Lay Me Down (Kyle/Oliver) *WIP*
Story Title: Lay Me Down - Chapter Three (*WIP*)
Author's Name: rhombus_
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver
Rating: R
Warnings: AU setting; historical inaccuracies; cliches
Summary: Kish in the Old West. Yep. That about sums it up. AU (of course).
Disclaimer: Characters ≠ mine.
Previous parts:
Chapter One - The Vow
Chapter Two - Our Own Place
Lay Me Down
Chapter Three - The Lesson
---
Lakeside Ranch, Montana Territory. 1877.
Kyle Lewis, age 14.
---
The Fish boy lingered just outside the stable-barn door. He hadn't dared poke his head in, but Kyle could see his feet, or the shadows of his feet, fidgeting to and fro. He heard the scrape of shorn fingernails against peeling paint, as if the boy couldn't control his twitching extremities at all.
It wasn't the first time he'd gone lurk-about, either. Ever since Hector had given Kyle full responsibility over the newly broken horses, Oliver Fish had popped back into the periphery of his small world, like a curious god peeking down at the little people through the clouds, content to watch, but not participate.
Kyle propped his small hand-axe up against a post and kicked the leftover wood shavings at his feet into a small pile. The whole barn smelled refreshingly of pine. He wiped his fingertips, gummy with oil and dust, on his pants, and eyed the foot-shadows as they performed their awkward dance outside the door.
Sighing, he took pity on the boy-once so open; now crippled by shyness-and called out to him.
"Get in here, already. You want to; just do it."
The nervous shuffling stopped, the shadows stilled.
Kyle waited. Impatiently.
He sighed.
"Oliver."
That worked. A familiar, yet oddly new face tilted slowly into the barn. Kyle had only seen him from a distance these last few years, as he was hustled off to school, or inside the house, or to his lessons. Always away, away, away.
Finally up close, he noticed the changes, subtle, but clear. A little bit of fat lost in the cheeks. A little bit more fear in the wrinkled forehead. But, still, those clear blue eyes, so inviting, so seemingly friendly. That smile, once marked with goofy confidence, now with a trembling nervousness, nevertheless charming.
"Kyle. Hi." He lifted an awkward hand. "Hello." Behind him, the barn door creaked close on rusted hinges. They were left alone in a strange sort of half-light that seemed something out of a dreamworld. The sound of swishing horse tails was both familiar and hypnotic. How odd it felt to be with the boy again, like traveling backwards through time with a blink of the eyes.
Kyle tipped his hat. "Stranger." His voice had come out colder than he expected, but he didn't mind. It summed up his feelings pretty well.
"I know." Oliver lowered his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. He'd begun wearing full-length trousers now, not the silly little half-shorts Mrs. Fish used to dress him in, as if he were some sort of stringed marionette.
"What is it that you know, Oliver?"
"That it's..." He looked down, then quickly back up. "That it's been a while."
Kyle smirked. "It's been almost three years, bud. I might not go to school anymore or have fancy tutors come visit me at home, but I still remember how to count." He leaned down to retrieve his hand-axe. Oliver took a small step back.
Kyle was afraid for a moment that he'd gone too far. That Oliver would simply nod his head and walk out, leaving him alone. Again.
"Don't go," he said, though he wasn't sure why. Oliver hadn't moved beyond that one step.
"You sure?" Oliver bit his lip. "I mean, I know you don't want me around, that you're busy and all, but, well, I thought..."
"Wait? What?" Kyle set down the axe again. He was starting to feel like a marionette himself. "What're you talking about? I don't want you around? Where'd you get an idea like that? Is that why you stopped being my-" Kyle brought a fist to his mouth and bit his thumb nail. "Is that why you don't come around no more?"
"My ma said-"
"Your ma?" Kyle gaped at him. What did Mrs. Fish know about anything, anyway?
"I thought-I thought you knew..." Oliver shrugged his big, round shoulders.
Kyle laughed, but only because he wasn't quite sure what Oliver was going on about. It wasn't exactly what he'd call amusing. "How am I s'posed to know any of this?" He flung his arms out at his sides in frustration. "You stopped talking to me."
"I just-I thought, you know, there wasn't time any more for skipping stones and swimming and all that other silly kid stuff we used to do. Your pa needed you to start working. You said so yourself."
Kyle could feel his nostrils flaring. He didn't know how Oliver Fish could make him so mad sometimes. "So, no time for skipping stones means no time for me, huh? That's all you stuck around for? Some friend you were."
"Horse water!"
He could tell Oliver was angry now too. Not just the outburst, but the way his fists balled up and his shoulders bunched together, as if he were preparing for a fight. Kyle had never seen him this worked up before. The kid was usually so quiet, so well-behaved, so docile. Kyle stepped toward him.
"I told you, Kyle! My ma said I had to stay away. Said you couldn't be my friend anymore. Said you didn't want to be!"
Another step closer. "And you believe everything your ma tells you?"
"What?" Oliver scoffed. "You're saying you still wanna be my friend?"
Kyle was right up in his face now. "'Course I do, you damn fool! I miss you!"
A hush came over the space. It seemed to hang from the tall ceiling, settling into every shadowy corner, heavy and bloated like a spider's belly full of eggs. Even the horses had stopped snuffling and panting.
Oliver's eyes were wide blue pools, big as the Montana sky. Kyle hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. He didn't even know he felt that way at all. But, he was never one to hide anything, so he wouldn't back down from it, no matter what Oliver thought.
A deep breath through the nose, and then Oliver let out a very quiet, "Oh." Followed by an even quieter, "You said damn." A hand flew up to cover his mouth, as the realization struck that he, too, had blasphemed.
