The Horseman's Graves

by Jacqueline Baker

  He pressed his eye to a large crack in the boards and looked, but could see nothing, or more precisely, could see no one. Just the stalls and the cribs, some gnawed rope and broken tack hanging against the walls. He moved to another crack farther along, but found the same there. He realized he would have to go around the outside of the barn and look in from the opposite wall and he was just about to do so when he heard a strange sound, an odd animal mewling, and then some shuffling noises inside and the sound grew louder, it was—was it?—but no that wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be, but for the life of him he thought it sounded just like a baby. He moved quickly around the barn to the opposite wall and peered in again.

  There. It was so shocking, seemed so impossible, to see her standing like that, Elisabeth, to see her alive there in the warm light of the lantern, that he almost cried out. But he did not, he only put his hand over his mouth and he looked and looked, he could not get enough of her, and he would not cry, he would not cry, he would not cry. But there she was, wasn’t she? There she was, that face, that hair, she was alive, they were right, she was alive. He was so astonished, so mesmerized by the sight of her that it was a moment before he even noticed the baby, though it was crying loudly now, she had it in her arms and was rocking it and cooing and singing a song he vaguely remembered, though he couldn’t imagine it had come from his mother, perhaps Lathias, but there it was,

  “Gentle breezes are now swaying,

  Golden Spring begins again;

  To distant land my soul is straying,

  Hand me now my wand’ring cane.

  Farewell in thousand blisses.

  Boldly ventured is half won.

  Full of faith the wanderer parts.

  Farewell, my father’s house.

  Farewell I must forsake

  My beloved father’s house

  I must seek my fortune far,

  Aloft my eyes are gazing out.

  Farewell in thousand blisses.

  Boldly ventured is half won.

  Full of faith the wanderer parts.

  Farewell, my father’s house.”

  He was ashamed, then, of his own hot tears. Tears not for the song, which he had never liked, or even his own leaving or even for Lathias, but because she was there before him and because he had been given another chance, and so he was not to blame after all, for her death, he could not be to blame, because she was not dead, and here was another chance, here she was, he would speak to her again.

  “Who is that?”

  At first he thought it had been Elisabeth. But the voice came from behind him.

  The Horseman.

  The boy froze, every nerve in his body on edge, stomach clenched, blood pumping, Run, it told him, run. But he did not. The Horseman, he thought, come for me, finally, after all this time.

  “Speak up now, who is it?” said the voice. “Turn around so I can see you.”

  The boy did not move.

  “Turn around.”

  The boy turned slowly and faced the darkness. At first he could see nothing, his eyes adjusting from the lantern light to the night. Then a figure emerged, faceless.

  “What do you want? Step forward.”

  The boy stepped forward and the figure did too.

  Leo.

  “Well, what is this now?” Leo breathed, coming closer. A rank, yeasty smell wafted from him. He staggered a little as he walked. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” he said. “Jesus Mary Mother and Joseph, so you couldn’t stay away.”

  It was only then that the boy noticed Leo was holding something, which he at first thought was a walking stick, was using it to prop himself up against the dirt, balancing on it. But it was not a stick, the boy saw, as Leo came closer. It was the shotgun. On instinct, his hand moved to Lathias’s knife at his side.

  “I figured you’d come back,” Leo said. “Speak up, now.”

  Though he hadn’t asked him anything.

  Leo swayed on his feet, planted the butt of the gun in the dirt, leaned heavily upon it.

  “Couldn’t stay away, eh?” Gesturing toward the barn. “I thought so. I thought as much. And you’re worried I will stop you. Well, I won’t. You go on and see her. But you do something for me, too. If you’ll do it, you can see her all you want. You can take her. Take her for all I care. Take her and throw her in the goddamned river.”

  His eyes glinting in the moonlight.

