Outcast (16 page)

Standish nodded. “So that's why you want to go to town, to test Mr. Kennedy's licorice and cheese?”

Arch shrugged.

Standish sighed. “Well, I'm not very eager to go to town, either, so let's forget it. I'll fix me some breakfast, and then we'll start putting the rock walls on the root cellar.”

“What about Ma?”

“What about her?”

“S'pose you'll just leave her to walk to town.” Arch said, revulsion crawling over his face. “It would take a helter of a man to make my Ma walk to town while he dawdles about. Diddlydee!”

“No need to talk like that, Arch. I didn't know your mother needed a ride to town.”

“Well, you could of asked.”

“Do we have time to unload the wagon?”

“If you quit dawdling.”

“Let's quit dawdling, Arch.”

Arch nodded. Standish was finally making a little diddlydee sense.

Standish didn't know much about women. He didn't know anyone who did, but the current puzzle had rendered him speechless. Mrs. Belshaw, Iona, met him this morning dressed in what appeared to be a burlap sack.

Iona was pretty. The banter at the picnic yesterday had proved that. She had fine features and long dark hair, and a smile that could stop talk mid-sentence. But she hid her attractiveness behind drab clothing and a rock-hard façade. Standish had been a little surprised yesterday when she had come to the picnic spiffed up.

Today she looked like a vagrant in a burlap dress topped by a garden hat. Women didn't wear garden hats to town. At least Standish didn't think they did. He tried to remember his mother. Had she ever worn a garden hat in public? He shook his head. Never. She wouldn't do it, and as far as he knew no woman would—except Mrs. Belshaw, Iona.

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Standish?”

“Ma'am?”

“Iona.”

“Sorry, Iona, I don't know what you mean?”

This led to some violent headshaking by Arch. “What the helter do you know?”

“Helter?”

Even in the shade of the garden hat, Standish could see the perplexed look on Iona's face.

“It's a Bavarian term,” he said.

“Oh,” she said.

“Helter,” Arch hissed.

They rode in silence for a full five minutes, and then Standish said, “You asked me if anything was wrong. I was wondering why you asked me that.”

Iona sat on the wagon seat, her mind threading its way through the conversation to its beginning. “I saw you shaking your head, and I was wondering why?”

“Must have been a fly.”

“Oh.”

“Helter,” Arch said.

“What does helter mean, Mr. Standish?”

“Miles, Ma'am.”

“Iona.”

“Arch,” Arch said.

Standish's mind flitted through the lexicon of odd words he had accumulated. “It's like the Norwegian
uff da.”

“What does
uff da
mean?”

Standish swallowed. “Well it doesn't mean anything. It kind of means everything.”

“I don't understand.”

“Well, I got this all secondhand, but…well, if they spill their coffee, they say,
‘Uff da.'”

“So
uff da
means they've spilled their coffee?”

“No, they say the same thing if they forget something, or they stumble or something unexpected happens.”

“So it means
oops.”

“Yeah, that's pretty close.”

“Helter,” Arch said, rolling his eyes.

They were nearing town, and as the wagon's wheels clattered over the bridge, Iona touched Standish's arm. “Could you please stop here?”

“Whoa, Hortenzia.”

Iona climbed from the wagon seat. Arch handed her a package and climbed down to stand beside her.

“We will walk in from here,” Mister…Miles.”

“Why…?”

Iona interrupted. “Do you have any idea when you'll be leaving?”

Standish shook his head.

“Perhaps you could meet us here in an hour and a half?”

Standish pulled his watch from his pocket. “I suppose I can, but.…”

“Thank you.”

Iona and Arch turned their backs to him and stepped into the brush and trees that ran along the river. Standish watched them until they disappeared. They stepped through the brush as a deer does, placing each foot carefully, eyes alert for any movement. The rough dress blended easily into the shadows along the river. Standish was tempted to follow, but.… He pulled his wide-brimmed hat down until it hid his face in shadow.

Maybe Mr. Kabanov would know what was going on. Certainly Hortenzia would appreciate a moment to chat with the man.

