Duchess rode the gray, the two heading out together each day, before Montana woke. She knew the trails well enough now, breath billowed, the gray content to go slow, she would not run well again. Duchess stroked her as they stood atop the butte and looked out over the ranch.
The house was sawn timber and beautiful, fire burned, the chimney smoked. There were barns, a river she had followed three miles through aspens before seeing wolf tracks and quickly retreating. She had a knife, her grandfather’s, and on weekends she would explore alone, cut paths into the shrubland, stepping through shallow water tables crafted by the fall.
The months that had followed were long and difficult, but she found the new surroundings helped. She took it back to breathing, like Hal had once told her, and though it did hurt, all of it, she knew time was all powerful.
When she reached the stable she led the gray in, made sure she had water and straw and patted her nose.
She found Dolly in the kitchen, reading a newspaper, the smell of coffee rich in the air. Duchess had gone to her, turned up at midnight and made good on her promise. At first she had agreed to stay one night, the next morning Dolly had led her to the stable and showed her the gray, which she’d taken for free after they settled Hal’s estate.
One day had led to a week, which turned to a month and more. Dolly acted on the pretence of needing help with the land, though she was wealthy enough to have several men stop by each week. Duchess worked hard, stayed out from dawn till the sun fell away. They did not speak much at first, the girl so beaten Dolly knew it was only in time she could help her.
Dolly broached the subject of formal adoption one morning, as they swept chokecherry leaves from the driveway. Duchess said nothing for three days, then told Dolly if she was stupid enough to want her as a daughter then she should see a doctor. But if he gave her a clean bill then yes, she would like to stay.
Duchess kicked her boots off. “I need to earn some money.”
Dolly looked up from her newspaper.
“I owe someone. I need to pay it back.”
“I can give you—”
“I have to earn it myself. Outlaws settle their debts.” She hadn’t yet figured out how to track down Hank and Busy. She’d start at the motel, make calls. She would make things right.
Duchess went to pass her, stopped when Dolly held up a letter.
“This came for you.”
Duchess took it from her. She saw the Cape Haven stamp and retreated to her bedroom, which she had painted a shade of green that matched the hills.
She closed the door behind her and settled into the big chair by the window.
She knew the writing, small enough that she imagined Walk spent a week composing it.
She read it slowly. He apologized for lying in court, for shaking her faith in him. He told her sometimes people did the wrong thing for the right reason.
For twenty pages he spoke of his life and her mother’s, a young Vincent King and Martha May. He told her how he was sick, and how he used to be ashamed of it, and scared of losing his place. And of place he rambled for a page before he got to it, and told her the kind of truth that saw her drop the papers, stand and pace her room.
When she calmed she gathered them up and read on. He told her of Vincent, of the blood in her veins, and how she should not feel sad but proud. Of how her mother had always loved him, and had kept that love alive through the harshest of conditions. He mentioned Vincent’s torture, of how he could not atone for the life he had stolen. She was loved though, that’s what he said. She and her brother were born of the most unbreakable love.
Enclosed was a single photo, Walk on a rusting boat, the sign new, CAPE HAVEN FISHING. In the water Duchess saw the reflection, a small lady with dark hair, holding the camera, the widest smile on her face.
And along with the photograph was a legal document that was Vincent King’s last will and testament.
Later, Dolly would tell her how she, along with Robin, now owned a grand house in Cape Haven. Vincent had been restoring it for them. And that they did not need do anything yet, but one day she could visit, or sell it, or do whatever she pleased. In the space of a little time she had gone from having nothing, to something, the future still uncertain but it was there.
That night she lay awake and thought of all that had gone before, what she had learned and what she would forget. She had been waiting, healing, getting strong enough again.
The next morning she told Dolly she was ready.
48
THE TOWN ANNOUNCED ITSELF WITHOUT fuss, just a small sign that told its name.
Owl Creek.
