Fair Land Fair Land - A B Guthrie Page 10

  She could stand up with Summers and be married, but there would be darkness in her, the weight of a truth untold. Maybe better to speak straight with her man even if it meant losing him. Maybe tell all and go on without him. She wouldn't let herself cry.

  Summers came in the tepee and waited until he could see in the darkness. Then he said, "Still up, girl? Worried about the big day?"

  "Me feel — I feel — we must make talk. Not here. By the river."

  He said, "Sure," and came and helped lift her up and walked with her past the sleeping camp to the river bank. They sat down. He said, "Tell me."

  She didn't know where to begin or whether she could carry through to the end. She tried, "You want true woman?"

  "Got one. Don't need another."

  "Not so."

  "You keepin' something terrible from me, huh?"

  In the starshine she could see his face. It was a kind, strong face. She didn't want to put hurt in it. She turned her eyes.

  "Maybe better not tell." The words came out low.

  "Maybe better tell, but I won't push you. Won't make any difference. We stay together."

  His voice, she thought, was as untroubled as the little water by the shore. It helped her to go on.

  "Boone Caudill — " she hated to say the name — "he killed Jim Deakins."

  "I knowed that from before."

  It seemed to her that she had to take her strength in both hands, to squeeze her heart to her throat. "It was — it was — it was over me. Boone Caudill's woman once. Me."

  To her surprise he said, "I kind of figured that out."

  "He was your friend, yes? Caudill?"

  "Onct. Just onct." He shook his head. "That dumb bastard." His hand tightened on her arm. "I aim to see him sometime."

  "No. No. It is all over."

  "All over for Jim Deakins. That's a fact." His voice was hard and the hand still tight on her arm.

  "Please, no. I ask please. Not to see him. Not to think."

  "Ease off, girl. Sometime. Just maybe sometime. Let's not fret ourselves." His hand loosened and patted the arm it had squeezed. "Now about you? What"s the trouble?"

  "I be so afraid."

  "Afraid? Of what?"

  "I tell you the truth, and maybe you no want to marry me."

  He laughed a low laugh, and his voice was gentle. "Think I could change my mind? Think I'm crazy? Only thing I'm crazy about is you." He leaned over and kissed her under the ear.

  The worst was over. She could go on. "Baby born with red hair. Jim Deakins have red hair. So Boone shoot him. But it is not so. It is not true. Me not lie with Jim Deakins. Baby belong Boone."

  "Sure. The looks of him say so."

  "Then Boone leave me. I want no man. I fight. I sneak away from camp. No man until you."

  He put his arm across her shoulders. Into her hair he said,

  "For Christ's sake! To be afraid! When all the time I'm set on a marryin' you. And we'll give Nocansee a name. Not, by God, Caudill. It's Summers he'll be. Now how are you, Mrs. Summers? How's my little duck?"

  Against his chest she tried not to cry but cried just the same.

  "You be so good. You forget Boone? Yes?"

  "If I can. If I can. He ain't our worry." His free hand found and held her breast. "Since we're about to get married, I got me an idee."

  She lifted her face, knowing it was tear-stained, and met his eyes and was able to smile. She said, "Good."

  18

  THE CAMP stirred before the sun came up. Low in the east, Higgins saw, a bank of clouds lay red, catching the upcoming light. Potter might have been first out of bed. He had on another long coat, clean but wrinkled, a white shirt and a tie. From his log he waved a greeting and turned back, facing east, his big hands folded over a book. Higgins could hear Summers and Teal Eye rustling around in their tepee.

  Then Teal Eye came out. She had tied a red sash around clean buckskins and wore red bows on her braids. The sash showed how slender she was, how slender and well put together.

  Higgins searched for words to describe her. "Comely" came to mind. So did a stranger word, "winsome." But they weren't enough, singly or together. How describe the honest, warm spirit in her eyes?

  Potter said, "Good morning, Sister," and got to his feet. "A glorious day."

  Summers had new buckskins on, not a fringe lost or tattered. He looked too young and strong for gray hair. Potter greeted him and said, "The day shines on us."

