by Kim Fielding
Tonight he’d be out here again. His heart sped at the notion, and not with fear.
It was dusk when Samuel arrived home, and he looked drawn. “I hate that road,” he said as he dismounted from the wagon.
Orris nodded. He’d traveled the Great Plank Road only once, but he remembered it as a harrowing journey—rutted where no planks were laid, winding, squeezed between steep hillsides that looked ready to swallow travelers whole.
“But you were able to get everything you needed?”
“Yes, I think so.” Samuel stretched and then shook the kinks from his legs. “And I’m famished. Can you unload the wagon while I take care of Beau?”
“Of course.”
Samuel had already bought some building supplies at the local general store. They were piled alongside the house, covered by a large sheet of canvas. Orris pulled the canvas away and began adding the new boards. He wished he’d thought to wear gloves—he kept catching splinters in his hands—but he enjoyed the smell of freshly cut wood, and he was quite happy that he was able to perform this physical task successfully. By the time Samuel emerged from the barn, the buckboard was empty.
“Good work, Orr. I’ll put the wagon away tomorrow. Now I just want to eat and fall into bed.”
When they entered the kitchen, Lucy kissed Samuel’s cheek. Orris always blushed at these open displays of affection, but he was also gratified by the reminder that his brother was truly loved. Samuel was a good man who deserved a loving family.
Lucy’s stew was flavorful and hearty. Orris surprised everyone by eating two large bowls. “Hauling lumber must be good for your appetite,” Samuel said with a grin. “Maybe you should be a lumberjack instead of a carpenter.”
Orris imagined himself out in the wilderness, surrounded by strapping men who wielded axes and saws as if they were playthings. “I think I’d make a sorry lumberjack.”
“You never know. I can see you felling those trees, some as wide as a house. Sitting around a campfire with pine needles in your hair.”
The girls giggled and Orris smiled at them.
After the meal was finished, Orris didn’t offer to help wash up. He hurriedly lit a lantern and readied himself to go outdoors. He even refused Lucy’s offer of coffee. “In a little while, maybe.”
“I’ll leave the kettle filled with water.”
He thanked her, took the gun from its hooks, wished everyone a good night, and went outside.
A misty drizzle was falling, slowly soaking his trouser legs. His toes began to squelch inside his sodden shoes. Moisture gathered on his hat and dripped off the edges, making him feel like the world’s most ridiculous fountain. He wondered if he would ever get used to the ever-present clouds and rain in this place. At least Samuel said the winters were rarely harsh and the summers rarely stifling.
Orris walked slowly, his head bowed, watching the little circle of lantern light sway near his feet. When he came to the far end of the sheep paddock, he paused for a while, listening to the plink-rustle of raindrops on leaves. He had no sense of being watched—not even by the sheep. He held the lantern high, trying to see as much as possible in the direction of the hills, but the light didn’t travel far and the rain obscured the view even more.
Eventually he lowered the lantern and turned back toward the house.
He paced the paddock edges all night, his feet growing heavier and heavier by the hour. But he never even saw the sheep, let alone any predators. Bone-weary, he trudged inside at dawn. He hung up the gun and shed his outdoor clothes, then dragged himself to the sofa. He hoped Lucy, Samuel, and the girls would be quiet when they woke—which would be any minute. He fell asleep quickly, still refusing to admit that the emotion heavy in his gut was disappointment.
4
A day later Samuel and Orris began the addition to the house. Mist again settled on their clothing, making Orris feel cold and miserable. But if they waited for dry weather to build, his bedroom might never be done. Samuel seemed cheery enough, at least, whistling happily as he worked and patiently instructing Orris in what to do.
They went inside for lunch. As they undressed in the anteroom, Samuel frowned at Orris’s sodden shoes and raw hands. “You can’t work like this,” he said.
Orris shrugged. “I’ll get used to it.”
“Don’t be stupid, Orr. A man needs to be properly fitted out for work.” Still frowning, Samuel strode into the kitchen.
