He risked a look at Lorene. She was prettier than he’d ever seen her before, blue eyes shining with light and color in her cheeks. Mr. Adams, the ship’s officer, seemed to think she was worth a look, too. The way he flat swallowed her whole with his eyes didn’t sit well with Howie at all. And Lorene was enjoying it. Hell, just taking it all in. Adams whispered something in her ear, and she smiled and looked shyly at her hands. Howie felt his face heat up. Damn it, you can leave her alone! he thought. He gripped the sides of his chair and thought about pounding that fancied-up fellow in the face. Bloody that shiny blue uniform some, and see how you grin then.
“Mister, what happened to your eye?”
“What?” For an instant, Howie wasn’t sure who had spoken. Then he saw Garvey’s young son to his left.
“Hush, boy,” his mother scolded. “The man lost his eye in the war.”
“That’s all right, ma’am,” Howie said.
“You’re scary,” the boy said. “I don’t like you.”
Mrs. Garvey slapped the child hard, and he started to bawl. Howie felt sorry for the boy. It was plain he was going to grow up looking just like his daddy.
The sea was running smooth, and Howie liked being up on deck. The ship still leaned and pitched about all the time, but he was getting used to that. A sailor named Jack told him he was getting his sea legs. That’s what you called it when you didn’t fall down all the time and get sick.
There wasn’t so much for the sailors to do when the sea was slick as glass, and Jack told Howie how the ship could use the wind even when it wasn’t coming up from right behind. He explained what the compass was for, and how you didn’t need that if you could read from the sun and the stars. Papa had told him that. How to watch the North Star and the way the constellations moved about.
There were dolphin that followed the ship, and even fish that seemed to fly. Now and then, enormous white sea birds arrived in flocks to eat the garbage that was tossed off the ship. Jack said the birds could fly a long way from land, but that they weren’t that far from shore now. The place where Mexico curled around and thrust a big bulge into the Gulf wasn’t fifty miles off the starboard bow. Jack had been there once, and said it was a terrible thing to see. Nothing but bugs and heat, forests that choked on themselves and people that weren’t friendly at all. Howie thought about that. Forests didn’t sound like the Mexico he knew, which was desert where nothing but spiny things grew. He guessed that was because he’d only seen a little part up north.
He saw Lorene once or twice, but didn’t try to say hello. Adams was taking her on a tour, likely showing off, since he knew everything about ships. Well, to hell with him. And he wasn’t too pleased with Lorene. Of course, they couldn’t be together during the day, he knew that, and Lorene had to act as if they didn’t know each other real well. But she didn’t have to act like she was enjoying that bastard so much. She didn’t have to do that. She could look a little sad instead of smiling all the time.
His belly felt empty at noon, right on time. Still, he stayed on deck and didn’t join the others in the galley. It seemed like a fool thing to do, going hungry out of spite. He’d have to eat with the others the rest of the trip, there wasn’t any way out of that. Only skipping one meal wouldn’t hurt. He would miss Captain Finley dropping food down his shirt, miss another sermon from Ritcher Jones. Miss that goddam Adams making eyes at Lorene. Hell, that was worth going hungry half a day.
Howie paused at the railing to watch the flying fish. He never seemed to tire of seeing the graceful creatures perform their acrobatics in the sea. They didn’t really fly, Jack said, and Howie could see this was true. They leaped out of the water and glided across the waves, then plunged back under again. Flying or not, it was surely a wondrous thing.
Something rolled far off to starboard, a brief flash of silver in the sea. From the splash it made it had to be big. Howie walked quickly aft, keeping his eye on the water. Whatever it was, it might just do it again.
Searching the water intently, he scarcely heard the sound at first. The noise came again, louder this time, and he turned. The sight turned his legs to water; he felt as if someone had struck him in the belly, and he gripped the railing to keep himself up.
The sound came from the stern, just to his right. Two geldings and a mare squatted together on the deck. Each had a short length of rope about its leg, the other end tied to the far railing. It was the mare who was making all the noise. Like the geldings, she was no more than six years old, the age when stock was best for eating, though it was rare these days to see meat slaughtered anywhere near that young: All three were plump and fat, brought up to feed for the trip. Finley, or the owners of the ship, must be charging a great deal for passage, Howie thought, if they could afford to offer prime tender meat.
