He had thought the bed might feel like it always did. Like it was his. And yet it felt somehow different. Alien.
On the other side of the room was Matt’s bed. Matt was under the covers and already snoring away.
He and Matt had shared this room as children. Joe and Luke shared another.
Johnny thought the room hadn’t changed much. He expected the room to have been closed up, or to have been used for storage. But the beds were freshly made and waiting for them, as though they hadn’t been gone three years. The furniture was dusted and the floor swept.
“Ma has kept this room ready for you and Matt ever since you left,” Luke had said when Johnny stood in the doorway, looking at the old room. “Pa said she shouldn’t bother keeping it up because you three wouldn’t be home for a while, but she said she wanted your beds ready in case you came home unannounced. She said it wouldn’t do for a boy to return home and not have his bed ready for him.”
Johnny pulled the covers to his chest. As his head sunk into the pillow, he looked up at the exposed timbers of the room’s ceiling. Moonlight crept in through the window and created shadows that filled in the gaps between the timbers.
Johnny drew in a long breath, savoring the scents. Smoke, from the wood stove in the kitchen downstairs, and a smell of dry wood from the floorboards. All as it had been years ago. Even the sounds were the same. An occasional creak of the ceiling overhead. Matt sawing ‘em off in the bed across the room. And yet, something felt wrong.
Maybe he was what was wrong, he thought. Maybe he had killed too many men, had been shot at too many times. Had drained too many bottles of tequila and consorted with too many women his mother would have turned pale at the thought of. He had slept too many nights listening for any sound in the night that might indicate a Comanche was sneaking up on him. He had played cards and swilled whiskey and tequila with hard men. Enough years of this and you start to become like these men.
He was sure the farm boy he had once been was still there, buried somewhere deep inside him. He just wondered if it was possible for this boy to ever again rise to the surface.
Johnny turned over on his side and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about Becky Drummond, but he had to admit, the thought of seeing her again scared him every bit as much as the thought of a Comanche sneaking up on him.
Johnny waited for sleep to take him, but it didn’t. He became aware of an uneasiness, and he knew what it was. It wasn’t the unfamiliarity of his own bed, or even the thought of Becky Drummond.
He climbed out of bed and grabbed a wooden upright chair from the corner and placed it by the headboard. Then he grabbed one of his pistols and placed it on the chair. Now, as he stretched out in bed, it would be within reach.
Old Jeb came walking over, his head hanging like a dog’s head will when he’s concerned. He curled up beside the bed. Johnny reached down and scratched him behind the ears.
“It’s mighty good to see you again, old boy,” Johnny said.
The dog had been like a friend when Johnny was growing up. Always at his side. The dog belonged to the family, but somehow it was Johnny the dog seemed to take to the most. And here the dog was, once again at his side. At least that much hadn’t changed.
13
Joe came downstairs for breakfast a changed man. The beard was now gone, and he had used scissors and given his hair an improvised cut. His hair now fell in uneven lines to his collar.
With his beard gone, Joe looked a lot like Johnny. Except Joe was a little taller, his jaw was a little stronger, and his hair was a deep brown where Johnny’s was more auburn.
“Well,” Johnny said with a taunting smile. “You look almost human.”
Matt said, “I had thought our little brother was somewhere underneath all that fur.”
Johnny and Matt were sitting at the table, taking their old places across from each other as though it were somehow written in stone that when in this house, you sit in these designated places. Pa was at the head of the table, and Ma sat across from him.
Ma said, “Now boys, leave your brother alone.”
Joe pulled out a chair beside Johnny, and sat.
Matt said, “Is this the first time you’ve shaved in three years?”
Joe shook his head. “I always kept shaved when I was with the Cheyenne. Otherwise they call you dog face.”
He gave a quick glance to Johnny, like he was wondering if he should have said that. Pa gave a glance to Ma—they seemed to have no idea what he was talking about. Johnny just gave a slight nod to Joe and said nothing.
