River's Son

By R. E. Guthrie

Jack loves books. Books, however, are something that is scarce in his 1930s backwoods community, especially since his pa does not approve of reading. Jack daydreams about escaping from his home, riding the river until he discovers a place he could actually belong, but it isn't until the summer of 1940 that he discovers a startling secret that the river holds and decides to launch off an odyssey of his own, an odyssey that will change his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Guthrie
• Release date: Aug 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393837664

R. E. Guthrie

R. E. Guthrie grew up by the side of a river and loves the great outdoors, as well as reading and writing. She has a BA in English and a Master's in Education and lives in Northern Virginia, where she teaches preschool.

Book preview

Chapter One

Iam a child of the river. I grew up on its banks, and my first memory is of its muddy, brown water splashing into my mouth. The water tastes of secrets, of birth and death and time and memory, all tucked under that deceptive, lazy-brown dimpled surface, flowing quietly along. Looking back, it is hard to see how I did not know—did not know the river’s secrets for so many years. For it held them for me in plenty. This is my story—mine, and the river’s.

I GREW UP IN A TUMBLE-down house by the riverside, close enough to hear the river’s running even in my sleep when the waters ran high. I always felt attracted to the river—a strange fascination I couldn’t break. I used to slip away from my chores whenever I could to go sit by the river, watching the dragonflies dart about and hearing their strange insect whirrings, watching the water dimple and purl on its slow way to the sea. At least, that’s where the schoolteacher said it went—I’d never seen the sea. Pa didn’t take us traveling places—he said it cost too much. I guess it did, too; he and Ma didn’t have much, just our flimsy dirt-floor house and the bit of land Pa rented from a farmer to grow crops on. Pa didn’t really care about farming, though; he liked hunting. That, I guess, was where the trouble between me and my pa began.

You see, Cassie, Pa’s oldest, was a girl. I caught the idea early on that Pa hadn’t wanted a girl—he wanted a boy. He didn’t think girls were any good for hunting with, I guess. So when I arrived, Pa was certain I would fulfill his dreams of a hunting partner. The problem was, I didn’t like hunting. Pa said it was the school’s fault—maybe it was, in a way.

It started when I was six, on a beautiful September day.

Come on, Jack, Cassie called, hands on her hips, glaring at me as I struggled into my shoes for the walk to school for the first time. The shoes felt strange on my feet, for I often went barefoot—and besides, I think my feet had grown since I last wore the shoes.

We’re going to be late, Cassie announced, even her blond braids looking stiff and accusing.

I’m ready, I announced, standing up.

Cassie grunted, smoothing her dress and grabbing my hand.

Bye, Ma. See you later.

Ma waved goodbye as Cassie dragged me out the door; Pa was already gone to the fields.

I felt excitement rising as I lugged my lunch sack along; I didn’t remember going off our farm before except for Christmas and Easter to the church in town.

Forests of pine edged tall-grassed fields, and bugs chirped and whirred in the bushes and grass. I caught sight of a mockingbird in a magnolia, head tipped back, singing, and a flock of crows took off in the distance, making quite a racket.

Hurry, Jack, Cassie commanded, leading the way down the wheel-rut road. But her hand pulling me was gentler than her voice, and I didn’t really mind her bossing any more than the jay-bird yelling at me from a nearby railing. It was just her way.

As we finished the two-mile walk, I saw the one-room schoolhouse come into view, a small, white-painted building. I slowed, shy suddenly, but Cassie had no time for shyness. She marched me up the steps, straight to a woman who was settling other children into desks.

Hi, Miss Wilson. This is Jack, my brother. He’s six.

The woman turned, her pleasant face breaking into a smile as she saw me.

Well, hello, Jack. It’s nice to meet you. And it’s good to have you back, Cassie.

Cassie grinned, her impatience suddenly gone, and I stood still, shocked by the teacher’s friendliness.

I was soon settled at a desk with some other young children, and presently lessons began. I kept staring at Miss Wilson’s smooth brown hair, and the wooden floor of the schoolroom, and the great crowd, as it seemed to me, of other children. It was so different from what I was used to.

Presently Miss Wilson came over and began talking to me, introducing the alphabet and the sounds letters make.

I’ve seen those in Cassie’s book, I said proudly, having once stolen Cassie’s schoolbook to try to understand its secrets.

Miss Wilson smiled. "Good. Hopefully that will make it easier. Now, let’s talk about the ă sound again. We write that A."

As Miss Wilson talked, I suddenly felt something connecting, turning on, in my brain. At the bottom of the book page Miss Wilson was showing me were some of the alphabet letters she was talking about, and I found myself mouthing the sounds of each I could remember. Those three letters at the bottom, now—b-b-then that ă sound—

Bat! I suddenly shouted.

Miss Wilson stopped mid-sentence, her eyes wide.

"That says bat!" I cried, pointing to the word at the bottom of the page.

It does indeed, Jack, Miss Wilson said in surprise. Why, I do believe that is the fastest I have ever had anyone learn to read a word.

I glowed, lit up with excitement at what I had done. I could read! I decided.

I practically ran the two miles back from school, excited to show off my accomplishment.

Look, I told Ma excitedly, grabbing the schoolbook Miss Wilson had given me. B-A-T. Bat. I can read!

Reckon so, Ma shrugged, looking up from the laundry basket. Though what good it’ll do, I don’t know. Hand me that clothespin, will you? She finished pinning a shirt to the clothesline as I complied, slightly deflated. But not much. I could read!

From then on, I progressed rapidly to really reading, and that soon became pretty much all I wanted to do.

Pa didn’t really like this—Too much learning is spoiling you, boy, will keep you from being a real man.

Yet he didn’t halt the schooling, and I could deal with disapproval—books were such an exciting new world.

Yes, he humored me, for things hadn’t really changed yet. That came the next year, when I was seven.

That year, Ma had been resting a lot more than was common with her, and her belly was larger, too.

Cassie caught me in the barn one night and explained in a whisper her assessment of the situation: I think Ma’s gonna have a baby.

I felt rather shocked by this. A baby?

Uh, huh, Cassie nodded solemnly. A baby.

I digested this piece of information, not really sure what it meant. It did keep me from being surprised, though, when Cassie and I came home from school one day and found a midwife there.

The baby’s coming, Pa explained briefly, his first reference to us on the topic. Go out in the barn and wait.

So we did. I lay watching dust moats dance in the sunlight, seeing light flicker off the straw and hearing the faint murmur of the river in the background. The sun slowly traced across the sky, and I yawned, feeling sleepy, when the stillness was suddenly broken by a cry—a thin, high