Facets

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Sure is. It’s a mess,” Eugene decided. From a battered table covered with dirty cardboard containers and plastic plates, he moved past an upholstered chair whose shabbiness was barely hidden beneath a pile of worn clothes. “It’s filthy, and it smells. Don’t you have any pride?”

  “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

  “What I’m talking about’s got nothing to do with guests.” He glanced into the shadows, of which there were many, and frowned. “Where do you sleep?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Where do you sleep?”

  Cutter hitched his head toward the darkest end of the room, where a narrow ladder led to a loft. In the barely discernible light, the loft didn’t look large enough to hold much. Eugene apparently thought the same thing. “You fit?”

  “I manage.” He watched Eugene stare at the loft for another minute before dropping his eyes. They fell on the old, grimy-topped potbelly stove that stood out from one wall.

  “Is that for heat?”

  “When I got wood.”

  “And when you don’t?”

  “I make do.”

  “You freeze.”

  “Hey, man, I’m not the only one. Lots of people around here don’t have heat.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Eugene muttered. He tugged at a lamp chain. Nothing happened. “And you didn’t pay your bill.”

  “I couldn’t pay my bill. Besides, what do I need lights for? When it gets dark, I go to sleep.”

  “So how do you read?” To Cutter’s chagrin, Eugene had spotted the books that were sticking out from under the clothes on the chair. “Did you steal them?”

  “They’re from the library.”

  “Did you steal them?”

  “No.”

  Eugene lifted one. “Catcher in the Rye. Any good?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Some kids.” He prayed Eugene wouldn’t ask more. He liked the book, felt a kind of affinity for the rebelliousness of Holden Caulfield, but he had a feeling he’d missed a lot of what the author was trying to say. That was what his teachers had always told him, that he was missing things. Personally, he didn’t care. He liked to read, but he didn’t want to be forever taking apart every line. So he missed some hidden meaning. So what?

  When Eugene tossed the book back to the chair, he was relieved, but his relief was short-lived. Folding his arms over his chest, Eugene leaned back against the door. “Got anything clean and dry in this mess?”

  Cutter knew he could find dry. Clean was another story. Sifting through a pile of clothes on the floor behind the ladder to the loft, he came up with the best of the lot, jeans and a shirt that would have to do. He looked up to find Eugene watching him. “I got some.”

  “Put them on.”

  “You just gonna stand there and watch?”

  “Yup.”

  “Look who’s talkin’ about manners.”

  “The way I see it,” Eugene said, “if you were in jail, you’d be doing this and more in front of a dozen guys. Now speed it up. I’m not getting any warmer standing around this shitbox.”

  Neither was Cutter. Peeling off his sodden jacket, then his shirt, he mopped mud spatters from his face and neck as best he could with the inside of the wet shirt, then put on the dry one. Without looking at Eugene, he went at his pants. When he had the dry jeans on, he found a pair of socks. But the wet work boots had to go back on. They were the only shoes he had. Grabbing a jacket that he’d snitched the month before from a hook in a soda shop two towns over, he approached Eugene.

  “My place isn’t so bad, y’know. Some are worse.”

  “Only if the people who live there are feeble-minded or infirm. So what’s your excuse? That your folks are gone? That you’re just a kid? That you don’t know what a laundromat is? That you don’t have time to go? Well, I say bullshit. You’re a lazy bum without a stitch of pride.” He pulled open the door and stomped out.

  “I’m not lazy!” Cutter called after him. “And I got pride!”

  “Get back in the car!” Eugene bellowed.

  One part of Cutter was tempted to turn around and race into the woods. Given that he knew them like the back of his hand, he’d escape Eugene for sure. The other part, though, was thinking that Eugene had to be getting hungry.

  He got back in the car.

  Eugene started it up, and after some tricky maneuvering in the mud he had it turned around and bouncing back over the ruts toward the main road. Cutter stared out the windshield, wondering where they were going next, darting Eugene the occasional glance in hopes of finding out. But the man’s face told him nothing, and since Cutter wasn’t about to ask again, he stayed silent. He definitely had pride.

