“Sixteen,” she said. “I’ll be seventeen next November. You’ve been gone a long time, Mister McCabe.”
The last Matt remembered, Amy was a skinny young kid with bare feet and a turned up nose. Now she was marrying-age. Matt surely felt old.
The song ended, and the crowd of dancers applauded politely. Matt thanked Amy for the dance. He could probably have gotten a second dance out of her, but he had trouble getting the image of the barefooted, skinny young girl out of his mind. He headed to the punch bowl.
With a cup of punch in hand, he stood on the sidelines and watched the dancers. At one side of the barn a man was sawing away on the fiddle, another was plucking at the banjo, and a man with a guitar was strumming chords. The song was Sally Gooden, and couples were wheeling about the dance floor. People were laughing. Folks standing along the side were clapping to the rhythm of the song.
Matt stood and watched. He realized if he were not here, if he were still at sea, this dance would be progressing exactly as it was. His presence here was about as insignificant as it could be. Except for the dance with Amy Everett. And she was now dancing with a boy Matt didn’t recognize, just as she probably would have even if Matt were not here.
He had come home hoping to find home. He had been gone so long. He wanted to reconnect with that certain feeling of sanctuary Ma and Pa’s farmhouse and the town of Sheffield had always given him. And yet he felt like nothing more than a stranger. He felt...
“Insignificant.” He said the word aloud. “I feel insignificant.”
A man was scooping punch into a cup. He looked at Matt and said, “Hmm?”
Matt shook his head. “Nothing.”
He turned and headed out the barn door. The dance continued on without him.
18
Matt found Joe outside the barn, standing with cousin Thad and a couple other boys. Thad was talking. Thad loved to talk, and when he did, it was like he was holding court. He had the gift of charismatic speech, but not theatrically, like Matt did. Thad’s gift was more like that of a politician. The gift of poetic bull, Pa had once said. It wouldn’t surprise Matt if Thad ran for office one day.
“You should have seen those red savages run,” Thad was saying, his voice carrying across the barnyard, his toothy grin in full form. “Never did see a red devil who had what it took to face a man in a fair fight.”
Thad was a year younger than Johnny and about as tall as Matt. His hair was the color of buckskin, and it was thick and usually looked windblown. He had pronounced cheekbones and a wide smile. Matt suspected Thad practiced his smile in front of a mirror.
Thad had headed west shortly after Matt and his brothers left. He joined the cavalry and was stationed at some fort out west. Matt forgot which one. He had learned the story in a letter from Ma. In a skirmish with Indians, Thad took an arrow and spent a few weeks recuperating, and then he was sent home. His military adventure ended after eight months.
Thad was apparently regaling everyone with a story from his days out West. Matt knew Thad enough to doubt there was a lot of truth to what Thad was saying. Generally what Thad said was more about Thad saying it than anything else. Matt thought Pa had nailed the proverbial nail on the head.
The sun had set, and the sky overhead was gray. A string of lanterns hung outside the barn and had been lit.
Joe was looking off toward a hayfield beyond. Even though he was with Thad and the boys, he was still standing alone. A tin cup filled with beer was in his hand and he was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He stood in his buckskin jacket and his faded cavalry pants, and his floppy, wide-brimmed hat. His tie was long gone. He looked about as out of place here as Matt felt.
Matt walked over to Joe. Joe glanced at him and said, “What’s in the punch?”
Matt hadn’t even tried it yet. He took a sip. It was sweet. “Lemon juice, I think.”
Thad had said something else—Matt wasn’t paying attention—and the boys were laughing long and hard.
Joe said, “He’s full of hot air, you know. The Indians I knew are a strong and noble people. They have courage coming out of their ears.”
Matt said, “Thad’s always been full of hot air. I sometimes wonder why we keep him around.”
Joe shrugged. “Because he’s family, I guess. Like it or not.”
“Have you seen any sign of Johnny?”
Joe shook his head. “Don’t really expect to. Not for a long while, at least.”
Matt nodded his head in agreement. If Matt had been with a girl like Becky Drummond, he wouldn’t be here, either. Nothing more needed be said.
Except one thing. Matt said, “Folks will talk.”
Joe said, “Not if they know what’s good for them.”
Johnny stretched out in the back of the buckboard. He was wearing absolutely nothing. Becky was wearing nothing but an opal ring she had inherited from her grandmother, and was lying beside him. He was thankful no mosquitos seemed to be out.
He was on his back, and he had rolled up his suit jacket to serve as a makeshift pillow. Her head was on his shoulder, and he had one arm around her back. Her hair had come loose, and with Johnny’s free hand, he was alternating between playing with her hair and gently sliding his fingers over her shoulder.
The sun had gone down, and they were surrounded by the dark woods. The sounds of the woods had changed from the chirping, lively sounds of day to the more hushed sounds of the night. Crickets. The gentle hoot of an owl somewhere off in the distance. A breeze slipping through the trees and shaking the leaves a little.
Becky’s dress was somewhere on the ground. Johnny hadn’t seen where it landed, and he had been too busy to care. She had tossed his shirt away, over the side of the wagon. He figured they would be searching for their clothes by match light.
