The Devil You Know

by Jo Goodman

  After much oohing and ahhing over half a dozen ribbons in the colors of a rainbow, two handkerchiefs with lace borders, a pair of ivory combs for her hair that she hadn’t asked for but swore were exactly what she always wanted, and three dime novels with lurid covers and sensational titles, Annalea danced happily between Willa and Israel, throwing her arms around each of them in turn.

  Israel and Willa returned to the kitchen when Annalea decided she was going to tie one of her old hair ribbons around John Henry’s neck. They couldn’t bear to watch.

  Happy had cups set out for them, and poured coffee into each. “Expected you last night,” he said. “Maybe that ring explains why you didn’t come back, and maybe it don’t. I guess I don’t need to hear details as long as you’re both satisfied with the bargain you struck.”

  “You’re right,” said Willa. “You don’t need to hear details.”

  Israel picked up his cup. “So what is it that you think we should probably be sitting down to hear?”

  Happy checked the soup, gave it a stir with a long-handled wooden spoon, and then moved to the sink, where he leaned back against it and folded his arms across his chest. Once he had assumed his comfortable storytelling stance, he began, “We had a visitor last night. Young fool showed up here after dark, said his name was Samuel Easterbrook, and claimed he was tracking down some fellow on account of a friend asking him to do it.”

  “You sure that was his name, Happy?” asked Israel.

  Willa was alert to the narrow crease that had appeared between Israel’s dark eyebrows. She watched him carefully over the rim of her coffee cup and waited for Happy’s answer.

  “Samuel Easterbrook,” Happy repeated. “Yep. I’ve got it right. Made sure I said it once or twice so it would keep. Are you familiar?”

  “No. Go on.”

  “Well, there was a couple or three things suspicious about him right from the beginning. Zach and Cutter and I talked about it after we showed him the door, so to speak, and they agreed with me.”

  “What sort of things?” asked Willa.

  “I’m gettin’ to that, girl. Can’t be rushed. I need to keep it ordered in my mind.” The wooden spoon in his hand distracted him for a moment as a heavy droplet of bean soup was set to fall. He quickly moved the spoon to the sink behind him and reassumed his position. “Sam—that’s what he invited me to call him—said he was an Army scout a ways back. That didn’t set right because he was so young. I made him to be a couple years older than Cutter, so if he was scouting for the Army, he must have been doing it when he was in short pants.”

  Happy’s mouth pulled to one side as he regarded Israel. “You all right there, son? I thought you might’ve twitched some when I mentioned this Easterbrook fellow said he was a scout. You know somebody like that?”

  “I might,” Israel said evenly. He set his coffee cup down without twitching.

  Happy grunted softly. “So Samuel Easterbrook not only says he used to scout for the Army, but he also admits that he got turned around on his way here from Big Bar, and that’s why he showed up at night. He made light of it, but I had a hard time believing that even a former scout would admit to it. Where’s the pride, I asked myself.”

  Willa unconsciously moved to the edge of her chair. She wanted to ask about Big Bar in the worst way, but she bit her tongue and hugged her coffee cup in her hands.

  Happy’s mouth worked back and forth as he considered what odd observation to reveal next. “Like I said, Sam visited Big Bar before he came here. Nothing particularly strange about that since he had already been to Jupiter to ask after his man and was visiting ranches in the area, but he stretched my imagination to unnatural lengths when he said Malcolm Barber had been downright hospitable. Welcomed him even, invited him to rest a spell since he’d been riding for days, coming from Stonechurch as he was.”

  Happy’s eyes narrowed a bit as he examined Israel for the second time. “Now, see? There it is again. You’re twitchy, son. What was it this time? Stonechurch? You recalling something finally?”

  Israel did not commit. “I might be.”

  Willa stared at him, a frisson of fear tiptoeing up her spine. She was feeling twitchy herself now.

