I nod stiffly and turn away. It’s enough to tell me he thinks I’m lying. How much he suspects, I can only guess, but my insides are crawling with doubt.
“That went as well as it could, I reckon,” Curtis offers as we march out of the Homestead.
I shade my face with my hand so I can look up at him. “Thanks for saying what you said. Both of you.”
Ben shrugs. “I’ll take any chance to lie to the Judge.”
I wince slightly, hoping the Garretts at least are safe from his grasp. We head slowly back down the road. The brothers are staying at the Homestead, so they’ll just have to turn right around, but I can’t bring myself to tell them they don’t need to come with us. We’ve been walking together so long, it just feels right. I didn’t even know them two weeks ago, and now it pains me to think I’ll wake up tomorrow and they won’t be there. I won’t have Curtis to give me orders I don’t want to follow, and I won’t have Ben to—well, I won’t have Ben.
The fork in the road comes sooner than I want. Ben reaches it first, but he waits for the rest of us to catch up, and we gather in a small circle.
“Well,” Curtis says. “I gotta say, this was the worst job we’ve ever been on.”
That surprises a laugh out of me, and he grins.
“I ain’t sorry, though,” he says. “Doc, it’s been a real experience. I’m glad we had you along.”
Curtis holds out his hand, and Sam shakes it. “Anytime you need patching up, you let me know,” he says.
“Thanks for all your help,” Ben adds, taking Sam’s hand next.
“And Willie.” Curtis turns to me, his kind eyes crinkling at the edges. “I don’t know what to say.”
I’m about to hold out my hand when he envelops me in a tight embrace. “It’s been a real education, young’un,” he says in my ear. “I’ll miss you.”
When he lets me go, my cheeks are hot and I’m sure I’m blushing. “Me—me, too,” I say, stammering. “I can’t ever—” I stop and get myself under control. “Thank you,” I say firmly. “For everything you’ve done.”
“You’re welcome. Now, then,” and Curtis claps Sam on the back and steers him away in the worst attempt at subtlety I’ve ever seen. I meet Ben’s amber eyes and glance down, not ready to face what’s there quite yet.
“I guess this is good-bye,” he says.
I don’t know what I would do if Ben tried to hug me, but thankfully he just holds out his hand.
“I reckon so,” I say. His hand is warm and big, and I hold it just a moment too long before letting go.
“You know, we’ll be at the Homestead for a while, till we hire on a new job.” Ben looks at me, then ducks his head away. “Don’t be a stranger.”
I nod. I should say something else, but all the words I can think of sound so stupid in my head. I want to say something significant, something he’ll remember. I want to tell him that I feel something, that I don’t understand it but I think he feels it, too. And that I wish things were different, that I was a less complicated girl with a less complicated life. But I don’t say any of that.
“Good-bye, Ben.”
“Take care, Willie.” And he half turns away, but hesitates. Then, in a rush, he leans forward and kisses my cheek. It happens so quick, I almost miss it, the slightest pressure of lips skimming my skin and the scratch of an unshaved chin. It feels like a blink and it tastes like a promise and when I catch my breath he’s already walking away.
“Come on, Will,” Sam says, tapping my shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”
“Yeah.” I bite my lip and take a chance. “Hey, Ben,” I yell at him, and wait for him to turn around.
“What?”
“You should grow the beard out again. I like it.”
And he’s too far away to see clearly, but I can picture his smile.
72.
Sam and I walk side by side along the path toward our houses. I’m anxious and full of my own thoughts; now that we’re home, facing the twins is a daunting task. We pass the storefronts in silence, then the hollow remains of the church. I’ve walked this road so many times I would know every step with my eyes closed. Here’s the ruined wall with the stain that looks like a sideways cat, there’s the pile of glass from busted windows. And here’s Sam’s house, the porch empty and the windows dark.
“You think your pa’s home?” I ask.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Sam says. He hops up the porch and opens the front door with a bang. “Pop, I’m home!” He waits a minute before turning back to me. “Didn’t think so. He’ll have to worry a little longer. Come in for a minute.”
