I laughed. We were safely away from the subject of my errant kiss—away from her discomfort on the subject of men and women—safely into Latin nouns. I said, “Maybe Granny Prine feels like that, trying to figure out some things. Here’s a new one for you: efficiunt clarum studio. Tell me what that is, tomorrow.” I pretended not to see Mary Pearl roll her eyes, nor to hear the sound of her teeth clicking. We passed the gate into the yard and tied up at the rail by the porch. I took off my riding gloves and folded them into my waistband. “Let’s get a look at this hombre. See what this one wants.”
Well, there was a boy sitting there in the parlor with all the family gathered around. And he was the spitting image of Ernest, at the age when Ernest lost his leg from the knee down while we were traveling. Indians had circled us around, and after they damaged all the people they could, they stole Papa’s horses. I reckon they stole my mama’s mind, too, because a few days later, Papa died of infection from his wounds, and Granny has never been the same since. Everyone got quiet as Mary Pearl and I came in. I looked at the boy and at Granny beaming at him, her eyes glistening. Albert seemed confused, Savannah puzzled.
The boy himself was having a fine time, his hands loaded up with pound cake and a glass of milk. And had no idea how to manage them both in his lap and talk, too. Albert cleared his throat and said, “Sarah, this here fellow says his name is Ernest William Prine, Jr.”
“How do?” I said. He didn’t stand up, nor even nod. Not a lick of manners.
“I do rightly well, ma’am,” he said, talking while trying to swallow a large bite of cake. He crossed his legs, putting one foot on a knee. He took a noisy swig of the milk and let a little air back up from his throat. “Ahh. Durn-burnit, that’s good cake.” He cast about as if he was addressing everyone, then said, “Truth be told, I go by my middle name, which is William—Willie. Willie, that’s it. I’m shore pleased to make ya’ll’s acquaintances, after being told so much about you and all. Jus’ call me Willie. Ma shore sets a store by all of ya’ll. She truly does. So when I come of age, I says to her, I says, ‘Ma, high time I set out to find my kin out in the territories and take up being part of the family.’”
Albert leaned on his elbows. “And your mother’s Christian name would be?”
“Well, y’all knows her! Mrs. Ernest W. Prine. Her first name’s Lulu—er, Felicity, I mean, but she goes by Lulu. That’s it, Mrs. Felicity Lulu-bell Prine.”
Albert sat back in his chair. Savannah glanced at me. I raised my brows but didn’t say anything. Savannah said, “Esther, please fetch Aunt Sarah a piece of that cake, and something to drink.”
Esther left to do it, leaving a chair empty next to Savannah, who patted the seat and motioned me over. Granny was clapping her little hands together, tucked up at her neck. She kept repeating, “Ernest’s home. My boy’s come home.”
“Er you Aint Sair?” the boy asked. When I nodded, he said, “Well, I shore heard about you, yes. Mama said to pay you special mind. I figure to learn to shoot, and ride, and he’p you out. You know, real cowboyin’. Wrangling cows and all. Riding and roping and shooting up the town. Got m’ boots.”
He unfolded his long legs and wagged his feet back and forth, stretching them toward the center of the room. He was wearing the most amazing Mexican bullfight-wedding-fandango boots I have ever seen. They had to come from one of the big stores in town that sells to dudes in bowler hats, eastern blowhards who like to wear cut and tooled leather boots under a black three-piece suit. They were short stoves—barely came to midcalf on him—and he had his pants legs tucked into the tops of them. Anyone riding through the chaparral more than two feet would learn real fast not to do that.
Albert’s second boy, Joshua, pursed his lips and said, “Well, you’re all set, then. Those are sure enough some boots.” Clover nodded. No one said a word. Esther came back with cake.
I took it, thanked her, and said, “Will you be staying, Ernest?”
“Yes’m. Yonder with Granny,” the boy said, “and, Aint Sair, everyone calls me Willie. Isn’t that a cowboy name, Willie? Else I figure to change it to Jesse or Frank.”
I said, “Willie’s as good a name as any. Granny’s got her hands full already. She doesn’t need to be cooking and washing for you. She’s staying with me regularly now. Why don’t you come on over, with me and my boys? We’re fixing to start gathering up the neighbors’ herds. Cattle work. Could use another hand.”
