A Cold Place In Hell

by William Blinn

  “Sara,” said Starett, “I think you can go on home now. You surely understand what we’re looking for in a town secretary and you’re more than capable of doing the job. We need a little time to deal with matters that would just bore you. Man-talk issues.”

  She burbled up, pulling her shawl, taking up her big patterned bag. Man-talk issues wouldn’ta bored her in the least, but Sara knew the rules. “Heaven’s sake, thank you. This is way past bedtime for me.” She moved over to Warren on her way to the door. “You tell that wife of yours she’s the queen of side meat as far as I’m concerned, and if she wants to share a recipe or two, just stop on by.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “Don’t see why you’re not big as a house, married to a woman who cooks like that!”

  “Worrying about keeping her helps me stay thin, Sara.”

  Sara laughed, a sound like a pipe organ with a leak in the bellows. She wished us all a good night, thanked everybody for their time and thoughtfulness, waited a little for a few more thank-you’s, then squeezed out through the door.

  While she was doing her farewell performance, I was looking at Billy and Willard Ganeel, and it was pretty clear that the three of us didn’t have the map to what the other two had in mind when it came to the man-talk portion of the meeting.

  “Fergus and I have talked,” Starett started in,

  “and we’ve come to a mind about what we think ought to be the first regulation applying to employees of the township—”

  “City,” Blackthorne said.

  “We haven’t done those papers, Fergus, and we have to file papers with the capital before we can call out that we’re a city.”

  The grunt Fergus gave out was not a congenial sound.

  “Anyway, Fergus and I have come to an agreement about what we think ought to be a prime regulation for employees of Salt Springs.” He stopped, looked to each one of us, not about to go on until someone asked the question that put an important frame about the picture he was trying to hang.

  Willard was on it. “What would that regulation be, sir?”

  “That no male employee of the township frequent the premises of Honey’s. Might not look right to some of the new people settling in. Flies the wrong flag.”

  Willard was there again. “Won’t change my ways at all, sir. I’m a married man.”

  “Not only a married man, but married to a fine cook, too, according to Sara.” Starett smiled, trying to spread the mood. It was spreading, but like paint on a gritty board. The smile fell in my direction. “How about you, Wilbur? Aren’t you getting a little too gray-groined for all that nonsense?”

  I looked at him, then reached down into my vest pocket and pulled out the good watch I won five years back in Riverton. I clicked the case open and looked down at its face.

  “What are you doing?” Blackthorne said.

  “Trying to figure out how just what I do or don’t do with the girls in Honey’s got to be anybody’s business but mine.”

  Blackthorne was all rattler. Starett still was wearing his smile. “Right is right, Wilbur, and you’re the right one about this and I trust you’ll accept my apology.”

  Blackthorne took it up that next second. “Just like we think you’ll accept the fact that we’ve got the right to make regulations that apply to those people we’re keeping on government payroll.” He wasn’t looking for an answer, didn’t wait for one. Billy got the rattler look next. “How about you, Mr. Schoolteacher? Anything about this get in the way for you?”

  “Guess it depends on how much you lean on the English language, Mr. Blackthorne.”

  “That a sentence with a meaning. Suppose you explain that to me.”

  “You and Mr. Starett talked about employees who frequent Honey’s. What’s the ‘frequent’ mean? That we can go there a little, but a little more than that might be too much?”

  Blackthorne’s lips got lemony. He looked at Starett, who looked at the floor. “What we mean, Mr. Piper, is that male employees of the township of Salt Springs shouldn’t set foot on the other side of the door that leads into Honey’s. One time is too many. Two times is two times too many.”

  “I’m a single man, Mr. Blackthorne. A young single man.”

  “Maybe you ought to start going to church.”

  “I do go to church, Mr. Blackthorne. Name of the church is Honey’s.”

  I was just praying Billy wasn’t going to tell what it was he worshiped in that church of his. Well, not praying, no.

  Starett’s voice was soft, trying to wrap the room in velvet. “Billy, it’s no secret here that you’ve got a special hitch-up with one of the girls at Honey’s. You ought to know that’s not the reason for this regulation. We’re just wanting to keep everything family-friendly. We’re not just picking on you.”

