Outcast (19 page)

Standish stepped back and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “What do you say we take a break and get something to eat?” The question was rhetorical. Arch would never turn down food.

Arch flopped over on his back, shutting his eyes. “I die, you tell Ma I was working hard.”

“Guess I could do that.”

“Don't seem like much to do for someone who kills himself working for you.”

Standish nodded, “Guess I could get somebody to play taps while I extol your working virtues.”

Arch rolled over on one elbow to look at Standish. “You'd do that for me?”

“What else could I do for such a hesper of a worker?”

Arch nodded. “You figure I'm worth a last request.”

“Depends.”

“What say you bring me a ham sandwich?” Arch's lips wrinkled. “No, better make that two ham sandwiches and a jar of water.”

Arch rolled into a hunkering position. “You got any more of that licorice?”

“Nope, traded that for the potatoes I'm going to get tonight.”

“For a share of potatoes,” Arch said, eyes squinting.

Standish nodded.

“Guess a couple of sandwiches and a jar of water would do.”

“No pickles?”

“You got pickles?”

“Yeah.”

“Dill or sweet?”

“Dill.”

“Those big pickles?”

Standish nodded.

“Better bring me three or four of those.” Arch cocked his head. “No, I figure five would be about right.”

“You're asking me to carry a lot.”

Arch's voice took on an edge. “I been carrying rocks for you all morning.”

“Guess so.” Standish looked up and rubbed his chin. “Course if you want another sandwich or another pickle, no way I'd know that what with me sitting at the table and you sitting out here.”

Arch cocked his head. “Maybe it'd be better if we both ate in the house.”

Standish cocked his head. “I think you're on to something, Arch.”

Arch nodded.

Standish was sitting at the table, watching Arch stab at the last pickle with his fork.

“Doesn't seem to want to come out.”

“Probably terrified.”

Arch looked up.

Standish continued. “Way you eat pickles; I suspect you have terrified the world's supply of dills.”

“Ain't had any for a long time.”

“What's your Ma doing today?”

Arch bristled. “Ain't none of your business.”

“Guess not.”

Arch exhaled a long breath. “She's got a surprise for dinner tonight.”

“What's that?”

Arch shook his head. “Well, it would be a hesper of a surprise if I told you what it was, wouldn't it.”

“Guess so.”

“Well you guess right.”

Arch scooted back in his chair. “S'pose those fish'll be bitin' tomorrow?”

“Can't imagine why they wouldn't.”

“I figure I'll catch a fish as big as the last one, maybe bigger.”

“Don't know. That was a really big fish.”

Arch grinned. “He sure was, wasn't he?”

“Biggest cutthroat I ever saw.”

“Me, too,” Arch said.

Arch leaned back in his chair and stared at Standish. “You sick?”

One of Standish's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “Do I look sick?”

“Nope, but you don't have to look sick to be sick. Klaus didn't look sick but he was. He was real sick.”

“Klaus, the man who owned this cabin?”

Arch's eyes squinted nearly shut. “How'd you know that?”

“Arch, I'm buying this cabin. I had to know who owned it.”

Arch tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “You know anything else?”

“About what?”

“About anything?”

Standish scratched his eyebrow. “I know I don't know what the hesper you're talking about.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“What question?”

Arch leaned across the table. “You sick?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You going to die?”

Standish shook his head. “Hesper yes, I'm going to die. Everyone dies.”

“When?”

Standish leaned forward. “Arch, nobody knows when they're going to die, except maybe a man standing on a gallows. When are you going to die?”

“Not till I'm really old. Maybe 20.”

Standish nodded. “Any reason this came up?”

“Like to go fishing tomorrow.”

“And you figure you won't be able to go fishing if I die?”

“Probably not.”

“Arch, if I die, you can have my fishing rod.”

Arch cocked his head. “Won't make any difference. Ma won't let me go fishing if you die.”

“How about you, Arch?”

