by Jo Goodman
Israel raised his hands slowly, not with any hope of deflecting buckshot if Happy decided to fire, but to indicate in no uncertain terms that he was surrendering. He had some experience with it, of course, but he usually was plotting escape in the back of his mind. He was not thinking about that now. From the presence of the parson, Israel was able to make a reasonable deduction about Happy’s intentions.
When Pastor Beacon gasped, Willa spun around to look for the cause. Her blood ran cold when she saw the shotgun in her father’s hands. She strode over and put out an arm for the purpose of forcing him to lower the gun.
“Don’t you dare,” Happy snapped, jerking the barrel out of her reach and then steadying it again on Israel. “Put your hand down. This is business between men, Wilhelmina. Between me and Israel. I got it in my mind to do right by you this time. I’m sure there’d be folks who’d say I shoulda done it years ago if they knew the truth, but I let my pride overrun my common sense and that’s what makes me suffer so.”
“Stop it, Happy,” Willa said sharply. “I mean it. Stop talking.” She looked to Zach and then over her shoulder at Pastor Beacon, who appeared to be frozen in place on the padded leather seat of his buggy. “Has he been drinking?”
Zach shook his head, but the pastor spoke up. “Not a drop, Willa, and I offered him drink when he came to the parsonage.”
Happy set his jaw. “I’m clearheaded and my eyes are wide-open. I am not going to take the chance that you’ll be put through it again. Not without your mother here.”
Willa’s hands fisted at her sides. Her chin rose belligerently. “I swear, Happy. Stop. Not another word.”
He did not look at her, keeping his eyes steady on Israel, but when he spoke, he addressed his remarks to Willa. “You go inside. And take Annalea with you. I won’t say anything I shouldn’t, but I want to have words with Israel here. You understand?”
“I understand what you’re saying. I don’t understand why you’re doing it.”
Annalea broke away from the light hold Cutter had on her shoulder and ran past Happy to Israel. She put herself on the step below where he was standing, offering her slight frame as a shield. The action stunned everyone into silence so it was Annalea who had the presence of mind to speak up first.
“This ain’t right, Pa. You ought to be able to say what you want to say without a shotgun. Mr. McKenna ain’t done nothing to you.” When Willa groaned softly, Annalea’s eyes shifted to her. “What?”
“You are hurting my ears, Annalea.”
“Huh?”
Israel decided it was safe to lower his hands. He used them to grasp each of Annalea’s pigtails and then tugged just hard enough to make her tip her head backward and look up at him. “Your sister cannot help herself. There is a shotgun pointed at us and she wants to correct your grammar.”
When Israel released Annalea’s braids, her head did not immediately drop. She continued to stare at him a few moments longer and said in a voice that was eerily calm and adult-like in its intonation, “That is just not natural.”
This pronouncement made even Happy smile. “There’s a truth from a babe’s mouth. Now, you git, Annalea. In the house with you.”
She remained firm. “Are you going to shoot me, Pa?”
Happy did not have to answer because Willa stepped forward, took Annalea by the elbow, and pulled her up the steps, across the porch, and into the house. The door banged shut behind them.
It seemed to Israel that no one breathed. He knew he certainly didn’t. He imagined the shotgun was getting heavy in Happy’s hands but the aim remained steady. Israel tore his eyes away from the barrel and kept them on Happy. “About that business you want to discuss . . .”
Happy nodded, swallowed. “That’s right. We have business. Preacher Beacon, you best step down from your buggy now so Cutter can take it to the barn. Zach, you take care of our horses. What I got to say is for Israel, and this man of God is goin’ to hear it.”
Israel thought that Zach appeared more reluctant to leave than Annalea had been, but Cutter was philosophical about it. Beacon made an awkward descent from the buggy because he was short-legged and considerably rounder at the waist than at his hips. Cutter was patient, though, and waited to be handed the whip before he climbed into the buggy.
