Part 20 (1/2)
Sarah rushed into the kitchen. She saw me standing there fl.u.s.tered. Then she fetched a glance at the open bathroom door. Then her cheeks colored considerable and her mouth dropped. ”Oh, my,” she said.
Mable must've heard her. ”You get in here right now now and shut the door! That horrid child's been and shut the door! That horrid child's been spying spying on me!” on me!”
Sarah went into the bathroom and closed the door. I heard Mable rail on at her for a spell, and Sarah talking soft and reasonable, explaining the mistake. By and by, Mable settled down and Sarah came out.
She met my eyes. She was blus.h.i.+ng fierce. ”It's all right,” she told me. ”In the future, we'll both need to be more careful. It must've been horribly embarra.s.sing for you.”
”I do hope Mable will forgive me.”
”I made it clear that you had no intention of spying on her, and that the bath was intended for you.”
”I never...meant to look at her.”
”Oh, I know, I know.” Smiling a bit sadly, Sarah stroked my hair. ”After all, you've had every opportunity to spy on me me, if your inclination leaned toward such things. You've never done that, have you?”
”Why, no. Certainly not.”
”I'm sure you haven't,” she said, but the look she gave me was uncommon peculiar and set my face burning. Pretty soon, she said, ”You'd best have your bath another day.”
Then we went over to the sink, and Sarah pumped water into a pot. I added some wood to the stove, working up my courage, then asked, ”What happened to Mable's legs?”
She hoisted an eyebrow.
”I only glimpsed her for a blink, really, but...”
”Grandpa's never told you about that? All those nights you sneak downstairs and talk with him till all hours?”
I hadn't known Sarah was aware of all that. She'd done some spying herself, apparently.
”What happened to her?” I asked.
”If Grandpa hasn't told you, perhaps he'd rather you not know.”
”I suppose I might ask him about it tonight,” I said.
”Don't you dare. For heaven's sake, Trevor.”
”I won't, then.”
She set the pot of water on the stove to heat it. I figured she'd had her say on the subject of Mable's legs, but then she led me to the table and we sat down.
”It happened just after the end of the Civil War. Grandpa had been rea.s.signed to a post in the West. He and Grandma were traveling there, just the two of them on horseback, when they were ambushed by a war party of Apaches near Tucson. Before they knew what was happening, Grandpa was shot off his horse. An arrow took him in the shoulder. When he fell, he struck his head on a rock. The blow rendered him unconscious, so he was completely unaware of all that happened afterward. I believe he's never forgiven himself for that, though it certainly was no fault of his. That's likely why he hasn't told you the story. He's never spoken a word of it to me, either. I only know about it because I once asked my father about Mable's limp. I've kept it secret from Grandpa that I know, and you must promise to do the same.”
”I promise,” I told her.
”What Mable did, she saw that Grandpa was down so she leaped off her mount and ran to his side. The way Papa told it, arrows were flying all about her. None hit her, though.”
”The Indians likely wanted to take her alive,” I said.
”That's exactly what Papa told me. And it seems to be the only reason they weren't both killed that day. What Grandma did, though, she drew out Grandpa's service revolver and emptied it at the Apaches. She got one of them, too. Then she was empty, and the savages were closing in. Fortunately, her shots were heard by a squad of cavalry patrolling nearby. She didn't know that, though. Besides, the soldiers were still a distance off. Grandma didn't have time to reload, so she dragged Grandpa across the ground to a hole in the rocks. It was like a cave. She shoved him all the way in, but there wasn't quite room enough for both of them. She wedged herself into the rocks as best she could. Her legs and...hindquarters...wouldn't fit. I guess the Indians had plenty of time to rush in and drag her out, but they didn't do that. Instead, they stayed back and poured arrows into Grandma. They made a game of it. The way Papa told it, they were prancing about laughing and whooping it up and sailing arrows into her when the soldiers came riding in and scattered them.”
Well, that story changed my outlook on the General and Mable both. I could see why he'd never told me about it, and why he always went on the way he did about Indian tortures and how you had a duty to save your women even if it meant killing them. He must've seen it that he'd failed Mable. The Apaches hadn't taken her off, but they'd damaged her considerable, and the fact it didn't turn out worse was only due to luck. The whole thing made me feel sorry for the General, and like him all the more.
As for Mable, I never again looked on her as an obnoxious old nuisance, and felt rather ashamed forever thinking bad thoughts about her. It was just bully, picturing her crouched at the General's side, blazing away at the redskins. Then she'd dragged him to safety, even though he was near twice her size, and caught a heap of arrows in the backside for her troubles. She was a heroine to me after I found out about all that.
Of course, I couldn't let on that I knew. But I treated her extra nice from that time on. More than likely, she laid it down to my blunder of barging into the bathroom, and figured I was trying to win myself back into her good graces. That wasn't it, though. The reason I turned so friendly was simply because I admired her awfully for the gumption she'd shown against the Apaches.
When the General mentioned that she hadn't bathed in a fortnight, I knew it had to be on account of me. It weighed on me some while I got into my slicker and hurried off to the stable with Sarah. I wanted to be Mable's friend, and not someone who gave her troubles.
We harnessed Howitzer to one of the carriages and set off in the rain toward town. That was the direction Mable always took when she wandered off. There'd usually been snow on the ground, the other times, so we'd worried about her freezing up. We'd always found her in time, though, and she'd never seemed the worse for wear. I figured she could handle some rain, so I wasn't much concerned.
Not till I saw her.
Mable was sprawled face down by the side of the road, on a stretch between their place and the house of the nearest neighbor. Even from a distance, I could see she wasn't moving. But I couldn't see the puddle till we reined in Howitzer and jumped down and ran to her.
It wasn't much of a puddle, actually.
No more than a yard around and a couple of inches deep.
But it had drowned her.
Or maybe it hadn't, and she'd keeled over dead and her face just happened happened to land in the water. to land in the water.
Either way, Mable was dead.
I hunched down and rolled her over. She tumbled, all loose, like she didn't have any bones. Her face was gray with muddy water. The rain cleaned it off, and fell into her mouth. Her eyes were open, staring. The raindrops splashed on her eyeb.a.l.l.s, but she didn't blink.
”Oh, dear Lord,” Sarah murmured.
She closed Mable's lids, and then I picked up the poor limp body. Mable'd been a bit shorter than me, and skinnier. It surprised me, how heavy she felt. I managed, anyhow, and took her to the carriage and put her down across the rear seats. We climbed aboard, then turned for home.
We didn't say a thing. We didn't cry or carry on, either. I wasn't feeling any particular sorrow, just then. Mostly, I felt rather afraid and sick, and guilty we hadn't gotten to Mable in time to save her. And I dreaded how the General would take to the loss of his wife.
Much as he always complained about her, I didn't suppose he'd be glad to have her gone.
We left the carriage in front of the porch. Sarah, she went in ahead of me. I followed, holding Mable's body. We found the General in the parlor.
He rose from his chair. His mouth dropped open, then shut again. Not speaking a word, he stepped over to us and put a hand on Mable's cheek.
”I'm so sorry,” Sarah told him, her voice quivery.
”I appreciate your bringing her back to me, dear.” He gave me a sorry glance, nodded, and took the body from my arms. ”I'll put her to bed,” he told us.
We both just stood there, silent, while he carried her away. I heard the fire crackling and popping, heard the stairs groan under the General's slow footfalls.
Pretty soon, along came the gunshot.