by Jeffrey Lent
Blood spoke, not so much in interruption as one clarifying. “The problem is one of population, as well as sufficient grounds for holding such a number of men, is that correct?”
The minister said, “In a manner of speaking.”
“I fail to see what use I may be. I’m no jailer, nor wish to be one.”
“No,” said the minister. Then, as if confused he went on. “Yes. I have not made myself clear. I was merely attempting to offer a broad view of the situation.”
Blood said, “Can you speak plainly and to the point?”
The minister looked upon Blood with a spark of caution. Either more intelligent than he appeared or had been forewarned by Chase. Blood suspected the first. The minister said, “The High Sheriff of Coos County has accepted the pledging of a bond and the sworn word of the men detained in order to secure their release pending further decisions to their fate. Mister Chase has offered to put up the deed of his mill to secure that bond. The men in question, down to the last one, have agreed to be so sworn.”
“A happy and equitable solution,” Blood noted.
“Yes,” the minister enthused. “But between Mister Chase and the Sheriff there remains dispute over the value of the mill deed. The sheriff requires a sum somewhat greater than the two concur upon.”
“And Chase suggests I might provide that sum?” Blood was intrigued.
The minister lifted his face and studied the ceiling beams for a brief time. Then he looked back at Blood. “That is his hope, sir. He believes you might consider such generosity beneficial to yourself, as well.”
“Is that so?” said Blood. His tone mild.
The minister nodded.
“You have a precise figure?”
“I do.”
“No doubt that would include a minor surcharge for your services in this matter.”
The minister purpled. “I seek only to aid men in distress. To assist in what appears to be largely a matter of misunderstanding.”
Blood got the ox goad from where it leaned against the table and brought it between his legs and levered himself upright. He said, “I’m glad to hear that Reverend. It will make it all the easier for you to return to Mister Chase with my answer. Which is this, and a simple one at that—please recall these words: Let Hutchinson hold the deed and the swearing of the men as bond. When those men walk up this road Emil Chase may stop here. Whatever money he lacks to satisfy Hutchinson, we can discuss at that time, as well as the Canadian agreement. Mister Chase will understand that reference.”
The minister said, “I fail to comprehend you sir.”
Blood dug in his breeches and removed a ten dollar gold piece. He said, “Please deliver this to the Sheriff. The issue of money is not the only one that lies between Chase and myself. Today no other money shall travel southward with you. None beyond that ten dollars will go direct from my purse to that of your High Sheriff. I’d as soon fuck a pig. Do you comprehend that?”
The minister replaced his hat. His face the color of raw liver. He said, “I understand you all too well. Would you trifle with the lives of men in such a way?”
Blood said, “If you recall my words exactly, and repeat them to Chase and not to Hutchinson, then I trifle with no one. I believe the burden of trifling lies upon you. Would you have a drink of water before you depart? You look dry.”
That same day a wind roused out of the south and the clammy weather began to disintegrate, the light weak but the warming air enough to melt the hoarfrost and soon the world was wet and emitting a low glisten that rose as much from the muted colors of the wetted brush and limbs as from the blanched sun.
Late in the afternoon Blood gimped outside. Gandy had been gone since morning. Blood made his way in a long tortured circuit about the house and came upon the still-fresh grave of the dog. The heaped soil was thawing and when, at great effort, he bent to touch his finger to the mound it came away wet and brown. He rubbed it off against his pant leg, the one split all the way up his side and tied together at the bottom above his boot. So the cloth flapped open. His leg was chilled but he figured fresh air was good for the wound.
He made his way to the barn. He got an armful of hay over the bars into the pen for the oxen. The milk cow was in distress. There was nothing he could do for her. Even if he were able to lower himself to a milking stool with his leg stretched flat under her he doubted he might ever rise. And in her torment there was no telling how she might react to such a sight as he.
He sighed. To be able to load the oxcart, yoke the steers and go. But this was no longer a choice, no longer a simple practicality.
He made his way to the hog stockade and with great effort turned around to sit on the entryway of the chicken coop and reached behind him to scrabble his hand among the flustering peckish chickens and so one at a time scooped out a half-dozen eggs. These he carried to the house and set in a bowl on the mantel.
He returned to the barn for the halter and lead of braided leather and beat the half-wild milk cow with the goad until she stood quivering, motionless as he haltered her. Then in slow awkward procession he made his way up the road, the cow trailing behind, Blood jouncing rough each step of the way, sweating and tight-chested with the exertion. At the mill the door was open and a group of young boys stood hostile and silent, watching him come, all of them armed, some with rifles or old flintlocks and others with simple weapons such as sickles or froes. He stood in the road and with great unwavering authority ordered one amongst them to obtain Mistress Chase.
She came to the door and stood looking at him, silent.
He said, “Send these children away and shut the door. I’ve news for you.”
She studied him a moment more and then stepped down into the yard and without her speaking the gang of youth drifted up the road, still in sight but out of earshot. She pulled the big door to behind her.
