Pamela Morsi (26 page)

The thought came to him almost in passing. But it was one of monumental import. The things he had learned to care about, to value, to hold dear, those were what made a man who he was. That remained constant from the war to now. His code of ethics and honor had not transformed. Even his need for the personal satisfaction of a job well done continued on, long after the job he could do well had dramatically changed.

All of those important parts of who he was and what his life was about were the same as always. He had not left everything on a dew-dampened field in Virginia. Somehow he had thought Jeptha Barnes, the man he was, lost forever. But truly, the only thing lost was a pair of legs.

He thought about Nils and Zack. He thought about Moss’s father, DeWitt. The world would never know what they had learned from war, what kind of men it had made them. They lived on only in the memory of those that loved them. Sary was right about that. Because he lived, he owed something to those that had not.

A surgeon and a cannonball had cut off his legs. But he had cut himself off from the lives around him. That was a far worse amputation.

Jeptha finished weeding the last row and surveyed the garden critically. It had suffered a late start, too much rain followed by too little, and a rabbit-crazed dog ripping through it in full harness. But it was growing, still providing for their table, its scars and injuries hardly visible to anyone unaware of their existence.

He turned his cart and rolled it across the clearing and up the path toward the cabin. He’d spent many long afternoons within the confines of its four walls. Now he wanted to get the makings to weave another cane seat. There was no telling when the family might expect company for dinner.

Somehow the gray fog that had surrounded his heart had lifted a little. Just enough for a peek at what was outside him, what was beyond the confines of his prison. Could he live out there? he wondered. Was he man enough to have a life that was full and complete?

It would be a life without legs. But it didn’t need to be a life without purpose or meaning … or even love.

Jeptha propelled his cart across the porch. He opened the screen and went through the door of the cabin. It was cool and dark inside and seemed inordinately empty. He wheeled himself over toward the bed, his thoughts far away. In the dim light of the interior he rolled over something with one of his wheels.

He snorted impatiently. Eulie was a very conscientious housewife and tried to keep the place neat and picked up. But with a whole houseful of younguns, it was near to impossible.

Jeptha retrieved the item and gazed at it curiously. It was the little yellowed pamphlet on Texas. He screwed his mouth up in disapproval. Apparently the children had been in Moss’s strongbox again. They
really should not be allowed to rifle through someone else’s things. Especially so if they could not seem to manage to get things back in order.

He pushed himself over to the other bed and pulled out the box beneath it with the intent of dropping the papers inside. Perhaps it was the ease in which he was able to drag the box toward him or some sixth sense that warned him that something was amiss. But in the shadowy darkness of the cabin, he reached his hand inside the box. It was empty. The sack of money that represented his nephew’s life savings and the fine side arm with its box of ammunition were gone.

A sick wave of dread filled Jeptha’s throat. He wanted to vomit.

R
ANS
regretted his hasty behavior almost immediately. But he was leaving for good this time. Eulie had as much as said that he should go. He was sick of her and of Moss Collier and of everyone and everything in the Sweetwood. But if he were going away for good, he needed money for provisions. And the gun—well, the world outside was a dangerous place. He needed the gun for protection.

He was heading downriver, never to return. He raised his chin high. Rans Toby was going to make his own place in the world. To be his own man at long last. He would never be treated with condescension or disrespect again.

Just the thought of that bright future had him whistling to himself as he walked and made the stealing of the gun and the money seem less wicked. Once he’d established himself out in the world, he’d have lots of money to send home. He could easily pay back what he’d stolen, and more.

He was about a half a mile past the falls when he spotted the Pusser brothers out in their boat. Rans hurried to the bank of the river and hailed them.

“Where you headed?” he called out.

“Jarl,” one of the brothers yelled back.

“Do you got room for a passenger?”

Rans watched as a short discussion took place between the two men. A couple of moments later they began to paddle the boat out of the downstream current and into his direction.

When they got within talking range, Delbert shot out a question.

“Where you off to?”

“Downriver,” Rans answered. “I … I got business downriver.”

Delbert raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything. Rans was glad. He did not want to explain himself. And he wasn’t about to say that he was leaving home. They’d think he was some little boy running away.

The Pussers eased the boat up against the shore. Rans grabbed the prow and made way to hop in. He threw his sack of needments on board, against a row of corked jugs covered by brown gunnysacks. It landed with the distinctive jangle of coins. The sound caught the attention of both brothers.

“What you got in your poke?” Delbert asked. “Nails?”

Rans nearly sighed aloud with relief as he hurried to seat himself in the boat. It was probably not a good idea for anyone to know that he was carrying a stash of money. It was the plain truth that he had robbed Moss Collier, even if he did intend to pay him back. The law might not take such an eventuality into account.

“Horseshoes,” Rans answered, very pleased with his own brilliant deceit. “I’ve been collecting lost and worn horseshoes and muleshoes. I can trade the iron to the blacksmith in Jarl.”

Donald gave him an inquisitive look.

“Most usually he trades for labor,” the man said. “You ain’t got no animal to have shod.”

