by Gary D. Svee
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
Arch leaned across the table. “You sick?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You going to die?”
Standish shook his head. “Hesper yes, I’m going to die. Everyone dies.”
“When?”
Standish leaned forward. “Arch, nobody knows when they’re going to die, except maybe a man standing on a gallows. When are you going to die?”
“Not till I’m really old. Maybe 20.”
Standish nodded. “Any reason this came up?”
“Like to go fishing tomorrow.”
“And you figure you won’t be able to go fishing if I die?”
“Probably not.”
“Arch, if I die, you can have my fishing rod.”
Arch cocked his head. “Won’t make any difference. Ma won’t let me go fishing if you die.”
“How about you, Arch?”
Arch stared across the table at Standish. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “Guess I wouldn’t want to go fishing if you died.”
Then the boy bristled. “Not cause I like you nor nothing like that.”
Standish nodded. “S’pose we get back to work,” he said, rising.
Arch stared across the table. “Not ’till I get this pickle.”
Standish nodded. A workman is worthy of his hire.
Standish stepped out of the root cellar. The rock walls were in place. The roof was finished and tarpapered and dirt pounded into cracks in the rock.
“Hesper of a root cellar.”
Arch nodded. “Best one I’ve ever seen.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll finish the shelves and.…”
Arch glowered. “Tomorrow, we go fishing.”
Standish looked up and nodded. “Tomorrow, we go fishing. The day after that, we’ll finish.…”
“That ain’t been ’gotiated yet.”
Standish nodded. “Maybe we can talk about that tomorrow.”
Arch shook his head. “Tomorrow’s for fishing.”
Standish nodded. “We’d better get over to your place.”
Arch shook his head. “Ma fixed roast beef.”
Standish nodded. “So we’d best get moving.”
Arch cocked his head, staring at Standish. He shook his head. “Dumb as a post.”
It was Standish’s turn to stare at Arch. “What’s dumb?”
“You,” Arch said.
“Why am I dumb?”
“Don’t know. Was your parents dumb?”
“No. What make you think my parents were dumb?”
“Cause of helter.”
Standish’s face contorted into a puzzled mask.
Arch shook his head and muttered, “Dumb as a post. Your folks must have hired someone to lead ’em around so they wouldn’t get lost.”
Standish bristled. “My parents are smart upstanding citizens, and.…”
“Was your Ma a drinker?”
Standish’s face darkened. “She never had a drink of alcohol in her life.”
“She must have got into some locoweed,” Arch said, nodding at his sagacity.
“Locoweed?” Standish growled.
“Yeah, we had a cow that dropped a calf hardly smart enough to eat. Pa said Mikkens.…”
“Mikkens?”
Arch shook his head. He looked up at Standish and spoke as though he were speaking to a man without a grasp of English. “Mikkens was the cow. Dinkers. A guy’s got to take you by the hand. Anyhow, Pa figured that Mikkens got into some locoweed, and that’s what made the calf so dumb.”
Standish took his hat off, and rubbed his head. “That’s why you figure my mother must have gotten into some locoweed?”
“Only thing I can figure.”
Standish hunkered. “So what led you to this conclusion?”
Arch shook his head and hunkered. “Don’t know how to tell you this so you’ll understand.” He picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt. Doodles, nothing but doodles.
“Ma’s cooking a roast beef supper.” Arch looked up. “You with me so far?”
Standish’s face darkened, but he nodded.
“We don’t have roast beef suppers very often.”
Standish stared at Arch.
Arch sighed, “Now, don’t you drift on me. Try to stay awake.”
Standish’s eyes squeezed nearly shut.
“The suppers are…special, like catching that big cutthroat.”
Standish nodded.
“That’s the reason you can’t go over to supper, now.”
Standish braced his chin with his hand. “Thought I was invited to supper.”
Arch doodled in the dirt. “You…are…coming…to…supper…tonight. You…can’t…come…now.”
“Because your mother is still fixing supper?”
Arch shook his head. “Because a roast beef supper is special. You have to dress up for a roast beef supper.” One of Arch’s eyebrows crawled up. “Wouldn’t hurt if you took a bath.”
Standish nodded. “What time is supper?”
“When the roast is ready.”
“Seems simple enough.”
Arch shook his head. “Would be for most people. I’ll just take the ham and the seven cans of peaches.”
“Thought that we agreed to six cans of peaches.”
Arch shook his head. “S’pose I have to explain that.”
One of Standish’s eyes crawled shut. “Just take the seven cans, Arch.”
Arch nodded. Standish was catching on.
Standish stood in the cabin. Most likely Iona was planning supper around seven. He wouldn’t have hot water for a bath, but it wouldn’t be too cold. Actually, cool water would feel good after the day in the sun. He dropped to his knees beside a chest he kept near the bed. Clean clothes, most of them never worn. He picked out a blue shirt. He had bought the shirt at Myron Kennedy’s store and rued the purchase all the way back to the cabin. The blue was too bright, too easy to see. He would make an easy target, but he fantasized that he might wear the shirt to church one day or to a dance. He knew those thoughts were only dreams. Standish had lived too long alone to think it possible to be part of a community.
