Lost Nation (46 page)

By first light not only was the wound dressed but he was washed and shaved, in the cleanest shirt he could find, his belly full of tea. His leg throbbed from the early exercise, as if a raven were snared within the flesh. So gingerly he made his way along the stream to the narrow path that branched off following the brook toward the marsh. He paused here, taking air in great gulps, and bent to study the ground. On the path, compressed between the rocks brookside and the woods growth,
it was difficult to make out much except the obvious recent passage of a number of horses. Going up only, not returning. He’d seen no such sign coming along the wider road by Perry Stream. He went on, laboring over the rocks wrapped in moss, the moss here and there sliced in a crescent opening from the sidewall strike of a horse hoof. After a while he determined it was three horses. He recalled Sally relating she’d held back gold to buy horses with and their aborted effort to do so. He guessed they’d proceeded. These tracks were fresh, not more than a day old. He wasn’t sure this was a good thing but guessed it could be, he played his few cards right. At least the three up ahead could leave swiftly, the time came. If they would. Blood smart enough to know already he could be the impediment to that quick departure. He’d cut that impulse, whatever the cost. If his cards were few he still had the advantage of knowing the full range of the game.

The boys were standing either side of the fire, apart but facing each other. Cooper saw him coming and shifted to watch, Blood gimping proud as he could. Then Fletcher did the same. Blood couldn’t see Sally but as he came closer he saw Cooper’s mouth was bloodied, his lower lip bloated, seeping a red stain into his thin beard. Fletcher stood hunched to one side, his right arm in a sling that was muddied, mud on his breeches and a daub on one cheek. His eyes red, swollen. There had been a tussle of some sort, grappling over Sally, Blood guessed. And suspected the whole struggle useless—the matter already settled, she had made her choice. The boys eyed his approach silently. He was an interruption they hadn’t expected. He liked that. Now he saw Sally seated on a heap of blankets in the back of the tent.

The group was mute, awaiting him. He settled himself on a rock fireside and stretched his hands to warm. He looked at the boys, Fletcher and Cooper. Then he spoke, reasoned and calm, a job with his heart and leg yet hammering from the hike. He was gentle, determined to be that. He spoke to Cooper. “Let me be clear. If you own any regret over shooting me discard it. What you did was right—protecting your brother, Sally, yourself. The three of you. Taking care of your own. It hurts me”—he let amusement slide over his eyes and was serious again—“but I’ve pride in you.”

Cooper said, “I don’t care for your pride. But you’re right, shooting you was never my intent. I’m not short on anger toward you, but not that sort. There’s accounting due but I can’t compel you. All I’m after is some answers and giving you the chance. And Sally reports your leg appears to be healing well and I’m glad of that.”

Blood thought he might regret it later but wanted the boy down a notch. So he said, “Was it you lurking in the spruce last night?”

Cooper colored. He said, “I wasn’t spying you.”

Blood nodded, as if this were reasonable. He said, “No.”

Cooper said, “I come down determined to talk. But wanted to see if you were alone. It idn’t simply a matter of walking in to visit. This whole country is fearsome, and we’ve pretty much squatted tight. Nobody much knows us and we can’t be certain if that’s a good thing or not.”

Blood nodded again. He was content to give the boy time. “You must’ve seen Van Landt at least. Are those my horses back there?”

“No,” Fletcher spoke up. “They belong to us.”

Blood looked at him. The long austere gaze most men broke from. Fletcher did not. Blood said, “Are you going to be the difficult one?”

“No,” Fletcher said again. “Not so long as you talk to me as well.”

“It was a hard job getting up here. I’m in no hurry to leave. It doesn’t appear I chose the best of times but that’s no reason to be testy.”

Cooper said, “It was your money bought the horses.” He shrugged. “I’ll give you a note for it—we didn’t bring that kind of amount with us. You know I’m good for it.”

“Ah yes,” said Blood. “I’m sure you are. But let them be my gift. A note’d be useless to me I expect.”

Before any could question this he went on. “It was as well you avoided the tavern last evening. I had some troubles. It weren’t a great thing but nothing you needed to see.”

Cooper nodded, understanding his father would have the confession. “My nerve failed me.”

“Is that so?” Blood cocked his head, his tone flat.

“Yes sir.” Cooper was angry at being pushed.