  After hitting the main road, Eugene drove straight back through the center of town. He pulled up at the large brick house that stood several blocks beyond the town green. “Get out.”

  “You want me to go in there?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m a thief. I might just steal your silver.”

  Eugene shot him a smug look. “You won’t.” Without another word, he climbed out of the car.

  Cutter followed, trotting up the brick steps, passing through the large oak door, taking in everything he could of the spacious front hall before Eugene’s lead took him down a narrow hall to the kitchen. Minutes later, he was looking at the loaf of bread, container of ham, and wedge of cheese that Eugene had set on the counter.

  “Make yourself a sandwich,” Eugene told him, setting a knife next to the food. “You look to be half-starved. I’ll be back.” And he was gone.

  For a minute, Cutter didn’t move. He listened to the footsteps that went up the front staircase and receded, but his eyes were on the counter. He tried to think of what possible hitch there would be if he ate Eugene St. George’s food. No one ever offered him food for free. There had to be a price.

  But he was too hungry just then to try to figure it. Wasting no more time, he made himself the thickest sandwich he could and, standing right there at the counter, wolfed it down.

  “Want another one?”

  He spun around. He hadn’t heard Eugene come back down the stairs, but there he was, standing at the door wearing fresh clothes and a somber expression.

  “You’ve been growing tall, boy, but you’re thin as a rail. I can’t remember the last time I seen so many ribs.” He tossed his chin toward the counter. “Take another. Go on. It’s free.”

  Cutter didn’t care if it was or it wasn’t. If anything, the sandwich he’d eaten had made him more hungry. So he turned his back and fixed another one. He ate more slowly this time. Halfway through, he faced Eugene. “Where is everyone?”

  “Who?”

  “Your family. I know you got a family.”

  “They’re down in Boston.”

  “Why are they there when you’re here?”

  Eugene pondered that and finally said simply, “’Cause that’s the way it works.”

  Cutter wasn’t about to ask what he meant. There was something sad on his face, something at odds with the strength that was usually there. “You’re here by yourself?”

  “Is that so surprising?”

  “Yeah. I thought Deenie Crocker was your cook.”

  “She is, but there ain’t much cookin’ needed for just me. Same with cleaning. A man doesn’t have to be helpless.”

  Cutter went back to his sandwich. His father had been helpless. So were most of the men he’d known, at least when it came to home chores like cooking and cleaning. There were certain things men didn’t do, certain things they had women for. He didn’t understand why Eugene St. George’s wife wasn’t doing those things for him, or why, if she had to stay in Boston, Eugene didn’t have someone else here in her place. Cutter would have thought it a matter of pride that a wealthy man like Eugene not have to take care of himself.

  But the kitchen was neat and clean. It was nice, with its big round table to one side and th
e comfortable chairs with arms and the large windows that looked out to the backyard. It was the kind of kitchen that the other families in Timiny Cove would have filled with people and kids.

  “Do you get lonely?” he heard himself ask. He wasn’t sure where the question came from, since loneliness wasn’t a recognized part of his vocabulary. He looked Eugene in the eye.

  Eugene turned away. “Sure. Lots.” As he left the room, he called over his shoulder, “Put that stuff back in the Frigidaire, and let’s get moving.”

  Cutter did it, pausing only to take a long drink of milk straight from the quart bottle he found on the refrigerator shelf. By the time he returned to the front hall, Eugene was outside in the car. For a split second, Cutter hesitated. He wondered whether the next stop was the jail. He didn’t want it to be. He really didn’t want it to be. Being in Eugene’s custody wasn’t so bad because Eugene seemed to know what he was doing. It was like he was Cutter’s protector, and if that meant driving through the rain in the big, warm car and getting enough food to keep his belly from growling, he didn’t mind it. Life wasn’t usually so good.

  The next stop turned out to be Leroy Robichaud’s store. Eugene pulled up to the curb; killed the engine, took out his wallet, and handed Cutter two large bills.