  The sun hadn't appeared yet, but all the eastern sky told of its coming.

  Summers smiled and said, "I reckon we're ready."

  "Fine. Fine. So am I."

  Potter had them stand together, facing east. Higgins took a place off to one side. With his book in his hand, the preacher cleared his throat, bowed his head and said, "Let us pray."

  It wasn't like Summers to bow his head, but he did, maybe so as not to hurt Potter's feelings. Teal Eye copied him. Potter's full voice rose, sounding over the cawing of a couple of magpies upstream. For a flash Higgins wondered how many ears God had. A heap of them to hear all the prayers. Nocansee and the boy had crept to the flap of the big tepee. They sat shy, holding hands.

  The preacher read from the book. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God — "

  Summers and Teal Eye stood close together, their faces lifted. A good-matched couple, Higgins thought, better matched than any he had ever known. Summers had said he didn't want his boy to be a bastard. That was the why of the marriage. But it was more than that. Something in Summers wanted him and Teal Eye to be bound, tied together in law so as to be able to look any man in the face and say, "This is my wife."

  Potter was reading, "I require and charge you both — "

  Here a man ought to pay close attention in order to know what he was letting himself in for if ever he married.

  The first of the sun's rays was shining on them now, lighting Summers' gray eyes and Teal Eye's dark ones, bringing out the silver on the edges of Potter's bald head. He stood square and solid, the preacher did, doing what was solemn to him. And it came to Higgins that it was solemn, maybe sacred, and the stray thoughts in him hushed up, and he lowered his head and

  listened.

  "Wilt thou take this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

  Summers' "I wil1" came out strong and clear.

  Potter asked the same things of Teal Eye. For an answer she took Summers' hand and said, "My man."

  There was some more reading then, ending with "Our Father who art in heaven — " Higgins had known all the words once. The preacher, beaming, shook hands with them both, said something about signing a paper with Higgins as witness and went on. "Now, Brother Summers, do you want the boys baptized? I think I see them both watching."

  Summers looked at Teal Eye but seemed to find no answer there. Of a sudden he grinned and said, "Might as well go the whole way, I reckon."

  "Fine. Fine. Some water then." Potter walked toward the tepee.

  Nocansee sat with his head bowed, the little boy between his knees. Potter said to the little one, "Can you speak your name, my son?"

  Summers answered for him. "It's Lije, short for Elijah."

  "A good biblical name." Potter sprinkled water on the boy's head. "Elijah Summers, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."

  Potter said then to Nocansee, "Your turn, my son. What is your name?"

  His face still lowered, the boy answered, "Nocansee."

  Potter didn't catch on. "Nocansee Summers, I baptize thee in

  the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."

  He wiped his wet fingers on his pants. "Now, son, look up, look up. It is a glad day." He put a hand on the boy's head and tilted it up, and words died in his throat. He put a gentle
hand on Nocansee's shoulder and turned away, saying to himself, "The Lord knows best." He shook his head as if to get rid of doubt.

  Higgins saw tears on his cheeks.

  19

  THE SUN was just winking up through the mists that shimmered on the far skyline. Looking back, Summers could see the tops of the mountains, colored pink above the darkness below. Ahead the plains spread, showing a growing green. Beside him rode Potter and Higgins and behind him plodded the two pack horses he led. They rode in silence, but his ears remembered what Potter had said. "Will I strain your hospitality if I remain for a day or two?"

  He wouldn't. Not much, though Summers felt an itch in his gizzard, an itch to be going places, known and unknown, to see men he had partnered with, including one man in particular. What would he do, what could he do, when he caught up with Boone Caudill? Just pass the time of day and shake hands? That didn't fill the bill. By rights a man ought to have to pay in some kind of measure for what he did wrong. He ought at least to look his past in the eye.

  Anyhow, here was the preacher, a big and friendly and out-going man, no matter if God kept coming into his talk. He was almighty curious about what a man believed, but his questions didn't rub up a sore. They were kind-meant, and he didn't argue over the answers.

