by Jo Goodman
Calico eyed Eli. “He’s still breathing,” she said, and then added in practical tones, “And since we’ve done all we can for now, come with me into the kitchen and I’ll make you a cup of tea if you have any, or coffee if you don’t.” When Willa didn’t move, Calico placed a hand over hers. “Come on. Your hands are shaking. Chamomile will calm that.”
Hardly aware that Calico’s hand had moved to her elbow and was gently nudging her, Willa accompanied her sister-in-law into the kitchen. Her contribution to making the tea was to point out the pantry. She sat in a chair that Calico pulled out for her. “I am not usually so discomposed,” she said quietly. “You are not meeting me at my best.”
Calico’s response was to chuckle. “Oh, Willa, it’s in the nature of what I do that I rarely meet anyone at their best. True, I mostly tangle with varmints like the one in your front room, and they are a pitiful lot, but I think I can confide in you that my hands shake when I am confronting a quilting circle.”
Willa regarded her suspiciously. “I don’t believe that, but you’re kind to say so.” When Calico merely shrugged and began to add kindling to fire up the stove, Willa asked, “Are you really Calico Nash?”
“Calico McKenna now,” she said. “I guess Israel didn’t tell you.”
“No, he didn’t. Your name came up once. I don’t quite remember the circumstance now, but he could have told me then, and he didn’t.”
“Your husband and I don’t really know each other except through Quill. I never put eyes on him until today. Quill visited him in prison—” She stopped and looked back over her shoulder at Willa, her green eyes as wide as an owl’s. “Lord, you know about that, don’t you?”
“I know.”
Calico blew out a relieved breath. “I couldn’t tell from the disjointed explanation your father gave us when we intercepted him in the yard. Of necessity, introductions were brief, but he accepted that Quill was Israel’s brother without question.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. The two of them, they’re like kings on opposite sides of a chessboard. One white, one black. In every other way virtually identical.”
“Mm.” Calico finished filling the kettle from the pump and set it on the stove. “I was saying earlier that Quill visited Israel in prison, and I knew he didn’t want me to go, so I didn’t ask. My husband says his brother is a charming rascal who can sell wool to sheep.”
Willa’s slim smile appeared. “My husband says his brother is a saint who would shepherd those sheep to safety.”
Calico laughed, shaking her head. “Quill is no saint, but is he right about Israel?”
“Actually, he might have underestimated his brother,” said Willa. “Israel could persuade sheep to buy back the very wool he had just sheared from them.” She waited for Calico’s appreciative chuckle to fade away, and then she added with quiet intensity, “He simply chooses not to do it any longer.”
Calico sat down and took one of Willa’s hands in both of hers. “I’m glad. Quill will be, too.”
Willa said, “It will take Quill some time to believe it. I know that. So does Israel. He was against involving his brother. He wanted to prove himself first, or at least uncover the truth first.”
“Uncover it?” asked Calico.
“Yes. Oh, I see. You can’t possibly know all of it. He doesn’t recall anything about his journey here. We had to piece it together from a lot of different sources.”
Willa found that summarizing the chronology of events for Calico helped her as well. As she neared the end, she felt a calm that owed nothing to the chamomile tea that Calico put in front of her and that she sipped from time to time. There was little she left unsaid, and the only detail of importance that she omitted was the exchange of words that goaded Eli to shoot his father. That secret now existed in a closed triangle connecting her and Israel and Eli. She hoped it would remain among them, as Eli would not want to claim Annalea as his sister or reveal to anyone that his father was a rapist.
Willa finished by asking, “How did you find us? Israel wrote to Quill but he did not tell him where he was.”
“He wrote? We never received any correspondence from him. I suppose it will be waiting for us once we return to Eden.” She was on the verge of saying more when the back door opened and Happy, Quill, and Israel walked in.
Willa smiled to herself as Happy strode in without pausing, while Quill and Israel both stomped snow and dried mud off their boots before they crossed the threshold into the kitchen.