Lucy served them heaping plates of potatoes and meat, with steaming mugs of strong coffee to wash it down. She didn’t eat with them, but she rarely did at lunch. In fact, as far as Orris could tell, she never sat down at all until suppertime. While they ate, she bustled about, alternately supervising the girls’ studies and tending to some of her chores.
When one of Lucy’s circuits brought her near the kitchen table, Samuel gently caught her arm. “Do you want anything from town?”
“You’re going today?”
“Yes. Orris needs a few things.”
Orris ducked his head, embarrassed.
But Lucy didn’t admonish him. “We’re running low on sugar and coffee,” she said. “And I could use a spool of good white thread.”
“Of course.” Samuel lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. Then he stood. “We should go now if we want time for more building today.”
Obediently, Orris prepared for the journey. He tried to help Samuel hook Beau to the wagon, but horses made him uneasy and Beau didn’t seem all that fond of him either. So Orris ended up standing back and simply waiting.
The ride to town took about an hour, the wagon jostling violently over rocks and muddy ruts. But Samuel was used to it. He chattered about their building project and about his plans to eventually expand the house’s second story as well. “If Lucy’s right and this one’s a boy, he won’t wanna share a room with the girls. More breathing room would be nice for us all.”
“You’ve made yourself a good home. You and Lucy.”
Eyebrows lifted, Samuel shot him a quick look. “We’re not exactly wealthy.”
“But you have food on the table. Your house is comfortable. Your daughters are smart, and they seem happy. And you… you care for each other, all of you.”
Samuel seemed to think for a while. Then he nodded slowly. “You know, with all the rooms in father’s mansion, and all the fancy things his money could buy… I was never a fraction as content as I am here. Even when I’m soaked and blistered and sore.” He shook the reins, urging Beau to walk a little faster. “Maybe someday you will be too.”
Orris made a noncommittal grunt in reply.
Soon they drew close to the town. Orris felt that the settlement’s name—Beaverton—was an intentionally cruel irony. Trap all the beavers to make fashionable hats, drain their ponds, and name the town after them. And it was barely a town in any case. Just a few streets of modest houses, a white clapboard school, a general store, a feed store, a restaurant, and a small wooden building that served as the terminus for the railroad. The train ran from Portland and was the primary reason for Beaverton’s existence, allowing farmers to easily transport their goods into the city.
Samuel stopped the wagon in front of the general store and dismounted. He patted Beau’s shoulder before tying the horse to a rail. Two similar wagons were already there, as was a roan horse with a saddle. Orris clambered down and followed his brother into the building.
Orris had been in this store only once before, a few days after his arrival. He was surprised again at how many goods could be crammed into a relatively small space and how varied those goods were. Shelving lined the walls all the way to the ceiling, the wooden boards sagging under stacks of jars and tins, folded fabric, pots and pans, and sundry kitchenware. Small boxes and fabric sacks made a mystery of their contents. Long cabinets with glass fronts displayed more goods, and barrels held various foodstuffs and nails and… and a thousand other things, it seemed. An enormous iron stove squatted in the center of the room and heated it nicely,
while a set of scales and a cash register dominated one corner.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Spencer,” called the tall man near the cash register. He was busy weighing something for a woman in a calico dress. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
Samuel smiled at him. “No hurry, Mr. Allen, no hurry.” He wandered over to a display of cigars, where he fell into conversation with another customer, a slight man with a bushy gray moustache. Orris hovered near the door, pretending a great interest in tins of fish.
Soon Mr. Allen came out from behind his counter. “How can I help you?”
Samuel cocked his head in Orris’s direction. “My brother needs boots and some heavy gloves. And we need a few other things besides.”
“Of course.”
The selection of footwear was limited, but Mr. Allen found a sturdy pair that fit Orris well. He also found a pair of thick leather gloves. He placed those items on the counter near the cash register and gathered Samuel’s other items: the coffee and sugar, thread, and a few pieces of candy for the girls. Then—with more ceremony than was strictly called for—he totaled the purchases on his cash register.