That was an unfortunate weakness in the lie Rans told.

“Moss is going to ride his horse down later,” he mumbled hurriedly.

“You mean you’re going to use horseshoes that you found to help out Collier?” Delbert said. “You must be a mighty fine brother-in-law.”

“We’re a family,” Rans said, echoing the kind of words his sister would use. “What we do for one another is the same as doing it for ourself.”

The Pusser brothers didn’t dispute his words. They probably understood family as well as he did. Or as well as perhaps he should have. Eulie’s words were never his own. He had never felt that strong sense of them being bonded together that she had always talked about. He supposed that he’d never had to. No matter what the circumstances and how far apart they were, Eulie kept the family together as one. That’s why she didn’t want Clara to marry. Why she found it so hard to let Minnie live with the Pierces. And that’s why she would always blame herself for today, the day that he actually left home forever.

The trip was mainly uneventful—except, of course, for Rans it was a tremendous adventure. Riding in a boat was a rare treat. And he had only been down the river a handful of times in his life. There was very little talking going on. The Pusser brothers, like himself, seemed to be content with their own thoughts.

However, as they neared the dock at Jarl, Delbert
Struck up a conversation about poker. After his success with the game at Preaching Sunday, it was easy for Rans to warm up to the subject.

“The men in the saloon in Jarl,” Delbert told him. “Now they are real poker players.”

“Oh yeah?”

Delbert nodded. “There ain’t nothing these town men likes better than whiling away the afternoon with a glass of beer and a deck of cards.”

“Preacher Thompson sure wouldn’t approve of that,” Rans said, chuckling.

“The preacher!” Delbert laughed. “That man wouldn’t darken the saloon door. He knows by a damn sight that he ain’t welcome.”

The cursing momentarily caught Rans off guard. Eulie didn’t allow anything even close to cuss words. A genuine “hellfire” was rare in his experience.

“That’s for d-d-damn sure.” Rans answered, momentarily stuttering over the word. “For real damn sure,” he declared again, emphatically.

“That’s what Donald and I are hoping to do this afternoon,” Delbert said. “We’re going to the saloon and play some poker. You could come with us … ah … no, I guess you’d better not. These men don’t play poker for acorns. If you don’t got money, them fellows would just think you was a kid.”

“Who says I ain’t got money?” Rans said.

“You got money?” Donald asked, apparently surprised.

Rans remembered too late that he didn’t want anybody to know. “I … got a little,” he answered. He turned back to face Delbert. “I got a little … ah … traveling money. I suspect I’ve got enough to sit in for
a hand or two. And the way I win, I’ll probably be playing poker all afternoon.”

Slowly, rather slowly, Delbert smiled.

“Then you just come with us, Rans Toby, and we men will have us a fine time.”

Rans wanted to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming. Here he was, already in Jarl, a companion to two of the most admirably disreputable fellows he’d ever heard of, and fixing to spend the afternoon playing poker. Why, he might even win enough extra money that he could send Moss Collier’s to him on the Pusser brother’s return trip. If he’d known it was going to be this easy, he’d have left home years ago.

They docked the boat and unloaded the jugs. The gunnysacks were unwieldy and, with three gallons in each one, very heavy. But Rans toted one all the same, wanting to be of help to the Pusser brothers in any way he knew how.

Fortunately, they did not have to go far. The unsavory establishments of the small community were all down near the riverside. As one continued away from the water, the establishments got cleaner, nicer, more wholesome in appearance. Rans didn’t bother to venture that far. He followed the Pusser brothers down a smelly back alley brimming with rotting garbage and the even more odorous and loathsome contents of chamber pots.

Rans made a face and held his nose. Donald pointed at him and laughed.

Delbert was more sympathetic.

“You’ll get used to it,” he told Rans. “The honey wagon don’t get down here that often.”

“The honey wagon?”

Donald laughed again delightedly. “Maybe we can get you a nice ride on the honey wagon. Would you like that?”

“Stop teasing my friend,” Delbert scolded his brother. “The honey wagon is what they load the dung around here into.”

“They load up the dung?”

“It’s too close to the river to dig outhouses, so they load it up and haul it out north of town to bury it,” Delbert said. “If you’re ever looking for work, the honey wagon hires a lot of shoveling boys.”

Rans repressed a gag. He was no orphaned waif forced to take any job available. He had money in his pocket. His future employment would be something entirely different.

They went into a seedy-looking bar at the far end of the alley. The lurid yellow paint on its swinging doors was cracked and chipping. The doors creaked loudly as they passed through.

The inside of the place was no finer than its outward appearance. It smelled mostly of stale beer, with occasionally unpleasant whiffs of acrid vomit. Rans glanced around the place. There were several old men in differing states of inebriation, a couple of down-at-the heels drifters at the bar, and the most amazing-looking woman that Rans had ever seen. Her face was painted white as a bedsheet. She had a spot of bright color on each cheek and the biggest, reddest lips that were ever on the earth.

“That Ida, she’s quite a gal,” Donald whispered into his ear.

“Is she the one that gave you the syphilis?” Rans asked.