The streets were vacant but for a few shopkeepers sweeping the boardwalks or scrubbing windows. Myron Kennedy looked up as Standish passed. He cocked his head for a moment, his mind sifting through recollections until he came back to M.J., the customer who paid in cash. He waved, and Standish waved back.

The scent of burning coal issued from Kabanov's shop as Standish approached, and Standish could hear the
whoosh, whoosh, whoosh
of the bellows, stoking up heat for the day's work. Kabanov looked up as Standish entered. He smiled and then frowned.

“There is something wrong with your horse Sally? Are the shoes not working?”

Standish grinned. “Yes, there is a problem. Sally dances morning and night. I can't ride her anymore.”

Kabanov grinned. “I knew that Sally was a dancing horse. What can I do for you, today?”

“I was wondering if I might leave Hortenzia with you—only about an hour or so.”

Kabanov nodded. “Ja, I would like to see her, anyway. See what she has to say about you.”

“Say about me?”

“Ja, horses talk about their masters. They tell me if they've had enough food and enough attention to keep them happy. Sometime I expect a horse to write a book.”

Both men laughed, but then Standish turned serious. “Maybe there's something else you can tell me about?”

“Maybe.”

“My neighbors, Iona and Arch Belshaw.”

Kabanov busied himself with the forge. His arms bulged as he pumped air on the burning coal.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh
. When Standish could feel the heat on his face, Kabanov dropped a piece of metal on the fire. He stepped to Standish and peered into his eyes, as Standish had seen him fathom Sally's eyes.

“You are a good man, but there is something dark in you.” He stepped back to the forge, pumping it again. “If you were a horse, I would say that your master beat you, but you are not a horse so I don't know what is hiding in you.”

Silence stretched. Standish sighed. “I'll unharness Hortenzia.” He turned toward the door.

“Wait.” Kabanov was standing beside the stove, hands on hips. “Why do you want to know this?”

Standish took his hat off and scratched the back of his head. “They're my neighbors and Arch.… Well, him and me have been working together, and.… I guess.…”

“You haf heard something about Mrs. Belshaw, and you want to know if it is true, so you can…take advantage of her?”

Standish bristled. “I have no intention of…taking advantage of her. I.…” He turned and stormed toward the door.

Klaus's voice was soft, insistent. “Come with me.”

Standish turned. “Why the hell should I go anywhere with you?”

“Mrs. Belshaw, she is not the dark spot I saw in your eyes. I had to know. Come with me, please. I have coffee I would share with you.”

Standish sighed and followed Kabanov into a small room between the forge and the corral outside. A cot, with blankets stretched tight across its top, reclined against one wall. A table even smaller than Standish's was shoved under the room's single window framed by rose patterned curtains. The corral shown through the window. Kabanov could watch his horses day and night to see if they had any dark spots in the eyes.

Kabanov nodded toward the table, and Standish sat down. Kabanov returned a moment later with a pot of coffee and two cups. The coffee was strong and black and it had a slight hint of brandy in it.

“Good,” Standish said.

Kabanov nodded. He stared at Standish for a moment, and then spoke, “So how did you come to know the Belshaws?”

Standish felt as though he were pleading his case before Saint Peter. He told Kabanov about Arch's first visit to the cabin, about his first impression that Arch was wild, left alone to fend for himself in the woods. But then Arch had talked about taking food to his “Ma.” The image of two orphans had stuck in his head.

Standish scratched his forehead. “I just couldn't look at him. I know what it is when hunger carves a bigger hole in your belly every day.”

Standish's face twisted into agony as he looked at Kabanov. “I…told Arch I needed help. I offered him money for work, but he said money meant nothing to him because he couldn't come to town to spend it. He said he would trade work for food…for him and his Ma.

“He helped me with my root cellar. Then I helped them plant their garden. Yesterday, we had a picnic, and Arch caught this hog of a fish.…” Standish's grinned faded, leaving a dark shadow over his face.