Kyle couldn't help but chuckle at his distress. The laughter built until it rocked his chest and soon he was struggling for breath. Oliver glared at him, but that only made him laugh harder. It was like being glared at by a baby chick. He'd forgotten how darned adorable the boy could be when he was miffed.
"What're you laughing at?" Oliver pouted. Kyle wanted to pinch his puffy cheeks. He held back, though, because they weren't kids anymore; and he was still mad at him, even disarmed as he was by Oliver's goofy, unintentional charms.
"You," Kyle replied. "Us. Hollering in the barn over some nonsense from years back." He gestured to his forgotten project. "I got troughs need mending, y'know."
Oliver sucked in his bottom lip and nodded, his eyes on his shoes. "I didn't know..." He looked up in the dim light of the barn, and Kyle didn't know if it was possible for a person to look more rueful. "I didn't know that you didn't know."
Kyle grinned. He saw, almost as if from a dream, his hand reach out and give Oliver a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"And yet... here you are." Kyle blinked up at him. "Has the stable-boy ban been lifted?"
"Um, well..." Oliver squinted his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. His shoulders bunched up so high it looked like his neck had been swallowed up. His feet kicked up little bits of shorn wood, releasing a fresh waft of clean pine smell. "Not exactly. Not-not specifically. But my father..." he drifted off.
"Your father what?"
Oliver squared his shoulders, releasing his neck from their stranglehold. "He says a man makes his own decisions. He's got to grab the bull's horns and get things done on his own, or else he isn't worth the black on his shoes."
Kyle smiled. "So what are these important manly things you need to 'get done,' Oliver old boy?"
Oliver's chest puffed out. He looked very pleased with himself all of a sudden. "A man's got to learn how to ride."
Eyebrows inching up, Kyle regarded Oliver dubiously. Though, he wasn't surprised the boy hadn't yet learned to ride. If Mrs. Fish had her way, he would never have left the cradle.
"So," Kyle said, "you came here to teach yourself how to ride?"
"Yep." There was something in the way he spoke it, just that one simple little word, but Kyle could feel the thrill in Oliver, the secret joy one gets from doing something he's not supposed to do.
"Well..." Kyle walked around behind him and hefted a small saddle off the wall-hook. Oliver swiveled on a heel to face him. "If that ain't the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Oliver Fish."
"Wh-what?"
"You'll get yourself killed, is what!" He shifted with the saddle, enjoying the feel of the worn leather against his skin, even if the half-rotted smell of it still made him a little queasy, despite years of exposure.
Oliver reached for the saddle. "I'll be fine."
Kyle kept it at a distance. "No. You'll need riding lessons."
"Mm hmm," Oliver said, reaching again for the saddle. His eyes had gone dark and greedy, focusing solely on the object of their desire.
"Lessons from me."
Oliver looked at him then and smiled, a very indulgent smile. Patronizing, as if he'd enjoyed watching Kyle take the long way round to get to the point. Or maybe it was simple satisfaction, as if he'd just gotten exactly what he'd wanted from the start.
When he reached for the saddle again, Kyle let him take it.
"Like I said. I'll be fine." He padded off toward the stalls, inspecting each horse as if he knew what to look for, which horse would suit him best. He didn't know it would be the small gray one at the end. That one was kinder than the rest, had more patience with an inelegant rider. She was Kyle's favorite; riding hadn't come easy to him at first, but Jinny was a forgiving old beast.
"You'll be fine?" Kyle asked Oliver's back.
Oliver turned. "I've got a good teacher now." He lowered his head, probably to hide the blush Kyle could see racing along his cheeks. "And a friend."
Well, damn. If the kid was gonna go all soft on him, he'd have no choice but to consent to his every wish.
Oliver stopped in front of Jinny's stall, considered her, nodded with some sense of purpose, then swiveled on his toe and pointed toward the large brown stallion across the way.
"This one'll do," he said with a winsome attempt at authority.
"It'll do if you like getting thrown on your ass." Kyle followed him down the rows and took the saddle back from him. "That one hasn't been gelded yet. Turn back around, sunshine, and say hello to Jinny."
"But she's so... small."
Kyle eyed him up and down. "So are you."
Oliver made a face at that. Kyle couldn't remember if it was always so easy and fun between them. He hoped it hadn't been, because then he would've ended up missing the years spent apart even more.
He propped open the back door of the stable-barn, then ushered Jinny out of her stall.
"Come here and let her get a good sniff on you. But no quick moves, okay? I doubt your pa wants your insides all bruised up as part of your manhood training."
That seemed to put a pause in Oliver. He didn't say much, but followed Kyle's orders with a keen sense of purpose and understanding. He was a good student.
Kyle suited Jinny up, showing Oliver where to place the saddle, how to insert the bit, then he helped hoist Oliver onto Jinny's back. He was unsteady at first, wiggling his torso forward and back until he found his balance. Jinny moved with him, compensating for his erratic movements in that beautifully tolerant way of hers. Kyle adjusted the stirrups, allowing for Oliver's longer legs. When Oliver was finally settled, Kyle gently grabbed hold of Jinny's mane and heaved himself up, seating himself directly behind Oliver.
"I can do it on my own," Oliver said.
"I know," Kyle replied softly. "But I don't want you to. Not just yet. Let me get you out in the open first, okay?" He placed his hands over Oliver's on the reins. "Grab them light. Don't tug or pull on it. She'll wanna stop."
"Okay."
"Now, squeeze her sides a bit-" Releasing one hand, Kyle reached down and pressed on Oliver's thigh, just enough to send them into a slow trot. "Not too much though. Slow is good. We want slow." He kept his hand there until he was sure Oliver had the hang of it, then he returned it to the reins.