Arch stared across the table at Standish. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “Guess I wouldn't want to go fishing if you died.”

Then the boy bristled. “Not cause I like you nor nothing like that.”

Standish nodded. “S'pose we get back to work,” he said, rising.

Arch stared across the table. “Not 'till I get this pickle.”

Standish nodded. A workman is worthy of his hire.

Standish stepped out of the root cellar. The rock walls were in place. The roof was finished and tarpapered and dirt pounded into cracks in the rock.

“Hesper of a root cellar.”

Arch nodded. “Best one I've ever seen.”

“Tomorrow, we'll finish the shelves and.…”

Arch glowered. “Tomorrow, we go fishing.”

Standish looked up and nodded. “Tomorrow, we go fishing. The day after that, we'll finish.…”

“That ain't been 'gotiated yet.”

Standish nodded. “Maybe we can talk about that tomorrow.”

Arch shook his head. “Tomorrow's for fishing.”

Standish nodded. “We'd better get over to your place.”

Arch shook his head. “Ma fixed roast beef.”

Standish nodded. “So we'd best get moving.”

Arch cocked his head, staring at Standish. He shook his head. “Dumb as a post.”

It was Standish's turn to stare at Arch. “What's dumb?”

“You,” Arch said.

“Why am I dumb?”

“Don't know. Was your parents dumb?”

“No. What make you think my parents were dumb?”

“Cause of helter.”

Standish's face contorted into a puzzled mask.

Arch shook his head and muttered, “Dumb as a post. Your folks must have hired someone to lead 'em around so they wouldn't get lost.”

Standish bristled. “My parents are smart upstanding citizens, and.…”

“Was your Ma a drinker?”

Standish's face darkened. “She never had a drink of alcohol in her life.”

“She must have got into some locoweed,” Arch said, nodding at his sagacity.

“Locoweed?” Standish growled.

“Yeah, we had a cow that dropped a calf hardly smart enough to eat. Pa said Mikkens.…”

“Mikkens?”

Arch shook his head. He looked up at Standish and spoke as though he were speaking to a man without a grasp of English. “Mikkens was the cow. Dinkers. A guy's got to take you by the hand. Anyhow, Pa figured that Mikkens got into some locoweed, and that's what made the calf so dumb.”

Standish took his hat off, and rubbed his head. “That's why you figure my mother must have gotten into some locoweed?”

“Only thing I can figure.”

Standish hunkered. “So what led you to this conclusion?”

Arch shook his head and hunkered. “Don't know how to tell you this so you'll understand.” He picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt. Doodles, nothing but doodles.

“Ma's cooking a roast beef supper.” Arch looked up. “You with me so far?”

Standish's face darkened, but he nodded.

“We don't have roast beef suppers very often.”

Standish stared at Arch.

Arch sighed, “Now, don't you drift on me. Try to stay awake.”

Standish's eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“The suppers are…special, like catching that big cutthroat.”

Standish nodded.

“That's the reason you can't go over to supper, now.”

Standish braced his chin with his hand. “Thought I was invited to supper.”

Arch doodled in the dirt. “You…are…coming…to…supper…tonight. You…can't…come…now.”

“Because your mother is still fixing supper?”

Arch shook his head. “Because a roast beef supper is special. You have to dress up for a roast beef supper.” One of Arch's eyebrows crawled up. “Wouldn't hurt if you took a bath.”

Standish nodded. “What time is supper?”

“When the roast is ready.”

“Seems simple enough.”

Arch shook his head. “Would be for most people. I'll just take the ham and the seven cans of peaches.”

“Thought that we agreed to six cans of peaches.”

Arch shook his head. “S'pose I have to explain that.”

One of Standish's eyes crawled shut. “Just take the seven cans, Arch.”

Arch nodded. Standish was catching on.