Those thoughts brought Standish back to Arch and Iona. They were shunned, exiled, too. Arch carried the scars of what happened that night. Making a companion of a shotgun was proof of that. What would happen if his life didn’t change, if everyone but the shopkeeper Myron Kennedy and his mother were enemies? What would happen if someone came out one night…and Arch used that shotgun?
Standish shook his head. Arch would be a nemesis, a pariah then, just as Standish was now. Standish sighed. What could he do? If he went to Arch and Iona and told them he knew what happened that night, and he wanted to help.… He would never see either of them again.
Standish had no responsibility toward the two. Their lives were piled on their own plates. He had to be free from them to run, and he knew he would have to run. Standish sighed. No sense ignoring the obvious. He wasn’t free. Arch and Iona were the first real friends he had since.…that winter. They were kin, all members of the family Pariah. There was more to it than that. He remembered Klaus’ words about Iona:
Silent smile speaking spring promises
Voice whisp’ring ages to aching ear
A single touch would launch me rising
Golden phoenix from the ashes of my life
Standish was chin deep in the ashes of his life. Someday the past would flame up and torch him. He couldn’t leave Arch and Iona standing in ashes. He couldn’t tolerate anyone living as he had, certainly not them.
Standish put his hand in a bucket on the stove. The water was warmer than he thought it would be. He dumped the buckets into the tub and undressed, slipping into the water. The metal back of the stove was still cold, and Standish shivered.
As the warm water embraced his body, his thoughts turned back to Arch and Iona. The solution came to him as a voice
whispering in his ear. He mulled it; tossed it around. It might work. It had to work.
Standish’s face stiffened. His life would be at great risk, but what made his life worth preserving? He balanced the weeks here against the years in the wilderness and sank beneath the surface listening to sounds muffled and distorted by the water.
Iona wrapped her hand in a dishtowel and lifted the roaster lid for the third time in the past five minutes. The meat was done perfectly, and the scent made her dizzy. If he didn’t come soon, the roast would be ruined.
Iona closed the oven door, ran her fingers through her hair and shook it into place. The kitchen was warm, and Iona would have liked to step outside, to sit on the porch and watch the last shadows of the sun flirt with the Earth, but this dinner was ready. The meat.… Iona swallowed. The frying pan painted the potatoes yellow and brown. It wouldn’t be long before.… The table! Had she forgotten anything on the table?
Iona stepped out of the kitchen. The table was set, each plate in place. Arch was in his place, too, reaching for.…
“Arch!”
The boy jumped. “Just tasting some of my salad.”
“Just don’t.”
“Ah, Ma. He ain’t coming. Might as well start.” Arch’s reach for the salad was interrupted by a knock at the door. Arch wheeled off his chair to the shotgun propped in the corner.
Iona caught her face in her hands and stared at the table. She was torn between her need to hide behind that door and her need to share this dinner with Miles Standish. She swallowed and stepped toward the door. Behind her she heard the double click as Arch brought the shotgun to full cock. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Miles Standish stood on the step in a shirt blue as the sky and a pair of pressed pants. His boots were scuffed but clean, and he carried a bouquet of day lilies.
“Thought you might like these, Ma’am.”
Iona felt the blush spreading across her face, and she ran her hand down her forehead as though to wipe the color away. “Thank you Mr. Standish. Please come in.”
Standish stepped through the door. Arch was holding his shotgun, both hammers at full cock. Standish stared at the boy, and Arch dropped his eyes.
“Bout time you got here,” Arch muttered, setting the shotgun in the corner.
“Arch! Be civil to our guest.”
“Well, I told him to be here when dinner was ready.”
“Dinner is ready, and he is here. Take your seat, Mr. Standish, if you would please sit here.”
“Miles, Ma’am.”
“Iona.”
“Starving,” Arch said.
“Please take your seat, Mr.… Miles.”
“I’d like to wait until you take yours.”
A smile tickled the edges of Iona’s mouth. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a platter of potatoes. They were just as Arch had said they would be, cut in squares and finished to a golden brown. Arch was staring at the platter, running his upper teeth against his lower lip. Iona disappeared into the kitchen again and came out with a platter of beef. Arch and Standish swallowed the moment they saw it. It was the roast of all roasts and done to perfection.
Iona placed the roast on the table and stood beside her chair. Standish pulled it out, and she sat down, shifting forward as he slid the chair under her. He took his seat, and Iona whispered. “Mr.… Miles would you please say grace?”
Miles reached toward Iona and Arch. Arch sat on his hands. Iona hesitated and then took one of Standish’s hands. Standish noticed that Iona’s hands were more suited for drawing room than a homestead.
“Arch.”
Arch glared at his mother. She returned the glare. He took Standish’s proffered hand and his mother’s.
Standish offered his first real prayer in years. He had prayed sometimes in the past, but those were prayers of supplication: “Please God don’t let Sally nicker until they’ve passed.” “Lord, make them blind to the tracks where I left the trail.” He sat at the table, now, his mind running through the rituals of his youth, and then he spoke: “Lord, thank you for these great blessings. Please bless Iona and Archibald for sharing the bounty of their table. Please, dear Lord, show us the way that we might serve you. Please forgive us our trespasses and forgive those who trespass against us.”
