Work Text:
The market bundle was heavier than it looked.
Cindy carried it against her chest with both arms, the brown paper pulled tightly around two tins, a small sack of flour, three turnips and a wrapped piece of salt pork that had cost more than her mother expected. The shopkeeper had tied the string twice and tucked the knot beneath itself, but one corner of the paper had begun to soften where the cold from the meat met the warmth of Cindy’s coat. She kept that side turned upward and checked it whenever she crossed beneath a streetlamp or passed a pale patch of afternoon sky.
November had stripped most of the trees. The branches along the road stood thin and dark, rattling where a few brown leaves remained caught in them. The ground was firm after two nights of frost, though the sun had softened the upper layer near the gutters. Cindy kept to the centre of the pavement where she could, avoiding the dirty edges and the piles of leaves pressed flat by wheels.
Her scarf was tied neatly beneath her chin. Her glasses had fogged when she left the warm market and cleared again before she reached the first crossing. She could smell the paper, the cold metal of the tins and the faint richness of the wrapped pork through the folds.
The boy stepped out from behind a hedge before she reached the neighbouring street.
Cindy knew him by sight. He lived somewhere beyond the row of duplexes, perhaps two roads over. He was taller than she was and broad through the shoulders in the awkward way of boys who had grown quickly. His cap sat low over his forehead. One hand remained in his coat pocket while the other held a thin stick that he had been scraping along the fence palings.
He moved into her path.
Cindy shifted toward the edge of the pavement without slowing.
The boy shifted with her.
She looked ahead rather than at him.
He made a sound under his breath. It began with a false murmur and grew louder when she didn’t answer. Then he pulled the corners of his eyes outward with two fingers and bent his head from side to side.
The words he sang weren’t words. They were a crude collection of sounds, stretched into a rhythm meant to imitate speech he had never heard and didn’t care to understand.
Cindy kept walking.
The bundle pressed hard against her ribs. She tightened her arms around it and watched the road beyond the boy’s shoulder.
He stepped backward in front of her, continuing the noise.
She moved around him.
He followed for several paces, walking sideways now, still pulling at his face. The stick dragged behind him, clicking against the pavement and catching once in the weeds.
Cindy didn’t look at him.
Her mother had taught her that answering could become invitation, that anger shown to the wrong person might be handed back in a shape more dangerous than the first insult. Her father had taught her to notice streets, windows and open doors. Cindy saw the curtains at the nearest house, the empty porch across from it and a man working beneath the hood of an automobile farther down. She heard a radio through one window and a baby crying somewhere behind another.
The boy moved closer.
His shoulder nearly touched the bundle.
Cindy altered her course without breaking stride. She placed the parcel more firmly between them and continued.
The boy’s singsong faltered.
He had expected her to flinch, argue or tell him to stop. He had expected something he could carry home as proof that he had struck the place he intended. Her silence left him with only his own voice sounding ugly in the cold air.
He tried once more, louder.
Cindy walked past the next gate.
He stopped following before the corner.
She didn’t turn to see whether he remained there. She kept the parcel against her chest and crossed the road when it was clear, then continued until the hedge, the boy and the entire street had disappeared behind two rows of houses.
Only then did she feel how shallow her breathing had become.
She drew one breath through her nose and let it out carefully. The air caught high in her chest. She tried again, measuring it the way she measured stitches or columns of figures. In. Hold. Out.
Her arms ached from gripping the bundle.
She loosened them slightly, then tightened them again when one of the tins shifted inside.
The proper turning for home lay ahead. She could see the church steeple beyond it and the first roof of her street between the bare branches. Her mother would be waiting. The flour had to be put away before damp reached it, and the pork needed the coldest place in the pantry. Cindy had been gone no longer than expected. If she went straight home, she might arrive without anyone noticing anything except the groceries.
She reached the turning.
Her right foot passed it.
Then the left.
Cindy continued along the road toward Jennifer’s lane.
She didn’t decide to go there. There was no moment in which she weighed one destination against another. The turn simply remained behind her while she walked on, the bundle still held high against her coat and her breathing kept within the narrow limits she could manage.