“Oh no,” Granny said. “No, I want him home, honey. Home with me for a while. I’m going to make him some buttermilk pie. It’s so good to have him back.”
Willie grinned like a dog with a piece of meat in its mouth. “I’m pleased to stay there, too. I don’t take up too much space, do I, Granny? Still, I’d shore like to go rounding up. Figure to start right in cowboyin’.”
Just then, Charlie and Gil came in. Charlie took off his hat and said, “Afternoon, Aunt Savannah, Uncle Albert, Granny. Mama, Mr. Baker is putting off again. Now says they’ll start come Wednesday. They’re still collecting hands. Here’s why, too. Baker says he’s got someone to take over the payments. After the roundup, whatever money is made is to be sent to this address, care of Denver, Colorado.” He pulled a square of paper out of his chest pocket and handed it to me.
I took the paper and stared at it. Selling out. Lands. I knew the drought was bad, but I was guilty of not seeing how my neighbors were faring. I hadn’t even offered the Bakers some help. Now they’d be gone, and no telling who’d come take their place. Good neighbors are worth keeping. I should have done more.
Willie said, “Tracking, that’s something to get the knack of, too. Why, I read about the West in ever’ dime novel I could find. A-sitting under the picture of naked Dutch Ora Lee. She’s a-hanging over the bar in a saloon back home, place name of Skeet’s.”
Savannah gasped, along with Rachel, Rebeccah, and Esther. Mary Pearl just made a face of disgust. Albert, Josh, and Clover frowned. Savanna said, “Charles, Gilbert, this is your cousin Willie. His name is Ernest William Prine, Junior.”
My boys stared at him. After a bit, Charlie said, “Pleased to meet you. Name’s Charles Elliot. This here’s my baby brother, Don Quixote.”
Gilbert shot him a look and scrunched down his eyebrows. “Gil,” he said. Then he nervously shook hands with Willie—Ernest junior.
Willie’s face showed his every thought, and he said, “Donkey Hotie?”
Gilbert said again, “Gil. Gilbert. Call me Gil.”
Every chair in the room was taken, but Clover and Josh stood up. Clove said, “You boys take a seat. Any of that cake left, Esther Sue?”
“I’ll go look,” said Mary Pearl. “I’ve done nothing but sit around all day.” We all knew that was never true about Mary Pearl, but her saying that was just her telling us how odd everything felt to her, too.
Silence hung in the room like a blanket had been dropped on us. Willie gobbled cake and nodded, now and then gulped milk, then wiped his face with his sleeve. He fished in his pocket, took out a little bag, pulled it open, and gingerly lifted out a slip of paper. He chuckled, saying, “Time for a little smoke to settle it down.”
Albert stood. “Not in this house. We don’t abide tobacco.”
The boy looked from face to face, a kind of dare in his expression, as if he expected one of Albert’s or my children to take his side or declare him clear of the rules because he was a newcomer. Not seeing a soul willing to put in a word for him, the smile left him, and he sullenly poured the grains of tobacco back into the pouch, putting the paper in on top of it. “At’s all right,” he said. “It can wait.” He grinned again, but this time it was forced and odd-looking.
Granny got up from her chair and said, “I’m going to go home and put on a little dinner for you, honey. You come on home when you finish visiting.”
The boy shook his head and looked around the room at us after she left.
Looking him square in the eye, I felt like I was seeing my brother, young, skinny. I sa
id, “Well, Ernest—that is, Willie—why don’t you tell us about yourself. Why you’ve come all this way when we’ve never heard about you before.”
He nodded, then nodded again, like he was hearing his own thoughts. Finally, he said, “I sure do b’lieve I owe you that much. You never heard o’ me and I didn’t hear of you ’til lately. You see, Ma and me, we was down-and-out, you might say. So one day after she told me about you folks out here, she up and left. She done that before, but she usually come home a day or two later. Didn’t have no way to know if her troubles caught up with her or not. I waited near two weeks and then I lit out. I figured if I had some people, if they knew about me, maybe they’d want me, since she didn’t anymore. If you want me to go, I’ll just head on down the road.”
I caught sight of both my boys’ faces. Charlie, in particular, looked as if the boy had been trying to sell him a wooden horse. But I could see how he looked like my brother as plain as day. I said, “Willie, are you being chased by someone? Some law looking for you?”
