Chapter Text
Bixby held tightly onto the reins of his horse while she galloped along the side of the train. The basket of produce tied onto his back and around his shoulders like a backpack was getting lighter with every window he passed, and his coin purse on his belt loop was getting heavier. None of it helped his aching back, but he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of affording a few warm suppers and some nice firewood for the winter.
Bixby’s method of marketing was simple. He started from the back and made his way to the front. The Wholesome Train Crew, as they were called, never seemed to mind, and neither did the passengers. In fact, he found that the passengers usually got a kick out of his routine, and workers usually appreciated that he started from the back. It gave them a heads-up to know he’d be riding past the train that day.
He was nearing the conductors car, and was always a little worried about him. He was always hard to get along with, even if he liked you. Being subjected to on-site work and not company-related business, like his father, who owned the entire Wholesome business to begin with, made the man quite irritable. Bixby’d heard a few stories here and there that he’d eventually be running the company soon enough, but that worried him a little if he were honest.
It was the conductor who allowed the train to never stop at the homestead in the first place, as there wasn’t ever really a reason to stop there and it saved fuel that was expensive to come by. Despite the reasonable decision, which Bixby knew was reasonable considering his own background, where saving money was crucial, the decision also meant the Greens’ business was beginning to plummet. Bixby shook his head to disrupt his thought. He needed to focus on selling the produce he had, and he hoped maybe the conductor was hungry that day, ‘cause that was the last car he had left to visit.
Bixby caught up to the last car and knocked a few times on the window. He watched the conductor, Charles Whistler— or more affectionately nicknamed ‘Charlie’ by his father, Henry, whom Bixby referred to as Mr. Whistler— glance at him, roll his eyes, and slide the window open for him.
“Howdy, Charlie!”
“What do you want, Bixby?” Charlie asked, lisping while he spoke just like his father did.
“C’mon? Why are ya askin’ me that kinda question? You know what I’m here for!” Bixby smiled at him playfully. He knew he didn’t want him there, but he’d like to keep his father’s farm running.
Charlie watched him with a flat gaze before sighing and reaching for a small coin pouch in his pant pocket. Bixby couldn’t help but be a little surprised at the action. It was the first time Charlie ever had money set out for Bixby specifically.
Charlie handed the pouch out to him. “How much produce will this get me?”
“Uh, um… um, well, it’ll get—“
“Quit stuttering and hurry up already, kid, your horse isn’t gonna gallop for too much longer.”
Bixby shook his head, getting back on track. “It can get you about two pounds of vegetables or two pounds of fruits, or a mixed variety, doesn’t matter to me.”
“Get me a pound and a half of mixed vegetables and, that second half, a few apples.”
“You’re picky today, aren’t you?”
“Oh? Now, if you wanna be snarky, I can always take my money back.”
“No, no, no, forget I said anythin’, I’ll getcha exactly what ya asked for,” Bixby said as he disregarded his previous comment with a wave and pulled out a homemade cloth sack from the basket on his back. He grabbed what produce he was asked for, tied off the top of the sack, and skillfully tossed it through the window of the moving train car.
“Thank you. Now go on back home! You’ve taken so much time talking that you’re out 3 miles more than usual!”
Bixby looked out behind him and noticed he didn’t recognize his surroundings. “Ah, that you’re right about. Well, I’ll see ya tomorrow! You tell your father to save us some apple pie ‘cause I know that’s exactly what those apples are for!”
Charlie rolled his eyes, waved him off, and promptly shut the window.
Bixby simply shrugged and fell back. Once he finally slowed down and the train was long gone, he started heading back home. Hopefully, his father wouldn’t be too upset that he traveled so far. He was already irritable from whatever cold he’d caught.
—
Bixby stared at the finally lit fireplace. It took far too long to get it lit, long enough that he already had a quilt wrapped around his shoulders to do the fire’s job. He pulled the edges of the quilt around his shoulders tighter and continued to shiver beneath it. He’d gotten a good amount of firewood this winter, so the house would be warm for days.
Usually, lighting the fires during the harsh winters was his father’s job, and he always did it well. That wasn’t the case this winter, though.
No, most of– no, no– everything, now, was his responsibility. The fire, the cooking, the cleaning, the farm work. Everything was up to him, including being a 10-year-old caretaker to his sickly, lone parent.
Though if Bixby were being honest with himself, he doubted he’d be his caretaker for much longer.
No. No, he couldn’t be pessimistic. Not now.
He needed him.
—
No… his assumption was right…
He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.
