Outcast (17 page)

Standish nodded, staring out the window as Kabanov topped off his cup with brandy. They sat in silence, each painting a picture of that moment in Charley's bar, and then Kabanov spoke.

“Charley, I told you he is a good man, but he has seen the worst of people in his bar. He said that was the worst thing he had ever seen. He said it shocked him, and he didn't know what to do, what to say.”

Kabanov stared into Standish's eyes. “Charley, he came to his senses. He reached over the bar and grabbed Hedrick by both shoulders and shook him. He said, ‘Don't you know what you just did to your wife? You catch those men and tell them that you didn't mean what you said. You go after them, now.'”

Kabanov's face wrinkled into a map of despair. “That Hedrick said, ‘I did mean it.' Charley slapped Hedrick. He said for the first time since he was a young man on the streets of Chicago, he felt like beating a man to death. But he just slapped Hedrick. It worked. Hedrick's face twisted until his own mother wouldn't have known him.

Kabanov shook his head. “That Hedrick was barely able to stay on his feet, but he got on his horse and rode toward his home.”

Kabanov took a deep drink of his coffee and then raised his eyes. “He only got a mile or two before he fell off his horse and hit his head on a rock. The Christianson's found him the next day on their way to town. Magpies were on him. I.…”

Standish whispered, “What happened to Iona?”

Kabanov shook his head. “I don't know. Nobody knows but Iona and Arch and those ruffians.”

His voice was soft as a breeze through the leaves of a cottonwood tree. “But people think they know. They think Iona is a…whore. They think that for the price of a bottle of whiskey, any man can have his way with her. They have shunned her, Mr. Standish. They have shunned her.”

Kabanov's eyes shined with tears that hadn't yet spilled down his cheek. “Some of the men don't shun her. They went out there, too, but that stopped. Nobody goes out there now.”

“Arch's shotgun,” Standish whispered.…

Kabanov leaned across the table. Two tears coursed down his face and fell
splat
on the table. “She had a package this morning?”

Standish nodded.

“She does sewing for Mister Kennedy the storekeeper. She does a very fine stitch. Here, I will show you.”

Kabanov stood and walked to an abattoir. He returned carrying a beautiful white shirt. “This is the shirt I will be buried in. Mrs. Iona, she made it for me after I ordered it from Mr. Kennedy.”

Kabanov's face pinched, and Standish thought he saw more tears forming in the man's eyes. “People love the fine work she does with a needle and thread, but they would not buy it if they thought it came from her. They think the hands of a whore would taint their clothing.”

Standish drank the last of his brandy-laced coffee. “I need some new shirts,” he said. “I best go order them.”

Standish walked through the door, blinking as he stepped into the light.

CHAPTER 9

Arch leaned against the trunk of a fallen tree, intent on the hard licorice drops Myron Kennedy had given him. He swallowed one and whispered to his mother. “I think they got an especially good do on this batch.”

A smile touched Iona's lips. “They have certainly given you an air.”

A question flitted over Arch's face. “What's an air?”

“Something that makes you stand out. A prince among men.”

Arch scowled. “Don't much like that prince stuff.”

“Strange talk for a man with an air.”

Arch grinned. “So what's my air?”

“You have been blessed with black teeth,” Iona said. “They shine like obsidian arrowheads.”

“I always figured I could chew rocks,” Arch said.

They both chuckled.

“Taking him a long time,” Arch said.

“We told him an hour and a half.”

“Well, nothing much to do but sit here.”

“And eat licorice.”

“And eat licorice. That's the way it is with us princely fellas.”

Arch shrank back into the shadows. “Wagon,” he said. Iona slipped behind the tree with her son. She heard the jangle of harness and the clop of horses' hooves. The wagon passed bearing the Lingers, both stiff as oaks. Heaps of boxes were stacked in the wagon box. They'd been shopping, apparently among heathens if their mien was any indication.

“You ever seen 'em smile, Ma?”

Iona shook her head. “Don't think they know how.”

Arch shook his head. “How come they figure everybody has to be like them?”