“Buster took him away,” said Happy without preamble. “How’s Eli, and is there coffee?”
“Still breathing, and you’ll have to make it,” said Willa. She welcomed Israel’s hands on her shoulders after he circled the table to get to her. He stood behind her and worked the knots in the back of her neck and across her shoulders. She nearly moaned aloud. She wasn’t sure that she would have been embarrassed for anyone to hear her if she had. She lowered her head to give him better access to her nape.
To no one in particular, she said, “I should have told Zach to bring the sheriff. I wonder if he’ll think of it on his own?”
When this was met by complete silence, she looked up and caught an exchange of glances that she could not interpret. Since all of them eventually ended at her husband, she knew he was part of whatever was going on.
“What?” she asked. “What don’t I know that all of you do?”
“I only just now found out,” Happy said, adding water to the coffeepot. “I guess your husband figured he had his reasons.”
Israel’s mouth flattened. “Thank you for that spirited defense, Happy.”
Willa tipped her head back to look up at Israel. “You probably should tell me before someone else does.”
“Yes, well, I did have my reasons. I was thinking . . . that is, it occurred to me that, um, I didn’t want, or rather, I didn’t know—”
Quill leaned a hip against the sink when Happy moved out of the way. He was grinning, and his eyes, so much like Israel’s with their unique blue-gray cast, were thoroughly amused.
“Not such a smooth talker now, are you? ‘Tongue-tied’ is a word that comes to mind.”
Calico shushed her husband. “Let him say it, Quill.”
Israel started again, but the words did not come any easier the second time. Finally he gave up and looked at his brother. “Ah, hell, Quill. Just show her.”
Willa dropped her head so she could see Quill. “I guess you better show me then.” The words were barely out of her mouth when Quill began to unbutton his coat and peel back one side to reveal his jacket and the silver badge pinned to it.
Willa was familiar with Sheriff Brandywine’s tin star, but this was different. The five points of this star filled the circumference of a silver circle, and even with the distance separating her from Quill, she could make out the words U.S. MARSHAL stamped in the arc above the star.
Willa ducked under Israel’s hands and twisted around in her chair to see him better. “This is what you couldn’t tell me about him? You didn’t want me to know that your brother is the law?”
Israel backed up a step and put up his hands in a protective gesture. “It’s embarrassing,” he said, his gaze moving to Quill’s and then back to Willa. “For both of us. All right. I’ll give you that it’s more embarrassing for him to be my brother than it is for me to be his, and that’s why—”
“Don’t say that,” said Quill. “I’ve never been embarrassed to be your brother. Never. Frustrated. Confused. Annoyed. Those come immediately to mind. Now tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
Israel lowered his hands to his sides. “I didn’t want you here, not when I had no memory of what I’d done. The truth is, I’m tired of disappointing you, and if I had done something that was going to put me back in jail, I preferred that you were not the one taking me.”
“Well, you didn’t do anyt
hing wrong except disappear,” said Quill, “and like it or not, I am your brother, and I damn well will be around.”
“Are you two gonna tussle?” asked Happy. “’Cause I got coffee brewing and there’s plenty of ways you can hurt yourselves in here. Better take it outside.” He scratched behind his ear. “But wait for me. I’m gonna check on Eli first.”
There was silence on his exit.
“Are we gonna tussle?” asked Quill.
Israel shook his head. “It’s never come to that, has it? I don’t suppose there’s a good enough reason to start now.” When Quill nodded in agreement, Israel’s eyes darted to Willa. “Are we gonna tussle?”
“Later. And not outside.”
Quill whooped with laughter. “There’s no butter melting in that mouth, brother. You are in the kind of trouble that no one can get you out of.”
Calico leaned over and swatted at her husband. “Does he look as if he wants help, Quill? Leave him be or we’re gonna tussle, and you know I fight dirty.”