He just wished it hadn’t happened so early in the morning. The blue hours of the morning, it was, when Jerome passed. Bixby pressed a kiss onto the back of his father’s hand after he prayed his soul be blessed and at peace in God’s arms. Eternal paradise was better than the forceful winter that sucked them dry of food and energy year after year, and he hoped he’d made it there. He assumed so. He hoped that assumption was right.
So, what to do now? He couldn’t exactly bury him himself, and there wasn’t a way in the world they could afford a service. A letter would take days, and he couldn’t wait that long.
Well, he supposed there was one thing he could do.
—
Bixby’s horse sauntered quietly through the snow. He didn’t want her to gallop or walk too quickly, with the ice being so thick this time of winter. The only noises were the surprisingly calm, whispering winds and the snow crunching beneath her hoof steps. Actually, there were two other noises accompanying them as well; the harsh breathing of both parties. The cold didn’t help them or ease their discomfort much.
“There,” Bixby whispered as his breath formed a thick vapor in the air. Down the road was a grand two-story home. Its white paint blended in with the snow just nicely, but the red roof and red accents stuck out like a sore thumb. Bixby was fond of it, though, and truly didn’t mind.
Right now, it was a sign of hope in his mind.
By the time he arrived, he couldn’t help but be blunt in his words. He didn’t have the time to explain things in detail, nor did he care to soften his phrasing.
“He’s dead, you say?” Mr. Whistler said, lisping while he spoke from the tooth gap he had. The man had greying brown hair that he typically slicked back, green eyes, wrinkles, and fair skin that had clearly been tanned by the sun from years of farm work in his younger years. He also wore a set of green pajamas, as if he’d just woken up, and maybe he had. Bixby felt terrible having woken him up from a peaceful sleep, just to deliver him this sort of news.
“Yes, sir,” Bixby said, not even looking the older Whistler in the eye as he continued to shiver and tremble from the cold outside. His nose was running, and his face was red enough from the cold that you probably couldn’t tell he’d been crying on his way there. “He passed this mornin’. ‘Round 6.”
“Oh, my,” Mr. Whistler sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck and waved Bixby in. “Alright. First, let’s get you some more layers on. I'm certain that you're freezing.”
“What about my horse?”
“I asked Charlie to bring her to the stable if needed before I opened the door. He should be downstairs in a few—“
“I’m here. You can quit talking about me now,” Charlie grumbled, rubbing his eyes of sleep as he walked past his father and outside to guide the steed to a stable nearby.
Bixby watched as he did so, and once he felt she was safe and well taken care of, he finally walked inside.
“Take a seat, son. Anywhere is alright. Sit somewhere near the fire.”
And so he did under the tall ceilings, large chandeliers, and towering walls. The fireplace was elegant and just as massive as everything else. Its mantle was lined with holly, candles, and a few red bows to top off the look. A few reindeer here and there, and a few nutcrackers too.
Bixby hesitantly sat on the red, velvet couch and, after a few minutes, found that relaxing wasn’t an option. It wouldn’t be, he knew that, but he hoped it would. He wrung his hands together as he stayed tense in his seat. At least the fire was warm, and he wasn’t freezing anymore.
Charlie walked back indoors not too long after, searching for his father. He didn’t say a word to Bixby, and honestly, Bixby was kind of glad. He didn’t really want to talk right now.
Both of them eventually returned downstairs, wrapped up in their winter attire, and Mr. Whistler handed Bixby a few extra layers to wrap up with.
“Alright, son, let’s go,” he said, pulling a cloak over the kid’s shoulders and fastening its button.
—
Bixby pressed a firm hand on the cold, wooden casket and turned to look back at the two men behind him. It was just the three of them. The pastor left a while ago.
“Where am I going?”
“...Probably with us,” Mr. Whistler answered honestly.
Charlie couldn’t help but sigh at the thought.
—
Bixby pushed the train window open and poked his head out, letting his hair flow in the rushing wind.
“Y’know, I never thought I’d be inside the train before,” he said, letting the wind distract him.
“Well, now you know what it’s like,” Charlie responded, not even bothering to look at the kid. He didn’t particularly care to. “Now shut that window before I shut it for you. It’s too loud.”
Bixby winced at his bad attitude and promptly shut the window. “Yikes… Sorry.”
As the train finally began to slow down to a stop, Charlie couldn’t help but smile at his father’s familiar face, waiting at the train stop just ahead. The two stepped off the empty train to meet him.
“Fine day at work?”
“As fine as it can be with this annoying kid to accompany me.”
Bixby scoffed at the teasing remark. He knew Charlie didn’t really, truly mean it, but it did bug him a little with everything going on lately. He couldn’t stay mad for long, though, as Mr. Whistler placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about him,” Mr. Whistler chuckled. “With you being mentioned, maybe it’s a good time to bring this up. Bixby, I know you’ve only been living with us for a few months now, but I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten about your home.”
