“Thank you again, Mr. Bichem,” Mackenzie said. “We greatly appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Me and Marie have been talking about you. You stay here as long as you need. Until you’re fit to walk.”
“That’s very generous.”
Henry regarded them each in turn, lingering just a second longer on Jimmy.
“When supper’s done, we’ll bring it out to you. Our table’s small. Kitchen’s small, really. Everyone couldn’t fit in it.”
“Out here is fine for us.”
Henry nodded and looked about. “It’s warm. Dry. Only the chickens will bother you, and they don’t make any noise after sundown. No rain is coming. You’ll be comfortable out here. It’s peaceful. Safe.”
And it was. From the sound of Henry Bichem’s voice to the barn, it was all very comfortable. Nathan thought of his parents’ home and their farm, growing up there, and his father’s face when he told him he wanted to be a lawman. And then a farmer. Nathan rolled a strand of straw between his fingers, remembering his mother then and her favorite bedtime stories.
“We do have room at our kitchen table for one,” Henry Bichem said, directing his brown-eyes at Jimmy. “If you wish. You’d be welcome.”
The request caught Jimmy off-guard. He was still for a second or two, then lifted his chin. “That would be fine. Real fine.”
“Come on, then,” Henry said. “Leave your friends here. Marie and I would like to talk.”
Again, Jimmy hesitated. “I’d like that, too.”
With a glance at the others, Jimmy got up off his winter duster, brushed off his shirt, and stroked his beard flat.
“You ain’t getting any prettier, Jimmy,” Eli told him.
Jimmy shot him a warning look, but without any fire behind it. Henry Bichem studied him, however, amused by his dust-off and hasty grooming.
“No lady folk here,” Henry told him. “Except my missus, and she’s been with me for nearly thirty years. Just saying, you understand.”
Jimmy’s beard usually hid his smile, but not the one that appeared on his face just then.
Without another word, Henry led him away.
Boots scuffed dirt as the two men walked away, the sound oddly pleasant to the ears. There was a far-off creak of a door opening, then its closure.
“Guess we weren’t fine enough for supper,” Eli muttered.
“You heard the man,” Nathan said. “The kitchen’s small. That’s reason enough.”
Eli ignored him and looked at Mackenzie. “You sure do know how to grease talk someone, Mack. That’s a gift.”
Mackenzie lay upon a hill of hay and didn’t budge. “If minding your manners is grease talk to you, it’s no damn wonder you are what you are.”
“All those please and thank you’s didn’t get you invited to the supper table.”
“Wasn’t my intention.”
They stopped talking then. Gilbert was lying back, resting, and soon cut loose with a single snore.
That didn’t seem like a bad idea to Nathan, who looked outside, taking in an old fence maybe a storm away from collapsing, and the open prairie beyond that.
Perhaps two hours later, Henry and Marie Bichem returned, with Jimmy behind them. They carried a basket of fresh baked bread, a huge pot of baked beans, yet another water bucket, and plates and spoons.
“Damnation,” Eli muttered as he took a plate handed to him. “I might never want to leave here, Ma’am. If you keep feeding us this good.”
That placed a smile on the older lady, and she handed him a clean handkerchief.
“When you’re done, just place everything on the ground,” Henry told them. “We’ll get it all in the morning.”
Nathan realized Jimmy wasn’t sitting down. In fact, the man had what looked to be a clean change of clothes on, as well as a pair of shoes, replacing the man’s boots.
“You not sticking around, Jimmy?” Nathan asked.
“No,” the man replied quietly. “The Bichems have a spare room in there. They offered it to me for the night.”
“We’re quite fond of Jimmy,” Marie said, lowering her head as she said the words.
At which Jimmy, clearly pleased at the words, shrugged and said, “I’m quite fond of you, too, Ma’am.”
“You men will be fine enough in here,” Henry declared. “Come on then, Mother. Jimmy. Cards are waiting.”
They wandered out of sight, leaving the men to their supper.