Although Samuel acted as if the matter were nothing, Orris felt his own cheeks heat. He literally hadn’t a penny to his name. His father had driven him away with just enough money for a train ticket and expenses along the way, and since then Orris had been forced to rely on the charity of Samuel’s family.
Samuel and Orris gathered up their purchases and headed to the exit. Before they could leave, though, they nearly collided with a man who came barreling inside.
“Hello, Dunning,” Samuel said.
Dunning was a large man, tall and solid, with greasy hair hanging down beneath his hat. The first time he’d met Orris, Dunning hadn’t bothered to hide a sneer of contempt. This time he didn’t even glance Orris’s way.
“Spencer,” Dunning grunted. “You lose any livestock this week?”
“A lamb a few nights back. Been keeping watch since then. But my brother saw ’em. Two coyotes.”
Dunning made a disgusted face. “There’s only one of ’em. It came to my place last night, and I got a good look at the bastard. Wasn’t no coyote.” He dropped his voice dramatically. “Was a wolf.”
Orris gasped so loudly that both Samuel and Dunning turned to stare at him. “A w-wolf?” he stammered, blushing furiously.
Samuel was frowning. “You sure? Nobody’s seen a wolf ’round here in years.”
“Just because we ain’t seen ’em don’t mean they ain’t here. Told you. I saw it real good.”
“It was raining last night.”
“Critter came real close. Those useless curs I bought went squalling away like the devil himself was chompin’ at their tails.” Dunning gave an oily grin, revealing yellowed teeth. “I shot the son of a bitch, though.”
Orris’s heart sank so suddenly and so heavily into his gut that he nearly vomited. He felt all the blood drain from his face, and he had to steady himself on a nearby counter. “Shot?” he rasped.
Judging by the look Orris received, Dunning wouldn’t have minded shooting him as well. “You got a weak temperament, boy. Maybe you should oughtta skedaddle back east, where you belong.”
Samuel stepped forward, placing himself between them. “Leave him alone, Dunning. He’s still adjusting, and he hasn’t had much sleep lately. He’ll do fine.”
“So you say. He ain’t my problem anyway.”
With a shake of his head, Samuel seemed to dismiss the subject. “Well, I’m glad you killed the wolf. I’m tired of keeping watch at night.”
“Didn’t kill it. Least, not right away. I hit it, though. It screamed and ran off. Close as I was, I reckon it slinked off somewhere to die.”
Orris couldn’t even name the many emotions that stormed through him. He pushed past Samuel, skirted Dunning, and then rushed out the door. He continued running until he came to the wagon, where he leaned forward against the worn wooden side, his head hanging down.
A few minutes later, Samuel came up behind him, set their purchases in the back of the wagon, and covered everything with a square of heavy canvas.
Then he gave Orris a quick pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about that, Orr. Dunning’s a miserable bastard. Never has a good word to say about nobody. I would’ve fought him over what he said to you, but what’s the point? Even if I beat him bloody, he’d still be a miserable bastard. It’s a shame he’s our nearest neighbor, unless you count the Bonn brothers up in the hills, and we hardly ever see them.”
“I… it’s all right. It’s nothing.” Orris meant it. He didn’t care what Dunning said about him. Orris had endured much harsher words from his own family.
He took a deep breath and let it out, then turned to look at Samuel. “There were two of them. I’m sure of it. They might have been wolves instead of coyotes, I suppose. It was dark and I don’t… well, I don’t have the experience to distinguish them. But there were two.”
Samuel nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Dunning was too drunk to see straight last night.” He sighed. “I guess we’ll keep watch, for a while at least.”
“I’ll do it.”
“We’ll take turns.”
They spent the return ride in silence, their heads bowed to the rain. Orris couldn’t have hazarded a guess as to Samuel’s thoughts, and his own were nearly as obscure. He could understand being startled to learn that he’d apparently been at close quarters with a pair of wolves. Surely even the staunchest frontiersman would quail a bit over that. But although fear was definitely a part of what he was feeling, he didn’t fear for his life. The wolves were gone—one of them probably dead.
Why did he feel as if he’d lost something important?