Dolly had a friend in Rexburg, they’d made the drive overnight. From there Duchess had ridden the bus herself. Dolly had asked once if she needed her. Duchess told her no, but thank you.
The bus was long, silver with red and blue detail. When it pulled over she grabbed her bag and stood, walked her way down the aisle and stepped out into Wyoming air.
The driver called and wished her safe travel, closed the door and moved on. She cast a last look at the windows, reflected stares, a couple of smiles. The smell of the engine, mechanical heat.
She walked with her head down now, since that day, quieter than she had been before.
She passed the Capitol Hotel. Awnings hung over of the kind of stores that saw well-heeled visitors shopping their windows. Lacey’s Pottery, Aldon Antiques, The Pressly Flower Shop.
Past the Carnegie Library, the sun low and heavy over the Bighorns, the vista of rolling plains before it. She breathed deep, her back ached from the seat. She freshened up in the restroom of a shiny gas station, wanted her hair to be just right beneath her hat.
She carried a small map, where she needed to be was circled and didn’t look all that far. She walked less than a mile and found a wide patch of grass bordered by pretty houses.
Another road and she found it.
Owl Creek Elementary.
The building was low, signs painted white, flowers broke from hanging baskets. Across was another patch of grass, and beyond that a large oak that reminded her of the wishing tree. She made her way over, stood beneath the arms then sat on a shaded patch of leaves so orange she scooped one up and held it toward the sky.
In her bag was a bottle of water and she drank a little, saving some for later. She had a candy bar but was too nervous to eat.
The first car pulled up, then another, but most, she noticed, walked their way through the town to collect their children.
She saw Peter right off, Jet tugging on his leash, Peter smiling hello to just about everyone.
She clutched her chest when the first children came out. She fussed with her hat, then retied her sneaker. She wore her best dress, yellow, his favorite color.
She gasped when she saw him.
He looked taller, his hair cut shorter, his smile unalloyed and beautiful. She knew he would one day be a heartbreaker.
Beside him was Lucy, and he gripped her hand tight as she led him to the end of the path. And then he saw Peter, and Robin ran toward him and Peter scooped him up and they hugged tight, for a long time, her brother’s eyes closed.
Peter set Robin down and handed him the leash, Jet jumping up and licking his face, Robin laughing. Duchess stood rooted as Peter led them to the small park beside, pushed Robin on the swing, helped him up the steps then collected him at the bottom of the tall slide.
She watched them, felt each of his smiles as if they were her own, heard his laughter carry far. Lucy joined them, she carried a bag, papers spilling from it. When Robin saw her he ran toward her like it had been the longest time.
Duchess moved when they did, stayed a good distance behind, but they would not have noticed her. She tried to call out, several times, so quiet she could barely get out his name.
They lived in a nice home. Green clapboard, white shutters, neat yard. The kind of house she had once dreamed of finding for them.
They had a mailbox, The Laytons. She walked up their street as the sun droppe
d, Wyoming sky coming at her with such delicate beauty. She checked out the neighbors, saw kids, bikes, a bat and ball.
When dusk fell she made her way back and slipped down the side of their place, into the yard. A swing-set, a barbeque, a bug motel.
For a long time she stood frozen, night replaced day with so many stars.
She made her way to the porch, took the steps and stopped by the window. The light burned from inside, the perfect scene played. Lucy with Robin, helping him with his reading, Peter at the counter, calling out dinner, a plate for each of them. They sat together, the television on but muted, Jet beside Robin, his eyes expectant.
Robin finished every bite.
She watched them till it was time, till Peter kissed Robin’s head gently, and Lucy took the reading book and his hand and led him up the stairs.
She wondered if he would remember, all they had been through. She knew there was a good chance he would not, not the detail. He was young enough to be anyone. The world was his. He was a prince, and, finally, she understood why.
She was not a girl that cried, but right then tears fell as she allowed the dam to break.
She cried for everything she had lost, and everything he had found.