He kept a close eye on Oliver's grip, making sure it didn't get too strong. His pa would have called hands like those pugilist's hands, back when Pa had more to say than "Get to work," and "Bring me the whiskey." They were hands meant for brute force, strong and solid and useful. Not like Kyle's thin little counterparts.
Kyle guided them away from the barn, out of sight from the main house and the workers' quarters. The ban was still in effect; he didn't want to get Oliver into any trouble. Once they were a good distance away, he slowed them to a gentle stop and dismounted, leaving Oliver alone atop the horse. Nothing surrounded them but yellow grass and a strong wind, bringing with it the sweet smells of the mountains-sage brush and bitterroot flowers. The bitterroots bloomed year-long, it seemed, despite the dry season. Kyle could see Oliver swallow, his throat moving up and down with nerves.
"You're doing great," he said, even though Oliver hadn't moved yet.
Oliver nodded. His face had gone very pale. He squeezed his legs against Jinny's side, and then he was off, a quicker than any of them had anticipated-including Jinny, who let out a little whooping neigh, as if in celebration.
"Kyyyyyyyle!"
Kyle chased after them, laughing. It was hardly more than a light trot, but the squeak in Oliver's voice was too funny.
"Let go of her sides!" he called out. Oliver, in his alarm, had gone tight, clinging to Jinny when he needed to release her. "Relax!"
"Relax?!" Oliver was leaning forward now, probably to stop himself from tipping over. "How?!"
Kyle caught up and placed a hand on Jinny's neck as he skipped sideways along side them, then tugged softly on one rein. Jinny slowed. Oliver stayed down, his breath choppy and loud. Kyle could see that both his eyes were squeezed shut.
"You did good," Kyle said, trying not to laugh.
"Shut up." Oliver opened one eye. "And don't laugh at me."
"I won't." Kyle reached out a hand and helped him dismount. "I promise."
And with those two words, he felt the last three years slip away. He was a kid again, he had a best friend and a partner in crime and someone to share his heart's dreams with. Except, he didn't even know if they'd really been like that when they were kids. Had his heart even had any dreams, besides when he'd fill his belly next or see Oliver smile at him again?
Oliver was smiling at him now, and nothing else mattered. But the smile slowly faded, and so too did the sunshine.
"I've been away too long," Oliver said. "They'll miss me back home."
Kyle nodded. It was getting late, and he still had that trough to fix. "I'll take you back. Get on." He patted the saddle with little force and watched as Oliver mounted the horse, completely on his own this time. He scooted back to allow Kyle room in front.
Kyle maneuvered Jinny toward the ranch and then they sped off, faster than before, faster than Oliver expected, because his arms gripped Kyle around the middle in such a tight hold, Kyle thought he might show signs of it tomorrow.
He made a wide berth of the main house and deposited Oliver near a stand of withered, gnarled trees.
"See you around," he said, tipping his hat. When Oliver was merely a speck in the distance, he added, "I hope."
It was after sunset when he finally retreated back to the two room quarters he shared with his pa. It was dark, no lamps or candles lit, but he could still see his father's figure, as always, slumped in his chair.
"Evening, Pa," he said, just like every night. "I'm going to sleep now."
"I miss her so much," his father mumbled. He was drunk again. Kyle didn't need to smell it on him, or hear it in his slurred words. He only ever talked about 'her' when he was drunk.
"Me too," Kyle said quietly. "I miss her too." He doubted his father heard him. He wasn't really talking to Kyle, anyway. He was probably talking to God.
"Took her away. The love of my life. Had to-" A desperate sob. "Had to go and get sick, and-and leave me. Breaking my heart all over, Jin. Breaking it... Tiny bits." He lifted up an empty hand, as if presenting the phantom pieces. His glassy, red-rimmed eyes stared past Kyle. Moonlight streamed in through the window, alighting his face, making the tear tracks glow on his pale, unshaven skin.
Kyle touched the empty, cold hand, brought it back down to his father's lap. Turning, he pulled a blanket off the edge of the mattress and draped it over his father's slouched form. "It's okay," he said, tucking the frayed edges of the blanket around bony shoulders. It wasn't okay. Not really. But it always seemed like the thing to say. "It's okay."
He walked slowly out of the room, leaving his pa to his blubberings. He used to feel more sorry for him, for them both, for being left all alone with nothing but dark rooms and silence. But that was when he believed in love. Believed in the power of its goodness. But love never did a person any good but bring them a heaping plate of misery. It was like a terrible infliction, surviving in the heart too long after hope died.
And love without hope was little more than pain.
In his small room, he struck the last red phosphorous match in the box and lit the small wax candle on the table next to his bed. His heart beat a little easier with the addition of light in the room.
Not that he was scared of the dark. It was just, well, he had to be vigilant. Cattle rustlers were always about, and he didn't need any trouble with lost stock. He often thought of speaking with Mr. George Fish about getting a fence set up around the property, with wire and everything. It would eat up most of his free time, and probably take months, maybe years, to finish, but it would be worth it if discouraged them no-good Ford boys from coming in and stealing cattle and doing God only knew to the land he worked so hard to foster.
A chilly breeze snaked in through the window, sending a shiver up his arms. The heavy shutters had split, some years earlier, warped and degraded by bad weather, and wouldn't close up all the way. He'd been meaning to fix them, but there just hadn't been time for it. Sighing, he tugged the thin sheet off his bed and carried it, along with his small wooden chair, to the half-open window. He mounted the chair and stretched up full, on the tips of his toes, and extended the blanket all the way across the top of the thin frame. He pulled down until it caught in the crack between the frame and the wall, kept pulling until it settled in snugly. He tucked in the edges all the way around, as best he could. The cold still crawled in, but it was a very slow crawl, and he was able to keep himself warm by the flame of the candle.