The houses thinned after several streets. Wind moved more freely there, carrying the smell of wet leaves and distant smoke. Cindy’s eyes watered behind her glasses. She told herself it was the cold.
At the pale green house, the gate stood shut.
Bart appeared before Cindy reached it.
He came from behind the shed at a run, his feet scattering the leaves that had gathered along the side of the yard. He reached the fence and rose against it, front paws on the lower rail, his entire body moving with recognition.
Cindy stopped.
Bart’s mouth opened. He made a soft, eager sound and dropped back to the ground.
Jennifer was near the pump with Nicola. She had been rubbing mud from one of the grey dog’s paws with an old cloth. At Bart’s sudden movement she looked toward the gate.
She saw Cindy.
The cloth remained in her hand.
Jennifer stood without hurry. Her gaze moved once over Cindy’s face, the parcel held high and tight against her chest, the raised line of her shoulders and the way her jaw remained fixed even when she swallowed.
She didn’t call out.
Cindy opened the gate herself.
Bart backed far enough to let it swing inward, though only because Jennifer spoke his name softly. He stayed close to Cindy as she entered, pressing his nose briefly toward the hem of her coat and then moving beside her without jumping.
Jennifer came across the yard.
“What have you got?” she asked.
Her voice was the same as always, soft and direct. She looked at the market bundle rather than asking why Cindy had come.
“Things from the market.”
“Is it heavy?”
“A little.”
Jennifer nodded toward the back steps. “You can put it there.”
Cindy carried it to the house.
The steps were cold beneath her shoes. A thin layer of damp had darkened the lowest board where the roof didn’t cover it. Cindy sat on the upper step and placed the bundle beside her foot, though her hands remained on it for several seconds after its weight had left her arms.
Jennifer sat beside her.
She left enough space that their coats didn’t touch.
Nicola came from the pump slowly, the cleaned paw placed carefully as she crossed the yard. Bart reached the steps first. He stood in front of Cindy and looked up at her.
Cindy kept both hands together in her lap.
Bart usually brought something. A stick, a leaf, a length of cloth he had stolen from the shed or whatever object seemed most important to him at the moment. When he brought nothing, he usually pushed his nose under her hand until she noticed him. This time he remained still.
His tail moved once.
Then he lowered his head and rested his chin on Cindy’s knee.
The weight was warm and solid through her coat.
Cindy looked down.
Bart’s eyes were half raised toward her face, but he didn’t paw, nudge or open his mouth. His body stood close to the step, quiet except for his breathing.
Cindy lifted one hand.
Her fingers rested between his ears.
Bart closed his eyes.
Jennifer looked toward the yard.
A brown leaf crossed the grass in small irregular jumps, caught against the pump stone and then lifted again. Beyond the fence, a neighbour carried a bucket from one side of her porch to the other. Jennifer watched the woman long enough to make the direction of her attention clear.
Cindy’s hand moved once along Bart’s head.
She drew another careful breath.
It trembled on the way out.
Jennifer didn’t turn.
Nicola reached the steps.
She stopped near Cindy’s shoes and smelled the edge of one sole, then the other. Her nose moved upward along the front of Cindy’s coat, finding the market smells gathered in the paper and the outside smells gathered in the cloth.
Cindy stayed still.
Nicola stepped between her feet.
For a moment she stood there facing the yard, her shoulders touching the insides of Cindy’s shoes. Then she turned sideways and pressed herself fully against Cindy’s shins.
The length of her body settled there from chest to hip, warm and dense beneath the thick grey fur.
Cindy’s fingers stopped on Bart’s head.
Her other hand lifted from her lap and rested on Nicola’s back.
Nicola leaned harder.
The movement was small, but it broke the careful structure Cindy had been holding around herself since the neighbouring street.
Her mouth tightened.
She looked toward the yard, though the bare trees blurred and doubled behind her glasses. She blinked once. The blur remained.
Jennifer’s hands came together between her knees.
Her fingers tightened around one another until the knuckles showed pale, but she didn’t move closer.
Cindy bent forward.
Her face entered the heavy fur along Nicola’s neck.
The dog remained standing, braced quietly against her legs. Cindy held her with both arms now, one hand buried near the shoulder and the other spread along her back. Nicola’s coat smelled of cold air, damp grass and the faint soap April sometimes used when washing mud from the dogs.