  Cutter stared at the bills, then at Eugene. “What’s this for?”

  “Clothes. I want you to go in there and buy two pairs of jeans, two shirts, a jacket, and some boots.”

  “I can’t buy that stuff.”

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not goin’ to buy it for you. You’re big enough to—”

  “I can’t afford to buy so many clothes at one time. I ain’t got the money for that.”

  “I do. So go buy the clothes.”

  “But I can’t pay you back!”

  He thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Eugene’s face. “Call it a gift. But get a move on. We haven’t got all day.”

  That ghost of a smile bothered him. He didn’t like being made fun of. “I ain’t no charity case.”

  “You sure as hell are, since you haven’t done much of a job looking out for yourself. But that’s goin’ to change. Now, get the clothes. And underwear, you need underwear.”

  “I know,” Cutter snapped.

  “I wasn’t sure you did.”

  That irritated him all the more. “Maybe I’ll just take the money and run.”

  “You won’t do that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because in the past hour you’ve had more ’n one chance to take something from me and run, but you haven’t. You’re not stupid. You smell a good thing when it’s stuck in front of your nose. You’re not ready to walk away from that yet, no matter what it turns out to be.”

  Cutter was furious at having been read so well. “Damn right I’m not,” he vowed. “When I find a sucker, I take him but good.” He slammed the car door, leaving Eugene’s chuckle to die in the rain.

  Needless to say, Leroy Robichaud was suspicious. “I heard what you tried at Judd’s b’fore, Cutter Reid. If you think you’re gonna do that in my store, you got another think comin’. I ain’t leavin’ this cash register till you’re outta here.”

  Money had a way of making a man confident, and the bills Eugene had given Cutter felt warm and full in his hip pocket. So he didn’t rise to Leroy’s barb. Instead, he picked out the clothes he needed, then sauntered to the cash register and pulled the money from his pocket as though it were an everyday thing for it to be there.

  “Where’d you get those bills, Cutter Reid?” When Cutter jerked his head toward the street, Leroy craned his neck to look out the window without leaving the till. “Eugene gave ’em to you? What’s Eugene doin’ givin’ you money like this?”

  Cutter didn’t answer. Instead, he took a two-pack of Hostess cupcakes from the counter display, said, “Add these in,” opened the pack, and devoured its contents.

  Unable to deny that Eugene’s car was parked out front with Eugene apparently alive and well inside, Leroy tallied up the bill and gave Cutter his change. “What I hear, you got a trip to Portland comin’ up. Tryin’ to look nice for the judge? Huh, Cutter Reid? Is Eugene gettin’ you a lawyer, too?”

  “That ain’t your affair,” Cutter said. Pocketing the change, he stalked out of the store carrying the things he’d bought.

  Eugene scanned the packages. “Where’s the food?”

  “What food?”

  “Didn’t you get any food?”

  “You didn’t say nuthin’ about food.”

  “For God’s sake, boy, where’s your brains? You got to eat, don’t you, or do you just love havin’ the walls of your stomach rub against each other?”

  “If I’m goin’ to jail, what do I got to buy my own food for?”

  “If you were goin’ to jail, what would you have to buy your own clothes for?” Eugene retorted and stuck out his hand. “Where’s my change?”

  Reluctantly Cutter dug it out of his pocket and handed it over, then watched Eugene leave the car and head into Leroy’s. This time Cutter looked at the keys dangling from the ignition. He could drive; he’d lied to Eugene about that. He could get away if he wanted to.

  Still, something held him back. Eugene had a plan, and it didn’t sound like it involved going to jail. He wanted to know what that plan was. If it turned out to be worse than jail, he’d steal the car. Eugene had given him ample opportunity already; he was sure to do it again.

  Dropping a sack of groceries into the backseat, Eugene slid behind the wheel and started driving again. He didn’t stop until they’d reached the outskirts of town. Cutter recognized the low slope of Lampett Peak directly before them. Directly before that was a dirt pile that was muddy and deserted in the rain. Even with the windows up, the scent of wet earth seeped into the car.

