So, Cable thought, the hell with it. He was too tired to argue. Tired and hungry and her mind was made up, he could see that. He moved to the door of the next room, glanced in and saw that the two single beds had not been touched, then looked at Lorraine again.
“Take your pick.”
She moved close to him in the doorway to look into the room. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Whichever one you want.” He walked away from her and for the next few minutes concentrated on shaping and straightening the stove flue. He was able to put it up again, temporarily, but his hands and face were smudged with soot when he’d finished.
Lorraine waited until he started a fire in the stove, then told him to go outside and wash; she’d fix something to eat. Cable hesitated, doubting her ability at the stove; but finally he went out-washed up at the river, scrubbing his hands with sand and scooping the cool water into his face. He felt better being alone outside and he took his time at the river, then went to the barn and looked in at the sorrel again before returning to the house.
Coffee was on the fire; Cable smelled it as he came in. For a moment he watched Lorraine making pancakes in the iron frying pan and he thought: She wants you to be surprised. But he turned away from her and busied himself sweeping up the broken china. After that he turned the slashed mattress on the bed and spread the bedcovers over it. When it was time to sit down she served him the corn meal cakes in a pie plate and poured his coffee into a tin drinking cup. Lorraine sat down with him, watching him eat, waiting for him to say something; but Cable ate in silence.
“Well, what do you think?”
“Fine.” He was finishing the last of his coffee.
“Surprised I know how to cook?”
“You’re a woman, aren’t you?” he answered, knowing she would react to it, but saying it anyway.
“Does that follow,” Lorraine said peevishly. “Just because you’re a woman all you’re to be concerned with is cooking and keeping house?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re probably hopeless. You deserve to live out here with a wife and three kids.”
“You make it sound like a sentence.”
“You are hopeless.”
“And tired,” Cable said. He got up from the table, walked around to Lorraine’s chair and pulled it out for her. “So are you.”
She looked up at him. “Am I?” Her tone was mild now.
“Tired out from that long ride with Vern.” He took Lorraine by the arm to the bedroom. “Have a good sleep and before you know it it’ll be time to fix breakfast.” He pushed her inside and closed the door before she could say a word.
Cable blew out the lamp, then walked to the open front door and stood looking out at the night, letting the stillness and the breeze that was coming off the meadow relax him. This was good. But it was a peace that lasted only as long as the night. Slowly Cable sat down in the doorway. Take advantage of the peace you can feel, he thought. Sleep was good, but it wasn’t something you could enjoy each minute of and know you were enjoying it.
So he sat in the doorway, feeling the silence and the darkness about him, thinking of his wife and children, picturing them in bed in the rooms above the store; then picturing them here, seeing himself sitting with the children close to him and talking to them, answering their questions, being patient and answering the questions that were unrelated or imaginary along with the reasonable ones. Clare would ask the most questions and through her eyes that were wide with concentration he could almost see her picturing his answers. It was like the times she would relate a dream she had had and he would try to imagine how she saw it with her child’s eyes and with her child’s mind. While he was talking to Clare, Davis would become restless and jump on his back, Davis with enough energy for all of them and wanting to fight or be chased or swim in the river. Sandy, lying against him, listening to them contentedly with his thumb in his mouth, would scowl and yell at Davis to stop it. Then he would quiet them and they would talk about other things until Martha called.
And after the children were in bed they would sit here on the steps, watching the willows turn to silent black shapes against the sky, hearing the night sounds in the pines and far out on the meadow. They would talk in low murmurs, feeling the familiar nearness of one another. They talked about the children and the house and about things they had done and about things they would do someday; but not talking about the future, because if they accomplished or acquired nothing more than what they had, it would be enough and they would be satisfied; perhaps as happy as anyone, any family, could expect to be.
If you can hold on to what you have, Cable thought. Right now you would settle just for that and not hope for anything more.
He was certain that the Kidstons had damaged the house, as a warning. Maybe not Vern. It seemed more like something Duane would do. But regardless of who did it, the effect was the same.
He heard the sound behind him, the bedroom door opening and closing. He turned, starting to push himself up, but Lorraine was already over him. Her hand went to his shoulder and she sank down beside him.
“I thought you were tired.”
“I’m going to bed in a minute,” Cable said. He saw that Lorraine was wearing one of Martha’s flannel nightgowns. He had felt it as she brushed against him to sit down.
“What were you thinking about?”
