again. “Are your parents thinking of buying the house from the city?”
“No,” the older one said. “The mayor’s letting us stay there for a week.”
“He is?” That didn’t sound like Melbourne, unless there was a cutback in it for him, but that wasn’t something Brett would discuss with a child.
“Yes, he is,” the boy replied before asking, “Why do you talk like that?”
Brett wasn’t insulted. There had been a time when he’d tried to alter his accent, but that was more work than it was worth. This was the way he’d talked his entire life, and he figured he’d go right on doing so. He patted the boy on the head while walking down the steps. “Because I’m not from around here. I lived up north, by Canada, until a couple of years ago when I moved here.”
“We saw you carrying the fishing pole,” the younger boy said as they both started walking beside him. “And some fish.”
“Ya, I went fishing. Caught a fine batch of cats.” He held out the bucket. “Gotta bury the innards.”
The younger boy, most likely having figured out there was no need to be scared, pointed toward the bucket. “Ma used to bury those in the garden.”
“That’s what my ma would do too. Or have me or one of my brothers do it,” Brett answered while stopping at the tool shed door. “But seeing I don’t have a garden, I’ll bury them out by that little tree.”
“You don’t have many of those around here,” the older boy said.
Brett entered the shed, grabbed the shovel and stepped back out. “Trees?”
The boy nodded.
“No, we don’t,” Brett agreed. “I’d like to see a few more, that’s for sure.”
Both boys started walking beside him again. “There were lots of trees in Ohio,” the younger one said.
“Ohio? Is that where you’re from?” Brett asked.
“Yes.”
The tone of the older boy said he’d rather be back in Ohio. Brett figured that was how most children felt when it came to moving away from their home and didn’t begrudge the youngster whatsoever. “Never been to Ohio. But we had lots of trees in Wisconsin. Say, what are your names?”
“I’m Wyatt, and this here is Rhett.”
“I’m five,” Rhett supplied.
“Wyatt and Rhett, you say,” Brett said while setting down the bucket near the small and only tree on his property. “Well, my name is Brett. Brett Blackwell.”
“Hey, your name sounds like my name. Brett. Rhett.”
“That it does,” Brett answered the younger boy while jabbing the shovel into the ground. “But I’m a lot older than five.”
“How long you lived around here?” Wyatt asked.
“More than two years. Oak Grove is a nice town. I’m sure your folks will like it.” The hole was deep enough. Brett set aside the shovel and dumped the bucket’s contents in the hole and then grabbed the shovel to replace the dirt. “You two will too once you get to know others.”
“We already know others,” Wyatt said.
There was so much anger in the boy’s voice Brett had to follow the glare Wyatt was casting across the field. Right to the house the city had for sale. “Who?” he asked. “Who do you know?”
“The mayor.”
Brett nodded. “Josiah Melbourne likes to hear himself talk, but he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
“I don’t want to get to know him any more than I already do,” Wyatt said.
“Me neither,” Rhett said. “He told us to go outside and not come back in until he leaves and that was a long time ago.”
Carrying the empty bucket and shovel, Brett started walking back toward his house. “Probably because he has some important business to talk about with your folks.”
“Like when he’s gonna marry our ma.”
Brett stumbled slightly. “Marry your ma? Where’s your pa?”
“Got hisself killed back in Ohio,” Wyatt said. “That’s why we had to move here, and why Ma has to marry the mayor.”
The mayor prided himself on being from Ohio, and it was an acquaintance of his rounding up brides from there—which made Brett ask, “Did your ma know the mayor when he lived in Ohio?”
“No. The preacher’s wife told Ma she had to come out here and marry the mayor ’cause folks at the church didn’t want us there no more.”
That didn’t sound like a thing any preacher’s wife should say and Brett couldn’t stop himself from asking, “She did?”
“Yes, she did.” Wyatt had both arms crossed over his chest and his squinting eyes held enough anger to make a rattlesnake take cover.
Children shouldn’t harbor such anger. Shouldn’t have to. A good portion of anger was starting to well around inside Brett too—at the idea of more brides arriving and Melbourne harboring one for himself. That wasn’t playing by the rules. The women were supposed to have a choice of who they wanted to marry.
“You gonna cook those fish you caught?” little Rhett asked.
They’d arrived back at the tool shed, and as Brett set the shovel inside, he answered, “I am. Do you boys like catfish? I got more than I can eat.”
Rhett licked his lips while looking up at Wyatt. The older boy shook his head and reluctance filled his voice as he said, “Ma probably wouldn’t like that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with your ma, but knowing how long-winded the mayor can be, and seeing you two are hungry, and considering I invited you to eat, I don’t see how she could be too mad. Do you?”
“No,” Rhett answered while his older brother was still considering how to answer. “She promised we’d eat right after we arrived in town, and that was a long time ago.”
“Let me rinse out this bucket, then we’ll go cook us some fish,” Brett said. “We’ll leave the door open so we can hear if she hollers for you.”
Wyatt appeared to agree with that and held out a hand. “I’ll rinse out the bucket. Rhett’s been hungry for hours.”
Brett handed over the bucket, but not until he asked, “Didn’t they feed you on the train?”
“Just once a day,” Wyatt answered. “Last night was the last time we ate.”
Brett grasped Rhett’s little shoulder to lead him up the steps while gesturing toward the well for Wyatt to find the water to rinse out the bucket. “Come on, little feller. Let’s get something in
