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Air that wanted to make you choke on it - all thick with August heat - that was what they were breathing. Henry’s father had ordered him to go down to the barn ‘cause he said there was no way he was sending Grace or Mary down there in case this new farmhand got too heavy-handed, even though he seemed like a nice enough lad, and he wasn’t gonna do it himself because he was old and it was about time Henry started pulling his weight. So Henry held his tongue about that comment and took down a plate of his ma’s stew in a metal bowl and walked across the ranch down to the barn. It was lit up a bit, hazy light coming out one window. There was a new horse in the stable as well. A real beauty - was clear that the new farmhand was fond of her.
“There’s food for you,” he said from outside the barn door. And Henry had expected the voice on the other side to call back to leave it there, but the door opened and there was a young man standing right in front of him. He didn’t look like any man Henry had seen before - black hair under his hat and black eyes but skin fairer than Henry’s was. Strong arms, big hands. There in the back was the bed he’d made of blankets, a lantern, and a whittling knife.
“Thank you,” the farmhand said. He took the stew and practically inhaled it he ate so fast, and Henry knew he ought to head back up to the house where he could breathe a little easier but something kept him right there, leaning against the doorframe, watching the farmhand eat. The spoon rattled against the bowl when he was done. Metal on metal.
“Hungry?”
“Haven’t had a hot meal in weeks,” the farmhand said. There was this little sheepish grin on his face before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned back onto the hay. “Thanks, again. It was good.”
“Ain’t like I made it,” Henry said. “What’s your name?”
“Don’t have one,” the farmhand said. “Or if I did, I don’t remember it.”
“What do they call you, then?”
“Boy, if they’re nice. Other things, if they’re not.”
“That so.” Henry didn’t want to call him boy. They were the same age, or close enough.
“Yup. How ‘bout you?”
“Henry.”
“Nice to meet you, Henry. Your da’s awful nice for letting me stay here.”
“He just wants the fenceposts fixed.”
“Well, I’ll have it done in no time.”
Henry didn’t really know what to say as he stood there leaning against the doorframe, watching the farmhand. He supposed he ought to go back up to the house, but up there Mary was playing cards with Grace and her husband who’d never look him in the eyes no more, and Henry didn’t feel like being around any of them. So instead he took a long drink from his flask and looked the farmhand in the eyes, noticing the way they lingered on him like the last of the heat in September.
“Whiskey,” he said. “You want some?”
The farmhand nodded and Henry chucked his flask over, watched him this time as he took a sip, laughing a little at the grimace on his face as alcohol burned his throat.
“Never taken to drink all that well,” he said. There was that sheepish look again. Henry wondered why he found it so charming.
“I can tell.”
“You want to come sit? It’s cooler here than it is out there.”
“Alright,” Henry said, and sat down on the blanket beside him, taking off his hat. They passed the flask back and forth until only a swig remained in the bottle. The farmhand’s cheeks were pink. Henry didn’t feel the drink at all.
“Will you tell me ‘bout who lives up there?” The farmhand pointed up towards the house where all the lights were still on.
“You’ve met my father,” Henry said, looking up at the window of his big sister’s old bedroom. “Then there’s my ma and little sister Mary. You can keep your eyes off her.”
“You’ve got my word,” the farmhand said. He didn’t sound like temptation was all that much of a concern for him.
“And well, there’s me. And right now up there’s my older sister Grace and her husband Lance.”
There was a trace of bitterness in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed.
“You don’t like him?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Henry grunted. Only he and Lance understood why.
“You don’t think he’s right for your sister or somethin’?”
“He’s fine.”
“Alright, alright,” said the farmhand, and he backed off.
Henry didn’t normally feel the urge to fill a silence but it felt quite odd just sitting there next to a stranger. Or maybe he wanted to hear him talk a bit.
“Where were you before this?”
“Worked in the mines over in Annesburg ‘til I couldn’t take it. Took my horse and found this place.”
“And before that?”
“I’ve been all over. Since I was a kid.”
“I’ve only ever been here.”
“Sounds like a blessing to me.”
“I suppose.”
“I always dreamed of having a ranch or farm of my own someday,” the farmhand said. He was kicked back real easy, one leg resting over the other, hands behind his head. “Would want some animals and crops and a couple peach trees out the back.”
“Well, good luck to you with all that.”
“This place gonna be yours?”
“Yeah. Don’t have any brothers. And not a day goes by I don’t hear my pa grumbling about it.”
The farmhand laughed at that. Maybe he was a little tipsy, but Henry still liked the look of him grinning as he lay back on the hay.
“You seem man enough to me. You married?”
Henry had been asked that question with that tone years before by the man who married his sister.
“Nah,” he replied, much the same as he did back then as well. “Take it you aren’t either.”
“What made you guess?” the farmhand asked, laughing. “That obvious?”
“Well I don’t see no lady tangled up in all this hay,” Henry laughed.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
It got quieter and the air got even harder to breathe and Henry was about to say something but he bit his tongue - though it didn’t matter anyway as right then the voice of his goddamn older sister rang out from the house.
“Henry! Come on up and play cards with us! What’re you doing down there?”
“Nothin’!” he yelled right back. “I’ll be there in a minute!”
“Stop tormenting the farmhand!”
“I’m not!”
But she was gone by then and so was the moment from before. Henry stood up, took the bowl and put his hat back on before nodding to the farmhand. There was no reason not to go but he stopped anyway and leaned against the doorframe again, flipping his flask open with one hand, and he savoured that last swig of whiskey.
There was something about the way the farmhand looked back at him, maybe like he was trying to figure something out, or was just looking at him in the kinda way that made Henry shiver a little bit, feeling more seen than he had by anyone since his - well, since Lance told him he was gonna propose to Grace. But Henry liked it this time, and he let his eyes linger right back on the farmhand’s softer face, wondering how long he’d stay and if it’d be enough time for Henry to really get his heart good and broken again. Maybe it wouldn’t be worth it, but something deep down in Henry told him he was gonna do it anyway.
“Aren’t you gonna go on back up?” the farmhand asked, and Henry nodded and tipped his hat. He felt like he had a fever by then.
“Yeah.”
“Alright.” There was a long pause after that where Henry still didn’t make a move to go. It seemed that the farmhand wasn’t too keen on the idea either. “Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“Was nice meetin’ you.”
“That so?” Henry asked, grinning at him.
“Honest truth.” That sheepish look again.
“Well, I could say the same.”
And Henry left with bowl in hand and walked up the path feeling much different than he had not half an hour before, thinking maybe this game of cards wouldn’t be so bad with the farmhand on his mind and the promise of bringing down another bowl of stew and flask of whiskey. If nothing else he was a good laugh and easy on the eyes. When he got to the door and heard Grace calling his name again Henry turned around and took a look down at the barn where the light had gone out, finding himself wishing the night away and for morning to come faster. And maybe when the sun rose and they went to fix the fenceposts he’d give that farmhand a name - just so he’d have something to remember him by when he was gone in search of a farm with peach trees.