“A lot of things at once, I suppose.”
“Vern and Duane…the happiness boys?”
He looked at her. “I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”
“I explained all that.”
“You didn’t any more get thrown than I did.”
Lorraine smiled. “But I had to tell you something.”
“Did Vern send you?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Keeping you company.”
“I guess you are.”
Lorraine moved, rising to her knees and turning to him. Her hands went to his shoulders, then to his face caressingly as she kissed him.
“You’re not very responsive, are you?” She pressed close to him, kissing him again. “In fact you’re rather cold. I’m surprised.”
“You’ve got the wrong one, that’s all.”
“Oh, come now-”
“Or else the wrong time and place.”
“Would you like to go somewhere else?”
Quietly, Cable said, “Lorraine, you’re probably the pleasantest temptation I’ve ever had-but I’ve got enough things living in my mind the way it is.”
Close to him her head moved slowly from side to side. “The only halfway decent looking man within fifty miles and he has to have a conscience.” She felt his hands circle her waist and when they lingered, holding her, she said, “I’ll give you one more chance.”
But now he pushed her away and rose, lifting her with him. “I don’t think this would do either of us any good.”
In the darkness her eyes remained on him, but it was some time before she said, “I suppose your wife is very fortunate. But I doubt if I’d want to be married to you. I can’t help feeling there’s such a thing as being too good.”
The next morning Cable cleaned the main room and fixed the stove flue more securely. Later on, he decided, he would ride to Denaman’s Store. He would buy plates and cups, probably tin ones if Janroe had any at all; and he would stay as long as he could with Martha and the children.
Cable was outside when the two Kidston riders came by. He saw them crossing the river, approaching cautiously, and he walked out from the ramada, the Walker on his leg. He waited then as the two riders came across the yard toward him. A vague memory of having seen them before made Cable study their faces closely. No, he was certain he didn’t know them. Still-
The two riders looked somewhat alike, yet the features of one appeared more coarse and his coloring was freckled and lighter than the other man. It was as if both of their faces-both narrow and heavy boned-had been copied from the same model, but one had been formed less skillfully than the other. Both wore full mustaches and the darker of the two men showed a trace of heavy beard, at least a week’s growth.
“If you’re looking for Lorraine,” Cable said, “you’ve found her.”
The two riders were watching Cable, but now their eyes rose past him as Lorraine appeared.
She seemed a little surprised. “How did you know I was here?”
“Your daddy’s got everybody looking everywhere,” the dark man said. There was no trace of concern in his voice.
“Is he worried?”
“About out of his mind.”
“I can just see him.” Lorraine stepped down from the doorway and walked out to them. “You two will have to ride double,” she said, looking up. Neither of the men made a move to dismount. Lorraine moved toward the dark rider’s chestnut gelding. “This one.” Still the man hesitated and Lorraine added, “If you don’t mind.”
“Where’s yours?”
“I have no idea,” Lorraine answered.
The dark rider’s gaze moved to Cable. “Maybe we ought to use his then.”
Lorraine’s face showed sudden interest. “If he’ll let you.”
“He will.”
“We can’t do it while the girl’s here,” the other man said then. “Duane wouldn’t have any part of that.”
“I suppose we got time,” the dark one grunted.
“All we want,” the other rider said.
The dark one swung down. Not bothering to help Lorraine, he walked past her, raised his hand to the other rider and was pulled up behind him. He looked down at Cable again.
“Long as we got time.”
They rode out, past the house to the horse trail that climbed the slope. In the saddle now, straddling it with her skirt draped low on both sides, Lorraine waited long enough to say, “That was Austin and Wynn Dodd.”
Cable frowned. “I don’t know them.”
Lorraine smiled pleasantly. “You knew their brother. Joe Bob.”
She rode off toward the slope, following the Dodd brothers. Before passing into the pines behind the house, Lorraine looked back and waved.
There were times when Janroe could feel his missing hand; times when he swore he had moved his fingers. He would be about to pick something up with his left hand, then catch himself in time. A moment before this Janroe had absently raised his missing arm to lean on the door frame. He fell against the timber with his full weight on the stump, and now he stood rubbing it, feeling a dull pain in the arm that wasn’t there.
Luz Acaso appeared, coming from the back of the building. She was riding her dun-colored mare, sitting the saddle as a man would, her bare legs showing almost to her knees. Two of the Cable children, Clare and Davis, were following behind her as she crossed the yard toward the river.