  He had wanted to go on a buffalo hunt, saying, "I have a picture of myself, riding boldly among the fleeing beasts, bow and arrow in hand." He gave his big grin then. "Boyish, I know. I should put away childish things."

  Summers had answered, "I reckon we all make up pictures, and no harm in it. Wisht I could oblige you, Parson — "

  "Brother, please."

  "Wisht I could oblige you, Brother Potter, but of buffalo horses we got none. More'n that, we don't want to run the buffalo to hell — pardon me — out of reach. Too scarce this time of year."

  "What do we do?"

  "Still hunt. Get a stand on a bunch and take our pick."

  Summers slowed down his saddle horse. "Seein' you ride," he said, "it come to me you must be almighty saddle-sore."

  "A minor affliction." Potter made a sweep with his hand. "How can it trouble me on this, God's good morning?"

  The sun had cleared the mists. The meadowlarks were singing. Gophers stood straight, dived for their holes, turned around and peeked up. A curlew circled them, crying. Wild flags were coming up. Plant and animal, Summers thought, had come alive with the soil's warming. A soft wind blew out of the west.

  He brought the party to a halt while his eyes searched the land. Potter used this time to ask, "Where do you place your trust, Brother Summers?"

  "There was buffalo hereabouts not long ago."

  "That ain't what he asked," Higgins put in with a wink.

  "Oh, trust. Seems like I've had to put it in myself mostly." He smiled at Potter. "Not sayin' it ain't sometimes hard to do."

  "That's a sound answer insofar as it goes. Jesus was a resolute man. We think of Him as meek, but when the occasion arose He was resolute, and we shouldn't forget it."

  Summers spoke to his horse, and they got under way. To their left two coyotes limped along out of range. Winter skinny, they had learned the way of men and of guns. They had learned, too, that hunters left something behind them.

  Summers said a soft "Whoa." They had mounted a slope, and, looking down, saw buffalo grazing. They hadn't taken alarm, though closer than Summers would have liked while on horseback. "Time to sneak up," he said, sliding from his horse.

  "They aren't very many," Potter said.

  "A little early yet. Week or so and you'll see nothin' but humps. Give a few years, and it could be you'll see nothin' but bones." He stooped and went forward, setting the example. Behind him Potter whispered, "But the horses?"

  "Old ones. They'll stay around."

  As they drew closer, Summers went to his belly. He crawled a piece and examined his Hawken. It was ready to shoot as he knew it would be, but a careful man always made sure. Potter had crawled up beside him. He put out an asking hand. "Could you — would you allow — ?"

  "Sure thing," Summers answered. "See that young cow, third from the left. Aim at her. But wait!"

  He pulled the ramrod from the rifle, planted it upright ahead of him, held it with his left hand and laid the barrel over his extended arm. "Best shoot from a rest. This way. See?"

  Potter did as told.

  "Aim behind the shoulder, some lower than you might think the heart is. Then fire away."

  Potter was a long time lining up the sights. He stopped for a minute so's to get a tighter hold on the ramrod. Too tight, Summers knew. It made his arm tremble.

  At last he fired. The bullet went high, puffing up dust on a ridge beyond his target.

  Higgins said, "Reverend, I'm afeard you just potted an angel."

  Potter eased his body over to one side. It shook as he said, "You can't take me in, Mr. Sheriff." Between chuckles he went on, "It can't be murder. Angels are immortal."

  "Want to try again?" Summers asked, recharging the Hawken.

  "No. No. We came to make meat. They're moving off."

  Without using a rest, Summers lifted the rifle and fired. The cow humped over and fell.

  Potter said, "You didn't even have time to aim."

  "He just points and lets go," Higgins put in.

  "It's an art, an act of genius."

  Summers said, "Practice."

  They butchered out the cow, brought up the horses and loaded.

  On the way home Potter said, "The good Lord provides."

  "Yep," Higgins said. "Him and good old Dick Summers."

  * * *

  As they drew nearer the mountains, Potter pulled up his horse and said, "I lift up mine eyes . . .' "

  Summers let him look. The highest mountain was maybe four miles away. It was also the nearest. It rose purple in the morning light, purple and white where snow draped it.