He sat on his wool-stuffed mattress, his back up against the west-facing wall-still slightly warm from the afternoon sun-and let his eyes fall shut.
Until a sound outside snapped them open. Someone had creaked open the broken shutter. He couldn't see their silhouette through the sheet, but he could hear them, the sound of boots on gravel, a finger poking fabric. The Fords had never come this far in before. His heart thumped in his chest. He was almost afraid they'd hear it pounding all the way outside. Slowly, he crawled off the mattress, then, on his hands and knees, shoved one fist underneath, pulling out cold metal. The pistol was heavy in his hand. It gleamed in the flickering candlelight.
Silent as a fox in the hen house, he tiptoed to the window. Shaking fingers reached for the sheet. He breathed deep, held it in, steadying his heart and his nerve, then ripped down the sheet and aimed the gun at the intruder in one swift move.
"I swear I'll shoot," he whispered, as fierce as his trembling voice would allow.
"Kyle!" the intruder squeaked in a familiar voice.
Kyle let out his held breath. His whole body was shaking now, taken over by nerves and relief and a flood of adrenaline.
"Jumping Jehosephat, Oliver! I could have killed you!"
"Why do you have a gun?!"
"Why are you skulking around outside my window?" Kyle lowered the pistol and placed it on the chair.
"Can I-can I come in?" Oliver's eyes glimmered in the dark like great pools of water.
Kyle poked his head out the window and looked nervously around. Emptiness and darkness, for miles and miles. Not a single lamp shone from the main house, off in the distance.
He waved Oliver in. "Just... keep your voice down. The walls are thin and Pa doesn't like being disturbed from his, uh, his peaceful slumber."
Oliver clambered through the window, graceful as a charging bull. Straightening himself up, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the room, taking in the bare surroundings while Kyle re-covered the window.
"It's so dark in here."
"That's because it's nighttime," Kyle deadpanned.
"Good thing I brought these, then." Oliver's hands came out of his pockets, gripping two squat candles, one in each palm. The wicks looked too short to pull flame from Kyle's half-melted stub.
"I don't have any more matches."
Oliver smiled. "Good thing I brought these too." He pulled out a matchbox and set it on the table, next to the candles.
Kyle stood behind Oliver and watched him light up the small room. It felt so strange. He couldn't remember another person ever stepping foot in there. He wasn't sure the space felt right for more than one.
"Not that I'm making a fuss," he said as Oliver turned back toward him. "Just curious is all... but what are you doing here, sneaking around in the dead of night?"
Oliver took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. "I owe you."
"You what now?"
"I'm... in your debt."
"Oliver, come on. What are you on about?"
"You taught me." Oliver shrugged. "And now, I have to teach you." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Kyle squinted at him. "Teach me... what?"
"You remember how to read?" He had produced a thin, leather-bound book, seemingly out of nowhere.
Kyle opened his mouth, but nothing came out. How to answer such a question? He closed his mouth, swallowed, then tried again. "Yes... I mean... a little." He turned away from Oliver. "I don't wanna read anything."
Oliver tugged on his shirtsleeve and turned him back around. "It's good. You'll like it!" He had that look again. That secret-thrill look.
"You don't know that."
"It's an adventure story. It's not dry like what we used to read at school. I promise."
Kyle couldn't help but perk up at that. He wondered if Oliver had done it on purpose, to win the argument. Invoked a promise. Kyle didn't know why he put such stock in them, but he did. There was something sacred about a promise. It meant more than anything else in the entire world. People lied, and cheated, and stole, but when they made a promise, they meant it. He believed that, even against his better judgment.
"An adventure story?"
"Yeah. It's about these men-outlaws, really-living in the forest. They ride horses and have sword fights and save people from certain death!"
Kyle chewed on his lip. "Outlaws? That doesn't seem your type of story."
"But I thought, maybe-maybe it's yours."
"You think so?"
"Not-not that I think you would ever-I mean-I'm not trying to say-" His face had gone brick red and Kyle thought maybe he forgot how to breathe. He reached out a hand, rested it on Oliver's tense shoulder.
"Calm down, Ollie." He paused. He hadn't called him that in years. It just fell off the tongue, all slippery-like. "I know what you mean. Adventures stories are good. I like them."
Oliver swallowed, looked down. "You-you do?"
"Yeah. Sounds nice. Here..." He sat down on the mattress, scooted to the edge to make room for Oliver, and patted the empty space next to him. "I'm ready for my lesson."
"Okay." The mattress sank a bit under Oliver's weight. They sat together, backs against the wall, knees propped up, shoulders just barely touching.
Kyle turned his head. "I'm a little tired, though. Can you-can you just read it to me, to start off? I'll be better tomorrow night." He yawned. "I swear."
"Tomorrow night?" Oliver raised an eyebrow.
"Mm hmm," Kyle said. "When you come back for my next lesson."
Oliver grinned-a small, triumphant grin. "Yeah, all right. Tomorrow."
"Good."
Holding the book between them, Oliver flipped it open and began reading in a soft, pleasant voice. He used his finger to follow along the words at first, maybe hoping to jog Kyle's memory, but his hand fell away after a while and rested on his bent knee instead.
Kyle found himself staring at Oliver's hands again. Those big pugilist's hands. He imagined his own hand sliding over the back of one, fingers slotting perfectly between the ridges of his knuckles. The room felt comfortably warm for once; maybe it was the extra candles. He closed his eyes, swallowing, and allowed himself to imagine it was Oliver bringing him all that warmth.
It felt incredibly good-not being alone. Having his best friend back in his life.
And like the stubborn bitterroot blossom defying a long drought, hope bloomed in his chest.
(...TBC...)
