On days she practiced, she marched a hundred yards back, hit the tree bang center and called herself Sundance.
The first time she rode the gray she felt as close to Butch as she ever had. Close to her blood, a little less foreign, a root taking hold in Montana earth. She lay a hand on the gray and felt the heat from her, patted gently and told the horse she wouldn’t ever kick her and, in return, maybe she could agree not to throw a cowgirl to the dirt. She gripped the horn tight and shook rain from her hair as Hal led her around the paddock, just a gentle trot that left her fighting the widest smile when she was done.
Another week and she watched the endless carbon sky begin to crack and the rain ease, the blue edge its way in and sunlight bless the ground for the first time in a month.
As she looked out across the land she saw Hal by the harrow and Robin by the coop, both of them turning skyward and smiling.
Hal raised a hand, Robin too. And then, slowly, with great effort, Duchess raised her own to them both. In math she learned the triangle was the strongest shape.
There was a gradualism to Montana days, fall sweeping them along with leaves a thousand kinds of brown.
One Saturday Hal drove them to Glacier. They hiked to Running Eagle Falls, the aspens catching the light and stopping her breath. They walked on a carpet of leaves, some so big they came to Robin’s shoulder when he drew them up. He tried to collect them, got so many he could barely see over. Hal brought them to a clearing and they watched the stark yellow cottonwoods wave like fool’s gold.
“Beautiful,” Hal said.
“Beautiful,” Robin echoed.
Duchess just stared. Some days, mean and tough was hard to locate.
They stopped at rocks, water cascading loud. They stood beside a family of four, so symmetrical Duchess looked away from the mother and father like they’d committed a modern-day sin. She reasoned they’d divorce soon enough, harden their little angels till all that was left was slammed doors and angry tears. She did smile at that.
Duchess still wore her dress each Sunday to Canyon View Baptist. Each time Hal still frowned and the other kids still stared, but the old people, the couples that stopped and bowed, widowed ladies that carried themselves with earned decency, they all took to her. None more so than Dolly, who sought her out most weekends and sat beside her.
Fall shadows, the candles and lanterns needed. Robin sat across with three other kids, brothers all older but they let him trail them. Their mother hushed them now and then. Robin watched them in quiet awe, bigger boys, there was nothing that compared.
“He will come.”
“Who?” Hal said.
“Darke. You should know that he will come.”
“He won’t.”
“I’m Josey Wales and he’s a Union soldier. The bounty is my blood. He will come.”
“You still haven’t told me why you think he’s coming.”
“He thinks I wronged him.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
The old priest called communion and she watched the line form, so hungry for purgation they’d share cheap wine and spit.
“You want to go up?” Hal said, same every week.
“Do I want to contract herpes, Hal?”
He looked away and Duchess took that as a small victory. Robin lined up with the bigger boys. He wore an old Mississippi necktie they found in the attic and a panama hat at least seven sizes too big.
As they passed Robin turned to them. “John, Ralph and Danny are going up to take communion. I want to stay with them but I don’t want to contract herpes.”
Hal frowned at Duchess.
They stayed for cake. Duchess ate a slice of chocolate and a slice of lemon, made eyes at a slice of pear and date but an old lady took it before she committed. She had gained a little weight, enough to edge off the severity.
When they arrived back at the farmhouse Duchess saw the bicycle, old and shitty, laying in the dirt by the porch.
“It’s Thomas Noble,” Robin said, his face at the glass.
Thomas Noble stood at the bottom step, bad hand tucked into the pocket of green corduroys. He wore a smart green shirt and green jacket.
“Jesus. He looks like a fucking booger.”
They climbed from the car.
Duchess stood, hand on hip and scowling. “What are you doing here, Thomas Noble?”
He swallowed, looked at her dress then swallowed again.
“I hope you’re not checking me out. Hal will shoot you. Right, Hal?”
“Yes,” Hal said. Then he ushered Robin into the house, made a promise to let him drive the riding mower after he changed out of his church clothes.
“I … the math paper. I needed someone to—”
“Don’t even try that bullshit.”
“I just thought maybe we could hang out. Being as I live just over there.” He pointed with his good hand.
“I know Radley land, there’s no neighbor close. How long did you ride?”
Thomas Noble scratched his head. “Four miles. Maybe. Mom said I could do with the exercise.”
“You’re skinny to the point of malnourishment. She’d do better advising a change of diet.”
He smiled a simple smile.
“I’m not fixing you any lunch or even a drink. This isn’t the 1950s.”
“I know.”
“Well, I’m going to pull the weeds by the water. Work doesn’t stop just because you don’t have the good sense to call ahead.”
She went into the house, changed into her old jeans and shirt then found him still there, standing dumb and looking down at his sneakers.
“I suppose you can make yourself useful and help me.”
“Yes,” he said quick.
He trailed her down to the lake edge, knelt beside and pulled weeds she pointed at. She took a cigar from her pocket, stolen from Hal’s dresser.
“You can’t smoke that. You’ll catch the cancer.”
She flipped him off, then bit the top off the cigar and spit it into the dirt. “Jesse John Raymond held a smoke in his mouth when he slaughtered the coward Pat Buchanan.” She gripped the cigar in her teeth. “You got a light?”