“Nah, she ain’t the one that gived it to me,” Donald answered. Then he leaned closer. “So I gived it to her.”

Donald thought that was a great joke and hooted with laughter. Rans was not quite sure why it was funny, but joined in nonetheless, just to be sociable.

Delbert gave the proprietor behind the bar the liquor jugs. In turn, the man counted out the payment on the bar. When the transaction was complete, Delbert stashed the money in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Where’s all the poker players this afternoon, Sam?” he asked the bartender.

The man gave him a strange sort of look and then muttered something about expecting them later.

“Now that we’ve got some money,” Delbert said, “we thought we’d play a hand or two. Can we borrow your cards?”

The man immediately reached below the counter.

“I want that little blue deck in the fancy case,” Delbert said. “It’ll do us just fine.”

The bartender’s face had no expression at all, but he nodded. The little blue deck was not under the counter, but in the cashbox next to the wall.

“Here you are,” the man said, handing the cards to Delbert.

Pusser turned and smiled broadly at Rans.

“Why don’t we play a couple of hands, just the three of us, until some of the other fellows arrive.”

“That sounds good,” Rans agreed.

The three of them took a table in the corner of the room, next to the front window. There was a lantern hanging over the center of the table, but it was the sunlight through the window that illuminated the game.

Rans set his pokesack right next to his foot and leaned down to carefully get a few coins out of the money bag. He wouldn’t need much, he thought. Delbert and Donald, having just got paid, had plenty for him to win, so he could play against the other men when they arrived.

The fancy deck of cards didn’t appear all that fancy to Rans. They looked just like the deck that Dudley Samson carried. Except some of the cards seemed to be very much used.

The bartender brought them glasses of beer. The last thing Rans wanted to admit was that he had never tasted the stuff. So he drank the sudsy brew as if such consumption were an everyday occurrence. He didn’t like the taste of it much. But he drank it anyway.

Delbert shuffled with great dexterity and Rans was favorably impressed. He anted up and the cards were dealt.

It was just as it had been that Preaching Sunday. Rans was lucky enough to get really good cards and he played them with great skill.

He won hand after hand. Donald took the pot twice, but Delbert was forced to fold again and again. And when he did go the distance, he never had more than a middling pair.

The pile of money in front of Rans grew. The Pusser brothers, trying desperately to get back some of their losses, urged the stakes higher and higher. That was all right with Rans. The higher the stakes, the more money he won. There seemed to be no chance that his luck would change.

But it did.

Delbert won a couple of hands. Rans was actually
glad for him. He hated to take all the man’s money. As Delbert’s cards came up better, he wagered a little bit recklessly, Rans thought. But amazingly, his bets came through for him.

When Rans threw in the last coin he had on the table, he’d had enough. He didn’t care about seeing the other men anymore. He was ready to get out of the ill-smelling, seedy saloon.

Surprisingly, Delbert folded on that hand, and Rans easily beat Donald’s pair of fours. With new winnings in hand, Rans was revitalized. He could play this game all night long.

And they did.

As night fell, there were more and more men showing up at the saloon. Not one of them even hinted at any interest in participating, but a small crowd gathered around to watch. They were called sweaters, Delbert told him. Men who liked the excitement of the game, but didn’t have their own money to bet. Sweaters was a good name for them, Rans thought. With all the people standing around, they could get no benefit from the opened window. A veil of tobacco smoke hung like a cloud over the table. It was getting unbearably hot. Fortunately, the bartender kept a cool glass of beer at Rans’s elbow all evening. It didn’t really taste that bad once you got used to it.

Rans had to reach back into his pokesack a half dozen times to keep in the game. His luck was bound to turn any minute. And it did.

He picked up the card dealt him, neatened them into a pile, and slowly farmed them out as he held them before his eyes. Jack of hearts, king of clubs, king of diamonds, seven of clubs, king of spades.

Rans wanted to scream aloud to the heavens. What a hand! Three kings and he hadn’t even taken a draw. With as much nonchalance as he could manage, Rans laid his cards down on the table. His pile of silver had dwindled considerably, and he reached into the pokesack at his feet to get a fresh supply from the money bag. To his surprise, he found only a handful of coins left. His heart began pounding, and he felt a wave of nausea that was almost paralyzing.

He had the sudden panicked feeling that he should grab his handful of coins and run from this place as fast as his legs would carry him. But he’d already anted in, and he was holding three kings.

This would be the last hand, he decided. He’d win back as much money as he could with his kings and then he’d leave this place. He placed his bet.

“I’ll see yours,” Donald said. “And raise.”

Delbert took a quick glance at his cards. “How much do I need to stay in?” he asked, as if he hadn’t really been paying attention to the game.

Rans told him, and he threw his money in casually before turning his attention back to the painted-faced Ida. The woman was leaning forward on Delbert’s chair. Her spangly red dress was cut very low and from his position directly across from Delbert, Rans had a perfect line of sight down the front of the woman’s dress. The view more amazed Rans than excited him. The woman’s teats were big enough to be cow udders.