  “See, I would do it myself, but I can’t get at her. The old man tried to warn me, the old grandfather. He warned me but he sent them anyway. And he was right, goddamn it. The old sonofabitch was right.” Stepping forward and lowering his voice. “But you could get at her. You could get the baby for me, you could take Cecilia and bring her to me. See? Then the girl is yours. And you could, listen, you could get her down to the river again. Couldn’t you. Will you do that? Will you get my baby? And get that whore out of here. I could pay you, I’ve got all this money.” He felt in his jacket pockets, patted, searched. “All this money, see?” He dropped some bills to the ground, bent to pick them up and toppled over into the dirt.

  Now, the boy thought. Run. But his legs would not move.

  Leo lay there, then he started to laugh a little. He propped the gun in the dirt and tried to use it to lift himself but he could not and he laughed again and let himself fall, sitting there in the dirt like a child, the gun across his knees.

  “Come here,” he said, “and give me a hand up.”

  Still laughing? Was he laughing? The boy had thought so, but now he was not so sure. Not laughing, but crying. Was he?

  Leo lifted a sleeve and wiped it across his face.

  “Give me a hand, won’t you?”

  And the boy stepped forward and moved to hold out his hand.

  “What is going on? Who’s there?”

  It was her. The boy turned. She was there, in the light from the barn door, the baby in her arms.

  “Stay back, Jezebel,” Leo shouted. “You stay back, you Satan.” And he scrambled in the dirt.

  “She’ll kill me,” he said to the boy, “that’s what she said. She has my baby, my little girl. I want her back. You give her back to me.” Whining now. “You have no right. She wants to kill me. She said it.” Then he cocked his head. “Do you hear that?” he hissed. “Christ, can you hear it?” Scrabbling to get up, but falling, falling, stabbing the gun into the ground.

  “What?” the boy said, in spite of himself. “What is it?”

  “Leo,” Elisabeth said, across the darkness, “who is with you?”

  “Do you hear that?” Leo said. “Listen. Listen.” Scrabbling, the gun in the dust.

  “What is it?” the boy said, stepping closer to Leo. “What? The Horseman?”

  “Who’s there? Who’s with you?” Walking toward them now, the baby in her arms.

  “It’s me,” the boy finally said. “It’s me.”

  “Leo?”

  “Stay back,” Leo yelled. On his knees now. “Give me your hand for God’s sake,” he cried, “don’t leave me down here like this.” Stabbing the gun into the dirt. “Here, give me your hand. Christ Almighty, here, she’s coming. Here, here. Please.”

  And the boy reached down.

  EIGHT

  Later, people would report having heard that shot, and having wondered to themselves whose dog was into whose henhouse now, and some of them confessed to remembering Old Pius Schoff too, that gentle old soul, and Old Krauss, that rotten sonofabitch.

  “Remember when Pius Schoff shot Old Krauss’s dog?”

  “And Pius went over and wrote him that note and left it on the table and that night Old Krauss walked over to Pius’s and said, ‘Somebody left me a note, but I can’t read. What does it say?’”

  And they had chuckled together, warm in the light of kerosene lanterns, and maybe they played cards a little, that warm spring night, and remembered the old folks, the ones who had passed on, the ones who had been left behind. And maybe, later, made sentimental with remembering, they would sing some of t
he old songs, the songs of leaving, and cry a little, maybe—ach, there was no harm in a tear or two, for all that had been left behind, not?—and pat each other’s hands, and pray a little, too, together, it was all they had now, before blowing out the lanterns for sleep.

  NINE

  He walked.

  As far as town, with its dead windows, and empty dark streets, and through town and past the community hall and past the convent with its one perpetual light at the front entrance, and beyond, into the dead prairie, and along the Maple Creek trail, to the highway. He walked and walked and walked, until dawn. What else was there to do? He could not stand and wait.

  No cars passed in the night, and no wagons either. Nor were there any at dawn. Just when the sun was up over the horizon and the sky was outraged with light, all red and furious, there came the sound of a motor car behind him and he turned and held out his hand, waved. The car came on, passed him, and stopped. He ran to catch up to it.

  A man leaned his greased head out of the window.

  “Where you going, stranger?” he said.

  “Where are you?” he replied, and shook his head. That is not what he had meant to say.