Blood watched her and waited. She was a handsome woman close to his own age with her life marked clearly upon her. As if her misfortunes were not a product of her choice but the nature of life itself. Perhaps, he considered, she was correct.
She said, “I had thought you were out of the country. But you secured a wound as well.”
Blood said, “I was an unwitting and unwilling puppet. But I’ll not plead my case to you. The circumstance of opinion lies against me, I know. But I wished you to know that I’ve reason to believe your men will be released soon. Perhaps tomorrow.”
She was silent a pause and then said, “You engineered this as well?”
Blood held his sigh. He said, “I was approached this forenoon by an agent of Mose Hutchinson. I was offered the opportunity to ransom your husband and the rest of the men. I refused this, being unwilling to have Hutchinson benefit from this sham. But I made clear your husband is welcome to discuss his needs with me in person. It was not the answer hoped for but one I presume will in the end suffice. My belief is that the Hampshire men do not truly know what to do with the men they took from this country.”
“My husband would not appeal to you directly, himself. We are not without means.”
“The proposal put forth to me did not strike me as being to the benefit of either your husband or myself. I simply wish to ease your mind as best I can, informing you of the situation and how I expect it will be resolved.”
She paused again. Then she said, “Others speak of the coincidence of your arrival here this spring with the beginning of our misfortunes. Contrary to what you might think, I myself take no such simple view. Still, I regret that a man of your wit and ambition cannot serve the territory in a manner more uplifting than the one you chose.”
Now Blood sighed. “My girl has gone off. I’ve no real use for the cow, even if I could tend her. Which I can’t. But with the number of children and people housed here you might find use for her. Her milking’s been irregular the past few days but once she’s at ease she’ll let down well again, I would think.”
The Chase wife looked at the cow as if for the first time. Which B
lood knew was not the case. Then she looked back to Blood. “How was your wound obtained?”
“The same as all such. Through altercation.”
She cocked an eye. Then said, “Is it clean?”
“It seems to be fine. Draining somewhat but in a healthy fashion.”
“You have experience with such things?”
He said nothing.
After a bit she said, “For the moment at least, the use of your cow would be a great help here.”
“I had thought as much.”
“When things return to some form of normalcy she could be returned to you.”
Blood shook his head. “I don’t want her back.”
The Chase woman scrutinized him openly. Then said, “It will be a harsh winter for many. A cow could be of great benefit to one of the families that stick it out.”
“I would leave that discretion to you. You’d be in the best position to choose.”
Again she paused. Then cast her eyes strongly upon him and said, “It would be a kind thing to do, Mister Blood. But, you must know, there can be no question of payment at such a time as this.”
Blood said, “The cow is useless to me. A scant few days more of the treatment she’s been receiving she’ll be useless to all. It’s her fortune I’m looking out for, no one else’s.”
“You care more for the fate of the cow than those she’s to serve?”
“Beasts,” said Blood. “Do not manufacture malice. They hold it only when it’s earned.” And he dropped the leather lead on the ground and turned away, wobbling damnably on the goad as he got himself in motion once more. His leg has stiffened.
The Chase woman called after him. “Mister Blood.”
He stopped but did not turn.
She said, “Once she settles, I’d send down a bit of milk and butter.”
He turned his head over his shoulder. “No,” he said. “I’ve lost my taste for it.”
He resumed his march. There was a solitary raven beating against the stained glazed sky. From the lake beyond the mill came the throaty gabble of rafted geese. He heard her call to one of the boys to come catch up the cow. Then all he heard was the suck of his boots in the dissolving mud of the road. His head down to watch his way.
* * *
That same afternoon the three encamped in the marsh sat out on a granite ledge in the ashen sunlight, warming themselves and watching three horses in leather hobbles grazing the rough grass of the hummocks. A bay and two chestnut geldings of indeterminate age but fair soundness that an hour before Cooper had appeared leading strung together, all three geared in shoddy bridles and saddles, the horses knotted together with bridle reins run back from the headstall of the first horse on to the second and then again the third. Coming up the narrow trail behind Cooper along the brook snorting and one or another pausing and jerking its head as if to throw off the whole affair but falling into line again as the others went along. Once they came into the open land they quieted as Cooper unsaddled them and used the reins to fashion loose hobbles, removed the headstalls and stood back and said, “Well. You were so lathered up coming through the woods. Now what’re you going to do?”
They stood watching him, ears pricked, heads alert. The bay horse walked to one of the pools, lowered its head and drank, came alert dribbling water looking around. The chestnuts followed. Then settled to cropping grass, each working its own route careless of the others but in the practice of herd animals never moving in such a way they couldn’t see their fellows. Also watching the three humans sitting on the long whaleback ledge of granite.
When Cooper approached Sally about the gold to go after horses she backed away, walking without speaking from the camp out into the marsh where she turned and waited for him. When he did she already had the pieces clenched in her hand but she did not offer them. She said, “What do we want with horses now? Blood’s right down the trail.”
He frowned at her as if disappointed. “We’re not done with this country yet. But close. Old Fletcher is healing better than he knows. And the day comes we choose to leave, we might care to do it quick.”