  “One’s married up. One’s grayed out. And I’m the one left and you’re not picking on me or anything like that.”

  “Exactly.”

  Blackthorne tried to chuckle. Didn’t sound human. “Besides, Billy, it sounds to me like this Saturday school of yours might make your life a little sweeter when it comes to matters of the girls at Honey’s.”

  “I came up with the Saturday school way before we had this meeting, Mr. Blackthorne.”

  “Well, that’s not to say there won’t be a little sneaking off into the woods when the shadows get long at the end of the day, is it?”

  I glared at Billy with the tightest look I had, roped him in, and pulled the knot tight. It slowed him some. I said, “Seems to me you’re telling us what you’ve already decided on and you’re not asking for a vote, but just whether or not we’ll get in line like you want.”

  “Well, if you want a vote, you got my vote,” said new Sheriff-Marshal Willard Ganeel.

  That was news like saying a rooster’s got nuts. Blackthorne snuck an eye at Starett and Starett met it straight on. A nod from one gave the gavel to the other. Starett took in a deep breath, sighed, and talked. “Probably so, Wilbur. You need a little time to think this over, do you?”

  “It’s getting late, Mr. Starett. I’m an old windbreak. I go down a little slower than the sun, a little later, but when I feel like I’m getting dim toward the end of the day, it seems like waiting till a better sun checks in just has some sense about it.”

  We got done quick then. They said we could let them know tomorrow. There was thank-yous and more smiling lies about the quality of the side meat and johnnycake and hominy brought forth by Mrs. Willard Ganeel. I don’t think she coulda had a job at Honey’s under no circumstances.

  Billy and me went out front, and he asked me to give him a boost up onto Whiskey, which told me how the news about Honey’s had hit him. He swung his leg over and mumbled some kinda thanks, but he was slumped there when he said it, shoulders low, looking at the ground. When I started over to Geezer, I saw Willard Ganeel waiting there on the boardwalk. He waved me on over. “I’ll catch up,” I said to Billy.

  “I’ll wait for you,” he said back.

  I went over to Willard and he leaned in close, keeping his voice to a whisper. “Deputy, we need to start getting organized on this law enforcement matter.”

  “I’ll wear the badge, Willard. Unclench.”

  “That’s not my topic,” he said.

  “What is?”

  “There was a murder committed in Salt Springs no more than two months ago and we have to get to finding out who done it.”

  “You’re talking about the Coughing Girl.”

  “Certainly am.”

  “You’re a damn brave man, Willard Ganeel.”

  Willard’s brow got wrinkled. “How’s that? How am I brave?”

  “Well, whoever killed that poor girl just crawled in through that window and blew her brains out, Lord knows why. And when a fiend like that hears there’s a professional lawman like yourself determined to track down a perpetrator, it stands to reason he’ll think about doing the same kind of thing to that lawman or to those the lawman holds near and de
ar. A man’s got to have bull balls to run that kind of risk, and there’s no doubt in my mind but that Willard Ganeel is that kind of man.”

  There was a little twitch where his lips joined up. Didn’t move for the longest time. There was a little moan from somewhere in the back of his throat. Sounded like a bubbling teapot getting moved off the stove. “Just make sure you wear the badge from here on out, Wilbur.” He turned and moved off down the walk.

  I pulled my butt up on Whiskey and me and Billy started out back to the Starett place. I looked over at Billy. He was more himself now. Maybe he heard me and Willard. Maybe that helped. “We can work on hanging that front door tomorrow,” I said.

  His head rocked back and forth, lower lip all shoved out. “Nope. Not you, at least.”

  “How come?”

  “I’ll get the door hung. Got another job for you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I need you to build a tall strong tower where we can put up the school bell.”

  “Oh. You found a bell?”

  “I did. I tracked one down.”