“No’m.” He looked toward Albert and said, “No, sir.” His lower lip stuck out, making him look for all the world like Ezra when he’s on a pout. “Nobody looking for me at all. I ain’t asking y’all to take me in like some freeloader. I work for my supper.”
Savannah said, “Well, you may stay, young man.”
Albert added, “We look out for family.” I suppose that meant Albert had come to the same conclusion I had.
“I don’t know nothing except city living,” the boy said. “But I’ll try.”
“If you’re willing to lend a hand,” Gilbert said, “there’s always work to do.”
“Thank you, folks. Thank you much. Well, Granny’s fixing me some dinner. I’ll mosey over there and wait.” At the door, he swept up a bundle tied in a ratty cloth with coarse string. His kit. I hadn’t noticed it when I came in. He let the screen door slam. We listened for his high-heeled boots to clear the porch floorboards. When we heard the crunch of the sand and gravel, Clover let out a long, low whistle.
“Mercy,” said Savannah.
Albert said, “He does look like Ernest. And that kid has to be six feet tall, but I bet he’s not more than fifteen years old.”
Charlie said, “You ever see anything like those boots?”
Josh laughed and said, “And the size of ’em?”
Gilbert said, “Why, that critter’d be tall if he didn’t have so much turned off for foot.” The boys all laughed softly.
I said, “Well, the person I’m worried about is Granny, having him over there, and no one else watching what’s going on. And Ernest? If he had a son, don’t you think he’d’ve told us? If he knew, that is?” We all sat and thought awhile.
Albert said, “Wasn’t Felicity living somewhere east—Saint Louis or Memphis or someplace? What I want to know is, what got into this kid all of a sudden for him to come clear across the country wearing a two-bit set of clothes and a pair of hundred-dollar boots.”
“Maybe,” Clover said, “maybe he’s heard something from the army about Uncle Ernest coming home. Or maybe he figures he’ll stand to inherit something.”
Then I said, “Well, I’m pretty sure from the looks of him that he’s Ernest’s boy. Still and all, no matter the reason he’s here, it isn’t right for Granny to have to do for him.” What was really going through my mind was that family or no, we don’t know what kind of person he is, except that he was born and raised by Felicity—Miss Lulu. The state Granny’s in, she really believes he’s our brother, not our nephew.
“Savannah, Albert,” I said, “I want that boy over at my place. This time, I’m going to be stubborn. I know you’d watch over Granny as good as I would, or better. But this rapscallion will be better off if he’s away from your girls, and where my fellows can keep him in their sights. Even if we have to drag him everywhere we go. We’ve just got to convince Granny of it.” Here I’d made a standing promise to be five miles south in two days, helping my neighbors gather a herd, just like they’d help with mine, and the only solution I could come up with was to have Mama and Willie both stay at my place. I had been planning to get my boys back to the big house when we were done at Baker’s. Now they’d both have to take the remaining room, or stay in the bunkhouse.
I said my good-days to Savannah’s family, and then Charlie, Gilbert, and I followed Willie’s footsteps to my mama’s little house. My boys told me in quiet voices that they’d stay in the bunkhouse for now, and would help with getting Willie broke in. I smiled when Gilbert said that. “Like he’s a colt.”
“Mustang, more likely,” Charlie said. “I’ll stack Granny some firewood here while you cobble up something.” Gilbert nodded. The two stayed outside.
I spent twenty minutes helping my mama fix a dinner for Willie, all the while talking a blue streak about how I needed her to come live at my place. Willie sat and watched the whole time, now and then saying something about how hungry he was, how long it had been since he’d had a square meal. Mama finally turned around and said, “Sarah, it ain’t like you to wheedle. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” I said. “But Albert and Savannah have a houseful, and now my boys are living in the bunkhouse. You’d be here all alone. My house is empty as a tin can, and I’d just like Willie and you to come stay a couple of nights. Plenty of time to talk.”
Granny called out the window, “Charlie, Gilbert, you two sit down there and have a bite. Always a plate for you at this table.”
“Thanks, Granny,” they both said. It didn’t matter to those boys that they’d just had cake; they could always eat a meal.
She said to me, “Have some of this corn bread. You’re wasting away.”
