Neal Barrett Jr. (21 page)

After supper, Lorene and Camille disappeared, and Jones excused himself, stating that he had to speak further with James. Howie was left on his own, and for a while he sat and looked at the growing dark.

Everything had happened so quickly—meeting Ritcher Jones and going to Alabama Port, then taking the ship to California. He had made up his mind what it was he had to do. Harriver Mason had run the horror of Silver Island. Mason would be at High Sequoia, so he, Howie, would be there, too. He would find Mason and kill him. He had no qualms about that, no more than squashing a mosquito on his arm. The man had done what he’d done. It was as simple as that.

Only now, with the prospect of High Sequoia very near, questions Howie had never thought about before began to worry at the edge of his mind. After he killed Mason— what would happen after that? Getting away was something he hadn’t considered at all. Until today, he’d had no real image of California—he had known where it
was
, and that was it. That afternoon, he had discovered a finely drawn map, framed on one of the parlor walls, and he was appalled at the sheer
size
of California.

Hell, killing Mason was one thing, but he had never intended to get himself killed, too. After he saw the map, he stood and cursed himself for a fool. He found High Sequoia, but the names of the rivers and the mountains and the deserts meant nothing to him at all. California was a vast hunk of land, stretching every way there was— mountains, deserts, and the ocean. The Canadas were at the top, and Mexico way on the other end. The Canadas might be best, he decided; there weren’t many settlements between High Sequoia and the border. And the deserts to the east looked deadly. Howie had seen enough of
that
kind of country in the north of Mexico, and wanted no part of it again.

Howie shook the troubling thoughts aside, stood, and looked out over the valley again. There were lights in the town, and farther out, a yellow glow upon the water. Were there other ports up to the north? He promised himself to study the map again. Of course, getting on a ship would be harder than taking off across the wild open country. In spite of the preacher’s talk about men at border stations and having to show your card, the map had shown him the fallacy of that: There weren’t enough people in California to watch even a small part of the state’s borders. If you were
in
, they could catch you without a card and toss you out. But leaving was something else. If you stayed away from ports, there wasn’t any way to stop a small army from leaving California.

“Well, a copper for your thoughts, Cory.”

Howie started, turned, and saw Ritcher Jones.

The preacher smiled. “Didn’t mean to sneak up like that. Guess you were off somewhere.”

“I guess I was,” Howie said. “Mostly I was thinking ’bout being out here. It’s a pretty big place. All the stuff you told me about California, I still can’t take it all in.’

Jones poured himself a glass of wine from the table. He offered Howie a glass, and Howie shook his head.

“I think I can sort of make a guess on what’s going through your head,” Jones said. “I don’t pretend to be a seer, you understand, but I’ve seen folks before when they first get a look at this place. They’ll say, ‘Now how can this be? How come it’s so different out here?’ ”

“That’s about what I was thinking,” Howie said. He heard a girl humming somewhere, and wondered if it might be Lorene. “California don’t seem to have a whole lot to do with the rest of the country. And what’s going on there.” Howie looked at Jones, trying to find the proper words. “I saw some government officers and some Rebels in town. They was talking to one another like they might be neighbors or something. You sure wouldn’t see that anywhere but here.”

“No, you certainly wouldn’t,” Jones agreed. “That’s a fact. And I’d say it’s a real fine thing.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But it don’t make any sense to me. It’s like there isn’t any war, and those fellas don’t care if there is. Maybe bein’ out here you just forget. California’s got plenty of everything—but it ain’t in the war. That’s the thing. It don’t seem right, and I can’t figure how it came about. I don’t guess you got an army, I don’t know. I kinda got the idea that you don’t.’

Howie paused and shook his head. “If I was Lathan, now, I might get the idea that California rightly belonged to me. Seeing as how it’s part of the West—’bout as west as you can get. Lathan says that part of the country belongs to him. And if he marched in here and took what California’s got, why, it wouldn’t be no problem at all to win the war. He’d turn right around and walk over the Loyalists in a month.”

