the pond had stretched beyond its banks, and they'd fallen in and drowned.
He was also curious about where Laura and Terry had been at the time. Had they been close enough to try to save the girls--perhaps even seen them go under--or had the kids died alone with no one nearby?
Then again, it may not even have happened here. Maybe the girls had been at a friend's house in another town. Or at a grandparent's house.
Now, there was a thought: What would it be like to be a child who had grandparents as well as parents? Perhaps even two sets of grandparents?
No, he decided, it had happened here in Cornish. He had met Laura's parents and Terry's mother--it had been a pretty typical meet-the-foster-kid show, where everyone gathers at the foster parents' house and tries to be polite, but no one has the slightest idea what to say--and all those old people would have been a lot more screwed up if their grandchildren had died on their watch.
He realized he was thinking too much. Making too much up. The fact was, he hadn't a clue where the girls had died. It could have been
But then he understood it was only Laura, and he grew embarrassed for her. Nevertheless, he climbed from his bed--astonished by how cold the wooden floor was on the soles of his feet--and tiptoed across his room to turn on the lamp on the bureau beside the window. He chose not to switch on the floor light near the bedroom door, because that one had a hundred-watt bulb in it and was much brighter: It would be more likely to toss a throw rug of light through the slit underneath the shut door, and alert Laura to the fact that he, too, was awake and had therefore heard her weeping. Then he jumped back into bed and pulled the quilt up over his shoulders.
He'd never before heard her cry, and he was sure it had something to do with her daughters. Her children. He wished he knew how to ask her to tell him about them--not because he thought she needed someone to talk to or because he believed he was capable of offering her comfort by listening, but simply because he was interested. How could he not be? When he was alone in his dark room at night, he had the sense that someone was with him--a sense that wouldn't go away until he'd turned a lamp on.
He realized he didn't even know what the girls had looked like: In no room in the house had he come across photos of them either hung on the walls or resting on bureaus.
Unfortunately, he couldn't imagine how to initiate a conversation about her children, or what he would do if she actually told him any details. And so all he knew for sure was that they had been twins and they had died in the flood some years earlier. But that was about it. He thought they might have been in the third or the fourth grade when they'd died--just a little younger than he was--but he wasn't positive.
He decided he would have liked to have known at the very least where they had been when they drowned, because it hadn't been on the Sheldons' property. That was clear. The house was too high on the hill, and there wasn't any water.
He assumed that they'd been at the river in the village. He'd been living up in Burlington at the time of the flood, but he remembered hearing that rivers all over this part of the state had poured over their banks. He guessed it was possible that they'd just been washed away. But he also knew that the people who had the dairy farm on the other side of the trees had a small pond, and he wondered if they had died there. Maybe the pond had stretched beyond its banks, and they'd fallen in and drowned.
He was also curious about where Laura and Terry had been at the time. Had they been close enough to try to save the girls--perhaps even seen them go under--or had the kids died alone with no one nearby?
Then again, it may not even have happened here. Maybe the girls had been at a friend's house in another town. Or at a grandparent's house.
Now, there was a thought: What would it be like to be a child who had grandparents as well as parents? Perhaps even two sets of grandparents?
No, he decided, it had happened here in Cornish. He had met Laura's parents and Terry's mother--it had been a pretty typical meet-the-foster-kid show, where everyone gathers at the foster parents' house and tries to be polite, but no one has the slightest idea what to say--and all those old people would have been a lot more screwed up if their grandchildren had died on their watch.
He realized he was thinking too much. Making too much up. The fact was, he hadn't a clue where the girls had died. It could have been
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