“They have become part of my life, and I can't let anybody…I can't have any roots, but.… This morning Arch asked—no he never really asks—for a ride to town. His mother was waiting at her place. She had some kind of a package, and she was wearing.…”

Standish stared at Kabanov. “She was dressed like a hobo. They had me drop them off outside of town and they walked into the trees, carrying that package. I don't know what I've gotten into. I should just cut it off. I can get by without them. I haven't counted on anyone for more years than I would care to remember, but…I.…”

Standish shook his head, “There is something dark in their eyes. If they were horses, I would say they had been beaten by their owner.”

Kabanov nodded and sighed. “Your coffee is getting cold.”

Standish sipped as Kabanov tried to put his words together. “I know only part of this story, so I will tell you that. That Klaus, now he could tell you more, but.… Well, my good friend Klaus he is gone, and no longer do I hear the sound of my native language.”

Kabanov stood and poured Standish's cup full, settling again at the table. “Arch came to see Klaus as he came to see you. Children are curious, you know. They like to know what is happening around them. But Klaus, he told me that something more than curiosity pulled Arch to his cabin. Arch was seeking something. I doubt that he even knew what he was looking for, but he seemed to find it with Klaus. He pulled Klaus into his family just as he pulled you to his mother.

“Arch's father was not a bad man, but he was.… He didn't trust people very much. My father, he used to say that you couldn't trust people who didn't trust you. Well, he didn't…trust Iona. She is a very pretty woman and very nice. Maybe that Hedrick—that was his name—thought that he didn't deserve her. Maybe he thought that someone would come and take her away from him.”

Kabanov scratched his chin, seeking the right words. “Well, Klaus fell in love with Iona.”

Standish nodded. He could see how that could happen, but Klaus shook his head. “No, not like that. That Klaus, he would never.… He knew that he didn't have long to live, but even if he had been healthy, he wouldn't have tried to take her away from Hedrick. He kept a distance from her, even though it broke his heart.”

Kabanov ran his fingers through his thick eyebrows as though he were combing them. “Something happened out there one night. I don't know what. I just know what happened here in town.”

Kabanov reared back in his chair. “That Charley the bartender is a good man. I go there and drink a beer every Thursday night, and he always buys one for me. We talk when it isn't too busy. He is a good man, and he was there that night.”

Kabanov nodded as though to emphasize his words. “Hedrick, he comes to town. He has run his horse all the way from his place. I know that because I take care of her the next day. She comes back to me. She doesn't go to that Hedrick's place. I could see something dark in that horse's eyes even before that night, and after that night…well, she.… I keep her until she is not so frightened, but she will never trust a man again, so I set her free.” He shook his head. “She ran until I couldn't see her anymore. I paid Mrs. Belshaw for that horse as though she were a good horse, but.…”

Standish intruded. “What happened in the bar?”

“Well, Hedrick came in and he looked like he had been sitting next to a forge, his face dark red and smoky. He sat by himself and drank. Around midnight Charley told Hedrick to go home. Hedrick told him to go to hell.”

Kabanov stared out the window.

“There were some ruffians in the bar, and one of them said, ‘We'll all go to hell someday,' and another he said.…” Kabanov's face twisted into a grotesque mask. “Another said he would rather go to a whorehouse. They were all laughing, and Hedrick stands up and shouts at them.…”

Kabanov rubbed the corner of one eye. “He shouts at them, ‘You want a whore go see my wife. She would like to see you.'”

Kabanov opened the window and spat outside to rid himself of the taste of those vile words. When he returned to the table, his face was twisted.

“One of the ruffians tossed Hedrick a silver dollar. He said, ‘This ought to cover it.'”

Standish stood and walked to the window. He spat outside. He turned back to Kabanov. “You got some whiskey for this coffee?”

Kabanov nodded. “Better,” he said. He pulled a bottle of brandy from the cupboard on the wall next to the window. “I order this from the old country. I have a drink of this on my birthday and at Christmas.”

Standish sighed. “I don't want to use something that special. I'll go get a bottle.”

Kabanov shook his head. “No, you do not understand. I am alone on my birthday and at Christmas. I have a drink of this, and it reminds me of my home.” Kabanov's face wrinkled. “I don't feel so alone then. This is a good time to drink from this bottle.”