Jones nodded in thought and set down his glass. “You’re thinking straight, Cory, and you’ve made a good point. We
don’t
have an army, or nothing that you’d call one, anyhow, and Lathan—or anyone else for that matter—could march right in if he liked. But he won’t. I’ll tell you straight out that he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s easier to
buy
what you need than fight for it. It’s as simple as that. California trades with whoever’s got the price. Rebels and Loyalists alike. Asians, or anyone else.” Jones rubbed his chin. “And let’s say Lathan
did
decide to march on California. Even if we don’t have an army, it’s a mighty big state to have to cross, and it’d take every man that Lathan’s got. And what would the Loyalists be doing while Lathan left his rear end exposed?”

Jones shook his head. “California’s an island of plenty, son. The people here have worked long and hard to get what they’ve got. We’ve got everything everybody needs. And neither side in this war is fool enough to try and come and get it. They’ve got enough fight on their hands without starting something else.”

Howie considered what the preacher had said. It made sense, but it brought another question to mind. “If California would quit selling to anyone, the war would have to come to a stop. You wouldn’t need to have a peace talk, then.”

“No, now that’s not entirely true,” Jones said. “I’ve talked to a great many high officers on both sides of this war, and they are all stubborn and dedicated men. They believe
their
cause is right, and I fear they are determined to fight to the last poor hungry trooper in their commands.”

“I seen ’em do that, all right,” Howie said.

“Yes. And I fear it won’t stop, regardless of what California sells or doesn’t sell.” Jones filled his glass again. He looked suddenly weary, drained of his usual tireless drive.

“The thing is, Cory, you hit upon a sad bit of truth in this matter, I’m sorry to say. Merchants in California are getting rich off the war, there is no denying that. We abhor this in High Sequoia, but there’s little we can do. We are, after all, only a religious settlement, and California is run by men who see profit in
this
life, and care very little for the glory of the next. Oh, we have some friends in high places, but not enough to count.” Jones spread his hands. “And if we
did
convince California to cut off supplies to the two forces, what then? As I just mentioned, it would not solve a thing. The fighting will go on until the bitter end. I wish I didn’t believe this was so, but I do.

“No, cutting the armies off is not the answer,” Jones went on. “The answer lies in persuading both sides to stop, to settle their differences and bring the country together, save this nation before it crumbles into dust.”

“I don’t reckon the rich men here in California will like that,” Howie said.

Jones let out a long breath. “I cannot tell you, my boy, how many hours I myself—and others as well—have spent trying to convince these ‘rich men’ you speak about that there is more money to be made in revitalizing a
peaceful
nation than there is helping to destroy it. I fear the human creature is very shortsighted, Cory. He tends to believe in what is, and is wary of what might be. I am afraid that’s the way of the world. The Light of the Lord shines brightly in even the deepest corner, but a man has to open his eyes to see it.

H
owie woke, and thought he was still dreaming. The glass doors to the balcony were open to the pleasant night air. Lorene stood just inside the room, bathed in the light of a half-moon.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” Lorene sighed, dropping wearily to a chair. “We had to do prayers, and
then
I had to climb all
kinds
of porches and balconies and stuff. Lord, Howie, I’m clear on the other side of this place where the Sisters have to stay.

Howie sat up. “You couldn’t just come through the house, Lorene?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you tried to walk around this place at night,” she said crossly. “There’s always someone up and stompin’ about.”

Lorene patted a stray hair in place. “You know what I prayed about, Cory? What I asked for most of all?”

“I don’t guess I got any idea.”

“Us, Cory. I prayed about us. That the Lord would see fit to shine down on our union and bless us, and understand what we mean to each other, even if it looks like we’re sinning and all. And I asked Him not to let us get caught.”

“That’s a right good prayer,” Howie said.

“I feel like it was. I feel like it ought to do fine.”

Lorene stood then, and slipped the gown over her head, and Howie caught his breath, and wondered if he’d ever get used to the glorious sight of pale flesh and tender limbs, revealed like a brand-new wonder every night, and he was certain he never would.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

R
itcher Jones didn’t appear at breakfast, and neither did Brother James. Lorene and Camille were on hand, along with a Brother named Harmon, a dumpy young man built roughly in the shape of a gourd. Harmon’s nose was too big, a chunk of pink putty carelessly applied to a perfectly round face. His cheeks puffed out as if someone had stuffed him with cotton, a condition that compressed his fleshy lips into a rosy pink wad and made Harmon look as if he were continually searching for a kiss.