“My home?”
“Yes, your previous house. I’ve finally got the papers signed and, for now, at least, it’s under my name. I’m hoping to make it under yours once you’re old enough.”
Bixby’s eyes widened. “Sir, you’re being serious? You’re not kidding me, right?”
“Now, why would I kid you about something like that?”
“I don’t know, I just… I just didn’t really think I’d see it again. I mean, I see it all the time on the train route, but I didn’t think I’d ever get to see the inside of it again,” he stuttered.
“Well, now, if you’d like, you and Charlie can work on the inside of it when you two get the time.”
“Woah, woah, woah, hold on. Why am I getting involved?”
“He can’t just go there by himself.”
“Sure, he can! With how many times he’s run off, he might as well be able to!”
“Charlie,” Mr. Whistler sighed, pinching the space between his brows. He pulled Bixby towards him and covered his ears. His voice lowered to a whisper. “That house means a lot to him. Way more than I think neither you nor I could imagine. He’s run off because he wants to be home, and not our home, his home. If you could bear with me and help out a little bit, I’d appreciate it a lot. I’m sure he would too, even if he doesn’t admit it.”
Charlie huffed and looked off to the side, taking his conductor's hat off and pushing it down on Bixby’s head, affectionately.
“Fine.”
—
Charlie wiped the sweat off of his forehead, finally getting off of his hands and knees and leaning against the kitchen counter to rest. Goodness, who could’ve known that only a few months of dust could collect that much in the cabinets? At least it wasn’t as bad as fixing up the yard outside, with the vines and ivy that had wrapped itself around the porch and climbed its way up the walls.
He peeked into the living room from the kitchen door after a few minutes and found Bixby sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floors, books scattered around him on the carpet. Charlie leaned forward the tiniest bit further to get a better look and noticed the lone tear that slipped down the kid's cheek.
Charlie paused for a moment, then shook his head.
“Hey!”
Bixby slammed the book in his hands shut and whipped his head around to look at him. He quickly wiped his face.
“You wanted to get this place cleaned up, right? Maybe get back to dusting the bookshelf. You can look through the books when you’re done.”
Bixby paused, staring at him still, until his gaze shifted from Charlie to the basket by the doorway.
“Actually, I think we should take a break. You’re already sweatin’,” Bixby said, placing the book back on the bookshelf, despite the fact that he didn’t bother to put any of the ones on the floor back. He got up and wandered over to the basket, pulling out two apples.
“Seems like you’ve already started your break because sitting on the floor reading isn’t exactly work.”
“Shh,” Bixby hushed, much to Charlie’s momentary offense. He walked over and handed him an apple. “Sit down, quit talking, and eat.”
Charlie begrudgingly took the apple and went to sit at the dining room table.
“Maybe even read a book while you’re at it.”
“Oh you little—“
—
“Hand me that spade.”
“Hm?”
“The spade, right there. It’s in that bucket.”
Charlie pulled the spade out of the bucket that sat beside the backdoor steps. “This?”
“Yeah. Do you not know what a spade is?”
“No, I know,” Charlie clearly lied. “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”
Charlie walked over and handed him the spade, and Bixby took it, beginning to dig into the ground right beside the barn in the backyard.
Once he’d finally dug deep enough, he placed the apple seed in the ground and motioned for Charlie to come over.
Charlie put his hands up in front of him as he walked over. “If you’re gonna try and get me to do any of this farming mess, it’s not gonna happen.”
“I know it won’t, but you can pack some dirt into the ground, can’t ya? You don’t even have to touch the dirt, just pack it down with the spade.”
Charlie knelt down and, with a disgusted shiver, did as he was told.
“See? It wasn’t so hard. Now all we’ve gotta do is monitor it whenever we come back.”
“You really think this little thing will grow?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it?” Bixby laughed a little. His smile remained after the laugh for the first time in a long time. He looked down at the ground where they’d planted the seed. “Y’know, what else? I think I’m starting to feel alright now.”
Charlie blinked and then smiled with him. He ruffled his hair as the 11-year-old giggled again.
“Good.”
—
“So, this tree here is a yearly reminder,” Bixby said, plucking an apple blossom from the tree and placing it in his granddaughter's hair, just behind her ear. “That kindness is a wonderful thing, and loving others is so, so important, even if you don’t view each other fondly. Even if you squabble or fight. Even if you dislike each other. Love is powerful.”
He knelt down to her level and tucked her black hair behind her ear, so the blossom appeared much more clearly. “Remember that for me, alright?”
Metrona simply nodded.