From Mourning to Joy

appeared annoyed. “I’m tired, Mr. Drysdale.”
“The fever is hanging on but you’re on the mend. Like I said, I’ll keep the fires going and food in Davey’s tummy ‘til you’re feeling better. Then we can strike a deal or you can send me on my way. Does that sound good to you?”
“Thank you. I’m in no condition to argue.”
“Then it’s settled. Can you down one more spoonful before you go back to sleep?”
Janelle opened her mouth and he filled it. She held his gaze with all the courage she could muster, and then caved in. Her shoulders slumped and she relaxed her head against the pillow. “I’m done.”
Bernie took the dishes while she slid down and covered her shoulders with the quilts. “Goodnight, Mr. Drysdale. Take good care of my son.”
Davey and Bernie stood on the front porch and watched an eerie stillness settle on the land. The threat of a storm had bypassed the farm but dark clouds still hung heavy in the air. “How about we go see if we can get us a deer?”
“I ain’t never been hunting.”
“Well, it’s about time then. A man needs to know how to feed his family out here in the wild. Dress warm and I’ll get my rifle.”
In the barn he found the tools he needed and spotted a low platform with runners under it. “Look, it’s a sleigh, Davey. You slide down the hills on it?”
“No sir. Ma pulled me around the barnyard for fun once but it made her so tired I never asked again.”
The child surprised Bernie all the time. He had no idea there was a youngster who cared more for others than himself.”
“You’re a good lad, Davey. Hop on the back and hold this bag for me. Let’s see if you like to hunt.”
The pair moved beyond the pastureland and entered a sparsely wooded area. Every so often, Bernie stopped to listen and examine the ground on occasion. Not too far from the cabin, he stopped pulling the sled. “I think this might be a good place to wait for tomorrow’s dinner to stroll by.”
Davey scaled a perfect climbing tree with the ease of a monkey, with Bernie following close on his heels. They settled into separate arms of huge limbs then Bernie placed one finger to his lips. The boy, two feet above him, sat motionless and kept his eyes peeled to the thinly wooded area on one side and the open field on the other. Just when Bernie feared he’d miscalculated the passing lane for the herd of deer he knew loitered close by, he and Davey spotted the buck.
The boy remained immobilized on his branch-ledge, staring wide-eyed as Bernie raised his gun ever so noiselessly to eye level. In the blink of an eye the buck’s ears perked and the firearm discharged. Davey gaped at the animal’s surprised expression before he staggered and dropped to the ground.
“And that’s the way it’s done, boy,” Bernie said as he offered the lad a hand to help him down. Davey sauntered cautiously toward the beast. It stretched motionless on the ground. Bernie touched the animal’s eye with the barrel of his gun and when it never flinched, determined he’d made a clean shot to his heart. The brute was dead and safe to work with.
“Are you squeamish, boy?” asked Bernie.
“No sir. Ma says I got an iron gut.” Bernie smiled at the boy’s description.
Bernie grabbed a rope from the sack he’d packed. He tied the animal’s leg to a high branch nearby and let him hang. With the throat and belly fully exposed he grabbed his knife and looked at Davey.
“Last chance to back off.” The boy nodded, but a bit more sheepish this time. “If you feel sick, go and sit off to the side.”
Skilled hands went to work on the kill. Time was not on his side. Gutting an animal at this early evening hour was not the ideal, but he didn’t want to bring the mess to the barn. Innards were better left in the wild for other critters to eat. Carefully he removed all the organs, wiping them free of blood and placing them in a jute bag. Bernie turned to the body cavity and wiped it as clean as possible. When satisfied, he untied the leg and laid the animal on the sleigh. Throwing his bag over his shoulder and the organ bag next to the animal, he noticed Davey close by and grabbed the lead rope.
“Ready to head back?” he asked. The boy came running closer and grabbed the rope too.
“I’ll help you pull him home.”
In the barn, Bernie took a clean cloth dipped in salt water and wiped the cavity again and dried it thoroughly. Swinging a rope around a rafter he hung the deer.
Glancing sideways, Bernie noticed Davey curled up on a bed of straw fighting to keep his eyelids open. Looking around, he found what he assumed to be a washbasin, filled it with water and used the bar of soap to scrub the stains and smell of meat from his hands. When done, Bernie fed and watered Blaze, as well as the milk cow and two pigs – one huge and sagging low enough to be in the family way. It concerned Bernie that the farm had no chickens or hens. He’d miss eggs on his breakfast plate and was definitely partial to the occasional roasted or fried bird.
Bernie stopped for a minute to gaze at the boy. He was handsome, his pug nose and pink cheeks set against ivory skin. His bedraggled dark blonde hair flopped across one eye and his lips curled, no doubt harboring a sleepy secret. Bernie gave thanks to God for coming along in time to save his life. Bending low, he picked up Davey’s tiny body and carried him to the house. Once inside,