“I better not,” I say, backing away. “The twins have waited long enough.”
“At least let me check your bandage.”
“It ain’t even itching anymore,” I say, but he’s already ushering me inside.
I’ve only been in the Kincaids’ house once or twice, and each time I leave confused. It’s like they don’t know what furniture is used for; there are piles of books on the table and stacks of dirty plates on the chairs. I’m in no position to judge, but at least I know better than to hang laundry inside. Sam clears a chair for me, then opens dusty curtains to let some light in.
“Sam, why does your pa live here?” I ask, pushing aside a stuffed crow.
“What do you mean?” Sam sits next to me and motions for my arm.
“In Glory, in this house. There are better places a doctor could go.”
Sam shrugs his shoulders and starts to unwrap my bandage. “We’ve always lived here. I don’t think Pop notices what’s around him most of the time. And Glory needs a doctor.” He pauses working on my arm to look at me. “I guess I never thought much about leaving. This is our home.”
I trace a line in the wood of the table. I’ve never felt much affection for Glory, not until I thought I wouldn’t make it back.
“Do you still want to leave?” Sam asks.
“I don’t know. I did. Now I can’t think farther ahead than supper, and how I’m going to get by without Micah.”
“Will, you’re practically family, you know Pop and I will help you.”
“Thanks, Sam,” I tell him. I don’t want help, though, not even from Sam. I don’t want to owe anybody, not the Judge and not a friend. I want to be able to take care of me and mine, and I’m starting to think there might be a way for me to do that. “It just ain’t the same.”
Sam looks at me with sadness written wide across his face. “I know,” he says simply.
I draw a shaky breath, not sure I’ll ever be ready to talk about it. I lost a part of myself when Micah died, lost something more than an arm or a leg. I can feel it missing, a phantom pain in the empty space where he should be.
“I hardly ever went a day without talking to him,” Sam continues. “He was my best friend. He was my only friend.”
It occurs to me that Sam knew my brother better than I did. It hurts, in a soft and new way. But here is someone else who loved him, someone to share the load of grief; one death and a thousand tiny ripples.
“I liked coming to your house,” Sam goes on. “It’s always so loud and full, even when it’s quiet it’s a loud quiet. The twins running around, Micah and I trying to avoid them, you yelling at all of us; it’s not like my house, all empty and lonesome.”
“You’re always welcome, Sam,” I tell him. “I know it ain’t the same; I’m not Micah, but you do have another friend. And it’d be nice, to have someone to talk to—someone who knew him.”
“Listen, Will—” and Sam stops speaking, staring down at my arm.
“What?” I ask, uneasy. It hasn’t been bothering me since we came through the gates, but Sam’s face looks upset. “How bad is it?”
“It’s—it’s not,” Sam says, and he gazes at me with wide eyes. “I think it’s healing.”
“What?” I yank my arm away from him and look at it closely. The skin around the bite marks is pink, but no streaks of red. I use one finger to press the wound gently,
but I don’t feel any puffiness and no blood seeps out.
“How did you do that?” I ask Sam.
“I didn’t do anything,” he says. “You said it was—” and he slaps his hands to his forehead. “I’m an idiot.”
“That’s one thing you’re not, Sam.”
“No, listen,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “Inoculation.”
“What?”
Sam stands up, too excited to sit still. “Cuts itch when they’re healing, too. It makes perfect sense.”
“Sam, would you kindly sit down and explain what you’re talking about?” I try not to yell at him, but I think I’m being very patient under the circumstances.
Sam bounces back to his chair and perches on the edge of it. “Remember that smallpox scare years back?”
“Yes,” I say slowly, not sure what he’s getting at.
“Well, you remember how your ma brought you and Micah over to see Pop? She had him inoculate you, so y’all wouldn’t catch the pox. He did it for lots of folks.”
I meet Sam’s bright eyes, hoping I understand. “I’m not gonna get sick again.”