Halfway through their meals, Eli said, “They’ve taken a shine to old Jimmy. Makes me wish I was Metis.”
“They’re probably glad you aren’t,” Nathan said through a full mouth.
Eli let that one go.
The sky turned red, a deep, troubling color that forecasted foul weather, and yet, the darkening evening was calm and tranquil. Nathan and the others sat back and watched it in silence. At times, Nathan thought he could hear laughter from the house, just around the barn’s corner. Then all grew quiet again, until the crickets started their singing.
That was the nail in Nathan’s coffin.
He didn’t think there was a sweeter, nor more relaxing sound on the prairie.
46
“Mother?” Nathan asked.
“Yes?”
“If you… had a chance…” a deep yawn broke his thought. “Would you… want to go…”
“To a place like this?” she asked with a smile, and held up the book. She sighed, long and dreamy, the sound nudging Nathan just a little more to sleep.
“I don’t know,” she said. “A story is one thing, and I daresay I wouldn’t be as brave as Alice. But you know something…”
Nathan didn’t answer.
“I do think…” she began.
By that time, Nathan had fallen asleep.
But somewhere just before dawn, his mother’s voice ended the thought that she’d started so long ago, that he’d actually heard, but just forgotten… in sleep.
“I do think that there are other worlds out there… just waiting for us to find them…”
*
Nathan awoke to the sound of Gilbert farting in his sleep.
Not five seconds later, a rooster got to crowing, keeping him awake. Not impressed, he rolled off his duster, stood, and made his way out the barn door. It was perhaps an hour after dawn, and the Bichems’ old farmstead was quiet. Nathan stood outside the barn, spotted the outhouse they’d been using, and made his way there, scuffing up dirt as he went. He did his business and returned, taking in the layout of the farm. There were two barns, a pair of uncovered wagons, and fences. He didn’t see any livestock this morning, but that didn’t bother him. A single road led away from the farm, going east, and cut straight into the prairie, where it disappeared after a good distance.
Nathan, however, felt a tug to the north.
It had been there all while he’d been in the barn, but easily ignored. This morning however, it felt a little more insistent. Which was fine with Nathan. Looking over the farm put some peace in his heart, but he wanted to get going. It was time to leave. It wasn’t his home, wasn’t his time, and that especially bothered him.
It was winter, somewhere. It was rightfully winter.
When he returned to the barn, the others were awake.
Nathan stood in the doorway. “Rise and shine, boys. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time we got moving.”
“Yeah,” Mackenzie agreed, pulling himself up from his bed. “I do too. I’m feeling the pull.”
“I’m feeling two pulls,” Eli said. “One of them is for the nearest shithouse.”
Nathan gestured for him to get moving then.
A little later, once the men had decided upon leaving, Henry and Jimmy came out of the house. Breakfast was another meal of warmed beans, along with more bread. The food was simple but filling, and even Eli remembered to thank the old man for his hospitality.
“You’re more than welcome,” Henry said and turned to leave. “I’ll be back for those plates a little later.”
<
br /> “We’ll be leaving this morning,” Mackenzie informed him, stopping the man in his tracks.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Mackenzie faltered, not knowing exactly how to go about explaining what had happened to them. “We have to move on. We’re… expected elsewhere.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay.”
“I know. We know. And thank you kindly for that. But we really must be moving on.”
Henry eventually nodded, smiled faintly, and walked on back to his house. Jimmy watched him go.
Eli and Gilbert got to picking up and organizing their gear.
“So what did you talk about last night, Jimmy?” Mackenzie asked him with a smile.
“Everything,” Jimmy replied, watching the ongoing preparations. “They’re… good people.”
“No argument there,” Nathan said. “But best we leave them now. We’ll get moving after we pack our belongings together.”
“Already got a hundred dollars from us all,” Mackenzie said. “For their troubles.”
“I didn’t agree to a hundred,” Eli said, straightening.
