stories — their submissions will run the gamut.”
I accepted a steaming mug. “That’s amazing. I don’t think they do that even in the best private schools anymore.”
“Probably not.” Walt settled onto a stool opposite me. “I’m old-fashioned. The boys need to learn to imagine life through other people’s perspectives, even if the people are fictional. Develops compassion, sympathy, empathy and leadership.”
“Is that why they’re here? Needing to learn those traits?”
“Their parents, if they have them, or case workers think so. More often than not I think it’s the adults in their lives who need those traits. The boys tend to straighten out on their own when they don’t have the pressure of living in the difficult circumstances they come from.”
“So they’re in the system?”
“Most are. It’s hard to place boys in foster homes generally, and older boys especially. Foster families are usually well intentioned, but not often well equipped to handle boys’ aggression, compulsion for adventure and a challenge, the need for meaningful work beyond book learning.” He shrugged and fingered the handle on his mug. His nails were cut short, with dirt shadows embedded in the rough calluses surrounding them. “The list goes on.” His gaze wandered to the window as though he’d forgotten I was there.
Walt’s nose was sharp and thin, pointed in profile. It’d been a few days since he’d shaved, and his stubble glinted red-gold in the window’s light. He had blue eyes too, but not with the same clarity as Eli’s. Could have been caused by a lifetime of worry. Maybe they were related.
“Eli?” I asked.
A slow smile spread across Walt’s face, raising his ears and squinting the corners of his eyes. But he didn’t answer or return his attention to me.
“He’s younger than the other boys. And not studying this morning.”
Walt turned at this, amusement in his eyes. “He found you in the woods, didn’t he?”
I nodded.
“I figure when he’s finished learning all there is to know out there, he’ll come in, sit down, and devour everything there is to learn in here.” He chuckled softly, his lips not parting. “Could take a couple decades for that to happen, though.”
Walt seemed ageless. He spoke with the wisdom of a patient man who’d experienced acres of sorrow, but he didn’t look old. My age even — maybe. “Is he yours?”
“Eli? Blood relation? No.” Walt’s gaze shifted back to the window. “But he reminds me of me.”
“You’re alone here.”
He waited so long to answer I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. He shoved his stool back and stood, gesturing to my mug. “Refill?” When I nodded, he said, “Suits me.”
His back was straight and cold as he stretched out a long arm to pour more coffee. I’d gotten too personal, too fast. I wondered how long it had been since he’d had more than a cursory conversation with a woman.
I tried a different tack. “Are hunters allowed on the property?”
Walt’s flash frown surprised me, as well as the intensity of his glare. “You’ve seen one?” If I hadn’t already witnessed his placidity, his tone would have scared me.
I shook my head. “No. Heard one, maybe — I’m not sure. Could’ve been a gunshot. It frightened both Eli and me.”
Walt’s jaw worked in a slight, tense chewing motion, reminding me of Terminator the goat as he settled back on his stool. “I’ll increase my patrols.” He studied me for a moment. “But there is something you should know. We have a hermit. He’s practically a phantom, invisible. But every once in a while he makes an appearance. Name’s Dwayne, and if you call him by his name, he’ll answer. Just so you know.”
I was beginning to wonder what made the window so attractive that Walt couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting over to it — or through it. Then he murmured, “I think Eli’s found him, where he lives. And I think he’s been apprenticing under Dwayne.
I accepted a steaming mug. “That’s amazing. I don’t think they do that even in the best private schools anymore.”
“Probably not.” Walt settled onto a stool opposite me. “I’m old-fashioned. The boys need to learn to imagine life through other people’s perspectives, even if the people are fictional. Develops compassion, sympathy, empathy and leadership.”
“Is that why they’re here? Needing to learn those traits?”
“Their parents, if they have them, or case workers think so. More often than not I think it’s the adults in their lives who need those traits. The boys tend to straighten out on their own when they don’t have the pressure of living in the difficult circumstances they come from.”
“So they’re in the system?”
“Most are. It’s hard to place boys in foster homes generally, and older boys especially. Foster families are usually well intentioned, but not often well equipped to handle boys’ aggression, compulsion for adventure and a challenge, the need for meaningful work beyond book learning.” He shrugged and fingered the handle on his mug. His nails were cut short, with dirt shadows embedded in the rough calluses surrounding them. “The list goes on.” His gaze wandered to the window as though he’d forgotten I was there.
Walt’s nose was sharp and thin, pointed in profile. It’d been a few days since he’d shaved, and his stubble glinted red-gold in the window’s light. He had blue eyes too, but not with the same clarity as Eli’s. Could have been caused by a lifetime of worry. Maybe they were related.
“Eli?” I asked.
A slow smile spread across Walt’s face, raising his ears and squinting the corners of his eyes. But he didn’t answer or return his attention to me.
“He’s younger than the other boys. And not studying this morning.”
Walt turned at this, amusement in his eyes. “He found you in the woods, didn’t he?”
I nodded.
“I figure when he’s finished learning all there is to know out there, he’ll come in, sit down, and devour everything there is to learn in here.” He chuckled softly, his lips not parting. “Could take a couple decades for that to happen, though.”
Walt seemed ageless. He spoke with the wisdom of a patient man who’d experienced acres of sorrow, but he didn’t look old. My age even — maybe. “Is he yours?”
“Eli? Blood relation? No.” Walt’s gaze shifted back to the window. “But he reminds me of me.”
“You’re alone here.”
He waited so long to answer I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. He shoved his stool back and stood, gesturing to my mug. “Refill?” When I nodded, he said, “Suits me.”
His back was straight and cold as he stretched out a long arm to pour more coffee. I’d gotten too personal, too fast. I wondered how long it had been since he’d had more than a cursory conversation with a woman.
I tried a different tack. “Are hunters allowed on the property?”
Walt’s flash frown surprised me, as well as the intensity of his glare. “You’ve seen one?” If I hadn’t already witnessed his placidity, his tone would have scared me.
I shook my head. “No. Heard one, maybe — I’m not sure. Could’ve been a gunshot. It frightened both Eli and me.”
Walt’s jaw worked in a slight, tense chewing motion, reminding me of Terminator the goat as he settled back on his stool. “I’ll increase my patrols.” He studied me for a moment. “But there is something you should know. We have a hermit. He’s practically a phantom, invisible. But every once in a while he makes an appearance. Name’s Dwayne, and if you call him by his name, he’ll answer. Just so you know.”
I was beginning to wonder what made the window so attractive that Walt couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting over to it — or through it. Then he murmured, “I think Eli’s found him, where he lives. And I think he’s been apprenticing under Dwayne.
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