Sam smiles at me, a real, honest smile. “You’re not gonna get sick again, Will. You won’t ever get the sickness again.”
I blink a few times, my slow brain trying to catch up.
“Willie, don’t you get it? The shakes can’t hurt you. Even if you get bit again, your body already has . . .”
Sam’s voice drones on, but I’ve stopped listening. I stare at the bite mark on my arm like it can tell me what to do. An idea is solidifying at the back of my mind, but mostly what I’m thinking is that I’m tired.
“Sam,” I interrupt him. “I have to go home.”
“Sure, Will,” he says, his enthusiasm deflating a little. “I’m sorry, I know you want to see the twins. I’ll come by tomorrow to check on you.”
“Thanks, Sam.” I get up to leave and Sam follows me to the door. I stand in the doorway for a moment, and turn back. “Hey, Sam? How much can you let go of—how much can you give up—and still be yourself?”
Sam cocks his head to the side, frowning. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah. Me neither.” Impulsively, I reach out and wrap him in a tight hug. It takes Sam a moment to overcome his surprise, then his arms snake around my shoulders and he squeezes. I close my eyes, and it’s almost like hugging my brother again.
When I finally pull away, Sam’s eyes are slightly pink behind his glasses.
“You’ll come and see me, won’t you?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him firmly. “You’ll come and see me. Help keep the house loud.”
Sam laughs a watery laugh and ducks his head down. I hate to leave him here, alone in his perpetually empty house, but the twins are waiting and my thoughts are coming fast and hard.
I give Sam a last, quick hug and leave him standing on the porch, watching my back as I walk away. He’ll always be watching my back, that one.
“Willie,” he calls after me. “Remember that they can’t hurt you. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
I’m not.
73.
Almost home. Almost home. The words pulse through my mind, and I walk to their beat, tracing the familiar path to Bess’s house. I think I figured something out. There has to be a reason all this has happened to me, there has to be some light at the end. So much has been taken from me: most of my family and pieces of myself. Surely there must be something given back in return.
I think about those names scratched into the wood at the station and how many of them must be dead now. What did they leave behind besides a name? Micah left so much: half-finished projects, ruined watches, and curiosity. He left a deep rip in my side, one that I see echoed in Sam; we’re two broken pieces that can never be made whole. If I had died in the desert, what would I have left behind? Some dirty clothes and a fistful of flour. Two children and a lizard, all with short memories. Have I done enough to be remembered, have I made enough, loved enough?
I hear the twins before I see them. They must’ve been at the window, and my heart tugs to think they’ve been watching for me for days. I drop to my knees as they come running and they slam into me, one after the other.
“You came back, you came back,” Cath cries into my shoulder.
“I told you I would, tumbleweeds,” I say.
“What took you so long?”
“How many shakes did you see?”
“Did you find Pa?”
“Where’s Micah?”
Calvin asks the last one and I can’t even begin to answer.
“Micah is . . . he’s . . .” My first thought is to tell them a story, say he found a job in Best. But Micah hated lies.
“Give her some space, little ones,” Bess calls from the porch, stamping her cane. The twins peel off me and I struggle to my feet. I’ll never understand how she gets them to obey her; pure fear, perhaps.
Old Bess takes a long look at me, and I’m sure she sees my healing bruises, my cracked lips, and my red eyes. She gives me a small nod, her eyes crinkling up in her face.
“Looks like the desert chewed you up and spit you back out, my dear.”
“Feels that way, too,” I say. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Miss Bess, how can I even begin to thank you—”
She waves her cane at me to stop. “None of that. They were no trouble and I enjoy the company.” She tilts her head, appraising me. “You take care of what you needed to?”
I nod sharply. “I did.”
“Good.”
“Willie,” Cath says, pulling on my arm. “Where’s Micah?” Her small face is drawn with concern. “He said he was going to help you. Did he help you?”