  Happy said, “Sam told us that he was following a lead he came across in Stonechurch, something about a poker game. Apparently the fellow he’s looking for is a card sharp. I can tell you, I was relieved to hear it. Seemed like it was a good piece of news, since up until then I had it in the back of my mind that he was looking for you, Israel, but since you’re no kind of card player that I ever saw, I figured he was turning over the wrong rock.”

  He sighed heavily, looking from Israel to Willa and back again. “Looking at the two of you right now, I’m beginning to think maybe I’m wrong about that rock. The pair of you know something I don’t?”

  It was Willa who answered. “We might.”

  “Hmm. I’m noticing a certain sameness to the answers I’m getting.”

  Israel said, “It’s probably nothing, Happy. Easterbrook must have given you the name of the man he’s tracking, and you’d have told us already if it was my name, so who is he after? You committed that to memory, didn’t you?”

  “Sure did. Name’s Buck McKay. Does that poke your memory some?”

  Israel looked across the table at Willa and met her eyes before he nodded. “It does.”

  “Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” said Happy. “Though whether that somewhere is good or bad remains a question. Seems like you two might have the answer.”

  Israel asked, “Did he say why he was looking for this Buck McKay?”

  “Sam disabused us of the notion that he was a lawman or a bounty hunter. He said he was doing a favor for the friend. McKay disappeared, and this friend wanted to know what happened to him.”

  “Huh. And the friend? Did you ask who that was?”

  “Of course.” Happy scratched the back of his head, thinking. “Give me a moment. It’ll come to me.”

  The answer came from the hallway. Annalea said, “Thomas A. Wyler of the Saint Louis Wylers.”

  Happy’s head immediately swiveled in Annalea’s direction. His deep frown should have had her taking a step back, but she stayed where she was, mostly because she was ignoring him and speaking directly to Israel. Happy made it a point to bring her attention to where he wanted it. Reaching behind him, he picked up the wooden spoon and waggled it at her. “How long have you been standing there? This is no conversation for you.”

  “I only just got here.” She pointed behind her to where John Henry was bringing up the rear. “See? He’s just now catching up. Pitiful dog. Anyway, I guess I’m some use since I was there last night when Mr. Easterbrook introduced himself, and I’m the one recollecting the name ‘Thomas A. Wyler.’”

  Willa cast an eyeful of reproach at Annalea. “Mind the sass. It’s dripping like syrup all over your words.” She looked at Happy and then Israel. “Does it matter if she hears?”

  Israel said, “She hears everything sooner or later.”

  Happy thought about it longer before he made a decision. “Take a seat, Annalea, and like Willa said, mind the sass.”

  Annalea flopped into a chair at the foot of the table. Her dark braids bounced over her shoulders and gave everyone a glimpse of all six of the new ribbons in her hair. John Henry, sporting a faded blue ribbon around his neck, padded into the kitchen and flopped with equal dedication under Annalea’s chair.

  Happy addressed Israel. “Thomas A. Wyler, just like she said.”

  Israel nodded once, grimly, and absently turned his coffee cup without making any move to drink from it. “Happy, I guess you have this pretty well worked out already. I thought at first that Samuel Easterbrook might be my brother, although I couldn’t come up with a reason that he’d use an alias. Quill was in the Army. He mustered out years ago, and while he wasn’t a scout t
hen, he’s done plenty of tracking since. If he ever got lost, I never heard of it.

  “As for Buck McKay, that’s one of the names I used from time to time, so it’s evident to me at least, and probably to Willa since she knows just about everything now, that your visitor was looking to pay me a call. The problem is, I don’t know why. I still don’t have a memory that accounts for the time between walking along Wabash and arriving here.”

  Willa felt Happy watching her, not Israel, gauging her reaction to this news, not taking measure of Israel’s quietly composed demeanor as he revealed it.

  Happy said, “You all right, Willa? I’ve seen you with more color in your face than you have right now.”

  “It’s not what Israel’s saying that troubles me. It’s thinking past that to what we are going to do about it.”

  Annalea said, “It’s all right, Israel. Remember all the things you said to me when I found you? Maybe it’s true that you were a bad man, but that’s no never mind now. You’re family. Pancakes protect their own.”