Bart lifted his chin from Cindy’s knee only long enough to step closer. He pressed the side of his face against her arm and stood there.
Cindy breathed into Nicola’s fur.
The first sound was so quiet that it scarcely left her. A small broken pull of air, caught and smothered against the dog’s neck.
Jennifer turned her face farther toward the road.
A wagon passed beyond the fence, wheels creaking beneath a load of split wood. The driver raised one hand in greeting. Jennifer answered with a brief lift of her own, shielding Cindy with the ordinariness of the gesture.
The wagon continued.
Cindy’s shoulders shook once.
Nicola shifted her weight but didn’t step away.
Bart’s tail remained still.
Jennifer kept looking outward until the sound of the wagon had faded. Then she lowered her eyes to the grass near her shoes.
She waited.
Cindy didn’t know how long she remained bent over Nicola. The afternoon light changed little, and the cold didn’t reach through the dogs gathered against her. Her glasses pressed awkwardly between her face and the fur. One lens fogged from her breath.
The market parcel sat beside her foot, paper unbroken and string still tight.
When Cindy finally lifted her head, she removed her glasses and wiped them with the cleanest corner of her handkerchief. Her hands weren’t steady. She polished one lens too long, realized she had left a smear and began again.
Jennifer said nothing.
Cindy replaced the glasses.
Her face felt hot despite the cold air. She looked toward the side of the yard rather than at Jennifer.
“He was waiting near the hedge,” she said.
Jennifer’s hands remained together. “Who was?”
“A boy.”
The words came flatly. Cindy looked down at Nicola’s back.
“He stepped in front of me.”
Jennifer turned then, though only enough to face the space between them rather than Cindy directly.
Cindy swallowed.
“He pulled his eyes and made noises.”
Jennifer’s fingers tightened.
Bart lifted his head.
Cindy stroked him once before continuing. “I didn’t answer.”
“No.”
“I kept walking.”
Jennifer’s voice remained soft, but something firm had entered beneath it.
“He followed to the corner.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Did he touch the parcel?”
“Nearly.”
Jennifer looked at the brown paper beside Cindy’s shoe. “It isn’t torn.”
“No.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. Cindy could hear Jennifer breathing, the scrape of Nicola’s claws when the dog adjusted one paw and the distant chopping of wood from another yard.
Cindy looked toward the gate.
“I knew him from around there,” she said. “I don’t know his name.”
Jennifer didn’t ask for a description.
“He wanted me to stop,” Cindy continued. “I didn’t.”
“You got away from him.”
“He wasn’t going to hurt me.”
Jennifer’s eyes lowered. “You don’t know that.”
Cindy’s mouth tightened again.
The truth of it sat between them without needing enlargement.
Jennifer looked toward the road once more. “Did anybody see?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were there people near?”
“A man was fixing a car. He didn’t look.”
Jennifer’s jaw moved slightly. She pressed her hands together more firmly, then loosened them.
Cindy watched the leaf by the pump. It had caught beneath the bucket now and stopped moving.
“He sounded foolish,” she said.
Jennifer didn’t agree too quickly.
Cindy looked at Bart. “That was what he wanted. To sound like that.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t let him know.”
“No.”
Cindy’s fingers moved through the fur behind Bart’s ear. “I heard him anyway.”
Jennifer looked at her then.
Cindy’s face remained composed, but the skin beneath her eyes was wet and the effort of holding her mouth steady showed in every line around it.
“I know,” Jennifer said.
There was no answer to that.
Nicola pressed against Cindy again, her ribs expanding in a slow breath.
Cindy bent her head, though she didn’t fold forward as deeply this time. She rested her forehead briefly against the dog’s back. Bart returned his chin to her knee.
Jennifer stayed beside her.
She didn’t promise the boy would regret it. She didn’t say that everyone wasn’t like him or that Cindy should forget him. She didn’t suggest telling a grown person who might or might not be able to do anything. The yard remained the same yard, the road beyond the gate remained open and the boy remained somewhere in Geneva without correction.
The light lowered slowly.