Willa’s attention was instantly arrested. Israel was similarly intrigued.
Quill pointed to them for Calico’s sake. “Not in front of the newlyweds.”
She chuckled, and then spoke to Israel. “Did Quill tell you how we tracked you down? I’ve already explained it to Willa.”
“He did. Outside. I don’t know why I thought I could hide from the two of you.”
“It was insulting,” said Calico.
“Uh-huh,” said Quill. “And we could have been here yesterday if Calico could let a thing go, but she has an uncanny sense when it comes to names and faces that has a way of diverting us.”
Willa frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Quill removed his coat and hung it up before he pulled up a chair beside his wife and sat. “We took the train from Lansing to Jupiter, rented horses at the livery, and got directions. We had ridden about two miles from—”
“Two and a quarter,” said Calico.
“As I said, about two miles outside of Jupiter when we came across this fellow headed in the direction of town. I noticed Calico slowing her horse as he got closer, so I’m alert to the possibility of trouble. Then she pulls up and asks him for directions to Pancake Valley. Now I already told you that we had those from the livery owner, so there is another reason for me to pay attention. He was pleasant enough, happy to put us on the right path, and about a couple of minutes into the conversation—”
“Three minutes,” said Calico.
Quill gave his wife an aggrieved look. “Oh, we are gonna tussle.” When the ribbing that comment caused quieted, he said, “Three minutes into that conversation, she introduces herself as Calico Nash, which she only does when she forgets her last name is McKenna, or when she’s about to take someone into custody. I was fairly sure which instance this was, and when she asked politely if the stranger’s name was Jesse Snow and he bolted like his horse had been struck by lightning, I knew I had guessed correctly. Of course, I had to run him to ground because I won’t let her ride hell-bent for leather when she’s pregnant.”
This last news seemed infinitely more important to Willa and Israel than anything about Jesse Snow, but after congratulatory sentiments and embraces were exchanged, the conversation returned to Mr. Snow.
Quill said, “I had to lasso him. His horse, a fine black gelding, ran right out from under him and the snow didn’t cushion his fall much. He was no problem after that. We tied him up and put him back on his horse and escorted him to the sheriff’s office. Brandywine hadn’t been through the pile of wanted notices he had jammed in his desk for a long time, but because Calico insisted, he thumbed through them all. Twice. He found Jesse Snow the second time thanks to Calico’s recollection that when he was working riverboats, he called himself—”
“Samuel Easterbrook,” Willa and Israel said the name simultaneously.
“Mm-hmm.” Quill turned over his hand, gesturing for Calico to finish.
“Jesse Snow is wanted for his part in a mail train robbery three years past in Cheyenne. I suppose he thought it was long enough ago and that he was far enough away from that branch of the U.P. that he could use his name around here. It’s only because I was familiar with the poster that I knew about his thieving on the Mississippi. It was all petty crimes, pickpocketing, cutting purses from female patrons on the showboats, lifting jewelry. He was Easterbrook then; that might even be his real name. The connection between his river crimes and his railroad crimes probably came about because an accomplice who did not fare as well struck a deal.”
Israel said, “So he really did know me from the riverboats.”
“He probably observed you playing cards any number of times,” said Willa. “And he’s surely the one who tied you with that bowline.”
“If I’d known about that,” said Quill, “I would have dragged him for a piece behind my horse.”
Willa asked Israel, “So do you think Jesse was running away?”
“Sounds right. Who do you suppose the third person was with Eli and Jesse on the ridge?”
“Buster,” said Happy, reentering the kitchen. By way of explanation, he said, “I was lurking. Eli’s still breathing, if anyone’s interested. How’s my coffee?” He went straight to the stove and sniffed the pot. “Damn near to burning, that’s how it is.” He pointed to the china cupboard and gestured to Quill to get him a cup. “It’s just my gut telling me it was Buster, but unless Eli or Jesse says something, I don’t expect we’ll ever know the full story.” He poured coffee into the cup Quill handed him and put the pot on the table. “I forgot about you, Israel. You could solve this. You remember anything now?”
