Outcast (28 page)

“Lord, we thank you for the beauty of your creation, for the time you give us to be in it, for all the blessings you bestow upon us, and for good people with whom we can share our lives.”

Muttered amens circled the table.

Iona's face twisted into a tragic Greek mask. “I feel as though I am sitting at the Last Supper.”

“It's breakfast,” Standish said.

A tear trickled down Iona's cheek. “You wanted to talk to us.”

“After we eat,” Standish said. He wanted to absorb the day into his being, into his soul, so that he could carry it with him always. He wanted Iona and Arch to be part of that memory as they had become so much a part of his life.

Standish ate an egg and a piece of bacon and turned his attention to Arch, getting more pleasure from watching the boy eat than in eating. He glanced across the table and found Iona staring at him. “They're coming, aren't they?”

Standish sighed. “Yes.”

“That's the reason the deputy was here?”

Standish nodded.

“How long”

Standish shook his head. “Don't know.”

“Today?”

Standish stared into the trees. A mule deer doe was stepping through the trees, and Standish wondered if she was the deer Bele had written about. He smiled, “There, the shadows to the left of that big rock. Do you see her?”

“Klaus…,” Standish was surprised that he used Bele's first name, but he had come to feel that Klaus was one of his best friends. “Klaus wrote something about her.”

Standish stepped into the cabin and returned a moment later, carrying Bele's journal. He thumbed through the pages, until he came to the page. He read the words, aloud, but not so loudly that they might frighten the doe, not so loudly that they might take Arch's attention from his breakfast.

Wind whispers scent

of needles bitter to the tongue

Meat eater's foot to stone

flickering sounds of death

run

Branches slash and tug

Until…

Nothing
,

No shadows
.

Scents of rose and mint

Of sun on grass and cool water

Life pinned against bright light

Synapses crackle, blood surges

Hooves thump

Through light to shadows

To shadows and safety

Standish leaned across the table. “I'm pinned against the bright light, Iona. I can't run anymore.”

Iona keened, a plaintive wail deep as the caves of our past, and Arch jerked. “You hurt my, Ma?” he growled, as he came across the table, knife in hand.

Iona stood, “Arch!” She grabbed his arm, and he struggled against the pressure as trout had struggled against his line. “Arch, he didn't hurt me.”

“Then why you wailing like that?”

“It is necessary occasionally for women to wail.”

“Ain't ever done it before, 'cept that night.”

Arch's face dropped toward the table. The words had come before he had time to think about what he was going to say. Now, he had hurt his mother.

“Sorry, Ma.” Arch's face wrinkled into a tragic mask. He turned to Standish. “I wouldn't have cut you or nothing, I just.…”

Iona was shaking her head. The past few minutes had jerked her thoughts around, left them torn and bleeding.

“Iona?”

“Yes.”

“You ever thought about going home?.”

“Yes.” The word came soft as a lover's whisper.

“I would like to buy you and Arch a ticket to Boston.”

Iona jerked back. “So we won't see what they do to you?”

“No.” Standish was shaking his head. “I don't know the words. I.…” He dropped their hands. “You have given me the greatest of gifts, my life. I lost it those three years running, and.… Anyhow, I want to do something for you. I.…”

Iona's words squeezed between clenched teeth. “You don't want us to see what they will do to you.”

“No, I.… The sheriff.… I could get through this, but but.… Iona, I can't throw away what you and Arch have given to me. I can't go back to being what I was.”

Arch stepped into the conversation. “What about the chickens?”

Standish shook his head, trying to clear it. “Chickens?”

“Who's going to take care of the chickens? You ain't much for taking care of chickens.”

“How about I buy the chickens. I'll buy the cows, too.” Standish stared across the table at Iona. “You want; I'll buy your place, too.”

Arch bristled, “Ain't no varlet buying our place.”

Standish tried to smile, but the muscles in his face wouldn't work.

Iona was staring at Standish. She nodded. “Arch and I will go home and pack. Not much I want to take with me…that maroon dress.” Her face cracked.