  “I was ten years old when my daddy found the first crystal,” Eugene began, sitting back in his seat and stretching his long legs as best he could. “It wasn’t here. It was over by Mount Blue. He thought it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, but he didn’t know what to do with it. So he took it down to Boston and sold it for piddling little, and it never occurred to him to look for more. It occurred to me, though. I used to spend all my free time walkin’ around, kickin’ at the dirt, keepin’ my eyes peeled for another one. I kept thinkin’ that was an easy enough way to make money, and that we could sure use the money. We were poor as church mice.”

  Cutter couldn’t imagine that. For as long as he could remember, Eugene had been rich. He didn’t always act rich—he still hung around with his old friends—but he had the kind of confidence that came from knowing he was set for life. Cutter couldn’t picture him without that confidence.

  “Year after year,” Eugene went on, “I used to dream of finding more of that stuff. From the time I was little on up into my twenties, I was working at Grady’s, doin’ whatever needed to be done, but they were nearly as bad off as the rest of us. So they couldn’t pay much, and my daddy was goin’ blind, and my mama was takin’ care of my older brother, who was sick, too. Things were looking pretty bad, but since everyone was kind of in the same boat, it didn’t matter so much. We laughed about what we didn’t have. There was a group of us used to sit around on the bench in the center of town and dream about makin’ lots of money. I kept most of my own dreams to myself, because they seemed crazier than the rest.

  “Then in the fall of ’32, the rains came. It was the tail end of a hurricane, they said, and even though we didn’t get the winds, we got three days of driving rain. The sun was out about a week before I had a chance to get back to Blue. The rain had carved a big gouge out of the side of the hill. And there they were.”

  “Just lying out there in the sun?” Cutter asked. He’d seen pictures in town of the Peary Necklace—everyone around was big on tourmaline since it supported the town—and was trying to imagine a hole with emerald-green stones sticking up for anyone to take.

  “Not just lying there. Not like you think. Tourmal
ine comes buried in pockets of pegmatite. Once in a while, natural erosion will be enough to expose a crystal, but usually you have to know what you’re looking for in order to find it. That was where I had the advantage over most others in these parts. I knew what I was looking for. First thing I did was to stake my claim. Next thing I did was to learn more about the stone. I wanted to know how much there was around here and whether it was in demand. I wasn’t about to let it go for next to nothin’ the way my daddy did.”

  Cutter thought a bit facetiously of the big house in town and the one he figured to be just as big in Boston. He thought about the car and the fine leather wallet, the money Eugene had taken out of that wallet and the money that no doubt remained. “You sure didn’t do that.”

  Eugene turned a sharp eye his way. “I worked hard for what I got. I took those stones out, as many as I could, and cleaned them up, then went looking around for the best buyers. And when I had all that arranged, I came right back up here and went looking for more.”

  “Why wasn’t half the county lookin’ along with you?” Cutter asked. He sure as hell would have been. If he’d been living at the time of the gold rush, he’d have been on his way to California as soon as word of the first lode came in.

  “Because I had the sense that they didn’t. I had the organization. I knew about tourmaline, knew how it was formed and where it was goin’ to be found. By that time, I also had the chain set up to get the stones to market for top dollar. Tourmaline isn’t as valuable as diamond. One stone won’t make a fellow rich. The odd stone that’s picked up may make someone a little money, but it’s only on the larger scale of keeping a steady supply flowing into the market that the money comes. So I hired all my friends to work for me, and I guaranteed them the living they couldn’t be guaranteed anywhere else.”

  “You were that sure you’d keep finding the stones?”

  “No. But I figured that a week’s wages was better than nothing, so I went week to week. And I’m still around.” He straightened in his seat, overlapping his hands on the top of the wheel. “We’re just about to open Lampett Peak. That dirt is from the start of the mine. We’ve got to dig a whole lot deeper if we want to come up with much. I’m looking for help.” His hands slipped down. One closed around the keys, starting the engine again. The other steered the car around and back toward the main road.