“Didn’t ask you about it,” Nathan said in a tone not to be contested, and Eli went back to packing.
Mackenzie stepped in close to Jimmy and whispered, “Actually, two hundred, but Eli doesn’t have to know about that.”
“I’m not going, boys,” Jimmy announced.
That stopped them all.
“What?” Mackenzie asked, slack-jawed.
“I’m not going.”
“What do you mean you’re not going?” Eli asked.
“No need to go. I’ve decided to stay right here. Like I said, they’re good people.”
Nathan couldn’t believe his ears, and by the others’ expressions, neither could they.
“Them beans weren’t that good,” Eli said.
“They were damn fine to me,” Jimmy said. “Anyway, I’m not going and that’s that. You can take my share of the money, too, for that matter. I’m done. I’m giving up the life.”
The men exchanged looks.
“You’ll take and keep your share,” Nathan said in a voice that no one challenged. “That’s yours.”
“It is yours, Jimmy,” Gilbert said in a somber voice, none too pleased about the man’s decision. “Fair’s fair.”
“Yeah,” Eli said. “I agree. Another matter entirely if you were dead, but you ain’t. So take your money and shove it, Jimmy.”
That put a smile on the man’s face.
“You’re really going to stay?” Mackenzie asked.
“I really am. Already talked it over with Henry and Marie. When you’re ready, we’ll fix you up some saddlebags with food and such. Nothing fancy. Some buffalo pemmican in there. That’s good stuff. Tried it myself this morning.”
But something didn’t seem right to Nathan, and when he met Jimmy’s gaze, the man looked away from him. Nathan wasn’t overly smart, but he smelled something sour.
“Which way you headed?” Jimmy asked Mackenzie.
“North. That’s the pull.”
Jimmy became silent for a moment. “You still feel that?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t.”
That quieted the men.
“You don’t feel that, Jimmy?” Mackenzie asked.
“No. Not since I got here. All last night, in fact, while I was sitting and talking, and especially once I bedded down for the night. Didn’t feel a thing. It’s like… like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”
“That why you staying?” Eli asked.
Jimmy nodded.
But as God was his witness, Nathan sensed there was more. Jimmy might not be feeling the same pull the rest of them were feeling, but there was something else going on.
In any case, the four men gathered up their belongings and prepared to leave. Jimmy kept his guns, but handed over three sticks of dynamite to Mackenzie, as well as a fresh box of matches, which Henry had passed along. Marie came outside and handed off a few water skins for them each, along with two satchels full of provisions. Nathan handed over the two hundred dollars, which produced smiles all around.
“Well, that’s that, then,” Mackenzie said and nodded at the Bichems. “Thank you again for saving us. And your hospitality. Not many would do that.”
“You’re welcome,” Marie said, her hands clasped before a white apron. She and her husband stood on their front porch, watching the men about to leave. Henry raised his hand, while Jimmy backed away from the train robbers until he stood almost at the halfway point between the two groups.
“See you around, Jimmy,” Eli said and started walking. Eli wasn’t one for good-byes.
Jimmy waved.
“Take care, Jimmy,” Gilbert said, backing up a few steps. “I was happy to have you as a partner.”
“I was happy with you, too, Gilbert.”
Pleased with that, Gilbert nodded and started after Eli.
Mackenzie smiled and nodded. “You take care, Jimmy. If you change your mind, just come running.”
“If I change my mind, but I won’t.”
“No, I suppose not,” Mackenzie said and, on impulse, walked up to the man and gripped his hand, then his shoulders in a hug.
Then he walked away, and didn’t look back.
Nathan regarded his gang on the march, then he looked at Henry and Marie Bichem. Then at Jimmy.
He strode over to Jimmy and stopped not two feet away.
“What’s going on here, Jimmy?” he demanded in a whisper. “You might’ve fooled the rest of the boys but I smell something here. What’s going on? Them folks got something on you?”