  It struck me as a little off gait for Billy to be telling me he wanted me to build a tower for this bell of his, but the next morning when I saw the bell, I started to understand why he wanted the bell to be in a high-up place. The lettering around the bottom of the bell was curvy in its way, but it was still easy enough to read when you were looking at it from a level place: LEWISTON WESTERN STAGE AND RAIL INC. Up high, you could see there were letters there, but it’d be uphill to tell just what they spelled out. I found a fence pole out in back that didn’t get used by Mr. Starett and it was about nine feet tall. Salt Springs didn’t have many nine-feet-tall people, so that’s what I proceeded to use.

  Every once in a while, I looked over at Billy while he was finishing up the front door. The door would be the last piece, in a way, the last piece of the whole construction outline. The frame would be up, and you could easy imagine what it was going to look like once the walls got filled in and there was a roof. Billy always worked hard, before Black Iodine and after that, too, and he was working hard now, but it had turned grim and sad now. Used to be he was building a thing that was nothing but good and joy. Now he seemed to be going at it just as hard, but more now because he was there and didn’t know how to get himself out. I thought about asking him about that when we broke to at lunch. Decided not to.

  Billy and me sat there eating, not saying a word, so quiet that all we could hear was the sounds we made chewing and swallowing, which is gastric ghastly, so I looked up at the sky and said it looked like it might rain, which it didn’t, but it was better than the chewing, swallowing serenade.

  He looked up at the clouds, took another bite of his hard roll. “You figure to be done getting that bell up by the end of the day?”

  So we wasn’t going to talk about the rain that wasn’t going to happen. “It’ll take you and me and one other to get it into the hole and solid straight.”

  “I’ll see what Heflin’s doing tomorrow morning. Maybe he can loan us some gut.”

  “You figured what you’re going to tell Blackthorne and Starett about not stopping by Honey’s?”

  “Goddammit, Wilbur! Where’d that come from? We were talking about getting Heflin to help out with the bell pole! And then you all of a sudden start talking about Blackthorne and Starett and whatever crap they’re layin’ out for us! That wasn’t what we were talking about, now was it?”

  “It wasn’t, Billy. You’re right about that there.”

  He gnawed on his hard roll. He didn’t want to smile, but couldn’t help it. “Now, what in hell were we talkin’ about anyway?”

  “Finishing up. You be done with the door pretty soon, looks like.”

  “Three o’clock. Four maybe. Might go over and say hello to Black Iodine a while after.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  “We’re up to where I can get a little cotton blanket on his back. He’ll run around till it blows off, but it’s more like a game, seems like. He’s not frightened like he used to be.”

  “Saddle blanket next?”

  “Half a saddle blanket maybe. But at least it’s some progress. I could use a little progress somewhere along about now.” He stood up quick, wiping his hands off on his britches. He moved off toward the schoolhouse. He stopped and turned in a half circle, looking back at me. “I’m sorry I snapped off at you there, Wilbur.”

  “It happens. Cowboy cussedness. It happens.”

  “Wilbur, I got to go along with this damned thing Blackthorne and Starett want. I got no choice. If I don’t, they’ll move my butt out of here and everything I’m trying to put together for me and Pearline just goes up in smoke.”

  “Billy, Honey doesn’t fire up the stove on Sundays. You and Pearline will still have Sundays.”

  “That’s not it. Well, sure, that’s part of it, but the main thing is what you told me about why I got this schoolteacher job, that they picked me because I’ll be a putty doll to them, doing whatever they want me to do. And the first thing they come out with, what I do, why, I do just what they want me to do, just like they figured would happen all along.”

  “Billy, you said about things you got planned for you and Pearline. What are those things?”

  He smiled, liked thinking on it, sharing it, saying it out to be heard. “Well, if I’m the schoolteacher for the town, that’s a weekly amount of salary. That’s a steady thing, thing you can use to make plans with. You can save up with a steady thing. Wouldn’t be any reason why Pearline couldn’t end up walking out of Honey’s and her and me settle in together.”

  “Billy, there is. There is a reason.”

  “What?”

  “Everybody’d know that she used to be a dove at Honey’s. That’d make almost everything fracture.”