Standish nodded. “I'll be over tomorrow at first light.”

Sheriff Jeff Dolby stood in the darkness of the Carbon County Courthouse basement shaking his head. The evidence collected from the Moose Creek murders was piled in a gated pen. Anyone could wade through the evidence, although Dolby couldn't imagine why anyone would want to.

Dolby had passed most of the jolting train ride from Last Chance lost in thought. Standish was either telling the truth, or he was the best liar the sheriff had known. Sheriff Barnes had met him at the depot. He said the visit was a waste of time. He had wired Bodmer, and Bodmer and his pack were on their way to Last Chance. Justice would be done.

Little or no chance that Dolby would make it back to Last Chance before Bodmer Still, the Last Chance sheriff decided it would be worth going through the evidence. Perhaps something could be used in Bodmer's murder trial. He started with the shreds of a tent. The canvas reeked of terror. Dolby didn't want to touch it. He didn't want to touch anything so saturated with death, but one of the victims might have scratched something on the tent. Maybe.…

CHAPTER 15

The scent of cinnamon and warm bread wafted over the three as they rode into town, baggage stacked carefully on the bed of the wagon.

“Cinnamon rolls,” Arch said, nose high to capture the aroma. “Fresh bread, too.”

“I think I smell a little maple,” Iona said.

Standish pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the bakery. “I suspect we should check the perspicacity of our nasal observations.”

Arch stiffened. “He cussin,' Ma?”

Iona grinned, and shook her head. The three stepped into the bakery, leaving Hortenzia sulking outside.

A glass counter held a wealth of rolls twisted into unique shapes, each covered with sugar teased with maple or cinnamon or chocolate or lemon or coconut. Arch was leaning on the counter, staring at the offerings and biting his lip.

He turned. “Don't see how I can know how good that cinnamon roll is if I don't have one of those,” he said, pointing at a maple bar.

The baker, white apron stained with the morning's work, leaned over the counter. “That is an excellent choice, Mr. Belshaw. If you buy one, I will give you the other free.”

Arch's attention jerked to the baker. “He called me, Mr. Belshaw. He must know that we're royalty, Ma.”

Iona nodded.

The baker frowned and then grinned.

“I suggest the young prince have both rolls,” he said.

Standish leaned over the counter. “You and this varlet are in accord.”

“One varlet to another,” the baker beamed.

The three sat at a tiny table in the corner of the shop. The baker brought two cups and a pot of coffee. “It is my privilege to serve the royal prince,” he said.

Arch was leaning back in his chair, his face a state of rapture. “What do you say we make him a varlet, too, Ma?”

The baker laughed and returned to the back of the bakery. “If you need anything else, call me,” he said over his shoulder.

Arch slipped the last morsel into his mouth and chewed it with his eyes closed. “Tell you the truth,” he said. “I can't pick which is better.” He fidgeted for a moment, and turned his attention to his mother. “Don't see why we have to go.”

Iona reached out to take Arch's shoulder in her hands. “Arch, it's something I have to do.”

“Full sail and straight ahead.” Standish said. He stood. “Why don't you two talk about it? I'll drop your bags off at the depot and get your tickets.” He leaned back to rest most of his weight on one foot. “Round trip or one way?”

Iona's face softened, and she spoke in a whisper. “One way.”

Standish nodded. “That's what I figured.”

Samuel Bodmer pulled his horse to a stop just outside Last Chance. He twisted in the saddle, trying to find a soft spot. “Guess I'm getting soft. Long ride.” He glanced to the south. “Should have stayed where we were. He got his mushrooms faster than we figured he would.”

Ed Miller followed Bodmer's eyes. “Train's coming, alright. No, that's coming in from the south. We did save some time.” He pulled his attention back to Bodmer. “I could do with some breakfast.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Bodmer turned. “Ed, take the horses over to the livery. Get them some oats and have them rubbed down. Could be we'll have a run today. I'll try to find a restaurant.”

Miller turned to Bodmer. “What do you bet the restaurant is as good as the hotel we stayed in last night?”