“The world would be a helter of a place if we were, wouldn't it?”

Arch stared at his mother, realization spreading across his face. “I can see now why I'm so smart.”

Iona grinned, but the expression surrendered to concern. “Another wagon.”

“Probably not Standish.”

“Why?”

Arch shrugged, not sure why he had said that. Maybe because he was enjoying sitting in the shade with his mother. Maybe because he wasn't ready to trust Miles Standish.

Standish appeared in patches, bits and pieces revealed through the leaves of the trees and bushes on the river bottom. He pulled Hortenzia to a stop and stepped down from the wagon. He looked both ways and then walked into the brush. He nodded as he approached Arch and Iona.

“Thought you might need some help with your things.”

Arch showed his teeth, more of a snarl than a smile, and one of Standish's eyes crawled almost shut. “Did I say something to set you off, Arch?”

“Just wondering if you noticed my princely air.”

Standish looked Arch up and down. The boy didn't appear different. He looked to Iona for help, but she remained silent, her words hidden behind her grin.

Standish's eyes went over Arch again. Nothing different. Nothing that he could see at any rate. The boy's mouth opened into an even more ferocious grin, and Standish unconsciously stepped back.

“You get into some whiskey, Arch?”

Arch shook his head. “The varlet don't know nothing.”

“Varlet?”

“Apparently lacking the simplest of perceptions,” Iona added.

Arch nodded sagely. “S'pose since I have a princely air, the varlet should carry our stuff to the wagon.”

“Seems only princely,” Iona agreed.

“Guess so,” Standish said.

The ride had been in silence, Standish trying to understand what had happened on the river bottom. Something must have made Arch feel good, but what could it be?

“Licorice,” Standish barked.

Iona started. Arch graveled. “If you wanted some, you could a' just asked. No reason to yell like that.”

Standish shook his head. “No,” he said. “It has something to do with licorice.”

Standish dropped his attention to Hortenzia's feet. They rode in silence, lost in the soft breeze of the day.

Iona broke the silence, speaking in little more than a whisper. “What has to do with licorice Mr. Standish?”

“Miles.”

“Pumpkin head,” Arch hissed.

“I don't know,” Standish said, still staring at Hortenzia's hooves.

Iona's voice came soft, soft as a person who realizes she is riding with a man she doesn't know very well, a man displaying irrational behavior. “You don't like licorice?”

Standish turned to her, his face perplexed. “I like licorice fine. I never said I didn't like licorice.”

“No, you didn't say that,” Iona said, soothingly as though she were talking to a horse. “Would you like a piece of licorice? I'm sure Arch would share a piece with you.”

“I ain't so diddlydee sure about that,” Arch said.

“Don't talk like that!”

Arch sighed. “Getting so a prince can't even issue any decrees.”

“Helter of a thing,” Standish said.

Arch shook his head. “She's already onto that. That's why I'm so smart.”

Standish pulled Hortenzia to a stop. “I'm getting a headache.”

Iona shifted on the seat. This wasn't good. Standish appeared confused. He exhibited odd behavior, and now he was stopping the wagon. She stepped in as only a woman can. “It would only take a few minutes to go down to the river and get you some willow bark.”

“Willow bark?”

“For your headache. You said you were getting a headache.”

“Don't know if willow bark works on pumpkin heads,” Arch said.

Standish took his hat off and laid it on his lap. He rubbed his face with both hands. “I just don't get it. What makes Arch princely?”

Relief flooded Iona's face. “Arch, show Mr. Standish.…”

“Miles.”

“Arch, show Miles your princely air.”

Arch showed his teeth to Standish.

“Your teeth are black.”

“Gives me a princely air, don't it?”

Standish shook his head. “I don't know. I never saw a prince.”

“Well, you're seeing one now, varlet.”

“So, if you're a prince, I'm a varlet?”

“That's the way I see it.”

Standish nodded. Finally it made sense to him, and that worried him, but not as much as what the blacksmith had told him. The mystery surrounding Iona and Arch was unraveling, and Standish didn't like what he was emerging.

