Fair Land Fair Land - A B Guthrie

by A B Guthrie

  Higgins tied up the horse and went to get shoes, nails, hammer and trimmer. The horse was pretty frisky now that grass had sprung up and the signs of spring were at hand. It was shedding its rough winter coat. He would have brought it closer to camp, but the horse was a balky bastard and didn't like to be led. Better to tie it up here and walk for the tools than to yank the jughead along.

  Summers and Lije had gone hunting. The women were sewing and working on skins. Nocansee hummed softly. It was a shame the boy didn't sing more, though he made a good partner in a duet when he could be coaxed to join.

  These days Summers didn't have a great deal to say, though it wasn't age that hushed his tongue. Higgins knew that. It was the thought of Lije. It was trouble in his mind. The boy was a man now, full grown and past the time when most young bucks married. Not Lije. He had only smiled when told he should find him a wife, only smiled and shook his head as if, maybe, he couldn't decide whether he was red man or white and so couldn't settle which color he wished for a wife. But it wasn't that matter so much, Higgins knew, as what future there was for the boy. Where could he go, what could he do in a world where only old codgers could hope to drag along to the final end.

  Higgins trailed back to the horse, carrying his tools. If the horse behaved decent, he'd be free in an hour, if only the shoes came close to fitting. What he needed was a forge. He went to work.

  Old age now? He wasn't a young cock himself. Some of the snap had left him, and some of the things he used to do without breathing hard now made him suck air. Nothing to do about that, though. Just let the seasons roll — as if a man could stop them — and be satisfied with warmth and food and a good wife, and meat still to be had though hunting was harder. Be satisfied with what you had. Feel good that all debts were paid and some gold dust left over.

  Today was no day to have the woes, anyhow. The sun, sliding west, was like a warm hand on his back. He felt the deep blue of the sky overhead. A breeze tickled the hair of the horse. When he looked east, he saw the greening rim of the valley and beyond it, he knew, was the endless reach of the plains. A man sitting pretty had to be happy.

  He had just clinched the last horseshoe nail when he heard calls from the camp. He untied the horse, slapped its butt into freedom, picked up his gear and started walking. Some way off, a man sat in the saddle yon side of the river while his horse and a pack animal drank. The words came faintly. "Bless you, brothers and sisters."

  "By God," Higgins said to himself, "if it ain't Preacher Potter."

  The women were talking, loud-voiced, against the voice of the stream. As he neared them, Higgins yelled, "Come across. Welcome, Brother Potter. Welcome."

  Potter had put on weight, lost more of his side hair and gathered new wrinkles. Pulling up after he had forded the stream, he asked, "How doth His good people fare?"

  "Jimdandy," Higgins answered. "I got a wife and a jug."

  Potter, for a change, looked a little fazed. It was an instant before he answered, "I could make use of the latter."

  "This is my wife, Little Wing. She's a Shoshone. This here is Brother Potter, Little Wing. He's a Methodist preacher."

  "Bless you, Sister Higgins. Oh, hello, Nocansee. I didn't see you at first."

  No need to tell him Nocansee didn't see, either. No need to tell him Nocansee caught on just the same.

  Teal Eye told him, "My man and Lije, they be back soon. Gone hunting."

  "I'll see them in time, the Lord willing."

  "Git down. Git down."

  Potter got off his horse with a grunt.

  "Here," Higgins said, "I'll tie up your horses and see to 'em later. To a tired man a drink comes first. Hey, there's not enough on this pack horse to load a shotgun with."

  "All my worldly goods."

  Potter let himself down on the log he'd sat on so many years before. Higgins fetched the jug. "Good spirits," he said, "not that trade poison."

  "Poison is the right word. It kills, but the Lord will wreak vengeance. Here's to you, Brother Higgins."

  Potter took a nip and went on, "Total abstinence and over-indulgence are twin crimes. Heaven never meant us to do without something so good for soul and body or to drink it to excess."

  "Second the motion."

  "No meat till the men come," Little Wing said. She shook her head, worried. Food was the first and last thing for a guest.

