Mason Alexander Thomas

The car crested the peak emerging from the tree lined road to a patch where you could see the farm house low down into the valley. It sped along wiping up the dust like hell was chasing it.

“Car’s coming.” a gruff voice mumbled as he lifted his eyes to the distance. “With all that dust I’d say it was your mother.”
Two children began jumping up and down excited by the coming vehicle.

At the house, the door squeaked open and out shifted an old woman crumpled with arthritis but smiling at the children’s antics.
“Stay back. Better to stand by your Grandma than out here...” he motioned for the two to move before muttering, “she may just run you over as park her damn fool car.”

The children scampered. First the girl, her long white blond hair jumping as she galloped towards her grandmother. The boy, smaller, tried to mimic his sister’s gallop but tripped, recovered and ran instead. He barreled into his grandmother who lowered her arms to capture him laughing at him as he gazed up at her with his big, brown eyes.

“Whipper snapper.” She said gently as she tousled his fine, sandy blond locks.

The girl laughed at her brother, blue eyes dancing in merriment.

The car curled around the road sending the swirling dust up. It slowed when it reached the gate then slide into a stop. The gravel gripping could be heard from where they stood, an eighth of a mile away.

A door emerged, along with words cursing out on the breeze, but they were thankfully muffled with the distance. The woman stomped to the gate, took off the clasp with angry movements and shoved the gate so that it swung wide and fast. The woman moved back to her car and climbed in, gunning her engine before starting forward in a more sedate speed.

“Fool woman.” The old man muttered. “She’s going to break that gate one of these days...”

The old woman slipped one hand forward and clasped the young girl’s shoulder to steady her. She didn't want the children to bolt, not until the car was in and parked. She also hoped the cursing was done. Her body tensed with the approaching car.

The old man moved up the lane hanging to the side of the drive. He stopped on the other side of the grainery and waited. Sure enough his daughter stopped her car by him and rolled down the window.

“Why in hell... you bolt that fuckin’ gate all the fuckin’ time?” she yelled at him, her speech slurring over the words as the alcohol wafted up from the car’s interior.

“You know why, girl.” Was all the old man said. “And it needs closing...”

“Fuck that.”

The old man let his brows pull forward as he frowned darkly at her. “Best put that language away before you get to your wee ones. Dirty mouth...”

“Oh, like you ain't got these words, Old Man... I learned a good many from your hard ass.”

The man stared darkly at her, then moved on. The walk up the lain way would cool him off as he pushed down the urge to grab and shake her ungrateful ass. If it wasn't for the children and his wife’s big heart, he would not have let Anita come home.

The car moved on passed and circled into the yard, now slow and steady. A smile pasted over the dark looks she’d shared with her father.

When the car stopped and the motor cut, the old woman released the little girl and felt the boy slide away from her. The children ran with a free delight towards their mother who through open the door and greeted them with equal delight... or rather, she stood and embraced the girl lifting her high and swinging her, careful not to bump the car. The boy waited his turn, but it never came.

Anita set the girl down and immediately turned to open the back door of the car. Ignoring her son.

The old woman ambled forward, her arthritis making progress slow, but her heart grew heavy with the sadness she saw reflected in the small boy’s brown eyes.

Anita pulled a thin, pretty pink box from the back seat and dropping down on the seat as she pulled her daughter to her and handed her the box.

“For you darling...”

“Oh, mommy.” The little girl squealed with delight. “She’s just what I wanted.” The girl pulled the doll from the box and Anita helped undo the twist ties that bound the doll to the packaging.

“A princess for a princess.” Anita sang breezily.

The boy moved forward to see the doll. He looked eager for a gift of his own. Anita stood and the girl moved to show the doll to her grandmother. The boy waited. Anita turned and slammed the door looking down at the boy with mild disgust.

Hope slipped from the boy’s eyes and he dipped his head, not wanting to see that disparaging look.

“Go help, Dad with the gate.” She ordered him and shifted back to grab her purse and the package that rattled like bottles of alcohol.
The boy ran. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he whipped them away. He did not want his grandpa to see his tears. Boys don’t cry. By the time he caught up with his grandfather, his lips were tight holding all his pain back and shifting it so that he felt dark as he kicked at a stone.

“Mason.” The old man said as way of greeting. Seeing the emotions playing on the young boy's face, he felt frustration build. No doubt his daughter had been thoughtless and hurtful again. He fought the urge to strangle her scrawny throat. Instead he forced a smile at the boy and tousled his hair. “Let’s get this gate put back to order. Don’t need the cows taking a notion to walk into town.”