Arch was on his knees, skidding the rock to the stonewall Standish was building. The boy's face was almost white with the effort, and Standish stopped to wipe his forehead on his shirtsleeve.

“That should do it for today. How about you come over tomorrow morning?”

Arch collapsed into a heap in the dark. “Don't know why I should,” he gasped.

Standish shrugged. “Thought we agreed to a ham and six cans of peaches for helping me finish this.”

Arch rolled over and hoisted himself up on one elbow. “That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before Ma invited you over to eat our beef roast.”

“She invited me to
share
your beef roast.”

“Same thing. She'll keep pushing it off on you and you'll keep saying you can't eat any more, but you will and before you know it, you'll eat the whole thing.”

“What if I promise I won't?”

Arch sighed. “You ever eat one of my Ma's roast beef dinners?”

Standish shook his head.

“Well, once you sit down at that table, your promise won't be worth a tinker's…dinker.”

Arch sat up, leaning against his knees. “Her roast beef dinners are.…” The boy swallowed. “Well, we don't have roast beef very often. The last one was before…before Pa died, but one of her roast-beef dinners is worth a ham and six cans of peaches. When you figure that she'll throw in some potatoes.…” Arch visibly swallowed. “She cuts 'em up into squares, and then she fries 'em in butter. Not with lard,” Arch said, as though he expected Standish to deny such extravagance. “Then she sprinkles 'em with salt and pepper, and.…” Arch swallowed again. “Well it don't make any difference how good they are, 'cause I won't get any anyway.”

“Arch you can have all the potatoes you want.”

Arch shook his head violently. “Ain't never had all the potatoes I want.”

“So what do you figure is fair?”

Arch's eyes squeezed nearly shut as though he were calculating infinity. “Well, I figure the ham and six cans of peaches are just about equal to the roast beef.” He glared at Standish, daring him to deny that and then continued. “Not all the roast beef, mind you. Just
some
of the roast beef.”

“I'm sure you'll be willing to tell me when I've had my share,” Standish intoned.

Arch nodded. “I can do that for you.”

“Any charge for that?”

A calculating air swept over Arch, and then he shook his head. “No, I'll do that for you for nothing.”

“Arch, sometimes I am overcome by your munificence.”

“Is that like my princely air?”

“I couldn't have said it better myself.”

Arch nodded. This was going the way it should. “Course, we ain't figured in the potatoes, yet.”

“How much for the potatoes, Arch?”

Arch hunkered. “Well, I just happened to see that you bought some licorice.”

“I do have a taste for that confection.”

Arch's face twisted into a glower. “We was talking about licorice.”

Standish nodded.

“Well, I figure you can always buy licorice, but Ma's potatoes—he swallowed again—now they're something else.”

“Don't s'pose you'd be willing to trade my licorice for your mother's potatoes?”

Arch growled. “Might do that for a
share
of the potatoes.”

“As long as you determine what a fair share is.”

Arch nodded. “Yeah, I'd be willing to do that for you.”

Standish shook his head and sighed. “I am overcome by your generosity.”

Arch nodded. “Just the way us princely fellas are.”

“We have it worked out, then?”

“Part of it.”

“What else?”

“Haven't settled yet on what you're going to pay me tomorrow.”

Standish hunkered. “Hope you keep in mind that we aren't building the Parthenon here.”

Arch cocked his head. “What the hesper is a Parthenon?”

“That's something we're not building here.”

Arch shook his head. “You're a strange one.”

“That's what they say.”

Arch picked up a stick and began sketching in the dirt. Standish leaned over to see what Arch was drawing, but the marks were only scratches to pass time while Arch searched for the words. This was going to be expensive, Standish thought, really expensive.

“We worked pretty hard today.”

Standish nodded.

“Figured I'd like to take a little break.”

“You don't want to work tomorrow?”

“I'll work tomorrow, but I was kind hoping.…” Arch stared into Standish's eyes. “I was kind of hoping that we could go fishing the next day.”