Blood sat silent looking off. Then looked at Fletcher and Cooper both, his eyes traveling between them as he spoke. “Time to time, nerves fail a man. That can be a good thing, you recognize it’s a gift, to trust that instinct. I’m not talking about lack of courage, but something more rare,
almost elegant. You learn to trust your mind, something doesn’t feel right, you believe that.” Now he looked only at Cooper. “Like I said, I had my own little spot of trouble last evening. Somehow, some part of you knew that. And you did the right thing.” And then could not help himself. “Then again, times you’re in one place when you ought to be in another.”

Fletcher spoke up. “That’s clever. I’ll keep it in mind. But sometimes, a man runs. And that’s all he’s doing. It don’t even have to be a case of nerves. Just plain failure to face hisself, what he’s done. A coward. Those times, running is just running. Although I expect a man of that sort, he’d find a way to dress it up in his mind. He’d have to, to live with hisself. There idn’t nobody can run that far.”

Blood had been sitting with a hand on each knee, his bad leg stretched flat before the fading fire. The day was warming, the last of the mist lifting from the trees. He’d be happy anyone added wood to the fire but would not ask. Now he let go his grip of his knees and turned his hands over, so they lay open, palms up.

He nodded and still mild-voiced said, “Yes. This is why we’re here.” He was quiet a moment, aware all three were watching him. He had a bad moment when he wanted to look at Sally. Then he said, “And it may be as far as we go. I’d not blame you, either of you, if you were to be done with me after. Because it’s my account you want, isn’t it? It’s what you came for.”

It was quiet. Blood sat in that mute verification. Then said, “There’s one question I’d like to ask first. Because I might not get the chance after.” He looked from boy to boy.

It was Cooper, as Blood guessed it would be, who answered. He said, “You can ask whatever you want. Just recall that asking doesn’t mean you get an answer. There’s too many years free of your curiosity to guarantee you courtesy. It depends on the question.” And looked at his brother.

Fletcher studied his father. Then nodded. As much as he would give.

Blood thought We’ll see how long that lasts. He spoke to Cooper. “We’ll address those years you seem to know so much of in a moment. But right now, what I’d like to know is, what’s your story?” And was looking at Fletcher. Who opened his mouth but no sound came forth. Then his face closed to clear menace.

Sally came off the blankets then, sudden, moving out to the fire, hands working at her stained clothes. “Wait,” she said. “All of you wait just one minute.”

All looked at her. A little stunned. Not one had forgotten her, each for his own reason but still she came upon them unexpected. A tension was broken—a pattern of communication barely established abruptly lost and Blood knew she had done this with purpose and was angry. Until that moment he’d felt to be in control of the situation. He was confident he could steer the boys, right down to the very end which he expected to be rightfully hostile, bitter, a finality of all night-dreams and the broken wheel of his soul. He was a man expecting to die within days, although he had not, and would not, simply give over to it. These were his boys and they had come with a purpose and he intended to see that extracted and fulfilled. Intent on maintaining that he was Blood not Bolles because they were his sons and must know what they came from. To cleanse forever what altered version they might have carried north. Not to destroy—he was done with destruction, had in fact made the choice that dreadful summer morning seventeen years before when he quit New Bedford. So to ensure they lived with the full light of knowledge and had that to fashion the rest of their days. Since they sought him, whatever papered or varnished past they believed in would be the cost of truth. Let them become men. Perhaps, he thought, better men.

And now this girl. Knowing enough to guess something of what was being constructed. And not willing to let that happen. Blood knew she had someway already succeeded—the angle was tilted. Sally, thought Blood—angry yes but admiring as well. For this was her advantage: All three held her dear, regardless of the wounds imposed by the simple fact of her existence.

She was out now, a little breathless, still trying to smooth her mostly ruined clothes. Blood spoke up as she was coming but without hope of averting her. He said,

“Sally, join us. You’ve heard something I imagine of both sides. Now watch them converge and see if truth is born.”

