A Tale of Three Brothers (Completed)

The Kiwi House

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The people of Kiwi town called her, child killer. Sam had heard them say it in the grocery store, at the bank, at school. They couldn't get to her, she was dead, so they went after the next best thing. Her family.

Sam Tavert imagined it wasn't an easy thing for anyone, knowing their mom was directly responsible for the death of a bunch of kids. But on the one year anniversary of the incident, he was finding it especially difficult.

The rest of the family had gone out to the funeral home, where a small service was being held. His father, his father's girlfriend, and his two brothers had left early that morning, and weren't expected back until late afternoon. He'd opted to stay home and fix the fence.

It seemed to Sam that he spent most of his free time fixing the fence, but he'd never been so grateful to have something to do. Their house sat in front of an overgrown kiwi orchard that had been left unchecked for years. Recently, thick vines had started to root beneath the fence, pushing apart the wooden fence planks. Sam had spent hours hacking away at the vines, but within a months time they were back with a vengeance.

Sam was on his hands and knees pulling up the vines when he heard the doorbell ring. Nobody but bill collectors and Mormon's came to visit the Tavert house, and even they were wary, so Sam ignored it. When it rang a second time, he reckoned it was some kid hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the infamous Tavert's. By the third time it rang, Sam had tuned out the sound completely.

"So, we're not answering the door anymore?"

Sam turned around and there was a girl he didn't recognize coming out the back porch door. She looked like she'd just come home from church. If it were 1955. She had on an ankle length skirt with blue flowers printed on it, and a white button-down shirt. Her hair was neatly parted into two braids that hung loosely down her back. In her hands, she was holding a bouquet of flowers. She was clearly either lost or she belonged to some kind of cult.

"Most people leave when someone doesn't answer the doorbell," Sam said. He was trying not to appear on edge, but her sudden appearance made him nervous.

"Are you kidding?" she said. "Sam, it's me. Martha."

The only Martha Sam knew was a freckled faced, tomboy who used to follow he and his brother around at school. While the girl standing in front of him was no improvement, she at least resembled a girl.

He must have stared too long, because she cleared her throat. "Martha? Dylan's Martha?" Sam said.

"I don't know that I would refer to myself as, Dylan's Martha," she said. "But, guilty as charged. I came for the service."

"Yeah, of course," Sam said. "Jesus, how long has it been? I thought you and your family moved to Australia or something."

Martha laughed. "Australia? No. That's just what I told people. It sounds way cooler than Seattle. And it's been five years."

"Well, you look good," he said. "And your mom? How's she?"

"She's hanging in there," Martha said. "Look, do you think I can catch a ride with you to the service? I was hoping to ride in with your dad, but my timing was off. I'd call an Uber, but my phone is dead."

"Oh, I'm not going," Sam said. "But I can call you an Uber, if you want."

"That'd be great," she said.

Martha waited with Sam for her Uber to arrive. He kept expecting her to ask why he wasn't going to the service, but she didn't. Instead, she peered over the fence at the orchard. "Do you guys still go in there?" she asked.