Jimmy stared back and slowly shook his head. He was about to say something, caught himself, and then, with an embarrassed look, he leaned forward so that only Nathan could hear.
“Keep this to yourself,” he said. “At least until you find the next passenger car. If you find it.”
Nathan nodded that he would.
“You know I met Leland in a residential school, right?”
“I know.”
“I… never knew my parents. I only got memories. Faces. Rooms. That sorta thing. Then they were gone. I can’t remember anything much. Leland used to say… it might have been the shock of the fire. The one that burned down Tail Creek. Same fire probably killed my folks. See, thing was… I had grandparents. On my mother’s side. I remember them in my dreams. On those nights when I needed company, they’d visit me. Just to let me know they were watching.”
“All right,” Nathan said. “So?”
Jimmy’s brown eyes became moist then, and he clenched his jaw shut to damn the flood of emotion that unexpectedly took hold. Nathan lost his own power of speech at the sight, but Jimmy pulled it in, smiled, and nodded back at the old couple waiting on their front porch.
“Those two people are my grandparents, Nate,” Jimmy whispered, holding his gaze. “I never knew their names, but… on their fireplace mantel, they had photographs. Old, wrinkly photographs of my mother and my father and… their baby son. My parents, Nate. Those people over there are my grandparents. My mother’s mother and father.”
Nathan still couldn’t speak. He glanced over at the Bichems.
“And you know what?” Jimmy asked.
Nathan shook his head.
“They said…” and Jimmy clamped down on another surge of emotion. He held it, until the moment passed, then, “They said that my mother and father… would be home in another day or two. That they’d gone southeast, into town. And that they would very much like to meet me.”
The fright rushing through Nathan was real. “Christ Almighty, Jimmy.”
“I know,” Jimmy whispered back. “I know, but I have to stay, Nate. I have to. I have to see if they’re real. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can.”
“So… you go on. Don’t worry about me. I’m not worried about me. I’m more worried about you fellows getting home. You see… I’m already h
ome, Nate. I don’t feel that pull anymore because I’m home. And I hope… you find yours.”
With that, red-eyed and smiling tightly, Jimmy Norquay reached out and gripped Nathan’s shoulder. He gave it a fond squeeze and a shake, and left it at that. Then he nodded that Nathan best get going.
“All the best to you, Jimmy,” Nathan said quietly. “You’re a good partner. A good friend, in the short time I knew you.”
Suddenly having nothing else to say, Nathan sighed and waved to Henry and Marie Bichem. They waved back.
Nathan nodded at Jimmy one last time and walked away.
The little gang of four stopped once to look back and saw the little farmstead in the distance. There was very little activity, and no one could be seen. Jimmy and his grandparents had perhaps gone inside and were settling in around their kitchen table.
Nathan felt just a little bit envious.
The gang continued walking to the north, guided by that mysterious pull, and when they stopped to look back at the farm for a second time, the prairie had swallowed it up.
47
They found the outhouse just as the sky faded to evening pink.
Built from slabs of old wood, the forlorn shithouse shack had a sickle moon cut into a door that looked ready to fall off. A length of rope hung in the place of a proper doorknob. A second length of blue fabric hung from one corner of the roof, and probably flew quite well in a good breeze. There was no good breeze to be had, however, so it hung to one side like a county fair ribbon.
“Funny place to have a goddamn shitter,” Eli Gallant said.
“Damn funny place,” Gilbert echoed.
“Shitter or not,” Nathan said. “Best to check it out. Just to be sure.”
“Why don’t you open it, then?” Eli put to him.
“Goddammit, Eli. Just when I was starting to like you.…”
Eli smirked and scowled at the deepening hues overhead. “You best stay to your own bedroll, Rhodes. I ain’t the loveable type.”
“He ain’t,” Gilbert said with a slow shake of his head.
Nathan cracked a smile but was stopped by the growing ache in his shoulders from the weight he carried. He dropped his gear, took out a single Colt, and aimed it at the door.
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