“Yes. He helped me,” I say, and my throat closes up. I look at Bess pleadingly. I don’t know how to do this. Her dark eyes meet mine, a depth of understanding there.
“Your brother is gone, child,” Bess says gently. “He’s with your ma, wherever she is. I’m sorry.”
Cath starts to cry and even though she’s too big, I scoop her up and hold her close. Calvin throws his arms around my waist and presses his face into my shirt.
“It was quick,” I tell them, even though that doesn’t make it better. “And he was so brave.”
“I didn’t want him to die,” Cath cries into my neck.
“I know. But it ain’t up to us.” I look over to Bess, my eyes burning. “Thank you,” I say. I could say a hundred thank yous and never come close to how grateful I am to her.
“Take them home,” she says softly. “Grieve together, and come back when you’ve healed.”
I carry Catherine in my arms and hold Calvin by the hand. Almost home. It pounds in my head. We started as six, and now only half remain. I make a silent promise to Ma: no one else.
I never thought much about the future. Never thought I had much of one. It seemed foolish to make plans, to tempt fate and dare life to come and ruin everything. In Glory, planning for tomorrow is the quickest way to make sure you don’t get one. So I kept my head down, thinking it was enough to get through each day. To keep my family safe, to put a little food in my stomach and a few dollars in a tin. I thought that would count for something, that each little piece could add up to a life.
And it turns out none of it mattered. Fate came for us anyway. Life doesn’t care how hard you’re trying, doesn’t care how much you’ve already lost, it will still break in and crush you and leave you bruised and bloody. And still expect you to keep going, because what else can you do?
I promise, Ma.
It’s not enough, just getting by. I want us to remember what it’s like to be happy. I want a real life for us, with a real future. And if fate isn’t going to give it to me, then I’ll damn well take it. I may not be smart like Sam, or clever like Micah; I’m not a leader like Curtis, or a great shot like Ben. But there is one thing I’m good at, and that’s surviving.
I promise, Micah.
So I’ll be a hunter. I’m not afraid anymore. The sickne
ss can’t touch me. The desert doesn’t scare me. None of it is permanent and nothing stays the same. It doesn’t matter if I’m a hunter, or a shake, or just Daisy Wilcox. Life can do its worst to bring me down. When the dust clears, I’ll still be standing.
74.
ONE MONTH LATER
There’s a moment, in the early morning, when the rising sun hits the perimeter just right. It turns the ugly tangle of barbed wire a deep orange, makes the fence light up like it’s glowing. My eyes linger on the blazing wires and I wonder if some things are more beautiful because they are deadly. A tug on my shirt drags me back to the house and the two small faces waiting in front of me.
“Do you remember the rules?” I ask, kneeling down so I’m level with the twins.
“Stay close to the house,” Calvin says, his small brow wrinkling.
“Mind Miss Bess,” Cath adds.
“And stay out of trouble,” I finish.
I stand up, ruffling Cath’s hair, and look to the cluttered porch in front of me.
“You sure about this, Miss Bess?” I ask. “I can ask Sam or Elsie—”
“You’re wasting daylight,” Bess calls from her rocking chair. “Go on and get. We’ll be fine.”
I nod and squeeze Calvin’s shoulder one last time. “Look after one another,” I tell them. “I’ll be back in four days.”
“What if you’re not?” Calvin asks.
“I will be,” I say. I trace my scar lightly with my fingers, feeling anxious and invincible. “I might be late, I might be injured, but I will always come back to y’all. I promise.”
“Micah always said don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Cath says, and my heart twists. “You can’t swear that.”
“Can’t I?” I ask, kissing the top of her head. “Well, we’ll see if life makes a liar out of me, won’t we?”
I watch them walk toward the house, and a part of me goes with them.
“Love,” I call out, and I wait until I hear their voices call back before I turn to leave.
Some days I’m not sure I made the right choice. Ma wouldn’t approve, I don’t think. But then again, what do I know. Maybe she would. People change; I changed. And this was my choice, and if it’s a mistake then it’s my mistake to make.
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