  “That’s a good goddamned question.” The man laughed. “If you mean where am I going, it’s all the way to Medicine Hat, that’s why I’m on the road already. Early bird catches the worm, they say.” The man patted a travelling case on the passenger seat. “Pharmaceuticals man.” He grinned. “Not that you’d know what that is. But you’re welcome to join me.”

  He moved the case into the back of the car and pointed to the passenger seat and nodded, in order to make himself understood. These immigrants, dumber than a sack of hammers, they were. But he wouldn’t mind a little company for the road. There sure as hell wasn’t a goddamn thing to look at. Who the hell would live in that godforsaken place, he couldn’t figure out. British Columbia, now, that was the place to be. That was God’s Country. Trees and mountains and every damn thing you could want and you didn’t have to work too hard to find it, hell, you didn’t have to work at all. It was all just there waiting on a man. He wouldn’t mind getting his hands on the Jasper circuit someday, and he could, if he played his cards right. It wasn’t B.C., but at least there was something for a man to look at. These prairie trips were the worst. One long flat stretch of godforsaken road. What the hell was a man supposed to look at, the sky, a sparrow, a fencepost, the goddamned light, for Chrissakes? No, thank you kindly. Now this one here might be an imbecile, but he’d be good for a laugh or two, pass the time, something to tell the boys when he got back.

  “Well, come on if you’re coming,” he said. “Get in.”

  Leo got in.

  “Rough night?” the man asked.

  Leo nodded a little and the man slapped the steering wheel and grinned and ground the car into gear.

  “Say,” the man said, when they pulled back onto the road, “you look kinda familiar. I think we mighta crossed paths somewhere before. Do I know you?”

  But Leo just shook his head and stared out the passenger window. “No,” he said, “I don’t think.”

  The man laughed. “You can say that again. That’s for damn sure. Ha ha. Hey, what are you anyhow, Kraut or Uker-anian or Polack or what? Rooshian? I met me a nice little Rooshian girl through these parts once, oh, she wasn’t much to look at, but then again, if you don’t look, it don’t matter, if you get my drift.”

  He moved to light a cigarette, then he frowned and stared at the man. “Christ,” he said. “What … Jesus, you ain’t crying, are you?”

  Leo covered his face with his hands.

  “Kee-rist Almighty,” the man muttered. “If they don’t beat all.”

  TEN

  When Ron Wechter returned from town, he went immediately to the shop where he had put Lathias to work again on the thresher. He was a hell of a worker, that one. Lizzie said he was shady, there was something suspicious about him, because of something that happened over lunch the other day, because he didn’t talk much. Could you fault a man for that? And anyway, he’d seen her cluck over him, she liked him well enough. But a woman needs something to complain about. He wondered what she’d say when he told her what he’d heard in town. But that was neither here nor there. It didn’t affect her any. He hoped he’d got the name wrong, but time would tell.

  Lathias was crouched down in a circle of parts when he got to the shop.

  “Hell,” Wechter said, “I didn’t think you’d take the whole damn thing apart.”

  Lathias shook his head in bewilderment. He said, “I’m better with horses.”

  Wechter smiled. “Just make sure that’s still a thresher when you put those pieces back together and not a horse.”

  Then he stood watching Lathias. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. Pulled a pouch of tobacco and some papers from his pocket and rolled one for Lathias and one for himself.

  “Here,” he said, “come take a load off. That engine will make more sense if you let it alone a while. Like a woman, not?”

  Lathias rose and walked over and took the cigarette.

  They smoked and Lathias said, suddenly, “I need a few days off.”

  “What’s that?” Wechter said. And thought, So maybe he already knows, then. “Heading home?”

  Lathias nodded.

  “Not trouble, I hope?” Wechter said, cautiously.

  “No,” Lathias said. “I don’t think so.”

  Wechter studied him. Had he heard or had he not? He said, “Something happen?”

  Lathias shrugged. “Just a visit,” he said. “Nothing in particular.”

  Wechter nodded. After a bit, he said, “I heard something in town today. Your people, their name wasn’t Schoff, was it?”