Zach started to follow but stopped after a few feet and appealed to Happy’s better sense. “If you have to have the shotgun, at least point it at the ground. How’s a man supposed to think when he’s facing a load of buckshot?”
“I don’t want him thinking,” said Happy. “I want him doing. Buckshot encourages doing.”
Israel considered telling Zach that it was all right to leave, that he and Happy and Pastor Beacon would come to terms, but doing so would have undermined Happy’s authority and might have provoked a blast of buckshot after all. The wiser course was to say nothing, so that was what he did.
Happy waited until the buggy was gone and Zach was out of earshot before he lowered the shotgun and changed his grip to hold it like a baby in his arms. “I’m not putting it away,” he told Israel. “Not yet. Just so you know.”
Israel nodded.
Happy used his chin to gesture to Beacon. “Come over here, William. I’m not going to shoot you. Never was, and you damn well know it.”
“You were effectively convincing,” William Beacon said. To underscore this, he stepped around Happy so that he was standing closest to the butt end of the shotgun and not the barrel.
“This here is the man I told you about,” Happy said to Beacon. “Mr. Israel McKenna. Hired him on, like I said, about two and a half months ago now. Gave him fair work and wages and such hospitality as a man warrants when he’s living on your land. He’s not going to tell you different. Isn’t that right, Israel?”
“That’s right, sir.”
Discomfited, Beacon greeted Israel by clearing his throat and offering a short nod.
Happy went on, his attention all for Israel again. “I heard Willa leave the house last night. Late. I told her that this morning. You know what she told me?”
“No.”
“She told me she left to find John Henry. Funny thing about that is she didn’t mention running into you in the barn.”
Israel knuckled the underside of his chin. “That’s a funny thing all right.”
Happy grunted softly. “See, I failed to mention to my daughter I got to thinking about it after she left, couldn’t fall back to sleep like I wanted, so I took it in my mind to get up and find out what was what. Saw light flickering in the barn. Coulda been a fire for all I knew, so I had to investigate. You understand?”
“I do.”
“Got me an eyeful of everything I didn’t want to see. It wouldn’t be proper for me to repeat it, especially in front of William, especially since I already gave him the gist of it when I visited.”
“Then you are right,” Israel said carefully. “It would not be proper.”
“I didn’t do a thing about it last night. For the life of me, I couldn’t think what I wanted to do or should do. Went back to the house, tossed and turned some, woke early, and suddenly had the answer clear. You’re a smart man, Israel McKenna. Clever, too. I figure you know why I went to see the parson and why I insisted he come back with me.”
Israel nodded. “Yes, I have a good idea.”
As if he suddenly felt the weight of the shotgun in his arms, Happy hefted it once and then resettled it. “I’m going to insist that you marry Wilhelmina.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I’ve got my reasons for it. Good ones.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“So arguing about it is as pointless as a warm ball of candle wax.”
“Candle wax. That is pointless.”
“I love my daughter, Israel.”
“I know that.”
“And if you hurt h
er . . .” He allowed the threat to go unfinished.
“I imagine a quick death would be too good for me.”
Happy smiled, but it was grim. “Like I said, you are a smart man.”
“Are we doing this now?” asked Israel. “In the morning? Does Willa have a say? I admit we hadn’t gotten around to discussing details. I don’t think she would have chosen a pastor from Jupiter.” His gaze swiveled to William Beacon. “Nothing against you, Pastor, but we would have had reasons for looking elsewhere.”
“My congregation is in Lansing. That’s a ways north and east of here.”
Happy said, “William used to have a church in Jupiter. It’s been five years since he moved to Lansing. He was a regular visitor back when Evie was ill. Rode out several times a week to see her. He’s the first one I thought of when this came up, seeing as how a preacher from Jupiter might present a problem. And to your question . . . we are going to do this now. William’s brought the papers and the family Bible’s inside. It will be a proper wedding, legally registered and performed under the eyes of God.”
