The Drifter: J. R. Schroeder

The Drifter

by J. R. Schroeder

It was a damp, overcast morning ~ of course, it was early yet, but still it was the kind of morning when the cold kind of goes right to the bone. Not infrequent in the early fall around these parts. The ol’ timers claim it’s from bein’ s’ close to the sea and s’ low to the water. No mountains, and that lets the wind come atcha and bite lika marsh skeeter.

Even though it was early when Steve stepped down from the back door, he knew what it was going to be like ’cause this wasn’t his first time out this mornin’. He’d already been to his outhouse and knew it was damn chilly. Cold or not, though, he preferred it out where you could smell the fresh air and see what the weather was goin’ to do. A lotta folks didn’t understand that about him, and why he’d go to all that trouble to keep that ol’ outhouse in shape behind the shop when they’d had a

Lem and Steve Ward

perfectly good bathroom in that new addition for a couple of years now.

It wasn’t just bein’ out in the weather that he liked. Steve liked the privacy of it. The privy got him out of the house and away from people and gave him a chance to think. Not that he didn’t enjoy his family, or rather his brother Lem’s family, since Steve didn’t have one of his own, at least, that is, since his father, Travis, and his mother died. Lem’s daughter, Ida, kept the house goin’ now, and Steve surely enjoyed those talks with her of a mornin’ ’round the ol’ kitchen table. That extra cup of coffee was a special one, just before goin’ out to work, when Ida found some extra moments to sit down and have one with him.

He loved to tell her stories of the old days when he and Lem were boys, or stories of their father, Travis, and the boats he used to build in the back yard when he wasn’t cuttin’ hair or going out to find dinner in the marsh; or maybe Steve would tell of what France was like during the short time he was there in 1919. It really didn’t matter what they talked about. He just enjoyed bein’ there and knew, from the look on Ida’s face, that she was enjoying it, too. There was a closeness and a warmth, and that was an important thing.

This mornin’, though, Steve hadn’t sat there as long as usual