Standish stood in the cabin. Most likely Iona was planning supper around seven. He wouldn't have hot water for a bath, but it wouldn't be too cold. Actually, cool water would feel good after the day in the sun. He dropped to his knees beside a chest he kept near the bed. Clean clothes, most of them never worn. He picked out a blue shirt. He had bought the shirt at Myron Kennedy's store and rued the purchase all the way back to the cabin. The blue was too bright, too easy to see. He would make an easy target, but he fantasized that he might wear the shirt to church one day or to a dance. He knew those thoughts were only dreams. Standish had lived too long alone to think it possible to be part of a community.

Those thoughts brought Standish back to Arch and Iona. They were shunned, exiled, too. Arch carried the scars of what happened that night. Making a companion of a shotgun was proof of that. What would happen if his life didn't change, if everyone but the shopkeeper Myron Kennedy and his mother were enemies? What would happen if someone came out one night…and Arch used that shotgun?

Standish shook his head. Arch would be a nemesis, a pariah then, just as Standish was now. Standish sighed. What could he do? If he went to Arch and Iona and told them he knew what happened that night, and he wanted to help.… He would never see either of them again.

Standish had no responsibility toward the two. Their lives were piled on their own plates. He had to be free from them to run, and he knew he would have to run. Standish sighed. No sense ignoring the obvious. He wasn't free. Arch and Iona were the first real friends he had since.…that winter. They were kin, all members of the family Pariah. There was more to it than that. He remembered Klaus' words about Iona:

Silent smile speaking spring promises

Voice whisp'ring ages to aching ear

A single touch would launch me rising

Golden phoenix from the ashes of my life

Standish was chin deep in the ashes of his life. Someday the past would flame up and torch him. He couldn't leave Arch and Iona standing in ashes. He couldn't tolerate anyone living as he had, certainly not them.

Standish put his hand in a bucket on the stove. The water was warmer than he thought it would be. He dumped the buckets into the tub and undressed, slipping into the water. The metal back of the stove was still cold, and Standish shivered.

As the warm water embraced his body, his thoughts turned back to Arch and Iona. The solution came to him as a voice whispering in his ear. He mulled it; tossed it around. It might work. It had to work.

Standish's face stiffened. His life would be at great risk, but what made his life worth preserving? He balanced the weeks here against the years in the wilderness and sank beneath the surface listening to sounds muffled and distorted by the water.

Iona wrapped her hand in a dishtowel and lifted the roaster lid for the third time in the past five minutes. The meat was done perfectly, and the scent made her dizzy. If he didn't come soon, the roast would be ruined.

Iona closed the oven door, ran her fingers through her hair and shook it into place. The kitchen was warm, and Iona would have liked to step outside, to sit on the porch and watch the last shadows of the sun flirt with the Earth, but this dinner was ready. The meat.… Iona swallowed. The frying pan painted the potatoes yellow and brown. It wouldn't be long before.… The table! Had she forgotten anything on the table?

Iona stepped out of the kitchen. The table was set, each plate in place. Arch was in his place, too, reaching for.…

“Arch!”

The boy jumped. “Just tasting some of my salad.”

“Just don't.”

“Ah, Ma. He ain't coming. Might as well start.” Arch's reach for the salad was interrupted by a knock at the door. Arch wheeled off his chair to the shotgun propped in the corner.

Iona caught her face in her hands and stared at the table. She was torn between her need to hide behind that door and her need to share this dinner with Miles Standish. She swallowed and stepped toward the door. Behind her she heard the double click as Arch brought the shotgun to full cock. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Miles Standish stood on the step in a shirt blue as the sky and a pair of pressed pants. His boots were scuffed but clean, and he carried a bouquet of day lilies.

“Thought you might like these, Ma'am.”

Iona felt the blush spreading across her face, and she ran her hand down her forehead as though to wipe the color away. “Thank you Mr. Standish. Please come in.”

Standish stepped through the door. Arch was holding his shotgun, both hammers at full cock. Standish stared at the boy, and Arch dropped his eyes.

“Bout time you got here,” Arch muttered, setting the shotgun in the corner.