  Israel reached toward the end of the table and laid his hand over hers when she slid it in his direction. “I appreciate that, brat, but you’re still going to have to go to school in Jupiter come spring.”

  Annalea’s mouth opened and closed. For once, she kept it that way.

  Israel patted her hand sympathetically before he drew back. “No one here is going to do anything. It’s my place to take care of it. I never wanted trouble visiting you. Seems like that’s happened.”

  Happy raised the spoon like a judge’s gavel. “Just a minute. Let’s not jump here. What’s this about a card sharp? Is that you?”

  “It is.”

  “I’ll be darned,” said Happy. “Don’t that beat all.”

  Israel started to explain, but Willa interrupted and finished telling it for him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Annalea leave her chair. A moment later, she was at her side, and when Willa made her lap available, Annalea sat in it. It warmed her just then to have her daughter in her arms, and it was all to the better knowing that Israel understood how deeply felt the emotion was. When she finished telling Happy about Israel’s Mississippi days, she asked Annalea if she had any questions.

  Annalea stopped sucking on the end of one braid and removed the damp, spiky tail from her mouth. Her dark eyes, so like Willa’s, narrowed when they fastened on Israel’s face. “Did I win fair and square? That’s what I’m wondering. Or did you let me win because I’m a kid?”

  “You’re a kid?” When she pursed her lips at him, he said, “Annalea, I don’t let anyone win. Ever.”

  She continued to regard him suspiciously and then nodded. “Good thing. I have it in my mind that I am going to be a card sharp.”

  “Then we will have to talk,” he said.

  Over the top of Annalea’s head, Willa gave him a quelling look.

  Israel said to Happy, “There’s couple of things about Mr. Samuel Easterbrook that don’t settle with me as true. I can’t say whether his name is Easterbrook or not. I never heard it before that I recall. I’m inclined to doubt the name because I am very familiar with his friend Thomas A. Wyler.”

  “You are?” asked Willa.

  “Hmm. Thomas A. Wyler is a showboat that paddles up and down the Mississippi from Saint Louis to New Orleans. Twice a year it hosts a floating poker game. Most players are invited, but not all. Someone who knows someone can get you in, and you pay for the privilege of sitting at a table. That’s separate from the opening ante. The pots are big, the reward for taking it all can be substantial, but men have been known to leave the boat in tears for having lost what they could not afford to.”

  Willa looked sharply at Happy, who held up his hands and swore he was not entertaining any notions. She cocked an eyebrow at Israel and asked, “How did you leave the boat?”

  He grinned. The dimple made a showboat appearance. “By the Texas deck the last time,” he said wryly. “And you know it.” He explained to Happy and Annalea what that meant. “Willa just wanted me to say it again. I suppose she thinks it’s a good reminder; however, I sat at tables on the Thomas A. more the once. It was only the last time that I was flung overboard. They don’t invite you back after something like that.”

  Annalea giggled. Happy chuckled deeply.

  “Don’t encourage him,” said Willa.

  Israel sighed. “Right. Don’t encourage me.”

  Happy checked the soup, removed the cornbread from the oven, and told Annalea to set the table.

  Willa asked, “Where are Zach and Cutter?”

  “It was late when they decided to ride out to Monarch Lake. They had gone their separate ways in the morning, looking after the cattle and opening frozen watering holes, but Zach noticed some tracks on the ridge that made him think we had trespassers. He figured he’d wait for Cutter to get back and they’d go out together. That was shortly before you returned. I’d give them another hour or so. It’s been quiet. No shots, so I’m figuring they’re fine.”

  Israel thanked Annalea as she set the place in front of him with a bowl, spoon, and napkin, then asked Happy, “Does Zach think what he found has something to do with Easterbrook?”

  “Hard to think otherwise, but no one’s drawing conclusions. We always have to consider the Barbers when there’s proof someone’s been poking around over that way.”