The mare was frightened, and this was the reason she was making awful sounds in her throat. Usually, stock didn’t have the sense to know what was about to happen next, but sometimes they did. The mare knew. Her features were contorted and her blue eyes opened wide in fear. She stared at the ship’s butcher, sharpening his tools, as if she guessed exactly what they were for.
The butcher glanced at the mare in irritation, motioned impatiently to his helper, and pointed at the mare. The message was clear: Take the one making trouble first. The helper, a young cabin boy, loosed the mare’s rope from the railing and jerked her roughly toward the square chopping block near the stern. The mare screamed, dragged her chubby legs, and flailed out with her hands. The boy caught a handful of dirty yellow hair and tossed the mare roughly to the deck. The butcher took a step away from his block, drew a wooden club from his belt, and struck the mare at the base of the skull. The mare collapsed at once. It was over and done in an instant. The boy hoisted the mare upon the block and the butcher went to work, making the proper cuts swiftly with practiced ease. The two geldings didn’t move. One idly picked his nose. They both looked at nothing at all with dull and vacant eyes.
Howie tried to turn away from the horror. His body refused to work, refused to let him go. He had seen all this before, nearly all his life, growing up on Papa’s farm. Killing and dressing stock was something every boy learned about young. Only it wasn’t the same anymore. Not now. Not with what he knew. Now it was a scene that struck him with an awful, unreasoning fear. Coming on the pens outside of Tallahassee, he had fled into the woods and gotten sick. Now that scene was repeating itself again. He felt the churning in his belly, felt everything rising to his throat, and barely had time to turn and lean across the railing.
Breakfast came up in a single gush, racking his body with one painful spasm after another. He could feel the tears coming too, scalding his good eye and running down his cheek. Each new convulsion seared his gut. He wanted to scream, just like the young mare, but the sickness choked off his cries.
Howie felt a hand on his shoulder, felt another bring a cold wet rag to his face.
“It’s all right, boy. It’s all right now.”
Howie nodded dumbly. The spasms slowly ran their course. The man stayed with him until they passed.
“Here,” the man said, “you hang on to the rag. Soon as you’re able, go on down and get some rest.”
Howie muttered his thanks. When he looked over his shoulder the man was gone, walking quickly forward, and he recognized the skinny form and balding head of Dr. Sloan.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Howie lay just on the skirt of camp, belly flat against the damp forest floor, hardly daring to breathe, his eyes taking in every trifle—how the grass bent, and where the dim moonlight touched the ground. There was a guard between him and Colonel Jacob. He stood just outside the small clearing where the other troopers slept; he was quiet and almost invisible against a broad oak.
Howie knew he had to go for the head or no place at all. Anything less and the man would cry out. He didn’t let himself think about missing.
The bowstring sang and the shadow dropped silently to the base of the tree…
&
nbsp; He’d thought about how to do it. Even a grown man used to moving fast couldn’t stop a quick knife across the throat. Only that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. It had to be the other way or it wouldn’t be right…
Colonel Jacob slept with his mouth open, one hand across his chest. Howie slipped the bone knife from his belt. He had already wrapped the butt with layers of cloth from his extra shirt. Grasping Jacob’s hair with one hand, he brought the padded hilt down solidly, just above the ear. Jacob stiffened slightly, but made no sound at all…
It took nearly an hour to make the thirty yards to the river. There was a clump of scrub oak masking the far shore and a sand wash behind that. He stripped Jacob, leaned him against a tree, and wired him securely to the trunk, pulling his feet straight out and wiring them as well. Then he stuffed the man’s socks in his mouth and used his shirt to make a tight gag knotted behind his neck.
When Jacob came awake, he gazed curiously at Howie for a moment before his eyes went wide with understanding. Then he jerked frantically against his bonds, moaning behind the gag.