Janroe stepped out to the loading platform.
“Luz!” The dun mare side-stepped as the girl reined in and looked back at him.
“Come over here.”
She held the horse, standing almost forty feet from the platform. “I can hear you,” she said.
“Maybe I don’t want to shout.”
“Then you come over here!”
Don’t ruffle her, Janroe thought. Something was bothering her. He had first noticed it as she served him his breakfast. She seldom spoke unless he said something to her first, so her silence this morning wasn’t unusual. Still, he had sensed a change in her. Her face was somber, without expression, yet he could feel a new tension between them. Even when she served him she avoided his eyes and seemed to reach out to place the coffee and food before him, as if afraid to come too close to him.
That was it. As if she was guarding something in her mind. As if she was so conscious of what she was thinking, she felt that if he looked in her eyes or even came too close to her, he would see it.
But while he was eating he would feel her eyes on him, watching him carefully, intently; although when he looked up from his plate she would be turning away or picking something up from the stove.
Now she was riding down to Hidalgo. Tonight there would be a gun shipment and Luz would lead it to the store, making sure the way was clear. Janroe said, “You’re leaving a little early, aren’t you?”
“I want to have time to see my brother.”
“About what?”
“Nothing.”
“You seem anxious enough over nothing.”
“I want to see him, that’s all.” She waited a moment longer, watching Janroe, but when he said no more she flicked the reins and moved on across the yard. Janroe watched her pass into the willows and even after she was out of sight he continued to stare at the trees. What was it about her-was she more confident? More sure of herself since the Cables had come home. Afraid when she was alone with him, still somewhat more confident.
He noticed the Cable children then. Clare and Davis were still in the front yard, standing close to each other now and looking up at him on the platform.
“I told you once to play in the back,” Janroe called out. “I’m not going to tell you again. I’ll get a stick next time, you understand?”
Clare stood rigid. Davis nodded with a small jerk of his head and reached for Clare’s arm. They turned to go.
“Wait a minute.” Janroe looked down at them sternly. “Where’s your father? Is he still here?”
“Upstairs,” the boy said.
“All right.” Janroe waved them away and they ran, glancing back at him as they rounded the corner of the building.
What do you have to do to a man like that? Janroe thought. A man that finds his house wrecked and comes moping in to buy tin plates and sit with his wife. Cable had arrived about mid-morning and had been here ever since.
Janroe stood for some time holding the stump of his arm, rubbing it gently. He was looking above the willows now, to the hillside beyond the full roundness of the treetops. But it was moments before he realized a file of riders had come down out of the pines and was descending the slope.
Perhaps because his hand still held the stump, or because he had jarred it and imagined the pain still present; because of this and then abruptly seeing the riders on the hillside and for the moment not caring who they were-his mind went back to another time, another place…
There had been riders then on a hillside; directly across the cornfield and not more than eight hundred yards away, a line of riders appearing along the crest of the hill, then stopping and dismounting. He had seen that they were unhitching the horses from artillery pieces-three of them-and rolling the guns into position.
He had waited then, studying the position through his field glasses for at least ten minutes, or perhaps a quarter of an hour; so by the time he brought his men out of the pines, screaming at them, shooting one and seeing the other soldier who had been afraid suddenly run by him, the field pieces were ready and loaded and waiting for him.
Janroe himself was no more than a hundred yards out from the woods when the first shell exploded. The blast was loud in his ears and almost knocked him down; but he kept moving, seeing two, then three, men come stumbling, crawling out of the smoke and dust that seemed to hang motionless in the air. One of the men fell facedown and didn’t move. As he watched, a second and third shell exploded and he saw one of the crawling men lifted from the ground and thrown on his back. Close around him men were flattening themselves on the ground and covering their heads.
But the ones in front of him were still moving, and with the next explosion Janroe was running again. He saw the man who had been afraid a few moments before, running, breathing heavily, his head back as if he was looking up at the three artillery pieces. Janroe was close to the man, almost about to run past him and yell back at him to keep coming, and then the man was no more.
It was as if time suddenly stopped, for Janroe saw the man, or part of him, blown into the air and he could remember this clearly, the fraction of a moment caught and indelibly recorded in his mind. And it was the same sudden, ground-lifting, sound-smashing burst of smoke and iron that slammed Janroe senseless and cleanly severed his left arm…