  "No hurry," Potter answered. "In fact I could well do without a few meals, though I doubt that I shall." He patted his stomach. "I confess to the small sin of near gluttony. May I have the jug again, Brother Higgins?"

  "Wisht I carried more weight," Higgins said.

  Hearing him, Little Wing sang out, "No sense. What you have be just right."

  "Good woman," Higgins told Potter.

  "A worthy woman, who can find? For her price is above rubies."

  Summers' voice reached them from behind the tepees.

  "Game's scattered to hell and gone." He and Lije rode in, a single antelope on one of their two pack horses. "Well, if it ain't Brother Potter! A sight for sore eyes." He slid from his horse to shake hands.

  "For these old eyes, too, though I doubt you'll find game in hell."

  "You remember Lije."

  "In another incarnation. In the person of a small boy. Bless you, Lije."

  Lije said, "How-de-do," and shook hands.

  "I have just met Sister Higgins," Potter said. "I have just stated with biblical authority that a good woman is more precious than jewels."

  Lije was unsaddling and unpacking the horses and would see them to grass. The women were busy with the antelope and the fire.

  "He made a lucky pick all right," Summers said.

  "Children?"

  "Nary a one," Higgins answered. "The Lord ain't seen fit."

  "He works in mysterious ways."

  "Makin' and birthin' a baby is mysterious enough."

  "He knows best. Trust in Him."

  "Most ways I been blest all right. Just marryin' Little Wing for one thing."

  "May I ask who married you?"

  Higgins saw Summers squirm. Summers said, "As to that, it don't matter."

  "It mattered to you," Potter told him.

  "It was this way," Higgins said, seeing nothing but the truth to be told. "There wasn't no preacher around, but Summers remembered your words pretty good, and the Lord's Prayer came out fine."

  "You mean Brother Summers presided?"

  "Him and a Shoshone chief."

  When Potter laughed, he laughed hearty.

  Higgins was quick to say, "Knot couldn't be tied any tighter, not with dried rawhide."

  "I believe you. But wouldn't you like a Christian marriage, under God's ordinance?"

  "Me and Little Wing aim to see things through to the end."

  "But a mere civil ceremony, so to speak?"

  "It was civil enough for anybody."

  "Still, Brother Higgins?"

  Summers gave his white-toothed grin. "It don't hardly hurt at all."

  "I'll put it to Little Wing." Higgins called her, and she came, her hands bloody from the antelope. "Brother Potter wants us to be married. Dick, too, seems like. It's up to you."

  "I have you. You have me. We said so."

  "Married a white man's way."

  Little Wing looked at Potter, then at Higgins. "He is not a black robe."

  "Not a black robe," Potter put in as if the idea didn't sit well with him, "but a true servant of God."

  Teal Eye joined them, her hands bloody, too. "You say marriage? Then you get a white paper. It tells everyone."

  "If Brother Higgins were to die before you, you would have no rights," Potter told her.

  "He not die. I take care of him. And rights? What rights? What I care about rights?"

  "Skip the rights," Summers said. "Point is, you want to get married again?"

  "Little Wing?" Higgins asked.

  Of a sudden she smiled. "Do again what is done. Why not? We eat big, and we sing."

 
Potter nodded his head, a smile touching his lips. "Sunup seems the chosen time. What about sunup tomorrow? Then I must leave you."

  "So soon?" Summers asked. "What for?"

  "In good time. In good time. After we've eaten. Might I have a taste from that jug again, Brother Higgins?"

  "Excuse me all to — Excuse me, anyhow. Looks like marriage put it out of my mind."

  A harsh spring wind came up as they were finishing their meal. Lije rose without speaking, and pretty soon Higgins saw smoke blowing up from the log cabin. It was warm enough when they entered with the fire cheery in the mud-and-stick fireplace. There were robes on the floor, and a wood block for Potter to sit on.

  Potter rubbed his hands in front of the fire and made himself comfortable. "As I said I would tell you, I must be in Helena day after tomorrow."

  Summers' voice was almost a growl. "Last Chance Gulch."

  "Of course you have heard of it?"

  "More'n I care to."

  "There's a conference there. A meeting of the Methodist ministry. There's a growing support for my hope of a mission. I intend to promote it."