Howie ignored him. He straddled Jacob’s legs, drew the bone knife from his belt, and started working on the colonel’s chest. He went carefully and slowly, making the letters neat, like his mother had taught him. It was hard to see in the dim light and he had to keep wiping the blood away to tell what he was doing. Jacob’s eyes bulged and sweat beaded his face, and Howie could hear the noises he was making but nothing came through the gag.
When he was through he went to work on the eyes, being careful to do just what needed to be done. He didn’t want Jacob to pass out and miss anything, or lose more blood than he had to. He was still conscious, Howie knew, but near out of his head, and that was good. That was the way it was supposed to be.
When he finished with the eyes he looked at Jacob and touched the blade lightly against the man’s thighs. Jacob jerked uncontrollably, nearly pulling his arms out of the sockets. He knew pretty well what was coming. Howie did the best he could, but the fear and the pain were more than Jacob could handle. He quickly dropped into unconsciousness. That was all right, too, Howie decided. He’d wake up and have plenty of time to think about what had happened to him. .
By midafternoon he was far to the north, in the midst of deep woods ringed by high, rugged cliffs. He had no idea where he might be, only that he was far from the camp by the river. If the soldiers were after him he didn’t know it, and at the moment he didn’t much care.
He tied the stolen horse to a tree and stumbled through low brush until his legs gave way and he went shakily to his knees. The tears came then, and he remembered Papa and his mother and what they’d looked like at the house. He tried to think of nothing, but his mother was still there. And Papa, looking surprised at dying. He saw Colonel Jacob and what he’d done to him on the riverbank. The hollow eyes and the terrible empty place between his legs. And the bone-deep letters on his chest that would last as long as Jacob and wouldn’t ever go away:
HOWIE SON OF
EV AND
MILO RYDER
He knew he couldn’t stay there. He had to get back on the horse. And he remembered a whole day had gone by and it was April now, and tomorrow he’d be sixteen….
“Cory, you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m all right, I’m just fine.”
Howie could see her in the pale light, leaning over him, her eyes lost in shadow.
“You were moaning in your sleep. I figured you had a dream.” might have. If I did I don’t recall,” Howie lied. He reached up and touched her bare shoulders. “Come on back to sleep.”
“I got to get up now, silly. It’s real close to morning.”
“It ain’t that close.”
“It is too, she said. Lorene brushed her hands past her cheeks, drawing back her hair. Howie cupped her breast in his hand. Lorene shuddered and closed her eyes.
“Lord, Cory, don’t make it any harder on me than it is. I don’t want to go, you know that.”
“Thought maybe you was getting tired of me. Might be thinking about that fine-looking officer or something.
“Cory!” Lorene looked appalled. “Don’t you even tease me ’bout something like that.”
“Well, he sure does moon around you a lot,” Howie said. “Hell, you’re with him all the time.”
Lorene sighed. “What do you figure I ought to do?
Maybe I just ought to say, ‘I’m sure sorry, Dan. I can’t walk around on the deck with anyone ’cause see I’m making love to this other fella every night.’ “
“That’s his name? Dan?” Howie made a face. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s just an ordinary name, that’s all. Oh, Cory, you don’t really think I care anything about him, now do you?”
“You better not.”
“Well I don’t. I just care about you. My heavens, a few days back I didn’t know a thing about men, and now I’m—doing all kinds of things with you every night, things I never even thought about before, and you’re worried about me and Dan Adams.” Lorene laughed. “I sure have come a long way.”
The laughter grated on Howie. “That ain’t funny, Lorene.”
“Honestly, you’re the one that’s funny. The way you’re acting. You just— oh, Cory!”
Howie pulled her roughly to him, thrusting one hand between her thighs. Lorene drew in a breath, tried to squirm free and said she had to get up, that it was getting close to dawn, and then she cried out once and threw her arms around his neck and didn’t say anything at all.
Howie woke at first light. He couldn’t remember when Lorene had finally left. Lord, that last time was something! Like they’d never even touched each other before. And it was Lorene who’d come at him so hard at the end, loving him with a fierce desperation as if she’d gone right out of her head, and it was Howie himself who’d had to stop.