She nodded. She wanted him to know she understood this. She wet her lips and said, “I already told you I can’t ride.”
He shrugged. “All the better reason to get em now, before they’re needed. Give you a chance to get used to em.”
She considered the implications of this. She handed him the gold and said, “You want I should go with you? To Van Landt’s? He knows me, he’s not laid eyes on you.”
Cooper said, “I believe it’s better it’s just me. If he has the horses they’ll be high, with all that’s been going on. But this idn’t paper money or a note of promise. It should do.”
She said, “I could at least show you the way.”
He looked at her a time. Then reached and laid the fingertips of one hand on her forearm. He said, “You best stay to look after Fletcher. I can find my way.” He took his hand away. But kept his stare upon her a brief beat of time. Then shook his head and walked away.
Cooper made a leisurely circuit of the horses, gradually making his way to each and running his hands over the animal, starting at the head where he worked slowly with his hands until one lay along the jawline and the other up rubbing as if at a knot behind the near ear until the horse dropped its head low, putting the ear even with Cooper’s chest. As if the horse would lay its head against his chest. After a time of this he made his way along the horse, running his hands over the neck and withers and back and if the horse stood well for this, down underneath the belly and legs. Then back to the head where he’d started for a few minutes, before moving along toward the next horse. Often the one just finished would follow him some few steps.
Sally and Fletcher sat on the ledge. Sally watching Cooper and Fletcher watching Sally. But when she turned to him he looked out at the horses, at his brother, at some imprecise point of the marsh.
“How’s he know to do that?”
“He grew up with horses.”
“But you grew up together. Don’t you know em too?”
“I can ride,” he said. “But I never was handy with em like he is.”
She looked back at the boy working the horses. With some nugget of pleasure, some satisfaction unnamed lodged within her.
Cooper came up and said to Fletcher, “You had to do it, could you ride?”
Fletcher worked his lower lip with his teeth. Then said, “I could. It’d throb some I spect but nothing I couldn’t live through.”
Cooper turned to Sally. “That bay horse, he’s the one for you. We need to get you started.”
She said, “He’s god-awful big. Why him?”
He shrugged. “He’s big enough I guess. But he’s got the most sense. Of the three, he’s the calmest.”
She thought about that. Then said, “How calm does that make him?”
He grinned at her. “Calm enough.”
For want of a curry or brush Cooper cut a section from a burlap bean sack and with this wadded in one hand one at a time went over the tethered horses, not so much a cleaning as a pretense of such, gestures familiar and soothing to them.
He rode each horse around the marsh, circuiting the old beaver ponds and the trickle-streams that flowed from them, turning the horses at odd and sharp angles, making them stop and back, then moving them forward again. Once with each horse making them wade through the deepest of the pools.
The last Cooper rode was the bay he’d singled out for Sally. She sat watching and couldn’t see much difference in the bay from the others; they all seemed to behave more or less well for Cooper. The bay was skittish about entering the water. Cooper turned the horse several times to face once again the water, pausing before trying to urge the horse on until, by some decision Sally couldn’t detect, Cooper would turn the horse again. And sit waiting. Until that final revolution when the horse stepped forward and walked through the pond as if it weren’t there at all.
When they came out the other side Cooper r
ode the horse in a smooth trot three times around the widest opening of the marsh before cutting straight across and drawing up before where Fletcher and Sally sat on the ledge. He stepped down from the horse and stood a moment by its head, kneading the skin behind the horse’s ear. The horse dropped its head down level with Cooper’s chest.
His face serious but bright with pleasure he said to Sally, “You ready?”
“You mean now?”
As if he hadn’t heard her he said, “This is all you really got to know: Keep the reins tight from your hands to the bit. Not so as to pull his head down but tight enough so he knows you’re the one in charge. And don’t set on the saddle but down in it. So your behind and your thighs feel like they’re part of the saddle. You hold him that way, and sit him that way, then all you got to do is use a little pressure with the hand and leg to tell him which way to turn. You want him to go forward bring your hands up a little and tighten both legs. Other than just getting used to him and letting him get used to you, that’s all there is to it.”
“That sounds like a lot. How do I make him stop?”
“Like starting. Except draw your hands back a little. You don’t have to saw, just a light touch. He’ll know what you want.”
“You going to walk around with me?”
“No. He’d be following me then. Instead of paying attention to you.”
“Seems to me, it wouldn’t hurt you was to take at least one turn around with me.”
He glanced hard at her. “If he’s going to dump you off he will. You ain’t ridden until you been throwed. Now, you going to set talking all day or are you going to ride this horse?”
“Well.” She was nervous. The talk about being thrown hadn’t helped. She made a final feeble plea. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
He was swiftly serious. “This horse, in the days that come, might be the best thing ever happened to you. You understand?”
She looked at him. His eyes were hot on her and she felt her own flare to meet him. All nervousness was gone. She slid off the ledge. “All right,” she said. “But you hold him while I get on. I got to figure out my skirts.”