“Then that’s that.” Israel folded his arms casually across his chest and regarded Happy candidly. “Who is going to tell Willa?”
Happy finally looked beyond Israel to where Willa’s face was framed in the kitchen window. “She’s clever, too. She knows what’s going on.”
Israel made a half turn on the step and looked over at Willa. In response to her lifted, questioning eyebrows, he smiled a trifle guiltily and shrugged his shoulders. When he turned back to Happy, he asked, “The front room?”
“As good a place as we’ve got for a thing like this. You and William go on in. I’m going to fetch Zach and Cutter from the barn. Now that it’s settled, we should have witnesses outside of the family.”
Israel stepped aside to allow Pastor Beacon to precede him into the house. They were both still standing on the porch, their backs to the yard, when the shotgun went off. Beacon staggered sideways in real astonishment, but Israel pivoted in the direction of the blast and was quick enough to catch Happy in the act of lowering the gun. Seconds later, Zach and Cutter came out of the barn on a run.
Happy waved to them, signaling that everything was as it should be and that they could return. He put the shotgun under one arm and started heading back. It was a short walk because he had only traveled thirty feet from the house. He had the grace to grin sheepishly as he approached. “Just seemed easier to bring them in that way.”
Beacon had one hand over his chest, and he kept it there as Happy climbed the steps. “You about killed me with that, Happy.”
“I shot nowhere near you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Happy laughed. “You have to buck up. Go on. Open the door. Have a care Annalea doesn’t fall on you when you do. She’ll be right there.”
She was. In spite of Willa’s warnings to step away, she stumbled forward when the door opened. “Sorry, Pastor Beacon.”
“No harm done.” He patted her on the back and then took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and urged her back inside.
“Is there going to be a wedding?” she asked, moving to the table as everyone else filed in. “Willa says there’s going to be a wedding. A real shotgun wedding. Is that right, Pa? Israel? Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” She had to keep backing up so there was room for all of them to be standing in the kitchen.
“You have to stop talking, brat,” said Israel. He went to Willa and stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder. He nudged her surreptitiously to look at her sister. Annalea had backed herself against the far wall and was standing beneath the shelf where Willa had placed the jar of blackberry preserves. The jar was directly above Annalea’s head, looking very much like it had been put there for the sole purpose of shooting it off, much as an apple had been balanced on the head of William Tell’s son. To put that image out of his mind, he told her, “Yes, there is going to be a wedding.”
That confirmation had predictable results. Annalea pushed away from the wall and launched herself at her sister, wrapping her up in a fierce hug, pressing her head against Willa’s chest hard enough to make her gasp. She flung her head backward then, pigtails flying, and looked up at Willa, her expression the very definition of earnest.
“You want this, don’t you? I think I found him for a reason. For just this reason. Am I right? Did I do a good thing?”
“Yes,” Willa said, slipping her palm over the back of Annalea’s head, smoothing the flyaway strands that always worked themselves loose from her braids. “Whether or not this was the fated outcome, you did a very good thing.” She bent, kissed the top of Annalea’s head, and then said to Happy. “I know it’s not in you to be patient, but if you had waited a day or so, Israel and I would have told you that we planned to marry. We were getting used to the idea is all.”
Happy snorted. “Getting used to the idea? I planted that seed the day after he arrived. It should have taken root before now because, God knows, his head was not crowded with any other thoughts back then.”
Israel pressed a fist to his lips to check the urge to laugh. He looked sideways at Willa and said behind his knuckles, “It’s true.”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured and set Annalea from her. She eyed the shotgun that Happy was still cradling. “Will you put that down now? Set it by the door, or put it back in the rack if you like, but I refuse to be married with a shotgun pointed at Israel’s back.”
Happy shifted his slight, rangy frame as though he meant to challenge her. Instead he leaned the gun in a corner beside the door and grumbled something under this breath that sounded like it had been his intention to keep it pointed at Willa.