  He had mounted Potter on Feather and would give him a gentle horse by way of a fee when he took off. Higgins had stayed behind, saying he would see could he catch him some trout. The weather was fair, with enough breeze in it to tickle the branches of scrub pine.

  Potter asked, "What is the name of that noble height, Brother Summers?"

  "They call it Elephant Ear Butte, but it's not a butte. I never seen an elephant."

  "An unworthy name. I suggest Everlasting or, better yet, Soul Summit. Does it not refresh your soul?"

  "I like to look at it."

  Potter looked at it some more, his eyes wide and his mouth moving, no doubt to a prayer. He cut a funny figure with his preacher's coat and coonskin cap. He looked down, studying the ground, and lifted his leg over the cantle and dismounted with a grunt of satisfaction.

  "The flowers," he said, examining one. "The lilies of the field."

  "Lilies?"

  "A figure. A manner of speaking? He plucked a bloom. "God is inventive. Look! Such a lovely, pale purple. What name, Brother Summers?"

  "All I ever heard was windflowers. They come way early, first up you could say." Summers got off his horse.

  "I do believe," Potter went on, "that it belongs to the buttercup family."

  "It's strayed a piece, then. You studied flowers, Brother Potter?"

  "Once I thought to be a botanist. That was before I heard the call." He dropped the flower he held and moved a step or two. "These tiny, red-purple blossoms, something like moss?"

  "We call all the little, short stuff carpet flowers."

  "The Lord spreads a carpet before us."

  Summers looked at him and, like him, looked at the brave, frail first flowers, and it seemed to him his eyes had sharpened all at once. He had seen these things before, had seen and not seen, being concerned with bigger subjects, and now suddenly here were color and shape that he had passed by because they were tiny. He said, "Purty."

  Potter gestured toward the mountain and then down at the ground. "The big and the little. The mighty and the minute. Can you doubt the power and the love of the Lord?"

&nb
sp; "He's sure enough powerful."

  They squatted on the turf. Summers picked a dry grass stem and nibbled on it.

  "I worship a glad Lord," Potter told him. "We have set our faces against sin, as indeed we must, but in doing it I fear we have lost sight of joy. joy, Brother Summers, delight in what we are given. Often I think God wants us not only to be good but to be radiant. Let us sing to the Lord."

  "I don't know the tune."

  A big, answering smile came on Potter's big face. "Another figure of speech. Let us sing in our hearts."

  Potter squatted there, singing his song, Summers supposed. The world could stand preachers like him. He raised his gaze.

  "You have opened your doors to me, Brother. I was a stranger, and you took me in."

  "We're beholden to you."

  "Not at all. Not at all."

  "It's little enough we got to give for what you done."

  "Don't think that way. We are not in the marketplace. We give because we want to."

  "Yes." Summers picked another blade of grass.

  "The marketplace, the commerce, the financial intercourse of men, even perhaps the money-changers — these things are necessary, some of them, and not without worth. For myself, I rejoice in the open, free life. I dislike money unless it be employed for God's purposes. If I had money, I would establish a mission, a school, and teach the everyday arts as well as the love of Jesus. As it is, I am a traveling missionary with enough support to supply my few wants. What do you want that money can provide? Tell me that."

  "Just a little tobacco and a jug once in a while. That's all Higgins wants, plus a wife."

  "He wants one, then?"

  "Needs one."

  "What's holding him back?"

  "Us, I guess. Me, maybe. We're so close, all of us, that he won't take off and look for himself."

  "I see. Any other matter on your mind, Brother?"

  "Not much. I'll just live off the land, long as I can, that is."

  "But you're worried?"

  "Not by you, Brother Potter. By what I see comin'. Men and more men, and the end of what I prize."

  Potter put a hand to his jaw. "Go forth and multiply, the Bible says."

  "And crowd the land." Summers had to smile, thinking. He turned to Potter. "You don't seem to be doin' so smart in the multiply department?"