“Please let us eat,” Arch whispered.
Iona glared at Arch as she echoed Standish’s amen. Arch was glowering at Standish.
“What’s wrong, Arch?” Standish asked.
“Well, I share the bounty of this table, too, but you didn’t give me any credit.”
“Yes I did.”
“No,” Arch said, shaking his head violently. “You said Archibald. God doesn’t know me by that name—nobody does. So God blesses Ma, and He says, ‘Who’s this Archibald fella? Well, won’t anybody know so I’ll go without. I need blessings just as much as Ma does.”
“Arch, God knows who you are. God knows everything.”
“Can’t be. If he knew everything that was going on, he’d put a stop to it.”
Arch’s face cracked a little, and Standish thought the boy might cry.
Standish stepped in. “Arch, let’s partake of this feast.”
Arch bristled. “Partake nothing! You ain’t taking this nowhere.”
Iona whispered. “Partake means to share. He suggested we share this feast.”
“He ain’t sharing. We’re the ones sharing.”
“We invited him to dinner.”
Arch glared at his plate.
“Didn’t we invite him to partake of this feast?”
Arch sighed and nodded.
“Then, let’s eat.”
Arch reached for the potatoes.
“Mr. Standish…Miles…would you please carve the roast.”
“With great pleasure.” Standish said, swallowing. Arch stabbed the first slice with his knife, setting it amidst his potatoes. Arch stabbed the second slice, too, dragging it to his plate.
“Arch!”
Arch glared at his mother. She glared back. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Keeping him from partaking all my roast.”
“All your roast?”
Arch’s eyes dropped to his plate.
The edge dropped from Iona’s voice. “Do you suppose you could share some of that roast with us?”
Arch nodded, not looking up from his plate.
The next slice went to Iona, and then Miles put one on his plate. Each took a serving of potatoes and tasted the salad.
“What kind of salad is this?” Standish asked.
“My salad,” Arch said. “That’s the kind of salad it is.”
“Arch!”
Arch went back to cutting his meat.
“Arch, tell Mr. Standish what you put in your salad.”
Arch glared.
“Arch,” the word was lower, more menacing.
“Dandelions, mint, watercress.”
“It’s really good, Arch.”
Arch looked at Standish. “Why would you figure any different?”
“Arch, don’t speak to Mr. Standish like that.”
“Why not, his folks was so dumb they had to be led around, and his Ma got into a bunch of locoweed.”
Iona’s eyes went to Standish.
“Want some willow bark?” Standish asked.
“Willow bark?”
“For your headache.”
Iona stared at Standish for a moment and then grinned. “I suspect this headache will last another decade or so. I don’t know if there’s enough willow bark around to handle that.”
Standish grinned, too, but Arch frowned. “What you two grinning about?”
“The salad, Arch.” Standish said. “It’s so good we have to grin.”
Arch nodded. Finally they were making some sense.
The roast was wonderful, tender and perfectly seasoned. Standish was three bites into it before he turned to Iona. “This is the best beef roast I’ve ever had.”
&n
bsp; “Best anywhere,” Arch added.
Iona smiled.
“And these potatoes.…”
“Best ever,” Arch said. His eyes narrowed. “She fried ’em in butter.” He gave Standish a three count to dispute the claim, and then went back to eating.
Iona fixed her eyes on her plate. “So how was it, Mr. Standish, that your mother took to eating locoweed?”
Standish stared at his plate. “Miles,” he said. “Children of locoed mothers prefer to be called by their first names.”
Iona leaned farther over her plate. “I certainly wouldn’t care to affront the child of a locoed mother.”
“No ma’am. We go plumb loco.”
Iona burst into laughter, and Standish did, too. Arch glared at both of them. “Can’t see why you’re getting so giggly when there’s food to be ate.”
“Eaten,” Iona said.
Arch glanced up. “That’s what I said.”
Standish looked across the table at Iona. “Maine?”
Iona cocked her head. “Massachusetts. I didn’t know it was noticeable after all these years.”
Standish nodded. “It is to those of us from Maine.”
“What part?”
“Bangor.”
“Beautiful country. We spent our summers up there some years.”
“Oh, you’re from that part of Massachusetts.”
Iona smiled. “The key word is from. What brought you to Montana?”
“I came to make my fortune in gold.”
“So when does construction begin on the castle?”
“Arch and I built the castle this afternoon.”
Iona smiled. “I understand it is the best root cellar ever.”
“Without question.”
“Ain’t much of a castle, though,” Arch said.
Standish nodded. “We’ve yet to add the turrets.”
Arch’s face wrinkled. “Hard to talk to him, Ma. He just don’t make no sense.”
The dinner lapsed into silence, each enjoying the excellent fare. Standish laid his fork and knife across his plate and leaned back in his chair. “That was the best dinner I’ve ever had.”
“Better than a Maine lobster?”
“Like I said, that was the best beef roast I’ve ever had.”
Iona smiled. “I miss the bounty of the sea, too.”
“Tomorrow we will have fresh fish.”
“Yes, if Arch does his duty.”