  Willa lifted her bowl so Happy could ladle soup into it. “Thank you. What did Easterbrook look like? Anything familiar about him?”

  “Good-lookin’ fellow, I suppose, but nothing to distinguish him from twenty other good-lookin’ fellows.”

  Annalea blew onto a spoonful of soup. “Nowhere near as pretty as you, Israel.”

  Before Israel could comment, Willa interjected dryly, “I doubt that’s Israel’s concern.”

  Israel winked at Annalea. “It was a little bit my concern.”

  Annalea beamed at him and then gave Willa a reproving look. “See?”

  Willa returned an identical reproving look then asked her father, “What else, Happy?”

  Happy sat down with his bowl and dug in. Between shoveling hot soup into his mouth, he gave the best description he could of Samuel Easterbrook. Annalea filled in as she was able, but in the end they all agreed Easterbrook could be anyone.

  Willa said, “It’s passing strange that he’d say his friend was Thomas A. Wyler. Why would he do that?”

  Israel shrugged. “Probably because when Happy pressed him for the name of his friend, Easterbrook needed to come up with something he could recall if he was tested, and he needed to come up with it quickly. There’s no question that he’s familiar with the riverboat, but whether he performed on it, worked on it, or played cards there, there is no way of knowing.”

  “Hmm.” Happy slowed the intake of soup to his mouth and applied himself to buttering a square of cornbread. “I’m thinkin’ about that bowline. You recall it, Israel?”

  “Not when it was used on me, but I remember Willa showing it around. I don’t know that it helps narrow down what Easterbrook might have been doing on the riverboat, but it seems to be more evidence that he was associated with it.”

  “And also associated with what happened to Buck McKay. We all understand that, don’t we?”

  “I’m clear,” said Israel.

  Happy and Annalea nodded.

  Willa said, “Easterbrook suspects you’re alive, Israel.”

  “Or he was trying to confirm that I’m dead.”

  “But why now? It’s been months. And if you died out there, how would we know you were Buck McKay?”

  “She has a point,” said Happy. “You lived through that and we didn’t know you were Buck McKay. Of course, another possibility is that Sam Easterbrook is only carrying four rounds in his six-shooter, if you take my meanin’.”

  Israel chuckled. “Not very smart and making it up
as he goes along. I think I got it.”

  Happy said, “What do you imagine you might have done, Israel? What would it take to make Mr. Easterbrook want to do what he did and hunt you down after?”

  “I can make some guesses, but the only way to be sure is to confront him.”

  Annalea frowned. “I’m not in favor of that. Even with Mama’s spectacles, you ain’t much improved as a gunslinger.”

  “Confrontation doesn’t have to involve a gun.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Annalea. “If you still think you can talk your way out of whatever you did, you didn’t take to the lesson Samuel Easterbrook and his friends tried to teach you. Maybe that’s not your fault, you being without a memory of that wild ride you were on at the end of a rope.”

  Israel stared at her while Willa noisily cleared her throat. Happy scratched behind his neck and cast his eyes at the ceiling.

  “What?” asked Annalea. “Why’s no one talking?”

  The silence went on another few seconds before Israel finally broke it. “No one’s speaking because you put it all on the table in language so plain there’s no argument to be made.”

  “Hmm. Usually you try, though.”

  His mouth turned up at the corners. “I know when I’m facing a worthy adversary.” He felt Willa’s boot tap the toe of his under the table. He looked at her.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said. “Samuel Easterbrook is not a worthy adversary.”

  He nodded, and because of Willa, he knew it was true.

  * * *

  Willa sat on a padded stool in front of the mirrored vanity, brushing her hair and occasionally looking past her reflection to where Israel was sitting at the head of the bed. He was quiet; he had been since supper. Even when Zach and Cutter returned from their ride up to Monarch Lake, he had not inserted anything into the questions and answers that followed. It would have been easy to believe that he was content to allow everyone else to deal with the reality of the trespass onto Pancake land, but Willa thought she understood him better than that. He was plotting.