Duchess pressed her palm to the glass, and said goodbye to her brother.
49
DUCHESS TOOK TO HER BEDROOM for the next few days.
Dolly knew to give her time, space, room to breathe, despite the worry. She left her meals outside the door, checked in only once, to ask if she’d like help tending the gray that morning. Inside she found Duchess at her small desk, sunlight on her as she wrote.
Monday and Duchess walked into class with Thomas Noble.
“Did you finish?” he said.
“Yeah.”
It had been a free assignment, a report of their choosing. She watched kids stand at the front and speak of things so varied as Jefferson and football, summer vacation and how to track a whitetail.
When the teacher called her, Duchess walked to the front of the class, fixed her paper to the board and swallowed down her nerves. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets and stood before her family tree.
Complete.
She felt all the eyes on her as she glanced at Thomas Noble, who smiled and motioned for her to start.
Duchess cleared her throat, turned to the front and began.
She led with her father, the outlaw, Vincent King.
Acknowledgments
Katherine Armstrong, for a flawless edit. Thank you for putting up with me, for running up hills with me, for making me a better writer and for helping me tell this story. It’s infinitely better because of you.
Victoria, for loving me even when I tried to grow a beard. Never have the words ‘Turn out the lights and no kissing’ been uttered with such tenderness.
Charlie and George, for driving me mad, keeping me sane, and everything in between. I do it all for you.
Liz Barnsley, my first and last reader, my friend, my spirit guide. We are proof that sometimes the blind lead the blind somewhere very special.
My family, who are always there. Take that how you will.
Cathryn Summerhayes, officially the best agent in the world. Thank you for always fighting for me, you’re scarily good at it.
Silé Edwards, for helping me bag Patterson. That bed of money is ours.
Katie McGowan, Luke Speed and everyone at Curtis Brown. Obviously book people are the best people, but with you I feel I’m with the best of the best.
All at Bonnier. Thank you for feigning indifference when I call into the office, I know you do it just to keep me grounded.
Nico Poilblanc, sales god, love god, all round beautiful man. Thank you for making people buy my books. I really hope the 200 signatures all match. I did my wrist exercises with you in mind.
Nick Stearn, for once again making earth-shattering cover love to me.
Jennie Rothwell, the most talented (and famous) Jennifer in the world. There’s no one I’d rather dress as a book and run 26.2 miles with.
Kate Parkin, for paying for my exquisite words. Please don’t deduct for those C-bombs.
Francesca Russell, for pimping me out with such grace and style. No one rocks a fur coat and cane quite like you.
Stephen Dumughn, for totally getting this book. And also for teaching me dazzling marketing spiel. We need to sit down and cultivate our vertical synergies very soon.
Jon Appleton, for copyedit brilliance. Any mistakes are, of course, his.
Siobhan O’Neill. Always.
I once stood on a stage and forgot to thank Maxim and the CWA judges. I’m remedying that now. Thank you for backing the longshot.
The book blogging community, I would love to name you all here but feel certain I’d leave someone out. I want you to know how much you have helped me, you are the lifeblood of the industry and I look forward to kissing each of you at future events. No tongues, Fenton. Sorry.
My fellow author friends, there are too many of you to list, and for that I will always be grateful.
We Begin at the End
Reading Group Questions
Duchess says to Walk, “There’s always a man. Whenever anything fucked up happens in the world, there’s always a man.” (Here) Later, Duchess thinks about Darke: “She knew what men could do, all of them, capability was enough.” (Here) What do you make of the portrayal of each gender in this book? Are men or women worse in this novel, or might they be equally good or bad?
Star tells her daughter, “Selfless acts, Duchess. They’re what make you a good person.” (Here), yet she seems to be entirely selfish in many of her actions. Why do you think this is? Do you agree with Star? What makes a good person good?
Hal asks Duchess, “If the good stand by idle, are they still good?” (Here) What do you think? Are there any ostensibly good characters in this novel who lose their goodness by standing by?