5
Orris spent the next few days feeling sore and bleary-eyed. Bleary-minded, too, which was perhaps a blessing. During the day he helped with the farm chores and assisted Samuel in building the addition. At night he patrolled the edges of the sheep paddock. Samuel tried to take turns at night, but Orris refused.
“Let me do this, Samuel. Please. It’s something I can do to truly help you.” Which was true enough. But if Orris had been honest with himself, he’d have to admit that his motives were decidedly mixed.
Samuel kept urging him to rest during the day. Even Lucy insisted that he lie down early in the morning and again after lunch.
But Orris couldn’t manage more than short stretches of sleep. He had dreams full of jumbled images of blood and fur and forests and running. Worse yet, he dreamt of sex. As he slumbered, he rutted against a naked male body, hard and strong. He never saw the man’s face—just glowing green eyes—but he felt the man’s urgent need. And good Lord, he felt his own. He woke up aching and sweaty, worrying whether anyone had heard him moaning in his sleep.
The one small miracle was that he continued to show some skill at construction. Building was a bit easier with gloves and boots, and he found himself enjoying the work. It was satisfying to make something from nothing, to have a tangible result for his labors.
“This has gone a lot faster than I figured,” Samuel said one afternoon as they paused to drink the coffee Lucy brought them. He leaned against a newly constructed wall while Orris sat on a section of felled log.
“That’s good. Then we’ll be done before you start planting.”
“Oh, easily. You’ll be moving into your new room by the end of the week. Of course, we’ll have to find you some proper furniture….” He scratched his beard thoughtfully.
“You’ve spent so much money on me already.”
“You’re not a horse, Orr. We won’t bed you down in straw. Don’t worry. I can get Mr. Hall to order a bed frame and mattress, and you don’t need much more than that. You ain’t got enough clothing to fill a wardrobe.”
That was true. A few hooks and a shelf or two would suffice. “A bed costs money.”
“I have some saved.” Samuel sighed. “You’ve been a real help, Orr, whether you know it or not. And I’l
l be leanin’ on you after the baby comes. If you were my hired man, I’d be payin’ you a dollar a day.”
“But you wouldn’t be giving me room and board. Or buying me boots and—” Orris stopped when Samuel abruptly straightened, staring at something over Orris’s shoulder.
Orris twisted around to see.
A man loped toward them at a rapid pace. He was hatless, his hair long and pale, and his face clean-shaven. He wore buckskin trousers and vest and a grayish shirt but no coat, and even from far away he was clearly quite muscular.
“Who’s that?” Orris asked, noting Samuel’s posture. His brother didn’t seem alarmed, just… alert.
“Henry Bonn. Him and his brother Charles live up in the hills. They’re hunters.”
Orris remembered Samuel mentioning the brothers a few times, but before he could ask any more questions, Bonn came to a panting halt in front of them.
Without preamble, he said, “Need your help. Please.” He was flushed from his exertions, and his jaw was set in a desperate way, but he was also thrillingly, breathtakingly handsome. He had green eyes and a long nose, a square chin with a small cleft, and a wide mouth.
“What is it?” Samuel asked.
“My brother. He’s… he’s hurt. Bad. I’ve done my best for him, but I can’t…. Will you help?”
“Of course. Let me fetch my things.” Samuel turned to Orris. “Will you come with? It’s a distance, and another pair of hands might help.”
Orris couldn’t imagine how he’d be of assistance. Samuel had briefly studied medicine, but Orris’s specialty had been Latin and Greek. He doubted any man could be saved by the application of classical languages. But still he nodded.
“Yes. Whatever I can do.”
While Samuel hurried inside, Orris waited awkwardly with Henry, who stared at him in an unnerving manner. “You’re new,” Henry said.
“Yes. I’m Orris Spencer.”
“From back east.”
“New York.”
Henry didn’t reply, but he continued his sharp scrutiny. Orris had to fight hard not to duck his head and shuffle his feet. It wasn’t only those green eyes that made him uncomfortable, or Henry’s handsome face. There was something more—an odd feeling that he’d met this man before, although Orris knew he had not.