  Lathias looked up sharply. “That’s right,” he said. “Schoff.”

  Wechter nodded. “Plenty of Schoffs around, though, I would imagine. That wasn’t the Schoffs from over Knochenfeld parish, is it?”

  Lathias stared up at him. “Knochenfeld, yes,” he said.

  Wechter sighed and looked away. “Christ,” he said, and stubbed out his cigarette. He looked at his big hands, as if to find something there.

  “What?” Lathias said. “What did you hear?”

  Wechter looked at him. “A boy of theirs,” he said, “I didn’t get the name. Thirteen, fourteen years old—”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, son,” Wechter said. “That boy, he was shot.”

  ——

  At first he had not understood. And so when Wechter said, “I guess you’ll be wanting to stay home. Take as long as you need. There’ll be a job waiting for you, if you want it,” Lathias had nodded dumbly and said, “Yah, thank you. Did you hear, how bad is it?” And Wechter had stared at him a moment, uncomprehending, and finally he had laid his big hand on Lathias’s shoulder and said gently, “I’m sorry, son. He’s dead.”

  He was grateful that Wechter had left him alone then, in the shop with its smell of oil and gasoline, grateful that he hadn’t said, Was that your brother, then, or a cousin, or what was he to you, that boy that was shot? No, he had just left him alone, and later, when he was up at the barn saddling his mare, Wechter’s wife, Elisabeth, had come with some hot food wrapped up in a clean towel, more than he could possibly eat, and she had squeezed his hand. That was the only thing, he wished she had not done that, because he had to turn away then, shameful, a man his age. He turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose hard, pinched it until his head ached, and still it would not stop, goddamn it, he just could not make it stop.

  ELEVEN

  No one came the morning Stolanus and Helen loaded up their car with the few things they had decided to take with them. Not Ludmila Baumgarten. Not the Schneider brothers. Not Ma Reis. Not even Mike Weiser.

  “Ach,” Mike had said to Marian, “what for? What good will that do, seeing them?”

  And Marian had looked at him and said, “I’ve never known you to be a coward.”

  And Mike
had just nodded.

  It was not that they did not care, the good people of Knochenfeld parish, only that they could not face them, Stolanus and Helen. And Stolanus and Helen did not want to see them, either, did not want to accept the condolences that, however well meant, could only sound hollow, as condolences always did. There had been a brief investigation, or so, at least, everyone thought. McCready had come out from Triumph to talk to Stolanus and Helen, who would not press charges, at least that is what they had heard, and then over to Krausses’, in order to have enough information to file a report. And Leo, he was gone by the time McCready even got there, that is what they had heard. Gone no one knew where. And good riddance, that is all they could say. And Mary? And that girl? Well, better off without Leo, at any rate.

  At the funeral neither Stolanus nor Helen had spoken to anyone, nor even looked about them. Only entered the church alone, and followed the coffin out alone, driven to the cemetery alone where they stood at the edge of the grave and when Father Rieger came to them after committing their boy to the earth, and he laid a hand on Stolanus’s arm, Stolanus had only nodded vaguely, and then they had got into their car and driven, not to the community hall for the lunch that the Ladies Auxiliary had worked so hard to organize, but home, leaving everyone to sit and wait for them at the hall, the egg salad sandwiches and slices of kuchen slowly drying in the stale air, the coffee growing cold, until finally they realized Helen and Stolanus would not come and then they ate, though not with any appetite—how could they?—but the ladies had gone to so much trouble, and so they ate and talked, mostly about the weather, about the good crops to come, what else was there to say?

  And who could blame them, Helen and Stolanus? Who could blame them for not wanting to sit over their coffees and their sandwiches, nodding dumbly, uncomprehending still, who could blame them? Really, who among them could stand in judgment? They had never liked Helen, no, they would not say otherwise now, but hadn’t the woman been through enough? There were some, just an ignorant few, who did not attend the funeral at all. “Well,” they said, “and why would we? He was a monster. Did you not hear he had a knife with him? A hunting knife? Going back a second time to finish the job, is what I’d say.”