Kate Brauning - The Ballad of Dinah Caldwell

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TO MY SIBLINGS:

Tricia, Sean, Matt, Aimee, Rebekah, Sam, Lydia, Jake, Rebecca, John, Hannah, and Mark, who are all so wonderful that they have never once tried to cut me out of the family.
I wrote this book for them.

T HE WHOLE COUNTY HELD ITS BREATH WHEN THE SILVER TRUCK pulled away from that big, gabled house in the valley. The wheel of Charlotte County spun around the axle of Gabriel Gates, and when he moved, the county moved, too.

That silver truck hadnt pulled up the dirt driveway of Dinah Caldwells farm in four yearsnot since hed called due the loan on her fathers garage in town. And since they hadnt been able to pay it, Gates had taken the shop and the tools and the last shred of her fathers hope and said he could run the garage as an employee.

There wasnt much left for Gates to take, though, so Dinah had no idea why hed be parking his truck on the cracked dirt of their driveway.

Her mother was home by herself. And no matter why that man was here, she couldnt run to the little two-bedroom house across the patchy grass of the yard. Because then her brother would follow.

Warren slowly stood up from his seat on the old fallen tree. He was always putting his favorite stones and little figures he carved into the mossy, rotted-out end. What do you think he wants?

The door of that big, self-driving truck slammed.

Nothing good. Dinah couldnt take her eyes off the man walking toward her house.

Warren picked up his gun. It was only a .243 bolt action, but it was still deadly.

Bright, late October sunlight spilled warmth over the dying grass, a lie about the cold in the air. But the sun couldnt reach them here, a few yards into the woods, and Gabriel Gates couldnt see them, either.

A gunshot ruptured the air.

Damn it, Warren, if you cant be more careful with that, Im taking it away.

I am being careful. And you would not. Warren frowned, but he turned away from his target-shooting tree and held the gun more carefully.

She would so, and he knew it. Dinah watched him from the corner of her eye. Something about eleven-year-old boys must make them reckless.

Or maybe seeing that vehicle here made him a little sick, too.

Warren kicked a cluster of fallen maple leaves, flicking bright red sails into the air. Dust bloomed around them. In the drought of the last six years, half the lakes in the Ozarks had dried up. Too many people in the county had already caved to one of Gatess bad loans, sold to him for the money to start over, or straight-up given him their farm in return for a monthly paycheck to run it.

Her mothers deal to trade water from their well for food from the neighbors was the only reason any of them were still here.

I bet I could hit his tires. Warren swung the gun around and took aim.

Dont you dare. He wouldnt actually do it. Brian Shaw, the big white guy Gates had hired as a bodyguard from out in Kansas, sat in the back.

Besides, that truck was worth more than everything they ownedone of maybe three vehicles shed ever seen in her life that had been made after the 2029 depression. The handful of other cars or trucks in the area were at least forty years oldmost people rode little motorbikes, a lot of ancient Z125s and Honda Groms, since they were so cheap and easy to work on. People needed their vehicle to last through three or four rebuilds at least.

Warren didnt answer, but he lowered the gun and immediately coughed. The cold air and dust made his asthma worse. So did stress.

Every time, that sound made her desperate. He didnt use to wheeze like that when the temperature changed.

Warren reached into the end of the mossy log and brought out a little wooden bird, half-carved. Because he knew, too. They couldnt go home while that man was here. We dont owe him anything, he said.

We dont. Dinah rolled open her knife sheath and pulled out the middle blade.

Him taking the garage in town had settled their debt. Gabriel Gates wasnt a bank, just a local farmer whose family had been here for five generations, same as most.

But her mother had been crying some nights, for months, and she wouldnt say why.

Dinah stood, her favorite knife in her hand. Her lightest drop-point. All her knives were single-piece and double edged, but this one was her favorite for throwing. Good aim took constant practice, and if she imagined the tree was a man, a very specific man, her aim improved.

Usually she imagined this pin oak was her father, and she threw those blades until her arms ached. Today, she was picturing Gabriel Gates. But it didnt really matter. This tree was a skeleton man, and her knife would turn him from skin and blood into bones.

She was distracted enough for the blade to strike and bounce, instead of sink.

She shook her head once, hard, and pulled out a second knife. Her blades werent true throwing knives, but she needed them for more than target practice. She balanced the blade and her body, and she whipped the knife into the air. It split tree bark and held.

Warren grinned. There you go. His coat was too big, and he looked younger than eleven in it. It only belonged to him because it no longer belonged to their father. Warrens gaze strayed again through the trees to their house.

She yanked her knife out of the tree and sat beside him. He started working away on the little bird. She watched his knife tracing texture, so carefully, onto the individual feathers.

Isnt it weird how birds have wings and legs? he said. Like, they can hop around on the ground, but they can also fly high up if they want. Which would you rather have? Wings or legs.

If shed been born with either one, shed be fine with it, but she didnt want to have to make the choice. I dunno. Wings seem pretty risky.

Legs are risky, too, though. Warren flipped the bird over and started working on the other wing.

A door banged. Gates strode out to his truck, but they could barely see him around the corner of the house. He was thin-faced and broad-shouldered, and in those suits he always wore, just a bit too long, he looked like a skeleton pretending to be human.

Warren pulled his gaze away from Gates back to her. Her brothers gray eyes were just like their moms. Deep. Intelligent. Scared. Trying to figure out a world that didnt want him.

The driverless silver truck backed carelessly out of the yard.

How about you go feed the chickens? she said. I should help Mom with dinner.

The rumble of the engine faded. Warrens shoulders relaxed. Yeah. Okay.

Dinah headed for the house. Warren would mess around outside until she made him come in. Telling him to feed the chickens just gave him an excuse to avoid going inside. Because even as scared as he was, he didnt want to know. He wanted to do his carvings and take care of his chickens and climb around in the ravine. And she could at least give him that.