Gasher Creek Part 43

"No."

"Bogger's Triple Spiced Licorice Spirits?"

"I have no idea what that is," Jack said.

She nodded and stared out the window. "Looks like rain on the horizon. We're eating outside. I hope my cake isn't ruined."

Jack inched his chair away from the table. There was something about Ezzie he didn't like. She reminded him of his old schoolmarm, a woman who liked to whack his knuckles with a slate. No wonder he never learned his letters.

She blew smoke out her nose. "You say you're a friend of the family? You don't look Indian. You a mixer like the girl?"

"No."

"Can't wait to see their offspring. Oh, won't that be a sight." She smirked. "Although I can't imagine her on her back much, what with her ch.o.r.es."

"What ch.o.r.es?" Jack asked.

"Timmy, Tommy, Rachel, Elsa, and Robert. With those little rats scurrying about the house, she won't have time to do much more than catch her breath."

"Troy has children?"

Ezzie coughed, although it may have been her idea of laughter. "Why do you think my brother is sc.r.a.ping the barrel? He's desperate for a nanny."

"He's not sweet on her?"

"He reckons he is," she said, pulling the pipe from her mouth. "But a few turns with her and he'll grow bored, like all men do." She shrugged. "As long as she does her job, I see nothing wrong with this marriage. Some of our relations are in hitches over it. They say he's breaking the Bible's commandment to never mix the races. But what self-respecting white woman is going to marry an old rancher with a house full of children?"

"I'm here!" Troy called from outside. He entered the house, followed by the preacher. "A round of apologies on me. I had to see to a sick foal."

"Everyone's waiting," Ezzie said, tapping her pipe ash onto the table.

"I'm sure they're fine," Troy said.

She stood. "Gran Gladys is doing her impression of various dog breeds."

Troy's eyes widened. "I see. In that case, take the preacher and I'll be out directly."

Ezzie gripped the preacher's arm and led him out the back of the house.

"Like the duds?" Troy said, smoothing the sleeves of his suit jacket. He was dressed in black from head to toe. "All special made for the occasion. My boots are made from alligator skin, my belt from calf hide, my hat ... well, I can't remember the animal, but there ain't many left!"

"Troy!" Ezzie called from the back porch. "I made cake."

"Right," Troy said, hurrying toward the back porch. "Fetch my bride, will you Devlin?"

Jack stood and crossed over to Emily's room. He raised his fist, and hesitated.

This was it. This was all he had left to do. This one last thing and he was square with Charlie forever. Just walk his sister up the hill and hand her off to Troy- Like a horse for the breaking.

He knocked.

"Who is it?"

"Jack."

"Come in."

Jack opened the door. Inside, he found Emily standing in front of a rectangular mirror. She wore a long, white wedding gown. A wreath of wildflowers encircled her head. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, looking washed and brushed. In the light of the window, she glowed like a star.

Jack cringed as he saw himself in the same mirror. Despite giving his clothes a good scrubbing the night before, he still looked like a no good dirt fiddler. He wiped at his trouser legs, but scuffs and holes wouldn't just brush off.

"Sorry," Jack said, not knowing what else to say.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Wonderful," he blurted, and immediately wanted to disappear beneath the floorboards.

She smiled, catching the light on her painted lips. "Really?"

"Yes," Jack said.

"I think Charlie and Pa would've liked it." As she turned toward the window, Jack tucked his shirt into his trousers and pushed his fingers through his hair. It still didn't help.

"I want to thank you again," she said. "For giving me away."

"It's okay," Jack said. "Has to be done, I reckon."

She gazed out the window. After a few moments, she said, "You're just like him, you know. Samson. You both dream of running. You, up north. Him, just about any place but here." She touched her fingers to the windowpane. "Are you excited about Lone Pine?"

"I want my land," Jack said. "I'm not myself unless I'm working the soil, growing some crops."

"Your bite of peace."

"Yes," he said. "My bite of peace."

She turned to him. "Come closer."

"Why?"

"Because I need to cry."

They moved toward each other. She placed her forehead against his. No sobs this time, only tears. Her breath touched his lips. "When you're up there, think of me," she said. "Remember me."

"I'll remember."

Clasping his hands, she said, "And when you can, come back and visit."

"I will."

"Promise," she said, her tears on his cheek. "Promise me, Jack."

"I promise."

She lingered with him a moment longer, then released him and returned to the mirror. Her eyes were strained, her lip paint smeared at the corners of her mouth. "Don't fret," she said, wiping her cheeks. "He won't notice."

