The Other Side of the Bridge by Mary Lawson Read Free Book Online Page A

farmyard.
    “You think you’re pretty strong, Jake?” Arthur’s father asked. “Or you still just a kid?”
    “Sure, I’m strong,” Jake said, grinning. “I can beat Arthur.”
    “Arthur lets you beat him,” his father said, “so that don’t prove nothin’. See if you can lift that chair.” He nodded at a kitchen chair. Arthur’s mother turned around to watch, anxious, her hands dripping suds.
    Jake grabbed the chair by its back and heaved it off the ground. He swung it back and forth in tight arcs, grinning at the three of them.
    “Bet you can’t carry it to the door,” his father said, and Jake lurched over to the door.
    “That doesn’t prove anything, Henry,” their mother said.
    “Sure does. If he can lift the chair he can lift the swill bucket.”
    “There’s a world of difference between lifting something and carrying it all the way out to the barn.”
    “Not such a big difference as all that.” Arthur’s father put down the harness and wiped his hands on his shirtfront, then picked up the harness again and stared at it hard. Maybe he was going to have to stab himself with the needle again before he could carry on.
    Arthur’s mother pursed her lips. She looked at Jake and said, “You go on outside now, Jake. You too, Arthur.”
    Arthur carefully put the gun down on the table and followed Jake outside. They made a show of going around the corner of the house and then slid back and flattened themselves against the wall by the kitchen door.
    “He’s just a baby still,” their mother was saying.
    There was a pause, during which Arthur imagined he could hear his father thinking there was a good reason for that. He said, “Arthur was doin’ plenty at that age.”
    “Arthur’s suited to farmwork. Jake isn’t. You can see that.”
    Arthur glanced sideways at Jake. Jake grinned at him. He had great confidence in his mother’s ability to win arguments on his behalf.
    Their mother said, her voice quiet but full of pride, “Don’t you see that Jake is different? He’s so clever—he’s going to have choices, Henry. He will have something better than this.”
    Arthur could hear their father’s baffled silence. What could be better than this? Finally he said, “Still won’t do him no harm to do his share. Do him good.” He sighed, and Arthur imagined him wiping his hands on his shirt again. “He’s goin’ to grow up soft, Mary, if he don’t do no work. He should do his share. Look at Arthur. Didn’t do him no harm at all, doin’ chores when he was Jake’s age. He done them well, and I don’t remember hearin’ him complain.”
    Arthur felt the strange sensation of pride swelling in his chest. He had taken the work for granted, it was what people did—the people he knew, anyway. His friend Carl Luntz worked alongside his father and his two elder brothers just the same. Arthur had never questioned it. Certainly never expected to hear praise.
    He felt Jake’s eyes and turned his head to look at him. Jake’s mouth was puckered tight with disgust. His eyes were dark, and Arthur had trouble reading their expression. It wasn’t respect or admiration though, that was for sure.
     
     
     
    Arthur’s mother was wrong when she said that everybody loved Jake. There were exceptions.
    “Charlie Taggert threw my schoolbook in the mud,” Jake said. He and Arthur were walking home from school. It was September, the worst time of the year as far as Arthur was concerned—endless months of school ahead, cooped up in one stuffy schoolroom at a too-small desk, while outside the maples flamed red and gold and the air was as clear and pure as springwater. Inside was the leaden weight of boredom; outside was the sharp tang of wood smoke and the urgency of shortening days. You could smell the winter coming. You could see it in the transparency of the light and hear it in the harsh warning cries of the geese as they passed overhead. Most of all, you could feel it. During the day the sun was still