She peered at him, pursed and angry. As if she knew his intent. Even if not fully her own, he thought. She said, “You’re in fine fettle, Blood. That leg must be healing pretty. But I’m not of a mind to chatter with you.” She turned to face the boys, both still holding their original positions.
She said, “I got two things to say. The first is this: You two stop fretting over who did what to who or why or none of that. Just stop. You got the rest of time for that but right now you’re being more boys than men. Set down. You come all this way to talk to this man here. Your father. Who came now to talk to you. So just goddamn stop. Set down where you’re close, all three. Where you can talk. Stop jabbing at each other.” She shot her eyes to Blood and back to the brothers. “You got to recall all three of you been suffering and I don’t mean just this past week. So set yourselves like decent men. I’m going to get a bucket from the stream and make a pot of fresh tea. Then I’ll stay or go as I please. But I ain’t going to leave you to murder one another. So set down.” And stopped, a halt. As if she’d overstepped. But the brothers had already turned their heads from her and were looking across at each other.

Blood cocked his head a little—he’d heard the chime of doubt layered within her seriousness.

“Come set,” she said. “Alongside him. So you can all not only see and hear me, but when I’m done all three can stop peering around one to the other. It drives me crazy. What I got to say next is simple but not easy for me. Fletcher.”

He looked at her. Cooper had already sat on the fireside log next to where Blood was on his rock. Fletcher was halfway across to join him but stopped. Sally just saying his name tightened his mouth to a firm clamp. He waited, as if he might change his mind about anything or everything when he heard whatever she was to tell.

“Fletcher,” she said. She was struggling, reaching for gentleness without sympathy. “Fletcher. Early on, right after both you and Blood got hurt, I was down there. To the tavern to collect my things. Blood,” she paused, started again. “Your father wanted to know who you was—”

Blood interrupted. He said, “Go get the water girl. We all could enjoy some tea.” Without pause he turned to Fletcher and said, “All she told me was your mother’s name. It explained things a little but wasn’t the huge betrayal she thinks it is. Come set. I recall your mother well. And am curious about her certainly. But most curious about you.”

Fletcher came and sat, not next to his brother though there was room on the log. But on a fire-ring stone beyond the log. So the three made a crescent with Blood at one end.

“Damn you Blood,” Sally said but didn’t wait or want response. She made for the brook out of sight in the hemlocks.

The three sat silent and watched her go.

Blood said, “Now, could one of you toss some sticks on the fire. I find myself chilled easy these days. I got overheated tramping up here.” Without pausing he went right on. “Yes I recall your mother well. Molly. Now one thing, before we go further, I’ve things to say will surely hurt one or the other of you, sometimes maybe both. There’s plenty of pain to go around. But I’ll stick as close as I can to simple truth. Remember that.”

Fletcher said, “So you recall her.”

Blood said, “I been silent with it all so many years. It’s a deep hole I’ve held close and now we get the stories pulled out of it. The last time for me. Which is one more time than I ever expected. Her name was Molly. I’m shamed to admit I never knew her last name but such was the nature of those relations.” He paused, his eyes briefly on Cooper, back to Fletcher. “Although she was unlike other girls. My attachment to her itself was unconventional. And that became part of the entire affair for me, a part of my despair, a part of why I removed myself from my family. From all of you. There was of course the greater, final reason, but it was only one of many.”

Cooper interrupted, his voice low. “What greater reason?”

“No.” said Blood. “I won’t talk of her yet. You must understand that. Or I’ll never get through the rest of it.”

There was question rising in Cooper’s eyes but Fletcher spoke. “You’re going a little in circles. But you asked who I am and I’ll tell you, you stop sidetracking.”

“Yes,” Blood said. “Circles. But go on.”

Fletcher said, “My mother’s name was Barrett, Molly Barrett. This is who she was and what happened. As you likely guessed, like many girls end up working in taverns, she was in off a farm from far out near Wareham, determined to put as many miles between them sheep and herself. She never was a common whore—”

Blood said, “I never thought she was, then or now. I knew it well.”

Fletcher looked at his father, something between patience and anger. Sally was back, working unobtrusively to set up the tea. Fletcher said, “When you disappeared she heard the story like most all the town. I’ve got no idea what she first thought but it wasn’t long and she realized she
wasn’t as done with you as she believed. So she turned it over in her mind and went direct to the warehouse office and asked to speak with old Eben Bolles hisself. Perhaps you recall this of her or perhaps you don’t but despite her appearance there was a peculiar force about her. People believed her. Not just over me, though I was the big issue at that moment, but all her life, from what I recall and what others more recent have told me.”