  Billy hunkered down slow, picking at the grass stubs, looking away, not seeing anything when he looked. “Tell me something, Wilbur.”

  “If I can.”

  “Does there ever come a day when it gets smooth and easy? Does there ever come a day when you open your eyes and look around and know there won’t be one scrape or bump or added pain?” His face was a wide-open sunflower.

  “That’d be a fine thing, Billy. Myself, I’m still waitin’ for that time to come along.” What I said put the sun behind a thick cloud.

  He straightened up, nodded, and nodded again. He started back in the direction of the schoolhouse frame. After four or five steps, he stopped and just bent forward, hands on both knees, rocking back and forth. He looked beaten. Right then, maybe he was.

  “I’m going to see Black Iodine,” he said.

  I couldn’t tell if he was talking about me or not.

  It’ll shame me to my dying day, so I don’t take any pride in admitting what I’m about to admit, but the truth of the matter is that after I pinned that gabooned deputy star on my shirt, I stood in front of the cracked old mirror hanging from the back door of Starett’s bunkhouse and posed this way and that way and the other for quite a time. I liked the way it made me look, liked the way it made me feel, like a man of authority and admirable prestige. You pin a shiny something on a man’s chest, and he starts to feel he got turned into a shiny something himself. Explains a lot if you keep it to the front of some thinking.

  When I went on in to the bunkhouse, heading through to the other door that led out to the corral, Heflin and Dutch was with some others at a penny-ante and looked over at me when I walked past. Might have been my imagination, but I thought they were looking at me in a different way, a more serious respectful way. Billy was lying on his bunk, almost covered up with a blanket of books. I stopped there by the end of the bunk. “You talk to Heflin about giving us a hand with the bell?”

  He shook his head.

  “You want me to?”

  Another head shake. “We’ll do it day after tomorrow.”

  “What’ll we do tomorrow?”

  “Just come on out, you’ll see.” Never took
his eyes off the page of the book propped on his chest.

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “The day after today. See you in the morning.” Then he glanced away from the page, looked me up and down. “Nice badge.”

  I stood there for a time. I don’t mind being insulted, but I hate when something gets said and I don’t know whether it’s a pat or an ass kick. Billy had looked back to his book so there wasn’t any way to prod him, so I just went on my way for the door. Just before I stepped out into the moonlight, I heard Dutch say something to someone behind me.

  “You put a pair of spurs on a little lamb, it’s going to think it knows how to ride the sheepdog.”

  Then there was a sound of somebody’s laughing.

  I still don’t really know how long it took me and Geezer to get on into Salt Springs. There was a full moon and normal that pulls me up in spirits, but there was a dark place inside at my center that was spreading like those slimy spreads of oil you could see now on One Legged Indian Crick. I knew there wasn’t ever going to be any statues put up to honor Wilbur Moss; when you’re named Wilbur Moss, you know that real early. I still wasn’t easy where I was, being a laugh-out-loud character, a clown without a tent. They was hard going down all the way. And it wasn’t any easier when Billy went to his own dark place and pulled up the covers over his head. When you can’t stand up straight, you count on having a pardner to lean on, and when that pardner starts to lean himself at the same time, you begin to tip over, there’s neither one of you can hold the other one up. I’ve seen the ladies at weddings, with tears and with their arms around each other holding tight as tight gets to be. Pardners can’t do that. Pardners lean and hold each other up, but when they’re both leaning, that’s a hard thing to do. Maybe the ladies know more than we do, though they might not know how good it is having a pardner either.

  I don’t know how long it took me and Geezer to make our way to Salt Springs. The moon was a cold sunlight on the street, and I could hear the piano from inside Rooney’s when I tethered out front. I stood there for a time, almost thinking about remounting and heading back to the Starett place, but then I caught a look of my reflection in one of the front windows and saw how the deputy badge was catching the moonlight there on my chest. When you wear a badge on your chest, you can’t just remount and go on home. I don’t know when that got to be a rule, but I’m dead certain it is, even if no one went to the trouble of writing it down, so I went on up across the porch and into what was waiting there.