  "Makes sense.' Higgins said. "Whereabouts?"

  "Undecided, but I have my eye on this region."

  Summers lit his pipe and passed the twig to Higgins. The women sat cross-legged on the robes. The boys were sprawled out.

  "Now for bigger news," Potter went on. "They are moving the Blackfoot agency from Fort Benton."

  "What in hell for? Oh, pardon me, Brother Potter," Higgins said.

  "It appears there is too much violence, too many drunken lights there."

  "All the fault of the Indians, of course," Summers said with a lift to the comer of his mouth.

  "Do you think for a moment I except the whites? They sell that foul whiskey and are prone to violence themselves."

  "Sorry, Brother Potter."

  "Where's the agency goin' to be at?" Higgins asked.

  "That's the big point. As I am given to understand it will be right here in the Teton valley, only a few miles away."

  Summers took his pipe from his mouth and forgot it. His eyes went from Potter to Higgins to Teal Eye, to Little Wing and the boys. At last he said, "Things are closin' in on us." He shook his head slowly.

  "Yes, Brother."

  "An agency means a tradin' post, and a tradin' post grows into a town, and a hunter might as well lay down his rifle, for there"ll be no game for fifty miles around. Hungry Indians trailin' in for rations and havin' to eat what the white men won't and stealin' to get money for rotgut. I can see it all. Lord Jesus, I can see it." He turned. "I wasn't cussin', Brother Potter." Now he remembered his pipe.

  "Have faith. Have trust."

  "It comes hard. It ain't possible."

  Silence fell over them, silence and Summers' sadness, and the fire burned low, and the only voice was the voice of the breeze singing uneasy outside.

  At last Summers raised his head. There were lines in his face Higgins hadn't seen before, or perhaps it was just the shadowed play of the fire which he had just put a stick on.

  "I got a proposition, Brother Potter," Summers said. "I make it, but Lije and Teal Eye has to be willin'."

  "Yes. Go on."

  "I got a patch of land down in Missouri I could deed to you."

  "What in the world for?"

  "And some gold dust to boot."

  Something inside him made Higgins say, "I'll put up my share," though he didn't know what the deal was. It was just that Summers looked so sad and so beat.

  "I wait," Brother Potter said.

  "My boy, Lije, he needs to know more, more about how to read and to write and to figger."

  "And to love Jesus."

  "If his stick floats that way."

  Summers cleared his throat. He turned the dead pipe in his hand. "I was thinkin' maybe you could take him and teach him."

  A little cry, quickly smothered, came from Teal Eye. Lije lifted his shoulders and sat straight, nothing showing in his face.

  When Potter didn't answer, Summers went on, "He's comin' into a white man's world. He has to change himself to it. What good is what he knows now? It don't hatch any eggs that he can speak Blackfoot and Shoshone and English besides."

  Brother Potter sat forward on his block. "This western world needs interpreters. You forget that."

  "Maybe so. And maybe I'm plumb out of bounds, talkin' this way. So forget it."

  "Brother Summers, I have listened. I have weighed your words. First let me say that I will take no money or land. If you feel like it, donate to the church. For the rest, I will take your boy and teach him as best I can and in all ways treat him as if he were my own."

  A wail came from Teal Eye. She cried out, "No. No."

  "Think of our son, little duck. Think only of him."

  Into her crying she got out, "I know. I know."

  Potter turned to meet Lije"s eyes. "What do you say, my son?"

  The boy's voice sounded lifeless. "I do what my father says."

  "Amen."

  33

  TO TEAL EYE the morning sun looked angry. It rose, bit by bit, and glared at the party, at Brother Potter with his book and Higgins and Little Wing standing side by side while he said the words. Summers and Lije were at one side, and Nocansee held her hand.

  But no, she thought, squinting again against the morning light. The sun wasn't angry. It wasn't anything. It just watched, and a person could see anger or sorrow in it if so he wished. Or he could see nothing at all except for the blazing ball.