The humour turned the boy's lips up into a tiny smile and the old man felt the tension ease. Feeling he had made things a little better, he said, “You up for a walk? We could go check the upper pasture. I need to check the fence line.”

Mason nodded and his smile broadened as he ran for the fence and climbed it with a skill that always left the old man with a lighter heart.

When they returned to the house later, the car was gone and Jenna was playing outside with her new doll. Mason joined his sister by the tree where she played. He watched as she handled the doll with such great care. When she set the doll down, Mason reached for it. He stared at it a moment.

“Don’t touch that Mason. It’s mine. Mommy gave it to me. She’s my princess.”

Anger coiled within the small boy and he reached for the head, just as Jenna reached to take the doll back. The head twisted and popped off and Jenna screamed. The head went flying into the long grass on the other side of the lain way and he swung the doll to hit his sister in the head. Then he dropped the doll as his sister began to wail.

The sound reminded him he had done wrong and he ran straight for the house almost running his grandmother down with his hurry to escape what he had done. He ran up to his bed and climbed up, burying his head under his pillow and letting his own tears flow.

It was about ten minutes later when he heard his grandmother’s voice calling to him.

“Mason AlexanderThomas.” Came a stern voice making its way up the old stairway. “Don’t make me walk these stairs.”

Mason pulled himself up to sitting and flipped his legs over the edge of the bed. Swinging them briefly, before jumping down and heading for the stairs. Time to face what he knew he could not avoid.

Two steps from the bottom he raised his eyes to meet his grandmother’s. At this spot, he could look her eye to eye.

“Your sister is crying, young man.” she told him, then waited.

He shifted from foot to foot and let his gaze slide down to rest at her feet wrapped in worn fabric slippers.

“Look at me, young man.” She spoke gently, but there was fired steel behind those words and he knew better to ignore her, so he raised his eyes.

“I didn't mean to... but she made me angry.” He said in a small voice.

“Mason Alexander... we never hit, anyone. Use your words. They are God’s gift, so use them kindly.”

Mason nodded.

“What must you do now?” she asked knowing he knew the answer.

“I’ll apologize and make it right.” he told her in a small voice.

Nodding, his grandmother shifted to let him pass and he lowered himself down the last two steps and headed for the kitchen, his head bowed. His grandmother fell into step behind him, but stopped at the entrance to the kitchen to watch him make his apologies.

Mason moved beside his sister and bent to almost touch her crossed arms with his forehead. Whispering he said a sincere “I am sorry, Jenna.”

She lifted her head and gazed over at him with tear stained cheeks. “Sorry Jenna.” He said again.

“You had no right to touch my things...” she began, her voice still raw with tears.

“That’s right. I didn't.” He looked down to the floor as a wave of unfairness rolled over him. “But I was mad.”

“Mommy got it for me.” Jenna said her voice building with her own anger.

Mason blew out a shaky breath and looked back at his grandmother. He wanted desperately to make his escape now. He had made his apology. He was done.

His grandmother moved into the room and motioned with a jerk of her chin for Mason to sit. He did, sliding in, but keeping his gaze lowered.

His grandmother’s voice was soft and gentle when she spoke. “Jenna. Mason did not mean to break your doll.” Looking at him, he nodded. “But I think he was angry that your mother brought you something special, but did not bring him anything.... can you see how that would make him feel hurt?”

Jenna looked over at her grandmother and after a moment she nodded, then wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“The doll is very pretty and I believe it can be fixed... but....” Their grandmother shook her head sadly and then motioned for Mason to come to her. He did, crawling up into her lap. She hugged him tight, feeling a wave of warmth move over her.

“You are both so loved. Both of you. You must remember that.” She hugged Mason close as she smiled over at Jenna. “Now, I need some more wood for the stove. Can the two of you work together to fill the wood box?” They both nodded eagerly and headed for the door. By the time they were outside, their laughter rang out and they were racing along the path to the wood house.

Standing, she smiled, but it was a sad smile. Her heart ached for those children. They deserved so much more; losing their father so young and now, their mother leaning on a heavy crutch of alcohol. The only good thing to come of this was that they had all moved back home to the farm. She had her grandchildren close. She knew her daughter had secrets, dark ones flitted though her blue eyes whenever she looked at her son. The fact that she was cool towards him bothered the old woman as well, but she would not interfere. She did not want her daughter dragging them off somewhere. Here, they would be loved. Here they would find peace that she knew her daughter was not capable of at this time.

Word Count = 1975.