Howie disliked the man at once, a feeling that had little to do with his appearance, though that didn’t help. It was clear Harmon was taken with both Lorene and Camille. He grinned like a fool at the pair, found a reason to touch them when he could, and ate them up with his pallid blue eyes. This enraged Howie all the more because the girls didn’t seem to mind at all. They listened intently to whatever Harmon said, which was nothing anyone cared to hear.

Harmon liked to tell jokes, and every story had some-thing to do with farting, or people who had problems with their bowels. The girls laughed with delight at these efforts, and never complained when Harmon reached past them for a slice of fresh melon and happened to brush a young breast.

“You just got one eye,” Harmon said, apparently just noticing that Howie was there.

“You’re right about that,” Howie said. He thought about young Garvey on the ship, and decided to pay no attention to Harmon.

“Cory was in the
war
,” Lorene explained. “He was hurt, Harmon, like a lot of soldiers were.”

“Sure looks dumb,” Harmon said. He peered curiously at Howie, stuffing a whole roll in his mouth. “Anybody fights in a war is real stupid, I’d say. God doesn’t like us to fight.”

Howie stared, forgetting his decision of the moment before. He wondered if it was worth getting up and throwing Harmon over the patio wall.

“Well now, Harmon,” Camille said quickly, “that’s as true as it can be. And I’m sure Cory didn’t
want
to go to war. Isn’t that so, Cory?”

“Why you wearing that black thing over it?” Harmon asked, paying no attention to Camille. He chewed as he talked, and crumbs flew out of his mouth.

“Cause it covers up the hole,” Howie said. “I got a
hole
under there. You lose an eye you got a hole.”

Harmon seemed interested in that. “Let me see it. Does it look real awful or what?”

“Listen, friend …” Howie braced his hands on the table.

Camille looked alarmed. Lorene shot Howie a warning look. Howie swallowed his irritation.

“I can’t do that, Harmon,” Howie said. “I’d sure like to, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because God said I couldn’t. He said, ‘Listen, you keep that hole of yours covered up good. Don’t show it to no one at all.’ ”

Harmon looked bewildered. Then a frown began to grow between his eyes. “God didn’t say nothing to you. You better take that back.”

“Well, now maybe Cory
thought
that’s what the Lord said,” Lorene said sweetly, glancing sharply at Howie.

“I’ll just bet that’s it,” Camille said. She laid a hand on Harmon’s arm. Harmon shook her roughly off.

“He’s makin’ fun of me.”

“Oh, no he’s
not
, Harmon,” Lorene said.

“I sure wouldn’t do that,” Howie said, wondering what the hell this conversation was all about.

“I don’t like him.” Harmon pouted. “He isn’t even in the Church. So he doesn’t talk to God, that’s for sure. He’s a liar and a blasphemer too.”

“I got a lot of things to do,” Howie said. He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “It was sure nice talkin’ and all. Hope we get to do it again.”

Without looking at Harmon again, he stalked down the patio steps to the yard and the garden below. Behind him, he heard Harmon muttering how he’d like to get a look beneath that patch—there was a
demon
hidden there, you could bet on that.

Howie walked off through the garden and into the trees that shaded the west side of the house from the sun. He couldn’t see the ocean, but he thought he could smell salt air in the strong onshore breeze.

He couldn’t figure Harmon at all, or the way the two girls acted in his presence. The man was such a fool, Howie wasn’t even mad anymore, just disgusted that he’d had to sit and listen, and watch the bastard eat. How could Lorene and Camille put up with all that? It didn’t make a lick of sense—but not a whole lot else in the world did either.

There were paths winding all around the house, past flowering bushes and under different kinds of trees. Everything looked as natural as it could be, though Howie sensed someone had planned it that way, putting trees and rocks and pools just right, so every few feet you wandered into something new.