This Side of Jordan by Monte Schulz

the grass rustle nearby. The dwarf sat down next to his shoulder and asked, “When’s supper? I’m famished.”
    â€œI hope soon. I’m hungry as a horse.”
    A door slammed shut back at the farmhouse.
    Rascal sighed. “I wish I were a farmer. I love animals.”
    â€œYou love spreading manure, too?”
    â€œIf need be. I’m not afraid of work.”
    Alvin rolled onto his shoulder and spat in the grass. “You think you know what farm life’s all about, but you’re just a dumbbell. There ain’t nothing swell about it at all, and if you grew up on a farm like I did, you’d hate it like the dickens, and that’s a fact.”
    â€œI doubt that very much,” the dwarf replied. “One man’s cross is another man’s lintel. You ought to try locking yourself in a closet for a couple of weeks if you don’t think that’s so. See how that suits your fancy.”
    â€œWell, I’d rather live underneath that ugly old house of yours for twenty years than spend another day shoveling chicken shit.”
    Rascal plucked a stem of grass and stuck it in his mouth to chew on. “When I was young, I had a chicken named Evelyn. Auntie sewed her a dress to wear when she went outdoors. I made her a bonnet with a red bow. She’d fetch buttons and thimbles all day long if you coated them with maple syrup or peppermint.”
    â€œA chicken?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFetching like a dog?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    â€œWell, it’s true. She was the cutest thing you ever saw, all fancied up like a society lady out for a stroll. I’d hoped to have her taken to a taxidermist when she died, but that ugly dog from next door, Mr. Bowser, cornered Evelyn under the porch and chewed her up so badly we couldn’t find enough of her to stitch together. It was very sad.”
    Alvin looked the dwarf straight in the eye, astonished at his storytelling audacity. “You are the goddamnedest liar.”
    â€œI am not!”
    â€œYou are so!”
    Chester called out across the grassy fields. Alvin picked himself up and headed for the farmhouse. He found Chester standing by the water pump, ladling water into his hands which he used to slick his hair back just as Rascal had done. He was dressed handsomely for town: blue jacket and trousers, a new felt hat. His shoes looked newly polished and spit-shined. Rose sat on the raised windowsill, her legs hanging down, bare feet swinging above the dirt. All she wore was a white silk envelope chemise. Her hair was damp and stringy with sweat, her blue eyes dark and hollow.
    â€œI’ve got some business to put over in town for a few hours,” said Chester, eyeing the young farm boy. “I’ll be back later on. Rose’ll fix some supper for you and the midget if you like. She’s a swell cook.”
    â€œI’d rather go with you into town, if that’s all right.”
    â€œWell, it isn’t. You’re staying here until I get back.”
    â€œThere ain’t nothing to do.”
    Chester worked the pump once more, drew a handkerchief from his back pocket, and dried his hands. He told Alvin, “Another hour or so, the sun’ll be down. Nobody’s supposed to know we’re staying here, so keep the lights out. Don’t go running around, either. If someone sees you, they’re likely to come give us a once-over. I won’t be gone too long, so be a sport and keep your eyes peeled. Get some sleep, too. We’ll be driving out of here at dawn.” Chester lowered his voice. “Keep an eye on this birdie for me, will you? She’ll do anything you tell her to do, just make sure she doesn’t try to go anywhere until I get back.” He looked over at her, still sitting motionless on the windowsill, her brown curls fluttering in the breeze. “She’ll be coming with us tomorrow.”
    Rose smiled.
    Alvin