Hal tells Duchess: “I am a constant disappointment to myself.” (Here) Why do you think he feels this way? What could he have done differently in his life? Is self-disappointment what makes people decent?
Considering Walk’s intervention, Duchess thinks: “… sometimes adults thought watching out meant doing shit that’d lead to the kind of consequences that rippled far from them.” (Here) In this novel, are good intentions a dangerous thing?
Duchess addresses Vincent: “‘Freedom’, she said. ‘Is it the worst thing to take? Worse than anything. Maybe it is.’” (Here) Later, talking about Vincent, Hal tells Duchess: “After that night, after what he did, he knew none of us would find freedom again.” (Here) Why do you think Duchess asks Vincent this? What could be worse than losing freedom? Do any of the characters reclaim it?
Star says to Walk: “You’re like a kid. Better and worse. Bad and good. None of us are any one thing. We’re just a collection of the best and worst things we’ve done.” (Here) Later, Duchess talks about Dolly’s abusive father to Hal: “Some people are all dark.” (Here) But Hal, thinking about Sissy, tells Duchess, “But with children … there is no bad.” (Here) Are any of the characters in this novel morally pure in either direction?
Star believes the universe finds a way to balance the good and the bad (Here). Thinking about the story, do you agree with her?
Warden Cuddy and Walk discuss morality: “‘But then maybe there aren’t degrees of bad. Maybe it doesn’t matter by how much you cross the line.’ / ‘Most people get near. At least once in their life.’ / ‘Not you, Walk.’” (Here) Is there a moral line that, once crossed, cannot be retraced?
Cuddy tells Walk that he sees himself in Vincent: “His life and mine. They aren’t all that different, save for a single mistake.” (Here) Later, explaining to Duchess how Star found out that he’d sent Baxter to kill Vincent, Hal says, “All and everything. A single act on a distant night and here we are because of it.” (Here) Is it fair for one mistake to forever change a life? What does this novel say about the possibility of forgiveness for mistakes?
Is Duchess right to tell Robin several times that he doesn’t ever need to apologize to her? Why does she tell him that?
At school, Duchess learns that the triangle is the strongest shape (Here). How is this fact reflected in her life? What’s the strongest trio of characters in this novel?
“It was cold, no matter how he felt, it was a cold and cruel thing to do. When she saw him she remembered the darkest part of her life, and she always would.” (Here) Is Walk selfish to try to come back into Martha’s life?
Duchess tells Walk, “Ours is a small story, Chief Walker. Sad enough, but small. Let’s not pretend different.” (Here) Why do you think Duchess says this? Why does she revert to calling him “Chief Walker”?
Duchess derides Thomas Noble, “You sound like a child. The notion of fair.” (Here) Why do you think he believes in fairness and Duchess does not? Is the world of this novel fair?
About Walk, Duchess thinks: “Star said he was all good, like that was a thing.” (Here) Did Walk do the right thing in killing Darke?
About Robin, Vincent tells Walk: “I couldn’t let him be me.” (Here) What do you think Vincent meant?
Do you think Duchess would have shot Vincent if he hadn’t gone over the cliff’s edge? (Here)
To his doctor near the beginning of the story, Walk says: “I tell you, you ever see me wasting my days on some fishing boat, you just come down and shoot me.” (Here) Yet this seems to be the life he chooses at the end. Later, Walk thinks, “The future was a frightening thing, but then he reasoned it always had been.” (Here) Why has Walk changed his mind? What does a frightening future mean with regard to Walk? Is Walk better off at the beginning or the end of the novel?
Duchess asks Thomas Noble, “You think there’s such a thing as a truly selfless act …?” (Here) Does Duchess find out the answer to this question by the end of the story? Do you think there is such a thing?
Why do you think Duchess leaves Robin with Peter and Lucy? Did she do the right thing in letting him stay with the Laytons rather than reclaiming him? Is this her truly selfless act? (Here)
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