“Do I look like the kind of boy that has a light?”
“Fair point. I could just chew it, like Billy Ross Clanton.”
“I think that’s a different type of tobacco.”
“You know nothing, Thomas Noble.” Duchess bit a large chunk off the cigar, chewed and tried mightily not to vomit.
Thomas Noble cleared his throat, then squinted up at her. “So … the reason I came. There’s this dance approaching us. The winter formal.”
“I hope you’re not working up the courage to ask me. Now of all times. When I’ve got a mouth full of tobacco.”
He shook his head quickly, then went back to the task.
“You should know that I don’t intend to marry. And I especially wouldn’t marry you … with the hand.”
“It’s not hereditary. I was an anomaly. Doctor Ramirez—”
“I’m an outlaw. I’m not going to take the word of a Mexican.”
He worked on in silence, then stopped to squint up at her again. “I’ll do your math homework for a month.”
“Alright.”
“Alright yes?”
“No. I still wouldn’t go with you. But I’ll permit you to do my math.”
“Is it because I’m black?”
“No, it’s because you’re a weakling asshole. I’m looking for bravery in a man.”
“But—”
“I’m a fucking outlaw. When you will realize that? I don’t dress up nice and date boys. I’ve got bigger things on.”
“Like what?”
“There’s a man after me,” she said, and he watched her carefully. “A man named Dickie Darke and he drives a black Escalade and he wants to kill me. So, you want to do something useful, you’ll keep an eye out for him.”
“Why does he want to kill you?”
; “He thinks I wronged him.”
“Tell the cops. Or your grandfather.”
“I can’t tell anyone. If they find out what I did I’ll get in shit. They might take me away from Robin.”
“I’ll look out.”
“You ever done anything brave in your whole life?”
Another head scratch. “The tire-swing by Cally Creek.”
“That’s not brave.”
“You try it with one hand.”
She almost smiled.
“My mother birthed me without pain relief. Bravery is passed down, right?”
“Shit, Thomas Noble. You must’ve weighed a couple ounces when you were born. Probably shot out when she sneezed.”
He went back to pulling, squinting the whole time.
“Where are your glasses?”
“I don’t even need them.”
“You’re pulling the fucking bluebells. I happen to like bluebells.”
He gingerly lay the bluebell carcass back on the bank. “It’s not always easy to be brave, you know. I’m not like you. You see the kids laughing at me. They’re in a group, a head taller, bigger, they’ve got muscles.”
“It’s not about how big you are. It’s the way you sell it.”
He thought on that. “So I act like I can fight?”
“And then you don’t have to.”
“This man looking for you. Will it work on him?”
“No. You see him and you tell me right away.”
“Alright. But maybe you should be more worried about that kid you threatened. Tyler. He has an older brother and he’s looking for you.”
She waved a hand. “Fuck him and his family. Now pull that big weed and then be on your way. It’ll be dark by the time you make it home. And you can ill afford to get hit by a truck and lose use of another limb.”
He stood with reluctance.
She watched him walk, pick up his bicycle and set off toward the gate. She waited till he was out of sight before she spit out a mouthful of tobacco, shuddered, and scraped her tongue with her fingers.
24
THE IVER COUNTY PARADE.
Main bustled. A boy roping straw bale calves, cursing as he missed the top. Girls tossing bean bags into hoops. There was a stall selling hotdogs, a ramp for skateboards nothing more than ply resting on an upturned plant pot. Hal took Robin to get his face painted. Duchess sat on the sidewalk and watched the floats. Mount Call Insurance, Trailwest Bank. Little girls with tiaras, waving to the flash of a couple of cameras.
She saw Thomas Noble and his mother. Mrs. Noble. She was tall and striking, heads turned as she strolled. Beside was an old man, short and thin and white.
Thomas headed over.
“Your mother doing charity? Help the aged or something.”
Thomas Noble followed her eye. “That’s my father.”
She frowned. “Jeez, what’s the attraction there, financial or fetishistic?”
He tugged her arm. “I’ve got something to tell you. It’s urgent.”
She stood with reluctance as he led her from the crowds. Now Duchess could only guess at what Thomas Noble deemed urgent, and her guesses ranged from him believing his mother was fooling around with the mailman, to feeling certain his withered hand was getting stronger, and that he’d soon be able to crush cans with it. He had a thing about crushing cans.
“This better not be about your mother fucking the mailman.” Her relationship with Thomas Noble had blossomed into the kind of one-sided friendship where he confided in her and she used his secrets against him, without mercy.
He wore a sunhat, took it off and fanned himself with it as they moved beneath the shade of a maple tree. “That kid, Tyler. His brother is here and he’s looking for you.”
“You thought that was urgent?”
“You don’t understand. He’s big. I think you should head home.”
“Where is he?”
Thomas Noble swallowed.
“Don’t be a pussy all your life, Thomas Noble. Take me to the big boy so I can hand his ass to him.”
He led her, shaking his head, wiping sweat with a trembling hand. Word spread, kids clustered in the alleyway behind Cherry’s Bakery.
“That’s him.”
