Uncle Ray holds up a hand and shakes his head. “No, thank you all the same. I’ll leave you to your family, Ida.”
“Will we be seeing you at church this morning?” Bouncing the baby so she won’t fuss, Mrs. Bucher spears the fatty end of one piece of bacon with her fork, flips it and lays it back in the grease.
“Well, how about that. Today is Sunday, after all.” Uncle Ray says it as if Sunday snuck up on him. “I guess I’ll get along and put on something decent.”
“We’ll all be glad to have you back,” Mrs. Bucher says.
Uncle Ray gives Daniel another pat on the shoulder. On the last pat, he holds on. “Nice manners. Real nice.”
Mr. Bucher walks Uncle Ray outside and waits there until a truck engine fires up before walking back into the kitchen. Mrs. Bucher gives him a nod, or maybe she is taking a deep breath and they both turn to Daniel.
“Ray’s going to be working with your father and me,” Mr. Bucher says.
The clatter of silverware stops and chewing mouths go quiet. The brothers sitting around the table and the one scooping potato peels and the one poking through the cabinets and Ian pause to listen.
“Down at the county. Driving a grader, I suppose. Your pa called last night. Asked me this favor. Said he’d be sending Ray over this morning.”
Mr. Bucher glances over at Mrs. Bucher again.
“Your pa’s a smart man, Dan. Keeping that snake where he can see him.” Mr. Bucher takes another sip of coffee. “Got a warmer-upper for me?” he says, holding his cup out for Mrs. Bucher to fill. “You understand that, Dan?”
“Yes, sir. A snake. I understand, sir.”
After eating two biscuits dipped in maple syrup, something Mama would never let him do, Daniel follows Ian and four of his brothers outside. His gut hurts, maybe because Mrs. Bucher’s biscuits were soggy in the middle, or maybe because he can still feel Uncle Ray’s hand squeezing his arm, or maybe because he isn’t as good a shot as Ian says he is. Before they left the kitchen, Mrs. Bucher said they had only a half hour because everyone needed to wash up before church. She said the whole mess of them was a sorry sight, so a half hour and no more. Daniel pulls his coat closed and, slapping his leather gloves together, thinks that if the older boys go first there won’t be time for him. Mrs. Bucher will call them inside and Daniel will shrug and say, “Maybe next time.” Walking toward the barn, four Bucher brothers leading the way, Daniel wishes he had never seen Uncle Ray and that Ian hadn’t told his brothers that Daniel is such a great shot-a good shot maybe, good for a city kid, but great means better than everyone else, better than every other brother.
“Who goes first?” Daniel whispers to Ian.
One of the brothers, the smallest, walks ahead of the group and lines up three cans on the top rung of the wooden fence that runs between the house and the barn. The wind blows down one of the cans. He kicks it aside, slaps his bare hands on his thighs and shouts, “All ready. Fire it up.”
Ian nudges Daniel forward.
“Me?” Daniel says. “You want me to go first?”
“Sure,” one of the brothers says.
The two oldest brothers didn’t bother following everyone outside. Instead, they are watching from the porch. “Hurry up with it, already,” one of them shouts.
“Here,” says the brother who’s two years ahead of Daniel in school. He hands Daniel a rifle. “You use a.22, right? This is a good one. Got a nice straight sight.”
“Yeah, Daniel,” Ian says. “Show them. Show them what a great shot you are.”
Pulling off his gloves and tossing them on the ground, Daniel takes the rifle. The morning air is cold and wet, making his neck and arms stiff. He squints into the sun rising above the bank of trees on the east side of the house, shakes out his hands and bends and straightens his fingers. “Sure, I’ll go first,” he says. “Those cans over there?”
“Yeah,” says Ian. “Get them both.”
Daniel brings the rifle up to his shoulder, rests his cheek against the cold wood, and with one eye closed, his breath held tight in his lungs, his feet square under his shoulders, he fires, flips the bolt action and fires again. Both cans fly off the railing.
“Got them,” Ian shouts.
“Na,” says the youngest brother and the one with the loudest mouth. “The wind knocked them off.”
“That wasn’t the wind,” Ian says. “Daniel got them both. Clean shots.”
“Na, just the wind,” another brother says.
“Doesn’t matter,” Daniel says, flips on the safety and hands the rifle back to the brother who gave it to him.
“It was the wind,” a brother shouts from the porch.
“I’ll show you,” Ian says, limping toward the spot where the two cans landed.
A few of the brothers laugh and mimic Ian’s awkward gait, while the brother holding the rifle takes aim like he’s going to shoot Ian.
“Told you,” Ian shouts, holding up the cans. “Clean shots both.”
The brother holding the rifle lowers it. “Okay,” he says. “So maybe you are a good shot.”
Ian limps back to Daniel’s side. “Told you so.”
The same brother says, “Maybe good enough to go hunting with us.”
All of the brothers nod, including Ian.
“Pheasant. They’re open season right now,” the brother says. “So are quail. Or you might get yourself a prairie chicken.”
“Sure,” Daniel says, remembering the prairie dog’s head that he blew off and the body he left behind. “I mean, not today, because it’s church.”
“Na, next time you come over. In a few weeks maybe,” the same brother says. “What do you think, Ian? Maybe when we get a warm snap, so you’re not so stiff.”
“I’m not stiff. I’ll go anytime.”
The brother laughs. “Yeah, well, in a few weeks. Next time you’re over. We’ll all go hunting. Then we’ll see what a great shot you are.”
“Yeah, a few weeks,” Daniel says. He looks at Ian and tries to remember if he is more crooked since it got so cold. “Anytime.”
Chapter 15
Before sliding into the pew, Ruth genuflects, pulls off her stocking cap and smoothes her skirt. She winks at Evie as she does the same, and together, the Scott family sits. Celia and Elaine slide forward onto the kneeling bench and bow their heads in private prayer, and from their pew at the back of the church, Ruth scans the crowd. No sign of Ray’s brown hat or his dark hair. No sign. He is home now and eventually he’ll be back to church. But not yet. Not this morning. Ruth exhales, and feeling Mother’s vibration through the wooden floor as she walks down the aisle, Ruth signals the family by waving one hand. Everyone scoots down one spot to make room.
“What a shame,” Mother says, holding on to the back of the pew in front of them and groaning as she lowers herself. “What a darn shame.”
“Mother, shhhh.” Wondering if Arthur heard, Ruth looks down the line of Scotts.
Mother spreads out as she settles in, anchoring one side of the family, while Arthur anchors the other. She is angry because, once again, the Scotts are sitting in the last pew. One Sunday of every month, Father Flannery publishes a list that shows every family’s contribution to the church, and Arthur’s family remains at the bottom of that list, which means Arthur’s family sits in the last pew. Arthur says the good Lord understands about a man starting his life over and tending to his family first. Mother says the Lord is good but that He’s losing His patience.
“I thought I raised that boy to have some pride,” Mother says, making the sign of the cross. Unable to kneel, she remains sitting, her hands in her lap as she bows her head.
Ruth shifts in her seat enough to shield Evie from the conversation. “Arthur has pride enough for ten men,” she whispers, saying nothing more as Daniel peels away from the Bucher family, dips to one knee, makes the sign of the cross on his chest and slides past Mother and Ruth to take his place between Celia and Arthur.