Bodmer grinned. “Wouldn't be surprised.”

“Think he's here?”

“He's here. I just saw him. He was standing in that shadow by that store,” Bodmer said, gesturing with his chin.

Miller scratched his head. “You think it's smart to try to take him in town?”

Bodmer grinned. “Soon as the town finds out who he is, they'll join up. Ain't nobody going to protect a cannibal.”

“Here you go, sir,” the agent said, leaning over the counter in the Last Chance Depot to give Standish two tickets.

The agent grinned. “You sure visited the wrath of God on that bunch in church. Me, I always thought Mrs. Belshaw got a raw deal. Not much I could do about it though.”

Standish nodded.

“She going to visit your family?”

Standish's eyebrows came together, and then he nodded.

“Be good for her to be home for a while. You figure she'll come back?”

Standish shook his head. “I don't know, but I would guess not.”

The agent nodded. “Easy to understand that, after the way she was treated.”

The agent hesitated and then spoke. “Kind of surprised you're not going with her.”

Standish grinned, a soft wan grin that drifted on and then off his face. “Arch will take care of her.”

The agent grinned. “He's a fighter, isn't he? He spoke right up in church.”

Standish nodded. “He sure did. Tough little nut.”

Standish stepped toward the door, pausing as the agent called out to him.

“Now don't you worry about your sister. I'll be sure she gets first-class service.”

“Thanks,” Standish said, and with a wave of his hand left the station.

Samuel Bodmer looked up as the door to the restaurant opened. “I'll be a son of.… It's him.”

Standish stepped into the room just ahead of Ed Miller.

Bodmer shook his head. “Where'd you find him?”

“Walking down the street, plain as day.”

“Told you we'd get him in God's good time.”

A waitress stepped up to fill Bodmer's coffee cup. He tapped her forearm. “Best you watch yourself. That's the Moose Creek Cannibal,” he said, pointing at Standish.

She looked across the table and smiled. “Morning, Mr. Standish.”

Bodmer squeezed her arm as she attempted to pull away. “That's him. That's the cannibal.”

“Let go of me.”

“That's him, damn it!”

“Jack!”

A beer barrel on two spindly legs stepped out of the kitchen. He was at the table before Bodmer could turn, digging his fingers into the muscles behind Bodmer's collarbone. Color fled Bodmer's face.

“You let go of my wife.”

Bodmer loosened his grip on the waitress's arm.

Jack leaned over the table. “Breakfast's on me. Get the hell out of here.”

Bodmer was rubbing his shoulder. “Don't' see why.…”

“Now,” Jack said, the sound more growl than speech.

“I was just trying to tell her that Standish is the Moose Creek cannibal.”

Jack's fingers dug again into the muscle. “You get the hell out of here, or I'm likely to feed you to my cats.”

Bodmer rose from the chair stiff with pain, and Jack marched him to the door. He opened it with one hand and tossed Bodmer through with the other. “Git.” He turned. “That goes for you, too. You all right, Mr. Standish?”

Standish's attention was focused on Ed Miller. He stood with his hand inside his jacket. Standish knew what Miller was holding. “Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks.”

Miller followed Standish to the street, motioning Standish to Bodmer, who stood on the boardwalk, rubbing his shoulder.

“We'd best get out of town to do our business, boss.”

Bodmer seemed dazed. “No, we have to do it here. People have to see this.”

“Boss, we hang him in town, we could wind up on the end of a rope.”

Rapture flooded Bodmer's face. “Don't you see; that's what we have to do. I want them to see me hang him.”

Terror was edging on Miller's face. “Boss.…”

Bodmer spoke softly. “I want them to try me. I want them to know what he did. Then they can judge.”

“Boss…I don't.…”

Bodmer looked down the street. “There he is!” A question crawled on his face. “How can he be there? He's here.”

Miller's eyes were round as marbles. “Boss.…”

The hairs rippled on the back of Miller's neck. Bodmer's face was twisted into a grotesque mask.