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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Bodark Creek - 12. Chapter 12

It was only one summer that there were just six of us kids. Soon Walter’s first daughter Cecil was born, and right after that, my oldest brother Sonny brought his family to Bodark Creek. This time, I knew they were coming, but I tried not to ask too many questions. I was beginning to learn that you could find out just as much by listening.

“We got them a house almost next door to ours,” Dougie said. “It’s gonna be like old times.”

“We’re moving, too,” Walter told me. “I convinced the mill that I should have a bigger house.” He and Myra weren’t living in a place as small as the one he’d shared with Stefanie. But Walter’s second house still only had three-and-a-half rooms. “And we just need more,” he said, “what with the baby.”

When Walter, Dougie, and Sonny all got new houses, I asked Mama, “Don’t you want one, too?”

“No,” she said. “For one thing, it would mean a longer walk to work.”

“Only a few streets.”

“Well, for another, I’d have to plant the garden all over again.”

“I’d help,” I said, thinking how much fun it would be to live on the same street as my brothers. But Mama wasn’t interested.

“And don’t go asking me,” Daddy said. “You know which rules your mama makes.”

Rosalind and I had that figured out years before. Even Charley knew which things Mama or Daddy decided.

And soon Sonny was working at the mill, along with Dougie and Sonny’s wives. Walter’s wife was taking care of their new baby and was also watching Sonny’s youngest daughter. The rest of us went to school, the older ones with Rosalind and me, the young ones to the mill kindergarten. Our school was getting bigger every year, and they hadn’t separated the upper grades from the lower ones yet, since most of the boys didn’t go past eighth grade. But that was changing, too, because some of the boys didn’t want to work on their familys’ farms. And the mill wouldn’t hire them till they were sixteen.

“I might as well stay in school,” Dougie’s son Gordon said. “Who knows? I might learn something.”

“You’re not stupid,” I told him.

“I never thought that,” he said. “I just don’t care very much.”

Still, Gordon was always with the rest of us. He was the leader of the boys, though that was only Charley and Sonny’s son Lyle. “He’s our mascot,” Gordon said, since Lyle was barely three. Sonny’s youngest daughter was also too young to play. She’d just had her first birthday. But that still left Rosalind with four girls to lead.

Sonny’s wife was also a little different from Myra and Virginia. It’s not that Ruth was completely religious. She wasn’t always correcting us and making sure we knew right from wrong. But she didn’t only go to church on Sundays or for gatherings and dances. “Ruth is a really good woman,” Sonny told us. “I’ve never known anyone like her.”

I’d never met anyone like her, either, and I loved her because she was Sonny’s wife. But I had to admit that she always seemed more interested in knowing God than in knowing about the rest of us.

That didn’t bother Sonny. He wasn’t really any different about religion than Dougie or Walter. “I do what I have to and hope I’m not damned,” I heard him tell my brothers.

“If you are, I’m sure Ruth’ll get you out of it,” Dougie joked.

“Maybe that’s what I’m depending on.”

“Oh, hell, you’re a much better man than I am,” Dougie went on. “You always were.”

Sonny laughed. “I try to set an example.”

Daddy laughed, too, but not for the same reason. “Well, you sure weren’t setting any examples when you lived with me. Not good ones, anyhow. I always told Ilene, ‘Whatever Sonny’s up to, you can bet Dougie and Walter aren’t far behind.’”

“Did you really think that?” Sonny asked.

“Ask Ilene. She knew you better than your own mama.”

“And I always had the good sense to stay out of how you raised your boys,” Mama said. “You knew just what you wanted.”

“I’ve got the belt marks to prove it,” Dougie joked.

Daddy was quiet as everyone made fun of him. But finally he said, “Well, I guess you’re all turning out all right. But you’ve got to give me a few more boys. I’ve got seven grandchildren and only one blood grandson.”

“We’ll just have to raise Lyle to be a ladies man,” Walter said.

“Not while I’m around,” Ruth put in.

“Then Charley’s my last hope,” Daddy decided. “Of course, by the time he gives me grandchildren, I’ll be long gone.”

Sonny insisted that Daddy could live to ninety. “You’ll not only see Charley’s children. You’ll be at their weddings.”

“Wouldn’t that be fine?” Daddy said.

Hearing his name, Charley suddenly asked, “Am I getting married?” And everyone laughed.

Of all my brothers, I think I liked Sonny best, maybe because he was the hardest to like. I’d liked Walter immediately, because everyone liked Walter then, and a lot of that held over even after he changed. And you couldn’t help but liking Dougie, because he was always making people happy. But you had to go to Sonny, and ask him serious questions to prove that you deserved serious answers. And even though he said he wasn’t religious, there was always something right about him. Still, I think the biggest reason I liked Sonny was he was the first person who never told me, “Oh, shush now, Addy.” Instead, he’d always say, “Well, come here, and let’s think about that.”

2021 by Richard Eisbrouch
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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That last paragraph, especially the last sentence really caught me. So very touching.

Edited by starboardtack
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