Willie stopped eating for a minute and chewed, staring across the room as if he was listening to something. He swallowed, making a noise. I still spoke toward my mama, although I meant for him to hear it. “Besides, I need the help. We’re about to go bust with hauling water to the stock, even though the new well works fine. And roundup’s coming. Yesterday, I just about met myself coming the other way.”
She said, “Well, that’s true enough. Don’t know why you’d want me sitting there collecting dust, but you need Ernest. All this while, we’ve had to do without him, and there’s plenty of work to be done. Papa would want him to lend a hand. As long as he’s home, he can just start right in making up for lost time. Ernest? Your sister needs us up to the house. Finish up, and then pack your duds. We’ll go visit a spell.”
“Yes’m, Granny,” he said, and gave a flapping little mock salute like he was a soldier. Then he laughed.
Granny seemed satisfied, and she said, “I’ll wash the dishes, and Ernest, you harness Belle. Reckon you’ll drive, too.” Gilbert and Charlie took off for home. Well, after a while—with me overseeing something he apparently had never done before—Willie got Mama’s mule Belle in her traces and drove the little old buggy to the front porch. When all was said and done, though, I decided if we were to get to my house alive, I’d better be the one driving.
At my place, Willie waited while I unloaded Charlie’s books and keepsakes from the shelves and moved them to Gilbert’s room. I checked the bureau for anything left behind, then pronounced it ready for Willie to move in. He flung his kit in the corner and bounded onto the bed, crossing his legs and grinning at the ceiling. Then I reckon he saw me frowning, for he sat up suddenly and said, “Time for resting later. You just show me what work you want done, and I’ll get after it for you.”
Granny put a dress on a nail behind the door in April’s old room and set her nearly flat carpetbag on the short table by the window. I could tell she didn’t plan to stay long. Maybe, though, this would be sort of a trial, a breaking-in period. Later on, I’ll try to convince her to stay permanently. Then she sat in the chair by the window and folded her hands. She closed her eyes, and a pleasant, rested smile came to her face.
The boy followed me from room to room as I moved things, all the while looking this
way and that with his eyes bugged out, like he was seeing something just crazy. “Aint Sair?” Willie said to me. “How quick can we get to learning me the farm? Got to be ready for when Pa gets home.”
“First thing,” I said, “a farm is where you grow crops—wheat, corn. This is a ranch. We run cattle and horses. At times, it’s slow and lazy, and other times you’ll work yourself off at the knees for days on end. We call our neighbors friends, except for the Wainbridges. That old man killed three of my dogs on my own land for no reason five years ago, and he hasn’t said he’s sorry yet. While you’re here, you’ll be expected to tote your load as best you’re able. And to get more able as time goes by.”
“Golly jee-hozuz, I didn’t mean—I … I come a long way to get here.”
I wasn’t mad at him. I was careful to make my words sound friendly but sincere. “Well, I know that. Another thing—we don’t abide cussing, particularly in the house. No tobacco, no cussing, no spitting. Wash your hands and face before meals. Everything else will come a little at a time.”
He kicked at the floor, drawing a scuffed circle. Then he said, “I was just a-wondering where you keep the guns.”
“Put up,” I said. “Why?”
“I done read where everyone out west totes iron. Only I don’t see any.”
I wanted to ask where he’d read that. Likely in another dime novel whilst sitting under a naked portrait of some other harlot. Granny came in and asked me to fetch her some water to make lemonade for Ernest. I wondered if lemonade would salve what he was wanting. She was bound and determined to feed and water him like a pet dog.
Well, we just got him sat in front of some lemonade, when along came Savannah’s girls Esther and Mary Pearl, carrying a basket between them. They came up to the porch, and Esther said, “Mama sent over this stack of Clover’s and Josh’s clothes. Thought maybe Willie could find something that fits.”
I watched him closely. He was eyeing those girls, and what I saw on his face wasn’t any brotherly kind of affection. I said, “Tell your cousins thank you, Willie. These girls are your blood relatives. Just like sisters.” Usually, I get a notion about a person right off. Could I have been wrong? I decided right then to keep a close eye on him. Not that he’d done anything, just because I couldn’t figure him.
Sarah's Quilt: A Novel of Sarah Agnes Prine and the Arizona Territories, 1906 Page 17