Chapter Four - This Land Is Your Land
Author's Name: rhombus_
Pairing: Kyle/Oliver
Rating: R
Warnings: AU setting; historical inaccuracies; cliches
Summary: Kish in the Old West. Yep. That about sums it up. AU (of course).
Disclaimer: Characters ≠ mine.
Previous parts:
Chapter One - The Vow
Chapter Two - Our Own Place
Lay Me Down
Chapter Three - The Lesson
---
Lakeside Ranch, Montana Territory. 1877.
Kyle Lewis, age 14.
---
The Fish boy lingered just outside the stable-barn door. He hadn't dared poke his head in, but Kyle could see his feet, or the shadows of his feet, fidgeting to and fro. He heard the scrape of shorn fingernails against peeling paint, as if the boy couldn't control his twitching extremities at all.
It wasn't the first time he'd gone lurk-about, either. Ever since Hector had given Kyle full responsibility over the newly broken horses, Oliver Fish had popped back into the periphery of his small world, like a curious god peeking down at the little people through the clouds, content to watch, but not participate.
Kyle propped his small hand-axe up against a post and kicked the leftover wood shavings at his feet into a small pile. The whole barn smelled refreshingly of pine. He wiped his fingertips, gummy with oil and dust, on his pants, and eyed the foot-shadows as they performed their awkward dance outside the door.
Sighing, he took pity on the boy-once so open; now crippled by shyness-and called out to him.
"Get in here, already. You want to; just do it."
The nervous shuffling stopped, the shadows stilled.
Kyle waited. Impatiently.
He sighed.
"Oliver."
That worked. A familiar, yet oddly new face tilted slowly into the barn. Kyle had only seen him from a distance these last few years, as he was hustled off to school, or inside the house, or to his lessons. Always away, away, away.
Finally up close, he noticed the changes, subtle, but clear. A little bit of fat lost in the cheeks. A little bit more fear in the wrinkled forehead. But, still, those clear blue eyes, so inviting, so seemingly friendly. That smile, once marked with goofy confidence, now with a trembling nervousness, nevertheless charming.
"Kyle. Hi." He lifted an awkward hand. "Hello." Behind him, the barn door creaked close on rusted hinges. They were left alone in a strange sort of half-light that seemed something out of a dreamworld. The sound of swishing horse tails was both familiar and hypnotic. How odd it felt to be with the boy again, like traveling backwards through time with a blink of the eyes.
Kyle tipped his hat. "Stranger." His voice had come out colder than he expected, but he didn't mind. It summed up his feelings pretty well.
"I know." Oliver lowered his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. He'd begun wearing full-length trousers now, not the silly little half-shorts Mrs. Fish used to dress him in, as if he were some sort of stringed marionette.
"What is it that you know, Oliver?"
"That it's..." He looked down, then quickly back up. "That it's been a while."
Kyle smirked. "It's been almost three years, bud. I might not go to school anymore or have fancy tutors come visit me at home, but I still remember how to count." He leaned down to retrieve his hand-axe. Oliver took a small step back.
Kyle was afraid for a moment that he'd gone too far. That Oliver would simply nod his head and walk out, leaving him alone. Again.
"Don't go," he said, though he wasn't sure why. Oliver hadn't moved beyond that one step.
"You sure?" Oliver bit his lip. "I mean, I know you don't want me around, that you're busy and all, but, well, I thought..."
"Wait? What?" Kyle set down the axe again. He was starting to feel like a marionette himself. "What're you talking about? I don't want you around? Where'd you get an idea like that? Is that why you stopped being my-" Kyle brought a fist to his mouth and bit his thumb nail. "Is that why you don't come around no more?"
"My ma said-"
"Your ma?" Kyle gaped at him. What did Mrs. Fish know about anything, anyway?
"I thought-I thought you knew..." Oliver shrugged his big, round shoulders.
Kyle laughed, but only because he wasn't quite sure what Oliver was going on about. It wasn't exactly what he'd call amusing. "How am I s'posed to know any of this?" He flung his arms out at his sides in frustration. "You stopped talking to me."
"I just-I thought, you know, there wasn't time any more for skipping stones and swimming and all that other silly kid stuff we used to do. Your pa needed you to start working. You said so yourself."
Kyle could feel his nostrils flaring. He didn't know how Oliver Fish could make him so mad sometimes. "So, no time for skipping stones means no time for me, huh? That's all you stuck around for? Some friend you were."
"Horse water!"
He could tell Oliver was angry now too. Not just the outburst, but the way his fists balled up and his shoulders bunched together, as if he were preparing for a fight. Kyle had never seen him this worked up before. The kid was usually so quiet, so well-behaved, so docile. Kyle stepped toward him.
"I told you, Kyle! My ma said I had to stay away. Said you couldn't be my friend anymore. Said you didn't want to be!"
Another step closer. "And you believe everything your ma tells you?"
"What?" Oliver scoffed. "You're saying you still wanna be my friend?"
Kyle was right up in his face now. "'Course I do, you damn fool! I miss you!"
A hush came over the space. It seemed to hang from the tall ceiling, settling into every shadowy corner, heavy and bloated like a spider's belly full of eggs. Even the horses had stopped snuffling and panting.
Oliver's eyes were wide blue pools, big as the Montana sky. Kyle hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. He didn't even know he felt that way at all. But, he was never one to hide anything, so he wouldn't back down from it, no matter what Oliver thought.
A deep breath through the nose, and then Oliver let out a very quiet, "Oh." Followed by an even quieter, "You said damn." A hand flew up to cover his mouth, as the realization struck that he, too, had blasphemed.