Duchess glanced at the kid, Tyler, the boy that had pushed Robin over. And then she looked to the kid beside him, taller, fatter, uglier. He wore shorts that stopped at his calves, pale legs like trunks, Converse worn and faded. Dark hair, bowl-cut, a little acne on each cheek.
Tyler pointed her way and the bigger kid came toward her.
“Who the fuck are you?” Duchess said, fixing the bow in her hair.
“Gaylon.”
“Shit. I guess you had to grow up tough.”
“You messed with my family.” He stepped forward.
She rolled her eyes.
“You threatened to hurt my brother.”
“Actually I threatened to behead that motherfucker.”
A dozen kids now, blood in the water.
“You apologize to him.”
“Shut the fuck up, fat boy.”
Collective gasps as kids backed up a little, Thomas Noble no longer beside her.
Gaylon took another step, clenched a fat fist.
And then she heard it. Part war cry, part girlish scream. The crowd parted for Thomas Noble as he sprinted through. He’d loosened his shirt and, for reasons Duchess did not dare comprehend, tucked his pant legs into his socks.
Thomas Noble moved fast, boxed shadows and switched feet, circling Gaylon as he bobbed his head back and forth.
Duchess brought a hand to her face and watched through her fingers as Gaylon laid him out with a single punch.
And then the back door opened. Cherry taking out a trash bag. The crowd moved fast, Tyler and his brother disappeared.
Duchess walked over and assessed the damage.
“Did I win?” Thomas Noble said, as she helped him to his feet.
“It’s the taking part that counts.”
He touched his eye gingerly. “I’ll have a black eye.”
“It’s already black,” she reasoned.
“Maybe a blue eye then.”
“Come on, I’ll get you some ice.” She took his good hand in hers. Despite the pain, he managed a wide smile.
“That was brave, right?”
“More stupid than brave.”
It was as she turned onto Main she saw it.
Black Escalade.
Her blood drained.
Darke had found them.
She let go of his hand and moved along trucks. Bumper stickers, SWAN MOUNTAIN and MONTANA ELK, DISTRICT NINE. She thought of Darke, trying to blend between, his soulless eyes giving him away.
Duchess saw Hal’s truck, the windows rolled down. She popped the door and slipped into the passenger seat. Thomas Noble looked on as she opened the glove compartment and slid the Smith & Wesson from its place inside.
She tucked the gun into her jeans.
Thomas Noble, the fight left him before it even arrived.
They moved back to the sidewalk. The sun cast a hand over the street, lighting the kids and their parents, smiles of the unknowing. They walked up, outside Cherry’s, past the barbershop. They hugged storefronts, Duchess scanning, hand on her belt.
The gun, no longer cold but burning hot, waiting on her.
Across the street was the Escalade. She imagined Darke inside, watching her in that way he did.
She stepped into the road, fear keeping pace but she forced it down behind a smile. She’d let Darke see it, she was glad he came because she wanted it done now. She would kill for Robin, she didn’t even need asking.
“What are you doing?” Thomas Noble tugged her arm but she shook him off, turned and glared.
“Stay there.”
“You can’t just go up to him.”
Thomas Noble looked like he could cry, like he wanted to turn and bolt but the emerging man inside was jostling for place with the frightened kid.
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She circled to the back of the Escalade.
The sidewalk now, beside the car, she trailed a hand along the paint, the shine deep enough to mirror her.
“Duchess, please,” he called, but she didn’t turn.
She slipped the gun from her jeans, kept it between herself and the car as she reached for the handle and pulled hard.
It was locked.
She pressed her face close to the glass and saw it empty.
She spun around. The parade rolled on, drums, ribbons. Kids marched in the band while girls twirled and beamed.
Duchess pushed her way through a group and heard kids curse her. Thomas Noble stayed beside. She saw Darke in everyone, warm smiles and cold eyes. She knew what men could do, all of them, capability was enough.
She was about to turn, and then she saw him.
She ran now, flat out. She knocked Coke from a kid’s hand, sent an old lady sprawling as people yelled. When she reached him he turned, and he looked up and smiled.
She knelt and took Robin into her arms.
“What is it?” Hal said.
And then a lady noticed what she held in her hand.
“GUN.”
Hal pulled her close as panic broke out around them.
* * *
The call came after dinner. Hal filled him in. By the time the panic died the Escalade was gone. Duchess did not get the plates. It could have been anyone. The reminder kept them all focused.
As he cut the line it rang again.
“You’re popular,” Martha said.
He’d promised to cook for her, lost track of the day so ended up ordering in. Martha had laughed, said she was relieved she’d at least get something palatable. He’d left her in the house, working through more papers.
“Cuddy,” Walk said into the phone. He hadn’t checked in with Cuddy in a while so was relieved to hear the big man’s voice on the other end. “How’s he holding up?”
“I got him back in his old cell, had to move a runner on, bitched something awful but Vincent seems more settled in there.”
“Thank you.”
“Any news on the case? I tried asking Vincent about it but he wouldn’t say anything. Not like the others, always crying innocence and injustice. I swear, you’d think we’d locked up a bunch of choirboys.”
We Begin at the End Page 18