Pastor Beacon reached inside his coat and tugged on his clerical collar. He cleared his throat and managed to make it sound significant. “Perhaps we should proceed to the front room.”
To Israel’s amusement, Happy insisted that he and Willa lead the way. There would be no ducking this ceremony. Israel had been escorted by federal marshals who were less attentive than Happy Pancake.
“I finally get to see the front room,” Israel said in an aside to Willa. Her beautiful mouth flattened, and she flushed. There was also a flash in her eyes, more glint than sparkle, which he could not quite interpret, but since she had not tried to make a break for it, he chose to be encouraged.
The least he could do was go into this marriage hopeful.
Chapter Thirteen
Willa stared at the bed. “He changed the sheets,” she said under her breath.
“What’s that?” asked Israel. He was sitting on a ladder-back chair, one leg raised and bent sideways at the knee as he worked off a boot.
She pointed to the bed. “Happy. He changed the sheets and made up the bed before he left this morning. He had to have done it then, and he did it in anticipation of us spending the night here.”
“I think it’s proof that we did not stand a chance.” With a short, final grunt, he wiggled the boot off and dropped it on the floor. “The shotgun was good for insurance, though.”
Willa felt her knees wobble. Before they gave way, she sat down near the head of the bed. The house was quiet now. She could hear the steady ticking of the mantel clock in the front room. It was a sound she hardly ever noticed anymore. She had forgotten how soothing it was, how regular and reliable. She needed that just now. Tonight would be the first night in almost ten years that she would not hear Annalea’s soft, sleepy murmurings in a bed next to her.
As a matter of course, the wedding ceremony had been brief. Happy took her by the arm and tucked it under his elbow, holding her in just that way until Pastor Beacon asked who gives this woman. Her father had spoken in smooth, tenor tones, clear and resolute, his voice uninhibited by whiskey. Words were exchanged then. At each of the pastor’s prompts, she repeated vows, none of which came from her heart. She imagined it was no different for Israel, al
though he spoke more slowly and with consideration of the weight of the words. His eyes, his remarkably sentient blue-gray eyes, never left hers, and she found herself quite unable to look away.
The kiss was awkward. It did not seem to matter that they were familiar with the mechanics of one; they misjudged the distance and the angle. It was more of a collision than a kiss, but it gave the witnesses something to rib them about and put air back in the room.
She signed the document Pastor Beacon presented to her. Israel did the same. It was duly witnessed, folded, and tucked inside Beacon’s vest for registering the following day. She did not feel any more married for having signed it than she did when Beacon made his final pronouncement and introduced her to people she knew, some of them all of her life, as Mrs. Israel McKenna.
There were toasts afterward, some solemn, most only mildly ribald in deference to Annalea’s presence, all of them requiring a measure of participation from her and Israel. Happy produced a bottle of Kentucky bourbon from under the piano lid that he had been saving, in his words, for an occasion of enormous consequence. It was good liquor, and provided a sore temptation to Willa to drink herself senseless, but she refrained, choosing to do no more than sip when she was pressed to raise her glass. It did not surprise her that Israel exhibited the same caution, but Happy’s careful imbibing was a revelation. When it was time for everyone to go to their respective beds, Happy was still standing without wobbling and walking without weaving.
“He thought of everything,” said Willa. She picked up a pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Did you hear Annalea? She’s thrilled that she gets to sleep in the bunkhouse tonight.”
“That will last until Zach starts snoring. She’ll be back before morning.”
“I doubt it. She sleeps like the dead.”
“Are you worried about her?”
Was she? Oddly enough, she didn’t know. “Sleeping there . . . all the men.” Once the words were out, she could not call them back, and she was aware that Israel’s stare had gone from mild interest to penetrating. With no conscious thought, her grip on the pillow tightened. What she said, though, was, “She’ll be fine. I’m just used to her being here.”