Kyle couldn't help but chuckle at his distress. The laughter built until it rocked his chest and soon he was struggling for breath. Oliver glared at him, but that only made him laugh harder. It was like being glared at by a baby chick. He'd forgotten how darned adorable the boy could be when he was miffed.
"What're you laughing at?" Oliver pouted. Kyle wanted to pinch his puffy cheeks. He held back, though, because they weren't kids anymore; and he was still mad at him, even disarmed as he was by Oliver's goofy, unintentional charms.
"You," Kyle replied. "Us. Hollering in the barn over some nonsense from years back." He gestured to his forgotten project. "I got troughs need mending, y'know."
Oliver sucked in his bottom lip and nodded, his eyes on his shoes. "I didn't know..." He looked up in the dim light of the barn, and Kyle didn't know if it was possible for a person to look more rueful. "I didn't know that you didn't know."
Kyle grinned. He saw, almost as if from a dream, his hand reach out and give Oliver a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"And yet... here you are." Kyle blinked up at him. "Has the stable-boy ban been lifted?"
"Um, well..." Oliver squinted his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. His shoulders bunched up so high it looked like his neck had been swallowed up. His feet kicked up little bits of shorn wood, releasing a fresh waft of clean pine smell. "Not exactly. Not-not specifically. But my father..." he drifted off.
"Your father what?"
Oliver squared his shoulders, releasing his neck from their stranglehold. "He says a man makes his own decisions. He's got to grab the bull's horns and get things done on his own, or else he isn't worth the black on his shoes."
Kyle smiled. "So what are these important manly things you need to 'get done,' Oliver old boy?"
Oliver's chest puffed out. He looked very pleased with himself all of a sudden. "A man's got to learn how to ride."
Eyebrows inching up, Kyle regarded Oliver dubiously. Though, he wasn't surprised the boy hadn't yet learned to ride. If Mrs. Fish had her way, he would never have left the cradle.
"So," Kyle said, "you came here to teach yourself how to ride?"
"Yep." There was something in the way he spoke it, just that one simple little word, but Kyle could feel the thrill in Oliver, the secret joy one gets from doing something he's not supposed to do.
"Well..." Kyle walked around behind him and hefted a small saddle off the wall-hook. Oliver swiveled on a heel to face him. "If that ain't the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Oliver Fish."
"Wh-what?"
"You'll get yourself killed, is what!" He shifted with the saddle, enjoying the feel of the worn leather against his skin, even if the half-rotted smell of it still made him a little queasy, despite years of exposure.
Oliver reached for the saddle. "I'll be fine."
Kyle kept it at a distance. "No. You'll need riding lessons."
"Mm hmm," Oliver said, reaching again for the saddle. His eyes had gone dark and greedy, focusing solely on the object of their desire.
"Lessons from me."
Oliver looked at him then and smiled, a very indulgent smile. Patronizing, as if he'd enjoyed watching Kyle take the long way round to get to the point. Or maybe it was simple satisfaction, as if he'd just gotten exactly what he'd wanted from the start.
When he reached for the saddle again, Kyle let him take it.
"Like I said. I'll be fine." He padded off toward the stalls, inspecting each horse as if he knew what to look for, which horse would suit him best. He didn't know it would be the small gray one at the end. That one was kinder than the rest, had more patience with an inelegant rider. She was Kyle's favorite; riding hadn't come easy to him at first, but Jinny was a forgiving old beast.
"You'll be fine?" Kyle asked Oliver's back.
Oliver turned. "I've got a good teacher now." He lowered his head, probably to hide the blush Kyle could see racing along his cheeks. "And a friend."
Well, damn. If the kid was gonna go all soft on him, he'd have no choice but to consent to his every wish.
Oliver stopped in front of Jinny's stall, considered her, nodded with some sense of purpose, then swiveled on his toe and pointed toward the large brown stallion across the way.
"This one'll do," he said with a winsome attempt at authority.
"It'll do if you like getting thrown on your ass." Kyle followed him down the rows and took the saddle back from him. "That one hasn't been gelded yet. Turn back around, sunshine, and say hello to Jinny."
"But she's so... small."
Kyle eyed him up and down. "So are you."
Oliver made a face at that. Kyle couldn't remember if it was always so easy and fun between them. He hoped it hadn't been, because then he would've ended up missing the years spent apart even more.
He propped open the back door of the stable-barn, then ushered Jinny out of her stall.
"Come here and let her get a good sniff on you. But no quick moves, okay? I doubt your pa wants your insides all bruised up as part of your manhood training."
That seemed to put a pause in Oliver. He didn't say much, but followed Kyle's orders with a keen sense of purpose and understanding. He was a good student.
Kyle suited Jinny up, showing Oliver where to place the saddle, how to insert the bit, then he helped hoist Oliver onto Jinny's back. He was unsteady at first, wiggling his torso forward and back until he found his balance. Jinny moved with him, compensating for his erratic movements in that beautifully tolerant way of hers. Kyle adjusted the stirrups, allowing for Oliver's longer legs. When Oliver was finally settled, Kyle gently grabbed hold of Jinny's mane and heaved himself up, seating himself directly behind Oliver.
"I can do it on my own," Oliver said.
"I know," Kyle replied softly. "But I don't want you to. Not just yet. Let me get you out in the open first, okay?" He placed his hands over Oliver's on the reins. "Grab them light. Don't tug or pull on it. She'll wanna stop."
"Okay."
"Now, squeeze her sides a bit-" Releasing one hand, Kyle reached down and pressed on Oliver's thigh, just enough to send them into a slow trot. "Not too much though. Slow is good. We want slow." He kept his hand there until he was sure Oliver had the hang of it, then he returned it to the reins.
