Part 43 (1/2)

”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 s.h.i.+rt 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.”