Ma had prepared eggs, bacon and toast, and a coffee pot was hissing away on the stove.
“Ma,” Joe said, “I ain’t smelled anything this good in I don’t know how long. Three years, I guess. You can smell this food all the way upstairs.”
He reached for some bacon.
“Josiah,” she said, “we still wait for the blessing.”
He stopped and glanced once at Johnny. Joe had mentioned as they rode that he had taken most of his meals for the past three years in front of a fire, roasting venison or rabbit on a wooden spit. He hadn’t sat at a table and said a blessing for so long, it felt alien to him. He had done Cheyenne prayer songs, but not a traditional, white-man blessing. Johnny realized his brother felt as out of place here as he did.
They all joined hands, and Pa spoke in a deep baritone that filled the room. Johnny thought it could have filled a theater.
“Dear Lord, we humbly thank Thee for the blessings Thou hast so generously bestowed upon us, and for bringing our sons home safely to us. And for this wonderful meal thou hast provided for us, and for the incredible woman who did the cookin’. Amen.”
“Oh, Thomas,” Ma said with a smile, embarrassed to have been mentioned by name in prayer.
Johnny hoped to one day find a woman who could love him like Ma loved Pa. His thoughts were brought back to Becky Drummond.
Johnny had reluctantly left his guns upstairs. This was the first time he had gone so great a distance without them strapped to his hips in three years. He had felt strangely off balance as he walked down the stairs. His steps felt unnaturally light. A gunbelt with two pistols can be heavier than people realize. But even without his guns, he couldn’t help but wonder if the changes in him would be evident by the way he carried himself, the things he said. Even the look in his eye. He wondered how it would feel if Becky looked at him like he was a stranger.
He had never mentioned Becky in his letters to Ma because he was never one to want to discuss his personal feelings, but as he sat at the table this morning, he considered asking about her. Trying to find some way to slip a question about her into conversation without it seeming obvious. But he knew Ma had liked Becky and Johnny didn’t want her getting any thoughts about grandchildren. Ma was one to forever put the cart before the horse. And he knew his brothers would have too much fun taunting him about it. So he pushed the thought from his mind and decided to focus on the breakfast Ma had made.
“I will say, Ma,” he said, “in all my wanderin’s throughout Texas, I never found anyone who could cook up bacon like you can.”
She gave the smile all mothers give when their children like their cooking. “I’m just glad you’re home, John. Not wandering through Texas anymore. And I’m glad your brothers are home, too.”
The door opened and Luke stepped in. He had been out feeding the chickens and slopping the pigs. His sleeves were rolled up and there was some color in his cheeks. It was still a little cool outside this morning. The month was May, and the days could become downright hot in the Pennsylvania foothills, but the nights and early mornings could still make a man want a jacket.
Luke said, “I hope you boys ain’t eating all that bacon yourself.”
He sat down and began scooping bacon onto his plate, and a couple scoops of scrambled eggs. The plate of bacon was now empty.
Pa said, “Eat up boys. We have a big day ahead of us.”
“Now, Thomas,” Ma said. �
��The boys have just gotten in. They might want to rest up a little. Don’t go putting them to work right off.”
“No, that’s all right,” Johnny said. “I don’t mind pitching in. I’ve been away from the farm for three years. It’ll be good to get my hands dirty.”
It would also give him a chance to focus his mind on something other than how much of a stranger, an outsider, he felt in the place that used to be home.
Matt said, “Speak for yourself. I’m still sore from sitting on the back of that horse.”
Joe said, a grin cracking to life at one corner of his mouth, “It’ll be good for Matt to do some real work. All that sailin’ around on a boat can make a man soft.”
Matt held one hand out before him, so Joe could see the palm. “Look at those callouses. You don’t get that lollygagging around. Working on a ship is real work, boy.”
Joe threw a wink at Luke from across the table and said, “Sure it is. I bet they worked you right hard.”