She said, her voice kind of sleepy and dreamy, “I’ve missed this.”
Johnny said, “Me too. I guess I hadn’t realized how much.”
The women he had been with in those border towns—being with them was nothing like being with Becky.
Her eyes opened. He could feel one lash brush against his chest. “Johnny, I have something to tell you. I don’t really know how to tell you, but..,”
He said, “Trip Hawley.”
“You know?”
He nodded. “I keep my ear to the ground.”
She seemed conflicted. Her breathing became kind of short, and he felt her tense up a bit.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said.
“It’s just that I feel I owe you some sort of explanation.”
“I was gone for so long. You must have been starting to wonder if I would ever come back. It isn’t fair to expect you to wait forever.”
She nodded. “I got only one letter from you. It arrived three months after you sent it, based on the postmark. But I got it, and I wrote back.”
“I never got that letter. Out west, the mail service sort of creeps along, and it’s not organized well. Sometimes letters just don’t arrive. Your letter must have gotten lost.”
“Trip’s a good man.”
Johnny said, “Yes, he is. I remember him well.”
He had the feeling he wasn’t the only one with a lot to say but unsure of how to say it. He thought Becky seemed torn.
Pa had said more than once sometimes the best way to say something is just to say it. He decided to go first.
“I’m not the man I was when I left.”
She jumped in. “You’re a good man, Johnny. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know if I’m any better or worse than when I left. But I’m different. Not the same farm boy you knew.”
She hesitated, and then almost reluctantly said, “No. In some ways you’re not. I mean in some ways you are, and you’re a good man..,”
“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “I’m not hurt. Really. I’ve had those thoughts right along, and it’s best to get them out in the open. Show all our cards.”
&
nbsp; She grinned. He could feel the grin against his chest. “We’ve sort of done that already.”
He chuckled again.
She grew serious. “A lot of folks don’t know this, but Trip’s asked me to marry him. I haven’t given him my answer yet.”
“Do your folks know?”
She nodded. That would serve to explain her father’s sort of edgy mood earlier in the afternoon. Trip had proposed marriage, and here she was running off to a dance with her old beau. A dance she and her old beau had never arrived at. Johnny wondered briefly how Trip would feel about it.
“Johnny,” she said. “Are you staying? Are you going to stay here in Sheffield, or are you going West again?”
“Part of me wants to stay,” he said. “I think I probably should stay. Ma and Pa want me to. But..,”
“I can see it in your eyes. I could see it at the store the other day. I could see it today. You’re here, but you’re not really here. A part of you is still out there, and probably always will be. It’s not like you’ve come home. It’s more like you’re just here for a visit.”
He let her words settle on him. He couldn’t deny any of it. The intention hadn’t been to necessarily leave again, but maybe his heart knew all along that he wouldn’t be staying.
She said, “Say the word and I’ll marry you. If you’re going to stay, I’ll marry you. If you’ll have me.”
“Becky,” he gave a chuckling sigh. “Only a fool would say no to you.”
“Then, say the word. If you really can build a life here, if you could really give me your full devotion. But I can’t marry a man if I know he’ll always be looking off to the horizon. If he’ll be standing on the porch at night looking off to the west, and wondering what if. If you can say the West has no hold on you, that you never want to go back. That you’ve had your adventures there and are done with it. If you can say that, then I’ll tell Trip no.”
Johnny said nothing. He had to let everything she said jostle around inside him. After all, this was not idle talk. These were weighted words they were sharing. Decisions were being made in the back of this buckboard. Decisions that he knew would ripple down through the years.
“I can’t make that promise,” he found himself saying. “I want to, but I can’t.”
She nodded.
He said, “I surely want to, Becky. You’re a treasure, and I know it. But that land out there, it somehow has a hold of me. I can’t explain it. It’s not you or anything you’ve done, believe me.”
“I know that.”
He continued anyway. “You’re the best woman a man could ever have. And it’s not like there’s anyone out there waiting for me. There’s no one who could compare to you. But it’s just that the land out there has a hold on me.”
“You’re going back.”
He nodded. “I guess I am.”
He realized a decision had been made as he said the words. A decision he supposed he knew in his heart had already been made, but his head was just now realizing. He wasn’t sure how he would break the news to Ma and Pa, or even if they would understand, but he was going back to Texas.
He said, “Have you ever thought about going west? I’ve thought I might want to start a small cattle ranch, one day. We could build a life there. Raise children there.”
She shook her head. “My life is here. My family is here. I want to raise my children here.”
He nodded. He understood.
They were silent a moment.
Then she said, “I’m going to miss you.”
“Promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll have a good life. The life you’re meant to have. Marry Trip. Have children. Raise them to be good men and women. Raise them to make a difference. Build a life with Trip. A life that, when you’re old and looking back on it, will give you no regrets.”
She shook her head. He felt a dab of wetness against his chest, and realized she had let a tear escape. “No regrets.”
