Sarah Gailey

“Your Ruby must be tired as a hog after a boil.”

“Shackleby. That’s an honest name. Are you an honest person?”

Hero smiled, close-lipped. “I’m not a liar. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Is that sweet tea poisoned?”

Hero’s smile broke into a broad grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I think you’ve only been retired for a year, and already, you’d poison a stranger just to break up the monotony.”

The day was hot; the air was thick enough that even the mosquitoes seemed to be flying a little slower.

He drew a thick line across the top third of the oval, where the narrowed end flared open again—the dam that had turned the Mississippi into the Harriet. Not quite a lake and not quite a marsh, the Harriet was a triumph of engineering, but the ferals trapped within it rendered it a national embarrassment.

It was the kind of story that couldn’t have been shared by daylight.

It hadn’t looked good—I almost lost the mother three or four times. My hands were white and wrinkled from being underwater so long, trying to shift the hop into the right position to come out. But then, like nothing had ever been wrong at all, that mother just up and pushed out her hop. It was small, but it swam right up and poked its head out of the water and took its first breath, no problem. It was a healthy, perfect little girl-hop. The cow was looking at me like she didn’t know why I thought I needed to interfere.”

Neville stared at her for a few moments without speaking, his eyes lingering on her belly.

“You are wondering about the father,” she said, unsmiling. Neville stammered an incoherent denial, his blush destroying his credibility.

“There is no father,” Adelia said. “There is a man who gave me the child I wanted from him.”

Neville stared hard at his hands. “Alright ma’am,” he whispered, mortified. She grinned at his embarrassment.

“I am not ashamed, boy. I have no need of a husband. This girl will have no need of a father. Perhaps a second mother, someday—but if not?” She shrugged. “It makes no difference.”

Neville looked back at Hero, eyes wide.

“You have a lot to learn, boy,” Hero drawled. “Never stare at someone you’re scared of.”

“You really care about Houndstooth, eh?” Hero asked.

“I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?” Archie responded with a grin. Hero looked up, not returning Archie’s smile.

“You know, when I first met Houndstooth, ’e had just had ’is ’eart broken. ’Is dream—it was in ashes. I watched ’im meet someone, a woman. I watched ’im fall in love with ’er.”

Hero’s brow furrowed, but they did not interrupt.

Archie waved her hand vaguely. “She ran off with a postman. They were going to go north, to the cities. Tried to take Ruby with them, but of course Ruby, she would not go. She is devoted.”

Hero considered Archie. “So . . . what happened after that?”

“Ah,” Archie said. “Houndstooth started to sow ’is wild oats. As for the girl? Well, I will not say. Houndstooth . . . ’e does not need to know what I did to the girl when I found ’er trying to steal Ruby. But I will tell you this”—Archie looked at Hero, her face serious—“what I did to ’er will look like a kindness, compared to what I will do to anyone who breaks ’is ’eart like that again.”

Hero stared into Archie’s eyes, unblinking. “I understand.”

Archie clapped them on the shoulder, hard, smiling warmly. “I know you do. I can tell. I just ’ad to say it—you know ’ow it is. Ah, don’t be too scared. I think you are good for ’im! You should see ’ow ’e smiles at you when ’e thinks you are not looking. Plus, you keep ’im from thinking ’e is the smartest in the room.”

Hero smiled, ducking their head; then, they looked up, the smile suddenly gone. “Did you hear that?”

“What,” Archie said, “are they finally just comparing their cocks and ’aving done with it?”