Luke was giving a wide smile. He glanced at Pa, who was chewing a mouthful of eggs. Pa returned the smile back to him. It was good to hear the banter about the table again.
“Hey, Johnny,” Luke said. “You tell ‘em. Workin’ on a boat ain’t men’s work.”
Johnny thought it was good to hear the voices of his brothers as they prodded each other, like they had in the old days. But he still couldn’t shake the sad feeling he had deep inside because he felt like a stranger in the place that had once been his home.
He decided to pitch in a little. Might make him feel a little less like a stranger.
He said, “I knew me a gambler once who got fearsome calluses on his hands from all the cards he played. But he never did get out of a chair.”
Matt looked at his brother with raised brows, as if to say, What, you too? Then he rested an elbow on the table and pointed a finger at Johnny. “I saw that stack of wood outside, waiting to be sawed into stove lengths. Pa, you still have two buck saws?”
Pa nodded. “Sure do.”
“Then, little brother, I’ll match you log for log, and then some.”
Johnny said, “What’s the winner get?”
Matt held up both hands. “The glory of knowing he won.”
Johnny chuckled. “All right. You’re on. I could use a little glory. That is..,” he looked at Pa, “unless you had something else that needed doing.”
Pa shook his head. “Not at all. We got three cord of firewood out there ready to be cut and split. I’ll take Joe and Luke with me out to the field. You two can have at the wood.”
Johnny peeled away his shirt and tossed it aside. He pushed up the sleeves of his union suit and grabbed one of the buck saws. With a four-foot-length of oak lying across a saw horse, he went at it with the bucksaw. Matt was doing the same at a second saw horse. Suspenders were in place over Matt’s shoulders, and his sleeves were rolled up.
Johnny pulled the saw blade through the wood, let it fall back into place with a gentle push, then pulled again. Fast. Again and again. It sounded like Matt snoring at night. The saw bit into the wood, and saw dust drifted to the ground.
Johnny bulled his way through, and a chunk of wood a foot and a half long fell to the ground. Sweat was already beading up on his back, beneath his undershirt.
He stood and wiped some sweat away from his forehead. “I forgot about the humidity, here in the East.”
Matt dropped his first chunk of wood to the ground, and straightened up. “Same here. Out at sea, the winds are strong, and the air is clean and often crisp. Not like this.”
“The winds are strong in Texas, too. Kind of crisp in the winter, especially in north Texas, and dang hot in the summer. But it’s a dry heat.”
“I guess we were just used to this as kids. Never thought much about it.”
Johnny pulled the log into place and began working on it again, cutting a second chunk of stove-length wood. Matt did the same.
When the second one fell to the earth, Johnny stood to let the muscles in his back stretch a bit. He had worked hard in Texas. Sometimes twelve hours in the saddle. But it was a different kind of work.
Matt’s second piece of wood was on the ground too, and he was rubbing the palms of his hands.
Johnny said, squinting into the sun, “What about them callouses you built up scrubbing all them decks on that boat?”
“They’re different kinds of callouses, apparently. Not the same you get from farm work. And,” Matt threw his brother a sidelong glance, “it’s a ship, not a boat, and I wasn’t a deck hand. I was the first mate.”
Matt hitched the log into place and began sawing again. Johnny did the same. Matt’s final two pieces of firewood fell to the earth, and seconds later Johnny’s joined them. They were each done with their first four-foot-length.
“First mate, huh?” Johnny said. “That’s not exactly Navy terms, is it?”
Matt gave a glance toward the front door. The house was maybe two hundred feet away, and the door was shut. He gave Johnny the impression he didn’t want Ma hearing what he was going to say.
“I wasn’t exactly in the Navy.”
This had Johnny’s attention. “Do tell.”
“I started out in the Navy,” he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed sweat away from his forehead, “but, well, things happened. I got a position as a deck hand on a commercial freighter, and worked my way up.”
“And you never told any of this in your letters home, apparently.”
Matt shook his head.