April opened the kitchen door far enough to look outside. She saw the girls on the steps, Bart standing close and Nicola pressed against Cindy’s legs. Her gaze rested for a moment on Cindy’s face.
“Will you both want something warm?” she asked.
Jennifer looked at Cindy.
Cindy shook her head. “No, thank you, ma’am. I have to take these home.”
April didn’t ask why she had been sitting there or why the groceries had waited beside the step. “Don’t stay out once the light goes.”
“We won’t,” Jennifer said.
The door closed again.
Cindy sat upright.
Nicola remained between her shoes until Cindy moved one foot carefully aside. The dog stepped free and turned to look at her. Cindy placed one hand along the side of Nicola’s face. The grey fur was softer near the ear than across the back.
“Thank you,” Cindy whispered.
Nicola held still beneath her hand.
Bart lifted his head and pushed his nose against Cindy’s sleeve.
“You too.”
His tail struck the step once.
Cindy reached for the market bundle.
The first attempt didn’t lift it. Her arms had stiffened during the time she sat, and the parcel seemed heavier than before. She adjusted her hands beneath the paper and began to stand.
Jennifer rose at the same time.
She didn’t reach across Cindy or take the bundle from her. She placed one hand beneath the end nearest her and lifted only that side.
Cindy looked at her.
“I’ll walk with you,” Jennifer said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Cindy kept hold of her end.
Together they raised the parcel between them.
The arrangement made them walk closer than usual, Cindy on one side and Jennifer on the other, each supporting half the weight. The string pressed into the paper above their hands, but the tins no longer dug against Cindy’s chest.
Jennifer took both leads in her free hand.
Bart and Nicola came away from the steps without being called. Bart moved near Cindy’s side, his shoulder almost brushing her coat. Nicola stayed beside Jennifer until they passed through the gate, then settled into the space behind the girls.
The road toward the Han house had begun to darken beneath the trees. A few windows showed yellow light. Smoke rose straight from the chimneys before thinning into the cold air.
They walked without hurry.
The parcel swung only slightly between them. Whenever its weight shifted, Jennifer adjusted her hand rather than taking more of it. Cindy did the same. Neither girl suggested changing sides or stopping.
Bart usually crossed the road for smells, circled Cindy or moved ahead until the lead straightened. He didn’t do any of those things. He walked close enough that the leather hung loose from Jennifer’s hand.
Nicola followed at the same quiet distance.
At the first corner, Cindy looked down the neighbouring street.
It wasn’t the one where the boy had stopped her. Even so, her steps shortened.
Jennifer continued at the same pace, leaving Cindy room to match it when she was ready. She didn’t look toward the side road or ask what Cindy had seen.
Cindy moved on.
They passed the church, the grocer’s closed side door and the row of houses where porch lamps had begun to come on. A woman carrying folded washing nodded to them. Jennifer returned the greeting. Cindy kept both hands beneath her end of the parcel and faced forward.
The weight between them grew easier as they learned its movement.
Near the final turning, Bart pressed closer to Cindy. His side touched her coat for one step and then another. He didn’t look up or ask for attention. He simply stayed there.
Cindy let him.
The Han house came into view with light behind the kitchen curtain. Smoke rose from the chimney, and Cindy could see the faint shadow of her mother moving inside.
She and Jennifer stopped at the gate.
Neither had allowed the parcel to tilt.
Cindy looked at the front steps, then at Jennifer.
“I can take it from here.”
Jennifer kept her hand beneath the paper. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She shifted the bundle gradually until its full weight returned to her arms. It remained heavy, but no longer felt fixed against her chest.
Jennifer let go only when Cindy had it securely.
Bart stood near the gate. Nicola remained beside him, both leads still loose.
Cindy looked at the dogs, then at Jennifer.
“Thank you.”
Jennifer’s expression stayed gentle and plain. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cindy nodded.
She went through the gate and carried the groceries toward the house.
Jennifer remained on the pavement.
Bart and Nicola stood close enough to her legs that neither lead became taut. They watched Cindy cross the yard, climb the steps and reach the door.
Cindy opened it.
Warm kitchen light fell across her coat and the brown paper bundle. She looked back once before going inside.
Jennifer was still there with both dogs.
Then Cindy closed the door.