He kept a close eye on Oliver's grip, making sure it didn't get too strong. His pa would have called hands like those pugilist's hands, back when Pa had more to say than "Get to work," and "Bring me the whiskey." They were hands meant for brute force, strong and solid and useful. Not like Kyle's thin little counterparts.
Kyle guided them away from the barn, out of sight from the main house and the workers' quarters. The ban was still in effect; he didn't want to get Oliver into any trouble. Once they were a good distance away, he slowed them to a gentle stop and dismounted, leaving Oliver alone atop the horse. Nothing surrounded them but yellow grass and a strong wind, bringing with it the sweet smells of the mountains-sage brush and bitterroot flowers. The bitterroots bloomed year-long, it seemed, despite the dry season. Kyle could see Oliver swallow, his throat moving up and down with nerves.
"You're doing great," he said, even though Oliver hadn't moved yet.
Oliver nodded. His face had gone very pale. He squeezed his legs against Jinny's side, and then he was off, a quicker than any of them had anticipated-including Jinny, who let out a little whooping neigh, as if in celebration.
"Kyyyyyyyle!"
Kyle chased after them, laughing. It was hardly more than a light trot, but the squeak in Oliver's voice was too funny.
"Let go of her sides!" he called out. Oliver, in his alarm, had gone tight, clinging to Jinny when he needed to release her. "Relax!"
"Relax?!" Oliver was leaning forward now, probably to stop himself from tipping over. "How?!"
Kyle caught up and placed a hand on Jinny's neck as he skipped sideways along side them, then tugged softly on one rein. Jinny slowed. Oliver stayed down, his breath choppy and loud. Kyle could see that both his eyes were squeezed shut.
"You did good," Kyle said, trying not to laugh.
"Shut up." Oliver opened one eye. "And don't laugh at me."
"I won't." Kyle reached out a hand and helped him dismount. "I promise."
And with those two words, he felt the last three years slip away. He was a kid again, he had a best friend and a partner in crime and someone to share his heart's dreams with. Except, he didn't even know if they'd really been like that when they were kids. Had his heart even had any dreams, besides when he'd fill his belly next or see Oliver smile at him again?
Oliver was smiling at him now, and nothing else mattered. But the smile slowly faded, and so too did the sunshine.
"I've been away too long," Oliver said. "They'll miss me back home."
Kyle nodded. It was getting late, and he still had that trough to fix. "I'll take you back. Get on." He patted the saddle with little force and watched as Oliver mounted the horse, completely on his own this time. He scooted back to allow Kyle room in front.
Kyle maneuvered Jinny toward the ranch and then they sped off, faster than before, faster than Oliver expected, because his arms gripped Kyle around the middle in such a tight hold, Kyle thought he might show signs of it tomorrow.
He made a wide berth of the main house and deposited Oliver near a stand of withered, gnarled trees.
"See you around," he said, tipping his hat. When Oliver was merely a speck in the distance, he added, "I hope."
It was after sunset when he finally retreated back to the two room quarters he shared with his pa. It was dark, no lamps or candles lit, but he could still see his father's figure, as always, slumped in his chair.
"Evening, Pa," he said, just like every night. "I'm going to sleep now."
"I miss her so much," his father mumbled. He was drunk again. Kyle didn't need to smell it on him, or hear it in his slurred words. He only ever talked about 'her' when he was drunk.
"Me too," Kyle said quietly. "I miss her too." He doubted his father heard him. He wasn't really talking to Kyle, anyway. He was probably talking to God.
"Took her away. The love of my life. Had to-" A desperate sob. "Had to go and get sick, and-and leave me. Breaking my heart all over, Jin. Breaking it... Tiny bits." He lifted up an empty hand, as if presenting the phantom pieces. His glassy, red-rimmed eyes stared past Kyle. Moonlight streamed in through the window, alighting his face, making the tear tracks glow on his pale, unshaven skin.
Kyle touched the empty, cold hand, brought it back down to his father's lap. Turning, he pulled a blanket off the edge of the mattress and draped it over his father's slouched form. "It's okay," he said, tucking the frayed edges of the blanket around bony shoulders. It wasn't okay. Not really. But it always seemed like the thing to say. "It's okay."
He walked slowly out of the room, leaving his pa to his blubberings. He used to feel more sorry for him, for them both, for being left all alone with nothing but dark rooms and silence. But that was when he believed in love. Believed in the power of its goodness. But love never did a person any good but bring them a heaping plate of misery. It was like a terrible infliction, surviving in the heart too long after hope died.
And love without hope was little more than pain.
In his small room, he struck the last red phosphorous match in the box and lit the small wax candle on the table next to his bed. His heart beat a little easier with the addition of light in the room.
Not that he was scared of the dark. It was just, well, he had to be vigilant. Cattle rustlers were always about, and he didn't need any trouble with lost stock. He often thought of speaking with Mr. George Fish about getting a fence set up around the property, with wire and everything. It would eat up most of his free time, and probably take months, maybe years, to finish, but it would be worth it if discouraged them no-good Ford boys from coming in and stealing cattle and doing God only knew to the land he worked so hard to foster.
A chilly breeze snaked in through the window, sending a shiver up his arms. The heavy shutters had split, some years earlier, warped and degraded by bad weather, and wouldn't close up all the way. He'd been meaning to fix them, but there just hadn't been time for it. Sighing, he tugged the thin sheet off his bed and carried it, along with his small wooden chair, to the half-open window. He mounted the chair and stretched up full, on the tips of his toes, and extended the blanket all the way across the top of the thin frame. He pulled down until it caught in the crack between the frame and the wall, kept pulling until it settled in snugly. He tucked in the edges all the way around, as best he could. The cold still crawled in, but it was a very slow crawl, and he was able to keep himself warm by the flame of the candle.