“No. Except for knowing what happened to the pot of money I won, I don’t care about the details.”
“I expect Eli can be persuaded to help with that,” said Happy. “If the money’s not tucked away on the ranch somewhere, which I suspect it is not, then he can make a withdrawal on the Big Bar’s account at the bank. Murderer or not, he’s his father’s heir.”
“Do you have plans for the money, Israel?” asked Calico. “Quill thinks you do. In fact, he thinks he knows what you’re going to do with it.”
The smile Israel exchanged with his brother was appreciative on both ends. “I would not be at all surprised if he does.” He looked at Willa, who was already watching, her dark eyes full of pride and her splendid mouth provocatively slanted as she smiled up at him. He took her hand. “You know?” he asked.
“Of course I know. You’re my heart. Go on. You can say it out loud because we are going to make it happen.”
“Those winnings . . .” Willa squeezed his hand and he was able to move his voice past the constriction in his throat. “Those winnings are going to be distributed among every tent church congregation I stole from. It’s not enough to pay them back in full, but it is a good beginning. That’s what I have now. A good beginning.”
Epilogue
It was five days before Eli could be moved from the bunkhouse to a jail cell, and another three days before he was persuaded to transfer the stolen poker winnings from the Big Bar account to one Israel and Willa set up specifically for reparations. Eli had lots of reasons why he did not want to do it, but at Israel’s suggestion, Sheriff Brandywine threatened to put him in the same cell with Jesse Snow, and that decided him.
Calico and Quill left for Temptation and their Eden Ranch the next day. Willa and Calico had stood off to the side, watching the brothers say good-bye, and attempting to blink back tears with only marginal success. Looking on at the same exchange, and then at his daughter and Calico, Happy had grimaced. Everyone pretended not to notice that his eyes were damp.
Annalea returned to Pancake Valley after Eli was gone and in time to meet Quill and Calico. She changed her mind about becoming a card sharp and decided she would be a bounty hunter instead. After that, she spent a great many hours trying to sne
ak up on John Henry. The dog was so pitiful he mostly let her.
Willa sat curled on the sofa next to Israel, resting her head on his shoulder. He was still reading, but her book was lying closed on the floor. She did not look toward the fireplace, choosing to listen to the hiss and crackle of the flames instead. Israel had taught her how to hear the music that made the fire leap and dance, and sometimes she imagined she heard it when she was away from the house, but what she always saw when that music, or any music, wandered through her mind was Israel. She would observe him as if from a distance, sometimes at the piano or reading as he was doing now, or just as likely, sitting astride that beast Galahad as he prepared to ride out to some part of the ranch that required his attention. He drew her to him in those quiet moments, and always she heard the whisper of music in her ear.
“What do you suppose will become of Big Bar?” she asked.
Israel continued to read. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about?”
“No. Not at all. But I’m thinking about it now.”
“I suppose what happens depends on a jury finding for Eli’s guilt or innocence, and if guilty, on what the judge determines is his punishment. If Eli goes to prison, he could put the ranch in Buster’s hands until his release, but that could be a very long time, if ever.”
“What if he’s sentenced to hang?”
Eli closed the book, marking his place with his index finger. “What are you really concerned about?”
“I worry that he’ll leave Big Bar to Annalea. I keep asking myself if he could be that cruel. There’d be talk. You know there would, and suspicion would not fall on Malcolm—I can be thankful for that, at least—but there would be speculation about Eli and me. People who knew my mother, people who can still recall that she gave birth to Annalea when she was visiting me, those people will begin to wonder and then they’ll begin to whisper and eventually Annalea will get wind of it. I don’t want that, Israel. She does not deserve that.”
“Neither do you.” He bent his head and kissed the top of hers. “We could buy the spread from him.”