Together, they left the room. As they emerged onto the back porch, the guests turned to stare. A fiddler began playing.

You've danced some?

Some. And you?

Only a few turns with my sister when we was young.

Move closer.

Troy Plymouth and the preacher waited in front of the grave markers. Troy was grinning wide enough to touch both ears. Jack wanted to grip Emily's hand and run, run into the prairie and never look back.

But he didn't.

When it came time for him to give her away, he was barely able to utter the words. He said, "I will", "me", or something of the sort. And then she left him.

Jack returned to the porch. He watched as Troy held her hands and spoke sweet words of love and devotion to her. He watched as one of Troy's daughters stood from her seat and handed him the rings.

And then he could watch no more.

Jack rushed through the house, burst out the front door, and made it half way to the corral before falling to his knees. He clamped his hand over his mouth, and wept.

The Plymouth clan was apparently hungry. It took them very little time to mobilize for the trek back to the ranch. Even Gran Gladys moved with the vigor of a young woman, swinging her arms and barking like a Dachshund.

Jack stood at the corral with Samson and watched them leave. He thought about going back to the house but didn't want to risk seeing Emily again. He was afraid he'd make a fool of himself.

Not that it mattered. She belonged to Troy now, same as the land, the house, the barn, and even poor Samson. The Sewell family had vanished during that ceremony. All that remained were two wooden markers.

Emily and Ezzie appeared among the exodus of Plymouths. Ezzie escorted her to a wagon, leading her through the gra.s.s and the mud. Emily reached the wagon and climbed aboard, her wreath shedding a few petals. Ezzie climbed up after her, nudged her down the wagon seat, and then cracked the reins.

Jack stepped away from the corral as the wagon veered to its right, taking the lead in the wedding train. For one brief moment, he thought he saw Emily turn her head to look for him, but it was difficult to tell in the sunlight. Then the wagon turned again.

Promise.

"Devlin!"

Troy Plymouth approached him. "A glorious day," he said. He reached Jack and nodded at Emily's wagon as it rumbled down the trail. "She looks pretty, doesn't she? Like a white flower, one of those-well, whatever white flowers are called."

"Which ones?"

"That's it," Troy said, clapping Jack's shoulder. He led him back to the corral. "Devlin, I'd like to thank you."

"Wasn't much," Jack said. "Someone needed to give her away."

"Not that," Troy said. "For watching over her. After losing her pa and brother, I figured she'd go mad Indian, paint herself up and dance around a fire whooping for rain. But you kept her civilized."

Jack didn't know what he was talking about, but figured the less said the better. So he said nothing.

"Still, a thank you is about as helpful as spit on a field, especially when it comes from a rich man. And I am most certainly rich." He chuckled. "So, I'd like to thank you proper."

Troy raised his finger and pointed. Beside the house, a ranch hand nodded and reached into the back of a wagon.

"Emily told me you're heading to Lone Pine."

"Looks like it," Jack said, keeping his eye on the ranch hand.

"How you plan on getting there?"

"Head back to Brush and work my way north."

"Uh huh. And what will you do once you get there?"

"Claim my land."

The ranch hand pulled out a large saddle and tack.

"That's for you," Troy said. "Should fit just about perfect on old Samson here."

Samson turned his head to look at them.

"You're giving me Samson?" Jack asked.

"I'm giving you the saddle," Troy said. "Samson comes at a price. But don't fret, I've no need for a Clydesdale, so he's cheap."

The horse snorted.

"I need someone to keep an eye on the property," Troy said. "I'd tear down this old house and barn today if I could, but Emily insists on taking a few sticks of furniture with her. What I'm asking for is one week, Devlin. You keep an eye on the house for one week, and you can have this horse. He'll deliver you to Lone Pine with ease. He'll plow your land in no time-these horses are bred for work. What do you say," he said, holding out his hand. "We have a deal?"

"What happens to Samson if I don't take him?" Jack asked.

"He'll come back to the ranch, but I don't think he'll like it. A bit of a wind hugger if you ask me."

Jack looked at Samson. He felt rotten accepting a horse that belonged to Charlie's pa, but what was the alternative? Samson would be about as happy at a ranch as Jack would be in a city. A crowd was a crowd, whether horses or people.

"I accept," Jack said, shaking Troy's hand.

"A wise choice, Devlin." Behind them, the ranch hand carried the saddle into the house.

"All right, enough business," Troy said. "Let's go eat."

"If it's all the same, I think I'll stay here," Jack said.