“Do we have to do this every day?” Jillian was exhausted as she lugged her two buckets up the hill. Jackson shrugged behind her. “Ma ‘n’ Pa says we got to.” He had his arms draped over the long carrying pole that held his two water buckets at each end. Jillian looked up at her older brother, watching the sweat dripping around his face. Unlike most of their peers, she liked him. Even if he was a little bit simple. She kicked at a patch of grass, leaving green marks on the bottom of her pale feet. “What do you think about him?” she said.
Jackson took several seconds to reply as the words made their way through his ears. Jillian liked to imagine his brain as if it were a river that lumberjacks, like their father, used to transport wood. Normally, the river is blocked by the logs. But then someone will come and let the logs fall, usually her, and they’ll arrive at the lumber mill, Jackson’s brain. He squinted with the sun in his face. “What do I think ‘bout who?” Jillian gave a slightly exasperated sigh, although she understood things were harder for her brother. “The baby,” she said as she set one bucket down, adjusting her hold on the metal handle. “What do you think about him?”
Jackson gave a shrug, which caused his two hanging buckets to sway and hit against his strong arms. “I dunno. We always needs someone to help work on the farm. And when I go to help Pa get wood, then yous gon’ have someone to help get water with. An’, he’ll have someone to go huntin’ with. You knows I can’t, Pa won’t let me use a gun. A’ course, it gon’ be a few years ‘fore he can help.”
Jillian tilted her head as she heard her brother’s thoughts. Jackson had a certain view of the world. There wasn’t any bad in anyone. Just bad situations. No one person was evil, just unlucky. As they reached the top of the hill, Jillian sighed and set her buckets down next to the old well they went to every day. She tied one bucket to the rope and started to turn the crank, letting the bucket lower into the water. “I just wish they’d help, y’know?”
Jackson shrugged as he lifted his carrying pole above his head. He laid it beside him before letting himself fall into the grass. “Jill’n, you knows Ma’s still sick from havin’ the baby. ‘n Pa’s gotta find more food for it.” Jillian turned away so her brother couldn’t see her crimson cheeks. She knew she was just being selfish. “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Still, Maybe Pa could come and help us up here. We could carry more water that way.” Jackson didn’t reply. He just sat as he usually did, running his fingers over the grass.
When it was his turn to fill his buckets Jackson repeated Jillian’s action, tying the rope around the handles and turning the crank. Jillian had taken his place on the ground, picking at the flowers. “Jackson, lookee here. Wha’s this ‘un?” Her fingers pointed to a stark white flower, with a bright yellow center, almost like the sun. If there was one thing Jackson did know, it was flowers. “Itsa Cherokee Rose,” he said as he started on his second bucket. “Ma told me it’s named after the Injuns. Said that the petals ‘spose to be the tears and the yellow is ‘spose to be the gold that was taken from them.” Jillian gave a quiet nod, her fingers brushing the petals and scattering little flecks of pollen. “It’s pretty.”
As Jackson pulled his second bucket back up, tying it back to the end of the carrying pole, Jillian plucked the flower and slipped it behind her ear. Her fingers found the rope handles of her bucket and with a sigh she began back down the hill. Jackson began to walk behind her, a solemn look on his boyish face. “Jackson,” Jillian piped up. “Willya carry mine? Please? My arms hurt?” She had stopped as she spoke. “Ma says we ‘spose to carry our own loads.” Jillian gave a rather childish groan, looking up at her older brother. The innocent boy gave in, taking her two buckets in hand and began to walk. Jillian soon regained her lead.
“I wonder what the baby’ll look like when he grows up.” She just started to talk, really just spewing out whatever she thought of. “Do you think he’ll be nice, Jackson? A’ course you do. You think e’ryone’s nice. Jackson?” She turned to see her brother, who was struggling to walk with the four buckets of water. His knees wobbled slightly with each step. Jillian turned back around and began to talk. She was interrupted by a loud thud, and a splashing noise. before she turned around, she started to speak. “Aw hell, Jackson. Look what ya did.”
We she turned, he wasn’t there. Just the wet patch of grass. Turning forward frantically, she saw her brother kicking and trying to stop as he tumbled down the hill, his arms and hands tangled in the four buckets. “Jackson!” Jill yelled as she raced after him. He was only getting faster and faster, moving head first towards the hill’s base. Jill kept yelling for him, her small legs trying to catch up, futilely. Jackson stopped, his head landing against a rough rock slab. Jillian caught up with him then, tears streaming down her face. “Jackson, get up! Please!” She tried to lift him, but was too weak. “Jackson, please! I need you to get up!” She tried to sit him up, but it was too late. Jack had broken his crown.