  " "Our Father who art in heaven. . .' "

  How many suns had looked down on them, at Lije, the baby, at Lije, the young boy, at Lije as he stood now, his face unshowing. How many winds had pushed him and pulled? How many moons had lighted his steps? They were all one, all one with the now that was then. She mustn't cry, not during prayer.

  " ‘Thy kingdom come . . .' "

  Nocansee pressed her hand.

  " ‘Thy will be done . . .' "

  It was over, too soon over, and Higgins kissed Little Wing while Brother Potter smiled.

  "Now we must be off," Brother Potter said when the handshaking and good-wishing were done. "Are you about ready, Lije?"

  "I got the horses saddled and tied up over there just a ways," Summers said. "I'll get 'em."

  They were silent while he was gone, silent before the hurt of the parting soon to be. Even Brother Potter had no words. Summers came back, leading four horses.

  Teal Eye dared to speak, hearing her voice come out frail. "You have everything, Lije? You sure?"

  "Everything, Mamma." He turned his eyes from her face. Brother Potter shook all hands again. "We'll see you soon. Don't worry about Lije. Have faith."

  Summers helped him into the saddle. Lije shook hands with Little Wing and Higgins. He came to his father, and they shook, man to man, smiling with smiles that weren't smiles. Nocansee threw his arms around Lije, saying, "Brother. Little brother." It was all right for blind men to cry.

  She held Lije tight, not screaming her inside screams. All she could say was, "Be safe, my son."

  Lije mounted his horse. Summers came to her and took her hand. She felt tension in his. Brother Potter led away, and she watched and watched, Summers beside her, until they rode out of sight. Then she turned and went into the tepee.

  She lay down on their bed and let quiet grief take her, hearing movement and voices outside that had no meaning. Her man was right. Lije had to go. But why was the god of Brother Potter so cruel? Why should a baby, torn from her body, be torn away at his manhood? Would she see Lije again? Ever? Who, what could fill the space he had left? When again could her heart be full?

  Nocansee came in and sat down beside her, saying nothing, only taking her hand, and the keening she had held in broke from her throat. It was keening for death. But Lije wasn't dead, she told herself fiercely. He had just gone away. She choked off her cries.

  She didn't know when Nocansee left, he was so light-footed. Little Wing
took his place, telling her she should eat. Eat when she had no stomach, no insides but the hurting heart? Summers came in, once, then again and again, and his hand stroked her head, and he kept on saying, "It will be all right, little duck. Don't take on so hard."

  Noon came, and afternoon, and she didn't care. When she napped, it was only to wake up with the pain and the emptiness in her. Something told her that never again would she see her son.

  It was dark when she wakened as Summers lay down beside her. He hugged her close. Two people but only one, she thought, two people made one by their sorrow. Grief, she thought. Grief and the body, and body needing body in grief.

  She helped her man enter her.

  34

  IT'S BEEN one bitch of a winter, but now I think maybe its backbone is broke," Higgins said. He was talking just to be talking, talking loud against the wind that was trying to outholler him.

  On days like this one, Summers thought, there was nothing to do but sit in the cabin, smoke and once in a while throw a log on the fire, nothing to do but listen to the wind that tore around the corners and went shouting away as another blast came. A man could hardly stand up outside. Beside him was a ragged deck of cards that he and Higgins had played Old Sledge with until they tired of the game.

  It had been a bitch of a winter all right, snow and blizzard and the quiet cold that crept through the clothes, the skin and the muscles, driving for the last flutter of life.

  "Anyhow, this here's a chinook, a damn hard chinook but a chinook just the same." Like Higgins, he was talking for talk's sake.

  Teal Eye was doing beadwork by the little light a window let in, its panes shaken and veiled by the blowing snow. Nocansee was working with a deer skin to make it useful and soft. Little Wing was chopping meat on a block. A mouse peeked down from the sod roof.

  The deer had plowed down from the mountains and often an elk, and their meat was stringy and tough and their bellies full of chewed wood. No trouble in shooting them. They stood alone, ganted up, or yarded together in the brush, maybe thinking a bullet was better than torment, and their hides hung to their bones with no fat between. Buffalo? They were long gone, to the south or wherever, moving slow under the weight of their hair. Blue meat, it would be, when a man butchered one.