He sat on his wool-stuffed mattress, his back up against the west-facing wall-still slightly warm from the afternoon sun-and let his eyes fall shut.
Until a sound outside snapped them open. Someone had creaked open the broken shutter. He couldn't see their silhouette through the sheet, but he could hear them, the sound of boots on gravel, a finger poking fabric. The Fords had never come this far in before. His heart thumped in his chest. He was almost afraid they'd hear it pounding all the way outside. Slowly, he crawled off the mattress, then, on his hands and knees, shoved one fist underneath, pulling out cold metal. The pistol was heavy in his hand. It gleamed in the flickering candlelight.
Silent as a fox in the hen house, he tiptoed to the window. Shaking fingers reached for the sheet. He breathed deep, held it in, steadying his heart and his nerve, then ripped down the sheet and aimed the gun at the intruder in one swift move.
"I swear I'll shoot," he whispered, as fierce as his trembling voice would allow.
"Kyle!" the intruder squeaked in a familiar voice.
Kyle let out his held breath. His whole body was shaking now, taken over by nerves and relief and a flood of adrenaline.
"Jumping Jehosephat, Oliver! I could have killed you!"
"Why do you have a gun?!"
"Why are you skulking around outside my window?" Kyle lowered the pistol and placed it on the chair.
"Can I-can I come in?" Oliver's eyes glimmered in the dark like great pools of water.
Kyle poked his head out the window and looked nervously around. Emptiness and darkness, for miles and miles. Not a single lamp shone from the main house, off in the distance.
He waved Oliver in. "Just... keep your voice down. The walls are thin and Pa doesn't like being disturbed from his, uh, his peaceful slumber."
Oliver clambered through the window, graceful as a charging bull. Straightening himself up, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the room, taking in the bare surroundings while Kyle re-covered the window.
"It's so dark in here."
"That's because it's nighttime," Kyle deadpanned.
"Good thing I brought these, then." Oliver's hands came out of his pockets, gripping two squat candles, one in each palm. The wicks looked too short to pull flame from Kyle's half-melted stub.
"I don't have any more matches."
Oliver smiled. "Good thing I brought these too." He pulled out a matchbox and set it on the table, next to the candles.
Kyle stood behind Oliver and watched him light up the small room. It felt so strange. He couldn't remember another person ever stepping foot in there. He wasn't sure the space felt right for more than one.
"Not that I'm making a fuss," he said as Oliver turned back toward him. "Just curious is all... but what are you doing here, sneaking around in the dead of night?"
Oliver took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. "I owe you."
"You what now?"
"I'm... in your debt."
"Oliver, come on. What are you on about?"
"You taught me." Oliver shrugged. "And now, I have to teach you." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Kyle squinted at him. "Teach me... what?"
"You remember how to read?" He had produced a thin, leather-bound book, seemingly out of nowhere.
Kyle opened his mouth, but nothing came out. How to answer such a question? He closed his mouth, swallowed, then tried again. "Yes... I mean... a little." He turned away from Oliver. "I don't wanna read anything."
Oliver tugged on his shirtsleeve and turned him back around. "It's good. You'll like it!" He had that look again. That secret-thrill look.
"You don't know that."
"It's an adventure story. It's not dry like what we used to read at school. I promise."
Kyle couldn't help but perk up at that. He wondered if Oliver had done it on purpose, to win the argument. Invoked a promise. Kyle didn't know why he put such stock in them, but he did. There was something sacred about a promise. It meant more than anything else in the entire world. People lied, and cheated, and stole, but when they made a promise, they meant it. He believed that, even against his better judgment.
"An adventure story?"
"Yeah. It's about these men-outlaws, really-living in the forest. They ride horses and have sword fights and save people from certain death!"
Kyle chewed on his lip. "Outlaws? That doesn't seem your type of story."
"But I thought, maybe-maybe it's yours."
"You think so?"
"Not-not that I think you would ever-I mean-I'm not trying to say-" His face had gone brick red and Kyle thought maybe he forgot how to breathe. He reached out a hand, rested it on Oliver's tense shoulder.
"Calm down, Ollie." He paused. He hadn't called him that in years. It just fell off the tongue, all slippery-like. "I know what you mean. Adventures stories are good. I like them."
Oliver swallowed, looked down. "You-you do?"
"Yeah. Sounds nice. Here..." He sat down on the mattress, scooted to the edge to make room for Oliver, and patted the empty space next to him. "I'm ready for my lesson."
"Okay." The mattress sank a bit under Oliver's weight. They sat together, backs against the wall, knees propped up, shoulders just barely touching.
Kyle turned his head. "I'm a little tired, though. Can you-can you just read it to me, to start off? I'll be better tomorrow night." He yawned. "I swear."
"Tomorrow night?" Oliver raised an eyebrow.
"Mm hmm," Kyle said. "When you come back for my next lesson."
Oliver grinned-a small, triumphant grin. "Yeah, all right. Tomorrow."
"Good."
Holding the book between them, Oliver flipped it open and began reading in a soft, pleasant voice. He used his finger to follow along the words at first, maybe hoping to jog Kyle's memory, but his hand fell away after a while and rested on his bent knee instead.
Kyle found himself staring at Oliver's hands again. Those big pugilist's hands. He imagined his own hand sliding over the back of one, fingers slotting perfectly between the ridges of his knuckles. The room felt comfortably warm for once; maybe it was the extra candles. He closed his eyes, swallowing, and allowed himself to imagine it was Oliver bringing him all that warmth.
It felt incredibly good-not being alone. Having his best friend back in his life.
And like the stubborn bitterroot blossom defying a long drought, hope bloomed in his chest.
(...TBC...)
Chapter Four - This Land Is Your Land