“And sometimes, not very often but sometimes, in the evening when you look off to the setting sun, think of a gunfighter you once knew. Because whether I want to admit it or not, that’s what I am. Think of a gunfighter you once knew, and know he’ll be standing on a porch sometimes and looking off to the eastern horizon and thinking of you.”
“It’s a promise. All of it.”
They rested in silence for a while. The crickets chirped, and he could feel her heart beating against his chest.
Through the trees, he could see a pale, golden light. The moon was rising.
“It’s late,” he said. “We should be getting to the dance.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to move. I want to stay here a while longer and indulge in what might have been.”
Johnny couldn’t help but say it. “What about Trip? Is this fair to him?”
She rose from his chest to hover over him, her hands at either side of him, her arms straight. Her hair was hanging down and touching his face.
She said, “I needed this, Johnny. I’m not ashamed to admit I longed for it. I never feel more alive than when you and I are...shall we say, dancing. Don’t think poorly of me for it.”
He shook his head. “I could never think poorly of you.”
“And I think I need one more dance.” And she dropped onto him, her mouth landing on his.
19
The lanterns lit the barnyard. Many of the wagons had gone, and a couple people milled by the door. The musicians had long since gone home.
Matt had a pint bottle in his hand. Martin Everett, the eldest Everett boy, had gone to his bedroom and come back with a pint of rum—God bless him.
Joe liked beer, but the beer had run out, so he was sharing the rum with Matt. Any port in a storm.
Martin had joined them for a couple mouthfuls of rum, then went off to see a girl home. A girl he knew from school and said he was hoping to marry. A girl he would build a life with, here in farming country.
Matt took a swig of the rum and handed the bottle to Joe. Joe took a pull from it.
Matt said, “Ma’s going to turn inside out when we come back smelling like rum.”
Joe said, “She’s got to expect it. Like it’s always been said, we have Pa’s backbone and Ma’s temper. Them’s ingredients for a whole passel of trouble.”
Outside, beyond the edge of the lantern light, crickets were chirping. The night had turned off cool, a welcome break from the heat of the day, but there was a dampness to it. Matt could smell wet earth.
Matt said to Joe, “You lived among Indians for a while? And you almost married one?”
Joe nodded. He said nothing.
Matt said, “I think all three of us have lots of secrets we don’t really want to tell Ma and Pa about. Things they just wouldn’t understand.”
Joe nodded. He still said nothing.
“Will you talk to me about it when you’re ready?”
Joe said, “Yup. When I’m ready. A lot happened I’m not ready to talk about just yet.”
“Understood.”
They were silent for a few moments. Matt had the bottle again. He took another sip of rum. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. On the ship, he had usually taken a shot or two of rum before bed. When he played cards with the other men, there was often rum involved. When he thought of his life aboard ship, he thought of the salty spray of the sea, the rolling horizon, the sails billowing and snapping in the wind, and the taste of rum.
Matt said, “Did you see the look on Trip Hawley’s face tonight? He was watching for Becky and Johnny to arrive.”
“And they never did.”
“Oh, I think they arrived, but not here.”
Joe chuckled, and took another pull of rum.
Matt said, “What do you think Trip’s going to do?”
“I think he’s gonna want to beat the stuffin’ out of Johnny.”
Matt shook his head. “It’ll be his mistake. I really don’t think there’s a man al
ive who can whip Johnny.”
20
Ma insisted the boys take Sunday off and attend church with her and Pa. Matt’s head was aching because of all the rum, and all he could think about as the preacher rambled on was getting ahold of a cup of Johnny’s thick, strong coffee.
Come Monday, Matt and Johnny attacked the wood pile again, and this time they worked with furious abandon and got all of the four-foot-lengths sawed into stove lengths.
They didn’t split them. Wood splitting was done just before the wood box was loaded. Some chunks of wood would be split into thin pieces and used in the early stages of building a fire. Other chunks would be split into halves only and placed in the fire once it was hot enough to catch a larger piece of wood on fire.
Come Tuesday, they decided to head into town. Even though it was a farming town and mostly everyone attended one of the two churches in town—Baptist or Methodist—there was also a saloon. Matt had decided he had missed the taste of rum more than he realized and had a hankering for some.
Johnny figured, even though they wouldn’t have tequila, he would tag along.
Pa had said to them, “Your Ma won’t approve, but what the hey. You’re young, and you boys worked hard. Go into town and have a drink. If Ma balks, I’ll deal with her. You’re grown men. You should be able to have a drink if’n you want one.”
He slapped Joe on the shoulder and said, “Go with ‘em, boy. Have a drink with your brothers.”
Luke was smiling. “I can drive the wagon.”
Pa shook his head. “In a few more years, you can. But today, you’re heading out to the fields with me.”
Johnny and Joe saddled their horses. Matt didn’t want to be the odd man out and there was beaten-up English saddle in the barn, so he saddled the old mare that served as the family horse. She shook her head and gave a couple of whinneys, letting it be known that she wasn’t accustomed to a saddle and didn’t like it.
Joe was grinning. “Won’t be surprised if she tries to buck you off.”
Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6) Page 9