He leaned back and looked at the ceiling and grinned at the spider overhead. For the first time since he could remember, he felt as if everything in his life was going fine. He had Lorene, and he was headed for California. It was far away from any place he knew, far from anyone who’d ever heard of Howie Ryder, and what had happened between him and Colonel Jacob.
And Harriver Mason was there. Ever since Jones had brought his name up again, Howie had given the man a lot of thought. He couldn’t find everyone who’d done those awful things to his sister, but he sure had to do what he could. Anson Slade was gone, and that was one. And Harriver Mason would be at High Sequoia. Ritcher Jones wouldn’t like what Howie had in mind, and Howie felt bad about that. The preacher had sure treated him fine. But there were some things that just had to be. Carolee was dead, and Mason didn’t have any right to be alive. He didn’t have any right at all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Going back to eat with the others wasn’t easy. The scene he had witnessed on the stern had shaken Howie badly; feelings had rushed in that he’d tried to put away. He didn’t think he could ever watch folks eat meat again without getting violently sick on the spot. Not after that.
For three days he avoided the galley. He told Lorene the seasickness was acting up again.
“Don’t seem to be sapping your strength a whole lot,” Lorene said, with that sly look she knew drove Howie up the wall.
Ritcher Jones accepted this story until word got to him somehow that Howie had made friends with the cook. It seemed he was dropping by four or five times every day for bread and jam, potatoes and soup, and was making quite a dent in the ship’s small supply of fresh vegetables and fruit.
Finally, Jones took Howie aside. “I guess I know what’s the matter,” he said. “I should have guessed it before. —
Howie felt his throat constrict, and tried to avoid Jones’s penetrating eyes. `Uh, I don’t reckon I know what you mean.”
Jones smiled his best preacher smile and laid a hand on Howie’s shoulder. “Now Cory, don’t think I don’t know what happened down there the other day. I might look like I’m jawing all th
e time, but there isn’t a whole lot I don’t see.” He looked soberly at Howie. “It’s the Garvey boy, isn’t it?”
Howie looked genuinely confused. This was apparently the reaction Jones expected.
“It’s all right, the preacher said. “I didn’t know you were sensitive about your eye, Cory. I guess you just don’t let it show. Children have a way of stepping on feelings sometimes. Here, I got you this.”
With a broad smile, Jones drew something from his pocket and handed it to Howie.
“Well. I’m sure grateful.” It was a tangle of black cloth and string, and Howie wasn’t sure what it was for.
“It’s a patch,” Jones explained. “For your eye. Covers up the scar. Go on, try it on.”
Jones gave him a hand, then stepped back and looked him over. “Well, now. That’s just fine. Real nice, I’d say. Gives you a kind of—dangerous look, you know?” He showed Howie a wink. “The young ladies in California will go for that, my boy. You wait and see. Now, I’ll expect you at supper tonight.” He wagged a finger in Howie’s face. “No more of this sneaking around to the cook.”
Howie didn’t like the patch at all, and the fact that it doomed him to the galley again. Still, there was little else he could do other than share his true feelings with Jones, and he sure wasn’t about to do that.
Little had changed while he was gone. Ritcher Jones preached the glories of peace and High Sequoia, and Garvey argued with every point he made. It suddenly occurred to Howie that the two men thoroughly enjoyed these fiery exchanges, that each would be greatly disappointed if the other gave in and agreed.
Occasionally, Captain Finley managed a word here and there, continuing to spill food down his shirt. Howie did his best to ignore the awful sight and smell of meat. Young Garvey stared at his patch. Dr. Sloan never looked his way; it was as if the incident on the stern had never happened, and Howie was grateful for that.
Sometimes, at night, when Lorene slipped into his bed, Howie would berate her for mooning over Adams. The subject was always good for a fight, but since neither of the two dared quarrel above a whisper, one or the other would start to laugh at some point and they would end up in each other’s arms. The lovemaking that followed these exchanges seemed even more heated than usual, and both Howie and Lorene began to look forward to the evening’s accusations and denials. The outcome was clearly worth the effort.
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