Johnny said, “Because, let me guess, what happened to get you kicked out of the Navy wasn’t something you wanted to share with Ma and Pa.”
“No."
Johnny reached for a canteen. The one that had been on his saddle, that he drank from many a time under the hot Texas sun. “That gun you mentioned, in your duffel bag. Apparently that’s not Navy issue?”
Matt shook his head. “It is, but that’s not where I got it. I won it in a card game when we were anchored in Manila. We sailed in dangerous waters. Pirates set upon us more than once. A man needed a gun.”
Johnny knew. He could tell by the look in Matt’s eye. “You’ve killed a man.”
Matt nodded. “More than one. Been shot at a few times, too. In fact, one time, a bullet took some skin off of one of my shoulders. But I did most of my fighting with a cutlass.”
“A cutlass?”
Matt said, “Got pretty good with one. I gave it to the pilot of our ship when I left. I couldn’t very well bring it home. There’d be a lot of questions.”
“Don’t worry,” Johnny said, and tossed the canteen to Matt. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Matt took a chug of water and replaced the cork. “What about you? As I remember, you were going to join the cavalry. But from what Joe was saying, it doesn’t sound like you did.”
“Well..,” Johnny’s turn to fess up. “I did join the cavalry. But I wasn’t with them very long. Something happened.”
“Something you’d rather Ma and Pa didn’t know about.”
Johnny nodded. “I joined up with the Texas Rangers and rode with them for a while. Then, for the past eight months—maybe a year—I’ve been just kind of on my own. Taking jobs here and there. Worked as a cowhand for a time. Rode shotgun for a stagecoach company for a while. Served as a marshal of a small town for a few weeks.” He chuckled. “Me, with a badge. Can you imagine?”
“Did you really ride into Mexico to bring back a kidnapped girl?”
Johnny nodded his head and chuckled. “That’s a story in itself.”
“So, that’s what Joe was talking about. The legend. You got into some scrapes and people started talking about you.”
Johnny nodded.
Matt said, “You always were spectacularly good with a gun.”
“And yet, it’s not being showy with a gun that saved my life. It was the fact that for some reason, I seem to be able to hold a steady hand when bullets start flying at me. Few men can do that.”
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“I experienced that, too. One time pirates boarded our ship, and I just stood there on the deck and unloaded my pistol on them. I brought three of them down. Then I went at them with my cutlass and got two more before the rest turned and ran. Must run in the family.”
Johnny leaned the saw against the horse and said, “You know, I’m kind of in the mood for something a little stronger than water.”
Matt was smiling. “Just what do you have in mind?”
“I got a little something I brought with me from Texas. In my saddle bags. Come on.”
Johnny started away, toward the barn. With a smile, Matt dropped the canteen to the ground and followed.
In the barn was Johnny’s saddle. He had brought his bedroll up to the house, but his saddle bags were still tied to the back of the saddle.
He reached into one of the bags and produced a bottle. It was filled with a light, golden liquid.
Matt said, with a curious smile, “Now what, pray-tell, is that?”
“Tequila. They like it better than whiskey, down Mexico way. I developed something of a taste for it, myself.”
“Do tell.”
Johnny pulled the cork and took a mouthful. “Heaven on Earth.”
He handed the bottle to Matt.
“Careful, now,” Johnny said. “The bite’s a little different than whiskey.”
But Matt was tipping the bottle. He took two plugs, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Very different.”
“Not sure if you like it?”
“Well, I’m not one to jump to a rash judgment. I think I should give it a few more trials.”
They stretched out on some hay in the loft. The loft doors were open, and though the air was humid, the breeze was a little cooling. Something about hay tends to be a little cooling, too. Johnny had discovered that when he was growing up. He and Matt and Joe would stretch out in the hay up here, sometimes. He and Matt would talk. Of dreams, religion, philosophy. Joe was never much of a talker, but he would listen and sometimes throw in a thought of his own.
Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6) Page 5
